"I must be mistaken because the only Giles Madigan I can think of is a cit, former tradesman and owner of all manner of factories and investor in dirty projects and mad ideas. It cannot be his daughter you are suggesting I marry because ever since I was a lad in leading strings my papa told me to be a good boy and never speak to such people and I think if I marry one I will have to do a lot more than converse with her."
"In this case I give you permission to ignore everything I ever said on the subject. Miss Madigan comes with an estate. Kemery Abbey, it belonged to her maternal grandfather, the late Lester Alsbrook, he has willed it to her. Of course it was a right hole, which is why Alsbrook sold his daughter to a cit in the first place, but now it is charming, and it could be yours.
"And the money! The girl has a dowry of course—one hundred thousand—no mean sum, but then she is her father's only child, all of his wealth will go to her—to you—the factories, the quarries, the investments."
"I'd own factories? For shame, you'd have to cut me."
"If you do not go about telling people you own factories, I don't see how anyone will know."
"Indeed, where will they imagine all this blunt is coming from?"
"People of breeding do not imagine the source of money, to do so lacks refinement."
Darcy could not keep himself out of the conversation any longer. With a self-satisfied smirk he said, "It isn't a wonder, then, that gentlemen struggle to hang on to their wealth while the merchants and moneylenders get increasingly richer."
"Ah, but merchants don't have pedigreed second sons to sell. They have to worry about vulgar things like earning money."
"I am not selling you. I get nothing out of this deal. All I have done is in your interest, so you might have some provision for the future."
"I'm sure I thank you, but it does make me wonder what Madigan gets in exchange for his daughter?"
"The honor of having a familial connection to the Fitzwilliams!"
"And?"
"A seat in Parliament," the Earl conceded sulkily.
"I wasn't aware you could sell your seat, and here I thought you cherished it so, you do always seem to be talking about it."
"A seat in the Commons."
Both Darcy and Richard flinched. Any mention of the Commons came with the possibility of a lengthy tirade. According to the Earl, it was too powerful by half.
"I have influence, I can get it for him. It is all a matter of telling a few people who to vote for. I would have done so for you but since you have no interest in politics—."
"None at all," said Richard.
"I will use it to get you an estate and a wife. Rather handsome trade, I think."
"I'll need to see the girl before I call it handsome."
"She is a strange girl, but not altogether homely. She's nearly thirty though, you'll need to get some brats on her quick if you wish to have a respectably sized family."
To the Earl's mind, a respectably sized family contained greater than two children but less than eight. The perfect number of children being, of course, five—as it would happen the exact number of children in his family. He prided himself on having achieved this precise total of offspring—even if he sometimes felt they ought to have had three boys and two girls instead of the reverse (however he didn't blame Miranda, these things were impossible to control).
"I am determined to have five sons. It is bad enough for Hugh to better me in years, I will not let him surpass me in progeny as well." Richard was well aware of his father's feelings on family composition (in fact he was well aware of his father's feelings on nearly every subject for he was not at all bashful about sharing his opinions).
Lord Matlock thought his son might be teasing him but found he could not work up any indignation. Richard appeared to be in agreement with his scheme which was more than he had hoped for. "You shall be wealthier than Darcy! Wealthier than me!"
Richard raised the glass of port. "To me, Richard the Richest."
"There is one stipulation. You must woo her. Madigan insisted on letting her have a choice in the matter."
"Madness," said Darcy.
"Complete madness," agreed the Earl enthusiastically, "but the lower classes must be allowed their little eccentricities."
Darcy thought it was remarkable his uncle, having been married to his Aunt Miranda all these years, had not developed an ear for sarcasm . . . or perhaps that was the secret of their happy marriage.
"I am sure courting Miss Madigan will be no great challenge, Father. In no time at all we will be rejoicing over our newly founded connection to a low-born industrial magnate."
"A low-born Irish industrial magnate," Darcy added. The Irish were another topic which the Earl felt most strongly about.
"Her mother was good English stock, that must count for something, and besides—the money! Her father could be a damn Hindu and I'd be willing to overlook it for that much wealth."
Darcy, annoyed with his uncle's hypocrisy asked, "What about a Jew?"
Lord Matlock knew immediately what Darcy was getting at. "That is a different subject altogether and you know it. Miss Madigan will become a Fitzwilliam, her unfortunate heritage will be forgotten. If Georgiana were to marry Friedler—," he halted midsentence as if the consequences were too horrible to put to words.
"It doesn't matter. You need not concern yourself with Friedler anymore."
"What do you mean?" Darcy asked.
"I decided to deal with it since you refused to do so. I went to see the elder Friedler to make my position clear. It turns out we've been worried for naught. Young Friedler is engaged. Or soon to be engaged. His father had arranged it all years ago. Old Friedler and I are in complete agreement. He thinks people ought to marry their own kind. Intelligent gentleman, really, it is a pity I can't be seen speaking to him."
Darcy closed his eyes and sunk back in his chair. "Poor Georgie."
"Nonsense! This is the best thing that could have happened. Now she will finally consider Hatfield."
"Have you no heart, Uncle?"
