Page 8 of Attempted Compromises
Ramsgate, 1811
The gentle sea breeze swept across the shore at Ramsgate, filling the air with the tang of salt and a cool freshness that Darcy hoped might bring some ease to his young charge. Little Andrew, only two years old, sat quietly on the sand, his pale face framed by soft wisps of blond hair. He watched the other children with wide eyes as they scampered across the beach, their shouts of laughter and play echoing in the air.
The child’s nurse— a kind woman named Rebecca— seated nearby, kept a watchful eye on him, ready to attend to him at a moment’s notice. Yet, it was Darcy himself who sat closest to the boy, bending down to brush sand from his small hands and answer a thousand questions that spoke of a bound deeper than what was customary for a father of Darcy’s status.
His gaze softened as he watched Andrew, a mixture of affection and worry in his expression. Since birth, the child had struggled with “the asthma,” as the doctors called it—a wheezing anddifficulty in breathing that seemed to worsen during times of illness or excitement. It pained Darcy to see him so subdued, unable to run and play as the other children did. But he tried his best to offer him a comforting presence, one that would reassure him of his place in the world, despite the trials he faced.
“Do you see the waves, Andrew?” he asked, pointing to the rolling blue water. “They come in and out like this every day. Perhaps, one day, you might run in them yourself.”
Andrew nodded slowly, a faint smile flickering on his face as he looked up at Darcy. The sight tugged at Darcy’s heart, and he smiled back, reaching out to brush a stray hair from the boy’s forehead.
“I don’t think he understands you, sir,” Rebecca said in her thick brogue.
Smiling ruefully, Darcy nodded in response, his gaze wandering back out to the water. As he sat there, his thoughts drifted back to Town, where he had spent recent weeks struggling through dreary gatherings and shallow conversations.
The past months had been a trial for him since coming out of mourning for his late wife. Lady Catherine had been enraged over her daughter’s death, forcing him to banish her to the dower house. Her fury was such that she had become almost manic; ranting and raving to everyone within earshot that Darcy had murdered her daughter in order to gain Rosings Park.
Darcy’s uncle, Lord Matlock, had attempted to reason with her, but her mind was too far gone. Darcy was forced to move her to the Dower House in Kent— without a carriage— where shecould only spew her vitriol to the servants he paid to keep her contained.
Time was no longer Darcy’s ally. Free from two years mourning for his wife, he had been swept into the social demands of his position once again, a responsibility he daily grew to resent. Between the cloying debutantes and their matchmaking mothers, he began to feel that his world truly had become a stage.
This trip to Ramsgate with Andrew was a welcome respite from the monotony of London and its upper class. The excuse was to visit his sister and attempt to improve his son’s health with the sea air, but he couldn’t deny that the sudden trip was as necessary for him as it was for them.
“Brother!” came a cheerful voice from behind, breaking his somber thoughts.
He turned to see his younger sister, Georgiana, approaching with a small parcel in her hands. There was a spring in her step and her face was alight with excitement. Beside her walked Mrs. Younge, her chaperone, who observed with a mild expression as Georgiana hurried forward.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, look at the ribbon I bought!” Georgiana exclaimed, holding up a delicate pale-blue ribbon that matched her eyes. “And there were the loveliest bonnets in the shop! I couldn’t decide between one with flowers and one with feathers, but Mrs. Younge told me I should wait and think on it a little longer.”
Darcy smiled indulgently, though he noted Mrs. Younge’s strained expression as she kept her distance, watching them with a polite but detached demeanor. He longed to see Georgiana happy and social, making friends her age rather than clinging to him and her governess for companionship.
“And have you made the acquaintance of anyone else here, Georgiana?” Darcy asked, hoping she might have found some new friends among the other young ladies.
A faint blush crept into her cheeks. She glanced nervously at Mrs. Younge, her gaze dropping as she murmured, “No, Fitzwilliam, not yet.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed, and he cast a quick, appraising glance at Mrs. Younge. It struck him as peculiar that his sister, who was young, shy, and easily influenced, had yet to make any acquaintances. After all, Mrs. Younge’s primary responsibility was to guide Georgiana into the company of those her age and social class. Surely, she could have arranged an introduction or two.
Turning to Mrs. Younge, he raised an eyebrow. “I should think that, by now, Miss Darcy would have had the chance to meet a few young ladies of similar standing. Are there no other acquaintances in Ramsgate?”
Mrs. Younge offered a polite smile, inclining her head. “I am afraid, sir, that I am not well-acquainted here myself. I had hoped, now that you are here, you might attend a local assembly this evening. Should you do so, there may be an opportunity to meet some of the local families or other seaside guests. If any ofthe ladies have younger daughters or sisters, they might provide Miss Darcy with suitable companionship.”
Darcy considered her words, his gaze drifting back to Georgiana, whose hopeful expression betrayed her eagerness for approval. He could see that she longed for a wider circle, and he felt a pang of guilt that his preoccupation with Andrew’s health had kept him from attending to her needs as he should.
“Yes,” he agreed at last with a faint sigh. “I suppose I could attend. Perhaps there will indeed be a few familiar faces, and introductions can be made.”
Georgiana’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at her brother. “Oh, thank you, Fitzwilliam! I know you don’t enjoy assemblies, but I’m ever so grateful.”
He offered her a soft smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You deserve friends, Georgiana. And if attending an assembly is what it takes to find you good company, then it shall be done.”
Mrs. Younge inclined her head respectfully; a faint, satisfied smile on her lips. “Then it is settled. I shall make all the necessary arrangements to secure the exact details for you, sir. Miss Darcy and I will be eager to hear of your success tomorrow morning.”
As they stood there, Darcy felt Andrew tug on his sleeve, his small hand clutching Darcy’s coat as he pointed to the shore.
“Look, Papa,” the child murmured in his soft voice, pointing to a crab scuttling across the sand. Darcy felt a pang at the title,which came naturally from the boy’s lips, though it was not his own child he held.
“Yes, Andrew,” he said. He lifted him up and placed him in his lap. “Isn’t it remarkable how it moves sideways?”
The child nodded, his tiny hand reaching out toward the little creature, and Darcy held him close, feeling a surge of tenderness as he cradled the boy. He had never intended to take on the role of a father to Anne’s child, but the bond he felt with the boy, the affection that had blossomed in his heart, was undeniable.
