by J. L. Ashton
Richard’s tears of laughter soaked his handkerchief and most of Darcy’s.
Later, as they sat down to their evening meal, Georgiana turned to her brother. “Will you be angry with me if I tell you why I trusted Andrews?”
He managed an encouraging smile. “No, sweetling, of course not.” Darcy waved the footmen out of the room. “Go on, then.”
“At Pemberley, he was nothing more than a nice young man able to tell me the names of flowers. It was lonely there for me, especially when you were away. He has many brothers and sisters, and his stories made me laugh.”
Darcy shook his head. “You were too often alone, Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley is kind and a good companion, but you should have friends around you, cousins your own age.”
“Or a sister. I wish Elizabeth Bennet and her Gardiner cousins could come to Pemberley.”
Richard laughed while Darcy frowned and gently took his sister’s hand. He cleared his throat. “Was Andrews your friend?”
“Yes, he was nice.” She took a deep breath and, in a tremulous voice, began to stutter. “He…he was at the menagerie the day we were there. He was the man who picked up Henry’s soldier. When I recognised him, he whispered, ‘Beware your aunt.’”
Darcy sat frozen while Richard was stirred to anger.
“He said that? How does he know anything of your aunts?” Richard cried indignantly.
The girl started crying. “I knew which aunt, Richard. I knew he did not mean your mother!”
“There, there, my dear.” Richard gave her a tender smile. He had an unfortunate tendency towards gruffness, resulting in an uncanny ability not only to discipline soldiers but also to elicit his cousin’s tears and his mother’s fury. Why are women so complicated when I am all charm and kind-heartedness?
His sister’s tears provoked Darcy to react. “How did he know you—we—would be at Pidock’s?” Darcy asked in a gentle voice.
“I do not know. Coincidence, I suppose,” she speculated.
Darcy was watching her carefully, and Georgiana seemed to sense his worries.
“Andrews is not my secret correspondent, Fitzwilliam,” she cried. “I have known nothing of him since you banished him!”
He grimaced. “I believe you.”
“The whole thing was so odd until the note came today. I just knew something was wrong.” Georgiana took a breath. “I asked Irene to wear my bonnet and pelisse and get into the carriage, then go straight upstairs to the blue bedroom and hide in that great closet.”
Richard guffawed, heedless of the crumbs that flew into his moustache. “The one with the hidden door?”
“Yes! I knew she would be safe. I told her to trust the footman with the freckled cheeks.”
“And so you did.” Darcy beamed at her, though Richard wondered at the origins of Andrews’s information and of his very presence at Pidock’s. Darcy looked equally perplexed. It took all of the colonel’s self-control not to spout something unsuitable in front of Georgiana.
“You are not angry with me?” she asked quietly.
“Not at all, my sweet,” Darcy reassured her. “I am proud of you. There are too many secrets that turn into lies and rumours around this family.” He smiled and pulled a child’s drawing from his pocket. “I have nearly forgotten to deliver your post.”
Georgiana sighed. “Henry is such a sweet boy. I like the Gardiners. And Lizzy is so nice.”
Richard’s eyebrows rose. He crossed his arms and stared expectantly at Darcy. “‘Lizzy’?” he mouthed.
Darcy scowled and turned back to his sister. “Have you gathered all your music and books for your trunks? I believe we have a journey to make.”
“We leave tomorrow for Marlbourn?”
“Um, our plans have altered. We go to Netherfield and then home to Pemberley.”
Her eyes widened. “Pemberley? Truly? Oh, Fitzwilliam, I have missed it.”
“As have I.”
Georgiana’s happy smile slowly faded. “You will not visit the duke and duchess?” She looked stricken. “Is it my fault you will not go?”
“Not at all, sweetheart. I have travelled enough on Fitzwilliam family business these past weeks. I wish to go home and see to Darcy lands.”
“So you will not meet any more ladies.”
Richard barked. “On the contrary. Miss Bingley is at Netherfield, my dear.”
