Into Kent (6 page)

His uncle waved away the latter part of this speech. He looked Darcy in the eye for a moment, then said, “Your aunt and I were discussing that very subject on the ride up from Hampshire; a man needs a wife, and your station both increases the need and complicates the choice.” He hesitated again. ”Darcy, may I ask—do you seriously contemplate a union with your cousin Anne?”

“No” Darcy said decisively. His uncle looked at him expectantly, so he expanded: “If it comes to that, there is a lady here in Town, a Miss Hartsbury, with more capital, more personality, and a far more complaisant mother—Heaven help me.”

“Ah. ‘If it comes to that…’—the lady does not entirely please, then.” His uncle looked at him closely. “Is there, indeed, no one amongst your entire acquaintance you would wish to see as mistress of Pemberley?” Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s face rose instantly in Darcy’s mind, but he could not speak of her. He slowly shook his head.

His uncle saw more in Darcy’s face than he realised he had revealed. “I see,” Andover said gently. “
The
lady does not suit, is that it?” Darcy looked up, startled at his uncle’s penetration, but still did not speak. “Difficult; very difficult,” murmured his uncle thoughtfully. “Is she…the lady is not already spoken for
, is she?”

Darcy shook his head. “No, Uncle, nothing like that…it is a matter of her connexions.” He did not elaborate.

“I see. I am very sorry, my boy. What will you do?”

Darcy shook his head again. He attempted to put the proper face on it: “What can one do? It cannot be, and there is an end to it.” His feelings, however, which had wounded him ever since he had first spoken aloud his conclusion regarding
Elizabeth at Pemberley, caused a constriction in his chest that could scarcely be concealed. After a moment he asked, “Uncle Jonathan, did you never feel an attraction for some one who was not…a potential match?”

“No, Fitzwilliam, I never did; I am afraid I can offer nothing on the subject worth the hearing. I was fortunate enough to fall rather deeply in love with a girl unexceptional both as to connexions and fortune. I honestly do not know what I might have done if things had gone otherwise. It does happen, of course; sometimes it works, others it does not. So far, it has not happened in our family—although it was a near thing when my sister married Sir Lewis.”

“What do you mean?” asked Darcy; he had only vague memories of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, who had died abroad at an early age.

“Did you never hear the story?” his uncle enquired. Darcy shook his head. “Well, Sir Lewis’ antecedents were a trifle murky; the family was an old one, but no one seemed to know them; and he had gone abroad as quite a young man, after certain rumours surfaced…regardless, he had made quite a bit, one way and another, from holdings in the colonies. But the ink on his letters patent was barely dry when he married your Aunt Catherine. At the time, my own father hinted that his “services to the Crown” were purely financial in nature.”

“I never heard anything of that,” said Darcy in surprise.

“No, I should not imagine you would. Your mother would not speak of it, naturally, and your good father had too kind a heart to say anything to any one’s disadvantage.”

Darcy mulled this new intelligence for a moment. “Wait a moment,” he said, “are you suggesting that Aunt Catherine married beneath her?” Darcy was stunned at the idea.

“And for money,” his uncle acknowledged blandly. “But Sir Lewis was anxious to secure his own standing—Catherine, of course, being of noble blood, would give him an indisputable legitimacy—and he was rich and ambitious, and not an ill-looking fellow, so the match was made. The marriage, I understand, was not to take place until he had got his baronetcy.”

“But…but Aunt Catherine is the most unbearably proper person I know!” Darcy protested.

“
Now
she is, of course; but she was not always so. I rather imagine that is her way of making up for her one great lapse—and, I suspect, is also the reason she is so anxious to have Anne marry back into the Darcy family. But at the time—well, you
have
met my sister, have you not? How many suitors do you suppose could withstand that tongue? She was not overburdened by admirers, you may believe me. And Sir Lewis had the advantage of being out of the country much of the time, so the marriage worked—after a fashion.”

Darcy was amazed, and not a little amused, at this new view of his aunt.

“Does this do anything to allay your reservations about this young lady of yours, by the way?” his uncle brought the discussion back to Darcy’s concerns.

