Beginning, Section II

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Chapter Nine

Posted on Monday, 22 May 2000

Clair crackled with faint exasperation as Darcy approached. He pointed in greeting at a car from which a row of heads grinned in triplicate. "Look who I found."

"The Meredith triumvirate!" exclaimed Darcy. He started backward slightly, overwhelmed by the sight of the four Merediths together. With dazzling smiles and green eyes under haloes of honey-colored hair, they were amazingly like; only Clair's polish of sophistication distinguished him from his already identical younger brothers.

"Afternoon," Nigel, Cecil, and Basil said simultaneously.

Clair turned back to the car. "As I was saying, at the risk of sounding ungracious to my own brethren, may I ask what brings you three to London? It's not holidays yet, is it? I can never keep Oxonian terms straight."

Silence. Cecil and Basil giggled; Nigel blushed. Clair frowned suspiciously. "What's her name, Nigel?" he asked sternly.

Basil grinned. "Lady Georgiana--"

"--Treadgold," finished Cecil.

"She's my cousin!" said Darcy. "Fourth, at least. I think." He began counting off the generations on his hand, nodding to himself.

Nigel's eyes widened. "Won't you put in a good word for me? I think she's a wonderful girl--"

"So does half of Oxford," snickered Cecil.

"And Cambridge," added Basil with glee.

Nigel glared at his two brothers. "--but I haven't much chance during term time."

"I shouldn't think anyone has much chance," remarked Darcy. "She's not even out yet--a few more months perhaps."

"I don't think university is the problem," said the eldest brother helpfully. "More to the point, can she even tell you three apart?"

"Yes," answered Nigel defensively. "Please, Darcy?"

"But how do plan on seeing her?" broke in Clair.

"Lord Treadgold's our year," said Cecil. "And a great friend."

"Especially now," laughed Basil. "He's down for the weekend also."

Darcy idly fingered the rose in his lapel. "I'll talk to Georgiana if I see her, but I don't know that I've any influence."

"Still, I appreciate the favor." Nigel looked satisfied.

Clair frowned, slightly accusatory. "Do our parents know you're here?"

"We need a bit of help with that, actually," Cecil meekly admitted.

Basil smiled charmingly. "You're our favorite brother, you know."

"I thought so." Clair wearily looked at Darcy. "Make my apologies to the other chaps while I explain these rogues to the mater and pater. Off we go, then." He tried to assume a martyred expression, but a glint of amusement in his eye kept it from succeeding. As the car drove away, Clair's voice floated out: "I don't know why you use the 'our favorite brother' line. It doesn't work." Darcy laughed as he went up the steps.

Two blond heads bent over a sheaf of pages on the desk greeted Darcy as he entered the lounge.

"Too cluttered. It needs simplicity," pronounced Claud gravely. "This one, perhaps." He offered it for appraisal.

"Better." Killian picked up another. "This looks like those awful texts we had in second year. Horrible."

With a puckish expression, Claud plucked it from his hand and quickly hid it. "Then it's right out. They made our tutor nod off." They laughed heartily before noticing Darcy.

"There's the boy." Claud rose cheerily. "Impeccably dressed and prompt as always."

Darcy handed him a few sheets that had floated to the floor. "What's this? Why all the covert operation?"

"Covert? Never. We're good upstanding London boys," riposted Claud before Killian interrupted.

"Layouts for our journal. Claud received several design proposals from various artists this morning, so he asked me to come by the club early."

Darcy peered at a few of them. "Have you liked any of them?"

Claud shook his head. "Literary criticism has a rather unfortunate unaesthetic quality about it, though they did their best. Little do they know that we've already asked Perry to solve the problem with a brilliant design of his own." He grinned and looked at his partner. "Until then, however...we'll break for luncheon."

"In which case," said Killian as Claud shuffled papers into his portfolio, "I'll leave you two gentlemen to wait for Clair while I ring someone."

Darcy smiled at his friend's retreating form. "Any bets as to whom?"

"He's ringing the person he rang--" Claud pointed to the fourth finger on his left hand. "--recently."

"Trust you for drollery," Darcy chuckled. "Shall we go in? Clair's not coming." He explained about the triplets as they strolled into the dining room.

Unfolding his napkin, Claud laughed. "So Georgiana's become the Zuleika Dobson of the Oxbridge set, minus the guile."

"Let's hope none of them come to a bad end."

"Of course they won't, but the way Clair talks about those three, you'd never believe it." He paused to wave away the proffered wines. "Did you enjoy Courtenay?" Darcy blushed slightly. "A most productive weekend, then?"

After several false starts, Darcy described his evening. His friend listened with contorted brow. "Why, that blasted old harpy," he exclaimed feelingly at the end of the narrative. "I'm sorry, Fitz. Sorry for both you and Miss Clifton."

"Yes, well, let's not jump to conclusions."

"I don't think I am," said Claud thoughtfully. "You and I know right well that her absence of late has made you uneasy. And she evidently hasn't been properly happy, either. Yet when you and Elizabeth danced together, something inherent in both of you changed and emerged anew. There was a serene completeness, a profound intactness that made those of us watching either cherish it or want it for ourselves. It was powerful. Don't let go of that." He paused. A silence hung between them as they contemplated the idea.

Finally Claud spoke again. "I know it will happen, Fitz. A reaction that electric can't go on quietly."

Darcy looked at his grave friend and smiled, tentatively at first, then warmly. "Thank you, Claud. Thank you." They sat in companionable silence until the soup arrived promptly with Killian.

"What are you chaps discussing?"

"The weekend," answered Darcy casually.

"Oh, how was last night's charity concert?" said Killian to Claud.

"Topping. Miss Percy sang an Italian aria. How she had enough energy for that after her late night astounded me. In any case, her mother raised quite a lot of money for the orphans. Speaking of which, do you know what I learned this weekend?"

His companions did not. He continued. "Father knows Miss Percy's father from lecturing at Cambridge. Odd coincidence."

"Had you met her before?" asked Darcy.

"Not to my knowledge. The Percys travel abroad extensively and we went to Somerset for most holidays. Randolph Percy left to teach at Oxford about fifteen years ago, but returned to Cambridge recently. Philosophy, I think he does."

The porter materialized bearing a thin yellow envelope for Darcy. "Telegram, sir."

The other two peered at it. "Who sent it?" asked Killian.

Darcy shrugged, examining the front where "The Marquess of Derby" was scrawled nearly illegibly in pencil. He tore it open, scanned it, and ran from the room.

Claud dashed after him. "Darcy, stop. What's wrong?" He returned to the table where Killian sat holding the forgotten cable. "What does it say?" He shook his friend's shoulder. "Killian."

The stricken Killian passed it to him. Claud quickly skimmed it. His brown eyes met the fear in the other's hazel ones. Without a word, they rushed after their friend, Claud still clutching the thin sheet.

Chapter Ten

Posted on Thursday, 25 May 2000

A wrenching two weeks passed for the Darcy family as they watched their beloved head slowly slip away. Doctors shook their heads over the ailing duke; the anguished yet composed Lady Derbyshire refused to believe them. She took comfort in the presence of her children, who joined her constant bedside vigil. While their mother acted as nurse, Fiona and Darcy sent for all manner of doctors, to no avail. One after another looked at the siblings sorrowfully before going away and taking hope with them.

Finally the last arrived: a young man who had only recently completed his medical education and established a practice in Lambton. Rumors abounded about Jonathan Hodge: he was a brilliant though untested talent, he had turned down a position at a prestigious London hospital, he preferred the peace of the country after the death of his childhood sweetheart. None of this was in the minds of the Darcys as the young physician pulled up to Pemberley in his car.

Dr. Hodge at once proceeded with his examination: taking Lord Derbyshire's pulse, listening to his breathing, and noting his symptoms. He nodded confidently to himself and then gave orders for the care of the patient. The quiet doctor visited daily, administering treatment and examining the patient. At the end of the week, three pale faces looked anxiously at their last hope; Dr. Hodge's gray eyes met theirs directly. He smiled gravely before offering a pronouncement: "His Grace is out of danger."

