Men of Consequence

by Francine Rainey

  First, Caroline’s lip curled in disgust when Miss Lancaster finished, then she smiled as if she had just savored her favorite treat. “How lovely, Miss Lancaster. Rarely have I heard anything quite like it… except, perhaps, when Miss Elizabeth plays.” Caroline turned wide eyes to Elizabeth, “You must play next, Eliza.”

  “Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy heard his voice again. He stood before her with hand extended. He wondered vaguely how he had gotten there. “Will you sing for us?”

  Elizabeth stared into his intense blue gaze and froze. One could lose oneself in his eyes. Then she inhaled and slowly placed her hand in his. Standing up brought her closer to his body than either expected, and Darcy stiffened and inhaled sharply before taking a step back. Sliding her hand into his arm, Darcy walked her to the piano. As Elizabeth thumbed through the music, Darcy stood erect with his hands behind him.

  “Mr. Darcy, thank you for your escort. You need not remain.”

  “I will turn the pages for you, Miss Bennet. After all, I am quite accomplished at the task,” Darcy’s tone was flat, so Elizabeth looked up quickly and caught the twinkle in his eye. She chuckled as she remembered a ridiculous conversation where Caroline had once praised Darcy’s page-turning abilities.

  Elizabeth selected her piece, and Darcy sat beside her. He smelled wonderful. Elizabeth tensed for a moment, staring at the piano keys. Then shaking herself a bit, she breathed deeply and touched the keys with hands that trembled slightly.

  As Elizabeth played, Darcy’s heart pounded, and he could feel the heat rising in his body like a slow flame. Dash keeping time with the music! He wanted to move close enough to caress her and whisper his love and fervent desire in her ear. Then just when he thought he could stand no more, Elizabeth began to sing, and he closed his eyes. Her voice, her essence seemed to burrow into his soul and rest. And the homecoming was exquisite.

  When Darcy failed to turn the page, Elizabeth glanced up. She continued her performance from memory, singing the second verse and thinking how ironic that he had just labeled himself an accomplished page turner. When Elizabeth ceased singing, Darcy’s eyes flew open. She nodded slightly toward the music and Darcy hastily turned the page. It was the last page of the score, which meant for him that this sublime pleasure would soon end. And end it did, to enthusiastic applause.

  “Delightful, Miss Elizabeth,” said Alice. “Please play another.”

  “Yes, please do.” Elizabeth’s head snapped toward Darcy’s deep baritone. “Your voice is lovely. Rarely have I heard anything so pleasing.”

  Elizabeth stared at Darcy as if he had grown a third eye. As she stared at him, she absently wondered why she felt breathless. Then, as if her mind were trapped in a haze, she vaguely heard others in the room importuning her to continue. Elizabeth inhaled and acquiesced, and the odd dance with Darcy began again.

  Everyone else, caught up in the beauty of Elizabeth’s singing, had missed the subtleties of Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s interactions - but not Caroline. Caroline had watched with a raptor’s gaze from the moment Darcy approached Elizabeth. She witnessed Mr. Darcy’s lurch from the mantle to stand before Elizabeth, his smile as he appealed to her to play, his inhale when her rising brought her close to him, his tuck of her hand into his arm, and most frustrating, his reaction to her voice. He appeared as a man entranced; he even forgot to turn the page! Caroline’s face twisted in barely disguised disgust. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she attempted to control her anger. She knew not how she would accomplish it, but Miss Eliza Bennet had to go.

  Caroline took her turn at the pianoforte with a flourish; her playing was the most proficient, and though they applauded warmly, her performance left everyone cold. The peace and joy engendered by the previous performances were shattered. Consequently, shortly after that, all the guests took their leave.

  Chapter Five

  “Elizabeth, what did you think of the Lancasters?” Jane asked the next morning at breakfast.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Miss Lancaster was lovely. I think perhaps we could be friends,” Elizabeth answered, looking anywhere but in Jane’s eyes.

  Jane slowly sipped her tea, “And what of Mr. Lancaster? Did you not think him amiable and sensible?”

  “Not at all! I found him quite boorish and dull, and never have I seen one so ill-favored.” Elizabeth took one look at Jane, whose eyes were wide and whose teacup was suspended in air, and Elizabeth burst into giggles.

