By the time he woke up, however, breakfast was long gone. The sun was already slanting towards the West, an ominous sign.
He dressed as quickly as his valet would allow and went downstairs to find the coachman. He was not looking forward to telling him that they would be driving back to Ansdell.
Oskins said nothing to him, of course, though Gatley was sure he had plenty to say to the others.
Half an hour later, when it seemed like they were positively crawling through the country, he leaned his head out and asked the coachman to put some life into the horses.
The wind blowing towards him brought him the sound of disgruntled curses, ending in Oskins’ assessment of his master, which reached him very clearly.
“Love struck, that’s what ’e is, the besotted fool. God help ’im!”
Gatley leaned back in his seat and considered this statement very, very seriously, all the way until they reached his country manor.
***
Georgiana, who had withdrawn from company, preferring to be alone in the parlour, played the piano all morning. She played loudly and with emphasis, and in a heavy, grim manner. Elizabeth had been trying her best to ignore the wincing and the pained expressions on both Mrs Gatley’s and Clarissa’s faces, but as the relentless clamour continued on and on, she was forced finally to intervene.
“Georgiana is usually a very delicate player,” she said, almost in apology, as she rose.
“She is playing with the delicacy of an elephant,” remarked Clarissa.
“I think I need to talk to her,” she said, and headed for the small parlour.
“You must not think I do not appreciate your playing, Georgiana,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “But must you attack the piano so vigorously? We shall all be rendered quite deaf if this continues much longer. We can hear you quite emphatically from the saloon.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I did not realise everyone could hear me,” said Georgiana, stopping immediately. “I did not mean to be quite so loud. I was not really paying attention to what I was doing.”
She shuffled her music around and struck the notes of a pianissimo piece. But she had scarcely played more than a few bars before the volume rose to in a crescendo.
“I cannot help it,” she said. “My fingers are too heavy.” She rose from the bench and walked across the room to the window.
“Do you ever feel as if nothing will ever satisfy you?”
Elizabeth, seeing an opportunity to question Georgiana about her moodiness, sat down and replied with interest.
“I often feel that nothing will satisfy me. I will pick up a book, expecting to find enjoyment in the pages, then find it does not live up to my expectations. Then I will go to the theatre, to view some piece everyone is raving about, and find it is of little interest at all.”
Georgiana was not listening.
“I suspect you mean something entirely different,” said Elizabeth, hoping to encourage Georgiana to speak.
Her hopes of receiving a disclosure were not to be satisfied, for the words fell upon thin air and disappeared.
When more circumspect measures fail, one can always turn to direct questioning.
“Georgiana, is there something troubling you?”
Her question sounded lame even to her own ears. But having brought the proverbial cat out of the bag, she persevered. “I could not help but notice that you are not as cheerful as usual.”
If anything, this statement was surely even lamer than the other, which at least had the virtue of being direct. But Georgiana’s continued silence unnerved her.
Georgiana was on the verge of saying something, when a footman brought in a letter for her on a silver salver.
Georgiana, surprised that anyone would know where to address the letter, opened it quickly. It was from Anne.
Dear Georgiana,
Clarissa has written to me to reveal the unfortunate consequences of your visit. I am sorry to hear that I have been the cause of so much unhappiness. I would not in the world wish to come between you and someone who is important to you. You must reveal the reason for your visit to Richmond to Mr G–. I know of his reputation in Kent, and I believe him to be a trustworthy, honourable gentleman, so I do not hesitate to entrust him with my secret. Only do not let him speak about it to anyone else. You understand, of course, the continued need for secrecy. I hope that you will be vigilant always. My sincerest wishes for your future happiness,
Annabelle Williams
“Excuse me,” said Georgiana, to Elizabeth. “I must speak to Clarissa.”
***
Georgiana stalked down to the saloon. Controlling herself with an effort, she asked Mrs Gatley if she could steal Clarissa from her for a few minutes.
“Certainly,” said Mrs Gatley. “The weather is very fine. Why do you not go for a long walk?”
Georgiana had only enough patience to wait until the door of the Manor had closed behind them. Then she whipped round and stopped Clarissa in her tracks.
“You wrote to Anne?” said Georgiana. “Without even consulting me? And you told her—what exactly did you tell her?”
“I told her that you had quarrelled with Mr Gatley—I did not reveal his name, I am not such a dunce as all that—because you had to conceal the reason for the trip from him and that the only way to repair the damage was for you to tell him the truth.”
“Anne knew you were speaking of Mr Gatley. Oh, Clarissa, it was not well done of you at all.” She began to walk again, in long quick stride, forcing Clarissa almost to run to catch up with her.
“You know, you resemble your brother when you look like that, all stern and virtuous. Come, Georgiana. You do realise what this means. You may now explain the circumstances to Mr Gatley, and all will be well.”
