A Lady's Reputation Read online

  A Lady’s Reputation

  Amy D’Orazio

  Copyright © 2019 by Amy DOrazio

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Gail Warner and Ellen Pickels

  Proofread by Linda D’Orazio

  Cover Design by CloudCat Designs

  Front cover

  1. Vittorio Reggianini, An Amusing Letter

  2. Balthasar Nesbot, The Dam and Fishing Tabernacles with the Octagon Tower and Rotunda at Studley Royal Back cover

  Vittorio Reggianini, The Recital

  ISBN 978-1-951033-03-3 and 978-1-951033-02-6 (ebook)

  Dedicated to my family, with all my love

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Amy D’Orazio

  Wednesday, 8 April 1812, Kent

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sat with his mouth rather unattractively agape for what seemed like a full quarter of an hour before finally repeating, “In love?”

  “You have heard of the affliction, I presume?” asked Darcy with a droll smile. He wished desperately that he had chosen to confide in his cousin in different circumstances—perhaps over a billiard table or on horseback, somewhere Fitzwilliam would not be so wholly focused on him—but there was nothing for it now.

  “But who is she? I have detected no symptom of peculiar regard by you for anyone. Though now that I think of it, you did speak rather at length to that horse-faced lady from Leeds—or was it Leicester? I cannot recall. Is it her?”

  “Heavens no!” Darcy laughed. “I shall tell you, but first, I must plead your assistance in concealing this from our family. For Lady Catherine to know before I tell her myself would be nothing short of disastrous. Likewise, I would not wish to have your father learn of it before I tell him.”

  “My father will be delighted to see you settled. Unless you think the family might not approve of her?”

  “The family surely will not approve of her. It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

  Fitzwilliam’s exclamations were becoming tiresome. “You seem rather taken with her yourself,” Darcy replied sharply. “I do not think you should find it as astonishing as all of this.”

  “Indeed not. I find Miss Bennet delightful. Charming, witty, and beautiful…kind too. I do not think I could have any greater hope for your happiness than to see you married to such a lady as Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy rose from the large wing chair and went to the window of his aunt’s library. The window might have boasted a view of the parsonage save for the trees that grew up thick and tall between them. Nevertheless, it was a comfort to know that she was somewhere in that direction.

  “But?” he asked.

  “Her lack of fortune is an issue, as well as her connexions. Did I hear something about relations in trade?”

  Darcy grimaced, knowing he would be giving voice to all that plagued him since first coming to understand his attraction to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. “Her relations on her maternal side are not gentry. One uncle is in trade, and the other is an attorney in a small village called Meryton in Hertfordshire.

  “Her mother is a vulgar creature. She is outspoken, illiberal, and bold. She would not be received by anyone of quality. Miss Bennet’s father is indolent and lackadaisical. He consistently fails to censure his family for their many mortifying antics. The young ladies are not educated properly nor have they been guided into demure womanhood. The younger three are wholly untamed and even encouraged in impudence. However, Miss Elizabeth and her eldest sister have somehow managed to find elegant restraint.”

  Fitzwilliam exhaled loudly.

  “Do not think me insensible of the evils of my choice. Nevertheless, it cannot signify because, no matter her connexions or her upbringing, I love her. To live my life without her is unthinkable.”

  “So you intend to declare yourself soon?”

  “The parsonage party will dine with us tomorrow evening. I thought I might do it then.”

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes flew wide, and once again, he stared agape. “In our aunt’s home? Have you gone stark, raving mad?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “A better idea than having Lady Catherine witness your engagement in her home to the detriment of her daughter? Yes, I believe I can think of many better ideas than that.” Fitzwilliam rose from his seat and paced slowly, rubbing his face in the way he always did when deep in thought.

  Darcy watched him for far too long before demanding, “Say something, Fitzwilliam.”

  “I am concerned. You say this affection of yours is implacable, yet I do not think you fully comprehend the many consequences of your decision. Need I remind you that Lady Catherine expects you will offer for Anne?”

  “How could I forget that?” Darcy snorted. “I assure you, I have studied this from every aspect. I have considered every objection.”

  “Considering something, no matter how exhaustive, does not necessarily prepare you for the reality of it. What if you propose to Miss Bennet and then, in the face of her family’s lunatic behaviour, find yourself doubting your actions? What if ostracism from our family—I do not think that would happen, but it cannot be ruled out—makes her charms grow dim? There are a number of obstacles, and you would have them before you all at once. How do you know whether your ardour will outlast it?”

