The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess : A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Chapter One

Late March, 1814

“It is time,” his father said with that typical gruffness the earl often used with his sons, but especially with his youngest. Edward Fitzwilliam understood. The Earl of Matlock carried around the guilt of what affected his eldest, the heir to the earldom. Though nothing could be done to change Roland Fitzwilliam’s future, Martin Fitzwilliam meant to ease Roland’s inevitable demise and secure the earldom through Edward. “Roland and Lady Lindale will take some time together, staying on at Guernsey, in preparation for how they will proceed. Lindale’s episodes appear more severe, and things must be arranged for her ladyship when your brother passes.”

“And the viscountess’s children?” Edward asked. His brother Roland had married a widow, Lady Elaine Babcock, who had delivered her late husband a daughter and a set of twins, another daughter and a son, but the boy, who was supposedly “dumb,” by all who spoke of him, would never be permitted to inherit his father’s title, if Lord Babcock’s brother had a say in the matter. Edward thought Jennings’s posturing was simply a means to keep his foot in the door of the earldom, but he supposed the man could have more sinister motives. History had story after story of “wicked uncles,” such as Claudius in Hamlet or Creon in Antigone. Even if the boy was named as the earl, his uncle had already petitioned to be named “Regent” of the Babcock holdings until the boy either assumed the earldom when reaching his majority or. if truly weak-minded, passed.

Therefore, the former Lady Babcock had welcomed Roland’s offer of his hand in order to save face, despite everyone understanding Roland and Elaine’s joining was a means for both families to “create” a story all of society would accept. Unlike him, Philip Jennings, the second son of the Earl of Babcock was now the heir apparent to the Babcock family peerage, while Roland was the Matlock heir, if his brother lived long enough.

In truth, Edward was not happy to be required to assume the earldom anytime soon or, at all for that matter. When he and Roland were young, they always played at king and soldier. Ironically, Roland had always been the soldier and Edward the king, that is, until one day their father demanded they switch roles. Frustratingly, Edward had wanted to be the next earl and was upset to learn he was meant for another occupation.

On that fateful day, Roland had fallen and cut his hand. A small cut. Yet, it had taken multiple days to stop the bleeding. Not profuse. Just constant seeping blood.

Naturally, when this abnormality occurred a second time, Matlock had employed an army of physicians and surgeons to explore both the cause and the remedy.

While the search for information went on, Edward found a “new” companion, his first cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy. The roles reversed slightly, for at Maitland Manor Roland had been the eldest, but at Pemberley House, where Edward had become accustomed to spending his school holidays, he was the eldest. He was two years older than his cousin, and three years older than the steward’s son, George Wickham, a fellow, who, over the years, Edward had come to despise, but, in the beginning, both he and Darcy had welcomed the fellow into their “adventures.”

“Do I have a choice of brides?” Edward asked, while attempting to keep a hint of stubbornness from sneaking into his tone. Often, a “dogged and unwavering persistence,” as his mother called it, ran through both father and son. Generally, Edward took his father’s advice, though this was not one of those times.

“Your Aunt Catherine . . .” the Earl began, but Edward cut him off before Matlock could finish.

“Not Anne!” Edward said in emphatic tones. “I adore my cousin, but not enough to spend the remainder of my days with her at my side, and do not attempt to convince me Anne could survive the rigors of childbirth. If I am to replace Roland as the heir, I will require a wife who can deliver forth my heir to sustain the Fitzwilliam name.”

“If you would kindly permit me to finish,” the earl hissed. He paused to wait for Edward’s nod of acceptance before saying, “Lady Catherine suggested Sir Louis’s niece, the daughter of de Bourgh’s youngest sister. Miss Celine de Bourgh married a baron, Lord Romfield. The baron and his family have been on the Continent since Miss Romfield was but a small child, as Romfield has been serving as a diplomat representing Great Britain all these years. Their daughter was not yet three when they departed England.”

“How long have the Romfields been away from Great Britain?” Edward asked. “I do not recall encountering those members of Sir Louis’s family since I was perhaps nine or ten, and I barely recall something of Lord Romfield marrying Sir Louis’s sister. Aunt Catherine’s husband has been gone somewhere near twenty years, has he not?”

“Hard to believe it has been that long,” his father said with a heavy sigh. “As to the girl, she was quite small. I believe Romfield has been in Europe for some fifteen, perhaps sixteen years.”

“Miss Romfield is a bit more than ten years my junior,” Edward surmised.

