The Darcy Cousins (23 page)

"my hem is wet. I need to go upstairs to change." Perhaps she should raise her skirt as Clarissa had done on that first day. She could be sure of their attention then.

But there were no gentlemen in the room, and no one to be shocked.

Caroline nodded. Elizabeth said nothing. Even before she had quit the room, they were back to their half-whispered exchange.

She almost collided into the housekeeper, Mrs Busby, who was on her way to the parlour to consult with her mistress about the menus.

Georgiana rarely indulged in impulsive acts. She generally thought twice about everything. She had never been one of those children who were ever getting up to mischief and thinking up pranks. But she was peeved, and the appearance of Mrs Busby, who 206

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had once been her housekeeper, not Elizabeth's, only increased her ire.

A wicked idea sprang to Georgiana's mind, and she did not hesitate.

"You need not trouble Mrs Darcy," said Georgiana. "She is engaged in a most particular conversation with Mrs Caroline Darcy and would not wish you to disturb her. I would be happy to consult with you on tomorrow's menu."

The housekeeper had known Georgiana far longer than she had known Elizabeth, and, sensing the young lady's feeling of displacement, did not see any harm in indulging her young mistress this one time.

It took a few minutes of close consultation for everything to be planned.

"Make sure you tell Cook that it is a special meal for Mr Darcy,"

said Georgiana. "I would like to surprise him."

Georgiana took her place at dinner the next evening with every expectation of deriving great enjoyment from it. Her good humour had been fully restored. She only wished that Clarissa could have been here to laugh with her, but she would have to content herself with her little victory alone.

Mr Darcy took one spoon of the turtle soup, choked over it, and glared at the hapless footman.

"Am I right in assuming this is turtle soup?" he said.

Darcy peered at Elizabeth, who looked at the soup in confusion.

"I know that you dislike turtle soup, Elizabeth. You need not have ordered it especially for me, for I can easily order it at my club without any inconvenience to you."

Georgiana waited with bated breath for Elizabeth's response.

"I do not dislike turtle soup so very much," murmured Elizabeth.

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"It is just not one of my favourites, that is all. Cook makes a good turtle soup. She should be given the opportunity to show it off once in a while."

Darcy smiled at Elizabeth tenderly.

"It is very kind of you to place cook's feelings before your own, Elizabeth," he said, eating the soup with relish. "I admit I am fond of Cook's soup. It is far superior to that available at the club." A moment later, however, he frowned. "But what about you? You are not eating. You should have requested something else for yourself if you meant to indulge me."

"It is hardly a tragedy for me to miss out on my soup, Fitzwil iam."

"No, of course not," he said, "but I cannot eat so heartily when you have nothing to eat yourself."

He turned to the footman. "You may bring in the next course for Mrs Darcy."

The next course was duly brought in, and here Elizabeth was unable to conceal her reaction. She stared at the serving dish in dismay. The oysters were arranged lovingly on the plate. They sat on the plate like an accusation.

Elizabeth did not eat oysters. They made her break out in a rash.

Darcy took in the scene with a glance.

"You do not eat oysters either," he said, "though they are a particular favourite of mine." He wiped his mouth and put down his napkin. "What the devil is happening? Has Cook gone mad?"

He turned to the footman. "What is the next course?" he asked.

"Devilled eggs, by any chance?"

"I believe so, sir," said the unhappy footman.

"Another of my favourite dishes which Mrs Darcy does not eat," he said. "Request Cook to come up immediately! What is the meaning of this? She had better provide a very good explanation."

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Georgiana began to tremble. She had not imagined for a moment that someone else would be blamed for her mischief.

She had assumed that her brother would know immediately that she alone could have planned this. Now the situation had become decidedly awkward, and she had no choice but to confess.

"Fitzwilliam," she said plaintively. "It was not Cook's fault."

Darcy's thunderous look turned upon his sister.

"You!" he said. "You are the one who came up with this outrageous scheme? To what purpose, may I ask? Merely to see Mrs Darcy suffer?"

