If her relations were vexing him, he did not say so. His expression was unfamiliar to her. Indeed, she knew not what to make of it. He seemed oddly hesitant. When he finally looked as if he was to speak, he appeared to change his mind. Walking to Cressida, he tugged her off of the bed and urged her through the door. Before it was shut, the dog had curled up to sleep.
With Cressida settled for the night, Darcy turned and leaned his back against the door. He stayed there but a moment before returning to his position at the footboard. Elizabeth had seated herself in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. Something in his manner bid her come to the edge of the bed and place her feet on the floor. It offered her more stability—for what, she was yet to know. She did not speak, but awaited him.
With exceeding formality, he said, “I must share with you tidings of the sort that you may find unsettling. I promise you, there is no call for alarm.”
Telling her that there was no reason for alarm, however, was to put all her senses on high alert. He curled a forefinger against his mouth to contain a small cough before continuing.
“As you well know, disguise of any sort is my abhorrence. Nonetheless, I have withheld certain information from you solely for your protection. If I have distressed you in word or action by doing so, I hereby offer my sincerest apologies.”
Her countenance betrayed little emotion, save an exceedingly eagre interest in what he was to say. In fortune, her thoughts and concerns were as familiar to him as the subtle nuances wherein they were conveyed. Hence, he perceived that she was unlikely to brook further delay in his narrative.
Choosing his words carefully (but, regrettably, through his own perspective, not his wife’s), he said, “Whilst I was in London, I engaged in a private conversation with a lady of our acquaintance. This meeting was in no way by design. The lady was simply in want of my assistance in regards to difficulties of a highly confidential nature.”
Anticipating the question, he hurried to say, “Her husband’s station is such that she believed that she had no one else to whom she could turn. I know that your trust in me is implicit, therefore, I am free to tell you that due to the intimate character of the information shared in this meeting, I must respect the lady’s privacy and make no further elucidation upon the incident.”
His position, once so sure, wavered ever so slightly. Somewhere in his recitation, the possibility that he had erred presented itself. Therefore, he felt moved to repeat the pertinent facts.
Taking a deep breath, he said, “To summarise, I am to advise you that whilst in London....”
Here, Elizabeth interrupted. Her voice had a pinched quality, one that did no bode well for the supposition that she would accept his rationale as befitting a man of keen insight and superior judgement. Indeed, she looked at him as if he had gone off his head.
She said, “You are confessing to me that whilst in London you engaged in an assignation with a woman you refuse to name and exchanged confidences of such intimacy that you are unable to repeat them to me?”
Mr. Darcy was unused to being scolded and he thought that he did not like it.
In a voice dripping with condescension, he said, “Allow me to apprise you that the information just related by me, to you, in no way could be described as ‘confessional’, nor was the meeting an ‘assignation’.”
With one eyebrow raised, she disputed that he was, in any manner, the aggrieved party. He pursed his lips, not in agreement, but that she had a point. She made the most of it.
She inquired, “And where, pray tell, did this tryst take place? At your house in town? Or did you go to her? Perchance, you were in a carriage! I understand hired carriages are favoured for clandestinity.”
At this last snip, she ceased. Unbeknownst to her, she chanced upon one element of her husband’s meeting with Juliette that was undeniable. His disconcertion kept him from immediately realising that his wife had accused him of, not imprudence of conduct, but outright misconduct—of the most egregious sort. When that realisation struck him, he was most unamused.
“If I may interject,” he raised a finger. “You have, good lady, used my own words quite handily against me. The meeting whereof you speak was in no way a tryst. I am aggrieved and injured that you would make that accusation.”
He bore an expression of such appalled incredulity that she immediately (and admittedly, half-heartedly) regretted her diatribe.
They had been perhaps six feet apart. In order for their minds to be alike, Elizabeth knew that she would have to be the one to go to him. Once they stood toe to toe, it was he who reached out for her.
“I here beg leave to apologise,” she said simply. “I spoke of how it seemed, not of what I believed.”
It was quite difficult for him to admit to himself, much less to her, that he might have misdeemed another’s motives. Elizabeth knew that.
Finally, he said, “I should have spoken to you of this odd incident sooner. I waited for the right moment to present itself, but that moment never quite came about. In the telling of it, my opinion of the circumstances has altered. Now I fear I have unburdened myself at the expense of disturbing you.”
As her colour had heightened, she was unable to deny that, indeed, the information he had related did affect her contrarily. Aware all common wisdom advised that one should never dare to presume, she becalmed herself before she spoke.
“I gather that the lady in question is Lady Howgrave?”
If he was surprised at her guess, he did not expose that he was. He nodded once. His gaze held hers and did not waver at the admission. His countenance remained contained, as was the information he chose to recount. Loath as he was to be less than forthcoming, he would not chance just then exposing the entirety of Juliette’s request. It was quite difficult for him to admit that he had spoken to her privately; he could not imagine how to tell Elizabeth that he had been importuned without sounding like a prig. That was hardly the point, he knew. Truth be told, he had not yet looked upon the incident with a dispassionate eye.
