Susie Darcy's Tenacious Nature

by Wendy Soliman

  Only this time he would be better prepared.

  Chapter Five

  Susie didn’t see Mr Tyrell again until the eve of her mother’s party. The two days that had elapsed since he dined with the family hadn’t been sufficient for her to decide why the infuriating man had made her feel so disadvantaged when he engaged her in conversation for such a long period of time. Far longer that politeness dictated. He was aware of her interest in art, but that didn’t explain it, since he’d not learned of it until after he singled her out.

  He was all but engaged to be married, but if his emotional attachment to Miss Fleming was so shallow that he forgot about her the moment she was out of his sight, then it did not bode well for a happy marriage. Then again, as she had rather rashly implied during the course of their conversation, perhaps he was so accustomed to being the recipient of female accolades that he simply couldn’t help himself. Susie had shown no interest in him as a man and his fragile self-esteem could not permit that situation to endure.

  ‘Arrogant man!’ Susie muttered.

  ‘Did you say something, miss?’ Mary asked, pausing with hairbrush in hand.

  ‘Oh no, nothing, Mary. Just thinking aloud.’

  Susie had been rather forthright with Mr Tyrell, she conceded, but he had no one but himself to blame for that. She had not asked for his company and would have preferred to have been left in solitude in order to mull over her interlude with Tobias Porter and decide what to make of her feelings for him. Not that there was anything she could do about them, other than to wish things could be different. She owed her first loyalty to her family and couldn’t bear to disappoint them. Even so, it would help her overcome her growing attachment to Mr Porter if she could understand the reasons for it.

  She had been no closer to doing so when Mr Tyrell inflicted himself upon her, dazzling her with his disarmingly infectious smile and lazy, persuasive charm. The manner in which he looked at her whenever she voiced an opinion made her feel as though she had something worth saying. He made her feel feminine and desirable, and stirred emotions deep within her that an almost engaged gentleman had no business engendering. In short, Susie was quite out of charity with him for confusing her. Were it not for the fact that his problems with the forger had triggered a fierce determination in her to help get to the bottom of matters, if only for the sake of artistic integrity, she would actively avoid all contact with him. In fact, she decided, she would do so anyway and only speak with him if she had news to impart regarding the forger.

  She had done her very best to avoid all contact with Mr Porter over the past two days, steering clear of her favourite haunts in the grounds where she was most likely to encounter him. But wandering around with sketchpad in hand and no particular vista to capture her interest, she found their paths crossing so often that she wondered if there could be more to it than mere coincidence. Could he be deliberately contriving these “accidental” encounters, and if so why? She couldn’t bring herself to be deliberately rude and ignore him but she did try to be less forthcoming than usual. If he noticed her reserve he gave no sign and treated her with suave affability, never appearing to be in any great hurry to return to his duties.

  The better she came to know him, the harder she tried to convince herself that he was a reformed character. But still, tiny niggles of uncertainty refused to be silenced. She constantly told herself that it was none of her concern and that Papa or Marc would ensure Mr Porter remained loyal. But her unease endured.

  Susie shook her head, trying to dispel images of Mr Porter’s handsome face and indolent smile. She couldn’t think about him now and must concentrate upon her preparations for the party. Mama’s small gathering had expanded into something a little grander, as Mama’s parties almost always did. Sixty guests were now expected, half of whom would dine with them. The Gaunts had not remembered a previous engagement, vindicating Susie’s opinion that Sir Robert was an innocent pawn in the forger’s dangerous game.

  All the leading families in the district had accepted and Susie imagined that if any of them were involved, aspects of their behaviour would betray them during the course of the evening. Detecting those anomalies would not be so easily achieved in such a large gathering, but presumably Mr Tyrell would be alert for any signs of culpability. Always providing, of course, that he remembered what he was actually there for and refrained from flirting with every available female who vied for his attention.

