Page 13 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma

Mrs. Darcy saw her husband turn away from their son, and she walked through the dancers, nodding and smiling here and there as she went, until she reached her husband’s side and took his arm.

“I see you have found Fitzwilliam. Was all well? I think he had better dance with Miss Partridge, or perhaps Miss Elwood, next.”

“My dear, I must speak to you privately for a moment, if you please. Come into the supper room.”

They adjourned there, in the hope that the guests would think they were attending to last-minute arrangements for the repast. It was fortunate that the room was empty, except for half a score or so of servants.

These were busy enough laying out the six couple of roast fowl, the twenty pheasants, the baron of beef, the venison pies, gooseberry pies, and plum pudding, and they had no time or inclination to pay the least attention to their master’s private conversation with his wife.

“Mrs. Darcy, it is inconsiderate of me to trouble you with this matter tonight, and in the midst of a ball, but you must know it without delay.”

“Oh, what is the matter?” she cried.

“Fitzwilliam has proposed to Miss Wickham.”

Elizabeth sank into one of the gilt dinner-chairs. “Oh, no! You told me that he promised, so faithfully!”

“I hardly believe Fitzwilliam knows what it is to promise something faithfully. I am very much disappointed in him. But she will be his wife, unless we can do something about it, and that quickly,” said Mr. Darcy.

“What, what can we do? He is of age; he has proposed, and if the match is broken off, he will be guilty of breach of promise, will he not?” asked Elizabeth.

“Would not that be better than his having such a wife? And perhaps some influence can be brought to bear to prevent such an eventuality. Unfortunately, his obtaining my permission is only a moral, not a legal, obligation. I can hardly justify disinheriting him, because we do not approve of his wife.”

“The scheming creature! This is all her fault. Fitzwilliam never was tempted to behave in such a way before. Oh, what a mistake to have Lydia’s daughters here—how I repent it! She must leave at once,” said Elizabeth emphatically.

“Not, I hope you mean, while the ball is going on.”

“No; certainly not. But in the morning, we must make arrangements for the carriage to take her straight back to Newcastle and Lydia with her. We can say that urgent business called them. Oh, to be rid of them both, would be untold bliss,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.

“And it must be understood that there is no engagement. I will talk to him in the morning—but I have little hope of prevailing, after this. Fitzwilliam is his own master and unfortunately has little more sense when he has had nothing to drink, than when he has.”

“Is this the result of intoxication, then?”

“Who can say? It is immaterial now. The wonder is how we ever came to have such a son, Elizabeth. You, the cleverest woman I know, and I hope I am not deficient, but Fitzwilliam is so intolerably stupid that I can hardly fathom it.”

“Do not say such things in anger, my love. He is able enough; it must be that, as our first child, we spoilt him—first born, first fed you know—and thence comes this lack in him, of consideration, of feeling. But to think of such consequences as this! It is what nobody does think of, when they let their little child have all that it wishes.”

“I do not think it is any of your doing, Elizabeth. Do not blame yourself. Neither of us treated him any differently than we did his brother and sister, and in the event, it is useless to repine.”

“Of course it is, but you know, Darcy,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully, “I think there was different treatment. You doted on Jane; I doted on Henry; and our great, lubberly boy, the least lovable of the three, grew up rough and uncared for.”

“I hope not. And we may be able to do something with him yet. He has not a bad heart, and perhaps there is no real harm in the girl.”

“That, I fear, is too much to hope. Where Fitzwilliam is weak, Miss Wickham is positively pushing, and she was too much for him, in this instance,” said Elizabeth.

“I tremble if it is so,” said Mr. Darcy, “but you have seen more of her than I have. There is no hope, of course, of her parents’ withholding their consent.”

“My dear! You ought not to indulge in pleasantries at such a time. You know it to be impossible. But Cloe! Dreadful. I had forgotten. She is perfectly guiltless; must she be sent off, too?” asked Elizabeth.

“If one sister goes, I should think both must.”

“Oh, dear, does not mischief come in by the pound and go away by the ounce? Henry will be sorry. He has grown so fond of Cloe; and so has Jane, of course,” Elizabeth lamented.

“My dear wife, I trust you are not implying that both our sons have fallen in love with their cousins. That really would be too much,” said Darcy.

“It is too much; but I fear it is so. I have never seen Henry so attentive to a young woman, and Cloe is all she should be, all that I could want in a daughter. Oh! If only this had not happened, we might countenance one cousin-marriage.”

“I don’t think I could. But this is faulty reasoning, Elizabeth. Why should one match of that sort disgust you, and another, exactly like, not be seen in the same light?”

“That is very true,” she said slowly, “and yet there is a difference. Fitzwilliam’s behaviour stamps his match as a disobedient, disobliging one, formed in error, and to be repented of.

My dislike is based on a matter of character.

Cloe is a very different kind of young woman from her sister, who is vulgar, presuming, untamed, like Lydia.

There is nothing in Cloe’s character to make a marriage with her objectionable; barring the degree of affinity, I think Henry could not find a better partner.

And oh! That the first, disgraceful match, should prevent the other from ever becoming a reality!

But Henry would not marry where his brother had already brought such distress upon the family.

Mr. Darcy, shall we send one sister away, or both, or neither?

It is a dreadful dilemma, to be sure, and I don’t in the least know what to do. ”

“We will consider it tomorrow. We have guests to attend to now, Elizabeth, and must be no longer absent.”

“Yes, we have been gone too long. Heavens, what suspicions must Lady Catherine have formed, by this time? That this should happen directly before the eyes of nearly every connection we have in the world! We could not make a more public spectacle, if we had studied for years. I could not have believed it. Well: we must put the best face on it, but I don’t know whether they must be sent packing in the morning, or not. ”