Renewed Hope

by Rose Fairbanks

  In ordinary cases, leaving the Earl of Matlock waiting would be avoided at all costs. However, the Crenshaws were nearly as eccentric as the Matlocks and on the best of terms with them. It was why Richard’s parents promoted a match with Lady Belinda so much. Aside from the prudence of money and social standing, that is. However, they loved Belinda nearly like a daughter and after the disservice they gave Arlington when he wished to marry Claire, they were eager to prove they had only the best intentions toward him. They would be happy if she married either of their sons or their nephew, but would be happiest if Arlington wed her.

  Something like jealousy rose in Richard’s heart. He had never felt such before. He could not understand the sentiment. He did not desire to marry anyone, and indeed had no need to. He had income from his father in addition to his profession. Being a soldier afforded him all the company he required, and he needed an active life. He had never chaffed against the rules and regulations of service but neither could he imagine the idleness James experienced. Still, he did not think he should be a soldier for the rest of his life. What he would do with himself, therefore, he had no idea. James’ had direction and fulfilment within his grasp.

  Uneasy with the direction of his thoughts, Richard stood. Under the guise of needing to use the privy, he excused himself. He just needed air. On assignment, even officers slept in tents on the battlefield. Then there were the ship travels from England to foreign land and back. To escape the dark and wet confines, he spent as much time as he could on the ships’ deck. The vastness of the sea and the wind on his face calmed the dark thoughts of his mind. London drawing rooms, while not dark and dank, proved to be just as stifling.

  Descending the stairs to the ground floor, he recalled the threat of rain. He just reached the garden door when he heard raindrops. Before he could open it and decide if he should face the deluge or not, the door flung open. More suddenly than a sea squall, a drenched water sprite dashed right into his chest. As she bounced off his body, his arms reflexively reached around her so she would not stumble. A jolt like lightning struck him, causing his arms to tighten. With a strangled cry she wrenched herself from his arms and ran out of sight.

  Head swimming for calm, Richard stood before the still open garden door as rain poured in. He felt like he had just lived through a hurricane, though it had been but a woman. His body’s reaction to her shape and the feel of her against his chest reminded him of the two tempests, she was surely the more dangerous. Whoever she was.

  *****

  Belinda ran upstairs to her bed chamber as fast as her water-soaked skirts would allow her. Pins fell from her hair and drenched curls stuck to the side of her face. A blush of mortification crept over her skin. She must have looked a terrible fright and yet had not only been seen that way but literally crashed into a man. Her parents’ guest. She knew Lord and Lady Matlock were to dine this night, meaning the gentleman must be Lord Arlington.

  Reaching her room, she slammed the door shut as though she could keep out the dangerous thoughts flooding her mind. He had been the most handsome gentleman she had ever seen. He was solid and well-built. His shoulders took up the whole door frame. She could still feel the strength of his arms when wrapped around her.

  Belinda shook her head, sending droplets of water to the floor. As accidental as the embrace had been it had been more than she ever allowed Seth, whom she loved. It mattered not that she could not entirely recall his face or the colour of his eyes or the scent of his cologne and that his lordship was far more muscular than any nobleman had a right to be. She was ruined for love now. She refused to be sold like chattel to the highest bidder for her parent’s sake, let alone to a rake such as Arlington. And if she could not love him, then she refused to allow whatever momentary attraction she felt to sway her opinion. He could never be constant, and if she were ever prevailed upon to marry again, she would desire fidelity and mutual interests. Companionship. Not that she had even been willing to consider the idea before. And she still was not willing to consider it. It was purely hypothetical thinking.

  To pull her from her jumbled and traitorous thoughts, she began removing her sodden clothing. At last, her maid appeared and helped restore order. By the time she descended the stairs to join her parents in the drawing room, she looked every inch the proper Lady Belinda that she never was in her heart. She steeled herself for the evening. Lord Arlington would see no sign of embarrassment from her.

