A Fortunate Alliance

by Beth Poppet

  The cheerful desire to please her relations had been wearing thin ever since the arrival of the sanctimonious vicar, and Georgiana discovered she had enough indignation to answer with some sting, “I certainly cannot help but know who it is you refer to as your mother has made it all too clear in the nature of her correspondence and refusal to invite her here that she has set herself against Elizabeth. My sister-in-law is a kind, clever, and respectable gentlewoman, and I am sorry if you had hoped to marry my brother at one time, but Elizabeth does not deserve to be punished for it.”

  “Oh, I did not care to marry your brother,” Anne sniffed drearily. “But Mama was certainly displeased. I only wondered if Mary might be able to come again.”

  Georgiana softened at this quiet pronouncement. “Why have you not asked Aunt Catherine if she could come? We might have brought Mary with us.”

  An infinitesimal shrug. “It is of little consequence.”

  Georgiana wondered why Anne would bring the matter up at all if it was truly an insignificant matter. She so infrequently spoke that it seemed there must be more than idle curiosity driving her line of questions. However, she was not clever enough to draw it out of her by indirect conversation, nor interested enough to attempt a direct approach. And so, Georgiana remained, confused and quiet, hoping Colonel Fitzwilliam could sense her in desperate need of a distraction from across the table.

  He was currently employed in a lively debate regarding the merits of domestic animals, the care and keeping of them. That is to say, his part was lively, but Mr Brooke looked positively assaulted by the flurry of unbridled opinion being thrown his way.

  Georgiana might have been diverted by this, had she not caught her own name uttered by Mrs Brooke.

  “…just the man for Miss Darcy, yes, of course,” she was bobbing her head with such robust agreement that it nearly induced a headache in the mere observation of it. “Very prudent of her ladyship, to be certain. Can’t take chances with young folk and their romantic fancies.” She giggled at nothing in particular. “Why, my own mother was good enough to urge me towards Mr Brooke, and though I would not have chosen him in any lovesick foolishness of my own imaginings, there is no shame in our union, nor have we disappointed nor offended any relations in the forging of it.”

  Mrs Jenkins was solemnly nodding her approval while Georgiana looked to her aunt, hoping to understand what was being discussed and why her own name would arise. There was nothing in either look or word to demystify the situation, and the topic turned quickly to the parsonage and what little need there was for improvements since Lady Catherine had overseen so much for her late parson. Mr Collins’s surviving widow was not so much as mentioned.

  Georgiana was not long in discovering her part in the discussion, however, as the following day an unfamiliar coach pulled up to the gate and Lady Catherine told Georgiana that she had best be very attentive to Mr Richard Polbright, for he was a man of excellent character and parentage and it was her particular wish that he be made to feel welcome during his stay at Rosings.

  Chapter Seven

  Mr Richard Polbright was a young man of two and twenty, with a quiet appearance, perfectly elegant manners, and a smile that indicated he was keenly aware of his societal worth and physical appeal. His chestnut curls were set obligingly over his forehead, and the beguiling nature of his eyes were used to their every advantage whether he was speaking or silent. There was nothing wanting in either look or manner upon first introduction, excepting, perhaps his lack of stature. Georgiana was no diminutive lady; the Darcys were a lofty family in more ways than one, and she was no stranger to the art of standing or sitting in ways that allowed her to fade into the backdrop of a room without slouching or leaning unnaturally. Yet Mr Polbright was a full two inches shorter than she, and she had trouble reconciling that to the fact that he was her elder by several years.

  Lady Catherine’s directive for her to seek Mr Polbright’s comfort and amusement was proven unnecessary within the first few hours of his entrance into the house. Georgiana could hardly emerge from her room without being shadowed by him, and he remained by her side until the gentlemen and ladies parted after dinner, only to return the moment the company mingled once more. He was distracted and uneasy until he was with her again, as if he had a single purpose and that purpose was Miss Georgiana Darcy.

