Darcy's Match

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by Kate Bedlow


  “I am not surprised to hear it, but I should like to speak with you nonetheless.” Darcy smiled inwardly. Midwinter had not understood his meaning, but no matter.

  To his relief, Elizabeth made no objection when he suggested they return home. She declined Richard’s offer of his carriage, however. “Take Georgiana and Lord Somersea. After a full day of sitting, the exercise will do me good.”

  Darcy made no objection. After all, it meant for five or ten minutes he would be alone with the woman he loved. In the spring afternoon with her arm in his, taking in the sounds of birds and insects and the fragrance of blooming flowers, warm contentment spread over him.

  “Earlier, I was feeling sorry for myself,” he told Elizabeth. “Already missing Georgiana, thinking of the hole she will leave in our lives when she goes. But that was selfish. I should wish her the happiness in marriage I have found.”

  “No one could know your sister and not love her,” Elizabeth said. “If she and Kett do not love each other already, it will not be long before love grows.”

  Said of any other couple, such sentiment would sound perfectly fine, even noble. Yet something in Darcy rebelled against its inadequacy. Not long before love grew? He had loved Elizabeth before their marriage—long, in fact, before she came to her senses and returned his ardor. He wanted no less for his sister.

  With a start, he realized that Kett had spoken often of his regard for Georgiana, of how well he liked her. But never once had he said he loved her.

  Had Elizabeth been right all along? Perhaps Midwinter was better suited in temperament to Georgiana than the marquess. Kett was a good man—that was not in doubt—and he would treat Georgie well. But… that was not what bothered Darcy.

  He realized now that he had done to his sister what he had nearly done to himself: he had examined Georgiana’s heart’s desire and found it wanting out of a misplaced sense of pride. He had disregarded Drake Midwinter as a match not because of the man’s character but because his wealth and connections were beneath hers. Miss Darcy of Pemberley could not possibly marry a mere Derbyshire vicar.

  How ironic that the Derbyshire vicar’s fortunes were about to increase substantially.

  He and Elizabeth used the familiar shortcut and entered the great house through the salon at the north veranda. At the foot of the stairs, a footman took their hats and coats and Elizabeth fussed with his cravat.

  With merriment in her eyes she said, “Thank you, husband, for rescuing me from our friends and their plentiful conversation. I am quite looking forward to a lie-down.”

  Impulsively, he pulled her close. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

  She returned his kiss with enthusiasm, and when she turned to go, Morton was there to offer her arm and help her mistress up the stairs. Only then did Darcy notice several servants in the corridor, all pretending not to see anything.

  Let them hide their secret smiles! If it was a scandal that a man should adore his wife, then so be it.

  Chapter 26

  As it would take another twenty minutes to arrive at the great house using the front entrance, Drake decided it would be worth checking the doors on the north veranda. Perhaps a friendly footman would let him in there. He was familiar enough with Pemberley now to know the entrance hall could be reached within three minutes from the salon.

  He took the stone steps slowly, one at a time, considering Mr. Darcy’s purpose in asking to see him today—obviously, to discuss Aunt Charity’s removal from St. Mary’s in order to make way for the new rector.

  The poor dear! Drake would do all he could to see she was happy at Lambton. Mrs. Pruitt was already preparing a lovely room with windows that looked out on the vicarage rose garden. Of course, the vicarage garden was nothing to that of St. Mary’s, but his aunt could take comfort in knowing she would never again have to move. Drake hoped that would be of some consolation.

  “What are you doing here?” The shock of hearing the sweet, familiar voice made him lose his bearings. “Are you lost?”

  Before Drake could answer, he saw that Georgiana was not speaking to him, had not even noticed him. She bent slightly to allow a ladybug crawl onto her gloved finger from the limestone half wall and carried it to one of the huge containers planted with peonies where hundreds of ants swarmed over the hard, balled buds.

  “Have your supper,” she said to the ladybug, “then fly away home to your children.”

