Lord Matlock barked a laugh. “There you go, boy! Just what you need. She will clean up nicely, I think.”
Darcy was saved from the danger of making an intemperate response by the entrance of Lady Catherine.
She surveyed the room regally. “Who will clean up nicely?” she asked suspiciously.
Henry did not miss a beat. “The new mare Darcy is considering buying. Good brood stock.”
Lord Matlock choked on a bite of pastry, and his subsequent coughing spell, with Lady Catherine’s constant advice on how to make it cease, caused the subject to be dropped.
***
The sky was grey as the coach finally clattered along the road to London. Georgiana had blankets across her lap to keep away the cold that filtered in through the sides of the coach, her hands ensconced warmly in a fur muff.
“I hope you do not mind leaving Rosings early,” her brother said.
“Mind? I could not be more delighted. I was starting to think of stuffing my ears with cotton, since all I ever did was agree with everything our aunt said.” Georgiana burrowed deeper into her blankets as she heard the rapid tattoo of raindrops hitting the carriage. “Even London will be a pleasure after this.”
Darcy smiled, but it looked forced. Georgiana wondered what had made him suddenly decide to leave today instead of next week, but he had a shuttered look on his face when he announced their departure, and she had been too intimidated to ask, especially once Lady Catherine started in on him. Then there was the mystery of the girl who was sitting up with the coachman. Darcy had muttered something about needing a new kitchen maid, but London was full of girls searching for positions. The girl herself said nothing, but seemed to look to Darcy for protection, while he seemed annoyed by her presence. When her brother was in one of those moods, it was best not to ask questions.
“Georgiana, have you thought about the sort of gentleman you wish to marry?” he asked abruptly.
Georgiana started. “No,” she said hurriedly and then realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Not much, that is. Not too old, I hope, but not so terribly young either.”
“You will be coming out next winter. Surely you have more thoughts than that.”
“I assumed you would pick someone suitable, a credit to the family, and ask me if I liked him.” She would never dare choose based on her own sensibilities again, not after the last time. “Do you have someone in mind?”
He shook his head, his lips in a straight line. “There are many men I would not wish you to marry, but no one in particular I would choose. That is why I wish to know what you would prefer.”
She pursed her lips. He seemed to want an answer, but what could she say? “Someone kind, I suppose. Someone not so very sophisticated, not someone who would want to entertain constantly. Someone like, oh, Sir Robert Sutton, were he twenty years younger.”
He laughed, a startling sound in the tension. “I believe Lady Sutton might object to you marrying her husband.”
“I did not mean him, but someone like him.”
“I know, sweetling. It is just an amusing thought. But a fine example. He is a good man, trustworthy and reliable.”
“Yes,” she said, relieved he had found the words for her.
“Sir Robert and Lady Sutton seldom go to town.”
“I would not mind that.” In fact, she would much prefer it that way. “But I know I must marry someone worthy of a Darcy.” A country squire was unlikely to meet that standard.
He muttered something under his breath. “Georgiana, as long as he is honest and responsible, you may marry whom you wish. I care not about his family or prospects, as long as he is respectable.”
She did not know what to say. Perhaps he was not well, and it was a fever speaking. Was that why they left Rosings so abruptly? Suddenly it all came clear, and she stiffened. “Has Lord Matlock already chosen someone? Someone you would not wish me to marry?”
“If he has someone in mind, he has not told me. In any case, he is the last man I would trust to choose a suitable husband for you.” He sounded angry.
She pushed her hands deeper into her muff, clenching them together where he could not see. “Oh,” she said weakly.
The corner of his mouth turned up wryly. “As it turns out, I do not much like our family either, it seems.”
She had never heard her brother talk that way before. Lord Matlock must have said something truly awful. Her brother was so good to her; she had never actually worried much about marrying, since she was sure her brother would have very high standards for her husband.
He was looking out the window, as if fascinated by the pouring rain, his mouth a line of discontent.
