Darcy's Journey (27 page)

59

Darcy sat in his study
facing Charles Bingley, who had arrived with his sisters and Mr Hurst for
dinner. Their leather armchairs were separated by a coffee table holding a
decanter of sherry and two glasses. Bingley was his usual cheerful self,
relieved that his friends had returned safely, and eager to set a date for the
wedding. Or
weddings
, since Darcy had confirmed what everyone capable of
reading a newspaper could now discover for themselves.

‘Why are you in London?’ Darcy asked. ‘It
must be an urgent matter, to tear you away from Hertfordshire.’

‘Business. A friend in the city has
advised me to sell some stock.’

‘May one ask for details?’

Bingley grinned. ‘War is a terrible
thing, but it can be dashed profitable. I invested a large sum in a government
bearer bond called Omnium when the price collapsed after the du Bourg hoax. Do
you remember?’

‘Remind me.’

‘A man posing as Colonel du Bourg arrived
at Dover with news that Bonaparte had been killed, and the French monarchy
restored. All nonsense: he made it up. When the rumour reached London,
government stocks soared until the story was officially denied, whereupon they
fell to the floor. Perfect time to buy.’

‘Aha.’ Darcy, whose grip on matters
financial was tentative, hazarded an inference. ‘So now that Bonaparte has
finally been defeated, the stocks are riding high again?’

‘Just so. I stand to make a tidy
profit.’

‘Why sell now, if the stock is so valuable?’

‘My adviser believes markets over-react.
In the euphoria over our victory, it is forgotten that the government is still
heavily in debt, and faces other uncertainties abroad.’

Darcy nodded, and sipped sherry. ‘How
long will it take to perform this lucrative operation?’

‘I’ll be finished by the weekend. The
problem is what to do with the money. Jane suggests I should consult Mr
Gardiner, who is busy rebuilding his trading contacts now that Europe is
returning to sanity.’

‘Then let it be Saturday. Would it suit
you if I came to Netherfield with Georgiana, and proceeded from there to
Pemberley?’

‘Excellent. It will be a jolly party,
and I shall host a ball to celebrate.’

In many ways it was a familiar
dinner at Darcy House. At the head of the table, Darcy sat opposite Georgiana;
Mr Hurst joined Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Bingley on one side, facing Mrs
Hurst and Caroline Bingley on the other. But now there were two newcomers, the
Miss Bennets, seated between Georgiana and Bingley’s sisters.

During the soup, the guests talked
quietly in small huddles. Darcy fended off enquiries from Miss Bingley on his adventures
on the continent, while keeping an eye on the far corner, where Elizabeth was entertaining
Jane and Georgiana with an anecdote. Bingley was conversing with Colonel
Fitzwilliam, who was looking stronger and had begun to revisit his old haunts
in town. Only the Hursts were left out; still, Louisa seemed happy enough listening
to her sister, while Mr Hurst gave his full attention to the wine.

The fish came, and Miss Bingley faced
the whole table. ‘So, Miss Eliza, you have deserted us and lived among
foreigners for a whole year! Pray, is it true what they say of the French and
Italians, that they subsist mainly on garlic?’

Elizabeth met Darcy’s eye, with the hint
of a wink. ‘
Au contraire
, Miss Bingley, I found them uncommonly civilised
both in cuisine and dress: indeed, they often create fashions that arrive here
years later.’

‘I wonder you troubled to return to our
modest little island, if you think them so superior.’

‘I rejoice to be back home, Miss
Bingley, but it is true that I made wonderful friends on my journey, and will
miss them.’

‘Your sisters have certainly kept busy
during your absence.’ Miss Bingley threw a forced smile at Jane. ‘To my great
delight, Miss Bennet is betrothed to Charles, while Miss Lydia is now Mrs
Wickham. A most worthy match, would you not agree, Mr Darcy?’

Darcy observed Georgiana out of the
corner of his eye, while struggling to control his anger. Caroline knew nothing
of Georgiana’s lapse; she was aware however that Wickham was held in low
regard, and obviously hoped to embarrass Elizabeth. To his surprise, Georgiana
seemed unperturbed, and after exchanging a glance with Elizabeth, replied on
his behalf.

‘Your praise of Mr Wickham is timely,
Miss Bingley, for William has told me of his bravery in the recent battle,
where he received serious injuries from which he is now recovering.’

‘Indeed!’ Miss Bingley fell silent,
while her brother tactfully changed the subject and spoke of the ball he
planned to hold at Netherfield. Darcy hardly listened, so amazed was he at
Georgiana’s composure: it was as if the ghost of Wickham’s infamy was finally
laid to rest. He recalled Elizabeth’s words shortly after their arrival:
let
me get to know her first
. There must have been a heart-to-heart in which
Elizabeth had succeeded in dissipating the trauma. Or had Georgiana simply
matured while he had been away?