Darcy shook his head. “I fear, Uncle, that the two cases bear no real comparison. Her father’s estate is an old one, although small, but he married beneath him. She has an uncle in trade, an aunt who married a law clerk, and her own mother is a veritable paragon of impropriety.”

“I see,” said he. “Shame. You are quite certain? If her father is a private gentleman…”

“You can have no idea, Uncle; there can be no question.”

His uncle nodded thoughtfully, then placed a reassuring hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Well, do not give up hope; we cannot see the future, and if this lady is not the right one, we must be patient yet a while longer. I came here determined not to see you become my sister’s son-in-law, if such had been your bent, and we must not allow the somewhat less troubling Miss…Hartsbury? ... to have you out of sheer despair, must we?” Darcy tried his best to smile, but his feelings refused to relent: within him frustration and anger vied with pain and sadness for precedence. “Come, my boy, the heart will heal,” his uncle assured him. “There is still time; nothing need be done just now: it is hard to see from your position, but these things do seem to work themselves out, you know.” He clapped Darcy again on the shoulder, saying, “But, come—I must not monopolize my host; let us go see what the ladies are about.”

Chapter Six

In truth, Darcy saw very little of either his sister or his aunt for the rest of that day, as they were very busily making final preparations for the dinner two days hence; there was still a great deal to do, making certain every least detail was complete. Periodically through the morning Georgiana would stop in to see him for a brief respite, and for reassurance; notwithstanding Darcy’s assertions in Derbyshire, she felt it deeply wrong that she should be the centre of attention for an entire evening, as thoroughly discredited as she held herself to be, and was still more than a little frightened at the prospect of being noticed by so many people; this, combined with the effort required to ensure that all would go well, was
beginning to wear on her. But each time she came to see him, five minute’s support and encouragement would send her back out into the fray.

If Darcy’s Uncle Jonathan had been somewhat a father to him, his Aunt Eleanor, having no daughter of her own to cherish and guide, had served as Georgiana’s mother after the death of her own. Each year since Georgiana was ten, Aunt Eleanor had taken her to Town with her in the autumn, and they had also been together in Bath not unseldomly; Lady Andover’s connexions were from Somersetshire, and most of the family spent some or all of the winter season there, allowing her aunt to take Georgiana to visit in style and comfort. Lady Andover had also overseen Georgiana’s education in London, entering her in one of the better seminaries for several terms, as well as teaching her at home. Lord Andover chose not to maintain a fixed abode in Town, so this arrangement had given Georgiana the chance to stay in many of London’s more fashionable neighbourhoods, while the Darcy home in Grosvenor Square had provided her a permanent address and a sense of stability.

Georgiana’s aunt had the highest opinion of her abilities and sense, and it had been her idea the year before that Georgiana was ready to have an establishment of her own; she was determined that Georgiana should take that place in their circle she believed was her due, and so had begun to bring Georgiana forward at the early age of fifteen. She and Darcy did not always concur on how best Georgiana’s education might be forwarded, but she had discovered that Darcy could not argue with the statement: “As a woman of some standing myself, I believe it to be in Georgiana’s best interests…”; after that discovery, she had pretty well had the upper hand in their disagreements where Georgiana was concerned. Darcy knew he could, if need be, bring out his own status as Georgiana’s guardian and brother to overrule his aunt, but he rarely chose to exert his authority in such an arbitrary manner.

Darcy had been especially careful to protect his aunt from all knowledge of Georgiana’s intended elopement; Georgiana, he knew, would die of shame to have her aunt discover her secret, and, as Darcy considered it his own fault that the affair had occurred at all—he being the one who had engaged Mrs. Younge, the lady who had been Georgiana’s chaperone and Wickham’s conspirator—he was all the more assiduous in keeping the affair secret from those Georgiana respected most.

Early in the afternoon, at about the time he thought he might receive another visit from his sister, his Cousin Edmund appeared at the door of the library instead, come to see if Darcy wished to accompany him to amuse himself for a quarter-hour by watching the preparations under way. Darcy agreed readily, and they found the ladies of the house in command of the entire staff below stairs. As the two of them approached, Lady Andover cast a brief glance at them over her shoulder, then turned immediately back to her work. “Yes, gentlemen?” she enquired coolly, “Are you in need of something?”

