Darcy closed his eyes and continued to enjoy the relative quiet of the club. Without a vessel to ship Pemberley's wool, and other goods, his tenants would receive only a pittance of what they might fetch from overseas markets. What with the war on and off and on again, shipping anything from the island nation was an impossible ordeal, a puzzle Darcy might not be able to solve.
His mind wandered to the carefree lifestyle of his friend Charles. Darcy remembered spotting an invitation letter in Caroline's unique hand, but he had cast it to the rarely perused social gatherings pile of correspondence. He would not attend, but his imagination wondered what might happen if he were able to accept.
He'd ask for no less than two sets with the bewitching Elizabeth Bennet. The very idea of his hand clasping hers sent his heartbeat wildly pounding. He opened his eyes with a start and sat up rigid in his chair. Self-consciously, he glanced about to see if any other patrons had been disturbed by his daydream, but none seemed to pay him any mind. Worried he might cause a further scene, Darcy asked for his effects and prepared to leave.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lady Catherine did not await the fashionable hour to barge in on her brother and his wife at Matlock House. The butler had offered to take the lady's shawl when the earl and countess of Matlock exited the breakfast parlor with stunned looks upon their faces.
Henry Fitzwilliam recognized the shouts and caterwauling of his oldest sister just before they arrived in the entryway. To witness his sister leave her pretended throne at Rosings was a remarkable sight to behold. He struggled to maintain an indifferent attitude as he diplomatically inquired to the good fortune of this unannounced visit.
"You know very well why I am here!" Lady Catherine banged her walking stick on the floor, staring down the two members of her generation. "I am made privy of reports, yes reports, of the most curious nature regarding our nephew, Fitzwilliam. I am here for your corroboration of these reports, and I shall not leave until I am satisfied."
"Catty," the Earl of Matlock attempted to mollify his sister with the childhood pet name he used before he was able say the name Catherine properly, "I have not seen Fitzwilliam in over three months . . ." He glanced to his wife pretending to be mildly amused and relaxed.
"He is here, in London and has been here for a number of weeks. Do not pretend you have not seen him. We employ the same spies, Margaret."
The time was long past when a direct confrontation with Catherine caused Lady Matlock to pale with trepidation. She was ten years junior to the old earl's favorite daughter, but Margaret Fitzwilliam held not an ounce of fear as her voice rang loud and clear. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, Catherine. I suffer no need to employ spies against my nephew, for my relationship with him yields me all the intelligence I require." Lady Matlock smiled at Lady Catherine who did not return the courtesy, neither did the older lady begin another tirade. Just as it appeared the cajoling countess had persuaded Lady Catherine of their ignorance, another exited the breakfast parlor. He was a tall, lanky fellow, with more charm than sense.
"Wickham! George Wickham! Why is a scoundrel such as yourself admitted entrance to Matlock House?" Lady Catherine bellowed, renewed in her investigative efforts.
George Wickham slithered behind the couple hosting him until his wedding vows were made and approached the singular Darcy relative who always saw through his schemes. With the flashy smile he reserved for his most wealthy marks, he bowed with a flourish before her and reached for her hand to kiss in greeting. Lady Catherine pulled her hand back in aggravation and spat at the offensive gesture. The defiled man took a handkerchief from his pocket, the pocket of his new clothes so generously furnished by his future relatives so that he may look the part he was to play, and wiped his cheek that still showed signs of bruising from his earlier rounds of understanding with the Colonel and his brother.
"Now is that any way to treat your future nephew?"
As Lady Catherine's face flushed and she alternated between glaring at George Wickham and then darting fleeting glances at the shamefaced Fitzwilliams, it took a moment before she managed to regain her senses. "What lies have you told to entrap my niece? I assure you, I have the means to pay. Tell me your price, and you will go away never to darken our door again."
"Catherine, it's beyond that now," the earl growled with chagrin.
"How can he possibly be beyond money? Everyone has their price. Everyone!"