He said simply, “Lady Howgrave has accused her husband of dire misuse. She hoped to gain my assistance in escaping him.”
Raising her chin ever-so slightly, Elizabeth said, “I believe that, as a gentleman, you did what you could....”
He replied evenly, “I fear not all ills are within my reach to cure. I contacted my solicitor on her behalf.”
For reasons that were beneath her, Elizabeth was pleased—not that Juliette was abused, no one deserved that—but that Darcy was not to be her rescuer. A beatific expression overspread her countenance, supposing everything was, indeed, now in the past.
Darcy was most happy to have finally told Elizabeth of the incident with Lady Howgrave. His struggle, however, had not been compleatly resolved. He had merely broached the subject, not told the whole of it.
Chapter 74
Heaven’s Rejoice
Watch this, Papa!” said Geoff.
A handsome tent had been erected where two foot paths crossed so the family could enjoy the air without the sun. Mr. Darcy turned to his son, expecting to see the boy doing a somersault. (His acrobatics were becoming quite reckless.) Rather, Geoff had two fingers against his teeth and was blowing hard. Nothing, however, came out, save a little spittle. Darcy looked in his wife’s direction.
He bid, “Do you see what he is attempting to do?”
She protested, “I had no part in such business.”
As Darcy was unable to define his son’s attempt with haste, he omitted any qualifying remarks, saying, “Geoff, come and tell me of this... this.”
Solemnly, Geoff came to his side side.
“The Colonel has been teaching me to whistle,” he replied.
The Darcys exchanged knowing looks. When he was a boy, the good Colonel taught Darcy to whistle. Indeed, Darcy’s technique had never altered. Blackjack was well-trained to respond to it when afield.
“Upon what occasion, pray, shall you need to whistle?” Darcy asked his son.
“To call for my pony! For Cressida—or any of the puppies.”
It was true, ponies and spaniels abounded. The dogs were often in need of being called to heel. Before Darcy could give him fatherly advice, Janie interjected. She emitted her own whistle. To no one’s great surprise, she whistled quite well—far better than her brother (and she was certainly more proficient than her mother).
“That is how to whistle,” Janie announced.
As her father’s full attention was upon containing his amusement, her mother corrected her.
“Whilst gentlemen may whistle for their horse, ladies do not.”
Janie was unconvinced, “What if a lady falls from her horse and the horse runs away?”
“I fancy,” Elizabeth debated, “a lady would wait for a gentleman to do it for you....”
Janie interrupted, “If Geoff is the only one there, I best whistle myself.”
“Janie!” hushed Elizabeth. “One must never triumph over another, especially a brother.”
Quite impudently, Janie had issued a loud whistle directly in Geoff’s face and then dashed away. Whilst his parents were intent upon protecting his budding pride, Geoff gave his sister chase. Taking to the nearest path, she alternately ran and skipped as she did.
“Mama says you are not to run!” Geoff hollered as he ran after her.
“And Mama says that neither of you are to bellow!” Elizabeth called after them both.
Miffed, she sighed heavily, understanding that some innate predilections were unalterable.
“Here,” said her husband, handing her a book.
“I rather thought you enjoyed Scott. Not this one?” she asked, having determined by his expression that he was unenthused.
“I prefer re-reading Gibbon,” he said.
Elizabeth was not surprised. His predilections did not alter much either.
———
Having learnt of Beecher’s latest debauchery, Lady Catherine was much in want of reminding one and all just who held sway over her granddaughter. Hence, she made her way to Derbyshire with increasing frequency. Young Cathy showed an aptitude for the pianoforte and Lady Catherine would not be satisfied until she knew that Cathy was a true proficient. With Georgiana’s tutorials, she was well on her way.
As Darcy had never found tangible evidence that his aunt had transgressed their privacy in collusion with their steward, Smeads, they could not, in all god conscience, hold her responsible for it. Hence, when in the distance a small white cloud of dust announced her imminent arrival to Pemberley, Elizabeth made herself not cringe. Indeed, she managed to put on a decent show of welcome. Young Cathy was a sweet, charming little girl—one whom Elizabeth could not find fault with should her son one day find her in particular esteem. She refused any prejudice against Lady Catherine to interfere with that opinion.
Lady Catherine had the good sense to approve of the Fitzwilliams’ stewardship of her granddaughter. That judgement bespoke a generosity not usually seen in her. It was enough to hope that her heart, so often vengeful, had improved. She had not altered her opinion of Beecher. It was fortunate that he hied to London when she travelled to Derbyshire. Her granddaughter’s father or not, Lady Catherine had good reason to despise him. His moral inadequacies notwithstanding, her ladyship’s ancient macaw had gone missing and he was the chief suspect in the theft.