  Darcy was silent as he settled back into his chair.

  “You must anticipate the consequences of your actions and their effect on both you and Miss Bennet. Will the society of your bride suffice if no one in London will receive you? How will you bear being the subject of tattle, unceasing gossip? What about when the vulgarity and impropriety of her family is permeating the halls of Pemberley?”

  “We would not be ostracised,” Darcy protested. “Naturally, there will be some who remove me from their list of preferred guests, but I shall seek the assistance of your mother to ensure Elizabeth is not shunned. You saw yourself that she is very agreeable. Few can meet her and remain unmoved. She has that way about her. Even Lady Catherine approves of her, albeit grudgingly.”

  “True, though I think we can agree that Lady Catherine’s approval will end as soon as she knows of the engagement.” Fitzwi
lliam paused to sip his drink.

  “As for the Bennets,” Darcy continued, “we shall likely see them very little. Mr Bennet dislikes travel and can scarcely be prevailed upon to come to London. I would imagine Derbyshire to be quite out of the question.”

  Darcy drummed his fingers on the tabletop beside his chair, deep in thought. The hours spent contemplating these obstacles over the past months had taught him they could not be disregarded. Overcoming them, however, was entirely another matter. “Perhaps I should go to our family first.”

  “What?”

  He turned to meet his cousin’s gaze. “It might be to our advantage to address these objections before I propose.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded thoughtfully.

  “I shall go to my uncle first. He may rant as much as he likes with no one the wiser but myself. Once he realises I shall not waver, your mother will make him see reason. This will also remove any notion of impropriety or some similar nonsense—lend validity to the whole thing, if you will.” His voice grew animated as his idea gained momentum. “Then…then I shall go to Hertfordshire and speak to Elizabeth’s father.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave his cousin a dubious look. “But that is the way of our grandfathers, Darcy. A modern young woman expects to be the first to know of her engagement.”

  “Elizabeth will approve, I am certain.” Darcy dismissed his cousin’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “It will show a respect for her family, in particular of her father, of whom she is very fond. Moreover, it will be my test; if I can bear this mortification, surely I can bear anything.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Do you truly think it might go so badly?”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. “I can hear Mrs Bennet’s screeching now, exclaiming over my wealth and Elizabeth’s pin money.”

  “If it is any consolation,” Fitzwilliam teased, “the mothers of the ton would do the same, albeit quietly and out of your earshot.”

  Darcy scarcely heard him, still turning the idea over and over in his head and growing more elated with each repetition. “Yes, yes…this is how it must be done. Let us depart tomorrow. I have business in London I must attend with no further delay.”

  “I have not yet made my tour of the park.”

  “Hang the park.” Darcy’s spirits could not be repressed. His dreams were soon coming to fruition, and nothing could deter him. “I have walked it often enough with my love these weeks past. All seemed in order or, at least, close enough.”

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “Far be it from me to interfere with a man on a mission. Shall we make for the parsonage now to take our leave?”

  Darcy nodded. “We shall need an escape once our aunt learns we are to shorten our visit.”

  Friday, 10 April 1812, London

  “This has all the feel of a tribunal,” Lord Matlock remarked with great joviality. “Such sombre countenances on you both! From Darcy, I expect it, but on you, Son, it is a novelty.”

  Neither of the younger gentlemen responded to his jest. Fitzwilliam went immediately to his father’s cabinet, pouring each of them a glass of port before joining them in sitting.

  Darcy was surprisingly unnerved to face his uncle and had to remind himself several times that he was a grown man who did not require his uncle’s approval to marry. Nevertheless, he hoped for the blessing and support of all his family, and he could not deny the thrill of setting into motion his dearest wishes.

  Lord Matlock peered at him. “You first extend your stay in Kent then return home two days early. Is there something in particular you need to discuss with me?”

  “Indeed.” Darcy took a drink to fortify his courage. He began by telling his uncle about meeting Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire and being fascinated by her, then the blooming of that fascination into a deep and ardent love. His uncle listened with no expression as Darcy told him that he had returned to London prepared never to see her again, but then she was in Kent, even more beautiful than he remembered, and as impossible as it would seem, his love had deepened further still.

  He reviewed the time they spent together in Kent—the walks, her impertinence to Lady Catherine, and her friendship with his cousin. At this time, he looked to Fitzwilliam, hoping for some mention of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s many attributes.

  Fitzwilliam did not disappoint. “She is a charming and delightful girl. Witty, well read, and kind, yet by no means a bluestocking. She is the sort of lady who would be a great boon to any drawing room or dinner. You and Mother would be utterly enthralled by her.”

