Chapter 12

Banks had Mr Roberts at Pemberley House ready to examine Caroline, but the physician claimed there was little wrong with her besides malnutrition and anxiety, other than a pressing need for sunshine and fresh air. He suggested that Lady Whitman may suffer from nervous or depressive complaints in the future, but that the family should avoid tonics that contained laudanum or opium, and that excessive consumption of spirits should be discouraged. Montague was contacted, and set to investigate the viscount's family tree and the identity of the body in the locked room.

The day after the family arrived back in London, they were visited by Captain Spencer and his mother, bringing with them an infant child. As they sat down to tea in the drawing room with Will, Elizabeth opened the conversation. "Captain Spencer, Mrs Spencer, I am sure you must be here regarding the news we sent you of the new residence of the Duke of Leeds. It is kind of you to bring Master Andrew. He seems a sturdy little one, and we are happy to meet my cousin's boy, but I find it curious that my cousin does not accompany you. Do you keep her confined to the house now, as well as obliging her to play second to your mother in the household?"

Captain Spencer coughed in embarrassment. "I wish I had kept her confined to the house, your ladyship. I wish fervently that I had posted guards at her door and window. As bonny as this young chap is, he is not Master Andrew. This is not my son."

"Well, we knew he was not your son, Spencer, that was the whole point of all this," observed Darcy. "Please inform us of your purpose here today, sir."

"She's gone," Spencer replied. "Your cousin is up and gone, taking my son and leaving this changeling in his place." Spencer went on to explain that they had woken the morning that Darcy's express had arrived, to find Marianne and young Andrew gone, and this new child in the nursery with a strange nurse. The nurse carried a letter from the duke. All the time that Spencer thought Marianne had been unable to communicate with the new Duke of Leeds, she had been passing letters through the wet nurse that Spencer had hired. As it turned out, the young duke had been having Marianne and her household watched just as closely as Elizabeth had him watched. When Spencer advertised for a nurse, Leeds had sent several who had agreed to his scheme, and by luck, one of them had been chosen.

Upon taking up residence in the house, the nurse had delivered a letter to Marianne from Leeds. A correspondence was thus opened, and when the two baby boys had been born, and the duchess lost her life, a scheme was hatched. Marianne stayed in Spencer's home, biding her time and recovering from delivery. When she decided she and her son were both strong enough for a long journey, she sent word to Leeds, who came for her. The night before Darcy's warning arrived, sometime after midnight, Marianne left her apartment, went downstairs, and let a nurse maid with the late Duchess of Leeds' baby son into the house. She led them up to the nursery, then departed with her own son and the nurse who had facilitated the plan, and a small valise of clothes.

By some small miracle, they had managed to keep the situation quiet. Spencer's mother had taken a fancy to the babe, and for all her veneer of kindness to Marianne, went out of her way to keep the child in her company for much of each day. Marianne would otherwise keep the boy with her most of the day, and Mrs Spencer sought to prevent such behaviour, for everyone in the household disapproved of everything Marianne did on principle. The senior Mrs Spencer had gone to the nursery early in the morning, and found the terrified and trembling strange nurse, who possessed a letter she was to put into no other hand but Captain Spencer's.

Spencer,

I have come for what is mine. Since you have chosen not to treat your wife with respect, I have come for her as well. Do not think I am unsympathetic to your plight, and to that end, I am leaving this boy. He is not mine, and I have decided to claim my own son, rather than to allow my title to fall to my late wife's bastard. Take your family for a very long holiday, and when you return, the boy will be enough changed that your servants will never know the difference. A boy is a boy, as far as you are concerned. You did not even seem to care for having a wife, so considering you are only concerned with having an heir for the security of your mother, I have left you with one, and have taken the wife you care so little for, away.

Treat the boy well, or I will come and take him away again, and as you see, I am more than capable of it. Bastard parentage aside, he is of noble blood on both sides. Raise him with the dignity he deserves, and be sure to see to his education properly. I shall send a bank draft to pay for Eton and university when the time arrives, to ensure this edict is followed, and I expect you to expend the funds from your marriage settlement to ensure your estate's improvement for his future.

