“He certainly does not,” said Clarissa, smiling. “Mr Channing is universally liked, and it is only natural that he should be seen about town with more than one young lady at his side.”
Georgiana did not find Clarissa’s words particularly cheering.
“I hope I do not impose if I wait here for a few more minutes,” said Mr Gatley.
“Not at all,” replied Georgiana. She would not make any effort to converse however. She was quite put out with him for casting aspersions on Mr Channing. He was proving to be just as Channing had described him—someone who believed he had the moral right to control people’s lives. Worse, he was proving to be a gossipmonger intent on spreading rumours. One would not have thought it.
A strained silence followed. Georgiana was too well bred to allow it to stretch for long, even if she was vexed with him. Her instincts as a hostess finally came to the fore.
“Shall I ring for refreshments, Mr Gatley?” she said.
“Very kind of you, Miss Darcy, but you need not trouble yourself, for we will be quickly forced to abandon them. My cousin should be here any moment.”
His statement held a certain sharpness—an unmistakable note of irony—that Georgiana did not like. A quick perusal of him revealed nothing in his face, however, and she decided she had imagined it. She made a remark about Napoleon, which could always be counted on to provide a lengthy topic of conversation, and it was some time before the subject was exhausted.
The clock chimed the three quarter hour. Georgiana relentlessly subdued the doubts that rose up in her. London streets were busy and full of a myriad obstructions. Besides, fashionable gentlemen were not so very nice in their notions of time. One was almost obliged to be fashionably late in London, and a quarter of an hour did not even begin to qualify for that—not for someone like Channing.
The door opened. But again, the young ladies were doomed to be disappointed, for it was only Darcy and Elizabeth.
“Gatley,” said Darcy. “Hibbert told me that you were here.”
“Mr Darcy, Mrs Darcy,” said Gatley. “A pleasure to see you. I came to accompany the young ladies to the Park, only to discover they were otherwise engaged.”
“Really?” said Darcy, casting an amused glance in Georgiana’s direction. “I see no evidence of that. It appears to me they are perfectly at leisure.”
“If you must know,” said Elizabeth, smiling too, “they are waiting for Mr Channing.”
Darcy looked at the clock significantly. It was by now almost six.
“Is it no longer fashionable for ladies to make an appearance at a half hour past five, or have things changed recently?” he said.
Georgiana disliked being teased, and that her dear brother of all people should undertake to do so—she could not bear it. She would not expose herself to any more disparaging remarks. She stood up decisively.
“It does appear, Mr Gatley, that you were correct in your surmise that I had the wrong day. Thank you, but I am delighted to accept your offer of a drive in Hyde Park.”
She did not look at Clarissa. If Clarissa wished to wait for Channing, then she could. She certainly did not care if Clarissa accompanied her and Mr Gatley or not.
“It is too late to go for a drive now,” said Clarissa. “If you would be kind enough to drop me off at Grosvenor Street, I will accompany you that far.”
***
Georgiana regretted her impulse as soon as Clarissa descended from the landau, for even with a groom present, she was conscious that she was alone with a gentleman she knew very little—and one, moreover, that she was not sure she liked at all. She could not even practise her Arts on him, for he was completely impervious to them. She was at a loss as to why he had called to take her for a drive, for he certainly betrayed no interest in her. Perhaps he had heard something from his cousin and had come to rescue her from embarrassment.
His interference, kindly meant though it may be, was humiliating. She had not asked him to mediate between her and Channing. It would have been far better if he had left her to suffer her disappointment alone. Then at least there would have been no witnesses.
But perhaps he had other reasons. Georgiana had caught glimpses of some sort of rivalry between the two. And there may be other reasons, unknown to her. Curiosity propelled her to probe his motives. She did not, however, set out to question him the way the old Georgiana may have done—in a more direct, though infinitely more naïve way. Instead, she gave him a sly smile, as though to coax some admission of partiality for her out of him.
“You really have been most gentlemanly, Mr Gatley, to offer to replace your cousin in this manner,” she said, casting him a sidelong glance. “You have been quite the knight in shining armour, for without you, I would still be waiting at home for your cousin.”
Mr Gatley slowed the horses to a trot as he negotiated through a particularly busy knot of traffic. Nothing in his appearance indicated that he had heard her, and since she could hardly repeat the question—for he might have heard her—she sat impatiently by his side, waiting for the road to open up before them.
“Perhaps we may run into Mr Channing in the Park,” she said, eventually, for lack of anything else to say.
“Is that what you wish?” asked Gatley, driving through a narrow gap between a cart full of vegetables and a small gig that sped past them too quickly.
Georgiana regretted her words immediately. It was her turn to pretend she had not heard. She gave her full attention to a young lad who was sweeping the road, but when he stopped and whistled at her she turned her head quickly, only to find Gatley’s dark eyes brimming with amusement.
“You cannot quite make up your mind, can you?” said Gatley. “One moment you play the coquette, and the next you blush like a young girl fresh from the schoolroom.”
Needless to say, this remark did not endear him to her. Nor did she know how to answer him. She was out of her depth in this unexpected conversation.
