Chapter 21 Happy Was The Day

The kitchens at Darcy House in London roared to life as the staff prepared the first formal dinner party in several years. Despite notice of only two days from the Master, Mr. Northam became determined to put on a spread as though the kitchen staff conducted such affairs weekly. Word that the new mistress of the house would be in attendance, with members of her family, inspired everyone from scullery maid to bread baker to put their best foot forward in their work. Despite the day beginning before dawn, Mr. Darcy did not come down to the kitchens to oversee the meal preparations until three hours to go for the appointed time.

“Were you able to find enough oysters for the meal?” he asked, slightly offending the chef that had worked for the Darcy family for over a decade. But November was one of the most popular months for the delicacy, and being mid-Season, finding enough for a dinner party of eight people was a tall order on short notice.

“Yes, sir, there is good fish and shellfish to be had, if one knows the right places to go,” Mr. Northam explained, going into detail how he had sent two lads and a senior assistant from the kitchen to Whitstable early yesterday morning. 

Mr. Darcy listened patiently while his chef explained the superior quality of sourcing oysters outside of London, for the largest specimens of the season would be gone. When the chef’s exaltation of the Whitstable oyster beds spoke of them dating to Roman times tested his nerves, Mr. Darcy finally interrupted the man.

“That is well, Mr. Northam. Is there any task I can aid you in for the success of this dinner?” he asked, and Mr. Northam gave his employer a sheepish expression. He looked around at the busy workroom around him, grinning at the hustle and bustle of the lower staff going in and out of the larders.

“I believe the butler has asked for your input on the wine selections,” he said, receiving a grateful nod from Mr. Darcy.

“Alert me if there is any change,” he commanded as he left the kitchens in search of the butler. Ordinarily, staff came to Mr. Darcy but hosting his first formal dinner party since his father died, Fitzwilliam found wondrous exercise for his nervous energies to seek his men out.

On the landing from the basement floor, Mr. Darcy nearly ran a young messenger boy over. As he tried to side-step him on the worn stone stairs, the young man called out.

“For you, sir,” he said, offering a folded message.

Darcy flipped the unsealed note open recognizing his aunt’s remarkably even handwriting.

Certain that our invitation was an oversight, your uncle and I will be over at 6 pm to discuss what we saw at the theatre last night, and to attend your dinner. We are anxious to meet this young woman your cousin has told us so much about.

– Eleanora Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock.

Groaning at the intrusion of his relatives, Mr. Darcy turned around to jog back towards the kitchens.

“Mr. Northam!” he bellowed, allowing his frustration with the Earl and Countess of Matlock to release in the volume of his voice. 

The bewildered chef hastened back to the front of the kitchens, a soup ladle still in his hands from the tasting of a reduction’s progress.

“Sir?”

“Plan for two more, and to be safe, a third. I have a feeling my cousin is tagging along with his parents, who are joining us for dinner.”

Mr. Northam beamed with pride. It had been a dream of his since taking the assignment in London after his education on the Continent to feed the discerning palates of the aristocracy. The Darcy family seemed illustrious enough to grant him such an opportunity, but not one year into his service, the former Mrs. Darcy was struck down and a few years later, Old Mr. Darcy after that. The man who unexpectantly inherited all of his parents’ possession after barely finishing school, showed no inclination towards society’s demands. 

Working for the Darcy family had been pleasant, polite, and proper. But feeling the anticipation of a new chapter in the family’s life developing around them, Mr. Northam suddenly felt hopeful his talents in the kitchen could finally shine.

“Yes, sir! That is not a problem sir and I will advise the housekeeper and butler to adjust the place settings,” he said.

Mr. Darcy scowled. “Do not move Miss Bennet’s place from next to mine.”

“But sir,” Mr. Northam cautioned, as such an illustrious position was rightfully the Countess of Matlock’s place.

“I will speak to them myself. This is my dinner party and I shall endure the upbraiding of my aunt.”

Mr. Northam chuckled as Mr. Darcy gave a pert nod and left them once more. Spying his staff all frozen in their stations as the second appearance of the Master threw off their normal routines, he shouted orders to get them moving again. It would not do for anything to be ruined by scorch especially if the seating was not to be by custom. But one way Mr. Northam could help his employer was to dazzle the tastebuds of those in attendance. By the end of the first course, they won’t care where they are seated!

Upstairs, Mr. Darcy found his butler and housekeeper, both eager for his input on several issues. After a thirty-minute interview with each of them, including the place settings, he checked the time on the pocket watch he kept on a chain near his waist. He managed four steps up the stairs, focused on the time flying away from him until his guests were expected to arrive when a thunderous knocking came from the front door.