The roast was served, and Colonel
Fitzwilliam tapped the table. ‘I have an announcement!’

All conversation stopped, and with a sly
smile at Darcy, the colonel continued. ‘I paid a visit to my club this
afternoon, where I met my old chum Major Harry Percy. He it was that carried Wellington’s
news of our victory to London. He told me how his ship was becalmed in the
channel, obliging his men to row the last 20 miles to Broadstairs. He arrived
in town bloodied from the battle, for he had not paused one second, and went
straight to a dinner party in St James’s Square to deliver the letter to the
Prince Regent.’

‘I hope Major Percy has had time to wash
since then,’ Bingley remarked.

‘I found him in excellent form. Now, to
the nub. The major celebration will await the return of Wellington, who is
still with the army in France. However, the Regent is hosting a party tomorrow
at Carlton House, for officers like Major Percy and myself who fought at
Waterloo.’ He turned to Darcy. ‘Your schoolmate Sir James Webster will attend,
with Lady Frances. I hardly needed to mention your help. Major Percy has read
the piece in the Times, and remembers meeting you at the Duchess of Richmond’s
ball. He insists that you accompany me, and bring Miss Elizabeth as well.’

There was a collective gasp.

‘Darcy, this is a great honour,’ Bingley
said. ‘Absolutely you must go.’

Cries of agreement rang around the
table, except for Miss Bingley, who glowered in silence. Darcy was surprised to
feel a twinge of pity. He hoped that after the weddings, Caroline would accept
reality and try to make herself interesting to another man.

60

‘Lizzy, this is exquisite.’
Jane ran a finger over the silk of Elizabeth’s dress, and studied the nets that
overlaid the sleeves.

‘Shall I keep the sash? I added it for
the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, since that was the fashion in Brussels.’

‘Why not? There will be women at the
dinner who attended the same ball.’

Elizabeth sighed, recalling the sombre
scene as the ball in Brussels broke up. ‘The Prince Regent may see this as a
victory party, but I doubt many of his guests will feel like celebrating. We
are relieved to have won—but at what a cost.’

‘It is an honour to attend.’

‘True. I have been melancholy today,
since Mr Darcy and I visited Montagu Square.’

‘Were your friends not well? You said
the little girl,
Céline, was thriving under Sir Edward’s guardianship.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘He is a kind man, and
a magnet for the ladies now that he is the baronet. No, I was affected by the
news from Venice. Sir Edward has written regularly to Lady Havers, and received
only a single brief reply. He hardly expects to receive another. She did not
trouble to enquire after
Céline—or me for that matter. It would seem
she has bigger fish to fry, for Regina will shortly become a countess!’

‘A new title! So she will not take up
the dower?’

‘Not her! What an amazing woman. So
charming and handsome on the outside, so sly on the inside.’

Jane smiled. ‘Like a certain gentleman
of our acquaintance?’

‘Mr Wickham? Just so—and I was
taken in by them both, dupe that I am.’

‘Did Lady Havers send news of her
brother?’

Elizabeth shivered from the dark memory.
‘Gabriele has quarrelled with his cousin Mario, for helping Mr Darcy trace my
whereabouts, and barred him from family reunions.’

‘Signor Mario still runs the business?’

‘Yes, according to Mr Gardiner. But
there will be no further imports of glass beads—not at least through our
uncle, whom Gabriele has blacklisted. I suppose he wants to block out all
reminders of the ungrateful woman who jilted him. How he must hate me.’

Extending between Pall Mall and the
Mall, Carlton House was the grandest town residence Elizabeth had ever seen.
The front reminded her of Villa Foscari, with its Greek columns and central
balcony, but on a larger scale. The prince had extended the property over
several decades; now that he was Regent, it was in essence a royal palace.

After Colonel Fitzwilliam had presented
their invitations they were ushered into a hall of vast height, leading to an
octagonal room which served as a crossroads: on one side the grand staircase, on
another a courtyard. Yet another route led to a blue-carpeted drawing room with
rose satin walls, where dignitaries, officers, and their elegant wives waited to
be announced.

‘Is it not ironic,’ Elizabeth whispered
to Darcy. ‘We celebrate our victory in a palace built, decorated and furnished
in the French style.’

He smiled, his eyes wandering over the
assembly. ‘It will be some minutes before our turn comes. Meanwhile, I already
recognise several couples from the ball.’

