Devotion

by Meg Kerr

  With a confidence and decisiveness that Amaury had not suspected, Georgiana led him to take their place among the dancers. The music started.

  While they danced they had eyes for no one else. However, although Lord and Lady Metcalf’s guests possessed nothing to interest either Amaury or Georgiana, the two young people received many inquisitive looks. They were a very handsome pair as they glided about with elegance; really, there was no couple among the rows that could be compared with them. They must draw every body’s notice.

  The watchers were much struck by Georgiana’s radiant cheek and eye, and the young man’s manner of the privileged friend (some with minds not well regulated allowed the word “lover” to the brink of their lips). A murmur of enquiry began to run round the room and some began to take the trouble to find out who Miss Darcy’s partner was.

  There were a number of people present who recollected John Amaury perfectly. One of them gave him a broad stare as he passed her in the dance. Intelligent glances passed between two or three others near by. A gentleman came and stood scowling at him, under pretense of watching a figure. Amaury’s name began to be whispered from one party to another, and soon it was evident that a report concerning him was spreading.

  When the set was over the dancers dispersed; and Amaury at last intercepted a derisory smirk sent his way. Immediately Georgiana felt that something was amiss. Suddenly his manner was different. “I must go, at once,” he said. “God knows if I shall ever see you again.”

  Her respiration was immediately almost too much oppressed for her to reply, but she managed to speak: “If your attachment is as true as mine, and your constancy, then I have no fear of any one separating us.” On his answer depended all that this world meant to her. She looked into his eyes. With impassioned emphasis he responded, “If ever a man loved a woman for all eternity, that is how I love you. My heart is yours, not mine, and will always be. I would offer myself to you a second time, but I have no right. I do not deserve –” “Can you have failed to discern my feelings?” she interjected in an ardent tone. “I am yours. I live and breathe only for you. No one will ever take your place.” They were whispering together in a hurried farewell. “I can bear parting if I may carry with me the right of loving you,” he said; and like the Lady of Branksome Hall, “one moment and no more,” he held her hand in his, then took his last look at her and turned away.

  As he walked down the room here a lady turned aside from him with very evident iciness, there a gentleman pronounced a low “Scoundrel.” He gained the stairs and began to descend. At the second landing the name of “Amaury!” in loud accents resounded, giving him the first warning of the presence of one he knew and would have avoided. He looked up. There above him stood Lord Marlowe. There was complete recognition on each side. The one turned red, the other white. Amaury’s first instinctive movement was to draw back, although he could scarcely have expected to escape his sight. Concealment was impossible. Moving downwards with belligerence Marlowe called angrily to him, demanding what was he doing here? How had he received admittance to this house?

  Finding himself confronted it was Amaury’s intention neither to flee nor to use such words or display such manners as might provoke a public brawl between the two of them. Marlowe’s intentions seemed exactly the reverse. “Cur, how dare you appear in London!” he exclaimed pugnaciously, rushing nearer (although it must be said, not so near as to bring himself within reach of Amaury’s fists). “What knavish tricks are you up to, that you are come sneaking into England? I will have the bailiffs on you tomorrow, and you will be left to rot in the Marshalsea. Or Newgate, if I have my way! Do not think you will evade me,” (although Amaury had made no backward step or movement to get away), “I will have my servants take hold of you, aye and give you a sound beating into the bargain!” Amaury listened to this invective in silence and did not attempt any defence, other than a look of great contempt. Then on the higher stairs the two men saw Lord and Lady Metcalf approaching with some footmen. Turning instantly towards them Marlowe demanded boldly that their retainers seize Amaury. “Have the blackguard searche – dthere is no telling what he has stolen.”

  As Lord Metcalf stared with affront from Marlowe to Amaury and back again, a flashing look passed between Amaury and Lady Metcalf that was not designed for the observation of any other. Then Amaury pivoted, moved lightly down the stairs without a further glance or word, and was gone.

  With a triumphant look Marlowe lifted his eyes upward until he caught those of his hostess. Then unexpectedly he froze in place and turned a yet deeper shade of red. Any one would have seen that he was very much disconcerted. He remained in that attitude for the space of several heart beats and then, after clearly evincing some vacillation whether to go lower or higher, ascended the stairs, moved past the Metcalfs and disappeared back into the multitude.

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  CHAPTER

  21

  London, June 1816

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  The following morning began at the Darcys’ townhouse with an unaccustomed variety of incident.

  While Darcy was making his preparations for the day, a note was brought to him. Unfolding it, he found it to have come from William Brooke.

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  Sir,

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  I must request to be given an explanation of the conduct of Miss Darcy at Lord Metcalf’s ball last night, failing which I will, however reluctantly, be forced to discontinue my addresses to her.

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  I remain, Sir,

  Yours faithfully,

  WM BROOKE

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  After reading it in utmost confusion he sought out his wife and thrust it at her. Elizabeth’s puzzlement and consternation were no less than his own, and she immediately despatched her maid to enquire whether Georgiana was risen, but being told that Miss Darcy was yet sleeping, husband and wife descended to breakfast with their curiosity unquelled and their anxieties unallayed. They had barely tasted any food before Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst entered the breakfast parlour together, Jane and Bingley exhibiting a distress to which Mrs. Hurst’s liveliness made an arresting contrast.

