Mr Darcy Requests the Pleasure

by Elizabeth Aston

  Mrs. Paxton sat upright and alert, as though willing the horses to move faster. “My father was concerned at my running off like this, and to call on the Darcys in such an unceremonious way, when we are barely acquainted with them, but I took your name in vain, Lady Sarah, said we were friends from town, and so he was satisfied.” She put up a hand to hold her hat, which was not securely attached to her head. “That is what happens when one dresses in a rush. Lady Sarah, I cannot believe you are doing this solely for my benefit, you must have some private motive. However, I will not ask what it is.”

  Sarah laughed. “You are perceptive, Mrs. Paxton. When everything is untangled, I will explain to you. Although, by that time, I think it will be unnecessary and you will have understood why I am so anxious that the engagement between Miss Hawes and Sir Philip be broken.”

  As they went into the house, Sarah found Tindall lying in wait for her, big with news. “Here is Sir Philip arrived, and a very good thing for you that he has, for Lady Catherine discovered you had driven out with Captain Hyde–no permission asked, no groom to go with you, and she is in a great pet about it. However, she cannot vent her spleen as she would like to, since she has to do the civil to this Sir Philip. Mrs. Darcy is there, but the shooting party has only just returned.”

  At that moment, Jane Bingley came into the hall and greeted Sarah with a cry of relief. “Thank goodness you are back, Lady Catherine is in a temper with you, you would think you had eloped, the fuss she made when she found you were gone out with Captain Hyde. And Mr. Darcy is not there to restrain her, she added ominously.” She looked enquiringly at Mrs. Paxton; Sarah remembered her manners, introductions were made. Mrs. Bingley was not generally curious about her fellow beings, and she was too polite to ask why Mrs. Paxton was there with Sarah, but it was clear she was intrigued.

  “I thought the gentlemen were returned?” Sarah said.

  “They are, but there was some slight accident when they were out shooting, and it appears–” Mrs. Bingley’s mouth twitched– “I must not laugh, for indeed it is not amusing and one should have sympathy for the afflicted.”

  “Afflicted? Who is hurt?”

  “Mr. Collins. I believe he is not altogether a good sportsman, and he found himself not where he should have been, quite in the wrong place, in fact, and as a consequence–well, not to put too fine a point on it, he received a scattering of shot in a certain portion of his anatomy.”

  Sarah looked at her in disbelief. “Someone shot Mr. Collins?”

  “Not precisely shot; peppered was the word Mr. Darcy used. It was unintentional, of course.” It was no good, even kind-hearted Jane Bingley couldn’t hide her smiles. “I believe he will have trouble sitting down for a week. Elizabeth has gone to see what needs to be done and will call for a doctor if necessary. Lord Winterbourne is with him, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have gone to shift out of their shooting clothes.”

  Sarah had no time to laugh at Mr. Collins’s predicament, although she was sure he deserved any discomfort. However, Lord Winterbourne’s absence was inconvenient; Lucinda might need his support. Sir Philip had arrived too early. An eager lover rushing to his beloved’s side? No, she couldn’t believe that.

  “I will go to the drawing room directly,” she said to Jane.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tiverton was about to supervise the carrying in of refreshments to the party in the drawing room, but Sarah drew him to one side. He waved a footman to his duties and Sarah told him to send for Lord Winterbourne. “I need him urgently, he must leave Mr. Collins to his own devices. No matter if he is still in outdoor dress. I will wait here, but hurry.”

  And so Sarah entered the drawing room a few minutes later with Mrs. Paxton beside her and Lord Winterbourne following them in. That rather took the wind out of Lady Catherine’s sails, but Lord Winterbourne was not interested in aunts or godmothers or anyone except Miss Hawes, who was positively shrinking into her chair, white-faced, frightened, silent.

  Sir Philip stood by the fireplace, a dandified man with the look of the roué about him and a disdainful expression, as of one far above his company. The effect of Mrs. Paxton’s appearance upon him was dramatic: his face paled, and then an angry flush spread over his cheeks.