  “Lizzy, how you tease me!” Jane proclaimed before joining her sister in laughter.

  “Jane, your goodness makes it so easy!”

  “For your punishment, you must tell the truth! What did you think of Mr. Lancaster?”

  Elizabeth sighed; her feelings had been jumbled since Darcy escorted her to the piano. She had never seen him so relaxed. He had smiled and complimented her throughout the evening, and she resented the fact that now she was forced to acknowledge that he possessed pleasing qualities and was inordinately handsome. She did not want to view Darcy as anything but proud and disagreeable. Elizabeth did not examine why she desired to hold onto her negative impression; she simply felt that she must. Now, the vexing man had shown her a kinder side not as easy to dismiss. Frustratingly, she found herself comparing Lancaster with Darcy, and to her mortification, Lancaster paled in comparison.

  No! This is absurd! You know Mr. Darcy. Last night was an aberration. Elizabeth took a deep breath, “I found Mr. Lancaster excellent company. His conversation was intelligent and pleasing. He is well-read, and I found that most of our opinions were similar,” Elizabeth frowned. Why does that not give me pleasure?

  “I am so pleased to hear that, Lizzy! Charles speaks highly of him, and I could tell that Mr. Lancaster was quite intrigued by you! Perhaps he will call on you. It would be wonderful to see you well settled.” Elizabeth smiled, then picked up her tea and nodded as Jane continued to chatter.

  What was I thinking? Darcy censured himself the next day in his study. He shook his head. Are you courting her now? Whispering in her ear and paying her such compliments. What possessed you to behave as you did? Darcy paced. Stopping in front of the window, he grasped the window frame and bowed his head as truth trespassed upon pretense. He knew very well why. He wanted her. He loved her, and it was the most glorious feeling he had ever known! It was like falling and flying simultaneously. It was ecstasy to be near her or even think of her and agony to be near her and even think of her, for he wanted to touch her, hold her, to bare his soul to her. He thought of little else but her day and night. He wanted to know all her hopes, her preferences. He wanted to be the man she wanted, the man she looked to for love and protection. He wanted to be her lover and her friend. And to watch her give her attention to another was more than he could bear. Instinct had usurped reason, and he had acted the part of the jealous lover.

  Have I raised her expectations? And what will she think of me when I cannot act in accordance with my behavior? Darcy exhaled loudly as he wrestled with why he could not act. In her presence, he nearly always forgot his reasoning. Her personality, her laughter, her beauty always overtook him. However, in the dim light of his study, reason reasserted its preeminence, and Darcy was compelled to think of someone other than himself.

  Georgiana.

  Georgiana was his only sibling and he and his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, were her guardians. However, since Richard was a military man, the task of rearing her fell primarily upon him. As if the task was not challenging enough, Georgiana was twelve years younger, and Darcy often found himself unsure of what she needed. Just last summer, he had made a dreadful error that nearly ruined his sister’s reputation and stained the Darcy name. Each time Darcy remembered the events, he alternated between rage and self-incrimination.

  Darcy had needed levity. He had been the guardian of his sister and master of Pemberley for five years by then. Both were crushing responsibilities thrust upon his grief-laden shoulders at his father’s passin
g. His father had been relatively young and in good health, and Darcy had been confident that it would be many years before he would need to assume the reins of leadership. Thus, Darcy did as most young gentlemen of privilege; he pursued his studies, his hobbies, his friends, and he explored the world, safe in the knowledge that when the time drew near, his father would share more of the responsibilities with him. However, such assurance was an illusion. In his twenty-second year, his father died in a carriage accident, and suddenly, Darcy’s world shifted. He became one of the richest, most powerful men in England, with hundreds of lives dependent upon him, and a surrogate father to a frightened ten-year-old sister.

  Pemberley was massive. Besides the tenants and servants for whom Pemberley was responsible, the entire village of Lambton depended upon Pemberley for its livelihood. When young Darcy realized the magnitude of his responsibilities, he had had to rein in his emotions and suppress his needs in order to care for all those who depended upon him. Five years and many mistakes later, Darcy had grown into an excellent master and strategic landowner, making Pemberley more profitable than when his father was alive. He had also forged a strong relationship with his sister, overseeing her education and spending as many evenings in her company as possible.

