by Massey, Beth
Currently, Anne viewed Edmund with great favour as he had promised to choose a matched pair for her from Tattersalls to replace the ponies she had for her phaeton. She was such a fickle creature—one day she wanted greys and then next only chestnuts would do and just as quickly she would return to greys. Ever since he had told her of the daily promenade in Hyde Park, she had become determined to be a most fashionable participant. She was even dreaming of eventually becoming one of the few ladies who drove a perch-phaeton. They were set for him to teach her to manage two horses while they were at Rosings for Easter. Her goal to become a ‘first rate fiddler’ was rarely out of her thoughts. Upon observing the ladies who had achieved that appellation, nothing but a boy groom, in a livery of black and yellow stripes would do. A ‘tiger’ to stand behind her had gone to the top of her list for things she must have by the start of the Season. Darcy tolerated her ambition, but Edmund could tell he did not share her enthusiasm.
Despite his indifference to the theatre, he’d agreed to a night out with the Darcys. All in all, except for that tiresome lecture over his debts and that one incident where he and his stiff cousin argued over the smoking of cigars, his sojourn at Darcy House had been pleasant. At least this evening afforded him the chance to ogle the participants, though the pickings were slim this time of year. As they made their way to the Darcy box, he smiled amiably at those of his acquaintance. When seated, he noticed several ladies and their mamas who eyed him from behind their fans. He laughed with the knowledge that there were plenty of other rich fish in the sea when it came time to get riveted.
As he surveyed the spectators upon arrival, an unexpected sight set his blood tingling and snapped his sporting instincts into a salute. He could not take his eyes off a very young woman practically hanging out of the box across the way. Even from this distance, there was something about her that did not smell of the ton. Those from the first circle who still occupied the schoolroom always seemed coyly aware of any opportunity to be seen and admired—their mothers and governesses having groomed them to that necessity. This one seemed wholly unconcerned that she was unfavourably calling attention to herself with her exuberant enjoyment. Before the commencement of the play, she too had seemed to be curious about those in the surrounding boxes. When their eyes had met, he had smiled—and he was certain she had blushed.
Now that her attention was directed toward the stage, his gaze rarely wavered from the object of his delight. As he watched her, he speculated about her circumstances and became inflamed with the provoking thought that this was one he might capture. Her gown was girlish and far from the latest style even for young misses. A profusion of reddish-gold hair, not styled in careful ringlets, but simply hanging in a riot of curls with nothing but a ribbon to repress it was her crowning glory. She was in a box with Sir Gareth Hughes—a neighbour in Derbyshire—accompanied by Lady Hughes and another man and woman. The other couple with this fascinating little pixie were dressed fashionably but they were unknown to him. The woman appeared too young to be the bird’s mother. Perhaps she was with a preoccupied older brother and sister, or maybe a careless aunt and uncle were hosting their country niece. The absence of familiarity would leave her vulnerable. This chit was just the way he liked them—tiny and not at all womanly. Her face, what he could see of it, was dominated by large, expressive eyes, the way children’s are before they grow into their features—eyes so very appealing. How he would delight in seeing them helpless.
London bored him without funds to pursue his pleasures in earnest, but his only other alternative was Elderton. His father in residence there until Easter, made that an objectionable choice. The Earl incessantly pushed for his firstborn to marry and produce an heir. Most importantly, he ordered him to find a young woman with a large dowry. The last time he had endured his father’s urging, his patriarch had said even a ‘cit chit’ was acceptable as long as she brought at least fifty thousand pounds with her to the altar. Their family, an ancient titled one, could stand the stench of money from trade as long as there was plenty of it. Through his brother Richard, the Viscount had met a candidate for the position. Captain Fitzwilliam had seemed quite fond of this Eleanor Harding, but he had neglected to propose before he left London for his military obligations. If he liked her that meant she was not a vulgar harpy, caring about nothing but improving her family’s connections. His brother preferred pleasant, amiable women who loved dancing and witty discourse. With his considerable charm, good looks and title, Eleanor and her considerable dowry should be his before the Season was over. Until then, the little bird across the theatre held the possibility of providing a delightful diversion.
