Darcy's Highland Fling

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘Was it safe to leave your sister at such a time?’

  ‘We talked it over, and Georgiana insisted. Of course I have full confidence in Colonel Fitzwilliam.’ He paused. ‘My mind was made up when I learned your factor was leaving for Strathmaran.’

  ‘Mr MacFarlane is here?’

  ‘He is staying at Strathmaran for the night.’

  ‘That is kind of Hector.’ She breathed in sharply. ‘And yourself?’

  Darcy smiled. ‘I sense that Major Mackay’s sentiments were at best ambivalent, but his reception was hospitable.’

  They walked on, normality restored, speaking of practicalities. Elizabeth wondered what Isobel and Robert had made of her excitement. But since the Mackays evidently assumed that she had set her sights on the wealthy Englishman, it hardly mattered: their misconceptions would merely be confirmed.

  At dinner, the usual tensions were set aside as the Sinclairs brought news from Larraig. The other talking point was the sighting of further displaced families from Sutherland. The Farrs had been fed and allowed to shelter in a barn, where maids tended the children’s feet and gifted them moccasins. Since then two more groups had passed, mostly of young men who hoped to find work on fishing boats in Thurso. Elizabeth noticed how Hector glanced in her direction, then Darcy’s, as he emphasised the role of Patrick Sellar in this exodus. The subtext was plain: If you care for your tenants, do not sell to the Staffords. But he was too diplomatic, or too canny, to make this point directly.

  As candied fruit and cakes were brought for dessert, Flora Mackay announced a midsummer céilidh in honour of the visitors. Elizabeth was puzzled by these attentions; then it occurred to her that the Mackays had already identified Darcy as her future husband, and hence the future laird of Laramore.

  She sighed. It was a relief to have the support of a man she could completely trust. But the mere thought of another marriage of convenience was so disturbing that she pushed it to the back of her mind. Even if Darcy was still in love with her, how in conscience could she take advantage of him? No, she would wait first for MacFarlane’s report on Laramore. Perhaps after all it might provide sufficient income to maintain her family.

  As she retired there was a tap on the door and Morag looked in.

  ‘A wee word?’

  Elizabeth sent away the maid, who had been brushing out her hair.

  ‘If you mean to scold me, can it wait till tomorrow?’

  Morag sat beside her on the bed. ‘Ye’re verra friendly wi’ Issy these days.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘It’s a topsy-turvy world. I thought you were my friend once.’

  Morag touched her arm. ‘I dinna hate ye, Lizzy, and I’m nae intending tae quarrel wi’ ye now. What I say is for yer own good. Ye dinna understand how serious this is, for them that live here.’

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Hector is laird, head of the family, and he feels a keen responsibility tae assure our prosperity, so that our bairns grow up on a thriving estate, the girls marry well, the lads become gentlemen. We’re nae a rich family. Hector and his father invested every spare penny recovering the lands lost before, and like Robert, he had tae earn his living by soldiering.’ She hesitated. ‘Ye have tae watch for Mr Brodie, too. Like many factors he’s an ambitious man, eager to better himself. As tacksman for a grand farm his position will be secured. He can find himself a bonnie wifie and raise a family in comfort.’

  Elizabeth was silent awhile. She had heard some of this before, but the tone was different.

  ‘Morag, are you warning me?’

  ‘Hector is an honourable man, and has full confidence in Mr Brodie. I canna believe they would do anything—underhand. But ye must appreciate the strain they’re feeling. Ye’ve been here but a year. They’ve struggled most of their lives tae unify the estate and make it pay its way.’

  ‘I realise that is Hector’s objective, and yours. But the rest of the family? Flora? Isobel?’

  Morag waved this way. ‘Och, Issy’s a braw lassie but she doesnae understand practicalities. She cares only tae retain some romantic notion of a traditional way of life, which was lost over fifty years ago after the failure of the rebellion. Folk canna go on living in peat cottages, bleeding the cattle in winter because they have nae proper food. Flora understands this. She doesnae welcome it, but she’ll accept the inevitable when the time comes.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Perhaps I should talk to Flora.’