At this, Katharine Derbyshire's reserve finally broke and she wept. Her children surrounded her, tears of joy streaking their faces. In the midst of this emotional outpouring, Dr. Hodge quietly slipped out of the room.

Some minutes passed before anyone noticed his absence. Leaving their mother in the care of Fiona, Darcy went in search of him. He found the doctor getting into his car.

"Dr. Hodge." He paused as Darcy approached. "Sir, I--my family--we cannot, that is--"

Jonathan Hodge smiled. "I understand, Lord Derby." He looked away for a moment, his handsome features grave. "I understand." The physician smiled again as he got into his car; with a final wave, he drove away.

Darcy stood in the dusky courtyard of Pemberley for a moment, his eyes, mind, and heart full. "Thank you," he finally whispered. "Thank you."

A quietly joyous celebration took place at Pemberley. Having finally persuaded their mother to sleep, Darcy and Fiona went down to the drawing room to meet Charles. Upon receiving the telegram announcing his father-in-law's recovery, he had dashed up from Hertfordshire where he had stayed to keep Stella out of danger. As they sat down together to glasses of wine, late supper, and good conversation, the years fell away from the siblings until they became their twenty-four and twenty-one year old selves again. At last, Fiona retired, with a kiss for her brother and a loving caress for her husband; Charles soon followed her. Darcy entered his darkened room and prepared for bed. He slowly slid beneath the cool sheets to think, not to sleep. Despite the ordeal of the past few days, he was not tired; he could only rejoice.

FATHER BETTER. RETURNING THURSDAY NIGHT. WOULDN'T MISS WEDDING FOR WORLD. FITZ.

"Chaps, look," shouted Julian, thrusting the wire at his friends a week before his marriage. Whereupon a great cheer arose and, with it, a round of toasts to the health of the patient and to the skill of his young doctor.

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Sunday, 28 May 2000

At precisely half past eight on the morning of the seventeenth of July 1925, a motorcar stopped at St. Peter's in Eaton Square. Two handsome men, one fair and one dark, slowly entered the church. Dressed nearly identically in black morning coats and each carrying a hat and a pair of gloves, they returned to the door a quarter of an hour later.

"Queen's weather you've got today, Julian!" said Claud encouragingly, examining the perfect blue sky. His friend nodded distractedly, his dark eyes distant. Looking at him with concern, Claud prepared to speak.

"Oh, don't look like that. You're scaring me," exclaimed Clair, lackadaisically sweeping through the gate at that moment. "I'll never marry if you keep on like that."

The best man grinned wickedly at the confirmed bachelor. "As if you ever thought of marriage."

Clair smirked. "Well, after seeing what it does to my friend the civil servant here, I certainly won't now. If the P.M. can't handle it, I with my weak constitution assuredly couldn't."

"Of course he can handle it," said Claud cheerily. "Right, Julian?"

"Good morning, lads," shouted Perry, rushing in. He cheerfully doffed his hat and shook hands all around. "Are we ready to get married?"

The groom gave the barest hint of a smile. "Yes, of course."

To Claud, Perry whispered, "Is he all right?"

The best man groaned, then brightened as Killian emerged from the Finlay car. Straightening his tailcoat and tie, he calmly entered the yard. "Hello," he began, then stopped and looked closely at Julian. "Feeling all right, P.M.?"

Claud threw his arms up. "That's it. There's only one solution."

When Darcy arrived minutes later, he found the five casually kicking a football around in the churchyard. As he came upon them, they guiltily stopped and looked up, Claud stealthily lofting the ball into the bushes.

"Fitz!" They rushed toward him. "How's your father?"

"Much better--enough that I felt that I could leave." Darcy smiled as he turned to Julian. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything." At this, the groom laughed and they embraced. The group headed into the church vestibule, Julian looking more relaxed after the spontaneous exercise.

"Football?" whispered Darcy to Claud.

Claud sighed. "A desperate effort to shake Julian's nerves. Poor fellow's been up since five. He rang at a quarter after seven, asking if I would come over. I had already promised to come at eight, but I finished dressing as quick as I could and ran over."

He paused, glancing at Killian and Perry trying to keep Julian's spirits up as Clair looked on. "He had already eaten and dressed, but didn't know what to do with himself. So I kept him occupied until eight-thirty and then brought him over to the church. Thankfully, he seems tip-top now. But how are you? We wanted to write, but figured you had other duties on order."

"So you sent boxes instead. I could tell that several fine wine cellars and kitchens were raided."

Claud grinned. "All in the name of a very worthy cause."

"For which my family sends its gratitude and thanks. It was better than correspondence." Darcy smiled a bit mournfully, thinking of a letter he had written in the aftermath that had never received a response. Then he brightened impishly. "Not that I don't appreciate your letters. Works of art, my dear professor."

"Well, good. Should you ever lose your inheritance, you can collect up my epistles and publish them for a tidy sum. The Collected Letters of C.L.S. Strohem-Moss, Author, Critic, Editor should make a mint."

"Family, friends, and lovers beware."

"Exactly. I write for posterity only. Such gems ought not to go waste. You must recall the famous Eton missive: 'Darcy old bean, Jolly scrape happening tonight. I'll tell you at cricket. Pass message on to Carlyle, there's a good chap. Must hop to maths. Claud. P.S. Bally pen leaked. Sorry.'" They laughed uproariously in memory.

Interrupting, Perry waved them over. "Flowers have come." They each picked out a rose and put them in their buttonholes.

"Ah, now it feels like a wedding," announced Clair.

"What did it feel like before?" Killian wanted to know.

Without an answer for once, Clair laughed. "Church?"

"Grandfather," exclaimed Julian suddenly to an elderly man edging through the doorway. Though eighty-four, Oliver Eaton-Fox remained an imposing presence, standing as equally noble and tall as his young grandson.

"Julian, my boy. To think that I would live to see my only grandchild marry," Lord Aylesbury sighed. "I gave your father one piece of advice on his wedding day and I think it will do for you quite as well. 'Clive,' I said to him, 'make no hesitation when you say your vows. Otherwise, Vivienne will cast it up to you later.'"

The groom laughed. "You have no cause for worry, sir. I've known that I wanted to marry Serena since the age of four. I shall not hesitate."

"Good to hear, my boy." The earl patted him on the shoulder fondly and moved away.

"Is that true? Since the age of four?" asked Clair with interest.

"Yes. Apparently, I hopped up for a look into her cradle and announced it to the assembled company."

The earl said, "Riverfield, I hear you intend to marry."

"Indeed, Lord Aylesbury, in two months."

He pulled the younger man aside. "I have some advice that I gave to Aston on his wedding day. 'Clive,' I said to my son," he began. Killian stifled a laugh as the earl continued instructing.

"Good thing the rest of us aren't engaged," whispered Claud.

Perry took control of the situation. "Lord Aylesbury, shall I help you to a seat? Lord and Lady Aston have just arrived." As he led the earl away, the others heard, "Mr. Carlyle, are you engaged?"

The group broke into laughter, which Perry joined in when he returned. At long last, they calmed.

"I have a dilemma," said Julian seriously.

Darcy eyed him. "Not cold feet, I hope?"

"No, nothing of the sort." He paused. "Well, you heard Grandfather's advice. Here stands the problem. Last night, Serena's uncle, Lord St. Andrews, assured me that it would lend more drama to the ceremony if I paused slightly before saying my vows." Everyone burst into laughter again.

They turned to peer out the door at the sound of motorcars arriving at the church. Adjusting clothes and sleeking hair, they quickly composed themselves.

"In case I don't see you until, well, the ceremony, you all know your bridesmaids?" whispered Julian.

"Chrissie," replied Clair promptly.

"Kate," answered Claud.

"Kristin," smiled Killian.

"Elizabeth," said Darcy.

"Your cousin, Miss Reid," finished Perry, after a moment's thought.

"Right. I'm off then." Julian took himself to another room to wait.

"Here we go, lads," said Perry. They moved forward to greet the guests.

"Well, chaps, our last moment together," sighed Clair, closing the door to the tiny side room where the circle had gathered. "I haven't anything to say, though. Except 'name your first son after me.'"

