Darcy's Match

by Kate Bedlow

  “But Mr. Midwinter does mean still to join us at Pemberley tomorrow.” Was that concern in Georgiana’s eyes?

  “Oh yes, Miss Darcy. All is in hand. Cook runs an efficient kitchen, and the vicar has seen to it she has extra help for the day. He is a generous master.”

  Elizabeth had been mistaken. It was not pride, exactly, in Mrs. Pruitt’s manner. Rather, she seemed eager to impress upon Georgiana that her master was a man not in need of charity.

  But everybody knew full well Mr. Midwinter’s circumstances, for in polite society the extent of a single gentleman’s income is always a subject of thorough and necessary discussion. There had been rumors that the sick relative the vicar visited so often in Manchester meant to leave him a legacy. Perhaps Mrs. Pruitt knew more about that than mere gossip allowed.

  How encouraging.

  Perhaps Mrs. Pruitt also suspected Mr. Midwinter was in love with Georgie and wished to present him in the best light, though a legacy from an old aunt could hardly hope to match her fortune of thirty thousand pounds or mitigate the inequality of their connections.

  Elizabeth was confident Georgiana did not care a whit for the size of Mr. Midwinter’s fortune or his family’s lack of rank. And yet she was mystified. In the two years since coming upon them in the middle of a kiss, she had expected at any time to hear of their engagement. Instead, they had drifted apart.

  This past year in particular, the couple had barely seen each other at all, events having cruelly conspired against them. Whenever Georgie was at home (admittedly rarely), Mr. Midwinter was called away to the sick aunt. When he returned to Lambton, she had invariably returned to Town.

  Hence today’s scheme. After so long a time apart, first seeing each other at tonight’s crowded ball, with so many people watching, was bound to be awkward for them both. Would it not be more comfortable if they should happen to meet earlier by chance, in a more private setting? Say, at the vicarage while innocently delivering a few cakes to the housekeeper?

  As a married woman, Elizabeth breakfasted in her room, but with all her family at Pemberley for Twelfth Night, this morning she had been eager to see her sisters, and she had gone down to the breakfast room for the conversation. When Georgiana and Mama began to speak of sledges, she had seized the moment.

  Georgiana had teased Mama about her driving and suggested they take her own sledge out, and Elizabeth surprised everybody by inviting herself along. She suggested they take a basket from the kitchen to the Lambton vicarage for their Epiphany.

  Georgiana had been eager to go.

  Everything had gone off perfectly.

  The hunt was on.

  Except that, unbeknownst to Elizabeth, her own husband had lured the prey away from his den.

  Georgiana handed the basket of cakes to Mrs. Pruitt. “I do hope you and the household will enjoy these for Epiphany.”

  She always relished doing the Lady Bountiful bit, not for the glory of it but because she truly cared about the welfare of Pemberley’s tenants and all her neighbors. Georgiana was never self-conscious, nor shy either, when she went about her good works. She was a lovely person in every way, and she deserved to be happy.

  They said their goodbyes and left the vicarage. At the sledge, Elizabeth said to her mother, “I don’t suppose you would like to rest and let me or Georgie drive back to Pemberley?”

  At Hertfordshire over the Christmas holiday, Mama’s skill as a driver had been much discussed—especially after the night she became separated from her sledge and horse and left alone, lost in the snow and the dark. When at breakfast Georgiana had mischievously suggested a drive in her own sledge while the men were gone off to shoot, Mama had of course insisted upon taking the reins. She would not relinquish them now.

  “Not a chance, my dear!” She happily climbed up onto the driver’s bench.

  Elizabeth sighed. Mama had learned nothing. Her frozen ordeal was remembered as an exciting tale but in no way a cautionary one. After all, she would remind everybody, all’s well that ends well.

  They had not gone a mile when, from out of nowhere in the expanse of white, a tree loomed ahead.

  “Mama, this is too fast!”

  Elizabeth grasped for a handhold. The sledge swerved and tilted up, losing contact with the ground. She slid sideways into Georgiana, then they slammed down again, the runner’s blades skittering precariously before finding purchase in the snow.

