The Family at Matlock

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Chapter One: The Sheep Look Up

Since time immemorial, the Fitzwilliams have dwelt on this fair ground, this blessed plot, this England, this…!
This skanky old castle.
And it is a truth generally acknowledged, that the day Amy Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock, found a sheep in her bedroom, was the day that this Story began.
This happened to be one of the rare days when Lord Bri managed to beat his father to the breakfast – room, and therefore he wore a smug smile. The smug smile was wasted, however, as his vitriolic cousin Anne de Bourgh also beat his father to the breakfast – room.
“What ho,” said Lord Bri, always ready to play the fool in front of family, “where did you come from?” And he looked about him, as if expecting her carriage to accompany her into the room.
Anne whispered something, we shall never know what My Dear Readers, as no one ever hears what Anne de Bourgh is saying. You might grieve for this great loss, but I’m sure she only ever says things like “Pass the butter, please.” Since no one can hear her, she never has butter on her scones and so is Destined to spend her life thin as a rake and with a yellowish complexion. And she’ll never marry.
Oh dear, now I’ve gone and done it. Now we have to get Anne married, if it takes us fifty chapters to do it…!
Ah, as the Fitzwilliams (I think we shall refer to the whole extended family as ‘the Fitzwilliams’) are a theatrical bunch, the lot of them, the next Entry is done in Style to contrast with Anne de Bourgh’s entry, that one had a lower – case e only.
Lady Cecilia Fitzwilliam swept in, rosy cheeks aflame (she’s never been afraid to ask for butter), lovely golden curls around her head, all the markings of a Debutante and to underline this she is dressed in White. White, the colour of Innocence, of Maidenhood, of Virtue.
All of which are things Lady Cecilia left behind many years ago, of course. Well, she still has her Maidenhood, because this IS 1813… Or at least, because this Story is Destined for the Epilogue Abbey…
Lady Cecilia swept in, pressed a gloved hand to her brow, and sighed in Despair. (She’s one of those people who’s every gesture is a Gesture.) Her brother looked up from his kidneys. The kidneys he was eating, I hasten to ad. While capable of introspection, Lord Bri would not be that introspective.
“What’s up?” he said unsympathetically (he’s an older brother, unsympathy is his job), and chewed on some kidney.
“I can’t stand this place!” Cried Lady Cecilia (but we’ll call her Cis, as she’s among Family right now), and slumped in her chair. It so happened, that this chair was Anne’s chair (and you will find out Eventually that this chair is a Chair, too) (yes subtle is my Middle Name), and Anne, who was over at the buffet getting some kidney, gasped in despair as her seat was taken, nay, Stolen, by her cousin Cecilia who honestly hadn’t paid Anne any notice for the past sixteen years.
“It’s a hole!” cried Cis dramatically, “I want to be in London! I want to have fun! I want to dance!”
“And so you shall!” cried yet another voice (oh this Chapter is filled with people, cleverly designed to lure you into reading this ditty) and suddenly Cis was grasped around the Regency waist (not too slim a one, that is) and pressed against a firm manly male masculine chest.
Gasping for breath, her nose scrunched up against his abs, Cis found herself dancing that scandalous Waltz. Her brother, ever chirpy in the morning, ran to the old piano in the corner of the room (a piano in the breakfast – room? Ah, you shall see) and started hammering out Deutschland Über Alles, this being the only thing he could play besides lovely English Elizabethan Ballads like Greensleeves.
Waltzing to this proved easy enough, as the gentleman was so tall Cis couldn’t reach the floor, and so she was swept along his odd steps and turns. After a little while, she managed to free herself and look at the person who had handled her so wonderfully brutishly. And I Swear, Lovely Readers, she would have heard the soft Haydn violins playing as she gazed into His green eyes…
Had not all the music in the room been Deutschland Über Alles ...
So she didn’t fall in love, for who could fall in love accompanied by Deutschland Über Alles played on a dinky piano by ‘Stinky’?
This chaotic scene might have endured forever, had this not been Matlock Castle, where the people live to meddle in each other’s business.
“Unhand her, Villain!” cried yet another voice, but this voice was so masculine in its command it even stopped Lord Bridge Jacques Eden Wonderful Fitzwilliam from his hammering.
All froze, even Anne de Bourgh who had been hiding in a corner, her eyes on the Chair (remember it was a Chair and not a chair?) and silence reigned in the breakfast – room cum temporaris ballroomis.
A male apparition stood upon the threshold, clutching a riding – crop and a silver bottle (and not a small one, either), and Anne gasped for the second time this morning.
“Aunt Catherine!” cried Bri, “For a moment, I feared it was Father!”
The apparition furrowed his brow.
“What? It is Father! I mean, it is I, your father! And you, Sir,” he turned to the man still clutching his daughter in his strong arms, “are to unhand my daughter at once! Who do you think you are?”
Now, we should all be relieved the Stranger (Cis calls him He, but we’ll not do that) didn’t obey, because that would have meant a most Un – Ladylike fall to the floor on the part of Cis that least needed to impact with a floor (well that was a run – on sentence if ever I saw one).
Instead, the Stranger (who most Graciously suppressed the Urge to say ‘I am Mellors, the Gamekeeper’) (I know what year this is, don’t worry, I’ll explain it) dumped Cis on the Chair (Anne, who had taken a tentative step towards the Chair now uttered gasp #3 for today and withdrew, unnoticed, into her corner) and swept the Earl a bow.
“I am Lawrence. Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence, actually.”
(The Authoress takes a break to swoon. She has just invented Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence, and this is very possibly the high point of her week.)
No one in the breakfast – room swooned however, but Bri did feel a bit queasy after all that kidney, if that helps. The Fitzwilliams are not Swooners by Nature, though as Dramatic People they could very well fake swoons, and I’m sure they will, in the Course of this Story.
Cis did think about swooning, I’ll admit, but a stern glance from her older brother (who reads her like a book) prevented her. So she pouted for all of two seconds, and then she stole Anne’s kidneys and started eating. I’m fairly certain Anne didn’t gasp a fourth time, she was near – catatonic by now and won’t make more noise (ah! The old riddle; if there is a noise, and no one hears it, is it really a noise?), and so Cis ate her stolen kidneys without a hitch.
“Are you a relative?” asked the confused Earl. You see (oh yes you will see) Matlock Castle was always full of Relatives, and you couldn’t expect the Earl to keep track of all his Relatives, could you? (Oddly enough, the Countess (and we haven’t gotten to the sheep yet) was expected to keep track of all of them.)
“Oh, no!” said Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence (What to call him?), “I don’t believe in marrying Relatives” (and oh! Had more Crowned Heads reasoned thusly!), “so I am not related to you.”
Well, GASP! Maybe we should repeat that, we got lost in the idea of Royalty marrying Wisely, all right, I don’t believe in marrying Relatives. And had your Authoress, My Dear Readers, any true power over her characters, she would explain this amazing statement at once I promise you, but the Authoress has had someone waiting in the wings for a while now, and Lady Catherine Amanda Ozark Lovelorn de Bourgh isn’t someone you dare deny anything.
Lady Catherine entered, and stood next to her brother, making everyone having to blink in confusion for a second, even their children, as, with age, the Earl and his sister had grown so alike in appearance it’s no wonder Bri didn’t recognise his Father. They both had the face of vintage pugs, I fear, and then they wore matching outfits; the only real difference was that Lady Catherine was decorated with Dead Birds and the Earl was not.
Yes, Lady Catherine wore trousers, but that should come as no surprise; she’s always worn the pants in this family.
Now, Lady Catherine had mellowed lately, due to the marriage between her favourite nephew Fitzwilliam Alexander Blessed Darcy to that woman. No, she hadn’t seen the Error of her Ways and forgiven him, not at all, but it was as if some of her… zest… had disappeared. This, however, is not something the Fitzwilliams have noticed yet (Anne has, but she’s not talking).
Suddenly Bri (that sneaky man!) decided to speak up, and so he said casually,
“Dashing’s a friend of mine, from Eton.”
AH! And with that the family was content… Never underestimate the power of the old school – chum, ‘tis the bond that builds a Regency… That, and marriage to unsuitable Persons of both sexes. You’ll see.
(I just have to add that Cis had finished the kidneys and was now attacking the ham.)
The Earl, forgetting why he was so upset a minute ago, came in to collect the brandy he wanted for his bottle. He had long ago decided never to have food before noon, drinks however were necessary. His sister used to think otherwise, but since the marriage of Fave Nephew to that woman, Lady Catherine had gone over to the other side, so to speak, and now she enjoyed her liquid breakfast very much.
“Off to hunt?” said Cis indifferently.
“Yes, the early bird gets the birds, and so on,” said the Earl. “We should be back for luncheon, unless Catherine does the deed and shoots me dead.”
“Rubbish!” snorted Lady Catherine, “I am by far the better shot!”
“We can hope,” said the Earl, and the siblings left the room, arguing loudly.

Meanwhile, in a fashionable London home, Lady Rosalind Hampton – Danvers tried to wake her husband without making it look like she did.
“Cough, cough.”
Lord Hampton – Danvers (Danvers to male friends and the Little Wife), however, slept on.
“Cough, cough.”
No response.
“COUGH COUGH COUGH oh for Heaven’s sake wake up Danvers!”
Ah. Lady Roe had her father’s (and Aunt’s) stentorian voice unfortunately.
Unfortunately for her husband, that is, who had spent long years in the Army before inheriting a title and some money, and his reflexes were as good as ever. Danvers tumbled out of bed, made a face as his feet touched the cold floor, and saluted.
“Sir! Yes, Sir!”
Lady Roe (we’ll go on calling her that, everyone does, because while she hasn’t quite gained ‘Rosalind’ yet, she wears the ‘Lady’ like a… Well it fits her) smiled sweetly.
“Oh, good, you’re up.”
Lord Hampton – Danvers sputtered, and then the chill of the floor really made an impact, and he howled. But his attempts at coming back to bed were futile.
“No, dearie, you go put some clothes on and call for a tray. We’ll have breakfast, and then you can take me shopping.”
She looked at him with her wonderful doe’s eyes and Danvers forgot the cold floor and nodded meekly.

