Ardently

by Caitlin Williams

  “You have become as protective of her as Mr Darcy.”

  Elizabeth could not refute such an accusation, she was protective of Georgiana. The poor girl had known nothing but disappointment when it came to matters of the heart. “Can you blame me when there are men such as George Wickham, Frederick Yorke and Henry Cartwright in the world? Men who look at her and see only pound notes. She is the sweetest girl alive and deserves someone truly honourable and good. When I was younger, I used to dream of being rich and nobly born, as she is, but now I see fortune is not without its disadvantages. I am glad I was born plain Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Mrs Mountford, indignantly, “but there was nothing plain about Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

  “I thank you, but I do worry about her. That business last summer was so upsetting for her.”

  “Henry Cartwright! Tsh! She spoke of him quite dismissively in the carriage just now. Henry Cartwright is quite out of her mind. I believe you and Darcy were more upset about it than Georgiana. She has more resilience than you credit her with and she would make a fine Viscountess, a perfectly lovely Lady Winslow. Henry Cartwright is not fit to breathe the same air as her, and anyway, tis by the by, for I hear he has his sights set on young Miss Forsythe and they are soon to be engaged.”

  “The American heiress?”

  Mrs Mountford nodded. “Apparently, she and her family are impressed by his connections, but he has some rivals. His path is not clear.”

  “How do you know all this, we have only been in London two days?”

  “You must pay more attention, Elizabeth. You know, my dear, if you continue to spend entire carriage rides engrossed in the inspection of your husband’s left ear, you will learn nothing of any importance.”

  Elizabeth blushed and laughed a little. “Or maybe I would learn lots of things of no great importance whatsoever.”

  “What might seem unimportant today, can be of vital intelligence on the morrow, one never knows.”

  “Well, I must apologise for being so inattentive.”

  “No apology necessary. In fact, I am very pleased that you are so very pleased with him.”

  They had reached the grand drawing rooms and stopped when Georgiana paused before them at the entrance, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder.

  “Go on in, Georgiana, I have been to hundreds of such events and found that, on the whole, people do not bite,” Mrs Mountford urged Miss Darcy on with a guiding hand at her elbow, ushering her further into the room to stand by an ornate fireplace, from where they could survey the scene. After a few moments, Mrs Mountford gave a wry smile. “Though, I see the room is positively swimming with sharks.”

  “Oh look, Lizzy, tis Charles and Caroline, and Mrs Hurst, and that must be Charles wife, Cecilia.”

  Mrs Mountford’s attention, which had wandered, was brought back by Georgiana’s exclamation. “Miss Bingbong, from Bath?”

  “She is now Mrs Yorke, Aunt, as you well know,” Elizabeth said, biting her lip. “She is with her brother and some other family.”

  “Marvellous, lots of Bingbongs then. We must say hello, renew the acquaintance.”

  Elizabeth was more of a mind to do exactly the opposite, and as Lady Winslow’s rooms were crowded and loud, the Bingleys and Yorkes might be very easily avoided. “Must we?”

  “Of course we must,” Mrs Mountford insisted, “such riches of absurdity and pretentiousness are not so easily found, and here we are presented with them in abundance - we must seize the opportunity to amuse ourselves, it would be a crime against folly should we not.”

  Caroline Yorke, nee Bingley, gave Elizabeth a large smile but a very small curtsey. She asked after all their acquaintance, but paid the answers Elizabeth gave no thought at all.

  “But it has been too long since we all saw one another. Far too long and how you must be enjoying Pemberley. What glorious summers I have spent there, sipping tea in the saloon and looking out over the lawn towards the elm trees.”

  “Spanish chestnuts, Mrs Yorke.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They are Spanish chestnuts, on the lawn.”

  “Well, a tree is a tree. Yes, the Hursts and I used to stop there every summer on our way to Scarborough. We are bound for Scarborough next summer, you know. I suppose you will be at home?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the woman’s effrontery; her transparent, unashamed appeal for an invitation. “And as much as we would love to have you stay at Pemberley to break your journey, Mrs Yorke, I am afraid I am likely to be indisposed next summer.”

