37 • Spring Fever
Laughter rose from the table as the Netherfield staff moved with carafes in hand, silently pouring between gestures and discourse. James’ mirth clumsily faded from something his father had said while he turned back to Jane with a glass of water to his lips. Jane picked up her sentence from right where she had left it in the intersection of cross-table conversation.
“…bit of a walk to the willows, but they’re all around the lake! And perfectly available to use! I think the long leaves will contrast the round flowers prettily.”
Charles intervened, “Darling, my trousers are still drying from our adventures last night. Might we talk of anything other than the wedding for an evening?”
William crooned, “I cannot but agree,” while taking James’ wine glass.
“I wasn’t finished with that!”
“I was finished with mine.” He smirked into the contents as he drank.
James’ complexion gave him away as he let a giddy grin bloom between flushed cheeks. “I doubt such is proper dining etiquette.”
“Then continue to speak gently so I may not be found out.”
No sooner did James’ head right itself from laughter, than the table was cleared and kettles of coffee stood at attention. Georgiana clapped her hands with glee. “My favourite!”
“Mine, as well,” Lady Anne joined before turning to Mary on her other side. “Have you ever partaken? It is bitter alone but marvelous with sugar and milk.”
“What did you say?” William puzzled James. “Two parts milk, one part cream?”
Confusion gave way to pleased expectation as James watched him pour from the copper boats shimmering with condensation. James carefully touched his cup to William’s so the casual gesture did not warrant an entire toast for the table, and sipped the robust contents. The smooth milk was a relief to the savoury notes lingering on his palette, while the cream piqued a need for sweetness he had not known he wanted. Dropping a teaspoon of sugar into it, the beverage was perfect.
His senses, dulled by wine, began to tingle back into vitality as he overheard Charles answering his butler, “No no, we’re not the sort to adjourn to separate rooms. Let us go where the piano is once we begin to grow restless.”
When such a time arrived, Charles’ talent at hosting measured the room. Offering his hand to his mother-in-law, he led them to a parlour large enough for his piano to stand opposite the crackling fire. Georgiana seated herself with a plop of her skirts. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before I would be called on to entertain.”
Charles smiled, “No such thing. The instrument is merely there for the opportunity. There are two players among us, after all.”
Georgiana reached through the air. “Mary, sit with me. What melodies do you know by heart? Teach me something.”
As the ladies began to fill the air with cheerful and sonorous vibrations, Kitty came to stand beside her brother. “I can’t decide if I’m jealous or relieved to not be going to London.”
William provided, “Georgiana is remaining here with Anne. You won’t be lacking in company.”
Kitty’s demeanour changed, her eyes widening and drifting to the side with consideration. Mr. Bennet joined their small crowd to say, “London will not pick herself up and leave. Many jaunts may be had in the future, not to mention that the Gardiners will be more favourable company when they have the space of Netherfield to roam.”
James’ head tilted. “Are you sure they will bring their children?”
Mr. Bennet gave it some thought. “Children and weddings seem to go well together, either for the combined cheer or the symbolic juxtaposition of young, middle, and old coexisting happily. The dress will be new, the Gardiners can be the borrowed, and I’ll be the something old.”
He shared James and William’s mirth while Kitty hugged his middle. “Speaking of, Lizzy, I received a reply from your uncle this morning. They are ready for us whenever we decide to go. I need only speak with Mr. and Mrs. Hill about managing Longbourn with those of us remaining.”
Charles and Jane’s voices drew him and Kitty to the furniture near the fire. William’s stance shifted to his other foot, his forefinger and thumb stroking James’ hand in passing. James remained how he was, content with the gentle slaking of a mutual desire to touch—
“I’ve also received a reply. From my housekeeper.” James pivoted to face him, silent for William to elaborate. “It is a smooth route from here to London, and then on to Pemberley. I thought we might spend a fortnight there. Jane may come with us, of course. There is still the matter of the brunch after the wedding.”
