Mr. Darcy's Bluestocking Bride

by Rose Fairbanks

  Separating from the gentlemen served only to allow her ladyship to pontificate at length. Elizabeth soon recognised that there was nothing in her parish the Lady did not care to know or render an opinion on. Must she give advice on Charlotte’s shopping? It was not as though she had ever been a parson’s wife. Despite the provocation, Charlotte spoke to Lady Catherine with an ease which surprised Elizabeth.

  “Miss Bennet,” her ladyship said in a tone Elizabeth imagined would suit a general on a field of battle, “I have told Mrs. Collins that you are pretty, genteel kind of girl.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth mentally added she was not entirely sure it was a compliment and therefore deserving of gratitude.

  “Tell me about your family, Miss Bennet.”

  Elizabeth gave the woman a false smile. “I am the second of five daughters.”

  “You are cousins to Mr. Collins, I believe.”

  “That is correct, ma’am.”

  “A pity your mother had no son.” She turned toward Charlotte for a moment. “For your sake I am glad, but otherwise I see no need to entail estates away from females. It had not been thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family.”

  How fortunate for you! Elizabeth thought to herself, and used all her self-control to not roll her eyes. Sir Lewis’ station, wealth and family had been so new that it could make such progressive decisions.

  “Do you play or sing?”

  Elizabeth bit back a sigh. The inquisition was not over, it seemed. “A little.”

  “Oh! Then you shall have to play for us sometime. Our instrument is capital. Probably far superior to what you’re—Do your sisters play?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened at her ladyship’s lapse she just barely kept herself from insulting Elizabeth directly. Beside her, Miss de Bourgh made a noise that suspiciously sounded like a cough disguising a giggle.

  “One of them does,” Elizabeth answered.

  If Elizabeth had told Lady Catherine that she had a pet unicorn and pigs were flying outside, the lady could not look more shocked.

  “Why did you not all learn? I know of a family of girls who learned and your father’s income is better than theirs.”

  Elizabeth chose not to reply but shot a glance at Mr. Collins. How nice of him to share their family’s income with his patroness!

  “Do you draw?”

  “No, not at all.” Elizabeth avoided Charlotte’s eyes. The matter of her refusing to call architectural sketching, “drawing,” had been a source of contention between them.

  “What, none of you!” Lady Catherine blinked rapidly as if again she had never heard something so strange in all her years.

  “Not a one.” By now, Elizabeth took perverse pleasure in rendering her ladyship shocked.

  The conversation continued as Lady Catherine canvassed more of Elizabeth’s accomplishments and upbringing. After each turn, it had not seemed like her ladyship could be more aghast, but the next question always trumped the last. Elizabeth inwardly laughed. It seemed the woman had never been in contact with people who had a life that had been different than her own. Mr. Darcy had once said country towns had a constrained and unvarying society, but surely this woman had moved in fine circles of life and yet Elizabeth, who was no oddity in Meryton, was rendered peculiar.

  When Elizabeth confirmed that all her sisters were out in Society at once, she really thought Lady Catherine might have an apoplexy. She had turned red, and her eyes bulged. Elizabeth made a point that excluding sisters could not encourage sisterly affection, hoping to soothe the lady but seemed to make her only angrier.

  Lady Catherine sucked in a deep breath. “Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for one so young. What is your age?”

  Elizabeth could not keep the mischievous smile from inching across her face. “With so many younger sisters who are grown up, you can hardly expect me to admit it.” She made her eyes wide and blinked innocently. Another giggle-cough escaped from Miss de Bourgh.

  Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. Whether at her daughter or her guest, Elizabeth was less sure. Elizabeth bit back a smile at the idea of being the first person to dare trifle with such a lady and her ridiculous questioning.

  “You cannot be more than one and twenty. Therefore, you have no reason to avoid telling the truth.”

  “I am not one and twenty.”

  Thankfully, before Lady Catherine could say more, the gentlemen returned and the card tables were brought out. The evening passed with little diversion or animation. Mr. Collins sat with her ladyship and apologised when he felt he won too much. Maria and Elizabeth joined Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson at cassino, but no real conversation was attempted.