"Perhaps it would be best for your brother to take you into the study for this discussion." Lady Matlock motioned for the burly footman Seamus to walk forward. "Mr. Wickham, I believe you were just going to your rooms, were you not?"
George Wickham winked at Lady Catherine causing the old lady to scowl further. Raising his hands in mock surrender, he turned on his heel and marched up the stairs with Seamus the footman following close behind. As a man who'd actually seen the inside of a gaol, captivity at Matlock House was certainly no inconvenience.
As the Earl steered his sister to his private study, he was not surprised to see Catherine take her preferred seat in the chair next to the old earl's desk. To the two of them, it was fondly thought of as Papa's desk.
"May I offer you refreshments?"
"Don't patronize me Henry! Start with the most pertinent information I must know."
The Earl raked his hand through his thinning hair in exasperation. The wedding next week would not come fast enough for his taste. But there were protocols, and for the ruse to work, the marriage had to be above reproach.
"It began this past summer when my son and our nephew sent our fifteen-year-old niece to Ramsgate with nary more than a companion who worked deception on all involved. The woman had impeccable references, too impeccable in hindsight, and the boys believed the trip would help Georgiana lose some of her shyness."
"Why ever did they send her with such little protection? No young woman should be without the protection of a family member! If they tired of her care so much, they might have sent her to me!"
The Earl held up his hand to stay his sisters vitriol. "Margaret and I were not made aware of the arrangements until after she was gone. Then, it turns out the companion was an accessory to Wickham's crime, convincing Georgiana this whole time how little her family cared for her and encouraging the attentions of Wickham. Before long, our niece had convinced herself she was in love with that cad."
Lady Catherine touched her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "I was such a fool to allow that child to be sent to the steward of Pemberley and his wife… Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"Catty, none of us wanted you burdened with Sir Lewis' bastard. It's one thing for a man to have his dalliances, but for him to propose that you take the child in, well it's just not done!"
"I believe I'll have that drink now," Lady Catherine commanded, relinquishing the emotion of regret as quickly as it came upon her.
Within the half-hour, Catherine and Henry had worked out additional plans to protect the family's interests. Lord Matlock called his wife in to seal their decisions with her approval, and it did not take much convincing. The siblings thought they were the only ones to know of George Wickham's true parentage, but Lady Matlock was under no delusions that George Wickham was the natural child of Thomas Wickham and his shrew of a wife, Regina. The fact that the man bore no resemblance to either of his parents was merely affirmation for her suspicions. Still, Margaret Fitzwilliam knew the more secrets one held, the stronger the position one held over her enemies.
Therefore, it was with a smile, a nod, and very few questions that Margaret Fitzwilliam agreed the best course of action was to encourage Darcy to marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh with little delay. For the sake of the family, of course.
Chapter Thirty
After leaving his club, the last place Darcy wished to return was home. He momentarily forgot his aunt and George Wickham planned to lunch at Darcy House and was in no mood to play the dutiful nephew. It seemed ironic it was only after Georgiana was engaged to be married she was expe
riencing any level at chaperoning during her time with the bounder. With Lady Matlock present, Darcy's presence was superfluous.
Directing his driver to head to the shops beyond Bond Street, Darcy began to anticipate searching out new books and folios for his library in what was largely considered the tradesmen area of town. While others of his acquaintance would die of shame to be seen frequenting the shops in this less fashionable area of town, Darcy learned through his experiences with Bingley the shop proprietors and tradesmen of the upper earnings level kept the most interesting variety of goods for their own community. Darcy found no less than half a dozen of rare first edition volumes of many of his favorite authors, including the Lake District poets.
As his carriage stopped in front of one of his favorite bookshops, another store caught his eye just two doors down. The wooden sign over the faded royal blue door was the shape of a lady's hat. Feeling guilty about not wishing to spend time with Georgiana, Darcy ducked inside to shop for a wedding gift for his sister.
