The Darcy Connection (7 page)

It was usual in the Grandpoints' house in Aubrey Square for Lady Grandpoint to receive the post in the morning, and that day she was in an upstairs parlour with Eliza and Charlotte when the butler brought in the post on a silver tray.

Charlotte's head was bent over a piece of exquisite embroidery, a design of birds and flowers that she was working as a present for their hostess. Eliza was at the window, watching life go by, a novel on her lap.

“Here is a letter for you, Eliza, I do not recognise the hand. It is not from your mama, in any case.”

At Lady Grandpoint's words, Charlotte lifted her head, giving Eliza a long, considering look before she threaded a needle with a new colour silk and returned to her stitchery. Eliza sprang up, then restrained herself; she must not appear too eager.

Lady Grandpoint still had the letter in her hand and was examining it closely. “Whoever your correspondent is, she has not got a frank, she has paid sixpence for the letter.”

“May I have it?” Eliza didn't want to seem impatient, but surely the letter had to be from Maria, which meant—

“Your correspondent writes an elegant hand,” said Lady Grandpoint, as she reluctantly let Eliza have the letter.

“It is from Maria Diggory,” Eliza said, looking at the direction, keeping her voice steady, although she longed to tear it open, devour the words, which must be from Anthony.

Another long look from Charlotte.

“Miss Diggory?” said Lady Grandpoint. “Why should she write to you, pray?”

“She is a great letter writer. She promised she would write frequently, so that I may have all the news from Yorkshire.”

“I assume your mama will write to you, although I dare say she has not the time for idle girl's gossip. You may open your letter here.”

“Thank you, ma'am, but I shall read it later, when I go upstairs. I have my writing things there, and I shall like to answer it at once.”

Eliza slipped the letter into her book, ignoring the frown on her great-aunt's face.

Charlotte came to her sister's rescue. “Maria and Eliza always correspond when they are apart. Although Maria is younger than Eliza, they are good friends, and Maria is an amusing correspondent.”

“I hope the letter is not full of news of young Diggory,” Lady Grandpoint said tartly.

“I hope that she will tell me about all my friends,” Eliza began in a defiant tone.

Charlotte gave her a quelling look. “If I know anything of Maria's tastes, the letter will be full of the latest novel she has read, together with requests for exciting new titles that Eliza has come across in London. Maria is a great reader.”

“Reading novels is a perfectly respectable way for a young woman to pass her time, once, of course, all her other duties have been completed,” said Lady Grandpoint magisterially. “I do not hold, as some people do, that they are a wickedness, or do any harm. A mother will always be quick to notice if her daughter's head is becoming full of unsuitable ideas, of whimsical notions, and will then step in to prevent her reading unsuitable books, but, on the whole, reading of any kind is to be encouraged.”

Eliza had noticed that Lady Grandpoint was a keen reader, with not only a subscription to the library, but also several shelves of handsome three-volume novels which she had bought as soon as they came out; Eliza could see she would be spending many happy hours with those.

Which was just as well, given that she was excluded from most of the social events which Lady Grandpoint was at pains to arrange for Charlotte. “To be foisting two unmarried girls on society at once is not wise,” she said to Eliza as she accepted yet another invitation for herself and Charlotte.

“Of course not,” said Eliza promptly. While she loved a party and loved to dance, she had a notion that these parties would be dull affairs, with correct behaviour and little fun or flirting involved, probably not half so agreeable as the impromptu dances in Yorkshire—for although her father thought it unnecessary for his daughters to go further afield to York or Harrogate, he had no objection to their attending all the local balls and dances.

“Not to do so would appear singular to our neighbours,” he explained to his wife.

“Indeed, we do not want to figure as a pair of killjoys,” she had observed. “That would be neither kind nor Christian.”

“As to kindness, that is women's business, and as to Christianity, you may leave it to me to decide what is or is not Christian, I believe!”

Lady Grandpoint became absorbed in her own correspondence, and Eliza took the opportunity to slip from the room. She bounded up the stairs and, once in her bedchamber, sank into a chair and slit open her letter.

The opening dismayed her; it began, in Maria's best copperplate,
My dearest Eliza.

It was not from Anthony at all! Bitter disappointment flared up inside her, then she saw that halfway down the page the writing changed and became the scrawl that she knew for Anthony's hand.

She rose and carried the letter over to the window, trying to make sense of Anthony's words. He began,
Sweetheart—
that she could make out—but what did the rest of the squiggles mean?

It took a good deal of guesswork and puzzling over the words to make any kind of sense of what he had written. Its gist was that he missed her, that he had had capital days out with his gun, that his bitch had not yet whelped, and that, ah, this was important, Sir Roger had got himself back into a good temper, and so, when the time was ripe, he would attempt to convince him of the strength of his feelings for Eliza.

Which was all very well in theory, Eliza said inwardly, pressing the letter to her lips, as though she could absorb Anthony's presence from the paper that he had held, from the words he had written with his own hand. In practise, he would find Sir Roger wasn't interested in feelings, it would take more than a good mood and a talk to make him change his mind. No, Anthony had better work on his mother. Lady Diggory might not care much for Eliza, but was that not often the case with mothers who doted on their sons? No woman was ever good enough for their male offspring. Might that not be the situation here, rather than a particular antipathy towards Eliza?

Of course, Lady Diggory was keen for Anthony to make a good match, a good match in the eyes of the world, that was, to choose a wife who brought money and connections, but surely a mother as fond as Lady Diggory would in the end care most for her son's happiness? If Anthony could persuade her that he could only be happy with Eliza, that their affection was more than a springtime flirtation, then she must in the end come round and abandon her dislike of the match.