My son will be raised as my heir, and there is no point coming after us, we are leaving these shores and to follow is futile. I will never let them go, and if you make the attempt, I will destroy you. Marianne will be known on the continent as my duchess. Foreigners are much less likely to question or quibble about these matters.

Marianne and I care not what you tell others about her absence. Tell society that she is dead, or tell them she has gone away for her health, it matters not to us.

L

Elizabeth read the letter in resignation and passed it to her husband. "I know not what to say, Captain Spencer. What do you expect us to do about it?"

"Lady Darcy, it is my hope that you will send your investigators after them. The duke has stolen my wife and my boy, and I hope I can count upon your support to see them returned to me. If only Lord Darcy's express had reached me sooner, this could have been prevented."

"As my husband has pointed out, he is hardly your boy, Captain Spencer," Elizabeth replied. She sighed in resignation. "I know not what to do with this appalling situation, but my first instinct is to do nothing. Yes, Captain Spencer, nothing! You could have avoided all of this very easily by simply shewing kindness to your wife. Do not tell me you were kind! I have heard the reports of my cousins and aunt! Marianne could not even order tea in her own home without your mother's permission! Is this kindness? Is mortifying her in front of her mother and sister and brother kind? Mrs Ferrars reports that you barely spoke to them or Marianne the entire two weeks they were in your home. Was that kindness, sir?"

"Given your cousin's behaviour, both before our marriage and after, Lady Darcy, I hardly think-"

"Do not use her behaviour as an excuse. You knew of her disposition and her behaviour before you married her. I consider this debacle to be mostly your fault, Captain Spencer! My cousin is a young and impulsive girl! You could have easily won her over if you had made even the smallest attempt! It was my understanding that you wished to take the broken pieces of your own life and my cousin's, and create a family, Captain Spencer. That was the picture you painted for me when we met. If you had made even the slightest effort to win my cousin's heart, she would have been yours after the shock of Willoughby's defection! I have heard the accounts of the hopelessness present in her letters to her sister. You did not even try. You may lay the blame at your own door. If you had even tried to win her affection, Marianne surely would have consigned the duke's very first letter to the fire, and instructed you to replace the wet nurse."

Captain Spencer objected, "Lord Darcy, surely, sir, you can see that–"

"No, indeed, Spencer. My wife is correct," interrupted Darcy. "The solution you offered to my wife and Marianne was much different than the reports we received from our aunt and cousins. You did not treat Marianne with the respect due to the wife and mistress of your house. If we had known how you intended to treat our cousin, we would have refused you permission to approach her. There were other men interested who I am sure could have managed affairs much better than you have. With even a small measure of kindness, you might have earned your young wife's devotion, and saved yourself these troubles. I cannot see what you expect us to do about the matter now."

"Lady Darcy, surely you cannot condone the behaviour of your cousin," ventured Mrs Spencer. "Shouldn't you wish to return her to her place and protect your family name?"

"Condone? Indeed, I do not condone any of this behaviour. Not Marianne's, nor Captain Spencer's, nor yours, madam," Elizabeth retorted. "My disinclination to act stems not from an approval of my cousin's conduct, but rather from a weariness of spirit derived from an excess of time, effort, money, and worry spent on the welfare and future of a stupid, selfish girl, and the family that was supposed to have taken her in and treated her as one of their own. I find I am no longer willing to involve myself in such sordid matters as these. My cousin has chosen her fate, and I refuse to involve myself further in her affairs. I am sure that once you leave here today, that I shall never wish to hear about any of you ever again. And as far as the family name is concerned, Marianne is two names removed from my maiden name of Bennet and I have been married twice since I carried it myself. I am certain the connection would not be remarked upon in society, even if events were known."

"So, what are you suggesting I do, Lord Darcy?" asked Captain Spencer grudgingly.

