Miss Darcy Falls in Love

by Sharon Lathan

  The story of Mr. Wickham and the near elopement was offered in stages, and by the time Mrs. Annesley heard the entire tale, it no longer held any significance. The reticent, awkward girl encountered when she accepted the post had grown into a graceful, clever, charming young woman with numerous acquaintances. She danced at balls and conversed with relative ease. She excelled at card games and engaged in intellectual discourse.

  Yet traces of shyness and reserve lingered, especially with crowds or unfamiliar people. With gentlemen, her conversations were fleeting and superficial, engaged in on a dance floor or group setting, and never flirtatious or gregarious. The number of intimate friends was few and they were all female except for her cousin Richard.

  And the latter thought caused Mrs. Annesley to pause in folding the shawl in her hands to gaze at her young friend. Georgiana continued to read, the smile fixed and musical humming ongoing. There was something indefinably altered in her countenance these past weeks, a glow of happiness and maturity not seen before.

  Are you in love?

  Mrs. Annesley wanted to ask the question. She had asked it of Miss Darcy once before. Then, it was in regards to Colonel Fitzwilliam, although she had already known the answer. Asking the question was for Georgiana’s benefit, the bluntness necessary to force her to face the truth. The answer, of course, was yes, she loved him as her dearest friend, and no, not as a passionate lover. Facing the truth eased the pain of loss when he returned to Lady Simone. It was impossible to mourn the demise of a connection that had not truly existed. The relevant relationship of deep familial friendship remained intact.

  Asking the question in regards to Mr. Butler at this juncture would be pointless. Mrs. Annesley knew her young lady well enough to recognize that Georgiana would be unable to answer with clarity. Georgiana did not know her heart, Mrs. Annesley perceived, but whether that was due to stubborn denial or because the sentiments were in their infancy she could not divine.

  Despite Miss Darcy’s maturity, she was yet an innocent. Her young lady was utterly unaware of Mr. Butler’s flare of desire at the piano. How long can her innocence last? Surely someone will pierce her heart and awaken the woman inside. Will it be Mr. Butler? And what are his feelings for Miss Darcy? Merely an intense friendship and nothing more?

  “Amanda? Is something amiss?”

  Mrs. Annesley smiled, covering the jolt out of her contemplative reverie by applying another fold to the shawl. “Nothing, dear. Woolgathering. Do not stay up too late reading. It would not do to fall asleep mid psalm, now would it?”

  Third Movement

  Development

  Chapter Eight

  Syncopation at the Conservatoire

  The weeks passed in a flurry of activity. The relaxed serenity of Georgiana’s initial days in Paris ended. Every day and each evening there was a planned event of some type.

  The maisons outside the limits of Paris proper, the numerous opulent hôtels catering to the wealthy traveler, and the abundant townhouses of the upper classes were overflowing with visitors from Europe. It was 1820, the Prince Regent was newly crowned as King George IV, and the return of semi-stability after decades of revolution and Napoleonic control—aided by the restoration of the Bourbon Dynasty with Louis XVIII on the throne—allowed for a resurgence in tourism. Political upheaval and debate continued to rage, King Louis not universally loved and adored, but the aristocracy and social elite generally ignored such intrigues for the draw of entertainments.

  Droves of Englishmen, too long deprived of the glories of Paris and desiring to escape the colder climes of England, flocked to the more temperate zones of France in February. There was a celebratory atmosphere in this country in the midst of regeneration. Nothing, not weather or season or social class, inhibited the fun. Days were spent touring the gardens of the Tuileries and Luxembourg palaces, riding along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées or viewing the divers museum expositions. Nights were passed at the Opéra-Comique, Académie Royale de Musique, a fashionable ball, or salon.

  Paris was a city that never seemed to sleep. Someone, somewhere, was hosting a gala or dinner party or exhibit or festivity, and the odds were high that the Marchioness of Warrow knew about it. And was invited. The Earl and Countess of Matlock, although not as notorious and familiar to the whole of Paris society, were certainly honored temporary residents whose presence was desired. Mr. Butler and Miss Darcy, esteemed in their own right as English dignitaries, nonetheless benefited from the acclaim of their elders.

