Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 10

  The sconces on the corridor gave sufficient light and he gained the main hall, only to discover that Bingley had not changed his mind, or at least had not retired yet, although doubtlessly he must have wished to. Still standing at the bottom of the stairs, he was holding his wife in a fierce embrace, her candle quite forgotten on a nearby table. Her bare arms glistened in the candlelight as she brought them up from around his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair. Eyes closed and cheeks aglow, she was responding to his kisses with feverish passion.

  There was nothing to be done but retrace his steps so, very quietly, Darcy did just that. He returned to his study, vaguely discomfited at having witnessed the intimate scene. He did not relight the candles, but walked to the window to lean against the sill and gaze absentmindedly over the moonlit lawn.

  So Bingley was blessed not only with a marriage of affection, but a passionate one as well. No wonder he was walking on clouds these days, the lucky devil. How many of their acquaintances could say the same?

  From what he had observed, marriages in his circle were lukewarm affairs where, if affection stemmed at all, it ran no deeper than the placid attachment to a favourite spaniel. The passion was reserved for liaisons and illicit encounters that filled the scandal sheets and seasoned dull evenings in overcrowded parlours.

  Darcy all but shuddered. The thought of such a marriage was abhorrent. On the other hand, he had never been so foolish as to expect passion. He had long settled that respect, calm affection and a commonality of interests formed the basis of a rewarding union.

  Yet tonight the selfsame triad seemed very bland indeed and woefully deficient. To have what Bingley had! A heady thought. Unreasonable perhaps, but intoxicating.

  Even without a candle, he refilled his glass without mishap – the pale moonlight was of enough assistance – and he sipped sparingly. He could have done without this tonight. Acknowledging that he was lonely. That the house was too quiet and his bedchamber cold and unappealing. Discovering that he envied Bingley, a sentiment never experienced before.

  He snorted. Fitzwilliam would laugh to see him marooned in his study and driven to philosophising in the middle of the night. He ought to seek his berth. If it came to that, there was a second staircase.

  He raised his glass to his lips to drain it. Thankfully he had a steady hand and the very opposite of a nervous disposition, otherwise his impeccable attire might have been thoroughly ruined when Bingley’s voice rang suddenly beside him:

  “I say, Darcy, why are you standing there drinking in the dark?”

  CHAPTER 9

  The Bingleys had finally left, their sojourn at Pemberley much longer than intended, presumably because they had found it as enjoyable as Darcy himself had. To their good fortune, their departure was well timed. Bingley’s brief scribble to his friend and his wife’s far more legible messages to Georgiana and Miss Bennet had reassured the Pemberley party that they had reached Scarborough in safety, before the weather turned and the treacherous roads of the north became impassable under a thick layer of snow.

  Pemberley was blanketed in white, had been so since the beginning of December, and while the scene was unmistakably idyllic, Darcy hoped the state of the roads would not hinder the arrival of their guests. Several letters had been sent, just as they had in previous years, to invite a large party of family and friends to join them for the festive season.

  Naturally Miss Bingley was not thus favoured, but their Fitzwilliam relations had to be, and unfortunately this included Lady Stretton. She would doubtlessly find a way to discomfit Miss Bennet and, by extension, Georgiana, but that was something to contend with when they came to it.

  For now, there was just the fever of preparations. The impeccable residence polished to perfection. The guest chambers aired. Several lavish dinners planned in scrupulous detail. And alongside, other arrangements, less daunting and much closer to Georgiana’s heart.

  Several weeks ago, when Mr and Mrs Bingley had just left and Christmas plans had barely been mentioned, she had come to see him in his study to share her thoughts regarding a seasonal gift for her dear friend. It had occurred to her that, since Miss Elizabeth was recently out of mourning, she might be pleased with a new gown of a warmer hue, to mark the advent of happier times and new beginnings.

  With a charming giggle, his sister had confessed to a host of harmless little ploys. Apparently she had already enlisted Mrs Reynolds’ help and that of Miss Bennet’s maid to garner the necessary measurements from older dresses, had asked Mrs Moore, her Lambton seamstress, to come up to Pemberley to see her, and had made oblique enquiries into her companion’s choice of colours.

