Men of Consequence

by Francine Rainey

  Suddenly self-conscious, Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy watching her with warm eyes and that alluring half-smile. Elizabeth’s smile slowly faded as her heart cast a bid to be released from her chest; she was back in his magnetic pull. Guard your heart, Elizabeth, she thought again. Georgiana looked at them, smiled, and cleared her throat. Darcy and Elizabeth looked quickly away.

  Darcy glanced at Georgiana before sliding his gaze back to Elizabeth. “The intrepid Miss Bennet afraid of heights?” Darcy drawled, his soft eyes slowly taking in her features. Drawing in a deep breath, Elizabeth looked at Darcy, this time willing herself to hold that magnificent gaze that twinkled at her now. “Have we found an Achille’s heel?” he asked as he flicked his eyes over her face and her person. “Something the fearless Miss Bennet has not conquered?”

  The boat docked, and Elizabeth was saved from answering. Darcy handed out Georgiana first. Then, fingers tingling and suppressing a schoolboy’s shiver, Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand to lift her to the bank, his gaze transfixed upon her beautiful face. Suddenly, Elizabeth looked into his eyes and Darcy inhaled, “My courage always rises no matter the challenge, so Mr. Darcy,” now it was her turn to flick her eyes over his face and down his person, “I conquer what I must.” Darcy felt as if all the air had been expressed from his lungs, and his body froze. Elizabeth joined Georgiana, and as they began walking, Georgiana turned, “Are you coming, Brother?”

  Darcy snapped to and released the breath he did not know he held. “Yes, yes, of course!” He walked unsteadily toward them.

  Vauxhall Gardens, though no longer at the height of its glory, was still a feast for the senses. Fashionably dressed people strolled arm in arm while children laughed and delighted in the attractions. The grand walk was lined with trees hung with fragrant bouquets bursting with colors of vivid reds, blues, and violets. Nightingales could be heard singing against the hum of the people. Darcy strode through the entrance with the two women he loved most on his arms. As Georgiana pulled them along, eagerly pointing out attractions, Darcy nodded and smiled at the appropriate times, but within, his mind screamed, Elizabeth flirted with me! It was subtle, but it was flirting nevertheless, and Darcy nearly groaned from excitement. She had looked at him, not as her friend’s brother, nor simply as a respected gentleman of the first circles; she had looked at him as a woman does a man – and Darcy wanted to dispel the entire crowd from his presence, so that Elizabeth could look at him and only him, once again.

  Since Georgiana’s birthday when Elizabeth had played and sung for him, Darcy had been frantically looking for a solution to the Francesca situation so that he could ask Elizabeth to marry him. His anticipation made him feel like rubber stretched to its limit. If he did not relieve this pressure soon, he was sure he would snap. He was in agony from waiting, but he could not move forward until the matter of Francesca and Alexander was resolved. Darcy frowned. He wanted to tell Elizabeth. He did not like keeping a secret from her, but if Francesca was hiding something, would he expose Elizabeth and risk her good opinion for nothing? To add to that possibility, Bingley would return soon, and that meant Saye and Lance would return to her orbit. Darcy tensed and scowled as he thought of precisely what he would like to do with those two. It involved a ship and a deserted island.

  “Are you quite alright, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, having felt his arm tense.

  “Hmm?” Darcy looked at her and answered distractedly.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but you seemed distressed just now,” Elizabeth whispered, attempting to keep her question from Georgiana who was looking avidly about.

  Darcy watched her; her eyes wide in concern. She was so lovely, inside and out, strong, yet compassionate; wise and whimsical, and she had a way of making everything clearer, brighter, better. He smiled into her eyes, and his voice was like a caress, “I have never been better, Miss Bennet.” Elizabeth inhaled and looked away. Suddenly all the sights and sounds of Vauxhall seemed too loud and distracting as Elizabeth attempted to regulate her breathing.

  The trio paused with the crowd to marvel at the octagonal music house. The orchestra elevated on the second story could be clearly seen through the columns. They played an exquisitely plaintive song as a dark-haired contralto serenaded them with the story of determined lovers. At a particularly romantic verse, Elizabeth glanced to find Darcy’s gaze intently upon her.