  The impossible was indeed possible: Drake found that he loved her yet a little more.

  “Oh dear!” She frowned, and the only thing he wanted in the world was to make her smile again.

  He bounded up the remaining steps, revealing his presence. “What is it?”

  She took a step back in surprise, but her companion was at no loss for words. Mrs. Annesley curtsied to Drake. “I just remembered something I… need.”

  “Gwennie?” Georgiana looked at her with alarm.

  “Pardon me, Vicar.” With a mischievous air, Mrs. Annesley hurried away, leaving Drake and Georgiana alone.

  “I’ve never known Mrs. Annesley to be derelict in her duty.”

  Drake’s sad attempt at humor failed, and Georgiana looked here and there but not at him. Did she hope someone would come to rescue her? It simultaneously pleased him to think she considered him a threat to her peace of mind and bothered him to see her upset about anything.

  “Something worried you a moment ago. Is it something I can help you with?”

  “You cannot make me a better person.”

  “That is undoubtedly true.” Not when you are already perfect. “But I don’t understand.”

  “I was thinking only of the ladybug, and not of the ants I set her to feast upon. It seems always to be my fate, to hurt creatures… and people… even those I care for most.”

  “That seems unlikely. It pained you just now to think of hurting an insect.”

  “And yet I did so, and thoughtlessly.”

  “What can I tell you, Miss Darcy? It is the way of the world that the ant will be eaten by the ladybug.” With every drop of his English blood, Drake believed in the Great Chain of Being. “All creatures have their given place, just as every man has his given level. How else does civilization stave off anarchy? Look at France. Egalitarianism constantly threatens to devolve into chaos.”

  “I was thinking less of the fate of nations and more about everyday life. My life.”

  “I can think of no person you have ever hurt, intentionally or not.”

  “I hurt my mama terribly. Unforgivably. And at the very hour of her death.”

  “How can that be possible? You were but a child when Lady Anne died.”

  “And yet it is so. She was wonderful, kind to everybody—though whether I know that from memory or household legend, I cannot say. I was very bad that day. I had been in her room at her bedside all morning, and I was tired and wanted to play. She asked me to fetch something from the gallery, a miniature of me and my brother. I went to get it, but I was diverted from my errand by a puppy who had escaped into the hallway. I followed the animal. By the time I remembered the miniature and brought it to Mama, it was too late. She was… gone.”

  “I am very sorry. But it was not your fault. You were too young to understand.”

  “Was I too young to understand when I promised to elope with George Wickham? Yes! I did that. Few know of it—my brother, Elizabeth, Lydia, and Gwennie. They have guarded my secret well, but they cannot make the fact of it disappear. I succumbed to his seduction, though he never had more from me than a kiss.”

  She reddened and looked at him shyly, and he knew they were both thinking of that day in the nave at St. Mary’s.

  “Do you remember when I begged you to kiss me?”

  “I will never forget it.”

  “I did not like George Wickham’s kisses, you see. I wanted to know if all kisses were so… unpleasant.”

  And?

  “To this day, it shames me to remember how little I thought of my fami
ly who love me and instead let a flatterer rob me of my better sense.”

  It took Drake a moment to realize, with relief, she had returned to the subject of Wickham. “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “So young.”

  “Old enough to know better. I was raised to be better.”

  “Everybody lets life run away with them once in a while. We were not born to be perfect.”

  “Of course not. And I could be persuaded to forgive myself those two sins on the grounds of ignorance and the absence of harmful intent. But when I asked you to perform my wedding ceremony, it was a willful act. I knew it would hurt you, and I did it anyway. It is why I did it.”

  She stared past him, past the garden, the rolling fields now green beneath the blue sky, and at the forest rimming the distant horizon. In barely a whisper, she said, “I wanted to hurt you.”

  “If you will pardon my impertinence, I don’t believe you.”