Later, as they were having breakfast, Lady Roe felt a sudden wave of sickness hitting her.
“Uh… Eugh,” she gasped.
“I’m sorry?”
“Ahhhh… erghh,“ gurgled Lady Roe and ran to the washstand, to empty her stomach of all the lovely French Toast and kidney and ham she’d had for breakfast.
“Oh dear!” cried Danvers. “What on earth is the matter with the kidney, to provoke this?”
His wife, wiping her face, shook her head.
“I have no idea. But don’t eat more of it!”
“Will you need a doctor?”
She looked at him scornfully.
“For an upset of the stomach? I think not! I am a Fitzwilliam, we never get sick! I’m perfectly all right, I just have to…” The nausea hit her again, and she vomited.
“I’ll get Doctor Jameson,” said her worried husband. Lady Roe had an iron constitution, this was very abnormal. Maybe she was showing her true colours, he thought, after all, the Fitzwilliams were all raving mad loons, more or less.

It was almost noon when the Countess awoke. She despised mornings, and had not seen the sunrise for the past twenty – five odd years. She opened her eyes, only to look into a big, brown, friendly eye. A gust of very nasty breath tickled her ear.
“Duncan, it’s too early for that,” she said, and then she remembered that Duncan had blue eyes, and she sat up, clutching her sheets around her. She only relaxed when she saw the intruder was a sheep.
Not that Amy Fitzwilliam had anything against intruders, really, she was still beautiful despite many years of marriage and four children. Men often lost their heads when they saw her, and once she had been abducted. Ahhh, that was something…
And this was something else, she realised. This was, in fact, a sheep. She reached out and patted it on the head. The sheep licked her fingers.
“You,” said Amy, Countess of Matlock, “need a bath.”
“Baaah,” said the sheep.

Cis was Bored, so she resigned herself to Torturing her brother. This was a game she had been playing for many years, and she was awfully Good at it by now.
“So how pretty is Elizabeth, on a scale?”
“Shut up,” answered her morose brother Colonel James Eager Dapper Fitzwilliam (if you haven’t Got it by now, let me just say the Earl had the say about this son’s name…) and rolled over on his stomach. “I’m trying to read.”
“Prettier than me?”
“Than I. Prettier than I.”
“Prettier than I?”
“Shut up.”
“Prettier than Roe?”
“Shut up.”
“Prettier than Mother?”
“Shut up shut up shut up. Go Torture Bri. Go away. Begone!”
“Prettier than Anne?”
That threw him. He looked up.
“But Anne isn’t pretty! She’s sallow, and skinny as a rake!”
“So she’s prettier than Anne.”
“Why don’t you write to Roe and ask her?”
“Because I can just ask you.”
“Look, I won’t say another word about Miss Benn… Mrs. Darcy.”
“Oh, you’re no fun. You’ve been in a stew since forever over her, and I don’t even know what she looks like!”
“I’m so not in a stew!”
“Yes you are! You’re moping!”
“Arrgh!” Jamie threw down his book and stalked out of the room. Curiously, Cis picked it up. It was a book of love – poems, The Collected Love Poems of Lady Diamond Darcy – a relative of her cousin’s?
The book fell open on a dog – eared page with the poem To Elizabeth on her Wedding Day. Cis read it slowly. It was a very sad poem about this woman who thought the poet was lost at sea and she married someone else and the poet tried to stop the wedding but arrived to late and then she died of the Plague. Cis would have cried, but honestly, it was a very bad poem and so she couldn’t help laughing.

Danvers jumped the Doctor in the hallway outside her (really their) bedroom.
“Doctor Jameson, what can we do?”
The Doctor smiled.
“Make sure she takes plenty of rest, and her breakfast is all too robust for a lady in her condition. I would advise broth, and gruel, for breakfast – and no sugar on top!” He waved an admonishing finger.
“No sugar! Certainly! But… what’s wrong with her?”
“She wants to tell you herself. You make sure she eats her gruel like a good girl, all right?”
A worried Danvers promised this, and then he slowly opened the door to the bedroom.
“Darling? May I come in?”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not contagious,” replied his dear wife from the bed where she was lying. “Not for you, at any rate.”
He went to her.
“You are going to hear the taps of little feet soon,” she explained.
“Little feet? You mean, you are going mad?”
“No! I’m in a delicate condition!”
“Well of course you are, I’ll have to send you off to Bedlam if you get worse – Mother would never forgive me if I didn’t!”
“Bedlam!” she cried, “and why would your Mother say anything about anything, she loves me!”
“Ehhh… I mean, oh yes, she adores you. But… mad women can’t go traipsing about Town, you know.”
“Well, I’m not mad – having to spend the rest of my life with you I might make me go mad in the end, but at this point I’m still sane – I’m having a child.”
“????”
“I’m expecting. I’m pregnant. I’m blessed. I’m to receive the highest award, so to speak.”
His Lordship gaped at her.
“You… I… We…”
“You’ve knocked me up, yes,” she purred. “Now we have to go to Matlock.”
“To Matlock? What in heaven for?”
“Why, did you think I meant to have a child without my Mother present?”
“Your Mother is not to be trusted in emergencies!”
“Oh, and yours is?”
“My Mother…” he faltered. “My Mother… I’m going to be a father? Me? A child?”
“Yes, silly, you are. I am. We are.”
“Oh.” Lord Danvers looked at his wife for quite some time. Then he pulled her close, hugging her very hard.
“I’m going to be a Dad!”

We leave the happy young couple and return to Matlock, where the Fitzwilliams are trying to have luncheon. This is generally a time – consuming business, as the family, like all families, have lots of traditions when it comes to luncheon. Luncheon at Matlock, that is.
The Earl and his sister entered the drawing – room still dressed for the hunt, but that was all right, after all this was the country and everyone knows Nobility can dress in rags if they like, their Quality shows anyway. Blood will Tell, you know.
Lady Catherine had acquired more Dead Birds upon her person, while her brother had left a deer by the front door, if he was to be believed.
“It’s a ram,” he told his not – so – interested children, “and I’ve never seen the like, a ragged creature and you know, I suspect it’s that fabled White Hart I have shot, it’s awfully pale in colouring, at least…”
”Oh, tosh!” said Lady Catherine, “it’s a sheep, Matlock,” (she called him that, it was an excellent way to refer to him, as everyone would realise her brother was a real Earl; Lady Catherine was nothing if not Proud), “and you nearly killed the shepherd too!”
“It’s not! The sheep aren’t allowed in the woods!” cried the Earl. He collapsed in a chair; his legs none too steady after the morning’s brandy.
“It’s a sheep,” confirmed Bri, smirking. “Mrs. Reynolds “(no, not that one; you’ll see) “was asking whether she could make lamb chops tomorrow.”
“Lamb chops! Excellent!” cried the Earl, “I love lamb!”
“But it’s a sheep, can you make lamb chops of a sheep?” asked Cis.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Reynolds looked up, all of a sudden. Her spine had tingled. Hm. Someone must be talking about her. Well, if it was just Them, then that was no problem. She knew how to deal with the likes of Them.
Smiling, she went back to gutting the sheep. Tomorrow, They would get the old lamb chops for dinner. This sheep would bring her a pretty penny from Mr. Andrews, the publican at The Crown and Anchor, down in the village.

“Bah,” said the sheep.
The Earl flew up from his chair, eyes wild.
“It’s alive! The Hart is alive! Someone kill it!”
“Kill what?” said the Countess, entering the drawing – room. “Not my sheep, I hope. She’s just had a bath.”
“Your sheep?” said Lady Catherine, after thirty years her sister – in – law could still shock her it seemed. Well, Lady Catherine had never understood the woman. Why Matlock insisted on marrying the redhead in the first place, lo those many years ago, she never knew. Well, she could guess…
But while young men lost their heads all the time, they did not marry their dalliances. Alas, Amy Cameron was too high – born for a fling, and considered rather a catch for Duncan Fitzwilliam, owner of a skanky castle and enough money to get by, but not more.
“I found her in my bedroom,” explained the Countess, “so naturally, she is mine.”
“Very true, Mother,” said Bri. “That’s a policy I shall adopt immediately.”
“So it’s not the Hart?” asked the Earl, looking at the sheep from the corner of his eyes.
“I’m sure she’s a sheep,” replied the Countess in a soothing voice. “Is that Jamie on the lawn, why doesn’t he come in for luncheon…Oh that is a fine specimen.”
“What?” asked everyone in the room.
“Why, that one,” the Countess pointed at Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence, walking with Jamie and some dogs. And indeed, he was a fine specimen; tall and dark, with a firm step and impeccably tailored clothes; a white scarf thrown about his neck with careless simplicity.
Cis came to stand next to her mother.
“Oh, that’s just Him. I mean, that’s Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence. He’s Bri’s friend from school.”
“Oh, my,” said the Countess faintly.
At that point, Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence looked up, and saw the two women. He smiled at them, and made his bow.
“Isn’t it about time for luncheon?” said the Earl in a whiney voice.

“This ham is… interesting,” remarked Dash (The Fitzwilliams can’t help themselves, they give everyone nicknames all the time. They counter this habit by giving their children these very long names, and somehow it all works out in the end), and tried to swallow.
“It’s good for you,” replied the likewise chewing Lady Catherine. Around them, everyone was trying to chew the ham.
“Mrs. Reynolds is an excellent cook,” said the Countess, sipping some wine. “When I first came to live here, some years ago…”
“Not many, surely,” interjected Dash, and was awarded with a twinkling smile for his efforts.
“Not too many years ago, then, I was surprised at the, eh, rather sturdy food she prepared. But the dear Reynolds explained to me all about how good this sort of food is to your digestion. And she is very right, the Fitzwilliams are never ill.”
“Not in body, at least,” muttered Anne de Bourgh.
Silence fell across the room, except for Lady Catherine and Dash, who didn’t find anything very remarkable in this utterance. After all, Dash was a stranger and Lady Catherine had never listened to her daughter, so she didn’t know Anne had not once received butter for her toast.
After a minute, Bri broke the silence.
“Oh, like you’re the person to speak…”
He would have gone on, but was cut off by his brother.
“Shut up, Bri!”
Bri stared at his younger brother, speechless. Jamie coloured. Why on Earth had he defended Anne?
Anne didn’t care. Her eyes were on the Chair, now occupied by the Earl.
It really belonged to the breakfast – room, but no one had noticed when she moved it. Only someone had moved it again.
Misery.

Sleeping – Patterns of Some Characters in TfaM:
Early Birds:
The Earl
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Bri
Cis
Lady Roe
Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence
Anne de Bourgh
Darcy (I know he’s not in the story yet, but you know him already)
Elizabeth Bennet Darcy a.k.a. that woman
Could Go Either Way:
Colonel Jamie
Danvers (soldiers know to sleep when they can)
Late Sleepers:
The Countess
Mrs. Reynolds (the Matlock one) (that’s a surprise, no?)

