The Matters at Mansfield: Or, The Crawford Affair

198 Pages·2004·0.91 MB·English

by  Carrie Bebris

Annotation
Mr. Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is eager to arrange a lucrative
and socially advantageous match for her daughter, Anne. Of course, her ladyship
has not taken into account such frivolous matters as love or romance, let alone
the wishes of her daughter. Needless to say, there is much turmoil when the
bride-to-be elopes. Their pursuit of the headstrong couple leads the Darcys to the
village of Mansfield, where the usually intricate game of marriage machinations
becomes still more convoluted by lies and deception. There, the Darcys discover
that love and marriage can be a complex and dangerous business -- one that can
even lead to murder.
Carrie Bebris
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Carrie Bebris
The Matters at Mansfield
or, The Crawford Affair
For my brother
Acknowledgments
This novel began like all my others, with a faint whisper of an idea that
developed over time into a fully realized story. As it evolved, many people lent
their support, and in so doing contributed to the creation of the book you now
hold in your hands.
My family probably feels sometimes as if I live in nineteenth-century
England along with the Darcys. I am grateful to them for enabling and
encouraging me to do so.
I appreciate my agent, Irene Goodman, for her advice and continued belief in
me; my editor, Brian Thomsen, for trusting me when I said the Darcys next
needed to visit Mansfield, and for his guidance on a number of matters during
the writing of the novel; his assistant, Kristin Sevick, for her conscientious and
prompt attention to endless details; Dot Lin for her promotional talents; and
artist Teresa Fasolino for the beautiful paintings that grace the covers of the
books in this series.
Fellow writers and friends Anne Klemm, Victoria Hinshaw, Mary Holmes,
and Pamela Johnson served as sounding boards and critical readers at various
stages in the book's development. Their input and ongoing support were
invaluable.
For my education in dueling and the mechanics of flintlock pistols, I am
indebted to Kristopher Shultz, a historical interpreter and weapons expert whose
knowledge and enthusiasm brought to life these aspects of a nineteenth-century
gentleman's existence. I am grateful to attorney Sheila Quigley for helping me
navigate the complexities of Georgian marriage and estate laws, to Dr. Cheryl
Kinney for her knowledge of Regency-era medicine, to Ann Voss Peterson for
her horse expertise, and to dancing masters Lee Fuell, Patty Lindsay, and Joyce
Lindsey for their patient instruction. I also thank the reference librarians of
Wood-bourne Library for so cheerfully and capably tracking down materials and
answers to obscure research questions.
Others provided support in ways less direct, but no less appreciated. Many
thanks to Sharon Short, Sarah Schwager, Karen Downey and the staff of
Carousel House, members of JASNA-Dayton and JASNA-Wisconsin, and
JASNA president Marsha Huff.
Finally, I thank Jane Austen for inspiring the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy mystery
series, and my readers for inspiring me to continue it. A bookseller once told me,
"You have the nicest fans!" and I quite agree. You help make writing a joy.
"There is not one in a hundred of
either sex, who is not taken in when
they marry. .. It is, of all transactions,
the one in which people expect the most
from others, and are least honest
themselves."
-- Mary Crawford,
Mansfield Park
One
She was all surprise and
embarrassment.
-- Mansfield Park
It is a truth less frequently acknowledged, that a good mother in possession
of a single child, must be in want of sleep.
Whatever the habits or inclinations of such a woman might have been prior
to her first entering the maternal state, in very short order her feelings and
thoughts are so well fixed on her progeny that at any given hour she is
considered, at least in the young minds of the principals, as the rightful property
of some one or other of her offspring.
Be she a woman of comfortable income, assistants may alleviate many of the
demands imposed on her, and indeed there are ladies quite content to consign
their little darlings entirely to the care of nurses and governesses until they reach
a more independent age. But in most families, occasions arise when even the
most competent, affectionate servant cannot replace a child's need for Mama,
and when said Mama wants no proxy.