  Lord Matlock regarded his son and nephew with great scepticism. “I have never heard of any Bennets.”

  “Her father has a small estate in Hertfordshire worth two thousand a year.” Darcy spoke with an assurance he did not feel. “It is entailed upon a cousin, Mr Collins, who coincidentally is Lady Catherine’s parson. Miss Bennet’s fortune is one thousand pounds. They have no connexions of note, or none of whom I am aware.”

  Lord Matlock was silent for several long moments, regarding Darcy with an amused sort of pity in his eyes. “Darcy, what is this? You cannot be serious.”

  “I am absolutely serious.” Darcy swallowed. “I intend to marry her.”

  “You will be a laughingstock! What are you thinking?” With that, Lord Matlock was in for a fight. “You have a duty and an obligation to your estate, to your ancestry, and to your descendants to do what is right, and what is right is for you to make a marriage with one of your kind!”

  “One of my kind? Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter, and I am a gentleman!”

  “She is no one! You would not be received nor recognised, and if you think your aunt and I shall help, you are sorely mistaken. You cannot cast off all that is expected of you and think we shall clean up after you!”

  The fight raged on for above an hour. Lord Matlock blustered, shouted, pleaded, begged, and swore that he could have no part with his nephew nor countenance such an alliance. As he stormed from the room, he told Darcy that, if he proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he need never darken his door again. Darcy stomped off just as angrily—though more quietly—muttering to Lord Matlock’s back that he had no intention of darkening his door ever again.

  Sitting in the library that shared a wall with Lord Matlock’s study, Viscount Saye, the eldest son and heir to the earldom of Matlock, heard it all. He had poured himself a glass of smuggled brandy to enjoy the diversion. Darcy, of all people, carried away by some sort of lust for a country girl! Moreover, the novelty of not being the person making his father angry was most enjoyable. Darcy was usually so tiresomely virtuous that it was amusing to see him behaving from sensibility rather than sense.

  When his father slammed the study door behind him with enough force to cause the walls to shake, Saye decided it was time to stop merely enjoying the show. He went to the parlour where his mother liked to sit and found her writing letters in a sunny corner.

  “My darling boy,” she greeted him with a gentle smile. “Was that your father I heard yelling?”

  “He is angry with Darcy.” Saye tossed himself onto a sofa.

  “With Darcy? Whatever for?”

  “Darcy intends to propose to some unsuitable country girl with a fortune of one thousand pounds.”

  Lady Matlock laughed, her pen still moving over the page in front of her. “You must have misheard him. Darcy would never do any such thing.”

  “I assure you, Mama—that is precisely what happened. Darcy did not relent, they had a violent row, and my father has cast him off.”

  Lady Matlock’s pen stilled. “Indeed?”

  “My father said Darcy was never welcome here again, and Darcy stormed off.”

  With a sigh, Lady Matlock closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Nonsense. Fitzwilliams simply do not feud. Where is your father now?”

  Saye shrugged. “The courtyard, perhaps?”

  “Go find him. Tell him we need to talk.”

  With a sigh, Saye rose, grumbling, “It is alway
s to me to fix these things.”

  An hour later, Saye strolled towards Darcy’s house with his father. Lord Matlock had been significantly mollified after conversation with his eldest son and wife. An overture of sorts was formed under the assumption that Darcy, having spoken of his intentions, was unrelentingly firm in his plans.

  As they approached Darcy’s house, Saye made to turn down a different street. His father observed him with surprise. “You do not wish to see Darcy?”

  “I trust you can manage the rest, and Miss Goddard is expecting me.”

  Lord Matlock smiled. At least, his son had made a proper match. “Yes, perhaps warn her of this business. There is bound to be some talk, and she is almost family. She has a right to know. Just be sure she understands the need for secrecy.”

  Saye, already with his back to his father, shrugged. “Of course,” he replied with nonchalance, continuing towards the house of his intended.

  Lord Matlock presented himself at Darcy’s home, and he was quickly shown to the library where Darcy sat, glaring at the book on his lap. He regarded his uncle’s entry with unmistakable wariness. Lord Matlock smiled in a conciliatory fashion.

  “You must have anticipated my concerns, Darcy. I have the best interests of you and your family name at heart.”

  Darcy sighed and closed the book. “Am I not deserving of the felicity of true affection?”

  “Of course, you are,” Lord Matlock replied soothingly. “I have spoken to your aunt, and we know just how to manage things.”