“Really?” said Georgiana, stopping abruptly. “And how do you propose that I do so? Shall I write him a letter and have him condemn me for that? Or shall we find some excuse to go to visit him in London?” She set out again.
Clarissa shook her head helplessly and followed. “There must be a way to reach him. You must explain the circumstances to him.”
“Even if I could,” said Georgiana, “which I cannot, I would not explain the circumstances. You do not understand the situation at all. It has nothing to do with telling him the truth.”
“If you will not explain the circumstances to him,” said Clarissa firmly, “then I shall find a way to do so.”
“Stop! You have grasped the wrong end of the stick. My quarrel with Mr Gatley is about something else entirely, which is his willingness to think the worst of me at the slightest provocation and to believe that his moral superiority allows him to point out all my faults whenever he chooses. You misunderstand completely if you believe that such a situation can be salvaged simply by telling the truth about Anne. I have thought about the situation a great deal, and I realise that it cannot possibly be salvaged.”
“But you love him.”
“You know as well as I do that loving someone is not always the wisest of courses. Your Mr Parker is a case in point. No, I have begun to think that love and marriage are incompatible. I have determined that next Season, I will accept the hand of any young gentleman who is half-way agreeable and who wins the approval of both my brother and Elizabeth. They will be my guide.”
“Phew! What nonsense is this? You cannot give up your dreams of happiness merely for a silly quarrel. If you do, then I will think you more ninny-headed than I imagined.”
“Think of me whatever way you like,” said Georgiana, rising and walking back to the house.
***
It was one of those days destined to produce surprises. Everyone was assembled in the saloon, partaking of afternoon tea, when the bell rang. It was the wrong time for regular calls, so all eyes turned to the doorway in expectation.
Mrs Moffet ent
ered, carrying her embroidery set, from which threads dangled in disarray.
“Forgive me for calling so very early,” she said. “I know it is not correct form, but I really could not wait. I knew you would want to know as soon as possible, so I have come over as quickly as I could to be sure that you were the first to know.”
Mrs Gatley requested her to take a seat. Mrs Moffet sat down, and taking up her embroidery, tried to sort out the tangled thread. In her agitated state, however, she only succeeded in tangling the threads further.
“Pray tell us the news, Mrs Moffet,” said Mrs Gatley gently.
Mrs Moffet abandoned all pretence at embroidery and set everything aside. “You will think me bird brained, to become all excited about nothing at all, but there you are. I have come to tell you that Mr Channing has spoken to Mr Moffet and has requested Athena’s hand in marriage. Mr Moffet had no objection—and why should he?—and so Athena accepted, and now they are engaged. I can scarcely believe it! My daughter to marry Mr Channing! Who would have thought it could happen? I am quite over the moon with happiness.”
Georgiana, alarmed, looked over to Clarissa. Clarissa, however, gave no indication that anything was amiss, and so Georgiana was able—once her turn came—to wish Mrs Moffet her sincerest congratulations.
“I told you the name would bring her good fortune, did I not, Miss Darcy? Is it not fortunate I called her Athena? Do you see how things worked out for her? Was I not right?”
“You were, Mrs Moffet,” said Georgiana, smiling warmly, the happiness in the proud mother’s eyes proving quite contagious.
“I hope you will find happiness too, for you deserve it.” She lowered her voice. “You must not think I am upset with you at all for turning my Odysseus down. He is still too young to think of marriage, and you would not have suited at all. I know the gentleman you’ve set your sights on, and I hope with all my heart that you get him. I wish you very well, my dear.”
Georgiana’s happiness dimmed, and tears came to her eyes. She turned away quickly, not wishing Mrs Moffet to see them.
***
In the midst of the confusion and effusions of Mrs Moffet’s announcement, Georgiana signalled to Clarissa to join her, and they slipped through the French doors into the garden.
“I hope you are not upset by Mrs Moffet’s announcement,” said Georgiana to Clarissa.
“No, not at all. In fact, I was very relieved to hear it. I stayed up most of last night trying to reach a decision, but every time I thought I had resolved on something, I would come up with a reason not to do it. I thought I would drive myself to madness. Thank goodness I no longer have to decide.”
“But how could he do this,” said Georgiana, “when you had not even given your answer?”
“It is as you said. It was not meant to be,” she said. “He is not for me.”
Georgiana laughed. “It was Mrs Moffet who said it, you know.”
The two young women linked arms.
“I wonder what is to become of us,” said Clarissa. “I would like so much to do something with my life. Not just to marry—though clearly that is something I wish for—but to accomplish something, to have a purpose.”
“Well then you must find one, and then you must find someone who will help you fulfil it.”
“That is easy enough to say but almost impossible to carry out.”
“If there is anyone who could do it,” said Georgiana, “then it must be you.”
Clarissa grinned. “I suppose you are right. Though I must admit I did not quite achieve my purpose in helping you.”
“Oh, that,” said Georgiana. “I am glad you did not achieve your purpose, or it would have been my engagement that was being announced, not Miss Moffet’s. Imagine me marrying Channing!”
