Sharon Lathan: The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

The gigantic house included a well-stocked armory so hunting was a frequent occupation, Baron Oeggl tirelessly stalking miles along with the younger men for the plentiful game roaming the foothills, and fresh meat appeared at nearly every meal. The game room included a billiard table, Darcy’s smile beatific upon spying it, and every last male relative felt the sting of defeat ere they left. George joined in for some of the manly exploits but preferred to stay with his sister. That also meant he was often the only male present in a house of females and children, a position he gladly accepted. The children thought their new uncle a treasure, the constant clamoring for his undivided attention provoking a jealous streak in Alexander, who made sure everyone knew this was his Uncle Goj!

Crossing the Alps into Italy was never an easy endeavor, although it was undertaken with enough regularity to organize properly. Five of the Oeggl grandchildren, young adults all, as well as the eldest son and heir to the barony, Herr Jens Oeggl, and his wife, Anita, had decided to join the caravan as soon as they learned of Lord and Lady Matlock’s plan to take Miss Darcy on a grand tour. All the arrangements were made, including connecting with several other friends who wished to travel and, as expected, the locals in Switzerland were stocked with every supply needed. A larger company moving together was the safest plan, Darcy immeasurably relieved and thankful to learn of the family’s inclusion.

“Tours across Europe are popular for the Darcy kinsmen this year.” It was twilight on May twenty and the main parlor, stretching across the rear of the house with a panoramic view of Lake Genève, was packed with adults lounging about in that hazy place of contentment after a day replete with activity and a sumptuous dinner. Baroness Oeggl’s murmured statement was easily audible to all since most were reading, silently playing games, or staring at the scenery.

“Yes,” Darcy responded first, laying his book aside and attending to his aunt, “we are a platoon-sized force blazing across the continent. Somewhat ostentatious at times.”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly at his joke. “Oh yes, I recall the feelings of pretension when traveling in the past. Our recent journey from Vienna was a formidable host, more of a battalion with all of us.” She swept her eyes over the loungers, most of who were listening to the exchange with smiles on their faces. “However, I was not only referring to those currently residing here. Your cousin Maria and her husband are in Russia, of all the outlandish places to visit.”

“I think Russia would be a fascinating place to tour. It is an ancient culture with architecture found nowhere else.”

Lizzy’s zealous interruption was met with a faint frown, the Baroness continuing as if she had not spoken, “Freiherr Oeggl’s youngest brother and family are already in Italy, since last fall, and currently the Marchioness of Warrow is dwelling at our house in Vienna.”

“Aunt Beryl is in Vienna?” George blurted.

“Lady Warrow,” Mary corrected primly, “is accompanying her grandson, Mr. Butler, while he studies music in Vienna.”

Darcy looked toward his wife. “I believe he mentioned his plans to tour abroad when we met him last year, did he not Elizabeth?”

“He did. I was not sure of details in his plans, however. Did he speak of it to you, Georgiana?”

“We conversed for a few minutes only and then about the pieces he wrote. I know nothing of his private matters, but I am not surprised. If the compositions played for us are an indication of his talent, then it is sensible to further his study. He plans to tour Italy, I assume?”

“Not as yet. My understanding is that he hopes to be a student at the Paris Conservatoire de Musique…”

“Oh!” Georgiana blushed at her interruption but could not hide her animation. “How extraordinary! For a foreigner to be admitted is an incredible honor. Mr. Butler surely possesses a talent vastly exceeding my impression if he has such expectations. How extraordinary,” she repeated, face dreamy as she lapsed into silence.

“He does play beautifully,” Mary resumed, “and with my knowledge of music I can assert he is prodigiously skilled. I am sure in time he will comprehend the importance of visiting Italy to study opera where it originated and reigns supreme.”

“If he is as precious to the musical world as it appears then hopefully he will sail to Italy rather than risk his magical fingers or genius brain to the rigors of crossing the mountains!”

Laughter rang out at Herr Oeggl’s exaggeration, only his mother pursing her lips and remaining silent.

“Jens teases at Mr. Butler’s expense not out of maliciousness, Miss Darcy, but because the two instantly bonded in friendship. Mr. Butler is as humorous as my husband, if one defines sarcasm as humor.” Anita Oeggl winked at her spouse, Herr Oeggl bowing in mock salute.

“Only desiring to avoid a tragedy that would wound us all, my love.”

“Is the crossing into Italy as formidable as they say?” Georgiana asked. Her voice and expression showed exhilaration at the concept and not a shred of fright, music and Mr. Butler forgotten.

“Oh, indeed it is,” her cousin answered in an ominous tone, winking sidelong at Darcy, who frowned. “The pass of Saint Bernard through the Valais Alps to Aosta is roughly fifty miles of narrow winding pathways overlooking plunging gorges and rising to elevations over eight-thousand feet. All around you are towering snow-clad mountains touching the heavens. It is breathtaking to behold! God at His greatest display of artistry. One must be hardy to cross and incredibly brave.”

“You have crossed it yourself, Herr Oeggl?”

“I have, twice I am proud to say.”

“An adventurous soul is my son,” Baron Oeggl declared.

“I am Austrian. And Austrians climb mountains fearlessly, yes, Mutter, sein ?”

“So I am continually informed,” Mary agreed dryly.

Herr Oeggl grinned. “You shall see, lieblich cousin, that the Great St. Bernard is a marvelous adventure. We shall tread the road bloody Napoleon crossed with his army of 60,000, descending into an unaware Saint-Rhemy with war chariots and gun carriages. He was branded a fool to attempt crossing in May while the heavy snows blocked the pass, but fool or tactical genius his ploy succeeded. History is plentiful along the pass.”

Lizzy shivered. “One hears such tales of woe related to that pass. Are you sure it is wise to take that way?”

“It is the closest and well traversed, Cousin. Thousands of people travel that way each year. One must be diligent and prepared, naturally. That is why we will not depart until well into June, for one thing, and we will move slowly with guides.”

“And you will shelter at the hospice for a day or more of rest,” Darcy ordered.

“Goodness knows I will need the hiatus.” Lord Matlock stretched his legs as if already imagining the ache from an arduous ride.

“The monks who honor Bernard of Menthon by maintaining the hospice will treat you well, my lord. The food is hot and satisfying, the fires raging, and the travelers constant through the pass. The monks and their dogs also patrol the trails for unsavory folk bent on thievery. That is no longer the concern it once was.”

“I hear the dogs of St. Bernard are as big as mastiffs. Is this true?”

“It is, Cousin,” Jurgen, youngest son of Herr Oeggl replied, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hand shoulder level. “Like small horses they are, but gentle. They gaze at you with their enormous brown eyes and compassion touches your heart. You can see why they love rescuing stranded people, risking their own lives selflessly to aid humans. It is beautiful.”