Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 3

  “Yes, well,” Lady Malvern resumed. “The least said of that, the better.”

  “I would beg to differ, Mother,” Fitzwilliam was goaded into intervening yet again, and this time Darcy could not fault him for it. “I do wish you would not allow her quite so much licence. You are not the dowager countess yet.”

  “For which I give daily praise,” Lady Malvern smiled placatingly. “But never mind that now. We were discussing a wholly different matter.”

  With a frown, Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be silenced, for a while at least, and Darcy saw fit to have his own say.

  “Lady Stretton need not be concerned. With Georgiana still at school, we could easily wait until Miss Harding is recovered, should I decide to engage Miss Bennet’s services.”

  “That is very thoughtful. But I fear she would take offence nevertheless at your decision to employ someone she disapproves of and would see fit to dismiss.”

  Darcy waved the matter off in some vexation.

  “If I were to let Lady Stretton influence my actions… She can take offence if she chooses. It would be the least of my concerns.”

  “She would also be quick to voice something that might be on the minds of many.”

  “Namely?”

  “That it is unseemly for a girl her age to become part of a bachelor’s household.”

  “Heavens, Mother!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed again, before his cousin had a chance to speak. “No one who knows Darcy in the slightest would give a second thought to such scurrilous– ”

  “Perhaps not,” Lady Malvern cut him short, then glanced up at her nephew. “Still, one cannot dispute that everything would be a great deal easier if you were married.”

  “I dearly hope you have not crossed over to Lord Malvern’s camp,” Darcy retorted, choosing to tease her rather than instinctively rebel at the vexing topic being brought up time and again.

  Lady Malvern smiled.

  “Foolish boy, of course not. Anne is not the only match you could aspire to.”

  “I would much rather choose a lady’s companion for now, Ma’am,” Darcy replied smoothly. “At least she could be dismissed if she proves herself a disappointment.”

  “Hear-hear,” Fitzwilliam chortled, and Lady Malvern shook her head at them in mock despair.

  “Insolent, headstrong pups,” she affectionately chided. “I will never understand what possessed George Darcy to leave the likes of you in charge of Georgiana’s future.”

  The cousins exchanged a glance, in silent understanding of the late Mr Darcy’s motives. He had never warmed to most of his wife’s relations, and had certainly not trusted Lord Malvern to act in Georgiana’s interest. He must have understood that, in his lordship’s eyes, enhancing the family’s status and fortunes took precedence over a young girl’s happiness – or anyone’s for that matter – and the same could be said of his eldest son. As for Lady Malvern, although he had held her in obvious affection, he must have seen the dangers of her too compliant nature. Lady Catherine had naturally been dismissed out of hand, he would never have left his dear girl in her stifling grasp. Which had really left him with only two choices of guardians for Georgiana. Yet Darcy dearly hoped it had not been just a process of elimination.

  He was not about to share any such thoughts with Lady Malvern, and apparently neither was Fitzwilliam, who popped a couple of sweetmeats into his mouth, then retorted lightly:

  “My uncle must have known that such a sweet-tempered child would turn out well regardless, and not even the pair of us could bungle her upbringing. Now, the dreaded moment is upon us, Darcy. My mother wishes to take Georgiana to the linen-drapers and, dutiful son that I am, I have offered to escort them. Pray show an ounce of cousinly affection and join us, I beg you. Do not abandon me to the deluge of jacquard and lace.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Dear Darcy,

  I hope this finds you in good health and prosperity. I wish I could say the same for myself, but sadly we both know that no one could describe my current circumstances as anything but dire. My health is not much better at the moment either. I fear I have exerted myself overmuch in order to ensure that I honour some very pressing debts. Which brings me to the reason for my writing again. Strangely I have received no reply to my other letters, but perhaps they have gone astray.