  Darcy had wanted to breathe. His sister had matured, so Darcy hired a companion and established them in a house at Ramsgate. Darcy then took that time to reintroduce himself to his friends and pleasing pursuits. A few weeks before his planned visit to his sister, Darcy noticed that Georgiana’s letters had become stilted. Initially, he had thought that Georgiana was simply losing her girlhood personality; however, Darcy could not shake his apprehension.

  He arrived at Ramsgate early, leapt from the carriage and headed to the drawing room unannounced – anticipating his sister’s joy. Darcy opened the door and halted when Mrs. Younge, Georgiana’s companion leapt to her feet wide-eyed and slack jawed.

  “Mr. Darcy! What are you doing here? I, I mean we did not expect you, sir for a fortnight.”

  “Indeed. Where is Georgiana?”

  “Um, let me see, she…she must have taken a walk in the garden. Yes! Yes, she is walking in the garden,” she nodded rapidly. “Allow Berkely to show you to a room and refresh yourself. I will fetch Georgiana, then we may have tea. You know how she loves the out of doors.” Mrs. Younge’s eyes darted around as she tugged on her sleeves.

  “Do not trouble yourself, I will go to her.”

  “Wait!”

  Darcy furrowed his brow.

  “She may have taken a stroll along the waters,” Mrs. Younge’s face was flushed, and her eyes were blinking rapidly.

  “Mrs. Younge, are you telling me that you have allowed your charge to wander about so that you do not know where she is?”

  “No, no, Mr. Darcy! I am sure I do know where she is! If you would but sit, sir, I will retrieve her myself.”

  Darcy looked at Younge who was flushed and fidgety, then he turned to the butler who looked at his shoes. Something was amiss. Darcy stepped closer, his face a hardened mask. “Mrs. Younge, you will take me to Miss Darcy now.”

  Mrs. Younge wrung her hands.

  “Now! Mrs. Younge!”

  Younge jumped and shrieked. “She is, she is in the west drawing room!”

  Darcy gave her a withering look and exited with long strides; he called to the butler as he went. “Do not allow her to leave this room. Post a footman at the door.”

  Darcy rushed down the corridor. What are you hiding Younge?

  Nearing the west drawing room, he heard Georgiana’s voice. “Please stop!” she cried.

  Darcy ran like one of his prized thoroughbreds, threw the door open and froze. Pressed into the back of a chaise, eyes wide with panic was his beloved little sister with the George Wickham leaning upon her.

  Wickman was the son of Pemberley’s trusted steward and the lowlife godson of Darcy’s father. He had been raised with Darcy, almost like a brother. He had been indulged by Darcy’s father and in turn, lived a dissolute life in the gaming hells and brothels of London. When Darcy’s father died, he left Wickham 1,000 pounds plus the living at Kympton – if Wickham took orders. Darcy knew that Wickham was the last person in the world who should be a vicar and was glad when Wickham requested 3,000 pounds in place of the living. Darcy gladly agreed, and Wickham spent his legacy and the Kympton compensation within four years. When Wickham was again destitute, he returned and requested the living. Darcy denied him. Rarely ever having been denied anything in his life, Wickham was livid. From that moment forward, he sought a way to revenge himself against Darcy and to get his hands on the Darcy wealth. Georgiana’s dowry was 30,000 pounds. If Wickham had succeeded, Darcy’s sweet little sister would have lived a life of degradation, and Wickham’s revenge would have been complete.

  Darcy ran his hands through his hair as he remembered Georgiana’s fear and Wickham’s treachery. He knew he might have killed Wickham that day if Georgiana’s pleas had not finally penetrated his rage.

  Later, Darcy had uncovered the entire scheme. He was glad to know that Wickham had failed to steal her virtue, though, by society’s standards, Georgiana had been compromised indeed. With threats to their life, if either breathed a word, Darcy threw Wickman and Younge out. However, knowing that the servants at Ramsgate were not loyal to the Darcys caused Darcy many sleepless nights. He had worked hard to contain the damage, but still, Darcy could not be completely easy.