“No, Mother,” answered the Colonel, “we were just curious about the goings-on.”

She gave them another glance, then said complacently, “I am the more pleased by your leisure and curiosity in that I am most particularly in need of two strong men to run to the fishmonger’s; I had thought to send some footmen, but as you are here…” Edmund snatched Darcy by the lapels and pulled him away at a run. As they scrambled up the stairs, Darcy demanded, “But Edmund, does she not need our help?”

As they gained the landing, Colonel Fitzwilliam slowed down and assured him, “Not at all, Darcy; you may believe me: that was just the warning shot across the bow. What she wanted was for us to be elsewhere—we are safe enough, now, I think, but now that we have brought ourselves to her attention, rather than trust to luck I shall go ahead and
be
elsewhere, entirely; I shall wander over to Knightsbridge, to see if there is any news.” Colonel Fitzwilliam was attached to the First Dragoons, and their barracks was no more than a five-minute ride. He went up stairs to change, and Darcy returned to his library, cautiously and securely closing the door behind him.

Later that afternoon, perhaps two hours before dinner, Darcy finished his work in the library and wandered out past the front drawing-room; he saw that the Colonel had returned from the barracks and was staring out the window onto the Square with a preoccupied air and a cup of tea in his hand. “You are back!” Darcy cried. “Anything left in the teapot?” Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to face him: “Of course, Darcy,” he replied. “Shall I ring?”

“No; I had rather not bring myself to my aunt’s attention by taking away one of her minions,” Darcy said with a grin. “Besides,” said he, “I believe I can manage to pour a cup of tea in my own home without injury, or loss of dignity.” He proceeded to demonstrate, and the two men sat down by the fire.

“Do not let my mother catch you performing servant’s duties,” the Colonel warned.

Darcy smiled at him and took a sip. “I have not seen her above stairs all day; I believe we are safe enough. Well, Edmund, I really have not had a chance to catch up with you since last summer; how are you?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam blew out a breath. “Well enough, Darcy,” he replied. “I am very glad to be here; Georgiana is looking better, I believe.”

“Yes; I, too, see some improvement—I have hopes the worst is past. I do wish we could find the means of overcoming her reticence, though; she has no concept of her own worth and accomplishment.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “So true. Why is it that those of least ability so often enjoy the greatest assurance?” he mused. Looking at his cousin, he went on: “But Darcy, you were not much different from your sister at that age; when we were at Eton, I swear you some times went a week without speaking to any one.”

“I was not being shy, Edmund—only uninspired. If I said nothing it was because I could think of nothing worth saying.”

“That hardly matters to most people; they are perfectly happy to prattle away about nothing to each other.”

Darcy shrugged his indifference to such.

“There!” his cousin laughed. “Bingley would have used two dozen words to say that others’ ways were not his own.”

”Making me more efficient in my speech than my friend,” Darcy scoffed. “Need I point out that this is not a profound revelation? But, if you are right, and there is a similarity of mind between Georgiana and myself, then I have failed to see it in that light; to me it has always seemed she was merely timid, and too hard upon herself.”

“That, she certainly is,” the Colonel agreed. “But as she is easy with us, I do not see it as an essential aspect of her character; only that she has too little appreciation of her strengths, relative to others her age.”

“We must hope so,” Darcy said. “I keep trying. But what of you, Edmund? You look well; how do things fare in His Majesty’s service? What news from Knightsbridge?”

His cousin made a face. “No news at all. Lord, Darcy, it is a dog’s life, I can tell you. They have me stuck here in London trying to turn men who barely know one end of a horse from the other into cavalrymen. It is heart-breaking work; and meanwhile, Bonaparte is back in Paris, Batavia has turned into a rout, and I wish nothing better than to be over there, doing something worthwhile.”

“So this is why we hardly see you! All your letter-writing—you are fishing for an assignment in Europe.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked cautiously over his shoulder towards the door and nodded. “Yes; but only Father knows, so I trust you will keep it in confidence.”

“Of course; is there anything I might do to help, Fitzwilliam?”