She hated seeing him so unhappy. “Is something the matter?”
He turned back to her. “No. I was merely thinking I would not wish to be sitting outside in this weather.”
That sounded more like the brother she knew. She gave him a hesitant smile. “Yes, we are fortunate to have our cozy carriage.”
“Oh, blast and damnation!” Darcy took his cane and knocked it sharply against the roof of the carriage. The carriage began to slow.
What was it now? She had thought he would like what she said, and instead, it seemed to have made him angrier. He almost never swore in front of her. She was afraid to ask why they were stopping.
When the carriage drew to a halt, Darcy opened the door and swung out before the footman could assist him. Georgiana heard him exchange a few muffled words with the driver, and then the carriage rocked a bit. Why would the driver be coming down, out here in the middle of nowhere?
The door squeaked open again, and to her great surprise, the new maid clambered in, looking quite lost. Darcy was right behind her, his head bent to prevent it from hitting the top of the carriage. “You may sit there,” he said brusquely, pointing to the empty corner of the ladies’ seat.
“Thank you, sir,” the maid said through chattering teeth. The poor thing was soaked through.
Darcy said, as if in explanation, “She has nothing but the clothes she is wearing.”
The poor girl. No wonder her brother had stopped. She would catch her death of cold out there. Georgiana shook off the top blanket on her lap and held it up. “Here, let me put this around you. You must be freezing.”
“You are very kind, miss.” The girl pulled the blanket close around her.
Darcy signaled the driver again, and the carriage clattered on. He looked more content, the lines of worry in his face easing. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Once his deep breathing indicated that the carriage’s rocking had put him to sleep, Georgiana rummaged through the blankets to find the hot brick at her feet. Her brother would not have approved of giving it to the girl when she needed it herself, but he would not know.
She handed it to the shivering girl. “You can warm your hands on this.”
Her hands darted out of the blanket to take the brick. She held it close to her under the blanket, and Georgiana could see the relief in her face as she felt the warmth. “Thank you, miss.”
It was her chance to indulge her curiosity to find out why her brother was bringing the girl. “What is your name?”
“Mary, miss. Mary Abbott.”
“Have you been at Rosings long, Mary?”
“No, miss. I live—I lived in the village with my family.”
“Have you been to London before?”
“Never, miss. They say it is terrible crowded and full of pickpockets and thieves.”
Georgiana smiled. “It is indeed crowded, but you need not worry about pickpockets on Brook Street, where we live. It is very different from Kent, but quite pleasant and safe.”
“Is that where I am to go?”
“You do not know?”
The girl looked down. “My father made the arrangements.”
It occurred to Georgiana that if Mary’s family lived near Rosings, chances were good she would never see them again. A servant could never afford to travel so far, nor would she have the
comfort of letters, unless by some miracle she knew how to read and write. Georgiana had never thought much about where the maids in London came from. She knew her brother made certain all their servants were well treated, but she knew nothing of their circumstances. She felt an odd protective urge towards the girl. “You must still be cold. Here, take this wrap as well,” she said.
“But miss, then you will take a chill.”
“Nonsense, I am quite warm,” Georgiana lied. The relief on Mary’s face was all the reward she needed.
***
Darcy awoke from a sweet dream of Elizabeth to the sound of Georgiana’s light laughter as the coach rattled over the cobblestone streets of London. “Have you seen something amusing?” he asked.
“No, we were just talking.”
At least Georgiana was talking to someone outside the family. Even if it was a kitchen maid, it was progress. The girl looked happier, almost saucy, quite a change from the frightened child of the previous night. Still, as soon as they reached the townhouse, Darcy was relieved to leave the girl in the custody of his housekeeper. With misgivings, he noticed Georgiana looking after her retreating form. He had not thought of having to explain his actions to his sister. He hardly knew how to explain them to himself.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana asked shyly.
“Yes?”
