Lady Matlock nodded but did not feel the same conviction as her husband. In truth, Lord Matlock was not so sure either, his knowledge of Lord Essenton’s avowals greater than his wife’s.
“As for their romance,” he went on, answering her other request for his opinion, “I fear I am no good at reading such emotions. You are the expert there. But they do clearly enjoy each other’s company and have an incredible amount in common.”
“I have watched Georgiana mature over these past years, especially during these months abroad. In all ways she is a young lady of exemplary character and beauty. Yet, it has been her blossoming as a musician that has astounded me, Malcolm. I truly never foresaw the talent she possesses, nor would have predicted her boldly proclaiming it.”
“Indeed, I agree. And her confidence has grown exponentially just in this short time with Mr. Butler.”
“His gift is formidable, to be sure. I know Georgiana thinks very highly of him, and his encouragement has so inspired her. She expresses great thankfulness and delight in their friendship.”
Lord Matlock was studying his wife closely. “You fear she may misconstrue thankfulness for affection?”
Lady Matlock pursed her lips, eyes unfocused as she mused on the question. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I do not believe so. Quite the opposite is what I fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“From what she has told me, and the interactions I have witnessed with a woman’s perspective, I am convinced there is a mutual attraction. But they are both so determined to learn from each other, support the other’s artistry, be friends who share a mutual passion, that I do not think they are allowing themselves to feel anything deeper.”
“Perhaps there is nothing deeper, Madeline. Remember Mr. Giltenhelm?”
She laughed, squeezing his hand where it rested upon her knee. “Not still jealous, are you, husband?”
He grunted. “I was not jealous then, so shall not be so now. However, I did not appreciate the woman I hoped to marry maintaining a friendship with a man, even if he was nothing but a childhood playmate as close as a brother. The point is everyone thought he was perfect for you, that your long-standing relationship must be one of love. But you both knew otherwise. It took me many years to understand that you could be friends with a man, and I still regret that it was his death that led to full realization.”
She patted his hand, smiling her forgiveness. “Far in the past. But I see your point. We must watch them closely. I hate to see her hurt if either of their feelings turns to love unreciprocated. However, it may never evolve into more.”
“Now that we have hashed out another relationship crisis amongst our children, let us turn to our own relationship, shall we? Kiss me, my lady.”
“As you wish and command, my lord.”
***
The retired Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was not at all surprised when his wife entered his bedchamber that night. Unlike his parents, who held to the tradition of separate sleeping quarters, Lady Simone welcomed her husband into her bed as a permanent fixture. The only nights they did not sleep together were when she was required to comfort one of her children or care for her stepson, the current Lord Fotherby.
Concern for the latter was the reason she was not already entangled amid rumpled sheets next to his bared body. A letter arriving that day from the eighteen-year-old Marquess of Fotherby, who remained safely ensconced at his estate in High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, with a house full of servants, three friends from boarding school, and two physicians needed to be read to Harry and Hugh Pomeroy. Her nine- and six-year-old sons worried over the half brother they loved, and reassuring them that he was well took priority.
Richard understood this. Nevertheless, he was impatient for her return. Partly that was out of a desire to pull her onto the smooth sheets of their bed and engage in activity sure to thoroughly rumple them, but primarily it was to read the missive himself! His fondness for young Oliver was genuine and he too would be relieved to read of his well-being. Therefore, he jumped up when the door opened, greeting his wife with a kiss while exchanging a brandy glass for the folded parchment.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, taking a sip of the warmed liquid.
Richard merely nodded, his eyes scanning the bold cursive dried onto the paper even as he encircled her slim waist and steered her toward the plumped pillows on the bed.
“This is very good news,” he murmured. “He says he has not suffered any serious bouts since our departure, has been out riding twice, and attended Lord Farnsworth’s ball. He does not say if he danced…”
“Knowing Oliver I rather doubt it,” Simone interjected with a chuckle.
