by Meg Kerr
And how well had she chosen in the case of Amaury? She admitted to herself, that she had loved him passionately, and that she loved him still. If Darcy had not appeared so suddenly, what would have been her course? Would she have wept for an hour and then with aching temples examined his avowal of wrongdoing in the calmer frame of mind she had now found? If she had seen him again that day or the next, would she have flown to his arms? Had she repeated the disastrous error she had made in Wickham’s case and once more thrown away Paradise? The anxiety of this idea began to possess her.
Now justifying Amaury, and deciding his perfections on the strength of her own imagination, she was confident that she comprehended his real character: and it recommended him most persuasively to her. From believing him an unprincipled and dishonest man she was now eager to believe him an honourable one! With her growing assurance that she was not deceived in him, her regard for him grew ever deeper, and she longed to be with him once more. Her affection was his forever, and no hope of success was left for any other man.
Placing propriety at naught she began to wonder how she was to make known to him her present sentiments. Mrs. Younge was the obvious conduit, but what would become of a letter addressed to her found in the letter-bag? It would be returned to Georgiana instantly with a request for explanation. A letter addressed to the hotel in Brussels would undergo the same fate. She did not believe she had any friend or acquaintance in town who would agree to act as an intermediary, and the idea of bribing a servant within the Darcy household was repugnant to her. She began to be quite in a pother about how to reach Amaury. But though her feelings demanded violent activity, deceit taught her reserve; she outwardly made a retreat to the silent lethargy that had shrouded her on her first return from Brussels, a state congruous with the cold and even snowy weather that gripped London,3 while inwardly her thoughts were all fixed on strategems. She did not know that she had an industrious partner in her plotting.
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CHAPTER
20
London, June 1816
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Amaury was attached to Georgiana in a way that he never had been to any woman, perhaps any being, and he was scourged not only by her loss but by the knowledge that she believed his love to have been counterfeit and herself to have been no more than the dupe of a conspiracy to obtain her money. He deeply repented his deceptions and truly wished that it were in some way possible to make amends to her. He wished also but did not think it possible to re-establish himself with her. After many hours of painful contemplation, he resolved that he must see her again.
Human nature may be great in times of trial, its strengths may be displayed and its weaknesses subdued. Whether Amaury’s resolution constitutes an illustration of this axiom might be open to debate. Sages might have urged that his noblest course was to keep away from her and let her forget him as quickly as possible; and that his resolution was driven rather by selfishness and impatience, than generosity and fortitude. However sages by their very nature are not five-and-twenty and over head and ears in love, and in any event Amaury’s acquaintances in Brussels did not include even one sage with whom he might have consulted. Nor indeed did his acquaintances in England, for he had long ago been dropped by all there who had once called themselves his friends. But there was one person in London who had compassion on him and whose purse was open to him, and with the assistance of this individual he made his way back to England and took up cheap lodgings at Mrs. Younge’s house in Edward-street. This lady, it may be testified to her credit, did not receive him out of regard, for if ever she had entertained any for him he had squandered it by his appalling failure in the campaign for Georgiana’s hand and fortune. Her motives were purely venal. As long as Georgiana remained unmarried hope for a better future (Mrs. Younge’s) could be sustained.
As soon as Amaury was in London, he set to work. He knew it to be highly improbable that chance would bring him and Georgiana in the way of each other, and therefore a strategy had more in its favour, not only because it was more likely to bear fruit but because it better suited his energetic temperament. He began, forthrightly, by calling on Georgiana at the Darcys’ townhouse. Georgiana was at that time in an English form of purdah and was permitted to see of ladies only a carefully selected small group, and of men only immediate relatives and Mr. William Brooke. Amaury therefore was informed that she was not at home, but he could leave his card for Mr. Darcy if he wished. He did not wish it. It was not that his heart quailed at the picture of an interview with the brother and guardian of the young girl he had attempted to seduce and to swindle into marriage – his heart was sturdy enough for such an encounter had he thought it would produce the desired result. He was a practical man and did not see the point of expending his forces on a manoeuvre so nearly certain to miscarry. He declined the offer and descended the steps with an unconcerned air.
He next endeavoured to corrupt one of the Darcys’ servants to take a message directly to Georgiana. He was met by a decided rebuff, and a threat that the burliest of the footmen would chalk him if ever his phiz were presented again in the street.
Thereafter through discreet observation he learned the hour at which Georgiana was driven each dry day to the park, in the company of a very pretty woman with fine dark eyes whose appearance Amaury liked at once. Regrettably no amount of walking in the park at the appointed time and coming upon the carriage by coincidence yielded the reward of Georgiana’s notice, for she always sat with her eyes on the floor and never raised them, as if inattention to her surroundings were a penance she had set herself. O, but the thrill that Amaury felt run through him when he saw her for that first and each successive time! His heart was lifted to a rapture that could not be concealed, and once the very pretty woman looked at him with a lively curiosity. She did not however do that which, surely, one young woman was bound in feminine honour to do for another and indicate to her companion the handsome and admiring stranger whose interest she had attracted. After this incident, Amaury began to feel the danger of making himself known to Georgiana’s custodians, and afterward when he went to the park it was only to look at Georgiana from a distance, where he could not be seen.
