Cause to repine, p.1
Cause to Repine, page 1
Published by
Storm Haus Publishing, LLC
www.StormHausPublishing.com
Copyright © 2023
by E.M. Storm-Smith
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the United States, International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed sold, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission, except for statuary uses, the use of brief quotations in a book review, and other quotations with appropriate reference in legal fair-use. Unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain shall be pursued to the fullest extent of the law.
Publisher’s Note: This work of fiction is a product of the writer’s personal imaginings. It is not intended to be a factual representation of events, people, locales, businesses, government agencies, or any other entity. While all works of fiction are based on the perceptions, insights, and experiences of the author, any resemblance of the names, characters, places and incidents to actual persons, places or events is completely coincidental.
Cause to Repine / E.M. Storm-Smith – 2nd ed.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7374039-2-0 electronic format
ISBN-13: 978-1-7374039-3-7 paperback format
Original cover artwork by Louisa Cannell
For Charlie. Always and Forever.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 Dancing in the Country
Chapter 2 Blossoming Friendship
Chapter 3 A Better Understanding
Chapter 4 An Excellent Judge of Character
Chapter 5 Tell Tale Letters
Chapter 6 Dancing in Society
Chapter 7 One Proposal and Two Broken Hearts
Chapter 8 Departures
Chapter 9 Grey January Days
Chapter 10 Chance Meetings
Chapter 11 Grand Introductions
Chapter 12 Revelations
Chapter 13 Confrontation
Chapter 14 Atonement
Chapter 15 Caught in the Rain
Chapter 16 Reunited At Last
Chapter 17 Pleasing Company
Chapter 18 Happy News
Chapter 19 One Proposal and Two Broken Hearts (Take Two)
Chapter 20 Joy and Tears
Chapter 21 Summer Plans
Chapter 22 Travelling North
Chapter 23 The Sun Also Shines
Chapter 24 Tell Tale Letters (Take Two)
Chapter 25 Respectability
Chapter 26 Return
Chapter 27 The Countess
Chapter 28 A Tale of Two Families
Chapter 29 Dialogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
The crunching of the gravel along the drive was unusually loud in the early predawn morning calm as a single carriage ambled away from Pemberley Manor. George Darcy stood on the front steps and watched as his son’s beautifully matched greys pulled him towards the road. Fitzwilliam Darcy, George’s oldest child and only son, had come home after the end of the London season in July, then stayed for two months complete.
It was a gift to have his son home for such extended time. When George’s great-aunt passed several years ago, leaving an independent estate in Wales for his son, the younger Darcy had started living most of the year at Cresselly Park. A naturally shy and unsociable young man, Fitzwilliam Darcy had been all too happy to bury himself into working on his new estate, learning all the tenants needs and taking his position as magistrate in the community seriously. It was extremely admirable. Everything that George had come to expect from his diligent, intelligent, and responsible son.
But it was also extremely lonely.
George was worried for his son. Approaching his twenty-seventh year, Fitzwilliam had few true friends and even fewer prospects for a bride. Though he professed a sincere desire for a wife and family, George had heard his son just the night before expressing lament over finding a woman with whom he wanted to spend his life. If the landscape of marriageable ladies and the London marriage mart did not change significantly in the next year, well, George did not want to think about alternatives. Fitzwilliam was tall, handsome, educated, and wealthy. Even without his eventual inheritance of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy was in the top one thousand landowners of the ton with just Cresselly Park. Once the estates were combined, Fitzwilliam would be wealthier than most of the earls with permanent seats in parliament, and maybe even some of the nonroyal dukes. There was no shortage of titled women who would cut off their own heels to become the next Mrs. Darcy, which was essentially the problem. Fitzwilliam was not interested in any of the mercenary women who pursued only money and status.
He was too much like his late mother.
Several moments after the carriage was firmly beyond the bend in the road, George sighed, then he reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out a stack of letters addressed to his son.
The first two were from George’s sisters-in-law, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Josephine Finch Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock. Having lost his Anne shortly after the birth of their daughter, Georgiana, Lady Catherine, as the elder sister of George’s late wife, deemed it her duty to provide motherly guidance to George’s children. Most of the time, her purposes were very well intended, even if her manner was always a bit intimidating. George had some disquiet about keeping her correspondence from his son and had even given Fitzwilliam one of the pages of the letter detailing Lady Catherine and her daughter’s, Anne de Bourgh, summer entertainments, claiming that she had included the page with a letter to the whole family.
Lady Matlock, however, was much less interested in the Darcy siblings’ general welfare and more interested in continuing to build her family’s importance. George had not one ounce of guilt for holding back her letter, along with the third letter in the stack, which was from Lady Matlock’s brother, the Earl of Nottingham.