"Unless you have another highly ranking and powerful nobleman at your disposal to negotiate with Leeds, I suggest you take his advice. Embark on a long journey, perhaps put it about that it was taken to improve Mrs Spencer's health. When you return without her some months from now, you may put it about that she has been sent to a facility in Switzerland or Vienna for her health by the generosity of her family. Not that you will have many questions. It is my understanding that your wife has not been at home to receive the ladies of your county thus far. This should help your story."

"What about the boy?" Spencer demanded indignantly.

"You needed a boy. You have one. The other boy was not yours in the first place, and you cannot convince me that you are personally attached to the child. My cousin Ferrars indicated that you barely glanced at the infant the entire time they were visiting. I could possibly be persuaded that your mother might have some affection for the child, but your mother's feelings are not my concern. This entire exercise on your part, Spencer, has been to provide your mother and sisters with security should something befall you. They have it, and now you have money, from my wife's purse to add to their security as well. You have a boy, money, and you no longer must suffer an unwanted and disrespected wife as well. It sounds to me like matters have worked out rather well for you, unless you actually wanted a young woman whom you could keep prisoner and treat poorly in your house," Darcy said firmly as he stood and rang for the butler. "Captain and Mrs Spencer are leaving," he said cordially as the senior servant entered the room.

There was grumbling and the sounds of dissent as Captain Spencer and his mother collected their ward and bustled out of the house. Elizabeth instructed the butler not to admit them again, then sat down to write some letters. The first was written to Montague, with instructions to find and deliver a packet of correspondence and a proposed settlement to Leeds and Marianne. She then wrote to the two latter parties in question.

Pemberley House,

Mayfair, London

Leeds,

You sir have been a pox, a blight against my family, and I assure you that were I a man, I would find you and call you out myself. I do not promise that I will not do it if you ever appear openly in England again. Nothing, and I do indeed mean nothing, would give me greater pleasure than to see you dragged out into the dawn to suffer the public humiliation of being shot by a woman.

Spencer has been here, and due to his treatment of my cousin, and her repeated casting off the mores of good society, I have washed my hands of all of you. Despite the unknown fate of my poor, dear sister, I did my best to ensure Marianne's welfare, and allowed her to be the architect of her fate, at great expense no less, only to have my consideration flung back at me. Marianne has repeatedly made her opinion of propriety known, and I refuse to involve myself in her affairs again, after this one last effort to ensure her future welfare and that of her son.

By throwing herself upon your mercy, Marianne has forfeited access to her dowry funds without going through her husband or his estate, which is no longer possible due to her actions. The funds will also be insufficient, after some time of her being provided for as your ‘duchess', to support her in the manner in which I am sure she will become accustomed. Not being your legal wife, she will have no protection if you should perish. I will not leave the possibility of her being taken care of by your son and estate to chance, nor do I wish to entertain the possibility of her turning upon my doorstep in penury.

You claim to care for Marianne. The investigator whom we sent to question you seemed to apprehend this as well. If this be the case, then I demand that in good faith, you provide Marianne with a house in her name, and a settlement of fifty thousand pounds upon your death. This is considerably less than a duke would have settled upon a true wife, and so should not be a problem for you. Use some of the funds provided by your first wife, if necessary. Please ensure that the house is somewhere outside of our soil, sir. Vienna perhaps, or Italy. Her mother and sisters need no more fear of ruination at the hands of your "duchess".

If you do not agree to these terms immediately, I will expose the whole of your matter, including the exchange of heirs. I am sure that your late wife's family would be enraged at this news, regardless of her child's origins, since I am certain they counted upon their daughter's son being raised the child of a duke. Unlike Captain Spencer, I have no fear of you, and you stand no chance at ruining me. You are a brand-new puppy in society, in Parliament, and in your title. I have in my possession your letter to Captain Spencer, who left it behind in my drawing room, and do not think I will hesitate to publish it in The Times. Your line of heirs will be thrown into endless speculation, rumour, and litigation. I am certain you do not wish to visit this fate upon your progeny.

