Darcy's Highland Fling

by M. A. Sandiford

  Eventually the two voices fought it out to a draw, and she must have fallen asleep—for a few hours.

  Dawn brought a new perspective, as she made herself face an uncomfortable truth.

  She had responded. Her initial error, in leaning her head on Darcy’s shoulder, could be excused as an act of forgetfulness. But why had she drawn away only a few inches? And let him keep her hand? And returned his gaze? And made her habitual preparations for a kiss: rubbing her lips together to moisten them, tilting her head?

  It could not be denied. For unfathomable reasons, she had wanted him to kiss her. Even now, reliving the episode, something inside her lamented that the moment had been lost.

  She pushed the feeling away. Yes, Darcy had changed on the surface, but in essence his character remained what it had always been. Honourable, yes, honest, but haughty, reserved, disdainful of his inferiors. A man of such demanding standards that one could never feel comfortable in his company. Admittedly he applied the same demands to himself—hence the exaggerated sense of duty that had brought him to Edinburgh. But this, although admirable in its way, did not make him easier to live with.

  Elizabeth sighed. She must exercise care, hold herself in check. Not lose her head to a wealthy, handsome man who was unaccountably still infatuated with her.

  Darcy breathed deeply as the maid led him to the drawing room. She was there, seated by the fire, wearing her grey mourning dress. She smiled, without speaking, and indicated the seat opposite.

  ‘Mrs Bailey …’ He threw up his hands. ‘How are you?’

  ‘My stomach is recovering but my head hurts. I should have heeded my own warning about the ale.’

  ‘My headache is receding. But not my remorse. Allow me to express again …’

  Elizabeth raised a hand. ‘Thank you. Reciprocated. But let us not distress ourselves. I spent half the night in self-reproach, to no advantage.’

  Her face was paler than usual, with smudges under the eyes, but she looked composed. With the modest dress, the needlework, the gentle humour in her expression, the soft voice, she was a model of feminine decorum.

  He relaxed a little. She seemed shaken, thoughtful, but not angry.

  ‘I have news from London.’ He told of Georgiana’s forthcoming visit and his meeting with Lord Dunbar. ‘I thought it best to divulge straight away your family’s misfortunes, so that he would hear of them from me, and not another source.’

  He studied her anxiously, but she contented herself with a lift of the eyebrows. ‘And how did his lordship respond?’

  ‘He was ambivalent.’ Darcy thought for a moment. ‘I believe he is a traditional sort of man, a devout follower of the Kirk. I saw a version of the Westminster Confession of Faith open on his desk. He admired my charity in helping a family fallen on hard times, and seemed willing to judge you as he found you, in spite of …’ He sighed. ‘What has happened. In fact he invited us both to attend a ball later this week, as his guests.’

  She smiled. ‘I am to be put under the microscope?’

  ‘Perhaps we both are.’

  ‘We’ll have to show our best behaviour. Are you familiar with the Scottish church?’

  ‘In outline.’

  ‘Thomas kept me up all night once explaining it. They are Calvinist, which means among other things that they hold a doctrine called predestination. God has already decided, before we are born, which of us will be damned for our sins, and which will be saved. Believers therefore seek signs that they are among the chosen, so that good fortune is doubly welcome—and ill fortune doubly distressing. My family’s disgrace is not only painful in itself, but signals we have been pre-selected for eternal damnation.’

  ‘What view did your husband take of this doctrine?’

  ‘Oh, he thought it nonsense.’ She smiled. ‘But then he dismissed most dogma as superstition.’

  He gazed at her, admiring her resilience. ‘You accept these innuendos with remarkably good humour.’

  ‘How kind of you to find some good in me.’ She paused a moment. ‘Mr Darcy, I think we should wind back the clock, and reinstate matters as they stood before we drank too much of Dowie’s ale. You have come here to help an acquaintance, for whose troubles you feel partly responsible. I welcome your advice but expect nothing further; in particular, I refuse to become a charitable cause. We will forgive ourselves a moment of weakness and vow to behave with decorum in future, especially in the company of Lord and Lady Dunbar. We will give all taverns a wide berth.’

