The Darcy Cousins

by Monica Fairview

  She prepared herself for battle.

  When he finally spoke, however, his words completely disarmed her.

  “Georgie,” he said, using his term of good-humoured affection for her, his expression softening. “I have the distinct impression that you are not as happy and as carefree as you used to be. I know that making the transition into adulthood is not easy. And without a father or a mother to guide you, it must be doubly so. You must especially feel the lack of a mother. As a brother who is more than ten years older than you, I can hardly expect to be the recipient of confidences—quite the opposite, I suppose—but I would be honoured if you could confide in me and tell me what is troubling you.”

  Georgiana almost ran to him and threw herself into his arms. But, an iron force—not fully her own—interceded, and she controlled the impulse. It would hardly serve the purpose, to run to him like a child.

  He waited long enough to ensure that she was not planning to take the opportunity he had offered.

  “You may as well sit,” he said with a sigh. “This will take some time.”

  She took a seat, as far away from the desk as possible.

  Having told her to sit, he stood up himself and walked to the window.

  “I can guess part of the reason for your unhappiness. For years you have had me to yourself. Since our father’s death when you were ten, I was not only your brother, but father, mother, and sister to you too—an impossible task, as you can imagine, particularly for a young man only twenty at that time. I did not spend as much time as I ought with you perhaps—for I too had my life to live—but when I was with you, you could be sure of my undivided attention. Now, however, you have not only one but two other persons who share my affection.”

  He paused to give her a chance to speak, but she said nothing.

  “At first, you were happy to receive Elizabeth into our midst, and you saw her as a welcome sister. But now, as I form my own family, you fear that you will be excluded.”

  This was so close to the truth that Georgiana wanted to cry out that it was true. She was an intruder in this happy household, where she no longer felt she belonged.

  But again, that iron force prevented her, reminding her that she was an adult now and that she should depend on no one.

  “I am sure that you need no reassurance that you occupy the same place in my heart as you always have. But my duty now extends to my wife and my child as well. That is not something that will change.”

  Georgiana forced herself to remain distant. She would not respond. She would not complain. She needed to remain strong.

  “You must find your own peace in the situation. I cannot help you find it, though I know that eventually you will. In any case, you will soon have a family of your own to care for. That is the purpose of bringing you to London, is it not?” He paused. The words lingered between them, part of the new barrier that had sprung up when before there was none.

  Darcy waited for her to say something. She did not know what he expected of her. To plead with him perhaps? Well, she had no intention of doing so.

  When it was clear he would receive no answer, his expression turned stern again.

  “Meanwhile, however, you are still a member of this household, and as such, I insist that you treat Elizabeth with every respect due to my wife, for I will not tolerate any slights to her.”

  If Georgiana’s heart had begun to soften at the earlier part of her brother’s speech, his unequivocal manner now hardened it completely. She took exception to his words, all the more since she had done nothing seriously disrespectful. She had just muttered a few words, nothing more. She had thought her brother’s protectiveness towards his wife in other instances amusing, but when it was directed against her! His words stung more than she could have thought.

  “Elizabeth shall have my respect, as you have it as well,” she replied. “But remember that, though you may force me to give Elizabeth the respect she craves so much, you cannot force me to like her.”

  And with that, she turned her back on her brother and strode out of the room.

  ***

  Needless to say, the encounter with her brother provoked in her an urgent need to leave the house. Without a word to either Darcy or Elizabeth, she called for the carriage.

  Her destination was Grosvenor Square. It was only there, she was convinced, that she could find the understanding she craved. She thanked the lucky fate that had brought her cousin to England. Who would she have talked to otherwise?

  She arrived to find her cousin’s household still awaking. Forced to kick her heels downstairs as she waited for Clarissa to drink her chocolate and dress, she squirmed with impatience. After that, she had to partake of breakfast, for Clarissa refused to go out without eating, and she was compelled to make polite conversation with Caroline, who was blissfully unaware of the depth of turmoil she was going through.

  It seemed like several excruciating hours before they were finally able to set out, with the excuse of needing to make some small purchases.

  “Now we can be very snug, and you shall tell me what has happened to make your face as long as a lamppost,” said Clarissa when the carriage started moving.

  Georgiana, who had held back everything for the longest time imaginable, immediately poured the whole sorry tale into her friend’s ears.

  But instead of the understanding she expected, Clarissa was more inclined to dismiss the whole matter offhand.

  “Too much is being made out of nothing,” said Clarissa at the end of the story. “’Tis but a tiny storm in a tiny teacup.”

  Georgiana frowned deeply at her cousin.

  “Do not fly into a rage at me, Miss Darcy,” said Clarissa, laughing. “You can have no quarrel with me. I will admit that, having grown up elsewhere, I do not fully understand all the rules of behaviour that are so important here. Why even yesterday Caroline—who has been such a help to me—pointed out that driving with Channing alone in the Park could be tantamount to a declaration of engagement and advised me to call off the drive. Is that not the drollest thing?”

