“Only imagine, and when you think who the first Mrs. Darcy was.”
“Oh, perfection, such a beauty and a handsome fortune with her, which, however, they say he went through in no time.”
“You’d think he’d have found himself another rich wife, of equal standing, instead of marrying Miss Octavia Melbury, who after all has no looks, is far too tall for a woman, and has no fortune, and if you say she’s of low origin, too—Well!”
Octavia couldn’t help feeling a spurt of temper when she heard people singing the praises of the first Mrs. Darcy. Christopher never spoke of her after the time when Octavia had asked him, hesitantly, whether he had, as the saying went, buried his heart with his first wife. He had looked startled, and then laughed.
“No, indeed, I did not, no such thing. Don’t listen to what all the old tabbies have to say about the first Mrs. Darcy, it is none of their business, nor, indeed,” he added, more serious now, “of yours. I don’t mean that in any unkind way,” he said quickly, seeing the look on her face; she was all too used to rebukes from her family, but not from Christopher. “I merely mean that all that is in the past, and to tell you the truth, I do not care to remember my first marriage. I assure you I am as happy now as I ever was then, more so.”
His words were meant to reassure her, and she had been grateful for them, although she didn’t believe him. How could she compare to the first Mrs. Darcy, the rich, well-born, beautiful Mrs. Darcy?
Unwanted tears prickled Octavia’s eyes as his voice came back to her, as though he were with her, speaking those words. She was going to miss him, she wished he were here at her side, rejoicing in her sudden increase of fortune, making plans for the future.
All too soon, the hackney cab was turning into Lothian Street. The cab driver drew up outside the familiar house with its red-brick façade and handsome front door; she had arrived. She opened her purse for the coins to pay the cab driver, then stepped down on to the pavement. She paused, looking up at the windows of the house, then took a deep breath, went up the three shallow steps, and lifted the knocker.
The door was opened by the butler, Coxley, whom Octavia disliked, not merely because he had a face like a fish, but because he had always shown his disdain for her. He recognised her, welcomed her with chilly civility, and said that he would inform her ladyship that Miss—that Mrs. Darcy had arrived.
A cold kiss from Theodosia, accompanied by an uncomplimentary, “How tanned you are,” and then, “I’ve told them to put you in the Blue Room on the second floor, I am sure you will be comfortable there.”
Octavia went unsteadily up the familiar stairs, finding, as she had done from the moment she stepped ashore, that the ground under her feet seemed to be swaying. The Blue Room was on the second floor up a further flight of stairs, and as she went into the familiar room, she felt as though she had never been away. It was far from one of the best bedchambers in the house; it had been considered quite good enough for a mere Miss Octavia Melbury, and was clearly still good enough for a widowed Mrs. Darcy. The carpet was a little worn, the furniture made up of items that had done earlier duty elsewhere, the curtains the same as when she had inhabited the room before, only a little more faded.
A maid had been sent to wait on her, a country girl judging by her rosy cheeks, not yet grown pale in the sooty, dank air of London. Upon enquiry, Octavia discovered that the girl’s name was Alice, she was fifteen last month, and had newly come up from Wiltshire, where her mother was in service on Sir James Melbury’s estate.
Octavia washed her hands and face in the water that Alice brought up. She stood in front of the glass to tidy her hair. Yes, she was slightly tanned, no surprising consequence of a long sea voyage, but fair as she was, she had kept her complexion, the worst effects of the sun being a few pale freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had never gone very brown in India and hadn’t been there long enough to take on the sallow look that so many English people had, nor had her skin ever burned in the hot sun.
“We dine at home tonight,” said Theodosia when Octavia went downstairs. From the sound of her voice, she considered this a great condescension. Octavia felt a flash of anger; her sister might at least put on an appearance of welcome. There were no enquiries about the voyage, nor condolences for the loss of her husband. At least her brother-in-law Henry Cartland seemed glad to see her, welcoming her with something like affection, and even venturing a few words of sympathy on her recent loss.
His wife swiftly put him in his place. “Don’t be absurd, Henry. Octavia had hardly been married five minutes when she lost her husband”—she made it sound as though the loss had been due to some carelessness on Octavia’s part—“she can really have barely known him. Wasn’t he away at sea for most of your married life?” she went on, addressing Octavia.
“Yes,” said Octavia.
“It is the most unfortunate thing you didn’t bear him a son,” her sister said in her forthright way. “It is a thousand pities that his heir should be George Warren, you can expect nothing from him, he is an out-and-out Whig and will grudge you a single penny.”
“Entailed estates make for many problems,” Mr. Cartland said with a sigh.
“It is a most unfortunate arrangement in this case,” said Theodosia. “Quite unnecessary, in my opinion; what business had Captain Darcy to have an entail?”
It had never occurred to Octavia, when she accepted Captain Darcy’s hand, to enquire about his fortune or estate. But Mr. Thurloe had done so, and, on the whole, he said, it was quite satisfactory. “He has a good estate in Wiltshire, worth some two or three thousand a year, and then there is his navy pay, although of course these days there are not the opportunities for prize money as there used to be; why, in the war, a mere master and commander could sail away in penury and come back a rich man after a lucky encounter, able to set up his carriage and buy himself a house and land. Of course, those days are behind us, but still, Captain Darcy does not do so badly. However, the estate is entailed, you understand the nature of an entail?” he had added, seeing Octavia’s puzzled look.
He had explained it to her. Captain Darcy’s estate was entailed upon the male line. He could not leave it to her, nor to anyone else; it would pass, in the absence of an heir of his loins, into the hands of a second cousin. “A man with no very good name, a rakish fellow,” Mr. Thurloe said with a frown. “It is your duty to be brisk about breeding, my dear, because then your own future is secure in the case—well, that is, life at sea is always uncertain, and should anything befall Captain Darcy, if you have a son, you will be provided for, you will be able to live on the estate in comfort during the boy’s minority, and then of course, he will take care of you.”
“And if I don’t have a son, but only daughters, or no children at all?”
“Then, my dear, you will have nothing but whatever the captain should leave as his personal fortune. Which is nothing very much; it seems that the fortune his first wife brought with her was unwisely invested. I did hear she was an expensive creature, so maybe that was the truth of it. However, let us be sanguine, he is a healthy man who has no idea of taking risks at sea, and the entail will be soon cut off by the birth of a son, if you do your duty.”
The marriage had taken place quickly, in light of the captain’s imminent departure. Octavia had hesitated, feeling it might be wiser to postpone the ceremony until Captain Darcy’s return, but Robert Thurloe would have none of it. “A bird in the hand, my dear,” he said bluntly to Harriet, who was inclined to agree with Octavia. “Who knows whom Captain Darcy may not meet on his travels? No, no, they must tie the knot as soon as may be, and then Octavia will be sure of him.”
“So is it true that his private fortune was practically nothing?” Theodosia said now.
Her husband attempted to remonstrate with her. “My dear, here is Octavia only just arrived, tired after her long journey; it is hardly the