  He nodded, with a faint smile. ‘Agreed. And yet …’ He threw up his hands. ‘It happened.’

  She sighed deeply. ‘I beg you, let us forget the episode and not read any significance into it. I take you at your word. You have come to Edinburgh to help, and not …’ A wry smile. ‘Not to renew offers that proved, ah, unwelcome. For my part, I accept that my language at Hunsford was ill-tempered, and my accusations unfounded. But the rest I stand by. For all your outstanding qualities, I do not believe us well suited.’

  Darcy remained silent, struggling to hide his agitation. Her words offered no hope, yet it was reassuring to know where he stood. Moreover, Elizabeth seemed content for them to meet as friendly acquaintances, provided his aspirations strayed no further.

  Perhaps noticing his discomfort, Elizabeth asked more details of Georgiana’s visit, where the ball would be held, whether he would like to attend the next debate at the Literati club. Gradually he relaxed, grateful that despite all they could still talk.

  12

  Elizabeth faced her bedroom mirror while Isla, guided by Alison Napier, made adjustments to her hair.

  ‘Elegant, but so decorous.’ Alison lifted a tress. ‘Can we not tie chignons to show your lovely neck?’

  ‘Decorous is the effect I want,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Thank you Isla. Fine as it is.’

  Alison frowned. ‘The Marchioness’s balls are so grand.’

  ‘Yes, and as many of her guests will know, I am still in half-mourning. Did I hear Charlotte calling?’

  ‘The girls should be asleep by now and I’m engaged in making you presentable.’

  ‘No wonder Susanna tells you no secrets.’

  Alison stamped her foot. ‘I see. I am a liability here!’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘Dearest Alison.’

  ‘Ha! I offer you sanctuary in my home, and this is how you repay me!’ She swept out, leaving an embarrassed Isla hovering at Elizabeth’s side.

  ‘You look lovely, Miss.’

  Elizabeth studied the pale gown, made up the year before from the silk she had taken to Strathmaran. The puffed sleeves were short; she would need opera gloves to cover her arms.

  ‘Thank you. You may leave now.’

  Alone, finally, Elizabeth sat at the window. The carriage would arrive soon—Darcy was invariably punctual. What would the evening bring? Would she pass muster with Lord Dunbar? Would Major Mackay attend and observe her with Darcy? Guiltily she realised that owing to her unsettling reunion with the master of Pemberley, she had neglected the urgent matter of the debt …

  A tap on the door interrupted these musings. He was here.

  The ballroom was daunting: Elizabeth had never attended a gathering half so grand. She knew the hall, with its huge overhanging dome and arched windows. But the decorations, the fittings, the gowns! No kilts, which some men had worn at céilidhs in Strathmaran; such Highland accessories were still tainted with Jacobinism. Darcy had on the looser trousers coming into fashion, with a dark double-breasted coat and a white cravat tied into a bow. His usual Bedford haircut was neatly clipped, leaving a hint of natural wildness. Heads turned as people wondered who this elegant stranger might be; she felt an unexpected glow as she entered at his side.

  A gentleman approached and graciously requested an introduction. Lord Dunbar’s manners, like his dress, were impeccable, reminding her of Chaucer’s veray parfit gentil knight. He condoled with her loss, asked after her health, requested a set, all with the perfect courtliness of the age of ch
ivalry. The phrase noblesse oblige came to mind: he had the assurance of one whose values, and position in society, were immutable.

  Eventually he moved on and Darcy said, ‘Before your card fills up, may I request the supper set?’

  Elizabeth wondered what impression would be given if she stayed with Darcy during the supper. As she hesitated, a man in military regalia passed and with a jump she recognised Hector Mackay. He halted abruptly, then fixated Darcy for several long seconds before coming to join them.

  ‘Mrs Bailey.’ He turned to face Darcy. ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’

  Elizabeth performed the introduction.

  ‘What brings you to Edinburgh?’ Mackay asked.

  ‘A private matter,’ Darcy said. ‘I have been glad to renew acquaintance with Mrs Bailey, whose family I used to know.’