Eliza sighed as she folded the letter, but two minutes later she had it smoothed out again, to read over the few words of affection, to summon up Anthony's voice, his features, the reality of his presence. He was so dear to her that this small token, this single sheet of paper covered in handwriting, was enough to fill her with joy—joy mingled with anger that she could not be with him. Two hundred and fifty miles separated them, a distance indeed.

She had missed something in her pleasure at deciphering Anthony's words—yes, Maria had added some lines at the end.
Do not be afraid that I have read what Anthony has penned above. Indeed, I could not do so, for he writes a vile hand, and I only hope that your
Eyes of Love will be able to penetrate the meaning of what he writes. However, this is to assure you always, that I am your most affectionate Maria, and that I rack my brains daily to come up with a scheme to bring you and Anthony together again. But no more on that for the moment, for I have to close if this is to be taken to the post today. Do write soon, or Anthony will grow troubled. Address it to me, and I shall not read a single word of what you have to say to my brother, for what you write shall remain private between you.

And then the letter was signed with a flourish of a
Maria;
her friend had once seen the signature of Mary, Queen of Scots, one of her heroines, and had taken care to copy the dramatic lines, against all the remonstrances of her shocked governess.

Where to put the letter? She must keep it safe, she would want to read it again and again—although, her reason suddenly asserted itself, what was there in guns and dogs to set her heart beating in such a way? How absurd, and yet she could not but be glad that the letter had come, had she not been waiting every day to hear from Anthony?

She would send a reply at once. She sat down at the writing table and, after nibbling for a few moments at her pen, began to write, the nib moving swiftly across the cream paper, while she tried to keep her writing as small as possible. She could cross the letter, but she had an idea that Anthony would not make the effort to read anything that was not immediately clear.

A knock on the door, and there was Charlotte, looking solemn.

“Eliza, that letter you received, was it indeed from Maria? I didn't want to say anything that might arouse Lady Grandpoint's suspicions, and I am sure you would never be so unwise—that is, there can be no question of Anthony writing to you? Where there is no engagement—”

Eliza wouldn't let her finish, but broke in with some irritation, “Where there is no engagement, any correspondence between a single man and a single woman would be most improper. I know the rules as well as you, Charlotte. Maria always writes to me, you know she does. She recommends a new novel by Miss Griffin that is just published, she asks if I will buy it, and if so, whether I will send it to her. She has heard it is a thrilling story. Of course, I have to tell her that I have not the means to buy novels, priced at three guineas the set, how can she imagine such a thing? But I will request it at Hookham's, and if it is worth reading, then I shall tell her so and she can find it in Harrogate, at the library there.”

She was talking too much, she must hold her tongue, or Charlotte would know that she was not comfortable with her half lie.

All Charlotte said, however, was that she was glad to hear that the letter was from Maria. “Pray convey my regards to her, I see you are replying to her directly.”

“Yes, there is so much to tell her, apart from novels, all about London, and the noise and bustle and what the Tower of London is like, you know how Maria loves a good dungeon.”

Charlotte smiled, and Eliza gave an inward sigh of relief as her sister changed the subject, asking her what she would wear that evening.

The Grandpoints were holding a soirée, a large number of guests were expected, and as a guest in the house, Eliza would be among the company.

“My green organdie, what else?”

“It is a shame we are not more of a size,” said Charlotte. “It is kind of Lady Grandpoint to provide so many clothes for me, only I do wish she would help you to refurbish your wardrobe.”

Charlotte was taller and built on much more generous lines than Eliza. Eliza shook her head. “I am perfectly content with what I have brought with me, it would be ridiculous for me to try and cut a fashionable dash, and besides, there is no need, for whatever I wore, I would be eclipsed by your beauty. It is not of the least consequence; as you know, I am one of your keenest admirers, and so take great pleasure in seeing you look so well turned out.”

“Soft words, Eliza, and I am sure no one could doubt your sisterly affection,” Charlotte said in her primmest way. “And soft words are all very well, but to return to what we were talking of earlier, I should like to assure myself, before I leave you, that your letter from Maria contains nothing which you would be reluctant to show to me, or our great-aunt, or indeed to Mama or Papa.”

“Stuff,” said Eliza, flushing with sudden colour. “Don't be such a prig, Charlotte. What is in my letter is my concern and no one else's. Pray, do you think you should read it?”

Charlotte had on her gravest face. “Why, yes, I do. If there is nothing in it of which you could be ashamed, or which you know to be wrong, then let me see the letter. I shall be interested to read what Maria has to say.”

Eliza snatched up her letter and held it to her bosom.

“Read my letter? No, you shall not. Not this letter, nor any other one which I may receive. That is outside of enough, Charlotte. Who are you to be setting up as my moral mentor?”

“Mama and Papa both placed upon me the obligation to see that you behaved in London, under Lady Grandpoint's roof, just as you ought. Don't flash angry eyes at me. You know your behaviour in Yorkshire with regard to Anthony was not acceptable, and when a person has made one false step, it must be that those near and dear to her are obliged to make sure this one wrongdoing is not followed by another, more serious, perhaps.”

“Go away, Charlotte. I'll tear my letter up and swallow the pieces before I let you read it, and I would do the same with a note from a mantua maker informing me a gown was ready sooner than let you fancy you have any right to pry into my affairs.”

“It is not prying, it is for your own good.”

That was the universal statement of the interfering kind of person, and although Eliza was not exactly surprised to hear such sentiments expressed by Charlotte, they nonetheless annoyed her extremely.