Without Undue Pride

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Will Lord Milton even be at home to us?” Elizabeth asked Darcy in his carriage the following morning.

“I sent a note to say to expect us,” he answered. “You need not see Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam; they left town immediately following the funeral. Milton will go home to Peterborough soon. We are fortunate we caught him.”

Town was now thin of company this late in June, as many had returned to their country estates. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner were even gone, visiting the Lakes for two months. She suspected Darcy was eager to bring his sister to Pemberley for the summer. Elizabeth was glad she had reasoned with Darcy and the companion accompanying Georgiana to Derbyshire and later to the seaside would not be Mrs Younge. She liked the sweet but shy Georgiana and knew she would thrive under someone less cold and calculating than that woman.

Despite the anxiety she felt over facing a man who disliked her, Elizabeth enjoyed this reprieve in town with the Darcys and Charlotte. Darcy and Georgiana had gone beyond the duty due to family by welcoming her, and she would miss their daily company once Lord Milton provided her funds to live on .

Elizabeth had only ever passed a few civil but cool words with Lord Milton. He had given her an admiring look when they first met that she could not help but be conscious of, but no matter how handsome he might have found her, his brother’s marriage was a degradation in his mind. She looked at Darcy across the carriage. He might have agreed with Lord Milton’s feelings about her lack of fortune and connexions, but he had accepted her because Fitzwilliam loved her.

It spoke to the goodness of Darcy’s character.

She blew out a breath and looked out the side glass. Love made one vulnerable, and marital love was not worth the risk. She had survived alone in Spain; she would manage her new life alone, too.

She liked Darcy, and not because her first husband had been his friend. He had patience, a dry humour, and a depth of emotion that had taken her by surprise. But admiring a generous and handsome man hardly felt right when she would never trust anyone enough to marry again.

“Are you well?” Darcy asked in a tone of concern. “It will take some convincing, but I can bring Milton to reason.”

She could not say she was actually thinking he was a very attractive man. “What was their relationship like? The brothers?” she added to clarify. “They were close in age but could hardly stand to be in the same room.” Lord Milton’s resentment of Fitzwilliam would be a hindrance to their cause.

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling of the carriage taking them to Grosvenor Square. “Milton is proud of being the eldest and the heir,” he said slowly, “and Fitzwilliam never cared about that in the least. He was never bitter about being the younger son nor thought that his brother was special because he was the heir.”

“I remember him saying nothing could be done about one’s birth order and there was no reason to give it another thought.”

“They were both naturally competitive, far more than I was. I am not sure if it was because they were brothers or their differing personalities, but they strove to best one another. I think Fitzwilliam simply enjoyed winning, but his brother wanted to prove he was worthy of respect. But Fitzwilliam would never defer to his brother because of his rank, and that was the only thing Milton ever wanted from him.”

Delightful. Lord Milton wanted the distinction of rank preserved so much that he could not love his own brother. That did not speak well to him supporting his brother’s widow. “It is a shame they were not closer. My sisters were all important playfellows to one another, and I remember being instructress and nurse to the younger ones. I may not be ready to spend many days at Longbourn now, but I love all of my sisters.”

“They could never enjoy one another the way your sisters do, which is unfortunate since they were born scarcely a year apart and no other children came.” His tone softened, and he looked at his hands. “That is common in my family.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother, her sister Lady Catherine, Milton’s wife Lady Mary. They each had one healthy child, and then a series of stillbirths or miscarriages. Lady Catherine had my cousin Anne and miscarried others before her husband died, and Lady Mary had one daughter and a series of losses after that. It was as though one child was born healthy and that caused something to make these women unable to have another child.”

It was common enough. Everyone knew a family who had one healthy child but never could have another. “But you have a sister,” she said, hoping to bring his mind to happier topics.

Darcy smiled faintly. “There are twelve years between Georgiana and I, and there were miscarriages in between, from what I suspect.” He gave a sad laugh. “It has been hard to remember what it is to be a brother. I am now more like her father.”

