Mr. Darcy's Dream (19 page)

“Forgive me, sir. I did not think—that is, I supposed that everyone was in the drawing-room.”

She was not wearing an evening gown, and so was not a guest, but he had seen her before. Of course, she was the governess, looking after some of Mr. Darcy's grandchildren. “What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

She looked up at him from beneath long lashes, a shrewd and knowing look, which startled him considerably. No governess he had ever met would have looked at a man like that, a complete stranger. Not a governess in a respectable household, anyhow.

She flitted past him, and in a flash was on her way up the stairs, before he could ask any more questions. Not that he needed to, he had a very good idea why she had been outside,
and her presence and that look answered several of the questions that he had recently been asking himself. Definitely, he would have to do something about it, he couldn't have this going on at Kitty's very doorstep. Kitty was no fool, and he felt sure that she, too, had a good idea of what her errant husband was up to, although he also felt quite sure that she didn't know with whom Sir Henry was entangled.

He might consult his mother about it, but she would merely shrug her shoulders, and say in an indifferent voice that it was the lot of wives. He would prefer to teach Sir Henry a lesson; that way he might learn to curb his roving eye. Of course, another solution was simply for his sister to find her own consolation elsewhere, but he knew his sister too well not to be aware that for that to happen, she would have to have become completely estranged from her husband.

Nodding at the hovering footman to open the door, he went outside and down the steps. He walked along the side of the house, which this evening was outlined against a still-brilliant waning moon. The sound of the piano came faintly through the drawing-room windows. He was excluded from the scene within, and the poignancy of the music and the intensity of his emotions at that moment caused his spirits to feel an unaccustomed anguish.

In the distance an owl hooted, and there was a dull plop from the surface of the river as a fish rose for a second to the surface. His senses were super-alert; it was as though he could hear creatures from halfway across the county. From nearby came the sharp bark of a fox, and the soft sounds of the cattle on the other side of the river mingling in the stillness of the night, as the beasts grazed and moved in the darkness.

He walked slowly back towards the front door, hesitated for a moment, and then went back inside.

At last, the evening came to an end. As they stood in the hall, waiting for the carriages to be brought round, Phoebe strove to keep her distance from Stanhope. She refused to meet his eyes, turning her head to one side to talk to Louisa. When Stanhope's carriage was finally at the door, she presented him with the tips of her fingers placed in his hand, and dropped him the briefest of curtsies, still not looking at him.

Lady Redburn was in a snappy mood, on account of not winning at whist, and both Phoebe and Louisa were glad to escape from her and go upstairs to their bedchambers. Alone in the darkness of her bed with the curtains drawn around it, Phoebe did not sleep. She was trying to make sense of the emotions which had been raging through her all evening. She had not imagined that it would be so painful to see Mr. Stanhope again, nor that her feelings for him would not have altered one jot, despite her father's very just comments, and her own determination not to think about him.

Then there was the problem of the Harlows' fête. What if Mr. Stanhope were still in the county? It was the forthcoming weekend, he had only just returned to Derbyshire from Lon
don, and so there was every prospect that he would make up one of the party from Martindale House.

Why had he come to Derbyshire? Her heart told her that it was to see her, and indeed she could hardly mistake the glow of ardour in his eyes when he looked at her. Reason told her that a man rejected as he had been would have too much pride to seek her out again, and remembering why she had rejected him, remembering the agony of seeing him with Mrs. Vereker, she told herself yet again how right she had been to reject him.

She could not go to the Harlows'. She could not spend an entire day avoiding a tête-à-tête with him, not if he were determined to speak to her alone. Nor could she trust herself to tell the lie that must be told, that she did not care for him, that her feelings as expressed in her letter to him were unchanged, and that she hoped he would be gentlemanly enough not to approach her again on this matter. How could she form those words on her lips? And yet she would have to. She had given her word to her father, and besides, her father was right. She could never expect any happiness married to a man like Stanhope.

Her thoughts turned from herself to Louisa. Were her suspicions correct, was Louisa falling in love with Hugh Drummond? Was he in love with her? If so, Phoebe could see nothing but difficulties ahead for them. Louisa's parents, she knew, cared a great deal about the happiness of their children, but they would believe, as would many parents, that it would be impossible for their daughter to be happily married to a man in Mr. Drummond's position. And she shuddered to think what would happen when Lady Redburn noticed their growing affection for one another.