  Susie wore a gown of pale turquoise changeable silk with an overskirt of beaded spangled silver. It was the prettiest gown she had ever owned and one she had been saving for a special occasion. One that required the added confidence an expensive, well-cut gown was guaranteed to imbue her with. This was undeniably that occasion. When Mary had finished dressing her hair, Susie was satisfied with her appearance, knowing that she looked her absolute best.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Mama said, slipping into her room as Susie pulled on her gloves.

  ‘Thank you.’ She thanked Mary also and dismissed her, anxious for a few private words with her mother. ‘Having had time to consider, do you think there is anything to Mr Tyrell’s fears—about the forger being in league with one of our neighbours, I mean?’ she asked. ‘I have not been able to discover whether any further forgeries have come to light and really, whichever way I think about it, I can’t see why the forger would restrict himself to this part of the world. We are far too isolated for him to be able to hide himself away.’

  ‘The same thought had occurred to me. Your father and I discussed it this evening and concluded that the last thing he would want to do would be to draw attention to himself in a closely knit community such as ours. He would be better off hiding himself in the anonymity of a large city.’

  ‘That’s what I think, too.’ Susie smiled at her mother. ‘And we can’t both be wrong. If he was here staying with Sir Robert, he would have been passing through and will be long gone by now.’ Susie pushed an escaped curl back into place. ‘Mr Tyrell would be better advised to return to London and ply his intended with his attentions.’

  The only indication that Mama was surprised by Susie’s indignant outburst manifested itself by the elevation of one brow. ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘Oh, he is very sophisticated. Very charming. I just think he’s wasting his time, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I dare say if we make no further progress this evening he will take himself off again.’ Mama smiled. ‘Come, my dear. If you are ready we should go down and make sure everything is properly prepared.’

  ‘When is it not?’ Susie opened the door for her mother to pass through it ahead of her. ‘Whenever you give a party, the servants carry out your orders to the letter, and well you know it.’

  ‘True enough, but I still like to be check everything for myself.’ She smiled. ‘It makes me feel as though I am actually making a contribution.’

  They entered the drawing room to find her father and brothers already there, drinking…well, something the colour of amber. All three of them looked so handsome in their evening attire; so elegant and self-assured that Susie almost resented their effortless charm. Papa looked up and his features crafted themselves into a tender smile as his gaze alighted upon Mama. Susie suppressed a sigh. Still to be so comprehensively loved after more than twenty years of marriage that there might as well be no one else in the room…she knew a moment’s envy, convinced she would never be the recipient of such a deep, abiding and enduring love.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ Papa said with a wry smile as he glanced around a room that, with the doors to the adjoining parlour thrown open, had been transformed to accommodate the expected number of guests. ‘As usual, your little party appears to be in danger of swamping Pemberley.’

  ‘Nonsense, Papa,’ Susie said laughing. ‘We cannot afford to offend our neighbours by inviting one and not all of them. And Mama can’t be blamed if they are so anxious for our society that they cancel all other engagements in order to accept this one.’

 
Papa smiled. ‘I stand corrected.’

  ‘Ah, here’s Jane,’ Mama said, turning to greet Susie’s aunt and uncle.

  ‘And Tyrell is hard on their heels,’ Papa added.

  Susie insides lurched with anticipation at the guest of honour’s arrival. She moved to the other end of the room where she pretended to find something to engage her interest and only greeted Mr Tyrell when there were enough people in the room to make it impossible for them to exchange more than a word or two. She had the satisfaction of seeing confusion in his expression when she moved away from him to smile at the Covingtons and Miss Stoughton, who had just joined the party.

  As she did so, she happened to glance through the open French doors and noticed Mr Porter walking slowly past them. He raised a hand when he saw her. She nodded abruptly and turned away, wondering if his being there at that particular moment really was a coincidence. He shouldn’t be there at all; not where he could be seen from the drawing room when the family was entertaining. Papa would not be pleased if he observed him. There were plenty of other routes he could take, out of sight of their guests, that would return him to his cottage.

