Margaret Anderson is a fiery young woman who is willing to take on an unknown future and gamble away any hopes of genteel society.
“May I ask you a question?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He glanced at her then looked across the pond. “If this did not happen…if you had not met George Wickham…if your companion had been an honorable woman who had guided you… how would you see your life in five years?”
A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “In five years, sir?” she asked looking up at him with her green eyes. “That is but a dream. I cannot contemplate that which will never occur.”
“Merely play along with me.”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Very well.” She closed her eyes, her head bobbing and a slight smile spreading at the corners of her mouth, and said softly, “I imagine in five years at the age of twenty-one, if I was not already married to a wonderful man, I would be the talk of London society. I would have come out at the age of eighteen and would have rejected the advances of all eligible men until I found the one.”
As she spoke, he saw her as if for the first time: a mass of copper curls, tamed by a handful of pins and milky-white skin with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “You would have waited until you were twenty-one to marry?” he asked in surprise.
She opened her bright green eyes that had small flecks of gold and smiled. “Twenty-one years of age is the perfect age: I will be able to fully know who I am as a woman as well as have read the character of men for years before. So yes, if we are rewriting my life, I think twenty-one would have worked nicely.” She laughed bitterly. “Unless, that is, I found a man whom I could not deny. But that already happened, and we see where it has led.”
“And what of balls? Parties? Travel? Do these not fit into your future?”
“Sir, not as the die has been cast now. I had wished to travel, even to the Americas.” A wistfulness came over her. “Seeing the New World—the deserts, the mountains and waterfalls, but mostly the savages. I read a book about them. My father gave it to me when I was a young girl, and I was so amazed that the fashion of the people was so limited—that they did not wear clothes!” She blushed at this pronouncement. “Forgive me.”
“Mrs. Anderson, you may say what you wish to me. I will never censure you. But, the Americas? You are a girl of dreams.”
“No, I was. No sooner you speak of the present, I speak in the past. I am a girl who had dreams, but my dreams are shattered. I know that through the benevolence friends I might have a future after all. And I am grateful.”
After Richard had changed from his riding clothes, he met Darcy in the study within half an hour.
“The doctor believes she will deliver within the month.” He leaned back and sipped his drink. “I am grateful Reynolds thought to call a doctor for her. With the stress she has received of Wickham’s existence, I was uncertain of her health.”
“Darcy,” his cousin said, crossing over and taking a brandy, “this is not your concern. This is just another one of Wickham's tragedies strewn around the countryside. You have no connection—”
“No Richard, you are wrong. I do have a connection. She is another young woman who could have been Georgiana had I not arrived at Ramsgate to stop the elopement. If I had had the ability to look outside of my pride, this would never have occurred. Too many young girls have been ruined by Wickham, and I should have put a stop to it.”
“Darcy, you take too much upon yourself. You did not scandalize these women—he did!” Disdain spewed from Richard’s mouth. “You should have allowed me to run him through after Ramsgate.”
“Ha! Truly one of my greatest regrets. But it is done. All I can do is find him, call in all his debts, and help make Mrs. Margaret Anderson’s life more comfortable.”
“Let's talk about making your life a little more comfortable, shall we?” Richard asked, swirling the dark liquid around in his glass and walking to the window overlooking the back of the estate. “I was surprised to be introduced to Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire.”
Richard eyed his cousin but received no answer as Darcy ignored him and continued to write to his steward.
“And why is that?” Darcy asked, his eyes never leaving his desk, but the mere mention of her sending tightening fissures through his chest.
“Only that Georgiana mentioned that a Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s name frequented her brother’s letters when he was in Hertfordshire. And, if you recall, we spent Easter together in Kent. You were there in body but not in spirit.”
“Richard—I do not understand you when you speak in riddles. I am never at Rosings in spirit.”
“I seem to recall a conversation with the parson’s wife as she lamented that her dear friend Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire was unable to visit because she herself had been ill…” Richard eyed his cousin but Darcy would not be goaded. “And… I noticed your surprise at the mention of her name and how your hand trembled.”
“You are absurd!” Darcy shot back at him, laying his pen down and standing to walk towards the fireplace.
“Am I being absurd?” Richard asked with a cocked grin. “I do not believe I have ever heard the name of a woman cross your lips without some type of censure. This was the first, Cousin. Do not deny it because I know you. I know you better than even Georgiana knows you. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Darcy began to pace, his hands behind his back, uncertain of what to divulge to his closest but most maddening cousin.
A sigh escaped his lips, as he looked across at Richard. “Do you promise to maintain some form of dignity?”
“I always maintain my dignity,” Richard said smiling and sitting down in the chair. “Now,” he said, propping his feet up on the ottoman and leaning back to take a drink, “why not tell me how you have already muddled the business—we both know you are not proficient in the art of love.”
