His Good Opinion: A Mr. Darcy Novel

His Good Opinion

A Mr. Darcy Novel

By

Nancy Kelley

His Good Opinion

Copyright Nancy Kelley

Published: 18th October 2011

ISBN: 978-0-9847312-1-3

Publisher: Smokey Rose Press

The right of Nancy Kelley to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please respect the work of the author and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you.

Dedicated to my parents, Mark and Jan Kelley. Thank you for always believing in me.

"I will never understand, Darcy, why you insist on going out in Society, only to be displeased with everyone you meet."

Fitzwilliam Darcy poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to his friend before he took the chair opposite him. "I go out because it is expected of me, Bingley. You know that."

Charles Bingley pointed at him. "Ah, but that does not answer the question, does it?"

Darcy conceded the point with the barest shrug of his shoulders. Here, in the comfort of his own study, there was no need to pretend. "I admit that I find little in Society of which to approve."

"Only because you are determined to disapprove," Bingley protested. "What of the young lady you sat out with tonight? Let me hear your opinion of her."

Darcy ran his fingers down the side of his glass. "Her aunt approached me and said her niece had sprained her ankle, and would I be willing to keep her company. Good manners forbade I refuse, though you know how little I enjoy making conversation with someone I am not intimately acquainted with. I have not your ease of speaking on subjects in which I have little or no interest." His lips curled in disdain, and he took a sip of brandy to wash the sour taste from his mouth.

"That is a commentary on your own character, not the lady's."

Darcy ignored the familiar needling. "After two minutes of idle chatter, I inquired after her injury."

Satisfaction gleamed in Bingley's eyes. "Ah, you are capable of courtesy after all."

Darcy leaned forward, his forehead creased in a frown. "Perhaps you will not be so victorious, Bingley, when you hear the rest of the story. She did not understand what I spoke of. When she returned to her aunt shortly thereafter, she did not have a limp. The entire incident was manufactured so she could gain my attention. No doubt they have heard that I do not dance often --"

"Or ever."

The leather chair creaked in protest when Darcy stood. He took Bingley's glass and strode to the table, glad to have something to do, even if it was only refilling their drinks. This topic never failed to rile him, but he found a measure of calm in pouring the liquor into their glasses.

"They sought a way to gain time with me, and they found it. You wish to know why I so seldom give my good opinion to those I meet; it is this dishonesty, this deception of which I cannot approve. I cannot--I will not--marry a woman I do not trust."

Bingley took his refilled glass, and Darcy noted his frown with some vexation. "You are being a bit presumptuous, Darcy. How can you be so certain she wished to marry you? It was simply a dance."

Darcy set the decanter down on the tray with a hard clang. "Surely even you will acknowledge that a single woman in possession of no brothers must be in want of a husband."

Bingley shook his head and laughed. "You can hardly claim that to be a universal truth."

Darcy ran his hands through his close-cropped dark curls.
Has it truly escaped his notice that he too has received such attentions?
Though it was this very ability to see nothing but the good in people that recommended Bingley to him, at times his amiable nature bordered on naivete.

"Perhaps not universal, but a truth nonetheless." He paced the confines of the study. The paneled walls, usually calming, pressed in on him tonight. London always wore on his nerves, but this Season had been worse than most. "I need to leave town, Bingley."

Bingley eyed Darcy over the edge of his glass. "You sound as if you have a plan in mind."

Darcy stood in front of the empty fireplace and tapped his fingers on the mantle. "I believe it is time I visited Georgiana in Ramsgate."

"Is that what has made you so tense of late? I know you take great care of her."

Bingley's insight startled Darcy. "Yes, I imagine so. I trust Mrs. Younge, of course, or I would not have consented to the plan. Still, I will feel better once I see for myself how she is getting on." He turned back to his friend, at ease for the first time in weeks.

"When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Bingley raised his eyebrows. "That is rather spontaneous, Darcy--indeed, it is the kind of precipitous decision you often tease me for."

Darcy tossed back the rest of his brandy before he answered. "In truth, I have been thinking about it some weeks," he replied. "I just did not realize it until tonight."

"Well, if you are decided, then I wish you safe travels."

Bingley rose and shook his hand in farewell, and Darcy retired for the night soon after. He slept well, content with the knowledge he would soon be free of the artifice of town.

Darcy did not go to Ramsgate the following morning. News of a farm accident arrived from Pemberley, and he returned home to tend to the matter. Two of his best tenants had nearly been crippled. Neither family could afford to lose the profit they would gain on the year's harvest, so Darcy forgave their rent until they healed.