  She could not say he was a particularly unwelcome presence. Mr Polbright asked no imposing or impudent questions, had a passible knowledge of music, and responded to every inquiry with enough answer to satisfy, but devoid of any pompous eagerness to overshare his own thoughts and experiences. He was a comfortable sort of imposition, and Georgiana began to feel a trifle less guarded in their repeated interactions.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was unusually aloof. He remained in the room with them, addressed Mr Polbright with all civility and good humour, but did not speak to Georgiana over much, and besides a glance or two to assess whether she needed rescuing, he devoted himself almost entirely to the entertainment of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh.

  Georgiana attributed this to his sense of obligation to their aunt and consideration for Anne and was equally endeared and troubled by it.

  Apparently, the colonel was not quite removed enough from her presence to satisfy the newest member of their company. They had all arranged themselves in the sitting room one morning; Georgiana attempting to catch the colonel’s eyes before Mr Polbright encouraged her to sit, but as Mr Polbright selected the warmest seat of the room—save Lady Catherine’s own chair—and Georgiana always felt impolite until their heights were equalled by her posture, she quickly yielded and was once again sitting beside him.

  “Why does he hover so?” Mr Polbright said with a crease in his brow, and a teasing of the lip that was nearly a pout. In such expressions, Georgiana felt him even more the youthful lad than the dashing suitor.

  “Whom do you mean?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  “The fellow you came with. Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  She raised her eyes to the fellow in question who was still much further away from her than she should have preferred. He met her glance for but a moment, and something like disappointment passed over his features before he turned back to pretend interest in Mrs Jenkins’s prescription for prolonged headaches.

  Georgiana refrained from the rudeness of sighing, almost wishing Mrs Brooke was there to make the social blunder of it in her stead. “He is my guardian as well as my cousin, and we are good friends besides.”

  “Well, I do not like it. He makes it impossible for us to be alone.”

  Georgiana thought they were always alone. Perhaps not in the strictest sense, but they had every opportunity for private conversation.

  She dipped her head and said with some dismay, “Why should we need to be alone?”

  “I should very much like to know you better,” he said brightly; no hint of shame nor deception in his tone, “and tis monstrous unsettling to have your cousin always casting looks our way as if to make me feel a temperamental dog on trial. Could we not find time to converse in a less… guarded setting?”

  Georgiana clasped her hands together, folded and then unfolded them again. She wished the colonel would hover now and spare her the necessity of replying to such a suggestion. “I… do not think it would be proper to spend any time entirely in private.” Her cheeks turned crimson in memory of a gentleman who once said things of a similar nature to her, though with far less candour and more passionately insisted. “We can converse perfectly well as we are.”

  “Your aunt would not mind if that is your concern.”

  “But my brother would, I think,” she said truthfully. “And…” it took a great deal of courage to speak the next words, her hands trembling even as she did, “So would I.” Hoping to shift the conversation to more suitable topics she asked, “Are you well acquainted then with Lady Catherine?”

  “My mother is,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re as fond as any two crotchety old women
can be of each other.”

  Georgiana could not say why this blunt assessment of her aunt displeased her. It was by no means untrue, but to describe a woman so meanly while staying as a guest in her home seemed unkind. “Is your mother very like her in disposition?” she deflected.

  “Mama? She imagines she has the same gumption and sway as Lady Catherine, but as I’m no simpering bowl-over like Miss de Bourgh, I can’t say if it’s the truth or not.”

  “Aren’t you only here upon Lady Catherine’s request?” she put shrewdly.

  “I am here because there could be nothing duller than being at home,” he protested with a smiling huff, “and most of all because I wished to be introduced to the lovely Miss Darcy. Who,” he leaned a little nearer, both brows raised in appraisal, “I must admit, is everything she was promised to be and more besides.”

  She blushed but was not certain it was from the compliment he paid her. “But you do not even know me,” she murmured.