"My own marriage was arranged and it has worked out splendidly. These modern notions of love and choice only confuse matters," said the Earl then, as if his proclamation had decided matters, he asked, "Now, when are you going to offer me a glass of that port? It would be nice to have one while my wife is not around to take it away from me."
Chapter Sixteen
At the Darcy residence the silence of the pianoforte for twelve hours together was such an uncommon occurrence it was unnerving to its occupants. Miss Darcy played when she was ill. She played when she was melancholic, angry, or unsettled. She played when she was too fretful to sleep. When she was lonely. When she was confused.
But not when she was heartbroken.
The butler, who had very strong ideas about when it was appropriate to make recommendations to one's employer (in general, never), had gone so far as to remind Mr. Darcy that it would be no trouble at all for the footmen to bring the pianoforte to Miss Darcy if her ankle did not permit her to come down to the music room.
Darcy declined Barnes's overture on his sister's behalf, having made a similar offer to her himself earlier that afternoon. Or rather, he had made the offer to her maid who had presumably relayed the message. He had not laid eyes on Georgiana since she had been carried to her chambers the previous morning.
She did not wish to see him. He was finding it difficult to adhere to her wishes. As much as he liked to keep his emotions to himself, he did not like to be idle while those he loved suffered, even if they were content to pretend they were not suffering. None of the things he had thought of to do would be helpful—pressing her until she confessed her sorrow, fulminating over Friedler's betrayal, scolding her for corresponding with the man—yet he could not settle himself into any activity without being interrupted by thoughts of her unhappiness.
As the dinner hour neared, Darcy found he could not heed Elizabeth's advice to wait patiently until his sister was ready to discuss her h
eartbreak. Georgiana would take her meal in her rooms and he would take it with her. He reasoned since it was custom for them to dine together, she could not object to his presence without admitting she was purposefully avoiding him.
Her surprised displeasure upon seeing him follow the two tray bearing footmen into her private sitting room was quickly converted into a mask of pleasantness. Dinner was served, the servants were dismissed, and a few minutes of banal conversation was had. Georgiana began to visibly relax until Darcy discomposed her completely by saying, "Uncle told me Mr. Friedler is to be engaged."
Immediately her demeanor shifted, tensing as if she were preparing for a blow. "Yes, I have heard that as well," she said in a tone that failed to convey the indifference she was striving for.
Darcy stared expectantly hoping to invite her confidence. He only succeeded in making her fidget. Observing she was not about to break under his gaze, he changed course and threw all his cards down at once.
"I know about the letters, Georgiana."
"What letters?" More fidgeting.
"The letters you exchanged with Mr. Friedler."
"The lady in the park was a spy!"
Darcy kept his countenance composed upon this outburst and made no comment. He was a much better dissembler than his sister.
"Before you condemn his imprudence and call him a blackguard and a scoundrel and every other insult you can speak in my presence, please be aware I sent the first letter," said Georgiana, heading off the speech she could see forming in her brother's mind.
"That does not exempt him from culpability, he should have never encouraged you by replying when his marriage was already arranged."
"No, do not blame him for that. His father arranged it, he knew nothing about it."
"But surely he knew he was expected to marry a woman of the same faith."
With a sad nod, Georgiana reluctantly agreed, "Yes, he did know that."
"Did you?"
"I—yes, though I could not say I fully comprehended . . . for a time I deluded myself into thinking we would find a way."
A cold stab of terror lanced Darcy's heart. His sister's words echoed his hopes for Elizabeth and himself. Would he find a way? Was there any hope in this world that seemed so determined to destroy love?
"We were both being deliberately naïve, perhaps. When it began . . . they weren't romantic, the letters, they were just . . . we were discussing our project."
"Your project?"
"Yes, we were—," Georgiana paused, examining her plate with sudden interest.
"You were?"
In a voice barely above a whisper she said, "We were writing and composing an opera."
With increased volume and rapidity she explained, "We knew it was a very silly thing to do from the beginning. A great waste of time, really. It was not as if anyone would ever produce it, and it was not as if it was good enough to be produced anyway, and it was not as if it would have been appropriate for me to have my name attached to such a thing even if it were good enough to be produced–which of course it wasn't, and it was not as if—."
"Georgie, I do not think it at all a terrible thing that you were composing an opera. I'm sure I would love to hear it." Darcy said, interrupting before Georgiana could talk herself breathless.
"Oh . . . thank you."
"At some point during your collaboration I must assume you and Friedler developed tender feelings."
"Yes."
"And he led you to believe a marriage between you would one day be possible?"
"I see you are still trying malign him and I will not allow it. We were both carried away by romantic fantasy. We forgot reality. Elijah's father reminded us."
"Why should his father object? I understood the Friedlers had converted."
"They were confirmed into the Church so Elijah's father could pursue his political ambitions."
"Rather duplicitous."
"It is not fair for you to judge. How are his people ever to have a place anywhere if they are prohibited from holding office—from attending university? Mr. Friedler did not like the deceit, but he did what he did so that someday it might not be necessary for others of his faith to lie. And I do not think it is so wrong, there are plenty of people who are baptized in the Church as babes who are not Christian in their hearts and actions, the Friedlers are moral people even if all of their beliefs are not the same as ours."