  “Ah, Belinda. Here you are, at last.” Her father said. “You have not met Matlock’s son. Allow me to introduce you.”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” the gentleman in question said. “We met briefly in the hall earlier.

  Belinda drew her lips tightly together. Already, he hoped to unnerve her.

  “Indeed?” Her father questioned and looked at Belinda for corroboration.

  “Yes,” she said with an affected shrug.

  “Well, then…” her father trailed off. Clearly, he had rehearsed in his mind how the night would go and now everything was off balance. Fortunately, Lady Matlock was a talented conversationalist.

  “I simply adore the new drapes, Louisa.”

  “Yes, it was high time to begin improvements in this room. We have not done any since our marriage. I consulted Belinda, of course, as it will be hers one day.”

  Inwardly, Belinda sighed. She hated the marriage mart. Most of her worth in society’s age was summed up in that sentence. As an heiress, it was near impossible to find a gentleman whose attentions would be genuine. Then, her mother’s primary note was about her decorating skills. This was what was expected of marriages among peers. Her interests did not matter. Peers did not marry for companionship or love. Her mother prattled on.

  “She was especially keen that the fabric come from England. She would not even hear of Indian silk.”

  Her mother left off the fact that Belinda chose such fabrics because French fabrics were unavailable and Belinda would just as soon ride into battle herself than support anything from the country that sent her beloved to war. Neither did she want reminders of Britain’s empire at all. If not at war with France, Seth would have just as likely been fighting the Americans near the Indies or been on a merchant ship traveling to and from India. All of it was dangerous work. Instead, she promoted textiles from the North of England.

  “How patriotic,” Lord Matlock said and then glanced at his son, who looked at her peculiarly. Breaking eye contact, she returned her gaze to her hands.

  “Oh, yes. Belinda volunteers at the Royal Hospital several times a week.”

  Belinda’s head snapped up. The others looked at her, expecting a remark of some kind. “A lady has duties to her country just as much as any man. They may fight, but we may nurse.”

  “What duty does a lady owe to Britain?” Lord Matlock’s son said. “There are some that would say the French treat their women better.”

  “You cannot convince me Napoleon cares about women, France or anything but himself. One day this war will end. And then we shall be friends with France again, as we always are. It is he, and his supporters, that must be stopped. Jacobin women are fooling themselves if they believe he can offer them more freedoms.”

  Dinner was called before Belinda could say more and it was just as well. She had wanted to remain indifferent and composed. Rumour had it that Lord Arlington did not like proper English misses, therefore pretending to be one would be the surest way to send him packing. She remained perfectly polite and calm during dinner. Nearing the dessert course, Lord Arlington leaned over and whispered to her.

  “I expected you to attack your meal as though you were after Boney.”

  Rather than remark on his break in propriety, she matched him. “Even a soldier must appear civil at times. What do I gain by sawing into my food as though it were a bayonet?”

  She had expected to offend him. If being silent did not run him off, then insulting him surely would. Instead, his eyes took on a faraway look. Unnerved, she changed the topic of their conver
sation. “Do you enjoy music?”

  Her words seemed to bring him from his reverie, and he blinked rapidly for a moment. “That is a rather general question. There are many forms of music.”

  “What is your favourite?”

  “The pieces that speak to the soul. They communicate feeling and depth. My cousin, Georgiana Darcy, has a great talent. Her masters are delighted with her fingering but her audience delights in the emotion she gives mere notes on a page.”

  “You speak fondly of her.”

  “I do not get to see her as often as I would wish.”

  “I have not met her. What is she like?”

  “No, you would have little occasion to meet her. She is but fifteen. I am the wrong one to ask, however. I still think of her as a young girl. Darcy could tell you more.” His hand flexed slightly around his wine glass.

  “Mr. Darcy did not seem very welcoming to conversation when I met him. Nor do I blame him. I understand he was distracted with thinking more about cursed pirate gold.”

