"It's because of me, isn't it? Your reluctance. You fear an alliance with her will keep me from a good match?"
He made no attempt to deny it.
"Well, there is no need to defer on my account because I have decided never to wed."
Georgiana had made such a declaration before when she was about to make her come out and was certain she would make a mess of it. He had not taken her seriously then and would not now.
"Given your disappointment it is understandable that you would feel that way, but in time I am certain you will change your mind."
"Do you believe you will ever stop loving Miss Bennet?"
"No."
"If you can know your mind with such certainty, why can I not know mine as well?"
"It is different. You and Mr. Friedler—."
"This is not about Elijah, it is about me. I am not certain I am even suited for marriage and it has been pointed out to me—by your Miss Bennet actually—that a lady in my position who has her own money to live on, is free to live her life in the manner she wishes."
"Elizabeth said this?" Fear lanced his heart. Elizabeth's desire for independence might yet outweigh her love. Was this the true reason for her refusal?
"Yes, but do not look so worried. She said she would rather be married to you than to be free . . . well, not married to you specifically, we did not discuss you at all, but I am sure she wishes to marry you and you wish to marry her so there is absolutely no reason why you should not because, as I have said, I have no intention of marrying as I would much rather play and write music all day—."
"You could do that as a married woman, I should think."
"Perhaps . . . but perhaps not. It would depend on my husband, would it not? What if he wished for me to play the perfect hostess and be constantly planning parties and socially smoothing the way for his political rise like Aunt Miranda does for Uncle? You cannot deny I would be ill-suited for such a role."
"You would never marry that sort of man."
"How could I be certain? People change. It is much safer to belong only to myself. I can do what I love without interference from anyone. Unless you plan to become a tyrant, Brother," said Georgiana, her tone was not cheerful enough for her words to be heard as a tease.
"You know I only wish for your happiness, which is why I cannot act selfishly without regards to your reputation."
"Fitzwilliam, do me the honor of listening to me—of believe what I tell you."
"What of children—of love, are these things you are willing to give up?"
Georgiana faltered. "I do not have to swear off marriage. If you marry Miss Bennet I will still be able to make a match, not as brilliant as it might have been perhaps, but would it not signify that any gentleman who makes me an offer must love me if he is willing to take on a scandal in order to be with me?"
"It might. It might also signify he is desperate for funds, willing to endure anything for thirty thousand pounds. I do not say this to hurt you, I think you deserving of love which is why I must tell you your chances of finding an equal match will be seriously diminished if I marry Elizabeth."
"It does not matter to me, I am telling you I understand the risks."
"Can you not understand how contemptible I will feel when you find someone you wish to marry and my choice has made your happiness impossible? I promised Father—."
"I do not care what you promised—."
"I care! I promised Father on his deathbed I would look after you, that I would make sure you made a good match to an honorable man. I fully intend to fulfill that promise."
"Even against my wishes?"
"You have had this plan of spinsterhood by choice for all of an afternoon. I cannot take measures that will permanently effect your eligibility based on a plan you are not fully committed to."
"Father never would have allowed me to marry Mr. Friedler, he would have broken off our acquaintance at the slightest hint of inappropriate feelings. Yet you were willing to approve a match between us. How is that not breaking your promise to Father?"
Her premise was irrefutable. George Darcy's opinions aligned with Lord Matlock's in this respect, he had been of the old school of thought in regards to the social order.
"I will not deny Father had a different way of thinking. However, times have changed. I do not feel I would have broken my promise to him by allowing you to marry Friedler. He would have been a good husband to you. Mutual affection, I believe, is of utmost importance. I still want you to have that—and a family of your own."
"I have a family. I have you. And Lewis. And I hope many other nieces and nephews will follow after Miss Bennet becomes Mrs. Darcy."
"That is my hope as well."
"’Hopes and dreams do not come to fruition without effort’, as Father would say. If you are so eager to heed him, listen to that advice."
"I am endeavoring to think of a way to marry Elizabeth that will not harm you in the process."
"There is no way. You cannot make society forget her sister nor can you make it embrace her. I have had cause enough to know how malicious people can be. There is no way around it. Every choice must have a price. I was willing to pay it to be with Elijah and I am willing to pay it now for your happiness."
"I will not force you to make such sacrifices. I will not hurt you for my own happiness."
"What of her happiness?"
"Elizabeth understands my position. She has refused my offer a second time out of concern for you—concern for the honor of our family."
"What has family honor ever gotten us? You married Anne for the sake of it and it has made you miserable."
Observing her brother's shock, she continued, "Yes, I know all about it. I know Lewis isn't your child. You try so hard to protect me from unpleasantness—as if you could. Everyone knows, everyone talks. They all take such joy in good families coming to disgrace, you might as well give them what they want. They will only fabricate some scandal if you do not."
Darcy shook his head, but remained silent.
"Do something for your own happiness for once. All this worry about maintaining the respectability of the Darcy name does neither of us any good. Let us live as we choose."
Her argument was familiar. The appeals he had used in his attempt to persuade Elizabeth to marry him rang in his head. Every word he had spoken about needing her and being willing to flout society's strictures had been true at the time. But Elizabeth had been right. Now that he was rational he saw the evil of it.
