by Jane Angwin
At dinner that evening, Angelique began to slowly discuss her life in France. Not knowing the terrible tragedy that had befallen her father, Georgiana naively asked about her family left behind in France. "Are your parents still in Paris?" she asked. Darcy and Charron both turned to Angelique, and feeling the need to rescue her from discussing her father, Darcy started to admonish Georgiana, but Angelique held up her hand to allow her to speak.
"I have no family in France, Georgiana. Like you, both my mother and my father have died, and I do not have the good fortune of having a lovely brother as you do. Other than a cousin in London, I am quite alone in the world."
"Oh, dear. I am so sorry, Angelique. I had no idea." Georgiana was mortified that she had ventured into such a sensitive topic, and her cheeks turned a bright red. With her eyes looking down to her lap, she continued to apologize for her mistake. Mrs. Annesley, who was seated next to her, patted her arm to let her know that she had done nothing wrong.
Angelique reassured her, "Georgiana, you have no reason to be embarrassed. You and I have much in common, and we have much to share with each other, but unlike your loss, my father was an outspoken enemy of the government, and unfortunately, he was murdered for his beliefs. I fled to England to escape being arrested for simply being his daughter. It was on the horrible voyage across the sea that I had the good fortune of meeting Frederick and Gerard, and they have become my family. That is a wonderful outcome, is it not?"
"It has been our good fortune, Angel," said Charron, not realizing that he had used his pet name for her. "We have been blessed with your kind and gentle heart." His look of adoration was plain, and even Georgiana understood the meaning of his look and his words.
After dinner, the men and women chose not to separate as was the norm, and instead headed for the music room to listen to Georgiana play the pianoforte. As a surprise for their guests, she had been practicing the well known French folk song, 'Sur le Pont d'Avignon', and both Angelique and Charron were delighted to hear a song from their own childhoods, joyfully singing along with the chorus about dancing on the Avignon Bridge. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley had practiced the words and music to the song, and with only a few mistakes, she managed to sing and play quite beautifully. Everyone applauded her delightful surprise, and they asked her to play it again and again, laughing and clapping along until Darcy jokingly suggested that perhaps she could play something else. Georgiana chose several pieces that she knew by heart, and everyone agreed that she was quite an accomplished performer. The evening was a great success, but Charron finally confessed that he was quite tired and wanted to go to check on his father. Angelique volunteered to join him, and Mrs. Annesley reminded Georgiana that she needed to retire as well.
When the group had dispersed, Darcy decided to visit his studio one more time before retiring himself. He entered the room, and half expected to see the candle burning on the table near the easel. To his relief, it wasn't, but after he lit it himself and sat in front of the painting to judge his own work, he noticed that on the swing he had put in the painting's background, there was a small blue book that he knew he had not added. "Now I know that someone is playing with me" he said aloud. Looking around, as if to see someone there to speak to, he said "I most admire this young woman's affinity for books, but again, that is not what most ladies that I know would prefer as a pastime. There should probably be a fan instead." With that, he painted over the book and added a small fan on the swing instead. He worked a bit longer, embellishing the garden with more colorful flowers, and then put away his supplies and retired for the night. "I truly believe that Charron is involved in this somehow" he thought. "I know he wants me to paint again, and this must be his very clever plot." This realization seemed to answer the many questions that he had been avoiding about the mysterious happenings in the studio.
Every day from then on, Darcy made his way to the studio in the very early morning before the rest of the residents had arisen. The morning after he had painted over the small blue book and added a lady's fan, he found that the book had reappeared on the swing, only this time it was red. That day he worked on the color of the girl's hair, a dark chestnut brown, partially pulled back with curls hanging loose around her face. He next began painting her attire and chose to dress her in a deep burgundy gown and matching dancing shoes, such as he had seen the ladies of London wear, but as he leaned back to look at her, he felt that this didn't look appropriate in the country setting so he started over again, painting a very plain but pretty white dress with small white flowers in her hair. "What in blazes is this about? I cannot fathom why I would paint such a woman."
He stayed away from the studio for several days because it was finally time to begin painting her face, and he had no idea how to start. Finally, one morning when everyone had gone about their respective activities, he walked down the corridor and entered the room, wishing that he had a subject seated in front of him as Charron always did. He sat down at the easel and assiduously began working on the face of this mystery woman. He first gave her a long, oval shaped face with a pale porcelain complexion and blue eyes, which was his personal preference. Her look was too solemn, so he attempted to paint a smile but nothing he tried seemed to work. He tried brightening the smile, but time after time, he just couldn't get it right. "I am just not good at this", he said out loud. "Some artists can paint portraits, others can paint landscapes, and I am definitely the latter" he huffed.
Once again, assessing his work thus far, he had the strong sensation that this just wasn't the face that belonged on this woman. He tried again, this time giving her a rounder face with a darker color to her skin, as though she had spent a great deal of time out of doors, but with pink, healthy looking cheeks. "The ladies of the ton would never think of allowing their skin to darken like this," he mused. He gave her a smile that was confident, but with a touch of mischievousness, and he was quite pleased with the effect. "This young woman would be a delight to spar with! Too many women only say what they think I want them to say, and none of them dare to disagree with me. How refreshing it would be to meet someone like this and have a good, spirited disagreement!"
