The Pemberley Affair

by Charity McColl

  “Georgiana dances so beautifully,” Elizabeth commented. “I believe that she and Tommy practiced all of yesterday afternoon. I wonder; do you think that Georgiana would be at her ease playing tomorrow night when we are at the Carringtons? I doubt that any of the other girls will be able to match her, and it would do her such good to show off a bit.”

  Fitzwilliam smiled. “You are very good to her,” he said.

  “She is a joy to have as a sister,” Elizabeth replied.

  Considering her own sisters, Fitzwilliam did not dispute the remark. Except for Jane, who was modest and polite and gentle, the Bennet girls were the matrimonial cross that he was forced to bear because they were Elizabeth’s sisters. Lydia, of course, would not appear; that had been made clear when he had rescued her reputation from the ruin that George Wickham would have done it had Darcy not intervened with the means for them to marry. But Kitty was not much better and Mary was tedious. Fortunately, they were all at Longbourn with their prattling, silly-witted mother. Mr. Bennet was not objectionable; he was sarcastic but not ill-bred, and Fitzwilliam did not mind his company. But one could not invite one’s father-in-law and ask him to leave his family at home, so there matters stood.

  “Look, there is Mr. Cavendish,” Elizabeth said, interrupting his reverie.

  “Who?

  “Mr. Cavendish. He was seated beside me at Lady Clementine’s dinner party last month. You remember him, do you not?”

  “The silent young man who appeared to notice nothing but his turbot. Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “He became most animated after Mrs. Norris made her remarks about actresses marrying earls and poets giving speeches in the House of Lords.”

  “Yes, I recall. At least she does not frequent Almack’s.”

  Mr. Cavendish, having spotted a familiar face in Elizabeth, crossed the room to greet them. “Mrs. Darcy, a pleasure to see you again,” he said sincerely. “May I bring you a glass of punch?”

  “I shall be glad to do that while you and Mrs. Darcy converse,” Fitzwilliam said, bowing and departing.

  “I wonder if I might have the honor of the next dance?” Mr. Cavendish asked.

  Suspecting that dancing Mr. Cavendish would be one of those ordeals which, as a married woman, she no longer had to endure, Elizabeth smiled and said that he would do much better to ask one of the younger girls.

  “Really? I shouldn’t think any of them would want to dance with me.”

  “Why on earth not?” He was young, presentable, even attractive if one ignored the fact that his cravat seemed to have been knotted more than once and was in no condition for a judgment by the likes of Mr. Brummel, should the Beau have been present. He was tall, rather too lean, but not unattractively so, with unremarkable attire that was neither the pink of fashion nor the cast-offs from a previous Season; he had pleasant blue eyes and golden hair which probably owed its curls to nature and not to his manservant’s skill.

  “I don’t dance well,” he admitted. “I thought that perhaps dancing with you would conceal my lack of skill.”

  “You must not think on it,” Elizabeth told him.

  “I’ve thought of little else,” he told her. “I’ve heard that the patronesses are quite brutal in their assessments and I don’t want to make a poor— I say, who is that girl?”

  Elizabeth followed his gaze. “That’s Lady Thomasina Descartes,” she answered, pleased that her protégé had caught the eye of a young gentleman. Thomasina was dancing with a florid-faced youth dressed in colors which were painful to behold. It would doubtless be more restful for her vision, at any rate, to be accompanied by Mr. Cavendish, who, whatever he may have lacked in panache, was not wearing garments that would induce a headache. “She will come here when the dance finishes; she is staying with my husband and me for the Season. Why not ask her to dance?”

  “I doubt she’d want to,” Mr. Cavendish said. “She’s clearly a belle.”

  Elizabeth peered around him. Thomasina’s hours of practice with Georgiana had done her much benefit, but she still danced as if she were eager for the music to end. Pink was a good color for her, yet something seemed to be lacking. Elizabeth wondered what had gone awry; Tommy had been in high spirits when she and Georgiana first entered. Then Elizabeth realized what was amiss: Tommy was not smiling.

