Mrs. Copeland, Miss Tulley's dear friend and constant companion intervened. "Mr. Darcy, how good to see you."
Miss Tulley taking her cue said,"Mr. Darcy? Oh, yes, how nice of you to visit with us."
It was then Darcy realized what was different about her. "Miss Tulley, your spectacles . . ." He trailed off, he did not know how to continue. He could not say her lack of spectacles was an improvement.
"Mama thinks going without my spectacles will increase my chances of finding a husband."
"Ah."
"I rather think it will increase my chances of wandering into a wall, but what can I do? She has hidden them from me."
"Hidden them from you?"
"Do not look so astonished Mr. Darcy, it is the least of the lengths a mother will go to get her daughter wed," said Mrs. Copeland.
Mrs. Copeland had cause to know. It was rumored her parents had forced her into her marriage to the late Mr. Copeland. While husbands were often significantly older than their wives, the age difference between Mrs. Copeland and her husband had raised eyebrows. At nineteen she had been wed to a man in his late sixties. Now she was a rich widow who had not yet reached her thirtieth year. Darcy wondered if she had thought the marriage worth it, or if she still resented the coercion of her parents.
Mrs. Tulley bustled over. "Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! How good to see you!"
Darcy internally groaned. While Miss Tulley had no designs upon him, Mrs. Tulley certainly did. She instantly began dropping hints that he should ask Miss Tulley to dance. Though this was precisely what he had intended to do he was annoyed at her insistence. Yet he asked all the same.
Miss Tulley politely declined, sending her mother into a fit.
"I cannot see, Mama. How could I possibly dance?" Miss Tulley asked miserably in reply to her mother's badgering.
Darcy, observing Miss Tulley's wretchedness, said, "The next set is to be a waltz, I believe. You might find it manageable as there are no figures to dance and no changing of partners."
"Oh, a waltz how thrilling. Did you ever learn it, Emma?" asked Mrs. Copeland.
Miss Tulley nodded. "I did learn. But Mama thinks it a scandalous dance."
"In this case I think it permissible. Nothing can be scandalous with Mr. Darcy."
Some minutes and far too much insensible conversation with Mrs. Tulley later—the lady reminded him greatly of Mrs. Bennet—Darcy and Miss Tulley took their places on the floor for the waltz.
The music began. Though Darcy had worried her grace might be effected by the less familiar steps of the waltz but her dancing was as superb as ever. It was Darcy who stumbled when she suddenly asked, "Are you in pursuit of Mrs. Copeland?"
Miss Tulley was speaking again before he could formulate an answer. "I'm sorry that was rather bluntly put. I just thought I should tell you, though I appreciate your kindness to me, if your true object is my friend your efforts with me are wasted: she has no intention of ever marrying again."
She was not alone in her assumption of his interest in Mrs. Copeland. Lord Matlock, upon finding out his nephew had danced with Mrs. Copeland at the last ball, had warned him she would not be an appropriate choice for the future Mrs. Darcy, citing how she had scandalized the ton when she had thrown off her mourning for her husband before the end of the prescribed period. Darcy felt his uncle was in for a cruel surprise when he found out who he really intended to marry.
"I am sure there is much to admire about Mrs. Copeland, but I am not in search of a wife."
"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I should have listened to Eugenia—Mrs. Copeland, that is. She said you had been so attentive to us of late because neither of us has set our cap at you. She said a gentleman such as yourself cannot interact with a lady without raising hopes and it must be a relief to find ladies who did not declare themselves in love with you simply because you asked them to dance the minuet."
"Mrs. Copeland is very astute."
"She is. That is what I like best about her. That and her nose."
"Her nose?"
"Well, her profile in general. She is the ideal model for an artist, you must agree."
"While I cannot speak for an artist, I agree, Mrs. Copeland is a most striking lady."
Miss Tulley seemed satisfied with his remarked. They danced in comfortable silence until, squinting her eyes as she strained to see across the ballroom, she asked, "Is that my sister dancing with Lord Bancroft?"
Darcy answered in the affirmative.
Miss Tulley's brow wrinkled in consternation. Darcy understood. Even he who avoided gossip had heard the rumors that the degenerate Lord Bancroft was in pursuit of the lovely Miss Charlotte Tulley. The penniless debutante capturing the reasonably wealthy and titled Bancroft would be the coup of the season. And the tragedy of the poor girl's life.
"I have heard rather unpleasant things about him. Are they true?"
Darcy did not need to ask what in particular she had heard, he had been around Bancroft enough to know he was a man of unscrupulous character.
"I fear so."
"Mama thinks he will ask for Lottie's hand. My sister does not love him. She does not even like him. She is in love with another but he will never suit Mama and because he knows he will never suit Mama he will never make Lottie an offer. And so she will marry Lord Bancroft and be miserable. It is all utterly idiotic."
Unable to think of any helpful reply he might make to her admission, Darcy was glad when she continued on. "Why I am telling you this? I did not mean to run on so. Please, do forgive me, Mr. Darcy."
"There is nothing to forgive. I have been told one must have some conversation while dancing. You were only being polite."
