Mistress Mary and the General: A Pride and Prejudice Inspired Story Page 9

  Her lip protruded in a pretty pout. “I find it most peculiar that you would prefer the company of the Darcys to your own brother.”

  “Really? James does not.” Richard looked about for some source of relief, but found no one who could improve the discourse. “Your husband would quickly tell you I have always felt a special connection to Darcy and Pemberley. My own parents insisted I recuperate there after suffering injuries in battle.”

  “Oh,” she appeared baffled for a moment as though she were lost for something to say and Richard seized the opportunity.

  “If you will excuse me, Lady Matlock, I must speak with my brother.” He bowed again and stepped away from her before she could respond. Ignoring the simpering looks cast his way by the various ladies of society who sat about the drawing room, Richard crossed determinedly toward his brother. As he drew near, he noticed Beardsley smirking in his direction. He was about to question the man on it, when he felt a light touch on his arm.

  “General Fitzwilliam, it seems so odd to see you without your regimentals.”

  His chin rose as he turned to acknowledge Miss Rosemary Sheridan. He held nothing against the woman; and she was by far the most intelligent lady in the room, not grasping and cynical as the others. He simply did not wish to show any favouritism toward her. Most of the ton was aware she was his brother’s mistress; he did not want any connection made with his name. That would make it easier for his brother and his wife to perpetrate the ridiculous scheme they had conceived.

  “Miss Sheridan, I am surprised to see you here.”

  Her brow rose in challenge. “And why would I not be here?”

  Richard cleared his throat, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. “I had not thought these,” he glanced about them, “individuals to be to your taste.”

  Her light laughter danced about him as she slipped a hand about his arm. “I found London oppressive, and Lady Matlock insisted I would enjoy the open expanses of the country.”

  Trying to maintain as much distance between them as possible, Richard turned and continued toward his brother. “Yes well, Matlock does have many lovely views. I hope you are able to enjoy them during your visit.” He stepped up next to his brother and attempted to disentangle his arm from the lady. “James, has Miss Sheridan been given a proper tour of Matlock?”

  Lord Matlock looked upon the lady in front of him as though he would devour her in the presence of all his guests. “As she only just arrived yesterday, I dare say she has not.” He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to his brother. “Shall you show her tomorrow?”

  Startled, Richard’s jaw hung slack for a moment before he slammed it shut. “I fear that is impossible. As I told you earlier, I shall be returning to Pemberley tomorrow.” He turned to the lady at his side and tapped the mourning band upon his arm. “I remain in mourning for my wife, and dislike being far from my children. I would not be here this evening if it were not for the perspicuous requests of my family.”

  “Of course, sir. I understand.” Miss Sheridan’s eyes met Lord Matlock’s and it appeared a secret conversation passed between them. “I remember seeing you and your wife together shortly after you wed. I always longed for a man to look at me the way you looked at her.” She turned to meet Richard’s gaze. “I am certain none could ever replace her in your heart, and I would hate to be the woman who attempted to do so.”

  A sweet smile crossed her lips as she curtseyed to him and returned to the women sitting by their hostess. Richard watched her leave, realizing she had just acknowledged she, too, wanted nothing to do with the plot Lord and Lady Matlock had concocted. Slowly he turned to find his brother’s eyes remained transfixed upon the lady.

  “So, James, it appears my presence is not needed here,” he said low enough for only them to hear.

  “No,” the Earl said wistfully without drawing his gaze from the woman. “She was quite displeased that I would even suggest such a thing to you. She has no desire for a title; never has.” Turning, he faced his brother. “I would only ask …”

  “I say, Matlock, are we to dine this evening upon that beast that was brought down earlier?” Lord Spencer clapped his host on the back. “Fitzwilliam, you had not heard. There was a boar rambling about the countryside; gave some locals a terrible fright. Your brother organized a hunt to rid the area of the nuisance.”

  Richard turned to his brother. “A boar? Tricky thing that; rather shocked you took it upon yourself, James. They have been known to turn on a man.”

  “Yes well, my gamekeeper was confident it could be taken with little difficulty.”

  “Built a pit, did he? I should say that would be the safest way.” Richard turned toward the Earl. “I suppose you do not see many boars in Northhamptonshire, Spencer. Otherwise you would know it must be properly butchered and cured. I doubt we shall see it on the table tonight.”

  Laughing, Lord Spencer turned to gaze across the room at the ladies as they rose from their seats in preparation to go in to dinner. “No, I had not previously participated in such a hunt. The game in Northhamptonshire is much more dangerous.” He winked at his friends as he stepped away to claim his wife’s hand.

  “Shall we?” Richard asked as he motioned for James to proceed him.

  “Richard, the matter of which we were speaking …”

  “Think no more on it, James. If need be, I shall see to it that matters are provided for.”

  James took a deep breath and patted his brother’s shoulder before moving forward to his wife’s side. Taking her hand, he led her toward the door, but glanced back at Richard one last time and nodded his head toward Miss Sheridan who stood amongst the single ladies awaiting escort to the dining room.