"All the more reason to have daughters," teased Perry.

Darcy examined his watch. "I hate to break things up, but it's time." The groom nodded nervously.

"My dear fellow, this can't be any more nerve-wracking than giving a parliamentary speech," Killian consoled.

"But there you're wrong, old boy," Julian smiled despairingly. "I've imagined giving speeches to Parliament any number of times, but I've never imagined getting married."

It finally fell upon the best man to break the tension. "Well, at least there won't be a vote from the guests for or against the marriage," said Claud.

At this, Julian's anxiety eased. Laughing, he straightened his tailcoat and tie. "All right." They filed into the church and lined up at the altar.

In the final few seconds before the doors broke open, Perry murmured, "Good luck, Julian." The words traveled through Clair, Darcy, Killian, and Claud. The groom smiled, knowing that, in that area, he lacked nothing.

He thought of a lock of hair, a tiny curl of gold that a thirteen-year-old girl had shyly presented to a young man before he went to the front. The private kept it in his pocket as he fought in combat, as he lay wounded behind enemy lines, as forces liberated him from the prison hospital, as he returned home. And now, with the talisman once more near his heart, the brave soldier wed the girl who had long loved and protected him.

Then the doors opened. Julian swallowed. Claud, that excellent best man, whispered a final line into the awful silence: "I have the rings."

Julian grinned and relaxed. The music began. And his life changed forever.

It was over. A beautiful wedding, the guests declared. The perfect end to a long love story, sighed the families. The last of the Ayrshire girls and the first of the Darcy set had gone off in style, society reporters agreed in their half-written columns. A handsome pair, said photographers, jostling for position outside of the Ayrshire home. The Hon. Julian and Mrs. Eaton-Fox jumped laughingly into the waiting car and happily sped towards the station, thinking only of each other.

A single moment went unnoticed in the tangle of partings. A young man quietly bent to a young woman's ear with a question. Her fine eyes squarely met his dark ones as she answered with a simple, expressionless nod. Satisfied, he smiled, they bowed, and parted in the vestibule.

Chapter Twelve

Posted on Thursday, 1 June 2000

In the cool clear of the morning, Darcy awoke and slid out of bed. After a light breakfast, he retired to the privacy of his neat bathroom. He bathed, plying his soap and sponge, before emerging into a large towel. Swathed in his dressing gown, he carefully shaved and cleaned his teeth, and neatly parted his dark hair with a comb. Briskly he put on his shirt and trousers and then slipped on his braces as he went to the window. A beautiful day awaited, sparkling over London with the promise of sunshine and sweetness. He deftly plaited his tie before donning the rest of his suit. With a parting glance at the mirror, he collected his hat and gloves and departed.

The motorcar stopped at the stipulated address, jolting its passenger from his reflections. As the driver opened the door for him, Darcy paused for a moment to steady his nerves. My fate lies inside of that house, he thought to himself as he exited the car, almost dizzy with the idea. Taking a deep breath, he went up the steps and rang the bell.

The butler opened the door and bowed courteously. "Good morning, Lord Derby." He guided Darcy down the hall to the drawing room. "If you would care to wait here, my lord."

"Thank you, Brenchley." The butler departed, leaving Darcy to his own devices. His solitude did not last long, for Mrs. Morris almost immediately bustled into the room. Though his heart sank, he managed to conjure up a smile and a greeting.

"Good morning, Mrs. Morris."

She began fiddling with the flowers in the vases, making a considerable and unnecessary mess. "A good morning to you, Lord Derby. What brings you to this house today?"

I could hardly tell you that. "I thought I would pay a call to friends before I returned home."

"Oh, but none of the family is here. Mr. Clifton went to his office in the City, Mrs. Clifton left to attend an exhibition, and my nephew and his wife are at their townhouse."

He tried to feign nonchalance. "And Miss Clifton?"

"Lizzy? She left very early this morning, before breakfast."

"Really," said a surprised Darcy. "She told me she would be here at this hour."

"Well, she's gone now."

"I don't suppose you have any idea when she will return or her whereabouts?"

"Not at all. She didn't tell anyone of her plans." Mrs. Morris paused thoughtfully in her flower arranging. "I must say, she seemed very keen on escaping the house."

Darcy started slightly. It would appear that I've been chucked. He swallowed his disappointment and tried to smile unconcernedly. "I suppose I should leave, then. Will you inform Miss Clifton that I have called, please?"

"Certainly, my lord."

"Thank you. Good day, madam." Rising slowly, he bowed and then fled the room, deep in his own thoughts.

The door closed behind him. Alberta Morris smiled to herself.

"Who was that, aunt?" asked Elizabeth, coming into the room. She looked particularly radiant this morning, with pink cheeks and bright eyes that betrayed an unusual and expectant excitement.

"No one, dear. No one."

Chapter Thirteen

Posted on Sunday, 4 June 2000

Marriages

The Hon. J.T. Eaton-Fox and Miss S.E. Ayrshire.

The marriage took place yesterday at St. Peter's in Eaton-square, of the Honourable Julian Trevor Eaton-Fox, M.C., son of the Viscount and Viscountess Aston of Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, to Serena Emilie, fourth and youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Edward Ayrshire of 2, Eaton-place.

The bride, who was given away by her father, wore a gown of white and gold brocade with a tulle veil and a coronet of white and gold rosebuds in her hair. She carried a sheaf of white and golden roses from the conservatories of Aston Park. Master David Ayrshire and Miss Serena Christie (nephew and niece of the bride) carried the train of gold tissue. The little boy was dressed in a gold satin tunic and breeches, and the little girl in a gold tulle frock, with a circlet of red roses in her hair. The six bridesmaids--Miss N. Katherine Percy, Lady Kristin Klosson, Miss Elizabeth Clifton, Lady Christian Noble, and Miss Philippa Reid (cousin of the bridegroom)--wore dresses of gold tulle with white embroidery and carried bouquets of red roses. Mr. Claudio Strohem-Moss was best man, and the Rev. J.P. Bentham officiated.

A reception was held after the ceremony at 2, Eaton-place, and the bride and bridegroom later left for America, Mrs. Eaton-Fox wearing a pale green crêpe de Chine gown, with a white coat and hat.

Clair finished reading aloud and folded up the Times. "What do you think of that?" he asked from his sprawled position on the couch.

As resident writer and critic, Claud wrinkled his nose. "It sounds so...matter-of-fact."

"That's because I haven't gotten to the good bits in the gossip columns yet." He reached for another paper. "Here's a simply ripping one: 'As best man, the handsome Claudio Strohem-Moss raised thoughts of matrimony in many a girlish heart.'"

A groan. "Why on earth does the club take these things anyway?"

"Because we're always in them," teased Perry, examining the point of his drafting pen.

Picking up the cricket scores, Claud buried himself in them. "It makes me never want to go outside."

"Well, you won't have to now. End of the season."

Killian looked relieved. "Thank the gods."

"You make it sound like end of term," commented Clair.

He laughed. "Well, it does feel like holidays after all the social duties."

"And after all the columnists," added Claud from behind the paper.

"Oh, they'll never finish with us." Opening up to the social pages, Clair resumed reading. "This columnist, for example, speculates as to which of us will go next."

Perry rolled his eyes. "Nothing new."

"Yes, but he actually gives odds and candidates." Perry put down his pen, Claud his paper, and Killian his book. Folding back the pages, Clair cleared his throat. "Discounting our Lord Riverfield here, he puts his money on Fitz with Elizabeth at 2-1, dismissing current gossip. Good egg. Claud comes in next at 4-1 with either Kate Percy or Lady May Cambridge. My eye, professor, I didn't know you were after the Queen's niece."

Claud shrugged. "That makes two of us. Somebody ought to tell me these things before I go a-courting." They laughed.

"Now here's a quandary. Apparently, he observed Perry chatting up a girl--Philippa Reid--yesterday and he finds sufficient evidence in what he saw to give them an outside chance at 10-1."

"Philippa Reid," echoed Killian, puzzled. "Does he mean Julian's cousin Pippa? Didn't you just meet her yesterday?"