"Personal desires alone cannot guide us. We owe our forefathers better than that. I dare not waste the efforts of generations for the sake of my own inclinations."
"Waste?" asked Georgiana, her tender heart breaking for Miss Bennet, for Fitzwilliam. "Marrying Miss Bennet would be a waste?"
"I did not mean—."
"Perhaps you do not love her as much as you claim."
"Do not question—."
"I will question. I know I am much younger than you. I had less time with Father, I did not know Mother at all, but I cannot believe they would want the Darcy legacy to weigh on you this way. We are a proud family, yes, but you take that pride too far. Do not dare blame your unwillingness to marry Miss Bennet on concern for me. It is a poor excuse."
Georgiana shook as she delivered her speech. In all her years she had never quarreled with her brother and she was finding it too frightening of an occasion to bear. She hastily quit the room, leaving behind a stunned Darcy.
Before the end of the first course Darcy was resenting his quick recovery. He had counted on a week of uninterrupted time with Elizabeth. Instead he found himself at another insufferable dinner—that Lady Matlock was the hostess made it only marginally less horrid—just five days after his face had endured the ardent attentions of Richard's fists.
Those five days had hardly been a reprieve at all, filled as they were with concern for Georgie who was still not speaking to him. Any time he would try to talk to her she would ask, "Have you gotten a marriage l
icense yet?" then flounce off before he could answer. They had never fought like this before, he was not at all comfortable with it. Worse still, he thought it possible she might be right.
If he presented Elizabeth with a special license and told her Georgiana had given her blessing, would she consent to be his wife? He had been too frightened to find out. He wondered which outcome he feared most.
At events such as this it was easy to think oneself ready to abandon society. The deafening hum of gossip, the too decadent food, the too potent perfume, everyone glittering brightly—too brightly, this was the ambiance of desperation and hypocrisy and Darcy had long since had enough of it.
His eyes traveled about the table. That lady beat her servants. That gentleman liked his prostitutes prepubescent. There a card cheat. Here a philanderer. Sinners all. What right had they to judge Elizabeth? And why should he care if they cut him? He should not.
Yet he did. He represented generation upon generation of sensible behavior, respectable marriages, lives lived in staid decency. Who he was he to risk it all? He was not ready to pay the price. Desperately he hoped for a way to retain his family's venerated status and still follow his heart, yet knew there was no such path.
"Some ladies admire your taciturnity, Mr. Darcy, they think it makes you mysterious, but I must say I am finding it a little irksome. You are the most neglectful dinner companion I've ever had," said a playful voice beside him.
"Forgive me, Lady Celia, my mind was elsewhere," Darcy said, turning his attention to the lady.
"I will only forgive you if you give me a good bit of gossip. Everyone wants to know and I will be the envy of them all if I have it on good authority."
Darcy deliberated what she might wish to know. Who his mistress was? Surely not. Why Georgiana had been sighted with Elizabeth? Disparagingly he said, "I thought such frivolity beneath you."
"Not at all. I would have to be a remarkable woman if I had no interest in gossip. Do not begrudge us ladies our vices, after all we are so understanding of gentlemens’."
"What do you wish to know?" asked Darcy with growing dread.
"You must not look so fearful. It is a very innocent inquiry. Anyone would think you have dreadful secrets, Mr. Darcy. All I want to know is if your cousin the Colonel is really going to marry that underbred little upstart?" she said, casting her eyes down the table where Richard and Miss Madigan sat.
Darcy was shocked to hear her speak so maliciously. Until this conversation he had dismissed Lady Celia as another Jane Bennet: pretty to the point of plainness, pleasant but not quite engaging, possessing that kind of dull serenity that seemed to capture many men, but left him cold and wondering where the lady kept her personality.
Lady Celia's personality was peeking out and what he could see of it was rather ugly.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Madigan have yet to decide whether they suit, but both of their fathers are certainly anxious for a match."
"There is no way on earth such a plain creature could ever suit Richard."
Even if she had not slipped and used his cousin's Christian name, her pettiness would have been enough to tell Darcy the full story. This was the woman who had broken Richard's heart.
Darcy tried and failed to make sense of Richard's attraction to her. She was beautiful to be sure—golden hair, captivating blue eyes, a proverbial English rose—but what else was there to admire about her? And what reason did she have to feel jaded? According to Richard, her father had forbade the match and, though she was of age, she had not been willing to defy him.
"I would hope Richard understands that beauty is too fleeting to base an attachment on. If he marries Miss Madigan it will be for other qualities she has to offer."
"Her wealth, you mean?"
Darcy did not know Miss Madigan, they had met for the first time earlier that evening, yet he felt he should defend her as she would likely become Richard's wife. "If my cousin marries her it will be foremost for her sense—her kindness, but wealth, yes, is also a factor. One could hardly blame him for considering it.
"It would not do at all for him to love a woman with only a modest dowry. What would they live on? His pension might support him well enough, but a lady of his rank would expect to be kept in the style she had been accustomed to. Some might even call it selfish to ask for her hand given his circumstances," said Darcy with emphasis on the word that had wounded Richard the most.