“Yes, true.” Richard flipped to the next page. “The tonic Dr. Darcy prescribed appears to be working. Even Dr. Lowes has seen no need to bleed him, and that is a minor miracle that speaks for itself. Ah! He beat Trencher at darts! Well done, Oliver, well done.”
“After all the practice he has gotten with you, he should be able to beat Aniston as well.”
“I am sure in time he will.”
Richard continued to read even as they settled onto the wide bed. Simone leaned against his side, daintily drinking the brandy while rereading Oliver’s letter along with her husband.
“How interesting,” Richard said after minutes of silent reading. “He writes that Trencher’s family visited for a fortnight, pointedly mentioning Lady Janelle a good half dozen times. I wonder if he is infatuated with her?”
“Not that he has ever revealed to me.”
“Well, he does a fair amount of appreciative gazing at the ladies, even if he is too shy to ask one to dance. Perhaps Lady Janelle will be the one to spur him into action,” he suggested with a naughty chuckle.
“I am not sure he is capable of being spurred into action, as you delicately put it.”
Richard lowered the letter onto his lap and turned toward his wife. A pall of sadness overshadowed her face, not diminishing her beauty but wrenching her husband’s heart. He kissed her forehead, stroking over her cheek and replying with conviction, “You worry unnecessarily. Yes, he is shy and immature for his age due to his illness, this is true, but in the year I have known him, he has grown taller and wider in the chest. His voice is deeper. And he is much stronger, as evidenced by his successes on horseback and in shooting. Gradually he is becoming a man with a man’s interests.”
“Lord Fotherby was not so convinced,” she countered, referring to her deceased first husband by his title, as she always did in conversation. “His revelations of Oliver’s mother and her difficulties in… the marriage bed, in conceiving and carrying her pregnancies led him to believe their only child may not be able to… react as a man should.”
Richard laughed at her hesitant, oblique way of summing up the sexual act, Simone blushing and hiding her face in his shoulder. They had been married for over a year, neither virgins when they wed and robust in the intimate realms of their life, yet she remained demure with a tendency to blush. He thought it charming and humorous.
“Let me see how far the rosiness has spread this time, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.” He peeled the nightgown off her shoulder, exposing her breasts and lightly trailing his fingertips across them, Simone squirming and goose bumps rising. “Not as yet, ah! Wait! Yes, there it is, that beautiful flush touching your skin.”
He bent to bestow several kisses to her pink bosoms, mumbling words of praise against the fullness before lifting to meet her adoring eyes.
“Erase your worries of Oliver. When we return I will have a man-to-man chat with him, although I am sure your fears are groundless.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You would ask him bluntly if he… well, if he can…”
“Yes, I will ask him bluntly. I am a soldier, or was, so gritty conversations about manly pursuits do not disturb my sensibilities. Men are not as gentlemanly as they like to pretend, my lady, but I promise to be circumspect if you wish.”
“Thank you. He may not be as willingly forthcoming as
you suspect.”
Richard grinned, shaking his head. “If you say so, Simone, but I think you would be surprised. And speaking of blunt conversations,” he rushed on before she could disagree about Oliver, “did you or my mother have any luck with Georgiana?”
She shook her head. “Nothing of any certainty, no. She is fond of Mr. Butler, there can be no doubt of that, and she does tend to gush, but primarily in regards to his musical knowledge and expertise. I sense something more but cannot be sure.”
“You did not simply ask her, ‘Are you in love with Mr. Butler?’ That would have been the easiest way.”
“Richard,” she chided, playfully swatting his arm, “that would have been a useless tactic.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. She may not have answered directly or truthfully, but you would have discerned the answer in her eyes. Do women not have an intuitive sense about these matters? A clairvoyance betwixt the sexes we imperceptive men do not possess?”
“Where in the world did that fanciful idea spring from?” She shook her head and chuckled at his dramatic delivery—he was clutching his chest, his voice lifting into a dreamy intonation. “How ridiculous! Besides, you forget that my time with Miss Darcy has been short. She has barely arrived in Paris after months away, and we had scant time to become deeply acquainted in the month surrounding our wedding. Additionally, Mr. Butler only arrived today! It requires a span of greater length and intensity for the clairvoyant bond to be established.”