  “Lady Thomasina is a delightful girl and I think she will make an excellent partner for you,” Elizabeth said firmly. At the other end of the room, Georgiana seemed to be having more success with her partner and looked to be enjoying both the dance and the conversation.

  When the dance ended and the girls returned to join Elizabeth, Georgiana was asked to dance again but when she said she was thirsty, the young man said he would bring her punch, and he left. “Lady Thomasina Descartes, this is Mr. Cavendish. He has been admiring your dancing.”

  Tommy showed her doubt. “I cannot believe that you were looking at me, then,” she declared.

  “Oh, no, Lady Thomasina, I was admiring you from afar, and fortune smiled upon me because Mrs. Darcy told me your name. Will you dance with me?”

  Tommy stared at him. “Truly?”

  “I confess I’m a very poor dancer and I am not at all clever,” he said. “But I should be honored if you would allow me to dance with you.”

  The girl’s face underwent a visible transformation at Mr. Cavendish’s words and, once again, the smiling hoyden appeared.

  “I should be delighted,” she replied, taking his proffered arm.

  “I’m so glad you did that, Lizzie,” said Georgiana. “Tommy looked to be in agony during the dance and I fancy her spirit was quite doused. You have restored her.”

  “Not I; it’s Mr. Cavendish who must be applauded. And you, my dear – you are quite sought after.”

  Georgiana smiled. “I did not expect to be,” she said. “I expect that my brother has gone to investigate the prospects of everyone on my dance card.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “I expect that you are right. He is an attentive brother.”

  “Lizzie, it’s so different now that you are married to him. I should never have dared to come out before, but you seem to have made it all seem like the most natural thing in the world.”

  “Your punch, Miss Darcy,” said the young man, handing her a glass. “I hope that you will allow me the dance when this one finishes.”

  Fitzwilliam returned with a glass of punch for Elizabeth and the satisfied expression of a man who had concluded a successful errand. Elizabeth had the feeling that Georgiana’s guess about her brother’s examination of the names on her dance card was quite likely an accurate one.

  Callers

  The girls slept in the next morning, having come home late after what was acknowledged to be a great success at the ball. Georgiana had danced with a number of young men; Thomasina had fewer partners but it had escaped no one’s notice that she had danced the permitted three with Mr. Cavendish.

  “I expect that we shall be receiving callers this afternoon from three until four, should you choose to join us,” Elizabeth said teasingly.

  Fitzwilliam smiled. “Thank you,” he replied urbanely. “I trust that you will be well disposed to perform your duties as hostess without my assistance, since my presence would likely merely curdle the milk in their tea. You will pay heed, however . . .”

  “I will make sure that potential fortune-hunters are told that we expect to let Pemberley next week and that I am in the process of selling my shoes in order to pay the butcher’s bill.”

  Her husband smiled. “Georgiana could easily be the target of a man with money on his mind and I would not have her hurt.”

  “Nor would I. But she did not seem to be overly attentive to anyone. Perhaps she merely enjoyed the opportunity to dance and enjoy herself.”

  “And what of your charge?”

  They were enjoying their private breakfast, although neither would have succumbed to the sentimental notion of confessing such a thing. With the girls abed and the house quiet, Fit
zwilliam was of the opinion that balls were not such a bad thing, if they induced the young women to sleep in the next day.

  “She danced three dances with Mr. Cavendish, and when she was not dancing with him, he was fetching her punch while she obliged another gentleman who asked to dance. It’s so silly, is it not, to put so much emphasis upon the number of dances two people share?”

  “Very silly,” he concurred, sipping his coffee, “since you would not dance with me when I asked you, and here we are, married.”

  “You did not deign to dance with me or with any of the ladies,” she recalled, “when you had the opportunity to do so, because we were country maids and quite beneath your notice.”

  “We danced last night,” he said softly. “We danced all night.”

  Elizabeth blushed. “It’s a very good thing that we are alone,” she said. “Else I wonder what the girls would think.”

  “They could do worse than think we have made an estimable marriage. I still think Georgiana too young to consider matrimony.”