  “She favours yellow best of all, I understand,” Georgiana told him, “but I daresay it would be too stark a transition for her liking, so I have settled on a lesser favourite for now. Mrs Moore has shown me this sprigged muslin in a delightful shade of lavender, very pale lavender with sprigs of a darker hue, and some matching lace as well. So, what say you, Brother?”

  Thoroughly enchanted with her animation, Darcy had leaned back in his seat.

  “If you have come for advice on muslin and lace, sweetling, I fear I shall disappoint,” he had smilingly observed.

  “Oh, not for that! Pray forgive me for rattling on so and taking up your time with talk of lace– ”

  “Not at all,” Darcy had swiftly interjected. “My time is yours, dearest, always. If anything, I wish you would come to me more often. I want to hear everything you have to say,” he had earnestly added, suddenly reminded that he had not pressed this point often enough, much as he had endeavoured to take Miss Bennet’s injunctions to heart after their disagreement long ago, in the rose garden.

  To his quiet delight, his assurances had emboldened Georgiana to softly tease him.

  “Even minute descriptions of muslin and lace?”

  “Especially that,” he had replied in the same vein. “I find myself in dire need of instruction on this topic.”

  “Very well. But fear not, I shall not begin today. I only came to ask if you approve of my gift to Lizzy and whether I might commission Mrs Moore.”

  “Of course, dearest. Pray do,” Darcy had urged her.

  He could not find it in his heart to spoil her delight in her little scheme with the candid observation that Miss Bennet might be discomfited by a generous gift when she lacked the means of reciprocating.

  Doubtlessly she would have the kindness to accept it in the spirit it was given, and hopefully she would feel the same about his gift as well. He had not considered it at length previously but just then, during his conversation with his sister, the best choice had occurred to him. Aye. It was a good notion and it had every chance to please her, he had determined with a smile.

  He was not to know, either then or later, that his gift would discompose Miss Bennet vastly more than Georgiana’s. And the monetary aspect would not come into it at all.

  * * * *

  Pemberley was humming with activity and verily bursting at the seams. During the week preceding Christmas carriage after carriage had drawn up at the doors, bringing those neighbours who had been enticed away from their own home comforts by the attractive prospect of a festive gathering and Darcy’s hospitality, as well as the many guests who had travelled from afar.

  To the hosts’ delight, the latter included their dearest cousin, who had thankfully been spared for a while from his duties in the Peninsula. He had arrived with his parents and his youngest sister, to twirl Georgiana into the air upon the doorstep and thus prompt Lord Malvern into tutting and observing that his niece was no longer in the schoolroom and henceforth some decorum was in order. At that, with mock solemnity he had thanked his father for the timely reminder and, affecting an air of exaggerate propriety, he had bowed over Georgiana’s hand, clicking his heels together.

  “There, now, ‘tis done. By the book, if I may say so myself,” he had airily commented and, pretending not to notice either his father’s disapproving scowl at the levity, nor t
he affectionate roll of his mother’s eyes, he had greeted Darcy with a few warm words and a pat on the shoulder.

  Lord and Lady Stretton’s arrival a few days later was devoid of such light-hearted merriment. As soon as their large party was disgorged from the two carriages necessary to accommodate the family and those members of their household brought along to serve them, Lord Stretton proceeded to lament the weather and the state of the northern roads.

  As for his lady, just as Darcy had predicted, she raised his ire within moments of crossing his threshold. Likewise Lord Stretton’s son and heir who, true to form, lost little time with proper greetings and stormed within complaining of the indignity of having to travel in a cramped carriage with his sisters, their governess and his own tutor and voicing loud demands for sustenance and entertainment, until the longsuffering Mr Howard steered him towards his quarters above stairs.

