Page 17 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners

Lord Glentworth declined Lord Limerick’s invitation to spend the festive season in town. It was no secret to Elizabeth that her father hated London, but he need not consort with anyone outside their family circle, which rendered his obstinacy bordering on the ridiculous. Not to mention he further angered the marquess, who wore a thundercloud over his head when he read his nephew’s letter.

“It appears that we have no choice but to celebrate Christmas at Longbourn,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “But mistake me not. By Twelfth Night, we shall all be gathered in this house. Including your recalcitrant son.” He scowled over the letter at his sister.

“Certainly, Henry,” she agreed.

Elizabeth saw the uncertainty flickering across her grandmother’s countenance and sought to appease her.

“He who lives to make sport for his neighbours, and laugh at them in return, will not lack entertainment in town…”

With the implication that the entire family would join them in London after the festive season, completing the refurbishing became an urgent matter. The next two weeks were spent finishing the family rooms and shopping for gifts. Most of their acquaintances had left to spend Christmas at their country estates, so there were hardly any social obligations. They left for Longbourn on the twenty-fourth and enjoyed a lovely family dinner. The days in between Christmas Day and the new year were delightfully spent playing games and cards and eating well beyond what was necessary. But a storm was brewing. Uncle Henry was becoming restless, and her grandmother became more uneasy with each passing day.

The Gardiners left on the second of January, but due to Charlotte’s wedding to Mr Collins on Thursday the ninth, the Glentworths wished to stay beyond Twelfth Night and leave for town on the tenth.

Charlotte came to say her goodbyes on Wednesday. She entreated Elizabeth to write often and consider visiting Kent as she was unlikely to return to Hertfordshire soon. Sir William and Maria were to go in March, and Charlotte suggested Elizabeth might join them if she liked. Elizabeth did not refuse but neither did she make any promises as she foresaw little pleasure in a visit to Mr Collins’s abode.

Charlotte and Mr Collins were wed on a frigid morning. The bride and groom set off to Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say on the subject as usual. After half an hour of gossip on the church steps, frozen fingers and toes forced the Longbourn residents to make a hasty retreat. Whilst everyone fought for a place closest to the warmth of the fire, Uncle Henry reminded them to finish their packing. They would leave for town on the morrow, at first light.

“You may go on without me,” Lord Glentworth proclaimed.

“Out of the question!” Lord Limerick boomed. “You can no longer delay fulfilling your responsibilities.”

“I loathe the peerage and have no wish to join the scheming miscreants,” Lord Glentworth growled.

Elizabeth regarded her obstinate father, who looked inordinately vexed.

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your book room?” the marquess suggested with a nod at the ladies.

“You can have nothing to say to me that cannot be voiced with my family present,” Lord Glentworth retorted.

“Then allow me to remind you that I am a member of that peerage you deem so unworthy,” replied Lord Limerick.

“By merit, not by an undeserved birth right,” Lord Glentworth contradicted. “The two do not compare.”

It was true. The Marquess of Limerick had once been the son of a protestant bishop who was elected to the Irish Parliament. Upon his father’s death in 1794, he had inherited his barony and taken his seat in the Irish House of Lords. After the untimely death of his wife, he made politics his career and held such offices as Keeper of the Signet and Privy Seal of Ireland, Clerk of the Crown, and Hanaper of Ireland.

Following the Act of Union, he became a representative peer in the British House of Lords. As a renowned Unionist, and a close friend of the Prince of Wales, he was awarded the newly created earldom in 1803. When King George’s illness made his son Prince Regent, the long friendship earned him the elevation to marquess.

“I can say the same for you. You have earned your place in the House of Lords. I expect you to honour the obligations that I have bestowed upon you.”

Lord Glentworth blinked. His uncle was a fierce debater who was never at a loss for words. Elizabeth was impressed that he had made her stubborn father waver in his obstinacy, but it was not so strange; there were few people her father liked, and even fewer he respected, but the Marquess of Limerick was one of them.

“I am grateful for the honour you have bestowed upon me, but you are still of a sound mind and an excellent representative of our family in the House of Lords. I shall do my duty when I no longer have a choice in the matter,” Lord Glentworth declared.

