by P. O. Dixon
Darcy only wanted the best for his sister. What older brother did not? In this regard, he likened himself very much to his mother-in-law. Just as it was Mrs. Bennet’s business in life to make excellent matches for her daughters, so was it his business to do likewise for Georgiana. He wished his sister would understand his reasoning. He had attempted to impress upon her on more than one occasion during their recent time in London the importance of being acquainted with several of the other gentlemen callers. However, Georgiana could only be impressed with her cousin.
His sister was young and naïve, and he feared her feelings for Mr. Bingham might progress from liking to loving with not a care about the young man’s ability to keep her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. As disheartening as such a prospect was, he expected such fanciful notions from his sister who was more than ten years his junior. He did not expect such sentiments, however, from his wife.
“Would it truly be a bad thing were Georgiana to aspire to a love match? I seem to recall that as the basis of our arrangement, sir.”
Elizabeth’s reasoning that Darcy himself had enjoyed a love match and therefore Georgiana should be allowed to do the same fell on deaf ears. He was his own master, one of the wealthiest gentlemen in all of Derbyshire. Of course, he decided his own fate. His sister would enjoy no such luxury—that is unless she chose to fall in love with a gentleman of means. As much as he adored his sister and would willing allow her to live out the rest of her days in her beloved family home were she to suffer the unpleasant prospect of spinsterhood, he had no intention of extending such a courtesy to her were she a married woman with an able-bodied husband.
What self-respecting man would abide such an arrangement?
Darcy stood and walked to the window. His hands behind his back, his mind flew to the exact sort of man—George Wickham. Darcy was not unaware that Elizabeth regularly provided funds to that scoundrel by way of her younger sister Lydia. How could he object to how she chose to spend any money she had amassed by the practice of what might be called economy in her own private expenses?
As with every other occasion that Wickham disturbed his thoughts, Darcy released a frustrated breath. It pained him that he would forever refer to a man he loathed as his brother, especially since he had managed to avoid such an unpleasant prospect when he arrived in Ramsgate all those years back and saved his sister Georgiana from eloping with the wicked man.
He meant to rid his life of George Wickham forever, and he thought he had done it. Then he met and fell in love with Elizabeth. Indeed, he and Elizabeth were together when she learned her youngest sister had run off with that scoundrel. The pain in her eyes was such that he never wished to see again. Silently vowing to protect her, he did everything in his power to recover her youngest sister. He did not know at the time that it would be a means of uniting them—even though he thought only of her in doing so, he did not know what it would mean for his own felicity.
Having George Wickham as a brother was a terrible fate indeed, but he would not change a thing in that regard for his prize was Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.
Elizabeth said, “Perhaps all this worrying is for naught. The young man has not declared his intentions toward Georgiana, after all.”
“Indeed, he has not. I strongly suspect his lapse is owing to a lack of opportunity. It will be my responsibility to see that he never gets one.”
For Georgiana’s part, she still could not believe her cousin was actually in Derbyshire—staying in Lambton and now expected to arrive at Pemberley at any moment. Of all the gentlemen she enjoyed meeting the most during her coming out Season, Georgiana’s imagination, as well as her fancy, had been captured by Mr. Bingham. She had been intrigued from the moment their eyes met across a crowded room. His look was vaguely familiar to her. Something about his gaze gave her a warm indication of his kindness of heart.
He had been in attendance at every ball that she attended. He was a patron of the theater and an ardent lover of fine art. He could spend hours discussing books. Everything he did he did very well, be it dancing, reciting poetry, even composing. What was more; he was blessed with all the best parts of beauty with his tall person, amazing grey eyes, and amiable mien.
