A Summer Shame (12 page)

With a quiet voice Jane asked a question, again returning her inspections to the fine stitching of her quilt. "Lizzie. What if . . . what if Lydia?"

"We will not discuss that. She has the best care and nothing will happen. The Lord shall protect us and her. We will not discuss that." Elizabeth repeated herself, lost in her own thoughts and fears. Blinking her eyes a few times, she refocused on Jane. "You are truly well? Happy?"

With the broadest smile she could muster, Jane Bennet lied to her sister, not remembering the pain caused the last time she tried to hide a burden. "I am exceedingly well, and enjoying the quiet."

Elizabeth nodded and left the room, leaving the door open on her way out. She hoped the gesture would indicate how much she wished Jane would join them downstairs, but did not wish to force the invitation. As Elizabeth walked quickly with purpose down the grand staircase to meet with Mrs. Buchanan, it never dawned on her that she had not invited Jane to join her in the interviews. It did dawn on Jane, cutting her heart to the quick.

Mary's mood still hung like a dark cloud over Gardiner house on the eve of Kitty, Georgiana, and Mrs. Bennet's arrival back to London. Though she planned to remain at the Gardiner household, Mary had visited Darcy House at the request of Mrs. Kensington to help with the preparations for the reopening the town home for the few weeks Miss Darcy would be in residence.

The housekeeper peppered her with pointed questions about Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's months long holiday in Scotland. The search for specific details of who traveled with the Darcys now and when they planned to return made it clear to Mary that the woman did not entirely approve of Miss Darcy being left so often to the care of tutors and companions.

As she exited the grand house, Mary took one last look up at the elegant facade, thinking that once her aunt was safely delivered, she would take Jane's example and leave London for a quieter life at home, with her mother. Just as she was about to board the carriage, another carriage with the unmistakable Matlock crest on the door arrived. Cursing her bad luck, Mary shifted from foot to foot, utterly caught between wishing to hop in her own carriage and disappear and greeting the Fitzwilliam family member that had arrived.

Please be Robert, please be Robert. Anyone but Richard
, she thought hard, closing her eyes.

"Miss Mary, how lovely to meet you here." Her hand was taken and kissed by the velvety lips she still dreamed about most evenings.

"Colonel. I really must go I'm afraid, my aunt is expecting me."

"Nonsense, we shall send a note." Lady Matlock alighted from the carriage, stretching her tight muscles in a most ladylike manner. "I find it so lucky we should meet."

Mary's face paled, accepting the Colonel's arm to return back to the home, under the harsh gaze of Mrs. Kensington. Her feet echoed on the beautifully stunning patterned parquet flooring and Mary listened as Lady Matlock began discussing details with the housekeeper. As the Countess agreed with all of the arrangements Mary had made, despite Mrs. Kensington attempting to suggest other plans, suspicions began to grow in Mary's heart there was no luck about her meeting the Fitzwilliams at all. She decided to test this theory.

"I apologize for taking the liberty of making such arrangements. I had not known that Miss Darcy would not be alone these weeks in London."

"My niece is never just left to her own devices, if that is what you are insinuating. My son is her co-guardian." Richard puffed his chest slightly at the mention of his responsibility.

Mary stuttered. "No, no, I did not mean that at all. Mrs. Kensignton asked me to visit and had a myriad of questions about my sister and brother-in-law's plans, and . . ."

"Did you tell her anything private?"

Mary shook her head. She herself knew little details of the situation with Lydia and preferred that status as opposed to the alternative. Dark thoughts of Mrs. Younge's lifeless body falling to the carpet at her feet flashed in her mind and it took Lady Matlock additional attempts to regain Mary's attentions.

"Hmmm, I do not like this development. Richard, do you think that Mrs. Younge has designs now that Wickham is dead? Might she come after the family for some twisted sense of recompense?"

Mary's lip trembled. "But she's dead, she can't come after us!" Mary blurted out, for her own sake not the countess's, then remembered her manners. "Your Ladyship."

