Mr. Darcy's Dream by Elizabeth Aston Page A

remained in the country, had engaged in a dangerous flirtation with the dashing Mrs. Lancey. One thing led to another, and word came back to Lady Hawkins that her husband was making an exhibition of himself in London, and apparently saw no need to keep secret the fact that he was enjoying the full delights of Mrs. Lancey’s affections.
    Phoebe felt ashamed for him, and angry on her mother’s behalf, yet she was old enough and wise enough in the ways of the world to know that many men had mistresses. In fact, her older and more cynical friends said that all men were unfaithful if they could be, and a woman had best make her happiness where she could, busy with domestic duties, children, and the daily round of feminine life.
    Her mother had been hurt and upset, but she was realistic enough to know that this was the way a husband let loose in London on his own might well behave. What was unforgivable was that it turned out to be more than a passing fancy, and when she discovered a passionate love letter penned by her husband to Mrs. Lancey, she found herself unable to forgive him.
    Her pride, her dignity, and her reserve did not allow her the natural and immediate outlet of anger or quarrels. She taxed her husband with his infidelity, and he blustered and denied it. And then by one of those sad quirks of fate, an old flame of her own came upon the scene. Colonel Daunton was a military man who had once been her suitor, and whom she hadvery nearly married. She turned to him, and found consolation with him.
    Now it was Sir Giles’s turn to be outraged. He had never imagined that this would happen. The old adage that sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander was not, he considered, one that could in any sense be applied to his marriage. For him to take a mistress was normal, for his wife to have a lover was a cause of mortification and rage.
    Phoebe, wretched and worried out of her normal lively spirits by all this, could not take sides with either of her parents, both of whom she loved. Then, in 1815, the colonel was killed, gallantly leading his men into action on the field of Waterloo. Her mother found it very difficult to control her grief, but that grief brought Phoebe’s father to his senses. He had been suffering from a good deal of guilt, and had come to realise that his affair with Mrs. Lancey was making him a laughingstock. She was not the kind of woman to bestow favours upon one man at a time, and so he felt twice cuckolded.
    Slowly, Sir Giles and Lady Hawkins began to rebuild their marriage. There was no question of them ever being on quite the same grounds as they had been; Lady Hawkins could not easily forgive her husband for his infidelity, nor herself for her own, and the shock of being cuckolded and the very physical jealousy Sir Giles had felt when he found out about the colonel and his wife had left him uncertain in his position as husband and father, as the undoubted head of his family and master of his domain.
    Even though Louisa knew only part of the story, she knew enough to understand why Sir Giles would reject a suitor on the grounds of his immorality, and why Phoebe herself would shun such a man.
    They reached the end of the narrow path that ran through the rich meadow, thick with poppies now, and clambered over the stile on to the wider path that led across the arched bridge.
    â€œIt is possible,” said Louisa, “that Mr. Stanhope may not deserve his reputation. You were close to him; did you ever suspect that he was the kind of man to treat women badly?”
    â€œDo rakes treat women badly? Or are the women at fault, for allowing themselves to be made fools of? And I am certain in Mr. Stanhope’s case that his reputation is well-earned. I don’t want to talk about it; let me just say that I came into possession of information which persuaded me that my father was right to behave as he did.”
    â€œYet—”
    â€œNo yets, nor buts. It is over, finished, an