It was not until the first pale light of dawn was creeping
through the shutters that Phoebe finally drifted into an uneasy slumber. Miniver, when she had helped Phoebe to bed the night before, had noticed that all was not well with her, and she didn't come into the room until long after the sun was up. She opened the curtains and unshuttered the windows before drawing back the curtains around Phoebe's bed with enough vigour to make the brass curtain rings rattle. The noise awoke Phoebe with a start, and she sat up abruptly, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and blinking at the sunlight streaming in through the window. For a moment her heart rejoiced at the brightness of the day, and then the memory of her problems flooded into her mind, and she sank back on to the pillows, her eyes shutting out the glad day.

 

Phoebe took Louisa into her confidence. “I cannot go to Harlow Park this weekend.”

Louisa, who was looking rather pensive, shook her head. “You have to go, you know that; once an invitation is accepted, it is impossible for you not to go. And there can be no reason for your not going. They know you are here at Pemberley; short of your being carried away by some family emergency, which heaven forbid, you must fulfil your obligation and go.”

Phoebe sneezed. It was a perfectly natural sneeze, and not the forerunner of watering eyes and streaming nose. Perhaps the condition which had afflicted her when she went to church was returning. She could hardly go to Harlow Park like that.

“No,” said Louisa. “It is not the same, that is just a sneeze, nothing more. It is a bad habit to get into, to fall back upon a chill or a fit of sneezing or some other illness to excuse you from what you don't want to do.”

Phoebe was indignant. “It is something I have never done
in my life. But you are quite right, I can't see there is any way that I can escape from going to Harlow Park.”

“You will just have to ensure that you are never alone with Mr. Stanhope. There will be a large number of persons present, and I'm sure it will be possible for you so to arrange your day that you need not see much of him at all.”

“I can and shall avoid him,” said Phoebe. “However, if he is intent on not avoiding me, what am I to do?”

Louisa shook her head. “It's a difficult situation.” She paused, and said, with some diffidence, “Is Lady Redburn aware of what happened between you and Mr. Stanhope? Were you to explain to her—”

“Impossible!” cried Phoebe. “If she were to get wind of it, I should never hear the end of it, and she would be bound to try and interfere in some way. She might pack me off back to London, or try to send me home to Hawkins Hall, which would inconvenience and annoy my parents.”

Louisa had another suggestion, but it was one she made after a definite hesitation. “Mr. Drummond is a very close friend of Mr. Stanhope's. Might it be possible for you to speak to him, and he could explain to Mr. Stanhope—”

Phoebe didn't let her finish her sentence. “I hardly know Mr. Drummond, and I would not wish to put him in such an extremely awkward position, as to be advising his friend about my desire not to be in company with him.”

“I suppose not, but I believe Mr. Drummond to be a man with a very good heart, and I am sure if he knew of your distress, he would be more than willing to help.”

“No. I have got myself into this scrape, if you can call it a scrape, for I feel it is worse than that, and it is for me to deal with. I had hoped that by leaving London I would not have to see Mr. Stanhope again, at least not for some considerable
time. As things have turned out, I am to be thrown into his company, and I shall have to manage as best I can.”

“You are far from indifferent to Mr. Stanhope, I believe,” said Louisa. “Why is an attachment between you and him not possible? You have convinced yourself that he is a rake, but you have never given me any sound reason why you are so sure of his nature. You will soon be of age, and although I would never recommend any daughter to go against her parents' wishes, I cannot believe that your parents would want you to break your heart.”

“I shall not break my heart. I don't hold with that kind of sentimentalism, I do not believe that hearts are so feeble and weak as to be easily broken. Yes, I liked Mr. Stanhope more than any man I have ever met, and I did think at one time that I could imagine no greater happiness than to be his wife. However, circumstances are such that I know I would not be happy with him, and that is not something that can be altered.”

The click-clack of heels on polished floors alerted them to the imminent arrival of Lady Redburn. “Not another word, not in front of Lady Redburn,” whispered Phoebe as the door opened, and her ladyship sailed in.

 

Phoebe made Miniver cross, by refusing to take any interest in what she was to wear to the Harlows'. “It is of not the least importance how I look.”

“What, you don't wish to look your best, with so many people there? And Mr. Jack—”

“What, Jack? Who knew me as a little girl, with my dress all torn and muddy, and bits of grass in my hair, from rolling down the bank? I hardly think I need to dress up to impress Jack.”

“Even if Mr. Jack was not to notice that you were poorly dressed, his mother certainly would.”

“Lady Harlow will have far too much to do to care how I may look.”

 

Louisa made no such objection as to what Betsy wanted her to wear, although she was as disinclined to go to the forthcoming party as Phoebe, and would have much preferred to remain at Pemberley. She laughed a little at this, how absurd it was that she and Phoebe, isolated as they were at Pemberley, would both much rather stay at home. She listened with half an ear to Betsy's prattle and, as soon as she could, left the room and went downstairs to go out into the gardens.