  Narrowing his eyes, Richard bit the inside of his lip and drew a deep breath through his nose. James appeared determined to force his hand even while seeming to accept the futility of his efforts. He waited for the other gentlemen to claim their partners, but when he was able to deduce who would remain, he quickly stepped forward and offered his arm to Miss Sheridan. Though he did not wish to give rise to any expectations, he preferred her company to the harpies left standing behind them. He also felt a modicum of safety in her presence given their previous interaction.

  “I must thank you, sir, for escorting me. I feared I would be left with Miss Sanderling.” Her lips turned up on one side in a sardonic smirk.

  “So did I,” Richard muttered under his breath. Their eyes met and they both fought the urge to laugh. Well if I am stuck in this muck, I must at least make the best of it. He lowered his voice and glanced about. “Miss Sheridan, I believe we understand each other clearly. May we dispense with a bit of the normal niceties? I fear I am not up to small talk this evening and, had my brother a lick of sense, you might be my sister. In such a case, we would not even have need of it.”

  The lady was taken aback for a moment, but then laid her other hand upon his arm and looked up into his eyes. “Whatever you wish, sir.”

  They walked a few more steps, but as they neared the dining room, she hesitated. “May I ask, General Fitzwilliam, if it would be cruel to speak of your late wife? I met her on a few occasions and wished I had known her better.”

  A tear entered Richard’s eye, but he blinked it away. “I would be delighted to speak of her.”

  Miss Sheridan stepped closer and whispered. “Perhaps it would remind others that you are not seeking a wife at this time.” She glanced toward a lady a few steps ahead of them.

  His brow drew together as he followed her gaze. He had noticed the tall, willowy woman watching him earlier, but had not given it any further thought. Taking a deep breath, he realized he must be more on his guard.

  They entered the dining room and took their seats. As the first course was served, Richard quickly realized the ladies around him appeared to hang on his every word. After glancing toward his brother, who made no attempt to hide his amusement at the situation, Richard decided to follow Miss Sheridan’s lead. The two of them spoke nearl
y exclusively, and most often regarding his late wife, Sarah. Slowly, the others looked away, returning their attention to their partners.

  By the end of the meal, Richard felt drained of all energy. As the ladies withdrew, he attempted to approach his brother, but was waylaid by more than one former classmate. He finally found his way clear as James was announcing their return to the drawing room.

  “Forgive me, James, but I believe I shall retire early.”

  Lord Matlock turned to examine his brother. He had never seen Richard look so poorly. Frowning, he tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Belinda will be expecting you.” Before his brother could respond, James laid a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You look truly ill, Brother. I fear you are not minding your health. Are you still determined to return to Pemberley in the morning?”

  “Yes, I believe it is for the best.”

  “Then you had best retire now. If you come to the drawing room with us, the ladies will keep you there several hours at least.”

  Many of the men standing nearby laughed as they nodded their agreement.

  “I shall see you for breakfast tomorrow before you leave,” James commanded and turned to leave the room.

  The others offered Richard their well wishes or condolences as they followed their host. Once in the hall, Richard took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. He had made it through his first society dinner since Sarah’s death.

  “Are you proud of me, my love? I did my best to remain civil.”

  “Careful, Fitz, some might try to declare you ready for Bedlam if they hear you talking to yourself.”

  Richard jumped, one hand to his chest, as he turned to find the source of the deep, malicious voice. Standing in the shadows of the hallway, near a long case clock, he made out the figure of a man. “Who is there?” he called out harshly.

  A familiar laugh echoed about him as Beardsley stepped into the light. “Come, Fitzwilliam, you do not recognize me?”

  The normal light bantering tone had returned, but Richard remained on his guard. “What are you doing lurking about the shadows, Beardsley? Seems a bit out of character for you.”

  Beardsley shrugged. “I suppose I misinterpreted my dinner partner’s innuendos. I will just return to the drawing room. Have a good night, Fitzwilliam.” He turned and walked nonchalantly down the stairs.

  Richard watched him until he disappeared from view. Still unconvinced, he glanced toward the shadows where Beardsley had been standing. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, so he shook off the feeling of unease and continued on to his room. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and readied himself for bed.

  As he slipped between the sheets, he glanced about. O’Toole would not have expected him to retire this early, but he wondered where the man might be. Once again, he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the unrest which had settled upon him. “I shall leave at first light. O’Toole is aware of this and has most likely retired, knowing I could fend for myself this evening.” Nodding agreement with his words, he rolled over and fell into a fretful sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Richard knew the moment the sun broke above the horizon. He had been waiting for the first rays to appear for perhaps an hour or more. As a dull glow began to fill the room, he threw back the counterpane and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Taking a moment, he rubbed his eyes before scratching his scalp vigorously in an attempt to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep. With a final yawn, he pushed himself off the mattress, stretching to his full height and twisting from one side to the other.

  Sleep had eluded him most of the night, and the moments he did succumb were fraught with strange dreams of lascivious men and women grasping at his appendages. Shivering at the recollection, he crossed to the dressing room and hoped a hot bath awaited him.