Chapter Two: Next of Kin
The Gentle Authoress will now take you forward in time, two or three days, during which time nothing much happens. Oh, to be sure, stuff do happen at Matlock, but it’s more like the development of a trend than separate incidents.
This notable trend, is discovered by Lord Bri, and he doesn’t quite know how to react to that. Bri, you see, believes himself the cool, suave, ironic bystander, his image is the commentator on the sidelines. That’s what he’d like everyone to think he is, anyway. But really, he’s as Fitzwilliam as they come…
Anyway, one day Bri looked up and realised he’d not spent a moment alone with his friend, Dash. Every time Bri suggested they do something, several members of his family spoke up and wanted to come along.
Bri was not surprised his sister attached herself to Dash; he knew she was bored at Matlock, and Dash was young, handsome and… Let’s just say he cut a dashing figure. (Authoress hides from the pelted tomatoes.) Bri didn’t quite understand why his brother, the morose Colonel Jamie (one morning, the Earl forgot his second son’s name and called him ‘Morose’, because he’d been in such a stew for so long – and if it’s done once, it’s a Fitzwilliam Family Tradition), wanted to tag along so much – he put it down to that friendliness Dash oozed of.
Lady Catherine and the Earl were also quite taken with the young man, and showed this by constantly handing out good advice to him. You will Note, puts in the Noble Authoress, that the Earl and Lady Catherine, when together, act like the twins they are: in sync, so to speak.
Now, what threw Bri in a quandary, was the way his Mother acted around Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence (we have to give him his full name at least once in every chapter) (at least once). Now, Bri, being a young gentleman of the Regency Era, had ideas about how a Mother should act.
And it wasn’t anything like how his Mother acted!!!
Now, Sweet, Darling Reader, the Countess did nothing too unseemly, I hasten to assure you. She did not behave in an unladylike manner, she did not throw herself at the young bachelor, she definitively had nothing to do with the Mellors the Gamekeeper thing, and she didn’t even have her petticoats six inches deep in mud, a behaviour that nearly disqualifies you from becoming a Fitzwilliam.
Nothing scandalous at all.
But to her son, who loved her dearly but would not have minded if his Mother acted less like a Woman and more Her Age – cruel but true – this hanging about Bri’s young friend was Not Done.
She sparkled too much.
Bri, in his heart, wanted his Mother to be his Mother and not sparkle.

Bri, that Man of Principles, went to his Aunt Catherine, to see if she could do something about his Mother. Aunt Catherine was, after all, the self – appointed Guardian of Morality in the Fitzwilliam Family. Guardian of Morality and Blood (we’d say Genes, but Lady Catherine didn’t know about Genes, she only knew Blood will Tell and Biology is Destiny).
He sauntered (had he been Cis, I’d have written Sauntered, but, as Dramatic as his sister, Bri did have a… less ostentatious way to go about it) into her sitting – room, where Lady Catherine was busy embroidering a pillow and talking to herself. She wasn’t really talking to herself, Dear Reader, but Bri is like his sister Cis in that he rarely takes notice of his cousin Anne.
“…And I heard her play several times, and I must say had you ever learnt how to play the piano, you would have played so much better, but that woman has less music in her body than I do in my little finger, and therefore you have that too, I mean a lot of music in you, and we would have seen that had you ever had the possibility to learn how to play, but obviously that woman has something No Fitzwilliam has, and that, child, is womanly vile.”
“What ho, Aunt Catherine,” interrupted Bri, “talking to yourself, are you?”
His Aunt looked up at him.
“What do you want, lazy boy?” Lady Catherine had her Fave Nephew Scale, and Bri was at the bottom of it, despite his Title. This had something to Do with the Impressive Staircase at Rosings, Bri as a young boy, and several frogs… And other things, that we shan’t go into Right Now. Suffice to say, Lady Catherine had a way of talking to Bri that in another family might have been considered rude and hurtful; but they were Fitzwilliams, so Bri didn’t mind.
“Hm, that’s a nice pillow there, pretty roses and… stuff.”
“Yes, yes. Had Anne ever been taught how to sew, I’m very certain she would have surpassed even me in sewing – ability.”
Bri ignored the Anne – reference, and ploughed on.
“So… Mother’s looking cheerful these days,” he remarked, brightly.
“Your Mother has always had a silly smile on her face, ever since I knew her. I asked her, thirty years ago, I said ‘Why do you always smile Amy, there is nothing to smile at’ but she never paid me any attention. Well, look what that led too, I’m sure Fitzwilliam” (she’s talking about Darcy here) “got his ideas from your mother. Or he’d never have married that woman.”
“Um, well, Darcy seems happy at least. Like Mother… You don’t think she’s twinkling a bit much lately?”
“What? Twinkling? What manner of words is that? Slang, boy, will get you into trouble one of these days. No Fitzwilliam ever spoke in slang.”
Bri tried another angle.
“About Dash…”
“Oh!” Lady Catherine looked up. “Right, young Dashing! I’d nearly forgotten he’s to take me and Amy for a walk in the Park. Well, got to run, toodeloo!” and she hurried out of the room, very quickly for a woman of Her Age, Bri thought.
He stared into space, frowning deeply. After five minutes, her realised he wasn’t staring into space, but into Anne’s eyes. She was hiding in the darkest corner of the room. Annoying brat, Anne.
“Bah!” said Lord Bri contemptuously, and left.
“Baah!” said the Countess’ sheep, who had wandered in.
“Bleargh,” whispered Anne, she was so sick of her Family, she just wanted her Chair and some peace and quiet.

Leaving the Worried Bri, we follow Lady Catherine to the Park, she’s walking with her sister – in – law and young Dashing. Well, actually, Lady Catherine being Lady Catherine, she’s stalking ahead of Dash and the Countess, who aren’t people that stalk at all, they are people that glide smoothly, and look very handsome doing that, too: in short those two have Glamour. Lady Catherine is on her Fave Topic, breeding, only it’s dogs this time, the Earl has tried to bred good hunting – dogs for ages but he’s not quite succeeded yet.
“If Matlock wasn’t so fond of that old dog of his, if he let a new generation set the standards, why, the Matlock Hounds would once again be what they were bla bla bla bla…”
The Countess and Dash shared a Look, and drifted off to the left, while Lady Catherine was gesturing to the oaks. They drifted into the Rose Garden, which was as pretty as the one at Pemberley, and spoke of little, unimportant, things. When they came upon the old swing, why, it was only natural that the Countess would sit in it, and Dash should give her a push…
The Gentle Authoress frowns at her characters, but can’t do anything about it, so she turns her eyes to… London.

Lady Roe couldn’t remember a time when the weather was as nice as it was this week. And London! What happened to the smell and the smog and the dirty streets? And the people; how could London sport so many beautiful people? Beautiful and bright and happy, happy, happy people.
Also, except for the mornings, which were unpleasant, Lady Roe walked around smiling all the time, and so did her husband.
She had to share this happiness, Lady Roe decided, and as she was a Fitzwilliam, she couldn’t think of better people to share this with than other Fitzwilliams. In fact, she quite forgot about her mother – in – law, who also lived in London. No, only Fitzwilliams would share her happiness the right way, Lady Roe knew.
To be sure, the only Fitzwilliams in Town where not quite as… Fitzwilliamish as she might have wished, but Lady Roe loved her impaired cousin Darcy and his sister a lot, and forgave them their cool manners. And while the new Mrs. Darcy had behaved very modestly whenever they met, Lady Roe had heard it said that her family were considered eccentric.
The Fitzwilliams weren’t eccentric, of course, not at all, but didn’t mind having eccentric friends. (The Gentle Authoress is here trying to explain the mindset of the Fitzwilliams, but not quite succeeding, she fears.)
Anyway, Lady Roe went to her cousin’s Town House, and was received by Georgiana Darcy, a shy young thing who was careful not to let the Fitzwilliam in her show. Well, not much, at least.
“Lady Roe!” cried Georgiana, “How nice to see you! How are you!”
“I’m pregnant!” said Lady Roe, and beamed. This statement turned out to be a tactical mistake. Georgiana blushed scarlet, and bit her lip. In fact, she bit both her lips. And the inside of her cheeks. And then she stuffed her fists into her mouth, and all this led to her looking about five years old, and feeling like fainting might be a Good Idea. But she didn’t know how to faint, and she didn’t ever think about Pretending to.
“I… I…I…”
”Yes isn’t it great,” said Lady Roe happily, ”I mean we’ve been at it for years now, I was almost thinking…”
“Urgh,” choked Georgiana, and covered her ears. “Maybe… maybe I should go see what’s keeping my brother.”
But she didn’t get the chance to get away, as her brother and his wife entered at that moment.
“Roe!” said Darcy, pleased, “How good to see you. Georgiana why are you bent over clutching your ears?”
Georgiana straightened, still blushing.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing.”
Elizabeth Darcy kissed her new cousin, and was pulled down to sit next to her on the couch. Elizabeth was a charming young woman, but you’ve all read Pride and Prejudice so you know her already. Suffice to say she’s sparkling and witty and pretty and has a pleasing figure, or ask Darcy and he’ll tell you she’s the most beautiful, enchanting, intoxicating, adorable Woman in the world. Darcy is tall, dark, and dry and In Love. They are still newlyweds, and so they Act Silly at times.
“I’m pregnant!” squealed Lady Roe excitedly. Elizabeth gasped and then stared squealing with her, that way women do sometimes, pitch their voices really really high and make noises only other women can understand. Men think they are stupid when they do that, but what the men don’t know is that it’s a way for women to talk without their husbands overhearing.
Darcy closed his eyes in pain, and told Georgiana she was excused. Georgiana fled.
When the ladies had lowered their voices somewhat, Darcy offered his congratulations, and then he told Lady Roe she shouldn’t say things like that in front of men and children.
“Georgiana mustn’t hear these things,” he explained.
Lady Roe waved him off.
“We’re leaving for Matlock as soon as possible! I haven’t written Mother, I want to surprise her!”
“Can you travel in your condition?”
“Don’t be stupid, Darcy, of course I can travel! Really, Elizabeth, I don’t see why you married this sapskull!”
“Oh,” smiled Elizabeth, “he has his uses.” The ladies laughed and Darcy excused himself; he pretended he had Business to take care of.
“So,” said Lady Roe, “now that we are alone, you have to promise to persuade Darcy to come with us to Matlock!”
“To Matlock?”
“Of course! I’d love to have you, and the whole family is so curious about you; Darcy is such a bad letter – writer!”
“He is? I’m not sure I agree with you on that,” said Elizabeth with the fond smile she reserved for her Husband, or for thoughts about her Husband. (Elizabeth called him My Husband, in her mind, not Fitzwilliam.)
“Oh, well, it’s time you met the Family!”
“Hm, my previous experience with the Fitzwilliam Family…”
“Aunt Catherine is the worst we’ve got; you beat her didn’t you? The rest are harmless.” Assured her Lady Roe, in her most persuasive voice. After all, they were harmless… to Lady Roe.
“Oh you must come, you and Darcy and Georgiana!”
“Hm… What about your mother – in – law, Lady Caradine?”
“What about her?”
“Well don’t you think she’d like to be there when her first grandchild is born?” “Oh, well… She never did get along with the Fitzwilliams.”
“But she loves you.”
“Ye – es… Although something Danvers said the other day… Nevermind. She has two children to look after, I’m sure she won’t want to travel to Derbyshire!”
“Well you have to ask her.”
“Yes… I have to tell her, too.”
“Rosalind Danvers – Hampton, don’t tell me you’ve not told your mother – in – law you are having a child!”
Lady Roe sighed. Elizabeth was so naïve sometimes; she wrote dutifully to her whole family, even the eccentric ones, Lady Roe knew. Well, it would be a ball, to introduce Elizabeth to everyone! And then, the baby! Could life get any better?
“Come on,” said Elizabeth, “let’s go over to Cadogan Square right now and you can tell her.”
Lady Roe sighed, but obeyed. Her new cousin had a way of saying right now that was very similar to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s way of saying right now.