  Georgiana saw it was useless to make Clarissa understand her distress. In any case, she was only too ready to be distracted with the mention of Channing.

  “I do think Caroline is making too fine a point of it,” said Georgiana. “One drive in an open carriage cannot hold any significance. It would be different if you did it repeatedly. Besides, you will not be going alone. I am to accompany you. Or have you forgotten?”

  It became apparent that Clarissa had forgotten, or at least that she had chosen not to remember. For how could it have slipped her mind, when they had spoken of it only yesterday? Was it possible that Clarissa was planning to drive out with Channing without her?

  “Of course! Then there is no need to worry at all,” said Clarissa brightly. “If you were to come with us, then all would be well. I would hate to become the object of conversation for every rumourmonger in Hyde Park.”

  Georgiana wondered why Clarissa should care about such a thing, when she was so careless of appearances generally, but she said nothing. She was still rattled by the idea that Clarissa might be deliberately trying to exclude her.

  At that moment Clarissa noticed a striped turban with gold tassels in the window of a milliners’ shop. “Oh, look! Is it not in the manner of Byron? Quickly, tell the driver to stop. I simply must have it!” With barely enough patience to allow the footman to let down the steps, she half-tumbled out of the carriage.

  Georgiana hesitated, for the milliner was not a fashionable one, nor were they on a fashionable street.

  “You cannot wish me to go inside by myself,” said Clarissa impatiently.

  “We can send a footman,” she answered, but Clarissa was already stepping through the doorway.

  Georgiana resigned herself and descended slowly—and with dignity—from the carriage. By the time she had entere
d the shop, Clarissa was already trying on the hat.

  “What do you think?” she said, putting it on and considering her image in the mirror. “Does it suit me?”

  Georgiana admitted that it did.

  “You do not consider it tawdry, do you?”

  Georgiana assured her that it was not, for it was really quite elegant, in the fashion of the oriental. She would never wear it, but then she was not Clarissa.

  “Then I shall buy it.”

  Clarissa glanced idly around the shop at the other hats on display, then let out a little cry.

  “And I have found just the bonnet for you. It is exactly like a French bonnet I saw on one of the fashion plates. It matches your pelisse admirably, and it will look perfect on you.”

  The hat was not one Georgiana would ever have considered wearing. She was rather particular when it came to hats and hated fuss and ostentation of any kind. This one was striped in white and maroon, with a very high crown and a broad brim. The brim was overhung with lace. The side of the hat was decorated with berries, and a white ostrich feather completed the picture.

  “Are you sure?” she said, eyeing the contrivance uncertainly.

  “It is very striking.”

  Which was precisely what Georgiana feared. But she had asked Clarissa to choose her clothes for her. So, somehow, Clarissa persuaded her to purchase it and to wear it immediately, and it seemed easier to give in than to protest.

  It was pouring when they left the shop. The clatter of pattens mingled with the splatter of the rain as it struck the cobbled road. Their plans for more shopping disappeared under the torrent, and they were compelled to turn back home.

  They had no sooner driven a few yards, however, when Clarissa ordered the driver to stop.

  “Look! It is Mr Channing and Mr Gatley,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Let us see how they approve of our new purchases.”

  She hailed them, and with a quick wave of the hand, invited them into the carriage.

  “Much as you may wish to be soaked,” she said through the window, keeping her turban safely under cover, “you can hardly say no if we rescue you from the rain. Those umbrellas cannot protect you. We can easily drop you wherever you wish.”

  “I am much obliged to you,” said Channing, climbing readily into the carriage.

  “Do you have a maid?” asked Gatley, hesitating outside, rain dripping down the sides of his umbrella.

  “No, but we have two footmen,” replied Clarissa. “They are currently being rained upon outside, so I hope we can start moving as soon as possible to save them from their misery.”

  He still hesitated, but with his cousin already inside he could hardly refuse.

  Georgiana moved up the seat to make room for Gatley. The smell of damp clothing filled the carriage.

  “I hope you will not catch a chill,” she said, eyeing their wet clothes with concern.

  “Thanks to you,” said Mr Channing, “we will be home in no time. A glass of brandy is all I need.”

  “We have bought ourselves new hats,” said Clarissa, glancing sideways at her reflection in the window. “You must tell us what you think. You must be perfectly candid, mind.”

  “I congratulate you on your choices, for you look very dashing indeed,” said Mr Channing. “You too, Miss Darcy. Your hat is charming, but of course, so is its wearer.”

  His eyes lingered on her face. She had intended to give him a dazzling smile, but her smile wavered under his intense scrutiny. He continued to gaze at her until Clarissa thanked him very prettily, and he turned to respond to her.

  Still, Clarissa could not be satisfied when the other gentleman in the carriage had not yet expressed an opinion.

  “Mr Gatley, you have said nothing.”

  “I think your turban very pretty. It suits your character well, and it is exactly what I would have expected you to wear. I cannot make a judgement on Miss Darcy’s hat, however, for it is too modern for someone as old-fashioned as I am.”