  Georgiana, accustomed to the cyclical social seasons of London, was somewhat taken aback to discover the Paris of winter nearly as bustling as in the previous summer when she had been visiting with William, Lizzy, and George Darcy. Now she was surrounded by Lord and Lady Matlock, the newlywed Fitzwilliams, and a host of new acquaintances. By late February, the de Valday siblings would join the shifting crowds of younger folk who inhabited the ballrooms, galleries, and gardens of Paris with their chaperones conspicuously present. New introductions were made on a daily basis, in large numbers, and previous friendships from the ton of London were renewed. At no time was there a lack of companionship and lively entertainment.

  Yet, as in Lyon, Georgiana unconsciously gravitated toward Mr. Sebastian Butler and vice versa. The two rarely passed a day or evening, and never both, without seeing each other. They discovered their commonalities included more than just music. Dancing, plays, art exhibits, and horseback rides were among their other shared passions, partaken of in varying degrees, either with their new acquaintances accompanying or alone with Mrs. Annesley acting as chaperone.

  Inevitably they managed to secure quiet periods in the music room, poring over sheets of scale-lined parchment either stamped with notes that they learned to play or blank until their quills etched created melodies. They neither planned the phenomenon nor spoke of it specifically, but collaboration had become the highlight of their lives.

  “This scale here,” Georgiana said, her fingers spread elegantly and the descant played as she watched his face.

  He nodded, scribbling the notes hastily. “Yes, yes. That is good, very good. Perhaps then a… here, let me try.”

  He sat onto the bench, Georgiana scooting over to make room. Unerringly his hands repeated her previous chords, his longer and broader fingers every bit as delicate. The tones emitted were beautiful, lilting, and emotive, his ideas blending with her inspirations flawlessly. He closed his eyes, allowing the music to flow through him, adding fresh inspirations in the same cadence for several measures until suddenly, accidentally, slipping with a jarring dissonance.

  They both winced and shuddered.

  “That was truly awful,” Georgiana declared with a grimace.

  Sebastian chuckled. “Indeed. I would have to agree.”

  “And you were doing so well. What a pity. Look, goose pimples.” She held up her smooth arm with a grin for his inspection.

  He grunted, faking a severe frown. “Teasing, unforgiving woman! Give me another chance.”

  “Please do. And try to do better this time so the chills will disappear from my spine.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder, Georgiana giggling and nudging him back. Their eyes met briefly before he again attacked the keys, replaying from the beginning. He subtly altered the pitch and modulation, expertly capturing the andante tempo and soft terraced dynamics of the cowritten piece, the melody gentle and light.

  She placed her hands upon the keys, matching his dolce playing for a while, and then adding a lyric refrain, a glissando, several staccato notes, and other improvised embellishments in harmony with his notes but in an accelerating beat.

  He laughed, his own fingers following her pattern at the same increasing speed, melding perfectly. They shared a smiling look, hands continuing to move as their eyes held the other, until in synchrony they ended with a vibrant culmination.

  “Ha! You turned our divertimento into a capriccio!”

  She shrugged, laughter bubbling in her voice when she spo
ke. “It seemed fitting after your disaster.”

  “Miss Darcy saves the composition. Very well then, prove your superiority over the bungling man by writing down your brilliance, I dare you.”

  “Challenge accepted!” She rose amid the laughter, commencing furious writing as he grinningly replayed the finale.

  “There,” Georgiana proclaimed proudly, lifting the paper and blowing to dry the ink. “All done!”

  “Let me see.” He rose, standing beside her at the piano’s edge, fingertip gliding over the surface as he read the freshly inscribed score. His lips silently mouthed the notes and head nodded slightly with the tune playing in his mind.