  ‘Aye.’ Morag rose to leave. ‘Ye should.’

  28

  Alone in the drawing room, Georgiana worked patiently through Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique. The slow movement she knew by heart: now she aimed to master the difficult first movement—a challenge that occupied her mind, driving out disturbing thoughts of the impasse with James’s family, and her brother’s expedition to the north.

  She was vaguely aware of noises in the hall, presumably a visitor for Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had befriended officers at the New Club. Ten minutes later the maid entered.

  ‘The colonel asks yer presence in the parlour, ma’am, on accoont of visitors.’

  Georgiana frowned: who could this be? Surely not Margaret, who would have joined her directly. She went to the fireplace to straighten her hair in the mirror, then crossed the hall to the parlour, which Darcy had used as a study.

  As she entered, three gentlemen stood up, and with a gasp she saw Lord Dunbar, accompanied by …

  Alistair.

  Trembling, she advanced to an upholstered seat next to the colonel, who smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Miss Darcy.’ Lord Dunbar regarded her with his usual courtly gravitas. ‘Pray excuse us for disturbing your most accomplished playing. We are here at the behest of my son.’ He extended a hand. ‘There is something he would like to say to you.’

  Georgiana blinked. What was happening? Was Alistair planning some embarrassing attempt to atone for his indiscretion through a formal proposal of marriage? She watched in silence as he struggled to recall what had obviously been a pre-planned declaration.

  ‘I have come to ask your forgiveness, Miss Darcy. For my ungentlemanly conduct in the music room. And for disputing your version of events.’

  ‘Oh.’ She coloured, embarrassed that this humiliating confession was attended by his father: it was as if Alistair were performing under duress. ‘But why …’

  He threw a glance at Lord Dunbar. ‘I was ashamed. I could not admit, even to myself, that I had tried to win your hand and been …’ He swallowed. ‘Rejected.’

  Georgiana hesitated, aware that scripture required her to forgive, but moved more by anger. ‘So you branded me a liar instead?’

  He stuttered, as if pride were fighting contrition. ‘I am not here to defend myself. I have admitted fault, and can do no more.’

  You can practise respect and honesty in the future, Georgiana thought. But preaching did not appeal to her. She glanced at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who encouraged her with the hint of a nod.

  ‘Then I am grateful for your apology, and hope we can forget the whole episode.’ She felt tears welling up and struggled to control herself as she faced Lord Dunbar. ‘Does this mean …’

  ‘Alistair and I are leaving Edinburgh this afternoon to visit my estate on the coast,’ he said gently. ‘We will be away a month, planning improvements and, perhaps, reflecting on the behaviour expected of a gentleman. Lady Dunbar, James, and Margaret, prefer to remain in Charlotte Square, where you are welcome to call, or stay if you feel the inclination.’

  ‘So it is over …’ Again she could hardly speak.

  He rose, addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘We have attained our purpose, and had better take our leave now. As Miss Darcy so aptly says, I hope this lapse can be forgotten, and our earlier friendship restored.’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam stood at Georgiana’s side. ‘We see this as a private matter, now resolved, and will mention it no more.’

  He glanced at her, and she nodded assent as Alistair followed his f
ather to the door.

  Alone with her cousin, she embraced him before running to her room to sob away weeks of frustration and humiliation.

  The afternoon was overcast as their party strolled into the Physic Garden. The venue was not twenty minutes’ walk; Lady Dunbar, however, had brought James and Margaret in a carriage, fearing rain. Now recovered, and relieved that Alistair was safely en route to Dunbar, Georgiana gave flickering attention to James as he explained the scientific purpose of the garden, which was to collect and classify plants with healing properties.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Dunbar lingered behind, leaving Georgiana flanked by James and Margaret. At last able to speak freely, she interrupted James’s remarks on botanical classification and asked in a low hiss, ‘Whatever happened? Why did Alistair change his mind?’

  ‘It was father’s idea,’ Margaret whispered. ‘We were all arguing in the drawing room, when he laid a bible in front of Alistair and invited him to swear that his story was true. Alistair turned pale and admitted that he might have been mistaken on some points. Later, father said he would have to confess his error to you, as our religion requires.’

