Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  Richard glanced at a worried-looking Georgiana and crossed his eyes to prompt a smile. “Father, you misunderstand Darcy—though ‘untamed’ would well describe my older brother.”

  Lady Matlock levelled a severe look at her younger son. “Do grow up, dear. Robert is well married and esteemed.”

  Darcy coughed. “Uncle, we viewed Pidock’s Menagerie earlier today. The tiger proved quite fearsome.”

  “The monkeys made me laugh,” Georgiana added.

  His uncle’s tone became serious. “You and your sister may have your fun, but we must settle our business tomorrow afternoon. And your aunt is correct, Darcy. You must continue to Marlbourn.”

  “Uncle—”

  “Take Georgiana if you wish. She will make friends there. I might even spare you Richard for a fortnight.”

  “Father—”

  “But you will go, and you will do what is necessary.”

  ***

  “He is your father, Richard, not mine. I will not throw myself on the marriage market to divert attention from Anne’s folly and her mother’s lies.” Darcy stared out the window, his hand twisting the cords on the heavy brocade curtains.

  Richard remained silent, watching his cousin work out his frustration. These were the first words Darcy had spoken since the two of them had left the Fitzwilliam house, and granting the man time and space to vent his anger seemed only fair.

  “I am the one without parents, so yours and Anne’s believe they have the right to order me about. ‘Fix this, Darcy. Go here, Darcy. Marry her, Darcy.’” He stalked from the window to his favourite chair and flung himself into it. “I have lived my life clean of scandal, resisting temptation and taking care of every bit of estate business and more. Yet it is not enough?” He looked up at Richard, his face angry and confused. “Does my life of so-called privilege extend only to enjoying rich foods, fine tailoring, and good horseflesh?”

  Richard sat down across from him. “Neither of us wished to marry Anne, and neither of us wishes to give up having our choice of bride. I would take your place in a moment; you know that. But I offer little to society as a second son.”

  Darcy leaned over, his head in his hands. “Damn.”

  Sometimes being the kindly older cousin was exhausting. It had been far easier when they were mere youths; all that was expected then was to teach Darcy how to box and flirt and encourage him past his mourning for his mama. But then, as now, Richard recognised that Darcy supported him in everything he did, and beyond relying on him for advice with Georgiana, his cousin always asked so little of him in return. He took a deep breath.

  “You said you wished to marry this girl from Hertfordshire. Tell me of her.”

  Darcy sat up, his eyes ablaze. “Does it matter, Richard? Does it matter that she sets my soul afire, that her mind is alive with ideas and thoughts and sweet comments that leave me paces behind, attempting to keep up? That she was kind to Georgiana? That she is beautiful, witty, and playful?” He paused a moment before adding, “That I love her?”

  Love, not lust? Richard nodded. “Yes, it matters. If you have found yourself the perfect woman, and you are dead sure of it, you must marry her. It may do you well to court her first, of course,” he added wryly, earning a nod from Darcy.

  Richard would have snorted at his cousin’s certainty had the conversation not been so serious. “You should not be punished and pay the price for Anne’s happiness, such as it is. Do as you will; I will support you. And if this Miss Bennet is all you claim, the rest of the family will follow. ”

  He gave in to a smirk. “After all, you can always hie off to Pemberley and forget us all.”

  Darcy gave him a weak smile. “I can, indeed.” He rubbed his jaw. “Richard, you will admire her as Georgiana does. Elizabeth will be a wonderful sister for her.”

  Richard stood and sauntered over to the table holding the brandy decanter. “Well, then. A drink to it? To you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In spite of his most grievous injury, Henry had not been able to stop talking about his great adventure. Thomas, a bit sleepy from a cold, envied his brother’s jaunt with the golden-haired princess, but he was placated by an extra story from his cousin and the promise of a good game of spinning tops the following day.

  “Lizzy, do you know what Miss Georgiana says?” Henry confided. “Her brother is going to a kingdom of horses and sheeps to meet his friends.”

  “A kingdom?”

  “Yes! A duke and some ladies for her brother to meet. She wishes to go as well for she likes country houses and horses.”

  Does she? Is he? What is he about?

  “Do you think it is a castle and they will meet princesses and knights? That would be so grand.”

  Her cousin’s enthusiastic disclosure preyed on Elizabeth’s imagination that night as she lay in her bed. Questions about Warwickshire, Kent, castles, dukes, and ladies filled her thoughts. She awoke tired and rather cranky and feeling as though Thomas’s cold had found a new host. The coal grey skies did nothing to lighten her mood; she was sure it was sunny and cool in Hertfordshire, and never had she missed the countryside so much. The morning passed slowly as the gloom and her heaviness of mind held firm.

  “Lizzy, your Mr. Darcy is here.” Her aunt peered through the curtain in the second-floor hall window.

  “Aunt, he is not my Mr. Darcy.” Her heart raced even faster than her mind as she searched for a reason for his unannounced arrival. “Why is he here?” she whispered.

  “Can you not guess?” Aunt Gardiner squeezed her hand. “I have seen how he looks at you, Lizzy. He admires you a great deal.”