The most unsettling change to Darcy was the color of her eyes. The blue eyes he had originally painted and greatly admired were also entirely wrong for this face. Instead, he painted her eyes a deep dark brown color with long lush dark eyelashes. As a final touch to his work, he added golden flecks in her eyes, creating a depth and sparkle to her look. As he gazed at the face to find fault with it, he found that he could not really disagree with the beauty of her countenance, and he could not stop looking into her intoxicating eyes. He stepped back from the painting and saw that it was truly magnificent. "Who is this woman?" he said aloud. "She is lovely, but certainly not of our social sphere. I am astounded that this likeness has come from my imagination and my brush." At that exact moment, he became aware of the now familiar gentle breeze wafting through the room and the scent of lavender. Darcy went to close the window to the garden, but the window was closed. He instantly recalled his mother's words to him that true love knows no social sphere, and he knew this memory and realization was an important moment. He knew that this painting was for him alone. He would not show it to anyone, and he would not have to try to explain how it came to be. He wasn't sure he could even explain it to himself. Instead of leaving it in the house where it could be found, he knew exactly where he would take it. He would wait until it was totally dry, and he would then take it to the cottage in the woods without anyone seeing him. He wasn't sure why, but it definitely felt right. He gave this mystery woman one last look, and he left the studio.
Chapter Thirteen
Bingley
That afternoon, Darcy received a letter from his good friend, Charles Bingley, requesting that he join him to inspect an estate he had found to lease several miles outside of London. Bingley was the son of a wealthy tradesman who had aspired to enhance his family's standing in the eyes of society by becoming a gentleman landowner,
but he had died before he could do so. As he also wished to give his son Charles a much better chance at being accepted by those who would scorn his ties to trade, he sent him to Cambridge to receive an education usually meant for the upper class and the landed gentry. Bingley had come to Cambridge two years after Darcy, and when Darcy met him in the library one afternoon, Bingley was struggling with entirely too many books, dropping several of them as he walked to a study table. Darcy assisted him, much to Bingley's surprise, as he was used to being shunned by most of the other students, especially in grades above him. He had seen Darcy around and greatly admired his reputation, so to have him pick up his books was shocking to him.
"May I join you?" Darcy inquired as Bingley set his books down and thanked him profusely.
"I, uh, well, yes, of course, Sir. Please do join me," Bingley sputtered. With that, they sat down and quietly introduced themselves. Over the next hour, Darcy learned that Bingley was a boy in a difficult situation, needing a hand getting accustomed to Cambridge and having someone to stand up for him against the spiteful behavior of their bad-mannered classmates. Darcy felt compassion for him and regardless of his own higher position in society, he offered to be that person, and from that fateful meeting in the library, a deep friendship was forged. They were together quite often during the following two years, and when Darcy left for his Grand Tour, he promised to contact him when he returned to resume their friendship.
During that time, Bingley's own father died, and when Darcy returned early to be at his father's bedside and ultimate death, knowing the deep grief that his friend was experiencing, Bingley traveled to Pemberley to be there to lend his support. Through the ensuing years, the two men were frequently in each other's company, and Bingley saw firsthand how Darcy was able to run his huge estate and all the associated responsibilities that were required of him. He knew that he was having a difficult time handling his father's businesses and the financial responsibilities that were thrust upon him, and he could not imagine also having a large estate and tenants to worry about. He was fully aware that he did not have the same level of proficiency to run an estate as Darcy, and he decided to put off his father's wish for him to become a gentleman landowner for a later time in the future.
In the meantime, because of his friendship with Darcy, Bingley enjoyed the social side of London, being invited to various functions not usually open to men in trade. He dearly loved to dance, and his boyish charm and happy attitude put him in the presence of countless young ladies, many of whom he claimed to have fallen in love with, only to quickly move along to another. He truly did not seem to have a care in the world and never had a bad word for anyone, always looking at the bright side of everything. Darcy could not believe how two such dissimilar men could be such close friends. He disliked everything about London society, and social functions were a trial for him, especially dancing with ladies he did not know. He hated being the target of pushy mothers and their mercenary daughters, and it was just easier for him to not attend at all.
It was a surprise when Darcy read Bingley's letter, revealing that he had finally taken the leap to explore a property to lease and potentially buy. He was pleased that his impulsive friend had not purchased the estate outright and was considering a lease first. He was also impressed that he had asked Darcy to view it with him to discuss the viability of the land and the condition of the residence. "I would be delighted to join him," he thought, "but we have houseguests and it wouldn't be proper to leave at this time." He decided to write a letter back to Bingley to decline his invitation, and went to his study to do so. He found Charron walking from the location of his father's room, and inquired as to his condition at present.
"Father seems to be doing somewhat better. I do believe that the fine country air and the daily visits from Dr. Stewart are helping him quite a bit. His coloring is improved, and he is standing for longer periods of time. Angelique reads French history books to him, and he begs her for more risqué novels, which makes her laugh, and that is also a good sign!" He noted that Darcy was on his way to his study, and he asked if he would like to share a bit of cognac with him.