  Considering the exquisite and expensive tailoring of his navy waistcoat, matched with a cravat that was a masterpiece of white perfection, one could be forgiven for thinking him more concerned with fashion than he admitted.

  Georgiana understood his comment as a rebuff and turned her face to hide the conflicting feelings which were surely branded on her face. On the one hand, she was chastised, for she knew she should not have allowed Clarissa to convince her to buy the hat. She should have trusted her own judgement. On the other hand, she—very naturally—resented the slight.

  “Look at what you have done now, Mr Gatley,” said Clarissa. “You have made my cousin sad.”

  “Come, Gatley, must you be so thoughtless?” said Channing. “Surely you can do better than that.”

  “I am not as skilled at flattering ladies as others of my acquaintance are,” he said, his colour heightened. “I never study my compliments. When I pay tribute to someone, it is because I mean it.”

  Georgiana, further annoyed now by Clarissa’s interference, deemed it time to speak, if only to show how very little Mr Gatley’s opinion mattered to her.

  “Some gentlemen seek to stand out from the crowd by professing to be harsher than others, and so lay claim to the higher moral ground. That is how they assert their own superiority,” she said, in a light, dismissive tone. “In such cases, I believe it is far better not to give their remarks too much importance by taking them seriously.”

  “How so, Miss Darcy?” cried Gatley. “When I am endeavouring to be as sincere as possible?”

  “By George!” said Channing, bursting into laughter. “I think she has your measure, Gatley!” He turned to Georgiana confidingly. “You have put him out of countenance completely, for he is quite accustomed to having others yield at once to his moral tone.”

  Gatley did indeed look quite put out. She was not happy about it, but she felt her position was justified. Perhaps he had not intended to wound her through stating his opinion, but he had made her appear foolish in front of her friends. He had been frank, but frankness taken too far could cross over into rudeness. There are many ways of saying the same thing, and the most direct is not always the best.

  With Clarissa and Channing both laughing with her, Georgiana was able to perceive the whole matter as nothing more than a joke and to cast all misgivings aside.

  They had arrived by then at Mr Channing’s residence.

  “I am afraid, Miss Clarissa, our drive in the Park this afternoon will have to be put off,” he said regretfully, as he descended from the carriage. “But I promise I will make up for it to you. I shall plan an outing for us all, how about that? Would it not be amusing to get out of London for the day?”

  The young ladies agreed enthusiastically. Gatley also expressed his agreement—not enthusiastically, it might be said, but positively enough.

  “Then it is settled,” said Channing.

  ***

  For the few minutes that he was left alone with the ladies, Gatley endeavoured to engage them in light conversation. Miss Darcy answered rather sullenly, still displeased with his comment about her hat. Since he did not wish to return to that topic again, he was glad when his home came into sight, and he was able to leave the whole thing behind him.

  Though truth be told, he was grateful for the ride. The sudden downpour had come so quickly his clothes had turned sodden even before he had been able to raise his umbrella. He and Channing would have had to return home in any case before they reached their club, if only to change their clothes.

  He had been glad, however, to leave the close confinement of the carriage. There was something about the Darcy cousins that made him on edge. The American one, Miss Clarissa, was sharp and merry on the outside but with a hollow centre to her that he distrusted. Darcy’s sister, however—well, he could only say that there was more to her than met the eye. She was changing qui
ckly. She was copying her cousin, of course. But there were other changes too. Already she was not the same young lady he had seen at Rosings.

  Take today, for example. She had spoken to him in a manner that both irked and intrigued him. Who would have thought her capable of such perception? He had not liked what she said—not when it was at his expense—but he had to admit that there was a grain of truth in it. She ought not to have spoken that way, of course. But then, he should have been more gracious in his comment on her hat. He had not liked being pushed to give an opinion by Miss Clarissa. He had thought her question brash and had countered it by deliberately saying exactly what he thought. The result, however, had been at Miss Darcy’s expense.

  Well, she had not let it pass, which was undoubtedly to her credit. She looked demure, with those soft round eyes that filled her face and frothy hair encircling it. But there was a barbed edge to her, and he had not yet determined if he liked it or not. And then, too, he was all too aware that she was trying to impersonate Miss Clarissa, which was not a point in her favour at all.

  His valet helped him put his coat, which was really much too tight. He did not like the current fashion that demanded that his clothes fit him like a glove.

  At least, he reflected, he did not have to wear stays.

  He checked himself in the mirror. He was particular about his cravats. He liked the simplest knots, partly because they were the most elegant and partly because they were the hardest to get right.

  “Did you get caught in the rain?” called out his mother, as he passed the parlour door.

  He paused in the doorway. “We were soaked very quickly. I had to come back to change.”

  She regarded him with a steady gaze. “The carriage you stepped out of resembled that of the Darcys. I thought I caught a glimpse of Miss Darcy through the window.”

  It was a question.

  “Yes,” he replied. He said nothing further. He did not owe her any explanations.