  Her feeling of slight unease, the doubts about Mr Porter that sometimes wormed their way past her fierce determination to consider him a reformed character, endured. But even if he still maintained relations with less salubrious characters in the area, he couldn’t possibly have any connection to the forger.

  Could he?

  ᴥᴥᴥ

  Spence and Simon watched the growing throng of finely-attired ladies and gentlemen as they circulated Pemberley’s drawing room, snippets of a dozen conversations conducted with upper-class eloquence reaching their ears. They were too refined to gape, but Spence could sense their excitement and being in the same room as the famous artist’s son.

  ‘News of Tyrell being in Derbyshire is the talk of Denton,’ Spence said.

  ‘That’s the general idea. Heard anything about recent acquisitions of Tyrell works?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘Not a thing.’

  Spence tried to distract Simon’s attention when Miss Stoughton moved into their line of vision, looking charming in pale green muslin and with her usual cascade of russet curls dancing about her face. She was engaged in animated conversation with Susie and frequently glanced in Tyrell’s direction. Spence did nothing more than let out an almost imperceptible sigh of regret and did not, as he always had in the past, attempt to push himself on her. It seemed he was either sincere in his determination to give up on her or his obsession had finally run its course.

  ‘Marc and Miss Shelton seem as intimate as ever.’ Spence nodded towards the position on the other side of the room where Marc was deep in conversation with Mirabelle Shelton, a neighbour and close friend of Susie’s. ‘If he doesn’t have a care he’ll find himself leg-shackled by default. The heir to Pemberley is the catch of the county.’

  Spence was on the point of reminding Simon that his behaviour towards Miss Stoughton had, until today, been even more marked and that he, Simon, was heir to Campton Park. The estate was nowhere near as substantial as Pemberley but Simon was still a prime target for the matchmakers, the collective interest of whom Simon had just advised against Marc attracting. Judging that his cousin wasn’t yet ready to joke about his waning affection for Miss Stoughton, he kept silent on the point.

  ‘Are either of your sisters attending this evening?’ he asked instead.

  ‘Ellie isn’t. Ross is away on brewery business and she didn’t want to come alone. Emma and Lewis will be here after dinner. Lewis had an engagement in Derby today and couldn’t make it back in time for dinner. But I know Emma is keen to make Tyrell’s acquaintance, so I’m sure they will be here.’

  ‘She will have to wait her turn.’ Spence nodded with amusement at the bevy of females surrounding the guest of honour.

  ‘He’s a handsome rogue, I’ll say that for him. And Emma tells me he’s a talented artist in his own right.’

  ‘So I understand.’ Dinner was announced. ‘Right, come along, Simon, we’d best do the pretty.’

  Spence entertained himself during the lengthy dinner by watching the thirty people seated at his mother’s table, conscious of the air of expectation and refined rivalry that had arisen due to Tyrell’s presence at it. He had wisely escorted Spence’s aunt Jane to table, most likely disappointing all the single females who had hoped to be the one chosen to grace the artist’s arm—with the notable exception of his own sister, who seemed to go out of her way to avoid all contact with Tyrell.

  Susie had seemed withdrawn and uncommunicative these past couple of days. As the sole remaining single female in the family, Spence supposed she must feel isolated and lonely at times. She had plenty of friends. Mirabelle was a regular visitor to Pemberley, but Spence sometimes wondered if it was Marc rather than Susie whom she came in expectation of seeing. Susie had been close to their sister Bella as well as their other cousins, and although three of them still lived in the vicinity of Pemberley Spence supposed that marriage had changed their priorities and Susie no longer had a close confidante. He felt sorry for his sister and vowed to pay her more attention in future.

  When the meal came to an end the gentlemen didn’t take port, since the rest of the guests were due to arrive momentarily. In need of a little fresh air and solitude Spence wandered out onto the terrace, but found Miss Stoughton already in occupation of it.

