Miss Darcy's Beaux

by Eliza Shearer

  Wickham.

  The pang in my heart was a faint echo of what it had been. I had loved him deeply and believed him when he said that he loved me in return. I considered him to be a dependable and trustworthy companion, a deserving recipient of my affections. Only he wasn't. And he was now married to a stupid and impudent woman who was more interested in displaying her charms to other men than in living with him in marital bliss.

  Why is she blessed with good fortune? Why not me?

  I felt the familiar tingling behind my eyes.

  Not now.

  Nobody seemed to notice my distress. The card players were immersed in their game. My cousin I couldn't see, but I suspected he must have excused himself to join the rest of the men in the library. I took a deep breath and focused on my fingertips, feeling the ivory yield graciously under my touch. Little by little, I lost myself in the music. I don't consider myself to be a particularly gifted player, and I am aware that my skill is more due to the regular practice instigated by Mrs Annesley than to natural talent, but I bow to the power of a musical instrument to soothe the spirit and erase everything else in the world.

  I heard the door open. The men must be back in the room.

  The piece was ending, flowing through my fingers like water. From the corner of my eye, I could see a male figure standing behind me, waiting for me to finish. My brother, probably. I played the final key. The gentleman clapped gently, and I turned around. It was cousin Fitzwilliam.

  "That was a beautiful performance, Georgiana. Your skills are much improved since my last visit. Do you practise more often these days? Perhaps you have a new music tutor."

  Mrs Wickham's scream stilled my answer on my lips.

  "Colonel, where are you? Did you see? I've won!"

  Lydia came towards us. Her eyes were shining and in her palm was a bunch of coins. She grabbed my cousin's arm with her free hand and shook it.

  "Can you believe my good fortune? I needed it to make up for your lack of assistance, Colonel. I did not notice you leave my side until the end of the game. Fancy hovering over the pianoforte instead of helping me!"

  The claws of envy mauled my insides but I tried to remain composed.

  The evening slowly came to a close. The Walkers and the Robertsons departed an hour later, and Elizabeth's relatives retired to their rooms shortly afterwards. My brother, who was in the library with Colonel Fitzwilliam, called for me as I was going up the stairs to my room. He was standing by the fireplace, lost in the dancing of the flames. The Colonel was sitting down on one of the armchairs, a glass of whisky in his hand. When my cousin saw me, he smiled and coughed to draw my brother's attention. Fitzwilliam looked at me with tired but kind eyes.

  "My dear Georgiana, I must apologise for keeping you from your bed. You must be fatigued; it has been a long day, and you have an early start tomorrow, so I will be brief. I am deeply sorry, but I will not be able to join you in London as initially planned. The issue concerning the estate boundaries requires my presence."

  Here he stopped, and hesitated, then went on.

  "Moreover, I have grown increasingly concerned about Mrs Darcy. After much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that my duty at the moment is to stay in Pemberley."

  His eyes were glazed, as if a fine layer of ice had set over them since dinner. I wondered whether it was the whisky. He quickly regained his composure and extended his arm towards the Colonel.

  "However, Colonel Fitzwilliam, in his usual attentive fashion, has kindly offered to escort you to Grosvenor Square and ensure that you are comfortably settled with Lady Catherine before taking leave."

  The Colonel lifted his glass in my direction.

  "Georgiana, you know how important your happiness and wellbeing are to me, and my affection is what drives me to tell you what I'm about to say," continued my brother with some embarrassment. "I am sure you realise that you are a remarkably attractive prospect to men of all sorts for a variety of reasons, and I entreat you to be careful in the extreme."

  A reminder of my past behaviour. I blushed. It had been five long years, but I still caught the odd glance between my brother and my cousin. It pained me to see that the self-command and poise that I had worked hard to cultivate weren't enough to make up for the much-regretted lapse in judgement of my early youth.

