Darcy’s eyes hardened. “But if I am already married?”
“Then he’ll have it annulled—your wife would become a whore, and any children, bastards!”
***
Darcy’s complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it.
“We should move to your study, sir. This room is not a fit place to discuss this matter further.”
George Darcy’s gait was unsteady, whether from illness or alarm at the dreadful visage now disfiguring his son’s countenance. Darcy took his arm and led him, as gently as his dark mood allowed, to the study. Even though the weather was clement, being summer, a fire was burning in the grate. They sat beside it, in the great leather chairs that had overset Darcy when he visited the study as a child.
“Before we begin. Never, not ever, will I allow my wife to be so disrespected. Never! Whether it’s Matlock or the Prince Regent himself, they will know my displeasure. I’ve changed, sir. Previously, in London, whilst a Chancery lawyer, I foughtbattles over wills, estates, and bequests—these are contests of ink, paper, and words; only occasionally did I come into contact with felons and violent criminals. But as judge-advocate, I’ve sentenced men to hang, had women flogged, had men condemned to the meanest labour under the burning sun of the antipodes.
“In Cape Town, a Dutch boy demeaned Elizabeth, calling her a whore merely because she wore slippers and her hair was pinned and not covered with a cap—he spent a night in the stocks.
“In Sydney, the wife of Colonel O’Connell, lieutenant governor before me, named Elizabeth a cuckold—with your assistance, they now live in disease-sprung Ceylon, warring against the Sinhalese monarchy.”
“Enough, Fitzwilliam! I’m on your side in this. Regardless, we’re embroiled in Matlock’s machinations. My mistake! For I misguidedly paid the interest on the debt up to July ‘14—I gave Matlock an inch, and he would take a mile.”
Darcy’s father looked to his son. Not only was he physically intimidating, but his mien, his cold, implacable temper, was more terrifying than anything he had seen before. From whence did such indomitable will come?
“Tell me of her, Fitzwilliam, for I must understand how you came to be married. But how is it we know nothing of your marriage?”
“I’ll consult Lloyd’s Register. Our letters were dispatched aboard theCato—that ship must be lost. However, ‘tis of no account. I’ll tell you of the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”
Darcy spoke of the Court of Chancery, the Judge’s decision that Elizabeth should marry Collins; of her flight to London and the journey to New South Wales as nurse to the Bent’s children; of her being midwife to the regiment, matron of the orphanage, warden of the female school; of her two hundredand fifty acres at Boondi, twelve hundred acres at St. Andrews; of her speaking eight languages; of her glorious soprano; of her high consequence in the colony, of her being relentlessly pursued; of his need for a wife. And, finally, his love for her and her love for him.
“Father, if the choice was to give up Pemberley or not to marry Lady Anne, my mother—how would you choose?”
Tears gathered in his father’s eyes. “You’re too cruel—for I would surely choose your mother, for she was my heart, my soul. Ours was a love match, though both our parents—the old Earl and your grandfather Darcy—thought it a marriage of convenience: her title and consequence; my wealth, once I came into my inheritance.”
He looked to Darcy. “But in all of this, you’ve not told me Elizabeth’s age? When did she reach her majority?”
Darcy froze in confusion: had he never asked Elizabeth? When was her birthday?—he did not know! He stuttered. “You have me there—I’ve never asked her. Her age was never important; she was just Lizzie… beautiful, intelligent, womanly. Certainly womanly!”
“But here’s the crux of the matter: could Matlock have the marriage annulled? You, as a Barrister, know the law.”
Darcy stood and went to the door. “Please, some coffee and a pastry, whatever my father prefers.” He turned to his father. “You’re correct. Likely, there’s none other than I who possesses a better understanding of how English law is applied in New South Wales. Indeed, Iwasthe law, with Macquarie’s full concurrence. But Matlock is an earl with the ear of the Archbishop of Canterbury. We must tread very carefully.”
The coffee and pastries arrived. Once set down, the door was carefully closed behind the footman. Darcy began his exposition.
“I’ll list those points of law that are mostpertinent. You may not be aware that the whole of English law does not apply to the colony. That Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753, in particular, doesn’t apply; that any marriage solemnisedbeyond the seasis outside its reach.
“In particular, in New South Wales, a guardian’s permission is not required if both parties to the marriage are at least sixteen years of age, instead of the one and twenty years here; to be married, a couple need only affirm it, and then cohabit as man and wife. In fact, such acommon lawmarriageperformed overseas, is deemed valid in this country. But, I fear, Lord Matlock could have us tied in knots—very few understand the nuances of common law. There’s much to consider. However, the following are the facts.
“Firstly, Elizabeth was certainly sixteen years old, but she may not have reached her majority. However, I was her guardian, having taken the role when Mr. Ellis Bent left the colony—obviously, I gavemyconsent to her marrying.”
“But, as guardian can you marry your ward? Surely there is some conflict?”
Darcy shrugged. “Indeed, Blackstone describes the relation between guardian and ward as bearinga very near resemblanceto that between father and child. Some regard marriage between them as incest, though not expressly forbidden by law.
“St. Phillip’s Church, in which we were wed, was not consecrated until Christmas Day of the year ‘10—we were married prior to that on the 15th of May. In England, such would invalidate the marriage.
“Thirdly, the Rev. William Cowper, who married us, was ordained in the year ‘08; he was certainly qualified to conduct the ceremony; but, because he’s an extreme Evangelical, he may not have used the Form of Words prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer.
“Lastly, the ceremony was witnessed by over threehundred persons in the church; the register signed by Governor and Mrs. Macquarie themselves. That is in our favour. It goes without saying that Macquarie sanctioned the marriage.”
“Our difficulty,” said Darcy, after much thought, “is that, in the colony, the form of legal marriage was specified by orders of various governors, thereby nullifying common law. If so, we need to demonstrate that our marriage satisfied all such orders. But, in any case, they are likely to cling to Hardwicke’s Act. Under English law, our marriage is certainly void because St. Phillip’s was not consecrated: that is enough for Matlock to carry the day.
