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Watching Geoff with his wooden horse, Elizabeth told Georgiana, “Darcy says Geoff shall not be satisfied until he has a horse of his own.”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip as she pondered future hurts. Georgiana, however, altered the conversation from their pampered pets to those abused.
She asked her brother, “What do we hear of the pit ponies? Has Lady Millhouse made any progress there?”
Darcy blanched at the question. It reminded him of a story that may well have travelled halfway to London and back—but one he had not encouraged. Indeed, he had spoken of it only to Elizabeth. If Fitzwilliam had heard of the tale, Georgiana’s open expression made it obvious that he had not related it to her. Darcy thought it only fair to tell his sister what had come to pass at her behest—intercessory letters notwithstanding.
He said, “Our good friend has made progress, but not without great loss to her dignity.”
Georgiana gave a little gasp and placed her fingers against her lips, “Oh, dear!”
He continued, “With only Miss Arbuthnot to accompany her, she took a gig to the nearest mine to negotiate a rearrangement of the workings of their operation. They were loath to take her or her accomplice’s advice. It is no surprise that more than a few miners believed them to be rabble-rousers sent there by the government to disrupt their work. Apparently, Lady Millhouse was sent on her way in a hail of coal.”
“Yes,” added Elizabeth. “Young Sally stood in the gig and threw the coal back at the mob as fast as it was flung.”
In the unlikelihood of the Millhouses relating any of the tale to them, Sally had thought it prudent to make a report of it to the Darcys. Sally was most impressed with Lady Millhouse’s performance.
Sally told them, “I have never seen man nor beast run quite as fast as her ladyship had that day. She lifted her skirts above her knees and ran like the devil was on her heels!”
Despite Sally’s words of praise, Darcy saw it his duty to protect Lady Millhouse’s dignity insofar as their present company. He omitted that part of the story and launched directly into a careful admonishment.
He said, “That is why I was so opposed to you taking part in such business, Georgiana. They could have easily been arrested and tossed in prison for treason. You have children under your care.”
That was the only argument she would not debate. Darcy did not want her to believe her good intentions were wholly thwarted.
He told her, “Lady Millhouse has seen the error of her presentation. She will go to town to watch the equestrian performances at Astley’s and then visit the horse auction where she means to purchase ponies. The next time she approaches a mine, she shall not go to ask the miners to relinquish their stock, but rather to present them with ponies instead. It is her design to have them rotate these ponies in their work.”
Hearing him speak of horses, Geoff leapt up, asking, “Papa! Can you go to Astley’s and buy me a bigger horse?”
“And me Papa! If Geoff gets a bigger horse, may I have one as well?” cried Janie.
“Of all the horses we have in our stables....” he began.
Then he stopped. It was far easier to agree, perhaps, than explain why not.
Chapter 75
The Rabbit Hole
Truly, Juliette did not want to confide in Alistair Thomas. He was a man she knew not to be trustworthy. (As he was a politician, she believed it was a given that his scruples were malleable.) She certainly would not confide in him of her visit with Darcy.
When Darcy did not come to her before he returned to Derbyshire, time, which had once only been a taunt, had turned lethal. Without word from him, she became evermore anxious and apprehensive. Soon alarm troubled her so gratingly that her fingers shook when she took her tea.
As her constant companion, Alistair could not help but notice. With Juliette’s nerves shattered, his repeated entreaties that she share the details of her plan with him were at last met with success. When she spoke, it was with great purposefulness.
“As I have previously advised you, I aspire to have a gentleman of my acquaintance, a former lover, father my child....”
Alistair, possibly lost in his own intrigues, looked away. Taken as she was by her manoeuvring, she did not make note of it.
In a moment, he asked, “Would your husband’s suspicion not be aroused?”
The query was unworthy of a seductress of her abilities.
She simpered, “You question my powers of persuasion?”
Increasingly thrown into his company, Juliette still did not particularly fancy Alistair. His figure was fit (but unduly narrow-shouldered to tempt her admiration). As time passed, she simply longed for diversion. He remained the least revolting man that had access to her chambers. Moreover, he was greatly interested in her schemes against Howgrave. She knew that Alistair had some motive that would improve his situation (all men did), she simply had not yet winkled his out of him.
Initially, she feared he was merely baiting her—in want of betraying her to her husband. More likely, he meant to extort money from her for his silence. She let it be known that under such circumstances, she would not hesitate to accuse him of being her lover. If she did, Alistair would be in far greater danger than was she. Howgrave would run him through—or at least have one of his minions do it.
