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L ord Archibald Chamberlain had spent the last two-plus years searching—when he was not busy with his duties at Hertford Willows—the estate which came with his title—for a woman who he could love and respect.

He thought he had discovered a few who may fit with him, but no sooner had he scratched the surface of their characters than he discovered they were as bad as the rest; they only hid their true selves better than most. He was to turn thirty on the morrow, the seventh day of January, and he would have to submit to his father’s choice of a wife, as his honour would not allow him to renege on the agreement he had made with his sire.

Over the last few years, the Marquess had attended far more balls, routs, and musicals than he would have chosen to attend. He was no misanthrope. He was sociable; however, he did not enjoy the games played by members of the Ton , and especially not the debauchery or hypocrisy.

Spending time with good friends who shared his disdain for the debauched behaviour of many in society was always a pleasure for him.

He had become very close with his older cousin, by about seven years, John Russell, who had been elevated to the Bedford Dukedom when his father had passed away some three years past. Aunt Rose, Hertford’s late mother’s sister, was like a surrogate mother to him.

She had only come out of mourning a month ago, just after the three-year mark since her husband, the late Lord Francis Russell, had been called home to God.

He had spent quite a lot of time visiting his sister, Leticia, and brother-in-law Hubert at their estate, Rivington in Surrey, along with his nephew and possible heir to the dukedom, Anthony, who was eleven, and nieces, Loretta and Marjorie.

The girls were nine and six respectively, and loved spending time with Uncle Archy.

Through the Barringtons, he also spent time with their good friends the Portnoys, who had married the same year as Leticia and Barrington.

Edith Portnoy, née Darcy, and her husband Ernest, lived in Nottinghamshire on a fairly large estate, Portnoy Run.

Thanks to his late mother’s friendship with the now late Lady Matlock he had known of the Darcys, the Marquess had not spent any time with the Darcys socially.

Notwithstanding that he had spent quite a bit of time at Castlemere—the estate where his late mother was interred—over the years, which shared a fairly long border with Pemberley.

However, after coming to know the Portnoys, and as his friendship with the Fitzwilliams deepened, Hertford had been in company with the Darcys more frequently, and his friendship with them had begun to bloom.

Over the last year or so, he had visited with the family in both London and at Pemberley and had come to like and respect Robert Darcy.

There had been other changes for members of the circle with whom he surrounded himself.

Just a little more than a year ago, within a month of one another, first Lord Willard Fitzwilliam and then his beloved Hildegard had left the mortal world.

As such, Reggie and Elaine Fitzwilliam were now the Earl and Countess of Matlock, and their eleven-year-old son, Andrew, became Viscount Hilldale.

Spending time in company with the aforementioned people made Lord Hertford feel at home.

They shared his values, especially about only wanting a love match, were of good character, and were not false.

An added attraction for spending time with his new friend, Darcy, was the fact that Pemberley had a private library like he had never seen before outside of the one at Falconwood.

When he was with his group of friends and family, Archy was able to forget about the sword of Damocles his father was holding over his head with regards to marriage.

Even Leticia had tried to intercede with their father, but he had been adamant and refused to relent from his position. In the past, before their mother was taken from them, the Duke almost never refused his daughter anything it was in his power to grant her.

The only saving grace for Lord Hertford was the fact that his father was visiting their satellite estate, Greenfield, in County Cork in Ireland.

He would be there for some months, so Archy felt like a condemned man who had a temporary reprieve.

Greenfield was a large estate, the third largest of the Chamberlains’ estates, and had a rather sought-after horse breeding programme.

It was one of the few estates in the realm which raised Arabians.

The fact was that there were only two properties entailed to the dukedom.

The main estate of Falconwood and Hertfordshire House in London.

In wealth, for non-royals, his father was second only to the Duke of Bedford.

Among other things, the family owned some rather extensive shipbuilding yards.

His late Uncle Russell had wanted to purchase the yards from Father, but his pater had demurred.

The Marquess had already decided that if Cousin John raised the topic with him after he ascended to the Hertfordshire title, he would sell them to the new Duke of Bedford.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

No matter what she tried, Fanny Bennet was unable to convince her husband to adopt her beautiful daughter, Jane. If that were not bad enough, she had become with child in mid-1790, and suffered through all the sickness and other travails of being in the family way.

The only advantage was much to Fanny’s relief, as soon as she told Mr Bennet she missed her first courses, her husband had willingly ceased his bi-weekly joinings with her.

Since they married, other than during her monthly indisposition, he had come to her on Monday and Thursday nights.

At least when she had coupled with her late husband she had somewhat enjoyed the act.

That had never been the case with Thomas Bennet.

On the fifth day of March 1791, after sixteen torturous hours of labouring, Fanny had delivered the babe she had been carrying.

Not only was the wilful thing born a girl, but she had darker colouring like her father’s late mother.

It had refused to be the needed son which would save her from her husband laying with her and end the infernal entail.

Mr Bennet named the thing for his mother, Elizabeth Rose.

Fanny had refused to feed or take care of the child.

It would not be pretty like Jane, and worse, it was a girl.

Her husband had troubled himself to engage the wife of a tenant who had recently given birth to a son, as a wetnurse.

How Fanny resented that tenants had sons, and she was cursed with a daughter.

At least the disobedient babe would live and be fed in the tenant’s cottage until she no longer needed a mother’s milk.

If Fanny had her way, Lizzy, as her husband referred to her, would never come back to the manor house and pollute her beautiful Jane.

It had been a year since the birth, and much to her pleasure, Fanny had not been in the thing’s company.

If she had her way, she would never see her ever again.

Jane had recently turned four and looked just like Fanny had at the same age.

She was not quite as lively as Fanny would like, but she was working on that aspect of Jane’s character.

Now that her daughter was able to understand more, Fanny had increased the instructions she had been giving Jane to prepare her for her future.

She made certain that if that Lizzy was ever brought back into the house, Jane would have nothing to do with her.

A few days after the birth, her daughter had asked Fanny why she had been screaming the way she had.

It was a good opportunity to begin to make sure Jane would have nothing to do with her half-sister.

She told Jane it was all pain caused by the demon child who had refused to be a son.

Jane had insisted she never wanted to know that thing.

When her husband spoke of bringing the demon child back to the manor house, Fanny had caterwauled so loudly and for so long, he had agreed to leave her where she was.

Fanny’s father had passed away three months previously, but she refused to mourn him given how he had reacted to her elopement and her allowing the late Captain to lie with her before they were married.

In her mind she had done nothing so very bad.

When she went for the reading of the will, her decision not to mourn had been reinforced.

Her father had left neither her nor his only grandchild anything!

She had told herself her father would restore her lost dowry and had been disappointed and angry when he had not.

She had demanded that her brother-in-law read the will again to find her missed bequest. There had been nothing.

She had cared not when both her sister and brother had berated her for the way she was acting.

She was the wife of a gentleman, and they were connected to trade.

Now she was approaching another lying-in, having thankfully fallen with child not long after her husband began his distasteful calls to her bedchamber again. She was sure this would be the hoped-for son.

It was not; on the twelfth day of September another girl was born.

She was named Mary and sent out to the cottages to be with her wilful sister.

To make matters worse, the new one had similar colouring to her unnatural sister.

Worst of all, it meant that as soon as she was fully recovered, Fanny would have to suffer her husband’s bi-weekly visits to her once again.

February 1793