Now at something of a loss, he sought the advice of his sole friend in London and learned that Georgiana, together with all the fashionable world, had been invited to a party that would take place shortly. She had her ticket, but whether she would attend was impossible to know. Nevertheless this seemed to Amaury to be the best prospect he had found of a meeting, and he laid a simple plan.
The party was a ball given by Lord Metcalf for the new Lady Metcalf. Georgiana, indifferent whether she went to the ball or remained at home, yet allowed herself on the night to be dressed and prepared, and then sat by the drawing room fire, submerged in her own thoughts, until Mrs. Hurst (under whose protection she was placed) arrived in the Darcys’ carriage to take her to the party. Mrs. Hurst’s visit was brief, and the two ladies were soon on their way. “We shall not stay long,” she said to Georgiana. “It would not do to distinguish Lady Metcalf excessively, but I do not want it to be said that I kept away.” Shortly they joined a string of carriages at their destination. “I believe that is the Princess Royal’s coach,” Mrs. Hurst said in surprise as she caught sight of a coat of arms. She looked attentively at each carriage thereafter and identified in addition the conveyance of a royal duke, intelligence that she digested in silence.
Their names were broadcast by a relay of footmen as they ascended the stairs of the mansion, and at the top they entered a room that was brilliantly lit up and very crowded. Lord and Lady Metcalf were receiving their guests just beyond the doorway, and the two ladies curtsied to them. Mrs. Hurst would have stopped and fawned a mom
ent over her ladyship but they were pushed onward by the swarm to their rear. “Quite an enchanting woman,” said Mrs. Hurst, who now suddenly appeared to think much of her. “I long to know her better! I will speak to Darcy about giving a dinner for the Metcalfs. And of course we must not think of going until Princess Charlotte has left.” If any of her previous remarks about Lady Metcalf now caused her mortification, she did not let on.
As they moved into the room Georgiana was immediately stifled by the struggling throng and the heat, but what almost made Georgiana faint seemed to enliven Mrs. Hurst. Her eyes were constantly in motion and her tongue no less so, and as they made their way up she halted every few feet to survey the crowd for a glimpse of a member of the royal family, to comment on a familiar face, or to receive the compliments of a friend. Mrs. Hurst, being a very fine lady with a fortune of twenty thousand pounds in a trust that her husband could not reach without great difficulty, had the name of an agreeable woman because she had a smile and an amusing word for every body. Her acquaintance was much sought and valued.
“Heavens! Is that not old Mrs. Willoughby?” she said to Georgiana. She bowed graciously to an elderly lady who had caught her eye and was smiling an invitation for Mrs. Hurst to approach. “I thought she was dead, and seeing her has not convinced me otherwise. It is lucky she is no nearer to us or I would have to speak to her. But now I shall have to call upon her; however I shall only put in my card.” With a pleasant nod at the old lady she turned her head away and they pressed on.
“I am getting tumbled about so, I cannot answer for the state of my gown. There is Mrs. Jennings. What could have put it into her head to wear her feathers like that? She looks positively wild. When we pass I shall not stop and speak to her.” Nevertheless Mrs. Hurst so far deviated from her forecast intention as to say “How do you do?” in the warmest of tones as she pushed past her friend.
“Look, there are Colonel and Mrs. Brandon. Do they know old Mrs. Willoughby is so near them I wonder? Two or three years ago there was an amusing little scandal that Mrs. Brandon – she was then Miss Dashwood – was pursuing Mrs. Willoughby’s son, who was engaged to be married to Miss Grey. First she made a theatrical scene at a party given by Mrs. L***, and then she gave every appearance of intending to die of love. But what makes her match with Colonel Brandon so piquant is the story that is whispered that the Colonel’s natural daughter was ruined by Mr. John Willoughby. It is said that –” but here she broke off, perhaps suddenly remembering Georgiana’s youth and purity, and recommenced with a general attack on the season’s debutantes. “I have rarely seen so many plain and gangling young ladies assembled in one room. Look at Miss R***, she is absolutely disfigured by those eyebrows. Mr. A*** I am told is determined to marry her, and I daresay he is fool enough to do it. She has no family, no fortune, no accomplishments and no manners. But every one concurs that she is very sweet, and very much in love with him. With all her merits their happiness must be certain!” They progressed a further yard or two. “Is that not Mr. William Brooke over there? It is. See, he kisses his hand to you.” Georgiana refused even to glance in his direction, and attempted to steer Mrs. Hurst in the opposing way. “I really think Georgiana,” said Mrs. Hurst, resisting the change, “that you are in perfect safety, you need not fear his approaching us. He scarcely has the youth and stamina necessary to make his way through this crush. What do you take his age to be? Surely he cannot be more than forty if Darcy is proposing him to you, yet he looks nearer sixty tonight. Perhaps it is the heat. A turn or two about the drawing room at Clifford Priory would be just the thing to rejuvenate him.” This last was prompted by Mrs. Hurst’s espying of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and her entrenched association with them of their chill rooms. “There are Charles and Jane,” she went on. “I believe this is her first appearance in public since her lying-in. They have seen us and are coming this way.”