As he watched the presumed country lass, a plan began to form. Sir Gareth’s estate lay next to Pemberley in Derbyshire, and Darcy must speak to his nearest neighbour, or appear rude. He only need be present when Darcy made the introductions, and he could count on Mrs Darcy to divert suspicions from his intentions. Once acquainted, he could easily encourage Anne to befriend her.
Lord Wolfbridge returned his thoughts to his ability to charm his cousin. In an unguarded moment, when she was about the age of the one across the way, she had told him she wished her mother was set on a marriage for her to him instead of Darcy. After her admission, he had thought briefly about pursuing such a union of convenience but was not prepared to act at that time. Anne had been pleasingly small, but it had seemed the result of poor health; and not the innocent child-like appearance he preferred. Also Anne might not have been as accepting of an indifferent marriage with Edmund as she was with Darcy—that could have been troublesome. The Viscount did not need the family discussing his peccadilloes at every gathering. Of course, his stiff cousin was never going to commit any indiscretions.
Lord Wolfbridge noticed that his cousin’s eyes had also often left the stage in favour of watching the little bit in Sir Gareth’s box. His lordship was momentarily distracted from his pleasurable thoughts as he observed both the fascination and the discomfort the vision was causing Darcy. He doubted he had a rival in his cousin, since very little besides duty and honour ever seemed to rouse passion in the master of Pemberley.
Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself mesmerized by the same vision as his cousin, a very young female—more a girl than a woman—leaning precipitously out of Sir Gareth’s box. Normally such hoydenish behaviour would cause him to dismiss such a creature, but he was curiously drawn to her. From what he could see of her face, partially obscured by an abundance of hair, she displayed an amazing array of emotions as she mouthed Miranda’s dialogue. Oddly, sometimes she seemed to be out of step with the play. He wondered what caused her sadness when she should have been laughing at the inebriated antics of Trinculo and Stephano. Still, she obviously knew The Tempest well.
Her enthusiasm caused him to remember his first time seeing Shakespeare performed by a professional troupe. He’d come to see Hamlet with his parents, and he, too, had known much of the dialogue. The brooding Danish prince with an obsession for doing his duty by avenging the murder of his father by his uncle had captured his thirteen-year-old imagination. Now, he experienced something that had nothing to do with family honour or exposing villainy when he looked at this young woman. As he tried to put words to his feelings, he settled on kindred spirit—and a belief that what captured his admiration was her enthusiasm and unaffected manner. Thoughts of what might be the basis for his cousin’s interest left him momentarily unnerved. It was definitely not her love of Shakespeare. He was appalled to think his own appreciation could stem from someplace akin to Edmund’s. He was, after all, a married man, and any breach of propriety was abhorrent.
He had married his cousin for noble reasons. Though their marriage had not been founded on the romantic notions poets wrote about, it existed as an honourable and sensible match. The disparity between his life and Anne’s had pulled at his heart strings from an early age. The Fitzwilliam sisters had differed in the treatment of their children. Lady Anne had expressed her love for him without rese
rvation; while Lady Catherine had offered little affection to her only child. It was not that Anne was neglected, so much, as that her mother seemed to feel it her duty to control every aspect of her daughter’s life.
Each year when he would visit Rosings, the two would steal away for rides in her phaeton. This provided the opportunity for Anne to detail for Darcy all the conflicts that had occurred between mother and daughter during the previous year. He heard, early on, his cousin’s complaint that her mother considered learning to play the pianoforte too strenuous for one whose health was so fragile. Later, Lady Catherine applied the same reasoning for the prohibition of her daughter’s studying drawing. Darcy, who could not imagine being unable to ride, had been particularly furious when Anne had told him that activity was considered totally out of the question by her mother.