"I did not..."

"Has it come to this? Does it give you pleasure, Georgiana, to make your sister unhappy? Or did you hope that, to protect you, she would eat the oysters and suffer an attack?"

His withering glance made her shrivel up inside. She had never been the object of his contempt before, never in her whole life. No matter how angry he had been at her in the past, he had never looked at her in this manner. Misery washed over her in waves. Has it come to this? It was the same question she longed to ask him, but could not.

"Come, come, Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth, laughing. "You cannot mean to take all this so seriously? It is only a prank, and a small one at that. At least she did not tie my sash to the chair, or put a toad into my pocket."

If Elizabeth had intended to lighten the atmosphere, her words resulted in the opposite.

"A prank, Elizabeth? A prank? Is she some eight-year-old encountering her governess for the first time? You speak of toads and sashes and pranks as if that were something quite in the ordinary. But I can assure you, it was not something my father would have tolerated even when Georgiana was a child, let alone now, 209

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when she has entered Society and is on the verge of marriage, in God's name!"

But Elizabeth, if anything, seemed all the more amused by his indignation.

"Are you trying to tell me you never engaged in any pranks when you were her age, at University? That you were a model of propriety and never thought it funny to trick the Masters and run circles round the Deans? Pray do not tell me so, for I shall find it very unnatural indeed!"

He opened his mouth to protest, but she forestalled him.

"If you try to hoodwink me, I will ask Bingley. I am sure he has a few stories to tell me that will cast an entirely different view on your character."

Darcy's protests died down, and he grinned ruefully at Elizabeth.

"Very well," he admitted. "I confess myself guilty of the occasional prank. Now are you satisfied?"

He was rewarded with a smile.

But his eyes fell again on the oysters.

"Though how you could think..." he began, glaring at his sister.

"Ask Cook to send up some bread and cheese for me," said Elizabeth to the footman. "I shall content myself with that, for I am sure you have done an excellent job of selecting all the foods that I dislike most," she continued when the footman had left, addressing herself to Georgiana. "I own myself flattered that you are so aware of my taste in food. I had wondered why Mrs Busby didn't speak to me today. Will you have some oysters, Fitzwilliam? I really would much rather put them closer to you."

Her eyes danced mischievously. It was by now readily apparent that she had not taken the least offence.

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Meanwhile, Georgiana sat in her chair, unable to move, a veri-table picture of misery. Her attempt to enrage Elizabeth had not only failed, but had been turned against her, and had only served to confirm to her brother Elizabeth's superiority.

The evening was not over by far. She had planned the dinner badly--or at least, she had not predicted the outcome well enough.

For now they had to appear at an informal dance, and much as she would have liked to cry off, she knew Channing would be attending, and she did not wish to miss the opportunity to see him.

As she dressed, she dreaded the carriage ride. She was sure Darcy would take the opportunity to lecture her in some way. She donned her gown like armour, and instead of admiring herself in the mirror--as her maid Rosie advised her to do, declaring she had never seen her look so handsome--she thought only of ways to counter Darcy's attack. She descended the stairs with a frown on her face, ready for a skirmish.

"This golden colour becomes you, Georgiana," said Darcy. "You should wear it more often. It brings out the colour of your eyes."

Elizabeth too admired her clothing and remarked that she was really very glad she had left the selection of Georgiana's gowns to Caroline, for her taste was far better. Darcy immediately denied it, and a playful argument ensued during which Georgiana was entirely forgotten.

She could not sulk, of course, not when going to a dance, especially when she knew Mr Channing was to be in attendance.

She was aware that all the work she had done--everything she had achieved, through Clarissa's help--could be undone very easily. For she could not deceive herself for a moment into believing she had 211

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captured Mr Channing's heart. She had attracted his attention--if his intense glance this afternoon was any indication--but she had some way to go before she could have a real place in his affections.

She could not even begin to be complacent.

