Mr. Darcy's Secret

by Jane Odiwe

  "Lord Dalton himself, indeed!" Elizabeth immediately responded, her countenance suitably arranged to give an impression of awe, whilst simultaneously wondering quite why she had formerly considered Miss Bingley's character to be so reformed. "You are very fortunate, Miss Bingley, to have attracted such a tutor; I believe Lord Dalton is very much in request."

  "I am very privileged to have made his close acquaintance, indeed; lately, we are hardly ever separated. He listens to my work, I give him the benefit of my advice. It is a partnership made in heaven."

  "Oh, I see," said Elizabeth with a knowing nod of her head. "That quite puts me in mind of a solution to the mystery I have been puzzling over. For we have all been wondering who is the inspiration for Lord Dalton's latest clutch of love poems. Who is the muse that inspires such declarations as, 'Her step was elastic, a vision so rare, a goddess divine, she is youthful and fair.' Tell me, Miss Bingley, do you know who is responsible for such an outpouring of emotion?"

  Miss Bingley blushed and simpered. "Mrs Darcy, I cannot think what you mean by your wicked insinuations. Lord Dalton and I are just very good friends bound by our shared passion. The fact that he has expressed a wish to capture me in oil on canvas is neither here nor there. Oh, do come and meet him. He is about to start his talk and there is such a fine exhibition of his work."

  Fortunately, Charlotte Collins presented herself at that moment and so Elizabeth had the perfect excuse to delay the meeting with the gentleman everyone else seemed eager to meet. Miss Bingley rushed away with the excuse of having to guide visitors to their seats. There was a large party gathering, Elizabeth supposing they consisted mostly of the people from London who had followed in the wake of their mentor. Mrs Collins and Mrs Darcy exchanged their news, and Georgiana's absence was explained. Mr Collins professed his disappointment whilst concurrently urging his wife and his cousin to pay heed to Lady Catherine, who was announcing in a loud voice that the exhibition was open. There was nothing else to be done but follow the swarming crowd into the drawing room. Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Butler linked arms as if in defence against those that might want to part them and perused the vast wall of Lord Dalton's paintings, which had been specially mounted for the occasion. There were so many people all crushed together that it was quite impossible to study the paintings very well. Most people paid little heed to what was on the wall, Lizzy observed; they were too busy eyeing one another and discussing their peers. Looking about, Elizabeth noticed that there were several military officers in attendance, which gave her some cause for concern, but thankfully there was no sign of her sister or her husband. Lizzy could not imagine Lydia wishing to come to any evening where poetry and art might be discussed and felt satisfied that she would not be of any party to arrive.

  At one side of the room standing before the fireplace was Lord Dalton, surrounded by females all speaking at once. Handsome, yet with an air of pride and undeniable vanity as was proved by the constant checking of his appearance in a pier glass opposite, the gentleman was holding court before a rapt audience. Caroline Bingley was staring up at him with pure adoration. Poor Miss Bingley, thought Lizzy, as she noted Lord Dalton making eyes at a very young and pretty girl across the room who returned his glances most appreciatively.

  Lady Catherine, who had been engaged in conversation with her many guests, finally rounded on the Darcys. Her daughter Anne, still as pale and sickly looking as when they had seen her last, stood meekly at Lady Catherine's side as they exchanged pleasantries. Henry Dalton was hailed from across the room and the introductions made at last.

  "Lord Dalton has been giving Anne the benefit of his mastery and skills when her health permits it," announced Lady Catherine immediately following the formalities. "He is such a very loyal companion whether she feels like dabbling or not, sitting at her side daily, entertaining her with little bons mots and such-like. Is not that the case, Anne? Lord Dalton is very attentive, is he not?"

  Anne did not speak; she merely nodded her head. At least, Elizabeth thought it was a nod but was not quite certain if she hadn't just been going to sneeze and had been saved from doing so at the last second.

  "It has been my great pleasure, Lady Catherine," Dalton simpered. "My lady Anne shows great promise and talent; I only wish I could finish paintings as quickly."