Georgiana’s look of horror expressed her thoughts.
Darcy sighed dramatically and gave his cousin a dark look. “We shall stay at Netherfield but a few nights. Longbourn, the estate where Elizabeth Bennet and her family reside, is nearby.”
Georgiana’s face brightened with excitement.
“I shall meet her sisters!”
Her squeal of exuberance hurt Richard’s bad ear. Its origins, traceable to his days as a greenhorn officer standing too near to cannon fire, involved an elaborate tale he never tired of recounting.
After embracing her brother and cousin, Georgiana disappeared to her rooms to see to her trunks and recount her day to Mrs. Annesley.
“She is a sly one, Darcy,” Richard barked. “Nary a question about the lady you will visit? How unlike my mother. Georgiana seems more a Darcy than a Fitzwilliam.”
“Thank goodness,” Darcy muttered. He turned to Richard and grimaced. “We need to learn more of the footman’s connection to Wickham. Mayhap, he is under orders to create more havoc or steal my mother’s jewels.”
“The boy is an innocent, I believe. Just a pawn. What is Wickham up to? Tupping country girls and situating footmen with Lady Catherine?”
“He best not still be in Meryton. Can you find out where he is placed? If he remains in uniform?”
“Hmm, of course.” Richard stared at the painting on the wall opposite his chair. “Meryton? In Hertfordshire? Has your Miss Bennet made the acquaintance of our old friend?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied, his face grim. “She read his face quite easily, but he is quick. Although he was taken unawares of the rumours and the truth swirling around Rosings, he was swift to support and spread any slanders against me.”
“Good for your lady,” Richard said, smirking at the blush his words brought to Darcy’s cheeks. “Is he simply making merry, lacking power and freedom of movement, and being devious?”
“He has never been capable of making a plan. He careers and crashes.” Darcy rubbed his neck, a clear sign his mind and body were near exhaustion. “Wickham is a dim one.”
Richard glared at Darcy, but his cousin’s comment appeared innocently made.
“Yes, well, I shall speak to Andrews,” he replied. “Your mind appears to be elsewhere— already in the country, dreaming of your sweetheart?”
“Her beauty outstrips yours, Richard.” Darcy squinted at him. “Perhaps if you shaved off that monstrosity, I could be tempted to stay…”
“Ha! You would desert me even for Miss Bingley.” Richard collapsed into a chair and threw his leg over the stuffed arm. “I am bereft.”
“I think you have a secret admiration for Charles’s sister.” Darcy smirked. “I am sorry to break your heart, but I have much work to do in Hertfordshire. Even without determining what mischief Wickham might be up to, I have many steps on the road towards achieving my goal.”
“Your goal? How dreadfully droll you are, Darcy. Perhaps you are a romantic after all.”
“Hmm.”
Richard watched his cousin, fingers steepled and brow furrowed, deep in thought. Always with the thinking. Does he never tire of it? The more he pondered it, the more Richard recognised that his cousin had not truly changed from the ever-watchful, slightly diffident boy he had once been.
He was never a woolly-crown, and I am not dim. That venal old bat. I knew she hated me. Did not even consider me for Anne, thankfully
. Ha! The old witch got what she deserved for a son-in-law.
All this staring at and thinking about Darcy hastened Richard’s need for a drink. Drink. Think. They were such opposites.
Even when on horseback or when swimming in Pemberley’s ponds, Darcy was always thinking. Why? Richard recalled the hungry looks his cousin had bestowed upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Does a man in love and lust need to bloody think? One should be taking direction from below, damn it, not from the brain. Instinct, man!
Darcy said quietly, “It surprises me, but I think I am.”
“You are what?” Richard had forgotten what they were discussing. Miss Elizabeth’s lovely figure could cause any man to lose track of a conversation. Damn it, now he was the one off thinking!
“A romantic,” Darcy replied. “I rather like it.” He stood to follow his sister from the room.
Fascinated, disgusted, and perhaps slightly envious, Richard stroked his moustache.