“Tea –time!” said the Earl, and went to pour some brandy. He’d chucked Tea on the same time as Breakfast, although still making sure he had something to drink at tea – time. He was trying to make his sister give up her Tea too, but that mission was less successful, so far. Lady Catherine enjoyed her Tea.
Cis dutifully rang for the tea, while Jamie a.k.a. Colonel Morose only turned the page in his book, and sighed.
“What are you doing here?” asked the Earl when he noticed his youngest son.
“I’m reading. Last I checked, reading was still allowed!” (Authoress interrupts with a frown to add “for the nobility” – but that’s another story.)
“I see that, I meant why are you at Matlock? Aren’t you supposed to be out doing war or something? Shoot the Frogs, eh?” The Earl made a gesture with the hand not holding a glass: bang! bang!
Morose Jamie muttered something.
“You know,” said Cis, “Father’s right: you’ve been moping around here since… Christmas!”
“Lazy boy,” said the Earl, “go back to your regiment, be a man!”
“Baah!” said the sheep.
“See, even the sheep agrees with me!” said the Earl, “it has more sense than my own son!”
“That a sheep says ‘yes’ to someone above it in the chain of command, doesn’t make it less of a sheep!” spat the Colonel and ran out of the room, nearly colliding with his brother in the doorway.
“What’s up with him?” asked Bri, looking after his brother.
“I can’t say,” replied the Earl. “Either he just made a very daring joke, or he implied things about his superiors, or he called me a sheep!”
“Maybe he did all of those things,” said Cis.
“Naw,” said Bri, “I love him like a brother, yes, yes, I know he’s my brother it’s a figure of speech, anyway Jamie never was much for innuendo and double meanings. He’s not… suave.”
“And you are?” snorted the Earl. “I ran into Catherine, she says you spoke to her inanely about twinkles! Really, son, I’ll have you know no Fitzwilliam ever spoke in slang.”
“Baah!” said the sheep. The Earl nodded.
“You know, at first it was just another one of your Mother’s crazy ideas… But I’m beginning to like this sheep.”
Bri, meanwhile, was fidgeting by the windows.
“Where is everyone? It’s past time we had Tea. Shall we ring the Kitchen again?”
He didn’t really care about the Tea. He cared about where Dash was, and with whom.

Mrs. Reynolds (still the Matlock one) felt her spine tingle yet again. They were talking about her. Oh, well. Best have the tea sent up then. It was cold, as usual: They believed that was the proper way to have it… It had taken her some time, but these days she had Them in hand. If only the Vicar wouldn’t be so nosy…! But the Vicar could be taken care of. Too.

Back in London, Darcy was pacing the floor of his (and his wife’s) bedroom. He had some rather unpleasant revelations to make to his bride of less than six months. And while Darcy was used to carry around these Horrible Secrets, he was less used to sharing them. He had shared a lot with Elizabeth, and on the whole, she’d been awfully good about it, merely refusing to marry him once or twice, insulted his Pride, thrown him to the wolves a.k.a. Mrs. Bennet a.k.a. Mother – in – Law… Yes, she’d been quite decent to him.
Of course, Darcy was madly and hopelessly In Love with Elizabeth, so all his ideas about how she would behave after more revelations were… unrealistic.
Nevermind, in case you’ve lost the drift, My Dear Reader, Darcy is trying to prepare to tell his wife a Secret and he’s panicking. There.
Elizabeth sauntered in, shaking out her gorgeous curls.
“Eh… About what Roe said…”
“Yes?”
“…About Matlock.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“Of course we’ll go, dear, it’s just that I know they’ll hate me, and frankly, being locked up in an old castle, I’m sure it’s very beautiful and awesome and all that, but I’ll be terribly lonely… Well I’ll have you, so I won’t be lonely… Right?”
She bit her lip. Darcy winced at her image of the Fitzwilliams.
“Eh… I don’t think that’s what’ll happen.”
“No, you’re right, Lady Roe has been most kind to me, I like her, and Lord Danvers, of course (he’s Odd, in a way, but he’s Odd in a nice way, so you don’t mind) and maybe the Colonel will be there!” She brightened at that. “I haven’t seen him for ages!”
“Nevermind Jamie, there’s something I have to tell you, Elizabeth.”
“…Yes?”
“Well, it’s about the Fitzwilliams…”
“Go on.”
“…”
“What?”
“They aren’t as rescoughpectable as you think…”
“Rescoughpectable?”
“Aww, all right, the Fitzwilliams are all mad as bats!” He burst out, and then he had to run away from her large, confused eyes, so he ran away from the bedroom. He ran to his Library, where he had in mind to ensconce himself, much like his eminent Father – in - Law, Mr. Bennet. But he hadn’t counted on his wife, who was in close pursuit.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy! Now you tell me what’s going on!”
“Oh, Elizabeth, I have preached and boasted my Family Pride to you for ages, and always I have concealed the Great Shame of my Family Tree… No shadow lies on the Name of Darcy, no, we have been a Proud and Honourable Family for eons. My Mother, Bless her Good Soul, was a wonder of Sense and Respectability… But she came of Impure Stock!” He sighed loudly.
“Impure Stock? Like me, you mean?”
“Yes! I mean, no! I mean… I don’t know what I mean! I can’t remember anymore, I had all these arguments in my head, since long before we married, about the Fitzwilliams, but since I met you, my head is all empty of that! Years of argumentation about Blood and Pride and Biology is Destiny has vanished into thin air, along with the Voice of Aunt Catherine! You made it all go away!”
He threw himself, desolate, into a chair. She’d leave him, now. Not that he’d got to the point yet, of course. She’d leave him on Principle. After all, he’d have left himself on Principle if he could have. Aunt Catherine’s Voice!
Then he felt himself weighed down by her (light and pleasing) figure. She wrapped her arms around him.
“And is that a Bad Thing?” she said.
“N – no… Not really. But Elizabeth, the Fitzwilliams are mad people, and I never told you!”
She shrugged.
“Every Family has it’s less successful specimens.”
“…But the whole Family?”
“That happens. And Roe seems untainted.”
“Wait until you see her along with her siblings,” he muttered darkly.
“I can’t wait.”
“…Elizabeth, are you… laughing?”

Ah, with Peace restored at the Darcy home, we go back to Matlock and check on Lord Bri, who’s forced Dash to play chess with him, in hopes the women will leave the men to their Male Stuff. But it was not to be.
The Countess was sitting on one side of Dash, her chair very very close to his, and she was leaning in and asking Dash the silliest questions about the game. On the other side of Dash, Lady Catherine was sitting very close too, and leaning in, giving him lots of advice on how the game should be played. Dash divided his attentions between the ladies, and only moved a piece at random when reminded (pointedly) by Bri it was his turn.
Not that Bri lacked Female Attention. No. He had Anne de Bourgh very very close leaning in fixating him with a mad glare, all in all making him very uncomfortable.
Bri didn’t know, of course, that he was sitting on the Chair. Anne tried really hard to quell the growl in her throat, and she almost succeeded.

The Earl and the sheep was taking a quiet walk in the Park, before going to bed.
“So, my girl, what do you think of my Park?” said the Earl contentedly.
“Baah!” said the sheep appreciatively.
“Very true, My Dear Sheep, very true! The Fitzwilliams have been kings of Matlock Castle for generations… I was born here, I grew up here, I married here, and I shall die here. In the arms of a pretty woman, he he.” He gave the sheep (shall we say the Sheep from now on?) a manly slap on what he assumed was it’s shoulders.
“Baah,” said the Sheep mysteriously.
The Sheep felt a little like it was Poe’s Raven, actually. It was a matter of timing his ‘baahs’. The Sheep thought it might actually have some fun, here among the Fitzwilliams.
And then, the Sheep found a rosebush, one with the white flowers that tastes so good.
The Earl waited patiently for the Sheep to finish.

The Morose Colonel Jamie sneaked down into the breakfast room, where there was always some bread and butter. He’d missed both Tea and Dinner, having been busy feeling sorry for himself in his room. He sat down, and ate… Only to be interrupted by a cold hand grasping his shoulder.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! Who is it… Anne?????”
It was, indeed, Anne. The pale moonlight shone in and gave her away.
“Why are you sneaking around in the dark?”
But Anne didn’t answer him. He was sitting on the Chair. Her Chair. She pouted, and went to bed, leaving a still shocked Colonel with his bread and butter.

