by Jennifer Joy
Lydia mumbled, "I am your little sister, too." Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
"And I give you my blessing to marry on the morrow," retorted William, his eyes only for his precious daughter.
"That sounds like something my father would say," Lydia grumbled, adding, "If I were kidnapped, I would make the most of it. You would see."
Dwelling on such a scheme would get Lydia nowhere. Georgiana reminded her, "It was not a kidnapping after all. Mr. Morton only said so to keep the gossips from spreading rumors of her elopement."
Elizabeth agreed. "You must get this business of kidnapping and elopement out of your head. It is not as romantic as you think it sounds."
After a quick scowl at her sister, Lydia turned to Georgiana with a calculating smile. Georgiana had learned many years ago to fear what that smile would bring.
As sweet as a sun-ripened strawberry, Lydia asked, "Do you prefer Mr. Nelson to all other young men?"
What was Lydia up to? Georgiana did not know how to answer, nor did she wish to in their present company. Her brother's misery was enough without her adding to it. And Lydia would translate any preference or slight regard to be the most passionate love. She would stop at nothing to "help" Georgiana and Mr. Nelson along until they had no choice but to marry.
Ben answered, "I like him! Can I invite him to play? He makes a terrific toad." He flopped down on the floor beside Chloe, rubbing her stomach until her foot thudded against the carpet.
Lydia's focus did not waver from Georgiana. She expected an answer.
Georgiana cleared her throat. "I do enjoy Mr. Nelson's company. He seems like an honest, kind, good man." She hoped her answer was vague enough to discourage Lydia from doing something overly bold on her behalf.
Bunching up her cheeks in the charming manner she had practiced in the mirror — the one that displayed her dimples to greatest advantage — Lydia exclaimed, "Mr. Nelson needs encouragement. My mother always said a man never knows what he wants until we show him. If you like Mr. Nelson, you will have to put yourself out there a bit. Take a risk. Flirt."
William's eyebrows bunched together. "Georgiana does not flirt." Before Georgiana could speak up in her own defense, he turned to Elizabeth. "You had best have a serious discussion with our sisters. You can tell them how it is done."
Elizabeth laughed. "As if I am an expert? If my memory serves me correctly, you fell for me despite your better judgment. Neither of our hearts were easily won, which I suspect is why I love you so much still. Love does not come with a guidebook."
If only it did.
As usual, Lydia was an expert at spouting advice of what not to do. How often Wickham had told Georgiana to follow where her passion led her; to take a risk. He had fooled Georgiana, and she would not fall for the same trick twice.
Not that Mr. Nelson was anything like Wickham. They were so completely opposite, from appearance to character, Georgiana could not clearly recall why she had ever fallen for Wickham in the first place….
No, that was not true. She remembered. She was only disappointed she had been so naïve to have fallen into his trap. The blame lay solely on her for choosing not to see what was blatantly obvious. She had to be cautious.
Rose squeezed William's cheeks and slobbered on his chin. He let her, covering her face with kisses. How different he was to their own father. Georgiana could not recall ever receiving a kiss or so much as a pat on the head from him.
George Darcy had been a strict man, of the mind that children should be seen, not heard. Especially girls. Especially her.
As a female, Georgiana knew her only purpose was to become a meek creature who would marry a gentleman of her father's choosing — a man with connections, influence, and a fortune with which to fatten the Darcy coffers.
She had feared her brother would be the same, not having any reason to believe otherwise. He was never at home before their father died. She had not known William.
Uncertainty and fear had driven her to seek solace in music, but even that was ruined for her when Aunt Catherine suggested her performance was too passionate.
Wickham had offered a glorious release.
Georgiana closed her eyes lest her family read the emotions threatening to spill over. The years had done nothing to lessen her regret or guilt. Wickham had offered her freedom from her restraints. He had encouraged her to lower her guard. He was the worst decision Georgiana had ever made.
