A Fair Prospect

by Cassandra Grafton

  Conscious of the tightening in his chest, Darcy leaned back against the wall. “That I admire the lady?”

  Georgiana’s head shot up and her eyes widened as they met her brother’s uneasy gaze.

  “Yes! Precisely! Oh, Fitz – it is true?”

  Darcy ran a hand through his hair and studied his sister’s expectant face thoughtfully. He could see no escape. It was far preferable that he gave an abbreviated version of events to his sister than allowed his cousin full rein. Uncomfortable enough with the need to dissemble, how could he not learn from the past? It was true that he had regretted not being more observant of his sister that he might have saved her some anguish, and he could not deceive Georgiana in this for disguise would benefit neither of them.

  Darcy turned to stare out of the window again, conscious of his sister’s silent vigil at his side.

  “I made the acquaintance of the lady when residing with Bingley, as you know. By chance our paths crossed once more in Kent.” Darcy paused as the memory of that first encounter at Rosings rushed through his mind. Nothing could have prepared him for how overwhelmed he had felt to lay eyes upon Elizabeth again.

  Georgiana laid a hand upon his arm, and Darcy turned to face her.

  “Aunt Catherine had advised me by letter before our visit took place that her parson had found himself a wife in Hertfordshire. She followed the announcement with the knowledge that the new Mrs Collins was attended by a Miss Elizabeth Bennet…” He paused. “I had to see her, and once I did I knew my mind had played no tricks upon me. I did – I do – like her… very much.”

  Tentatively, Georgiana took his hand. “But I do not understand. Why would you be so disturbed over finally finding someone whom you can so admire?”

  “I am afraid it is perfectly simple.” Darcy looked down at their clasped hands. “Whilst I think very highly of the lady, she does not return the sentiment; in fact, quite the contrary.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Georgiana stared at him in disbelief.

  “But why would Miss Bennet not admire you? And how is it that you are so certain of her feelings? I cannot comprehend how anyone could not like you.”

  “No – no, I know you cannot, dearest.” Darcy patted her hand gently. “But trust me that her reasons are perfectly sound. Some of her impressions of me were misguided, but I cannot deny that all were so. There can be no doubt of Miss Bennet’s opinion of me, for she told me of it herself. Thus if I seem a little low in spirits...”

  Georgiana shook her head. “I cannot comprehend… how could she hope to find a better man than you?”

  Darcy gave a short, bitter laugh. “How indeed! With great ease, I suspect – certainly in Miss Bennet’s eyes.”

  “But then she cannot see you as I do – as you really are.”

  Conscious of his own recent failings where the portrayal of his character was concerned, Darcy refrained from sharing with his sister precisely how he felt about the man he really was.

  “Do not be distressed, Georgiana. Did you not say that I would aid you better by revealing my troubles than concealing them?”

  Though she attempted a smile, he could see that tears were rising, and Georgiana threw her arms about her brother and hugged him tightly. Keeping a firm grip on a sudden wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Darcy stroked his sister’s hair gently whilst she sniffled into his chest.

  "You must not upset yourself, Georgie. I will be well; we will be well."

  They remained thus for some minutes; then, conscious that she spoke, Darcy lowered his head to catch her words.

  “What does Richard know of this?”

  He grunted. “Sufficient. His interrogation methods are not dissimilar to your own.”

  Georgiana gave a watery giggle, and Darcy released her, the tightness in his throat easing as she fished in her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks dry. A sudden knock caused them both to turn about, and Darcy was unsurprised to see Fitzwilliam’s head appear around the door.

  “There is no need to look so morose, the pair of you. I have been away but a few hours.”

  Darcy patted Georgiana reassuringly on the shoulder as she stowed her handkerchief away, and as the Colonel strolled into the room, he walked over to join him before the fireplace.

  “I trust your meeting went well?”

  There was no immediate response to this enquiry, as the Colonel’s gaze had fallen upon the tea tray containing the platter of food, and Darcy smiled faintly at Georgiana as she retook her seat.

  Conscious that he had lost his own chair to his cousin, who now paid court to a slice of cake, Darcy seated himself on the arm of his sister’s chair.

  “You were a long time, Richard,” Georgiana remarked. “You are not about to leave us for an extended period?”

  The Colonel shook his head. “Temporarily, it would seem, but not for any lengthy duration, as I understand it.” He shoved the last morsel of cake into his mouth, munching with apparent contentment as his gaze moved from one cousin to the other. “So – have I missed anything of interest?”

  Darcy exchanged a quick glance with Georgiana. “No – no, you have not,” but upon observing his cousin’s raised brow added, “We were discussing our visit with Aunt Catherine.”

  The Colonel’s eyes narrowed at this, and once again he looked from Darcy to Georgiana, pausing to study her face more thoroughly before returning his gaze to her brother. “Ah. I see.” He paused. “At least, I think I do.”

  Conscious that both his cousin and his sister were now observing him, one thoughtfully, the other with compassion, Darcy pushed himself off the arm of the chair and walked back over to the window again, yet barely had he taken up his position before his sister spoke.

  “I have received a letter from Anne, Cousin.”