  “Pirate gold?” A smile inched across his face.

  Compelled to broaden the smile, Belinda went on. “He seemed to need help deciding if a certain jewel that might be under a curse would be worth owning. Of course, we had first talked about finding unexpected treasure in the countryside.”

  “The countryside!” Awareness filled his features. “Hertfordshire. Lady Belinda, I do not know whether you are clever or devious.”

  The bluntness of his words drew her back. “I hope I am neither. I wish to be known only as honest and friendly. You cannot blame me for encouraging him to return to Hertfordshire. I could not sway his mind. My words would hold no importance if it were not something he already desired to do.”

  “You are acquainted with the Bennets of Hertfordshire, I take it.”

  “I have never heard of them before!” How dare he accuse her of something underhanded. “If you insinuate I schemed to have Mr. Darcy return to a match you find unsuitable, then you should know it was for selfish reasons only. I had no desire for Mr. Darcy’s courtship. Or yours. I have loved too deeply to be attracted to wealth, rank or name. In my own way, I pleaded that he would leave me be. I now make the same plea to you. Excuse me.”

  She stood and left the room, not caring that she had ruined her mother’s dinner. Her parents ought to be used to her severe moods by now, and if they continued to push suitors on her, it would only get worse.

  Chapter Three

  Caroline Bingley sat alone in her chambers. Any moment now, her maid would appear to help her dress for dinner. For the time being, however, Caroline revelled in a rare moment of solitude. Three days ago, she had left London and followed her brother to Hertfordshire. Again. He seemed more determined than before, and Mr. Darcy seemed eager to return as well. Although Caroline had suspected for weeks now that he harboured a tendre for Miss Elizabeth Bennet of a neighbouring estate, she continued to hold out hope.

  Mr. Darcy was just the sort of man she had envisioned marrying ever since her aborted elopement ten years prior. Of course, if he ever knew she had planned an elopement at sixteen, he would certainly never find her respectable. Let alone if he had known it was with a shop keeper’s son. A coloured shopkeeper’s son. Not that he had even planned on taking over the shop. He had designs to enter the army when she had met him. Last Caroline heard he had done so well as to distinguish himself in battle.

  When she was very honest with herself, which was as infrequent as possible, she admitted that she favoured Mr. Darcy because for the last four years his cousin served in the same regiment as her long ago lover. The name Jacob Truman never passed between them, and if he was mentioned in letters, Caroline was not privy to them, but it was enough to know that if Colonel Fitzwilliam was well, Jacob might also be.

  Perhaps, that is why Lord Arlington, despite his participation in the set down just given her by Mr. Darcy and her brother, appealed to her on some level. Logically, she ought to try and ensnare the viscount. Eliza Bennet hated her. If Mr. Darcy succumbed to his infatuation and married Eliza, Caroline’s invitations to Pemberley would become far less frequent. Additionally, Arlington was of an age to wed and his father entering his dotage. Whomever he married would become Countess before too long. His reputation supported he did not care for the ton’s leading ladies. While Caroline prided herself on being accomplished and cosmopolitan, she knew the truth. It would take many more generations before trade was washed out of the memory of the name Bingley. Nor was she an ignorant, insipid miss. She had lost her naiveté when she had to face the truth that love could not conquer everything. She was not as young as the debutantes or even Miss Eliza, but she was still handsome and wealthy. To a renegade earl’s son, that must account for something.

  Additionally, there would be no hope for the rake to reform. He would carry on with his liaisons, and she would be free to keep her heart to herself. He would never expect love or real intimacy from her. Once, she had believed the same about Mr. Darcy but, at last, his cold heart seemed to thaw. He all but declared himself in love with Elizabeth Bennet and intent upon marrying her.