“Then I proclaim that your choice is hereby irrevocably rescinded. I am in my seventh decade, and you have much to learn. I shall not be moved in this. We leave for town on the morrow. If I have to use force, I shall not hesitate to cast you in irons to accomplish it.”

Lord Glentworth’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he hung his head. “How can I abide the cruelty of town, hobnob with the despicable peerage—associate with the malefactors that killed my twin sister?” he spoke sotto voce . “I simply cannot abide the thought…”

Elizabeth was shocked. Her grandmother had begged her not to enquire about her daughter, but not for a moment had she imagined murder could be the reason.

The marquess modulated his voice and spoke matter-of-factly, as one would to a child. “I am not unfeeling as to your loss, especially considering the tight bond the two of you shared, but Catherine would never wish for her demise to haunt every aspect of your life. She was lively and vivacious, as were you before all of this happened. As for the Campbells, who must take the majority of the blame, the likelihood of encountering any of them is slim, and the baronet died last May.”

It was the third time Elizabeth had heard mention of someone with the name Campbell; it could not be a coincidence that none of them were pleasant… Had her aunt Catherine been run over by a carriage, shot, or fallen at the hand of an abusive husband? Elizabeth’s imagination reeled with possibilities, each one more outrageous than the last.

“Am I to have no say in the matter?” Lord Glentworth complained.

“No. You should let your mother’s excellent example guide you. She has managed her grief and does what is expected of her and beyond, though she was not spared the gruesome sight any more than you.” And so, the marquess ended his tirade.

“Papa!” Elizabeth cried.

“Not now, Lizzy.” He dismissed her and stormed to his book room with his mother and wife trailing close behind.

The five Glentworth sisters all turned to the marquess for enlightenment.

“The less said about old grievances the better,” their uncle replied to the unspoken questions. “I say it is best not to burden you lovely young ladies with what cannot be undone. I suggest you go to your rooms and finish your packing.”

All the sisters did as he demanded, albeit reluctantly. They gathered in Jane’s room and soon discovered that not one of them had any idea what had happened. The only one who knew a Catherine Bennet had ever existed was Elizabeth, who had happened upon her portrait in her grandmother’s bedroom. She gave as accurate a description as she could of the young blonde girl and her eerie resemblance to their father. It was strange indeed that she had never been mentioned, and that alone provoked wild speculations for the rest of the evening. But no begging or cajoling remotely tempted the adults to reveal anything of significance. In this instance, even their mother remained tight-lipped.

As Lord Limerick had declared, the entire Glentworth family left at the break of dawn in a three-carriage procession. In the first carriage, while the gentlemen sat silently glowering, the dowager reminded her daughter-in-law about an oft-discussed subject. The expectations in town regarding a prominent family with five daughters differed vastly from the country. It was not done to have all daughters out at once. When Lady Glentworth protested, Mrs Maeve Bennet gently reminded her of the considerable cost to have all five girls fitted at once. Not that they were poor, but they were not made of money. She brooked no opposition; Lydia and Kitty were too young and wild to be out, and she suggested Lady Glentworth should hire a governess at the first opportunity. Mary had declared herself not out and was allowed to wait another year.

In the second carriage the four eldest sisters continued debating the mystery at hand, whilst a sullen Lydia had to ride with three upper servants. Mrs Maeve Bennet’s lady’s maid had once been a governess but had chosen to train herself for a different profession after minding a particularly exuberant flock of children. She had the youngest Bennet daughter well in hand by the time they arrived at Limerick House, and Lydia’s mood improved upon espying her refurbished chamber. Limerick House was grand enough that all the sisters had their own room, and for one who had shared all her life with a snoring sister, such a luxury was a blessing indeed.

They settled easily into town life, and a selection of governesses were interviewed over the coming days. After a week, the knocker was put up and the parlour readied for callers. Mrs Maeve Bennet predicted a plethora of curious visitors and declared that only Elizabeth and Jane would receive them, with herself as chaperon. Lady Glentworth adhered to her mother-in-law’s strictures with alacrity and declared that her nerves needed a bit more time before entering London’s superior society.