Mr. Darcy groaned. Then nodded to his butler to let his cousin in as no one else would dare to bang on the door in such a manner. Poor Mr. Edgars barely opened the door before Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam pushed his way inside, in full regimentals.

“This is your doing, Darcy!” he shouted, spying his cousin on the stairs. The colonel placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, the other out as though to drape a long piece of cloth over his arm, and spun slowly to give his cousin the full effect of his uniform. “She made me put on my sword!”

Mr. Darcy chuckled once and turned away. He needed to change his attire for the evening.

“Your valet better tie your cravat tighter than Brummel’s in solidarity!” Richard called out and Mr. Darcy raised his hand to beckon for his cousin to follow him, instead of shouting at him from the foyer. 

Conflicted between talking with his cousin, and the better spirits in the study, Richard made a command decision. Swaggering forward past the marble statues in the alcoves, he quick-stepped down the hall behind the stairs to interlope into his cousin’s private room. He looked at the two glasses and considered trying to juggle both of them and the decanter, then only took the one. If Darcy had wanted a drink, then he should have had the forethought to have glasses in his suite. His thievery complete, he took his time up the stairs. 

“Green or brown, sir?” the valet held up two waistcoats for his Master’s approval.

“Pull the gold-threaded ruby number from the back of his wardrobe. We’ll cut a dashing show in matching reds,” Richard interrupted as he barged into the suite without knocking. Even if he had wished to show his younger cousin respect, his hands were full.

The valet looked to Mr. Darcy for assent, and the wealthiest man of Derbyshire nodded. 

Standing in his lawn shirt tucked into his trousers, with his sleeves still billowy and unpinned, Darcy waited for his cousin to pour himself a glass. Once Richard placed the decanter on the small, circular side table next to Darcy’s usual reading chair, the owner of the decanter swiped it and took a swig straight from the crystal bottle.

“There’s the idea,” Richard cheered and lifted his glass to drink to his cousin’s good fortune. “What’s this I hear that Miss Bennet hasn’t signed the papers?”

Darcy wiped his mouth and gazed in the mirror to make sure not a dribble of the dark rum sullied his pristine white shirt. “How are you aware of that?” he asked.

Richard scoffed at his cousin’s naïveté and drank more. Mr. Darcy stared at his reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“Mother is all a titter about it. You know Aunt Catherine wrote my father,” Richard explained as the valet returned with the requested garment. 

Mr. Darcy shrugged his broad shoulders as his valet lifted the coat into place, then stood still as the buttons were fastened.

“I was not aware Lady Catherine wrote to the earl,” Mr. Darcy said, using a cool tone as he kept up the formalities of his relatives’ aristocratic titles and not their relation to him.

“Bash my beaver, it’s Lady Catherine now?”

Mr. Darcy’s valet held out a collection of cufflinks for him to choose and none of them suited his master’s mood. Darcy waved them away and the valet left to retrieve a second tray. 

“The woman attempted to ruin, perhaps forever, my happiness. She will become an aunt to me again when she behaves with one shred of decency in regards to my best interests.”

“But that’s the rub, ain’t it? Your preference didn’t sign the agreement,” Richard lifted his glass and swallowed the last gulp in an exaggerated movement. With a loud sigh of satisfaction, he set the glass back upon the table with more force than necessary, giving the thin, pedestal-legged table a good wobble. “Why do you think she didn’t sign?”

Looking again at the offered cufflinks, Mr. Darcy scowled. “I want my grandfather’s set, the silver,” he demanded. As his valet nodded and rushed off to fetch the preferred pair, Mr. Darcy stepped away from the mirror to face his cousin directly. 

“Is that the preoccupation that brings your parents to intrude on my dinner plans?”

Richard lowered his jaw and brow line into an expression of suspicion.

“Can you blame them? Country upstart throws off Aunt Catherine’s plans for you and Anne, you take her to the theatre for the world to see with no formal announcement in the papers . . .”

Mr. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted his eyes shut. In his mind, he saw all of the missteps he had made in regards to his relations, but he had assumed his Fitzwilliam aunt and uncle would side with Lady Catherine. 

“And so they intend to run her off?”

“No,” Richard said, firmly, shocking his cousin into opening his eyes and look at him with hope. “They’re curious,” he said, cautiously.

When Darcy said nothing, Richard filled the silence.

“You can surely understand their concern given the legacy to befall her,” Richard stated.

Darcy laughed as his valet returned with the silver cufflinks embossed with a ‘D’ on them, thick and sturdy without superfluous embellishments of gemstones.

“Come now, Darcy, you know the rumors—” Richard stood up and then stopped speaking as Darcy flashed him a gaze of pure wrath. He considered the presence of the valet and then chuckled. “Your staff even knows the rumors!”