The Sheep and the Fitzwilliams:
Likes the Sheep:
The Countess
The Earl (a lot!)
Elizabeth (!!!)
Doesn’t care:
Dash (he thinks it’s disgusting, but he’s a Guest and can’t say anything)
Anne de Bourgh
Cis
Bri
Lady Roe
Thinks it’s disgusting:
Lady Catherine
Darcy (he will)
Danvers (he’s going to Worry, too)
Lady Caradine
Wants to cook it because a Sheep is Food and not a Pet:
Mrs. Reynolds (ALL the Mrs. Reynolds, actually)
The entire staff at Matlock (they have to clean up after it, you know)

Chapter Three: Journey to the Center of the Earth

Here’s how Fitzwilliams Travel.
First, they definitively Travel with a capital T.
Second, there is always that one last thing that has been forgotten and force you to turn back to get it – ‘you’ being a whole lot of people because:
Third, a Fitzwilliam never Travels alone. Ever.
The Gentle Authoress, being fond of jumping back and forth between different characters and settings, now keeps pointing her Pen to London, but not to one of the pleasant Fitzwilliam/Darcy quarters, no, she will now drag her Dear, Sweet, Readers to a shadier part of the City.
Yes, leaving the beautiful Parks and Squares she will Point her Pen, not to Cheapside, no, but to the West End. Where the women are less than respectable, and the men just aren’t At All.
Well, at least there’s Music.
One of the noisier Entertainments is a very funny play about a lusty Duke and his not so lusty Duchess and the very lusty chambermaid Clarice. The Entertainment is of course the various tricks the characters come up with to get closer to each other. The audience certainly finds this Amusing.
Clarice doesn’t.
The Duke has a way to, eh, take Liberties with the script. Which is essentially the same as taking Liberties with Clarice.
And I’ll have you know ‘Clarice’ is a Vicar’s Daughter and Not At All lusty. She had dreams of treading the Stage, and that’s why she’s in this Mess. I’m sure you’ll like her, so let’s get her out of it, shall we?
During intermission, Clarice had trouble escaping from the firm grip the Duke had her in.
“Let go of me, Randall Twyke!”
Randall Twyke hated when people called him that: he was known as Romeo Delaish nowadays. However, he was one of those men who think women only says No to be encouraging, so he took a firmer hold of the struggling Clarice.
“Oh, come on, give us a kiss!”
As he leaned in to get his kiss, a small fist shot up and decked him in the nose. Hurt and startled, he let go of his adversary to grab at his nose.
“Ai! It’s bleeding! ”
“Serves you right! I’m sick of you and your leering!”
Clarice looked around for help, but the people on stage and behind didn’t care about what Twyke did to her, and she knew that. She was considered fair game… Go figure, she was a Actress and in those days that was spelt ‘Actress ho – hum’ and so she was on her own.
“You made me bleed!” screamed Twyke, looking right angry.
Clarice bit her lip. Well, she’d gone and done it now. Twyke would get her fired, for sure… Or worse. She made up her mind. It was past time.
Turning, she ran off the stage, and out the door. Let them manage the second act without her. Time she changed profession.
A nob she’d dined with the other night had given her the run – down on the Titled Set. She knew where to go.

Elizabeth put her head through the doorway to the Library.
“Well, we’re all set, but there is no sign of Roe, yet.”
“Ah. Knowing her,” said Darcy, who indeed knew his Cousin very well, although Not as well as he thought he did, “they’ll arrive very late and we won’t more than clear London before dusk. How’s Georgiana holding up?”
“Oh, well, you know. Nervous. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who was Travel – sick, before.”
“It’s all that rocking of the carriage. She gets dizzy. And we can’t well put her with the driver (she says that helps).”
“Just how… visible is this sickness?”
“It usually improves, you know… After a day or two.”
“Euuuuwww.”

“Milady?”
“Yes, Wilson?”
“There’s a… personage at the door.”
“…Yes?”
“She says she wants to see you about a position.”
“I… see. Or, well, based on your face, Wilson, and the ‘personage’, I don’t think I quite ‘see’. Just how low – cut is her neckline, Wilson?”
A gesture.
“No!”
“I’m afraid so, Lady Rosalind.”
“Oh, dear. I have to see her.”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Stop sounding so prudish, Wilson. And… and don’t tell Danvers, all right?”
“…All right.”
Wilson sounded like he had a rod up his delicates, but he withdrew to collect the… personage. Lady Roe leaned back, and pursed her lips. Her marriage was a very successful one, mainly because she was in charge. She believed her husband happy. Was she to be proved wrong… now?
No. No, not Danvers. She had, however, brothers. And cousins. Roe smiled. Whoever it was, she Owned him now. Heh.
Wilson showed the lady inside, and Roe didn’t blink. Wilson’s gesture had been terribly accurate.
“Hello.”
“Lady Rosalind.” The stranger (well we all know it’s our Clarice) curtsied.
“What can I do for you?”
“You can hire me.”
Lady Roe raised an eyebrow.
“Hire you? You mean you really came about a position? ”
“I told your butler I was! What’s he been sayin’?”
“Stop talking in slang. Mind your vowels. And what do you expect, coming to my front door dressed like that? ”
Clarice started. Looked down.
“Oh! Oh, right. Sorry. They make you wear stuff like this all the time.”
“Well I can see why you’re looking for a new job. And don’t say stuff.”
“Clothes, then. And I need to get away from London, Milady. Like, today.”
“And someone told you I was heading for Matlock, I suppose.” Lady Roe smiled sweetly. “Was it Emerson… He’s such a blabber – mouth.”
“That’s slang, isn’t it? And I’m not at liberty to tell, Milady.” Clarice’s smile was just as sweet.
“Oooh, I like you,” said Lady Roe. “But you’re not respectable.”
“I am too! ” Clarice straightened. “I’ll have you know I’m a Vicar’s daughter! I’m straight – laced, you ask anyone!”
“I’m sure I don’t know. What’s a Vicar’s daughter doing in London?”
Clarice got a starry look in her eyes.
“Oh, I was but a girl of ten, when the travelling theatre came to Limford, my quaint village in Gloucestershire… I was enraptured by them… I ran away to Make It, Milady.”
“I see.” Lady Roe, like her brother Bri, thought she was cool as a cucumber, but she was a softie at heart.
“Well, my husband’s been bugging me to get a Companion. I’m pregnant, you see.” Lady Roe couldn’t help smiling when she said it. It came with the word.
“Well I can read to you, and… And… And be your Companion. And rub your feet!”
“I have Danvers for that, thank you. But why not? We’ll see how it goes.”
“Thank you, Milady!”
“You may call me Lady Roe. And now go get dressed. If my mother – in – law sees you like that, she’ll gut me.”
“I’ll… I’ll only wear grey clothes from now on, Lady Roe. Grey, with high necks! And buttons! And… comfortable shoes.”
Lady Roe shuddered. Her own very tiny feet were encased in lovely green silk slippers.
“That’s… as you like. And what’s your name, child?”
Clarice opened her mouth to say Clarice DeBoise (spelling being optional where she came from), but changed her mind. Might as well be honest, now.
“Clara Fordyce, Lady Roe.”
“Fordyce? As in the Sermons? ”
Clara nodded.
“A distant relation.”
“Oh.” Lady Roe’s eyes were bright with laughter. “My brother Bri will just love you.”
“Milady?”
“Nevermind, Clara. You go with Wilson, now. We’re leaving within the hour.”
Lady Roe leaned back against the many cushions Danvers had ordered for her Comfort. Oh, this trip would be excellent.
Lady Roe loved to toss in a cat among the pigeons. She just loved it.

“How are we doing, Wilson?”
“All set, Milady, except for you and Lord Danvers. The… Miss Fordyce has been equipped. She looks quite respectable.”
“Good. Go find my husband then, and tell him… Never mind, here he is.”
Wilson withdrew, allowing Danvers to approach his wife. Only, he wasn’t alone. A thin, pale thing of a woman stalked behind him.
“Lady Caradine! What a, eh, lovely surprise! We where just leaving, so…!”
“Yes, I know you are leaving. It took me a while to break down Edgar’s” (that would be Danvers; remember she’s his mother) “defences, but I did it, and he spilled the beans.”
Lady Roe shot her husband a nasty glare. He suddenly became very interested in the portrait of Great – Aunt Agatha, Countess of Something – or – other, an ugly old bird, if her portrait could be trusted.
“You little minx, you thought you could sneak off to have my first grandchild! I suppose you thought you’d saunter up to me in a public square in a year or so, whispering, ‘he’s your son’s’, huh?”
“Mother!”
“Shut up Edgar, I’m talking!”
“I told you I was pregnant!”
“Because Elizabeth forced you, yes!”
“No! What has Elizabeth been saying?”
“Ha! Not a word, the guilt can be read plainly in your face! ”
“Nonsense! Lady Caradine, you are always welcome to Matlock, you know that!”
Lady Caradine smiled predatorily.
“Why, thank you, I’d be delighted to come!”
“Oh, da-, I mean, well, we’ll see you at Matlock, then, in a few months…”
“No, dear, I’m all packed, and so are James and Lucinda. They’re waiting in my carriage.”
“James and Lucinda?”
“But of course. I can’t very well leave my children with Caradine, he dislikes children.”
“But they’ll be awfully bored at Matlock, Lady Caradine. Matlock is very, very, boring, right Danvers? …Right, Danvers? ”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, Mother, Matlock is… eh, boring.”
“Well it will do the children some good being in the country. And I wouldn’t call your family boring, Rosalind. Eccentric, yes, boring, no.”
“We’re not eccentric! We’re… We’re Fitzwilliams.”
“And that says it all,” said Lady Caradine dryly. “Well, shouldn’t we be off before it gets dark? I’m sure Darcy and Elizabeth are waiting for us.”
Lady Roe tried to catch her husband’s eyes but he was still intent on studying the painting of Great – Aunt Agatha. Lady Roe would burn that painting, she decided.
Before the situation could get out of hand, however, Wilson appeared with someone in tow.
“Miss Fordyce, Milady,” he announced.
Lady Roe had to blink twice. This girl didn’t at all resemble the one she’d hired.
In a grey dress that covered her from head to toe, pale hair in ringlets around her ears, and comfortable shoes peeking out from below the dress, she looked like the Vicar’s daughter, all right. A modest blush on the pale cheeks, and downcast eyes, made you want to shield and protect this Innocent Child from the Big Bad World.
In fact, Danvers, ever the Gentleman, took a hesitant step towards her, before he checked himself.
“Ah, right,” said Lady Roe, “this is my companion, Miss Fordyce. Danvers has been urging me to hire someone, Lady Caradine.”
Miss Fordyce curtsied.
“Fordyce?” said Danvers. “Like the Sermons? ”
“A distant relative.”
“Well,” he smiled at his wife, “splendid! When you agreed to hire someone, I was afraid you’d pick an Actress or something…”
Miss Fordyce blushed a deep red. Lady Roe didn’t even twitch.
“Don’t be silly, Danvers. A Vicar’s daughter is a good choice, isn’t it, Lady Caradine?”
Lady Caradine was studying the girl.
“Well, she looks lovely. Just the kind of girl you need, Rosalind, to settle you. If she’s strong enough. Are you?” she addressed Clara.
Clara looked up, big blue eyes meeting Lady Roe’s green.
“Why, certainly, Lady Caradine. I’ll get Lady Rosalind to eat her gruel, I will.”
Lady Roe frowned.
“Hey, waitamin…”
“And Lady Rosalind, you really ought to mind your language. Slang just isn’t done. ”
Clara smiled. Danvers smiled. Lady Caradine smiled. Lady Roe didn’t smile, she felt like she had fallen into her own trap. She wasn’t liking this one bit.