The grief hit her with shocking force. She had not been expecting it. Her grief was no longer an abyss, but sometimes it still reached out and threatened to pull her under. She had no tears left to cry, but the pain in her heart was still a real, visceral ache.

“I am sorry,” Darcy cried suddenly, his forehead wrinkling as his lips turned down. “That is hardly a topic you would want to hear, and I should have known better. Your husband was always saying I should be more considerate of others’ feelings. It seems I still have work to do.”

“What?” she whispered, completely perplexed. “I was the one who raised the subject of the brothers.”

“I mean, it was insensitive of me to talk about… that subject when you are…”

Darcy’s gaze dropped from her eyes to her stomach and Elizabeth understood him. He regretted talking about miscarriages to a pregnant woman. “No, you mistake me. I was thinking about what you said about being like Georgiana’s father now.” She gave him a weak smile. “My child will grow up without one.”

His regret at distressing her faded from his countenance, but she saw the sorrow that replaced it. As the carriage stopped before a grand townhouse, he said, “You will not receive sympathy in there, but know that my heart deeply participates in the grief that you now suffer.”

The driver lowered the steps and handed her down, her heart still beating fast at Darcy saying the one condoling thing that she wished anyone might have said to her in the past three months.

After Darcy stepped down, he said, “One more thing. You should be…” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he searched for a word. “As passive as you can, and allow me to do the talking.”

Elizabeth drew back and stopped at the stair. “Why? It is my child, my life.”

“Being outspoken will distract Milton from?—”

“I am here specifically to speak to him.”

Darcy pressed his lips together. “However much I—however much a man of sense might admire a lively and clever woman, Milton prefers a submissive and silent one.”

“I have every right to plead my own case and ensure I can keep my baby.” Even if he gave her no money, she needed his assurance that he would not petition the Court of Chancery for custody.

Darcy leant in close and dropped his voice as the door opened to admit them. “Would you rather be right, or keep custody of your child? ”

He kept his gaze on hers and must have seen the acquiescence in her eyes. He held out an arm, and she took it as they entered the house. They were shown into a library where Lord Milton stood awaiting them. She noted his resemblance to his brother. He was not as tall as Fitzwilliam had been. Lord Milton had a similar colouring to Darcy and Georgiana, but there was something in the shape of the eyes and mouth that reminded her of Fitzwilliam.

Their expression, however, held nothing of her husband’s warmth.

“Is Lady Mary here?” Darcy said when the pleasantries were done. “Mrs Fitzwilliam would be pleased to know her.”

She had said no such thing. Darcy was probably trying to impose her on Lady Mary to remove her from the room. She appreciated his support, but there was no way she was leaving.

Lord Milton scoffed and, with a disdainful look in his eye, settled his gaze on her. “I sent my wife away in case the news was true. It would be distressing for her to see that woman in that state—at such a time,” he added.

Lady Mary must have lost another child, and Elizabeth felt a rush of sympathy for the woman.

“You hardly wasted any time,” he continued, looking at her stomach. “Were you so desperate for a coronet that you would grasp at one upon a baby’s head?”

She and Darcy were both on their feet in an instant. Every time she interacted with the Fitzwilliam family, she was insulted. “I have no interest in your title!”

“That is a disgusting thing to say,” Darcy cried.

Lord Milton crossed his arms. “I do not have a son, my wife cannot carry another child, and that woman is parading her figure before me.”

“She did not come to crow over you and your wife,” Darcy said through clenched teeth. Still, Elizabeth dropped her hand from resting against her stomach. “She is here because she needs your family’s support for the maintenance of that child. Mrs Fitzwilliam has no dependence on earth, only what comes through her relations. ”

“Her situation is her own fault. That woman married a man who could not support her.”

Was Lord Milton going to act as though she was not here, as though they had not been introduced and were not legally related? “Fitzwilliam had funds,” she insisted. “He had five thousand pounds?—”

“But he invested poorly,” Lord Milton said sharply, addressing her by talking over her. But rather than continue to speak to her, he turned back to Darcy. “His bank failed. I am not about to spend five thousand pounds to reimburse his lowly widow because he invested foolishly.”