"Serena's sixth bridesmaid, who Perry squired on the return trip down the aisle," said Clair, looking pointedly at the escort in question.

"Yes, Pippa. First thing she told me, don't you know. 'Oh, don't call me "Miss Reid." Or "Philippa." I expect when I'm forty I'll finally fit the name,' she said. 'Until then, do call me "Pippa." Everyone else does.'" Calmly and without looking up, Perry added a line or two to the design before him. "Charming lass, don't you think?"

"Rather," said Clair.

"I've heard about her from Ophelia. They went to school together," put in Claud. "She lives on a massive northern estate, Swan's Down, so called because her grandfather had a sense of humor, which she apparently inherited. Bit of a musician."

"She just came out this year, didn't she?" Killian caught Perry's eye. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he hastily amended.

Claud, who had stealthily crept up behind Clair to glance at the statistics, suddenly pealed with laughter. "And what about young Meredith? At 7-1! Who would have guessed?"

"You have been busy, old chap," said Killian with a grin.

"Do tell, my boy," said Perry gleefully. "Confirmed bachelor, what?"

Opening his mouth to speak the name of the supposed future Mrs. C.B. Meredith, Claud found a slender hand clamped over it. He pushed Clair off and tried to divulge the significant two words when the hand reappeared. Sweeping up the paper, he dodged Clair's grasp and tossed it to Killian and Perry, who tried to find the page. Snatching it from their hands, Clair cast it into the burning grate with a triumphant smile.

Claud matched it with one of his own. "Well, you can't bung me into the fire."

"I could try, but I won't because you're one of my best pals, you rotter."

"How very noble of you." Everyone broke into laugher. Claud adroitly evaded Clair's elbow.

"Witty, Mr. Strohem-Moss, very witty," smirked Clair. "Just wait until the next time you play as keeper and I've the ball."

"When will that be? As relief right before your wedding?" Clair clouted him with the stack of remaining papers as the door swung open, revealing Darcy. "All right, all right, I'll stop. But only because Fitz's here."

"Just the fellow." Killian rose. "Let's eat; I'm positively famished."

"As any industrious Christian would be," grinned Claud. And, with that, he fled into the dining room with Clair in pursuit.

"I can't understand why she would tell me to come at an appointed hour and then leave." Darcy took a sip of wine after concluding his tale of that morning's failed proposal attempt.

"Unless--," said Perry slowly.

"You don't mean--," exclaimed Clair.

"I didn't think it was true," began Claud.

Darcy shifted impatiently. "What?"

Killian slowly put down his fork. "In your absence, the newspapers became extremely interested in the Prince of Wales's new girl, mainly because everyone supposed her practically engaged to another man. They published pictures and speculated on a potential betrothal in the columns. Even though we'd seen them together several times, we thought the gossip just another muddle by the press, the usual sort of fruitless conjecture, because--" He looked his best friend squarely in the eye. "--the girl is Elizabeth Clifton."

"Surely it's just a rumor," said Darcy.

His friends looked uneasily at each other. Finally Killian spoke up.

"Maybe not this time, Fitz," he said gently. "He's under pressure to find a wife, especially now after Bertie's marriage. And she has been seen in his company recently."

"And no girl says no to the heir to the throne," said Darcy quietly, almost to himself.

"I'm sorry," said his best friend.

"For what?" asked Darcy. "We had no understanding; I have no prior claim." He mechanically resumed eating his pudding, this time without tasting it. Ideas swirled chaotically in his mind. She was a social climber, after all, he thought. Everything makes sense now: why she never responded to my letter, why she seemed shy at the wedding, why she left before I called. A hollow pain formed in his chest and threatened to explode.

"But--," began Perry before Clair kicked him under the table. The rest of the meal continued in silence.

At the threshold of the club, they bid Darcy a grave farewell with handshakes and embraces. Clair hopped into a motorcar as the other three returned inside to discuss the journal. As Darcy approached his waiting car, he heard the slam of a door followed by hurried footsteps.

"Darcy." Perry caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "You can't just let her go like that without knowing her feelings. It could just be rumor. You'll never forgive yourself."

"I respect your opinion, but I hardly think you would know that." Darcy tried to leave, but his friend pulled him back.

Eyes flashing darkly, Perry gritted his teeth. "I'm only going to say this once, Fitzwilliam Darcy, so listen." He took a deep breath. "I know a fellow who never told the woman he loved that he cared for her. He thought they were too young to make promises and left his feelings unsaid as he went off to school. He told me that he regretted not having done so after seeing the hurt in her eyes when he departed, but he meant to make amends later on."

"And then what?"

"My brother was killed." Darcy started. Perry glanced away to steady himself before softly finishing his story. "Raymond never got to tell Sophie how he felt, to marry her, to live the rest of his life with her. When the army sent us his belongings, there was a letter for her. I don't know what it said, but I do know that Sophie's anguish was the worst part about Ray's death. At least Mum, Dad, and I had an acknowledged relationship to him and could grieve as openly and deeply as necessary. She felt she had no right to mourn him as she did."

Placing a hand on Darcy's shoulder, Perry looked at him penetratingly, but spoke gently. "Don't make the same mistake. I don't know if I can bear to see any more broken hearts."

"I don't think her heart suffers much."

"I meant yours." He frowned. "If you think you're doing the right thing, then I shall support you. You're correct; I don't know, so you must act according to what you believe right. But don't have any regrets."

"Perry, the right thing," faltered Darcy after a pause. "I don't know what that is just now. I don't...just don't know."

"You will. I promise you." Perry smiled encouragingly, Darcy uncertainly in return. "I ought to go back inside. I told Claud and Killian that I needed to fetch my cigarettes. They probably think I went off to shops across town for them. And you can't miss your train."

"Thank you, Perry."

"Not at all. I needed to say it...for Raymond and Sophie." They shook hands and parted. Darcy got into the motor and watched London blur past the windows on his way to the train station.

Chapter Fourteen

Posted on Saturday, 10 June 2000

"Welcome home, Lord Derby," the butler said as the young master handed him his hat and gloves. Darcy set his suitcase down in the front hall. "I trust you had a good journey."

"Good enough, Graves."

"Fitz!" exclaimed Fiona, coming down the stairs with Stella in her arms. "I didn't expect you so soon."

He embraced both of them. "I decided to take an earlier train."

"Excellent. Mama and Papa will be delighted to see you. Papa rests in his rooms while Mama oversees the details of his dinner."

"What about Charles?"

"He's conducting some business in the library. And Stella just finished dinner." At the sound of her name, Stella grinned and offered her uncle a bite from half her biscuit.

Fiona laughed. "No, darling, uncle will eat later. Which reminds me." She turned to Graves. "Please tell cook that Lord Derby has arrived." The butler bowed and floated away.

"I think I shall retire for a bit now, if you don't need me," said Darcy.

"Not at all. I must oversee bath and bedtime now. I'll see you at dinner. Say 'good night' to Uncle Fitz." Waving, Stella chirped a farewell as her mother carried her away.

Darcy headed for the peace of his bedroom. Throwing himself into a chair, he remained immobile for a few restful minutes, a hand over his brow. Eventually, he roused himself and leafed through the mail awaiting him. A letter bearing the Aylesbury crest caught his eye. Julian's handwriting proclaimed the address; puzzled, he opened the envelope.

London
16 July 1925
Fitz,

If you're getting this letter, it means that I couldn't find an opportunity to speak to you privately and that this single page will have to suffice. In defiance of my future political career, I shall get right to the point. I expect that you've heard the rumors by now. Don't believe them. Elizabeth hinted to Serena that her acquaintance with Prince Edward results from the inescapable machinations of her great-aunt and that she is most unhappy. Unfortunately, she could not say more as Mrs. Morris entered; the latter keeps close watch on her niece of late. Both Serena and I feel certain that she does so to keep you distant from Elizabeth, though she has no qualms about letting your friends visit. Curious. I give you this information because I know you care for her and everyone wants this to work, if possible. Act accordingly or as you see fit. I hope to talk to you tomorrow (at my wedding!), but if I cannot, I shall post this from the train station. I wish you the best of luck, old thing.