She had paid for following her heart, and every decision she had made since William had discovered them at Ramsgate was made to avoid repeating her vulnerability. Restraint was less painful than the fear of exposing her heart to a man who would abuse it. She could not endure another heartbreak like that, nor could she bear to disappoint her brother again.
Michael was thoroughly charmed by the Darcys. Pretension was not in their nature.
Master Bennet and Baby Rose were fortunate children. Michael appreciated Mr. Darcy's firmness of character. He would instill confidence and a healthy esteem in his children, taking an interest in their development and going to great lengths to ensure they became individuals anyone would be proud to know. It was plain he loved his children wholeheartedly.
Mrs. Darcy's acceptance and humor tenderly covered over their faults, bringing out the best characteristics of those around her.
Miss Bennet's honesty, while often excessive, was genuine. Her childlike views would make her the perfect playmate to encourage a child's vibrancy … and mischief.
And then there was Miss Darcy. She radiated a strength and tranquility that inspired hope within Michael. Her ability to accurately read his and her family's expressions — to soothe them or add to their happiness with a look and a well-spoken word — was a divine gift she used wisely.
He had thought her shy — and who would not after discovering her hiding behind a curtain? But she did not cower before the strong presence of her brother, nor did she fade into the background with her sisters-in-law. Miss Darcy stood boldly on her own merits.
Michael's tumultuous morning had lost its heartbreak. The peaceful street, gentle spring breeze, joyous chirp of birds hopping in the tree branches lining the pavement, and the sun peeking through the clouds to warm his back melted his cares. Michael had only left Darcy House minutes ago, and already he longed to return.
Icy quivers shot up Michael's spine. His breath slowed as his pulse raced. The change was so drastic, Michael looked about to see what had caused this sudden shift.
A dark figure stood beside a tree, dressed entirely in black. A thick scar ran across his cheek. Michael's inclination was to reserve judgment until a man proved his character by works, but he was not a fool to ignore the warning signs his body gave.
The man watched Michael.
What was such a man doing in this part of London?
The desire to run grew stronger as Michael heard the man's footsteps behind him.
Had the man followed him to Darcy House? Who was he?
Michael pulled out his timepiece, gasping loudly enough for the man to hear him across the street. Under the pretense of being late, he hastened his steps.
The man followed him.
Michael knew London well, and he used his knowledge to confuse his pursuer. Dashing between carriages, weaving through alleyways, blending in with buyers and sellers in crowded markets, Michael finally ducked into an alcove once he was certain he had gained an advantage on the man with the scar.
Pressing his back against the marble archway, Michael listened for the man's steps to pass him. Four paces from where he hid, the man paused. He muttered words that would make a sailor blush, then turned back toward the market.
Michael remained where he was for a few more minutes.
Who was that man? Why had he followed Michael? Why had he been so close to Darcy House? Was he a criminal Michael had brought to justice? He would have recalled that scar … unless he had acquired it in prison. Was he out to exact revenge? Were the Darcys in danger because of him? The th
ought chilled Michael to the bone. If any of the enemies he had made over the years were to use them to even a score against him…. Michael dreaded to think of it.
He must keep his distance. He would cherish the time he had spent with the Darcys, but his association with them would have to come to an end. His curiosity regarding Miss Darcy would have to go unsatisfied.
He would keep her safe. His call that afternoon would be his last.
The wind shifted, and Michael wrapped his arms around his chest.
His apartment had never felt so miserably barren as it did later that evening.
Chapter 9
Lydia's despair deepened so greatly, Georgiana determined to attend the very next social engagement to which she had been invited. Unfortunately, it was a masked ball. A night of deception and disguise where everyone reveled in anonymity, using it as an excuse to flaunt poor behavior. Lydia was beside herself with excitement.
Georgiana consoled herself with the hope of chancing upon Mr. Nelson, her desire to see him being much stronger than her desire not to see him at such an event.