She felt her temper rise. She could not allow Lord Milton to intimidate her. “You cannot think I came here to beg you for five thousand pounds.”

Darcy gave her a look to tell her to be quiet, but she saw he was struggling to keep his patience, too. Something told her there was little love lost on both sides. Her brother-in-law seemed a jealous type, and one who wanted to be deferred to. She wondered if he was jealous of the friendship between his brother and his cousin. Or perhaps Lord Milton simply wanted his rich cousin, already master of his own inheritance, to show some awe of his future rank.

One look at the haughty air Darcy wore with Lord Milton told her that deference would not be forthcoming.

“Mrs Fitzwilliam would not presume that far on your kindness,” Darcy said coolly, “but an annuity of one hundred a year would improve her situation, and she would never trouble you again.”

Milton threw open his arms and scoffed. “She is, what, twenty? For another forty years you would have me pay one hundred a year? It may be inconvenient some years to spare a hundred or even fifty pounds from my own expenses.”

“Better than paying her a few thousand pounds all at once, but if that is what you prefer, I have nothing to say against it.” Darcy gave her a quick look. “And I presume you would agree?” Elizabeth nodded, following his instruction to speak as little as possible and hating it.

“Absolutely not. Take money away from my daughter for my brother’s widow, when he did not even provide for her? The time may come when my daughter will regret that so large a sum was parted with, let alone that it was parted with for such a woman.”

Darcy shifted his shoulders, glaring hatefully, but he kept calm. Milton had a small estate of his own that brought him three or four thousand a year. And once he inherited from his father, he would be one of the richest property owners in all of England. What a narrow-minded, selfish man.

His child would want for nothing, while hers was destined for penury.

Milton took a step closer to Darcy and kept his back to her. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Darcy, why are you putting yourself out of your way to secure her comfort?”

“Why are you not? How can you forsake a widow in her distress?”

“She will have a pension, if what I read in the papers is true.”

“That is inadequate to support a certain class of widows in a manner anywise suitable to the appointments their husbands held in the army.”

She felt more for the wives of the soldiers. Officers’ wives got some compensation, but soldiers’ wives had hardly anything. What about the wives of the men who followed her husband into death?

“A lieutenant colonel’s widow has what?”

“Sixty pounds,” she answered, although Milton was still addressing Darcy.

He answered her directly and with a look that told her it was painful to him. “If I remember from the signing of the settlement papers, you will have fifty a year upon the death of your parents. Sixty must seem a fortune, and you had best become used to your lower place.”

“Lower place?” she cried.

“Milton,” Darcy said in a low voice, “you forget yourself.”

Lord Milton gave a little conciliatory nod to Darcy that she knew had no feeling. “I mean, she will live so cheap because her housekeeping will be nothing. She will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants. Her sixty-pound pension will be sufficient. ”

“It is scarcely enough for her to afford a servant and her rent, and it is not enough to support a child.”

Lord Milton took a deep breath and gave her a long look up and down. “How is your health, Mrs Fitzwilliam?”

She exchanged a curious look with Darcy. Why would Lord Milton inquire now, let alone care?

“Are you feeling energetic, full of health and good spirits?” he went on. “Are you confident about…” He gestured vaguely in her direction.

Elizabeth brought a hand to her stomach as a sense of alarm crept up her back. “I am in good health.”

“And this money is for her to keep her child with her?” he asked Darcy. “Why would she need to maintain the child? If it is a boy, for now it would be my heir and, naturally, I would be its guardian.”

“Heir presumptive,” Darcy corrected as her heart went cold.

A fear gripped her, a fear more intense than any fear she had suffered alone in Spain. “You have inherited nothing yet. Your father is alive, and your title is merely a courtesy one. It is early to be concerned with who will be heir after you inherit the Fitzwilliam titles.”

Darcy bowed his head with a wince, and Lord Milton flashed her a look of loathing. “You would do well to remember your place! What did my brother’s will say? I am assuming you have it, as no lawyer has contacted me or my father. Who did he say was to have custody? Was your child to remain with you? Whom did he name as its guardian?” he pressed when she still did not answer.