George turned to go back through the large front manor doors and moved towards the master’s study. Habitually an early riser, he was not surprised to see a fire already in the grate and a tea tray on the corner of his large mahogany desk. Mrs. Reynolds certainly ran a tip-top household establishment. The confiscated letters were laid on a larger stack of correspondence delivered to Pemberley in the past few weeks, and George picked up his perfectly prepared tea before starting on his ledgers for the morning.
Though, even midsummer rents and wool poundage reports could not keep George’s attention for very long. Those dammed letters and his son’s defeated demeanour kept creeping into George’s mind. He glanced back at the stack of letters.
Am I doing the right thing, keeping the earl’s request from William?
Suddenly, the sun burst over the tree line, through the high windows, and into the master’s study, brilliantly illuminating two paintings hanging above the mantle. Many visitors to George’s study over the years had commented on those two paintings, as they were quite unusual for a man of George’s status and wealth.
The first was a small charcoal drawing of a modest tenant home. There were two stories, a thatched roof, only one window on the south-facing wall, and chickens roaming about the kitchen garden. Even without colour, George could easily make out the bright-vermilion front door and the dark-grey river-stone façade. Crushed, bright-white limestone circled the small drive, which led to a two-stall horse barn. One of the stalls always had at least three pigs living there, which the horses barely tolerated. The picture had originally been drawn on a piece of discarded butcher paper. But long ago, the drawing had been recreated using fine-point charcoal pencils from a very expensive art supplies dealer in London and preserved in gum wash. A beautiful cherry-wood frame and a fine piece of cut glass had been acquired when George’s father desired to have it hung in the study.
The second piece was a slightly larger oil painting showing a lane in the centre of Derby. Modest homes lined both sides of the street, and several carriages ambled down the dirt road. In the middle of the painting was the main subject, a three-story home with a blue door and a sign declaring that the solicitor’s office was open.
George stood from his chair and reclaimed the three letters. He strode confidently to the mantle with a merry fire fluttering in the grate. One long finger traced the bottom of the frame holding the charcoal drawing, and George smiled to himself.
He tossed the three letters into the fire and watched them turn to ash.
Dancing in the Country
“Come, Sir William, you must have something more to say about our new neighbours than they are amiable and genteel! You find everyone amiable and genteel,” Elizabeth Bennet laughed. “It rather more speaks to your character than theirs.” She was having a marvellous evening. As a young woman with little in the world to cause her distress and a disposition not formed for melancholy, Elizabeth was a much sought-after companion at the Michaelmas public assembly in the town of Meryton, Hertfordshire, England.
“Now, Miss Elizabeth, that is nothing but the truth, as you can see yourself that our new neighbour is of a happy set.” Sir Willi am Lucas promoted his remarks with a pointed look in the direction of said new neighbour, Mr. Charles Bingley, a wealthy, young, and most importantly unmarried, man, who was at that moment dancing with Elizabeth’s older sister, Jane.
“I will own to Mr. Bingley being happy and amiable, but what of the rest of his party? My father would say not one word about his call to them the other day, so I must beg your indulgence.” Like many of the landed gentry throughout England, Elizabeth’s father was a well-positioned estate owner with a moderate annual income that supported his family and kept his properties and tenants in good repair. Though certainly not of London Society, the Bennet family was among the wealthiest in the area. No one who lived in Meryton and the surrounding county could claim to be of high fashion or overly fine, but the country gentlemen of Hertfordshire were all well-educated, and their wives kept generous tables.
However, it was clear to the long-time residents that, though Bingley himself was outwardly enjoying his evening, the rest of the Netherfield party was feeling all the lack of high society.
Sir William shook his head and gave Elizabeth a slightly scolding look just as his daughter, Charlotte, joined their conversation. “Lizzy, are you attempting to goad Father into saying something ungenerous?”
Elizabeth bumped Charlotte’s hip with her own and adopted an offended mien. “How you wound me, Charlotte. I am merely looking to gain a better understanding of our new friends.”
“Of course, how could I ever believe such slander of my closest friend?” Charlotte took Elizabeth’s arm and not so subtly steered her away from the circle of matrons and their husbands. “Come, dear, I am sure you are parched from dancing. Let us retrieve some lemonade and sit for a while, before my brother demands his turn around the room with you.”
Elizabeth let out another full laugh at her friend’s teasing. At one time, everyone in Meryton had thought that Elizabeth would make a match with the eldest Lucas boy, John, based mostly on their shared propensity to laugh and talk with animation during dances. As neither were inclined to marry the other, they had mutually decided, some years ago, to avoid each other during balls and assemblies to stop the gossip. Tonight was the first public dance since John married a kindly young lady from Weymouth, and he had been quite happy to be able to once again engage in diverting conversation with his childhood friend.