  ‘Was Lord Dunbar angry?’

  ‘More sad.’ Margaret paused to sniff a sage. ‘I think secretly he sees through Alistair, and wishes he were more like James.’

  ‘Who of course is a paragon of manly virtue?’

  Noticing James’s blushes, Georgiana was shocked by her own sharpness of tongue. They passed into an imposing heated glasshouse with exotic plants from orchids to banana trees. Seeing many of these species for the first time, she welcomed the distraction. They drew further ahead of Lady Dunbar and the colonel, eventually leaving the glasshouse and finding a bench in a private corner. For a while they sat in uneasy silence, then Margaret rose to join the others, leaving James and Georgiana alone.

  ‘Are you recovered?’ Georgiana asked. ‘Compos mentis, as the Greeks used to say, despite your bang on the head?’

  ‘Yes. And it was the Romans.’

  ‘In that case you can explain why you ignored me directly we reached Edinburgh. Is my company no longer pleasing to you?’

  ‘Dear Miss Darcy, you are perfect as ever.’ He sighed. ‘But I could not help seeing how attentive you were to Alistair, who can offer you so much more. This is not the first time …’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘It happened the first year I attended the season. She was beautiful, sophisticated, and I believed myself in love until introducing her to my brother. Upon which she flaunted her charms at him, and paid me no more notice.’ He blinked. ‘Fortunately father saw through her wiles and warned Alistair off.’

  Georgiana glared at him. ‘So that is what you thought me? A fortune hunter?’

  ‘No! But observing you with Alistair, I feared …’

  ‘And how do you imagine I felt, pursued by your presumptuous bore of a brother, with you either immersed in work or pretending I wasn’t there?’

  ‘Then why respond so warmly to his attentions? I was not the only person who noticed. Margaret too feared you were transferring your affections to him.’

  Georgiana reddened. Had the whole sorry episode been her own fault? She replied, stubbornly, ‘I was merely being polite, because I wanted your family to like me.’

  ‘You didn’t realise you were encouraging him?’

  ‘I listened, mostly in silence, to his speeches. I smiled. I played the piano when asked. What else was I supposed to do?’

  He exhaled, like a balloon deflating. ‘I wanted what was best for you.’

  ‘You thought I valued position over affection?’

  ‘It was a stupid mistake.’ He looked away, disconsolate. ‘And now I have lost the respect of the person most important to me.’

  She shivered, recalling how she had felt after confessing her planned elopement to Darcy. ‘Mistakes, I hope, can be forgiven, for I am hardly without flaw.’

  ‘You are perfect.’ He smiled. ‘Apart from confusing Greeks with Romans.’

  Georgiana looked across the beds towards the covered area, where Margaret and the others were still examining cacti and other rare specimens. ‘I made a terrible mistake once.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you, Mr Inglis, so that we have no secrets. But I implore you, mention this to nobody else. Not even Margaret.’

  In a whisper, alert in case they were overheard, she confided her lapse with Wickham, withholding only his name: she referred to him as the officer.

  James attended in horrified silence.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Do you see now how foolish I am? Are you shocked by my impropriety?’

  ‘Shocked mostly by this man’s heartless villainy,’ he said. ‘I should challenge him to a duel.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He is a soldier, skilled in swordplay. You would not last ten seconds.’

  ‘I could choose pistols.’

  ‘You would miss.’ She regarded him with mock scorn. ‘You could not even win a fight with your brother.’

  ‘You were just fifteen years old, Miss Darcy. Yes, you were silly, but I already knew that.’

  She laughed, while in the corner of her eye she spotted Lady Dunbar approaching with the others. ‘Are we even?’

  He smiled, and she sighed with relief.

  29

  It was the day of the céilidh, and Darcy had joined Captain Robert Mackay, who had a similar build, to try on an article of attire of much interest to Elizabeth—the kilt. There was no question of satisfying her curiosity until the evening, but another distraction had arrived in the shape of a letter from Jane.