The most agreeable thing about him was that he was of Darcy lineage. Indeed, his grandfather and Georgiana’s grandfather were brothers, the former being a younger son. As such, he had taken his family to the south of England in pursuit of his fortune. However, he had returned to Pemberley with his family on many occasions, as relations were wont to do. His daughter, Agatha Bingham nee Darcy, Mr. Bingham’s mother, had retained such a favorable impression of her days of youth. She had imparted her only child with so many happy memories of the manor house, the woods, and Derbyshire in general that her memories were akin to his own, even though he had yet to visit Pemberley himself.
His mother had married a gentleman in trade, a Mr. Wentworth Bingham. What few ties she had with the Darcys of Pemberley had been severed several decades past as a result. How embarrassed Georgiana had been to learn that such callousness had been afforded to someone of her own blood generations earlier. She could not have been happier to make her distant cousin’s acquaintance. Were it solely up to her, she would accept Mr. Bingham into the family fold with open arms.
If only her brother suffered a modicum of the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his distant cousin then Georgiana would have had no reason at all to repine. Her brother had always been overprotective of her, especially after the Ramsgate affair. She could not truly fault him in that. However, she was of an age where she would be expected to choose a husband—to begin her life under someone other than her brother’s protection.
He will have to come to grips with that eventually, and he might as well start now. Here, Georgiana sighed. Once again, she was getting ahead of herself. Her cousin was a worldly man of sense and education. He had a charming, engaging manner. She was sure he could have his choice of any woman in the ton. By his own account, he was a man of independent means that afforded him a life that she could not but admire, for he was an artist—rather, an aspiring artist on the verge of making a name for himself.
Their shared lineage had drawn them together. Their mutual appreciation of art bound them to each other. Fulfilling his promise to teach her a thing or two about the subtler techniques of oil painting, the two of them began to spend time with each other while in town. She had Mrs. Annesley’s timely habit of dozing off while reading to thank for a rather titillating lesson one afternoon.
The three of them were in the garden. Mr. Bingham and Georgiana were standing at an easel admiring her work and Mrs. Annesley sat a respectable distance away, reading a book. The place where the former two stood afforded a perfect view of the aging companion.
The closer he stood to her the louder her heart thumped against her chest. The touch of his fingers against hers sent frissons of excitement through her body when he reached for the paintbrush with the intention of demonstrating a different lighting technique. Their eyes fixed upon each other’s, he commenced stroking, not looking at what he was doing. At times, he stood even closer, close enough for her to appreciate his masculinity, his broad shoulders, and his virile, aromatic scent.
Georgiana was young, but she knew when a man was flirting with her. A year or so prior, she might have objected. Of course, that was before she had come out and a measure of protest was the proper thing to do. However, she was now a woman who knew what it meant to have a man look at her the way Mr. Bingham looked at her, and she liked it.
Only one man had looked at her like that before—George Wickham. What a fool she had been then to think his intentions toward her had been honorable. However, Mr. Bingham was no George Wickham. Her cousin was no scoundrel who would be tempted by her dowry of thirty thousand pounds and no one could persuade her otherwise.
Her cousin and she were of the same blood and, as best she could tell, of the same temperament with similar likes and dislikes. Most of all, t
hey liked each other and they could spend hours talking to each other. The fact that he was family (albeit distant) afforded him a measure of liberty that others did not enjoy. What’s more, he had garnered Elizabeth’s approval, which, in and of itself, was a good thing, for she had a way with Darcy that others lacked, even Georgiana herself. Her good opinion alone was enough to cause Darcy to relax his guard a little when Mr. Bingham called.
The one thing that Darcy had not allowed was an invitation for Mr. Bingham to dine at Darcy House. However, his being in Lambton was another thing. Darcy could not possibly refuse the man who had given so many hints of longing to see his own grandfather’s birthplace—the place he had dreamed of seeing for the better part of his life.
Chapter 10
His eyes widened to take in all the splendor that stretched before him. Having done everything in his power to ingratiate himself into Miss Georgiana Darcy’s life during the London Season, he sent a letter to Pemberley informing the Darcys he was visiting the area and staying in Lambton soon after his arrival. Just as he had anticipated, an invitation to dine at Pemberley was extended forthwith.