  Mrs. Paxton’s eyes swept around the room. Elizabeth, startled, hurried over to greet this unexpected guest and she said, “Mrs. Darcy, pray forgive this intrusion, pray forgive this unannounced visit. I am here upon urgent business that cannot wait.”

  Sarah recalled that Mrs. Paxton had a reputation for being good at theatricals, of a private sort, but her entrance and ringing words were more Drury Lane than polite drawing room. She raked the room with her great dark eyes and fixed her attention on Sir Philip. “Betrayer,” she said in throbbing tones. She surged forward, holding centre stage. She extended a hand towards Sir Philip. “Behold this man, full of falsehoods. He has he has broken all his promises to me, and now wrongs this innocent young lady with his deceitful addresses.”

  She nodded to where Miss Hawes cowered, Lord Winterbourne at her elbow. “Sir Philip is promised to me, and in making this engagement with Miss Hawes offends against morality and, I may say, legal constraints.”

  Sir Philip tried to laugh it off, “My dear Mrs. Paxton, I feel you cannot be quite well, to burst in upon us like this.”

  Lady Catherine leapt into the fray. “Upon my soul, I never heard of such behaviour. Sarah, ring for a servant to show this person out.”

  Mrs. Paxton wasn’t to be intimidated by Lady Catherine. She cast her a scornful glance, said, “I do not know who you may be, but this is nothing to do with you. This matter is between me and Sir Philip, and also Miss Hawes. I have come expressly to inform her what a false-hearted wretch is this man to whom she is betrothed.”

  Sir Philip, now extremely red-faced, said, “This is hardly the time or place, Mrs. Paxton, for such a discussion, and for your wholly unfounded accusations.”

  Mrs. Paxton said, “Unfounded?” She was carrying a velvet bag and she delved into it to bring out a packet of letters, tied about with pink ribbon.

  Octavius had come quietly into the room and now stood beside Sarah. Fascinated, he murmured, “Pink ribbon; those must be love letters.”

  Mrs. Paxton went on, “Do you want me to read these, Sir Philip, do you want the present company to hear the promises you made to me? Your assurances that you would make me your wife?”

  Sir Philip was having none of that. He made himself to snatch the letters from Mrs. Paxton but she retreated, holding them behind her back. “No, you shan’t snatch them away from me and very likely toss them on the fire. Can you deny what you promised?”

  For a moment it seemed as though Sir Philip would vent his fury on Mrs. Paxton, but Captain Hyde stepped forward to restrain him. “Sir, you forget yourself.”

  Sir Philip shrugged him off. “Who the devil are you? I’ll thank you not to interfere in my affairs.”

  “You do not know me, but I assure you, I have an interest here.”

  “You do not, Captain Hyde,” cried Lady Catherine.

  Lord Winterbourne said, “I think both Captain Hyde and I have more than an interest here. Let us get to the truth of this.” He looked down at Miss Hawes. “Lucinda, what do you know of this?”

  Miss Hawes hung her head and whispered, “Nothing–that is, Papa had heard rumours of a former attachment between Sir Philip and a Mrs. Paxton, but he assured my father it was nothing but a mere friendship, all in the past–”

  “–and so it should have been,” Sir Philip said furiously.

  Mr. Darcy had entered the room and he listened, fascinated, to this last exchange. He looked across at Sarah, who winked wickedly at him. He shook his head at her, mouthing, “I suspect this is your doing.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” cried Lord Winterbourne. “The very man we need. Here we are in uproar, with Mrs. Paxton–are you acquainted with her?”

  Mr. Darcy bowed to her and Lord Winterbourne went on, “Mrs. Paxton, w
ho claims that when Sir Philip was betrothed to Miss Hawes, he was already promised to her.”

  Mrs. Paxton said, her voice now soft and pleading. “Indeed, that is so. He cares nothing for Miss Hawes, the marriage was arranged entirely for political reasons. You are of his party, Mr. Darcy, you know how these things are done.”

  Miss Hawes spoke up for the first time, her voice trembling a little. “It is so, Mr. Darcy, although I did believe Sir Philip cared for me. But it is all to do with a parliamentary seat for my brother…and for some political advantage that will come to Sir Philip as well…” Her voice tailed off.