  Elizabeth scrutinised Lord Dalton's expression. Neither Lady Catherine nor Anne it seemed had registered his less than sincere compliment. His smug countenance suggested he had made a private joke for his own amusement; one he was certain would not be understood by any of them present.

  William Collins, solemn and awkward, joined them in time to offer his apologies for not having attended the Darcys sooner. Turning toward the rest of the party he bestowed his compliments upon Henry Dalton and made several flattering allusions to the ladies, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter. Lady Catherine took Mr Darcy's arm to lead him to his seat. Elizabeth looked about her, preparing to follow on her own. Mr Collins looked about for his wife and so Lord Dalton offered an arm each to Mrs Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.

  "The rumours I've heard are perfectly true," he began, smiling at Elizabeth as they progressed about the room.

  Lizzy felt a certain discomposure at this comment but endeavoured to smile back at him.

  "Mrs Darcy's fine eyes are the talk of the Lakes," he said, looking deeply into her dark eyes. "Could any artist do true justice to their beauty, I wonder. Perhaps the colour and the shape might be imitated, but that expression of vitality, the fire within... now that might prove impossible for any man to capture."

  Elizabeth did not know where to look. She felt herself blushing at the impropriety. There was something very artful in his way of talking, and Elizabeth did not like it. Henry Dalton made her feel extremely uncomfortable.

  "With Mr Darcy's permission, I should consider it an honour to paint you," he continued. "His wife's celebrated loveliness should not forgo being recorded for posterity. Ask any of my clients here; they would not have forfeited the experience for the world. The relationship between client and artist is of a peculiar kind, formed with interests to satisfy the other. A symbiotic bond both intimate and fulfilling, an experience unsurpassed." He lowered his voice. "Perhaps something for Mr Darcy's private collection."

  "Thank you, Lord Dalton, I shall certainly pass on your ideas to my husband," Elizabeth answered as politely as she could. All she wished was to be released as quickly as possible from his side and to be reunited with Fitzwilliam.

  "Good, good. I see it now, the finished article with you pictured as I see you in my mind... a goddess, your dark tresses flowing in the wind like Aphrodite rising from the sea."

  Elizabeth was stunned into silence for a moment. "But I'm afraid that won't do at all," said Elizabeth, finding her courage. "I could not agree to such a scheme. Aphrodite was certainly a celebrated beauty, yet she was also unfaithful to her husband, not to mention rather too scantily dressed for warmth on any English coastline that might be deemed suitable for such a project."

  They had reached the rest of the party. Elizabeth was pleased to see that her bold retort had completely taken him aback. He regarded her quite simply as if he could not believe his ears.

  Chapter 28

  Lord Dalton's speech and recitation had been of a lengthy duration. One by one the participants had taken their places and held forth. Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley took their turn to extol the magnificence of the Lakes with many lamentations on nature's cruelty and fearsome strength alongside many descriptive and emotive inner visions and personal feelings on their reactions to the landscape around them. It was all Elizabeth could do to keep a straight face and she wondered how her lip did not bleed, so many times she did bite it to suppress the mirth that rose inside. At last it was over and as she settled with some relief to talking to Mrs Butler and Mrs Gardiner, she was suddenly arrested by a sound from the opposite corner that left her quite disconcerted.

  "Lizzy! Lizzy, over here!" cried a voice that was
instantly recognisable to Elizabeth--one that she was not too ashamed to say had the effect of immediately sinking her spirits.

  From the other side of the room the figure of her sister Lydia could be seen calling loudly and gesticulating wildly. There was no alternative but to excuse herself from her party as soon as she could and advance quickly to her sister's side. Mrs Wickham was standing within a circle of officers arm in arm with an older gentleman that Lizzy did not recognise.

  "Fancy, Lizzy, I bet you never thought you'd see me here tonight." Lydia noted that Elizabeth was perusing the group around her as if she looked for someone. "Oh, don't worry; Wickie isn't here. I declare I never saw him in such ill humour at the suggestion of accompanying me. Well, I do not care. After all, he has Mrs Younge for company, and I daresay he did not like the idea of meeting certain people here tonight. And besides, I have darling Willie for a partner. Mrs Darcy, allow me to introduce Colonel Arbuthnot, leader of the regiment, known to his friends as Willie. He persuaded me to come along at the last. I couldn't say no; I never can refuse dear Willie!"