  I have learned a while ago that poor Mr Hodges had finally relinquished his earthly shell, as well as the living of Kympton. Since we last spoke on this subject life has taught me a very valuable lesson – namely that the study of the law is not only an unprofitable exercise, but also that the profession itself is soul-destroying.

  I have understood at last the blessings of the profession your father had chosen for me in his wisdom, and I should have relied on his sterling judgement. I see now that nothing could compare to the satisfaction of guiding simple souls on the righteous path so, as the Kympton living has become vacant, I hope you would entrust it to my care. No one else can lay claim to it, through ties of either honour or affection, and I trust you have not forgotten my revered godfather’s wishes. He saw clearly whereas I did not, but old eyes see farther than young ones in those things that matter.

  I hope your sense of justice and your affection for your esteemed father would not allow my youthful error to blight the rest of my existence, and that you would be willing to present me to the living of Kympton. I am looking forward to receiving the very best of news from the companion of my boyhood years.

  Until then I remain,

  Your very grateful and affectionate friend,

  George Wickham

  With an oath, Darcy crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand and cast it disgustedly on his desk.

  What sort of unmitigated fool did the rascal take him for, to imagine that he would be swayed by such pious, simpering drivel? He had seen the light and received the calling, had he? Did the scoundrel imagine he had taken leave of his senses, to entrust the people of Kympton to his care?

  His care indeed! Wolf in sheep’s clothing. In his utter stupidity, did Wickham imagine him ignorant of the sordid ways he had abandoned himself to, ever since he had voluntarily relinquished any claim to the living? Did the fool think he would not know that he had squandered his legacy of a thousand pounds, as well as the compensation in lieu of the living, on women of ill repute and in shady gambling dens? And now he was prepared to guide simple souls towards their reward in Heaven. Ha! He must think him very simple indeed to imagine he was likely to believe it.

  So he had learned of Rev. Hodges’ demise from whatever misguided acquaintance in the north that was still willing to give him the time of day. Very well. Then the same acquaintance could inform him that the living of Kympton had already been entrusted to Mr Hodges’ curate and even now the parsonage was being refurbished in preparation for Mr Bradden’s occupation. An eminently decent fellow in his mid-twenties who, despite his years, had shown more compassion and interest in the parishioners’ welfare than Wickham could hope to feign in his entire lifetime. He was already fulfilling all the duties of a vicar and had done so for six months complete, ever since Rev. Hodges’ failing health had made him unable to leave his home for anything but the very occasional church service.

  Bradden had willingly stepped into the breach and it was high time he got the recognition. Most assuredly he would not be passed over for the sake of a deceiving rat, much as Wickham had managed to secure his late father’s good opinion, Darcy determined grimly, refusing to acknowledge the old pain, still raw, after all these years.

  It was all in the past now – his father’s soft spot for Wickham, their closeness, their companionable laughter. At least in the final years of his life, George Darcy might have recognised that, different as he and his son might have been in temper, they did share the same sense of duty.

  The distance between them – present for as long as Darcy could remember, and which Wickham had so gleefully filled – might have been easier to bear had his father finished by seeing his godson for what he truly w
as. Or perhaps not. At least he had been spared the pain of that particular disappointment.

  With another scowl at the crumpled letter, Darcy conceded that simply ignoring his requests was not enough and – if not today, then soon – he would have to put pen to paper and let the rogue know they would never be granted.

  A light knock disrupted the dark train of thought and he looked up with vexed impatience.

  “Yes, Peter? I asked not to be disturbed,” Darcy spoke up with more than his usual sternness, and the young footman shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.

  “Pray forgive me, Sir, but there is someone here to see you.”

  “Whoever he is, he will have to wait.”

  “’Tis a young lady, Sir, from Malvern House, she says. Her name is Miss Bennet.”

  “Ah. Is the Colonel here as well?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “I see.”

  He did not, in truth. Fitzwilliam had declared his intention of accompanying her, but he must have reconsidered or had been detained. It was just as well. Darcy found he would much rather speak to her alone, without Fitzwilliam’s well-meaning but vexing interference.