  “I wonder whether he admires every girl with a quick mind or a clever mouth. I do not understand him at all.”

  “You have a clever mind, dear. Think quickly. He is here now.” Mrs. Gardiner patted her stomach. “This babe is not an easy one. Will you manage without me? Might we trust the good character of the master of Pemberley, a man who knows my beloved Lambton, for a few moments?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her aunt’s teasing. “Yes, Aunt. His character vexes me, but I do believe him trustworthy.”

  She also thought him handsome, perplexing, witty, frustrating, and perhaps a little obtuse. He had thought her promised to another—to her uncle!—and never thought to ask after it? What did he and Mr. Bingley talk about?

  Granted, she had not engaged in conversation with him over his engagement or his dead bride, but those were delicate subjects, and his melancholy demeanour fit that mood. She could acknowledge now that his mood lifted when he was with her, and he seemed to set aside his mourning when she was near—which had been noticed rather smugly by Charlotte and more gently by Jane. And then he had left after holding her and guiding her across a dance floor. He had hovered over her hand, bid her good night, and left on his hunt for a bride, a new bride to replace the one who was dead. Or alive and certainly abandoned. And now, after that fruitless search, he was off to another estate brimming with eager prospects?

  He had not even gone by Longbourn to say his farewells, yet in his bedraggled state, he had jumped off his horse in a London street to greet her and request that she meet his sister and spend a day with the two of them. He had been thoughtful, polite, and even formal at the menagerie. They had parted amicably; she and Henry had exchanged fond smiles and goodbyes with Georgiana, and the sweet girl’s brother had twice thanked her for her company. His eyes indicated more feeling than Elizabeth had anticipated.

  He made her head ache. Whatever his purpose now, her own was clear: to seek answers to these troubling questions. Elizabeth took a calming breath and prepared to join her caller.

  ***

  Darcy stood awkwardly in the front hall, wondering whether he was all too obvious to Elizabeth’s aunt; however, she made him feel welcomed. H
e had been to the houses of the country’s richest families, but the warmth and comfort of the Gardiners’ smaller, more intimate abode was as pleasant as any he could recall.

  His eyes roved the walls, taking in the small collection of oils. Mrs. Gardiner nodded at a painting of a mother and child. “That is my favourite, I think. My children prefer paintings with horses and wild seas.”

  “As did I at a young age. You have some impressive works here.”

  “Thank you. We are quite fortunate that my husband does business with men of true discretion and taste. Henry told us you have travelled to the Continent. Did you see works of the masters during your journeys?”

  “My tour allowed me time to see a few galleries in Italy before I was called home,” he said softly. “My father fell ill, and I returned to Pemberley.”

  Mrs. Gardiner looked chagrined. “Pardon me, sir. I recall hearing only the highest compliments paid to your father and your mother. Has Lizzy told you my family is from Lambton?”

  Darcy’s eyes lit with interest. “I do not believe she has. Lambton is a lovely village.”

  “It is, though I have not seen it in years.”

  A child cried out from another room, and she excused herself. “Please make yourself comfortable in the parlour. Lizzy will be right down.”

  Darcy took a step into the room and looked around. Yesterday, he had been too preoccupied watching his sister and Elizabeth meet to truly see the house. Now he could better form an opinion, and he was indeed impressed by the clean, orderly, comfortably furnished rooms. There were paintings to admire and well-used books on tables. He could smell freshly baked bread. It calmed him but not enough to relax every nerve in his body. He felt afire. The previous day had left him unsure of Elizabeth’s feelings, but her giddy laughter at his stupidity, her enjoyment of his sister, and their quiet parting filled him with hope—that damned jubilant hope—once again.

  Yet he needed calm. The anger from the confrontations created by his uncle’s demands and his aunt’s stubbornness had dissipated a bit. His need to punch something—someone—had been focused instead by Richard. Insisting Darcy needed to work off his anger, he had sent late word to their fencing master, asking for a room.

  Loath though he was to credit his cousin’s self-professed brilliance, Darcy could acknowledge that the old dry boots had been right. The parrying and thrusting had focused his mind to one thing: evading the narrow point of his opponent’s foil. Richard was strong on stratagems and movement, and he had taken some advantage of Darcy who, although younger and quicker, lacked total control of his anger.

  Darcy could bear Richard’s jokes. After all, the man had his own troubles—war duties and injuries, his meddlesome parents—from which he could not run away. Richard, too, would have to attend the afternoon’s dreaded meeting with Lady Catherine. Darcy knew it would be awful. Yet his thoughts had cleared, and his plans had formed. He was decided. He would placate his uncle by spending two days with the duke and then travel to Pemberley with Georgiana. He had neglected his estate, and the steward’s letters had become rather persistent.

  First, though, he had to see Elizabeth, to confirm her feelings and to ensure that she would welcome his calling at Longbourn. They had spent little time together, and while yesterday had been less than he had hoped for, it remained the happiest span of hours he had had in weeks. Darcy knew he must leave town, but he needed to make certain she would be waiting for him, thinking of him, while he was gone. He was a rational man, and it was a sensible plan.

  Then Elizabeth walked into the room and all sense failed him.

