Chapter 1 #2
“We will depart for Longbourn on the morrow girls, so have fun with your brother and cousins today. We will be back for the summer,” Bennet reminded them.
“The new mother…” Elizabeth started to say.
“She will not be your mother but your stepmother. She has three of her own children. They will be your stepbrother and stepsisters, but no more. They will never have the name Bennet as you do,” Bennet corrected.
“Will they be our friends?” Jane asked innocently.
“I do not know, Jane dearest. You will have to see when you meet them,” Bennet averred. He believed that there would be no friendship between his daughters and her children, but he would allow Jane and Elizabeth to come to their own conclusions without poisoning their minds beforehand.
The girls went to find their brother and cousins and Bennet remained in his chambers to think.
He was not certain that he would find even the smallest measure of happiness with the soon-to-be Mrs. Bennet.
It killed him how that woman would have the same title as his beloved Fanny, and he had no doubt the title was the only attribute his late wife would ever share with the woman, for good and ill.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“How was your time at Holder Heights with your Fitzwilliam cousins and the Bennets?” Lord Robert Darcy, Duke of Derbyshire, Earl of Lambton asked his son after the Matlock carriage had dropped his son at Pemberley before returning to Snowhaven.
“It was enjoyable, Father,” Lord William answered his father with his normal formality.
He was but thirteen and on his way to Eton in September, but ever since Lord Robert’s beloved Duchess passed away, his son had become much more serious and introverted.
“The Earl’s cousin’s children from Hertfordshire were visiting.
They, too, lost their mother last year.”
“I miss my Anne every day, Son,” the Duke said softly.
Unlike most of his station, Lord Robert Darcy, then Marquess Pemberley, Viscount Kympton, had made a love match.
His late wife’s older sister had done everything to try to become the next Duchess of Derbyshire, including an unsuccessful compromise.
It left relations between the sisters strained, and Lady Catherine had a tantrum of epic proportions when the betrothal between Lady Anne and Lord Robert had been announced.
The lady did not know when to give up. If she could not be the Duchess, then she was determined that her spoilt, sickly daughter with an extremely sour disposition and no accomplishments or education, would be the one to succeed where she failed.
While his Anne was alive, her sister attempted to browbeat his wife into agreeing to, as Lady Catherine put it, ‘a cradle betrothal’, which Lady Anne had steadfastly refused to allow.
As soon as his beloved wife had succumbed after gifting him Gigi, the letters from his sister-in-law had begun, demanding the formalization of the phantom promise that Lady Catherine claimed.
The Duke had written back one time only, telling the termagant that she would be sued for slander if she mentioned one word of the made-up betrothal to anyone in society.
He also informed her that he would never sanction a match between his heir and her insipid daughter.
Although Lady Catherine was unaware of it, the Duke had a codicil written into his will refuting any claim the lady might try to make after his passing.
He sent a copy of the codicil to his brother-in-law, Lord Reginald Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock, and brother to his late wife.
“Is that a letter from Rosings, Father?” William asked as the butler placed the salver on the Duke’s desk.
“It is, William. In the fire please, Son.” The Duke ordered with a flick of his wrist. With a slight grin, the son complied. There was a knock on the study door. “No William, stay,” the Duke commanded, as his son started to stand. “Enter!”
“You requested that I come see you and bring my son, your Grace,” Pemberley’s steward Maxwell Wickham bowed. His son George, twelve, bowed and smirked at Lord William, thinking his effort to cause the prig of a marquess trouble had succeeded.
“Mr. Wickham, do you remember how you requested that I stand as godfather for your son not long after your wife went to her eternal reward?” the Duke asked.
“I do, your Grace,” the steward answered deferentially. Young George thought that he might become the godson of a duke.
“Based on your son’s behaviour, I cannot and will not fill that role,” the Duke stated matter-of-factly.
“Y-your G-grace,” George Wickham spluttered. “W-why do you s-say t-that?” George had been most confident that he had hidden his behaviour from the Duke, surely the children he bullied had not told on him!
“Do not try and affect innocence with me, young Wickham. I know about your bullying, the way you order my servants around as if you are a member of the household. Worst of all, I know you left the gate to the stables open after my son left. What you thought you would achieve by painting my son in a bad light, I do not know. Whatever it was, you failed. You were seen in the stables and more than one person witnessed your leaving the gate open. It was closed right away after you left.” The Duke did not look amused.
George Wickham squirmed under the withering glares he received from the two men and the Marquess.
“I do not know why I did it; I think I was envious of Lord William as he has so much and I have nothing in comparison,” George hung his head as he gave an honest answer.
“We all make mistakes, young George. So while I will not be your godfather, it does not mean that I will not assist you, but only if I see a significant and permanent change in your behaviour and attitude. Do you have any idea how much responsibility comes with my position, and William’s?
How many souls for whom we are responsible?
To whom much is given, much is expected.
Nothing will fall into your lap; you will have to work hard and then you will reap the rewards.
“The countryside is littered with estates that have been gambled away by idle landlords who looked for a fast way out of their financial problems. What we receive without putting forth an effort, we do not value. I cannot choose for you; you need to choose the way forward for yourself. One way will be hard and satisfying, the other will lead to a life of dissipation, and quite possibly, debauchery leading to you becoming a profligate wastrel, or worse, a libertine.” The Duke waited as the boy assimilated what he had been told.
“I will work to correct my behaviour, your Grace. Lord William, please accept my apology for attempting to cause trouble for you, for no true reason above pettiness,” young Wickham stated sincerely.
After he was dismissed from the study, his father turned to his master.
“I want to add my voice to that of my son’s, your Grace.
You could have demanded I punish him, or even dismiss me.
Instead you helped point my George to the path of redemption.
I promise you, your Grace, I will make sure my son remains on that path and will be worthy of your trust in the future, and Lord William’s,” the steward stated, contritely. He bowed and left the Duke’s study.