Miss Darcy's Beaux Page 3

  Leave Pemberley precisely at that moment! I was going to voice my objection, but the Colonel gently patted my sleeve.

  "Please allow me to finish. A few days ago, our aunt wrote to me from London. She is staying at her Grosvenor Street residence for the season for the first time since Cousin Anne's passing."

  Sweet Cousin Anne. She had died of consumption not long after my brother's wedding to Elizabeth. Her health had been waning for many years, but my aunt made it no secret that she held my brother somehow responsible for bringing about her untimely death by loving another. Poor Anne, so quiet and unremarkable. Compared to Elizabeth's wit and beauty, she never had a chance to shine, not unlike myself when the Bennet sisters were around.

  I banished my feelings of inadequacy and focused again on what my cousin was saying.

  "Lady Catherine requested me to extend you her invitation to stay with her in London for the remainder of the season. She believes that your company would be of the utmost comfort and that procuring pleasures for your enjoyment would improve her spirits."

  I was certain that Lady Catherine hadn't expressed herself in precisely those words, but I supposed there was ample truth in them. She was indeed going through a difficult time. Re-entering society after two years locked up at Rosings Park couldn't be easy, even for someone as formidable as her. Still, the prospect of spending a few months with my aunt was slightly terrifying.

  "I mentioned Lady Catherine's invitation to your brother, but at the time he appeared certain that you would not be willing to leave Mrs Darcy's side so close to her confinement, and therefore he decided it was best not to notify you," continued the Colonel. "However, if Mrs Darcy's health is taking a turn for the worse, it is reasonable to anticipate that her close family members will wish to be by her side."

  The Colonel's implication that I was not one of them was distressing, but he did not seem to notice.

  "Georgiana, you know as well as I do that Lady Catherine's relationship with your brother has been somewhat frazzled of late, but she has always esteemed you. Her letter showed her generous and amiable disposition towards you, and an eagerness to provide you with the wider society you require. In my opinion, Lady Catherine's invitation is perfectly timed, and it would be very thoughtful of you to accept her offer and spend time with her in London."

  London. I had been at school over there for a short while, but my memories were few and far between. A window overseeing the Thames, a room with high ceilings and little light, a flock of indistinguishable mistresses with very stern faces, all dressed in black.

  A red trinket box where I had kept his letters.

  I had stayed at the school until Mrs Younge had taken me to Ramsgate. To him. I forcefully pushed Wickham out of my thoughts.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam now spoke with the eagerness of those who make plans to improve the life of others.

  "Lady Catherine is very well connected, and I have no doubt that she will introduce you to the most elegant and exclusive society. She is also very keen to present you at court, now that she is no longer in deep mourning and it is proper for her to do so."

  A court presentation! The elaborate costumes, the nobility, the curtseying to the Queen. My insides shook at the prospect. I found it difficult enough to speak at a dinner party with neighbours in Pemberley. How would I manage to go through the whole ceremony in front of hundreds of people? Of course, I had always known it would happen one day, and in the family it was tacitly understood that, given the tragic death of my mother, my aunt would do the honours. After all, as the daughter of an earl, she had been presented herself, and even spent time at court in her youth. However, since my brother's wedding and Cousin Anne's death, no more had been said on the matter, and I'd harboured the secret fantasy that my dreaded presentation would never actually take place.

  "Your brother, always so considerate, feared that the event might bring painful memories of Cousin Anne's coming out to our aunt. Because of this, he insisted on postponing your presentation, and even discussed with me the possibility of looking for a different sponsor."

  The Colonel's apologetic tone didn’t fool me. I was well aware that Fitzwilliam was anxious about letting me out of his sight. At the same time, I did not mind his watchfulness. I rather enjoyed being cocooned in the safety of Pemberley, and its limited social obligations suited my timid nature.

  "However, Lady Catherine is adamant that she will do it herself. She wants your first season to be splendid," continued the Colonel.

  I shuddered. There was only one way to determine the social success of a young woman of good breeding in her first full season in town, and that was an engagement to a man with a title or a vast fortune, and preferably both. Cousin Anne was a sad reminder that some ladies, in spite of their wealth, did not attract a husband, presentation at court or not. What if I shared more than Anne's unremarkable looks? What if I, too, was destined never to be loved again and die a spinster, a string of fruitless seasons behind me?