"I would like that very much, Frederick. I just need to write a short note to a friend and then I am at your disposal. Do you want my Hennesey or your fine Lemarchal?" he asked with a raised brow.
"I will go fetch my Lemarchal and return in a quarter of an hour. Will that give you time to write your letter?"
"Yes, that would be fine timing," he replied and turned and continued on to his study.
Charron returned in the promised time and they repeated their ritual of enjoying cognac. "Did you finish your letter?" he asked Darcy and then continued, "Is there a problem you are dealing with?"
"Yes, I did complete the letter, and no, it is not a serious problem. A friend has finally decided to lease an estate outside of London, and he wants me to come and provide my judgment. He is quite indecisive and somewhat spontaneous, but he is a grown man now, and he can certainly make this decision without me."
"And why are you not going to assist him in his decision? Is it because we are visiting at Pemberley, and you feel you should not leave us?" He saw the look on Darcy's face that assured him that was indeed the reason. " Please reconsider, William. We are quite well taken care of here with Dr. Stewart visiting Father, and with James and Mrs. Reynolds looking after us, so there is no reason why you cannot leave for a short time. I am sure that Mr. Grover has everything under control at Pemberley, and you know that we will keep Georgiana safe and in good company."
"I see you are going to make this very difficult for me to deny my friend's request, aren't you, Frederick?" Darcy laughed. "Perhaps you are correct. I do need to make a short visit to Darcy House in London to check in with my housekeeper there, and I know that Bingley would greatly appreciate having me accompany him to this estate he has located." He picked up the letter to Bingley, tore it in half and tossed it into the fire. "I will rewrite this letter over again."
The two men spent an enjoyable time together until it was time to adjourn for tea with the ladies. Darcy informed Georgiana about his plan to leave for London, and instead of her expressing disappointment at his departure, she was quite unfazed by his disclosure. "So much for worrying about my absence from Pemberley," he thought to himself. "This is perhaps the perfect time for me to go."
The next morning, after sending a messenger ahead with his letter to Bingley, he returned to his studio and made sure that the painting he had finished the day before was dry enough to take to the cottage. There would be too many questions about the woman in the painting, as well as the unusual country setting, and he simply didn't have the answers. This painting had come about in a strange and mysterious way, and trying to explain something that made little sense even to himself would be impossible. He took one last look at the woman who had occupied his mind and heart for the past days, and he was unable to remove his eyes from her face. "She has an unusual beauty," he thought. "Definitely not the conventional type of beauty that has usually appealed to me." As he stared at her, he felt as though her eyes could see through his soul, and he felt a warmth envelope him that he had never felt before. "Who are you, lovely lady? It is almost as if she you are here with me," he whispered, and then he added, "How I wish you were."
He slowly lifted the painting off the easel it had been on and carefully wrapped it in an old tarp that was in a nearby cupboard. He had brought along some heavy rope and a knife and slowly tied the tarp around the painting, making a carrying handle in order to secure it to his horse. He took a quick look out the door, glancing up and down the hallway to see if anyone was about, and observing that it was clear, he hoisted the large canvas by the rope and headed down the hallway toward a door to the outside. He propped the bulky item next to the outside wall, and he walked quickly to the stable, hoping no one was watching him, but as he suspected, Mr. Raymond was awaiting him with Omega already saddled. "Of course he is waiting for me," Darcy said to himself, shaking his hea
d in wonderment.
"A fine good mornin' to ya, Sir. Nice weather for a ride!" Omega stomped the ground and nodded his head up and down, also welcoming Darcy. Darcy greeted his friend, and mounted his horse, quickly returning around the side of the estate. He knew that this was not the usual direction he took for his morning ride, and it might have seemed odd to his stable master, but this ride was for a different purpose than exercise. He stopped at the side doorway where he had stowed the canvas, and took additional rope from his coat pocket, tying the painting along the side of the horse, running rope under and around its belly and securing it to the saddle. It's bulky width and length meant that he would have to swing his leg over the painting, trying to keep from bending the canvas, and he would not have a stirrup for his boot. It was awkward, and holding his leg out at a strange angle was quite difficult, but although the cottage was quite a distance away, he reached it in fairly good time. He moved the painting inside, and looking around for somewhere to hide it, he noticed that the space over the fireplace was empty. He could have sworn that there was one of his mother's paintings of Pemberley there when he last visited, but not wanting to spend too much time there, he removed the rope and tarp and lifted the large painting up onto the wood mantle.
"She looks so perfect here," he thought to himself as he gazed at her countenance. "But if I would want to bring a wife here someday, this will have to be removed. Until then, this is its hiding place." Once again, gazing at her beautiful eyes and saying a silent goodbye, he turned and left the cottage. Walking toward Omega, he mumbled to himself, "Perhaps one day I will understand the meaning of all of this."
After returning to Pemberley and joining his guests for their morning meal, he said his goodbyes, and he left the house to head back to the stables. Once again, his stable master, Mr. Raymond had somehow known the exact moment Darcy would depart the house, and there stood his black stallion, Omega, waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.