Her stare was direct and menacing, he had never in memory seen his sister so impassioned. He could find no argument against her views, but that did not make them any less unpopular or any less dangerous. Darcy wondered if it had been Friedler who had turned her into a radical . . . but no, he could not place the blame there.
Like him, Georgiana was a person capable of both profound logic and intense feeling. However, whereas he had learned to suppress his emotions in favor of rational thought, she had found a way to unite her contrary natures through music which Darcy suspected had kept her from growing cynical. At twenty years old she was still innocent enough to believe the world could be a fair and just place.
"Having righteous reasons for their fraudulence is all very well, however it still does not explain why Friedler encouraged your affections only to cast you aside," Darcy said, far more severely than he intended. Georgiana's bottom lip trembled and Darcy knew he was a bungling ass with no talent for giving comfort.
"He did not cast me aside. He never made an offer of marriage and even if he would have done so I could not have accepted knowing what would happen. People like Uncle already shun him, if he married a gentile he would be shunned by his own community as well. We knew our friendship was star-crossed from the beginning that made it all the more romantic."
Darcy snorted derisively before he could stop himself.
"I know you want to make him a villain, but I am as responsible as he is for my sorrow. We both knew it would end eventually . . . though the sudden engagement certainly took me by surprise." Georgiana drew a deep breath in an attempt to suppress the coming tears. "I destroyed his final letter. I wish I had not, it was the last declaration of love I will ever have from him."
"I am sorry, Georgiana. Sorry for your heartache and sorry I forced you to speak of it. I wanted to console you but have only succeeded in making you cry."
"No, it is good we have spoken about it. I have been avoiding you because I knew I could not hide my wretchedness."
Both siblings turned their attention to their meals, poking at their now cold food perfunctorily. The sounds of silver scraping upon china were horrendously exaggerated in the awkward silence.
Darcy spoke into the void, "Tell me about this opera. What is it about?"
"I will not tell you, it is too silly to say aloud," Georgiana replied without looking up from her meal. She was too modest but Darcy knew this subject at least was safe to press her on.
"It could not possibly be sillier than Die Zauberflote or Cosi fan tutte," teased Darcy, knowing what her reply would be.
"Disrespect of Herr Mozart will not be tolerated."
"It is a compliment. I think an opera ought to be as silly as possible out of respect for the art form. It is absurd to strive for a likeness to reality if peasants are forever bursting into organized song and dance and noblemen walk the streets beating their breasts and tearing at their hair like madmen whilst singing arias."
Georgiana rolled her eyes in exasperated amusement. "It is not meant to be taken so literally."
"Is that to say I should expect all manner of ladies dressed as gentlemen falling in love with gentlemen dressed as ladies in your opera?"
"I am not discussing it."
"I shall take that as a 'yes'. There will be ritual sacrifices, too, I would guess, and some fool will have to mistakenly drink poison, another fool will have to be eaten by a lion and heaven forbid there not be at least a few murderous birds."
"Murderous birds! Which opera has murderous birds?" She was smiling outright now.
"Yours, I assume, if you are so
reluctant to discuss it with me."
"Fine, I will tell you this much: there are no murderous birds."
"A pity. What language shall it be sung in? It is better if it is not done in the librettist's native tongue—it makes for a loftier feat. Friedler's family hales from Bavaria and your French is superb so I can only assume it is in Italian. It cannot be in English. There has never been a single fashionable English opera."
"That is not true."
"Ah, so it is in English."
"I did not say that."
"You should rethink your choice of language. It is much more difficult for the audience to ignore the stage and converse with their neighbors when the performance is in their own tongue. One would almost think you do not understand the purpose of going to the theater at all."
"Oh, you are a beast to tease me so."
Darcy conceded he was then proceeded to tease her more still, keeping her smiling for the remainder of the meal.
Chapter Seventeen
"Oh dear, I believe it has gotten worse since this morning," Lizzy said as she inspected Darcy's face. The dim light of the flickering candles made his battered visage all the more gruesome.
"Hideous, am I not?"
Lizzy took his hands in her own, applying gentle kisses to his bruised knuckles. "Quite hideous," she said pulling him over the threshold of the drawing room. She led him to a chair which he obligingly collapsed into then she sat down across from him.
"According to my uncle I am too homely to be seen. I have been given leave to keep out of the critical eye of society until I am once again deemed handsome. I must have my cousin beat me bloody every week."
"How is Colonel Fitzwilliam?"
"He is suffering the effects of too much drink as one might expect. Beyond his observable corporeal state it is difficult to tell." Darcy went on to relate the Earl's plans for Richard.
"Is it wise for him to so soon pursue this Miss Madigan when his heart is still longing for another?"
"Probably not, but Richard has always needed some engrossing occupation, some purpose to keep him from running mad even before his injury. Now, if anything, he is worse. Wooing Miss Madigan will provide him a distraction from his heartache and if he can win her hand, the managing of her estate will occupy him for the rest of his life."
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 13