He could not blame Lady Celia for refusing his cousin, everyone must know what lifestyle they were willing to accept, but to have shamed him for asking was cruel.
Lady Celia's eyes narrowed, her jaw set. Anger lessened the beauty of her face. "He told you, he promised he would not."
"He did not reveal your identity, your own malice has done that. But why should he not tell me?"
"So he would not endanger my match with you."
"I cannot imagine you want a match with me given that you have been carrying on a secret courtship with my cousin!" Darcy hissed, finding it difficult to keep his voice down. He glanced at Richard accusingly. Why had his cousin not told him at once? Surely he was not completely under this harpy's thumb.
"It was hardly a courtship—just a mild flirtation. Richard is amusing, but I knew I could never accept his suit. I don't know how he got it in his head to make an offer. He knows my father wants an alliance with you. Any substantially wealthy, landed gentleman, really, but you are the only one I am willing to consider."
Darcy did not bother to stifle a snort of disgust.
Lady Celia was undeterred. "You must admit a marriage between us would be an ideal situation for both of us."
"I do not find I must admit any such thing."
"Come now, I would be the perfect Mrs. Darcy. I challenge you to find anyone more suitable in terms of breeding and disposition and, unlike some ladies who make it difficult for their husbands to carry on their affairs, I have no intention of standing between you and your mistress. I, of course, would not take a lover until I had given you an heir and a spare and then I would be very discreet," she whispered, her tone frank without a hint of embarrassment.
"Even if you had not been involved with my cousin, nothing could ever induce me to apply for your hand."
Lady Celia chortled. "Be serious, I have already set my cap at you and I always get what I want."
Darcy saw her for exactly what she was now: a pretty, spoiled child. She could not imagine not getting her way because she had never been disappointed before. "You will not have your desire in this I am afraid, Lady Celia. Do not despair, there is many a fool who will have you and if none of them suit your fancy, I am told being a spinster by choice is all the rage these days."
At the other end of the table, things were not going well for Colonel Fitzwilliam. If the evening continued as it had he felt certain his bollocks would shrivel up and fall off. Miss Tessa Madigan had that effect on men. It could not be helped.
Lord Matlock had not lied; Miss Madigan was not homely. Nor was she handsome. Nor pretty. Nor lovely. Nor any other description that might be applied to a young lady. She was terrifying and that was all that could be said.
Truly. Nothing else could be said for Richard had already tried it. Pleasantries were met with disinterested civility. Any attempt at flattery was twisted to the point it seemed as though it had been an insult.
Miss Madigan was a master of conversation. Ending conversations, that is. She finagled it with such skill Richard felt sure she must be in possession of a considerable amount of wit. If she would play fair he might enjoy sparring with her, however, this was not a skirmish but an execution. And he was a dead man ten times over.
He had thought this would be easy. Though he had never been handsome, he had once possessed the kind of charm that could convince ladies he was interesting. Better still, he could convince them that they were interesting. A talent far superior to good looks. But now he was grumpy more often than not and his humor, once praised for its sanguinity, had turned bitter. He had n
othing to offer Miss Madigan. He had nothing to offer any woman.
"Shall we call off this farce before it goes any further?"
Miss Madigan looked up from her plate. "Pardon?"
"You clearly have no interest in being wooed, at least not by me. We should give up before we waste any more time."
In reply, she smiled. That smile did indecent things to him.
In the uncomfortable silence that had been the fish course, Richard had entertained himself with cataloging Miss Madigan's physical defects and enticements. Her hair was a drab shade of brown, her eyes—though expressive and pleasingly wide-set—were an even drabber shade of gray, her face overall lacked the angular sharpness he favored, her breasts were—ahem—perfectly lovely, but he sensed the dinner table might not be the best place to think about them too much. Her mouth, however, had seemed a safe fixation.
Her mouth saved her face from plainness. It was wide, almost too wide. When she smiled it could display her white, even teeth most effectively. Her lips were plush and generous. Perhaps it was her lips that had done it. They looked in need of kissing. Or perhaps it was the lavish proportions of her mouth itself that invited licentious thoughts. Or perhaps he simply had a filthy mind. All Richard knew was he had somehow found himself imagining Miss Madigan and her glorious mouth engaged in stimulating activities of the wickedest kind.
And now her smile, which he felt certain was at his expense, was creating dire repercussions in his nether regions. He shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you so pleased?"
"Papa owes me fifty pounds."
"Why?" Richard asked, too harshly. She was laughing at him, he could feel it.
"I bet him you would give up before the salad course, but he thought you would last through the separation of the sexes. He will be disappointed, he planned to rib you mercilessly during cigars."
"Well, I am always happy to assist a lady any way I can." He tried to make his tone genial but the words came out prim.
"Have I injured your pride, Colonel, by not immediately falling for your charms? Do not be offended, I cannot make it too easy. Not when I have so much to offer and absolutely nothing I need," said Miss Madigan with such pride one would think her the daughter of a marquess.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 16
