Darcy's Match

by Kate Bedlow

  “You quite take my breath away,” Lydia said. “And I was right. You do dabble in philosophy.”

  “Let us not argue. You see that I come in peace.” Kett showed her his spear. “It is wrapped in laurel.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  “I like it better when you call me Kett. It’s more friendly-like. Cozy.”

  “In such a gathering as this?” Lydia laughed. “At Pemberley you will find me on my best behavior, my lord.”

  “You dismay me, Miss Bennet. I should have thought, of all people, that you would not be intimidated by my old schoolfellow.”

  “Mr. Darcy? La! He has never scared me. But…” She had to stop for a moment to think, and her answer surprised herself. “But my brother-in-law is not a bad fellow, and he likes to see good form among those he esteems.”

  “Does Fitzwilliam Darcy hold you in his esteem?”

  “I honestly do not know. Likely not.” Then Lydia laughed again and shrugged. “However, I hold him in mine, and I am a guest in his home. I suppose we are all of us a bit more sober at Pemberley than in Town.”

  “Darcy was always a serious cove, wherever he went. Although, I must say, the summer I visited Pemberley he joined in quick enough to play tricks on that fellow Wickham. One day we—what have I said? Why do you look away?”

  The sudden lump in her throat burned hot. It was infuriating to be at a loss for words. Mention of Wickham could do that to her still, especially when it came out of the blue. She made light of her own dealings with the knave, not for the altruistic purpose of sparing Georgiana, but in self-defense.

  “Oh, hang me for a fool.” Kett darkened. “All that business with Wickham went right out of my head. Can you forgive me?”

  “On my part, there is nothing to forgive.” The only way to keep from going mad was never to think of, certainly never to speak of, what had happened at Mrs. Younge’s boardinghouse before her friends burst into the room to save her. “But if you have any sense, you will not mention that blackguard again while you are in this house. To anybody.”

  “Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “I can be an idiot when I’m at home.” He watched Georgiana and Mr. Midwinter for another minute, but mostly Mr. Midwinter.

  “Still assessing your competition?” Lydia said. “You have never cared about rivals before.”

  “This one is different.”

  “You may be right, but I am in your corner.”

  Kett smiled at her fondly, like the older brother she had always longed for. He examined her hair more closely, and for a moment she thought he might run his fingers through her tiny curls. He restrained himself and instead pinched her cheek. “You are so different to each other. And yet you are such good friends.”

  “We rub along. Georgiana has taught me to care a little more for my reputation, and I have taught her to care a little less for the world’s good opinion. The truth of it is, I adore her. She is a wonderful person, and I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness.”

  “She is fortunate in having your friendship,” Kett said. “I do not believe a one of my so-called friends feels such a degree of kindness toward me.”

  “That may be more your fault than theirs, don’t you know.”

  “You are severe on me, Miss Bennet. I am wounded! However, I will allow you may be on to something. I feel no loyalty toward any friend of mine like that you show Miss Darcy.”

  “Depend upon it. You don’t often get what you give, but you never get what you don’t give.”

  “What—”

  “I am always right about these things. Therefore, listen to me now. There can be no percentage in watching Georgie dance with another gentleman for twenty minutes. Put down your shield and spear and come stand up with me. If I don’t dance every dance, Mama will believe me ill and I shall never hear the end of it. Afterward, I shall present you to my sister, and if Lizzy likes you, she will give Mr. Darcy a curtain lecture in your favor.”

  “I place myself in your inestimably capable hands.”

  “Capable, I like that! My family consider me an incurable noodle.”

  “Then they do not know you. You do not fool me, Miss Bennet. You always know exactly what you are doing. I have seen you play the flibbertigibbet, but never have I seen you be one.”

  “You did not know me when I was younger.”

  “We were all younger once. No, if I had to choose but one word to describe you, it would be formidable.”

  But then he ruined the compliment by again looking askance at her hair and bursting out in laughter.

  Chapter 11

  Returning to the ballroom with Charlotte, Elizabeth was pleased to note the strains of the quadrille weaving through sounds of revelry and natural, relaxed conversation.

