‘Do ladies attend these debates?’ Darcy asked.
‘At the Literati, yes,’ Alison said. ‘However, most clubs are for gentlemen only.’
‘Including your New Club,’ Elizabeth said.
‘I was told they had lady members,’ Darcy said.
‘Only for toasting,’ Napier said. ‘They retain a list of wives and fiancées and sisters, any of whom may become the object of a toast when the gentlemen need an excuse to imbibe.’ He laughed. ‘I have heard of evenings when a hundred ladies have been toasted, leading to such over-indulgence that members could scarce walk home.’
‘So beware,’ Elizabeth said. ‘If invited to a meeting of the New Club, decline. It will not be to your taste.’
‘Truly, this city is fuelled on wine,’ Napier sighed. ‘Ale too, and whisky, and rum. Yet somehow work gets done, men write and discuss. I’m proud of my city, Mr Darcy. Glasgow may better us in engineering, but our philosophers, writers and artists have conceived the blueprint for the modern world. The American constitution, my speciality, expresses values first developed here, in these very streets of the New Town, by Hume, Smith, and their successors. A society rooted in the common sense of the ordinary man, not an aristocratic or religious elite, and organised federally to embrace local variations.’
‘Come dear,’ Alison Napier said. ‘As a patriotic English gentleman, Mr Darcy is unlikely to share your beliefs on this or any other matter.’
To Darcy’s surprise, Francis Napier accepted this rebuke. ‘Apologies, sir. I forget myself.’
The maid cleared their plates and served river trout on a bed of kale. Darcy saw Elizabeth studying him, as if assessing his reaction to his host’s speech.
‘Is it not enlightening,’ she said, ‘to hear these matters so freely discussed? You and I must have met dozens of times in Hertfordshire and Kent, yet I cannot say whether you are Tory or Whig, nor do I know your opinion on any serious question …’ Her mischievous smile reminded him of happier times. ‘Except the attributes of the accomplished woman.’
Alison sat up with sudden interest. ‘And pray, what are they?’
‘Better ignored, being forever beyond our reach.’
‘The Edinburgh Review is undeniably Whig,’ Napier said, ‘so perhaps Alison is right. It favours the Third Estate, as they say in France, not the aristocracy.’
Darcy shrugged. ‘For my part, I have always voted for the man rather than the party. Better an honest Whig than a venal Tory—and vice versa. But I am Tory to this extent: we should respect what has come to be. Our society is a mechanism that we understand only partially. Dismantle it, as in France, and order will be replaced by chaos, leading ultimately to tyranny.’
Elizabeth met his eye, with a glint of challenge. ‘So we must meekly accept the hand history has dealt us?’
‘We are like a ship afloat on the ocean. We can make repairs. But try to redesign the whole ship, and we sink.’
‘True,’ Francis Napier said. ‘Your point about France is well-taken. But don’t underestimate the pace at which our nation is already changing, if only step by step.’
Darcy nodded, accepting this as an offer of compromise, and turned again to Elizabeth, in case she wished to react. For a moment she met his eye, as if still absorbed in the debate; then she coloured and looked away.
The silence was broken as the maid entered to pass on a message from one of the children—supposedly in their beds.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, Miss Susanna requests the presence of Mrs Bailey on accoont o’ a secret.’
‘Ha!’ Alison glared at Elizabeth. ‘You’ll be making me jealous, the way my wee daughter confides in you.’
Elizabeth waved this away. ‘Might this secret wait until tomorrow, Isla?’
‘She says not, ma’am, otherwise she canna sleep.’
With a sigh, Elizabeth rose. ‘Pardon me.’
As rapid steps were heard on the stairs, Alison said, ‘It is exciting for Elizabeth to have a visitor.’
‘Her family have never ventured north,’ Napier added. ‘I suppose you are aware …’
‘Shush dear!’ Alison said.
Darcy lowered his voice. ‘I know of the Bennets’ misfortune.’
‘I hope you can stay …’ Alison coloured. ‘You will need time to explore our city.’