Dinner had been delicious, with more courses than Elizabeth could count, and the most delectable little lemon tarts for dessert. She was curious why Miss Darcy had seated her and not Lady Cecilia, as her consequence might dictate, directly next to Mr. Darcy but was pleased all the same. He had been polite, asking about her stay at Chenowith since he was there last, and if she had heard from her family.
“Yes, I have heard from all my sisters.”
“Including Miss Mary?”
“Yes,” she said smiling. “Including Miss Mary.”
“And Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia?”
“Yes.” She began to giggle.
“And Mrs. Hill?”
Her laughter grew louder, and she raised her napkin to cover her mouth. “Sir, you know Mrs. Hill has no cause to write to me.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. He is charming!
Their banter was observed by Lady Markham and Lady Cecilia at the far end of the table, and the younger woman raised her voice. “I am infinitely grateful that my Mama deemed it necessary to have me study four languages, instead of the accepted two. It will be most useful when I assist in running a large estate.”
“And what languages do you speak?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“I speak French, Italian, German, and Russian.”
“Russian?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “I was taught a Russian ditty by some sailors I met while in Spain.”
“Oh. I am sure the songs of Russian seamen are nothing compared to the poetry of the Pushkin. Would you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
“I believe that both would have their merits.”
“But one would be more refined than the other.”
“True,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected. “But sometimes men do not wish to be refined.”
“Men, not be refined?” Lady Cecilia sniffed at the statement. “I can assure you, Colonel, any man in my company would remember that propriety and decorum should always be in the forefront of their words and deeds.”
As the footmen came in with the next course, Elizabeth leaned
over to Mr. Darcy and whispered, “I do not believe that is how men truly are. I imagine she is in need of a brother as well.”
She grinned impishly as Darcy struggled to maintain his placid mien.
When he had gained a modicum of equilibrium, Elizabeth continued their conversation. “And when, sir, is Mr. Bingley to arrive?”
“Bingley? Oh, Bingley and his sisters will not be joining us. We received their regrets only yesterday.”
“Is all well?” she asked, concern evident in her voice. “I am certain Miss Bingley would not miss the birthday ball of her dearest friend.”
No mockery was intended, but Elizabeth noticed Mr. Darcy bite back a smirk.
“Mr. Bingley has determined to open up Netherfield and pursue interests in Hertfordshire,” he said to her quietly.
“Truly?”
“Yes, truly.”
“And you did not influence him in the least?”
“I believe you know my opinion on that subject, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I do. I am only surprised he has returned to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy reached for his glass and took a drink, before leaning towards her and lowering his voice. “Bingley has finally made the decision to go after what he wants without paying heed to anyone else. There is a point where all men must set their sights on their goal and achieve it.”
“And, have you, sir, the master of such a grand estate as Pemberley, achieved all of your goals?” she asked, with an arched brow.
“I aim to, Elizabeth.”
Her face flushed at the whisper of her Christian name and with the hint of his breath on her neck.
She looked back up and saw the glares of both Lady Markham and Lady Cecilia directed at her.
Yes. Miss Darcy knew what she was about with the seating arrangements after all.
Her thoughts were full of all he had said and not said, much like the soft sound of conversation that floated through the drawing room. Elizabeth tried to keep her attention to those around her and not on the man across the room with Lord Markham. She tried to shake thoughts of him from her mind and instead study the room. She had been in fine homes before, yet, nothing, save maybe the Palace itself, could compare with the elegance of Pemberley. I have never seen a house more happily situated in all my days. Both the surrounding property and the tastefully appointed interiors.
There was not a garish print on the chairs nor on the walls. Although belonging to one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, it is not opulent yet handsomely fitted up for a family of Darcy’s station.
“And have you recovered from your travels, Colonel?” Elizabeth asked as he walked across the room and took a glass from the footman, at once coming to stand before her.
“Yes, I did. Thank you. One cannot help but recover with the pleasures of Pemberley around.” She nodded her agreement and then sat on the couch beside her. “And what do you ponder so quietly, Miss Bennet?”
She smiled up at him and cocked her head to the side. “I was thinking what a lovely home this is, and how grateful for the Darcys’ benevolence in allowing my aunt and me to come as guests to Miss Darcy’s ball tomorrow evening. I am certain it will be a splendid affair.”
He chuckled and nodded his agreement. “And if I may, and you are not already engaged, might I request your hand for the first set, Miss Bennet? With all the gentleman in attendance, I am afraid your card will be full if I do not secure it immediately.”
“I thank you for the compliment. I would be happy to stand up with you and look forward to the promise of such an enjoyable evening.”
“Yes, a ball. What every young woman lives for, or so I am to understand. Do you fall into this category as well, Miss Bennet?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “I do not believe I do, in the sense of other young ladies. I do not spend hours and hours wondering what I shall wear…”
“Because you are practical?”
“No,” she laughed. “Because I only have three ball gowns.”
“Three gowns? I believe my sister has thirty!”
“Thirty ball gowns?” Her eyes widened. “I can only wear one at a time and would feel the loss of attention to the others most keenly.”