  “You are premature in fretting over something that she has given no indication of desiring at this point. She danced, Fitzwilliam, that is all, and only last month you were concerned that her shyness would prevent her from ever coming to London for the Season.”

  “I trust you to be my sentry for her,” Fitzwilliam said. “I leave you to your successes, my love.”

  “Remember that tonight we are invited to supper at Lord Dalton’s and the opera afterwards.”

  Fitzwilliam rose. “I long to return to Pemberley, where we are allowed to spend our evenings in front of our own hearth,” he said.

  “Yes, dear.”

  But she missed Pemberley House as well. There was a comfort there along with the grandeur that made Pemberley a home. Her routine had become one which she enjoyed, even though running such an elegant house had been a challenge at first. Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, had been of enormous assistance and the two had settled into a congenial relationship which had permitted Elizabeth to appreciate the deft manner in which the older woman provided guidance without ever diminishing Elizabeth’s authority as the lady of the house. There was a comfortable intimacy at Pemberley which was absent in the London house, although it was expertly staffed and lacking nothing in amenities. But she missed the morning rides over the grounds at her husband’s side . . .

  “Fitzwilliam, I meant to ask—”

  “Yes?” he replied, almost at the door.

  “I think we shall be going out more often during the day. I’m wondering if we should invest in another horse, in case you are away and we choose to go about.”

  “Lady Descartes will no doubt allow us to make use of her stables in her absence,” Fitzwilliam said. “I’ll send a note to ask.”

  As Elizabeth had expected, the callers began arriving at three on the dot and, in complete disregard of the convention which stated that, when the next caller arrived, the previous one should depart, her drawing room was replete with gentlemen who had enjoyed the company of the young ladies the previous night. Knowing that the gentlemen had come to see the girls, Elizabeth did her best to sustain conversation while keeping a careful eye that no one monopolized the girls’ time. However, there was no way to limit Mr. Cavendish, who, upon arriving, accepted an offer of tea and promptly sat down next to Tommy.

  She did not think he was going to leave at four, as custom required, but when she gracefully thanked the gentlemen for their visit and told the girls that they could escort them to the door, the young men accepted their dismissal with courtesy.

  “Mr. Darcy and I are dining at Lord Dalton’s, after which we will go to the opera, so I doubt we’ll see you before you go to bed. But tomorrow afternoon, perhaps you would like to go riding?”

  The girls agreed, although Georgiana with less alacrity than Tommy. Both girls seemed to be buoyed with the excitement of their callers, Tommy has much as Georgiana, although it was Mr. Cavendish, chiefly, who had come to see her. Elizabeth wondered if she should let Caroline know that her daughter appeared to have made a conquest, then decided against such a move. As yet, there was nothing of note except affection on both sides, but they were young. She resolved instead to find out more about Mr. Cavendish.

  Lord and Lady Dalton were a charming couple in their late fifties who had known Fitzwilliam’s parents and had attended his wedding to Elizabeth. Over the dessert, Elizabeth regaled them with Georgiana’s success at the ball.

  “She danced every dance,” Elizabeth said proudly. “And we were besieged with callers this afternoon.”

  “Good for the girl,” Lord Dalton said.

  “Yes, indeed. A young girl should know that she is beautiful.”

  “She should also know that young men are aware that she is wealthy,” Fitzwilliam said darkly.

  “My dear boy,” Lady Dalton declared, “it’s up to you to protect her! You must not let the Wickham business spoil her pleasure now. I daresay that she is even more wary than you when it comes to an unsuitable suitor. Georgiana is a sensible girl. She will not go astray. Besides, she has a brother who will glower and frown at importunate young men.”

  Fitzwilliam smiled ruefully in acknowledgment of what Lady Dalton said. “I am pleased that she decided to have a Season,” he said. “That is all Elizabeth’s doing.”

  Lady Dalton beamed. “Georgiana is lucky to have a sister-in-law who is so loving towards her.”

  “Georgiana is lucky to have a brother who would not have married a woman who failed to treat his sister with the affection she deserves,” Elizabeth responded.