Finally, he was at the one place that had occupied his thoughts for the better part of a decade—Pemberley. It was a remarkable sight, exciting the artist’s imagination beyond measure.
What a place this is—its natural beauty entirely preserved, not counteracted by an awkward taste. Then he espied Pemberley’s crowning jewel—the manor house. A large, stone building, it stood well on rising ground and was backed by a ridge of high, woody hills. In front of it was a flowing stream—its banks neither formally nor falsely adorned. He could spend months, if not years, capturing the beauty of such a place for generations of people to behold. He secretly planned to do just that.
Relying on his cousin’s affectionate heart to empathize with his plight, he had often spoken of his desire to visit his mother’s family home. How fortuitous Miss Darcy had considered it was upon learning that he was planning a tour of the North that summer.
“You must be sure to visit Pemberley when you are there,” she had said.
“I believe I could be prevailed on to do so. I confess that seeing the place my beloved grandfather once called home is a most pleasing prospect. Not to mention what a great pleasure it would give me to spend time with you.”
Bingham knew that Fitzwilliam Darcy would not be keen on the idea of his only sister aligning herself with a struggling, or rather an aspiring, artist, despite the family connection. His best option would be to spend time with her outside of her brother’s watchful eyes—to woo her—to make her fall in love with him, and then Darcy would have to go along with the scheme.
When he arrived at the house, he received a warm welcoming reception from Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy. The master of the house was part of the welcoming party as well, but Bingham was not entirely convinced that Darcy was pleased to receive him.
Now there he was, sitting in the drawing room at Pemberley, trying his best to put a picture to those things he had heard his beloved mother speak about all those years ago—the stuff of fairytales even to a young boy’s ears. People truly live this way, he thought, looking around the room in awe of Pemberley’s grandeur.
His eyes landed upon another person who had been an unknowing champion of his cause—Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. Having made her acquaintance in London, as well, he knew his plans would not stand a chance of coming to fruition were he to lose her good opinion. Her husband is clearly in her power else I most certainly would not be sitting here.
His thoughts drifted five miles away to the other members of his traveling party: Angelica and little Gabriel. His parting words to the former were fresh in his mind. Have patience, my dear. Everything is all happening according to plan.
The time to put the next step into action was near. I shall invite Georgiana and Elizabeth to meet Angelica on the morrow. No doubt, the three ladies will get along swimmingly. It is absolutely necessary that they do.
Before the evening drew to a close, Bingham and Georgiana were at liberty to speak privately. “Miss Darcy,” he said, “I have to tell you about a new development in my life since I made your acquaintance in London. Actually, it is not a new development in its entirety. I led you to believe I had no immediate family when such is not the case. You see, I feared if you knew about my sister and her situation you might be put off.”
Georgiana clasped her hands to her bosom in eager excitement. “You have a sister, sir? I have another cousin whose acquaintance I have yet to make?”
“Well, yes. I have a sister—rather a half-sister. I have only recently made her acquaintance myself. She is my late father’s daughter—his illegitimate daughter. She is recently widowed, and, what’s more, there is an infant child. When she came to me with her story and tangible proof of her claims, I could not turn her away. Family means everything to me—just as it does to you. You and I are very much alike in that way, are we not?”
Georgiana’s smile encouraged him to go on.
“Her name is Angelica—Mrs. Angelica Carter. Knowing her plight, I thought I owed it to her to become her protector.”
“It was indeed the honorable thing to do, sir. I am sorry for her dire circumstances and that society may not embrace her because of them. You need not suffer concern that I would bestow her any unkindness. I would very much like to meet her, and I am sure I speak correctly for my sister Elizabeth in saying that she would enjoy meeting Mrs. Carter as well.”
~*~
Having settled it that the ladies from Pemberley would visit Angelica the very next day after learning about her existence, Bingham resolved that neither he nor Angelica would be away from the inn the whole of the morning.