  Without waiting for the exchange of greetings, Mrs. Hurst declared with barely contained relish that she was quite miserable. “I have always had an excessive regard for Georgiana,” she proclaimed, “and I wish whole-heartedly that this unfortunate occurrence had not taken place. It is so much talked of already, that I am afraid there is no chance of Mr. Brooke marrying her now. But really, she has used him abominably ill.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth looked at each other in trepidation, but hardly had time to ask questions before Mrs. Hurst commenced her story. They might better have liked to hear it from Jane or Bingley, but there can be no doubt that Mrs. Hurst’s depictive powers were superior to those of her brother and sister, and she spared no exertions to make her account as entertaining as possible.

  All the world, she said, was buzzing with the story of Georgiana and John Amaury at the Metcalfs’ ball. At the sound of Amaury’s name Darcy’s features took on an expression of extreme uneasiness, but to Elizabeth the name meant nothing and she remained tolerably composed. Seeing this, Mrs. Hurst cried out, “Mrs. Eliza Darcy, can it be that you know nothing of him? I am incredulous. But of course your family at Longbourn had no connexions in London. What a riveting affair it was! It gave us conversation for weeks.”

  Elizabeth now turned a little pale, and begged Mrs. Hurst to continue with her narrative concerning the gentleman. She acceded to this request with alacrity.

  “You mislead yourself by the term gentleman, ma’am. John Amaury is a cold-blooded reprobate without a conscience, who co
uld commit any treachery without deepening the stain on his character.” Judging that Elizabeth was now in the proper humour for a more substantial revelation, she continued: “The late Viscount Marlowe had two sons who are almost of an age, Thomas Marlowe (who is rumoured, Darcy, to be secretly engaged to your cousin Miss de Bourgh, and there is much conjecture why the engagement has not been published) and an illegitimate son by a servant, John Amaury. His father acknowledged him, had him brought up in a respectable family, and gave him an education, supporting him at school and then at a University. Lord Marlowe was fond of him, it is said, but his affection could scarcely have been more misplaced, for Amaury was wild and unscrupulous, a cheat at cards, a thief and a libertine. Of course, everyone now concedes, that it was no more than could be expected, given that his mother was an Irish scullery maid. Perhaps Lord Marlowe at last came to realization of his natural vicious propensities, for when he died these five years ago, he made no provision for him, but cut the young man out of his will. Thomas Marlowe, whom respect for his father had previously prevented from circulating any report of Amaury’s real nature, with which he was well acquainted, soon made it known that he would not continue his father’s maintenance of such a degraded relation and dissolved all ties with him. The young man went down from the University, and he lived at first in London, leading a life of gaming and debauchery. He obtruded himself on his brother with an application for money to relieve the distress of his circumstances and pay his debts of honour, which Lord Marlowe rightly refused, and was then abusive towards him in his resentment. What accounts his brother gave of that young man’s threats and animosity, and of the depraved life he was leading! It made our hair stand on end, indeed. His name was so blackened, that it was not long before no one would recognize him, and then after a time he disappeared. I believe I had heard that he went to Spain, although I recollect now that someone said it was Russia. Wherever he was, he had not been heard of for more than four years, and then last night he appeared at the Metcalfs’ ball! It is said that he did not walk about the rooms, or speak to any body (it is a matter of course, that there is no one who would speak to him), but that he sought Georgiana out directly and engaged her in close conversation. And then they danced together! Lady Middleton came to me this morning, for she witnessed it herself, and said she felt quite faint when she saw how easily Georgiana was enticed by a stranger to act in a way so injurious to her reputation. I fear, Darcy, that she may have damaged it beyond repair by this gaffe.”

  Darcy, although almost stupefied by Mrs. Hurst’s account, rallied after a minute and asked the three visitors, “But did none of you see anything of this yourselves?”

  Bingley replied that he and Jane had been among the dancers, but nowhere near Georgiana in the set, and had seen and heard nothing; and as Georgiana immediately after that dance was finished desired their party to come away, they had heard nothing of the encounter at the time. Mrs. Hurst said that although she had been aware that Georgiana was dancing, she had not been near enough to observe her and her partner.

  “You did not see them in their tête-à-tête?”

  “No, for we were all three taking refreshment; Georgiana had been most positive in her refusal to join us.”

  “Have you any indication how long it lasted?”

  “I do not believe it was very long, but that Georgiana offered no remonstrance was quite apparent.”

  Darcy’s own spirits were greatly shaken, and he had never seen Elizabeth so shocked. The look they exchanged showed that they were both thinking the same thing. Was it possible Georgiana had known in advance of John Amaury’s coming? Her conduct was inexplicableshe would never have comported herself so familiarly with a young man, however handsome, to whom she had not been introducedbut that the behaviour of the two indicated undoubtedly that they had formed a prior acquaintance; and Georgiana had given no comprehensive account of what had occurred while she, and evidently Amaury, had been outside England. Elizabeth in addition could not help thinking back to the handsome young man in the Park who had demonstrated so great an interest in Georgiana. With tears in her eyes she sought reassurance from Darcy; he took her hand and said affectionately, “This is frightful news indeed, but endeavour not to give way to alarm.”

