by Maria Grace
Mr. Sadler wrinkled his nose. “It does rather seem to reduce the sport in it all.”
“I am surprised to hear you say that, considering the amount you might have just lost.” Fitzwilliam’s brow knotted.
“Is that not the very nature of these games, losses and gains? I have found that the latter often outweigh the former. Let us increase the stakes to something interesting this hand.” Mr. Sadler shuffled the cards expertly.
Fitzwilliam pushed his chair back. “Go on without me.”
“You cannot stop playing after such a win.” Sadler managed to look somewhat offended.
“You are still such a poor sport over that.” Wharton exclaimed, folding his hands over his chest.
“I was very ill-used, very ill-used indeed by that Mr. Miller.” Mr. Sadler glanced at Elizabeth. “It is possible that you may know him. I know that he had dealings in this part of the country.”
“Is that so?” Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose, and he sat up a little straighter.
“Absolutely, and he is quite the trickster I tell you, for his reputation among those who have not sat with him at the gaming tables is absolutely sterling.” Sadler brushed imaginary dust from his coat.
“I am intrigued.” Fitzwilliam cocked a listening ear and that seemed all that was required for Mr. Sadler to pour out his tale of loss and woe, whilst his cousins exchanged aggrieved expressions, probably amplified a bit for Elizabeth’s benefit.
Was it possible they did not want her to extend Mr. Sadler too much pity or favor? They were rivals for Anne’s attentions, after all.
Mr. Miller’s sins still remained a little unclear, at least those beyond being lucky at cards and being unwilling to play another hand after Mr. Sadler had suffered a substantial loss. And apparently, he was not the only one to wrong Sadler so.
Perhaps Darcy’s dislike of the man was not ill-founded.
When tales of ill-use and woe became a bit too stomach churning, Elizabeth excused herself to join the young ladies, still at the pianoforte.
“He is looking at you again.” Miss Gifford giggled and leaned into Anne. “I told you he likes you, perhaps the best of them all.”
Both Wharton and Sadler were staring at Anne.
Anne pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Do not say such things unless he has told you directly that it is so. I do not like being teased.”
“Well, they did come all this way to visit with you. That should be proof enough of their regard.” Miss Gifford winked knowingly.
“Do you have a favorite among them?” Anne asked.
“They are all my cousins. How can I possibly declare a favorite among them?”
“There is nothing wrong with having a favorite cousin, is there Georgiana?”
Georgiana started a bit and looked alarmed.
“You have to agree that Mathew, Fitzwilliam’s eldest brother, is uniformly horrid.”
Georgiana cringed just a mite. “I do not like him very much. What do you think of him, Elizabeth?”
All three girls turned to look at her. “I tend to find him wanting in sympathetic qualities.” Jane would have been proud of such a politic answer.
Anne threw back her head and laughed heartily. Not at all ladylike, but at least it was genuine. “I shall have to remember that response. I have hardly heard anyone describe someone so disagreeable in such an agreeable fashion.”
“I am not sure that made any sense.” Miss Gifford tittered behind her hand.
“I have been accused of that before. Do take a turn about the room with me, Elizabeth.” Anne looped her arm in Elizabeth’s and pulled her along to the windows. “I do not know how to thank you and Darcy enough for allowing my guests to stay at Pemberley. We would never be permitted to have so much fun if they came to Rosings.”
Elizabeth winced. That remark sounded far too much like something Lydia would say. “What exactly to you mean by fun?”
“Just the normal sorts of things young people do, you silly thing. Why just this morning, I showed Mr. Sadler the servants’ passages down to the blue drawing room. It will be ever so much fun to be able to surprise people there with a sudden appearance. The servants’ door is so near the curtains one may slip in behind them without anyone the wiser. He does so like to make a memorable entrance into a room.”
“I was unaware of—”
“Do not be a goose, I cannot believe that. Fitzwilliam himself showed me, so I know that Darcy knows.”
“Why would Fitzwilliam have shown you?”
Anne shrugged. “He wanted to talk to me the other day where we might not be overheard. I suppose he did not wish to risk Mother or a servant she has paid off hearing him ask me about—well ever so many things—he can be very nosey you know. Still, he has always been so solicitous toward me. Even before I went off to school, he would contrive ways to send me music and books I wanted, and even a few small trinkets now and then.” She covered her mouth. “Oh! I was not supposed to say that—he always wanted it to remain a secret lest Mother put a stop to it. But you are trustworthy and will not tell her.”
Was this really a woman of nearly eight and twenty not a girl of sixteen?
Elizabeth grasped her wrist gently. “Of course not. But you must allow me to insist that you never go into the servants’ passages again.”
“Now you sound like Mother! I had thought you to be eager for a spot of fun.”
“I do like to have fun, but you must allow that I am far more aware of the dangers to a young woman than you are. I am sure you have heard in grand detail the plight of my youngest sister—”
Anne gasped and pressed the back her hand to her mouth. “That cad hurt Georgiana, too! Fitzwilliam told me of it in confidence. But you cannot think my friends are anything like … him!”