Julian

A shiver of electricity ran through Darcy as the right thing suddenly and boldly avowed itself to him. Examining the clock, he calculated the time remaining before dinner. Perfect. Ordering the motorcar brought around, he opened a desk drawer and removed a sheet of notepaper. Pulling the inkstand towards him, he rapidly wrote a few lines and dashed out the door.

At the telegraph office, Darcy gave the page to the clerk and returned to Pemberley. The urgency of a wire could not go ignored. If she understood, then perhaps...and if not...

Squinting at the sheet, the clerk began to tap out the message with the soft click and scratch of the telegraph.

Charles and Fiona exchanged mystified looks once again. Their brother appeared at dinner in unusually high spirits--full of jokes and laughter and whimsy. Certainly it was lovely to see him so light-hearted, but his manner had a peculiar strain about it. Perhaps the stress of recent weeks had affected him. They excused themselves as soon as possible in order to let him retire.

The moment his sister and her husband left the drawing room, Darcy felt a languor fall over him. The silence of solitude encircled him with the unfamiliar sensation of its fettered weight. Never before had he experienced loneliness at Pemberley. Darcy gazed out the window at the grounds where he had rarely known an unhappy moment. Its vastness now seemed emblematic of a strange isolation. And all this is mine, he thought, heart aching with a new and finely wrought pain. Is this what I have to look forward to in coming years?

Weary, he drifted into the warm hush of the garden and stood there in the softly luminous silver of the moonlight. Above him a star danced, its graceful arabesques scarcely disturbing the stillness.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned.

It was Elizabeth.

No words were needed as she entered his arms. All was understood. She had come back to Pemberley, to Darcy. Elizabeth had returned unto her own.

* Christopher Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, 1599.

Epilogue

Posted on Saturday, 17 June 2000

(fragment of a letter passed between the Darcy set, July 1925)

Pemberley House, Derbyshire.

Her aunt tried desperately to promote the match, for what greater catch exists than the Prince of Wales? But someone stood in the way of the blood royal: the mere aristocrat Fitzwilliam Darcy. So she hid my letter and sent me away under the misconception that Elizabeth wanted to avoid me. She did not tell her great-niece of either deed, in hopes that I would simply disappear and that she would soon have the future Queen of England in her family. However, she did not take into account Elizabeth's feelings; not only did she dislike HRH, Miss Clifton was in love with another.

I had timed the telegram to arrive while Elizabeth dressed for dinner. When she read it, she knew who sent it and what it asked. After a quick conference with her parents, she took a late train to Derbyshire where she returned to her birthright. For though neither of us knew it until recently, she has always belonged to Pemberley and now always will.

Mrs. Morris made one other fatal slip: she also didn't account for my friends, who encouraged me in my suit and led me, in the end, to post the fateful wire that brought us together. And, though we don't plan to announce the engagement until Father gets stronger, we want to tell you chaps of the happiness you have created through your friendship...

Fitz.

(fragment of a letter, late July 1925)

Courtenay, Honeybourne, Warwickshire.

After wiring everyone of our present good understanding, the situation came to a head. Having received the news while lunching together, Killian and Claud promptly visited my family with congratulations. According to Nora, the conversation took an interesting turn.

"How lucky that Darcy managed to call here again before his train," remarked Claud.

"Lord Derby didn't call at all," replied my mother. "He wired Elizabeth and she went to Derbyshire."

The two young men exchanged confused glances. "Fitz visited yesterday morning," said Killian. "Did you not know?"

"Mrs. Morris told him that everyone had gone, so he left," added Claud.

Looking at Mother, Father said, "Elizabeth stayed home all day."

The truth dawned collectively upon the room. Upon recovering, Claud and Killian politely excused themselves. My parents immediately interrogated Brenchley and found that, indeed, Fitzwilliam had called briefly. Nick fetched my aunt to sit before a tribunal of my parents, Nora, and himself. The truth rapidly emerged, but not as swiftly as aunt's removal from the house. Doubtless her disappointment at having lost HRH outweighed any guilt she might have felt. I don't know where she went, but she probably boasts of "my relation, the future Duke of Derbyshire" and "my great-niece, the Marchioness of Derby." I don't mind, however; you see, love has given me a little of your forgiving spirit, my dearest Kristin.

And I must beg your generosity here for declaring so brazenly that I plan to marry the most wonderful man in the world. Killian is marvelous, but he is not Fitzwilliam. Only one Fitzwilliam exists, fortunately, and he is mine. I love him more every day. Do excuse me again, but the happiest girl alive is none other than your friend.

Elizabeth.

(the London mails, late July 1925)

(Court Page, Times, Wed., 19 Aug. 1925)

Forthcoming Marriages
The Marquess of Derby and Miss E.C. Clifton.

The engagement is announced between Fitzwilliam James George Darcy, Marquess of Derby, only son of the Duke and Duchess of Derbyshire, and Elizabeth Celestia, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Clifton of Honeybourne, Warwickshire.

(fragment of a letter, early Sept. 1925)

Courtenay, Honeybourne, Warwickshire.

So all of society knows you have a title forthcoming. (Must I bow every time I see you now? I suppose this makes up for all the teasing I inflicted on you in childhood.) But little do they know that you have another honor to be conferred upon you in April. When the newest Clifton enters the world, I shall touch your shoulders with the flat of a sword and dub you "Aunt Elizabeth." Yes, you read correctly, dear sister. Nora and I expect a baby! We're off our heads with joy. It's all we talk about now. Do we favor a boy or girl? (No preference.) Should the confinement happen here or in London? (We agree on Courtenay.) Will it look like her or me? (A draw: each party votes for the other.) What shall we name it? (I fancy Annie and Henry; Nora considers the question further.) And so on. It's lovely. I can't remember when I last felt so bucked. Oh, yes: yesterday...

Nick.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 21 Sept. 1925)

Marriages

The Viscount Riverfield and Lady K.C. Klosson.

At All Saints Church, Reading, on Saturday morning, the marriage took place of Killian Edmond Finlay, the Viscount Riverfield, only son of the Earl and Countess of Newcastle, and Lady Kristin Corisande Klosson, only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Reading.

The bride, who was given in marriage by her father, wore a gown of soft white chiffon over crêpe beauté with a train of silver tissue and white chiffon, which was borne by Master Archer Rose (the bride's first cousin once removed) and Master Kenneth Percival. A tiara of diamond flowers, a Klosson family heirloom, held her white veil of silk. She carried white roses interspersed with sprays of ivy and wore a strand of pearls, a gift from her parents, and a platinum diamond bracelet, presented to her by the bridegroom.

The bridesmaids were Miss Elizabeth Clifton, Lady Julia Clarissant, Miss N. Katherine Percy, Lady Lauren Ealing de Courcy (a cousin of the bride), Lady Christian Noble, and Miss Sophia Finlay (a cousin of the groom). They wore frocks of silver tissue, long-waisted with a bow of a silver tissue ribbon. They carried posies of pink roses and sprigs of myrtle tied with silver tissue ribbon. The Marquess of Derby and the Viscount Klosson were the groom's supporters, and the officiating clergy was the Rev. J.D. Watson.

A reception was held at Cirencester Hall, the bride's home in Reading. The bride and bridegroom departed afterwards for their honeymoon in Ireland. The Viscountess Riverfield's going-away outfit consisted of an ivory crêpe de Chine gown, with an ivory coat lined with blue, and an ivory hat.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 28 Sept. 1925)

Court News

The Hon. Julian and Mrs. Eaton Fox have settled into Northgate Manor, their new home in Buckingham.

(from the London mails, Sept. 1925)

(wire to Peregrine Carlyle, Sun., 20 Dec. 1925)

Riverfield, Newcastle, Staffordshire.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 4 Jan. 1926)

Forthcoming Marriages

Mr. C.L.S. Strohem-Moss and Miss N.K. Percy.

The engagement is announced between Claudio Lysander Sebastian, only son of Prof. and Mrs. Berowne Strohem-Moss of Weston-super-Mare, Somerset, and Noel Katherine, elder daughter of Prof. and Mrs. Randolph Percy of Grantchester, Cambridgeshire.