  Noticing my downcast gaze, my brother put a hand on my arm and squeezed it softly. He had started doing it on occasion when Elizabeth had become Mrs Darcy, and I suspected the events were connected; quite simply, she softened him. As a result of his wife’s influence, he had begun to demonstrate his affection more outwardly since his wife came into our lives, and I was not one to complain about it.

  My cousin stood up and came towards us.

  "I will be ready before dawn, Georgiana. London awaits us."

  Chapter 5

  The days were still short, and I was not used to travelling, so the Colonel decided that it was best to split the journey into three days. It would be much less fatiguing for me, he insisted, and he would not hear otherwise, although I would have much preferred to risk some discomfort and get to London a day earlier. We were due to depart at the crack of dawn. The drumming of the rain and the excitement about the impending journey had arisen me in the early hours, well before Jones was due to awaken me, and I had been unable to go back to sleep. My temples pounded with the fear of leaving Pemberley after all these years, mixed with the dizzying prospect of adventure that may await me in London. Marriage could well be on the cards, perhaps romance as well, and the notion was intoxicating.

  When Jones finally entered my room with a candle in her hands, she found me ready to leave. Shortly afterwards I was being rattled about inside the cushioned and velvety walls of the carriage, drops of water relentlessly hitting its roof. We drove past countryside that was barely visible, so faint was the first light of the morning. Even when daylight came, the rain was so thick and the drops covering the carriage windows so big that it was difficult to see what was outside. From my seat, all I could discern were naked branches, big puddles and grey mist beyond the side of the road. It was icy cold, and I was grateful to Elizabeth for insisting I took the grey fur blanket that usually sat at the foot of her bed.

  Perhaps the change in the weather brought about a melancholy feeling, but Colonel Fitzwilliam was unusually silent. I had always regarded him as the charming and gay counterpoint to my brother's natural reserve and propriety, but for once his company was predictable and rather dull. I noticed grey hairs were outnumbering his natural shade. He was a few years older than Fitzwilliam, but he had not yet married. Until the end of the war, military life had shielded him from the usual troubles of the second son, but now the conflict was over, there was no escaping the fact that he had no fortune to offer to his future bride. I wondered if this was what was troubling him.

  The only event to break up the long journey south were the stops. Roadside inns proved to be as entertaining as I remembered all those years ago, and they never failed to provide a wide range of fascinating characters. There were tradespeople, travelling up and down the country to offer their wares; lawyers, civil servants and other men in similar professions, distinguishable by their sober yet expensive clothing, and unusually discreet in their manners. There were ladies and gentlemen on similar journeys to ours, heading to London for the season and enduring the discomfort of the experience, all wrapped up in fine furs and woollen blankets. There were also groups of working men of all ages and families travelling in large groups, loud and unbridled, merry and shouty, jealous and generous. At the first roadside inn, it was impossible to obtain a private room for our meals, so I had a few opportunities to get quite close to some of these characters and even discreetly eavesdrop on their conversations. Their stories, delivered in accents that bewildered me, were always intriguing, and their coarse voices broke the dullness of the trip and the lacklustre conversation of my companion.

  At an inn, one day from our destination, I had an even more intim
ate encounter with a member of the lower classes. We arrived just before dark, under a slate grey sky. It had been raining since we set off in the morning, and the whole inn courtyard was one immense puddle with inches deep of mud. The driver opened the door, and the Colonel got out. He groaned, and I looked out of the window, through the thick rain. My cousin was standing precariously on a broken wooden plank smeared in mud that someone had left on the filthy courtyard, presumably to help travellers reach the safety of the inn door.

  "Georgiana, it would be best if you stayed inside the carriage for the moment. I will go inside and find some help."

  And with those words, he left.

  The pitter-patter of the rain wasn't easing off. If anything, it was drumming the roof of the carriage with more insistence than ever. I was eager to stretch my legs, but my cousin had been clear: I was to wait for him. Outside, I could only see darkness beyond the smeared glass.