  Later than Elizabeth would have liked, the carriage was offered and brought round. As it conveyed Elizabeth and the others back to the parsonage, Elizabeth considered that Mr. Darcy’s presence might be more welcome than she had first thought. She had never thought well of him, and they had often disagreed. However, her time at Netherfield had taught her he had no shortage of things to say when he felt comfortable. That must be vastly preferable to impertinent questions from such a domineering fishwife or the restless sighs from a mouse of a woman.

  *****

  “Fitzwilliam, be reasonable!” Darcy’s aunt called after him after he stormed off from the drawing room where she and Georgiana had descended upon him with charts and plans for marriage.

  Stalking down the hall, he entered his study and locked the door. Pouring a glass of Madeira, he pulled a shaking hand through his curls and glared at the Darcy crest and motto that hung above the mantle. Hide the sins of his father’s godson? Yes, he could do that. Sacrifice years of carefree life for Pemberley and his sister? Of course. Accept the barony from his aunt? He had little choice. Indulge her with finding a group of bluestocking women? Why not. Allow her to arrange a cold, formal marriage for him? Absolutely not. Duty and honour be damned.

  “I want…” he trailed off as his eyes dropped to the fire. He daredw not complete his thought. Loosening his cravat, he threw himself into the chair behind his desk.

  To take what he truly wanted would be turning his back on all duty and honour. While he did not want Lady Darcy and Georgiana selecting a spouse for him based on charts of ancestry and the size of their dowry, neither could he imagine forsaking everything that had been ingrained in him for so many years. He would not choose a wife from a flat list of attractions on paper. Unfortunately, it meant he would have to converse with the ladies.

  Darcy sighed and shook his head. That was likely his aunt’s plan all along. It was unlike her to believe a woman’s worth could be ascertained in a list of accomplishments or monetary value. Nor could he see any reason to rush finding a wife. His aunt was hale and hearty for eighty. On the other hand, both his parents had been gone these many years. Death was no respecter of age. Likewise, his uncle, the Earl Fitzwilliam, had long ago handed the overseeing of the estates to his eldest son. Indeed, Winchester had married half a decade ago and now had two boys. Richard, the Earl’s younger son, had little chance of inheriting the earldom now — to his own relief. In many ways, Darcy’s continued bachelorhood was selfish. No wonder every female relation worried over his marital state.

  A knock interrupted his solitude. “Lady Darcy to depart,” the butler said through the wood-paneled door.

  With another sigh, Darcy gulped the last of his drink and hoped the beverage could deaden his memories of dark, dancing eyes. He strode across the room and unlocked the door. His aunt looked up from where she was pulling on her gloves.

  “Well?” she gave him an expectant look.

  “I will attend the ball, however,” he folded his arms across his chest, “I will not choose to court a lady from a list of qualities you provide. If she is to be my wife, I must talk with her and see if we are compatible.”

  “Excellent. Just the decision I knew you’d make!” Lady Darcy smiled in glee and Darcy contained the urge to roll his eyes. She stepped towards him
and then on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. “Anyone but that Bingley woman or your cousin Anne,” she whispered in his ear.

  A shudder racked through Darcy. “I can assure you, madam, that I will absolutely never, under any circumstances, make either an offer.”

  “Good,” she nodded.

  Darcy escorted her to her waiting carriage. When he returned inside, Georgiana awaited him in the office.

  “Well?” she asked and settled in a chair, tapping her fingers on the paper containing lists of names of possible marriage partners.

  “You have been spending too much time with our aunt.” He ordered tea and sat next to her.

  “I could spend more time with you,” she offered.

  “I believe even our aunt would say for a girl of your tender years that is hardly appropriate.”

  “I am no longer a child,” she whispered. “Nor are you up to rakish activities you must shelter me from.”

  “What do you know of rakes?” he asked. God help him if he ever had daughters. He could sympathise with the fathers in fairy tales that always locked them up.

