Into Kent (5 page)

Georgiana’s tears began again. “And I chose
him
!” she denounced herself bitterly.

She would not meet Darcy’s eye, and he knelt down next to her to look up into her face. “Dearest,” said he in gentlest accents. “Georgiana—no. It was not you who sought him out; he needed money, and picked you as his quarry—that is all; I know this is so because he had come at me for assistance not long before. I do not deny that his dislike of me might have been a factor in his choice, but that makes it rather more my fault than yours.”

Georgiana slowly recovered herself, and Darcy brought her a glass of water. After some little time spent speaking quiet words of reassurance, Darcy sat down next to her. Taking her hands again in his and looking down at them, he said regretfully, “Regardless, I do not know what I could have hoped for: no matter how things had gone at the ball, Miss Elizabeth Bennet and I could have no future.” He had never spoken these thoughts aloud before, and as he did he felt a wrench; saying the words had driven it home to him as never before. His spirit cried out against this truth, but, try as he might, he could see no other way through the matter.

“Dearest Fitzwilliam, I have never seen you upset so;
why
should not you and Miss Bennet have a future together?” Georgiana asked, her eyes again becoming unhappy. “This is the one point that has puzzled me so in your letters.”

Darcy looked at his sister gravely. “Can you not see how impossible it is? Her family, her sisters—her mother! Connexions the likes of which have never been remotely considered by our family; notwithstanding Miss Bennet’s qualities and abilities, it is impossible.”

“But what family does not have its weaknesses and follies?” she protested. “Aunt Catherine, you must agree…”

Darcy broke in with a shake of his head: “Dearest, there can be no comparison between Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings and Mrs. Bennet of Longbourn. Truly, you must believe me when I tell you that Miss Bennet’s mother stands alone in her genius for folly and impropriety. Nor, I have to say, are her three younger sisters without their share in full measure.”

“I do believe you, Fitzwilliam. It is only my heart that wishes it were otherwise.”

Darcy released her hands, and, kissing her forehead, said, “As does mine—more than I can say. Come, now, it is very late: you need your rest.” He escorted her to the door, wrapt her shawl once more around her shoulders, and bade her goodnight. Unfortunately, he was unable to take his own advice, and sleep evaded him until late in the night.

Chapter Four

Darcy, Georgiana, and Bingley made the return to London without incident. Darcy still kept watch for any signs of regard that might pass between his companions, but, aside from the fact that Georgiana was more at ease around Bingley than she was with most others outside her family, he could discern no evidence of any particular feelings developing between them. Darcy’s own mood being sombre, he was glad that the two of them got on together; they kept each other occupied while he brooded. Again and again he found his thoughts straying to Miss Elizabeth Bennet; in his mind he could see their life together with perfect clarity, stretching before him in every detail—at Pemberley in the breakfast parlour, and in London with him at the theatre, always the kindest and brightest part of his life. Periodically he would try to lift himself out of his mood and attempt conversation, but he would invariably lapse back into melancholy. On the heels of that melancholy often followed a sharp frustration; nearly three hundred years of privilege and position imperiously demanded within him that his desires be met; and, removed from rational thought, removed from the rules of propriety, his irritation and impatience at being thus thwarted continued to churn inside him.

London, when they arrived late on Saturday afternoon, was busier even than when they had left it six days earlier, as the holiday season expanded it influence. Festive ornaments and bright colours were every where seen, and Darcy was gladdened by the sight of his sister’s eyes lighting up with pleasure as they arrived at Grosvenor Square. Mrs. Annesley, who had travelled slightly ahead of them that day, was already at work with the staff to begin preparations for meals and entertainments; Georgiana dutifully went off to join them on her arrival, leaving the two gentlemen to settle in on their own.

“Something to drink, Bingley, to warm the bones?” Darcy asked after they had shed their coats.

“A good cup of tea would not go amiss,” answered his friend. “But if you wish something stronger, do not let me influence you.”

“Tea sounds perfect,” Darcy concurred amicably. Glancing out the window, he saw the street in front of the house transform itself into a charming holiday picture, as a thick snow began to fall among the cheerful lights shining from around the Square. The two gentlemen settled themselves in the lower drawing-room by a fine blaze, and enjoyed that feeling of good fortune which any one must have when within doors in front of a comfortable fire, just at the beginning of a heavy snowfall.

The friends sat before the fire for half an hour, warming themselves and talking of the journey. At length Darcy said to his friend, “I want to thank you, Bingley, for coming with me to fetch my sister. It is a long ride, I know, and I make it all too often by myself. I was glad of the company, I assure you.”

