Sharon Lathan - The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

“As indeed I asserted! Are his declarations of unending love properly rendered with a wealth of poetic verse? He is a composer so I expect nothing less.”

Georgiana sighed, her cheeks rosy as she reread her beloved’s letter, lingering over every word especially the greeting to “My loveliest fiancée, Georgiana.”

“He manages sufficiently to appease my heart. And, no, I shall not share his affections, so do not ask!”

“Understood,” Lizzy agreed, laughing along with Georgiana. “I am delighted to hear he is to arrive soon. Not only because it will be lovely to meet Mr. Butler again, and under these blessed circumstances, but because I confess it is difficult to secret the news from William.”

“Oh, Lizzy! I apologize for placing you in an awkward situation! Perhaps I should speak to William myself and not wait for Mr. Butler.”

“No, dearest. I should not have spoken of it. And I do not necessarily mean that it is awkward as in feeling I am deceiving as much as I am bursting with happiness for you. I know William will be overjoyed and thus cannot wait to share with him; that is all I meant. I only pray he arrives prior to our departure to Kent.”

A worried frown creased Georgiana’s brow. “I had not thought of that. I shall inform him of your plans when I write tonight. Hopefully he can adjust his schedule to coincide as I would hate to postpone matters until later in April when you and William return.”

“I am positive all shall be well, even if we must delay our departure and enlighten William as to your engagement.”

“And not arrive on the precise day Lady Catherine expects you?” Georgiana asked with feigned horror. “Perish the thought!”

The echo of childish laughter interrupted any further discussion. Laughter was followed by a high-pitched shriek and a deep voice declaring in exaggerated ominous tones, “Run fast, tasty boy, or you shall be my breakfast!”

“Can no catch me, Uncle Goj!”

A loud roar mimicking a lion followed that bold declaration with the pounding of small and large feet growing louder by the second. Suddenly a triumphant roar and shrill yell burst forth simultaneously, two bodies barreling through the open parlor door. George rose to his full height, a red-faced and giggling Alexander dangling upside down across his shoulder.

“Greetings, ladies! I rescued this imp from the boredom of tracing the alphabet”—he shivered dramatically—“and now we are here to enliven the stuffiness of sewing. I believe a walk to the Park is the prescribed remedy. Michael is asleep, Mrs. Darcy, so I am here to rescue you.”

“I was not aware I needed rescuing, but a walk does sound lovely. I want to inspect the narcissus I hear are especially colorful this spring.”

George lowered Alexander to the floor head first, tickling as he rolled him onto his back. The toddler giggled breathlessly, squirming and wiggling until free from his uncle’s clutches whereupon he dashed to his mother.

“Nanny Lisa says I go with Uncle Goj and do letters later. We go see ducks, Mama, please?”

“I think feeding the poor starving ducks of Hyde Park a marvelous idea, sweetling.”

“Mrs. Darcy, you wished to see me?”

George turned, grinning broadly at Mrs. Smyth, who avoided his eyes and visibly winced when he boomed, “Good day, Mrs. Smyth! How are you this fine morning?”

“Quite well, Dr. Darcy. Thank you. Mrs. Dar…”

“Have you done something different to your hair, Mrs. Smyth?”

“Not at all, sir,” she answered primly.

“Hmm… I do not recall curls escaping your cap. Most lovely, I daresay. It becomes you. Ah! Look at how she blushes so delightfully! Do I detect the look of a woman in love? Is my heart to be devastated at your affection turned toward a secret amour?”

“George, do not tease Mrs. Smyth so shamelessly,” Lizzy said with a laugh, George bowing contritely with a hand over his heart.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Smyth. I fear my wits and good manners have escaped me in the overwhelming awe of so much beauty in one room.”

“Indeed,” the housekeeper coldly intoned, her face neutral except for a glimmer of supreme dislike directed toward George’s back when he turned away.

“What causes the rosiness to your cheeks, Georgie? Are all the women surrounding me falling in love?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Uncle. I may be forced to conclude that it is not beauty that scatters your wits but rather senility weakening your diagnostic skills! What a pity if we are required to hire a nurse to keep the drool away from your brilliant green and gold tunic.”

“If she is exceptionally comely I welcome the idea.” He wiggled his brows, a crooked grin flashing. “And is this suit not astounding? A package from India was awaiting me. Nimesh and Sasi, Jharna’s sons, keep me properly garbed, thank the Maker, as I would never wish to draw undue attention from outdated attire.” He winked, grabbed an apple off the tea tray, and tossed it into the air. It was caught deftly with one hand followed by a huge bite.

Mrs. Smyth stood ramrod straight, her pinched lips the only outward indication of her disgust as she listened to Mrs. Darcy’s dinner requests. Her responses were clipped but correctly rendered, her curtsy a bit stiff but adequate, and she left the parlor with her disdain well concealed. She did not look back and walked at a stately pace down the long corridor toward the kitchen. Each step took her further and further away from the voices and laughter pervading the parlor. Then, just as she reached the door to the housekeeper’s pantry located near the kitchen and the nervous twitch behind her left eye began to slacken as the noises fell to a dim murmur, another shrill, childish laugh pierced the relative hush followed by a loud, braying whoop. Her teeth clenched and the tic restarted at full force. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her chatelaine to find the correct key and she barely managed to retain her dignity as she ducked into the insulated closet.

She fell onto the stool, head dropping against a pile of precision folded table napkins as her eyes closed in relief. Silence. Blessed silence. She inhaled vigorously, willing her heart to slow. The darkness in the closet with familiar scents of silver polish and laundered linens was calming. Her fingers played over the hard metal of her chatelaine and the grooves of the keys attached. It was a ready reminder of who she was.

Only two weeks , she said to herself, then they shall leave for Kent. After that hiatus, several more weeks of misery before the long, glorious months when the house is all mine.

It was a litany she repeated frequently and had done so ever since that horrid day over three years ago when Mr. Darcy brought his new bride to Darcy House. Mrs. Smyth shuddered at the memory. Her comfortable, regulated, proper life had been radically changed from that day forward. How could it have happened? It was a question she repeatedly asked herself, but no answer was forthcoming.

Up until that day, Prudence Garrett Smyth considered her life charmed. At the age of fifteen she had joined the staff of Lord and Lady Cheltham in their luxurious London Townhouse. As the daughter of a tradesman father and milliner mother, Prudence Garrett was modestly educated, reasonably accomplished, accustomed to hard work, and considered herself a class above the average maid. It was an attitude that appealed to Lady Cheltham. By the time she was twenty, Prudence was ladies’ maid to the teenage daughter of Lord and Lady Cheltham, and by twenty-three was the highest ranking upstairs maid and setting her sights on the housekeeper position.

Soon after, her stellar performance and indispensability to Lady Cheltham allowed her to marry the head groomsman, Mr. Smyth.