“He did not leave a will,” she murmured.

He shook his head as though put upon by a great inconvenience. “I have no obligation to that woman, Darcy, but I suppose the unfortunate duty of that boy’s maintenance will fall to me.”

“Absolutely not!” she cried. “Your brother would not have agreed to that.”

“Then he ought to have laid plain his wishes.”

That was true, and Elizabeth felt all the burning injustice of a widow having no rights to her own flesh and blood.

“You can have no interest in your niece or nephew,” Darcy said. She heard an urgency in his voice that had not been there before. “Not when you have a family of your own and no love for your dead brother. Let Mrs Fitzwilliam keep custody of her child, give her a small amount of money so she can settle in a home befitting her reduced circumstances, and you need never lay eyes on her again.”

“If the child is a girl,” Lord Milton said to Darcy, “I need not trouble about her. I have no interest in a daughter with no property. But a boy could inherit everything. He should live with me, and I will go to the courts to make that happen.” He turned to her. “Without a child, your widow’s pension will be sufficient.”

“No!”

He drew back, as though unfamiliar with the word. More likely, he was unfamiliar with it being spoken by a woman. “I thought you had the look and manner of an upstart when I first met Lizzy Bennet. You still think you have a claim on my purse?”

“I want nothing from you except your promise that you leave custody of my child to me!”

Darcy held out a placating hand toward her, but he spoke darkly when he said to his cousin, “You cannot want to take her child from her. You and Mary might yet have a son of your own.”

A shade passed over her brother-in-law’s eyes. “I assure you, Darcy, I have no wish for my brother’s child with that woman to be heir to all that I will inherit. It is unfortunate its mother would be so ignobly connected, but it cannot be helped. It is proper for my nephew to live with me. I pity my poor wife’s feelings, but nothing can be done for it since my brother named no one else. If it is a boy, I will go to the courts to have it all arranged.”

“At least name another guardian alongside you who cannot inherit from the child,” Darcy entreated. “Since the child would inherit through his father, someone from the mother’s side should be named with you.”

“If they care, where are they?”

Darcy made no answer, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks burn in shame. Her father was the one who could challenge, and he could hardly exert himself to reply to a letter, let alone lay a claim to his grandchild in court. And her mother would say how good it would be to send this child to its rich relations so she could more easily find another husband.

Lord Milton knew he had won his point. “I will do what I must to ensure my heir’s best interests are met, and that means that lady need not concern herself with his care or upbringing. If she is due at the end of October, then in November I will send for it, if it is a boy. Then her sixty pounds will be sufficient to support her alone.”

“How can you deprive a mother of custody of her child?” Darcy asked incredulously.

Elizabeth was struggling to find words amid her swirling feelings. She sank into a chair and her breath came fast. She would flee with the clothes on her back and her baby in her arms before she gave her child over to Lord Milton. But where could she go with no money and the law against her?

“I can do as I wish,” Lord Milton said plainly. “Consider my sex, my influence, and my wealth. She has no claim to the child at all.”

“It may be right as far as the law is concerned, but good society will not stand for a respectable woman to be deprived of her child.”

“Who knows if she is respectable or not?” Lord Milton retorted with a disdainful look her way. “She was married for, what, a month? Two? No one knows her, and she is no one of consequence, and we both know the courts would side with me.”

Darcy’s eyes blazed. “You can also be certain that if you cut off your brother’s widow and then petition the courts to take Mrs Fitzwilliam’s child for no reason aside from your dislike of them both, I will tell everyone exactly what you have done.”

Lord Milton and Darcy stared at one another for a long moment. Her brother-in-law then gave a scornful little smile to Darcy before looking at her again. “I am not a heartless man, Darcy. I suppose she can stay with us—under certain conditions—to be near her child.”

His scrutiny made her uncomfortable. Since she was fifteen, she had been aware of men’s gazes and what they meant. They were admiring in their own way, and sometimes she was flattered by the notice. They could also discomfort her, however fleeting they were. Men too old, or those who stared too openly, or those whose look was darker than a passing appreciation for a pretty face. Lord Milton’s rapacious stare made her feel like prey.