Something…bruised inside of James. His features remained too long in place, alerting William to his thoughts. “Have I overstepped?”
“No,” he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly. “I feel…it does not make sense. I want to go with you, and I’m sure Jane would enjoy Pemberley. I only feel a sudden…longing for home. As if I’ve already been gone. I’m not sure what is making me uncomfortable.”
“Don’t linger on it,” William insisted. “It is still another week, at least, before we leave for London, and you are not required to go to Pemberley. I wrote to Mrs. Reynolds only to tell her of the possibility.”
James granted him a nod but could say little, uncomfortably looking forward to sleep more than anything else.
* * * * * * *
An ominous collection of crunching and horse neighing sounded behind them after Mrs. Gardiner opened her door. James had spent enough time with horses to know an angry and frightened one without turning around.
“Get in! Goodness, get in, before this city eats you alive. The spring has brought incredible colours to the parks, and absolutely atrocious behaviour in everyone else! That is surely the third carriage we’ve heard today run into another, or drive too close to a lamppost!”
Mr. Gardiner seconded with mirth in his tone as he kissed Jane’s cheek, “A lamppost went down a couple blocks from here. The children were delighted.”
His wife contrasted, “These buffoons act as if they’ve never experienced a warm day in their lives! The rest of us would greatly enjoy sharing it, if we could but be spared from their extravagance.”
“Not to worry,” Mr. Bennet chimed as he tossed parcels of treats to the eldest children, which they ran away with through the house. “Summer will boil everyone into a sedated compote in a matter of weeks, if not days, and we will all be in Hertfordshire with her cooling breezes any how.”
“I am highly looking forward to it,” their aunt declared, guiding them to their sitting room. “And why am I not seeing this fiancé? Am I to be heralded by you alone, Jane?”
“Hello, aunt,” James remarked pointedly.
Jane laughed, “Charles is in the company of both Lady Darcy and Lady de Bourgh at Netherfield. I would scold him most severely for abandoning such women for the city.”
“As you well should. Fine, then,” she agreed upon landing on her green upholstery. The Gardiners’ sitting room was a fashionable place of robin’s egg walls, and one or two curvaceous pieces of French furniture for whimsy among the English styles. It did, however, exhibit the telltale signs of a well lived-in home with many children: a chest left open for easy extraction of toys, a doll on the floor, a paddle with a string tied to a ball on the mantle, and other items poorly hidden underneath the furniture.
Young voices yelled through the walls with the rough sound of paper viciously being shredded. Mrs. Gardiner poised stern eyes on her brother-in-law. “What on earth have you brought to incite war in this house?”
“Just sweetmeats,” Mr. Bennet chimed with his fingers tapping on the arm of his chair.
Her gaze slid towards her husband, who silently obeyed in leaving the room. They heard his rumbled tone through the walls as the children’s glee and arguments ceased. Upon his return, he held a couple of dried and sugared cherries in his hand, which he ate while Jane conversed with her aunt.
“I’ve brought one of Kitty’s mock-up gowns for your input. I think it has a lot of potential for a finished dress. I have yet to disagree with your taste, so I thought I could get you to have a look.”
“I’m honoured, darling,” she grinned, “and I will, although I must say that the only input that matters is your own. I care only for whether you will be having whiskey on the table after your wedding, not just wine.”
“I can’t speak for Charles’ spirits collection, but I can hazard a guess that it isn’t extensive.”
“I’ll start up a nice one for him,” she said with a wink, “and help myself to it. Now do show me this dress.”
The women departed for the stairs, and Mr. Gardiner no sooner opened his mouth to address Mr. Bennet, than his nephew held a piece of paper out to him. “Uncle, do you know where this address might be?”
His bushy, peppered brows lifted. “Belgravia? I daresay everyone knows where that is. It’s tucked right over there with the richest neighborhoods in town, Chelsea and Kensington. Goodness, what business have you there?”
“Lord Darcy traveled with us—”
“Lord Darcy?” Mr. Gardiner declared. “Lord Darcy has a townhome in Belgravia?”