“I pass no judgements on those whom I do not know. But allow me to point out two important things. Before Mr. Wickham fixed his attentions on my sister, there was a time when I was the object of his devotions. Though I pride myself—did pride myself—on my ability to understand people, I have rarely been so mistaken as with him. When he began to ignore me in favor of a local girl who had just become an heiress, then I was able to see the side of himself that he had kept hidden.”
“How awful!”
“It was unpleasant. But by far the most nettlesome part of the story is that now he is my brother, and I will never be quite free of the reminder of my foolishness. So, just remember, people are often better at hiding what they are than you might be at discovering it. And second, being alone with a man, even in a place as ignoble as the servants’ stairs is a recipe for being compromised. My sister was forced into a marriage that will only bring her ruin, I am sad to say, because she allowed herself to be compromised by him.”
Anne rolled her eyes. She looked like Darcy when she did that. “But she ran away to London with him. That is hardly the same—”
“In some ways, that is entirely true. But should word get out into the society pages that you were discovered alone with one of your friends, you might find yourself facing ruin by compromise unless you enter into what might be an unwise marriage.”
“That sounds like Mother again. Who here would possibly—”
“How many servants are there here? There are quite a number right now who do not work for Pemberley and are not under Mr. Darcy’s influence. Any one of them might not hesitate to take a gossip-writer’s coin. Perhaps you might take a moment today and seek out Darcy. Ask him about his dealings with the gossip-writers.”
“Darcy? What would a gossip-writer want with him? He is as dull and strait-laced as—”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, very slowly, waiting.
“Oh!” Anne’s face lost a little color.
“Exactly. I know you wish only to be merry and gay, but I insist that you also be wise. I must believe that those qualities are not mutually exclusive. I can see that you have been trying, very hard, and I know you can do this.”
“I shall think about what you have sai
d. A very great deal, I promise.” Anne released her and picked her way back to the pianoforte.
How much were Anne’s promises worth? It was very difficult to tell. Perhaps if she suggested Georgiana talk with her—but no, Georgiana would not be able to do that, it was all still too fresh for her. Perhaps Fitzwilliam might be able to get through to her.
Chapter 6
December 22, 1813
The following evening Fitzwilliam dressed for dinner early, then slipped outside for a long walk before he would be expected in the drawing room. The clouds that haunted the sky early in the day had peeled away, revealing a sunset more pallid than spectacular. The air though was cool and crisp, with no hint of impending storms. That made it good enough.
The sun, low in the sky, cast long shadows against the bare garden stalks. They danced in the light breeze, perhaps trying to tempt him to shake off some of the heaviness he carried. Would that it could be so easy—a few gay steps amongst the crunchy deadfall and it all would slip away. Perhaps it might have when he was a boy, but no longer.
This entire affair with Anne, her suitors, and Lady Catherine—gah! It was not at all what he had come to Pemberley for this season. Was it so wrong to want to enjoy some pleasant company? Instead, he was reminded at every turn that the marriage mart churned around him, and at some point, he would be expected to plunge in himself and commit to being shut up in the parson’s pound. Granted, Darcy and Elizabeth made the married state look quite tolerable, even pleasant. But they were by far the exception, rather than the rule.
If only it were possible to be friends with a woman first, without her having any troublesome notions of courtship or betrothals. To actually be able to get to know her before the parson’s mousetrap sprang, rather than after when it was too late to do anything to correct it.
How was it Darcy managed that? He chuckled under his breath. Most would not believe that making a prospective bride hate you prior to offering marriage an effective strategy, but perhaps there was something to be said for it, if the current Mrs. Darcy was an indicator.
Had he no need for fortune, he would probably have pursued Elizabeth himself, might even have won her. No point dwelling on that. Jealousy served no one and changed nothing.
Elizabeth had hinted that there was a young lady or two who was invited to Christmas dinner who might be to Fitzwilliam’s taste. Those would be good introductions to have. It might even be fitting to ask Anne’s opinions on their potential as she had asked him. She would probably be amused at the parallel. She always did like such things.
He paused at a barren rose bush. No doubt the gardeners would be cutting back the canes and preparing them for winter soon. The rose bushes had been part of Pemberley’s gardens for a very long time. It would be a shame to lose them.
“Fitzwilliam!” Anne ran, then slowed herself to a hurried walk toward him, dry leaves kicked up in her wake.
While Lady Catherine still remarked unfavorably on her behavior, she had done a great deal to curb its most outlandish aspects since his rebuke, proving him entirely correct. She was indeed better than she had been demonstrating.
“I am so glad to find you here.” She stopped beside him and adjusted her shawl, a pretty woolen affair that was probably just barely warm enough for the late afternoon waning sunlight. Her cheeks were flushed with the exertion of hurrying—the coloring was particularly pretty on her.
“Have you become fond of afternoon walks?”
“I do not think I will ever be the sort of walker that Elizabeth is, but it is pleasant. Particularly since Mother is such a scold at dinner and in the drawing room. I find it takes some effort to prepare myself to manage her in a way that you would find acceptable.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it. “I am proud of your efforts.”
She beamed at him. Her smile was very pretty. “Few people have ever said that to me. It is pleasant to hear.”