The Bingleys were indeed marking out a slow but persistent path to them. “How beautiful Jane looks tonight!” said Georgiana when Jane had toiled to within two yards of them. Mrs. Hurst’s mouth shaped itself into a fleeting picture of disdain but she greeted her sister as well as her brother with every appearance of affection. Georgiana was by this time very tired of being squeezed, the crowd scarcely seeming to grow any thinner as they advanced, but the four of them continued towards the top of the room, and when with industry they finally reached their goal they even found two vacant chairs close together. As it transpired, only one of them was wanted, for Jane and Bingley immediately joined the dancing and Mrs. Hurst soon found that it was inconvenient to be anchored in one location for she had too many friends and acquaintances to greet and to avoid.
Georgiana however seated herself and remained there unstirring, apparently insensible of the tumult around her, rather projecting the air of a captive princess compelled to witness the depraved celebratory revels of her abductors. She was looked at, nonetheless, with admiration. She was called a divinity by a fashionable rake, and caused a very young man attending the ball with his mother and sisters to start with transported wonder on beholding her. Mr. Brooke by extraordinary exertion and ingenuity found her but when he presented himself, damply, and made a request for the honour of her hand she told him, without the slightest look of gratification at seeing him, that she did not dance this evening. Having said so, she did not exchange a further syllable with him and he shortly took his leave, his temper very little disturbed. He was not fond of dancing himself, preferred a wife who was not fond of dancing, had nothing to say to or hear from Georgiana and had his own pursuits to follow with his political colleagues who were scattered through the crowd.
When the dancing ended every one joined the migration for refreshments, but Georgiana still refused to move. As Mrs. Hurst, Jane and Bingley were quite unable to persuade her otherwise, the party separated, Bingley promising (perhaps rashly in light of the multitude bearing down upon the urns) to bring her a cup of tea.
Amaury had not yet played a very notable role at the ball; but he was present, and from a private station with a comprehensive view of the main room had seen Georgiana at the moment of her entry. “O she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” he breathed.
He did not at first follow Georgiana and Mrs. Hurst. Whether he was discouraged by uncertainty about his beloved’s reception of him or by the horde of people he would have to make his way through would be difficult to say, but he remained watching for some time. At last the crowd lessened as every one sought food and drink, and he then made his way, hastening slowly as it were, to where Georgiana was seated.
Georgiana saw him not far off. When she perceived him she looked and was completely astonished. All the bewildering first effects of strong surprise overpowered her – delight and disturbance, pleasure and pain, so that for a few seconds she could see nothing before her and scarcely had the ability to feel all that was surging through her.
Although he had had the benefit of preparation for their meeting, he was as confused by the sight of her as she was of him. His eyes were fixed on her, yet he seemed to be doubting whether to move nearer. After a short interval of battling for self possession he came by degrees close to her, bowed and said her name. He could not immediately have articulated another word, for his heart was almost bursting, but of more words there was no need. She instantly felt that a transformation beyond description had taken place in her. She made no answer but her whole countenance began to glow. A change in his countenance swiftly followed and all his indecision vanished. She held out her hand to him, utterly indifferent to the observation of the crowd, and he took it. To be composed at such a time was beyond the capabilities of either, but presently he recovered himself a little and releasing her hand with evident unwillingness, spoke in a low voice full of emotion. “To approach you here was not my first choice, but I had to see you by any means open to me. I ask only that you hear me. I have had no peace since we parted; I could not rest until I saw you again. I love you with all
my heart, Georgiana.”
Such words were a potent incantation, their effect could not be opposed. He loved her and had sought her out, and this was reason enough for her to forgive all. Her lovely eyes rested so tenderly and expressively on his face, and yet with such an understanding, that he knew that further speech on his part was superfluous.
They had not remained in this manner long, in an intimacy so decided and revealing that it was impossible for any onlooker to mistake, before the flow to the supper room reversed and a gush of people issued from it for the recommencement of the dancing. Georgiana suddenly remembered her companions. “We cannot stay here. Mrs. Hurst will return – I see her coming this way now. What shall we do?”
Amaury looked first towards Mrs. Hurst and then around the room. It had been an object with him to escape remark as much as possible, and ballrooms are not noted for their profusion of secret haunts and hiding places, the Metcalfs’ conforming in this respect to the generality of such apartments. Before he could shape a plan Georgiana rose and catching his hand began to pull him with her.
“Where are you leading me?”
“If we join the set she will not approach us.”
As everybody was now standing up, Georgiana’s would really have been an excellent idea if Amaury had intended this night to flaunt their relationship before the world; and although he had not, no better notion came quickly into his head. The obvious one of instantly saying good bye to Georgiana and leaving the house, of tearing himself asunder from the treasure of his existence, had so little appeal that it barely formed a shadow touching his sentience. The head cannot always be wiser (or at least more influential) than the heart.