“Yet, of age or nearly so, as I have been told” the earl countered. “And, even if Miss Romfield has not reached her majority, we can assume the chit’s education is likely more ‘liberal’ than a young lady raised by a proper governess on English soil. Those raised upon the Continent, and, especially, in the war years, have been presented their heads. You may be required to take the girl in hand. Nor am I aware of whether or not she has been properly presented to society.”

Although his father would think otherwise, Edward had never been impressed by the insipid young girls making their Come Outs. He privately thought a girl of the nature of his cousin Darcy’s wife would better suit him. Elizabeth Darcy had had a most unusual education, and she was not one simply to permit her husband to make all the decisions for their future. The lady had a voice and opinions and was not the type to bend to all of Darcy’s “pompousness.” Far from being a harridan, the woman encouraged her husband to lead, as long as she walked hand-in-hand at his side. In Edward’s opinion, Darcy had become a kinder, yet, more excellent sort of man because of his choice of brides.

“Then I suppose I should call upon the lady. Will you or her ladyship be making the introductions, though know, if I do not think the lady and I will fit, I will not be made to speak a proposal. I mean to craft my own version of the earldom. I do not speak my words as a criticism, but I could never be you. Though none care to speak to the matter, the aristocracy is changing. This war has changed Great Britain. Men, not of the gentry or aristocracy, have achieved rank and prestige in both the army and the navy. They will not readily be willing to step back into their previous roles in society, and such does not address the nouveau riche. Men such as Darcy’s friend Charles Bingley can afford an estate and a house in Town and a university education, where many aristocrats cannot manage more than the education, though they often treat Oxford and Cambridge as social clubs.”

His father did not comment on Edward’s assertions, the absence of which spoke volumes regarding the earl’s opinions. “Your mother,” Matlock said instead, “insists we also travel to Guernsey. You know she has always blamed herself for your brother’s condition,” his father explained.

Since those days, the earl had paid to learn something of Roland’s condition had unearthed a highly esteemed paper by a Philadelphia physician, Doctor John Otto ,in 1804, Lady Matlock had come to the conclusion she somehow was the source of her eldest son’s unusual condition. Doctor Otto had written an account regarding “a hemorrhagic disposition” existing in some families. Otto found the condition affected mostly males and was inherited through their mothers, though the mothers were considered perfectly healthy and would not have recognized the possibility of the condition until after giving birth. The fact he had not also been afflicted had been a source of many arguments in the Fitzwilliam household for nearly a decade, but only last year, a man named John Fay published his findings in another American journal. That research said the affected males could pass the disease on to their unaffected daughters, proving Lady Matlock had likely unknowingly presented her eldest the disease. All the medical reports had convinced Roland not to beget a child of his own. Such was the real reason for the arrangement with Lady Babcock after her own husband’s passing.

For a time, some thought Roland preferred men, but the marriage to Lady Babcock settled that rumor, at least for the foreseeable future. When Roland and Lady Elaine did not conceive a child immediately, it could be stated that she had been too old to conceive again or that she had suffered some sort of problem when she had carried her twins. Eventually, Roland would pass from the disease and before his “natural” time, and Lady Elaine would be praised and criticized both for having two husbands. The marriage was also designed to save the boy from Philip Jennings and prepare the lad to assume the Babcock earldom. Both families won by the joining between Lindale and Lady Babcock.

If truth be known, more than one row at Maitland Manor had occurred over the years because of his brother’s condition; yet, though he sometimes took unnecessary risks, Edward had come to admire Roland’s determination to live while he might, as well as not to pass on the disease to an innocent child.

“Is Roland so severe?” Edward asked in concern.

“One of his elbow joints has swollen greatly,” the earl explained. “No one believes your brother has a foot in the grave, but the number of days he has remaining is always an issue with each small bump or bruise or cut. Lady Lindale attends him, which is quite admirable. The Babcock family should know shame for the manner in which they treated Roland’s wife, as well as the late earl’s children. It was brave of both Roland and Lady Elaine not to consummate the marriage. Your brother wished none of his children or grandchildren to suffer, as has he. If Lady Elaine delivered another ‘sickly’ child, the blame for the birth of two children, not well or fully developed, would be placed squarely on her ladyship’s shoulders.”

In his few interactions with Lord Vincent, Edward had simply thought the boy had no social skills. Was the child unable to learn as did others? What of sending the boy off to school and what would be done with his rise to the earldom? “Then who will supply my introduction to Miss Romfield? Please do not say I must deal with Lady Catherine,” Edward pleaded.