Darcy murmured agreement, as conversation gave way to reflective silence. The Napiers, obviously, were puzzled by his relationship with Elizabeth. His lips tightened into a wry smile: he had to concede a perplexity in that regard himself. He had imagined the person he had known before, but alone and distressed. He found instead a woman who had lived among the elite of one of the cultural capitals of the world, where high-born ladies and gentlemen mixed with academics, lawyers, writers, artists, scientists, and contributed to the maelstrom of ideas. Yes, she had suffered, and had financial difficulties. But friendless she was not. She would not be drawn to him from practical necessity. On the contrary, her reservations were as plain as ever, and her heart still belonged to the husband she had lost.
They helped themselves to fruit and the remains of the wine, until Elizabeth returned with the news that a secret of great importance had been confided—but could not possibly be divulged to anyone else.
9
A week later, London
The war in Europe was over. Coalition forces were encircling Paris; Bonaparte, who had lost the confidence of his generals, was about to abdicate. Restored by a sojourn at Rosings, Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back contentedly as his carriage traversed the familiar route home: Westminster Bridge, Hyde Park, Mayfair, and finally the imposing terrace of town houses with their black railings and broad porch steps.
In the parlour of Darcy House, Georgiana’s companion Mrs Annesley was taking afternoon tea with a lady she introduced as Mrs de Vere.
‘Sir, welcome home! Shall I call Miss Darcy? She is in the music room with Miss Margaret Inglis.’
‘My young mistress,’ Mrs de Vere said, with a glance at the clock. ‘We should be leaving soon.’
‘Let us not disturb their fun. May I join you?’
‘Of course,’ Mrs Annesley said. ‘The tea is fresh.’ She called the maid. ‘Another cup please.’
He sank into a comfortable chair. ‘So Miss Inglis is a new friend?’
‘Oh yes, they are inseparable.’ Mrs Annesley smiled at Mrs de Vere. ‘Miss Margaret’s brother James calls as well, when his duties allow.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows. ‘Can this be the shy Georgiana I used to know?’
‘Oh, she’s quiet and well-behaved as ever,’ Mrs Annesley said. ‘But yes, she’s enjoying her first season, and the gentlemen have been attentive.’
‘There are other admirers?’
Mrs de Vere smiled. ‘She’s such a handsome young lady.’
‘Is Mr Darcy abreast of these developments?’
‘She writes most assiduously,’ Mrs Annesley said.
‘No doubt, but that is not quite the same thing.’
‘I believe Mr Darcy met Mr James and his uncle at one of the balls,’ Mrs de Vere said.
‘And the other gentlemen?’
‘The most persistent has been Mr Phipps,’ Mrs Annesley said. ‘Son of a government minister, so I suppose he must be of good family.’
‘Hmm,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam said. ‘And Darcy himself? What news there?’
‘All I know is that he is in Edinburgh,’ Mrs Annesley said. ‘What business takes him there I could not say. You would have to ask Miss Darcy.’
Alone with Georgiana in the drawing room, he was struck by her poise, and the dreamy look in her eye. A woman now—and unless he was mistaken, in love.
‘I am so relieved you are safe,’ she said.
‘You know how it is. More talk than action.’
‘So you always say, to avoid alarming me. Can it really be over now?’
‘Yes, my honeysuckle. The Corsican will be kept under lock and key on some remote island, and
all will return to normal.’ He clapped. ‘Enough war! Tell me about your new friends.’
‘Do you know the Inglis family? They are related to Sir John Sinclair, who is an important scientist.’ She shivered. ‘And daunting, although perfectly agreeable according to Margaret, if you don’t contradict him.’
‘Miss Inglis is musical?’
‘Oh very, we play such fine duets. And so is James, Mr Inglis, except his instrument is the violin.’ She sighed. ‘I hoped he would call more but he is often away at the Bodleian Library in Oxford. He holds an important post assisting the editor of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.’
‘Darce bought a set for the Pemberley library,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam said. ‘Personally I prefer my books shorter.’
‘That would be the fourth edition,’ Georgiana said. ‘Mr Inglis works on the fifth, which covers the same material more accurately, through careful checking.’