  All of a sudden, something hit the carriage at a great speed, and I was thrown onto the floor like a rag doll. The cab tilted, and for a split second I thought it would overturn. In the confusion, something hit my head hard, right on the hairline. I instinctively covered it my hand, too late to avoid the blow.

  The footman! Where is the footman?

  And where is the Colonel?

  A feeling of dizziness invaded my whole being, and I realised that the fingers I had wrapped around the edge of my forehead were wet.

  Blood.

  Far away, as in a dream, I heard screams and a man shouting, asking if anybody was in the carriage. I wanted to answer, but my voice was gone. Then, there was a loud bang on the door of the carriage.

  Here comes another one.

  I braced myself for a second blow.

  After a struggle, someone opened the door of the vehicle.

  "Are you hurt, madam?"

  I tried to respond, but I could only manage a whimper.

  The stranger climbed onto the carriage. I slowly opened my eyes, but all I could see in the darkness was a large shadow approaching me. As my sight got used to the little light that poured through from the windows, I beheld a tall man with a straight nose and a strong jaw. He was standing still, appraising the graveness of the situation. When he saw that my eyes were open, he seemed to shudder, and promptly took my wrist. His hand was solid and warm. I didn't realise until later, when I had run the events several times in my head, that he was checking my pulse. When he seemed satisfied, he touched my forehead, and immediately noticed the blood. Then, with a kind voice, he started to whisper soothing words, as you would to an injured animal or lost child. I closed my eyes again, allowing the sounds to calm me.

  With a deft movement, he lifted me up, resting my head against his chest. His coat smelled of horse, wet wool and tobacco. His grip was gentle, but his strength surprised me; in his arms, I felt weightless, a mere feather of a woman. In my shocked state, I remember thinking that he must be some kind of strongman, someone who earned a living lifting cattle in rickety roadside shows and country fairs. I had never been to one myself, but I had overheard many excited conversations from the lowlier servants and village residents about the wonders one could observe at such events in exchange for a few coins.

  Outside, the rain drops were falling with such force that the noise they made muffled the commotion in the courtyard. Two men were shouting at each other; a third one was trying to pacify them. In the background, a horse was groaning.

  The stranger was humming now, his chin very close to my forehead. I felt the rain relentlessly pour down from the skies on my face and body. Then, my feet gently touched the flagstones of the inn.

  I was safe.

  I looked up. My saviour was younger than I expected, just a few years my senior, and was wearing a long overcoat and hat which had seen better days. He was as tall as Fitzwilliam, but where my brother had the grace and elegance conferred by gentlemanly pursuits, the stranger exuded a raw strength that spoke of vigorous physical activity. He also had piercing blue eyes.

  My head was spinning, and I was breathless, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Quite the opposite.

  I allowed the man to guide me towards the hearth and seat me by the fire. Then, he handed me a hip flask.

  "Drink some; it will do you good. You are in shock."

  I took a sip. The liquid burnt my insides, but it also jolted me back to reality. The stranger had a worried look on his face.

  "I beg you to allow me to have a look at your forehead, madam."

  I touched the cut with my fingers.

  "It's nothing," I muttered.

  "I must insist. I have some medical training."

  He gently pulled my curls back with the palm of his hand, so that he could have an interrupted view of my temple.

  "There is a lot of blood, madam, but it's nothing serious," he said after a few moments. "The wound does not require any stitches, and it will heal of its own accord if you keep it clean and aired. You should also apply some strong wine the first few times to close it, although I wouldn't trust what you will be served in this place."

  He frowned, then smiled.

  "Here, keep this," he said, placing his hip flask in my hands. "Use the liquid on the wound. It will sting to begin with, but it will help it heal better."

  I objected, but he wouldn't hear of it. Then, I noticed some hesitation on his behalf. The drink had given me confidence, and I boldly asked him whether there was something else he wanted to add.