“Ha!” He fell against the pillows in laughter. “I knew it!” He kissed her dimpling cheek.
“Really, Richard, if your mother is not sure of her sentiments, how am I to know? You are undoubtedly the best one to read her face in response to Mr. Butler. You can be the judge, since you know her best.”
“When it comes to reading Georgie’s emotions of love, I am clearly not the one to judge.”
“Richard…”
“After all,” he continued, his eyes averted, “I leapt to the conclusion that I felt passion for Georgiana when really I needed and wanted her to drown my grief over losing you, while improperly interpreting your emotions toward me. If I had not failed, many things would have been different.” He returned his gaze to her face, squeezing the warm hands that were tightly clasped within his. “Now I see clearly. I see the fullness of your desire and heart. I see it in your eyes, my love, every time you look at me.”
“How romantic,” she said with a teasing lilt but also with an undertone of seriousness. “But as I have told you many, many times, my dearest, you are far too severe. Deep in your soul you knew I loved you and would never willingly leave. You also knew that what you and Georgiana felt for each other was not a strong passion. You did interpret correctly and that is why you did not force matters with Georgiana and why you came back to London.”
“And why we are together now.”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for a long while, their hearts bare with love that pulsed in a synchronized beat. Finally Richard smiled, dropping his eyes to her exposed chest and licking his lips.
“So, I guess what you are telling me is that the burden of discovery has been abdicated to me?”
“Oh, do not sound so put upon! You know your mother will not relent in her delving, and I am to understand Lord Matlock has developed a taste and talent for deception as well.” Richard’s brow lifted in question, Simone laughingly telling him of that encounter. “Yet in the end we may all be in error.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they may be nothing more than friends who play the pianoforte together and talk of notes and scales. They hardly know each other!”
“Mother seems convinced there is something more.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Maybe we will discern something when we actually meet the gentleman at dinner tomorrow night. I say save your speculations until after, proceeding with circumspection. And for heaven’s sake, do not frighten the poor young man with any of your ‘gritty conversations’!”
“No talk of ‘manly pursuits’ either? May I talk of manly pursuits now? Or preferably not talk about them and act upon them instead?”
Lady Simone’s response—an affirmative one—was not verbalized either, action the preferable option for both of them.
***
The young woman who was the center of this speculation sat on the padded bench of her vanity table in the bedchamber selected for her, at the far end of the hall, down from the larger quarters designed for married couples. The room was small, but warm and cozy and well-appointed. Georgiana was content with the arrangements, not that she was in a current state of mind to be discontented about anything.
She did not realize that she was humming under her breath, the tune suspiciously similar to the one she had been playing that afternoon when Mr. Butler arrived. She was aware that she was smiling, since she was staring at her reflection in the mirror, but that she attributed to the friendly chat she was engaged in with her companion, Mrs. Annesley.
The older woman was listening more than contributing to the conversation, a pleased smile upon her face as well. She pulled the stiff bristled brush through her charge’s thick, waist-length hair, mentally counting each stroke while she harkened to the softly spoken words.
“I wish you had not left, Amanda, so you could have heard the Psalms of King David that Mr. Butler set to music and was so kind as to play for me. Lord and Lady Matlock returned to the chateau, our impromptu concert necessarily ending at that time, but he has accepted my invitation to tea on the morrow so you will hear the psalms for yourself.”
“I shall delight in them, I am sure.”
“I thought his interpretation was brilliant, but of course he would not accept such high praise.” She shook her head, pausing to pour a palm full of Warren and Rosser’s Milk of Roses from the glass bottle sitting on the linen-draped vanity tabletop, humming in the interim. She began smoothing the oil over her arms, returning to the topic after a slight laugh.