(society column, Mon., 4 Jan. 1926)

Love's Labour's Won: Strohem-Moss Plights His Troth to Katherine Percy

London--In a Times notice today, two popular Londoners announced their recent engagement: Mr. Claudio Strohem-Moss to Miss Noel Katherine Percy. The couple, who reportedly met at a ball given by mutual friends, have not set a date for their wedding.

The son of distinguished literary theorist Berowne Strohem-Moss and acclaimed author Rosaline Sedon, Mr. Strohem-Moss has earned plaudits for his rising tripartite career as a writer, critic, and editor since he took a First in literature from Cambridge in 1923. Joining the Royal Air Force in 1917, he fought overseas during the last months of the war. During university, he edited and wrote for several literary magazines and set various athletic records. More recently, he created, with Lord Riverfield, the literary journal bon mots, already in its third printing in two weeks.

Inspired by her own remarkable parents--Cambridge philosophy fellow Randolph Percy and prominent philanthropist Alexandra Percy, Miss Percy quickly became known as the most accomplished woman of her year. With her vivacious intellect and beauty, she attracted notice to her work with charitable organizations and the women's education movement. In a well-publicized decision, she spent a year at an American women's college, a choice recently copied by her close friend Lady Christian Noble.

One of the closely watched "Darcy set," Mr. Strohem-Moss follows the nuptial footsteps of the three members who wed last year: the Hon. Julian Eaton-Fox, Lord Riverfield, and Lord Derby. Since the latter's November wedding, rumors of matrimony have pursued Mr. Strohem-Moss, Scottish artist Mr. Peregrine Carlyle, and Mr. Clarincarde Meredith, heir to the Clarincarde fortune. Mr. Strohem-Moss and Miss Percy ended months of speculation with their announcement. Gossip had put Miss Percy on the verge of marriage to Baron Colifax or Viscount Selesea, long known admirers, while variously linking Mr. Strohem-Moss to Lady Lauren Ealing de Courcy, daughter of the Marquess of Newport and cousin to Lady Riverfield; Miss Susannah Percival, sister of Mr. Strohem-Moss's brother-in-law Mr. Iain Percival; and Lady May Cambridge, daughter of the Earl of Athlone and niece of the Queen.

(wire to Claudio Strohem-Moss, Mon., 4 Jan. 1926)

Riverfield, Newcastle, Staffordshire.

(fragment of letter, early Jan. 1926)

Illyria, Weston-super-Mare, Somerset.

No date has been set, but we enjoy our engagement exceedingly. My parents have wholly devoted themselves to her, though they initially had misgivings. You see, it had to do with her surname. Percy, as we well know from having done our Etonian Shakespeare, is "of the rebels' party." But I told them laughingly that she had always sided with the Lancasters and that when she married me, she would be Percy no more. I smile as I write this and so does my beautiful Kate. I am quite distracted now that she has entered the library, so I end here. Much love to Elizabeth and to yourself, dear chap.

Claud.

(fragment of a letter, Jan. 1926)

Champernowne, Saffron Walden, Essex.

Rumor has it that Claud staged an elaborate New Year's Eve proposal. Knowing that Kate had gone to Evelake, the enterprising suitor dashed off to Navarre. He rounded up several Cambridge lads--cousins Castor and Pollux and their friends--to put on Henry V, taking the role of noble Harry himself and inviting Kate to the performance. In the final scene, no French Catherine appeared; instead, King Claud beautifully proposed to the English variety, pausing at the line "How answer you, la plus belle Catherine du monde, mon très chère et diving déese?" Overcome by the grand gesture and exquisite French of her handsome squire, our most fair Katherine answered in the affirmative. To which Claud purportedly shouted, "Let this acceptance take!"

Clair.

(note appended to a letter from Claud to Clair, Jan. 1926)

Navarre, 10 Queen's Road, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire.

Dear Clair,

He didn't. I kissed him before he could.

Kate.

(Court Page, Times, Tues., 16 Feb. 1926)

Forthcoming Marriages

The Viscount Klosson and Lady J.C. Clarissant.

The engagement is announced between Kingsley Ealing de Courcy Cirencester Klosson, the Viscount Klosson, only son of the Earl and Countess of Reading, to Lady Julia Courtlyn Clarissant, only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Tiverton.

(Court Page, Times, Wed., 10 Mar. 1926)

Court News

The Lady Fiona Bingley gave birth to a son yesterday. She and Mr. Charles Bingley will remain in Hertfordshire indefinitely.

(fragment of a letter, late Mar. 1926)

Longbourn House, Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

He will be christened Jonathan Alexander Christopher, after his grandfathers and Dr. Hodge, to whom we owe a great deal. We have also asked him to share the duty of godfather with yourself (for I know you won't say no). He protested both honors, saying that the family has already given him so much in the way of happiness. "I had heard something of that nature," I said, smiling, "and I expect that soon all of England will, too." Dear Jonathan blushed and laughed and said that he had a similar expectation...

Fiona.

(Court Page, Times, Tues., 6 Apr. 1926)

Marriages

Mr. C.L.S. Strohem-Moss and Miss N.K. Percy.

The marriage took place yesterday at St. Benedict's in Cambridge, of Claudio Lysander Sebastian, son of Prof. and Mrs. Berowne Strohem-Moss of Weston-super-Mare, Somerset, to Noel Katherine, daughter of Prof. and Mrs. Randolph Percy of Grantchester, Cambridgeshire.

The bride, who was given in marriage by her father, wore a Renaissance gown of ivory damask brocade with a tulle veil and train of Brussels lace mounted on tulle, borne by Master Kenneth Percival (nephew of the groom) and Mademoiselle Chloë Brenton (a distant cousin of the bride). The former wore a fourteenth century page's tunic in deep green damask. The little girl wore a frock of pale gold tissue with a chaplet of pink roses and green leaves. The bride carried a simple spray of white roses stained with a blush of pink, which also adorned her hair. Her jewelry consisted simply of a double strand of pearls from her parents and earrings specially created by Garrard and Asprey, large teardrop pearls suspended from a brilliant cut diamond, from the groom.

Miss Clarissa Percy (sister of the bride), Miss Ophelia Strohem-Moss (sister of the bridegroom), Lady Christian Noble, Miss Juliette Brenton (cousin of the bride), and Miss Philippa Reid attended the bride in their fourteenth century dresses of pale gold tissue, carrying posies of pink roses. The Hon. Julian Eaton-Fox was best man and the Rev. H.R. Garland officiated.

A reception was held at Evelake Court, the bride's home in nearby Grantchester, before the bridal couple left for France and Italy. The bride traveled in a white georgette dress with a skirt tinged with a gradation of blue and a dark blue coat and matching hat.

(Court Page, Times, Wed., 14 Apr. 1926)

Forthcoming Marriages

Dr. J.M.St.A. Hodge and Lady G.A. Treadgold.

The engagement is announced between Jonathan Marshall St. Aubyn, younger son of Mr. and Mrs. James Hodge of Derby, Derbyshire, to Lady Georgiana Anne Treadgold, only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Daventry.

(item in a gossip column, Apr. 1926)

Millionaire's Noble Loss

The romance between Mr. Clarincarde Meredith, grandson of "Million" Clarincarde, and Lady Christian Noble, daughter of Lord Pershore, has apparently ended. The pair have not been seen together for nearly two weeks; sources report that they have quarreled. While I spotted Mr. Meredith about town with the Darcy set, Lady Christian has kept company with Mr. Brenton Percy, Lord Chiswell, and reportedly HRH Prince George. Many think that Lady Christian would make an elegant addition to the House of Windsor; Mr. Meredith's thoughts on the matter remain unknown...

(fragment of a letter, Apr. 1926)

Cloverbourne Park, Pershore, Worchestershire.

I apologize for having dragged you into the columns, but I enjoyed our dinner. I relished reminiscing over old times and reflecting upon your sister's wedding. I miss her greatly, but she found a perfect match in Claud as did he in her. (Have you seen Lyonnesse, the estate where they plan to settle? Kate told me that it's named for the sunken country of Arthurian legend.)