  The news was as usual. Lydia remained tetchy and listless, knowing that Kitty and Mary held her responsible for their misfortune. Their landlord had received a rental from Dalglish. Mrs Bennet’s nerves were in pieces after seeing the Collinses ride through Meryton in a chaise—which the Bennets no longer possessed.

  Descending, Elizabeth chanced to meet Flora Mackay and was invited to her private drawing room for coffee.

  ‘I’m blithe tae see ye well.’ The old lady held her cup in two hands, as if to warm them. ‘Ye’ve been anxious these last weeks, I’m thinking.’

  ‘The responsibility weighs on me.’

  ‘Tis a poisoned chalice for a woman tae find herself a landowner, as I ken weel enough.’ Flora looked away, as if recalling her own experience. ‘But I met a husband tae share the burden, and ye’ll be similarly blessed afore long.’

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  ‘I’m nae blind, lassie. I canna but see how the English gentleman looks at ye.’

  Elizabeth coloured. ‘Mr Darcy has shown great kindness. But the situation is not—as you think.’

  ‘Ye’ll be out of mourning in the autumn.’

  Elizabeth emptied her cup. ‘Mrs Mackay, I need your advice over Laramore. I’m aware that it once belonged to your family—and that your sons want it back.’

  ‘Things change so fast.’ The old lady closed her eyes dreamily. ‘In my grandfather’s time, when he owned the whole estate, he wanted all the tenants and cottars he could support, because every farmer could fight in a clash with the neighbouring clans. No militia tae enforce th’law. So rents had tae be low, wi’ so many living off so little land. We’re nae like that noo, and tha’s a good thing. No more feuding and kidnapping cattle. But owners are wanting higher incomes from their land, so I can appreciate Hector’s point of view.’ She sighed. ‘Although I’m nae happy wi’it.’

  ‘You’re not …’ Elizabeth paused. ‘Angry with me?’

  Flora Mackay leaned over to touch her arm. ‘Och no, lassie. I was uncertain at first, I admit, but I ken noo that ye’re a good woman, and I’m prood tae know ye. Dinna fret over Hector and the others. Do what ye think is best.’ She sighed. ‘I dinna always speak oot, ye ken, because I’ve nae desire tae offend my own son.’

  ‘I wish the others felt the same way.’

&n
bsp; ‘Hector doesnae hate ye, Lizzy. Verra much the opposite. He knows tae separate personal feelings from business. Tis like the games, ye might say. Fight it oot on the field, shake hands after.’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘In that case I’m outmatched.’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I’m nae so sure.’

  With the céilidh arranged in such haste Elizabeth had expected a modest gathering, but instead the great hall was filling up in a way that reminded her of Henrietta’s farewell party. Were neighbours curious about the English gentleman, she wondered, or was it just that they never missed an occasion for merrymaking? Alexander and Anna Sinclair had stayed, joined by relatives from Rith and Thurso. MacFarlane had arrived from Laramore; junior officers from Strathmaran sported their regimentals; Brodie, the factor, was conferring with one of Hector’s tacksmen while taking surreptitious glances at Isobel.

  Since the weather was fine the guests milled around outside, listening to the piper. After a long argument with Isobel she had chosen the decorous gown from the Marchioness’s ball in Edinburgh, and no ornament except her black brooch. Darcy, in a group with Lieutenant Sinclair and several other officers, wore a light blue-and-green kilt with black belt and green stockings, revealing a tantalising glimpse of leg just below the knee.

  ‘At least Mr Darcy has found the courage to try the local dress,’ Elizabeth whispered to Isobel. ‘As will I, once I am out of mourning.’

  ‘And verra fine he looks too.’ Isobel faced her with a glint. ‘I’ve a mind tae steal him from ye.’

  Elizabeth knew she was teasing, but studying Isobel’s smiling face she could not help a shiver of unease. Wild and beautiful as the Scottish landscape itself: how could any man not be overwhelmed? Yet so far as she could discern, the girl had no suitors. Men gazed, as Brodie had done, but receiving no encouragement, kept a respectful distance from the laird’s sister.