  If society knew of Georgiana’s compromise, the Darcy name would be ruined. “Son, always act honorably and protect the Darcy name. Your future and that of your sister depend upon it.” Darcy remembered his father’s frequent admonition.

  Georgiana was too young to marry; therefore, Darcy had decided that he must make an alliance powerful enough to shield his sister from any gossip. He had thought of a certain duke’s daughter who would have accepted him for his wealth alone. However, initially, he was unable to leave Georgiana’s side to pursue an alliance. When Georgiana grew stronger with the help of Mrs. Reynolds, Pemberley’s housekeeper who had been a mother figure to Georgiana, and Georgiana’s new companion, Mrs. Annesley, an older woman with impeccable credentials and good sense, he was still too angry to court. Instead, he had accepted an invitation from Bingley, never realizing that his world would be shaken again with the introduction to one Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  “Elizabeth! Did you enjoy your walk?” Jane asked.

  “I did. Although I am sure the maid and footman will be happy when I return to the country!”

  Caroline, who sat in the drawing room with Jane, leafed through her magazine and smirked.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot. While you were walking, four new gowns arrived and just in time, too,” Jane said.

  Caroline lowered her magazine and stared at Elizabeth with narrowed eyes.

  “In time for what, Jane?” Elizabeth asked.

  “The Lancaster’s ball. Tis Friday.” Jane looked up at Elizabeth’s creased brow. “Oh, forgive me. We received an invitation for the Bingley household on the day you arrived, and in my excitement to see you, I forgot to mention it. You will come, will you not?”

  “Most certainly. I love a ball.”

  “Eliza, I must warn you that even with the unfashionable Lancaster’s hosting, there will be no officers in red coats, and that might materially interfere with your enjoyment,” Caroline said as she tilted her head and smiled.

  “I am sorry, were there not redcoats at the ball you hosted Caroline?” Elizabeth asked, and Caroline sucked in her breath and narrowed her eyes.

  Jane sputtered, “Lizzy, there is a beautiful ball gown in ivory and one in soft pink, one evening gown and one morning. I know they will all look lovely on you.”

  “Yes, I will be dressed like a princess,” Elizabeth lifted her chin and waved her hand in the air, sighing.

  “And behave like a hoyden,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

  “Caroline!” Jane sputtered again
, “what will you wear?”

  Caroline’s head snapped up, “Me?”

  “Yes, the invitation was for the house of Bingley.”

  Caroline huffed and lifted her head like a queen, scorn dripping from her like sap from a maple tree, “No one of importance will be there, Jane.”

  “Your brother will be there, will he not?” Elizabeth asked.

  “And Mr. Darcy!” Jane spoked quickly then gasped, her eyes as round as the full moon.

  Caroline’s head snapped up again, and she stared at Jane, “Mr. Darcy will be there?”

  Jane now looking down at her sampler, sighed. “Yes, Charles mentioned that he and Lance met Darcy and his cousin at their club and the invitation was given and accepted.”

  No one spoke while Caroline’s eyes blinked rapidly.

  “Now, what will you wear, Caroline?” Elizabeth arched her brow and smiled. Caroline stood and marched from the room.

  It was the night of the Lancaster ball. The ballroom was packed with lavishly dressed men and women seeking to see and be seen. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam watched the festivities with a smile. Whack! The slap on his back caused him to stumble forward and nearly spill his drink. “Richard! Do not tell me you expect a fair maiden to dance with the likes of you, do you?” Saye laughed.

  Colonel Strafford Saye, the second son of a wealthy gentleman, and Richard Fitzwilliam served together in the military. Both were men of honor whose happy dispositions hid iron wills, and both men had earned their rank rather than allow their fathers to purchase it. The two men of similar personalities and circumstances had through the perils of war, developed the bond of brothers.

  “Indeed, I do, for I will stand beside you and all the beautiful ladies will dance into my arms to escape an old scoundrel like you!” Richard said, and Saye threw back his head and laughed. The men fell into a familiar pattern of telling tales of their military heroics. By the time they finished, each man had ascribed to himself Samsonite exploits of strength and bravery.