You awful imp; I just got the wire addressed to "HRH Princess Chrissie." You know full well that the column hardly approached truth, except for the bit about Clair and I quarreling. We always have teasing exchanges, so it's meaningless. In fact, we plan to ostentatiously dine together tonight to show those bounders that we're thicker than ever. Then we won't go around together for a month, just to tease them. "What a pair we are," says Clair admiringly, with his irresistible grin...

Chrissie.

(Court Page, Times, Fri., 21 May 1926)

Christening.

The christening took place yesterday, at Honeybourne Chapel in Warwickshire of the infant son of Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Clifton. The child received the names of Henry Stephen Adams, and the godparents were Lord and Lady Derby, Miss Caroline Adams, and Mr. Charles Pearson. The Rev. H. Lennox presided.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 24 May 1926)

Forthcoming Marriages

Mr. P.R.A. Carlyle and Miss P.C. Reid.

The engagement is announced between Peregrine Ross Aubrey, younger son of Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Carlyle of Finavon, Angushire, Scotland; and Philippa Celia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Reid of Richmond, Yorkshire.

(fragment of a letter, May 1926)

Peasedown House, Keighley, Yorkshire.

When the post arrived today, neither John nor I had any idea that it contained any news of particular significance. Your letter had ignominiously slipped between the pages of a circular that the children immediately secured as building materials for a paper boat. Fortunately, it fell out before ending up in the bottom of the pond; otherwise we would have missed out on your happiness. We congratulate you both on your engagement. I can't tell you how delighted I am, for you are almost a brother to me. I wish you all the greatest joy in the world.

We're honored that you asked our children to participate in your wedding; little John and Cat adore their uncle Perry and will surely become just as attached to an aunt Pippa. I must fly; they call for me right this minute. Shall we meet Pippa soon? She sounds enchanting. Do come and visit. John sends his love to both of you, as do I.

Sophie.

(letter, laboriously written in a child's hand, June 1926)

Dear Uncle Perry,

Thank you for the toy boat. It doesn't sink like the paper ones. I play with it every day. Even in the bath. Dads says I have to wait until I'm grown-up to have a real boat. I will buy one when I am 10 and then we can go fishing. I have 5 bob in my tin bank for it.

Mummy says you are going to marry Pippa. I like her. She gave us ice cream. Cat had strawberry. I had chocolate. It tasted good.

Here is my name:

John Whitney Ashley age 7.

Here is Cat's:

Catherine Sophie Ashley age 6.

---

(telegram, Sun., 1 Aug. 1926)

Northgate Manor, Aylesbury, Bucks.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 9 Aug 1926)

Marriages

Mr. P.R.A. Carlyle and Miss P.C. Reid.

The marriage took place Saturday at St. Marylebone in Marylebone, of Peregrine Ross Aubrey, son of Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Carlyle of Finavon, Angushire, Scotland, to Philippa Celia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Reid of Richmond, Yorkshire.

The bride, who was given in marriage by her father, had a gown of white silk taffeta with wreaths of embroidered roses on the skirt's wide rounded edges. Her veil and train were of Nottingham lace, the latter borne by Master John Ashley and Miss Catherine Ashley. The page wore a short velvet tunic in a pale green shade with long green hose. The little girl wore a green organdie frock with a wreath of myrtle leaves. The bride carried a small spray of orange blossom and myrtle with orange blossoms in her hair. Her jewelry consisted of a strand of pearls from her parents and diamond earrings from the groom.

The bridesmaids were Lady Christian Noble, Miss Ophelia Strohem-Moss, Miss Clarissa Percy, Lady Lauren Ealing de Courcy, and Miss Katherine Steavenson. They wore embroidered drop-waisted white organdie muslin with bows of green tissue at the waist, each carrying white heather and myrtle tied with streamers of pale green ribbon. Mr. Clarincarde Meredith was best man and the Rev. G.H. Stanley officiated.

A reception was held at 23, Gloucester-place, the bride's London home, before the bridal couple left for the Scotland. The bride set off in a crêpe gown of rose and a beige coat and matching hat.

(telegram, Fri., 3 Sept. 1926)

Naples, Campania, Italy.

(Court Page, Times, Mon., 6 Sept. 1926)

Forthcoming Marriages.

Mr. C.B. Meredith and Lady C.P. Noble.

The engagement is announced between Clarincarde Bran, eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Meredith of Tywyn, Merionethshire, Wales; and Lady Christian Patricia Noble, only daughter of the Right Honourable Earl and Countess of Pershore.

(fragment of a letter, early Sept. 1926)

Mongibello, Campania, Italy.

I felt the pressure after Perry wed, so I fled the old metrop for Italy, only to chance upon Chrissie and her parents on holiday. I took it as a sort of sign, so while lunching together at a café, I took a deep breath and popped the question.

And what do you think she said?

"No." Kind, yet firm.

"I beg your pardon?" Stunned, yet unsure.

"No," she repeated with that smile of hers, lifting her glass to her lips.

"Oh." Confused, I drained mine, refilled it, and then said, "Why not?"

"I expect you thought it would be easy and that I would immediately say 'yes.' Well, it isn't that easy and I'm saying 'no.'"

Admittedly, I never considered that difficulties might extend to her; I thought it ceased at finding the pluck to speak. "Will you ever say 'yes'?" I asked with mingled crossness and desperation, the former increased by the latter.

"Certainly," she answered. "But you'll have to work for it. You've never had to earn anything in your life, I dare say."

"I have," I retorted indignantly. "A First from Cambridge."

"Smashing. You can do it, then." I must have looked disconsolate because she kissed my cheek and said, "It won't take long as a degree, I promise."

I returned to my house, not a little dejected. I wondered if the rumors were true and that year in America had made her a little peculiar. In due time I realized that I deserved it: I took a year to propose, expecting her to jump into my arms when I finally hopped to it. So I threw the shoulders back and set the mind to it. We Merediths like a challenge; we never get them, but we like them just the same.

And when I asked the very next evening, she accepted, making me the happiest bloke who ever drew breath...

Clair.

(Court Page, Times, Sat., 11 Sept. 1926)

Christening.

The christening took place yesterday, at St. Mary's Church in Aylesbury of the infant son of the Hon. Julian and Mrs. Eaton-Fox. The child received the names of Trevor Ayrshire, and the godparents were Mrs. Breck Christie, Mr. and Mrs. Claudio Strohem-Moss, and Mr. Jasper Haigh. The Rev. B.P. Sayre presided.

(excerpt from a clipping, marked "daft" in Chrissie's hand, mid-Sept. 1926)

Clarincarde Heir to Wed Noblewoman

London--The Darcy set--and society--lost its last bachelor to one of England's most delightful and sought-out young aristocrats. Mr. Clarincarde Meredith, the "wealthiest commoner in the Commonwealth," and Lady Christian Noble, daughter of the "noble Nobles," announced their engagement two weeks ago.

Already a popular couple with the newspapers for their shared charm and good looks, Mr. Meredith and Lady Christian found themselves besieged by the press upon returning from Italy last week. Photographers hovered at the Percy charity ball, in hopes of capturing the pair at their first social engagement since the betrothal. Reporters have closely followed the lengthy courtship since its beginning, often at their own expense. The pair, known for their high spirits, delighted in offering flippant remarks about their relationship to inquisitive columnists. Approached as they arrived to dine at the Ritz last night, Mr. Meredith and Lady Christian responded to questions regarding their engagement:

CM: Of course, I'm only marrying her for her title.

CN: And I'm only marrying him for his money. How much are you worth, darling?

CM: A few million quid, at least. I say, is your blood blue?

CN: As the sky.

CM: Right, then. So now you know everything. Good evening.

(fragment of a letter, mid-Sept. 1926.)

The Trefeddian, Tywyn, Merionethshire, Wales.

I imagine that meeting one's future family always tries one's nerves. I also imagine that not many in-laws were once one's prefect at public school.

Chrissie: Court, may I introduce Clarincarde Meredith. Clair, my brother Courtland.

