Chapter 3 An Autumn Accord

“I am a man without a home, such is the problem.”

Mary’s mouth froze open from a moment of experiencing such a dark side to her jovial Colonel. Ever the man to play a prank or find a tease, his sudden despair and melancholy unsettled her. “I appreciate nomadic living is a greater insult to men than women, but I empathize with your sentiment, sir.”

Richard cringed at Mary’s formality. They had such precious little private time as a couple in courtship, and here he was bumbling it like a fool. He halted their progress and turned to face the woman in possession of his greatest respect and care. “The estate was entirely in ruins. I could not bring myself to put into words the disrepair we witnessed.”

“I am aware.”

“But how?” Richard asked.

Mary offered her Colonel a sweet smile and patted his arm, leading him to continue their progress so as not to fall too far behind their younger, ignorant chaperones. “Aside from the bandits, I am clever enough to read both what is said and what is not said.”

“I never intended to insinuate otherwise – “

“Fret not, I am not offended. I know I am not thought to be as clever as Lizzie, but I was prepared to hear the poor news.” Mary continued to smile in hopes of encouraging him out of his sour mood. Instead, the Colonel’s face began to turn a most violent shade of red.

“But, don’t you understand what this means? Poor news . . . poor news is a relative delayed on a visit. I possess no manner with which to provide for you the lifestyle you deserve. I cannot offer to protect you, to care for you, when I own not even a wretched hovel.”

Mary caught her breath in an audible gasp, ignoring the angry burn threatening the corners of her eyes. “We do not lack the funds to purchase a hovel, I am fairly certain it would perhaps even be above wretched status, though there is no shame in humble dwellings as Scripture tells us we – – “

“Spare me your sermons this time, woman. I will not spend your money.”

Although it was never a bother before for him to think of his marriage prospects as requiring a wealthy heiress, moving from an abstract concept to one of actual execution left more than distaste in Richard Fitzwilliam’s mouth. It bitterly burned as ineptitude. Why had he not allowed his father to purchase him a higher rank years ago? He would not now be a lowly colonel awaiting the rank and salary to support a family.

As they continued to walk, Mary remained silent and Richard proved the most passive of escorts. The park was far too public a place for Mary to willingly engage in a discussion about marriage with a man who had yet to propose. A man who had just very neatly insulted her!

Quickening her steps, Richard matched Mary’s pace and they rapidly caught up the two younger girls ahead on the path. Without blinking, for fear tears might fall, Mary released the arm of the Colonel and joined her sister’s side to hear their conversation about Kitty’s novel. Feigning interest in the heroine’s moral motivations, the remainder of the stroll continued with nothing amiss to distress Georgiana and Kitty. The entire time they walked the trek, Mary Bennet began to consider if she ought to load a carriage and join her sensible sisters in Scotland.

Mrs. Bennet, the most distinguished widow of Hertfordshire, soon found herself without the companionship of her friends as she lived mainly alone in Meryton. Aside from a few visits from her sister Phillips every week or so, the previous grand matron of Hertfordshire Society spent her days with a wine glass, fussing over her small home. She wrote many letters to her daughters Jane and Lydia but had not found their correspondence to keep a similar pace.

At the suggestion of her newest housekeeper, Mrs. Bennet donned a dress trimmed in gray for a shopping excursion. Her first attempt to greet familiar friends in town met with initially shock at how altered her appearance had become followed by half-hearted compliments. Once a robust and cheerful woman, Francine Bennet had lost considerable mass and tone, her complexion without bloom. Her reliance of the numbness from drink aged her features in a profound manner.

Spotting her harrowed reflection in a shop’s window, her eyes refocused on the lettering of the sign above the door. She stepped into the small hamlet’s new sundry shop promising lotions and finely crafted soaps of elegant ingredients. Carefully fingering the small display of lavender soaps stacked neatly on the counter, her heart panged at the loss of her daughters. Her Jane and Lydia both preferred lavender, but they were gone now, off in Scotland on holiday and none cared for their poor Mama. There was no room on the back of her home to dry flowers and herbs like there had been at Longbourn, nor a garden or young ladies to tend the plantings.

“Pardon me madam, would you know the direction of the book shop?” A handsome stranger with dashing dark looks asked a seemingly innocuous question.

“Oh my husband adored Mr. Hamilton’s shop. But he is no longer with us, I’m afraid, the Good Lord seeing fit to take him last autumn.” She paused for the man to express condolences, but when he did not, she continued. “Mr. Hamilton’s shop is three doors down.” Mrs. Bennet waved her hand, glaring at the presumptuous, rude young man.