“We certainly cannot leave your brother dissatisfied, can we?” As Elizabeth promenaded around the room with Charlotte, she passed very close to the tall, dark haired gentleman introduced as Bingley’s friend from Derbyshire. For a moment, while she was still chuckling about John’s antics, their eyes met.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was miserable. He was only in Meryton to visit his friend, Bingley, who had taken a lease on an estate two days prior. The mayor of Meryton, a Sir William Lucas, had called on the new master of Netherfield estate the very morning before Darcy had arrived and provided tickets to the Michaelmas assembly for the entire Bingley party as a gesture of welcome. Darcy could not very well snub the local gentry by refusing to attend.
But he wished he had.
The Darcy family was squarely in le bon ton and had close connections to several peers of the realm. Even more importantly, the Darcys had money. While not holding a title himself, Darcy’s father, the current Master of Pemberley, had an annual income which exceeded many of the lesser Earls and Barons with seats in the House of Lords.
Even for those who were not familiar with the name Darcy, it was apparent by the cut of his clothes that the newest addition to Meryton’s society was a vastly wealthy man. Inside of five minutes after Darcy followed Bingley and his sisters into the hall, he had heard at least one of the local matrons whisper behind her fan that his inheritance was worth ten thousand pounds per year.
Add to the gossip a healthy dose of unceasing noise, and Darcy’s misery was complete. Contrary to the easy manner of the country gentry, the highest ranks of society were conditioned to keep their emotions and their mouths under good regulation.
Women of the ton certainly never laughed in public.
As he was trying to avoid a massive headache, Darcy had taken up a place at the edge of the room where he could avoid much of the unfettered merriment.
“Come now Darcy, I must have you dance! It is too lovely an assembly with too many pretty faces for you to sulk in the shadows.” Darcy jumped at the sudden declaration of his friend Bingley. His eyes had still been following the two young women headed towards the refreshments table and not noticed the other man walk up.
Coming back to himself, Darcy hung his head a little lower at Bingley’s words. He was a tall man, over six foot, and had always towered over much of the other people in any room. If he ever hoped to be ignored in a crowd, Darcy learned he had to retreat to darkened segments of walls where the sconces did not quite reach. Bingley had found his friend standing in these shadows many nights in the five years of their friendship and was not fooled by the poor illumination.
“Charles, you know how I detest the activity unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner, and since both of your sisters are engaged for the next set, I believe I shall not. It would be insupportable to dance at an event such as this.” Darcy sniffed as he finished his excuses and folded his arms protectively against his chest.
Bingley laughed at Darcy’s attempt at intimidation. “I would not be as fastidious as you for all of the King’s gold. Really, I am sure we can find someone appropriate for you to partner. My last dance partner has a sister who I believe is available. I can have her introduce you. I believe she is the one with that enchanting laugh.”
This piqued Darcy’s interest. He had indeed noticed the young woman who seemed to find humour in everything. She was fairly short, with a light and pleasing figure. Darcy also overheard one of her conversations with a young gentleman regarding the great threat that another war with the Americas posed to England’s ability to defeat Napoleon in Spain. He had been very impressed with her analysis of the strength of the Royal Navy and its inability to sustain two shipping blockades. Darcy’s eyes involuntarily swept the room looking for the lady in question and when he looked back, Bingley’s expression told him his friend had already discerned Darcy was intrigued.
“Charles!” Darcy whispered harshly. “I cannot do such a thing. The local gossips are already loudly discussing my inheritance, as they are yours by the way, and I would not want to add any fuel to their fire. Dancing with a lady to whom I have only just been introduced will give rise to rumours. Those rumours will give rise to expectations, and then I shall be forced to hurt the lady when I quit the region for the season. You know my family’s expectations of me!”
Bingley placed one hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “William, calm down. No one is demanding you marry the lady. I know that the London Times gossip columnist has a special obsession with you, but we are not in London. One dance will not see you engaged. And I do believe you exaggerate your family’s expectations. Surely, your father has made no demands on your marriage.”
“No, he has not,” Darcy sighed. “But the Earl and Countess have been exceedingly vocal in recent months about my marrying this year. I believe my aunt even has a particular lady specially selected. My cousin, Richard, wrote to me the last time he was in London saying the Countess was planning several early season dinner parties with limited guests in order to facilitate some level of discourse between myself and her chosen favourite.”
After another heavy sigh and a moment to collect his thoughts, Darcy continued. “Perhaps it is for the best. I am so very awkward in social settings. I cannot catch the tone of conversation, or appear interested in the concerns of others, as I often see done. If I let the Countess choose me a wife, I shall at least be free to never spend another evening at Almack’s. I have always hoped for at least some affection to be present in my marriage, but with my abominable temper for society, and general lack of ability to intelligently string two words together when in the presence of persons I do not know well, I am likely to leave Pemberley without an heir unless I allow the Countess to handle matters as she sees fit.”