  Georgiana watched his face, captivated by the intent expression and animated gestures playing over his handsome features as he read the music. For not the first time, she became aware of a fluttering in her heart, a quickening of her breathing, and mild flush to her cheeks as she stared at his profile and felt his arm brushing against hers. Innocent she may be, but she was not a fool. That she was becoming increasingly attracted to him in a way never experienced with another was no longer a question.

  It was Sebastian who invaded her slumber and brought joy to her day. Urgency to see him was her waking thought, even while a blush spread over her cheeks as the nature of her dreams was recalled. Each night she fell asleep with a smile, as memories of their hours together replayed through her mind, even as a frown creased her brow by the dilemma of her sentiments.

  She felt hypnotized by his presence in a way she knew was inappropriate under their unique circumstances. He was her friend, someone she admired and respected. Her affection for him was real and growing, but so was her awareness of his purpose. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was a romantic entanglement. She knew he did not see her as anything but a friend and fellow artist, and she would never allow her fancies to interfere with his goals.

  Her heart constricted. The ache of longing weakened her knees and was visible upon her face. If he had chosen that second to turn her way, all would have been revealed, and she knew it.

  She swallowed, smothered the silly impulses, and harshly shoved the feelings aside. With practiced Darcy steel, she smoothed her features and started to turn her eyes away from the rapt contemplation of his face.

  But he chose that moment to lift his eyes and meet her stare. For a long second that stretched for illusory hours, their gazes locked.

  Understanding and acceptance hovered at the edges. Emotions flared and danced in their eyes. Currents sizzled and sparked within the minuscule space that separated their bodies. The yearning to touch, to cross the invisible barrier, to speak the words tickling the tips of their tongues pounded through their bodies with gale force. Yet for some reason, the onslaught paralyzed them, and they stayed, neither moving nor speaking.

  Georgiana broke the spell first, determinedly dragging her dazed blue eyes away from his face with a monumental effort. “Did you discover any errors?” Her voice was calm and her hand surprisingly steady when she picked up the sheet of music, stepping away several paces to pretend studied attentiveness to the pages.

  “Yes. That is, no. No errors. It is excellent, as I expected.”

  His voice was husky, gray eyes following her movements. What is happening to me? Again the intense sensations of friendship, attraction, and sexual arousal chaotically crashed together and blotted out his reason. Am I falling in love with her? He cringed at the thought, not so much because he was adverse to the idea, but because he knew she did not feel the same. It was evident in how she moved away, in how serene her demeanor, in how blank her beautiful blue eyes. If she felt the same, would I not detect a hint of desire or shaken composure? Yet she was forever restrained, warm, and playfully teasing him, not unlike one of his sisters.

  He cleared his throat, standing straighter as he mentally shook off the troubling thoughts and they reverted to their typical bantering. “We should play this for Professor Florange at the Conservatoire today. He would be greatly impressed.”

  “Flatterer! It is not nearly that good.”

  “It is brilliant, Miss Darcy. You truly must learn to trust me in this and trust in your talent. You are very gifted.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Butler. I appreciate the compliment, but it was a collaboration, so any brilliance in the piece is equally yours to boast of.”

  “Indeed, you are correct, madam! This means that as equal owner of the masterpiece, I can show it to Professor Florange!” He snatched the pages from her grasp, dancing away from her lunging hands nimbly with a mischievous laugh. “Now we shall have the unbiased opinion we are craving—”

  “You are craving, not I!”

  “As you wish. But I tell you, you are special, and you should know it.”

  “Mr. Butler, please. You must not say such things. And I do not desire scrutiny beyond yours.”

  “Why ever not?”

  She shook her head, successfully grabbing the pages out of his hand. “I simply do not. Let us leave it at that, shall we?” He did not reply, staring at her with his brows twisted by a question as she tucked the sheets into his case. “Promise me you will desist in such talk, please?”

  She lifted her gaze to his, holding steady until he finally nodded. “Very well, I promise.”

