Mr Darcy Requests the Pleasure

by Elizabeth Aston

  Now, the situation was quite different. Now Serafina was not attached, not on the brink of an engagement. No, she was that saddest of creatures, a jilted young lady, the object of universal pity, scorn and gossip.

  Not in Lord Gilbride’s eyes. He behaved with what her mother considered altogether suitable seriousness, knowing, just as he ought, that it was too soon to approach Serafina as a suitor while her heart was still sore and her pride had taken such a blow.

  “It was infamous behaviour on Latymer’s part,” he said gravely to her mother. “And so hard for her to hold her head up in the face of the dreadful rumours flying about town.”

  “What dreadful rumours?” Mrs Henry Darcy said, her voice suddenly sharp.

  “Oh, that—” he gave a little cough—“that perhaps she was a little too close to Ranulph, had in fact granted him, how shall I put it, the ultimate favours—”

  At this, she gave an exclamation of dismay. “No, how could people say such a thing?”

  “It was an explanation as to why he had cast her aside so suddenly and ruthlessly.”

  “You do not believe it, I do trust.”

  “I think I have lived enough in the world to detect the malice that underlies all to many rumours.” He paused and then went on. “It may be evident to you, ma’am, for I know you are a woman of perception, that I am not indifferent to your daughter. It is too soon for me to speak to Serafina, but let me say that if she were to accept a proposal of marriage from me, that would put an end to all this speculation and gossip. The protection of my name would be sufficient to do away with any spiteful gossip.”

  This conversation was not reported to Serafina, but her mother did impart to her husband the pleasing information that Lord Gilbride might be going, in due course, to make their daughter an offer of marriage.

  Mr Henry Darcy adjusted his nightcap and pushed the bolster into place. “In due course? Why not at once, pray, while he is here and there are no other dashing young blades to take her fancy?”

  “He says, and it is true, that it is too soon, that she needs to recover from her disappointment.”

  “Oh, she is in no danger of a broken heart, if that is what you think. My opinion is that she is more mortified than filled with despair and yearning for that singularly worthless young man. So when may we expect his lordship to declare himself?”

  “He plans to be in town for the season. Of course, Serafina says she will not go, that she does not want to do the season this year.”

  “Well, time enough for her to change her mind about that. A few more weeks of this dreadful weather, and she will be more than happy to set off for London.”

  Chapter Six

  In past years, Serafina’s spirits had always risen when the boxes and trunks were brought down from the attics and packed for the family to go to London at the start of the season.

  This year was different. She didn’t want to go, and it seemed that fate was on her side, for at the time when all the preparations for the move to town would usually be under way, her mother felt obliged to stay in the country at least for the time being on account of the younger children being struck down with the measles. And Serafina’s own disinclination to go to London was such that she even went to the extremity of pleading with her mother to be allowed to stay in the country and help with her little brothers and sisters. Since she had had the measles, there was no danger of her being infected.

  Her father wouldn’t hear of it. He had to be in London to attend Parliament, but of course he could hardly accompany his daughter to balls and parties or Almacks, as Serafina pointed out with some energy.

  All in vain.

  “You must remember that you are now four-and-twenty,” her father told her.

  She was well aware of how old she was and knew how much her parents wanted to see her married. She felt that any match at all would please them after their hopes had been raised and then so cruelly dashed the year before. But what was so disgraceful about being twenty-four and still single; surely she was better able to choose the right husband than she would have been at eighteen? But parents, however loving, mostly preferred to guide their daughters into finding suitable husbands. Serafina had been allowed to make her own choice, and look how badly that had ended

  Serafina knew herself to be something of a failure, and the problem was compounded by her having a younger sister—presently much afflicted with the measles—who was due to make her come-out next year. For this reason if none other, Serafina must not miss the season, and she knew they lived in hope that she might meet a man she could like well enough to marry.

  So, in the end, all her arguments fell on deaf ears. Her parents expressed their sympathy, but said she could not ruralise forever. She must face the world once again; she must go to London for the season. And so she was packed off to stay with her cousins Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife Elizabeth, fortuitously in town for the season and possessed of a fine town house with plenty of room for any stray unmarried cousins.

  She wouldn’t let herself feel ungrateful. She always enjoyed the company and hospitality of her cousins and Elizabeth liked society and dancing and going about as much as Serafina did—or had until now. It was no hardship for her to act as chaperone to her, and Serafina knew she would be the envy of the other young ladies who had stern mamas or stiff-necked dowagers keeping a strict eye on them.

  Chapter Seven

  Dusk was falling as the carriage turned in to Dover Street and drew up in front of the Darcy’s residence. A footman must have been on the watch for the door immediately opened and, almost thrusting the man aside, Elizabeth came running out to greet Serafina as she climbed out, stiff and chilled after the long drive from Northumberland.

  Elizabeth whisked her inside, took her muff and, holding her hands, exclaimed, “How cold you are, Serafina, and you must be weary from such a long journey. Garsington—” this to the butler— “Tell Mr Darcy that Miss Darcy is here.”