"She's dead?" The Countess whirled around on Richard who physically shrank away from his mother. "And when did you plan to impart that salient point, son? And why does Mary know of this before me?"

Mary cleared her throat and looked at Lady Matlock with a firm countenance. "Because I was there, your ladyship."

The countess collapsed onto the sofa in the small parlor, Richard immediately tried to tend to his mother, but she swatted him away. Margaret Fitzwilliam needed a moment to connect all of the pieces of the puzzle. As she looked at Mary and Richard, back and forth, she began to see how the breach between them came about.

"You dolt, Richard James! Taking a lady to apprehend a criminal!" Lady Matlock held her hands out beckoning Mary to attend to her on the sofa. Still shocked by the vulgar language of her superior, Mary complied without giving her movements a second's reflection. "And you, poor dear, what horrors did you see?"

Finally, Richard spoke up to tell his mother the entire story, leaving out the part about the kiss in the carriage. Mary began to giggle at the end of his somber tale.

"And what have I said to make you laugh, sweet Mary?" The Colonel's face appeared bemused and still, his blue eyes flirted shamelessly with her.

"Only that I had to explain the same situation to my uncle and he was not happy with you, sir, not at all."

The Colonel's face whitened as the blood drained away. "Does he, does he demand satisfaction? Shall I go see him?"

"Of course you will go see him! This very afternoon! And if you were not too old for me to take a switch to your bottom, I would make sure it was painful for you sit!" Lady Matlock rose and smoothed her skirts. "I shall make arrangements, and you," she pointed to her son, "you behave!"

With the door wide open, the two young people left behind fidgeted at the sudden privacy afforded them. Mary could no longer look at Richard, feeling a dreadful pain in her belly as she realized how disappointed Lady Matlock would be when her uncle told of the way she had let Richard kiss her. Not realizing her anguish was so real, her slight moan of despair was all the encouragement that Richard needed to ride into a battle of Cupid's making once more.

"Mary, Mary, please speak with me, we have a precious few moments. I had no way to know how deeply I hurt you, and I missed you everyday you were in London." He gently sat on the edge of the sofa, making Mary instantly stand up.

"Please sir, I do not wish to place you in any further danger."

"Danger?" He laughed. "What danger?"

"For your mortal soul!" Mary looked at him as if he were daft. "I know I am not good enough for an earl's son, I shall not reach beyond my stars. But my attraction to you and attentions have bewitched you and I am firm in my resolve to tempt you no further."

Richard Fitzwilliam tucked his bottom lip under his upper to hold his first comments back. The woman of strongest mettle he had ever seen paced the rug in front of the large windows without pause. Realizing she was truly agitated, and as afflicted as he, it still did not change the fact that he was practically penniless in his own right.

Small clanking of the bits of metal in his uniform alerted her he was rising, and she froze, like a frightened deer as he approached. "It is I who am not good enough for a daughter of Bennet. But mark my words madam, after our interview with your uncle, I shall leave my mother here and find a way to be otherwise."

Mary's heart lurched to a stop as she held her breath. Had he just declared himself? Was he about to? Before she could remember how to form words again, Lady Matlock reappeared in the doorway.

"Come, come! I have sent a note ahead and a new team of horses has been rigged." She pretended not to notice anything amiss, but Margaret Fitzwilliam did not mistake the blooming blush of a woman in love spreading on the cheeks of Miss Mary Bennet. As the grand lady turned around, expecting the couple to follow her, she began to make mental notes on all that she still had to teach the woman she hoped to be her first daughter-in-law as soon as may be.

"Excuse me madame, but Miss Lydia has the girls all in a tizzy. She demanded more and more fabric and I'm afraid there won't be enough for the needs of the manor." Mrs. Buchanan interrupted what had been a placid, peaceful afternoon by approaching her mistress for assistance.