He guffawed, causing the other occupants of the room to turn in their direction, before they all returned to their own conversations. “‘Can only wear one at a time?’ Why Miss Bennet, you are every modiste’s nightmare and every husband’s dream.”
They laughed together and he turned the conversation to her family. “Five daughters, you say?”
“So now you see why I prudently delight in my three gowns.”
“Yes, yes. Your father must have his own cotton mill and silk farm to produce fabric!”
“Not quite, but I am sure my mother would like a draper on the estate. It would save her the trouble of walking into town.”
“We men have the ease of it: breeches, vest, white shirt, and cravat. Unless you are a follower of the Beau, you do not need more than three vests or someone telling you what to wear.”
A slow smile crept at the corners of her mouth as he went on. “I believe a man should be the master of what he wears. If he seeks the input from his wife, that is a different story. But not one spouse, be it man or woman, should dictate what their partner is seen in. It is nonsensical. People need to have minds of their own.”
“Or, if you are in the military, you only need a red coat, Colonel.”
“Most decidedly!”
“I find it interesting that a man who has the King choose his attire feels that way. Maybe you do not realize it, but you are married after all, Colonel.”
He slapped his leg in enthusiasm and said, “Good show, Miss Bennet!”
“I do my best at attempts to keep the populace entertained.” He laughed again at her impertinence, before she turned the conversation to him. “And what of you, sir? You know that I have five sisters. How many siblings do you have?”
“Well, there is my brother, the viscount, and my sister, she who has thirty ball gowns.” Elizabeth smiled. “I am situated directly in the middle of the two. So, I am neither the favorite first child nor the favorite youngest child. I am merely the favorite child.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “And as the favorite child, how did your mother like you joining the military instead of following the path of a minister?”
“Oh, my dear mother knew the ministry would not suit me. I am afraid I have little patience for those breaking rules. If members of my congregation had come to me confessing their sins, I would not have been so forgiving.”
“Do you not believe everyone deserves a second chance?” Margaret Anderson asked.
The colonel seemed to weigh his words before responding. “I believe that those who are deceived by others, and therefore their choices are not their own, deserve forgiveness. But, I believe those who knowingly deceive, deserve not the grace of God.”
Elizabeth said, “Then, sir. I am grateful you are not my minister. I would have been ostracized from polite society when I was seven, having thieved a pie from the kitchen.” Enjoying the back and forth, she could not help but laugh at herself. “And, to make matters worse, I am still not repentant! It was the last gooseberry pie Cook ever made, as our bushes were dispatched to make room for a new well.”
“You, Miss Bennet, are delightful.” The colonel could barely contain his laughter. “I do not know if we should allow our young charge to be in her presence, Darcy!”
“Miss Bennet. If I may ask how you acquired the pie?” Lady Cecilia questioned, sitting down on the settee next to her. “Did your cook set it on a ledge to cool?”
“Oh, no, Lady Cecilia. Cook was too smart for that. She knew my father would sneak it if it were not guarded. No, Cook had gone into the root cellar, and I ran and took it from the kitchen.”
“The kitchen? You frequent your kitchen?”
“Do you not?”
“Of course not!” Lady Cecilia cried looking down her nose and across the room
to Mr. Darcy who had been holding court with her father. “I do not belong in the kitchen. That is for servants. I am the daughter of a gentleman.”
“As am I.”
“How… quaint. Your rustic upbringing.”
As her courage (and ire) always rose in the face of provocation, she remembered her surroundings and bit back her quick retort. Smiling, she said, “My dear mama encouraged us to understand every aspect of the running of a house. How would I be able to host a party or ascertain the needs of my husband’s guests if I was unable to find the kitchen or the servants’ quarters? I was taught that although one is above the help, they are vital for an estate to run well, and therefore I must respect them. Our home is their home.”
Lady Cecilia sniffed. “Where you will concern yourself with the servants, I will marry where those trifles will fall to my housekeeper. A very competent housekeeper.”
“You are misinformed, Lady Cecilia”—Darcy seemed to appear at Elizabeth’s side—“as the running of a great estate, such as Pemberley, takes not only the staff but the family, to run effectually. I could not imagine entrusting it solely to a housekeeper, even one as competent as Mrs. Reynolds. If that were the case, I would never have to marry.”
Mr. Darcy walked over to the fireplace and rested his boot on the fender, when Lady Markham began. “There are so many other ways women can be accomplished. For instance, experience with different cultures or fluent in languages. If a guest is from a foreign land, then Cecilia’s trips to Italy and Germany would be helpful.”
Seemingly unaware of what had transpired only moments before, Miss Darcy said, “That is correct. I forgot Lady Cecilia has been blessed with traveling the globe. Will you tell us about America? I recall you left in the middle of the term last spring for several months, only returning at Christmastime. Did you see any natives?”
“It has been my dream to travel to the Americas,” Margaret Anderson added. “Do tell us.”
The Goodness of Men Page 14