“He is so humble. This is an excellent trait, of course, but rather maddening at the same time. I am sure he will realize his potential once at the Conservatoire.”
“You are pleased he is here.” It was not a question, Mrs. Annesley continuing to brush while surreptitiously watching Georgiana’s reaction.
Georgiana blushed. Quickly reaching to rub the soothing oil over her cheeks to hide the rosiness, she replied calmly, “Of course, it is nice to see a familiar face. His company is pleasing to be sure, but I also weary of constantly being forced to establish new associations and remember more names. I think my poor head shall burst with all the lords and ladies and convoluted French names! It is comforting to socialize with someone I have already gone through the preliminaries with, as it will comfort me when the de Valdays arrive.”
“Although they do not possess your passion for music. It is lovely to see you sharing your interest in this way, Miss Georgiana.”
“Is it not a wonder? So rarely does one find a kindred spirit and Mr. Butler is so knowledgeable! I could dig into his brain for ages and never uncover all he knows, I am sure of it.”
“Did Mr. Butler restate his intention to escort you to the Conservatoire?”
“Oh yes! Monday next, and on Wednesday we are touring the Louvre. I hope you are prepared for the adventures?”
“I am sure it will be educational, if not embraced with the full glory of delight as it will be by you, my dear.”
Georgiana laughed at Mrs. Annesley’s mocking expression reflected in the mirror. “I may yet transform you into a woman who loves art and poetry, Amanda. I refuse to give up!”
“And I refuse to give up in enticing you to read one of my romantic novels. I am reading Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest now, if you wish me to read aloud?”
“Thank you for the kind offer, but I shall stay with Mr. Charles Burney’s History of Music for the present.”
“Is that the book Mr. Butler brought you?” She sniffed when Georgiana nodd
ed. “Pity. I was hoping for something scandalous or titillating like Polidori’s The Vampyre.”
“Mrs. Annesley! Can you imagine how inappropriate that would be?”
“Then why are you laughing and your eyes shining, my dear? There, your hair has been brushed the obligatory one hundred strokes so it will shine as brilliantly as the sun, rendering you as breathlessly beautiful as an angel for Mr. Butler to feast his eyes upon while playing his psalms of heavenly glory!”
“Goodness, the ridiculous things you say! I should burn your fanciful novels ere all hope is lost.”
“But you will not because you delight in my teasing. Now, off to bed with you! I will tidy up here, and probably still be at work when you fall asleep after one page of your dreary book.”
Georgiana stood, leaning to kiss her friend and companion on the cheek before doing as ordered. Propped comfortably on several pillows, she began to read the volume given to her that afternoon by Mr. Butler, the gentleman stating simply that, “I finally found where I had tucked it in my trunk and knew you would like this Burney after quoting liberally from The Present State of Music.” In seconds she was engrossed, the smile intact and the humming recommenced.
Amanda Annesley silently moved about the room, picking up the few items dropped onto the floor or left out of place. It was an easy chore since Georgiana Darcy was extraordinarily neat. In reality, she tarried and fabricated tasks in order to observe the young lady circumspectly while mulling over the recent developments.
Five years ago, she had been hired to serve as a companion to Miss Darcy. Newly widowed and with limited resources, it was a sensible charge to accept. During her interview with the somewhat frightening and severe Mr. Darcy, all she had been told was that his sister had suffered a recent trauma and deception by someone close to her. His ominous speech and simmering anger gave her pause, but when she met Miss Darcy all she saw was a painfully timid girl of fifteen who, to her way of thinking, needed a motherly, or at least sisterly, touch.
It did not happen overnight to be sure. In time, however, Georgiana did warm to Mrs. Annesley, the warmth gradually leading to friendship. The presence of Mrs. Darcy in the family and the close relationship that evolved between the two initiated a true transformation. Other friendships with young ladies of her age and station, such as Mary and Kitty Bennet, Bertha Vernor, and Vera Stolesk aided her blossoming.
Miss Darcy Falls in Love Page 10