  “Thank you, Peter. I will see her. Pray wait a quarter-hour, then show her in.”

  “Very well, Sir.”

  As soon as the footman left him, Darcy leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his face. He needed the respite he had requested so that he could set aside the roiling anger caused by Wickham and give his full attention to the task at hand.

  Perhaps he should have jotted down the points that had to be addressed. Her circumstances. Her education. Her family of course – it had great bearing on a person’s conduct, morals and precepts.

  His expectations of her would have to be laid out very clearly. He was not about to entrust Georgiana’s comfort to a young chit barely out of the schoolroom without ensuring there would be no risk of her misunderstanding his requirements and instructions.

  Darcy closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, until Wickham’s smirking countenance receded, then stood to walk up to the window and finish putting his thoughts in order.

  Peter’s knock found him prepared for the encounter and he turned to greet the young lady with a bow, to receive a civil curtsy. It briefly occurred to him that in effect they had not been properly introduced, but such niceties would perforce have to be disregarded.

  “Miss Bennet. I thank you for coming to see me. Pray be seated. Would you care for tea?”

  “I thank you, Sir, but no,” she declined, as she took the offered seat.

  Her voice was tense, subdued. Perhaps she was understandably wary of anyone connected to Lady Stretton. Or perhaps she was sufficiently unversed in seeking a position to regard the preliminaries with trepidation.

  Darcy sought to set her at ease and begun by resuming his own seat across the desk. It would not do to tower over the young woman.

  “Am I correct in assuming that my aunt or my cousin have spoken to you about the purpose of this interview?”

  “You are, Sir. Lady Malvern has informed me that Miss Darcy requires a companion.”

  “And do you feel you qualify?”

  “No, Sir.”

  The prompt and matter-of-fact reply surprised him greatly and his shock must have been apparent, for the briefest smile fluttered at the corner of her lips before she smoothed her countenance into cool composure.

  “Would you care to elaborate, Miss Bennet?”

  “I have no experience whatsoever as a lady’s companion, Mr Darcy,” she obliged, and for a moment he suspected Fitzwilliam of having coached her, or at least warned her of his principal objections. “However,” she resumed, “I grew up with four sisters, three of whom are younger than myself.”

  “And have you been instrumental in their education and upbringing?”

  Her countenance briefly reflected something akin to rueful amusement.

  “No, Sir. There were others employed for that purpose. Those of us who wished to learn never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read and had all the masters that were necessary.”

  “Might I ask where you hail from?”

  “Longbourn, in Hertfordshire.”

  For some unknown reason the name rang a bell, but he could not place it. Darcy prompted her for further information.

  “Is that a town or an estate?”

  “A village and a small estate, Sir, at least by your family’s standards. I believe it fetched no more than two thousand a year.”

  Her tone and manner clearly suggested she was not accustomed to such talk which in itself, along with the reference to masters, hinted to a gentlewoman’s upbringing. A young lady fallen on hard times. Loath as he was to remind her of her misfortunes, he had to ask.

  “It seems a comfortable income, Miss Bennet. Might I inquire into your reasons for seeking employment?”

  Her eyes flashed to the window and for the first time there was something very noticeable under the collected manner.

  “The comfortable income was my father’s. When he went, so did everything else. Longbourn was entailed upon a distant cousin. Those of us left behind had to make a life elsewhere.”

  “Forgive me for distressing you,” Darcy offered quietly, having at last recognised the edge of pain for what it was.

  By the time she spoke again, the cool composure had returned.

  “Not at all, Sir. You had every right to ask.”

