Miss Darcy Falls in Love

by Sharon Lathan

  “Has it been difficult, Mr. Butler, dealing with your father’s displeasure?”

  He sighed, shrugging away his bitterness as he sat back into the sofa and stretched his long legs out. Neither gave any consideration to the relaxed, mildly improper posture they were engaged in, too comfortable with each other and caught up in conversation to notice. He gazed at the ceiling, hands clasped over his head, his voice introspective when he spoke.

  “The worse part is that I cannot convince him that my love and devotion to music does not mean that I do not adore our estate, Whistlenell Park, and revere the title that I shall someday wear. He persists in seeing it as an all or nothing proposition. In his view, my passion for the arts therefore excludes the ability to have a passion for anything else, including my home. He fears that I shall run off to live in some artist’s commune, embarking on a decadent lifestyle with prostitutes and degenerates, immersing myself in composing and playing until I am driven mad.” He laughed, glancing at Georgiana. “He has a fanciful imagination, my father.”

  “Indeed, he must, as even I would assert the unlikelihood of you doing any of those things.”

  “You know me better than you may suppose, Miss Darcy. For some reason, I find my mouth babbling on when we are in conversation. I pray you do not mind overly?”

  “Have I protested thus far, sir? Indeed, I am just as wordy, to my surprise. And you have already promised to keep my revelations to yourself, remember? I shall die of embarrassment otherwise.”

  “I definitely would not wish for that!” He chuckled, growing serious as he continued, “The truth is, Miss Darcy, as I have told you before, I know my musical gift is not a brilliant one.” He waved a hand to halt her instant negation. “Do not say it! Believe me, I have long since accepted the reality. That is not to say I debase myself entirely, as I know I am talented far above most. See”—he winked—“I am still arrogant and egotistical! There are few Mozarts or Bachs or Beethovens, but many others have minimal success and are content to entertain or contribute humbly. I see no reason why I cannot enhance and explore what talent God has given me while also embracing my role as Lord Essenton, when that time comes. Especially since that, as my grandmother is quick to point out to my father, will likely not be for years.”

  “You are his only son, Mr. Butler. Despite your conviction that he shall live a long life, it is not always a certainty. He probably is not consciously dwelling on his mortality, but the truth is that we never know when God will call us home. I imagine he worries that you will be unprepared.”

  “Indeed, I know you are correct. I have thought of all this, Miss Darcy. I am not an unfeeling son.”

  “I know you are not! I apologize if I spoke imprudently.”

  He smiled at her obvious distress, his voice warm and soothing. “I spoke imprudently, Miss Darcy. Please forgive me. I know you meant no disrespect or were making allegations. In fact, what you say is utterly accurate!” He laughed. “I am a man, many of my friends are men, and thus I am well aware of how insensate the male species typically is, especially when surrounded by females who delight in pointing it out. I am referring to my sisters,” he clarified to allay her instant self-recrimination. “Along with fabulous feminine fashion sense, I am also blessed with a heightened awareness of my own brainlessness in emotional matters, thanks to the hourly reminder, nearly from the moment Vivienne was able to speak.”

  Georgiana could not resist laughing. The mental image of a toddling Lady de Marcov badgering a child Mr. Butler was highly amusing!

  “I am afraid our time together is too short for me to relate all the mistakes I have made that my dear sisters have kindly taken upon themselves to correct me on. But back to the original topic, I am abundantly prepared to assume the Earl of Essenton mantle, Miss Darcy. My father first began sitting me on a stool situated by his side as he conducted estate business with our steward when I was seven. Every day without fail, whenever I was home, I spent an afternoon in management instruction. Until I was fifteen, I was not allowed to speak, could not ask a single question, or offer an opinion. I vividly recall the day when he first turned to me after discussing a matter of crop rotation with Mr. Kline, inquiring what I thought.” He smiled, eyes on the ceiling and faraway. “I knew it was a test, that if I said the wrong thing, or hesitated for a fraction of a second, another year would go by before he asked me again.”