  No, thought Elizabeth, it would have been too much for her giddy sister to refuse a night of being admired by a group of officers. At least Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge had not dared to show their faces. Nevertheless, Lizzy dreaded the remarks of those others whom she knew would not resist making comments, especially when they perceived how closely her sister stood by the colonel, almost as if she were his wife.

  "When is the dancing to start?" Lydia went on jumping up and down like a small child in her excitement. "Lord, I hope there isn't going to be any more of this dull poetry they keep spouting. There's a poet or an artist in every room spouting forth such nonsense about rocks and mountains that you ever did hear in your life. And as for the painting, I never saw anything so peculiar."

  Colonel Arbuthnot smiled indulgently at his partner before remarking to Elizabeth, "The young never do appreciate such fine sentiments as have been expressed in poetic or artistic form this evening."

  Elizabeth smiled back whilst privately thinking that her sister should learn to keep her thoughts to herself. No matter how awful the evening's entertainments were, Mrs Darcy would never voice her real feelings to anyone but her husband, and even then she would only do so when they were alone.

  "You are looking very well, Lizzy," said Lydia, drawing her sister to one side. "Is there something you should tell me?"

  Elizabeth ignored her question, asking her instead about what she had been doing in the Lakes, though the answer was one she knew would not surprise her.

  "Oh, Lizzy, I have been to so many parties, I cannot tell you. We have had such fun; I've danced so much I've nearly worn my legs out. But Willie shares the same passion for dancing and if Wickie will not go out, I do not know what I am to do about it! He and Mrs Younge have become such dire company. They never want to do anything, so we just leave them behind. Lord knows what they get up to for they are so dull and tiresome. They are each confined to their rooms this evening. Wickie said he was going to bed... he's just so tired all the time. I have no patience with him, or her for that matter. I feel so sorry for Captain Farthing. I tell you, Lizzy, I have my work cut out entertaining both the captain and the colonel."

  So Lydia carried on talking. It was a completely one-sided conversation, and when at last she paused for breath, Elizabeth made her excuses to return to Mr Darcy. Glancing over in his direction, she was relieved to see him engrossed in conversation. Fortunately, it did not appear that he had noticed the presence of her sister, but Elizabeth knew it could only be a matter of time before he would be painfully aware of her proximity. Elizabeth felt drained. She could quite understand why Mr Wickham felt tired all the time if this was how Lydia carried on, but there was something about her sister's descriptions of her husband's conduct and that of his friend, Mrs Younge, which made Lizzy very suspicious. But there was nothing she could say of her fears to her sister. Besides, Lydia seemed happy enough and, in any case, what could she do about it?

  Elizabeth returned to her husband's side just in time to be introduced to Lord Featherstone. He appeared to be a gentleman of the old school; he was chivalrous, courteous, and extremely charming; an elderly man whose silver-white hair waved back from the noble brow of a still handsome face. He and Mr Darcy were discussing Dalton's paintings.

  "I must admit, Mrs Darcy, though I've never picked up a paintbrush myself, I do enjoy seeing a pretty painting on my wall. These landscapes are especially fine, just the sort of thing I like to hang in my London townhouse to remind me of greener spaces. I'm the sort of fellow who hankers for the country when I'm in the town and vice versa."

  "Well, that would seem to be an excellent solution," said Elizabeth. "A painting on a wall can be quite as restful as a rural scene through a window, I am sure."

  "Yes, indeed. I hope I shall be indulging in this favourite passion of mine in the not too distant future. Mrs Butler's son, you know, has been working on some sketches with a view to turning them into oil paintings for me."

  Elizabeth noted Fitzwilliam's bristle at the mention of Thomas Butler.

  "You must know him, of course," Lord Featherstone continued.