“Could Mary be an upstairs maid?”
“Mary?” He realized he had never asked the girl her name. “I doubt she is prepared for such a role.”
“She could learn, could she not? She is quite mannerly and pleasant.”
“We shall see.” He did not like to refuse Georgiana anything, though he would personally be happier if the girl stayed out of his sight in the kitchens. “You have taken quite an interest in her, it seems.”
“It must be so strange for her, coming from the countryside. London can be overwhelming.” She sounded almost wistful.
He was definitely seeing a new side of Georgiana. He had always assumed she would want a fine house in town and a noble husband. Apparently he had been wrong about that, as he had been about many other things. Georgiana was happier talking to a kitchen maid than among the riches of Rosings. She would like Elizabeth, too, with her lack of pretensions. Elizabeth would be a far better sister to Georgiana than any lady of the ton. But his family would never stand for it.
Suddenly he knew his decision was made. Careful alliances be damned. “Georgiana, dearest, do you remember when I wrote to you of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
Georgiana looked up, her cheeks still rosy from the cold air. “The one who was impertinent to Lady Catherine?”
He smiled in recollection. “The very same. I saw her here in town recently. Perhaps I can introduce you to her. I think you would like her.”
She looked at him in surprise, but with a smile. “I would like that.”
Chapter 6
It was a challenge for Elizabeth when Mr. Griggs called. She knew her duty to her family, but it was hard to be charming when she wished he were someone else. She must put Mr. Darcy from her mind and learn to think of the challenges facing her family and how she could relieve them by marrying Mr. Griggs. Especially as weeks had gone by without seeing Mr. Darcy, but that was just as well. His intentions were unlikely to be honourable. Perhaps that was why he had vanished; he had realized she would not accept such a role.
The thought was amusing in its own way. If she really wished to assist her family, becoming Mr. Darcy’s mistress would do more than marrying Mr. Griggs. He would presumably be generous, and she could pass that generosity along. It was such a ridiculous conceit that she could not help smiling, grateful that Mr. Griggs lacked the ability to read her mind. He would hardly be pleased by her train of thought.
Or perhaps he would think her practical. In the sort of society Mr. Darcy frequented, mistresses were a normal part of life, and there was nothing unusual about them appearing in public with their protectors, as if there were no shame attached to their status. Truly, many gentlemen seemed to treat their mistresses better than their wives.
She could never disrespect herself so, though. Despite the guilty appeal of the idea of being with Mr. Darcy, she could never accept the idea that he would eventually marry another woman and go home to her at night, that her own children would be baseborn, while another woman’s would carry Mr. Darcy’s name. A chill went through her. What was she doing even thinking of this? For once and for all, she must forget him.
“Mr. Griggs, would you care for some more coffee?” she said, her voice steady and warm. When Mr. Griggs proposed, she would accept him and learn some of Jane’s philosophy of seeing the best in her situation.
***
Darcy stomped his feet on the bare ground, trying to keep the last bit of warmth from leaving his toes. He had been waiting at least an hour for Elizabeth, just as he had the previous day and the day before that. An hour was a long time to spend wondering why Elizabeth had failed to come to Moorsfield yet again.
The first day he had waited with an unusual sense of contentment and the knowledge that he was finally on the right track, dreaming of the expression that would be on Elizabeth’s face when he made his offer. The second day he was impatient. Today he was worried. Was she ill? He thought it an unlikely time of year for her to travel, but she might be away. He refused to think of reasons why she might have decided to stay away from Moorsfield. It had been but a month since he saw her there last. Surely she could not have become engaged in so short a time.
If she did not come tomorrow, he would call on her directly. His pride revolted at the idea of accepting the hospitality of a tradesman, but for Elizabeth, he would do more than that. He would have to meet them eventually in any case, though he hoped Elizabeth would limit her contact with them once they were married. She would have a position to maintain, after all.
