‘Mrs Bailey.’ He smiled approvingly. ‘I am delighted to meet you, albeit under sad circumstances. Thomas was a good friend and I feel his loss keenly.’
She noticed he was speaking English rather than Scots dialect. ‘Thank you, Major.’
‘Can we adjourn to my study, which is quieter, being at the back?’
He showed her to a masculine den with sabres and a stag’s head adorning the walls, bookcase, and armchairs facing a low table. Tea was served with shortbread, Major Mackay presiding with a pleasant rough charm. She knew he was esteemed by his men, who had risked their lives carrying him to safety during a disastrous engagement in Egypt. He asked after the people at Strathmaran, then her own family. Nostalgically she found herself speaking of visits and balls; they discussed differences between Highland dances and those favoured in England.
At last he sighed. ‘I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Mrs Bailey, but we must turn to business. Have you spoken with Mr Dalglish?’
‘He said I would keep a portion of the estate, but that a debt had to be settled.’
‘Unfortunately so.’ He interlaced his fingers, studying her. ‘If I may ask, is there any way in which you can repay from savings, or by selling property elsewhere?’
Elizabeth smiled wryly. ‘If there were, I would have supported my mother and sisters without drawing on my husband’s income.’
‘That is what I assumed. Thinking the matter over, I see two possible solutions. The first is that I make you an offer for Laramore, say of £12,000. As Mr Dalglish will confirm, this sum exceeds its market value, but I am willing to pay it because I have a particular interest in the estate.’ He paused. ‘Did Thomas explain how it came into his possession?’
‘He said his father inherited it when the old estate was divided.’
‘Just so. Historically Strathmaran belonged entirely to the Mackays until in 1770 it was bequeathed to my mother Flora. As in your case, there were other claims, so that she became only a portioner. My father and I bought out the other owners, but Laramore and environs have remained with the Baileys: Thomas’s father, then Thomas, and now, after sad recent events, with yourself.’
‘I see.’ Elizabeth thought for a moment. ‘Why does it matter so much that the region has a single owner?’
‘Family pride is one reason. Traditionally the land was ours; we wish to regain it. But there is a more pressing motive. Have you met my factor, Mr Brodie?’
‘Briefly.’ She recalled a large surly man who served as steward of Strathmaran, and had attended the céilidh to mark Henrietta’s departure for St Vincent.
Hector Mackay smiled. ‘I detect a reservation in your tone, Mrs Bailey, and must concede that Mr Brodie lacks social grace. But he is honest, efficient, and well-versed in modern farming. He advised me last year to re-organise the inland areas of the estate on the lines pioneered at Callach, walling off a grand sheep farm that would increase our income substantially. Unfortunately, a viable farm would have to include Laramore, so without your husband’s consent we were stymied.’
Elizabeth frowned, dismayed by this further evidence of Thomas’s reticence. He had hidden not only his borrowing, but the dispute over the sheep farm. She wondered whether Hector had cunningly allowed Thomas to build up a debt he could never repay, so ensuring that he would eventually take over Laramore.
‘You mentioned a second solution?’
‘Yes.’ He met her eye, with the air of one accustomed to command. ‘As you will know, I’ve never married; thus far, the war on the continent has allowed me little respite. However, Bonaparte’s star is fading; before long my regiment will be engaged in duties at home. I would like to marry, spend more time at Strathmaran, raise a family.’ He opened his palms. ‘Of course we have just met, and you are still in mourning. However, I see that you are blessed not only with beauty but honesty and good sense. A marriage between us would eliminate your debt and unify the estate under a laird and lady. Moreover, when modernised, the land will yield revenues that allow an increased contribution for your family, thus assuring their long-term security.’ He paused, observing her. ‘What do you think?’
She returned his gaze as she considered her response. He was tall and must have been handsome once, although pockmarked, and scarred across the neck from a sabre cut. She found him confident, straightforward, persuasive, a natural leader. It was hard to imagine feeling tenderness towards him, as she had to Thomas; he was too sure of himself, too invulnerable.