  “Mrs. Bennet, you are a terror!” Georgiana called to the driver’s bench. Her laugh sounded very like that of Elizabeth’s youngest sister.

  “And you have but yourself to blame.” Elizabeth instinctively covered her stomach with her hands.

  “Guilty as charged.” Georgiana looked proud of herself. “I confess I schemed to get Mrs. Bennet out for a drive. She loves it so.”

  “You have taught me a lesson, Georgie.” So Elizabeth was not the only person with plans and schemes. “I am quite chagrined.”

  “Is this not bracing?” Mama cried joyfully over her shoulder. “How fine it is to fly smoothly over the world!”

  “You are incorrigible!” Georgiana laughed again and crossed her eyes at Elizabeth, mouthing, Smoothly? “Zooks! I understand now where Lydia gets her daring.”

  Elizabeth would never grow accustomed to Georgie’s use of slang.

  And there it was, the awful truth. She was getting old! She and Fitzwilliam were well along toward becoming the adults in the room. Alarming! Impossible! Her dashing husband was but three and thirty and she a mere five and twenty.

  And Georgiana twenty. How was that possible? If Georgiana Darcy was twenty years old, Elizabeth could never again think of herself as a young lady, let alone a girl.

  But then, when Papa died, she had lost the luxury of being anything like girlish.

  Faced with genteel poverty and wretched dependence on the kindness of others, she had accepted an offer from Caroline Bingley, of all people, to operate a tea shop in Meryton. Dear Jane had been safely ensconced in London with Aunt Gardiner at the time, but Elizabeth and her younger sisters had taken on the challenge.

  They had worked exceedingly hard, had gained a modicum of financial security, and had developed a deeper appreciation and love for each other than Elizabeth would have thought possible. Even Lydia had proved herself a diligent worker—and quite the heroine.

  But for all they had gained, they had also lost the innocence of their previously sheltered lives, and far sooner than any gentlewoman should be required to do.

  As Mama might say, all had ended well, at least for Elizabeth and Jane, who were blissfully married, each expecting her second child. And the once-dour Mary was engaged to a future viscount, which Mama swooned over every time she remembered the fact. If only Kitty would stay at Pemberley long enough for Mr. Whittle to secure her, and if Lydia would stay still anywhere long enough for some decent gentleman to land her, Mama’s notorious nerves could retire forever.

  And if Georgiana were happily matched, Elizabeth would relax for a good long while. Until time for Janie’s come-out. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought! Best put that aside and concentrate on Georgie. The poor thing had begun to refer to herself humorously, but with an edge of wistfulness, as on the shelf, an old maid.

  This year—this very night—Elizabeth meant to do something about it.

  Honestly, Georgie had no call to refer to herself in such a manner. Elizabeth glanced at her now, the hood of her cloak thrown back as she laughed with Mama, pleased with herself for putting some joy into an old lady’s day (not that, in her midforties, Mama was old).

  Georgie was lovely, rich, and kind—everything a man should desire. There was no reason Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley should remain single unless she chose to do so. So then where lay the impediment?

  Killing George Wickham had not helped. Of course it was a terrible accident, though the man deserved it, but the experience had left Georgiana in a sort of enduring state of shock. Then Lydia had befriended her and, over time, led her out from th
e mental cocoon into which she had retreated.

  They bonded over their experiences with Wickham and became so inseparable that hostesses of the ton quickly learned that Miss Darcy did not accept invitations unless Miss Bennet received one also. With the one’s impeccable pedigree and the other’s infectious delight in everything and everybody, the two fast friends could not help being among the most desired guests at… well, at everything.

  Despite Fitzwilliam’s initial misgivings regarding their friendship, Georgiana’s blossoming was due almost entirely to Lydia’s influence.

  But something was wrong still. Something was missing. And Elizabeth was confident she knew what it was. Georgiana cared for Mr. Midwinter, she was sure of it, but for some reason the two could not find their way to each other.

  “It is so good to have you home, Georgie.” She retrieved the blanket which had fallen to their feet after an egregiously sharp turn and spread it over their laps. “Fitzwilliam hopes you will stay until long after the snows melt, as do I.”