“Not at all, Darcy,” his friend replied. “It is I who should thank you, for having preserved me from
my
sisters’ company these past weeks.”

“Will you be needed at home? Selfishly, I should like you here with us, at least until after the New Year.”

“Just as selfishly, I should like to remain, and I thank you. I shall, however, have to go back to the Hursts’ for a bit, if only to keep Caroline from bankrupting me in my absence.”

Darcy gave a laugh. “My father used to say: no matter how large a man’s income, his family could always out-spend it.”

“How true; I only wish that she might marry, so she might impoverish some one else for a change,” said Bingley with one of his grins. To this Darcy made no reply; his silence did not go unnoticed, and after a pause Bingley spoke uncertainly, “Darcy, I have been meaning to say…there can be no question about Caroline’s interest in a certain quarter—but I should just like to say that, however all that might turn out, I do not intend that it should have the slightest effect on our friendship.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Darcy, “but why say so now?”

Bingley was quiet for a moment. “I am not sure, to say the truth: do some good where it is wanting? Perhaps it is only that my own recent…difficulties…make me want to keep anything else from going wrong—at least for a while. We neither of us have had much of a year, and, while I am endeavouring to get the better of things, I should hate to have anything more to contend with, for either of us.”

Darcy shook his head at his friend. “Indeed; I have never known a year such as this.” A moment of silence stretched between them. Darcy firmly put down his cup. “I find that tea no longer satisfies me. Something with more authority? And perhaps backgammon?”

“Billiards,” Bingley said with decision. “And claret; too early for spirits.”

“Done, and done. But I warn you—I am in a mood to crush you utterly.”

“Then you must still be smarting from the way I trounced you last time. Bring on your worst—you will find it insufficient to your needs, though, I fear.” So saying, the two lovelorn companions went off to soothe their savaged spirits in the linked arms of Mars and Bacchus.

Chapter Five

For the next day Darcy had invited the Hursts and Miss Bingley to dine with them; Georgiana, he knew, had already invited them for various entertainments during the holiday season, but he felt the need to have them on his own behalf, in return for the hospitality he had received at Netherfield. In support of his aunt’s efforts to bring Georgiana more to the fore, and to encourage her to accept her role as mistress of the house, he had asked her approval for the dinner, and received her rather bewildered blessing. It was to be a small affair, one that asked little of her beyond setting the menu. But it had been agreed that she might be allowed to retire early: she did not like to think of herself as being out, running the household, and feared her aunt’s soirée marked the beginning of the end of her peace; she wished to enjoy her tranquillity for as long as she could.

“I am required to be in company this Thursday, Fitzwilliam,” she had argued, “Please—might I have one more evening of quiet and ease?”

“Very well,” he acquiesced. But, turning a penetrating eye on her, he added: “But mind you, I feel it wrong in me to be so lenient; as you are to run things eventually, you must begin sometime, and it were easier, I should think, to start out among a small group well-known to you, than to wait until the dinner.”

His sister had thanked him with a quick peck on the cheek, and then hurried away before he could think better of it and change his mind. Darcy smiled at her back: he knew he was letting himself be manœuvred, but making Georgiana happy was one of the things he took most pleasure in; and, so long as he did not allow her to become lax in her duties, or ill-equipped to take her place in life, it pleased him to indulge her.

Therefore, when the loo table was placed after tea, Georgiana bade every one a gentle good evening and went upstairs to enjoy one of her dwindling nights of freedom.

Their play was sociable and easy, much to Mr. Hurst’s annoyance; but the ladies were, neither one, adepts at the science of chance, and Bingley and Darcy were inclined to let the cards play themselves that evening, so Mr. Hurst spent much of the evening fuming over the lack of sound play.

“Miss Darcy is even lovelier than last year,” Miss Bingley had complimented Darcy at one point in the evening, not long after Georgiana had retired. “Louisa and I are thrilled that she is to be hostess for the dinner next week.”

“You must not let her hear you call her that,” Darcy advised, “unless you wish to see her discomposed beyond all measure: in her mind it is her aunt’s dinner, and no other.”

“Oh! —Poor dear!” cried Miss Bingley. “Is she much worried, then?”

“I believe she would give a great deal never to have heard the word ‘dinner’,” Darcy replied. “But her aunt is in the right on this matter, I believe: it is time my sister took on more duties and began moving into society.”

“You, recommending your sister move into society?” Bingley demanded. “How would you know anything of that?
You
never have!”

Darcy cocked an eyebrow at him, but made no reply.

“Charles,” cried Miss Bingley, “how can you speak so to our host? Is he not in Society now, or do you not count your own family among the people of fashion hereabouts?”