The shop was unlike the places he was accustomed to visiting in Mayfair, and from the shabby decor he doubted his sister would step foot in such an establishment. The wares, however, were another matter. From years of dressing Georgiana, Darcy immediately recognized the fine quality of the few pre-made items displayed for purchase. He admired a set of rich bordeaux gloves trimmed in what appeared to be fox fur when a familiar voice rang out.
"The blush color does not compliment the complexion. Might we be shown fabric in a robin's blue?"
The voice reminded him of Elizabeth Bennet and for a moment Darcy held his breath. Had his passions for the woman he nearly killed run so mad he was now hearing delusions of her presence? He directed his mind to consider the lavender hat with large plumage on one side and push thoughts of the finest pair of eyes he ever beheld out of his mind.
An assistant scurried from behind the screen, and bumped into Darcy as she carried a billowing bolt of the offending blush fabric.
"Pardon me, sir."
Darcy nodded and moved further away from the screened area of the shop. He now considered the row of cashmere shawls, so soft, they were of much higher quality than he found in his aunt's modiste in Mayfair. Being a businessman, he smiled, wondering when the Bon Ton would realize connections were key to obtaining the nicest quality, not location. He couldn't help but overhear the poor assistant explain the problem to a woman who appeared to own the shop.
"The bride don't like it ma'am. She asks for light blue, perhaps I should fetch the bolts of that lovely shade of sky?"
The prim proprietress raised her spectacles to inspect the blush fabric. She clucked her tongue and gazed at the assistant. "You did well Millie, good girl starting with the most expensive fabrics. Run along now to the back room and see if you can find that new blue that just arrived from Mr. Pinkerton. I'll amuse the ladies from Hertfordshire myself." The proprietor patted the assistant on the shoulder as she carried the blush fabric with both arms outstretched to the backroom. Acknowledging Mr. Darcy, the owner quickly stared him up and down, and deemed him a worthy customer.
"How may I help you today, sir? You are shopping for your . . ." she trailed off, learning long ago to never assume the recipient of a man's favor.
Darcy coughed, trying to find his voice. It was no coincidence, the ladies being from Hertfordshire, the discussion of a bride. It was Elizabeth's voice he heard earlier and she was to marry another! Darcy's mouth opened and closed a few times, annoying the proprietress as she awaited his response.
"I see that you are busy, I shall come back another time," he replied quietly. He reached behind him for the doorknob, backing away from the owner.
The owner shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the mysterious man. Honestly a man shopping for ladies wares was her least favorite customer because he rarely knew the items that would most please his lady and always wished to part with the least money. She picked up a fresh bowl of chocolates to take around the screen to her bridal party.
Mrs. Carlton, the owner of Carlton's Linens had known the Gardiners for many years. Edward Gardiner was a most trusted supplier of notions and lace. But that Madeleine Gardiner, she had a sharp eye for style. There would be no padding of the draper's bill with this foursome, though she could not complain about the size of the order.
Utterly demoralized, Darcy began walking, aimlessly, trying to work out all that he had heard. He remembered quite clearly the day he met Miss Elizabeth Bennet, nearly running her over with his horse. The tender moment where he brushed leaves and dirt from her injured forehead, his chest filling with hope when her pretty brown eyes fluttered open, but he also recalled that she had said a name. John. Whoever this mysterious John was to her, he must hold a place in her heart for them to be engaged and already with a wedding date.
Darcy expected his friend Charles would capitalize on the sweet nature of Miss Bennet, why he even went so far as to encourage Charles directly before he took his leave of Netherfield. Whatever happened in the last three months he had quit the county, it was not for him to know. At least not until after Georgiana was wed and out of his concern. Thinking on her groom, he would never rest easy in regard to his own sister's safety.
The call of his name jerked Darcy's head up, and he hid his embarrassment at his own driver reminding him of his carriage being present. Storming into the carriage, Darcy scowled as he was sure he must look the rich fool, walking along the street as his carriage slowed beside him. Lowering the shades of the window closest to him, the great master of Carver House, Pemberley and Darcy House, closed his eyes and for one of the few times in his life since his parents died, wondered if his life would ever be his own to lead.