And so it was that Elizabeth Darcy, wife of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, mistress
of the great estate of Pemberley, and presently the houseguest of the Earl of
Southwell, found herself the only conscious person in all of Riveton Hall during
the predawn hours of an early August morning. Or rather, the only conscious
adult, her daughter being so awake to the pain of cutting her first tooth that none
but her mother's arms could comfort her.
"Hush now, Lily-Anne. Mama's here." Elizabeth offered the crooked knuckle
of her forefinger to the child to gum. Having come to the nursery to check on
Lily before retiring, she had found both baby and nurse so overwrought by hours
of ceaseless crying (on the child's part, not the nurse's) that she had dismissed
Mrs. Flaherty to capture a few hours' rest. The stubborn tooth had troubled Lily
since their arrival and rendered futile every traditional remedy the veteran nurse
had tried. If it did not break through this eve, the morrow would prove an even
longer day for Mrs. Flaherty and her charge. Elizabeth herself would be
unavailable to soothe her daughter, her time instead commanded by the event
that had occasioned her and Darcy's visit to Riveton.
Darcy's cousin Roger Fitzwilliam, the earl, was hosting a ball to introduce
his new fiancee to his family and neighbors. The Pemberley party -- Elizabeth,
Darcy, Lily-Anne, and Darcy's sister, Georgiana -- had traveled to the groom's
Buckinghamshire estate earlier in the week, as had the bride's family and
numerous other guests. Darcy and Roger's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had
been the first to arrive, appearing a full fortnight earlier than anticipated to
oversee her nephew's preparations. As the late earl's sister, her ladyship had
grown up at Riveton Hall, and continued to generously dispense opinions
regarding its management. That the present earl had little interest in hearing her
advice did little to check its flow.
Having herself recently endured an extended visit by Lady Catherine,
Elizabeth sympathized with her besieged host.
The earl, however, enjoyed one advantage that Elizabeth, in Derbyshire, had
not: Lady Catherine yet maintained a large acquaintance in her former
neighborhood, and had absented herself from Riveton for part of each day to call
upon them. Her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, joined her on most of these
excursions. How Southwell's neighbors bore Lady Catherine's company eluded
Elizabeth and Darcy, but they were grateful to be subjected to so little of it
themselves. Their already inharmonious relationship with Darcy's aunt had been
further fractured by the events of her prolonged residence at Pemberley, and the
present house party at Riveton marked their first meeting since. Her daily
absences had enabled them all to settle into a tacit, if tense, truce.
In contrast, Elizabeth had taken great pleasure in renewing her acquaintance
with Roger's younger brother, Colonel James Fitzwilliam, whom she had met
two years previous. The colonel's forthright manners and intelligent conversation
united to make him the most amiable of Darcy's maternal relations, and she
regretted that his military duties prevented more frequent opportunities to enjoy
his society.
The only society Elizabeth coveted at the moment, however, were the
inhabitants of her dreams. She paced the nursery, murmuring the sort of sibilant
nonsense mothers have employed for millennia to calm distressed infants.
Despite the stimulus of Lily's wails, her own eyelids burned with the urge to
close. Yet even if she roused Mrs. Flaherty and returned to her own quiet
chamber, she knew that maternal anxiety, or at a minimum, maternal guilt,
would not allow her to sleep while her daughter suffered.
She sang. She rocked. She paced still more.
At last, exhaustion claimed Lily-Anne, and blessed silence settled upon the
nursery. It was, however, a fitful slumber. Lily was still in discomfort,
unconsciously rubbing her jaw against her mother's shoulder and squirming each
time Elizabeth tried to lower her into the crib. Elizabeth sat with her awhile in a
chair, but was so tired that she did not trust herself to retain a safe hold on Lily
should she, too, succumb to sleep.
She decided to bring Lily back to her own chamber, in hopes that a shared
bed would enable them both to rest. Darcy would not mind. There had been a
few occasions at Pemberley when Lily, in need of extra comfort, had slept in
their bed, and Darcy's presence often had a calming effect on the baby, awake or
asleep.