  The warmth and kindness and pleasure at this arrival almost consoled Serafina for having to come to London.

  The next moment, there was Mr Darcy coming out to welcome her. “I trust your journey was uneventful and not disagreeable. Elizabeth, my love, we must not to leave Serafina standing in the draughty hall, bring her up to the drawing room where there is a good fire.”

  Serafina had always got on well with her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy, although many people spoke of him as proud and reserved. His father, the late Mr Darcy of Pemberley, was her father’s elder brother. She was a few years younger than him and had known him all her life; he had always been kind to her as she grew up, only occasionally teasing her and that usually to coax her out of a temper.

  Elizabeth swept her up the stairs and into the drawing room.”Mr Darcy is quite right, you must warm yourself before you go to your room. I have put you in your usual one, so you will feel quite at home.”

  Mr Darcy tossed an extra log on the fire and pushed it into place with his foot. “How is your family? Elizabeth had a letter from your mother just the other day; it seems she is having a hard time of it.”

  “She sounded perfectly distracted,” Elizabeth said. “One cannot blame her, with three children and the nursery maid all ill at once. I hope none of them is seriously ill from the measles.”

  “Penelope had them worse than the others. And, as I came away Robert had just thrown out a rash, so she will have her hands full for a while yet.”

  Elizabeth said, “Well, it is to our advantage, for I think it is delightful that we have your company. The weather has been so bad that even the hunting men are not staying in the country and although the season has not yet begun, many people are in town. There are already no end of parties and informal dances going on.”

  Despite her disinclination to come to London and the cloud of melancholy in which she had been wrapped on her long journey from the north, Serafina found herself wanting to hear what Elizabeth had to say of what was going on in town, of fashions and fads and fancies; all th
e delights of life so lacking in Northumberland.

  Perhaps her stay in London would not be so very bad, perhaps the season would not be the ordeal she had foreseen.

  Or perhaps it would.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning all the usual noises of town assailed Serafina’s ears as the shutters were opened to show a pale sun. A cup of hot chocolate was deposited on the table beside her bed as she sat up and blinked, wondering for a moment where she was.

  She was in London, at her cousins’ house. Exactly where she would rather not have been, but she must put a brave face on it, as her father had commanded, and not give way to dejection of spirits. Although why he thought for a moment she should, she could not imagine. However ill she had been treated by fate and Mr Latymer, she was not about to go into a decline.

  Her mother’s advice had been more worldly. “There is nothing, my dear, that is more consoling for a female than a new wardrobe. Now we are at peace with France—”

  “And how long with that last?” her father said from behind his newspaper.

  “As I was saying, now we are at peace and people are flocking to Paris, you will find all the fashions have changed, you will have a delightful time rigging yourself out in style.”

  Serafina was fortunate enough to be in possession of money of her own. This had come to her from her mother’s aunt, who had been her godmother. The inheritance was a cause of annoyance to the rest of her family, since her father considered that it should more properly have come to her mother, to be divided up in due course among all the children. But her great aunt had always had a particular affection for Serafina and had been in favour of women having some degree of independence—a view that shocked her father.

  Serafina thoroughly agreed with her, although she knew that if and when she married, her fortune would inevitably pass into the hands of her husband. It was all monstrously unfair, and she often expressed the opinion that one day this would change. Meanwhile, she was of age and in control of her money and so in the fortunate position of not having to worry over the purchase of a new gown or a riding habit.

  Elizabeth was always fashionably dressed and kept abreast of all the French modes, and so at breakfast the two ladies discussed plans for the day. These were to include a visit to one or two modistes and milliners in Bond Street and when Elizabeth showed her the pictures in La Belle Assemblé, Serafina at once said she was in need of ball gowns, one of those ravishing walking dresses and a new pelisse, if she were not to look a positive dowd.

  Just as Elizabeth was reaching for the bell to order the carriage to be brought round, a caller was announced. Almost before the butler could say her name, in came Caroline Bingley, stripping off her gloves and saying she knew she need not stand upon ceremony with her dearest Elizabeth. Serafina wasn’t pleased to see Caroline; she had never liked her.

  Miss Bingley was dressed in the height of fashion, and upon hearing that they had the intention of going out to visit some dressmakers she looked Serafina up and down with disdainful eyes and said, “Good gracious, I should think so indeed,” as if she had been some provincial new-come to town.

  Serafina smiled and held her tongue. She would remember her manners, even if others did not.

  It was inevitable that sooner or later Serafina was going to hear the name of Ranulph Latymer mentioned. She had hoped it would be later rather than sooner but, with another sharp look in her direction, Caroline Bingley launched into talk of him. She addressed Elizabeth, but Serafina knew perfectly well for whom her words were intended.

  “I suppose, dear Elizabeth, that you and Mr Darcy have had the invitation to the Latymers’ ball. It is to open the season, and I am sure there will be nothing to match it in the following weeks; everything will seem flat in comparison with such magnificence as they have planned.”