Clarissa was there before her. Which was another complication she was growing tired of; for just as Channing rarely showed up without his cousin, it seemed equally rare to see Channing without Clarissa. Of course, she knew it could not be helped. They attended the same occasions and knew the same set of people, and they could not expand their circle of acquaintances very much yet because of their limited appearances.

She could not understand why Clarissa hovered around Channing. Her cousin gave no serious sign of attachment, yet she pursued him the instant he appeared on the scene as though her life depended upon it. And perhaps it did. For whenever she tried to approach the topic of Channing to her cousin, Clarissa turned uncharacteristically reticent. Which did not bode well, to Georgiana's mind. For surely if the younger woman had nothing to hide--no deep attachment, no dreams for the future--she would have simply answered Georgiana's questions without hesitation.

Guilt reared its ugly head--and the possibility that, in winning Channing for herself, she might be causing harm to her cousin. Yet why should she feel guilty? Georgiana had never made a secret of wishing to attract Channing's notice. She had told Clarissa of her intentions from the start. And Clarissa had agreed to help her.

As she considered this, all feelings of guilt ebbed away. One could argue that, if they were competing for the same gentleman, it was entirely Clarissa's fault. She knew Georgiana had an interest in 212

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Channing. The shoe, one could say, was on the other foot. Clarissa was trying to steal Channing from her. It was blatantly unfair of Clarissa to compete with her.

Well, Georgiana had no intention of withdrawing her suit.

Time alone would tell who was going to be the winner.

With that in mind, Georgiana headed straight for the little group that was gathered in the corner. Clarissa was there, as were Channing and Mr Moffet. She discovered, to her surprise, that they were talking about novels.

"I like Waverley very much indeed," Clarissa was saying, "though if the mysterious writer of the novel is Sir Walter Scott, he has no business writing novels, when he is already a famous poet."

"One would think you would have preferred him not to write the novel. Do you prefer poetry then, over novels? That is quite singular, surely, for a young lady."

"As a young lady, I am willing to read anything that is good."

"Not a political work, I would wager," said Mr Moffet.

Both gentlemen laughed, Mr Moffet's perfect lips curling with pleasure at his own wit.

"I would not qualify Waverley as a political work," said Clarissa with a deliberate smile, though Georgiana had seen the quick flash in her eyes.

"We were not speaking of Waverley," said Mr Moffet with kindly condescension.

Georgiana, realising that Clarissa was preparing to say something unpleasant, quickly asserted that she thought Waverley's reputation very well deserved, for she had never read a better book.

"There you see," said Mr Channing. "Al young ladies love novels."

"Surely gentlemen admire novels as well," said Clarissa. "The Prince Regent is known to do so. It is rumoured that he honoured 213

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the unknown author of Pride and Prejudice with an invitation to Carlton House."

Mr Channing's thoughts had shifted to something else.

"Speaking of invitations," he said, "I am only a humble country gentleman and cannot invite anyone to Carlton House, but I would like to issue an invitation to these particular young ladies--and gentleman too. Moffet, you may bring your sister along as well."

"Cease all this dilly-dallying, Channing," said Moffet, "and come to the point."

"I recall that when they were in Kent, the Miss Darcys were invited to visit some ruins--an invitation which never materialised, unfortunately."

Mr Moffet looked sullen at this reminder. "Hardly fair, Channing, when you know very well..."

"Never mind that," said Channing, breaking in, "I am in the position to remedy the situation. I recently visited a friend in Farnham, and I remember him saying that he lived close to Waverley Abbey, from whence the hero of our much admired novel hailed. Since the ladies have expressed such a lively interest in Waverley, what say you that we form an expedition there? The area is reputed to be the prettiest in Surrey, and we could picnic there and explore the ruins. Is that not a fabulous idea?"

General enthusiasm greeted his suggestion, and with parents, chaperones, and matrons in attendance, permission was quickly requested and just as quickly received.

"Are you satisfied with my plan, Miss Darcy? Have I not endeavoured to win your favour?" said Channing, approaching her as a set was about to begin. "Surely now you will keep your promise and not turn me down for this dance."