“Caroline, this is hardly ‘Society’; surely it is more like a family gathering: we are all well acquainted with each other, and perfectly easy. Much different from being at a grand social event where the strangers far outnumber the friends.”

His sister sniffed disdainfully. “Well, it is still abominably rude to accuse your host of being ill-bred.” She turned a relieving smile at Darcy; he recognized the truth in her brother’s accusation, however, and therefore had taken no offense at his jibe.

At this point, Hurst, who had often been chafing under such conversations at Netherfield, apparently felt that such goings-on simply were not to be tolerated in Town; he threw in his hand without speaking and went to pour himself a glass of wine; drinking half of it straight down, he lay down on a sofa some distance from the group. Those at the card table looked at each other in surprise, but no one seemed to feel any great contrition, nor to mourn the loss of his company.
Indeed, his wife directly went to the instrument, and, looking first at Darcy for his permission, beginning a lively piece within a few paces of her husband’s back.

Mr. Hurst having broken up the card game, and his wife having taken upon herself their entertainment, the three remaining got up from the table as well. Darcy went over to a chair well away from the instrument, as Mrs. Hurst was holding forth with commendable energy; Miss Bingley followed him, while her brother stationed himself by the fire, gazing into the flames.

“Well, Sir, it must be pleasing to see your sister moving into her rightful place as mistress of Pemberley,” Miss Bingley said; to Darcy, however, her comment appeared to have a faintly downcast air about it.

“Indeed,” said he, “although I could wish it were easier for her. Her diffidence has always held her back; I only wish my mother…” he trailed off, and did not finish his thought.

Miss Bingley looked at him not unsympathetically, but then her gaze sharpened, and she said with interest, “Have you considered, Mr. Darcy, that having a more experienced lady to guide Miss Darcy would be of invaluable assistance to her, in finding her way in Society?”

Darcy thought it best to deflect her from the true object of her question—how
she
might become that helpful lady. “I agree with you,” he replied, “and my aunt has taken that task largely upon herself.” An association of ideas led him to add: “She is to take my sister to Bath later in January; I am glad of it, in a way, as it will give me a chance to send certain things from here to Pemberley; I am doing over Miss Darcy’s favourite room there, and, in addition to new furnishings, I have a mind to send some of the small
objets
from the drawing-room here that will suit it, and there is bound to be a certain commotion about the business.”

“Goodness, Mr. Darcy; would that Charles were half the brother you are! Have you chosen a theme for the room? That is critical, you know, to the proper selection of new furnishings; I should be very glad to be of assistance,” she said, looking at him speculatively
. As her ideas developed, so did Miss Bingley’s enthusiasm for the project increase. “Truly, it would be my greatest delight. Perhaps we might go shopping together, when I return.” Darcy appeared dubious at this. “Please, I insist,” she appealed with a sincere and winsome manner, “—do promise me!”

“In truth, Miss Bingley, it had been my plan to attend to it sooner rather than later,” the gentleman prevaricated. When she looked so very down at this, though, he could not but relent to some extent: “Very well; I have no doubt that there will be any number of things I shall have forgotten: we shall go out and finish the list together one day.”

Miss Bingley was overjoyed at his acquiescence; she smiled very broadly, thoroughly delighted at the prospect of being able to buy even the least thing for Pemberley, with its master’s full permission; then, her face becoming more serious, she began ticking points off on her fingers: “Only be sure to tell me what you have purchased,” said she, “and remember the colours exactly; get a swatch if you can; the merchant is sure to have some to hand. And best quality, of course: perhaps I should write down some of the better warehouses for you…”

Darcy thought it best to head off this torrent, lest, in her enthusiasm, she re-furnished all of Pemberley, and Grosvenor Square into the bargain. “I assure you, Miss Bingley,” he interrupted, “this is not the first occasion on which I have made purchases for the estate. And I always buy at Wilson’s; we have traded there since my mother’s time.”

“Wilson’s, of course; unquestionably first quality; but perhaps I should just jot down some of the main pieces; German, do you think, or French? And tapestried fabrics are all the rage just now…”

But Darcy had no intention of letting Miss Bingley use Pemberley as her dollhouse, and put an end to her delighted imaginings by saying, “Thank you Miss Bingley, but I have some things already in mind; but I shall make sure Mr. Wilson delays the shipment until you have seen the pieces I select, and then you will have all the information you require.”