  "I think you may find that you enjoy the process more than you think," the Colonel added with a smile. "I am told that the shopping excursions to procure all necessary accoutrements for the court ceremony are very pleasurable for the ladies involved. And Lady Catherine has you in very high regard. She often says that you are so similar to Cousin Anne you might have been sisters, certainly the highest of compliments I ever heard her bestow. I have no doubt that our aunt will ensure you have as much amusement and gayness from your stay in town as possible."

  Which wasn't much, I thought glumly. Lady Catherine's idea of diversion was to play cards whilst criticising everyone's dress, countenance, habits, skills, house, pets, servants, carriage and general outlook on life.

  "Cousin, please tell me. Does my brother not wish me to go to London?" I managed to ask with some effort on my part.

  "Not at all, dear Georgiana. Darcy has always known this day would arrive. I keep reminding him that you are no longer a child, but you know what he is like. He does not want any harm to come to you."

  Once more, the words were unsaid, but they hurt just the same. I wanted to scream. Instead, I silently dug my nails into the palms of my hands.

  "I believe your brother has also had other preoccupations of late. He has been very busy with some matters regarding the estate boundaries. Some neighbouring owner is contesting his right to a particular piece of land or other, but there is no need for you to worry about such matters."

  The Colonel took my gloved hand and pressed it.

  "Darcy loves you very much, Georgiana, and so do I. We want your happiness. Your brother would like to keep you as a beautiful vase, on a shelf up high, to be seen and never touched, but it is time you went out to see the world. I intend to recommend to him that you accept Lady Catherine's invitation; however, I will not do so without your consent."

  His gaze was confident, and it was clear that he did not doubt that I would comply. In truth, I had very little choice. All I could do is nod as he held my arm to help me up the stairs.

  Chapter 4

  That night, Pemberley was to welcome a party of twelve. On the guest list were Elizabeth’s relatives, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr Robertson and his wife, a nervous woman who didn't say much and seemed startled by anything. We were also joined by our neighbours, Reverend Walker, Mrs Walker and their only son, Mr Donald Walker. The reverend was gaunt and very tall, with a squint and prematurely grey hair. His wife, matronly and opinionated, had a high-pitched voice that could be heard from across the room and which she enjoyed exercising. I didn't much care for Mrs Walker, who was a ruthless gossip, but I quite liked the reverend. He tended to be quiet when his wife was around but he was widely read and eager to share his knowledge with the right listener. I was mildly intrigued by Mr Walker. I had never met him before, but I knew through his parents that he had completed his studies of law and his prospects were excellent. Perhaps I would gain an admirer that night.

  In Elizabeth's absence, my place would be beside my brother for most
of the evening. I had prepared with great care and was wearing an eau-de-nil gown with yellow ribbons that Jones had assured me was very becoming. She had curled my hair in a different way, perhaps inspired by Lydia's coiffure. It was vexing that it had taken the visit of my least favourite woman bar Mrs Younge to nudge her into trying a new hairstyle, but I was too pleased with the results to say anything. The curls framed my face and softened my features most pleasingly. The gown was my idea; I had it made for Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam's wedding celebrations but hadn't worn it much since. It was too pale for winter, but now that the weather was becoming warmer it was the perfect outfit.

  I looked out of the window, which framed a delightful sky. The vivid sun was low on the horizon, colouring the clouds a beautiful shade of pink. I drew a deep breath and headed downstairs. Mrs Wickham and Mrs Bennet were already waiting in the drawing room, standing by the roaring fire. Mrs Bennet was wearing a green gown and embroidered shawl that Elizabeth had gifted her for Christmas, and her youngest daughter was clad in a scarlet dress that suited her slender figure. Mother and daughter turned to greet me when they heard my footsteps.

  I almost gasped when I saw Mrs Wickham's gown. The cut was very tight, much more so than the fashions I was used to seeing in Pemberley, and featured a very low décolletage, barely covered with a hint of dark lace. She noticed my shock with an arch smile. Then the library door opened and Mr Bennet reluctantly joined us. Fitzwilliam and the Colonel followed from the other direction shortly afterwards. They had been in private conversation in the study for an hour and seemed troubled and tense.