  Darcy turned towards Georgiana in alarm, but the slight shake of her head in his direction assured him that she had no intention of revisiting their earlier conversation. Conscious as he was that Fitzwilliam possessed the knowledge Darcy most wished to conceal, he looked quickly in his cousin’s direction, but typically that gentleman had detected a different line of enquiry.

  “Good Lord! Wonders never cease! Did her companion pen it for her?”

  “Certainly not! She had much to say, Richard – indeed, she commented on your robust appetite with great relish!”

  The Colonel looked somewhat discomfited at this observation, and Darcy could not help but smile at his cousin’s countenance. “I trust Darcy did not go unscathed in this letter?” Fitzwilliam let out a snort of derision, “Though Anne would hardly comment upon your brother’s eating habits, for there would be nothing to report.”

  Georgiana shook her head. “I can assure you, Richard, that Anne had much to say about you. She particularly drew my notice to your love of adding liberal amounts of liquor to your after-dinner coffee!”

  Darcy laughed. “It is a fair point, Fitzwilliam. You will have to exercise more restraint in future!”

  The Colonel’s mouth opened and closed once, then twice, before he managed a blustering, “Well. What is Anne about, making sport of her mother’s guests?”

  Darcy smiled, but Georgiana remained serious. “Anne is alone for much of the time. In company, a whole new world is revealed to her.”

  “But she has her companion,” interjected Darcy.

  “Ah, but Brother, Mrs Jenkinson is not Mrs Annesley, who is a woman of infinite kindness, good sense and intelligence.”

  “Anne does not find these qualities in her own companion?”

  “She says Mrs Jenkinson believes there is no difference between a sonata and an aria, that Berlin is in Ireland and green tea is, without question, the restorative of all ailments. What is your opinion of her sense and education?”

  Darcy exchanged shocked glances with his cousin. “But how could our aunt engage such a woman?”

  Georgiana shrugged. “For her meekness? For her inability to either speak her mind, or argue a point?”
<
br />   The Colonel smiled at his cousin. “Since when did you become so wise, old thing?”

  “I am not. I merely have a good memory and am thus repeating what Anne herself noted in her letter.”

  Darcy sighed heavily. “Anne has not lived a full life. We should have done more for her, invited her to stay with us. I feared raising Aunt Catherine’s expectations by paying attention in that quarter, but I believe we have failed our cousin somewhat.”

  “Come, Darce. Do not take it upon your own shoulders so. We are all equally culpable. Perhaps Georgiana will now be able to enter into a regular correspondence with her – that will be a beginning.”

  Georgiana nodded enthusiastically at this suggestion, and Darcy suppressed a groan. The last thing he desired was for his sister and his apparently observant cousin to begin discussing his behaviour. Yet, before he could mull too heavily upon this possibility, he realised that the Colonel addressed him.

  “What news of Bingley?”

  Observing Georgiana’s quick frown, Darcy was unable to respond before she said quickly, “Mr Bingley? What of him?”

  Throwing his cousin a warning look, Darcy turned to his sister. “Bingley paid a visit after you retired last night. Your cousin and I were trying to help him resolve a small matter.”

  “But did he not call here this morning as well? Mrs Annesley said that she saw him in the hallway.”

  The Colonel let out a snort of laughter. “Good Lord, the man clearly enjoys your company, Darcy. If he is here so often, why does he not move in permanently, pray?”

  Darcy walked slowly back across the room; it would not do for his cousin to let slip any mention of Miss Jane Bennet at this juncture, and he hoped Fitzwilliam understood that.

  “Bingley will join us on the morrow.”

  “So soon?” The Colonel fixed his eye on Darcy. “And the matter that caused your friend some concern – did he manage to resolve it to his satisfaction?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Ah. I see. Well, Darce – can you spare me a half hour or so in your study? I have some business I would discuss with you prior to my departure for the south coast.”

  Conscious that every subject they were presently touching upon seemed fraught with possibilities, none of which he wished to favour, and thus feeling the distraction would be most welcome, Darcy turned to look at his sister.

  “Will that be amenable to you, Georgie? We have not yet spent much time together since my return.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Fitz.” She smiled up at him, then got to her feet and walked towards the door. “Besides, I promised Mrs Annesley that I would practice my music once our tea was over…” her voice faltered for a moment, and she cast a guilty glance towards the neglected tray. “Will you call for me before dinner?”

  Darcy walked over to join her and held the door open, conscious that his cousin had hauled himself out of his chair to select a slice of buttered bread from the platter.

  “With pleasure, my dear. Come, Fitzwilliam. Let us repair downstairs where you can set out this business of yours more readily, without the distraction of food.”

  ~o0o~

  Maisie Cooper enjoyed her work as a serving girl at Hunsford Parsonage. To be certain, Cook could sometimes be a little sharp, if Maisie did not complete her tasks with due haste, and she found the Master somewhat intimidating – something to do with his wordiness (Maisie was not very good with words) – but the Mistress was fair, and the work varied for, with so few servants in the house, it was understood Maisie would turn her hand to whatever was asked of her.