This was all done easily enough, but as often happened, his presence at home brought other concerns to light. Darcy's dual roles of Master of Pemberley and guardian to his sister had always complemented each other. Now it seemed that to do his duty by one he must neglect the other. Each night he went to bed determined to leave for Ramsgate the next day. Each morning, his steward arrived in his study with some new issue that needed his attention.

At last, however, he was able to leave. As Darcy approached the shore, the salt air eased the remaining vestiges of tension from his shoulders. He had not seen Georgiana since her companion, Mrs. Younge, had convinced both him and his cousin Richard that spending the summer in the resort town would be the best way to gently ease her into Society, and he missed her.

However, when the townhouse door opened, what he witnessed was far from the calm oasis of gentility he expected. Two maids scurried across the foyer in a flurry of activity, their arms laden with packages. They chattered unceasingly, though Darcy was unable to make out any of the words.

The normally indomitable butler looked harried, but he drew himself up to his full height when he saw his employer standing on the doorstep. "Mr. Darcy. The ladies are in the morning room, sir. Shall I announce you?"

"No, thank you. Allow me to surprise my sister." Through the open door of the drawing room, Darcy spied the same two maids frantically cleaning.
What is going on?

He shook his head and pushed open the door to the morning room. Both ladies turned toward the door with looks of expectation when he walked in; Georgiana's expression quickly shifted to surprise and then pleasure when she realized it was he. "Fitzwilliam! I did not know you were coming."

"But surely you are expecting someone," he said. An inscrutable expression fell over Mrs. Younge's features and roused Darcy's curiosity. "I vow I have never seen anyone watch a door open with such interest before."

His sister blushed, and he felt the first stirrings of alarm. "I confess, I did think you were someone else."

Darcy glanced at Mrs. Younge, then back at his sister. He began to suspect there was news to be imparted which he would not want to learn in the presence of a woman who, for all her credentials, was still but a servant. "Mrs. Younge, will you leave us please? I believe I can act as a perfectly proper chaperone to Miss Darcy and her visitor when he arrives--it is a gentleman, is it not, Georgiana?" he queried gently. She bit her lip and nodded slightly.

Mrs. Younge rose from her position on the far settee and slowly crossed the room. At the door, she turned and shared a long, speaking gaze with Georgiana. Darcy could not interpret it, but his sister flushed and smiled. "Very well, sir," the companion said. "I shall inform the cook that we have an extra person for dinner this evening."

Darcy schooled his features into an impassive expression before he turned back to Georgiana. It would not do to let her see the depth of his concern. Neither he nor Richard had been informed of her attachment to a young man.
That is definitely the kind of information a companion is expected to pass on to her charge's guardians.
"So, Georgiana, is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Georgiana twisted her handkerchief into tight knots. Her hesitation told him more than that he wanted to know about the
strength
of her attachment, but it did not tell the most important piece of information. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning." He took her hands and led her to the light blue brocade settee. "For instance, who is this young man you were so looking forward to seeing when I walked in?"

She graced him with a radiant smile. "You will be so surprised when I tell you his name. Indeed, I was surprised myself when he found us on one of our beach walks and remembered me from childhood. He says that even then..."

A dark suspicion formed in the back of Darcy's mind. "His name, Georgiana."

Her gaze fell back to her lap. "George Wickham."

Had Georgiana been looking at him, she could not have missed the pale anger that suffused over her brother's face at the name. He had not seen George Wickham in some time, and their last encounter had not improved his opinion of him. Wickham was a spendthrift and a profligate--not the kind of man he wanted his sister to associate with. "George Wickham?" he said. Georgiana started at the rough harshness in his voice, and he took a deep breath before he continued. "What exactly is your relationship with him?"

What little smile remained on her face wilted. "He has asked me to marry him," she whispered.

Darcy could not answer immediately; so many arguments rose to his tongue that he did not know which to speak first. Even if the character of the gentleman had not been so questionable, there was still the matter of his birth. It would be insupportable to see his sister joined with a man who was the son of their father's former steward.

However, before he could express that opinion, he remembered the joy in her earlier smile.
He has convinced her to care for him. How can I make her see what he truly is--a rogue, using her in the basest of manners?

After a moment of silence, Georgiana continued. "We were to elope, but now I know that would not do. I would not want to do something that would bring you shame or disappoint you in any way."