  “What did you do?” Georgiana was raptly listening, mesmerized by the tale and the play of pleased emotions that ran over his handsome face.

  “I told him. I stood up from my stool, held his hard gaze, and specifically delineated how they should fallow the hundred acres to the north, plant wheat on the Richmond’s tenancy, and so on.” He looked at her, pride glowing. “I passed the test. For the next two years, until I went to Oxford, and then whenever I was home, I worked with him as much as possible.”

  He paused, expression serious as he continued to gaze at her. When he spoke, it was with a powerful and steady timbre rarely heard. “Music is one of my passions, a great one to be sure, but no more than my love for our ancestral home. I will be an excellent Master of Whistlenell Park and Lord Essenton when the time comes, Miss Darcy. My father has no reason to fear that I will not make him, and all my ancestors, proud.”

  “So… you resent that he does not trust you? That after all you have shown him, after all the passion of your convictions, he doubts you?”

  Sebastian sighed, nodding and finally looking away. “Yes, I suppose that is the crux of it. That, I confess, is where my bitterness lies. But I have accepted that I cannot convince him at this time, or probably ever. I could not choose to relinquish my dream of studying music and pursuing where that path leads me in favor of pleasing my father. That choice would surely lead to my misery. Thus I pray daily to the Almighty that time shall be in my favor, and I will be able to prove my trustworthiness and capability after fulfilling my personal satisfaction. I hope that does not make me sound horribly selfish?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. No, not at all. It is wise to know who we are and follow the path of fulfillment. One cannot please everyone anyway and will not be able to please anyone if unhappy.” She thought of her brother, marrying Elizabeth who was considered unworthy by so many yet brought him immeasurable joy.

  “Thank you. You are quite sensible, Miss Darcy, and for some reason your approval and understanding is important to me.” He stared into her eyes, another interlude of silent communication passing between them. Sebastian flushed at his private confession, looking away as he continued, “For now, my father is staying quiet. I suppose the wedding and our compromise are mollifying him.”

  “Which compromise?”

  “That I will assume my title as Viscount Nell while here and return home after a year or two at the Conservatoire to marry and take my place on the estate.”

  “He is anxious for you to marry then. Does he have a lady in mind?”

  Sebastian nodded, still staring into space and not catching the odd flatness to the question. “Yes. I have resisted, but if he had his way we would already be wed. It is strange, really, since he did not marry my mother until well into his third decade. Rumor has it he enthusiastically enjoyed his bachelor years and was not concerned with thoughts of matrimony and an heir, even after becoming Lord Essenton. For another five years he continued his wild ways, yet he all but forced me to be shackled ere I finished Oxford!”

  “Well, perhaps he saw the error of his choices and simply desires you not make those mistakes and find happiness as he did.”

  Sebastian barked a harsh laugh and returned his gaze to Georgiana. “How lovely it would be if that were the truth of it, Miss Darcy. My father and I probably have only one trait in common and that is not to rush into marriage, although our reasons for delay are different.”

  “What of your compromise?”

  “A compromise is not a promise. There is always room to wiggle around. Lord Nell I shall be, and in a few years I will return home,
and then I can deal with the properly aristocratic, titled lady he selects for me! Now”—he sat up abruptly, slapping his palms against his thighs—“we are becoming entirely too serious and stuffy. Would you care to accompany me in a walk to the church of Saint-Louis-en-l’Île? I hear it is quite remarkable but have never taken the time to view it.”

  “Well, then I shall have the upper hand in this adventure at least, as I have toured through the grounds and structure three times since arriving!”

  He bowed with a flourish. “Excellent! I shall place myself into your capable hands, Miss Darcy.”

  They strolled casually along the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l’Île toward the classic seventeenth-century church dedicated to King Louis IX, mingling with the varied pedestrians attending to their pursuits. They chatted amiably, Georgiana pointing to the occasional architectural facet or historical intrigue. Sebastian was amused at her role as cicerone, knowing from their talks that she was no more fascinated by history and architecture than he was.