  The chill of the room caused him to shiver again as he entered to find it dark and his valet nowhere in sight. Frowning, Richard tugged the bell pull twice. He looked out the window once more before searching for his timepiece. Though it was early, O’Toole was aware Richard did not wish to remain at Matlock a moment longer than necessary. His displeasure was increasing the unease which still clung to him from the night before. As he was about to take the servants’ entrance in search of his missing man, the door opened and O’Toole entered appearing as though he too had been fighting demons throughout the night.

  “Forgive me, sir,” the servant stifled a yawn and dropped down before the hearth to begin his morning duties.

  “O’Toole, you look the very devil. Are you well, man?” Richard asked as he dropped into the shaving chair. Before he could receive an answer, he continued. “What has happened to my childhood home that would rob us both of a good night’s sleep?”

  The valet’s shoulders drooped for a moment before he sat back on his heels and turned to look at his master. “Who could sleep in a house where everyone is slipping about, in and out of the other’s chambers? If you aren’t a willing conspirator, you must be ever on your guard with your door locked. No, no one could rest here, sir.”

  Richard’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, O’Toole? I am certain James found some way to be with Miss Sheridan, but who else was taking nocturnal rambles last night?”

  His countenance reddened as O’Toole returned his attention to lighting the fire in order to warm them. “Who wasn’t would be the better question,” he mumbled as he added coal to the few remaining glowing embers.

  “Are you saying the servants …?” Richard rested his head in the palm of his hand. “Are there none left from when Mother and Father were alive?”

  “Very few, sir,” O’Toole said as he straightened and looked about the room. “It is a different place.”

  “On that I must agree.” Richard took a deep breath. “But what has you so tired, my man?” A hint of mischief twinkled in his eye. “Were you the pursuer or the prey?”

  O’Toole stiffened, a red hue settling about his features. “I was the protector.”

  “Protector?” The previous wariness clamped down upon Richard’s spine and he leaned forward. “I believe it best you tell me all, O’Toole. Who required protection? Surely no one here would be forced to do anything they did not wish to do.”

  “I fear there are those amongst the higher ranks with certain … proclivities to which I do not take kindly, sir. There are several young members of the staff, afraid of losing their position, who could fall prey to such a person of society.”

  Richard studied his long time servant as the valet bustled about the room, seeing his reluctance to say what he had witnessed. “And what do you suppose will happen to these individuals once we have returned to Pemberley?”

  Raising his head, O’Toole met Richard’s gaze with a haunted eye. “I shudder to think of it, sir.”

  “Well, this is a predicament then.” Richard scratched his head as he stood and paced the small room. Suddenly realizing he must look very much like his cousin, Darcy, he chuckled. How would Darcy approach this situation?

  Returning to his seat, he leaned forward with his forearms resting upon his thighs. “In order to make an intelligent decision, O’Toole, I must have more information. I can see your unease in revealing the names of those involved, and I respect that, truly I do; but is this a lad or maid? Is the society member a Lord or Lady? It may affect the ease or even the possibility of our actions.”

  As the realization that his master was considering lending his assistance registered upon O’Toole, Richard saw the man’s shoulders drop slightly, releasing a bit of the tension which had filled him. A struggle passed over the servant’s countenance before he turned and stood before his master, his stance similar to an officer about to give report to a superior. Recognizing it for what it was, Richard sat tall and nodded once.

  “Last evening, when the ladies left the dining room but before the gents followed, I was in the upper hallway. I anticipated you retiring early and was listening for your approach. I heard whispering coming from the s
hadows near the top of the stairs and turned to see several lads clustered together. They didn’t see me, and I thought it best not to announce my position until I knew what they were about.

  “I heard one of the older boys saying, ‘Just don’t struggle; it could go bad for ya.’ Another chimed in, ‘If he’s pickled enough, it should be over fast.’” O’Toole swallowed hard. “You might remember, sir, when I was first assigned to your service, there was a young lad what followed me about. I had told you I was training him to be a batman.”

  Richard nodded again, his brow creased as he attempted to connect the tales. “A skittish boy; frightened of his own shadow.”

  “That’d be the one. Colonel Randall had taken a fancy to the lad. At first I thought nothing of it, but when I walked up behind him once and he nearly jumped out his skin, I began watching more closely.”

  O’Toole’s normally well-tanned skin coloured to an even deeper red, and he stepped out of his report position to pace the enclosed area. “I’d been batman to several officers afore Randall, and most of them were decent men. One or two liked their cards or gin a bit more than was proper, and a few were only there because their fathers purchased their commission; but I never disliked any of them, excepting Randall.” He returned to his prior position. “I swear the man had sold his soul to the devil and was looking to take as many with him as he could. I determined he wouldn’t be taking young Jacob and I told the Colonel such. Well, he didn’t take kindly to it and ordered me reassigned. What he didn’t realize until it was too late was that I had already requested the lad go with me if I be sent elsewhere.”

  Having heard rumours regarding Randall, Richard was not surprised by O’Toole’s tale. He nodded again. “And so when you heard the lads, you had an idea of what they were discussing.”

  “Aye, sir. I approached and they scattered like rats, leaving the young’un behind. He turned slowly, as though he were afraid I was the man he awaited. About that time, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder, motioned for him to be silent, and lead him farther down the hall until we could slip into the servants’ stairs.