  Mr. Darcy looked and sounded annoyed. “Private matters of this kind should not be mixed with politics.”

  Captain Hyde said, “We go round and round in circles. Here is Mrs. Paxton threatening a breach of promise case, if I am not mistaken–”

  “You are not mistaken,” said Mrs. Paxton, brandishing her letters.

  “So we should ask Miss Hawes whether she wants to marry Sir Philip.”

  Lady Catherine’s voice rang out. “It is not for Lucinda to say. She will do as her father bids her, and he wishes her to marry Sir Philip.”

  “I beg you will be silent, ma’am” Mr. Darcy said in such a forbidding manner that silenced even her. “Well, Miss Hawes? You cannot be forced into a marriage you do not wish for. You must know this, we are not living in the Middle Ages.”

  Her reply was incoherent. “Papa…My brother.. To be called a jilt…The scandal.” Then, more clearly, “Papa will not be pleased, for although he cares a great deal for politics, he is a stern moralist and–and he will not like how Sir Philip has behaved to Mrs. Paxton. Only,” and her voice rose into a wail, “What will become of me? I shall be in such disgrace, and have to live at home for ever and become an old maid. It is all so dreadful.”

  Lord Winterbourne was having none of that. “That is all nonsense. I offer you my hand and heart here and now, if you will tell Sir Philip you cannot marry him and return his ring. No, do not worry about your father. I have a seat in the Lords, I shall be sitting on the government benches, and I assure you that I and Mr. Darcy, whom I am sure we count upon in this matter, can summon more influence than your Papa or Sir Philip.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “Of course. However–”

  His words were drowned by Lady Catherine. “Stop. This is impossible. Lord Winterbourne, you forget yourself. You are as good as engaged to my niece, Lady Sarah. You have proposed to her and–”

  “And been rejected,” Sarah said. “I am going to marry Captain Hyde.”

  “You are not. I forbid it.”

  “Ma’am, you have no authority over me, no and nor does my cousin Darcy, so don’t look for support in that quarter. I am of age and so it is all settled.”

  Mr. Darcy, much amused, said,” It is customary, cousin, for the gentleman to propose; it is not the lady’s part.”

  Sarah slid her hand through Octavius’s arm. “Of course, and would I be so lost to impropriety as to forget that? But the gentleman in question did propose, five years ago. And I accepted him then, and we should even now be an old married couple if certain people had not interfered.”

  “So here we have two happy couples,” said Mr. Darcy with a sardonic glance at Miss Hawes, quietly and irritatingly sobbing in Lord Winterbourne’s arms.

  “Three, I think,” said Captain Hyde, nodding to where Mrs. Paxton was wrapping herself around Sir Philip and looking languorously up into his eyes.

  Sarah begin to began to get a glimmering of just why he might have written those love letters, and she whispered to Octavius, “The surprising thing is I think they may deal very well together.”

  Octavius whispered back, “I daresay, and I think I know who will have the upper hand in that establishment.”

  Lady Catherine, her voice cold and commanding: “I will not countenance this behaviour. Everyone here today has taken leave of their senses.”

  Mr. Darcy said, “On the contrary, a lot of people have come to their senses. Ah, here is Elizabeth. I trust that Mr. Collins is not in too much discomfort? You have missed a drama. We must tell Tiverton to bring champagne, for here we have to drink the health of three happy couples.”

  Elizabeth exchanged a quizzical look with Mr. Darcy and then set about making all the proper felicitations and congratulations, ignoring the words of condemnation uttered by Lady Catherine.

  To the general relief of the party, Sir Philip departed, Mrs. Paxton at his side. He said, in as civil a tone as he could muster, “Accept my assurances for your future, Miss Hawes. Do not trouble yourself over the Gazette, I will send a notice first thing in the morning.”

  “And so dearest,” Octavius said later, as he strolled on the terrace with Sarah, “all’s well that ends well.”

  “It simply needed for us to make a little push. People are afraid to do what should be done.”

  “That will never be your failing. Ah, I see Mr. Collins comes limping into the terrace room, may I suggest we adjourn to the maze? I have a great longing to explore it by moonlight.”