  He paused at one point, indicating a blandly carved archway of boring brown stone over a servant’s entrance to one townhouse, asking in a serious tone, “Now tell me, Miss Darcy, in your professional expertise, would this be a Baroque-style portal, or is it more Gothic?”

  “Tease! Be thankful you are with me and not my brother. He would ponder your query, launching into a twenty-minute dissertation on the various differences between the two, and would then inform you that this is a perfect example of uniformed simplicity as well as probably giving the history of stonecutting and where this particular rock hailed from.”

  He laughed loudly, easily envisioning the prim Mr. Darcy doing just that. “Very well then. I applaud your restraint and will be forever appreciative that I am with this particular Darcy, for many superior reasons.” He said the last with a respectful incline of his head, eyes glittering. Georgiana blushed, shaking her head as she gently propelled him forward.

  The Jesuit church, built in the 1620s and much damaged during the Revolution, was greatly restored to its former glory. The collection of stained-glass windows alone would make the building worth visiting, but the round clock of iron that hung suspended from the steepled belfry and the golden-domed transept were additional spectacles.

  “I may not share my brother’s passion for architectural aesthetics, nor can I name more than a handful of famed designers,” Georgiana whispered as they passed through the vestibule, “but we both love the peace that pervades such places. Do you, Mr. Butler?”

  He nodded. “I do. Although I must say I have not spent too much time searching out unique places of worship as I traveled. Unless, of course, there was a famed pipe organ or glass harmonica to hear.” He paused, gazing serenely at the statues, his voice low and reflective when he resumed. “There is a church in a modest village near Brussels. It is small, fairly nondescript compared to many, but the acoustics are amazing. The organ is rather large for a small place, an eccentric gift by a wealthy local patron some hundred years ago. It is an Arp Schnitger, if you can believe it. They actually allowed me to play it.” He smiled, his face glowing with the memory. “It was incredible. I would love to share such an experience with you, Miss Darcy.” He stopped abruptly, eyes darting to hers before averting his gaze in embarrassment for being so presumptuous. “That is to say,” he stammered, “few I know would appreciate the tones and melody as you would.”

  He flashed a smile, walking a pace away to collect himself. For those brief seconds, his mind had readily conjured the image of the two of them side-by-side with their hands moving synchronously over the keys he so vividly remembered, as exquisite music created in unison rose to the heavens. The loss of such an enchanting vision, however unreal and impossible, was poignant and he needed to inhale vigorously to ease the tightening in his chest.

  They wandered in silence, exiting the side door to the garden area beyond. A number of other visitors strolled about the grounds, Georgiana and Sebastian unconsciously veering toward a large elm by a small pond where a rope swing sat vacant. Sebastian gestured to the wooden platform, smiling contentedly as Georgiana sat down. Gradually conversation resumed as he pushed her gently, the afternoon shadows lengthening into dusk before they returned to the de Valday townhouse.

  Lord and Lady Matlock greeted Mr. Butler with pleasure, quickly extending an invitation to dine with them that evening, but he begged their understanding in declining. “My grandmother is expecting me to dine with her tonight. She needs at least one night settling into town before all know she has arrived. By tomorrow her engagement calendar will be full and she shall no longer require my constant attention, unless it is to be as escort.” He laughed. “She did enlist me to invite all of you to dine with us on a day of your choosing. Was quite imperious about it, in fact, and I would be forever in your debt, my lady, if you and Lord Matlock and Miss Darcy agreed to the offer. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone are invited as well, of course. It would be an honor and a delight, as well as saving me from a tongue lashing for failing in my assigned task.”

  Lady Matlock laughed in understanding, promising to visit Lady Warrow on the morrow. “Georgiana, Lady Simone, and I will call upon her if she is agreeable, and we can plot our socialization schedules.”