  As if reading her mind, Charlotte said, “I am always surprised at how well everyone gets on at this affair.” This was her third Twelfth Night at Pemberley.

  “The ball has never been known as a particularly sedate affair,” Elizabeth said. “However, with its mingling of classes—from an overabundance of goodwill, I am sure—people start out uncomfortable and overpolite, at least until liberal amounts of punch and champagne are consumed. Eventually things sort themselves.”

  By the end of the fourth number, the upper servants would have slipped away, down to the servants’ hall where they could better relax.

  “There is Miss Darcy.” Charlotte indicated a square near the center of the floor. “She seems quite happy with her partner.”

  “Indeed.”

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Georgiana and Mr. Midwinter had found each other. They were chatting, at rest in their square’s third position, and judging by the vicar’s countenance, he was far more delighted with his current partner than the first.

  “I see Mrs. Annesley has come out of mourning at last, and rather dramatically.” Charlotte nodded at a dancer lined up in the square directly opposite Georgiana and Mr. Midwinter.

  Georgiana’s companion had at last shed her widow’s weeds, not even her cap in sight. In fact, she was surprisingly daring tonight as Viola, in breeches and everything, from Shakespeare’s play.

  “This will be Lydia’s doing,” Elizabeth said. “She has gone quite mad this year, directing everybody in what to wear.”

  “She has always been one for the latest fashions. Do you know, Eliza, I believe if she had not been much occupied by Beau Bon-Bon, she might have established herself in London as a modiste to the ton.”

  “I would not put it past her to attempt such a thing now.”

  “Good Lord. I was only joking.”

  Charlotte’s look betrayed her opinion that Lydia might indeed take up stitching for money, and that it would come as no great surprise if she did. Elizabeth could not fault her. Lydia cared not a fig for society’s opinion and flaunted her unconventionality.

  Still, she would not go that far. “My dear Charlotte, I do not mean she would set up a shop but rather as a cure for boredom. She is more than flush enough with the allowance Mr. Darcy has established for her.”

  “Mr. Darcy is very generous.”

  “My husband has a great inclination, almost a need, to see that all who are in his charge are protected and well cared for. In the time his sister and mine have become so close, he has come to regard Lydia as one within his charge.”

  “And I am sure he is grateful for their friendship. A young lady in Miss Darcy’s position cannot have too many allies who truly care for her welfare. And Lydia is most fortunate in her brother-in-law.”

  “Most fortunate. And I am grateful. And yet at times I question whether his generosity is more controlling than liberating.”

  Charlotte’s smile told all. She thought Elizabeth’s opinion either naïve or simply wrong. “I expect when Lydia circulates among London society, she considers herself more liberated than controlled by the extra spending money in her reticule.”

  “Of course you are right.” Elizabeth chided herself inwardly. It wa
s ridiculous, even churlish, to question Fitzwilliam’s little kindnesses to her family.

  While his actions did often have the result of controlling others—for who would risk offending the source of such largesse?—his object truly was the good of those he cared for. He did not mean to control Georgiana’s love life by championing Lord Somersea so much as he merely wished her happy and considered the marquess the most likely person to make it so.

  Still, Elizabeth wondered: did Fitzwilliam truly believe his sister and Mr. Midwinter did not care for each other? Or did he wish to believe it, thinking the marquess a better match in terms of family pride?

  “I wonder who that fellow is dancing with Mrs. Annesley.” She changed the subject to keep from becoming cross. “Do not they make a striking pair, both with such flaming hair! Although he is actually quite good-looking.”

  “I agree, despite red hair not being considered handsome in general.”

  “Perhaps that is why I have always been attracted to it. My contrary nature, you know.”

  “I do indeed.” Charlotte laughed good-naturedly. “At all events, that fellow is Mr. Jeremy Bonney, Mr. Collins’s curate.”

  “That is Mr. Bonney! But what is he doing so far from Kent?”