“Uh,” James stammered. “W-Well, I don’t think everyone is supposed to know.”
“It’s certainly clever!” his uncle chuckled. “They’ve practically their own police force, and understandable so. Lovely apartments all looking alike—what’s one rich person among a dozen others, eh? Although I’m sure anyone would be eager to make note of anybody’s comings and goings there.”
“Yes,” James quickly pocketed the address, but his eyes widened at his uncle’s rising from the couch.
“I ought to call on him and thank him. I thought I noticed your carriage being a bit different. It was the driver. They give themselves away. Cabbies are competitive; always trying to wear the finest hats and keep their horses brushed just so. Never mind the carriage, so long as the driver and horse look proper. The silent finery of a paid driver and owned coach stand out in the rabble.”
“Uncle, please,” James rushed, “he has a way of coming and going from his house. I haven’t asked him about anyone other than myself visiting him, but I’ll be happy to open the subject tonight.”
“Tonight?” His uncle deflated enough to sit down, but with none of his gusto diminished. “After a day of travel? You’re sure he invited you to dine tonight? Or it was an invitation to smoke and cards, surely.”
“I’ve never seen him smoke,” James insisted impatiently. He gratefully turned toward his father’s intervention:
“His lordship is assisting in Jamie’s arrangements for the wedding. Lord Darcy has a remarkable interest in flora, at least enough to keep up with our Lizzy. He is an obvious ally, given his close friendship to the Bingleys.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Gardiner agreed, reclined back against the couch. “May I ask, why not just have it done in a church and be done with it?”
His own wife answered him from the doorway. “Did I truly marry such a bore?”
“That’s how we did it,” he defended.
“And I will rejoice in the young peoples’ changing of tradition. A morning spent in a fine garden sounds tenfold better than a poorly ventilated church in need of a good sweeping.”
Mr. Gardiner pursed his lips as he fumbled through this puzzling surprise. “I look back on our wedding fondly! Were you unhappy the whole time?”
His wife laughed as she came behind him to kiss the top of his head. “I was every bit as happy to start the rest of my life as I was to get out of that infernal paneling. I can’t stand Tudor paneling.”
* * * * * * *
James tilted the diagram, trying to quickly read and navigate before too many passersby noticed an unfamiliar face in their neighborhood. Peering down the row of curt stairs leading up to matching facades, he counted down the lane before he turned to go around the other side of the block. Another glance at the roughly drawn map, and James ventured up a set of stairs. At the sound of the locks rotating, he rushed to extract an envelope from—
Unsurprised and unimpressed blue irises gazed back at him, and when he blurted an openly displeased, “Miss Bingley?” those eyes rolled.
“Really, Mr. Bennet, why are you expecting somebody else? These are our mine and my brother’s apartments.”
She turned her back to him but left the door open while she moved through the corridor. Locking the door behind them, he rushed to follow through the vestibule and up the stairs to the social and living quarters. “Charles gave me a note for his housekeeper.”
“He neglected the fact that Louisa and myself come and go from this spot as we please. He wrote, at least, and she informed me of your coming.”
James could not help but peek into rooms as he followed, searching but finding nobody else. “Is Mrs. Hurst here?”
“No. Why?”
He avoided outright telling her how he felt ambushed. “I didn’t realize Charles’ apartments were right behind the Darcies’. I had anticipated using the decoy entrance—”
“The three are conjoined,” she sighed, either because this was old information or—and more likely—because she may not have been as fond of his now knowing it. “The integrity of any decoy must be maintained. It makes better sense for a brother-in-law to come here.”
Her knuckles rapped a short tap tap on the wall of the sitting room. James uttered a distracted, “I understand,” while staring at said wall.
The vertical stripes of wallpaper concealed the door’s edges until William opened it. “Thank you Mrs.—Miss Bingley.”
“Yes, I live here,” she announced with tired grandeur as she floated onto her couch. “Good evening, Lord Darcy.”