  “With all my heart,” said Sarah.

  * * *

  MR DARCY’S MASQUERADE

  Chapter One

  The London season was nearly over. Soon, the haut ton would desert town and leave for their country estates, the seaside and, in the case of some of the gouty dowagers and ancients, Bath or Harrogate to take the waters.

  Serafina Darcy sat at her dressing table, watching her maid’s nimble fingers arrange her hair. This evening she had on a favourite gown of green silk, one she felt became her well, but one she hadn’t worn much these last few weeks as Ranulph didn’t care for it.

  “Why not pale blue, or pink?” he’d said when she first appeared in it.

  She was flattered he noticed what she wore, but thought little of his taste. The pale blues and pinks and yellows did nothing for her colouring and, at four-and-twenty, with half a dozen seasons behind her, she was no longer restricted to the pastels considered suitable for the youngest debutantes.

  Tonight she could wear it; tonight, Ranulph would not be at the ball. He had not been invited; his father, Sir Roger Latymer, was not on speaking terms with the Congreves, who were giving the ball for their daughter, Julia.

  It was a pity, for she loved to dance with him, but tomorrow her father would be back in London and the notice of her engagement to Ranulph would be sent to the Gazette.

  Theirs had been a sudden romance. It began in Richmond Park when Serafina’s horse, frightened by a deer that leapt out of the trees in front of it, had bolted. Ranulph, riding with another party, had come to her rescue; first galloping alongside her and then, with great daring, hurling himself out of his saddle to seize the bridle of Serafina’s mount and compel the animal to come to a shuddering halt.

  It was well done, although as Ranulph’s friend, Marcus RisburyTalbot, observed to Serafina when he cantered up to join them, he judged that she was in no danger of being thrown and was more than able to bring her mare back under her control.

  She had smiled and said nothing, too polite to scorn Ranulph’s bold gesture.

  The next day, Ranulph had called on Serafina at Mortimer Street, to enquire after her; he hoped she had not suffered any ill effects from the fright of yesterday.

  Serafina’s mother, Mrs Henry Darcy, looked Ranulph over, approved of what she saw, and invited him to join them in an outing to Ranelagh. And so the courtship had begun.

  Serafina found Ranulph attractive. She liked his easy manners, his ready smile and his energy. She felt enlivened in his company. She had, she soon realised, fallen in love.

  More meetings, more evenings spent together at parties and dances, more excursions and outings, until finally, under a romantic moon by the river, he proposed to her and she had accepted him.

  Chapter Two

  For his part, Ranulph had at once been attracted to Serafina. She was well-looking enough, had a vitality to which his own spirits responded and a zest for l
ife and laughter that pleased him. There was no wild passion on his side, rather an appreciation of her looks, her breeding and her fortune, all of which made her more than acceptable to his rather difficult father.

  Sir Roger Latymer had urged his son to marry. “Now you have sold out of the army and are learning to manage the estate that will one day be yours, it is time to find yourself a wife, to set up your nursery, to cultivate some domestic virtues.”

  Ranulph found little to appeal to him in this picture, as he confided to his friend Marcus. “To the devil with domestic virtues, but I suppose I must marry and in that case, I may as well offer for Serafina Darcy. I think we shall deal very well together, although I had much rather not be married at all.”

  Marcus said, “She is not the wife for you, you need someone more submissive.”

  “What, do you take me for a Turk, wanting nothing but obedience from a wife?”

  “Unlike a Turk, you will be restricted to a single wife, and Serafina may not always be as obliging and willing to bend to your wishes as she appears to be now. Discern how much of her behaviour is due to good manners and how much is owed to her essential character.”

  “Oh, never mind that. She will do, we like one another well enough. And she will not be one of those possessive wives always wanting one to dance attendance upon her. She is no chit from the schoolroom with a romantical dispostion, she knows how the world wags. I think we shall rub along tolerably well.”

  “Do you not think she wants more than that?”

  “More than what?”

  “To rub along together.”

  Ranulph stared at his friend and then laughed. “What a strange fancy. We are talking of a marriage here, not setting up a mistress for one’s delectation and delight.”