  “It is true.” She looked at him, eyes bright with unshed tears, and a fierce, short laugh escaped her. “I was angry with you for congratulating me on my match with Lord Somersea. For wishing me well.”

  “But why would…” And then he knew. Dear Lord, he knew…

  “You see, I had hoped for a different response to my news that day. In fact, I had imagined you would say something quite the opposite. I was a fool—yet again believing myself in love where I had no right. And when you did not show me how violently you loved me and demand that I refuse Somersea and marry you instead, I felt humiliated. And so I asked you to perform the ceremony, not only to make you watch me marry another man but to make you be the one who made my union to that man eternal and inviolate.”

  In all of Georgiana’s speech, the only thing that stayed with him was that she loved him! At least, she had three months ago.

  “Please, Miss Darcy. Do not—”

  “Wait. Let me finish, or I will never get through it. I am so very sorry. I know you must loathe me, and you have every right to. If you wish to withdraw from performing the wedding ceremony, I will not blame you.”

  Of course he wished to withdraw! He did not wish to see Georgiana Darcy married to another man. And as she intuited, to be the one to seal her to that man in the eyes of God was going to be unbearable.

  But first in his consideration was Georgiana. It would be churlish, even dishonorable, to let her know she had broken his heart. What purpose would it serve?

  He had only himself to blame. She had given him every hint that she cared for him, every opportunity to propose himself as her husband, and he had held back. If he was never to have her, he had only himself to blame.

  “I will be there, Miss Darcy. You can count on me. And Miss Darcy, you could never do anything to earn my loathing.”

  Pain flickered through her eyes, but she nodded and turned away. He had hurt her again! What did she want him to do? Tear open his heart and pour it out to her? Lay his love at her feet—love which could never be acknowledged?

  Let her go. But something inside him, pride or desperation, could not leave it alone. “I could never give you the life you deserve.”

  She would not look at him, but neither did she turn away. She was trembling.

  Finally he said aloud what he had been carrying inside. “It would have degraded you to marry me.”

  She turned to him sharply and her eyes burned. “How could you believe I would care about that?”

  “You should care. You must care,” he said. “I am not another George Wickham. You must allow me my dignity. And one day you will realize I am right.”

  She lifted her chin and, ever so slightly, squared her shoulders. “Perhaps I will. One day. But I take your point, Mr. Midwinter. We shall never again speak of this matter.”

  He nodded, and she left him then for good, disappearing into the salon through a many-paned French door. His heart ached with sorrow and something more. He had no right to be proud of her, but he was.

  He retraced his steps, descended the stone stairs, and took the long way around to call on her brother.

  Chapter 27

  When Midwinter arrived at the study he seemed unusually distracted, and Darcy chided himself for not putting the man at ease straightaway at the rectory. He poured out two glasses of Armagnac and invited the vicar to sit down.

  “I assure you I share your concerns regarding your aunt. I have known Miss Charity almost all my life. Now, regarding her living arrangements, I do not believe it will be necessary to wrench her from her home. I am quite confident the new man will very much wish her to stay on at the rectory.”

  “That… that would be lovely.” Midwinter looked up, surprised. He pulled himself out of whatever had occupied his thoughts and became fully present. “I know my aunt would prefer to stay where she is. St. Mary’s has been her home for so long.”

  “I do understand. My sister-in-law Lydia Bennet has spoken of feeling at sea after losing her home when Mr. Bennet died. I think I would feel far worse than adrift if ever I had to leave Pemberley. The roots of my being are planted here, no less than those of the trees in Pemberley Forest.”

  Midwinter nodded thoughtfully. “If I may ask, sir, who is the new rector to be?”

  “Why, my good man, I thought I had made it clear,” Darcy said. “I am offering you the living.”

  “St. Mary’s… to me!”

  “Who better? With two livings you will be able to care for your aunt very well and support a family—even should you raise Mr. Bonney’s stipend. I assume you will wish to keep him on at Lambton as permanent curate.”