William rose from his obligatory bow with a glance at James, who took the cue to say, “Had we’ve known, we would have properly made arrangements for—”
“We’re family now, Mr. Bennet. You may go without much pleasantry, and I insist you do.”
“Right,” James clipped, breezing past William into the short hallway between their homes. Navy walls upheld the cavern of forestry pattern. Mouldings along the edges of the ceiling had been brushed with metallic dust, and upon the vertices had been mounted brass accents. James could not help but comment, “Ostentatious.”
“My aunt arranged this room,” William informed flatly.
“I can tell.”
He opened a door for him, and James gazed around the smaller, intimate room to which they moved. “I gave Georgiana the rights to the rest of the rooms.”
Cream walls stood over wooden floors while a massive carpet softened their footfalls. James gave the brown and green floral patterns underfoot a once over before he exhaled, “It is easier to breathe in this room.”
“I agree,” William said from his place beside the windows. The last light of the day cast his silhouette in a pale glow. The white curtains breathed with the air coming through the windows, open as they were to air out the room.
William’s hands on one of the sashes paused when James’ arms encompassed his middle, his chin poised on William’s shoulder. “You can leave them open. The evening smells nice.”
William’s voice was warm and quiet. “I ought to shut them if you’re going to be close to me.”
James released him with a quieted laugh. “If it is known that Caroline is here, I ought to be leaving in short order through her door.”
“Even I was not aware she was here. I think things will be all right as they are. Do you like cold dinner?”
“So long as the beverage is hot,” James agreed.
When William gestured through yet another doorway, James gave him a blank stare. William provided, “I thought we would dine in my room, if that’s all right?”
The corners of James’ mouth turned down thoughtfully. “First kitchens and now this. At such a rate, it will be supremely odd whenever proper decorum is expected of me. Not that I had any talent for it, any how.”
William chuckled, a hand on the small of his back as they entered the room together. The vaulted ceiling allowed for lofty windows to cast angled light over a combination of furniture for a sitting room and intimate living quarters. A canopied bed of dark wood rested between two lower windows, but a table stood with covered dishes between the fireplace and a writing desk. The latter was already strewn with papers—and a familiar pen.
“You actually use it.”
He had caught William in the middle of lifting one of the plate covers. “Of course I use it; half as often as quills, to promote its longevity, and for signatures. I enjoy the thinner strokes.”
“Where’s your housekeeper?” James switched, coming to sit down.
A pot of coffee sat on the low table before the fire, but William moved it to theirs. “She resides in the secondary flat, but I’ve given her leave for the rest of the evening and tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” James parroted as the aromas of pepper and lemon chicken drifted up to him. “You won’t be here tomorrow?”
“No, I will be,” he smiled while pouring milk into their cups. “I thought you would like a morning without disturbance. Of course, that is under the assumption you would be staying the night.”
James’ jaw hung in a relaxed manner beneath slow-thinking eyes. “I had not thought that far. My father and the others know I’m here for dinner, but…I suppose a returning hour never occurred to anybody. And my uncle wishes to call on you.”
“I would happily be called upon by Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.”
James’ gaze yanked up from his plate. “You would?”
One side of William’s mouth lifted before the other, making his smile charmingly uneven. “They were guests in my home. Why not in London as well?”
James forewent table manners and planted his elbow to hold his face while he pillaged with his fork. “You are putting it kindly. We hardly did anything shy of strolling right into your private domain.”
“Mrs. Gardiner is devious,” William agreed gently, “but I’m glad for it.”
They held each other’s gaze over the table. William finished, “Even if she is ignorant of it, her crafts assisted me when my inadequacies had otherwise put miles between us.”
James let his eyes wander back to his plate, but not before a brief smirk touched his lips. “I find you adequate enough. Although it is difficult for me to believe you have guests without the coercion of a Bingley.”
“I cannot deny how Charles’ rise in the world has been, at least in part, due to my passing obligatory meetings and dinners to his management. My affairs run far more smoothly with someone who actually likes such things in attendance. Our friendship has been one of mutual benefit and enjoyment.”