‘Mrs Annesley mentioned another young man. Son of a government minister.’
‘Mr Augustus Phipps.’ Georgiana made a face. ‘Yes, he calls often, and I think William will favour him since he will inherit the viscountcy.’
‘And what manner of man is Mr Phipps?’
‘Perfectly pleasant.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that I never know what to say. He talks of the weather, his horses, his dogs, the banquets he attends with his father. He watches me admiringly while I play the pianoforte …’
‘But does not listen?’ Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested.
‘Exactly! Sometimes when I stop, he carries on staring at me as if nothing had happened.’
‘So you wish Mr Inglis would call more …’
‘And Mr Phipps less!’ She covered her mouth. ‘It is awful to malign the poor man, since he does appear to like me very much.’ She looked at him, in supplication. ‘What am I to do? I’m so afraid of what William will say.’
‘How does Mr Inglis weigh in the scales?’
‘Oh, the pedigree cannot be faulted. His father is Lord Dunbar, who owns a house in Edinburgh in addition to his estates on the coast. William could call on him. But James …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Younger son.’
‘Aha!’ He smiled. ‘A status I know well.’
‘But we have fun.’ Georgiana leaned forward, her arms raised in animation. ‘We play all kinds of music together, and talk, sometimes foolishly, sometimes seriously. He is a mine of information on unexpected topics, but not like his uncle at all. Never lectures. Why, if he were here now, he would have you talking of the 52nd Foot already, and its grand march over the Pyrenees to the battle at Orthez.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled, warmed by her zeal—and gratified that she had followed his regiment’s fortunes in the newspapers. ‘It is your life, my dear, remember that. Yes, we are responsible until you attain your majority, but I would never press you to marry against your wishes; nor, I am sure, would Darce.’
She pouted. ‘William will not trust my judgement. Not after …’ She coloured. ‘You know.’
He sighed. ‘How is he, anyway? Have you heard?’
‘All I know is that he has gone to Scotland to help a woman he knew once in Hertfordshire. You know, the one Caroline Bingley kept teasing him about because he praised her eyes. The sister of that poor girl …’
He nodded. ‘Elizabeth Bennet, now Mrs Bailey. I met her briefly at Rosings. Charming, fun to talk to. I believe Darce liked her too, but they fell out.’
‘Something must have happened,’ Georgiana said. ‘He returned from Rosings in the blackest humour, then went straight off to Dublin on some wild goose chase with Mr Bingley.’
‘Then why is he helping her now?’
‘I don’t know. He said her family had fallen on hard times, and that it was partly his fault.’ She threw up her hands. ‘I don’t see why. The problem, so far as I can tell, is that her husband died in some terrible accident in the north of Scotland, which is tragic, but can hardly be laid at William’s door.’ She frowned. ‘Do you think he still admires her?’
‘I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘She was rather a sore topic between us.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Don’t tell me you were interested too?’
He raised a palm. ‘No. A younger son has to be practical. It was something I told her, which caused them to quarrel. Darce didn’t speak to me for weeks.’
‘But it’s interesting, isn’t it? They fell out, her family is disgraced, yet still William goes all that way to help her.’ She paused. ‘What do you think I should do?’
‘About Messrs Inglis and Phipps? Do you have an address for Darce in Edinburgh?’
‘He said he’d send one in his next letter.’
‘Why not simply write and tell all? He’ll have to know sooner or later.’
‘True.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Dear cousin, it’s so good to have you back again!’
10
Elizabeth hastened along George Street, seeking shelter from a shower soaking her bonnet and spencer. She cursed herself for accepting an invitation from Major Mackay, expressed in typically insistent terms. His factor, Mr Brodie, was in Edinburgh. He had important information on improving their estates. A meeting would be to their mutual benefit.
The timing was inconvenient since in an hour Darcy’s carriage would pass Heriot Row, to convey them to her lawyer’s office in the Canongate. Including Darcy in the discussion perturbed her. Emphatically she did not want to rely on him. However, she had to consider her mother and sisters, who would be left in poverty if no solution could be found, and for all his flaws, Darcy was experienced. His advice might benefit her. He had also made a long journey to be at her side; it seemed churlish to reject his help altogether.