Where she received a most delightful surprise. She would not, when she went outside, make any efforts to seek out Mr. Drummond, but it was pleasant how often it seemed that their paths crossed. It was so today, as she made her way to the flower garden, with a book in her hand, intending to sit beneath a tree for an hour or so. She knew that Phoebe would find her there, but it was Mr. Drummond whose pleasant voice interrupted her steps. He held a letter in his hand.

“Good morning, Miss Bingley,” he said. “Here is a charming thing. Lady Harlow, hearing I am presently at Pemberley, has written to invite me to Harlow Park. I was acquainted with her eldest son, you know, who was in the army. I am not sure that I should accept, not with so much work in hand at Pemberley at the moment. The iron structure will be finished today, you know, and then by next week the glaziers will be hard at work.”

Louisa smiled. “You have a very strong sense of duty, Mr.
Drummond, but surely you are entitled to a few hours to yourself.”

“I am employed by Mr. Darcy, I am not a gentleman of leisure and private means. The gardeners here at Pemberley work twelve hours a day, six days a week, and even on Sunday they are expected to work for ten hours. It is hardly right for me to take time off purely for private pleasure, however much I should like to do so.”

“I should much prefer not to go to Harlow Park,” said Louisa. “I am not so well acquainted with the Harlows as Phoebe is, and I am sure I shall be very dull, and obliged to make conversation with people I hardly know. I had far rather be here at Pemberley, enjoying the gardens, with no strangers to have to exert myself to please.” She flushed, feeling that she had spoken too freely.

Mr. Drummond took it in very good part, laughing at her, and saying that he never yet heard of a young lady who did not care for putting on a fine dress and going to a party. “And I wish I might come, then I might beg your hand for a dance or two, for Lady Harlow says there will be dancing in the evening. I should much enjoy that.”

The words were barely out of his mouth, when the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Redburn. She held her parasol above her head, and once she moved into the shade, she snapped it shut and used the point to tap the ground in front of Mr. Drummond.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Drummond, have you no work to be about this fine morning? I am sure that Mr. Darcy does not pay your salary for you to stand gossiping in the flower garden.”

Louisa exclaimed at this; she could not help herself. “It is I who detain Mr. Drummond, ma'am. He was passing by,
and I wished to ask him about one of these flowers that has just come into bloom here. It is not a species with which I am familiar.”

Lady Redburn was having none of this. “There is no need for you to know what a species of plant may or may not be, Miss Bingley. You have no garden of your own, and when you do so, when you are a married woman, then you may take an interest in the names of plants, and enquire of your own staff on such matters. Your ignorance is no excuse for causing Mr. Drummond to be idle.”

Mr. Drummond raised his eyebrows at Louisa, and bowed to Lady Redburn. “I assure you, Lady Redburn, that my work will not have suffered by my taking a few minutes to answer Miss Bingley's questions.” And with that he walked briskly out of the flower garden, and away down the path in the direction of the shrubbery. It was as well that Lady Redburn could not see his face; while good manners, and good breeding, had enabled him to keep the serene countenance while she was upbraiding him, now that she was out of his sight, he let fly with a few hearty curses and observations on her ladyship's character which would have surprised Lady Redburn had she heard them.

Meanwhile Louisa, trapped in the flower garden with Lady Redburn, was obliged to walk slowly around the beds, while her ladyship pointed out how badly it was planted, how this shrub was covered in insects, how that plant looked in a poor way, and how all together the whole scheme had been carried out with no real taste. “The flower garden was very pretty in my day,” she said. “It is a pity that my nephew has allowed the gardens and grounds here at Pemberley to be so badly managed. They are nothing like as fine as they used to be.”

Louisa was too wise to argue, although her naturally placid
temperament was ruffled by Lady Redburn's bad manners, and by her attack upon Mr. Drummond. She had nothing but admiration for him, putting up with Lady Redburn's arrogance with such calmness. And then she had to suppress a smile, as she saw Phoebe come round the corner of the path, catch sight of Lady Redburn, and turn on her heel to whisk herself out of sight.

Lady Redburn noticed the smile, and demanded to know what she was smirking at.

“Nothing, ma'am. I assure you, I was not smirking, I was smiling with pleasure at the beauty of the flowers and the findings of the day.”

“Stuff and nonsense. You were smiling at some private joke, and that is something that young ladies should never do. If you have something amusing on your mind, or that you wish to say, then it is only polite to come out with it, so that others may hear it and share the joke.”

“I assure you, Lady Redburn, there is no joke,” said Louisa.