  Caroline Yorke’s gaze flittered down to Elizabeth’s midriff and back again. “Oh, well, I am happy for you, but please do take care with your figure. You know, Cecilia, Charles’ wife, she has gone to the dogs since her horrid little offspring came along - she now has no waistline to speak of.” Mrs Yorke gave a heavy sigh, “And you, so slim and light on your feet, how I would hate to see you bloated and bedraggled, motherhood is such a curse upon one’s looks. Very few women come through the experience with even a tenth of the beauty they had before it. You must be terrified, but I am sure Mr Darcy’s admiration will hold strong.”

  “Well, we shall see, but between you and I, Mrs Yorke, I will say that I was given such beautiful jewellery by Mr Darcy upon the birth of our son last Spring, that if he is as generous with every child, as he was with the first, I’d be happy to oft repeat the experience. Figure be damned.”

  “Oh, I had not heard, how lovely, you already have a son,” Mrs Yorke said feebly, her voice trailing off awkwardly and her eyes narrowing.

  Elizabeth bowed her head and moved towards Harriet Yorke. Her bubbly little friend asked her quickly what she had done with her very handsome husband.

  “Oh, he is about somewhere. People always stop him and want to talk to him, which is odd, considering his propensity for brevity.” As she spoke, Elizabeth thought upon her words. He was quiet with other people, but with her he did speak at length, of nonsense, or important matters. When he was in the mood to talk, which was usually, oddly enough, whilst they were abed, he could be very loquacious. She had spent many a languorous morning stroking his curls and holding him to her breast while he talked to her. Sometimes, he talked so much she was driven to start kissing him, just to shut him up.

  Sophy Yorke joined them and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand

  Elizabeth was pleased to see the Yorke sisters again. They were such pleasant, unaffected and friendly girls. She spent a good while talking and sharing remembrances with them.

  “I knew you would marry him,” Sophy said. “When I saw the two of you sitting beside one another in Mollands, all those months ago, I knew it would be so.”

  “Oh did you? Well I wish you would have told me! What sort of friend are you, to have let me endure weeks of agony?”

  Elizabeth looked up to see Frederick Yorke coming towards them, swaying a little on his feet, blinking and sweating, with an odd little smile on his face. She excused herself from Harriet and Sophy, saying it was time she paid her respects to Lady Winslow.

  Lady Winslow immediately asked her several searching questions in regards to Georgiana; her character and whether she had any prior attachments. Elizabeth had to admit there were none and as much as she usually despised matchmaking of any kind, when the Viscountess suggested she would bring her son over to meet Georgiana later, Elizabeth nodded. She had considered Mrs Mountford’s words. Georgiana had a natural reserve that many people struggled to penetrate and the girl herself seemed to have a dubious taste in men, which served her ill. If there was one scoundrel within a crowd of two hundred decent men, Georgiana was certain to find him. Perhaps a little push in the direction of The Honourable Henry Winslow would be no bad thing, for Elizabeth had met him previously and thought him a pleasant young man.

  Georgiana looked confused when Elizabeth, managing to speak to her alone for a few moments, warned her of the impending introduction.

  “Why does she wa
nt him to meet me?”

  “Because Lady Winslow wants a daughter; preferably one she has sanctioned herself.”

  Georgiana blushed and asked Elizabeth to make the gentleman known to her so she might be prepared upon his approach. It took some time for Elizabeth to find Henry Winslow in the crowd. “There he is - the tall, slim gentleman in the bright yellow waistcoat.”

  “He looks very grand, Lizzy, whatever will I say to him?” Georgiana complained and worried at the sash of her dress.

  “Oh, Georgiana, you are very grand, you are a Darcy, of Pemberley; he probably quakes at the thought of meeting you.”

  Darcy had lost his wife. That dullard, Walter Russell, had pulled him aside in the hallway as soon as they had secured their coats. He had then proceeded to relay to Darcy, in excruciating minutiae and at such great length, the facts of a matter of which he was already very well appraised - politeness had forced him to grit his teeth and listen to the garrulous fellow ramble on and on, while he had inwardly seethed. He had been eagerly anticipating walking into Lady Winslow’s drawing rooms with Elizabeth on his arm. It was the first time they had been to London since their marriage and he was keen to present her to his general acquaintance as his bride. Yet, when Mr Russell had approached, she had carefully and cleverly extricated herself with a demure look, feigning female ignorance in current events (in fact, she was as well versed in the affairs of the day as he was - the little phony). But she had ducked her head, deprived him of her hand and was gone up the staircase with Mrs Mountford and Georgiana, before he knew how to stop her.