  Equally true to form, Lady Stretton saw no need to check her son’s conduct. Instead, she regally made her way within and the very first words she said to Georgiana, after a cursory greeting, were:

  “I trust you would allow me to enlist Miss Bennet’s help. I should not have known her with that hairstyle and attire, so pretentious for one of her station. But be that as it may. Far be it from me to advise you on what you should allow from your companion. I imagine she can escort Miss Harding to the nursery and assist her in settling the girls. It was a long and taxing journey and Miss Harding would be glad of a helping hand,” she added as she swept towards the drawing room.

  By then, Miss Margaret and Miss Hetty had also spotted their former favourite and ran up to greet her. Their kind and unaffected ways must have softened Miss Bennet’s rightful displeasure at Lady Stretton’s words, for Darcy noticed that the young lady’s heightened colour and the flash in her eyes had given way to a genuine smile as she took the girls’ hands and led them to the staircase.

  When they walked past him, he quietly addressed her.

  “Pray wait. Peter will summon a maid to do her ladyship’s bidding.”

  She stopped and glanced at him, a diverted glimmer in her eyes.

  “No need, Sir. I do not object to seeing them up myself.”

  “But I do,” Darcy retorted grimly. “Whatever Lady Stretton chooses to say or do in her own home is her affair. At Pemberley ‘tis mine.”

  A smile fluttered on her lips.

  “I thank you. But pray let it pass. ‘Tis the season of goodwill and I have missed the children.”

  “Hartfield as well, perchance?” he counteracted, his brow arched, and at that she laughed softly.

  “It seems that thankfully I am no longer trusted to ensure his young lordship’s comfort,” she replied and, dropping a little curtsy, she moved away with a spring in her step, her voice warm and kindly as she asked Margaret and Hetty about their journey, their dolls and what they would say to a cup of hot chocolate, if Miss Harding allowed it.

  As the day wore on, she remained unfazed. By far the better bred, she affected a sudden onset of selective deafness when Lady Stretton superciliously expressed surprise at her joining them for dinner.

  Fitzwilliam, however, laid no claim to such an affliction. Before Darcy could think of a civil way of putting Lady Stretton in her place without making a scene, his cousin had already approached Georgiana and Miss Bennet to ask if he would be permitted to escort them to the dining room.

  Casting Fitzwilliam a glance of appreciation for doing precisely what he would have done himself, had the rules of precedence allowed it, Darcy offered Lady Malvern his arm, leaving Lady Stretton to her disdainful sniff and the meagre satisfaction of knowing that the Colonel and the young ladies would be the last ones to go in.

  Georgiana would not even dream of taking up the place reserved for the mistress of the house. By choice, she would not have dined in such extensive company at all, and only did so because her aunt had observed gently but firmly that she might not be out, but she was still well past the age when she could dine above stairs like the children.

  The seat at the upper end of the table, as well as all the duties that came with it, was graciously assumed by Lady Malvern.

  With Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet still at her side, Georgiana chose to sit towards the middle of the long mahogany table and barely exchanged a word with anyone but them throughout dinner. Whenever he caught a glimpse of the spot where they were sitting – and he often sought to – Darcy could note that Miss Bennet was a trifle more at ease than Georgiana and was conversing amiably with her, as well as with Fitzwilliam, Bradden and his sister, her nearest dinner companions.

  When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after the customary separation, the same small group was reunited. They sat together to one side, paying little heed to the fashionable glitter that filled the drawing room as they kept up their easy conversation. In the comfortable company, even Georgiana’s reserve seemed to have melted and Darcy was relieved to see her little face aglow as she spoke at length with Miss Bradden.

  As soon as he found the opportunity to do so, Darcy joined them briefly. He would have preferred to stay for longer, had his duties as a host allowed it, but regretfully he had to wander off after a while. Free from such encumbrance, Fitzwilliam remained precisely where he was, choosing to ensure Georgiana and Miss Bennet’s comfort rather than play the game of civil intercourse with the rest of the company.