The documents enclosed will require your signature immediately. There are five copies. One each for you and Marianne, one each for our solicitors, and a copy for myself. I hope for your sake that you give them the immediate attention they require.

I take no leave of you,

Lady D

Postscript: If I ever find out that you knew anything of the fate of my poor sister Kitty, and did or said nothing, the above-mentioned ruination and duel will be an absolute certainty, and I will find you no matter where you hide.

PSS: I wish with all my soul that your new ‘Duchess' may plague your heart out.

ED

Her letter to Marianne was brief.

Pemberley House,

Mayfair, London

You stupid, selfish girl. How I rue the day I took you into my home and my family. My sister is lost forever, because of you, and now you continue to flout propriety and risk ruin again and again. After what happened to Kitty, did you not finally understand the danger when young ladies flout the protection of their family? Did you not, even for a moment, consider that if this becomes known, your sister Margaret might never be married? That your brother Ferrars might be reviled from his living? That your mother will certainly be devastated and prostrate with grief when she hears of this? When, Marianne, was the last time you thought of the welfare or future of anyone besides yourself or your ridiculous and dishonourable ‘Willoughby'?

Do not think me insensitive to your situation in Plymouth. A letter had already been dispatched to Spencer from Colonel Fitzwilliam regarding the matter, and further steps might have been taken to improve your lot, had you only been patient. Had you only asked for help. You deserved it not, but still, it would have been given. No one forced you to marry him. YOU demanded a husband, and we bought him for you, AND even allowed YOU to choose. Or, consider this, you might have elected NOT TO FALL WITH CHILD OUTSIDE OF WEDLOCK IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Another thing you deserve not, is for me to refuse to help Spencer reclaim you. I ought to have you kidnapped and forced to sleep in the bed you made, but be assured, I refuse, not to help you, but because I am disgusted with your repeated displays of selfishness, and wish never to be involved in your sordid affairs in any way again.

I have done what I can (AGAIN) to ensure your security. For GOD'S SAKE, Marianne, do not return to England. Your poor mother and sisters deserve better than all you put them through. Pray, do not ruin their reputations as well.

E.

Elizabeth had never written such poison-filled missives in all her life, not even when she was attempting to contact the duke who had actually kidnapped Kitty. She understood of course, she truly understood how wretched Marianne must have been, but she had made each of her choices with her eyes open, and if she had possessed even a modicum of decency or honour, she would have endeavoured to make the best of her situation, or asked for help, knowing how much pressure Elizabeth and Darcy could bear upon her husband if only she had asked for their assistance or advice. Elizabeth might have forgiven the girl much if it even appeared as if she had tried.

Exhausted after writing these missives and sending them with instructions to Montague, who would draw up the documents and would send an investigative clerk to find Leeds and get them signed, Elizabeth could not bear the thought of writing the details of this sordid affair to her poor cousin Elinor and her household. The idea of the grief such news would bring her aunt and cousins was enough to bring her to tears. Darcy, ever loving and considerate, was always prepared to step in whenever Elizabeth needed support, and he undertook to write to Mr Ferrars.

*****

Things became quite solemn after this visit. The Fitzwilliam household returned to Kent, and Maria Lucas returned to Hertfordshire after a successful season. Georgiana accompanied the Fitzwilliams, and Lydia was invited also, but she elected to stay with Elizabeth. Miss Long removed to Pemberley House in anticipation of the Darcy's upcoming trip to Pemberley for the harvest.

The Hursts gladly accepted their invitation to accompany the family north, and to bring their son and put him in the Darcy nursery for the duration of their visit. While Elizabeth prepared her business for her absence from town, Caroline spent many of her days sitting quietly in Elizabeth's study watching the children play while Elizabeth worked, or occasionally looking at a book of poetry. Lydia had managed to interest her in embroidery with the other young ladies, for Caroline had a deft hand with a needle. Occasionally, she closed herself alone in the music room and played the instrument divinely for hours, but she spoke little, and made little intrusion upon the household.