“My sister claims another fight with her gout,” the earl explained. “However, both she and I have written to Lady Romfield to inform her ladyship to expect a call from you upon her family.”

“And when am I to make an appearance?”

“Within a fortnight,” the earl supplied. “I was not confident of your prearranged duties to your superiors, and I wished to provide you time to reach Kent, where the Romfields have taken refuge at his lordship’s family estate.”

“And Lady Lindale’s children?” Edward asked.

“The twins are with the governess at William’s Wood. Lady Annabelle is away at school in Bath.”

Edward had always wanted children, so, he often found time, when his duties to the army permitted it, to call upon his brother’s stepchildren. “I would wish to reassure the children they will be safe, even if another upheaval in their lives should occur.”

* * *

Jocelyn hurried through the house in hopes of convincing her mother to return to London. Rusticating in the English countryside was not her idea of living. She wished for more—something to which she could not place a name. She paused on the balcony overlooking the foyer. This was her father’s home—the place where he had been born, as well as where she had been born; yet, she still felt as if she had no roots.

Lord Joseph Romfield had married Miss Celine de Bourgh, the sister of a wealthy baronet, shortly after he came into his title. As the story went, soon they learned of her presence, but she was not to grow up in England, for her father had accepted a position as a British diplomat on the Continent. Jocelyn spent many of her early years in Spain.

Though she would not admit it to anyone, Jocelyn never felt as if she was “enough,” mainly because, despite her presence in their lives, her parents grieved, for they had never delivered another child. For years, they knew disappointment after disappointment. “I was never what they desired,” she whispered as she looked down on the open foyer. For seven years, Lord and Lady Romfield continued on with the typical British stiff upper lip, but, with each miscarriage or stillbirth, they had withdrawn from her—actually, from everything but duty.

When Jocelyn was a little over ten years of age, her mother managed to deliver a son: Andrew would be the heir to the barony. The child arrived some six weeks early—small, but fully formed, and a “hallelujah” was heard throughout the family and her father’s staff.

“Andrew Benjamin David Romfield,” she whispered. Her brother was a menace, but Jocelyn adored him as much as the rest of the family. Unfortunately, Andrew’s birth only increased the lack of affection Jocelyn was to know. No matter what she had executed to please her parents, it was always Andrew her parents preferred; therefore, she had taken a different approach, one of living outrageously.

“There you are,” her mother said, looking up to the overhang. “Did not Bessie tell you I wished to speak to you?”

“I was on my way,” Jocelyn declared as she made her way down the stairs. “Should I ring for tea?”

“Perhaps afterwards,” her mother said curtly, meaning she meant to read Jocelyn another version of the riot act. Her ladyship waited at the door to permit Jocelyn to enter the sitting room first. As her mother closed the door, she instructed, “Please have a seat. I have heard from your father.”

“Has he set a date to join us in England?” Despite often feeling set adrift on her own, Jocelyn adored her father. Actually, she also adored her mother, but they were often at odds.

“It will be another two or three months,” her mother explained, “but soon.” Her ladyship sat across from Jocelyn. “My dear, we must address what occurred in London and why it was necessary for us to leave before we were prepared to do so.”

“I shan’t say I am grieved, Mother,” Jocelyn declared in her defense, “if that is what you wish of me. All I did was waltz with a handsome gentleman.”

“You waltzed with a rogue—a man known for debauching more than one young lady,” her mother corrected. “A man of whom you knew I would never have agreed to your accepting as a dance partner. You purposely waited until I stepped out of the hall to the retiring room and ignored Lady Ashworth’s warnings. Moreover, Lady Jersey had not presented you permission to waltz. We are banned from Almack’s until your father may speak to the patronesses on your behalf.”

“I am a few months away from my majority,” Jocelyn protested. “And who are they to decide if I might dance or not? On the Continent, no one questioned my right to choose!”

“Such is where you err, my child. Many objected, including your parents, but you repeatedly refused to adhere to our cautions.”

Jocelyn switched her approach. “I realize, in hindsight, what I did was not quite the proper thing, but, I assure you, Lord Sizemore only asked of my life on the Continent.” She glanced up to her mother, but a frown was on her ladyship’s features, meaning her mother was not impressed by Jocelyn’s explanation.

“Not quite ‘the thing’ is an understatement, Jocelyn,” her mother said in harsh tones. “Your father and I chose to return to England so you might claim a husband suitable to your position in society.”