  On the first night Darcy was disposed to thank him for his efforts, but when the pattern was repeated over several subsequent evenings he began to doubt that his cousin’s course of action was particularly wise. His generous kindness might easily be misconstrued as partiality by Miss Bennet and many of those present, and that would not do at all. It would only foster hopes that must come to naught, and furthermore expose her to malice and censure. Lord Malvern and his dutiful daughter-in-law were already viewing their frequent association with stern glances and a jaundiced eye.

  But when Darcy found the opportunity to share his concern with his cousin, Fitzwilliam merely laughed, which riled him in no small measure.

  “‘Tis no laughing matter,” he admonished. “If you really must play the part of the knight in shining armour I suggest you go about it in a less conspicuous manner.”

  “What makes you think I play a part?” Fitzwilliam soberly replied, and Darcy’s eyes widened.

  “Surely you are not thinking of making her an offer. You cannot afford to marry with at least some consideration to fortune and connections.”

  “Since when have you become so interested in my matrimonial intentions? I daresay you should see to your own. Lady Fenton is trying hard enough to pair you with her daughter.”

  Darcy waved impatiently.

  “So she has for nearly as long as Lady Catherine. This is not my concern at present.”

  “Your nursery must have been a very busy place then. What a shame that I was too young to enjoy the spectacle.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Darcy cut him short, quite out of patience.

  “I have heard Lady Catherine say often enough that your union with Anne was planned ever since you were in your cradles. I had no notion that Lady Fenton was vying for your cradle too.”

  “I see you game,” Darcy retorted with a frown. “You seek to harry me away from the subject. I can assure you that your efforts are for naught.”

  “And I assure you that if I harbour matrimonial intentions, after the young lady in question you will be the first to know. For now though, pray have the goodness to spare me the lecture.”

  “Gladly,” replied Darcy, “as long as you learn some circumspection in paying your attentions.”

  Fitzwilliam merely rolled his eyes at that but, despite his provoking manner, he seemed to see some wisdom in the admonition and acted on it, to some extent at least.

  The same could not be said of Mr Bradden who, whenever he was asked for tea or dinner, persisted uniformly at Miss Bennet’s side. It was difficult to tell if this was a frank display of partiality or he simply felt
considerably more at ease in the lady’s amiable presence than with those who did not scruple to show they thought themselves above him.

  What they spoke of was anybody’s guess but they clearly took great interest in their conversations. One evening they were so thoroughly engrossed that they barely noticed Lady Amelia coming to whisk Georgiana away. Belatedly, Bradden remembered to civilly acknowledge their departure with a bow, then resumed his seat beside Miss Bennet and likewise their interrupted discourse.

  Unconquerable curiosity bent Darcy’s steps in their direction until he was close enough to hear that they were discussing poetry with some animation. Truth be told, it was all on her side – the animation, the open, cheerful manner. A great deal more subdued, Bradden spoke but little. He merely offered the occasional opinion here and there, encouraging his fair companion to voice hers. She willingly obliged, with an aplomb Darcy found unsettlingly familiar. It was the same engaging manner that had added sparkle to their lengthy debates several weeks ago – and no longer did, for whatever reasons of her own.

  He missed those light-hearted debates, he had to admit it. Moreover, he privately acknowledged that it bothered him to find the privilege now bestowed on the young reverend.

  It was childish and petulant perhaps, but bother him it did. He rather wished he had overheard Bradden expounding the virtues of Fordyce’s sermons. But no, they were discussing Cowper, Goldsmith and Sir Walter Scott’s Lady of the Lake.

  It was but meagre satisfaction that Lord Malvern and Lady Stretton’s baleful eyes were no longer fixed upon Miss Bennet. Unlike Fitzwilliam’s, Bradden’s interest in her society attracted neither their notice nor their censure. They must have thought that people of their station were fitting companions – that is, if they deigned to think of them at all.

  For his part, Darcy could no longer agree. Bradden was a decent man, no doubt – but, even then, he was showing himself a poor match for Miss Bennet and her sparkling discourse. And overall, what had he to offer but the lot of a parson’s wife? Respectable of course, and in some ways rewarding, yet bland and restrictive for someone like her.