Whatever conditions he set, she was certain it would compromise her integrity to cede to them.

She sensed Darcy had not understood the glance she had just received. He continued to press for Lord Milton to leave her and her child in peace. “Petition to be its guardian if you must, manage his education when he is older and ensure he is cared for, but leave custody to Mrs Fitzwilliam.”

“A father has the right to care for and educate his child, and if the father is dead, why not his brother? The law would agree with me. A mother has no natural rights.”

Darcy opened his mouth to argue, but Lord Milton interrupted him. “Let us not worry about that yet. It might be a girl.”

For a moment, Elizabeth resented he would steal her child only if it were a boy. Then Lord Milton continued, “The child could die, and so could that woman. You and I can set all this aside until we know if it is a boy and if they both survive, and then you and I can discuss their maintenance.”

Elizabeth’s hands clenched at her sides. “You will have no say at all in my child’s life! This interview is over.”

She crossed the room and tugged the bell pull herself, and Lord Milton’s eyebrows rose to his forehead. When the servant entered, she called for Darcy’s carriage. She was seething and would not stand to be insulted and plotted against for another moment.

The silence, the tension, while they all waited for the carriage, was excruciating.

“I see you are still wearing a black armband,” Lord Milton finally said to Darcy. “Usually one only wears black a few weeks for a cousin.”

Darcy flinched. “He was more like a brother,” he said in a strained voice. “I see you have already left off your black.”

Lord Milton scowled at Darcy’s short tone. “No one could say my three months in black was inappropriate. ”

“I am surprised you did not rip down the black crepe as soon as your parents left town.”

They heard the carriage stop in front of the house. Elizabeth strode toward the door and she heard Darcy follow. As they neared it, Lord Milton called after them, “We will revisit this in the autumn. Keep me apprised, Darcy. I wish you good health, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”

At the steps of the carriage, Elizabeth recoiled. She was not about to get into another confined space with another man who might tell her what to do. She tore her hand from Darcy’s grasp and turned down the street.

“What is the matter?”

“Leave me be!” she cried over her shoulder. “I will walk back!”

Darcy called after her, but she kept walking. She hoped he would not follow. He seemed like the kind of man who might. He would follow her out of concern rather than to force her into the carriage, but she was not ready to talk about what had just happened.

Her heart pounded as she strode down Brook Street, away from Milton’s home, and allowed herself to be swallowed by more passers-by. Darcy was not following on foot, and the carriage would have caught up to her by now. She was glad he let her go, because she would have been too furious to be civil.

That conversation was a complete failure. She had presumed her inferior birth would be mentioned, and then perhaps after some back and forth, Darcy would convince Lord Milton to deign to give her a thousand pounds to make her go away.

And now she might lose custody all because her husband had not laid plain that yes, in fact, she did indeed have a right to keep her own child.

How dare Fitzwilliam not write a will! Darcy had asked about it after learning about the bank failure, and even Milton expected her to produce it. If they expected him to have written one, why had he not? Husbands, even good men like hers had been, could not be relied upon.

She was angry at her dead husband for leaving her in this terrifying situation, angry at her father for not setting aside money for her to take care of herself, angry at Darcy for raising her hopes for her future situation, and angry at Lord Milton for being a horrible human being.

By the time she got to Bond Street and walked down it to Piccadilly, she felt tired and hungry. Her child was telling her to go back to Berkeley Square, because before she was pregnant she could have walked three times as far without tiring. She wondered when she would feel the flutters of movement her mother mentioned.

Little though she liked it, she had to return to Longbourn and prepare for the arrival of this child. Survive one day at a time like she had in Spain. Lord Milton would be dealt with later, if she had a boy, but she had more immediate concerns before her. She had to ask Darcy to send her back to Hertfordshire.

She was still angry, though, desperately angry at being let down by the men society expected her to depend on. Her husband, her father, and her brother-in-law had all forsaken her. She could not rely on any man, and yet as a woman, she had no rights at all.