  ***

  The broad corridors, immense musical chambers, and chair-lined classrooms of the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique in Paris were crowded with teachers and students of both sexes. Founded in 1795 by the National Convention, that temporary legislative government that ruled during the Revolution years, this free school of higher musical education was one of the most prestigious conservatoires in Europe. Tuition may be paid by the state, but admission was based on musical skill and the passing of rigorous exams. In this, Mr. Sebastian Butler had encountered no difficulties.

  He had opted to enroll for the fall session, desiring some months of free study and enlightenment as he toured about Europe before settling into a regular schedule of classes.

  “I am keeping my options loose,” he explained to Georgiana as they drove along Rue Bergère toward the gigantic brick building housing the Conservatoire. “I would like to complete the full three-year term, but that may be impossible since my father is reluctantly allowing two years. It is not necessary to study longer, as I do not intend to pursue a living in music. I will never join the Opéra-Comique or Opéra de Paris. Have no desire to do so, as you know.” He smiled at Georgiana from across the gently rocking carriage. “The truth, Miss Darcy, is that I am becoming a bit homesick. Do not divulge this to my father! You too, Mrs. Annesley, are sworn to secrecy.”

  Georgiana’s companion smiled. “Your secret will go to my grave, sir.”

  “Much appreciated. The green fields of Staffordshire are calling to me. There are unique fragrances that only exist there, flora and fauna I adore, and landscapes etched upon my heart. Also, it is difficult to be away from my sisters, but for now I am content with this course and shall not battle Lord Essenton over the matter unless time reveals I must.”

  “Do you fear studying at the Conservatoire may appear tame after you pass the summer in Vienna?”

  “The conservatory of Vienna is new and not well-established. I recently read that Antonio Salieri is the director, and it will be an honor to meet him. But Paris is where true learning is an art. And music is never tame, is it? Ah, here we are.”

  He guided her through the arched doorway, her hand firmly tucked into the crook of his arm. Large crowds of unknown people still rendered her momentarily mute and unsettled, her inherited shyness never totally dissipating, although after two visits to the bustling Conservatoire, she was not as nervous.

  She had discovered that Sebastian possessed a quiet ease in almost all situations. He was far from loud or boisterous, his manners sedate and impeccable, and he frequently tended to remain silent as he observed those around him; however, it was not from timidity, but more from an inner self-confidence that did not require extraneous affirma
tion. Conversation with complete strangers was effortless on his part, a talent she did not have.

  He looked at her with an understanding smile, patting her gloved fingers lightly in reassurance. His smooth, casual sauntering through the active bodies, most of them intent on some purpose that did not include idle chatter with strangers, allayed the worst of her nervousness. He nodded and smiled politely at the occasional familiar face but did not halt.

  “I thought today we would first visit the opera rehearsals,” he murmured, leading her to a set of wide stairs. “That is always fascinating to observe. And I can introduce you to some people I know. I can tell you right now, Miss Darcy, that the current reigning soprano leaves much to be desired. Your voice is superior.” He continued in a steady stream of softly uttered dialogue, his resonant tones soothing and sentences entertaining. By the time they arrived at the large theatre where an operatic performance was being practiced, she was completely relaxed.

  She did agree that the soprano practicing was not excellent but merely adequate. However, she would not agree with Sebastian’s assertion that her voice was far better. He introduced her to a few of the singers and stage personnel, but the bulk of his acquaintances were in the music departments. On the one hand, she was amazed at how many people he knew based on brief visitations in the past, yet on the other, his openness and humor was magnetic—especially to women, a fact that irritated Georgiana profoundly. And considering how few women inhabited the halls of the Conservatoire compared to men, there must have been a communications network of some sort informing every last one that he was in the building!

  She was fully aware that jealousy generated her annoyance, and she should have been troubled by such an unsavory emotion regarding a man she insisted was merely a friend. Luckily, the acute yearning to slap every woman who greeted him with a flirtatious, “How wonderful to see you again, Mr. Butler!” was overshadowed by her awe at the impressive atmosphere.