Noble: How do you do, Mr. Meredith?

self: A pleasure to meet you, Lord Noble. (Resists urge to add "sir.")

Noble: Forgive me, but you seem awfully familiar. Have we met before?

self: (wishing that I had worn my Eton tie.) I believe you were my prefect at Eton, sir.

Noble: Yes, I remember now. Meredith. Quite a good house we had.

self: Yes, sir, the best.

Chrissie: (innocent.) Did you ever thrash him, Court?

Noble: (thoughtful.) Not that I recall.

self: No, sir. I don't believe you did, sir.

Chrissie: Rotten luck. I had hoped to have something to threaten my husband with should he misbehave.

(Laughter, after which I finally relaxed and stopped calling him "sir.")

Clair.

(Court Page, Times, Fri., 1 Oct. 1926)

Funeral.

The Earl of Aylesbury.

The funeral of the Earl of Aylesbury took place yesterday afternoon at St. Mary's churchyard, Aylesbury. The rector of St. Mary's, the Rev. B.P. Sayre, officiated, and the chief mourners were: The Viscount Aston, The Viscountess Aston, the Hon. Julian and Mrs. Eaton-Fox.

(fragment of a letter, early Oct. 1926)

Aston Park, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.

Thank you for your kind condolences and for the flowers. My family greatly appreciates your thoughtfulness in this difficult time. Father quietly mourns as Mother tries to bear up. After fifty-two years of having Grandfather, Father hasn't yet fully comprehended that his father has gone, though little details rather callously remind him of it. The passing of the titles gave Father a bad shock. Having been Lord Aston since age four, he broke down when he got his first letter addressed to "The Earl of Aylesbury."

Grandfather has always had a place in my life, so I too haven't yet fully realized his loss. At the funeral, he looked peacefully asleep, nothing more. I expected him to rise and tell us how to comport ourselves. Even now, I wait for him to enter with advice on raising our son. Trevor has been a comfort for all of us. How glad I am that Grandfather got to see his great-grandson, however briefly. There are small blessings, even in tragedy...

(telegram, Fri., 19 Nov. 1926)

Riverfield, Newcastle, Staffordshire.

(Clair's wedding toast; text hastily jotted down by Claud)

If someone had told young Clair Meredith last season that his five nearest and dearest friends would enter the state of matrimony by the end of the following year, he doubtless would have advised the purported clairvoyant to find another profession. If that someone had also added that young Meredith himself would marry within the same period of time, he would have called for the doctors. But I find that the day has come and I do not mourn my fallen comrades or my bachelor status as I once thought I would. And it is because I know my friends have found the women to make them happy and to strengthen, not break, the bonds of our circle. Julian and Serena, Killian and Kristin, Fitz and Elizabeth, Claud and Kate, Perry and Pippa, I toast you all and wish you well. Yet none of you could be as happy as I, the man who now, finally, does have everything. I reserve my most loving wishes for a woman I never thought possible in my twenty-six years--my wife. I raise a glass only slightly less full than the heart she owns to Chrissie Meredith.

(Court Page, Times, Thurs., 30 Dec. 1926)

Marriages

Mr. C.B. Meredith and Lady C.P. Noble.

The marriage took place yesterday at Pershore Abbey in Pershore, of Clarincarde Bran, eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Meredith of Tywyn, Merionethshire, Wales, to Lady Christian Patricia Noble, only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Pershore.

The bride, who was given in marriage by her father, wore cloth of silver with an overdress of white marquisette exquisitely embroidered with silver thread and seed pearls. A train of silver tissue, borne by Hon. Niall Noble and Hon. Cassandra Noble (nephew and niece of the bride), accompanied the dress. A heirloom tiara with a pattern of diamond ivy leaves held back her tulle veil. She wore a long strand of pearls, a gift from her parents, and a bracelet set with twenty-one fine diamonds from the bridegroom. Her bouquet of ivory roses came from the Cloverbourne and Champernowne conservatories.

Inspired by Lady Derby's decision, the bride chose a bridal party consisting only of married friends: Mrs. Claudio Strohem-Moss, Mrs. Peregrine Carlyle, Lady Aston, Lady Riverfield, and Lady Derby. They wore frocks of pale blue chiffon over silver tissue, with bows of silver and blue tissue ribbon on their bouquets of ivory roses. Mr. Peregrine Carlyle was best man and the Rev. R.H.G. Logue officiated.

A reception was held at Cloverbourne Park, the bride's ancestral home in Pershore, before the bridal couple departed for Italy. The bride's going-away ensemble was a dress of ivory crêpe romaine and wool coat and hat of a gray-blue shade. Upon their return, the couple will settle at Summerlight, an estate in Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk.

(excerpt from society notes, Thurs., 30 Dec. 1926)

Not surprisingly, the wedding had its light moments. After Lady Christian voiced her highly anticipated "I will," Mr. Meredith tenderly responded, "Awfully sporting of you, dear." Cheerily replied his new wife, "Isn't it?"

The Final Page

London--Delighted guests gathered yesterday at St. Stephen Walbrook, the elegant church in the heart of the City, for the wedding of Elizabeth Celestia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Clifton of Honeybourne, Warwickshire; and Fitzwilliam James George Darcy, the Most Honorable The Marquess of Derby, son of Their Graces The Duke and Duchess of Derbyshire.

The radiant twenty-year-old bride was resplendent in a simple white silk and chiffon gown. Her long silk veil was held back by a diamond and pearl tiara, a Darcy family antique. Her jewelry included a pair of diamond earrings from her parents and a short strand of pearls, an engagement gift from Lord Derby. Her beautiful bouquet of creamy white English roses came from the gardens of Courtenay, her family's Warwick country estate.

Breaking tradition, the bridal party consisted of a mix of married and single friends. The Viscountess Riverfield, the most recent London socialite to wed, served as matron of honor; Mrs. Julian Eaton-Fox, Miss N. Katherine Percy, Lady Christian Noble, and Miss Philippa Reid were also of the party. Miss Stella Bingley, a niece of the groom, completed the group as flower girl. All wore dresses of ivory chiffon and carried pale pink roses.

The popular "Darcy set" supported the handsome twenty-five-year-old groom: the Hon. Julian Eaton-Fox, Mr. Claudio Strohem-Moss, Mr. Clarincarde Meredith, and Mr. Peregrine Carlyle. The Viscount Riverfield performed the duty of best man.

The proud parents of the couple beamed happily throughout the hour-long ceremony. Mrs. Conrad Clifton wore ivory silk with a large matching hat. Lady Derbyshire wore pale blue chiffon with a rose-trimmed hat.

The church, one of the finest works of the famed architect Sir Christopher Wren, seated two hundred friends and family. Among them were Mr. Charles and the Lady Fiona Bingley, Mr. Hugh and the Lady Jane Merrion, Baron and Baroness Tighe of March, the Earl of Ormonde, the Earl and Countess of Daventry, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Bingley, the Earl and Countess of Newcastle, the Dowager Countess of Newcastle, Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Clifton, Sir John and Lady Harris, Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Harris, the Earl and Countess of Reading, and Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of York.

A reception at the nearby London home of the Cliftons followed. Both sets of parents received the guests before sitting down to a seven-course wedding breakfast. The five-tiered wedding cake, a delectable concoction by the Cliftons' chef, featured a white rose adornment and took several days to prepare.

Afterwards, the guests bid cheerful farewells to Lord and Lady Derby as they left to begin their honeymoon abroad on the Continent. We wish this young couple every joy as they embark on their new life together.

(Darcy, at his wedding reception, as recorded by Claud.)

A number of astute people have remarked upon the physical similarities between Elizabeth and myself and our namesakes, my ancestors Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. According to family legend, they were the happiest of couples, deeply in love from the moment they met until the day they died. Perhaps their love was such that fate reunited them through us, foreordaining us for everlasting joy and devotion. We defy this bit of augury, however; Elizabeth and I shall need no help in finding rapture and ardor in our life together. I know not if otherworldly forces played a part, but I do know that love brought us together, bound us together, and will keep us together. I have one other certainty: a crescendo of love in my heart whenever I gaze upon the miracle of my wife...my Elizabeth.

End.