‘I thank you for the offer, sir, and especially your consideration for my family in Hertfordshire. I agree that we would have to wait before such a union could even be contemplated. But what of the debt?’
He nodded, pleased with this answer. ‘I can instruct my lawyer to postpone settlement for the duration of my stay in Edinburgh. By late April I am returning to Strathmaran, so I would prefer the matter to be decided one way or the other before then.’
Elizabeth pursed her lips: she had hoped for a longer period of grace.
‘I need to think. All this has come upon me very suddenly.’
‘Of course.’ He courteously showed her out.
‘Elizabeth!’ Back at Heriot Row, Napier’s lively wife Alison ran into the hall to meet her. ‘How did it go?’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘That would be a long story.’
‘You have a letter. By express!’
Elizabeth crossed to the hall table, to receive such a shock that she stumbled and nearly fell over.
‘Are you well?’ Alison caught her arm. ‘You’ve turned pale.’
Elizabeth found safety in a nearby chair. ‘I’ll be fine. I was merely surprised on recognising the handwriting.’
‘You aren’t expecting bad news?’
‘I wasn’t expecting any news at all, from this source.’
‘Let me pour you a glass of wine.’
‘No.’ Elizabeth rose, feeling her strength return. ‘Dear Alison, don’t worry. I will go to my room to read this letter, and call for help if I need it.’
‘I’m consumed with curiosity!’
‘You’re not the only one.’
In the privacy of her chamber, Elizabeth took off her shoes and sat on the bed. She hardly dared open the note. Secreted in a locked drawer was another letter in the same closely-written hand, which she had received two years earlier at Hunsford Wood, and kept ever since. Every so often she would take it out, drawn by some strange magnetism to that pivotal moment when her life could have taken a different direction.
Taking a deep breath, she carefully slit the seal.
Dear Mrs Bailey,
I have learned from Miss Bennet of your family’s sad misfortune, for which I bear a degree of responsibility. May I beg you to let me call on you in Edinburgh so that we can discuss whether I might be of assistance. I will leave directly and should arrive soon after this letter.
Sincerely, Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth put the note aside, her nerves so aflutter that she could scarcely think. What did Darcy want? Why did he feel responsible for her family, and what assistance could he offer?
She breathed deeply, trying to calm down. There was no way of knowing. She would have to wait and see.
7
Edinburgh, two days later
Darcy walked down Princes Street, looking across to the castle. In the valley men were at work draining the loch; over the road, shops sold the fine food and clothing demanded by the prosperous residents of the New Town. He checked a clock tower, confirming that half an hour remained before it was time to call.
It was Darcy’s first visit to Scotland’s capital, and the stately grandeur of the new development impressed him. While people lived in cramped squalor the other side of the loch, here the streets were broad and straight, gardens were plentiful, taverns and clubs catered for every taste.
He had arrived the night before in his own carriage, and lodged at the New Club in St Andrew’s Square, where he had learned of an apartment nearby available for rent. During th
e long journey he had pondered what approach to adopt. It was tempting to renew his proposal, hoping that Elizabeth would feel obliged to accept for her family’s sake, and gambling that affection would develop in time. But caution prevailed. Even if most women would jump at such an offer, it did not follow that she would.
In a small drawing room at Heriot Row Elizabeth paced the carpet, detouring to the window now and then to peer through the net curtain. Alison had taken the children for a walk, leaving her alone with Isla, the maid. On the mantelpiece clock, the minute hand crawled with frustrating slowness towards the hour. Could Darcy really be here in Edinburgh, like an emissary from the world she had left behind?
Steps sounded in the hall, and after a final check in the mirror she ran softly to one of the armchairs she had set before the fire.
He strode in, elegant as ever, and trembling with emotion she rose to greet him.
‘Mr Darcy, please make yourself comfortable.’ She indicated a chair. ‘How extraordinary to see you again.’