  “I believe I understand the danger they pose to young maidens far more than you do,” she said. “After Wickham—”

  “I never should have allowed you to remain deluded about his character.”

  “I do not know that I would have listened to you had I not experienced the pain for myself,” she said and shrugged her shoulders.

  It was the first time they had spoken of him. “Why is that?”

  “Oh, I do not know,” Georgiana said and ran a finger around the rim of her teacup. “I know I agreed to an elopement because it was exciting and empowering.”

  “Empowering?” How little he understood ladies!

  “Certainly! To believe yourself able to command the admiration of a handsome man who can make any woman in love with him. Believing that he saw me, not Fitzwilliam Darcy’s sister, not thirty thousand pounds, was very seductive.”

  Yes, he well understood the irresistible pull of believing another knew your real character.

  “And while I never thought badly of you or felt you had been unfair, I think I would have been too happy to remain in denial. The truth hurts, and I would have probably lashed out at you rather than accept your words about Wickham.”

  “But I could have told you years ago, long before Mrs. Younge took you to Ramsgate.”

  “But I had known him then myself. I had been smitten with him from a young age. No doubt he saw that as well and used it to his gain. Mrs. Younge quickly perceived it from the way I spoke of him.”

  “You carried a tendre for him for years, and I did not know!” Darcy paled at realising how little he had understood of his sister.

  “Do not be so aghast. I daresay girls that confide with their much older brothers about youthful fancies are far more the exception than the rule.”

  “Perhaps so, but I would not have us be that way,” he murmured. “I do value your understanding. When I was eleven and you just born, the years between us seemed extreme, but surely that is less so now. At sixteen, you are considered full grown and marriageable. Our differences in understanding now are related more to our sexes and experiences than our ability to learn and reason.”

  “Thank you,” she said and stared at her hands. Suddenly she looked up and smiled. “I do not have anything to report now. No one interests me.”

  “Oh?” Darcy asked. He had rather hoped someday — eventually — she might take a fancy to Bingley. “What sort of man do you think you would like when you are older?”

  She thought for a moment and then her eyes lit with amusement. “I am unsure, and so I think the best way would simply be by meeting as many as possible!”

  “Georgiana,” Darcy warned. “You will make me go grey.”

  “Well, then,” she said and grinned, “We had best marry you off before you look in your dotage!”

  “Not you too!” he feigned annoyance but really was impressed with her ability to bring the conversation around so fully.

  “And since I confided in you,” Georgiana leant forward and batted her eyes, “you should reciprocate. Is there anyone you fancy?”

  “I have work to do,” he said, standing.

  “So, there is!” she stood as well. “Oh, please tell me who she is! I can help you!”

  “Georgiana, please” Darcy pressed two fingers to his temple. “This morning was excruciating enough.”

  “Because your heart has already decided?”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. “Mr. Bingley, sir.”

  Dear C—

  As you have wallowed in self-pity for months, I have none left to offer you. I have not said you shamed the family name with your folly, but your inability to rise above matters does. You are not to be indulged any longer. A new companion shall be hired forthwith, and I recall you to London.

  Your weary aunt,

  A.F.

  Chapter Five

  “Good day, Darcy!” Bingley ambled into Darcy House with his usual fixed smile. “Ah, Miss Darcy,” he said and bowed over her hand. “You look lovelier every time I have the honour of seeing you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured and blushed bright red. “If you will excuse me.” After a hasty curtsy, she fled the room.

  Although thankful for his arrival, Darcy cocked his head as he attempted to make sense of the scene he had just witnessed. Bingley had never been so direct with Georgiana before. Was she simply embarrassed or did she dislike his attention?

  “This is the first time in a fortnight I have caught you at home,” Bingley said as he sat in the chair opposite.

  Darcy poured Bingley a drink then retook his seat. “You have no idea,” he groaned. “I am hounded everywhere. I heard one debutante say I have been determined the catch of the Season. I cannot think why as I have not yet inherited the title and a barony is hardly worth such fervour.”