  “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Mr. Darcy.”

  “I apologise for the unexpected visit. I do my sister’s bidding.”

  Darcy gave her a quick smile, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a single tin soldier.

  “Georgiana discovered this tucked into her reticule last night.” He put the toy into Elizabeth’s hand, his finger lightly brushing hers. “I hope that young Henry found solace with his other toys and acolytes and did not miss this valiant soldier.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I dare say Henry may not have missed him yet. He was quite tired after yesterday’s excursion.”

  “And he is well? Georgiana remains concerned over Henry’s wound.”

  “Miss Darcy should feel no fault, truly. He is well, thank you.”

  “Good, good. Again, Miss Elizabeth, I appreciate your attendance with us.” His voice was a little more steady than earlier. “Your cousin is a fine boy, and we took great pleasure in your company.”

  “It was an enjoyable adventure. I thank you.”

  ***

  Apparently, Mr. Darcy was not quite finished with his visit. Elizabeth observed him as he stood stock still except for his hands, which appeared to be exacting a violent sort of retribution on his hat. Taking a deep breath, she recollected her manners.

  “Would you care to sit?”

  He paused and glanced at the doorway.

  “My aunt is taking a short rest, and the children are with their nurse today.”

  “Their nurse?”

  “Yes, Nancy has been hired only these two days, but will join the household when I return to Longbourn.”

  “When is that?”

  “In three days.”

  “Oh.” He looked puzzled. “You are coming and going so often.”

  “As are you, Mr. Darcy. From Pemberley to Netherfield to Warwickshire to Kent to London, and now you are off to another estate filled with eligible young ladies.”

  “But they are not for me.” He stepped closer. “My uncle…he insists on the visit.”

  And you follow his direction. She sighed softly. His eyes were far too intent. Usually, they were full of amusement at something she had said or abashed at something he had said. Now they were dark and focused on hers. She took a step away and moved towards a chair. He followed, and as she turned to him, he plunged ahead.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I go against my family’s wishes, and by my actions, I may further aggravate a family scandal, but my heart will not be still. You must know I admire you.”

  She blinked and sank into the chair. “You do?”

  “Very much. I…I should like to court you.”

  At this, Elizabeth closed her eyes. The buzzing in her head, which had been faint, rose to a dull roar. This was not at all what she had anticipated.

  ***

  Darcy stood above Elizabeth awkwardly before slowly sitting on the settee across from her. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, feeling hopelessly inept at sweet talk. I know Greek and Latin, but where does one go for instruction on conversations of the heart?

  “What?”

  “I wish to court you,” he said haltingly.

  “I see.”

  “My family will learn to admire you in spite of it all, as I do.”

  “As you do what?”

  “Admire you. Love you.”

  “You love me? In spite of it all?” She shook her head. “Pray forgive me. You have praised my quickness of mind, but it fails me at this moment. You love me and wish to court me?”

  “Yes.” His lips moved but he stayed frozen, near dizzy, and grateful to be seated. His mind felt slow, as if all of his energy was directed towards his heart, which was beating faster than he could ever recall.

  “To say the least,” she said in a thin voice. “Pray, if there are no obstacles from your imaginary engagement or mine, what is ‘in spite of it all’?”

  Darcy sighed, feeling sheepish. “My family. They are complicated in their expectations and require much of me.”

  “And your former betrothed?”

  “I was never promised to Anne nor to anyone else. Nor would she have married me.” Darcy groaned. “Did Charles not clea
r that up?”

  “Not entirely.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Forgive my curious nature but I must know… In Meryton, you talked to me as a familiar friend, you teased and laughed. Was it because you were thought to be betrothed or because you thought me promised to my uncle?”

  Darcy’s mind raced. His cousin’s “death” had been no one’s business in that country town, and his mourning for Anne had rendered him safe from being fawned over for his wealth and as a potential suitor. He had enjoyed the respite, knowing nothing of his status as the Grieving Groom until Bingley informed him just days ago.

  He was an ass.

  “My family business is private, but I should have addressed the misconception among friends such as yourself. Most importantly, I was disappointed in thinking you promised. The more time I spent in your company, the more I regretted my chance with you.”

  He closed his eyes, recalling their first conversation during which he had done the unthinkable for Fitzwilliam Darcy: he had bantered with a lady. About burned books, of all things.

  “But believing you engaged did in fact lessen any of society’s expectations that I might have felt.” He smiled at her. “Truly, I was so happy to learn of my stupidity and to discover you were not promised…so that I could openly court you.”

  “Stupidity, indeed,” she said quietly. “So, to clarify: while I have never been betrothed, your situation confuses me. Were you betrothed?”

  “I was not.”

  Elizabeth delicately put forth the paramount question. “The bride you were not to marry is dead? Or is she not?”

  “She is not.” Darcy paused, unsure how to explain, yet certain this was not the time to confide the sordid tale. “Anne was never my intended.”

  Her eyes narrowed at his reply. “Did you abandon her affections for another?”

  “No, I did not!” he cried. “There was no promise, and there was no affection beyond that of two cousins. There has been no other—none until you.”

  “A country girl with whom you might dance but to whom your family will object.”