After offering condolences, he asked after her health, his manner attentive but anxious. Studying him, she saw traces of the old hauteur now overlaid with sadness and self-doubt; she wondered whether he had suffered illness or misfortune.
‘I am well, thank you.’ She tried to speak naturally, as if they were friends enjoying a reunion. ‘Isla will return with coffee and scones. Have you found accommodation?’
As he described his practical arrangements he relaxed a little, and went on to reassure her that Jane and the others at Gracechurch Street were well.
‘And your family?’ she asked.
‘Georgiana is out, and blossoming. Colonel Fitzwilliam should be home soon, now the war is ending.’
Refreshments arrived, and sipping the hot syrupy coffee Elizabeth felt strong enough to embark on the speech she had planned.
‘I’m naturally curious to know why you have come, Mr Darcy. But first, let me apologise for my ill-founded accusations at our last meeting.’
He looked up. ‘You did read my letter?’
‘With care, and not a little shame.’
‘It is not you who should be apologising. You had been deceived by that …’ He screwed up his face. ‘That blackguard. For the rest, what you said at Hunsford was true. My conduct was indeed unworthy of a gentleman. It was heartless to separate Mr Bingley from your sister.’
‘You were trying to protect your friend.’
‘Then let presumption be added to my other errors.’ He took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. ‘You ask why I am here. Do you not see? It was through my failure to expose Wickham, and my meddling in Charles’s affairs, that your family suffered its present troubles. Had I warned your father of Wickham’s vicious character, Miss Lydia would have been protected. Had I left Charles to marry Miss Bennet, he could have supported your mother and younger sisters after Collins took over Longbourn.’
Elizabeth stared at him, shocked by the intensity of his self-reproach. Could this be the haughty Darcy of yore? What could have happened, to alter him so much?
‘Really, sir, you take too much on yourself. It is I that should have exposed Mr Wickham, after my return from Kent. I have never held you responsible for any of this.’
‘Not even for Miss Bennet’s disappointment?’
She considered. ‘Well, in part.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘How are the Bingleys?’
‘Miss Bingley is well and has a beau. As for Charles …’ His face fell. ‘We have lost touch. I confessed my interference too late, and he has never forgiven me. I believe he went overseas to assist with the family business.’
Elizabeth reflected. Could this explain Darcy’s changed manner? For such an aloof man, the loss of a best friend would be crushing. Perhaps it was for this reason that he so regretted his connivance with Miss Bingley. Not for Jane’s sake, or even her own, but because he had forfeited Bingley’s regard.
‘You have had troubles too.’
‘Yes, of my own infliction.’ He paused, before continuing earnestly: ‘Two autumns ago we danced merrily at Netherfield. Now your family is destitute. Bingley, once the most loyal of souls, has abandoned his former friends. Miss Bennet, who could have been Mrs Bingley, is working as a nursery maid. You are left alone, separated from your mother and sisters, uncertain that you can continue to support them.’
Elizabeth flinched: this last dilemma was even keener than Darcy realised, since he could hardly be aware of her debt to Major Mackay.
‘So what are you saying? You regard these disasters as somehow your fault, and wish to atone?’
He swallowed. ‘I realise …’
Tears pricked her eyes. ‘We cannot bring back Thomas, or my father.’
‘I know how much your father meant to you.’
As she thanked him, Elizabeth recalled that he had once experienced a similar bereavement. It struck her that never before had they talked so openly. Almost all their former conversation had amounted to verbal fencing as she tried to puncture his vanity. Since then his manner had certainly changed, yet she still found him pretentious, as if all problems and remedies centred on himself. Comparing his demanding intensity with Thomas’s easy-going charm, she felt renewed pain at the loss of her husband’s company.
Trying to lighten the atmosphere she suggested, ‘Shall we share the last scone?’
‘If you wish.’
She cut it carefully in half. ‘There! You have your part, I have mine, and likewise you must not be so greedy as to take all responsibility for our troubles. A portion must be left for me.’