  “Now that the two of you have exchanged pretty words,” said Lord Dalton, “perhaps we should begin to make our way to the opera.”

  Elizabeth was unsure how to inquire about Mr. Cavendish without divulging her reasons for asking if he were a suitable young man, but the problem was solved during the intermission, when Lady Dalton asked how Lady Descartes’ daughter was faring as a guest of the Darcys’.

  “Tommy is a dear girl,” Elizabeth said.

  “Dear, yes, but not exactly the stuff of which belles are made,” Lady Dalton said bluntly. “She is quite unlike her mother, but she is the daughter of an earl. I wonder how she’ll fare on the marriage mart.” Lady Dalton, despite her plain speech, was discreet.

  “Do you know anything about a Mr. Cavendish? He seems quite taken with Tommy, and she with him,” Elizabeth said.

  “Cavendish . . . There are many Cavendishes in London.”

  “This is a young man, barely twenty, if that, I should think.” Elizabeth described the young man who seemed smitten with Tommy.

  Lady Dalton’s eyes widened. “My dear, you must mean young Philip Cavendish, the Earl’s son.”

  “If he’s the Earl’s son, then why has he no title?”

  “He has been disinherited.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “Surely not! He seems a decent young man. Whatever caused his family to disinherit him?’

  “He’s a fourth son; no prospects, of course, so he must marry well. But last year, he came home from Oxford and announced that he had no intentions of joining the army or the clergy. No, he was going to be a poet. Lord Edgerton is a hard man – no mistaking that – and he threatened to disown his son if he followed through with it. Lady Edgerton is heartbroken, of course, but there’s no gainsaying His Lordship when he’s made a decision. Personally, I think it’s a lot of fuss over nothing; anyone who looks at the boy can see that he’s not going to turn out the way Lord Byron has.”

  “Has he talent?”

  “Lord Byron? Yes, it would seem so— Oh, you mean Philip. I’ve no idea. But there’s no scandal to him, which should be some sort of recommendation. I suppose poets think they can live on love, at least until the bills come due.”

  The Problem of the Poet

  Elizabeth went riding the next day with the girls. What Tommy lacked when she danced, she more than made up for when she was on a horse, and in her stylish riding habit, she cut a dashing
figure. Georgiana, mounted upon a less-spirited horse, was noticeably less confident and was ill at ease as she greeted others.

  “We shall ride in the chaise next time,” Elizabeth said. Tommy, riding ahead of them, had been hailed by Philip Cavendish and the two were riding side by side.

  “No,” Georgiana said, “I must learn to ride better, that is all. If I am going to have a Season, I must ride. Other ladies do it; there is no reason why I cannot.”

  Elizabeth was herself not a particularly good rider and would have preferred to be riding in the chaise instead of on horseback, but she would not quash Georgiana’s resolve to improve her equestrian skills. She would, however, alert Fitzwilliam that his sister needed a more suitable mount for her riding. The right horse with the right temperament would allow Georgiana to ride without trepidation.

  The week passed quickly. Elizabeth discovered that chaperoning two girls who had acquitted themselves with success in their introduction to Society occupied a great deal of her time. Fitzwilliam bore up nobly under the pressing social schedule, even if he did complain that it seemed little enough to ask for a man to dine in the comfort and privacy of his own home more than twice a week. Still, he enjoyed his sister’s changing demeanor as she became more comfortable in the company of young men who clearly delighted in her company.

  They were supper guests of the Arquists, along with a number of others, and the girls had been included in the invitation. When it was time for the guests to share their talents for the enjoyment of the others, Georgiana did not demur when Elizabeth suggested that she play. Georgiana’s piano playing was sheer pleasure and she often entertained them at Pemberley in the evening. As she listened, Elizabeth’s vigilant eyes noticed that Tommy and Mr. Cavendish were seated in a corner of the room, not improperly, but clearly enjoying their relative privacy. Elizabeth was not sure if the relationship should be encouraged. Was it time to alert Caroline that her daughter seemed to be heading into a romance that in all likelihood could not be sanctioned?