  Well, she would not cry over the loss. Indeed, she was utterly exhausted from the chase. Her heart had never been in it, and she did not know if she had enough energy to pursue another young man. Lord Arlington was convenient but likely immune to her charms. Just the same, she believed she owed it to her family to test the waters. Marrying a viscount would do wonders for their standing. If she did not marry well, then not only would she have failed the dying wish of her mother but she would have given up the love of her life for no reason. She must make the last ten years of pain mean something.

  Determined, she looked in the mirror and nodded. She had no hope of success, but she would give her best chase anyway. Her maid entered, and Caroline ordered her most daring dinner gown prepared. It would emphasize her superior figure. The accompanying necklace landed just above her décolletage, drawing the eye. She declined the matching bracelets, earbobs, and her most lavish turban. Instead, Caroline ordered a simple hairstyle. The overall effect said that she could play the part of Viscountess but did not drip with London society adornments. Even more startling, she felt more like herself than she had in years. A touch of the refined and a touch of the country lass she used to be.

  *****

  Arlington looked across the dinner table at Netherfield and smiled at Caroline Bingley. The self-satisfied smirk that appeared for half a second told him exactly what he thought. She was making a play for him. He would let her try, like all the ladies before her. A harmless flirtation never hurt a soul.

  “My compliments, Miss Bingley. You have ordered an excellent meal.”

  The half-smirk appeared again, even as Darcy stomped on his foot. Arlington contained his yelp. He knew what he was doing. And it was not solely for selfish reasons. Earlier, he had made a pact with Georgiana to plan a walk that would allow Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet time together with Caroline out of the way.

  “As a bachelor, I seldom enjoy such a spread for a meal at home with family.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” was her impeccably civil reply.

  “You concede there are downsides to being a bachelor, after all, Arlington?” Bingley said from several spaces down.

  “It has been said that the way to man’s heart is through his stomach. Who am I to disagree with the platitudes of matchmaking women?” He smiled at Caroline and then turned to Georgiana. “Take heed, Georgie. Setting a good table is one of the most important accomplishments for a lady.”

  Of course, he generally did not think so but knew that his cousin would not take anything he said too seriously. Instead, his remark apparently pleased Caroline. He studied her smile. There was a guardedness he did not see in other women. She wanted the world to think she was the sort of lady who desired to ensnare a viscount, but she often forgot her role. There were no secret glances. She did not stare longingly at him or flatter him too profusely. She relied entirely on outside influe
nces to attract him: a gown, jewellery, a meal. There was nothing particular in her demeanour that was artful.

  She was grasping, that was evident. She had been angry and resentful to notice Darcy’s unabashed admiration of Miss Elizabeth earlier, but it merely wounded her pride. She now spoke to Darcy with tolerable civility. She had never cared much for the man. She had only wanted his money and name. And yet, why would she need more money? Her income was reported to be twenty thousand pounds. She had been educated at an excellent seminary in London and had many friends of the peerage. She must be nearing five and twenty, as she was older than her brother. In London, there were enough baronets and knights that would be eager for twenty thousand pounds. It would not be the position of Viscountess, but Darcy could not offer that either. Nor could the income of his ten thousand pounds have been the only attraction. For a truly mercenary woman, an assured five thousand a year is better than the unlikely possibility of ten thousand a year.

  Arlington had spent much time with actresses and could easily spot a fake. Caroline Bingley was an imposter of a fake. What was the part of her that she kept hidden like? Why would she desire to be so much like the ton and yet after all the years of acting, not truly absorb its values?

  *****

  Richard had kept his word about leaving the dinner early, but for entirely different reasons than he had thought they would be. He discomposed a lady! What an ungentlemanly scoundrel he was!

  And the truth was, he had no reason for his pointed barbs on her character. She had not seemed artful at any point in the evening. She asked about Georgiana, not Darcy. She seemed entirely uninterested in information on how to gain his good opinion. Now, it was easy to realise how unlikely it would be for her to have known her conversation with Darcy directed him back to another lady. Had not Darcy reported the Bennets had no connections? And the Crenshaws were the dearest friends of the Matlocks.