  Darcy nodded but remained silent, leaving Elizabeth to speak once more. "Yes, we do. He is a very talented landscape designer, is he not? He produced a most delightful scheme at Pemberley."

  "He should have been here this evening, but I received a message before I left to say he was a little under the weather. I expect he's been sitting out too long by the lake and caught a chill. Master Thomas Butler will go far; mark my words, Mrs Darcy. He is a young man quite out of the common way, and without his father to see him established in the world, he has proved himself both diligent and industrious. Why, I think of him like a son. As you may or may not know, Mrs Darcy, I never got around to all that business of taking a wife and having children of my own. Well, he's a splendid young man and excellent company, too. And Mrs Butler, his mother, is a wonderful lady. I've never met her before this evening, but my goodness, I can see where young Thomas gets his handsome looks from."

  The news that Thomas Butler was in the Lakes was shocking indeed, especially when Lizzy considered Georgiana's behaviour of late. Elizabeth decided it was highly likely that Georgiana knew of his being in the vicinity. What would Mr Darcy be thinking about the news of this revelation? But, at least, Lord Featherstone seemed fairly smitten with the Butler family and Elizabeth could not help but feel secretly pleased that Thomas's character had been painted in such glowing colours. She could not resist a glimpse at Mr Darcy's countenance to see if she could discern any reaction to Lord Featherstone's announcement or appraisal, but his expression gave nothing away, and before Mr Darcy had a chance to enquire further on the whereabouts of Mr Butler, his wife smoothly and deftly changed the subject of their conversation.

  Caroline Bingley was doing her best to claim the attention of Lord Dalton. He was always engaged in conversation--mostly female, it had to be said. Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne were ever present in his company; she could not get him on her own. At last she saw her chance to speak to him alone. Henry was starting for the door with an expression of determination. Caroline decided that a little accidental encounter would be quite the thing. He looked rather furtive as he left the room. Caroline was rather pleased. The opportunity to converse with her hero in the dim candlelit corridor outside seemed like a heaven sent opportunity. She followed him. However, once in the hallway she could perceive neither sight nor sound of him. Miss Bingley rushed along, looking into doorways for any sign. There were groups of very earnest looking young men in deep discussion in the library and two ladies leading a poetry reading in a small salon, but Lord Dalton had completely disappeared. She was just about to give up when she saw a door open to the night air leading out onto what looked like a small terrace. It was hardly likely that he was outside, but there didn't seem to be anywhere else he could be. Caroline passed through the doorway. Discerning the sound of someone
speaking, she ventured forward but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of Lord Dalton standing within very close proximity to a young woman she recognised as Theodora Winn. His head was bent very low; he appeared to be whispering something in the young lady's ear which made Miss Winn laugh heartily. Her hand was held by Dalton's, and it was clear he had no intention of letting it go. Caroline knew in that moment how mistaken she had been in her estimation of Lord Dalton. All her hopes for love and marriage were dashed in a second as she observed the look in Henry's eyes for his partner. She could bear to look no longer and fearing discovery, she turned on her heel and went back the way she had come, struggling with every step and willing herself not to cry.

  The evening was beginning to deteriorate in every way to Elizabeth's thinking. Her youngest sister, who had purposely avoided Mr Darcy as long as she could, finally appeared to shake his hand. Lydia was looking considerably worse for wear. No doubt she had found her courage after imbibing several drinks. It was obvious she had been making free with the punchbowl and that her companions were not only encouraging her to drink more, but were finding her general demeanour and outspoken behaviour amusing.

  "Mr Darcy," Lydia cried at the top of her voice, "shake my hand, if you please. You are my brother, you know, so you are quite at liberty... or better still, kiss me!" She pressed her finger to her cheek and, closing her eyes, pursed her lips.

  Mr Darcy stared, his face flushing with the all too familiar agitation that his wife speedily recognised. Elizabeth moved into action, taking her sister by the arm and steering her away. "I think it's time you left, Mrs Wickham," she said. "You are looking most ill, Lydia. Please be sensible and take my advice."