“It is pleasant to be able to say.”
She pressed his arm a little harder. “I have seen you talking to my suitors. You have been very diligent about the favor I asked of you. Have you any thoughts on them yet?”
He huffed and pursed his lips.
“Oh, that does not sound like a good thing.” The eagerness fell from her face.
“I know you have wanted me to like them all, to approve them—”
“And you do not?” She eyed him warily.
“I have reservations.”
A bit of her smile returned. “Reservations; that is better than outright hating any of them, I suppose. Tell me of these reservations. I promised that I would listen, and I intend to keep my promise.”
Dear girl was trying so very hard. Darcy might not acknowledge it, but she really had matured over the last year. “Mr. Wharton ...”
“You have not forgiven him for falling off his horse? I can see how that would be rather unforgivable to you.” She tried to laugh, but it felt a little hollow.
“Anyone can have an accident. That is no reason to condemn him, not on its own. But I find I cannot like the man.”
“You who are all affability? Cannot like him?”
“Have you ever tried to have a conversation with him? You have not noticed he has all the intellect of a learned pig? I am surprised he does not answer most questions by grunting and pawing the ground.”
She laughed so hard she clutched her belly. “Surely he is not so lacking.”
“Oh, indeed he is. You should see him trying to play cards—he cannot keep a simple sequence in his mind, or even tally a few numbers without the aid of pencil and paper and even then, two and three do not reliably make five. I am not joking.”
“That is truly dreadful,” Anne choked out from behind her hand. “No wonder you gave up on the game so quickly the other day.”
“Well Wharton was not totally to blame for that. Sadler should bear his fair part as well.”
She hesitated a step. “Tell me more of him.”
“Wharton is an idiot, but beyond that I detect little harm in him. But Sadler, he is more worrisome.”
“I think that Elizabeth does not like him very well either.”
“That alone should be reason to be concerned. She does not bestow dislike easily.”
“Except on Darcy.” She looked up and winked.
“Who utterly deserved it at the time, I might add, and any observer would agree. But Sadler is not that way.”
“I find him very agreeable.”
“Precisely what troubles me. He is very agreeable, and yet the way he speaks of others, the way he wagers at the gaming table. I do not trust him.” He stopped and faced her, taking her hands in his. “I do not say this lightly. Pray listen to me. Do not entertain his attentions any longer. There is something disquieting about him in all his foppishness, something that does not add up. I cannot put my finger on it, but the instincts that kept me alive in France tell me to give him a wide berth. Pray do so.”
“You make it all sound so very alarming.”
“Have I not always had your interests at heart?”
“Yes,” she kicked the dirt. “I suppose so.”
“You just suppose?”
“You have been the best friend I could ever ask for.”
“Does that not earn your trust? Will you not trust my judgement now? Pray, stay away from him.” He squeezed her hands hard.
“I suppose. You have after all not taken all my suitors from me. You have not said anything against Sir Jasper—or do you have something against him too?”
“No, not for the moment at least.”
“Then I may continue my friendship with him?”
“Carefully, Anne. I do not wish to see you hurt.”
“I am sure you will find no reason to disapprove of him. He is a baronet, after all. That should mean something about his character.”
He snorted and she looked offended. Perhaps it was a bit ungentlemanly, but if she only understood the ridiculousness of her remark! Her ignorance … he sigh
ed.
“How little you know of society, my dear cousin.” He placed her hand in his arm and continued walking. “I would rather not be the one to teach you of it. Perhaps—and I cannot believe I am saying this—it would be good for you to read the gossip pages that Darcy so detests. I do not think he even permits them in the house—”
“My school mistress did not, and Mother does not even read the newspaper.”
That was hardly surprising, and explained a great deal of Aunt Catherine’s political opinions.
“I will procure them for you and have them sent to your chambers. We might discuss what you learn from them.”
She giggled. “I think I will like your approach to education.”
As long as Darcy did not find out, it should be a very interesting exercise. And if Darcy did discover, it would be interesting in an entirely different way.
∞∞∞
Darcy pushed his chair back and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. It was tempting to blame Aunt Catherine’s particularly bad humor over dinner on her continued headache. But that excuse only went so far, and she had long since used it for all that it was worth.
There was no venison on the table-although game birds abounded, they did not suffice. Sheep brains should be fried in a crust and served with gravy—no other way. The roast potatoes were hard and the carrots too soft. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps a bowl of gruel would have better satisfied her. Another night like tonight and he just might suggest it.
How had Elizabeth managed to keep her patience with his aunt? She was a wonder. Who could blame her for suggesting rather abruptly that they all retire to the drawing room? While he would not have minded a little male company over cigars and port, it really was too much to ask her to bear Aunt Catherine all alone.
In the drawing room, Anne and Miss Gifford nudged Georgiana who approached Elizabeth. “Might we play some parlor games tonight?”
“Those ruckus, rowdy things?” Aunt Catherine sniffed. “I have no use for them.” She retreated to a large chair near the fireplace, her nose in the air. On the way she caught first Fitzwilliam’s eyes, then Darcy’s, and looked to the empty chairs near hers. They were being summoned to an audience.