She moved quietly as she carried Lily down the corridor where the earl's
relations were quartered. The bride and her family occupied the floor above, and
several gentleman friends of Roger's were in another wing altogether. She did
not fear disturbing these more distant guests should Lily suddenly waken and
complain at full volume, but Lady Catherine's room she passed with extra
caution. Her ladyship's tenure at Pemberley had proven her a light sleeper, ever
alert to everyone else's affairs.
She rounded a corner and stopped suddenly.
Anne de Bourgh appeared equally startled. They had very nearly collided.
"Mrs. Darcy!"
"Miss de Bourgh?"
Both spoke in the lowest of whispers. Anne cast an alarmed glance in the
direction of her mother's chamber. In the weak grey light just beginning to
penetrate a nearby window, her face appeared pale as usual, but her features had
lost some of their sharpness. The angles of her cheekbones had rounded,
dissolving her typically haughty expression and softening her countenance.
Instead of pinched, she looked almost pretty.
"I-I did not expect to -- that is..."
"Nor I." Elizabeth shifted Lily to her other shoulder. The child had entered a
deeper sleep as they walked and was becoming heavier by the minute. "I thought
none but Lily and I was awake, and even she has finally decided the hour is
grown quite late enough." She tried to formulate a polite query as to why Miss
de Bourgh was wandering Riveton Hall fully dressed at half past four in the
morning. She doubted that Anne, coddled since childhood for fragile health,
routinely kept late hours. But her fatigued mind was not equal to the challenge of
clever phrasing. "What draws you from your bed at this time of night?" she
finally blurted.
"No one. I mean--"Anne nodded at Lily. "The child did not wake me, if that
is your concern."
It had not been. In fact, the thought had not so much as entered Elizabeth's
mind, which was primarily occupied with calculating how many hours' sleep she
might yet manage to capture if she nodded off immediately upon reaching her
pillow. Another part of her brain was attempting to determine whether Anne's
improved appearance were indeed a trick of the light or a genuine
transformation. Upon continued observation, the view afforded by their
unusually close proximity suggested the latter.
Anne bristled under Elizabeth's scrutiny. Her gaze strayed to the window.
"Actually, I am not up late, but very early. I woke and could not return to sleep,
so I thought I would stroll in the rose garden whilst the sun rose."
Unlike herself, Elizabeth had never known Miss de Bourgh to take pleasure
in walking or, for that matter, to walk any farther than necessity demanded. Lady
Catherine had always kept her on a short tether, ostensibly to protect her weak
constitution. The most vigorous exercise permitted was airings in a phaeton or
immersions in the therapeutic waters at Bath.
Until now.
The change of practice might account for Miss de Bourgh's improved looks -
- Elizabeth had previously entertained the opinion that Anne's health would
benefit from more, not less, exercise -- though she wondered that her mother
allowed it.
Or did she?
Miss de Bourgh's eyes again looked toward Lady Catherine's door. Pity
moved Elizabeth as realization dawned along with the sun. To escape her
ladyship's disapprobation, Anne had to take her exercise before anyone in the
household -- her mother, her chaperone, even the servants -- awoke. Else an
accidental slip of someone's tongue could betray her actions to Lady Catherine,
who would bring them to a swift and decisive halt.
Elizabeth had never given much thought to Anne's life. She knew that living
with Lady Catherine would be intolerable for herself, but she had never
contemplated Anne's happiness. Anne had always seemed a mere appendage to
the formidable entity that was Lady Catherine, existing to serve her mother's
convenience. Now she wondered whether the "poor health" from which Anne
had suffered all these years were the result of smothering -- a slow suffocation of
the soul.
How long had Anne been rising early to enjoy an hour's freedom before the
shackles of life under Lady Catherine's domination closed upon her each day?
From her appearance, she had been engaging in the practice for some time.
Good for her. Elizabeth wanted to praise the benign deception, but tact
restrained her. She would, however, encourage it.
"I suspect what you are about," she whispered, offering a slight, knowing
smile. "But do not be uneasy. Your secret is safe with me."
Anne's eyes widened. She stared at Elizabeth, struggling to formulate a reply.