  Yes, Georgie was now flourishing in society, but it was desirous she be more often at home, for only there would she find the missing ingredient in her receipt for happiness: the vicar of Lambton parish.

  But how could the two be brought together if they never saw each other? There was no guarantee they would dance together tonight.

  “I know my brother cares for me. No brother could care more. But he has been much occupied with you and my little niece. Happily so.” Georgiana and Elizabeth again grabbed handholds as the sledge lurched. “I doubt he misses me to the point of melancholy.”

  “Melancholy, no. But he feels the loss of your company. I also believe he is concerned you spend too much time with my youngest sister.”

  “His concern could not be more misplaced.” Georgie shook her head. “Lydia and I shall be chums to the end of our days.

  “I am glad to hear it, for her sake. Under your influence, Lydia has at last gained a tentative grasp of the meaning of self-control. Do you know, at Christmas she told me she had been obliged to decline an invitation to a ball just so that she could get some sleep! A sentence never before written in the diary of Lydia Bennet, I can assure you!”

  “One does not find a husband by declining invitations,” Mama cried over her shoulder. “You and Lydia may sleep once you are married.”

  “Mama!”

  “Oh Lizzy,” Georgiana said. “Of course I would rather be at Pemberley. There is no better place in the world!”

  Elizabeth warmed inside. It pleased her that Georgiana had adapted the family’s nickname for her—just as it pleased her that Fitzwilliam never had.

  Georgie frowned. “But Mrs. Bennet is correct. I will be one and twenty this year. I am on the shelf, I fear, and in danger of becoming an old maid.”

  There it was again, the old maid comment. “I was one and twenty when I married your brother.”

  Georgiana blushed. “I did not mean—”

  “Oh tut, Lizzy!” Mama shifted the reins to one hand and twisted round. This did not inspire confidence in her driving. She looked first at Elizabeth. “You have no call to be proud of marrying at such an advanced age, even if it turned out all right in the end. I tell you, you have given your sisters and others the idea there is all the time in the world and good husbands are there for the taking.”

  Then it was Georgie’s turn as Mama’s target.

  “You are right to be concerned, Georgiana. Time ticks by, whether we like it or not. Days become years, and what is there to show for it? I only wish you would marry. Perhaps then Lydia might take the notion into her head. I cannot believe my youngest, my baby, will be twenty this year!”

  “Mama, do look ahead!”

  Another tree. Where did they come from so suddenly like that?

  “I am not a believer in early marriage,” Elizabeth continued. “Matrimony at a young age robs a girl of those years when she might best discover who she is, apart from everybody else’s idea of it.”

  “Oh tosh!” Mama would not watch where she was going! “She can learn who she is”—this said mockingly—“within the safety of her own establishment, or at least an engagement. Until then, her family can let her know who she is.”

  “Not in every case,” Elizabeth said. “Lady Catherine once accused me of being obstinate and headstrong, and she was right. I nearly did not recognize Mr. Darcy’s finer qualities as it was. Had I been half a year younger when we met, we would not have stood a chance of finding each other.”

  “I am so glad you gave my brother a second chance.” Georgie squeezed Elizabeth’s hand kindly.

  “I hardly had any other recourse, the way he insinuated himself into the affairs of the Beau.”

  Elizabeth smiled to remember it. Caroline Bingley had not offered the investment in the tea shop out of kindness but to pound the final nails into the coffin of Elizabeth’s reputation. A woman in trade! Mr. Darcy would surely forget Elizabeth’s fine eyes then.

  The ruse had backfired. Instead, Fitzwilliam had become more concerned for Elizabeth’s welfare and, behind the scenes, had done everything possible to ensure the success of her little business.

  “I am only fortunate that your brother was so open-minded.”

  Another thoughtful look came over Georgiana. “It would be nice if others were as well.”

  Elizabeth desired desperately to ask if she meant Mr. Midwinter! But she dared not, not with Mama listening to their every word.

  “I will allow it is generally undesirable to wait too long.” She came back to the topic at hand. “We age and lose our bloom, while every year fresh new buds appear on the branch. But you, dearest, will never be wanting for a suitor.”

