The Darcy Cousins

by Monica Fairview

  “You like dancing, then?”

  Georgiana gave up on the possibility of talking with the other two and turned to Mr Gatley. She did not know why he unsettled her so. She grew immediately defensive.

  “Yes, I do. Do you consider that unusual?”

  “Not at all. I myself am quite neutral about dancing. I neither deliberately seek out dancing, nor do I actively avoid it.”

  By this time, the banter between Clarissa and Channing had ended.

  “One could argue that by not actively seeking something,” said Channing, “you are consequently avoiding it.”

  “That is mere sophistry,” replied Gatley.

  “Not when it is true of life generally,” said Channing. “What would you call someone who neither seeks people’s company nor avoids it?”

  “I would call such a person a curmudgeon,” said Clarissa.

  “There you have it. Miss Clarissa, you have struck the nail on the head, for you have found the exact word for my cousin.”

  “But I did not mean it to refer to your cousin,” protested Clarissa. “We were talking in general.”

  “I will submit to the judgement of Miss Darcy,” said Gatley. “Do you consider me a curmudgeon?”

  Put on the spot in this manner, with three sets of eyes awaiting her expectantly, Georgiana floundered.

  “Well, I hardly think I am qualified—I cannot—”

  Mr Gatley’s very presence reproached her.

  “It is hardly fair to put such a question to Miss Darcy, Gatley,” said Channing. “You have placed her in an impossible situation.”

  Georgiana smiled thankfully at him for championing her.

  “Can you not see that she agrees with us but is too embarrassed to admit it?”

  Georgiana gave a little cry of protest.

  “I do not—”

  “You should not deny it, Miss Darcy. You need not spare my cousin his feelings. I assure you, he is not a flower that wilts at the slightest harsh word.”

  Georgiana, not knowing how to extricate herself, wished she could be somewhere else.

  She waved to Robert and Caroline, who were strolling round the ballroom, and willed them to come over.

  “Besieged by admirers already, I see,” said Robert, reaching her in a few easy strides.

  Georgiana, whose cheeks already simmered with heat, felt them blaze.

  “Two gentlemen hardly qualify as a siege, Robert,” remarked Clarissa. “Though I will admit,” she said, casting a mischievous sideways look, “some gentlemen are better qualified to fit the description than others.”

  A grin from Mr Channing rewarded her statement.

  “I am too modest to assume you are referring to me,” he quizzed. “I am sure you mean Gatley.”

  “Fie,” said Clarissa. “You cannot suppose I would be so ill bred as to single out any one particular gentleman!”

  Georgiana, seeing her cousin smile openly at him, envied Clarissa her easy repartee. If only she had thought of something clever to say instead of falling into such absurd confusion.

  Robert and Caroline, beckoned by someone else, moved away. Clarissa and Mr Channing continued to exchange quips.

  She turned to Gatley, wanting to explain somehow that Mr Channing had misinterpreted her silence but unable to find the right words.

  “How are you and your cousin coming along, Miss Darcy?” said Gatley, relieving her of the need for apology.

  “Very well,” she replied. “Clarissa arrived from Boston barely three weeks ago, yet I feel as if I have known her all my life. Of course, I know her brother, Mr Robert Darcy, which no doubt accounts for my sense of familiarity. It is certainly a pleasure to have her around.”

  “She is very lively, is she not?” he said, contemplating her cousin.

  “I own myself quite captivated by her,” said Georgiana enthusiastically. “I did not expect to like her so much, but I am very glad she has joined our family.”

  “Your feelings do you credit, I am sure,” said Mr Gatley politely.

  Perhaps she ought not to have been so gushing in her praise of Clarissa.

  “I have spent a great deal of time in Derbyshire of late,” she continued, feeling some explanation was called for. “My sister-in-law was confined, and there was no one to chaperone me about, so I have not been in company very much. I am relishing the chance to spend time with someone closer to me in age.”

  Mr Gatley nodded, his expression softening. “I am sure it was also tedious to be with a newly wedded couple all the time. I remember when my sister Isabella married and she and her husband had to live with us while repairs were made to his manor. It seemed they only had eyes for each other, and everything one said or did was an intrusion.”

  “Yes, that is it exactly!” said Georgiana, relieved to know that she was not alone in experiencing such a thing and that he would not think her peevish to resent her brother’s happiness.

  The music struck up, and Mr Channing extended his arm to Clarissa.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Darcy?” said Mr Gatley, giving her a precise bow.

  “Will you overcome your indifference to dancing, then?” said Georgiana with a quick smile. Then she wished the words unsaid. Would he think her too pert?

  She was rewarded with an answering smile. “I have to salvage my reputation,” he replied. “I must ensure that no one at all thinks me a curmudgeon, not even you.”

  Georgiana, still embarrassed by the earlier incident, grimaced ruefully.

  “I did not handle that very skilfully, did I?”

  “You are not expected to handle it skilfully at all,” said Gatley. “You are only now making your entrée into society. I should not have asked you that question in the first place. It was I who was at fault. You cannot be expected to be skilful—yet.” He smiled kindly as they took their place in the line.