Darcy wasn’t liking this one bit.
What with the hole party going in three carriages (not counting the luggage – that went separately), things had rapidly turned crowded.
Because Georgiana was barfing every ten minutes, she had been abandoned. As it turned out, her convulsions made Elizabeth ill, and so Elizabeth went with Roe and Danvers. Darcy had stood the barfing a little longer, and then he too had been forced to leave. However, it seemed pregnancy had taken it’s toll on Lady Roe, who felt faint and queasy after a while. Darcy, Danvers, and Elizabeth had been banished to the third carriage, leaving Lady Roe in her companion’s capable hands.
So now Darcy was squeezed in next to young James Caradine, a boy who made it all to clear why his father disliked children. James was, in short, a pain. On the other side of James sat Danvers, sighing and worrying aloud about his wife’s condition, all the time. As if Lady Roe wasn’t a Fitzwilliam. She’d be all right. Fitzwilliams died of madness or accident or extreme age, not of being sick or pregnant. Nonsense.
Opposite Darcy sat his lovely wife, her sparkling eyes looking very sleepy, but to his extreme annoyance she was denied sleep as Lucinda Caradine was plaguing her with questions and comments. Lucinda Caradine, Darcy reflected, was worse than Lydia Bennet when it came to saying silly things.
Lucinda’s mother, Lady Caradine, was knitting, and Darcy just knew she’d manage to poke out someone’s eye the next time they were jolted by a bump in the road.
So Darcy was fuming, but he didn’t say a word. His Darcy – heritage told him to be cold and aloof, and so he was cold and aloof and fuming. The carriage worked, because no one in it was a proper Fitzwilliam.
Fitzwilliams, you see, aren’t people that Shut Up when they are annoyed.

Mrs. Reynolds, the Pemberley – variation, came running out of the magnificent front door of Pemberley, the Estate to top any other Estate. She observed the carriages pulling up with a frown.
The first one let out a pale but happy Georgiana. She wanted to Hug Mrs. Reynolds, but frankly Georgiana smelled vile, so Mrs. Reynolds sent her inside, to have a bath, at once.
The second carriage held Lady Roe, recovered as soon as the carriage stopped, and a pale young woman who looked very modest and proper. The perfect companion for madcap Lady Roe, Mrs. Reynolds thought.
The third carriage held a wild – looking Danvers, who jumped out of it to catch up with his wife and make sure she was all right. He tried to lift her into his arms, but she wouldn’t let him.
Then came Lady Caradine, and Mrs. Reynolds’ legs curtsied before her brain could tell them to, that’s how intimidating that pale, thin, woman could be. Lady Caradine was carrying her knitting, a blanket it appeared. A big blanket. Lady Caradine’s children followed their mother out, screaming and shouting. The boy had a quiver and arrows, and his first move after jumping out of the carriage was shooting at the dogs milling around the yard. His sister proved little better, as she dove straight into the dogs and picked one up.
“Puppy – wuppie!” she cooed, lifting the terrified animal high up into the air. Michael, the kennel – man, rescued the puppy just before it was dropped.
And that was it. No Mr. Darcy. No Mrs. Darcy.
Mrs. Reynolds curtsied nervously to Lady Caradine.
“Ah, hm, Lady Caradine…”
“Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?”
“Eh, weren’t Mr. Darcy and the Mistress supposed to come too?”
“Oh, sure. Darcy apparently found a horse. I told him it wasn’t the Thing, you know, Elizabeth was awfully tired, but she let him so what could I say?”
“Yes, Lady Caradine, of course… A horse? ”
“It’s the Fitzwilliam Blood, you know. The Fitzwilliams are all mad.”
“Yes, Lady Caradine,” agreed Mrs. Reynolds, but not really. She liked the Fitzwilliams a lot. She just wouldn’t tell Lady Caradine that – Lady Caradine was scary.

This scene is for all those of my Dear Readers who swoon every time Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence is mentioned (I know I do). He’s not in this chapter, but it’s a Regency so we have to have some Swooning. So here goes.
A while later, Mrs. Reynolds was relieved to see the Master of Pemberley riding up to the house. He was on a big black horse, and he looked very smart and attractive and all that. In his arms was his sleeping wife, lovely curls tumbling down around her face. The Master had her in a firm, but gentle, grip. Handling his precious burden to the butler, Billson, he jumped down and retook possession of his wife.
“Thank you, Billson, and Mrs. Reynolds, I hope you are well?” he said in a low voice, so as not to wake his wife.
“Yes, Master Will, we are all fine here at Pemberley. Your guests are settled, Sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, I knew I could count on you. Now I must take my wife upstairs.”
“I hope the Mistress is well?”
“She’s just tired, Mrs. Reynolds, it was a long trip.”
Darcy gently carried his sleeping wife upstairs, leaving the sighing servants behind.
“Why, I’ve never seen the Master so in love as since the Mistress came,” said Billson, a catch in his voice.
“Aye,” nodded Mrs. Reynolds, wiping a tear, “that’s Love, that is.”
And that’s all you’ll get, Mushy Readers… I hope you noted all the correct swoon – inducing words, and sighed at all the proper places. The Authoress declines further stalking of the happy couple.

They were to remain at Pemberley for a few days, giving Lady Roe time to rest (Danvers’ idea) and Darcy time to catch up on the running of Pemberley. Pemberley ran itself quite well, but still needed that Masterly touch from time to time. Or whatever. Darcy liked sitting in his study, making Decisions.
Elizabeth had a meeting with Mrs. Reynolds, mainly to decide what they would be eating in the next few days.
“And then, we finish with some strawberries, I think. Or would you rather have…?”
“No, that’s just fine, Mrs. Reynolds. Peachy keen. There is one thing I’ve wanted to ask you, though, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Well, it’s a bit weird…”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t ask.”
“…But I have to know. Mrs. Reynolds, where is Mr. Reynolds?”
“Oh. Ah.”
“I’m sorry, is there a problem?”
“No! No, Mrs. Darcy, there is no problem. Mrs. Darcy, I’m a widow. I thought you knew.”
“I see. I assumed you were, when I met you. However…”
“No need for ‘however’, Mrs. Darcy, I’ll go make sure there is tea, shall I?”
“…It’s very odd, I think, that the Cook at Darcy House also is a Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Cook Reynolds, Ma’am? Why, she was married to… to my brother – in – law.”
“Another Reynolds widow, then.”
“Yes Mrs. Darcy. I’ll go make that tea.”
“But that doesn’t explain the fact that dear Lady Rosalind has a housekeeper known as Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Well, small world, and all that. And look at the time…”
“And now my sister – in – law informs me the Cook at Matlock is a Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Reynolds, I sense there is a buried Reynolds here.”
“Mrs. Darcy! I wouldn’t…!”
“Oh, I’m not saying anything! But something sure smells rotten…”
“However, Mrs. Darcy, we’re not in Denmark anymore.”
“Ah! But better the Devil you know…”
“…Than ten in the woods.”
“After all, a penny saved…
“But spare the rod, and…”
“Two peas in a pod?”
“And baby makes three!” said Mrs. Reynolds triumphantly. Then she gasped. So did Elizabeth.
“No yet! I want to learn how to be wife before I am a mother, Mrs. Reynolds!”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy. Of course, Mrs. Darcy. Anything you say, Mrs. Darcy.”
They both left the room, through separate doors. After all, what else was there to say? …Yes, lots more, but both of them were too embarrassed to continue the conversation…

Lady Roe was resting on a couch. She was bored to death, but the men wouldn’t let her go shooting with them, and everyone thought it was a great idea to make Lady Roe lie down for several hours every afternoon. Which was ridiculous; she wasn’t even showing yet!
Lady Caradine was reading from Pamela, a boring book if ever there was one. Elizabeth kept walking in and out of the room, a dazed look on her face. Georgiana was out hunting.
Lady Roe had no clue where the children were, and hoped she wouldn’t have to see them for a long time. The idea that her child would have James and Lucinda as Aunt and Uncle was depressing. Maybe her child would turn out to be just like James and Lucinda. How horrid. How could she love that?
But then again, she had had several dreams lately, about giving birth: in the dreams, she always gave birth to frogs or something, or laid eggs. Last night she’d had this vivid dream about having to sit on her egg for ages, and how Danvers kept offering to take over and she just knew he’d crack it…
Clara was sitting near Lady Roe, demurely embroidering a pillow with roses and hearts, looking like she’d never seen a theatre from the outside even. A very strange woman. And Lady Roe needed to find out how it was that Clara suddenly had the upper hand, something which had never happened to Lady Roe before. It was just that Clara Fordyce made everyone else think she knew what was best for Lady Roe, and everyone listened to Clara like she was…
Like she was a Fitzwilliam.
Well, no one told Rosalind Diana Crusade Fitzwilliam Hampton – Danvers what to do, not for long, anyway.
If only Clara hadn’t been so very good to her in that carriage! She had helped her with infinite patience. And therefore, Lady Roe told herself, she would do what Clara said for a while. A short, short while.
Elizabeth walked in again.
“Not that I don’t want…!” she burst out, and left. Lady Caradine lowered Pamela and looked after her.
“What got her knickers in a twist?” she mumbled. Clara blushed prettily.
“Lady Caradine! Please…” she whispered.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” said Lady Caradine, and threw her a fond smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Would you like another chapter?”
“Yes, please,” said Clara, and smiled shyly. “It’s terribly exciting, if a bit daring.”
“Well, don’t you worry, dear, I won’t read you the bad parts.”
Lady Roe frowned. Her mother – in – law had never called her ‘dear’. Or apologised to her. Why, this was just terrible! When did the world up and decide Lady Roe was no longer it’s centre?
It’s all your fault, she told her child, you’ve turned me into a piece of furniture.