Sequestered and lonely, she allowed his company for what it was—preferable to what she had been enduring. His interest was always keenest when their discourse tarried upon her plan to escape and extort her husband. No doubt, he hoped to receive a portion of what she would gain from Howgrave for himself. If her plan was as lucrative as she hoped, she would be happy to allow him a share of the pelf. His talk was always witty and occasionally even helpful. He kept her spirits high when she began to believe that Darcy would not come to her at all.
As she was closely watched by her husband’s henchmen, she schemed of ways to make her away. Only Alistair knew how to avoid their sentry. Once in her chambers, he did all he could to storm the citadel of her feminine grotto. She laughed at such feeble murmurings. But her restlessness was so fevered that even those euphemisms began to sound charmingly naive. Alistair was not compleatly without his merit. Indeed, his attempts to lure her to bed began to look inviting. Still, she held him at bay. (There was but one pair of arms wherein she wanted to revel and Alistair did not happen to own them.) Rather, she diverted him by divulging titbits from her tryst with her proposed lover in her carriage.
“He offered to spirit me from the country, but I refused,” she related.
Alistair admitted that was proof indeed of her lover’s concern for her plight.
He advised, “You must jingle the cage a bit. Send lovely billets-doux to remind him that you await his rescue.”
Heeding his advice, she busied herself at her escritoire, writing page after page, tearing them in half and writing once again. One wafted to his feet.
It read, “You would not have to acknowledge the child. Of this, you have my promise, Mon Cheri. Indeed, it shall be our secret. If you cannot come to me and give me a child, I shall be put down as if a beast of burden which has passed its usefulness....”
Picking up a gold letter knife (one encrusted with gems), he sliced it in two. He approved of the general tone of her missive, but had further advice.
He called to her, “Sprinkle a little water upon the page so it appears to be tear-stained....”
“Mon ami, I do not have to resort to such trickery. My tears are quite real.”
“Your lover is married?”
She shrugged, “Of course.”
“With land, chattels...?”
Again, she nodded.
Holding the gold letter knife gingerly in his hand, Alistair gauged its weight. Her household was full of such treasures. It was important that he did not exclude his own suit for her affections.
He cautioned, “Your lover has much to lose and nothing to gain in aiding you.”
Said she, “It was his marriage that separated us. It shal
l not again.”
Indeed, it would not. She was no longer content for a single hour of pleasure. She wanted all of Darcy—man, arms, and sabre.
Chapter 76
To the Fair
Geoff Darcy believed that embarking on a mission to purchase a horse for him was a superb notion.
He was too young to ride a full-sized, highly-bred animal on his own. However, he was not too young to prepare for that eventuality. Darcy wanted to do everything he could to encourage his son’s already avid interest in all things equestrian. Although the finest of horses could be found in his own stables, he had not seen one of the proper temperament and age. A colt would be trained under his own exacting directions. By the time the horse was ready for Geoff, the boy would be ready for the horse.
In seeking this particular animal, Darcy’s plans were quite unlike Lady Millhouse’s. She might want to observe a circus, but Mr. Darcy did not want to attend, what might be considered, low entertainment. Perhaps, when the children were older and the times more settled, he might choose to take them all to the horse fair. As it was, he meant to return to the breeder where Elizabeth’s mare, Boots, was purchased. The estate was the hithermost side of Maidenhead. As before, Fitzwilliam would accompany him. It was Fitzwilliam who convinced Darcy that the horse fair should not be avoided, as they would be in the vicinity.
“The likelihood that the fine animal I seek would be purchased from a gypsy is quite remote,” Darcy grumbled. “But as you say, it would take little time to observe the stock there.”
It was to be a trip of goodly length. Hence, they would employ the coach. Fitzwilliam’s leg would not allow him to ride a horse as he once had. They would take their time and make a fine excursion of it. Indeed, by the time their plans had been framed, Darcy had become enlivened by the prospect. It was at Elizabeth’s insistence that he relented upon betaking himself upon the journey at all. It was her contention that if he was to go, it would be better to go sooner than later. Later, she hoped to be with child. Later, she would not want him too leave her side.
“I hope that I may take to my bed with morning sickness at any moment. If you are to go, I would rather give you up now than when I am too unwieldy to take the stairs.”
In truth, she hoped for her loving husband’s distraction. As much as she desired her husband’s company, she wanted him free—at least for a while—of the weight of Pemberley’s daily burdens. It would do him good.
