Sharon Lathan - In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Darcy’s relief was monumental. When the final Almack’s Assembly was held and his sister arrived home safely, he physically sensed a cord of coiled tension loosen in his body. Lizzy stood nearby as Georgiana raved on innocently with one eye on her sister and the other on her husband, the tender but humorous smile conveying unmistakably that she knew precisely what he was feeling. 

The Matlock carriage slowly rolled through the crowded streets toward the grand Theatre Royal of Drury Lane. It was a spacious carriage, opulent and sturdy, but the five grown occupants in their finery were definitely beginning to feel the effects of close quarters on this sultry evening in late May. The fact that there was nary a hint of breeze added to the discomfort.

“I daresay we could walk to the theatre from here and arrive sooner!” Priscilla Fitzwilliam declared, fan waving steadily.

“The streets of London do seem to congest further with each passing year.” Lord Matlock’s baritone soothed the sharp ring left by the voice of his daughter-in-law. “Not to mention that Spohr’s Faust is a special event drawing large crowds. I am curious to see his interpretation of the classic tale.”

“As am I,” Lady Matlock agreed. “The reports are that it is quite fantastic. A departure from the more familiar Goethe rendering, so I am told.”

“I simply adore romantic operas!” Priscilla gushed. “I suppose it is therefore worth this infernal heat and delay. I only pray my curls remain intact.” She patted the springy clump of hair strategically escaping from the feathered turban, looking to her husband for verification.

Jonathan, however, was staring at his brother with an amused smirk on his handsome face, noting the involuntary wince even though Richard’s attention appeared to be fixed on the passing architecture. “Frankly, all I can dwell upon at the moment is why my brother, who barely tolerates opera in general and abhors German compositions, would insist on accompanying us at all!”

“Do not tease Richard so, Jonathan! I am sure he has his reasons.” Lady Matlock leaned over to pat her youngest son’s knee.

“I may have no great love for the romantic babblings of the German composers, Jonathan, but I can appreciate opera in a general sense. I am quite fond of Mozart, as you know, since I attended several performances with you and Priscilla over the years.”

“Indeed, but Mozart is in a class by himself.” Jonathan continued to gaze speculatively at Richard, who ignored him altogether while peering out the window. “You do not even speak German.”

“Neither do you very well, yet here you are,” Lord Matlock interjected. “It is all about appearances, son.”

Lady Matlock laughed. “Perhaps for you, my dear, but some of us do actually enjoy the music and story.”

“You speak fluent German, madam, which shall add to the spectacle. I, however, shall be employing all my vast resources of strength to avoid falling asleep and making a fool of myself before all of London society!”

“Do not fear, husband. I shall pinch you if necessary.”

“Will you pinch Richard as well, Mother? He will surely require your assistance.”

“I suddenly feel as if twenty years has been peeled away and I am again forced to play moderator to my two squabbling boys!”

They all laughed, even a nervous Richard pulling his attention from inner musings to the chatter of his family as they clattered ever so slowly toward the theatre.

The milling crowds along Russell and Catherine Streets were thick, necessitating the driver to halt nearly on the walkway opposite the main entrance. Richard’s eyes scanned the press of brightly bejeweled bodies glittering in the glare of gaslight, as always when he searched for Darcy, looking for that one head which seemed to rise above all others. It was Dr. Darcy he found first, momentarily thinking it his cousin until he noted the toothy grin and bellowing laugh almost audible over the cacophony from where he stood yards away. Richard shook his head with a smile and resumed his quest, easily spying Darcy seconds later, where he stood tall and silent behind Elizabeth on the walkway by the right hand corner of the building.

Leaving his parents and illustrious brother to greetings from the gathering luminaries, Colonel Fitzwilliam eased to where Darcy stood, pulling him a pace away. With no preamble, he asked in a hushed whisper, “Anything yet? Have you seen her?”

“Good evening to you as well, Colonel. Beautiful night for the opera, do you agree?”

“Yes, yes! Lovely,” Richard waved impatiently, tugging on his coattail in agitation. “Have you—”

“I adore these balmy nights in London,” Darcy interrupted pleasantly, gazing toward the clear, star-embellished sky. “So bright and refreshing. Ideal atmosphere for a divine operatic experience, I daresay.”