  At the agreed hour on the dot, the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of the Walkers. To my delight, the young Mr Walker was taller than me, and had an agreeable countenance, even if the skin on his face was ravaged by pimples. He smiled at me when we were introduced and seemed very pleased to make my acquaintance. Then he spotted Lydia, and his scarred skin coloured violently, the fleshy craters practically disappearing in the pinkness of his face. Judging by her flirtatious smile, Mrs Wickham was delighted by the impact she had had on him. Reverend Walker was her next victim. Even before they had spoken she fluttered her eyelashes at the poor man, and his errant eye started to roam widely, like a ship with no compass. Unaware, Mrs Walker was busy regaling everyone about the precise details of her morning trip to Lambton.

  "And I said to Dr Robertson, as we'll be at Pemberley later, will you be so kind as to give Mrs Darcy permission to dine with us? I said it in jest, Dr Robertson knows how I like to tease, but he was as serious as usual. Then I remarked, 'I don't like the way you're staring at me, Dr Robertson, I hope you haven't made poor Mrs Darcy that unwell'."

  "I assure you that's not the case, Mrs Walker,” my brother interjected, his voice laced with irritation. “My wife just needs some rest. You will remember Mr and Mrs Bennet, of course. I believe you have also met Mrs Bingley. And this is Mrs–"

  Fitzwilliam looked at Lydia, then winced. His neck started to turn a distinct shade of crimson. I held my breath.

  "Wickham! You must be the youngest sister!" exclaimed Mrs Walker, unable to contain herself. "Where is your charming husband, pray tell me? I haven't seen him in a long time!”

  All the other small talk in the room abruptly stopped at the mention of Wickham. Mrs Bennet seemed to perk up at the glowing mention of her son-in-law. My brother was livid. Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever the expert at defusing sensitive situations, stepped in.

  ”Mrs Bennet, Mrs Walker, I must take advantage of having such experienced ladies in my presence to ask you for some advice on household management,” he said with his usual charm. “As you are well aware, I am a poor bachelor with numerous responsibilities, and it is increasingly taxing for me to find the time and energy to manage my servants. I have a faithful housekeeper who has been with me many years, but I fear some of the duties are proving too much for her. What would you recommend me to do?"

  Mrs Walker was quick to bite the bait.

  "Oh, but Colonel Fitzwilliam, you must marry! A dutiful wife will ensure your household runs like clockwork. I have two pretty nieces, very accomplished and dutiful as well, I must introduce you to. They live in Yorkshire, but I shall ask them to visit.“

  “Kitty is so skilled at instructing our Longbourn servants, Colonel. So much so, that I need to do very little by way of supervision. She has grown much since the last time you saw her, and she is turning into a rather beautiful young woman. I have already asked Miss Darcy, but promise me that you will meet her and Mary when you are in town. She will be delighted to see you!”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s intervention gave me the chance to regain my composure. I gave my cousin a silent look of thanks, which he acknowledged with a barely-there nod, and I proceeded to invite our guests to adjourn to the dining room.

  It was an uneasy evening. My brother was on edge, a look of preoccupation clouding his noble features. I didn't think it was solely due to Mrs Wickham's coquettishness. He found her irritating, that was sure, but I sensed there was something else. Colonel Fitzwilliam led the conversation and charmed the ladies, seated as he was between Mrs Bennet and Mrs Walker. I believe that night he learnt enough about servant management to write a full volume on the matter.

  I was sitting between Mr Bennet and Reverend Walker, who turned out to have a shared love of knowledge and learning. Reflecting their scholarly interests, their conversation, moved from a recent fossil discovery to piston steam engines. They were so enthused in their exchange that most of the time they failed to notice me, only remarking occasionally, ‘Isn't it so, Miss Darcy?’