  Now he could not find her among the crowds and every ten yards or so he was stopped by someone wishing to speak with him, much to his annoyance. Though, he did receive many words of congratulation and some surprising and pleasing compliments about his charming and lovely wife, expressed most genuinely. Over five years ago he had proposed to Elizabeth in the most insulting and vile manner – telling her most incongruously of his ardent admiration, while at the same time reminding her of her inferiority. In truth, Elizabeth did have some questionable connections and more than one relation whose manners tended towards the vulgar, but it did not seem to matter to his friends and acquaintance. They had seemingly accepted her already, long before she was ever Mrs Darcy. They had come to like her as Mrs Mountford’s niece, as well as for herself. How he had worried back then, that everyone would smirk and be scandalised at his choice of bride – he’d been a fool of the highest order.

  He eventually spied her, drifting away from the company she had been talking to and glancing about the room. Was she seeking him out, as he was her? She stopped and rested her shoulders against the walls of one of the slim pillars that held the vast ceilings up. He moved quietly till he was directly behind her and leaned forward to speak in her ear. “Madam, I hope you do not find me impertinent, but I cannot keep quiet. I must speak and tell you, that of all the ladies gathered here this evening, I find you are by far the most handsome.”

  “You are highly impertinent and improper, sir, and I find your claim quite difficult to believe, for I once overheard myself described by a gentleman at an assembly as being only ‘tolerable’. What do you say to that?”

  “I would say it was villainy! A scandalous falsehood! I hope you took revenge on the blackguard who made such a statement.”

  “I did, sir, I married him. So now I may tease and vex him for the rest of his days; he shall have not a moment’s rest from my torment. Is it not the most brilliant of plans?”

  “It would be, if only your husband did not enjoy being teased and vexed by you.”

  She turned then, her large dark eyes filled with mirth and her smile broad. “Fitzwilliam, where have you been? Do you know I have had to brave the Yorkes and the Bingleys without you?”

  “Madam, you left me with Mr Russell.”

  “Oh, Mr Russell, yes, he’s a dear fellow, but whilst everyone has the right to be dull, he does rather abuse the privilege.”

  “I should say hello to Charles later, how is he?”

  “Very well, I believe, but he is very concerned about Mr Yorke, who is apparently too frequently in his cups, sometimes very early in the day.”

  “Tis not surprising, Elizabeth, if I were married to Caroline Yorke, I would be a most famous drunkard.”

  She laughed out loud and he basked in the sweet twinkling sound of it.

  Their attention was swiftly drawn to their hostess when a footman standing beside her rang a small bell. The Viscountess bid everyone take their seats for the upcoming entertainment, which was a performance by a famous soprano. Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and led her to a row of chairs towards the rear of the room, where he ensured her comfort before taking his own seat. Georgiana and Mrs Mountford found them and sat in the next chairs along.

  Darcy endeavoured to enjoy the music, but his equilibrium was disturbed by two young men who stood nearby. The taller of the two, who wore a bright yellow waistcoat, looked directly at Elizabeth and directed a brief nod her way, which, to Darcy’s surprise, she acknowledged with a small smile. The gentleman then began a conversation that was difficult not to overhear, both of them being deep of voice.

  “Mamma is determined I should take a wife this year,” the taller gentleman confided to his friend.

  “And you are not inclined?”

  The young man shrugged. “I am not entirely opposed to the idea, but I despair of her taste in prospective brides. I am to be introduced to yet another dreary little article this evening. No doubt she’ll be as heavily set as she is heavily dowered, and full of useless accomplishments.”

  His friend laughed. “Yes, and there is not a hope of finding her even vaguely pretty. It seems a woman can either be rich, or handsome, never both.”

