Into Kent (8 page)

Darcy hardly knew how to reply. He only shook his head wonderingly. His cousin’s brilliant unconcern for those not in his set had often confounded Darcy’s civility in the past.

“No? Well then, I must be off,” said St. Stephens with a decided air of relief. Bowing with a flourish to the company he walked, with a certain amount of parade, out of the dining-room. Many stared, but few had the assurance to speak in the presence of the family. To Darcy, however, his cousin’s behaviour was too familiar for surprise, and too often discussed to merit further comment. But St. Stephen’s leaving effected a notably lighter spirit in the room, at least among the family; Darcy turned back to his uncle to continue their discussion of matters on their respective estates, and the general conversation drifted on to more amusing matters.

After dinner, when the gentlemen were to join the ladies, the company gathered in the ball-room. There was a small orchestra playing, and the room was delightfully arranged. There were, here and there amongst the company, various young courting couples, and as Darcy went in with Bingley, he saw his friend watching the young people reuniting with smiles and glad cries; a sigh escaped him, although his countenance gave away nothing of his feelings. After a time drifting about, chatting with his guests, Darcy approached his friend and asked, “Is all well, Bingley? You seem unusually quiet for such a gathering.”

Bingley looked at him with a ghost of a smile and said, “A little tired, I find; I think I shall retire in an hour or so: you will not mind?”

Darcy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and assured him, “Of course not; if I were not the host, I should join you.”

Turning away, he very nearly tumbled over Miss Bingley, who, it seemed, was coming to speak to him. “Miss Bingley,” he bowed.

“Well, Sir, I congratulate you; your dinner is a grand success.”

“I had nothing to do with it, I assure you,” he replied. “It was my aunt and my sister who managed the whole affair.”

“I have just been speaking with Lady Andover and Georgiana,” she began, but on seeing Darcy’s eyebrow
rise, she hastily amended: “Miss Darcy, I mean, of course—dear girl that she is. What a charming woman your aunt is, Mr. Darcy!”

“Yes, she is indeed; a delightful lady.”

“Is she often with you at Pemberley?”

“Not as frequently now as in prior years, mostly because my sister and I have been in Town more of late.”

“What is Her Ladyship’s home like?”

“Clereford? A very lovely estate; much the same size as Pemberley, but far older, and, to my thinking, more dignified in appearance.”

“More dignified than Pemberley?” cried Miss Bingley in disbelief. “My goodness, Sir; if that can be true, I should very much like to see it some day.”

Darcy, who realised instantly that she was expecting to hear him say that he would take her there, hardly knew what to say; in her mind, he knew well enough, any such offer would be taken as very nearly a betrothal; yet it was an innocent enough expectation, and, on the face of it, one which he might, in all propriety, easily accommodate. Doing his best to safely traverse this treacherous ground, he answered carefully, “I am sure you should; it is a sight any one in the nation might enjoy and feel a certain pride in; and the distance is no more than that to Netherfield.”

Miss Bingley looked at him for a moment from the corner of her eye, obviously waiting for something more.

He hurriedly bore on, changing the topic determinedly: “And speaking of travel, Miss Bingley, I understand from your brother that you and the Hursts are off to Bath for Christmas.”

“Indeed,” Miss Bingley replied coolly, still studying his face. Then, with more warmth she said, “We shall miss your company, Sir.”

“Which do you prefer for the holidays: London, or Bath?”

“Why, Mr. Darcy—wherever the company offers best: as you once said, it is the company, not the location, which determines the pleasure taken. This year, I fancy, it will be better in London. Fortunately, we will be returning before New Year’s Eve.”

“You had rather not go, then?”

“Oh, I am sure it will serve,” she answered with an indifferent air. “Only, I shall be missing certain company.”

Darcy, feeling the ground shift again beneath his feet, offered this in return: “Perhaps we might find time for our shopping expedition on your return.”

He succeeded beyond his intentions, for the lady had by no means forgotten about their planned excursion. “Mr. Darcy! That would be so delightful! Now, do let me arrange things; it would give me such pleasure! We shall begin at Wilson’s, of course, then I know ever so many quaint little shops in that part of town! We shall have no trouble whatever finding every thing we shall require; I would stake my honour on it.”

Darcy did, in all honesty, believe Miss Bingley to be well acquainted with the places where one might divest oneself of any amount of money on trifling purchases, and could foresee a reasonably successful hunt for the objects he would need, when led by such a guide; his only concern was how to avoid making far more purchases than he intended, or could ever find useful.

While listening to Miss Bingley go on to enumerate all the places one simply must go for the most
recherché
and very highest quality trinkets, he led her slowly back to the neighbourhood of her brother; Bingley stood at the edge of room, still watching the courting couples with what, to Darcy’s eye, seemed a wistful demeanour. He brightened as they approached, however, and the three of them talked amicably until Mr. Bingley excused himself for the evening. Darcy excused himself to Miss Bingley as well, pleading the necessity of seeing to his other guests.