  I leave my heart with thee my love

  Tho forc’d from thee to stray

  With grief I onward move

  And lonely take my way.

  How tedious will the hours appear

  Each day a year to me

  For ah! my love, my only dear,

  I leave my heart with thee

  Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest, and her breathing became shallow as Darcy’s eyes caressed her, lingering upon her lips. The intensity of Darcy’s gaze refused to release her. She was lost in the depths of his mesmerizing eyes. This was no clumsy flirtation from a callow youth, but the attentions of a man of strength, determination, and character. It was as if the ground had tilted, and Elizabeth found herself tumbling with no lifeline. Her hand unconsciously gripped Darcy’s arm tighter, as if he could stop her plunge.

  At my return ah may I find,

  Thy strength defy auld time.

  I’ll bring thee oelf that rules mankind,

  E’er yet I’ve lost my prime.

  Thy vows of truth alone can cheer,

  Alone give bliss to me;

  For ah my love, my only dear…3

  After the fermata, Darcy’s gaze had lost all levity; it was intense and serious as if he communicated a matter as important as life. The performer’s crescendo brought them to the dramatic finish.

  I leave my heart with thee.

  In the waning light, amid the people, Darcy and Elizabeth had somehow been pushed by the crowd, or more likely they had been pulled closer to one another by a force stronger than either of them. They stood inches apart, breathing deeply as they stared into each other’s eyes. Guard your hea… Oh, what is the use? Elizabeth thought as Darcy’s eyes slid down to her lips which parted slightly of their own accord as she gazed at him wide eyed.

  The audience’s applause jolted Elizabeth, and she wrenched her gaze from Darcy, who breathed deeply and smoothly joined the applause. Elizabeth disentangled her arm from Darcy’s and applauded absently. As if on cue, the audience began to move. Elizabeth stared at them as they walked away as if nothing had changed. Shaking her head slightly, Elizabeth cleared her throat, and inhaling and exhaling deeply, she walked slowly beside a chattering, excited Georgiana.

  The trio sat in the supper box, and Georgiana chatted about the music, the acrobats, the people, the fashion. Elizabeth nodded and smiled politely, her eyes occasionally flitting to Darcy. And Darcy, well Darcy was undone, pulsating with need and wishing everyone away so that he could abscond with Elizabeth into the night and finish what they had almost begun.

  Suddenly the whistle blew, and all eyes watched the lamplighters take their places. At the second whistle, the lamplighters simultaneously lit the fuses causing the magnificent display of thousands of oil lamps to spring to light and illuminate the grove. The crowd cheered and clapped, awed by the exquisite display of light that allowed them to see what had before been unseen. Elizabeth lifted her eyes to Darcy’s, who watched her steadily, and she too was awed by the exquisite display of light that illuminated and allowed one to see what had before been unseen.

  The next morning Elizabeth awoke with a delirious feeling of joy. It was as if gravity had suspended its tyranny and allowed her to fly. She leapt from the bed, skipped to the window, and flung open the curtains. Bright, cheerful sunshine embraced the room and warmed her being. Ensconced in her robe, Elizabeth stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the Darcy garden and feasted upon the exploding rainbow of spring colors. Elizabeth’s eyes roamed the garden hungrily, then halted, her attention arrested by a particularly beautiful pa
tch of tulips with shades of bright yellows, rich reds, and glowing oranges that stood proudly, widely open and displaying their full beauty – having been enticed from their frosty suspension by the exquisitely irresistible properties of the sun. Elizabeth had been struggling to find a way to describe what was happening to her. She stared at the tulips, transfixed, her chest rising and falling quickly, her eyes blinking rapidly, and then – and then a slow smile overtook her face as she stared at the tulips that were open brilliantly to the sun, and warmth, understanding, and joy flooded her being.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  At ten and seven, Francesca sat trembling in her father’s study, her young suitor, who had encompassed all her dreams, had been denied because her father had betrothed her to another – and her heart now was as fragile as a newborn babe. “Who is he, Father?” she asked.