“Then don’t let me keep you at all times. Trading Charles for me will surely turn you into a recluse.”
William lifted wide eyes at him before they narrowed above his frown. “All the evidence I have leans far to the contrary. We met at a ball, remember? Yours and Charles’ social puissance hit it off well before yours and mine did. Regarding a trade…there has never been any possibility of it. Charles is my friend, in both leisure and business, but the three of us know how poorly I do at removing you from my heart and thoughts. Did you believe I am the sort of person to have one comrade at a time?”
James nudged his chicken and carrots across his plate. “You’ve made a point, there… Then again, I suppose I am slowly realizing that I am the sort.”
William’s gaze dragged between James and the food. “Are you all right?” he queried softly. “We seem…misaligned today.”
As he pushed his fork into the fibers sprinkled with pepper, James deliberated between a precipice and a hard place. “I don’t want to talk about it…”
Though his words started in a normal tone, they rushed to a hushed end. He set the utensil down. “I’m sorry. After you prepared everything—”
“Don’t apologize,” William murmured, quieter and quieter to hear James’ tremulous breathing. He pressed his fingertips together over the bridge of his nose, hiding most of his face as well as pushing against his eyes.
A rustle, and then the soft thud beside him released prickling tears to see William’s chair now beside him. Without touching him, William’s arm draped over the back of his chair. “Do you want me to take you back—?”
“It’s not you. It’s not you,” James dry heaved. The back of his throat ached as if bruised. Unable to say what he meant, James reached for him, crossing his arms behind William’s neck and holding onto him. William’s hold on him, though initially light, hardened tightly; anchoring James’ body and mind to him. Occasionally a shudder wracked through him, mixing with James’ shallow breaths, but William held onto him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
James unraveled. Only able to nod, he sobbed with abandon against him.
As his distress eased, William coaxed him out of his seat. Careful not to disturb the hands wiping his tears, William untied his humble cravat and unbuttoned the waistcoat. Free from their outer layers, they slid within the confines of the bed. James resumed his place against William while the latter stroked his hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“Please don’t misunderstand when I say that I feel…lonely.”
William kissed his forehead. “Why don’t you talk to Jane?”
“And say what? Marry him but continue living at Longbourn?”
“Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but you are not unusual to feel this way. You have been closely a part of each others’ lives. It is reasonable and natural to experience repulsion to such a change.”
James’ sodden lashes batted heavily until they closed, his brow line nestling against the bend of William’s neck and the pillows. He had bathed recently. The mixture of fading soap, fresh garments, and the rise of William’s own fragrance soothed James’ raw nerves.
“If I don’t keep busy, I feel as if my chest were collapsing.”
William’s fingertips tickled the side of his throat; a light, pleasant distraction. “I can only remind you that you are not truly losing her. Your company is of utmost value to your sister, and Charles likewise relishes your mind and opinion. Their doors will always be open to you.”
James swallowed thickly. “I am happy for them.”
“I know. And so does Jane.”
“I suppose…I’ve been spoilt. Spoiled into believing that possibly, in my house, I could keep those I wanted inside it. Lydia was ready to leave. I hadn’t truly considered Jane would be too.”
His speech faded as William scratched designs across his back, the cotton between them tingling pleasantly. “Netherfield could only be Charles’ home with Jane beside him, but therein lies the benefit. Instead of losing those who make a home, perhaps we may each be spoilt by having more than one…”
James arm unfurled to drape over William’s ribs while his body sagged with sleep. William smiled to himself, relieved that James’ mind had been put to enough ease to sleep, as well as amused; he had expected him to remark something about William’s desire to have him at Pemberley. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought.
When James’ breathing took the pattern of deep sleep, William extracted himself from the bed to wrap the food and move the logs off the coals. When the fire burned low, he extinguished the candles and returned to bed.