"Is she making those bonnets again?" Elizabeth slammed down the embroidery hoop she was working on, a sampler with foxgloves to commemorate the date of her marriage. She wished to have a token reminder of the summer's holiday, even if the days had rarely felt restful.

"Yes'm, up to a dozen or more in just the last week."

Jane's eyebrow arched and she joined the conversation. "Lydia makes bonnets in her room?"

Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh and nodded to Jane. Following Mrs. Buchanan up the stairs to Lydia's suite of rooms, the whole bedroom was in uproar. Gowns, as old as a few years, were strewn about on nearly every piece of furniture and Lydia stood with a needle in hand, hunched over the hem of a ball gown she wore when they lived in Hertfordshire. Lydia's trunks were out and half empty, half full of neatly pressed garments as one would prepare for a journey.

"Lydia! What is all of this mess?"

Lydia grunted, pulled the needle tight and bit the thread with her teeth. "Isn't it wonderful? I'm nearly packed and ready to leave. I thought Mama would be so pleased for me to repair my clothing so that I'm ready for my debut on my arrival."

"Debut? What, where are all of the babe's clothes?" Elizabeth gaped at the room strewn with bonnets and stockings and petticoats galore. A heap of white linens cast in the corner caught her eye and she marched over to inspect the pile. It was indeed the clothing for the baby she had started to help Lydia with at the beginning of the summer, until every sewing session ended in a tantrum. "Lydia, the baby will be coming soon. He needs a stitch of clothing to wear."

"La, his new family will provide him that, I'm sure." Lydia held up a gown much too small for her even if she were not heavy with child and admired herself in the mirror. "Mama says the new fashion is for the ladies to wet their bodices. Isn't that such a scandal?"

The energy and carrying on reminded Elizabeth precisely of the Lydia she knew long before Mr. Wickham and before they had lost their father. "Please! I am trying to understand. You keep talking of Mama, did she send you a letter?"

"Mmhmm, it's there, on the bed."

In a rare display of youthfulness, Elizabeth hopped onto the bed full of miscellaneous items and scrounged around for the piece of paper. Her mother's hand was sloppy, careless, but it spelled out promises of balls and dinners and sponsorship by Lady Matlock just as soon as her unpleasantness was resolved.

The tips of Elizabeth's ears burned as she digested the callous way in which both her mother and her sister threw this innocent child aside. Now three months into her marriage, Elizabeth would relish an increasing waistline, but as her courses began just days ago, there was no indication that a new Darcy was on the way despite regular labors to the contrary. Crumpling the paper, Elizabeth slunk off the bed as Lydia twirled and modeled in the mirror, shrieking and laughing and playing out introductions.

Without a word, she gathered up the baby's clothes and handed them to Mrs. Buchanan. "Take these to Jane. She and I will work on them. Please take any calicos and other linens as needed from my closet and place an order for more. I will explain the situation to Mr. Darcy."

"Aye ma'am."

Behind her back, Lydia grimaced briefly, then returned to her jolly merriment. She bumped into Lizzie as she continued to traipse around the room. "Oof, you can't stand on a dance floor, silly. Will you help me finish packing?"

Blood pounding in her ears, Elizabeth inhaled numerous deep breaths before she could find the calm manner to address Lydia. "Your child should be your priority. No more dancing. No more playacting. You must rest. I shall send some maids to pack for you, but in the meantime, lay in bed and reflect on the happy life you wish for your son."

"But, but, I'm not tired! I could run, Lizzie, truly run from here to Hertfordshire and back I am so light on my feet." A dazed, happy countenance covered Lydia's face as she cradled the gown in her arms to her chest. The happiness of a young girl who had spent so much of the summer in abject misery played on her older sister's heartstrings.

"I am persuaded. You may continue to work on your clothing, but you must make one gown for the babe and lay it in his cradle over there." The ancient wooden rocker was already in Lydia's room as well as the birthing chair in preparations for the coming child.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you, Lizzie. I shall, I shall. I'll make the most beautiful baby gown ever right now."