  ‘If I am intruding,’ he said, ‘say the word and I shall leave you to your solitary reverie.’

  ‘Not a bit of it.’ She turned to smile at him, dazzling Spence with her artless manners and the genuine warmth imbued in that smile. ‘It would be inexcusable to deliberately seek solitude when one has an obligation to socialise. I was merely admiring the lovely park. It looks at its best at this time of day, when the sun is low on the horizon and the grounds become a fascinating patchwork of light and colour, do you not agree?’

  ‘I do not possess your romantic nature, Miss Stoughton, and had never considered the matter in that light before. In fact, it shames me to make the admission, but I rather take the grounds for granted.’

  ‘With familiarity comes acceptance.’ She turned the full force of her earlier smile upon him, presumably to soften her words. ‘In which case, I feel very sorry for you.’

  ‘Save your sympathy. I am well aware of my good fortune, I do assure you.’ He offered her his arm and after a short hesitation she placed her hand on his sleeve. ‘Walk with me,’ he said. ‘Enjoy the vista from a different perspective and, to please you, I shall try very hard to appreciate it too.’

  She chuckled, a soft, sultry sound that sent Spence’s thoughts in all sorts of inappropriate directions. ‘How very obliging of you.’

  ‘I live to serve,’ he replied with a slight bow that clearly amused her.

  ‘Mr Tyrell is a very interesting gentleman,’ she remarked as they strolled the length of the terrace.

  ‘All the ladies appear to think so.’

  ‘I hope you do not consider me to be so shallow that my opinion would be swayed by a handsome face and affable manner.’

  ‘And yet we are all influenced by appearances, consciously or not, don’t you think? Tyrell’s father’s artistic endeavours are a case in point.’

  ‘Because his paintings would not sell for such exorbitant amounts if they were not pleasing to the eye?’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Exactly,’ Spence said.

  ‘And yet I have seen portraits in more than one family gallery that would frighten small children.’

  ‘Because the subjects of those portraits were depicted a little too honestly, I dare say. There is a difference between portraiture and capturing, say, this vista.’ They paused as Spence waved an expansive arm in the direction of the gardens, bathed in a riot of orderly colour that was highlighted by the setting sun. ‘Ask a dozen artists to do so and you will see very different interpretations. However, I am willing to wager that the most popular result would be t
he most pleasing aesthetically.’

  ‘You are in a very philosophical frame of mind this evening, Mr Darcy.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps I am trying to impress you with the depth of my thinking and the incisiveness of my wit.’

  She laughed. ‘I doubt you have to work too hard to impress anyone. You and Mr Tyrell have that much in common.’

  ‘If that was intended as a compliment then I thank you.’

  ‘What is Mr Tyrell really doing here?’ she asked as they strolled on.

  Spence took a moment to consider his response, eventually deciding to be candid. ‘Since you are now a member of the family, I can rely upon your discretion?’

  ‘You could do so even if I did not have a lose connection to you through my brother’s marriage.’

  ‘Very well.’

  They paused again and Miss Stoughton listened without attempting to interrupt as Spence explained the reasons for Tyrell’s journey to Derbyshire. She remained silent, subsumed in thought, a long time after he ran out of words.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing the dark turn her mood had taken.

  ‘Mr Covington involved himself in the artistic world when we were in Italy,’ she said slowly. ‘He set himself up as an authority on the subject and encouraged the girls, my charges, to take an avid interest in all the art we saw in the exhibitions there.’

  ‘Of course, you travelled for a year with the family quite recently.’

  ‘And came back unexpectedly.’ She turned wide eyes upon Spence.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You look distressed.’

  ‘It is my turn to request your discretion.’

  ‘You are assured of it.’ He took her hand, led her to a nearby bench and invited her to sit. He then took the seat beside her, retaining possession of her hand. ‘You look suddenly quite unwell. What can I do to relieve your distress?’