* * * * * * *
James’ eyes refused to open as he rolled over enough to answer William’s voice. “Huh?”
“I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”
James frowned through the humid mire of his dreamland. “S’not light out.”
“Come with me, sweetheart.”
Something soft touched between his brows: lips dragging over the bridge of his nose before peppering his forehead. James felt more than content to remain right where he lay, being kissed until the sun blazed through his eyelids.
Whatever William’s plans, they involved him leaving the bed. James let himself be hauled up and to his feet, which were then guided into his shoes. “Outside?”
“Outside,” William answered his complaint.
Worries about doors and eyes brought James to better awareness, but he followed William downstairs to his carriage. “Where are we going?” he asked while William draped a blanket over his shoulders.
“We’ll be back for luncheon,” he replied. Resigned with that, James entered the carriage first, where he took William’s shoulder for his pillow.
London was a place that hummed while others slept, and James heard her melody outside the curtained windows. The working class moved softly through the city; occasionally a guffaw pierced through the din, but overall only the clop of horses, the rolling wood, and trill of birds sounded around them.
The carriage went until the birds outnumbered people. James’ head slid off William’s shoulder with the carriage’s stop. Pressed grass cushioned his steps out of the carriage as James stared at a landscape looking much more akin to his Meryton than London. Silver fog lingered thick in his lungs and dusted his cheeks as well as it encompassed the buildings peeking through the foliage. “Where are we?”
“Just outside of London proper,” William replied after he finished speaking to his driver and James watched with some misery as he drove away. “There’s a bit of a walk.”
He sighed, “You are ever so fortunate to have me as the victim to your whimsy.”
William chuckled. “This is hardly malicious. You’ll understand soon.”
James grew as dubious as the landscape inclined. “Is there a place which serves breakfast up here?” he all but heaved.
“Probably.”
He smiled over his shoulder at James’ indiscernible mumbles, but otherwise followed the trodden path, which must have surely led somewhere if the earth had been so marred.
“You will begin to see it on your right.”
“See what?” James looked around him, but the morning fog obscured the treetops they were now able to look down upon. On their left, a more substantial row of shops and homes lined the road.
“Just up here.”
William stepped over a slope to a flat observatory space; stones stymied the growth of foliage as well as provided a marking for where the ledge ended and the hill’s descent began. “This is Richmond Hill. Georgie prefers Primrose Hill, but that overlooks the city. There is more peace here.”
“Lovely fog,” James tried to remark kindly.
William smirked at him while rummaging in his coat. “It will dissipate with the sun’s rising. Hungry?”
James watched him unfurl one of his serviettes to reveal their leftover chicken. He could not help but laugh as he pried a morsel off. “Starving.”
Somewhere nearby, a rooster crowed, and not long after, James peeked behind them at what must have been the bird himself strutting along the road. “I like this area.”
William nodded his agreement. “The woodlands have large herds of deer.”
“I don’t hunt.”
“They’re not for hunting. I should have clarified that the park, just there, is a reservation for deer.”
James looked to his left, where William indicated. A ways down, the road ended within a woodland bursting with spring’s greenery and wild flora. “Though it is out of the way, it would be a reprieve from the city center for my aunt. I think she is nearing her wits’ end.”
“An afternoon well spent,” William agreed, “but I want to be here with you first.”
James chewed contemplatively, his gaze drawing to the sheep moving over the meadows in the hills below. He realized the Thames curved toward them from the far right, gently carving through the valley.
The sun rose slowly and then all at once; James closed his eyes to inhale the damp world carefully baking in the rising orange around them. When the river shined brighter than gold, his lips parted under squinted eyes.
They remained in silence, eating and living until the fog clung only to the trees. William spoke softly as if to not shatter the atmosphere, “It is not Hertfordshire, but it is the closest I can give you here.”
James’ hand cupped William’s which held their breakfast while he pulled off one of the last pieces. “Thank you. Even though the rising hour was despicable.”
William laughed, and James felt the backs of his eyes ache as he gazed at him.