William, too, detested disguise. But he was a supportive brother and an indulgent husband. He also recognized when he was outnumbered by the three females in his household who wished to go. William had become much more selective in choosing his battles since marrying Elizabeth.
The short time they had to ready for the ball, a mere two days, passed in a flurry of preparations, fittings, and interrogations instigated by Lydia to ensure she would stand out in the crush. The quest to find the perfect mask consumed Georgiana's every waking moment until she regretted her attempt to appease Lydia's misery. Who was miserable now?
Like the lady who would wear it, Lydia's mask was bold — a study in bright colors and attention-demanding peacock feathers tall enough to rise above the crowd.
Georgiana fingered her simpler mask as they rolled down the uneven street in their carriage. It covered half of her face, the white feathers and beaded pearls extending over the top of her head in an elegant design. She was to be a swan.
William refused to wear a mask and Elizabeth, pleased he was willing to accompany them at all, had followed his example.
Mrs. Wiggins could not care less how anyone dressed so long as she found a comfortable chair out of the draft in which to deposit herself for the duration of the night.
Lydia conversed enough for their entire party as the carriage conveyed them to the ball. She commented on the cuts of gowns, the quality of the masks, the arrangements of hair, and whether a certain handsome gentleman they passed might have a title or not. She was a lady on a mission … a lady whose night was ruined before it had even begun when they passed two carriages in a row bearing ladies wearing the same peacock feathers she sported.
Lydia plucked at her plumes, on the verge of tears. "I shall not stand out at all. How am I to compete with their prestigious family lines and fortunes when I must hide my beauty behind a mask everyone else is wearing?"
Georgiana squeezed her hand. Lydia was skilled at making the most of what she had, but she would be hard-pressed to catch the attention of a gentleman who met all of her requirements for a husband. If anyone was not made out for the solitary life of a shelved maiden, it was Lydia. Her nature was too affectionate.
A tear slipped down Lydia's cheek, dripping onto the feathers of the mask she held in her hands.
Georgiana was not about to endure a miserable night for nothing, nor would she allow her friend's sadness to continue when she could end it. Extending her mask to Lydia, she said, "I have yet to see another swan. We can swap. The white feathers and pearls will look fetching with the cerulean overlay of your gown."
Every time Georgiana regretted wearing the gaudy headdress, she would remember Lydia's change of expression. She was delighted. Clapping her hands together and dabbing her eyes so as not to irritate and redden them further, she said, "I will not embarrass you, I promise."
Georgiana looked askance at Lydia. "Embarrass me? Why do you say that?" They were only trading masks, not identities.
Lydia giggled. "If I wear your mask, I must pretend to be you, of course."
Goodness gracious. Georgiana spoke calmly and slowly so as not to be misunderstood. "No. You pretend to be a graceful swan."
Lydia nodded. "Exactly! Just like you. If you were an animal, I am convinced you would be a swan."
A glance at Elizabeth, who shrugged her shoulders, did nothing to enlighten Georgiana.
Uncertain of the extent to which Lydia intended to pretend to be her, Georgiana focused on the physical differences which would make such an exchange impossible. "I am taller and of slimmer form than you. I doubt anyone would be fooled."
Lydia twisted her lips and shrugged. "Still, it is fun to pretend. Is it not the point of a masked ball? Besides, with my darker hair, I declare I resemble your brother more than even you do. Perhaps there will be some present who are not so well acquainted with the Darcy family. Certainly, I can convince them. It shall be excessively diverting to try!"
She smiled at William, who did not care much for her line of reasoning.
Georgiana, however, had to admit Lydia made a good point. Anyone who had not met them could easily think Lydia was William's sister … if they judged from appearance alone.
She weighed her options. She could argue with Lydia and beg her not to embarrass them all by switching roles, but that would only give rise to Lydia's spirits. She would exert herself to prove Georgiana wrong, giving such a performance as would be certain to draw more attention than if Georgiana said nothing at all.