It really was most incongruous. Georgiana could not imagine at all why she wanted to win Channing’s attention so badly. She could only laugh at the thought.
***
Gatley waited impatiently for the footman to let down the stairs so he could leave the carriage. He was just about to take the stairs into the Manor when the distinct sound of Miss Darcy’s laughter reached him, coming from the garden. Drawn by an invisible string to that laughter, he began to move in that direction.
As she came into view, he came to an abrupt halt. She looked happy. Of all the things he had expected, it had not been that. She looked so happy that he could not bring himself to talk to her. Whatever pangs of anxiety he was suffering, it was more than clear that she was experiencing nothing like that. She was laughing.
He backed out of the garden to return to the main entrance and almost ran into Mrs Moffet, who was leaving. She looked ecstatic.
“I see by now you have heard of the engagement,” she said, looking towards the young ladies. “I am the happiest mother alive.”
He followed the direction of her eyes.
His world fell apart.
When a person is uncertain in love, there is nothing easier than for him to put one and one together and to make three out of them. Which is precisely what Mr Gatley did, looking into Mrs Moffet’s smiling face.
It was not Mrs Moffet’s fault that his life was ruined. He should not glare at her as he did. He struggled to say something, because it was expected, but he could not.
There was a stone in his throat. How it came to be lodged there he could not imagine, but he had lost the ability to swallow. And to speak. He tried again to utter the necessary words.
“Congratulations,” he croaked.
“Oh, Mr Gatley,” said Mrs Moffet. “You are coming down with a cold. You should go to your room and rest at once. Rest is the only cure for a cold, if you manage it in the early stages. I fear I must go. I have several visits to make, you know. I can’t wait to spread the news.”
The stone lodged in his throat seemed to have grown larger. He bowed to Mrs Moffet, hoping he would never have to exchange another word with her in his life.
No wonder Miss Darcy had looked so happy.
Not that he thought Mr Moffet was right for her. Not by any means. But he was honest and decent, and he would make a good—though probably agonisingly dull—husband.
It was all too late now. There was no point anymore in apologising to her. She had never even given him a chance.
The only thing he could do now was congratulate her. Though how he could do so without seeming like a bull ready to vent its rage at a red rag, he had no idea. He had seen a bull fight once, when he was in the Peninsula. The bull had been preparing for an attack. Right at this moment, he knew exactly how that bull had felt.
She looked so happy.
There was nothing else he could say to her. It was all over.
Chapter 30
Gatley stalked into the house. His first impulse was to call Oskins and ask him to prepare to travel back to London. In fact, it was the only thing he could do. He should escape before anyone else set eyes on him.
But he could not do it to Oskins. Not again.
He would go upstairs to his room, wash, change his clothing, and have something to eat. Then he would be able to deal with this whole issue in a far more logical manner.
He requested some warm water to be brought up, then he climbed the stairs to his chamber, where he found his valet beginning to unpack his trunk.
“I need some time alone, Reid.”
Reid threw him a questioning look as he left. He had never noticed before, but his servants were an impertinent lot, all of them. Why did they think they were entitled to know everything about him? As if he was obliged to account for all his actions. Could not a man rest in his own chamber without having to give an explanation?
He pulled off his boots with great difficulty—he should have asked Reid to do it before he left—and went in stockinged feet to look out of the window.
The young ladies were still there, sitt
ing in the garden on a stone bench.
He stared down at Miss Darcy, or at least, at her bonnet, which was a sensible one, for once. He looked down at that neat, quiet form which had become so familiar to him, and his heart began to tear. There was no denying it to himself anymore. He was in love with her. Oskins was quite right—besotted. Not that it would do him any good now, when she was engaged to someone else.
Moffet, of all people! Was she so desperate that she had to marry someone like Moffet? Anyone could tell he was not right for her. He needed a wife that would be obedient, and she—she was too independent spirited for him.
The thought struck him like lightning. When had he come to that conclusion about her? When had he decided that Miss Darcy was too independent? He did not know. But it made no sense at all. All those accusations at the inn—they had been about her following in the footsteps of her cousin.
They were all wrong. She was right. He had jumped to the wrong conclusion. He had judged her without knowing the truth.
It was very obvious, now that he knew it. Miss Darcy had always stood up to him, right from the beginning, and she had never backed down in one of their arguments. She was too obstinate to be a follower.
Other things fell into place, now that he was willing to see them. There had been no engagement. Clarissa had not been married to Channing. That could only mean one thing. Something else had happened that day, and Darcy knew that Clarissa had not been planning an assignation with Channing.
He was an utter and complete fool. He had stayed away all this time for no reason at all. And in the meanwhile, Moffet must have insinuated himself into Miss Darcy’s good graces and convinced her to accept him.
The young ladies were rising and were beginning to move towards the house.
The Darcy Cousins Page 33