“I do not think so, but I thank you; Father is doing what he can.” The Colonel here paused a moment; he then cried with some heat, “The Devil of it is, the Russian army is making such a mess of it that we need all our best on the continent, not here on a parade ground! You heard about that fool von Fersen, being taken at Bergen? I swear to you Darcy—without conceit, I am five times the horseman he is. If I had been there with a battalion of our Dragoons, we should have taken Bergen!”

“Calm yourself, Edmund!” Darcy said in a placating tone. “Heavens, man, it was not I who held you here.”

“I am sorry, Darcy,” his cousin apologized. “The truth is, I am fit to be tied. There’s more than one title to be had by the men who bring Bonaparte down, and here I am, twiddling my thumbs in Knightsbridge.”

“I can think of no one who deserves success, or the dignity that goes with it, more than yourself,” Darcy assured him. “What kept you out of Batavia? I know your superiors think well of you, and I should have thought my uncle would have had sufficient influence to get you any posting you wanted.”

“Father and York do not get on,” Colonel Fitzwilliam grumbled.

“The Duke of York?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, he led the campaign in Batavia. Well, his reputation is a little blown upon these days, and the French are not slowing down in the least in their annexation of all Europe, so I may get a look in soon enough. At least, that is what I keep telling myself: if only some other rascal does not take Bonaparte down before I can get assigned…”

Here Darcy had to laugh: “My dear Edmund, you do realise that you are very near to treason by wishing Bonaparte continued success?”

“Only until I can get to him!” the Colonel cried. “I have been studying him, Darcy,” said he with fervour, “and he is a very logical thinker. I tell you, I believe I could reason out his battle plans almost before he made them.”

Darcy shook his head over his cousin’s martial enthusiasms, but he respected his cousin’s intellect: very possibly he could do just what he said. “Well, I certainly hope you get your chance. Only let me know if I may be of any use to you.”

After dinner that evening, Darcy invited Bingley to a rematch at the billiards table; he had not seen his friend’s grin for some time, and it seemed to him that Bingley’s manner was becoming withdrawn. Bingley’s play was strong, but his conversation remained muted, and Darcy thought perhaps he drank a half-glass more wine than usual, though this could have been merely his imagination.

Darcy kept the conversation studiously light; he attempted one subject after another, though, with little success. At one point he had mentioned hunting, and Bingley said in an abstracted fashion, “I shall have to find another manor, I suppose; but Netherfield was so well suited to my needs, and so conveniently located…”

He did not continue, and Darcy looked at him closely; he suspected that his friend’s thoughts had travelled beyond Netherfield to Longbourn. But here it appeared that Bingley had reached his low point, and realised how cheerless his manner must seem; quickly rousing himself, he changed the topic determinedly: “May I say, Miss Darcy is a delightfully accomplished young lady, Darcy: I congratulate you.”

“Yes, she surprises even me; my aunt has done very well by her education.”

“But I think I remember you saying that you had had her taught at Pemberley?” Bingley said.

“I did; we had the masters for her from the time she was seven—after my mother’s death, that is—and of course, she has always had the Pemberley library at her disposal; indeed, while my father lived she was very fond of lingering there, while he worked. But when my father died as well, Aunt Eleanor decided she ought to be enrolled in one of the seminaries here in Town; I was against it at first: Georgiana did not wish to leave the estate, and my experience with ladies who have gone to these places leads me to conclude that they are an utter waste of time.”

“What? My sisters both attended seminaries in Town,” said Bingley with a sardonic air, “and who could
possibly
object to how they were turned out?”

Darcy laughed. “To speak the truth, your sisters are not as bad as many to whom I have been introduced. But my aunt took pains to inform me that for most young ladies, rather like Eton and Oxford for most men, seminaries are less about the education, than about forming the appropriate acquaintance. And I believe she did form some acquaintance there; she still corresponds with some of them, at least.”

“Well, your sister has done marvellously well, regardless of who, where, or why. There is only one question in my mind, however: has she attained that one true measure of the accomplished woman?”

“Yes?” Darcy enquired.

“Can she net a decent purse?” Bingley joked, at last showing Darcy the grin he had hoped for.