A clock struck two as she ran up the steps, and before long she was seated in the comfort of the drawing room. She had found Niall Brodie taciturn at Strathmaran, but today he had plenty to say. He had plans for Laramore. The estate was a primitive backwater yielding a poor return. He would extend the Callach wall to enclose Laramore and most of Strathmaran, and bridge the Maran in three more places. Space would be created for 8,000 more sheep, yet the whole area could be run by a handful of farmers, a huge saving. Income would quadruple …
Elizabeth listened in a daze: she had heard this story before, but never in such detail. Brodie was a battering ram: his style reminded her of Sir John Sinclair, but lacking the scientist’s erudition. The plan made sense, but left her cold. She pictured the village, with its kirk, school, cottages, and the stoical friendly people who lived there, all to be swept aside in favour of sheep pasture extending miles in every direction.
She raised a palm. ‘Thank you, Mr Brodie. I see your expertise in these matters matches your enthusiasm. One point still puzzles me. What of the people who live in Laramore? Do they have a role in your plan?’
The men smiled, and Brodie answered, ‘Dinna worry yer head on their accoont, ma’am. They’ll be taken care of.’
‘How?’
‘Their leases are expiring soon, so they have no legal right to remain,’ Hector Mackay said.
‘It’ll be better for them in th’lang run,’ Brodie added. ‘They can shift intae crofts, join the fishing boats, gather kelp on the shore.’
Elizabeth sighed, recalling the makeshift cottages, so damp and smoky during the winter, and the shortages of food. Perhaps re-organisation would help …
A glance passed between Mackay and Brodie, and the factor jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll be away, ma’am, a pleasure tae see ye again.’
Left alone with Elizabeth, Major Mackay edged closer, and lowered his voice. ‘Hope that wasn’t too tedious, Mrs Bailey. Mr Brodie does tend to get on his high horse. But he knows his business.’
‘It was—instructive.’
His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Have you reached a decision over the, ah, offer that was mentioned last time?’
He waited calmly, his direct gaze alert for any sign, and something inside her recoiled. She had no reason to dislike Hector Mackay. He had treated her consid
erately at their first meeting, gaining her trust before discussing the debt. His proposal had been precipitate, but not improper; given her predicament it could even be seen as an act of generosity. He was not like Darcy, vain, and disdainful of his inferiors; on the contrary, he had fought side by side with his foot-soldiers, and gained their respect. Still, his air of authority unnerved her. She imagined he would press, press, polite but insistent, until getting his way.
On the other hand, she had to be realistic. Merely selling Laramore would yield only a small addition to Mrs Bennet’s marriage settlement, £80 a year or less, not even enough to rent their house in Meryton. By marrying Mackay she could negotiate a far larger contribution …
No. Whatever her duty, it could not be borne. Yes, she had married Thomas out of necessity, but with a measure of genuine affection as well. She could not endure a marriage of convenience with Mackay, or Darcy, or any other man who had nothing to offer but money.
She sighed. ‘I have considered your offer, Major, and thank you again for your concern. Unfortunately, I must decline.’
He nodded, his expression unchanged. ‘Of course you would wish a suitable period to elapse, with memories of Mr Bailey fresh in your mind. We could delay six months, even a year, provided I had your promise.’
She shook her head. ‘In fairness to you, I would rather give a definite answer now. I do not wish us to marry.’
He nodded, taking this in. ‘So you will sell Laramore?’
‘I must reflect further.’
He spread his hands. ‘What alternative do you have?’
She glanced at the clock on the mantle. ‘I have an engagement.’
‘I’m keen to settle this affair quickly.’
He spoke quietly, but his insistence was intimidating: one wanted to give way merely to relieve the pressure. Steeling herself, Elizabeth made her apologies.
Andrew Dalglish shuffled papers. ‘I see no merit in waiting, Mrs Bailey. £12,000 is a generous offer.’
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, who had listened to her report in grim silence. ‘What do you think?’ she asked him.
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