  “Excellent! I shall tell her to expect you in the afternoon.” He managed to avoid glancing at Georgiana too often during the conversation, not wanting to betray his happiness in seeing her again so soon, and in the promise that their paths would cross frequently in common pursuits. “Lord Matlock, if it meets with your approval, Miss Darcy has agreed to honor me two days hence in touring the Louvre. I have a friend who works in the antiquities wing, as well as knowing the musical sections adequately myself. Miss Darcy seemed to believe Wednesday did not interfere with any laid plans and my friend is working that day so could sneak us in to the restricted sections. Of course, I would be thrilled to act as guide if you and Lady Matlock wished to join us?”

  Lord Matlock glanced to Georgiana. She stood placidly, her hands clasped and still, and her face composed. A faint rosiness highlighted her cheeks, and her eyes twinkled between her demurely downcast lashes, but otherwise she gave no clue to her inner thoughts. At these moments, he was struck by the similarities to her brother, despite the differences in their physical features.

  “If she agrees, I have no issue with the appointment. I am not that fond of museums myself, although I appreciate the offer, Mr. Butler, and I know Lady Matlock has a prior engagement.” He avoided looking at his wife, afraid that her face would betray surprise at the deception, since he well knew she had no plans for Wednesday. Yet apparently, they were aligned in their deviousness.

  “I would have imagined the Conservatoire top on your list of places to visit, Georgiana,” Lady Matlock ventured, “although I am sure the Louvre’s offerings are interesting.”

  “I did not wish to be presumptuous or possessive, and was unsure if you had gone already,” Mr. Butler began.

  “I am most anxious to visit the Conservatoire, Mr. Butler, and confess I was awaiting your expertise and familiarity with the facility.”

  Georgiana’s hasty interruption and entreating expression broadened his smile. “Name the day and it shall be done.”

  “Next week, if that is not too soon?”

  “Shall we plan for Monday next?”

  “Monday will be perfect.”

  He laughed at her giddy enthusiasm, inclining his head. “Monday it is then, with my pleasure.”

  Chapter Seven

  An Étude from the Choir

  Later that night, Lady Matlock entered the bedchamber assigned to her husband. Lord Matlock reclined upon stacked pillows, an open book on his lap, but he laid it aside and smiled as his wife approached. She slipped under the thick comforter, clasping his warm hand and bestowing a tender kiss onto his cheek.

  He reached up and brushed a stray lock of her blonde hair away from her face, holding her eyes. “Paris, the city of love, yes, my dear?”

 
She released a sensual chuckle, kissing the fingertips that rested on her lips. “It appears that any city in France brings romance to the fore.”

  “Despite my happiness in this actuality from a personal standpoint, I suspect you are referring to our niece?”

  “Partially.” She leaned in for a long kiss, her husband humming his appreciation. “I am curious to hear your thoughts on the subject, especially after your misinformation this afternoon. Are you, Lord Matlock, playing matchmaker?”

  “Only giving them the space to allow the natural course of things. You wish for my thoughts on whether Georgiana is falling in love with Mr. Butler and vice versa? Or my thoughts on the match in a general sense?”

  “Both.”

  He sighed, stretching and leaning further into the pillows. “He is the heir to the Essenton earldom, reportedly worth as much or more than my own estate. The line is an excellent one, with the Duke of Dorset as second cousin. Lord Essenton is well respected in the House of Lords.” He shrugged, looking at his wife. “You know as well as I, my dear, that there could be no impediments. Fitzwilliam could not wish for better.”

  “Fitzwilliam is not my concern.”

  “Ah. You refer to Lord Essenton’s assertion that his heir is to marry Lady Cassandra? As far as I can tell, there is not a formal arrangement between the two.”

  “I know. But he is quite vocal on the choice, even while planting seeds amongst every family of nobility with an eligible daughter. None doubt his insistence that his son marry a lady of high rank, a requirement amenable to dozens I could name off the top of my head. Why, the name of Mr. Sebastian Butler, Viscount Nell, is whispered loudly around the ladies of my circle! I do not believe the earl would be agreeable to an untitled woman, no matter how large her dowry.”

  “Georgiana will be a fine wife, possesses a substantial dowry, and is a befitting Lady Essenton. If they mutually wished to be wed, I cannot imagine Lord Essenton denying them.”