  “Giles Waters.”

  Francesca’s eyes had widened, and her breath had come in pants.

  Giles Waters was, at the time of her betrothal, older than her father and more than forty years older than she. He was rich, medium height, thin, and with a posture as straight as a steel rod. He had a reputation for being fastidious and finicky. She remembered him as always perfectly groomed, dirt free, lint free, and smile free. He was not unattractive, though his face was now lined with age; however, his eyes were cold, and whenever he had looked at her, she could feel chills up her spine. In her father’s study, thick with the smell of brandy and through the haze of cigar smoke, Francesca listened to her fate, like one awaiting judgment from the magistrate.

  Three weeks later, in a gown chosen and paid for by her betrothed, with an elaborate coiffure, arranged by a lady’s maid also handpicked by her betrothed, Francesca Brooks became Francesca Waters in a sad little ceremony attended by her father, her groom, and her new half-sister, Hetty Greenwood. And thus, her degradation began.

  Giles Waters was as different from her father as absent is to present and as always is to never. Therefore, rather than being absent and indifferent as was her father, Giles Waters was always there, and he controlled everything and everyone in his purview. His cook could not prepare a menu without his consent. The housekeeper had to ascertain with the master which china to use. His servants were spastic and nervous, fearful of making the smallest error. And for her, well, she received his most vigorous attention. Her husband chose her gowns, her jewels, her slippers, and even consulted with her lady’s maid on her hairstyle: nothing was left without his approval. Her manners, the way she entered the room, sat at a table, spoke, walked, ate, the scent she wore, all controlled by the puppet master: all for her performance. She was not a wife, but a token, a trophy. She was convinced that if he could have placed her in glass and spun her around for all the world to see, he would have, after having arranged her in the perfect position, of course. With the marriage to the young and beautiful Francesca, Giles was now on his third wife. Both having been said to have died after a few years of marriage to the hypercritical, exacting, soul-crushing, joy-stealing prig. It was often bandied about that his wives were not deceased but locked away in Bedlam, having been driven mad by his obsessive control.

  Francesca later learned that her father was in debt to the gentlemen to a sum he could never repay. And since Giles Waters was a connoisseur of beauty, whether animate or inanimate, a despicable deal was made and with it, Giles Waters had procured a stunning young woman to grace his arm and occasionally fill his bed – and her father had been absolved of his debts, after offering up his daughter as the sacrifice for his sins.

  “A Miss Bingley to see you, ma’am,” Hall announced.

  Francesca blinked and stared at Hall as if she spoke gibberish. As the housekeeper opened her mouth to speak again, Francesca held up her hand and pushed the memories back into their confines. “Send her to the drawing room,” she said flatly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wait,” Hall paused, “send Nurse to me immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Francesca remained slumped in her chair staring at the wall, the book she held teetering on the edge of her lap.

  “Enter,” she called flatly to the knock on the door.

  Nurse entered and curtsied, “You wish to see me, ma’am.”

  Francesca sat slightly higher in the chair and took a deep breath, “Is everything prepared?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “In fifteen minutes, you will do as we discussed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Nurse left, Francesca rose like a woman who had carried the burdens of one hundred years. She smoothed the fabric of her gown, checked her appearance. Squaring her shoulders, she turned toward the drawing room. An actress on the stage.

  In the drawing room, Caroline examined the outdated furniture and wrinkled her nose. The townhouse was acceptable, but the furnishings were decidedly not a la mode, and Caroline questioned her decision to come for tea. Caroline glanced at an ugly, old table, and gasped and jumped away as if ugliness were a contagion she was in danger of contracting.

  “Miss Bingley, how wonderful to see you again!” Francesca entered, a vision of perfect loveliness in her beautiful gown that clung to her curves and complemented her complexion.

  Caroline smoothed her face into a grimace-like smile. “Likewise, I am sure. You look wonderful, and may I say what an enchanting drawing room, and what an interesting collection of pieces. Did you select them yourself? I am sure that table is positively medieval,” Caroline smiled sweetly.