“I do not wish to marry,” Jocelyn protested.

“Enough!” her mother warned. “You must realize what you do affects all of your family. Your father. Me. Andrew. And even the servants who are employed in this household. You have dared to step outside the circle of propriety one too many times.”

Jocelyn despised this moment, just as she had despised all such moments previously. She loved her family and did not wish to know their disappointment in her; yet, she felt so lonely every day of her life.

Her mother swallowed a steadying breath. “Never mind. We possess a means to set society’s opinion of you aright. I received word today: He has agreed to take your acquaintance and perhaps pursue a joining. Despite this latest folly, there is a chance he will know nothing of this misstep.”

“Of what do you speak?” Jocelyn demanded. “Who has agreed to accept my acquaintance?”

“In truth, I am surprised he has agreed. I casually knew his father, for his father is brother to my brother’s wife.”

“Brother to Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” Jocelyn asked. She had only encountered Lady Catherine once when Jocelyn was perhaps seven or eight. Sir Louis, her mother’s only brother, and his wife and daughter, who was near fifteen at the time, called upon Jocelyn’s family while they were on holiday and on their way to Italy. Upon first sight, Jocelyn had feared the woman. If Lady Catherine’s brother was even half as intimidating as was her ladyship, Jocelyn wished nothing to do with the man or any of his family.

“Why do we not simply return to London?” she pleaded. “I will do the pretty and humbly apologize to both Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy, no matter how fat-rumped they may be.”

“Such language!” her mother tutted. “It might be one thing to ask the Almack’s patronesses to forgive you if you were even a smidgen apologetic for your actions, but all you do is manipulate everyone for your own benefit! You have refused no less than four offers of marriage in the last year and a half!”

“None of them stirred my heart,” she argued.

“You will be congenial to the man when he comes to call at Romfield Hall, which will be in the next fortnight,” her mother instructed.

“The gentleman may call, and I shall be congenial, just as you have instructed, but I shall not marry where my heart is not engaged!” Jocelyn declared in stringent tones.

“You shall marry, and you shall marry the gentleman who meets your father’s approval. He will arrange it all,” her mother insisted in calmer tones than Jocelyn expected. Obviously, her parents had returned to England, not because the war made it too dangerous for them to remain in Europe, but rather to marry her off. To be rid of her once and for all. Out of their sight and out of their minds.

“The devil will have his due first,” Jocelyn hissed.

“Such language and sentiments are unbecoming, Jocelyn,” her mother said with her customary calmness. Even when her ladyship was frustrated, Lady Romfield rarely raised her voice, whereas Jocelyn would prefer to conduct a shouting match.

“It is also not becoming for a parent to force her child into an unwelcome marriage.”

“The gentleman comes from a well-placed family, with deep roots in Britain’s history.”

“Why would I care whether the man’s family is exceptional? If I loved him, such would be all that is necessary for our happiness,” Jocelyn said in emphatic tones as she stood quickly. “You are asking me to commit my life to a man I have never met!”

“Yet, you shall meet him. Walk with him. Dance with him. Ride out with him. Talk to him and marry him. He has enough experience to handle your spontaneity. Even curb it.”

“I despise you!” Jocelyn declared as she started for the door.

“Even so, I love you, Jocelyn.”

“This is ridiculous! Take me back to London. I shall apologize to the patronesses, and I shall accept an appropriate offer for my hand,” she said to the door, unable to look upon her mother and not break into tears. “Permit me to know the man. To have some choice in this matter.”

“I suppose the gentleman believes it is time he settled down. Though he knows nothing of you except perhaps your name; yet, I cannot say that with any assurance,” her mother continued ignoring Jocelyn’s grand exit.

“Indeed!” Jocelyn declared. “How flattering!” Her grip on the door’s latch tightened.

“Many successful marriages began this way,” her mother countered.

“As do many marriages where the husband prefers his mistress over his wife,” Jocelyn countered. “I do not choose a marriage of convenience!”

“I fear you have few options. This is the wish of both your mother and your father,” her ladyship declared in exacting tones. “I know you believe your parents are cruel. However, we believe the gentleman will treat you kindly, and you will be part of one of the most powerful families in all of Britain. Your husband will treat you with respect and with gentleness.”

Jocelyn felt the tears rushing to her eyes. “I cannot do this! I always knew you could not love me as you do Andrew, but I never thought you would sell me to a complete stranger, simply to claim an aristocratic connection!” With that, Jocelyn jerked the door open and fled.