Fitzwilliams on Being Fitzwilliamish:
“A Fitzwilliam is never ill:”
The Earl
The Countess
Lady Roe
Darcy
Georgiana (the final proof, in her opinion)
“My Family is my own worst Enemy:”
Colonel Jamie
“The Fitzwilliams are all mad as bats:”
Lady Caradine
Bri
“Home, is Matlock. Always.”
Lady Catherine (despite Rosings, yes)
Cis (but she’s desperate to leave)
The Sheep ( oh yeah)

Chapter Four: The Monarch of the Glen

The Fitzwilliams were chewing.
Chew, chew, chew.
The Fitzwilliams were, of course, always chewing, at dinner, as Mrs. Reynolds would serve her strange foods and they all ate it… Carefully.
But tonight, the chewing was more noticeable, as Silence reigned.
To Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence, this was all very odd, he wasn’t a Fitzwilliam and so not in the loop, he couldn’t fathom why everyone was silent, usually the family was talking all at once.
Dash couldn’t interpret the odd currents running around the table.
And the Looks he got.
From Lady Catherine.
From the Countess.
From Bri.
And from Anne de Bourgh. Her Look was Scary.
Of course, Dash had no idea he was sitting on the Chair. How could he? Only Anne, and, presumably, the Chair itself, knew about the Chair. Just the two of them.
And if Anne had a problem with the fact that nobody ever heard what she said, the Chair had a bigger problem because it wasn’t sentient really. Only just. It had developed a fondness for the Sheep, too.
The Sheep is, by the way, asleep in the corner. Or that’s what the Fitzwilliams thought it was. The Sheep was in fact Thinking.
The Countess turned her head to stare at her husband.
“You never took me to Bath.”
The Silence became even more Silent, as everyone stopped chewing to stare at the Countess. The Earl raised his eyebrows.
“Bath wasn’t much in our days, Amy.”
“Well, still.”
Bri cleared his throat.
“Oh, my, what a nice steak tonight, Mrs. Reynolds outdoes herself.”
“Shut up Bri,” said his Aunt Catherine. “Lewis took me to Bath.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Cis, unexpectedly. “Anne was born there, wasn’t she?”
Everyone stared at Anne. Anne closed her eyes and pretended she was Alone. Alone with the Chair.
“That’s right, Cecilia,” beamed Lady Catherine. “And I don’t mind telling you, that was one delivery I could have done without.”
“Thank you,” muttered Anne, but no one heard her.
“What do you mean?” asked Bri.
“Oh, it was horrid. It took me more than a day to give birth, and the blood…!”
Lady Catherine launched into a description of what the Gentle Authoress will only refer to as “Blood and Gore”, her family (most of them), listening with interest, injecting questions and comments. While they were all chewing happily.
Dash looked a little pale. More than a little. The food in his mouth grew, and he couldn’t swallow.
Cis, next to him, leaned in.
“Wait until she gets to the afterbirth,” she said helpfully.
Dash’s face turned a nasty green, and he stumbled out of his chair.
“Excuse-“ and he ran away to be violently sick.
Cis smiled angelically.

Collins watched his olive branch spit out the peas Mrs. Collins had just shuffled into his mouth. Where did they all come from? No mouth could hold that many peas!
“Why don’t you feed him upstairs,” he asked/unsubtly ordered Mrs. Collins.
“Because there is no room. You decided a sitting – room was all the rage.”
“Oh. Right.”
The olive branch got a hold of its kirtle and mooned him.
“For God’s – forgive me Lord for taking Thy Name in vain – make it stop!”
“Her.” Said Mrs. Collins. “It’s a gurrrl. ”
“Whatever.” Collins threw down his napkin. “I’m worried about Lady
Catherine. She has been at Matlock for too long.”
His wife just shrugged and put some more peas into the olive branch.
“I might have to go there. To make sure she’s all right.”
Collins fidgeted in his chair.
“And Miss de Bourgh, she’s always sorry to leave Rosings.”
He rose.
“In fact, I shall ride to Matlock this instant! Yes!”
He left the room.
“Pack my things, Mrs. Collins! I have a letter to write!”
Mrs. Collins sighed, and fed the baby some more peas.

Pale morning light fell through the green branches of the trees, and apart from the sound of the birds and the invisible animals of the forest, the only noise anywhere came from the Earl and Lady Catherine.
They were sitting, side by side, on a log; rifles leaning against knees, bottles firmly in hand.
Dorsey, the Gamekeeper at Matlock, was leaning against an oak a ways back. He was used to Shooting with the Fitzwilliams, and knew his place.
The Earl took a hefty chug of brandy from his bottle.
“Well, Catherine, we should try to find some game.”
“If your dogs were worth anything…”
They looked at the pile of dogs, sleeping in the sun. Aye, the Matlock Hounds were a skanky lot, that was the truth.
“You know…” said the Earl.
“Yes?” They both had some more ‘liquid breakfast’. The Authoress is stunned by their likeness; looks and movements are as One, with these two. Only the dead animals decorating Lady Catherine’s clothes tell them apart.
“I was thinking we might take the Sheep Shooting.”
“Oh. That Sheep is disgusting.”
“But it has a Personality, I know you agree.”
”What do you know, Duncan?”
“I heard the capital S. ‘That Sheep.’”
“Rubbish.”
“You call Elizabeth that woman. ”
Lady Catherine furrowed her brow.
“That woman!”
“No need to shout. I think you should give her a chance.”
“Never!”
“Well I had a letter from Darcy the other day… Seems like he’s happy.”
“She’s inferior,” snorted Lady Catherine, “he should have married my Anne.”
“Well, your Anne can marry my Jamie, and there’s an end to it…” The Earl trailed off. The twins looked at each other.
“Are you thinking…?”
“Of course I am. But he’s such a morose young man.”
“Some woman, I suspect.”
“…If he gets over her…”
“He might not get over her. He might shoot himself.”
“He’s a Fitzwilliam! Fitzwilliams don’t shoot themselves! They go mad, and die while trying to strangle the Cook.”
“…And what a good Cook she was, too.”
“Aye. But Mrs. Reynolds is top of the line.”
“She is. Worth every penny you pay her.”
“…So I can take the Sheep shooting?”
“No!”
They had some more brandy. Suddenly there was something approaching.
“The hart!” screamed the Earl, and snatched his rifle.
“I’ve got him!” Lady Catherine aimed. “Come here my precious…”
“BANG!”
“Good shot! You’ve killed the hart, I’m sure!”
“Nope,” said Dorsey, returning. “Yer Ladyship nailed Mr. Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence in the behind.”
“Oh, well,” said the Earl philosophically. Typical, really. Shooting was men’s business, trust a woman to do something like that.
Lady Catherine displayed an unusual tenderness as she nursed the wounded Dash.

Lord Bri was dragging his feet in the Library. He couldn’t find his Mother, or Dash. Very bad. Very very bad.
His brother, the morose Colonel Jamie, was as usual lying on his sofa reading love poems. And sighing.
Cis was sitting in one of the windows, staring at nothing. All three of them actually sighed regularly.
The Library was a refuge for the younger Fitzwilliams, as none of their parents ever read a book (well the Earl read On the Breeding of Dogs) and never entered the room. When Lady Roe lived at Matlock, and they were all children, the Library had been a wonderful play – room. But Roe was married and they were all Adults, whatever that meant.
Oh, what a gloom upon this room! The Authoress fears not, however; she hears the wheels of many carriages coming up the drive towards the Castle.
Cis stirred.
“Hey, there’s two, no, at least three carriages coming! Who could…?”
Bri stepped up to her side.
“By Jove! Isn’t that one in the lead Darcy’s? The horses have Pemberley written all over them…”
Dunk! The book of love poems hit the floor.
Colonel Jamie stared at his siblings, the book forgotten.
“Darcy?” he squeaked unmanly. “Darcy’s carriage?”
“There’s a crest on the second one, I think,” remarked Cis, excited.
Bri and Cis looked at each other, faces filled with pure delight.
“ROE!”
They ran out, hand in hand. Colonel Jamie stood alone in the middle of the floor. His mouth hang open, his eyes terrified. He needed a shave. This wasn’t happening to him, it just wasn’t.
The Sheep looked at him sympathetically.
“Baah.”
Colonel Jamie looked at the Sheep.
“Oh, shut up,” he said, and left the Library. The Sheep sighed, and started chewing on the book of love poems. What was that line… If Poetry be the Food of Love… Make that Poetry is Good Eating, thought the Sheep.

The Dear Readers can try to picture the scene where about twenty people are running around, shouting and embracing and arguing and Looking and what have you.
Lady Roe and Cis were embracing, laughing and screaming in those really really high voices again. Bri didn’t stand a chance, so he stepped back to wait his turn. Stepped back, and collided with someone.
“Oh!” he turned. “I’m sorry…”
He looked right into a pair of big blue eyes. Why, those were big. And blue. Eyes. Yes.
The woman with the big blue eyes frowned at him.
“You dolt! ” she hissed.
Bri thought that was a bit too much; she hadn’t fallen or anything.
“Relax, Blue Eyes, I won’t do it again.”
“Make sure you don’t!” She hissed again.
“Clara?” said Lady Caradine from behind Bri, “Clara is Lord Bridge being obnoxious?”
“I am not…!”
Clara looked down, blushing. She whispered:
“His Lordship is most obliging, Lady Caradine. I’m sure he meant well.” Only her voice sounded like he’d behaved abominably. Lady Caradine frowned at Bri.
“Young man! You leave Miss Fordyce alone! She’s a Vicar’s daughter, I’ll not have her consort with rakes!”
“I’m certainly no rake!” shouted Bri, forgetting he really really wanted to be one. So he had had a change of heart. A very recent change of heart.
“Bri! You are too! ” shouted his sister Roe in his ear. “Give me a hug, you bad, bad boy!”
Even as he turned to do so, Bri could hear the hasty gasp from Miss Fordyce, and Lady Caradine’s “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll protect you…”

