The Second Mrs Darcy

Mr. Cartland, who knew that the combined forces of his wife and her sister and his brother-in-law were more than he could stomach, beat a hasty retreat to his club, murmuring that he had business to attend to in town, might not be back for some hours.

Octavia wasn’t at all surprised, as she sat sipping a cup of chocolate the next morning, to be told by a bright-eyed Alice that she was wanted downstairs as soon as ever might be, that Mr. Melbury and Lady Adderley had called and were waiting to see her.

Octavia had heard the door knocker, knew perfectly well that it was far too early for any but members of the family to be at the front door, and had correctly guessed what was in store for her.

She didn’t hurry her toilette, and indeed took unusual care over it. She put on a dark grey bombazine morning dress, trimmed with black silk rosettes on a flounced hem, which the clever fingers of Madame Duhamel’s derseys had made for her from a not-too-out-of-date pattern in the book of plates which had arrived in Calcutta on the last ship. It was modish enough, if not bang-up-to-the-minute—her sisters’ sharp eyes would at once spot last year’s trimming and the set of the sleeve that no modish London lady would dream of being seen in, but Octavia knew it suited her. The awareness of looking her best heightened her courage, so that, with the tinge of colour in her cheeks from the apprehension that she was trying so keenly to quell, she made a striking picture as she entered the room.

Her brother Arthur rose from his seat. “Well, upon my word,” he exclaimed. “I never saw you in better looks, Octavia. I should have thought—”

A formal kiss from Augusta. “That’s as may be, Arthur,” she said in her brisk way, “and we must be pleased to see Octavia looking tolerably well, but nothing alters the fact that she is several inches taller than any woman has any right to be, and what is more, several inches taller than any Melbury female has ever been. Of course, she gets her height from her mother.”

From the contempt in her voice, you would have thought Octavia’s mother had been a giantess; it was a familiar insult, and one that Octavia knew how to ignore. She was, in some obscure way, proud of her height; it was an inheritance from her despised grandfather and as such, she treasured it. If it set her apart from her brothers and sisters, so much the better.

“Now,” said Theodosia. “We have been discussing your situation while we were waiting for you to come down—what an age it took you to dress—and this is what is to be done.”

Octavia listened with half her mind. Did her sisters and brother imagine she would have nothing to say in the matter? Did they expect her to accept being treated simply as an object to be dealt with as they might a horse or a long-standing servant who had become a problem?

Their decision was clear cut. Arthur was to approach Warren and represent to him in the most forceful and persuasive terms how very bad it would look for his late cousin’s widow to be seen to be destitute. By this means, it was to be hoped, they might squeeze some money out of him, which would go towards Octavia being able to support herself, if not in comfort, at least not in penury.

“Until such time as we can find you another husband,” Augusta finished in a definite voice.

“You weren’t able to when I was last in London, why should it be any different now?” said Octavia.

“Well, upon my word, Octavia,” said Arthur, looking down his long nose at her. “If you are going to take that tone with us, I shall consider you ungrateful. Your sister is only—”

“Meanwhile,” went on Theodosia, as though Octavia hadn’t spoken, an old trick and one that always reduced Octavia to seething if helpless fury, “you will go down to Hertfordshire, where you may stay with our cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Ackworth. I wrote to them first thing this morning, so it is all arranged. We don’t want you drooping about town in your weeds, there is nothing more depressing or off-putting to the male sex than a widow in her weeds. Your year of mourning will shortly be over, fortunately before the end of the season. You are no longer a green girl; we shall see if there is not some older man, a widower who wishes for more sensible company than a debutante would provide. You do not want for sense, when you are not being wilful and obstinate, and some country squire, who is not too nice in his …”

Octavia considered. Her first reaction was to refuse all their suggestions, to insist that she was going to make her own way in the world and that they need not bother themselves with her at all. On the other hand, almost anything would be preferable to spending these next few weeks in London, in Lothian Street, incarcerated within doors except when her sister condescended to take her out in the carriage, or demanded her company while she took her morning constitutional in the park.

“Very well,” she said. “I shall go to the Ackworths, if they will have me.”

“No question of that,” said Theodosia.

“Not for a few days, however. I have a few things to attend to, lawyers to see—”

“Oh, as to that, you are not to be dealing with lawyers, I shall arrange all that,” said Arthur.

“No,” said Octavia. “I will not authorise you to act on my behalf, indeed, I shall write to the lawyers and say quite clearly that they are to deal with no one but myself. And don’t puff up like that, Arthur. I am of age, well past my majority, as you all remind me, a married woman, and more than capable of seeing a lawyer, any number of lawyers.”

“Hoity-toity,” said Arthur. “You may write to them—who are they, by the way?—and tell them to call at Lothian Street. Of course you cannot see them by yourself, it is out of the question, quite improper, in fact. Theodosia will tell me when the man is to call, and I shall make myself available.”

There was no point in arguing with Arthur, he never took any notice of any view that was not his own, and considered that nothing Octavia said was worth listening to. She would counter his interference with cunning, it was the only way.

That settled to his satisfaction, he took his leave, his sister Augusta staying behind to support Theodosia in her attack on Octavia for showing herself, yet again, to be the most obstinate, unnatural creature in the world.

“I wish the Ackworths joy of you,” were Augusta’s parting words. “And I hope they talk some sense into you, so that we see an improvement when you return to London.”