———
Upon the morning of their departure, Elizabeth flitted nervously about, suddenly not wanting Darcy to go away. She realised that she was hovering and therefore, making the leave-taking all the more unsettling. Geoff had begged his father to allow him to ride in the coach as far as the lodge-post. As the boy had been crestfallen to learn that he was not to accompany his father upon this journey, small favours were not to be withheld.
Whilst the coach was being loaded, Darcy stopped his meticulous watch over the activities to take his wife’s arm. He led her away to the small alcove across from the portico.
Once there, he kissed her upon her forehead and said, “Before I take leave, I must tell you....”
He paused. Ever so propitious in word and deed, this moment was ill-timed, indeed.
After considering his words, he continued thusly, “Truth be known, I would never have stepped foot in her carriage....”
Thereupon, she realised that he was speaking again of his meeting with Lady Howgrave. Could he not just preface his discourse with that information?
Whilst she cogitated his exposition, he stopped again, pressing his thumb against his lower lip. His pauses were quite maddening. Between them, however, she understood that he was making a declaration of sorts. He was an educated man, capable of eloquence of address and superior elucidation. Why he could not just come out with it was becoming an increasing botheration. His last such advisement had not blessed her with unmitigated joy. Therefore, her anticipation of the information he was to offer worried the most precipitous reaches of her composure.
He chose to enjoy each pause in their discourse without daring to look in her eyes. Yet, she allowed him to gather his thoughts before completing his admission—if indeed that was what it was. Nonetheless, she feared that if he did not speak his mind soon, she could not be responsible for her actions.
Finally, he said, “Perhaps we should speak of this upon my return, when we shall be able to converse more freely—unconstrained by time.”
“No,” she said (far more abruptly than she meant). “You have had ample time to declare, assert, or profess what you are struggling to tell me at this moment. I shall wait no longer.”
Clearly, his avowal was to cover the balance of the meeting he had engaged in with Lady Howgrave in London. As he was, if not to London, at least away in that direction once again, it did not bode well for her presumption that he was to have no further dealings with the lady.
“I had no choice, you see,” he finally said.
“No choice?”
He answered, “To enter her carriage that night.”
“You explained yours actions upon that occasion to me once before. Why do you persist...?”
He said, “I fear I must bring certain tidings to light now, lest delaying it might impede your future condition.”
So, he had not told her all. It was quite apparent that he planned to relieve his conscience on the very threshold of his departure. Moreover, what he was to say was so injurious that, was she with child, it would befoul her pregnancy. His every word proved her correct.
“It is true that I did step into her carriage that night....” He stopped again, fretting, “I should not be speaking of it just now.”
“No, you should not.”
Servants were hustling about, just beyond hearing.
She repeated her entreaty, “You should not—not here”
“Mama,” Janie called.
“In a moment!” Elizabeth responded (with uncharacteristic impatience).
He continued with singular determination, “You see, I encountered her in the garden. She was in want of speaking to me. It was my duty as a gentleman to escort her to her carriage. I had no intention of stepping inside it with her.”
“But you did.”
“But I did.”
“So you said,” she reminded him.
Folding her arms across her bosom, Elizabeth steadied herself.
“It is not what you might think. I could not take my leave, you see.”
Closing her eyes, she said, “Then pray, please speak!”
He stood back on his heels, momentarily sputtering as if he did not know—not only how to explain—but what he must explain as well. She only dared open one eye to discern what caused this indignation.
Then at last, his exasperation erupted.
He announced, “She took my hat!”
“What?” Elizabeth responded. “Your hat?”
“My hat.”
“She took your hat? What hat? Your umber one that goes so well with your pearl-grey waistcoat?”
“The very one,” he replied.
“Pray tell, why in the world did she do that?”
“I can only fancy that she took it to obtain my attention—and thereupon, my cooperation.”
Red splotches appeared high upon each of his cheekbones. Although they were rarely seen, they were quite recognizable for what they were—an indication of acute injury. If Lady Juliette Howgrave had the temerity to remove his hat from his person in order to gain his attention, she made a tremendous misstep. No one touched Mr. Darcy (save Mrs. Darcy). What might have been considered a small coquetry to another gentleman was to him an unparalleled affront.
“Did you retrieve your hat forthwith?”
His expression told her that he had, but he nodded as well.
“I was much in want of unkenneling this particular episode at the first possible moment. Why, I cannot explain. It is my duty to spare you these small indignities if at all possible.”