“You play a dangerous game,” he said in an almost offhand manner. “For you do not know the rules, and you do not know how far you can go without harming either yourself or someone else. Your cousin, perhaps, can play with less risk. She has some inherent sense of what to do.”
Georgiana was beginning to grow tired of being told that Clarissa played the game—whatever it was—better than her.
“I do not know by what authority you speak to me in this manner,” she replied coldly. “You are little more than a stranger.”
“True enough,” he said.
They had now entered the Park. Georgiana quickly realised how little chance she would have had of conducting any kind of meaningful conversation with Channing, for almost as soon as they entered the Park they had to stop and exchange greetings and introductions with any number of persons.
“You are correct in maintaining that I have no right, and I apologise if you think my remarks too presumptuous,” said Gatley, during a quiet moment. He seemed to know a vast number of people. “But you will admit that I know my own cousin better than you know him. I will say no more—only that you must not take everything he says or does too seriously. Other than that, I promise to remain silent on the subject for the rest of the drive. Indeed, it is far too pleasant an evening to dwell on unpleasant subjects. Let us enjoy the drive at least, and I am even willing to promise that I will never ask you to drive in Hyde Park with me again. Will that satisfy you?”
An odd trick of light from the descending sun turned his eyes suddenly from dark brown to liquid gold. She became aware for the first time that his features—the sharp contour of his jaw, the gently arching outline of his nose, the dark lashes that bordered his eyes—were actually very handsome. Why had she never noticed before? He caught her staring. For an instant, their gaze met and tangled. Her breath caught. His eyes were warm and rich and golden—a reflection of the sun.
She pulled away from th
at steady gaze and composed herself, making herself breathe more deeply. She hoped he did not think she was staring for any particular reason. It was just because of the way the sun had fallen on his face, nothing more. She deliberately turned her attention to a high phaeton coming their way.
As ill luck would have it, the driver turned out to be Channing, accompanied—she guessed—by the same young lady Gatley had mentioned.
If she thought Channing would be discomfited at being caught out in this manner, she was quickly proven wrong, for as soon as he spotted her he drew back his horses and came to a halt by the side of the landau.
“Well met, Cousin!” he said cheerfully. “I see you have stolen the beautiful Miss Darcy all to yourself.”
He leaned down far enough over the edge of the high perch for her to fear that he would unbalance it, and addressed himself to her in a half whisper. “You must endure his company as best as you can, for I am sure you must find it deucedly sombre. Has he been lecturing you on your behaviour?”
He was entirely correct, of course. Gatley had lectured her on her behaviour. And he was a great deal too serious. But Georgiana was so exasperated by Channing’s sublime forgetfulness that she came immediately to Gatley’s defence. “On the contrary, Mr Channing,” she said, “your cousin has been everything that is amiable. I could not have wished for a more agreeable companion.”
At that moment Gatley chose to set the landau in motion again, and they had soon left Channing behind them.
“Touché. I believe you ruffled his feathers a little,” said Gatley, his lips twitching. “Under normal circumstances, I would thank you for your kind defence. But I am certain that your flattering remark was more a reflection on my cousin’s behaviour than my own.”
Georgiana was finding Gatley altogether too clever for his own good. His comment piqued her, and all charitable thoughts of him came to an immediate demise.
“Have you and your cousin always been rivals like this?” she enquired, startling herself with her audacity, yet determined not to let him have the last word. The question was rhetorical and she did not expect an answer. She meant it as a challenge.
The question clearly startled him. His quick frown revealed his displeasure, and almost instinctively she began to formulate an apology. He did not give her the chance to utter it, however.
“Rivals?” he said. “I had never thought of it that way.” He stared at the ears of the grey horse ahead, reflecting. “Perhaps there is some truth in it, though why, heaven only knows. Percy’s father was very harsh, and mine was—I am tempted to say the opposite. My father was always kind and forgiving, whereas his father was, to put it mildly, vindictive and bitter. Whenever he came home from India, Percy escaped him by coming to stay with us. He was afraid of him.” He paused, remembering. “I suppose in many ways he envies the closeness of our family. He grieved for my father a long time when he died. But does he see me as a rival? I do not think so.”
Georgiana had not meant that Channing saw Gatley as a rival. She had meant something else entirely. Given Channing’s attractive personality, she had thought rather that Gatley would wish he had Channing’s ease in social situations and would be envious of Channing’s success with the ladies in particular. But she should have known that Gatley had too high a sense of his own worth to see it any other way. She smiled to herself. It is a truism that people see the world from their own vantage point, moving through life with blinkers on their eyes. How true this was in Gatley’s case!
“Have I amused you?” asked Gatley, puzzled.
“Yes, I suppose you have,” said Georgiana, “but please do not ask me to explain why.”
He examined her closely. Normally, such scrutiny would have intimidated her, but now, his bafflement made her laugh even more.
For the rest of the drive they exchanged little more than banalities. But her amusement lasted until she reached home, so that when Elizabeth asked her if her drive had gone well, she was able to answer, quite truthfully, that she had enjoyed it very much.