A commotion broke out on the other side of the room before Miss Tulley could further apologize.
"Oh, I wish I could see! Will you tell me what has occurred?" she asked, her attention turned to the corner of the room wherefrom much laughter and exclamations were emanating.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam is trying to commandeer Miss Madigan from her partner with limited success."
Darcy felt empathetic embarrassment for Richard as he watched him attempt to waltz with a resistant Miss Madigan. The lady's partner had given her over to Richard without contest, but she was standing her ground, a rather dangerous expression on her face. His injury had made him a poor dancer in the best of circumstances and her refusal to be led was the absolute worst of circumstances. He limped around her in a sort of waltz-like gait. It all made for a pathetic sight.
"I like Miss Madigan but people say she is ill bred. I have seen no evidence of it. She is a little candid, perhaps, but I do not know why that should be a bad thing. But then, of course, people think I am odd . . . . I do hope your cousin has not embarrassed her."
"She does not appear embarrassed. Livid, I think, would be the most fitting description for Miss Madigan at present."
"Yes, I think she may have a bit of a temper. She and Mrs. Copeland got into a very heated debate a few weeks ago . . . ."
"I hope for my cousin's sake her anger is not too harsh for she may soon have a chance to unleash it. He his leading her out of the ballroom now."
"They are to be married I've heard."
"If Miss Madigan can find it in her heart to take pity on the poor fool."
"I think it good he has made such a fool of himself. A man who acts so foolishly cannot be enamored with her wealth alone."
"You might be surprised by how foolishly my cousin can act without the slightest inducement . . .but you are right, I think he is in love with her."
"It is lovely, do not you think, when love comes about conveniently like that? We are not all so fortunate," Miss Tulley said, a faraway look in her eyes.
"Indeed we are not."
In Mrs. Haddix's garden the convenience of Richard's love for Miss Madigan was a matter of contention.
"How dare you embarrass me like that! Let go of me!" cried Miss Madigan as Colonel Fitzwilliam guided her out the French window into the seemingly deserted garden. C
hairs had already been set out for the fireworks viewing later. Richard led her to a chair, but she refused to be seated.
"Only if you promise to hear me out," Richard said even as he loosened his hold on her allowing her to escape his grasp.
"We cannot stay here. This is most improper." Yet she did not return to the safety of the ballroom.
"Most. You had better hear me out as not to be kept here any longer than necessary. You would not want people to think I've had time to compromise you."
"If you think I am one of those silly chits who thinks public displays of idiocy are romantic—."
Richard interrupted her tirade. "I intend to be your husband, Miss Madigan."
"You are not alone in your intentions. Sir Walter, the man you so rudely stole me away from, is in need of a wife. He is a perfectly respectable gentleman who hasn't argued with me for no reason and hauled me out of a ballroom like a brute."
"He must not be very determined. He gave you up rather easily. You see here," said Richard brandishing his cane, "I have a stick now with which to chase them away. There will be no other suitors for you. If you wish to be married, it must be to me."
"Oh, you are ridiculous!" declared Miss Madigan, then she stomped out of the garden.
A moment later she returned. "All right. I'll hear it," she said, hurling herself into the nearest chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and endeavored to look as disagreeable as possible.
"I like you." It was not until he had said it out loud that Richard recognized the inadequacy of this declaration.
"Are you sure you do not simply like my money?"
"I like your money, too, I cannot deny. But I like you more. God save me, I may love you."
Miss Madigan snorted mockingly. "I have been informed you were violently in love with Lady Celia not one week ago. Now you are making love to me in the most ridiculous manner. Forgive me, if I doubt you."
"I did think myself in love with Celia. She is beautiful and vicious—I think I liked her viciousness more than her beauty. She made me chase her, made me make a fool of myself and I loved her more because I thought I deserved her derision.
"It had nothing to do with her, you see. Not really. It was really about my pride. I thought if I could win her it would prove I was not a worthless sot after all."
"And I am the new challenge? The consolation prize? I do not like to be a second choice. I suppose to secure your affection I will have to be more vicious because I can hardly hope to become beautiful."
Richard's gaze softened. Miss Madigan could see he was about to whisper some compliment, say some clever thing to make her feel better; she could not bear it. She turned her head and shrank away as if kind words would injure her.
"I see I am not alone in my insecurities," Richard observed. "I should not have been upset with you on our drive. I pretend I have accepted it. I pretend I do not feel like less of a man because I can no longer sit a horse or dance with anything like grace. Some days I cannot even stand without assistance and yet I act like nothing has changed. Until someone makes an innocent jest and I make an ass of myself."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am sorry—."
"Do not apologize. I am the sorry one. I am lame and I am far too sensitive about it. But I am ready to own up to it now. I have even gotten this stick to prove I am a bona fide cripple. It will help when I fall down which happens with more frequency than I would like to admit. And my leg is not even the worst of my war wounds. I have nightmares and go into rages and feel sorry for myself.
