In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  For the next two years, she would encounter him and his timid wife at various events. Always she felt his eyes upon her, examining as one would a fascinating piece of art with cryptic meanings discernible only to the artist. Whenever they happened to be at a function together, he inevitably incorporated into her group, welcomed wholeheartedly by everyone of course, and occupied her in direct conversation with his strange penetrating eyes. Caroline was not stupid and understood that he was intrigued by her. From anyone else, especially Mr. Darcy, she would have responded with perfected coquettishness. Instead, she was merely annoyed at his rudeness and impropriety in engaging her in unwanted conversations.

  Only once did she chance upon him after his wife’s death.

  It was the middle of August in 1816, weeks before her hopes would come crashing down upon her head when Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet. That horrid event was future, however, and Caroline was attending a symphony performance with her brother, sister and Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. The appearance of John Clay-Powell, the Viscount Monthorpe, less than three months after his wife’s untimely demise was cause for a minor scandal. Talk rippled through the assembly, even the generally regulated and tight-lipped Mr. Darcy scowling and verbalizing his moral disgust. It was no great secret that the marriage between Lady Susanna Knowles and John Clay-Powell was one of social arrangement, but this was typical and no reason to ignore rules of decorum.

  When Lord Monthorpe approached, Darcy’s scorn was reserved but apparent nonetheless. Bingley was confused, having no idea why they were being addressed in the first place and not sure how to act under the strange circumstances; Mr. Hurst was partially inebriated as usual and Louisa embarrassed; but none of that truly mattered as Lord Monthorpe offered only brief greetings, focusing the longest on Caroline with a lingering kiss to her gloved knuckles and prolonged stare. Darcy’s scowl deepened, not due to any affection for Miss Bingley, but some actions were simply not right no matter who was the recipient.

  Caroline maintained her aloof demeanor, curtseying gracefully and ignoring the bewildering stirrings evoked by his bizarre intensity. Any attempt to understand the situation faded when Mr. Darcy urbanely stepped in with an offered arm, brusquely extending his condolences for Monthorpe’s loss. It was a pointed reminder of impudent behavior that even a notorious rogue like the Viscount could not ignore. He bowed politely, departing the scene but clearly irritated by Darcy’s interference. Caroline was left unsettled, as always when the Viscount gazed upon her so pointedly, but she rapidly disregarded the negative emotions in the rising hope over what she perceived as jealous interest from Mr. Darcy.

  In the year since, Caroline had spared no thought for Lord Blaisdale. His name was uttered numerous times in gossipy circles, but no more than many other gentlemen of prestige and availability. Caroline’s focus became firmly planted upon Sir Dandridge, the faint fluttering within her body elicited by his touch pleasant but governable. Now, within the space of a few minutes, after one brief touch and a searing look from a pair of green eyes, her insides were surging. Her world was again rocked, but rather than the previous displeasure, she discovered her mind spinning with possibility.

  ***

  Kitty was having the time of her life. Always vivacious and naturally congenial, she readily made friends among those humble Derbyshire youth who accepted her regardless of her rumored low station. Naturally there were a number of haughty socialites who refused to acknowledge those beneath them, even if they did arrive with family connections of the highest caliber, but they in no way dampened the overall spirit of merriment. Besides, Kitty was blessed with a general naiveté and natural nescience to events beyond her immediate sphere. Since dance partners clamored for her favor and pauses found her in the midst of lively clusters of young people, she had no reason to fret over murmurings from the imperious.

  “What part of Hertfordshire do you dwell in, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Falke asked. His socially allotted two dance sets were passed, much to his annoyance, but that did not mean he could not converse with Kitty as much as possible.

  “Our estate, Longbourn, is near Meryton, Mr. Falke.”

  “Oh! Meryton! We have passed through your quaint village many times on our way to my uncle’s cottage!” Miss Vera Stolesk declared with enthusiasm. “You remember, Alicia, do you not?” She turned to her cousin, Lady Alicia Nash, laying a hand on her arm. “We paused there two summers ago to water the horses. When the bridle broke. Anyway, we visited this delightful confectionary to pass the time and enjoyed these gooseberry pastries that were simply to die for!”