Chapter 16
There must be a moment in a young lady’s life when her family no longer appears a sanctuary, but rather a prison—even if woven with the silken threads of concern—obstructing her chance of going out into the world. Georgiana had reached that moment.
“I hear that you enjoyed your drive with Mr Gatley yesterday,” said Darcy the next day, at a quiet family dinner that was rare these days—for they were either invited somewhere or dinner was in some way interrupted by cries of appeal from the nursery. “Do you not find Gatley an intriguing companion?”
Georgiana did not like to have her words misconstrued. She had enjoyed the drive, but not for the reasons they had assumed. Darcy had that approving, paternalistic expression he had acquired after little Lewis was born. She was tempted to tell him that she was not a baby—and that she did not like being viewed the same way.
“Hardly,” she said pertly. “The drive only confirmed to me that Mr Gatley is as conceited and blind to his own faults as Mr Collins.”
She derived some satisfaction from seeing the indulgent expression disappear. But the satisfaction was short lasting. Even as she spoke, she was conscious that she was being very unfair to Mr Gatley. One could not compare the two men at all. But having made the statement, she prepared herself to defend it.
“Do you not think that is a little harsh?” said Elizabeth, blinking at the look of defiance Georgiana sent her brother.
Darcy put down his fork and wiped his mouth. This, she knew, was a prelude to a dressing-down, and she had no intention of hearing one tonight.
“I hope you will excuse me,” she said, scraping her chair against the floor as she rose, and effectively interrupting as her brother started to speak. “I have a little headache. I think I will retire early.”
“Yes, of course,” said Elizabeth good-naturedly. “A good night’s sleep is the best cure for the headache.”
“Very wise words,” muttered Georgiana, as she strode past, “though how I could be expected to get to sleep when I have a headache, I am sure I do not know.”
Elizabeth gave no sign of having heard, but Darcy seized a corner of Georgiana’s paisley shawl as she passed him.
“You will apologise to Elizabeth, Georgiana. She meant well by her comment, and you answered rudely.”
Georgiana left the shawl in her brother’s hand and continued on her way. She reached her chamber and threw herself on the bed.
It was always about Elizabeth, was it not? Or about the squawking child upstairs, she added mentally as high-pitched squeals reached her from the nursery, even through the closed door. It was always about them.
And to think she was glad when her brother married! To think that at one time she could never have imagined leaving home. She used to think she would never marry. That she would stay with Darcy, and run the house for him, and be perfectly contented with her music and the garden and the humdrum everyday activities that made up her life.
Now she felt so hemmed in—so constricted—she could hardly wait to leave.
And this was where the reality of her situation chaffed at her even more. For if she wanted to leave—which she did, urgently at this point—there was only one way open to her and that was marriage. Unless she, like Anne, simply disappeared. For a moment she toyed with the idea. How much more comfortable it would be to live one’s life away from the prying eyes of society, in complete obscurity, free of the constant interference of one’s relations.
But then common sense came to the fore. It was nonsense, of course, to envy Anne. They knew nothing about her fate. For all they knew, she was married by now, forced into it by some ruthless villain who had abducted her by force. Or perhaps she had been so desperate to escape her mother that she had run straight into the clutches of a debauched fortune hunter. As always when she thought of Anne, a sharp jab of guilt pierced through her. If only sh
e and Clarissa had not encouraged her to walk out alone! And if only they knew what had happened to her.
She was not so very desperate. She would not make that mistake. She had had a brush with it—had been almost tempted—but then she had been only fifteen, and even then she had hesitated, at least enough to confide the scheme to her brother. Besides, she could not compare her home to Rosings, however much she may dislike the changes that had occurred since her brother’s marriage.
Besides, she would have to leave soon enough. For that was what the Season was about, was it not? About finding an acceptable gentleman, marrying, and setting up her own establishment? About starting a new life with a stranger?
The truth was, Georgiana could not make up her mind whether she looked forward to the possibility, or whether she really hated it.
***
One of the advantages of youth is that one thinks nothing of a disagreement, however unpleasant it may have been at the time. By the morning, Georgiana, with that ability to put the disagreeable behind her, hardly remembered her brief flare of temper from the night before. But if she had expected the storm to blow over by itself, she was very much mistaken. The moment she reached the breakfast room, a maid brought her the message that her brother was awaiting for her in the library.
She sighed, and, aware of the confrontation to come, she took as much time over breakfast as she could. She considered ignoring the summons. But what good would that do? It was bound to happen sooner or later.
She entered the book room and found him seated behind the great mahogany desk, looking very much the head of the Darcy family. His brows were drawn in thick lines over his eyes, his mouth tightened into thin disapproval. At first she was struck by apprehension. Her brother had never dealt with her in this manner before. She quaked under the severity of his glance.
But then she rallied forces. Why should her brother make her quake? She was no longer a child, to be afraid of his opinion. If he was to stop thinking of her as a child, she would have to stand her ground, perhaps even counter his attack with one of her own.
The Darcy Cousins Page 16
