The Darcy Cousins

by Monica Fairview

  “This may have come as a surprise to you,” said Miss Moffet, her voice changing suddenly as she abandoned the chatter. “But I have reason to believe Mr Channing is planning to ask me to marry him. I would not blame you at all if you do not believe me, for I know Channing has been a most shocking flirt. Those who do not know him may misinterpret his flirtations as a sign of interest. In fact, I have often warned him about it. But he insists that he means no harm by it.” She sighed. “Men, you know.”

  She seemed to assume they understood what she meant, but she made no attempt to explain. In the silence that followed, Georgiana wondered if she should explain that she was no longer interested in Channing but could think of no tactful way of saying it.

  “I have known Channing for the longest time,” said Miss Moffet, breaking into the silence. “We have grown up together. I know he means nothing by it, for even when he singles out anyone particular for his attention, it does not last long. He will marry me, you know.”

  “Of course he will marry you, my dear,” said Mrs Moffet. “I already told Miss Darcy so.”

  “I wish you luck, Miss Moffet, if that is the case,” said Georgiana.

  “And I as well,” said Clarissa warmly. “As long as he can make you happy.”

  “I am glad you understand, for I would not wish you to be hurt by him. He can be quite careless at times.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” said Georgiana. A thought occurred to her, and she suddenly wanted an answer. “You say you have known Mr Channing a long time. How about Mr Gatley? Have you known him as well?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Moffet. “I have known him almost as long. They used to be boys together. Channing was forever getting into trouble, and Gatley was forever saving him.” She frowned at the memory. “He felt sorry for Channing, you see. Channing’s father was never there, and when he did come from India, he made it clear he far preferred Gatley over Channing—his own son! It was not Gatley’s fault, of course, but it was an uncomfortable situation to be in, especially since Channing was quite jealous. And—I hate to say this, for he will be my father if I marry Percy Channing—but the older Mr Channing is quite a brute. I hope he does not decide to come back.” She paused, reflecting on this. “I will certainly make sure we do not live under the same roof.”

  “You most certainly will not!” said Mrs Moffet. “Your father and I will see to it, I can assure you.”

  “Anyway, all this was a very long time ago,” said Miss Moffet, “and now it is quite the other way. Channing is the favourite of society and adored by all the ladies, while Gatley is—well, you know Gatley. He makes little effort to draw attention to himself. Channing says he could have all the ladies too, if he took the trouble, but he is too conscious of his own worth to do so. Channing does not need to make the effort. He attracts all the ladies to him; he cannot help it.”

  Her tone was laced with pride, as if it was something that reflected well on her.

  Georgiana could not help but feel sorry for her and was fervently glad that at least she no longer cared anything for Channing.

  Not that she had fared much better with Gatley. Clearly they were both a lost cause. She had never met with a more self-righteous person than Mr Gatley. And at this point, she hoped never to set eyes on him again.

  Chapter 27

  The season was really drawing to its conclusion now. Napoleon was exiled to St Helena, and the celebrations of Wellington’s victory were long over. The young debutantes’ fates had been decided; they were either to marry, in which case they were successful, or they were to return next Season to a more desperate round of balls and soirees.

  August the twelfth came and went, and London emptied out as hunting parties and house parties were arranged or as members of Society returned thankfully to the quiet of their country estates.

  The two Darcy families also prepared to remove north to Derbyshire, with the as yet unmarried debutantes in tow.

  “We have not even received any proposals,” said Clarissa. “We really are the most unmitigated failures.”

  Georgiana felt very much a failure. Her spirits were most depressed, for she had invested a great deal of hope not in one young gentleman but in two. Three, if one considered Wickham as well.

  Perhaps she was not meant to marry. Not every woman in England married. There were many who did not. It seemed she was destined to be one of them.

  “I shall be very glad to leave,” she replied. “I have come to dislike London.”

  Clarissa considered this. “I do not dislike London. But I must admit, the Season did not quite live up to my expectations. There was something—hollow about it.”

  There was certainly something hollow about it. Georgiana had never felt so empty and drained of all energy as she felt now. She would be glad to go back home to Pemberley. Perhaps, with any luck, she would convince her brother to forgo the idea of a Season for her altogether.

  ***

  The knocker on the front door rapped harshly, then rapped again and again, so insistently that Georgiana was tempted to open it herself.

  “Whoever could be knocking in that insistent fashion?” said Elizabeth, going to the window. “I do hope Hibbert will answer soon, or the knocker will break,” said Elizabeth.

  The rapping ceased, though it was doubtful that the reason was a broken knocker. The appearance of Hibbert, the Butler, confirmed that the knocker was still intact. Hibbert struggled to maintain his dignity while a familiar form did everything he could to push past him.

  “Mr Collins,” intoned Hibbert, conveying the full force of his disapproval in the two words.

  “I am very sorry to intrude on you in this manner, cousin Elizabeth, Miss Darcy. I specifically asked to speak to Mr Darcy,” he said, “but I was shown in here instead.”

  “Mr Darcy is busy with his man of affairs. He will join us presently. Would you like some tea?”