  Georgiana looked over to where Clarissa and Channing stood in the line. Clarissa flitted and chattered, perfectly at ease, as though she had attended dances since the day she was born. She was skilful. And Channing clearly found her amusing.

  He did not look towards Georgiana, not a single, fleeting glance.

  She fervently wished she did not like Channing. But even as she determined not to pay him any more attention, she caught herself repeatedly craning her neck to seek him through the gaps between the other dancers. It had been a long time since anyone had captured her interest. She ought to nip this interest in the bud, before it developed into something more difficult to control.

  But she had a sinking feeling it was already too late.

  Chapter 8

  Mr Channing did not invite Georgiana to dance. Not that she lacked partners, for after Mr Moffet came to claim her, a number of other young gentlemen were introduced, and her card was soon almost full. But the perversity of the human spirit is such that when a young lady longs for one specific partner, every other partner counts for nothing. The other young gentlemen with whom she danced might as well have spared themselves the trouble.

  Her brother also approached her and asked her if she had room on her dance card for him.

  Now here was somebody she did care about.

  “Of course there is, Fitz!” she said affectionately.

  As the dance started up, they moved into position. Georgiana admired the smooth agility of her brother’s movements. He was such a proficient dancer. She had never understood his disinclination to dance. She remembered him saying once that dancing was the most primitive of human instincts—that even savages could dance. Yet no one seeing him on the dance floor could possibly mistake him for a savage. She smiled to herself at the image of everyone in the room in a state of half undress, pounding about on the dance floor.

  “I see you are enjoying yourself, Georgie. You seem to be doing very well. You certainly do not need my help in finding
partners.”

  “I suspect that Clarissa has something to do with that,” she replied honestly. “She draws gentlemen to her easily.”

  Darcy frowned. “I would not credit her with that much. You are easily the best looking young lady in the room. Better still, you are a Darcy. And, on top of all that, you have a fortune to your name. What more could any young man wish? I would not be surprised if every gentleman in the room aspired to dance with you.”

  Georgiana was flattered that he thought her very good looking. Was she, indeed? As for the rest, it was more a liability than an advantage.

  “Thank you for encouraging me,” she said. “You are the best brother I could ever have hoped for.”

  “I am not encouraging you. Surely you do not need that? You must be more than satisfied with yourself. I am merely stating the facts of the matter.”

  As he spoke, his eyes drifted to Elizabeth, as if he wanted to be sure that his wife was safe. She was standing with Lady Catherine.

  “You need not worry, Brother,” she said with amusement, following the direction of his thoughts. “I am sure Elizabeth is perfectly able to look after herself.”

  “Of course she is. I do not know what you mean. What nonsense is this, Georgie?”

  It was a constant source of wonderment to Georgiana that her brother watched over Elizabeth so anxiously. She herself saw Elizabeth as a poised, outspoken young woman, more than capable of defending herself from attack from any quarter. Darcy, however, seemed convinced that he needed to shield her from any number of snubs and insults, and was in a constant state of vigilance.

  The dance parted them for a while. Georgiana could see that her brother had not liked her remark. He was…prickly when it came to Elizabeth. Still, she did not wish to offend him.

  The moment the dance allowed it again, Georgiana spoke up, hoping to give his thoughts a different direction.

  “Lady Catherine dotes on William Lewis, does she not?”

  Fitzwilliam’s tension relaxed. “She is delighted to have a Darcy heir, I am sure,” was all he said, but he spoke with the pride of a father who has no doubt that his child is adored by everybody.

  ***

  Gatley had done his duty. He believed strongly that as a host—of sorts, at any rate—his role was to make sure everyone was happy. He had danced with every young lady in the room once and ensured that any lady in danger of becoming a wall flower was introduced to several young gentlemen who could dance with her. Beyond that, he could not do anything more.

  His aunt and his mother had also done what they could to make sure everyone intermingled and that nobody was left out.

  As for his cousin—now that was a different matter. Channing had changed of late. The long absence of his father—almost two years now—was having its effect, along with the indulgence of a mother who could deny her son nothing. Far be it for Gatley to think his uncle’s presence desirable. The older Mr Channing was a despicable bully who brought terror to the household, reducing his wife to an imbecile and driving his son quickly away. But the absence of any steadfast figure—male or female—who could bring some direction to the household was beginning to take its toll.

  For two years his cousin had been indulging no one but himself. Which was all very well—men had to sow their wild oats and so on, and Channing was only twenty-three. But here and now, there was a ball, and Channing was the host. Yet instead of helping out, he sought his own amusement, and in the process, carelessly slighted more than one young lady. Channing was careless, Gatley maintained, and not essentially unkind. Despite a selfish streak that reared its ugly head once in a while, his cousin was a decent enough person, when reminded of his duty.

  The problem was, there was no one to do it. In so many ways, Gatley had assumed the role of the older brother. So the unpleasant task was his.

  To this purpose he took Channing aside and advised him to pay more attention to young ladies who did not have partners.

  “I fail to see why,” drawled Channing.

  “It is what a good host does,” said Gatley.

  “Young ladies who have no partners have no appeal for me,” replied Channing. “Why should I indulge them when no one else wishes to? It will only give them a false sense of vanity.”