  So, it shall be cruelty with tea and crumpets shall it? Very well, Francesca thought. “No, that piece was inherited with the house.” Francesca cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and said in a pseudo whisper, “It is positively ghastly, is it not?” she laughed. “However, since I am only leasing for a period, I have decided to endure the horrid piece. My solicitor is keeping an eye out for a lease in Governor’s square,” Francesca sighed and reached for the tea server, “since it will become imperative that I lodge near the Darcys.” She raised wide, innocent eyes to Caroline, “How shall you like your tea,” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon, what did you say?” Caroline asked, her brow creased, and her voice raised.

  “How shall you like your tea?” Francesca repeated her question, wide-eyed and with a smile.

  Forgetting civility, Caroline spoke loudly and shook her head, vigorously, “No! No! The part about you lodging near the Darcys.”

  “Oh, that,” Francesca waved her hand, “as we discussed when we first met, Fitzwilliam and I are old and very dear friends.” Francesca held the teapot up and raised her brow, jiggling the pot slightly, “Tea, dear?”

  “Oh, with cream and sugar,” Caroline answered, her face pinched and her eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Yes, that is just the way, cream and little sugar, exactly as I prefer mine as well,” Francesca lied. “I imagine we have much in common and shall be quite compatible.” She handed Caroline her tea and offered her a plate of tarts. Tarts for the tart, she covered her disgust with a warm smile.

  “Umm, speaking of the Darcys, you did not tell me how you met,” Caroline said.

  “Did I not?” Francesca asked, and Caroline shook her head.

  “Well, it is a little scandalous.” Francesca leaned forward and looked appraisingly into Caroline’s eyes. Then as if approving of what she saw, she nodded and sat back, “But I can see that you are poised and sophisticated and shall not be shocked.”

  In her eagerness to hear, Caroline spilled her tea. “Exactly,” she said as she inelegantly wiped the dribble from her chin.

  Francesca covered her mouth to hide her smile. So much for poised, she thought. Then she cleared her throat and spoke, “Well, I met Fitzwilliam at a ball. He was resplendent in his evening wear, tall, poised and aloof. It was right before the passing of his dear father, and he took me to the dance floor. I do believe I was the only one he danced with all night,” Caroline narrowed her eyes, unaware
of Francesca’s lie. “We did not meet again until after his father died. It was at the end of his mourning, and I was a guest of his Derbyshire neighbor. Well,” she lifted her shoulders and sighed, “Fitzwilliam and I had much in common. I had lost my dear husband. You can understand how we were drawn to one another, can you not?” She looked at Caroline with a raised brow. “As my companion and I left to return to London, there was a terrible snowstorm. We were forced to turn to Pemberley for shelter.” Francesca lifted her tea and slowly sipped while Caroline shifted in her seat, her face in a scowl. Francesca lowered her cup and unhurriedly dabbed her mouth before she continued, “It was there, while stranded, that we, um, furthered our acquaintance,” Francesca’s voice trailed off as she waved her hand casually.

  As if on cue, Nurse walked in the door holding Alexander’s hand. “Surry, ma’am. I were not aware you were entertainin’.”

  “No matter. Hello, darling boy,” Francesca cooed as Alexander tried to scramble into her lap. Caroline gasped, her eyes bulging, and her breath caught.

  “He was eager to see you before his nap, ma’am.”

  “It is quite alright.” Francesca smiled, kissed Alexander’s brow, tapped his nose, and then turned her head slowly to Caroline. She would have thought Caroline a marble statue with her hand clutched to her heart and ugly bulging eyes, were it not for the frantic rise and fall of her chest that made her seem to puff up and deflate like a balloon. “Miss Bingley! Do forgive me, I nearly forgot you,” Francesca said, then she turned back to Alexander and cooed, “so wrapped up in my sweet boy was I. But where are my manners!” She turned to Caroline. “Allow me to introduce Alexander William Waters. Come, darling, what do you do when you meet a lady?” Alexander scrambled from his mother’s lap and gave a shaky, adorable bow before climbing back up.