It was during one of their phaeton journeys around the grounds of Rosings that he had proposed. The knowledge that his shy, quiet cousin who had never been given a proper education was now to be denied a Season in London had been the catalyst. He had despised his own first Season, but it was unconscionable that Anne would be kept from ever meeting a suitable young man who could rescue her from her domineering mother. He had to admit his aunt’s fear that her wealthy daughter would fall prey to fortune hunters had some merit—from what he had seen during his participation in the ‘Marriage Mart.’ Still, it was also well known in their family that Lady Catherine steadfastly refused to consider any marriage for Anne but one with Darcy. This latest suppression of Anne’s rights had propelled him to say the words that would save her.
In a moment of quiet reflection, Darcy had asked his new bride how she had ever managed to win the right to drive her phaeton about the grounds. He pictured the candour with which she had answered. ‘From the time I was very young, I realized I must choose my battles with my mother very carefully. The best strategy to defeat her is to refuse to relent on only my most desired request. I wore her down.’ Darcy had occasionally seen that trait in Anne since they wed. Their being in London was an example of her determination to have her way. He acknowledged that she had needed to develop such a formidable skill in order to survive life with his aunt. He reached over and took his wife’s hand. With a smile, he raised it to his lips.
When Darcy returned his focus to the stage, he still could not let go of a desire to protect the young one in Sir Gareth’s box. Perhaps, he should talk to his neighbour of his fears for this young woman with regard his cousin. No, he was over reacting—he knew none of the particulars of the relationship between her and Sir Gareth and Lady Hughes. They could be casual acquaintances. Besides, Edmund was just looking and admiring. The idea of calling attention to his possible poor behaviour, and creating gossip about a rupture in the family was unacceptable. Surely the young woman had adequate supervision to protect her from rakes and their lascivious propositions.
Darcy, his two Fitzwilliam cousins and his friend George Wickham had played together as boys. Edmund, the eldest of the four, had been the leader of their group. He looked over at his cousin as he remembered the selfish recklessness that Edmund had often displayed in their childhood games. The long forgotten image of his torturing a foxhound pup surfaced and sent Darcy’s eyes back to the young one across the hall. As the four had matured, Darcy and Richard had drawn closer together—closer even than the two brothers. Their personalities were much more compatible, even though to the outside they appeared opposites. Darcy, quiet and aloof, gave the impression he was arrogant to many on first acquaintance. Richard, amiable and even jovial, exhibited a similar charm to Edmund’s; but unlike his brother, honour and obligation were first in importance to the recently promoted Captain Fitzwilliam. It was those qualities that created the bond between the two cousins. Darcy’s father, in admiration for his sister’s youngest son’s strong sense of duty, had chosen to appoint Richard to joint guardianship of Georgiana, his young daughter, with his son.
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s mind wandered to the squandered opportunities of the fourth in their boyhood quartet. His father had not been as discerning in his evaluation of George Wickham. From an early age, Mr Darcy had formed a high opinion of his namesake and godson, supporting him at school and afterwards at Cambridge. The elder Mr Wickham, Pemberley’s steward, would never have been able to provide a gentleman’s education for his son. It was the hope of his sponsor that the engaging young man would make the church his profession, and he in return would provide him with a living if that came to pass. Fitzwilliam tried to remember the first act of his childhood friend that had caused him to think of him materially differently from his father. Wickham’s vicious propensities and want of principle had come to light several times over the years. Fitzwiliam, In deference to his father’s standing, had never revealed his godson’s depravity.
Shortly after Mr Darcy’s death, Wickham had written to inform his son that having finally resolved against taking orders; he hoped for some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the valuable family living he had been promised when one became vacant. His letter had stated that he had some intention of studying the law, but the interest on the one thousand pounds provided for him in his godfather’s will would be a very insufficient amount for that endeavor. Darcy thought it prudent to accede to his proposal. With what he had observed, Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled—George resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he would ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. Darcy hoped all connection between them would now cease. Unfortunately, Edmund considered Wickham a protégé. Over the years, the two had spent time carousing together, and he feared they would do so again in the future.