  Bingley guffawed. “The Darcys are richer than many peers, and you’re far more handsome and younger than many of the doddering dukes who have been sowing wild oats for forty or more years. You can hardly blame a lady for rather snatching you than an arthritic duke intent on finally getting around to having legal heirs.” Bingley shuddered. “You would not wish it for your sister.”

  “No,” Darcy agreed. “What brings you ‘round. You might have dropped a note even if I had not the time to return your calls.”

  “An invitation,” he said, “to dine with us tonight.”

  “Unfortunately, I am engaged this evening. I plan to attend the Duchess of Portland’s ball.”

  “Yes, we are invited as well. You may dine with us, and then we can attend together.”

  “Very well,” Darcy said, but inwardly groaned. Dinner at the Hurst townhouse meant three hours of courses and insipid conversation before going to the ball with even more conversation and dancing.”

  “Come, it is not as bad as that,” Bingley smiled at Darcy’s pained look.

  “She had a list today. Asking me to select from various descendants of the original Bluestocking Society.”

  Bingley’s brows shot up. “Indeed! Did she have a favourite?”

  Darcy shrugged. “With my Aunt, it is hard to tell when she truly favours something and when she only argues for enjoyment.”

  “Ah,” Bingley said.

  The pair of dark, dancing eyes passed before Darcy’s mind again, and he shoved them aside. “She advocated for Lady Elizabeth Thynne, the daughter of the Marquess of Bath. She’s the great-granddaughter of Margaret Bentinck, Duchess of Portland, a notorious Bluestocking. Aunt also favours Lady Charlotte Leveson-Gower, eldest daughter of the Duke of Beaufort. She is the great-granddaughter of Frances Boscawen.”

  “Who was she?”

  Darcy sighed. “One of the original Bluestockings. Lady Charlotte is a cousin. Frances was my great aunt Anne’s mother.”

  “Right,” Bingley nodded. “The one who married the first Earl.”

  Darcy gaped at his friend. Had Bing
ley been looking up his family line? “No, she married the second Earl.”

  “Whichever,” Bingley waved his hand as though family lineages meant nothing to him. “What do you think?” He stared at his wine. “They have rank but what are they worth?”

  “I actually care nothing for ranks and dowries,” Darcy shrugged. “I do agree with my aunt about finding a lady of sense with real accomplishments and ability to think, not just ornamental pursuits such as rug making. That, however, is not to be found on her lists and so I must meet with them myself.”

  “And it must be a descendant from the first set of Bluestockings?”

  “No, of course not,” Darcy said, and the beautiful eyes intruded once more.

  “And there’s no one else you have in mind that would already suit you if, as you say, you care nothing for rank and money?” Bingley looked at Darcy expectantly.

  “Of course not,” Darcy said.

  He did not often keep confidences from Bingley, but this was paramount. Just a few months ago Darcy had to expound on all the reasons why a match between Bingley and Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s elder sister was imprudent. He could hardly admit to mooning over Elizabeth for…egads, had it been six months? Six months of infatuation?

  “Darcy, did you hear me?” Bingley’s voice sounded as though it came from far away and there was a dull roaring sound in Darcy’s ears. “Darcy! Are you ill?”

  Suddenly alert again, Darcy shook his head. “Forgive me. I just recalled a matter I must attend to before leaving this evening.”

  “You are certain you are well?” Bingley could not contain his concern.

  “The picture of health,” Darcy said. “Dinner will be served at six o’clock?”

  “As always,” Bingley said and stood.

  “Perfect,” Darcy said and stood as well. He hastily walked Bingley toward the door. “I look forward to it. Give my regards to your family,” he said with a nod of his head to serve as a bow.

  Hoping to avoid sisters and all visitors who might speak of marriage or remind him of Elizabeth, Darcy retired to his chambers before dressing for dinner. Georgiana would remain at home with her recently hired companion, Mrs. Annesley. The woman had come highly recommended from Lady Darcy. A widow of only a few years, she had served as a companion to several other ladies before their marriage and could contribute to the sort of education Georgiana lacked: sense and self-knowledge.