  Mr. Collins was now a fine gentleman with two thousand a year from Longbourn alone, but on no account had he given up his rector’s living at Hunsford in Kent. With the Church of England, he once reminded Elizabeth, a living was a living for life. Upon taking possession of Longbourn, Mr. Collins had followed the practice of other clergymen and employed a curate to perform his Hunsford duties.

  Poor Mr. Bonney was paid almost nothing for the privilege. This Elizabeth knew, for her cousin had been quite open about the arrangement when she had inquired (being curious to get an idea of what Mr. Midwinter’s income as a curate might be).

  Cousin Elizabeth, the man lives rent-free in an elegant parsonage, dines at Rosings three times a week, keeps a vegetable garden and plenty of chickens. I left him half my beehives, for goodness sake! Add to this the fifty pounds I pay him each year, and he is quite comfortable, I assure you. It is not as if he had a wife and children to provide for.

  Nor would he be likely to acquire a wife and children on that income.

  But she could not deny Mr. Collins’s words. In truth, most curates lived far more miserably than she imagined Mr. Bonney did. Though he could not afford the joys of family life, he must be quite comfortable relative to others in similar positions—although he might not consider dining at Rosings three times a week a great honor.

  Still, she did not approve of absentee clergymen. When Mr. Hanson died, Collins had wanted the Lambton living for himself. Lady Catherine had asked her brother to give it to her protégé, with the idea Mr. Midwinter would carry on as curate for Collins in the way he had done for Hanson.

  Insufferable! Mr. Collins might be Elizabeth’s cousin and Charlotte her good friend, but she disliked the practice even if it was to their benefit. She had said a word or two in Fitzwilliam’s ear, and not only had the living had gone directly to Mr. Midwinter, simultaneously with his elevation to vicar, but Fitzwilliam had cleverly convinced Lord Matlock to sell him the right of the next presentation. Lady Catherine would not have sway over the living at Lambton anytime soon!

  “Mr. Bonney has barely had a holiday since he came to Hunsford,” Charlotte went on. “Lady Catherine suggested he join our party.”

  “Lady Catherine!” She must have a purpose, but Elizabeth could not think what it might be. “What sort of scheme is she up to there?”

  Charlotte looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Her ladyship is informed another living in the earl’s gift may soon come vacant at Bolehill. She means to persuade her brother to name Mr. Collins to the position.”

  “Mr. Collins has proved quite ambitious.” Elizabeth had hoped the idea had been quashed with the Midwinter affair. Truly, Matlock’s demesne was so far from Longbourn as to render the idea unseemly.

  “It is often the case that a clergyman will possess several livings while employing curates to perform the daily pastoral duties.”

  Lady Catherine was indefatigable, Elizabeth had to give her that. Since she had lost power over All Saints, she would now go after Bolehill. Ambition could reside within a woman as well as a man. Did Charlotte’s defensiveness derive from embarrassment over her husband’s greed, or did she share his ambition and wish only that Elizabeth approve?

  “I see. Lady Catherine would have Mr. Bonney leave Hunsford for Bolehill. Does the young man not meet her high standards for companionship?”

  “Lady Catherine does not enjoy Mr. Bonney’s company so well as that of Mr. Collins.”

  “I daresay my cousin is irreplaceable in that regard.” No one could possibly be as obsequious as Elizabeth’s cousin.

  “I assure you, Eliza, Mr. Bonney is very well liked by his parishioners. But he is no cardplayer.”

  “Ah, I understand you now. That would be a great failing indeed in her ladyship’s eyes.” They were at ease with each other again, and Elizabeth was glad of it.

  “There is something more,” Charlotte said. “He longs to return to the north. You see, Mr. Bonney’s parents live near Bolehill, and they are getting on in years.”

  “He wishes to be nearer to care for them, I suppose.” In Elizabeth’s opinion, this was a far better argument in the curate’s favor than the need to increase Mr. Collins’s income.

  “Mr. Clackston! Oh dear, oh dear!” An agitated voice carried over the music and conversation.

  “That is Miss Charity,” Elizabeth said. “She sounds truly disturbed.”