  In the ensuing silence he scrutinised her more closely. Brown hair, tied into a plain, unpretentious knot. Rather pretty and very youthful features – ah, yes, he must remember to inquire into her age. The same dark, utilitarian attire he remembered from the other day at Malvern House, with no adornment but a small lace border around the neckline. Upon reflection, he ought to have considered it could be a mourning garb, rather than a requirement of Lady Stretton’s nursery. An air of reserve about her – not diffidence but deep-set reserve, and of all people he should be able to recognise the difference. That, and the extreme caution of one who no longer felt entitled to expect much good of the world.

  A measure of sympathy for Fitzwilliam’s chivalrous instincts came to Darcy – he could detect the same impulses in himself. Perhaps she deserved the chance that others would not vouchsafe her. Perhaps she would be grateful for it, and bestow that gratitude on Georgiana. It was worth a try at least. It would not be an irreversible, binding contract.

  “Miss Bennet,” he decidedly spoke up, “if you are to become Georgiana’s companion, every expectation I have of you narrows down to her being kept comfortable, safe and, above all, happy. She is, you might have noticed, a trusting and shy child who has grown to her fifteen years of age without much youthful company and without a mother’s guidance. No one would expect you to supply the latter. All I ask is that she finds a loyal friend in you. Is this something you would be prepared to undertake?”

  The gentle smile that overspread Miss Bennet’s pretty features made her look positively handsome.

  “Gladly, Mr Darcy. It would be an honour and a pleasure.”

  He smiled back.

  “Very well. My sister is generally at home on Sundays, and today is no exception. If you have no pressing engagements, would you like to spend some time with her?”

  “I thank you. I would like that very much.”

  They walked to the music room together and, as soon as she saw them enter, Georgiana stopped discordantly in the middle of her difficult sonata and verily leaped from her seat.

  “Elizabeth!”

  Elizabeth, was it? It was surprising and very reassuring to discover they had acquired such an easy intimacy in the month they had spent together in Lady Malvern’s house despite, or perhaps because of, Lady Stretton’s strictures. Before he could open his lips, Georgiana turned to him in cheerful expectation.

  “Does this mean you have decided, Brother?”

  His first natural instinct was to cautiously delay committing himself with a definite answer. He ignored it.
>
  “Let us say we have agreed to try, sweetling. And, Miss Bennet, should we all decide after a while that the arrangement does not suit us, fear not, barring the unlikely circumstance of gross misconduct, you will get a better character from this house than from Lady Stretton. This is to reassure you in case you have any qualms about giving notice.”

  “I have none, Sir,” she replied with the briefest twitch of her lips, and Georgiana clasped her hands together.

  “Oh, Brother, can she not remain with us as of today? Must we send her back to that–… to Lady Stretton?”

  “You are still with Mrs Rossiter for now,” Darcy reminded her. “But if you are in such a haste to leave her, Miss Bennet could always share her unvarnished thoughts on Hartfield’s conduct with her ladyship and she would be free to join us by dinnertime,” he observed with mock solemnity and at that Miss Bennet’s reserved manner dissolved into a genuine and quite delightful laugh.

  “I would not go that far, Mr Darcy. But I am quite certain that my days in Lady Stretton’s nursery are numbered.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. Well, young ladies, if you would excuse me, I will leave you now,” he said airily and was gone.

  The beginnings of quiet chatter reached him before he had closed the door and Darcy walked back towards his study with a good feeling about the upcoming addition to their household.

  * * * *

  Thankfully for all concerned, two months later Miss Harding was fully recovered and ready to resume her duties. Slyly perhaps, Lady Stretton was kept uninformed of the position Miss Bennet had been offered and gladly accepted. Thus, the lady was deprived of the satisfaction of demanding that Miss Bennet remain in her employ till Michaelmas, just to be awkward.

  By early August Miss Bennet was already a part of the Darcy household and, although Lord Malvern had voiced dissatisfaction with the choice of companion for his niece and Lady Stretton had found more than enough to say, the Darcys were supremely undaunted. The reason for their unconcern was simple: neither of them were in town to witness their relations’ manifest displeasure.