  “Yes, I do recall that. Oh, the pastries were divine.”

  “You must mean Mr. Janssen’s shop. He is Dutch and creates true marvels. My mother is particularly fond of his treats, to Papa’s dismay!” Kitty giggled at the understatement.

  “Last summer we begged Father to stop, but he was anxious to reach our destination.” Miss Stolesk continued. “I was quite cross about that and pouted as prettily as I could, but he would not be swayed!” Several laughs followed that statement, especially as Miss Stolesk demonstrated the adorable pout.

  “I would surely never be able to deny you anything after such an expression, Miss Stolesk.” Mr. Geoffrey Teddington offered with a florid bow, Miss Vera fluttering her lashes playfully.

  “You must join us this summer, Miss Bennet.” Lady Alicia stated firmly.

  “Oh yes! You must!” Miss Stolesk emphatically agreed.

  “Our family owns a country cottage north of Stevenage and we spend each summer there, after the season in London—days upon days of horseback riding, picnics by the river, strolls along the country lanes, and evening soirees. It is my favorite time of the year.”

  “Would it not be an inconvenience?” Kitty asked politely, vainly trying to keep the excitement from creeping into her voice.

  Miss Stolesk waved her hand breezily with a shake of her head, Lady Alicia answering, “Gracious no! We have people in and out all summer long! Father goes for the shooting, declaring that the birds are far and away the best in Hertfordshire.” Her tone clearly indicating her disinterest in the subject while the young men all nodded sagely in agreement with Lord Nash’s assessment. “Mother paints and grows orchids, an award winning member of the Orchid Society you see, while we frolic and amuse ourselves in any way possible. It is decided then!” She briskly declared with a clap of hands. “Miss Bennet will join us. If, that is, you believe your father will allow it?”

  The truth was Kitty had no idea if Mr. Bennet would allow such an excursion, but she refused to face that horrid possibility. Smiles greeted her affirmative from numerous sources, several of the gentlemen already glowing with delight as the Earl of Stevenage’s summer extravaganzas were famous and widely attended. The “cottage” humbly described by Lady Alicia was in point of fact an enormous manor rivaling Pemberley.

  “Miss Darcy,” Miss Vera Stolesk interjected, Georgiana startling and flushing instantly as a dozen set of eyes alit on her face. “You must join us as well. The more the merrier as they say!”

  “Well, I…” she stammered, blush deepening, which the enchanted men thought endearing. “I cannot promise… my brother, well, he is… protective, to say the least.”

  Lady Alicia laughed, clicking her folded fan lightly onto Georgiana’s hand. “Oh, yes! We all know the reputation of the formidable Mr. Darcy! I will talk to my father. He is quite persuasive and knows Mr. Darcy well. I am certain he can arrange it to my satisfaction.” She sounded confident.

  Mr. Falke chuckled. “Perhaps you should practice your pout, Lady Alicia, to ensure it has greater influence than Miss Stolesk’s.”

  “I have no need to stoop to such devious tactics, Mr. Falke. I simply wait until he is enmeshed in a game of cards and he will absently grant me anything!”

  They all laughed, Mr. Falke’s dimples flashing as he bowed slightly. “Indeed, far more straightforward and honest.”

  The frivolous banter continued with plans laid for D
erbyshire winter diversions and springtime London amusements until the orchestra signaled the beginning of the next set. Mr. Falke claimed Georgiana and Mr. Teddington escorted Kitty.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy honestly did strive to oversee the interactions of the flittering girls, but it was an assignment not always successful. Melcourt Hall was an enormous structure with a dozen of the main rooms open for the party. Crowds of bodies occupied every space and the flood of traffic was incessant with celebrants constantly on the move as they danced and socialized. Keeping track of two girls amid the ebb and flow of activity was extremely difficult. Add to those facts their own socializing and the truth was that the older gentlemen, for all their good intentions, lost track of their energetic relatives far more than they would ever confess to Darcy.