  "It's just that the injury may leave a scar, madam. One so small you will be hardly able to see it, I assure you, but a scar nevertheless.”

  “It will be a small price to pay to come out of such a frightening incident unharmed. I thought that my time had arrived. Please, sir, can you tell me what happened?"

  My saviour seemed surprised with my lack of concern about the markings the injury may leave on my skin. He gave me a half-smile and then his countenance became serious.

  "An old horse slipped in the mud and the landau the poor beast was dragging banged against your carriage. You are lucky it didn't turn, or your cut could have been a much more severe concussion."

  I savoured the word.

  Lucky.

  For once, that had been me.

  "I thank you, sir, for your assistance. It was–"

  A voice interrupted me.

  "Georgiana, dearest, here you are at last! Are you well?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam had appeared out of nowhere, a preoccupied look on his face. He firmly caught my hands between his.

  "I bet she is better now than she would have been otherwise,” said the stranger, visibly more relaxed than he had been just a few minutes earlier.

  Cousin Fitzwilliam stared at him with steely eyes.

  "I thank you, but that is for us to decide."

  He fumbled in his pocket and extended a hand towards the stranger. The young man did the same, and I thought they would shake hands, but instead, the Colonel put something in my saviour's palm. The stranger stared at it and shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide. Then I realised. My cousin had dropped two half-sovereigns in his palm. A tight smile appeared on my saviour’s lips. He looked at the coins once more, hesitated, then closed his fist around them.

  "It has been too much of a pleasure to assist this lady to take offence at your words," he said with great dignity. "Good night, sir. Madam –"

  With a bow, the stranger disappeared inside the darkness of the inn, leaving my cousin speechless. Perhaps it was an effect of the flickering light, but I could have sworn the man winked at me before he took his leave.

  That night we had a private dining room with a roaring fire. As soon as it was possible, Jones cleaned my wound with the spirit in the hip flask the stranger had given me. With every drop of liquid, a thousand needles pierced my skin, but, once clean, the laceration turned out to be much smaller than anticipated. It was barely the size of my smallest fingernail. I smiled. Everything would be fine, just as the stranger had promised.

  I s
ensed the attraction building inside of me. What lady could prevent admiring her saviour in circumstances such as the ones I had experienced, if only out of gratitude? However, I willed myself to forget the man’s kind face. It was foolish to entertain any fantasies about my rescuer. Judging by his attire, he was my social inferior by many rungs. And yet, his manners, his gentleness, his behaviour, were those of a gentleman. Had he not said he had medical training of some kind? Perhaps he was a dresser, or a medical student, although this didn't quite explain the rusticity of his dress.

  During the meal, I was in a haze of horse and wool and tobacco, and couldn't bring myself to say much. My cousin attributed my silence to the shock of the incident in the courtyard and proceeded to give me the particulars of what had happened, as explained to him by the inn owner. Apparently, it wasn't the first time that this kind of occurrence had taken place. It was always the same coachman, a local driver who occasionally took too much to drink and whose horse was getting too old for a reckless master, especially in treacherous weather.

  The Colonel didn't mention the stranger, and neither did I, but as we were eating, and the muffled sounds of the main dining rooms reached us through the gaps in the floorboards that weren't covered by the tattered carpet, I wondered where exactly in the bowels of the inn the stranger would be at that precise moment.

  Chapter 6

  We arrived in London the following afternoon. It had stopped raining, and the roads in the south were substantially better than they had been further north, so we found ourselves outside the grand entrance of my aunt's Grosvenor Square residence well before twilight. Two men in livery immediately stepped out throught the shiny black front door, and we were ushered inside. We were informed that Lady Catherine was out but should be back soon. It was a relief to have some time to myself. I changed into fresh clothes and sat on the bed in the room my aunt had chosen for me. It was almost as large as my bedchamber in Pemberley but so full of carved furniture, ornaments, tapestries and curtains that it appeared considerably smaller.