Society had deduced from the presence of the Hursts that Lady Whitman must be residing at Pemberley House, and so there were occasionally callers, mostly cruel women who had pretended to be Caroline's friends in the past, and now were looking for gossip to circulate. Caroline refused all callers, and of course never left the house, even for church. Louisa had sent to the Hursts home for a trunk of gowns Caroline had left behind when she married, which coincidentally included several black dresses from when she had mourned an uncle a few years ago, but Caroline refused to wear mourning for her husband. Elizabeth, unable to bear the sight of one more orange gown, interrupted Caroline's practice one morning in the music room to inform her that she had an important visitor. "Elizabeth, please, I simply cannot bear to be a spectacle! Whoever it is, please, send them away!

"I assure you, Caroline. This is a visit you want to accept," promised a very pleased with herself Elizabeth with a smile. The ladies had agreed to use each other's Christian names when they returned to London, and Caroline had been surprisingly friendly and unsurprisingly humbled since their arrival in town. When Caroline swore there was no one she wished to see, Elizabeth smiled and asked, "Are you sure? Dear me, I hate to have wasted Madame Clarisse's time. She cleared her entire afternoon for you, and is waiting upstairs in your sitting room with all of her fabrics."

Caroline's mouth opened in an O of surprise, and suddenly she began to giggle. A mania took hold of her, and she began to laugh and laugh quite uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. After a moment or two, she caught her breath and said, "You found her Elizabeth! The one woman in the world I would give anything for an appointment with! But Madame Clarisse only makes ball gowns. I have no intention of reentering society, probably ever. What should I need with a ball gown?"

Elizabeth smiled, "I have a present for you. Madame makes my entire wardrobe, not only for me, but for all of the ladies in my family. I am giving you a brand-new wardrobe as a gift, to replace the one you lost, but there is one condition…" When Caroline inquired, Elizabeth replied, "You must allow me and Madame Clarisse to approve all the colours… Pardon me for saying, but you must promise me never to order another orange gown ever again, my friend."

Caroline burst into giggles again, and argued that the gift was too dear, too generous, and she could never accept. "I am afraid you must, my friend, or I shall be offended, and the Caroline I know would never dream of displeasing a countess!"

The two made their way to Caroline's sitting room and spent an enjoyable afternoon with Elizabeth, Louisa, and Lydia, who loved fashion and was skilled indeed at selecting the perfect colours and styles. Madame remarked to Elizabeth that if Lydia were not a gentleman's daughter, she would hire her. Caroline was helped to see that it was better to order gowns in colours that suited her rather than take advice on fashion from the cats of society who gave poor advice on purpose. Elizabeth ordered Caroline an enormous wardrobe, suitable both for London and the harsh Derbyshire winters, not entirely certain when the Bingleys would return and wanting to be sure that Caroline had suitable attire if she spent any time in the north later in the winter, considering her brother had an estate there and that Caroline might return to his protection when he returned, or if the Darcys spent time at Pemberley this winter.

Darcy was pushing with all of his powers of persuasion to spend the holidays at Pemberley. Elizabeth was hesitant, but Kitty had been gone for nearly two years, and come November it would be two years since their father had sold her. Leads and clues were few and far between, and usually contrived by opportunists looking for money. There was simply not enough left to go on, and though Elizabeth still expended considerable time, effort, and expense on the investigation, she could no longer justify staying in town indefinitely. She made no promises, but before they left town, Elizabeth arranged for the ladies to be fitted for wardrobes for next year, in case nothing of note turned up in the search for Kitty and the family stayed in Derbyshire for the winter. Lydia allowed herself to be fitted for some new gowns, but she stubbornly refused to be brought out again for the upcoming season, claiming that Mary had not been brought out until she was twenty, and that there was plenty of time.