  Elizabeth said, “The card from them came this morning.”

  Caroline flashed me a brilliant smile. “And dear Serafina will be included in the invitation, of course. You are well acquainted with the Latymers, are you not? I believe it was even thought…But we will not go into that.”

  Here she gave a little laugh that set her teeth on edge.

  “The Latymers are holding the ball in honour of Ranulph and Julia’s marriage. Do not you think that charming? Of course it is the talk of the town, that those two families having been at odds so long are now quite reconciled. I daresay all Julia’s family will be there.”

  Another glance at Serafina.

  “They are the happiest young couple in all the world.”

  Then Caroline put on a more solemn air.

  “Of course the circumstances of their marriage were very shocking, but all is forgiven. Beside, such behaviour was almost excusable, with the enmity that existed between the Latymers and the Congreves. Ranulph Latymer was so much in love with his Julia and she with him, and they knew the families would never consent to the match. Of course Ranulph, being of age, did not need his parents’ consent, but it was commonly agreed that had he asked for it, his father would have cut him off with a shilling.”

  More false laughter, more knowing glances in Serafina’s direction.

  “However, all’s well that ends well as the saying goes, and now they are come to town and I’m sure will be welcomed back into society; no one will recall or mention their elopement.”

  During all this, Serafina managed to preserve her countenance. She was not to be put out of sorts by the likes of Caroline Bingley, nor was she going to give the visitor the satisfaction of seeing her barbed words reach their target.

  Caroline turned to Elizabeth, “If Serafina has not yet been invited, then she surely will be, for everyone will be aware that she is come to town to stay with you for the season.”

  And then, addressing Serafina again, “I trust you left your mama well. What a devoted mother she is, to be sure, to stay in the north nursing her children. So many of them down with—what is? Scarlet fever? Oh, the measles; let us hope that none of your sisters are left scarred.”

  She returned relentlessly to the subject of the ball. “It is to be a Venetian ball, do not you think that a charming conceit? Which of the carnival characters will you go as?”

  “Since I only just received the invitation, I’m afraid I have not given it a moment’s thought,” Elizabeth said.

  “If you are visiting the dressmakers, you need to commission a gown directly, for they will be over-run with orders. It is to be a big affair, above five hundred persons invited, and so all the ladies will be wanting new costumes made.”

  Caroline Bingley’s spitefulness never failed to astonish Serafina. How a man as pleasant as her brother, Charles Bingley, could have such an ill-natured sister she really did not know, although some of her sourness might be attributed to the fact of her hanging out for a husband for such a while. She had had hopes of snaring Mr Darcy, but he never cared for her, however friendly he was with her brother. And once he met Elizabeth, that had been that.

  At last, and much to Serafina’s relief, Caroline rose to take her leave, kissing the air close to Elizabeth’s cheek and uttering insincere protestations of delight at her dear Serafina’s being in town again.

  Elizabeth could hardly say anything against her, but they exchanged speaking glances as the door closed behind her. Laughing, Elizabeth said “I dread to think how Mr Darcy will look when he learns that there is to be a masked ball of this kind. He think any masquerade an abomination; I shall have trouble getting him to this one.” She shook her head. “Although he may be obliged to go, since so many of the Congreves are involved in government affairs, and politics, as you know, trumps everything.”

  Chapter Nine

  Marcus Talbot had arrived back from Paris late the night before, but he was already in the breakfast parlour when his sister, Lady Aulden, joined him.

  She greeted him with calm affection, quizzed him about his smart new haircut, “In the French style, no doubt. Are you planning to cut a dash here in London?” She r
ang for a fresh pot of coffee and then began a searching enquiry into the success of his trip to Paris. Married to Lord Aulden, who was a rising member of the government, she had a keen interest in political affairs, and was eager to hear who was in Paris, how the negotiations were proceeding and how long he thought it would be before war broke out again.

  He complained. “It is too early in the morning for this barrage of questions, Cornelia. Next you’ll be subjecting me to an interrogation about the state of my health or even my morals. Pray hold your breath until I have at least had more coffee and something to eat. I am extremely hungry.”

  She raised an eyebrow, “I know you arrived uncommonly late last night, but I made sure there would be refreshments for you were you to arrive late.”

  He grinned at her. “As always, your domestic arrangements are impeccable, but that was several hours ago.”

  The morning post was delivered early at Lady Aulden’s house. She flicked through the letters a footman had brought in and opened one. “You have timed your return well, for here is an invitation from the Latymers. They are holding a ball, which I had already heard about, since that family and their affairs are the talk of the town. This is putting a public face on their approval of young Mr Latymer’s marriage, for it is to be given in honour of the young couple.”

  “Ranulph Latymer sent me a note a little while ago. Thin on details, for he never was one for writing, but I gather that the prospect of a Latymer heir has reconciled his side of the family at least to the marriage.”

  “Oh, so Julia is increasing, is she? That I didn’t know.”