  Fifty-four years is far from ancient, especially when one possesses a sparkling personality, limitless charm, extreme handsomeness, youthful vigor, and wealth. Dr. George Darcy was gifted with all these traits and many more so was thus a sought after guest from numerous quarters. Ladies were quite infatuated and flirty, which George shamelessly encouraged and relished. Unlike his nephew, George indulged in the joy of notoriety, jolly banter, and frivolous entertainment.

  “Are there truly lions and tigers running wild in India, Dr. Darcy?”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Longham. Majestic creatures. Exotic flora and fauna unseen here, although I am sure you have been so blessed to view wild animals from time to time in circuses?”

  “Of course, but one imagines they are vastly differing in their natural habitats.”

  “This is true, madam. Unfortunately, the specimens displayed in such venues are generally weakened and domesticated to a degree. Certainly not allowed to interact and perform normally.”

  “I saw a lion tamer once with three ferocious beasts,” Miss Carmichael breathlessly interjected. “It was terrifying! Their fangs and razor sharp claws!” She shuddered dramatically, fan fluttering. “Surely they could not be any more horrifying!”

  “Quite the contrary, dear lady. Once, not but one year after arriving in Bombay while yet young and incredibly naïve, I traveled with another physician up the Ulhas River. We were on our way to a remote village in the jungles where a pestilence had erupted. It was my first extensive journey away from the immediate, more civilized regions around that great city, and you can imagine how enthusiastic I was. But also rather frightened, not that I would have confessed this to my wiser mentor and experienced native guides!”

  His audience was spellbound, George’s Darcy-inherited flair for the dramatic enhanced over the years by listening to the indigenous people’s storytellers who had perfected the art form. His voice naturally assumed a slightly singsong rhythm with gestures and facial expressions adding emphasis and enlightenment. His choice of garment, handsome face mildly lined from years of harsh sun, and modulation of voice to a Hindu flavored accent augmented the effect. None of this was accidental on his part and he reveled in the attention.

  “We sailed on a machwa. That is an open decked fishing vessel built by the natives, wide but offering no protection from the elements, you see, and sitting quite low in the water. The Indians use poles to propel the boat along with the currents, wind upon occasion aids movement, but this was in the hottest part of the year when breezes were rare. Ofttimes, we would creep along not much faster than a snail. I found it all so fascinating! Vegetation of a lushness and variety not seen here. Colors vivid, leaves appearing as if polished with fine lacquer. And the wildlife! Ah, teeming it is.”

  “Were there crocodiles?” Interrupted one wide-eyed woman.

  “Indeed, madam! Enormous brutes, which thankfully prefer to hide along the shores under the shaded waters. There are other reptiles of stunning variety as well as birds vibrantly colored who mimic extraordinary sounds, insects of truly hideous sizes and shapes. It would be far too terrifying for me to elaborate further. Even I grow squeamish at the vision of the monstrous spiders and beetles.” He shuddered, eyes closing momentarily as the women collectively shivered.

  Resuming after a melodramatic pause, “I cannot fabricate nor embellish, so must truthfully confess that I did not espy the full complement of Indian creatures indigenous to the region upon this first trip. Over time, as I was there for some thirty years, I would become closely acquainted with the beasts both large and minute which inhabit the waters, jungles, and deserts. Ah, the stories I could tell! But we would be here all night listening to me drone on and that would not be entertaining in the least!”

  Instantly several voices, both male and female, rushed to assure him that it was decidedly entertaining and none would wish to be elsewhere, Oh absolutely not! George humbly accepted the accolades, hesitantly resuming his tale upon the urging of an increasing fan club, twinkling eyes in sharp contrast to the meek tilt to his head. He described the verdant jungle, open grasslands, murky waters, insect-riddled air, and sultry atmosphere rife with alien odors so vividly that each listener was instantly transported to the foreign land.