  She and Charlotte pushed through the crowd to get to the sidelines, where Elizabeth’s rector lay on the floor at Lady Catherine’s feet. Always proper, wearing his ever-present clerical collar, Mr. Clackston looked somewhat comical with his head cradled in the lap of Queen Cleopatra and his legs sprawled at odd angles.

  “Oh dear! Does my brother live?”

  “I am sure he will be all right.” Elizabeth was dubious in her opinion but did not wish to upset Miss Charity any further. The rector lay pale and still, and it occurred to her that he had been slower of late in his movements and speech. Her generation were not the only ones pulled relentlessly along by Father Time!

  She slipped her arm around Miss Charity’s waist to comfort her. “What has happened, Morton?”

  “He fainted, madam. Mr. Garrett and I were nearby and saw him go down.”

  “We were discussing the glebe at Bolehill.” Like a schoolboy in love, Mr. Collins smiled fondly when he saw Charlotte, but he quickly recovered his respectable expression of concern. “Mr. Clackston does not seem—”

  “I have been given to understand the living there may come vacant in the very near future.” Lady Catherine was either oblivious to the fact Mr. Collins had been speaking or impatient to get to a salient point. “Mr. Clackston knows Bolehill’s vicar rather well, you see. Mr. Collins was interrogating him as to the particulars when he made an exceedingly strange face, then fell over and onto the floor.”

  Mr. Clackston emitted a weak groan.

  “He lives!” Miss Charity cried.

  “Garrett, take Mr. Clackston from Morton, if you please.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Oh Drake, my boy, there you are.” Miss Charity let go of Elizabeth and rushed to her nephew who had joined the gathering crowd. “Mr. Clackston has fallen!”

  “Mr. Midwinter, good.” Elizabeth sighed. He and Georgiana had hardly had time enough to flirt a little, let alone conduct a conversation of any consequence. “Your strength is needed.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  How inconvenient that Mr. Clackston should have one of his episodes just now. Privately, Elizabeth would not be surprised if the rector had fainted purposely upon seeing Georgiana and his nephew dancing together. It seemed he still held a grudge against the two for taking Hannah Brown’s side against him, though that was long ago.

  “K
indly help Garrett get your uncle onto the sofa.” Elizabeth searched the ballroom. “Have you seen Mr. Gowan?”

  Never one to shrink from claiming her part in the discussion, Lady Catherine said, “Your physician left the ballroom a short time ago with my nephew and Mr. Bingley.”

  “Thank you, Lady Catherine. Morton, I am sorry to impose on this night, but would you find Mr. Gowan and let Mr. Darcy know what has happened? You know where they have gone.” Morton had been there when Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam discussed sending the physician to visit Jane.

  “Of course, madam.”

  Morton glanced at Garrett, who was helping to lift the rather rotund cleric, now conscious and mumbling. Elizabeth could not exactly read her maid’s expression but had the feeling Morton was uncomfortable about something. What a conundrum! She felt torn between respecting her servant’s personal life and the burning curiosity to know what had transpired between Morton and Garrett.

  Leaving the circle, Morton paused beside Elizabeth. She touched the jewels at her throat and said quietly, “Madam, I hope you will not mind, but I will put away your sapphires while I am gone. They are lovely, but it makes me nervous to distraction wearing them.”

  “Of course, Morton. I never meant that. Do forgive me for pushing them on you.”

  “Now that is nonsense, if you don’t mind my impertinence.” The maid smiled, and again Elizabeth was surprised by how pretty she was. “It was not all bad, for an hour pretending to be a real queen.”

  Morton hurried away, and Elizabeth’s gaze fell on Georgiana, her face full of admiration for Mr. Midwinter as he tried to make his uncle comfortable. Perhaps it was not so bad after all the two had been pulled away from their dance. They happened to catch each other’s eye, and the look they exchanged betrayed a mutuality of feeling which can exist only between those who care for each other profoundly.

  Elizabeth had been right! It was nothing less than proprietary pride she saw in Georgiana’s eyes. She still cared for Mr. Midwinter very much.

  “Let me through, please.”