“I’m duty-bound to inform you, Colonel, that we do not discuss rumor in this household,” Darcy’s valet stated, carrying not only the household line but daring to speak to his social better. As he spoke, he fastened the cufflinks without looking up.

Richard stood and gawked at the valet daring to speak to him and then looked at his cousin to admonish his man. When Fitzwilliam did not, Richard sat back down in the chair and sulked until the man left to retrieve a change in coat that Mr. Darcy whispered to him. Once he was gone, Richard glared at his cousin.

“My surname is Darcy.”

“It’s said the fortune comes from—”

“If my mother chose to share details of the privilege with her sister, I was not made aware of it.” 

“So she tells you off, oh yes, I told my parents about that. Had to, to counter Aunt Catherine’s characterization.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “What characterization?”

“You don’t need to hear it,” Richard said, holding up his hand as the valet returned with a cravat. He then waited until his cousin was forced to look up at the ceiling while his man tied an ornate, tight knot just under his chin. “And now she doesn’t sign papers to become one of the wealthiest women in England. My parents question if she is a saint.”

“She’s not a saint,” Mr. Darcy stated, with a smirk, knowing well the flaws and mischievous behavior his future wife exhibited. “She’s principled,” he said, as his valet finished and Mr. Darcy caught his eye, a nonverbal reminder that this conversation was to be protected by his silence. When the valet dashed out again to fetch the coat Mr. Darcy requested, he finally came clean with his cousin. “I don’t know much about anything Lamont spoke with her. I was meeting with Winde, the elder, and her father and uncle. And as I am not on the trust and cannot even order a farthing of it spent—”

“You don’t know the terms?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head and his cousin seemed to grin with victory until Darcy dashed his cousin’s hopes.

“Neither do you, Richard. No matter what Lady Catherine may or may not have told your father and anyone else, there’s no guarantee that my mother told even her the truth.”

Richard frowned. “I find Aunt Anne lying to Aunt Catherine difficult to believe.”

Mr. Darcy grimaced. The entire discussion filled him with unease as it was a constant reminder that his mother’s passing robbed her of so much time. He planned to talk with Elizabeth privately if he could manage it, before or after the dinner to learn what about the trust had offended her? 

Richard spoke again to seek a satisfying answer out of his closest relative by choice. “You think your mother would lie to her sister?”

Mr. Darcy sighed. “Are you always truthful with Henry Charles? Or Timothy?” he asked, naming Richard’s elder and younger brothers. 

“About important things.”

“Georgiana’s ordeal last summer?”

“No,” Richard scowled, pouring himself another drink.

“Careful, that’s two before dinner,” Darcy cautioned, making his cousin even more out of sorts. 

Mr. Darcy’s valet returned with his coat, freshly brushed. “My father,” Darcy began, speaking around the tasks of the last of his dressing ritual. “He warned me that long ago my family decided, or rather my,” Darcy stopped to think for a moment and counted under his breath. “Third or fourth great-grandmother decided that the men in our family could not be trusted alone with the purse strings. That’s probably why there’s never been an entail,” Darcy added, as an afterthought. As he dismissed his valet and slipped on his shoes, he picked the decanter back up for one last taste.

Pointing the elegantly cut crystal bottle at his cousin, he recalled nearly word for word what his father had said to him near his death about the whole thing. “The bankers run that money, the ladies write about it in their books and keep their little intrigues,” he said.

“Intrigues?” Richard asked.

Darcy shrugged. “Truthfully, I doubt the money is anything near to what Lady Catherine surmises it to be, after five or six generations of Darcy wives spending from it?” he asked, making his cousin laugh.

“But the rumor,” Richard reminded him and his cousin laughed.

“Every family without a title wants to pretend they are descended from some long-forgotten dynasty,” Darcy pointed out, recalling Miss Bingley once trying to explain to him how her family was descended on her mother’s side to a distant cousin of King George. 

“And through your mother, you are grandson to an earl, that does trace to King James.”

“I am reminded by our mutual aunt of that fact every Easter as you are.”

Richard stared down at his drink and swirled the amber liquid side-to-side, watching the ellipse shift around the edges of the glass. “Do you think she doesn’t want to marry you after all?” he asked, not daring to look up at his cousin.

“I dearly hope not. I hope it’s just a small misunderstanding,” Darcy said, opening the door and signaling they would go downstairs to wait for the guests.

Richard rose and began to walk toward his cousin, but Darcy cleared his throat as he held the decanter up. Sheepishly, Richard hustled back over to the table, grabbed his glass, and followed his cousin out.

“You know, the Navy truly missed out that you weren’t born a second son,” Richard teased.

“How so?” Mr. Darcy said as they walked briskly down the hall to the stairs.

“You keep everything so damned neat and tidy.”