  “Not nearly as well as I’d like,” he complained, “though as previously stated, that is through no fault of mine.” He shifted in his seat as if eager to be moving about. “Come now, Miss Darcy. Won’t you walk about the grounds with me? It’s mad stifling in this close room with so many other people.”

  “I… I could not! Not alone! Perhaps if someone else were to join us…” she stopped herself short of suggesting Colonel Fitzwilliam be their third, though Mr Polbright had anticipated her.

  “You can hardly expect me to feel at ease with your guardian breathing down my back at every turn,” he grumbled.

  “But who else could accompany us?”

  His eyes took a hasty account of each person in the room until he came to a rather surprising conclusion. “Miss de Bourgh,” he announced coolly.

  “Anne does not come out,” Georgiana informed him, suppressing laughter over his evident ignorance where the de Bourgh family was concerned. “She is too ill to be much out of doors. You have not heard Lady Catherine give her regrets as to her delicate constitution?”

  “Oh, I only half-listen whenever she drones on so. Far too much like my mother in that respect. But Miss de Bourgh is not really an invalid, is she?” He called across the room rather brashly, “Miss de Bourgh. Would you accompany Miss Darcy and me on a stroll about the grounds?”

  The lady’s sunken, watery eyes opened as wide as Georgiana believed them possible of doing, betraying the shock her cousin felt in being addressed in such a manner and for such a venture as to go walking out of doors.

  “Anne does not go out on walks,” came the authoritative voice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Georgiana had never been so delighted by one of her aunt’s declarations, believing it to herald the end of Mr Polbright’s scheming.

  “Ah. That is a pity,” he frowned, appearing every bit as pitying as his tone, “for Miss Darcy does not feel comfortable without a proper escort.”

  Georgiana’s heart leapt as she heard the dear, familiar voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam say, “I would be glad to come if it will please Miss Darcy.”

  “I’ve no doubt of your willingness to accompany, Colonel, but I would imagine a man of your perception would realise that would utterly defeat the purpose.” Mr Polbright met the colonel’s look of disbelief with one of challenge.

  The colonel sought Georgiana’s face, which betrayed only shock, and a flush of what could be either embarrassment or pleasure. The distinction was indiscernible at present.

  “There is no need for such measures,” Lady Catherine insisted. She turned her full attention to her mortified niece. “Georgiana, I am not in the habit of allowing unscrupulous young men to stay as guests in my house, and you may be well assured that Mr Polbright’s character is exemplary. Though I cannot help but admire your particular attention to propriety, it is excessive considering the circumstances.” She then cast her gaze upon Mr Polbright and said in a gentler manner, “Mrs Jenkins and Anne will go as far as the third garden bench in the row of perennials with you. There they will sit and wait, fully wrapped and with tonics at the ready, and you may walk within a comfortable distance of them. This will grant Miss Darcy the avoidance of any possible improprieties, and simultaneously allow you the privacy you crave.

  “Does this suit you, Mr Polbright?” she offered magnanimously, never considering that it might not suit her niece.

  “Most decidedly,” he grinned triumphantly. “You cannot possibly object to such a proper situation, can you, Miss Darcy?”

  Cheeks burning with shame from the open censure of her aunt and the accusation of being excessive, and feeling no other answer would end her embarrassment, she was forced to accept the proposal. Passing the colonel on her way to fetch gloves, hat, and wrap, she dared raise her eye to examine his temperament. Her attempt, however, was thwarted, for Colonel Fitzwilliam had turned his back on the exiting couples and seemed utterly preoccupied with a book of Flora and Fauna of the Northern Isles that Mr Brooke had left upon his last visit.

  ∞∞∞

  The beginning of their walk was a quiet one. While their accompanying pair donned multiple layers, gravely walked to the exact location of Lady Catherine’s direction, and situated themselves side by side on the bench, all with the speed and excitement of a team of overtired work horses, Mr Polbright seemed more than content to match their pace and silence at Georgiana’s side.