“You will see yourself out? I have letters to write.” Darcy smiled. “Thank you for your assistance today, Richard. As always.”
The colonel stood and shook his hand. “Bloody besotted fools. First Anne, now you. I must be resigned to my fate as the family’s sole bon vivant.”
Darcy laughed as he strolled off. Richard stared at his back and then turned to the empty room.
“Damn it, another long Thursday evening lies ahead. My cousin is in love, and my brother is busy relishing his wife. Where is the port?”
“Go home, Richard!” came a deep voice from the stairway.
The colonel returned to Matlock House, where he headed downstairs to see the shaky young footman.
***
Try as she might, Elizabeth could not keep her mind on her stitches; they were as disordered as her thoughts. Nothing held firm nor straight no matter how she pulled her needle.
She despised such needless tasks assigned simply to keep her seated under her mother’s sway. But she was trapped with her sisters, ordered to sit and wait for the arrival of their Most Important Relation, the future husband of a Bennet daughter and father to the future heir to Longbourn. His parsonage was even now being readied for his triumphant return as a betrothed, perhaps married, man. For goodness’ sake! Her mother was readying her campaign.
Elizabeth had only seen her mother plan so far ahead when it came to choosing a Christmas goose from among a gaggle of newly hatched goslings. Her behaviour these past days was frighteningly disciplined. The menu was planned, the rooms fully aired, the silver polished, and the stays lifted and tightened on gowns. Only Jane’s wardrobe had been spared. Hill had been ordered to serve creamed turnips at least three times during his visit. Oh joy.
While all of Longbourn waited with bated breath for the entitled man’s arrival and his choice of bride, the return of Mr. Darcy remained privileged information. Kitty’s knowledge had been gleaned from her time spent as a former worshipper of Miss Bingley; Jane’s understanding arose from Mr. Bingley’s anticipation. Only Elizabeth had the full intelligence, and her information was closely held, the better to head off the gossip and rumour that seemed to follow, or precede, the master of Pemberley.
Elizabeth’s concern was made worse when Aunt Phillips came to call. She braced herself for false tales of rich men with wandering hands and roving eyes, and she wished she could count on Jane to be her confidante again. They scarcely had spoken since the prior day. Her sister had drawn closer to her mother’s thinking, and while not further questioning the intentions or morals of Mr. Darcy, Jane remained doubtful that he was the match meant for her “most beloved” sister. When she glanced over at her mother, sister, and aunt, Elizabeth thought the trio made for a lovely matched set of bobbing heads and hands, pushing needles and points of view. She turned and looked at the closed door to her father’s library.
How has it come to this? The dual looming threats of Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy had angered two sisters, amused another, and made one her great ally. It was a shame, truly, that her father remained unconscious of the shifting sands of emotion and allegiance in his own household. His dusty books could not be half as interesting as the “Macabre Tale of the Five Bennet Sisters.” I could write quite a companion volume to Mr. Darcy’s hand-lettered novel.
The excitement only heightened an hour later when the Great Heir arrived, settled in for a plate of cakes and tea, and began describing the improvements now being made to the cosy parsonage he soon would share with his wife. Fresh paint and thatching for the roof! Well-aligned shelving and new mattresses! At the last, Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch, and when she met Kitty’s eyes, she felt strength in their newfound conviviality.
As Mr. Collins chattered on about copper pots, Elizabeth discerned little of what he knew about the Fitzwilliam family events occurring at Rosings. She feared and anticipated the first enquiry.
Chapter Seventeen
Darcy adored his sister. Georgiana had a sweet disposition, and she was intelligent, pretty, and gifted on the pianoforte. Yet, if pressed to name an imperfection, he could cite her tendency to be late for excursions, meals, and departures—especially the latter. When he was kept waiting for her yesterday, his concern rather than his patience was tested. But now his nerves, his forbearance, and his wits were all at an end. He owed Georgiana’s tardiness to her excited anticipation, but he was so conscious of his own that he could do nothing but smile tensely when his butler knocked and ushered the Fitzwilliams into his study. And then he cursed quietly.