‘What wonderful pictures.’ Elizabeth
left him with the colonel, and walked past paintings by Old Masters including
Rembrandt and Rubens, as well as more recent pieces by Reynolds and
Gainsborough.

She returned to find Darcy in
conversation with Major Percy, who proceeded to take them under his wing. They
were escorted to the dining room, where at the entrance a white-wigged man of
immense girth reclined on an equally wide armchair, flanked by a grand lady
with silver hair.

‘Your highness.’ Major Percy bowed.
‘Lady Hertford. May I present Colonel Fitzwilliam of the 52
^nd
Foot.
He is accompanied by Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who were
present after the battle and organised care for hundreds of our men.’

Elizabeth curtsied, trembling with awe
as she faced the man who had served as regent since his father, George III, had
been declared insane. He was dressed in military colours, with a red waistcoat
stretching across his massive paunch, cream breaches, and a dark blue coat with
gold buttons. His left hand held a cigar, and his small eyes, peering from
beneath folds of flesh, were lascivious as they probed her up and down.

‘Charming,’ he grunted.

She retreated, her cheeks flaming, as
Darcy bowed in his turn, and said pointedly: ‘Miss Bennet is my fiancée.’

The royal eyebrows went up. ‘Dashed good
show. Enjoy the dinner.’

Elizabeth curtsied to the prince’s
companion, whom she knew from the gossip columns to be his current mistress; to
her surprise the lady was in her sixties, some ten years older than the prince.
Lady Hertford acknowledged her with a nod, tilting her head with a knowing
smile.

‘I have read of your service, Miss
Bennet, and wish you an enjoyable evening. You deserve it.’

Elizabeth thanked her, and swallowed as
Darcy led her away. ‘Oh my goodness! I would rather face Bonaparte’s cavalry.’

‘The prince took a shine to you.’ Darcy
smiled, but she detected a note of anxiety.

‘I hope not. If embraced by such a mound
of flesh, I doubt I would find my way out.’

‘Take care, my love, if he approaches
you again.’

‘It is hardly likely, with so many
alluring ladies to distract him. Anyway, I wager I can run faster.’

‘The secret,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam
advised, ‘is to bide your time.’

As the banquet progressed, Elizabeth
appreciated his good sense. The dishes, in conformity with the decor, were
French: consommé, purée, two kinds of fish, duck, dumplings, lamb, beef,
pheasant, vegetables, accompanied by a succession of fine wines. The soups and
fish dishes were so delicious that she would gladly have asked for seconds, but
she followed the colonel’s example and ate a half portion of her favourites,
and a taste of anything else.

The dining room was lined with ornate
carvings painted in gold, extending across the marble-coloured ceiling to
chains supporting low-hanging chandeliers. A long table ran down the middle, so
broad that conversation was possible only with your neighbours. While Colonel
Fitzwilliam caught up with a fellow-officer, Darcy sat beside Sir James
Webster, back from Brussels with Lady Frances Webster, whom Elizabeth had last
seen flirting with Wellington. Soon bored with the officer on her right, Lady
Frances applied to Darcy to change places, so that she could talk with
Elizabeth. She was heavily pregnant, and sank into the red-and-gold upholstered
chair with a tired groan.

‘Saw you at the ball,’ Lady Frances
said. ‘Lovely dress.’

‘How long have you been back?’

‘A week.’ She sighed. ‘We should have
let Bonaparte win, so that he would dig a tunnel under that confounded English
Channel.’

Elizabeth laughed. ‘It was brave of you
to accompany your husband in your, ah, condition.’

She regretted this intimate remark
immediately, realising that she had already drunk too much wine, but Lady
Frances was unoffended. ‘One more month. I hope for a son this time, much as I
love my daughter.’

‘May I ask if you have a name in mind?’

‘Charles Byron if we get a boy.’ She
glanced across at her husband, who was holding forth on his favourite topic of
prize fighting, and winked at Elizabeth. ‘Lord Byron is a close friend—of
my husband’s.’

And of yours
, Elizabeth thought,
but this time managed to hold her tongue.

‘Mr Darcy is a fine man.’ Lady Frances
lowered her voice. ‘Yours is a love match, I wager.’

‘With my tiny dowry I hope so, for his
sake.’

Lady Frances laughed, and leaned over to
whisper. ‘Do enjoy the first few years. Children are a blessing but you can
keep them for later. It is easily managed if you lock your bedroom door at certain
times of the month.’

Elizabeth struggled to keep a straight
face. ‘I see I have much to learn from you.’

‘We are granted only one life, and may
as well enjoy it.’ She whispered again. ‘My husband and I are good friends, and
he is a loving father to my daughter.’