He smiled. ‘You are too generous.’
‘If Mr Wickham were present we could give him the whole scone.’ She frowned. ‘Where can he be?’
‘Abroad, I fancy, in search of a wife with the wherewithal to mend his finances.’
She flipped her hand, as if to swat an irritating insect. ‘I wish him every ill fortune.’ She sighed. ‘Mr Darcy, your sense of duty overwhelms me. As you imply, my situation is far from happy. But I remain perplexed. What is it that you want? To adopt the Bennets as a charitable cause?’
He blinked. ‘I would not express the matter so condescendingly.’
Elizabeth found this evasion irritating, but checked her rebuke. She could see only one explanation for Darcy’s visit. Perhaps he sincerely believed this tale of atoning for his errors, but if so he was deceiving himself. He must still be infatuated with her. She knew the stubbornness of his nature. To be rejected by a lady from her mediocre background must have mortified his pride. Could it be that, like Hector Mackay, he hoped to take advantage of her destitution to press for a marriage of convenience? It was hard to believe that a man of his standing would overlook her family disgrace. But how else to account for his presence in Scotland?
To vent these thoughts was impossible. For now she must take Darcy at his word; nor could she deny a reassurance in seeing someone from her old life. She would not accept his charity, but it would do no harm to talk. For all his faults he was honourable and discreet, knowledgeable as well as wealthy. He might have insights that would help unravel her practical difficulties with the Mackays.
She could not tell all, especially in regard to her meeting with the major. But carefully she sketched the outline of her story.
8
The Napiers’ dining room was intimate rather than grand, with a thick carpet, and upholstered chintz chairs round a small table. With no other guests, and the children already abed, Darcy was seated facing Elizabeth on the long side, the position traditionally kept for the guest of honour, while Francis and Alison Napier occupied head and foot.
He had left Elizabeth in the early afternoon, receiving a searching appraisal from Mrs Napier as well as an invitation to dine. The rest of the day had been spent exploring, mostly in the Old Town, where he walked the royal mile between the castle and Holyrood Palace. Elizabeth had given him plenty to ponder. He accepted, not without a twinge of envy, that she had liked her husband, and was deep
ly shocked by his unexplained death. About the Mackays she was ambivalent. She had just met the laird, Major Hector Mackay, who wanted to purchase her portion, including a village called Laramore—an offer that seemed to have left her uneasy.
Dusk had fallen, and the maid had drawn the curtains and lit candles. After their initial meeting Elizabeth had recovered her poise, and remained decorous in cream and lilac with no ornament except a black brooch. Cocooned in the small room, with its soft fabrics, warm fire and subdued lighting, he felt in a dream world, the unattainable object of his heart sitting opposite just a yard away.
As baked oysters were served, Darcy turned to Alison Napier. ‘Very fine. It is kind of you to invite me.’
She smiled, scooping oyster from shell in a quick, decisive movement. With angular face and abundant freckles she was not a conventional beauty, but arresting with her cheerful manner and limpid voice.
‘It’s our pleasure, sir, to offer hospitality to a friend of Elizabeth’s come all this way.’
‘You met in the Lakes, I hear.’
‘Indeed.’ Professor Napier glanced at Elizabeth. ‘Touring with Thomas, and other companions from the Literati Club.’
Darcy turned to Napier, to whom he had just been introduced: Bingley’s build, with a reserved, bookish manner—as befitted an academic. ‘You meet to discuss literature?’
‘Among other things. Several of us, myself included, write for the Edinburgh Review, a cultural quarterly that has been attracting notoriety since its revival.’
Darcy frowned. ‘Was it not responsible for a scurrilous attack on the Lake poets?’
Napier smiled. ‘There is no editorial doctrine, except Thou shalt be provocative.’
‘You might enjoy the debates,’ Elizabeth said. ‘People here argue all the time about politics and religion and literature—and in a good spirit.’ She grinned at Alison Napier. ‘For the most part.’
Darcy's Highland Fling Page 4