No quick escape after all. This house needs a moat filled with crocodiles to save me from the onslaught.
“Oh, hell,” he mumbled before greeting his relations. He requested tea be served and then he smiled. Grimly.
“Oh dear, look at your cheek,” his aunt admonished as she settled into a chair.
“It is a dashing mark of battle, Mother. The ladies will swoon.” Richard chuckled, sending his cousin an apologetic look and a shrug. “I must conjure up some dashing tale for you to tell, Darcy. A slap from a wizened old bat is not quite manly enough.”
“Richard, shut it!” Lady Matlock cried.
Darcy bit back the smile threatening to erupt and nodded. Grimly.
“Darcy, my boy. I have news to share,” his uncle boomed. “I have made the arrangements for my sister. We, and all of society, shall be rid of her by week’s end.”
“Scotland? The Glencoe estate? You have acted, truly?” Darcy had not been convinced that his uncle would follow through on his threat to send Lady Catherine to Bedlam, but he had to be certain. An angry, obstinate relative committed to a hospital for the insane in the heart of London certainly would be a dangerous circumstance for the family’s standing and his sister’s future marriage prospects. Although greatly relieved that Lady Catherine would be sent instead to the family’s most remote estate, Darcy could not but feel sorrow at a final estrangement from his mother’s sole sister.
Lord Matlock tilted his head and stared at his nephew. “She leaves a mark on your face, and you ask me whether I have acted? Damn it, boy, she struck you!”
Darcy nodded, his tension slowly uncoiling. “Yes. She did me more damage than anyone has managed since Richard.”
“Ha!” His uncle snorted and slapped his knee. “The Great Biscuit Incident of ’94, was it? Or was it over that girl he claimed you snubbed the following year?”
“The biscuits were mine, and your son was a pest, following her about,” Darcy said coolly. “He could have compromised himself with such behaviour.”
“When he was a boy of twelve?”
Richard coughed. “I was protecting the girl from Robert. He leered at her, and Darcy laughed.”
“Must you always place blame on your brother?” Lady Matlock challenged. “He was of an age then to notice young ladies.”
“He did more than notice,” Richard mumbled.
“Hmm.” Lord Matlock glanced at the satchel and stacked papers on Darcy’s desk. “Where are you off to now? Marlbourn, is it?”
Disinterested in tea, the earl strolled over to the tray of spirits to pour himself a drink. Darcy stared at his back and noticed his stance looked remarkably like a stouter version of his two sons, though with far less hair. Will Richard be bald as well? How he will hate that. Ha! His moustache will likely grow larger as a result.
“I am pleased you are taking Georgiana with you,” Lady Matlock said. “Watch how the ladies befriend her. She will help you choose a bride who is kind as well as beautiful.” She laughed at Darcy’s blush. “Come now. I know men. A dowry and title are important, but you all wish for a desirable woman.”
“Martha, this is Darcy. He knows his goal.” Lord Matlock collapsed heavily into a chair.
My goal. He took a deep breath.
“I am not off to Marlbourn. We are to Hertfordshire.”
His uncle coughed. “To buy a horse? Is that on the way?”
“We go to visit friends. Charles Bingley is there.”
“What are you about, Darcy?” Lady Matlock sat up a bit straighter and peered closely at her nephew.
“We shall stay for a few days and then head north to Pemberley. I am late in attending to the harvest accounts.”
His uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, yes. We are for the north as well,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “But you are to journey to Marlbourn and see the duke and duchess. You will find yourself a bride and divert attention from Anne’s farce.”
Darcy stopped pacing and leaned against his desk, one that had been used by his father, and his father before him. “It is not my duty to save the Fitzwilliam name. I did not marry Anne as her mother wished, and I shall not marry some unknown lady with a title and a dowry as you wish. I shall live my life.”
“So you go to see that Bingley chap, the one with the sister?” His uncle grimaced and misunderstanding dawned.