Elizabeth hesitated, before asking: ‘You
were talking with the Duke of Wellington at the supper. What sort of man is
he?’

‘Abstemious and self-disciplined in most
things. Even at home he prefers to dine on plain food and sleep on a bunk. He
has just two indulgences: wine, and women.’ She leaned closer. ‘Not that I had
much success in Brussels.’ She patted Elizabeth’s arm with a conspiratorial
wink. ‘I’ll try again once little Charles Byron is out in the world.’

Elizabeth shook her head, amazed at such
indiscretion. ‘I fear my life is less, ah,
interesting
than yours.’

Lady Webster smiled. ‘You are charming,
cherie
,
but I think you disapprove of me.’

‘I disapprove of myself because I
don’t
disapprove of you.’

‘Ah!’ Her face lit up in a smile of
genuine friendliness. ‘One of the tragedies of life, Miss Elizabeth, is that
entertaining people are usually untrustworthy, while honourable people are
dull. I believe you are an exception.’

‘You mean I am both untrustworthy
and
dull?’

Lady Webster guffawed, spraying wine
across the table. ‘Will you visit us in London? James is always happy to see
old schoolmates, and Mr Darcy must be one of the few men in the
ton
polite enough to take an interest in his absurd pursuits.’

‘I would love to visit you, Lady
Webster. How about in the autumn, when with luck I will be married, and little
Charles, or perhaps Charlotte, has been safely delivered?’

It was time for the sweet courses.
Huge silver platters of profiteroles and tartlets were brought, along with
bowls of exotic fruits. The Websters had gone to greet another couple, and
Elizabeth was about to compare notes with Darcy when a distinguished gentleman
dressed in a dark evening coat and white neck scarf approached them.

‘Mr Darcy? Bathurst. Major Percy pointed
you out to me. Excuse me, madam. May I have a word?’

She observed with curiosity as Lord
Bathurst took the empty chair beside Darcy. He was tall, with alert eyes, a
strong chin, and close-cropped dark grey hair. ‘This is in my official
capacity, since as you may know, I am Secretary of State for War and the
Colonies. It has been drawn to my attention that you served as an adjutant in
the 52
^nd
Foot, and observed at close quarters the transport and care
of the wounded.’

‘Transport, yes.’ Darcy glanced at
Elizabeth. ‘Miss Bennet was more directly concerned with care.’

‘Ah.’ Lord Bathurst beamed at her as if
complimenting a child. ‘Admirable. Let me come to the point. I have long felt
that insufficient attention is given to the management of such tasks after a
major battle. We have reports from surgeons, but these are incomplete because
they focus on issues of treatment, such as—’ He glanced awkwardly at
Elizabeth. ‘Such as the best moment to operate. What I would appreciate, sir,
if you have the time and inclination, is your impression of the whole process. Conveyance
to field hospitals. Nursing. Surgery. Transfer to hospitals in nearby towns. A
written report would be best. As long or short as you like.’ He looked at
Elizabeth. ‘No doubt Miss Bennet can provide valuable testimony.’

Darcy glanced at her again, with a
slight raise of the eyebrows. He turned back to Lord Bathurst. ‘For my part, I
would be glad to accept. If what I observed is typical, the transport and care
of the wounded is performed mostly by camp-followers and local people, whose
viewpoint is never canvassed.’

‘Excellent!’ Lord Bathurst lowered his
voice. ‘I am asking this as a favour, Mr Darcy, not a paid assignment. It
should be mentioned, however, that I have the ear of the regent, who is aware
of your contribution, and may see fit to acknowledge it in the annual list. Of
course I cannot promise. It is his highness’s decision alone.’

Darcy frowned, as if in distaste. ‘I
agree that payment is out of the question: what you ask is not demanding, and
would bring its own satisfaction. As for
alternative
forms of
recognition, I believe others have a far stronger claim.’

Lord Bathurst was silent a moment, then
nodded. ‘I understand. A pleasure to have met you, sir, and I look forward to
receiving your report in due time.’ He bowed to Elizabeth. ‘Madam. My sincere
appreciation again for your service.’

She thanked him, and managed to keep a
straight face until he was out of earshot. Darcy met her eye severely, and she
dissolved into laughter.

‘I’m sorry!’ She looked down, red-faced.
‘I have had too much wine. Why are these people so absurd?’

‘Because they are exactly as we expect.
Caricatures of themselves.’

‘Still, a good idea, is it not? The
report?’

‘Will you help?’

‘Naturally.’ She grinned. ‘What award do
I
get?’

‘You want a title? How about Mrs Darcy?’

‘That will do nicely for now.’