  ‘I see.’ Major Mackay extended a hand towards Elizabeth. ‘Mr Bailey was my cousin, so we are as family. Will you be so kind as to grant me the supper set, madam?’

  Elizabeth threw a glance at Darcy. ‘Unfortunately I am already engaged, Major. The third set, perhaps?’

  As Mackay went on his way Darcy raised his eyebrows. ‘A determined man.’

  Elizabeth swallowed: she had not told Darcy of Major Mackay’s proposal for a marriage of convenience.

  ‘He certainly likes to command, which I suppose goes with the profession. But I have no reason for thinking ill of him.’

  The cotillion with Lord Dunbar passed off safely as Elizabeth, following Darcy’s advice, held her dazzling wit in check while her partner pointed out personalities of interest. In the alcove, a circle had formed around the author Mr Walter Scott, left lame by polio during childhood and hence unable to dance. Next to Scott sat the regal figure of their hostess, Elizabeth Leveson-Gower, Countess of Sutherland, Marchioness of Stafford, friend and admirer of Scott, and wife of the richest man in Britain. As if that were not enough, Lady Levenson-Gower was a gifted water-colourist and had ventured north from their Staffordshire estates to paint the coastal views at Dunrobin Castle (which she owned) and visit cousins who still lived there.

  After the set, Lord Dunbar joined Scott’s group while Elizabeth found Darcy talking with an elegant young man with the air of a sportsman.

  Darcy drew her into the group. ‘May I introduce Earl Leveson-Gower, our hostess’s son, whom I last met on the playing fields of Harrow.’

  Leveson-Gower bowed. ‘We’re discussing cricket, one of my passions. Darcy was a demon bowler in his day.’

  ‘Not a popular sport in Edinburgh,’ Elizabeth said.

  The earl put a hand to his ear, as if hard of hearing. ‘It has become a centre for publishing, my other passion. We recently founded a society for bibliophiles called the Roxburghe Club, whose members sponsor new editions of rare masterworks.’ He extended a hand towards Darcy. ‘I thought our friend here might like to join when next in London. He was always a bookworm at school.’

  Guests parted as the daunting figure of the Marchioness of Stafford swept through to join her son.

  ‘George, introduce me to your companions!’

  Her manner was overbearing, reminding Elizabeth of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but offset by humour and intelligence. Once formalities were done she edged closer to Elizabeth.

  ‘A word in private?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Elizabeth threw a sideways glance at Darcy, who looked equally surprised.

  The Marchioness drew her into a corner. ‘You are the portioner of Laramore?’

  ‘So my lawyer tells me.’

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, and hope you are recovering from your tragic loss.’

  ‘Thank you, your ladyship.’

  ‘May I ask …’ The Marchioness lowered her voice almost to a whisper. ‘Your intentions regarding your part of the estate? I heard you might be interested in selling.’

  Elizabeth hesitated. ‘It’s an option.’

  ‘Has Strathmaran offered?’

  Momentarily puzzled, Elizabeth recalled that the laird was often referred to by the name of his estate, so that Strathmaran would mean Hector Mackay.

  ‘We have talked, ah, confidentially.’

  ‘I see.’ The Marchioness studied her awhile. ‘We share a Christian name I believe.’

  Elizabeth smiled at this abrupt change of direction. ‘In the Highlands I’m called Elisaid.’

  ‘As am I. It would be convenient if they learned English.’

  ‘My husband invested in improving the school.’

  The Marchioness edged closer. ‘Mrs Bailey, you have shown exemplary propriety in keeping your dealings with Strathmaran confidential. May I assume the same courtesy would be extended to me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘My husband and I are interested in Laramore. As you know, it adjoins Callach, which we recently acquired. Unifying the estates we could enlarge our farm by 4,000 sheep. If you decide to sell, consult our estate manager.’ She handed Elizabeth a card, and whispered: ‘He can go to £14,000.’

  Elizabeth tried to conceal her surprise. This exceeded Major Mackay’s offer by £2,000, a considerable sum.

  ‘I understand.’ She paused. ‘What would happen to the villagers if your farm were extended?’