But he needed to see her. He had felt somehow unclean ever since that night at Rosings, and he knew instinctively that Elizabeth was the cure. He could tell her of his revulsion at his uncle’s behaviour, though he would certainly leave out the details. She would understand. With Elizabeth by his side, he would be able to face his uncle and refuse to tolerate his insinuations.
But it was long past the time she usually walked there. He collected his horse and rode back to town via Gracechurch Street, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her somehow, but fate was against him.
A sudden longing for her presence seized at him as he rode past her house. Where could she be? Could she indeed be ill and unable to walk to Moorsfield? There was always illness in London, illness and death.
It would not do. He must know, even if he could not see her. He thought for a moment and then looked for the flower shop he remembered from his first trip to Gracechurch Street. It was still open, despite the season. He dismounted and entered the establishment, requesting their finest bouquet. It was still not as fine as Elizabeth deserved, and he was sure the clerk overcharged him, but it was no matter.
Now he needed a messenger. Back on the street he spotted two young girls in ragged clothing. They were laughing together, but stopped as soon as they noticed his interest. In clipped tones, he said, “There was a boy here a few months ago. His name was Charlie.”
“You want ’im?” The taller of the two eyed him calculatingly.
He placed a coin in her chapped hand. “Where is he?”
She darted across the street to the entrance of a dark alley. “Char-leee!” she called in a shrill tone. “There’s a mort what wants you.”
The boy emerged, rubbing his eyes. He straightened in recognition when he saw Darcy. “You wanted me, sir?”
Darcy drew him aside. He had no desire to be overheard. “Can you deliver these flowers to Miss Bennet without telling her who sent them?”
“Anythin’ you want, sir. What if she asks who sent ’em?”
“Tell her…” What could he say that would make her go to Moorsfield the next day? He could not ask for an assignation. “Tell her they are from
an admirer. But give them only to her, you understand?” He hoped she would understand.
“Right, just to ’er.”
Darcy handed the boy the nosegay and ducked under an awning. How low had he sunk, skulking in the shadows to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth? But it had been weeks, and if something was wrong, he needed to know immediately.
He watched the dumb show as Charlie knocked on the door. The servant who opened it disappeared after a few words. Darcy held his breath.
There she was, her delightfully arched eyebrows raised in query. The boy offered her the flowers. She hesitated a moment, took them, and said something. Whatever Charlie responded made her laugh. Darcy wished he could hear the sound of it. They conversed for another minute or two, and then she retreated inside.
Charlie crossed the street whistling and made his way indirectly to Darcy. The boy had the makings of an excellent spy; his meanderings would distract any following eyes. His grin as he approached showed he knew his talents as well.
“She took ’em, sir.”
“What was it you said that made her laugh?”
“I said what you told me, sir, and she asked if they were from Mr. Griggs, and I told her no, they were from a handsome gentleman. That’s when she laughed. She asked what you looked like, sir, but I didn’t tell her nothin’, just like you said.”
“Who is this Mr. Griggs?” Darcy said the name with distaste.
“Works for her uncle, he does. Wants to marry into the family.”
Darcy would not give in to the fierce desire to know more about his unseen rival. The boy knew too much about him already. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, she were real proper, sir.”
Darcy dropped a coin in the boy’s open hand. “Mind you, not a word to anyone.”
The boy grinned, displaying missing teeth. “Nobody keeps a secret better than Charlie, sir.”
Tomorrow. He would see Elizabeth tomorrow.
***
Elizabeth sniffed the flowers. They had little scent, as was common for hothouse flowers. They must have been expensive. It would be too extravagant an expenditure for her uncle’s clerk, and the boy had said it was not Mr. Griggs. There was only one other possibility, one who would not think twice about the cost of a bouquet, but he had disappeared without a word more than a month earlier. Why would he reappear now, when she had finally reached the point where he no longer filled her thoughts constantly? She did not know whether the idea was more pleasant or painful.
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