  Across from me, Lydia was talking animatedly with Mr Walker, touching his sleeve more than was seemly for any well-bred woman, let alone a married one. As for Mr Walker, he was so in awe of Mrs Wickham in general, and of her bosom in particular, that he barely said anything. My spirits sank. He wasn't exactly a handsome man, his facial scarring was too severe, but it would have been nice to have male attention for a while. And he did have lovely lips, now drawing a hint of a smile. They were shapely and firm, like Wickham's.

  The memories came flooding in, unexpectedly. The smell of soap on his cheeks. The way Wickham smiled at me when he said that he loved me. The strength of his arms when he had lifted me up the day before our planned elopement. 'Next time I do this, you shall be my wife', he had said. How could Lydia be here when she had him at home? My heart ached deeply, taking my breath away. I must have gasped because all of a sudden everyone was looking at me.

  "Are you well, Miss Darcy?" enquired the reverend, his voice tinged with worry.

  "Quite well, I thank you", I mumbled.

  From his seat at the top of the table, my brother was observing me with concern. I smiled bravely in his direction, took a deep breath, straightened my back, as Mrs Annesley always said I should do, and invited the ladies to follow me back to the drawing room. As we were walking along the corridor, Mrs Wickham approached me.

  "I hope you do not fall ill, Miss Darcy. It won’t do your looks any favour, and you will need what little you have if you are to find a husband."

  She giggled, covering her mouth with her delicate hand. I turned around. None of the other ladies seemed to have taken notice of her comment. Mrs Bennet and Mrs Walker were engrossed in discussing the difficulty of finding skilled cooks, the viciousness of old servants and the lack of attention to detail of scullery maids. Mrs Bingley appeared distracted, perhaps worried about her sister, and Mrs Robertson was silently walking by her side with her usual vacant look, content with her role of mute guest. With my cheeks burning, I went through to the next room feeling, not for the first time since the arrival of the Bennets, that I was of little or no consequence in Pemberley when my brother and sister-in-law weren't present.

  I sat at the pianoforte and began to play. Lydia's malice had thrown me in a state of anger and shame that was swiftly becoming deep sorrow. I was so desolate that the tune of my choice must have sounded too mournful for my audience, for Mrs Bennet
shortly after asked me to perform something more lively. I obeyed without saying a word. A while later, the men entered the room, and there was a discreet scramble for places. Mrs Walker insisted that everyone should sit down for a game of loo, and Mrs Bennet took up the suggestion with enthusiasm. Mr Bennet didn't agree, however.

  "My dear, I would like Reverend Walker to see a most extraordinary sixteenth-century copy of a sketch showing the workings of an architonnerre that Mr Darcy is lucky enough to have in his excellent library. I'm sure you'll understand that one must bow to the greatness of Leonardo whenever one has the chance. Mr Darcy, I hope you will indulge us and share with us this unique example of engineering ingenuity."

  My brother, as a good host and proud owner of some remarkable works, gladly acquiesced. He and the older men, excited like school children and clearly pleased to escape the card table, promptly left the room.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested that instead of loo a pool of commerce would be preferable, given the number of players.

  "Georgiana will be kind enough to continue to delight us with her playing, I'm sure", he added.

  I silently thanked my cousin. He knew how little I cared for cards.

  "What a wonderful idea!" exclaimed Mrs Wickham. "Mr Walker, you sit right there. Mama, you sit next to him; Jane, take the seat to Mr Walker’s left; and Mrs Walker, you must sit here, by my side. And Colonel Fitzwilliam, I must admit that I am rather inept at cards, so I hope you will take pity on me. Would you be able to fetch the chair over there to sit next to me and show me how to improve my game as we go along?"

  Just like that, Lydia managed to secure my cousin's attention through the duration of the card game whilst also keeping that of Mr Walker, who appeared very pleased to be able to take full advantage of the perspective that a seat across from Mrs Wickham afforded him.

  The game of commerce soon became quite absorbing, judging by the little conversation that was taking place amongst the players, to the point that Mrs Wickham seemed to forget that she was supposed to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam for his advice. Not that I cared. Instead, I focused on the joy of feeling the keys under my fingers. I had learnt to play at a young age, and through the years the pianoforte had become a fixed constant in my life. The instrument was a source of great comfort in times of distress, such as the wake of Wickham’s departure.