  Georgie’s face fell. “I suppose there will always be those who wish to align with my family, and as my fortune grows older, it grows greater. I am bound to be desired for those things, even if not for myself.”

  “Oh my dear, I meant nothing of the sort.” Elizabeth had meant that Mr. Midwinter was surely steadfast in his admiration. “Of course your connections and fortune will be eternally attractive. I am afraid you are stuck with them. But more important, and quite apart from material assets, you are just the sort of girl whom any man of sense would wish to marry. You are pretty and kind, which will never be detriments. And you are obedient. Too much so for my taste, but a woman’s tractability is generally considered a virtue among gentlemen.”

  “I have read that Lord Somersea of Northampton certainly appreciates Miss Darcy’s virtues.” Mama chuckled and urged the horse to pick up speed.

  What?

  Georgiana’s eyes went wide and her mouth formed an O.

  “What does my mother mean?” Elizabeth said. “Who is Lord Somersea?”

  “Nobody. That is to say, I do know the marquess. He… he seems to have taken an interest in me.”

  “Seems to!” Mama cried. “The newspapers say his lordship has pursued you at every affair since the Season began. According to The Morning Tittle, the question is not if but when you will accept him.”

  “Those horrible publications!”

  “What is all this?” Elizabeth’s heart sank a little. Lord Somersea sounded far more impressive than Mr. Midwinter.

  It was suddenly even more imperative that Georgiana and the vicar spend time together. Tonight they must dance, and more than was proper. They would remember how fervently they admired each other’s finer qualities, and then Nature would surely have her way. There was no room in the scheme for any Lord Wonderful to take an interest!

  “The journalist for The Morning Tittle seems to believe Miss Darcy and Lord Somersea are already engaged, or soon will be.”

  “Mama!”

  “Zooks, we are not engaged! There is no understanding between us.”

  “I should think not, since none of us knows him.”

  Zooks indeed! Fitzwilliam would be furious to learn of his sister’s name being mentioned in a newspaper at all, let alone in connection with a gentleman.

&nbs
p; And poor Mr. Midwinter…

  “My brother is acquainted with Lord Somersea,” Georgiana went on. “They were at school together, both Harrow and Cambridge, and he once visited Pemberley, although I was very young at the time.”

  The sledge lurched again.

  “Mama, please!”

  “Oh, Lizzy!” Mama laughed gaily. Her bonnet had fallen off and hung askew by its strings. “You are becoming an old woman before your time. We’re not dead yet!”

  “Do slow down!”

  “Mrs. Bennet, have a—oh!”

  Too late. There was a sudden drop in the terrain. The ground fell out from under them and they were airborne. This time the sledge came down at a wretched angle, and everybody shrieked as it tipped over and spilled them out onto the snow.

  Elizabeth caught her breath and chided herself for coming out today. What if the baby had been hurt? She had not told Georgie and Mama her news because she had not yet shared it with Fitzwilliam. He adored his daughter, Janie, and this time she hoped to give him a son. How could she have taken such a risk?

  She felt no pain, but she lay still and mentally checked herself for injury. The horse was unharmed but indignant. He nickered at Mama with disgust, and Elizabeth did not blame the animal in the least.

  “Good heavens!” A strong male voice rumbled through the crisp air. “Ladies, are you hurt?”

  Elizabeth had not heard the rider’s approach. A vigorous young man wearing a heavy overcoat and wide-brimmed hat dismounted his horse with alacrity and rushed to Mama, who had made it to her hands and knees but was rather failing in her struggle to stand.

  “Dear lady, let me help you.”

  “Thank you, young man. What a godsend you are!” She reached up awkwardly and grasped his extended arm. Elizabeth was relieved she did not sound injured.

  The vicar furtively glimpsed at Georgie, then blushed and nodded respectfully at Elizabeth when their eyes met.

  “Very good. Thank you, Mr. Midwinter.” Mama was already on her feet. Indeed, she was not dead yet, as she liked to say these days. “I see you have shot a good quantity of birds. Bravo you.”