To the best of Octavia’s recollection, she had never met the Ackworths, who were her cousins on her father’s side of the family. Perhaps she had done so when she was an infant, when her father was still alive, but Augusta’s assurance that they were sensible people and her confidence that they would be in agreement with the rest of the Melburys made her fear the worst.

Chapter Five (#u78706f8d-78f9-577c-954d-18fd65e6e97e)

The next morning Octavia received an early visitor. She was still in bed, drinking a bowl of thick hot chocolate while Alice bustled about laying out her clothes for the day. Her visitor was a lively young woman, with a head of dark curls, roguish brown eyes, and a determined little chin.

“Do you remember me?” she said, swirling into the room and perching herself on Octavia’s bed. “I’m your niece, Penelope.”

“Heavens,” said Octavia, looking at the modish young lady. The last time she had seen Penelope was when she was a baby.

“When you were in London doing the season, I was away in the countryside at a stuffy old boarding school,” said Penelope. “I’m eighteen now, and this year is my come-out, did Mama tell you?”

Theodosia had mentioned it, saying that it was going to be a busy season for her and Augusta, with daughters to bring out. Where was Penelope? Octavia had enquired, to be told that she was paying a brief visit to the country, staying with Lord and Lady Osterby, in fact, whose daughter was Penelope’s friend. And now here she was, very grown up and assured.

“Lady Adderley’s daughter Louisa is coming out as well, is she not?”

Penelope frowned. “Yes. It’s a pity, since she is a great bore, apart from being so very beautiful, which I am not. That annoys Mama, although not Papa”—her face lit up—“who says he likes me just as I am, and so will any man of discernment and sense. Only,” she added, “I’m not sure I want to marry a man of discernment and sense. Your husband was a naval officer, was not he? It must be so exciting to go to sea!”

“Yes, however I never did so, except to and fro across the ocean to India on East India Company vessels, which is not quite the same.”

“I am sorry you lost Captain Darcy,” said Penelope, suddenly serious. “And when you had been married only two or three years, Mama said, and hardly seeing him all that while; that is the disadvantage of being married to a naval man, of course, although I know that Admiral Verney’s wife goes everywhere with him, she says her sea legs are better than her land ones. Oh dear, there I go again, mentioning legs, which Mama says I ought not to do.”

“Why ever not?”

“There are all kinds of things I mustn’t say and subjects I may not talk about. You’re going to stay with our cousin Ackworths, are not you?”

“I am.”

“I was there, in the autumn.”

She fell silent, and Octavia wondered whether her experience of Hertfordshire had been a good or a bad one.

Penelope soon told her, her face alight with the memory. “Oh, it was the greatest fun, although I had been ill and that was why I was sent there, to recover my health and spirits; Mama thought I would simply sit indoors and do nothing and go nowhere until my cough went. It was a shocking cough which irritated Mama’s nerves; in fact, that was why I was sent away, not really from any concern for my health. Mr. and Mrs. Ackworth are excellent people, very kind and not at all stuffy.” She gave Octavia a swift look from beneath her eyelids. “You do not know them, Papa says, and I dare say you are wondering if they are like—well, like Uncle Arthur or Aunt Augusta, but you need not fear, they are not. They go about a good deal, they know everyone, and I met … oh, such interesting people.”

“In a small town in Hertfordshire? Is not society there somewhat—I should have thought it would be a limited circle.”

Penelope was blushing. “Oh, there were not so many people there, but it was agreeable company, and I went to the assembly ball, which made Mama extremely cross when she heard of it, for I was not officially out, however Cousin Jane said a small-town assembly was neither here nor there and it would do me good to practise my dancing in company, for it is not the same as with the dancing master, not at all. And I danced every dance, it was delightful.”

“So your cousins—our cousins—do not lead such a quiet life as your mama supposed?”

“Oh, well, in comparison to London, of course—but I prefer the country. I would rather live in the country than in town.” She paused, biting her lip, then smiled. “Cousin Jane was used to be fond of dancing when she was young. She took me through the steps of the quadrille, again and again, so that I am now quite an expert. She said she and Cousin Hugh loved to dance, and she only wished they had had the waltz when she was a girl, as she thought it looked most exhilarating, much more enjoyable than minuets and country dances.”

Octavia blinked. Why was Theodosia suggesting she go to Hertfordshire, to be out of the way, if the Ackworths were as Penelope said?

“Mama and Aunt Augusta have no notion of what they are like,” Penelope confided. “They never visit there, for they think Meryton provincial and our cousins countrified and unfashionable. They are useful, to send us young ones down into the country when our mamas want to be rid of us, but they don’t realise what fun it is there. Louisa only went once, and she didn’t like it at all, she says the cousins are provincial, but I do not think they are, not at all.”

So Penelope had a mind of her own, did she? And, although she said nothing that went beyond the line of what was acceptable, she clearly had no illusions and judged for herself. Octavia warmed towards her niece, with her blushes and her eyes bright with the memory of dancing and pleasure.

Penelope slipped off the bed. “I can hear Grindley’s steps, she’s my maid. I expect Mama wants me to go out shopping or some such thing, and has left instructions as to what I am to wear. I have a new hat I bought myself, which I like very well, but she will say it is hideous, I dare say, and will be angry for me spending my allowance without her permission.”

She whisked herself out of the room, leaving Octavia with her chocolate grown cold and her thoughts in a whirl. That chit had met someone she cared for in Hertfordshire, that was obvious, although she doubted if Theodosia had any inkling. But what she had to say about her cousins cheered her no end; she had been afraid of another Augusta, another Theodosia, and was relieved that they sounded quite unlike her sisters.