  ‘That won’t be a problem.’ The Marchioness was incisive. ‘There are locations along the coast where they can croft or fish.’

  ‘What if they are reluctant to move?’

  ‘It will be in their interests. It is time for these primitive communities to embrace new methods, as has been done in England and the Lowlands …’ She broke off as the next dance was announced. ‘I am keeping you from the floor. A pleasure to have met, and please call at Dunrobin Castle if you travel that way.’

  ‘Your ladyship.’ Elizabeth emerged from the corner, seeking her partner for the third set.

  It was evident during the first dance that Hector Mackay’s mind was elsewhere. The reel had too many interchanges to favour sustained conversation, but in the interval he pointed to Darcy, still hobnobbing with his schoolmate.

  ‘Mr Darcy must move in elevated circles to be on such terms with the Leveson-Gowers. Have you known him a long time? A cousin perhaps?’

  Elizabeth looked away, finding his gaze unnerving. ‘He is an acquaintance of several years’ standing.’

  ‘It seems I have a rival! Mrs Bailey, I couldn’t help noticing that you were approached by the Marchioness. May I ask on what topic?’

  Elizabeth tried to conceal her irritation. ‘We are here to enjoy ourselves, Major.’

  A petulant look clouded his face, but he quickly recovered. ‘Forgive me. Did you know that my brother Robert is visiting Edinburgh soon? Morag has always liked city life. She’ll be up and down Princes Street seeking the latest fashions.’

  ‘How exciting! The children too?’

  ‘They are to remain at Strathmaran with my mother.’

  ‘How long will Captain Mackay stay?’

  ‘We plan to return together early next month.’ He met her eye. ‘Which, with apologies, is why I am in haste to settle our legal business.’

  Elizabeth nodded. Awkward he might be, but he had a point. She must decide what to do about the debt.

  13

  Elizabeth climbed to the first floor of a Princes Street emporium, the site of an elegant coffee salon with views across the Nor’ Loch to the Old Town. Since the ball she had spent two days vacillating over Laramore. To sell or not? If so, to Mackay or the Staffords? None of the solutions appealed. At best, the gain would barely cover rental of Woodside, their cottage in Meryton. Should she consider Hector Mackay’s proposal of marriage, for her family’s sake?

  Making no progress, she had requested a meeting with Darcy, suggesting as venue the coffee room.

  She entered the carpeted salon, and noticed Darcy at a table by the window. She smiled: it would be so like him to ensure suitable seats by arriving early. He rose as she approached, dignified as ever, and unobtrusively summoned the waiter.

>   After polite exchanges Elizabeth went straight to the point, and it impressed her how carefully Darcy attended. Few men of her acquaintance would permit a woman to explain a problem fully before interrupting with solutions. She confided all, barring Hector Mackay’s proposal for a marriage of convenience.

  He pondered a moment before asking, ‘Have you told Major Mackay of the Marchioness’s offer?’

  ‘I promised not to.’ She sighed. ‘But he saw us talking, and interrogated me on that very point.’

  ‘Unfortunately the honourable course is not always the most profitable. Most men in your situation would ensure each party knew the other’s offer, so creating an auction to drive up the price.’

  ‘But I gave my word.’

  ‘A devious route might be found, through the mediation of servants or lawyers.’

  ‘Is that what you would do?’

  ‘No.’ He drew himself up. ‘My father taught me to put reputation before temporary gain, for practical as well as moral reasons. In the long run, honesty pays.’

  She secretly agreed, but the hint of pomposity revived earlier habits, and she dealt him a teasing smile. ‘Perhaps such exalted principles are a privilege of wealth. The poor must manage as best they can.’

  He met her smile. ‘I intended no offence.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘All right. I agree to set aside trickery. The question remains: what to do?’

  Darcy looked away momentarily at the loch. ‘Obviously you seek the best price. A difference of a few thousand pounds, of little account to the Staffords, will affect your family’s income considerably. Both parties seem eager to acquire the estate. Under the circumstances, I would wait. Let each side lose sleep in fear of being outbid, and hope for higher offers.’

  ‘But I cannot wait. I must repay the debt.’