  “Of course.” Midwinter nodded as if in a daze. “Might I inquire as to the income at St. Mary’s?”

  It was widely known the Pemberley parish was among the most lucrative livings in England, the glebe having been gifted by Darcy’s grandfather with the intention of it going to his second son.

  “Roughly twenty-five hundred pounds per annum.”

  Midwinter paled upon hearing the figure.

  “I take it your uncle never shared this information with you.”

  “Nor with my aunt,” the vicar said drily, “unless I am very much mistaken.”

  “Clackston was not one to share his interior life. I pity him that, though I understand it. I was once much the same… until I met Mrs. Darcy.” The very thought gave Darcy a surge of happiness. He was so very fortunate in his wife!

  “My uncle was never an open man, nor a happy one, for that matter. Though he did discover a kind of contentment at the end. I think he must have been very lonely.”

  “Something to be avoided if at all possible.”

  It was worse than ironic. It was a downright tragedy. As of today, there was nothing about Midwinter that would make him unsuitable for Georgiana, if she wanted him. True, her fortune was still far greater, but his situation now would not degrade her.

  Darcy had no reason to be ashamed of having steered the two apart. He had judged matters according to the facts at hand. And yet… he could not deny some degree of regret for his influence on Georgiana’s choice.

  He was well aware of the hypocrisy in his next words, but he owed it to the vicar to say them. “I hope you will be as fortunate as I have been in your wife, and that you will find her soon.”

  “Yes. Well.” Midwinter smiled wistfully. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, from the bottom of my heart.” He set down his empty glass and rose. “If you do not mind, I should like to tell Aunt Charity the good news.”

  “Of course.”

  At the door, the vicar stopped. “I wonder, sir. If I should give up the Lambton living, do you think Lord Matlock would consider Mr. Bonney for it? He is a good man, and I would like to see him in a permanent situation.” Then Midwinter truly smiled. “He also deserves to cure his loneliness.”

  “It so happens the next presentment is in my gift,” Darcy said. “If this is your wish, I shall be glad to make it so. Would you be so good as to inform him at your convenience?”

  “He will b
e pleased beyond measure.”

  “He will have to give up Orange Blossom Cottage.”

  Midwinter laughed. “Lambton vicarage will suit Mr. Bonney very well. His current abode is a bit too grand and intimidating for him.” He departed, still not quite himself, but obviously in a better mood than when he had arrived.

  As was Darcy. Managing Pemberley was often an overwhelming and thankless endeavor, but every so often he found it in his power to materially improve someone’s life, and from that he derived great satisfaction. So far as he could tell, the parishioners of St. Mary’s liked Mr. Midwinter, and those of All Saints liked Mr. Bonney. Nobody could be displeased with this arrangement—unless it were Lady Catherine.

  He laughed aloud at the thought of his aunt’s reaction when she learned her protégé was not to have a piece of either All Saints or St. Mary’s.

  And he was not finished. There was at least one more life he could change for the better. He could do nothing about Midwinter and Georgiana, but he could damn well do something about Garrett and Miss Morton.

  That night when he went to Elizabeth’s room, her eyes lit up with pleasure.

  “Dearest, I am glad to see you. I was particularly wishing for your company tonight.” She lay her book on the lump her blankets covered and looked up at him, so adorable, yet missing the usual spark in her fine eyes.

  “Are you unwell?”

  “Not at all. I must be anticipating Georgiana’s departure. Pemberley will be lonely without her.”

  “We must think of her happiness.”

  “I am reconciled to it.” There. The humor returned to her expression. He had to admit she had taken her defeat well.

  Darcy changed into the nightclothes he kept in Elizabeth’s dressing room and got into her bed, wrapping her in his arms. “I have a confession. I wonder now if I was right to favor Kett. Oh, he is a good man, and I have no doubt he will treat my sister splendidly. But earlier, as I gave Midwinter the news about St. Mary’s, I remembered how we used to picture him and Georgiana living at the rectory together.”

 

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