  “Because it is your dance, in your house. It is expected from a good host,” said Gatley patiently.

  “It is, as you say, my dance. If one cannot enjoy oneself at one’s own dance, I can see no reason to have a dance at all. If you choose to take pity on every unappealing young lady in the neighbourhood, I will not prevent you. But do not expect me to follow suit. I prefer to make merry.”

  “One thing does not necessarily exclude the other,” replied Gatley. “Take Miss Darcy, for example. She is a very taking thing—very pretty, as a matter of fact, in a quiet sort of way—yet you have not danced with her once tonight.”

  “I have danced with her cousin, Miss Clarissa.”

  Channing could sometimes set his teeth on edge. He could even bring out stronger instincts, truth be told. But Gatley reminded himself that Channing would see reason eventually. It just required patience.

  He set out on the unpleasant task of explaining why, exactly, Channing needed to be considerate to young ladies like Miss Darcy.

  ***

  The time for supper came and went, and still Mr Channing had not stood up with her. Georgiana, with two empty spaces on her card for the first time that night, sought to occupy herself by moving towards the refreshment tables to obtain something to drink. Lemonade in hand, she weaved her way towards Robert and Caroline, who were engaged in conversation next to some potted palms.

  “You are too refined in your sense of duty, Cousin,” said a voice from behind the palms. She recognized it instantly as Mr Channing’s. “I do not need to pretend politeness to anyone. Just because Miss Clarissa is related to her, it does not mean I need to give her my attention.”

  Mr Gatley, for it was he, said something she could not distinguish.

  “Devil take it, Gatley!” responded Channing, “How you do love to preach! Miss Darcy has nothing to distinguish her. It is difficult to credit it, when she is a sister to Mr Darcy, who is perfectly agreeable—I have hunted with him and find him good company—but his sister! I have never met such an insipid bore. She’s as dull as ditchwater. If even a fortune of thirty thousand is not enough to tempt me, you cannot think your prosing and moralising is likely to have any effect.”

  With that he walked off. As his footsteps receded, Georgiana, not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, moved away hastily. But by some ill fortune, Mr Gatley emerged from behind the palms at that very moment, moving in the opposite direction, and they collided. The lemonade splattered onto his coat.

  “Oh, I am so sorry!” said Georgiana, staring at the stain in distress, struggling to control the impact of Mr Channing’s words. It would be ridiculous if she burst into tears for no apparent reason but for spilling some lemonade.

  Mr Gatley took out a handkerchief and dabbed calmly at his coat.

  “It is nothing at all,” he said. “A little lemonade never harmed anyone.” At that moment his gaze fell on her face and the handkerchief stopped moving.

  He knew she had heard everything.

  She waited for him to speak, but he did not. He resumed his dabbing. When he was finished, he quietly put the handkerchief in his pocket. He took her by the elbow and led her to a seat by the window.

  “I always find it easier to sip lemonade when sitting down,” he said.

  She expected him to say something else—to apologise perhaps for his cousin or try to pretend the conversation she overheard had not been about her, but he did not.

  “I think lemonade is just the thing,” she said, “when one is in a crowded room and has been dancing.”

  No wonder Mr Channing thought her insipid and boring. She could not have mad
e a remark more calculated to prove him right.

  “Lemons,” remarked Mr Gatley gravely, “have been known for their restorative traits for centuries. I have heard that they are treasured in the hot climates of the Mediterranean for precisely that reason.”

  “Are they indeed?” she murmured, wishing more than anything that she could excuse herself, for what could be more banal than this conversation about lemons?

  “I have visited the south of Spain in the spring,” he continued, “and I can assure you there is nothing more wonderful than the aroma of orange and lemon trees in blossom.”

  “Yes, there are orange trees in Lady Catherine’s orangery. The aroma is wonderful, as you say.”

  She thought of Anne, hiding under the trees.

  In another corner of the room, Clarissa was talking enthusiastically, probably spinning a tale about Boston, to judge by the fascinated interest of the young people around her.

  Her eyes sought out Channing. He was not with Clarissa. The throng occupying the centre of the room made it impossible to see him from where she was sitting. She should not seek him in any case—not now. Then she spotted him, bowing to Athena Moffet as a country dance came to an end. His smile was devastating.

  A new set was forming, and Mr Gatley asked her to dance. Since no one else had claimed the dance, she had no choice but to stand up with him, though she could hardly put two words together. They met and parted in what Georgiana supposed must have been the correct moves, but beyond that she saw nothing.

  At the end, he guided her to where Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth stood, and she felt safe again.

  But not for very long. They could do nothing to protect her from Channing’s words, after all.

  Chapter 9

  Georgiana resolved to spend the day after the dance in bed. She knew very well that everyone would ask her all kinds of questions. They would expect her to be exuberant, and tease her about her partners and try to discover if she had a favourite admirer. What could she answer? Better to avoid questions altogether—at least until she had recovered her spirits enough to be cheerful. Perhaps then she could honestly say she had found it entertaining. Which she had, in a way, for Mr Gatley had been an agreeable partner, and Mr Moffet had paid her flattering attention, and she had danced a great deal.