  His ability to shift from patient observer to persuasive speaker and then make the sudden shift back again was rather puzzling to Georgiana, and a bit wearying as well. He did not seem to do it intentionally, and she supposed it was merely in his nature to be changeable. Though she could not blame him for it, neither did she consider it the most endearing of qualities.

  Mr Polbright grew talkative again once the ladies were settled on their shared bench.

  “Are you certain you’ll be warm enough, just sitting there?” he queried, staring hard at Anne in particular. Indeed, she did not appear to be particularly comfortable, but as her eyes were always sunken and gloomy, and her nose often red, it was impossible for Georgiana to tell whether she was any less miserable than usual.

  “We are sufficiently wrapped,” Mrs Jenkins stated in her stead. “And so long as you do not extend your garden stroll beyond half an hour, we shall remain comfortable just as we are.”

  “Miss de Bourgh does not seem so certain,” he scoffed peevishly.

  Anne blinked up at him, something like confusion, or perhaps even mild curiosity passing over her features. “As Mrs Jenkins says, we will be fine here.”

  He raised his eyes in exaggerated disbelief but let the two women alone in favour of leading Georgiana into the next garden row of newly budding pinks and whites.

  “There,” he declared with a flourish towards their view; all peeping buds and thriving flora as their backs were turned to the house. “Is this not worlds better than sitting in a drafty little room?”

  “The garden is very pretty,” she agreed, “but I do not think of Lady Catherine’s sitting room as either drafty or little.”

  He chuckled, this time in earnest. “I suppose not. Monstrous tiresome, though, just sitting so often. I wonder how Miss de Bourgh can endure it.” He cast a glance over his shoulder but as this obscured his face from Georgiana, she could not ascertain his temperament towards her cousin.

  “You are a great outdoorsman, then?”

  “Not much of a sportsman, if that’s what you’re asking. Could never settle on one thing to be proficient at, so I’ve dabbled a little in all the required pursuits of a leisurely gentleman. I can stay indoors as long as there are interesting people about. Unfortunately, my own progenitors are duller than a pair of dozing pugs, and their guests are not much better. Do you not find home life dull, Miss Darcy?”

  She wondered if the polite thing was to agree with him in some measure, but she found she could not. “No,” said she, “I spent much of my life in London after the death of my father, but now that I am at Pemberley to stay, I enjoy being at home. I am very fond of
my music, and as my brother has provided me with every comfort and kindness imaginable, I have never had reason to wish escape from the familiar. It is a balm to me. I should not like to always be staying somewhere new, nor seeking excitement for the sake of it.”

  Georgiana lowered her head, hoping he would not notice the warmth that had spread to her cheeks in recalling the time she had been persuaded against her natural inclinations to pursue the excitement of an elopement. It was impossible for her to speak of such things to anyone outside of her immediate relations, and it would do no good for Mr Polbright to know the reasons that further established her love of home and fear of forcible change.

  She smiled involuntarily then, at the thought of forced changes, and found a subject she could share. “There has been some disruption to our natural routine with the arrival of my two new sisters and little nephew in the house, but they are dear, dear friends of mine already, and on the whole, I am very content with Pemberley and all its occupants.”

  “Hm,” he huffed, but not out of humour. “I like a little discontent. One should never be too satisfied with their lot.”

  “Have you reason to be dissatisfied with your lot, Mr Polbright?” she asked a little doubtfully. “Forgive me, but it seems your complaints are nothing more than having quiet parents and the means to enjoy yourself however you see fit.”

  He smiled in full approval of her gentle admonishment. “You are right. My life is an easy one, and any idleness is of my own doing. Suppose I need a project. Something to put my mind to. Something to pursue.” He bent and plucked an early bloom from the hedgerow they were passing. Holding it out to her with an expectant smile, he asked, “Would you grant me something worthy to pursue?”

  Georgiana had taken the rose before realising the possible implications of her acceptance. “I… I shall try,” she put haltingly. Then, as her features brightened, “Would you consider a military profession?”