  Darcy saw Elizabeth’s head turn quickly to Georgiana, whose face had taken on a high colour. His sister looked stricken and tears threatened to overcome her.

  Elizabeth’s voice was soft and urgent. “He does not really talk of you, Georgiana, for he has never even met you.”

  Though he was not exactly sure of what had happened and why his sister was so distressed, Darcy rose from his seat with purpose and squared his shoulders. “Sirs, I wonder if I might ask you to step a little further away if you wish to talk, as your conversation disturbs my family’s enjoyment of the music.” Though his words were polite, his expression was stern enough to emphasise he would brook no argument and the gentlemen offered bows, muttered their apologies and retreated to the very rear of the room.

  Elizabeth squeezed Georgiana’s hand and leaned in to whisper reassurances. The girl insisted she was fine, and did seem to recover her composure and confidence before long. When the soprano had finished and was rightly applauded several times over, their hostess approached and leaned towards Elizabeth. “Tis not an enviable task I know, but someone needs to follow our most esteemed guest and take a turn at the pianoforte. Elizabeth, will you oblige us?”

  Darcy looked rather proud that she had been singled out, but Elizabeth shook her head. “I thank you, but I lack the benefit of recent practice. My poor efforts to entertain your guests would only result in them fleeing your rooms with their hands held firmly over their ears. I beg you’ll excuse me, Lady Winslow.”

  The Viscountess did not press her further and looked ready to move away, until Mrs Mountford stood. “Miss Darcy and I will play, Lady Winslow.” Elizabeth was shocked and more than a little angry at her aunt who was now hustling a terrified looking Georgiana towards the pianoforte. What was Mrs Mountford thinking? Georgiana was a wonderful, but highly nervous musician. She would be so embarrassed to have to play in front of such a large audience; one made up of such prominent people. Her performance would surely suffer and Elizabeth did not think she could bear to sit passively and witness her struggle through such an ordeal. However, there was nothing she could now do to prevent it, not without making a scene. She closed her eyes in silent prayer and found a little solace in the feel of Fitzwilliam’s shoulder brushi
ng against hers.

  “I don’t believe I have ever heard your aunt play,” he said.

  “No, she does not, not in public, not anymore. I couldn’t be more astonished at her putting herself forward.”

  Mrs Mountford sat down first and Georgiana stood beside her to turn the pages. The room seemed to hold a collective breath before she began, and then it mutually sighed, filling with beauty and wonder as Mrs Mountford’s fingers worked their magic over the keys of the pianoforte.

  Mr Darcy listened in silence for over ten minutes, before leaning down to whisper in Elizabeth’s ear. “She really is quite remarkable.”

  “Yes, she really is,” Elizabeth agreed, laughing.

  Enthusiastic applause followed, and then inevitably, it was Georgiana’s turn. Mrs Mountford stood and faced her, leaning over the instrument a little and blocking much of the audience from view - so that if Georgiana were to look up while playing, she might only see a friendly face. She then bent down and whispered something in Georgiana’s ear that made her laugh and eased her awkwardness. Elizabeth, meanwhile, could feel her husband’s tension increasing and she shifted uneasily in her own seat.

  Their fears turned out to be unfounded and Elizabeth threw up silent thanks to the Heavens - Georgiana played beautifully. Where Mrs Mountford had managed a complicated concerto with ease, Georgiana began a love song; a very beautiful Italian love song. She looked hardly anywhere but down at the instrument. On the rare occasions when she raised her gaze, it was only to look at Mrs Mountford, who smiled back with encouragement and approbation. As she listened, Elizabeth felt relief, along with joy, pride and other emotions too numerous to mention flow through her. Yet her attention was diverted by a movement to her left. The Honourable Henry Winslow had come forward from the rear of the room (where Mr Darcy had earlier dispatched him). At first, he stood near the Darcy’s chairs. He looked intently at the pianoforte and then edged closer still, taking a few steps every half a minute or so, till he was at the front of the audience. The expression on his face made Elizabeth gasp. He looked like a man quite struck with admiration. The focus of his passionate gaze was quite definitely Georgiana; who sat, unknowingly, at the conclusion of her piece, with her head slightly bowed and her hands in her lap, demurely accepting her plaudits.