The adage goes, be careful what one wishes for, it may indeed come to be. An exhausted, weary Darcy trudged up the steps to his own town home, his feet growing heavier with each step. He had thought losing Georgiana would be the lowest point of his life, but the overwhelming emotions seizing his heart put his previous distress to shame.
In his mind, he had always counted that somehow he'd return to Hertfordshire and offer for his Elizabeth's hand in marriage. Thoroughly irritated that his familial obligations had prevented him from doing so a month ago, Darcy was aghast at the chorus of voices coming from the dining room. Groaning, he not only recognized Wickham's and his aunt's, but also his uncle's and . . . Lady Catherine's?
Closing his eyes, he held up a finger to signal Mrs. Potter to secrecy regarding his arrival. The practiced housekeeper grinned at her master and nodded. Darcy walked up the half flight of stairs to the main floor as quietly as possible. He was nearly to his study when his least favorite aunt shouted out.
"There is no need to sneak around your own house, Fitzwilliam. We are aware of your arrival, we heard your carriage coming up the drive."
Darcy's shoulders tensed as he grew agitated. Not only was he caught, but was now being ordered around in his own home. He was not able to battle politely with his relatives, and he was quite certain this interview would become disastrous. Yet, never a man to shirk his responsibilities, Darcy turned and went to the dining room.
"Aunt, Uncle, Aunt, I had no advance notice you were to descend upon Darcy House for lunch this afternoon. Had I been made aware of your plans, I should be here to welcome you when you arrived." He stood at the head of the table to maintain control in his own home.
"Don't pretend this to be a social call, Fitzwilliam. I cannot fathom how you and Richard thought you would handle this nasty business on your own, but it is high time we put an end to this nonsense, once and for all!" Lady Catherine sniped.
"As you may know, Lady Catherine, Georgiana and Mr. Wickham are to be married, next week, as a matter of fact. I am sure you were invited?" Darcy glanced to his Aunt Maggie for support, and the Countess of Matlock gently shook her head negatively. "Ah, I apologize. I can only offer that the omission of an invitation was not in any way an intended snub of your role as our mother's sister, and merely a means to diminish the e
vent itself."
"Diminish the event? Do you mean to say the whole of my family is against my marriage?" Georgiana Darcy asked, with the naïveté of a child.
Lady Matlock patted her niece's hand as she was strategically seated next to the young woman. "Of course not, we are happy you have settled your match, Georgiana. The delicate nature of society's sensibilities, well, they require a certain gentleness regarding your ceremony. After all, how many young women of your status are permitted to marry for love? No, no, if we were to publicly announce your wedding, just think of the repercussions it would cause for other families who are unable to afford such a noble match."
This explanation satisfied Georgiana, who happily resumed smiling and gazing at her dear precious George sitting across the table. George Wickham did not return the looks of flirtation, and instead sat morbidly interested in his glass of wine.
"Perhaps it would be best if we retire to Darcy's study for further discussions, and allow the young couple an opportunity for some time in the music room? With the maid present and the door open, of course," the Earl of Matlock suggested.
Darcy and Lady Catherine stared at one another, and it was Lady Catherine who moved first to approach her nephew standing in the doorway. Darcy had half a mind to stand steady in the lady's path, but thought better of such an affront and stepped back with his left foot to turn his body to the side, allowing her to pass. The grand woman was of no little status in power, wealth, or girth. If Darcy was not so agitated, he might find the irony in allowing Lady Catherine to think herself in charge of the family despite the unhappy circumstance of being the old earl's eldest child and a woman. However, she pushed Darcy too far when she entered the study and took a seat in the master's chair behind the desk.
"Aunt, I believe you have taken my seat."
"Nonsense, Fitzwilliam. Sit over there." She said, waving her arm dismissively.
By Consequence of Marriage (A Pride & Prejudice Novel) Page 13