  It was readily apparent that Mr Collins would not have liked tea, as he had something of importance to impart. But he was in the impossible situation of having to wait for Mr Darcy. So he smiled as agreeably as his impatience would allow him and remarked that refreshments would be very welcome, as he had been on the road for a long time.

  “I hope you left everyone well, Mr Collins. Charlotte and the little one are in good health?” enquired Elizabeth, after the tea things had been brought in.

  “Yes, yes,” he replied, rubbing his hands together, “It is exceedingly kind of you to enquire. My dear Charlotte does well, and she sends her greetings.”

  “And Lady Catherine?” said Georgiana, handing him a cup. “Did you also leave her well?”

  The impact of these words upon Mr Collins was profound. His teacup clattered in its saucer, splattering tea onto his hand. He plonked everything down onto the table, took out a large handkerchief, and proceeded to wipe his fingers fretfully.

  “You have guessed everything, Miss Darcy. I knew I could not hide the news for very long. This is precisely what brought me to London in such haste, and may I add, at great expense—but I do not count that, when it concerns my saintly benefactress, for considering what she has done for me—her kind attentions, her invitations to Rosings, her condescension, the improvements she made to my humble home—I could not have wished for a more generous and affable patroness—”

  He would have continued his effusions for a while longer had Elizabeth not interrupted him.

  “But tell us, Mr Collins, you really must—has something happened to Lady Catherine?”

  Mr Collins did not appreciate the interruption. For a moment he wondered whether his clerical office allowed him to reprimand her for her discourtesy and considered what could be his best course of action. Fortunately the entrance of Mr Darcy saved him from making a decision which could have only earned him a problem.

  A sombre bow provided the prelude for his words. “My humble apologies, Mr
Darcy, for intruding on you in this unexpected manner. Were it not for the grim nature of my errand, I would never have presumed to arrive without prior notice.”

  “Everything is well at Rosings, I trust?”

  “Alas,” said Mr Collins, quite overcome, “I have bad tidings to impart—I can assure you that nothing would have made me so uncivil as to intrude on your presence without notice—but when even dear Charlotte advised me to make haste—”

  His apologies continued at such length that Mr Darcy was obliged to interrupt.

  “Yes, yes, that is all very well,” said Mr Darcy, “but I hope you will come to the point. Is my aunt taken ill?”

  Accepting the interruption from Mr Darcy—who was after all the nephew of Lady Catherine—Mr Collins wrung his hands in distress.

  “You cannot imagine what she has had to endure, all these weeks, waiting for news of That Person.”

  “You mean Miss de Bourgh,” said Darcy coldly.

  “That is precisely the difficulty, Mr Darcy. For Lady Catherine has recently received information regarding That Person. She has sailed to America.” He waited for a reaction, but when there was none he continued. “I have never in my life heard anything more shocking. Lady Catherine has taken it ill, very ill indeed. It is obvious now that That Person left of her free will, and that she has no intention of returning to the bosom of her family. Lady Catherine was quite prostrate with the news. She wrote immediately to her solicitor and arranged to disown her. Her ladyship will do everything in her power to sever any connection with such a wicked, disobedient girl, and has decreed that That Person’s name may no longer be mentioned. You understand now why I cannot call her by her name, for it would go expressly against my exalted patroness’s wishes.”

  “I am sorry to hear that Lady Catherine has been the recipient of such bad news,” said Mr Darcy, “and I thank you for bringing it to me, but it was hardly necessary for you to post down to London to inform me in person. An express would have sufficed.”

  Mr Collins bowed deeply at this and expressed his humble gratitude that he was able to be of service to such an illustrious person as Mr Darcy.

  “However, the reason for my precipitous journey to London was not to impart this news,” he said. “Something of far greater import has brought me here.”

  Elizabeth by now was quite prepared to leave the room, so great was her frustration at having to wait so long to learn the reason for his visit. She could only conclude that it could not be anything of importance and that it was most likely a request for funding from Mr Darcy or some such matter.

  “I hope you will not take it amiss if I speak freely,” said Mr Collins, “for I would not cause offence to a nephew of Lady Catherine for the world.”

  Darcy commanded him to speak as freely as possible.

  “I could not wait a moment longer to inform you of her circumstances, you understand. I told you earlier that the news she received laid her prostrate. However, it would be more correct to say that the shock of the news—terrible as it was—has so changed her that she is but a shadow of herself. Which is why I am here. It is not in my place to make suggestions to such an elevated personage as yourself, but I am quite anxious”—here he paused to clear his throat, overwhelmed with emotion—“quite anxious, nay, even afraid, for her ladyship’s health and would suggest that your presence is most urgently needed in Rosings.”

  “Why the devil did you not tell me so earlier?” exclaimed Darcy.

  Mr Collins perceived that he had caused offence but was quite at a loss to understand how. He was not a perceptive man, but he concluded from Darcy’s language, uttered in front of the ladies, that he was somehow out of patience. He proceeded immediately to make amends, by apologising so profusely that Mr Darcy was forced to leave the room.