"I have been told I am amusing and almost handsome in the right sort of light, but that will be a small comfort when your husband is ranting like a Bedlamite, I know. But I am loyal. I will love you, I will be faithful to you, I will protect you from all danger provided you can be defended from a distance with well-aimed projectiles thrown with great fury.
"Not enough fury to kill your foes, mind you, but enough to stun them so you might have time to make your escape. I do hope you can run swiftly. Perhaps it would be better if you did not find yourself in danger at all."
Miss Madigan laughed that wonderful laugh of hers. "You are ridiculous,"she said again, but this time she spoke with affection.
"I will make you laugh which is important as marriages have the awful tendency to go on and on and such monotony might get dull if one does not have something to laugh about."
Miss Madigan stood. She took a few steps away from him, further into the garden then turned back to stare at him, her expression contemplative. After some time, too much time for Richard's comfort she spoke, "My father has always wanted me to marry a peer or a peer's son—heaven knows why. I told him I would only marry someone useful—someone who has done something with his life. Your injury is proof of your worth. You have endured hardships unknown to most men of your class. You have fought bravely—."
"Come now, you have not the slightest notion of how I fought. I might have hid under my horse and whimpered like a child."
"I have been informed—"
"Ah, the informative 'they' again, no doubt."
"Yes, they told me you had the command of two thousand men and you performed your duty with distinction. If that is the truth I think you might have some small hope of being able to handle me."
"Miss Madigan, that sounded very much like an acceptance."
"It was no such thing. It was a warning. I will not be any easier to get along with than you will be. I have the worst sort of temper and I am used to having my own way. I will harass you and harangue you and—."
Richard closed the distance between them, interrupting her with a kiss.
Miss Madigan had been kissed before. More times than she could count, in fact. An heiress does not reach the age of thirty without at least a few suitors taking liberties. But it had never felt like this before. There was unabashed desire behind his kiss.
She—who was not quite pretty, more than a little sharp, and spoke of industry and other unfeminine things far too much—had never been one to inspire passion before. She found it a rather enjoyable experience, thus she let the kiss go on longer than she probably properly should have.
Finally she stepped away from him "I should not permit such liberties. It is not as if we are engaged."
"That speech you just made, I thought you were accepting my suit."
"How could I accept? You have not asked."
Richard released an exasperated huff. "Do I need to go down on one knee?"
"No, I am not that cruel. Unless you wish me to be?"
"No, I think you adequately vicious."
He drew a deep breath. Proposing suddenly seemed much more difficult and frightening. "Tessa Madigan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She sighed.
"What is wrong?"
"I expected better."
"Better?"
"I expected some little prelude before the question. You are supposed to expound about my beauty and sweetness and other such nonsense."
"Now you want compliments!"
"Now is the time for it."
"What would you like to hear?"
"Tell me how clever I am."
"Too damn clever. I think you may be cleverer than I, and I do not like it at all. I am more than a little terrified of you."
"Oh, that's good. I rather like that."
"I thought you would."
Richard leaned forward as if he might kiss her again. Just before his lips touched hers he halted. "Will you marry me, Tessa?" he whispered.
"I suppose."
He narrowed his eyes at her with mocking menace. After all that hassle he felt he deserved a definitive answer.
"Yes,"she said, but she was not yet ready to cease teasing, "Now you must tell me I've made you the happiest of men."
"You have made me the happiest of men. I will run about smiling like a half-wit to prove it."
"That will not be necessary."
The corners of his lips pulled dramatically upward in an exaggerated
imitation of Darcy's lunatic grin.
"Stop it."
The smile became more ghoulish.
"Truly, stop it. That is horrifying."
He dropped the ridiculous grin. Their levity at an end, they regarded each other in awkward silence. Richard felt like a clueless hunter who, having caught his prey, had no idea what to do with it. Or perhaps he had been the prey. He was not certain.
Miss Madigan, feeling equally clueless but certain something must happen and that something should not be their immediate return to the ballroom which would be far too anticlimactic, said, "Since we are engaged, I think it would be perfectly acceptable for you to kiss me."
Richard needed no further encouragement.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Yates Hall, the recently purchased country estate of Giles Madigan, was situated far enough out of London to be properly called a country estate, but close enough that guests traveling there for a three day house party did not consider the distance an inconvenience for so brief an entertainment. In addition to its agreeable locale, the estate also boasted a hedge maze—a most impressive specimen, which one could get lost in for hours . . . or at least pretend one had been lost.
Lizzy was beginning to think Darcy might actually be lost. She had been sitting alone on a bench at the center of the maze for at least a quarter of an hour, waiting. She could not be said to be waiting patiently.
She had done a bit of pacing about and found she was not nearly as good at it as Darcy. It made her feel silly. He always looked quite impressive when he did it. It gave him an air of effectiveness. Which of course was ridiculous because Lizzy was certain worrying was the least effective thing one could do. And yet here she was, worrying. Most ineffectively.
It had been all thought out. She had decided exactly how she would say what needed to be said and then the idiot had to go and get lost, giving her far too much time to rethink exactly how she would say what needed to be said. Then, as if that were not bad enough, he had still not shown up and she had had enough time to reconsider telling him altogether.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 21