Darcy probably would have preferred to become estranged from Edmund as well, except that he was his cousin, and he shared his uncle, the Earl’s point of view—the appearance of family harmony and unity was important to preserve. Concealing any hint of the friction that existed between the Fitzwilliam and Darcy families had always been of the uppermost importance. Discussing his concerns with Sir Gareth was definitely not the discreet thing to do. His eyes returned to the young woman enjoying Shakespeare’s most optimistic tale. Besides, this one appeared far too intelligent to fall for the shallow charm of his cousin.
Anne Darcy felt a twinge of jealousy when she noticed both her husband and her cousin observing the same young woman. Edmund’s interest did not surprise her. During her time spent with him over the winter, she had noticed his preference for the very young. This one could not possibly be older than fifteen, if that. What her husband saw that interested him was a mystery. He had never shown much notice of any female, even herself. Though always a kind cousin, between them there had never been even the pretence of a flirtation. The opposite had been true of Edmund who had learned early how to charm Anne.
During his one Season, Darcy had created much excitement among the mothers of the ton. He had held the position in London of a most eligible bachelor… following in the footsteps of his older cousin. Darcy, unlike Edmund, had no title; but he was known to be much wealthier, making him an equally acceptable prize. Not even a whiff of the rake wafted about him, and that season the matchmaking mamas had decided he would take much better care of their daughters. In truth, the debutantes preferred the more fun loving and charming Lord Wolfbridge over his dour cousin. With their dark curly hair, tall athletic bodies and penetrating brown eyes, they were remarkably similar; but Darcy only measured up to Edmund’s looks when he smiled and allowed his dimples to dazzle. Anne knew that was a rare sight… her husband had been interminably serious and withdrawn in company since his mother had died, and he had become even more so with his father’s passing. His inability to curb his fascination with an unknown and probably totally unconnected young woman… really no more than a silly little girl perplexed her.
Even as a safely married man, Darcy displayed an aversion to interacting with the ton—and, most particularly, the ladies o
f their set. That and his sense of duty were the reasons Miss De Bourgh had become Mrs Darcy. One miserable foray into the fray of marriage-hungry mamas and coy competitive debutants had been all it took to induce him to propose to her. She laughed silently at the memory of his brutally honest declaration as he had offered her a marriage of convenience. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he expressed more eloquence on the subject of his humiliation during his time in London than any tenderness toward her. As she had sat smiling encouragement, he had painted a passionate word picture of the degrading way their set went about selecting a partner for life. It had been particularly amusing when in the middle of his declaration he had paused to ardently inform her that Almacks was merely Tattersalls for humans—where those in the ton who were in the market for marriage could go and inspect the prime bloodstock available for purchase. Anne had listened to his grievances thinking how childishly petulant he sounded; all the while knowing that this was what she had been praying for—an opportunity to escape her mother’s control.
Without even a trace of the violent love she had read of in novels, she knew she would accept. It had been clear for quite some time that Lady Catherine’s plans did not include allowing her only child the right to attend a Season. She would even be denied her moment on the auction block. An heiress, such as she, presented too great a temptation for all those gentlemen skilled in the art of making love to green girls—in the interest of acquiring an infusion of cash to sustain their lifestyle. Knowing Lady Catherine’s objective, Darcy had dwelt with warmth on the lack of family obstacles to their alliance. His eyes had been filled with assurance as he spoke of such matters. That a marriage between them was her mother’s wish did not actually recommend his suit, but Anne had dutifully expressed an appropriate sense of obligation for the sentiments he avowed. However before she answered yes, she had felt the need to interweave a reminder that marriage was the only way many women—herself included—could come by any degree of freedom. He had been thoughtful for a few moments as he digested her revelation. A stiff embrace cemented their bargain, as he promised her he would always listen to her concerns and never impede her happiness once they were wed.