Miss Bingley began a pout, but, seeing Darcy’s cool gaze in response, she instantly turned it into a smile, thanking him with an abundance of delighted sincerity, while leaning closely in on his arm, almost as though she were going to rest her head on his shoulder. Darcy defended his claims to the unfettered use of his person by stepping away and gesturing to the pianoforte, diverting her with the request: “Perhaps you and Mrs. Hurst might favour us with a duet?” He knew the sisters enjoyed displaying their abilities, and his application was rewarded with her immediate compliance. Darcy removed himself to the fire, taking up the position opposite his friend; securing themselves by the hearth, with the safety of numbers and occasional lauds and smiles, the two gentlemen managed to keep each other out of the line of fire from the ladies’ attentions and machinations for the rest of the evening.

Early the following Thursday brought the arrival of Darcy’s nearest, and dearest, relations: the Fitzwilliam family. His cousin Edmund, of course, had been an intimate friend and confidant since childhood, and Edmund’s parents—Darcy’s uncle Jonathan, the Earl of Andover, and his aunt Eleanor, Lady Andover—were great favourites with both Darcy and Georgiana. The elder brother, however, George, Viscount St. Stephens, was not. Cursed with a deadly combination of arrogance and ignorance, his affected manners and superciliousness, even towards his own parents, often grated on Darcy; fortunately, Viscount St. Stephens preferred a public life, in consequence of which he and Darcy rarely found themselves in company together, even in Town.

Lord Andover had, in some respects, come to stand in place of Darcy’s father. Darcy had the highest opinion of his uncle’s abilities and wisdom; he was one of the very few men Darcy would turn to for advice on thorny matters. On his side, Lord Andover looked upon Darcy as a younger version of himself, and had been a close friend to Darcy’s father for many years; on the death of Darcy’s father, it had been Lord Andover who had stepped in to support Darcy and his sister during that very difficult change of life. Whenever the two men met, they were sure to give themselves the pleasure of a lengthy, comfortable, private conversation.

This time was no different. No sooner had the family settled in—that is, when Aunt Eleanor had bustled off with Georgiana to review, thoroughly approve, and completely rearrange all that Georgiana had already begun; Cousin George had hastened away into Town on “matters of import”; and Edmund had ensconced himself in his apartments to write letters—than Darcy and his uncle took possession of the library

“Well, then. —My dear Mr. Darcy,” began the Earl with a rather florid bow and a cheerful grin.

“My dear Lord Andover,” Darcy returned with his own bow and grin to match. This was their formula on reunion, a kind of mutual acknowledgement, and it meant a good deal to Darcy. His uncle had begun the mock formality of their greeting as a way of making light of the new responsibilities Darcy had assumed on his father’s death: a reminder of sorts, that the mantle of duty, while heavy, need not be a crushing and inhuman burden. To Darcy it was even more: a symbol of their connexion and of his uncle’s faith in him. They were Andover of Clereford and Darcy of Pemberley—men of good will and repute, who stood high in each other’s estimation.

“Well, then, Uncle, how stands the nation?” Darcy enquired, drawing a chair over by the fire for his uncle and taking another for himself. Andover was active in Parliament, and was always abreast of what was moving in England and abroad.

“Ah…My boy, the nation, as it always has and, to my belief, always will, does not stand at all; it stumbles and blunders along somehow or other, lurching this way and that like a drunken hod-carrier under a heavy load. We can only pray it continues to remain miraculously upright.”

Darcy laughed. “And Clereford?” he asked.

“There, I flatter myself, we see at least
some
coherence, and a sense of direction,” Andover acknowledged. “Perhaps that is merely the reflection of my own arrogance, however.”

“It was a good year at Pemberley,” observed Darcy.

“Yes…for us it was, too.” replied his uncle hesitatingly. “But I get a sense of unease, somehow. People are not happy.”

“The war with the French?” surmised Darcy. “It has taken away a number of our tenants, and those who come back often are not fit to work the land.”

“Perhaps, but I think not…” Lord Andover scowled at his hands for a moment, then shook his head to chase away the thought. “Time will sift through that problem,” he said confidently. “But I want to ask you about this dinner your aunt has forced on you: are you being too much put out? Can I do anything about the expenses?”

“No, I thank you, Uncle Jonathan: that will not be necessary; it is for Georgiana’s sake, after all. And my aunt is taking most of the burden off Georgiana’s shoulders, and all of it off mine: it is no trouble, I promise you.”

“Good,” said His Lordship. “But now, Darcy; what about you? Truthfully, this last twelvemonth you have been looking rather down; your aunt is worried about you. Anything troubling you?”

Darcy hesitated. This was twice now that one of his intimates had addressed him on this subject in as many months. He decided to open his mind to his uncle. “Well, frankly, the Season last year left me rather in despair at the hope of ever finding a wife. I am very sorry, though, that I should have been so transparent as to have distressed Aunt Eleanor.”