Decided on her next move, Georgiana said as casually as she dared, "If you want to pretend to be me, you have my blessing. But I cannot do you justice and so will not even attempt to pretend to be you." She said this delicately, so as not to give rise to offense.
While Lydia proclaimed all the ways she intended to do justice to her role, Georgiana fiddled with the peacock feathers. She had striven to blend in and go unperceived — an impossibility with the horrible, towering feathers. She was already taller than most ladies. With the spectacular display of colorful plumage protruding from her headdress, she would escape no one's notice.
Georgiana made the mistake of looking at Elizabeth, whose body shook as if she were this close to bursting into laughter. William alternated between amusement at Georgiana's predicament and disgust that such a ridiculous situation had presented itself in the first place. No doubt, he was counting the hours until he could return Lydia to Longbourn.
In a grave tone opposing her visible glee, Elizabeth said to Lydia, "You must make certain to keep Georgiana out of trouble."
Lydia laughed. "Georgiana is never any trouble."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "One can always hope. A little trouble is good for a lady now and then."
It was Georgiana's greatest wish to avoid trouble, not to indulge in it.
Arranging the swan mask carefully over her hair, Lydia pinned it in place, saying, "I shall have so much fun pretending to be you. I will lure gentlemen to my side with my demure looks, then drive them mad by disappearing behind curtains."
"I am not that bad. I only make myself scarce when I must, you know that," Georgiana said, tugging on a peacock feather so hard, it broke. Lovely. She was molting.
With Elizabeth's help, Georgiana donned the odious plumes, securing the mask just as the carriage pulled in front of their host's home.
Georgiana cringed at the abundance of light pouring out of the windows. There would be no hiding from her disguise. How ironic.
It was a feat to exit the carriage with her lofty quills, but fortunately, Georgiana was not the only lady having difficulty with her costume. Several other ladies wore the same mask, and each of them glared at her and at each other for presuming to imitate her. Georgiana ignored their scowls, content that the level of mortification she would have to endure was acceptable given the population of peacocks in the room.
With Elizabeth and Lydia at her sid
e, she strolled through the crowd, stopping to converse with clusters of people she thought she recognized. The topic of the night was Miss Morton. News of her elopement had reached London, and they lost no time in voicing their opinions on the matter.
Some said they would have nothing to do with her when she returned to town, if she dared return at all. The loudest among them proclaimed that Miss Morton's shame ought to keep her away.
Others said in softer tones that they thought marrying for love, even to a man far beneath her station, was romantic. They would be the first to succumb to the pressure of their peers and shun Miss Morton's company all the same. Their loyalty to an old friend was not strong enough to bear the criticism of society were they to be seen entertaining her.
It made Georgiana sick. No sooner would the conversation turn to Miss Morton than Georgiana would politely excuse herself before she had a chance to observe how their weak fear gave them permission to maliciously gossip about a lady with whom they had sipped tea the week before.
A gentleman wearing a horse mask asked her to dance, followed by an Indian maharajah and an Egyptian prince with paste jewels on his crown. Georgiana blamed her instant popularity on the peacock feathers. They were a curse.
Elizabeth asked Mrs. Wiggins to stay with Lydia, but Georgiana kept an eye on her to ensure she did not overdo her act.
However, Georgiana need not have worried. While she danced with a horse and foreign royalty, Lydia spent her time in conversation, listening on the fringes of different groups. Just as Georgiana would have preferred to spend her evening.
On her way over to join Lydia, Georgiana spotted Mr. Nelson standing nearby. He wore a black sash tied around his eyes with peep holes to see through. It was not much in the way of a disguise, but Georgiana would have recognized his grayish-green eyes anywhere.
Lydia saw him too. With a self-satisfied grin, she said, "Let us have a bit of fun with him."
Grabbing Georgiana's hand, she dragged her over to Mr. Nelson.
Standing on her tiptoes and stretching her neck as tall as she could, Lydia said in a sweet tone Georgiana did not think sounded at all like her own voice, "Mr. Nelson, how good to see you."