  “I sat on the edge of our machwa, bare feet dangling in the tepid waters, simply absorbing it all. Suddenly”—spoken with an abrupt tonal catch, causing everyone to jolt slightly—“my mentor, Dr. Ullas yelled, ‘Dr. Darcy! Look quickly!’ Naturally I obeyed, leaping up so rapidly that the boat swayed dangerously. Our driver scowled at me, but I ignored him because the sight before my eyes was riveting. There, roaming majestically over a mangrove-ringed valley covered with tall grasses was a group of leopards.”

  The oohs and aahs were intense. “What were they doing, Dr. Darcy?”

  “That is the exciting part, Mrs. Allen. Leopards, like all the great cats, are shy creatures. They tend to hide in shady areas away from any traffic zones, stealthily lurking and gliding through the forests, nearly undetected in the thick underbrush or high within the tree branches. Of course, the river was not exactly a major thoroughfare, so we were invading their solitude. Unlike lions, who travel in large packs called prides, leopards prefer small clusters of three or four. Also, they generally are nocturnally active so what we witnessed, I came to realize in time, was extremely rare indeed.”

  Another infinitesimal caesura, the rapt audience holding their breath. “It was mating season, you see, and two males were in the throes of a serious dispute over an outstanding specimen of a feline female. All species on earth, so it appears, become incensed and foolishly aggressive when captured by an attractive lady.” He flashed a dazzling smile and nod toward each captivated woman, blushes flaring prettily all around. “She paced imperiously, tail swishing while her suitors circled each other a time or two before engaging. It was brutal and noisy. Roars, fangs, and claws.”

  “Was there… blood?”

  “Some, yes. All thoughts of medicinal treatments for the stricken villagers fled my mind, I daresay. Both leopards appeared evenly matched. Easily five feet long, not counting the tails, two hundred pounds with stocky bodies covered with gorgeous black spots on tannish brown fur. Incredible animals! Jaws squared and strong, teeth as needles, and a growling roar that sent shivers up my spine.”

  “Did they notice your boat? Were they angry?” Gasping with a hand to her mouth, Mrs. Longham whispered, “They did not… attack, did they?”

  “Be still, dear lady. They were far too caught up in the moment to notice us. We glided silently and slowly past, for the first time truly grateful for the lack of breeze, as we were able to observe the entire spectacle. The fight itself was not lengthy, but intense with ferociousness and animalistic power. They did not seem to seriously be attempting to kill the other, but merely to display their prowess and superiority. They would stalk each other for a few moments, angry eyes locked with ears flattened on their massive heads. Then they would leap. Several times they embraced in combat, the noises rising while the she-leopard observed her would-be mates. A particularly vicious swipe with half-foot-long claws across the nose of one effectively ended the battle. He slunk away while the victor wasted no time in
approaching his harshly won mate.”

  “Was she impressed and amenable to the winner?” Mr. Longham asked.

  “Apparently, she was quite impressed as they instantly attended to those activities I believe most species would consider a pleasurable reward for such valor and exhibited virility.” He grinned widely, the ladies flushing and twittering as decorum demanded although it was clear that most were energized by his allusion.

  While George Darcy charmed his way through every available and unavailable woman in the entire establishment, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s heart was firmly planted in High Wycombe with Lady Simone Fotherby. George enchanted with a flamboyant cheekiness fully intended to sow the seeds for future socializing and romantic trysts if possible, whereas Richard congenially socialized for the sheer enjoyment factor. Bachelors of all ages were in abundance, but the son of Lord Matlock, a colonel in His Majesty’s service, and a man of no mean attractiveness and wealth was a prime object of flirtatious advances in varying degrees. Simply put, the good Colonel was not in danger of boredom from lack of receptive dancing partners, but he might well have been in danger of bold female advances! Thus, he primarily visited with his oldest friends from childhood.

  “After tonight’s revelry I am not so certain a hunt scheduled for the morrow was a wise idea. Who thought of that anyway?” Gerald Vernor asked.

  “Obviously the one man who is not here imbibing imprudently and is undoubtedly already sleeping!” Rory Sitwell answered with a laugh.