He flashed her a devilish smile. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, kind lady. Mr. Hamilton’s book shop is not three doors down. Maxwell’s Books and Papers is indeed in the location you direct.” He offered her a slight bow of his head.

Flustered, Mrs. Bennet furrowed her brow and shook her head at the impertinent young man. “Maxwell? A Mr. Maxwell? Heavens, no, I have lived in this county for over twenty years, young man, and there is no Maxwell in this community. No, I am quite certain it is a Mr. Hamilton who runs the book shop, though I confess I’ve seen no occasion to visit as of late.” She eyed the man carefully, not enjoying the fact of his trying to play a trick on a poor widow such as herself.

With a flourish of his hand, the stranger produced a small card from his coat pocket. He flicked the card with the dexterity of a magician and offered her the square. “I am afraid to say my dear cousin Hamilton left the shop to my capable hands this summer to retire to his home county. As he is unable to return, I have proudly purchased the store and inventory. I do hope you might find some occasion to visit us soon. I so enjoy assisting a handsome lady in search of the perfect novel for her afternoon.”

The stranger, surreptitiously introducing himself as Mr. Maxwell, bid her good day and quit the sundry shop leaving Mrs. Bennet startled and holding the card with his name upon it. Her hands trembling from the exaltation of a sincere compliment from a handsome young man, she gazed down to finger his name, most carefully penned.

Charles Maxwell,

Purveyor of Fine Books and Papers

Sharply calling the shop assistant over to make her purchases, she instructed the soaps to be delivered to her home and set off to visit her sister Phillips. While it was incredibly forward of the young man to introduce himself in such a manner, Mrs. Francine Bennet was almost certain she was quite likely out of writing supplies and with the sudden extra time on her hands, might now find reading to be quite enjoyable.

The Earl of Matlock enjoyed a few hours of peace on his first afternoon home from the fool’s errand with his son. The estate had been so wholly unsuitable, for even the vermin who were now quite content to reside there! When his beautiful wife Margaret entered his study of solitude, he knew it was time to dissect the unpleasant business.

“Is it true? A shambles?” Lady Matlock demanded.

“My darling, it is wonderful to see you, too. Shall I pour you a drink?”

“Don’t patronize me, Reginald! Mary Bennet is in tears at Darcy House and our son returned to the barracks. Tell me truly, is it a lostcause?”

The Earl of Matlock clapped his hands and rubbed them vigorously before clasping them behind his back. He puffed his chest as he would when telling a political ally a bit of unsettling news. “You may have your answer. Shall I enumerate the cracks and crumbling walls? Shall I explain the home had nary a roof whole? Richard and I could not spend the evening. About the only home suitable for man, or beast, was the overseer’s cottage which was little more than a hut.” The Earl helped himself to the offer he made to his wife, pouring a healthy three fingers full.

Lady Matlock’s hand trembled over her mouth as her other hand steadied upon the nearest chair. She sat down with the horrors every mother with a son in His Majesty’s Service feared most. After a moment of handling the shock, her mind lit upon other solutions. “What about Darcy? Could Darcy fund–”

The Earl shook his head interrupting her question. “No, that boy of ours adamantly refuses what he calls a handout. He’s stubborn he is, that one. And damnation to us all I didn’t insist he go into law!”

“Perhaps we could, a small home in London?” Lady Matlock tested the suggestion before fully uttering a plan to purchase Richard a home.

The Earl took a seat on the lone sofa in the room instead of residing behind his desk. He settled into a relaxing position to endure his humility. “I already slashed Robert’s allowance to the bare minimum, thank goodness Richard never asks us for funds. I’ve made you aware of the particulars, Margaret. Unless this year’s harvest comes in strong, there is risk of an entrenchment.”

Lady Matlock firmly pressed her lips together, unable to voice the potential renting out of her London home to tradesmen for liquidity. Although she was an intelligent woman, she abhorred all topics of expenses and frugality, courtesy of the strict upbringing at the hand of her stepmother. “What may I do to help? Say the word Reginald, and I’ll see it done.”

Her husband warily turned his head to her, his face an expression of true discomfort for a fleeting moment. “Any expenses our nephew can cover for the Bennet girls must be allowed. I know, I know you are happier than I’ve seen you in years, but our circumstances are truly becoming more desperate the longer our sons do not marry and bring money to the coffers.”