As host, Darcy was well pleased with the evening’s success, and on Georgiana’s behalf, even more so. Through the dinner she held up quite well in her rôle as hostess’s assistant; Darcy even had the pleasure of seeing several young men afterwards approach to speak with her, or beg an introduction—but her aunt was there to manage the demurrals. Georgiana staid with her aunt, limiting her conversation to ladies of Lady Andover’s close acquaintance, and one or two of the younger ladies who had but recently come out. Towards the end of the evening, however, Darcy could see how fatigued she was become; he returned to her and assisted her in her conversation with their guests, that she might husband her strength to last out the evening.

Finally, however, the evening ended and the last of the guests were gone; Georgiana blushed and smiled as she received congratulations from her aunt and uncle. Her aunt hugged her delightedly, saying, “It was perfect, my dear; and you were a wonder!” and her Uncle Jonathan bowed and kissed her hand. “There is no denying it, my dear; you are nearly grown up; much as I shall miss my little moppet, I expect I shall take equal pleasure in the grown-up Miss Darcy.” He then kissed her cheek, causing her to colour again, and took his wife on his arm to go up to their chambers.

“Was it good, Fitzwilliam?” she asked him when they had gone.

“It was excellently done,” he assured her. They left the room and Darcy escorted her to the stairs going up to the family quarters. “Your family, you see, had every right to be confident of your success; I only wish you could be as well assured of your abilities as we are.”

“I do try, Fitzwilliam, truly; but you are not upset with me, after all? You do not blame me for taking part in an entertainment? Aunt Eleanor said we were not going to give you a chance to say no; nor me, to say the truth.”

Darcy laughed. “Are we sure she is not the one related to Aunt Catherine? Never fear, I shall find a way to avenge myself on her.” Georgiana looked at him in alarm, but he patted her arm with a chuckle, telling her, “And, no, I do not blame you in the slightest: I am delighted. Now, I have a detail or two to attend to before going up; sleep well. And, Dearest—it was very well done.”

The young lady covered quite a considerable yawn before saying, “Thank you, Fitzwilliam—oh, dear! —I did not know it was possible to be as tired as this. Sleeping well will not be hard, but rising may be more difficult.” So saying, she trudged slowly up the stairs.

Before going up stairs, Darcy remembered to relieve Georgiana of the task of speaking to Goodwin regarding a footman for St. Stephens, further suggesting that the footman be allowed to sleep until Lord St. Stephens himself should awaken. He also reminded himself to make certain that Georgiana had included mince pies and plum pudding on the menu for Christmas dinner.

As he was retiring and his thoughts were wandering back over the evening, they lit at length on one who had barely attended: Viscount St. Stephens. He was struck, not for the first time, by how odd it seemed that Cousin George should have manners so very different from the rest of his family; Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Eleanor, Edmund—they were some of the most agreeable, reasonable people Darcy knew. How then did George manage to make himself into such an unpleasant fellow? Darcy had always known his cousin’s was not one of the leading minds of the age, but his manners seemed unrelated to that; Darcy had known several men who were stupid as owls, but had impeccable manners. He suspected it came from St. Stephens’s decision to enter public life; men who strove for advancement in those circles Darcy had always found to be unpleasant: like all others who sought fame, he thought—actors, singers, entertainers of any stripe—no matter their rank, they were best kept at a distance. They were all, to some extent, dissemblers, he believed: playing a rôle, disguising their true natures—and those who sought to rise in political life were the worst: since they never stepped out of their rôles, one could never know their true characters. To Darcy, this disguise was different from an outright lie in method only; he could not imagine how one could allow oneself such disgusting license in dealing with others—such continual dishonesty violated all principles of honour, and Darcy hardly knew how such people could support the shame of their existence.

Chapter Nine

Two days later, on Monday morning, Darcy sat once more in his library; the household was largely returned to normal, and Darcy needed no longer anticipate the disruption of his work, what little there was of it. Not for the first time since returning to London, his thoughts turned to Meryton, and, of course, Miss Elizabeth Bennet; he could not forget that Wickham was installed in the neighbourhood at least for the winter, and he was well aware that he had failed to adequately warn Elizabeth against him at the Netherfield ball. The image of Wickham standing next to her in Meryton Square, not a care in the world, as if he had any right to be there, came often to his mind. The longer Darcy was from her, the more he became convinced that Elizabeth was just the lady Wickham would choose to prey upon: her father was certainly among the wealthiest men in the country, she was lovely, lively, and charming, and, while Darcy himself detested the sight of him, he could not be insensible of the fact that women seemed to enjoy his company. He was undeniably a better dancer than Darcy, which Darcy had noted at several evening entertainments at Pemberley during his father’s life, and which had contributed no small amount to Darcy’s disgust for the pastime.