  Thus it was that today, following the departure of the parsonage’s recent guest, Maisie had been instructed to strip the bed and bring the linen to the wash house, then clean out the chamber fireplace and, finally, sweep the floor, and she knew that her bowl of broth would not be forthcoming until she had completed her duties.

  Yet she was at present unaware of the passage of time, or the cooling dish awaiting her in the kitchen, for she faced a dilemma. Perhaps a person of keener intelligence might not have seen the matter as such a predicament, but Maisie, though a sweet girl, lacked anything approaching common sense. Thus it was that the occurrence of anything untoward would cause her no end of worry – and something unexpected had indeed arisen.

  Setting to with a purpose, she had stripped the sheets from the bed, humming softly to herself and anticipating her meal with relish, when something had caught her eye, and she had watched in fascination as a folded piece of parchment fell from beneath the pillow she had just picked up, twirling gracefully to the ground near her feet.

  Picking it up warily, she had been staring at the parchment in her hands for several minutes. Clearly, she held a letter, and most assuredly it belonged to that nice Miss Bennet – not that she could decipher the direction, for Maisie had never learned to read – but who else could have placed it between these pillows? And did that not signify that it held some importance? But the lady had long departed for Town – what should she do with her find?

  The faint slam of a door down below roused her from her thoughts, and she glanced about the room hurriedly before biting her lip. She had not even completed one of the tasks she had been assigned, yet she was certain that she should not delay handing the letter over. After all, no one knew better than Maisie – or indeed the cook – just how forgetful she could be. Cook! Of course! She would ask her for guidance, and perhaps her having acted so promptly would lessen the scolding over her being so far from completing her duties.

  With a decision made, Maisie opened the chamber door and stepped outside. Yet she had gone but two paces when she espied someone at the opposite end of the landing, and she smiled with relief. Surely this was the perfect solution, for if she were to hand the letter over to another, it would no longer be her concern, and she, Maisie, could return to her duties, completing them before Cook was any the wiser.

  Unaccustomed as she was to drawing attention to herself, Maisie took a deep breath before stepping forward and executing a somewhat awkward curtsey. Then, her eyes still lowered respectfully to the floor, she thrust the piece of parchment unceremoniously under the nose of her saviour – the Reverend William Collins.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  As some poorly folded pieces of paper were thrust unceremoniously under his nose, William Collins lowered the prayer book that held his attention. Instinctively, he raised his free hand to take the offering, but barely had the tips of his fingers brushed against it when another hand reached over his shoulder.

  “Pray allow me, my dear,” said Charlotte, moving past her husband to take the letter, adding “Thank you, Maisie,” before giving the girl a nod of dismissal.

  As Maisie turned and fled back whence she had come, Charlotte glanced quickly at what she held, unsurprised to see her friend's name, but struck immediately that something was amiss. Turning to face her husband, who still held aloft his book, she met his bemused expression with a calm that belied her curiosity.

  “I shall forward this on to Lizzy, my dear.” She indicated the sheets she held in her hand. “She must have overlooked it during her packing.”

  “Of course, of course,” mumbled Mr Collins and, with a formal bow, he continued along the landing towards his chamber, his nose buried once more in his prayer book.

  Charlotte’s thoughtful gaze followed her husband’s progress until the door closed behind him, the purpose of her own presence on the landing long forgotten, before turning to retrace her steps. She glanced quickly at the letter once more, and her astonishment at what she perceived brought her to a halt at the top of the stairs, for it bore neither direction nor postmark and thus could only have been delivered in person. Further, the hand, though unrecognisable, was most decidedly masculine in form, yet Elizabeth's only acquaintance in the neighbourhood consisted of the occupants of this very parsonage and the residents of Rosings Park.

  Hurriedly, Charlotte made her way down the stairs and along the narrow hallway to her private p
arlour. Dropping the letter onto her desk under the window, she methodically pulled together the implements required for writing and, having ensured that the door to the room was secured, she hastened to light a small candle before returning with it to the desk.

  Despite her curiosity over its sender – though in truth there could surely only be two possible suspects – and thus its purpose, Charlotte determined to secure the letter as soon as possible. She reached for the ill-folded and rather crumpled pages, intent upon straightening them well enough to affix the seal, but a shaft of sunlight suddenly fell across the desk, and before she could close her mind to it, she saw the final words just visible along the bottom edge of the page: God bless you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  ~o0o~

  Having escorted Georgiana to the music room at the back of the house, the gentlemen crossed the hall to the study, where Darcy sank into his chair behind the large, leather-topped desk, waving his cousin into the seat opposite.

  “So what is this peculiar business, Fitzwilliam? It necessitated a summons by Express only last evening, yet now you are not to depart until the morrow.”

  The Colonel stretched his legs out in front of him. “Another Express arrived whilst I was at Whitehall, and thus my role has become investigative rather than preventative.”

  Darcy frowned. “That sounds rather ominous.”

  The Colonel shook his head. “Not so much. There was some trouble brewing within a regiment under the command of a colleague. Today’s message confirmed the rabble-rouser has absconded; yet my commanding officer insists that I pay a visit to the encampment. I am not sure what I can do in the circumstances, but far be it from me to disregard an order.”