That night, the Darcys entertained only the Fitzwilliams, for Lady Catherine had been bid a semi-fond farewell the day before. Darcy felt free to apprise the Colonel that he was aware of his whistling tutorial, and that it had been only partially successful. The information was received as good-naturedly as it was presented.
Although Darcy was a doting father, Geoff Darcy was his namesake. Therefore, Fitzwilliam’s affection for him was understood. He listened raptly as Darcy related the events of that afternoon.
“Yes,” Darcy told him. “My daughter has taken your directions quite well. She has taken them so well that she has exceeded her brother. I believe that must be remedied lest he hold that embarrassment the rest of his life.”
His tone was one of bemusement, but Elizabeth believed him quite serious. Usually, Georgiana sat quietly embroidering whilst the others bantered. This conversation, she entered.
Without looking up, she said, “The Colonel tells me that my whistle is better than any other he had ever heard. Have you, brother, been wounded by that?”
Raising an eyebrow, Darcy answered, “How could I be put out of countenance by something I was unaware of—if in fact it were true.”
“You deny my talent?” she said primly.
Her older brother spoke to her as an older brother would, “I only say that I have not had the pleasure of hearing you whistle.”
She replied, “No, you have not, but then that has been by my design. For you would chastise me for doing so, would you not?”
“If I may interrupt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “I alone may be the judge for I have heard you both whistle....”
Before he went further, Darcy interrupted him, “Are you saying that you taught my sister to whistle?”
“In that, she did not need my assistance,” the Colonel replied. “It must be a family virtue.”
Knowing that her own poor attempts at whistling would do her no credit (the occasions upon which she had engaged that questionable skill were not to be discussed in company), Elizabeth was silent.
Seizing the competitive nature of their conversation, Darcy went to his wife’s side and whispered for her ear alone, “I say, my wife whistles quite well.”
“No, dearest,” she whispered in return. “I shall not have a share in this contest.”
Darcy looked at her thoughtfully, reminding her, “When you choose, you can be heard.”
Anne, Cathy, and Janie played at their feet, seemingly unaware of their conversation. Elizabeth observed that Janie was unusually quiet. That meant she was paying heed to their discourse. She put her finger to her lips, suggesting to the others that they alter their topic, lest it be an encouragement to the children. The jests were set aside. Other subjects were introduced and discussed.
As Georgiana had yet to conceive again, she had confided to Elizabeth that she feared she could not give Fitzwilliam another child. She, of course, was not indebted to do so. Was she to have a son, it would have only been a matter of pride for his father. As brother of the blade, a gentleman of the first order, a hero of the Peninsular and Waterloo engagements (gallantry cited more than once in the Gazette), Fitzwilliam in no way needed a son to prove his manhood. As delicately as possible, she communicated her opinion upon the matter to Georgiana.
Just as delicately, Georgiana replied, “On this, as on many other occasions, are minds are alike.” She smiled and then added, “If the Colonel is ever in want of a boy to teach the art of soldiering, a very willing pupil is before him.”
There, at Fitzwilliam’s knee, stood little Geoff. In his hand was another wooden horse, this one white.
Geoff said, “I shall ride into battle with a horse just like this.”
“An officer should not ride a white horse,” the Colonel advised. “He would be too easy a shot for his enemies.”
“Napoleon’s horse, Marengo was an Arabian like this one, but for its mane and tail—they were grey,” Geoff answered holding up his wooden horse.
Fitzwilliam countered, “And look what happened to him....”
“Actually,” said Geoff. “Napoleon was captured....”
Darcy interrupted, “Do not think to correct the Colonel. He knows Napoleon and his history quite well.”
All watched as Geoff nodded, no one quite certain how well he took his father’s reproof. Fitzwilliam affectionately ruffled his hair. Without a word, Geoff smoothed his hair back into place. Fitzwilliam did not speak of it, but made note that Geoff was soldierly enough not to be put in disarray. Georgiana smiled, recognising her brother’s fastidiousness in her nephew. Hands behind his back, Darcy looked upon his son with approval (for
indeed, one must never be mussed, particularly in company).
Elizabeth did not smile.
The very notion that her son might go into battle one day sent a shiver down her spine. She did not often think of Geoff’s future as Master of Pemberley, but she hoped he would not be disposed to find distinction in war. It was not unknown for a landowner to fashion their own uniform and trot off to battle.
There were tussles enough with their offspring even then.
The twins were generally well behaved, but when their cousins visited (which was often), they became even more rambunctious. Their antics could not all be assigned to ill influence by their kin. Geoff was caught sliding down the banister in the grand hall more than once and his sister managed to keep a box full of newborn mice under her bed for a week before they were discovered by Franny Tupin. Despite her wrangles with her brother, Janie was usually quite feminine. She was happy to be drawn in a goat cart (but allowed no one else to ever hold the reins). Geoff turned his nose up at the thought of goat carts and ponies. Perhaps because Darcy was wise enough not to insistent upon it, Geoff was never happier than when he was allowed to ride in front of his father whilst he was on Blackjack.
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