He rightly surmised that this meeting was to be a trial for Angelica, for she was very shy. The idea of meeting strangers held no appeal to her at all, and certainly not these strangers. Her lack of fondness for high society in particular bothered him exceedingly. She would have to grow accustomed to it. Their world was changing and all for the better.
Angelica, for her part, was walking back and forth wearing a new pattern in the rug, and when she was not doing that she was sitting beside the fireplace half attending her book. The sound of a carriage drew Bingham and Angelica to the window, and they saw two elegant ladies being handed down to the street. Bingham immediately recognized the livery, and he placed his hand on Angelica’s shoulder. She was so anxious she jumped.
“You must calm yourself, my dear,” he began, “you will find Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy to be charming and wholly lacking in pretension despite the stately carriage on the street below and their elegant attire.”
Minutes later, the visitors appeared, and the formidable introduction took place. With astonishment, Georgiana discerned that her new acquaintance, a fair-haired young woman, was at least as embarrassed as she was. Also to Georgiana’s surprise, she detected that the young woman was every ounce as shy as she was. Thus, the two ladies were contented to allow Elizabeth and Mr. Bingham to carry out the bulk of the conversation.
Looking to discern a family resemblance between the half-siblings, Georgiana’s eyes wandered from Mr. Bingham’s face to Angelica’s. Finding none, she contented herself with the idea that Angelica must derive her looks from her mother’s family. That must be the case, for Mr. Bingham’s resemblance to the Darcy line of the family was unmistakable. Angelica was tall and on a scale comparable to Georgiana. She was not as handsome as Mr. Bingham, but Georgiana knew herself well enough to imagine no one could possibly possess all the makings of perfection as those embodied in her cousin. It was all she could do not to look at him. When she did look, his eyes were invariably fixed on Angelica. His affection for her was undeniable.
They had not been long together before Elizabeth said, “I was sorry to hear about the recent loss of your husband, Mrs. Carter. You have my condolences.”
Coloring a bit, Angelica nodded her appreciation of the avowal. When some mention was made of the child, Angeli
ca grew slightly more animated. Perhaps aggravated was a more apt description of her sentiments. She really wanted the visitors to be on their way.
“The babe is asleep,” she said with energy. “Neither of us slept well last night. He was quite fussy. You see he is getting a new tooth.”
“Oh, then we will not keep you any longer than we must,” said Elizabeth, who did not mean to overstay her welcome.
When the guests were gone, Angelica resumed pacing the floor. Bingham walked behind her and placed his hands about her shoulders. “Pray what is the matter?”
“I wish I could be as calm as you are, but I am not so naïve when it comes to women as you are.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I am certain Georgiana adores you already.”
“Perhaps she does, but what of her sister? That woman has a very critical eye.”
“As far as anyone knows, you are my sister. I shall do nothing in public to give anyone cause to suppose otherwise.” He took her in his arms and kissed her face. “You never need worry. I shall always be here for you and Gabriel. You must trust me.”
“You know how much I abhor such pretense.” Escaping his embrace, she cried, “I hate these drab mourning clothes. I hate wearing my hair in this dreadful manner. The lies, the schemes, I hate all of it. Why can’t we return to the way things were before you got it into your head to seek out your mother’s relations? Were we not happy then?”
“You know very well that I am ill-suited to the life of a commoner—scraping out a living and scarcely able to make ends meet. I am of Darcy lineage. I was meant to live the life of a gentleman but for my mother’s ill-advised choices. Such a manner of living suits me in every way. And now, when I have it all within my grasp, I will not allow anything or anyone to deter me.”
Chapter 11
The next day brought news that Mr. Bingham would be a frequent visitor at Pemberley owing to his offer to paint Georgiana’s portrait. This did not sit well with Darcy. “It seems a bit too convenient for my taste.”