  “Cousin Elizabeth,” he said, as a blinding insight provided the explanation for Mr Darcy’s odd behaviour, “I believe that your noble husband is so overset by the news of Lady Catherine’s poor health that he was compelled to leave the room. Who can blame him, when one reflects on the excellence, the generosity, and the kindness that are so much a part of her ladyship’s character? You would be well advised to follow him, to provide him with the kind of comfort only wives can provide.”

  Elizabeth’s expression of surprise made him realise that she had perhaps misunderstood him. “I was not referring, of course, to one’s wifely duties,” he said, whispering the last two words, and casting a sideways look at Georgiana. “I was referring rather to a wife’s obligation to provide support to her husband in the tempestuous moments of life.”

  Elizabeth, making a strenuous effort to appear anxious, rose immediately.

  “Indeed, Mr Collins, you have put in me in mind of my duty, and I am afraid I must leave you, for, of course, my first duty must be to Mr Darcy.”

  And with that she quit the room, abandoning Georgiana to her fate.

  Georgiana, however, was not about to be left behind.

  “I am afraid, Mr Collins,” she said, rising quickly to her feet, “that I too must leave you. In her rush to provide comfort to Mr Darcy, Mrs Darcy forgot that it is not entirely proper for me to remain alone with you.”

  “Your sense of propriety does you credit, Miss Darcy, however, as a member of the clergy—”

  But Georgiana was not destined to hear what he said, for she had already left the room.

  ***

  The Season was over. Gatley had had quite enough of London and was more than ready to forgo the dubious pleasure of balls and routs and picnics and other such things, and to return to the quiet of the countryside. He had always disliked London at this time of the year, but this year it seemed worse than usual. With the weather turning damper, hinting of autumn already, a heavy oppressive air hung over town. Everyone talked of the striking orange sunsets, and there was talk of Turner frantically painting one landscape after another to try to capture it. But, notwithstanding the sunsets, London towards the end of August seemed like a fairground when the fair was over.

  Normally, he would return home to Hunsford. But Kent did not hold its usual appeal. He had a sudden urge to travel north. His explanation for this break with his customary habits was that he had been neglecting a piece of property left to him by a distant relative near Kenelworth, in Warwickshire. At certain rare moments of reflection, he admitted it was likely he did not want to go to Kent because he wished to avoid any reminders of the Darcys. He would be certain to remember them each time he passed by Rosings. He had had quite enough of them this year.

  He had received a note from Fitzwilliam Darcy the day after Gatley had left that wretched inn in Richmond. Darcy had wished to meet with him in order to clear the misunderstanding that had occurred. He had even hinted at an apology. Gatley’s answer, invented at the spur of the moment, had been that he had urgent business to attend to in the north and that he would be out of town for some time.

  And so he set out on an entirely unexpected trip to Warwickshire, and by the time he had reached Kenelworth, he had quite convinced himself that he had been a most neglectful landowner, and it was high time he attended to the property, met with his steward there, and made sure that his tenants were well taken care of. There was nothing worse than an absent landlord.

  And from this far away, the whole quarrel in London took on a different perspective. Darcy’s note was by now quite pointless. He needed no apology from Darcy. Darcy had slighted his honour, true. But Darcy was an old friend and understood him well enough not to mistake his motives. He had simply been in the grip of an uncontrollable anger, which was perfectly understandable, given the reasons for that anger.

  With Miss Darcy, the situation was quite different.

  Which is where things had become more complicated. For no matter how much he tried, he could not determine who was most at fault. His mind swung like a pendulum. One day, he would be filled with outrage that she had
been so capable of abusing his trust that she had embroiled him in such an underhanded scheme.

  The next day, however, he would awake with the conviction that he should have listened to her. He had judged her without looking at the facts, and he began to wonder if had missed some crucial piece of information. On those days, he had to restrain himself from saddling the fastest horse in his stables and riding to see her, in order to discover what that missing piece was and to give her the chance to explain.

  But he was absolutely determined not to give in to the temptation. Because he knew if he did, he would forgive her. Precisely what it was that he had to forgive had become more and more blurred in his mind. There was a strong sense of betrayal, of being used, by her, by her cousin, and by Channing. He had not heard from his cousin since, nor had Gatley attempted any contact. Channing had stepped on his toes one time too many, and he had decided that he would have nothing more to do with him. Not that Channing had even noticed.

  Nevertheless, he awaited almost daily the news of an engagement. For surely, if Channing had been planning a clandestine meeting with Clarissa, there would have to be an engagement. Darcy would see to it.

  Meanwhile, he had received Miss Darcy’s news regularly. His mother—while she was still in London—seemed to make it rather a point to write to him in excruciating detail how Miss Darcy had looked at the latest ball, what witty remarks she had made, and who she had danced with. And he had no choice but to read the letters.

  His mother clearly favoured Miss Darcy, undoubtedly because she had been friends with Lady Anne, Darcy’s mother. But she did not know the full truth about her, and he was too much of a gentleman to disillusion her.

  ***

  Georgiana was sitting on a stone bench in the garden, viewing the sunset. It had become almost a habit of hers, on sunny days, to watch the colours spread across the sky. They were really quite remarkable. She had not seen anything like it—at least nothing that she remembered.

  “You should paint them,” said Clarissa, coming to join her.