  The only living soul in London or probably all of Europe who might think there could be extenuating circumstances in the case was present in the room; this was of course Jane Bingley. The foulness of Mrs. Hurst’s chronicle had almost deprived her of the capacity of speech yet she managed to urge at this point the possibility of mistaken information. “Surely this cannot all be true; we did not see anything of it ourselves, and I hope we may shortly find much of it is false,” she offered in a tremulous voice.

  Mrs. Hurst, whose scorn for Jane’s willful ingenuousness was unqualified, did not allow this positive prospect to raise the Darcys’ spirits but immediately said, “I have not done,” and at this even Darcy’s countenance grew whiter. “The affair took a yet more scurrilous turn. After parting from Georgiana, Amaury made to quit the house; but on the stairs whom did he come across but Lord Marlowe? It is said that Amaury was prevented from taking violent hold of his brother only by the intervention of Lord Metcalf, who directed his footmen to part them and to eject Amaury. It is known all over town this morning!”

  Although Darcy now had to lend his physical support to Elizabeth, so overcome was she by the monstrosity of the tale and its apparent spread, and despite personal experience of George Wickham, Jane obstinately refused to think so harshly of John Amaury as Mrs. Hurst’s account appeared to require. She had not been a witness to the meeting between him and Georgiana, had not been privy to gossip about him, and could not bring herself to believe the accusations she had heard. Her desire to protect Elizabeth and Darcy as well as Georgiana, and compassionate feelings that had been stirred on Amaury’s behalf (for she was certain that if even a tenth of Mrs. Hurst’s tale were true he must be tormented by his past), led her to plead, “Surely no Englishman could commit the unnatural deeds we have heard of Mr. Amaury. His conduct must have been misinterpreted and distorted. Let us not reach a verdict hastily, and let us try to take these events in the best light.” However as no one could even with prodigious determination imagine a light in which the picture looked less black, Jane, to Mrs. Hurst’s great relief, was forced to subside.

  Troubles seldom come singly, and at that juncture Lady Catherine de Bourgh was announced. Or to speak more precisely, she announced herself, for she walked so closely upon the servant’s heels that before he could name her she had pushed him aside to enter the room. It was clear that she was exceedingly angry, so angry that anyone of lesser indomitability would have been incapable of vocalization.

  “This transgression,” she said in an awful voice, “is unpardonable!”

  Darcy, with very creditable courage, advanced towards Lady Catherine with the intention of offering her a civil welcome, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “Do not interrupt me! I will not be interrupted until I have spoken.” She glared about the room. “You may go,” she said dictatorially to Mrs. Hurst and the Bingleys, who, patently seeing the advantages of an exit, hastily retreated with a look but not a word for the Darcys. When they were alone Lady Catherine immediately took up where she had left off, with no diminution of fury. “The grossly injurious report that has been spread abroad offers so great an insult to me and my daughter that I have hardly words to make my sentiments known to you. How could I have prepared myself for such atrocities to be committed within my own family! I do not ask you to declare that there is no foundation for it. Do not imagine me ignorant of your deception, Darcy, and yours, Elizabeth, in concealing from me the truth. This turpitude of Georgiana’s, this absolute repudiation of all decency and propriety that she owes her family, must disgrace my daughter in the eyes of the world, infallibly operating against her, to ruin at once her reputation and our fondest hopes of an alliance with Viscount Marlowe. Any obligatio
n he might feel himself under from a private engagement must be destroyed by the discovery of an evil of this magnitude within our family.”

  The effrontery of Lady Catherine’s speech roused Elizabeth from her near-despairing torpor as almost nothing else could have, but she was saved from a possibly ill-advised rejoinder by the sheer futility of stopping the tirade.

  “Is this to be endured?” continued Lady Catherine. “No, it must not be, it shall not be. I now cast off every attribute of softness. From this day forward I shall bestow no further attentions on you, and make to you no further communications. I am intolerably offended. Do not expect to be noticed by me again. I have done with you.” In token of this perpetual schism between the two sides of the family, she now seated herself and said in an imperious tone, “Well, what do you have to say? I will stomach no prevarications, and I shall not go away until I have seen Georgiana and censured her to her face.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth with a mutual glance confirmed their agreement that Lady Catherine must be persuaded to depart as soon as might be; and although each feared that even their combined resources would be insufficient to such an undertaking, Lady Catherine had become somewhat malleable in the aftermath of her splenetic diatribe regarding the demerits of her niece, and from possessing the interior comfort that if her daughter did not become a viscountess at least Georgiana would not become a marchioness; and she allowed herself to be cajoled to her carriage, with no more than herculean effort, on a promise that she should receive tidings of what they learned from Georgiana when she had risen.

  This was a dreadful business, but Darcy and Elizabeth possessed still one resort of succour. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were most intimately in their confidence, and were as solicitous for the standing of the Darcy family as for their own and the Bennets’. As soon as Lady Catherine was out of the house Elizabeth sent to them, begging them to come quickly, which they did.