Elizabeth left the safe carriage hesitantly. Darcy had abandoned her to be hugged and slapped on the back by what she felt was hundreds of people. And they were all staring at her, too, she just knew it.
Georgiana, behind her, was a blessing. Elizabeth turned and dragged her sister out of the carriage.
“Don’t worry, Georgiana, I’ll protect you!” she hissed and hung onto her hand for dear life. And then Elizabeth pushed Georgiana in front of her. This worked fine for about three seconds, and then Georgiana was torn from her grip by an old gentleman who looked very much like an old pug. Elizabeth spied Lady Catherine’s features in his face, and knew he must be the Earl.
“Little Georgy – Porgy!”
The Earl tried to lift his niece, but she was a bit taller than him now, and so it ended with Georgiana on tip – toe for a second, before the Earl let go of her.
“And this must be Elizabeth,” continued the Earl, dumping Georgiana unceremoniously and reaching for Elizabeth. She took an involuntary step backwards; she was afraid he’d try to lift her, stumbled, and would have fallen had not someone caught her in his strong arms.
Oh my, thought Elizabeth dizzily, not bad. Not bad at all. But her dear Fitzwilliam had nothing to fear; Elizabeth was as newly – wed as they come, and still could find no fault with her husband.
Who must be psychic, as he was by her side instantly, grabbing (you could even say snatching) her from the arms of her handsome rescuer.
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth and tried not to stare too much at this manly masculine male.
“Yes,” said Darcy, “thank you for helping my wife. Who happens to be mine.”
The stranger smiled a dazzling smile and said:
“No problems. I am,” (hold on Ladies) “Drake Ramsey Dashing Lawrence, at your service.”
“There is no need for service, here. My wife.” Blabbered Darcy, still hung up it seemed.
“Mrs. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, helpfully. “And my husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”
Who knows what might have happened here had not a voice carried above all the other raised voices in the courtyard, silencing them effectively.
“FITZWILLIAM ALEXANDER BLESSED DARCY HAVE YOU BROUGHT THAT WOMAN HERE?????????”
Darcy turned, and Elizabeth perforce turned with him. But she wasn’t afraid any more. She’d faced Lady Catherine de Bourgh before… and won. Won First Prize, actually. Elizabeth squeezed her husband’s hand encouragingly.
Darcy wished he felt as savvy as his wife; but he didn’t. However, he wouldn’t let his Aunt call his wife that woman.
But heroics were not called for: The Earl waggled a finger at his twin.
“Stop it, Catherine, Elizabeth is a Fitzwilliam now and she looks great! I’ll not let him trade her for your Anne, and it’s too late for that as I’m sure Mrs. Darcy is already preggers with an Heir!”
Elizabeth blushed scarlet, Darcy hid his face in his hands (muttering crazy crazy crazy Fitzwilliams I told her they were nuts), and Lady Catherine huffed and puffed.
But Lady Roe saw her Moment, and grabbed it.
“She’s not preggers,” she said into the silence, “but I am!!!!!!”
“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” cried all the ladies in the courtyard at once and started hugging Lady Roe or each other if they couldn’t get close to her; even Lady Catherine cracked a smile actually (breeding new Fitzwilliams being at the top of her agenda for the Family) and the men all ducked and opted for alcohol and manly back - slapping, like they all had done as much as Danvers in this matter.

Lady Roe held Court over Tea.
The Countess had forbidden the men to join them, even poor Dash, so they could all sit down and sip cold tea and talk about Important Stuff.
Lady Catherine was pretending Elizabeth didn’t exist, and Elizabeth was being nervous about the fact that the tea was cold. No one seemed to notice, and Elizabeth was unsure if this was one of those Things the Nobility did, maybe they all drank cold tea, even the Royal Family, and that was why England held Napoleon at bay and the Lower Classes too, really.
Or maybe Fitzwilliam hadn’t joked, and they were all mad.
“I’m going to be an Aunt!” beamed Cis for the fiftieth time. Lady Roe still valued this exclamation, but the rest of them were sick of it.
“Mama, why is that lady saying the same thing all the time, is she an idiot?” asked little Lucinda Caradine.
“What a rude child!” remarked Lady Catherine to Anne (she was closest). “But then again, Ophelia Caradine never did understand how to go about it!”
“Really, I’m sitting right here Catherine, be rude to my face, why don’t you,” said Lady Caradine.
“Oh, well, since you ask so nicely,” said Lady Catherine, and then she started telling Lady Caradine about the Upbringing of Noble Children a.k.a. How I Raised Anne in a Proper Way, bla bla bla…
“I’m going to be an Aunt!” sang Cis, clenching her fists so she wouldn’t be tempted to go over and give the brat a ringer.
“I throw up every morning!” confided Lady Roe. “Isn’t it great?”
Elizabeth was still struggling with her cold tea.
“Um… Lady Matlock?”
“Yes, dear?”
“The tea… Is that a sheep in the corner?”
“Yes, dear, it is! But it’s not a sheep it’s the Sheep! She’s a bit shy.”
“Baah!” said the Sheep, it (of course the Sheep is a she but it really thought of itself as it so it’s it) wasn’t shy at all but suspected Lady Catherine had Plans for it… Lady Catherine wasn’t fond of the Sheep and Lady Catherine had access to Guns. So the Sheep tried not to be around Lady Catherine too much.
“Oh!” said Elizabeth who was fondly remembering that her mother always referred to ‘dining with four-and-twenty families’, what she really meant was dining with eighteen families and eating sheep from the six local farmers…
She walked up to the Sheep and gave it a pat.
“Baah,” said the Sheep softly, here was someone smelling of herbs and garlic and cold tea, very nice indeed.
“I’m going to be an Aunt!” cried out Cis and even Lady Roe couldn’t bother to answer her this time. Instead she reached for a biscuit. And was stopped by a hang on her arm, holding firm.
“Now, Lady Rosalind, the physician said no sugar!”
“Now, Miss Fordyce, one biscuit can’t hurt! Mama, didn’t you have sweets when you were pregnant?”
“What? Oh, dear Roe, do what Miss Fordyce tells you to. She seems like a very bright girl.” The Countess smiled at Clara. “Have you met my son Bri? He’ll adore you, I’m sure.”
Clara smiled back, shyly.
“As long as your Ladyship doesn’t mind me coming here, I’m happy.”
“Mind? Oh, no… Oh, dear… Elizabeth, dear, will you help the Sheep outside? …Thank you.”
“I’m going to be an Aunt!”
“Yes, yes, Cis, we know that. Now, I want to know everything that’s happened at Matlock since I was here last.”
“Oh, well, Father is still chasing the Hart and…”
“And start with the young man I saw outside… What a specimen!”
The ladies all grinned, and leaned back in their chairs. Except Anne. Lady Caradine was sitting on the Chair, now, so Anne had to Look at Lady Caradine, but even Anne found Looking at Lady Caradine difficult… She was that kind of woman.

Elizabeth led the Sheep out into the Rose Garden, so it could do its business. She reflected that it wasn’t unlike a dog, really. Maybe she would get a dog. Fitzwilliam could practise Fatherhood on it. Elizabeth didn’t think she would need to practice Motherhood; she would just do the complete opposite of whatever her Mother did.
Indulging in a little fantasy about two children with Darcy hair and Bennet eyes, she slowly ambled along the path, the Sheep in tow, humming. And walking straight into Colonel Jamie a.k.a. Mr. Morose.
“Colonel!”
“Eh… Eli… Miss Benn… Mrs… Mrs. Darcy!”
“Oh, but we are Cousins now, you must call me Elizabeth!”
Colonel Jamie sighed. If only she knew how hotly he desired to call her by that name… Elizabeth…
“And I’ll call you… What? Darcy calls you Jamie, I know, but you grew up together and… What does your parents call you?”
Well, his parents, when they remembered his name, called him Morose Jamie, or just Morose. Jamie wasn’t about to reveal that to Elizabeth. He cleared his throat.
“Well… You could call me Jim.”
“Jim?”
“Yes… Jim.”
“Oh, all right… Jim.” Elizabeth smiled.
Jamie smiled back. She had a special name for him! He was Jim!
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“Say it. Say ‘Jim’.”
But Elizabeth didn’t want to say Jim, she thought he had an odd look in his eyes and she wished her husband would come.
He did, because Darcy was newly wed and mushy, so he preferred his new wife’s company to that of his relatives… At least when the relatives were the Fitzwilliams, who got on his nerves.
“Elizabeth! There you are! And Jamie… All alone out here in the Rose Garden, are you?”
“No… The Sheep is here too,” said Elizabeth, “but I don’t know where it went.”
“Consorting with sheep?” said Darcy, and kissed her. “Well, I’m sure Jamie can find the lost sheep while you and I take a stroll… alone.”
They left, and Jamie morosely kicked at some rose bushes. What misery! Darcy got the girl… and all Jamie got was a sheep.

Georgiana sulked. She’d been made to watch over Lucinda, after Lucinda had been evicted from the drawing - room, and to make sure Lucinda didn’t fall into the lake. Georgiana was pondering if she’d heard Lady Caradine correctly; maybe Lady Caradine had said make sure Lucinda does fall into the lake. Maybe Lady Caradine thought bathing was good for children. Maybe it was the Thing, to toss your children into lakes, for all Georgiana knew.
Georgiana sulked because they ordered her around, she wondered what had happened to Family Loyalty… Lucinda wasn’t Family, she was just annoying. Last year, Georgiana had been petted and cared for… Now it was all James and Lucinda, and Roe, Roe, Roe…
Well, maybe it was all for the best. They were talking about Making Babies in there, and Georgiana knew her brother wouldn’t approve of her hearing it. Secretly, Georgiana thought Elizabeth should be there; Georgiana suspected Elizabeth didn’t know all the Secrets…
“Georgie! Can I go there?” shrieked Lucinda.
“Don’t call me Georgie!” shrieked Georgiana back. “It’s Georgiana, not Georgie or Jo!”
“All right Georgie but can I go there now?”
“Whatever!” said Georgiana, not looking. Which turned out to be a mistake, as Lucinda promptly fell into the water and started screaming and splashing…

Dash and the Fitzwilliams:
Could look at him for ages:
The Countess
Lady Catherine
Elizabeth
Georgiana
Lucinda Caradine
Pretends to be indifferent to him:
Cis
Lady Roe
Lady Caradine
Clara Fordyce
Darcy (he’s very worried)
Colonel Jamie
Can’t see what the fuss is all about:
The Earl
Danvers
Anne
The Sheep

© Copyright 2001 by the author
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