“Darcy, I shall be hard pressed not to injure you in some manner if you do not answer my question!”

Darcy chuckled. “Ah, but I am having entirely too much fun with this to let it go, Cousin. Rest assured, however, that if I had vital news to impart I would have done so. Alas, we only just arrived and have made it no further than this corner. I have been unobtrusively scanning the crowd and see no sign of Lady Fotherby.”

“Are you certain she is to appear tonight?” Richard asked with a decidedly plaintive whine.

“So I have been informed by my wife, who is privy to information of this magnitude from sources I have learned to trust. As shall you if your hunt proves successful.”

“Do not be vulgar, Darcy.”

“No vulgarity intended, merely pointing out the facts so you can be adequately aware of what you are getting yourself into.”

“Do you not always say that marriage is the best thing to have ever happened to you?”

“And so it is, my friend. It comes with perquisites unimaginable, one of which happens to be the delights of female gossip, some of it quite entertaining I must confess.”

Richard shook his head, laughing low, the playful banter easing his nervousness.

Elizabeth had cautiously probed and discovered that the widowed Lady Fotherby would be making her first public appearance at this specific opera since the death of her husband some seven months prior. All season Colonel Fitzwilliam had quietly attended the various social gatherings his duties allowed, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he loved. But the rumors insisted that she remained sequestered in mourning at the Fotherby estate in Buckinghamshire. Unable to inquire forthrightly, he was left to lament to Darcy, who naturally shared all with his wife.

It had required minimal investigation on Elizabeth’s part, as the news of Lady Fotherby’s relocation to the London Townhouse now owned by her as a specific inheritance from her husband was a prime topic for tearoom gossip. Richard digested the information with equanimity, only a rapid swallow and the fact that he did not flinch over the news that it a German opera she was to attend signs of his discomposure!

“I would not worry too greatly, Cousin. Even if Elizabeth’s intelligence is incorrect, we have secured a positive response to our invitation. Lady Fotherby will be gracing us with her presence at the ball we are hosting in two weeks.”

Richard’s face beamed. “When did you receive this?”

“Just yesterday. And I expect your undying gratitude and willingness to grant me any favor asked for the remainder of your life as you know how I abhor such extravaganzas.”

Richard grunted. “I know full well that Elizabeth bullied you into Darcy House hosting a ball for Georgiana’s benefit and as the perfect cap to the season. The painful requirement for you to be charming and gracious for one whole evening has nothing to do with me.”

“I do believe that is the Fotherby crest, is it not, dearest?” Elizabeth’s voice rose above the din, turning with an innocent twinkle to the two men standing a few feet away. She had not been able to overhear their muted conversation, but she was quite certain of the vein, smiling sweetly at Colonel Fitzwilliam who ignored her faint smirk.

Indeed, the lush carriage indicated, having rounded the corner and creeping toward the curb, bore the coat-of-arms for the Marquess of Fotherby. The occupants could not be seen, but Richard’s heart constricted nonetheless.

Darcy leaned close, murmuring into the dazed Colonel’s ear, “You would be wise to attach yourself to your parents. I am certain Lady Matlock will consider it her duty to welcome Lady Fotherby, as friend to her mother. Plus, I think she is aware of your infatuation.”

“What! How could she—”

“No time! There they are. See, Aunt has noted the carriage. Go! And good luck.”

Mechanically, Richard navigated around the bodies to rejoin his family, who were gradually steering toward the main entryway. Clustered knots of society engaged in lively conversation, polite greetings expected and extended. As always the opera, like all such entertainment venues, a cause for amusing discourse and class fraternizing equally as important as the cultural edification. Dignitaries and nobility abounded, Lady Fotherby’s inclusion only of minor significance and interest to most. With her renowned husband now passed, she was not nearly as compelling. Except, of course, to those who were either curious gossipmongers by nature or were stimulated by the concept of an unattached and extremely wealthy woman. Richard’s eye would not be the only bachelor’s speculative gaze to linger upon the beauty of Lady Fotherby, although it is probable that his were the only thoughts of a pure intent.