There were, of course, difficulties in his way in connection with
Elizabeth’s protection: supposing Wickham was in fact determined to pursue her; what could he, Darcy, do to stop it? With an exacting observance of propriety, he had no right to involve himself at all; Elizabeth would not thank him for his officious interest in her affairs, certainly. But against that, she could have no idea of the danger Wickham represented, any more than had Georgiana; he could not stand by and let Wickham do what he would with another young lady. No, he would not let Wickham have free rein in Meryton, no matter what it might cost him in Elizabeth’s eyes.

Darcy had been exercising his mind on this problem off and on ever since leaving Hertfordshire, his disquiet growing daily as he imagined Elizabeth’s smiles being directed at Wickham; knowing nothing of what might be going forward in Meryton was now become intolerable: it was imperative that he find a way to get news of Wickham. Of course, the receipt of any intelligence regarding Mr. Wickham must also put him in the way of receiving news of
Elizabeth, but this, he assured himself, was not a motive; it was merely that, in apprising himself of Wickham’s activities, which was no more than his duty, he must unavoidably discover more about Elizabeth as well. In any case, to-day he was finally moved to act: he rang the bell for Perkins.

When that worthy appeared, Darcy said, “Perkins, I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You recall, I expect, that the individual we dislike is to be in Meryton for the rest of the winter?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I wish to keep an eye on him—to know what he is up to: have you any acquaintance about the place that might be of service to us?”

Perkins cleared his throat. “There was a…young person…who worked at the Boar, Sir. I dare say she might be as like as any to know any gossip about the town.”

Darcy looked at his man in surprise. “Perkins—is there an aspect of your character hidden from me?” His man looked straight ahead without speaking. “Yes, by Heaven,” said Darcy with some amusement, “I can see there is; in spite of your self-effacing behaviour in your duties, it strikes me that privately you are like to have a bold and roving eye; nor are you an ill-favoured individual—yes, I can see it now—all in all, I am persuaded you have a way about you.”

Perkins coughed and studied the carpet modestly. “Would you be willing to put your no doubt considerable personal claims to use, for the good of a young lady?” Darcy asked more seriously.

“That young lady would be…Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Sir?”

“Yes, Perkins. I am concerned lest that individual should begin to have undue influence over the lady.”

Perkins nodded. “Very understandable, Sir,”

“I should like you to go down to Meryton after Christmas,” Darcy told him, “and see what your ‘young person’ has to say. Stay at the Boar, if you like. But Perkins,” here Darcy hesitated, but could not forebear to teaze his man again: “I should hate to have to extricate you from the clutches of an irate father, so I trust you will exercise restraint in the execution of your commission.”

Perkins’s ears reddened, but his training held good and he made no reply; bowing, he left the room. Darcy chuckled at having piqued Perkins’s dignity, but then, more soberly, he reminded himself that it was far from amusing: Wickham could do immeasurable harm to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her family. He reassured himself that Perkins would discover whether there was any likelihood of that occurring; until then, he could think of nothing more to do at present.

Satisfied at having taken what steps he could for the moment to preserve Elizabeth from any interest Wickham might take in her, his mind travelled back to his own interests where that lady was concerned. His thoughts, as always, could rest on no one conclusion: in one moment he was arguing that to bring the Bennet family into his would violate generations of dignity, standing, and accomplishment. In the next he was arguing the opposite: he cared little enough for Society, certainly, so why should he allow his wishes to be dictated to by a collection of faceless fops, whom he would as soon affront as not? Elizabeth’s worth was far greater than theirs, even without his feelings for her, so why should he not follow his inclinations, and ignore them? But then he would hear his father’s exhortations to remember his birth and position, and think how all propriety would be violated by their union. These and other such musings, while they did little to move Darcy forward in his thinking, were sure to consume a considerable amount of his time each day.

That evening was to take Darcy and Bingley to a ball at the home of Mrs. Delacroix, wife of that same Delacroix who had sent Bingley down to view Netherfield the summer before. All of the men at Grosvenor Square had received invitations, as the affair promised to be one of the most complete of its kind; Delacroix had been heard to boast that he meant to give the Season a proper start. Edmund was required at the Knightsbridge Officer’s Mess that evening, nor was Darcy’s uncle to attend, but Lord St. Stephens had accepted on hearing a rumour that the Prince of Wales might consider making an appearance; notwithstanding, Darcy had accepted, largely at the urging of Lord Andover: “You might find it diverting, and your friend seems very fond of company. Besides, you might be of service to me in case your cousin decides to get himself into trouble, which you cannot but allow is a distinct possibility whenever he steps out of the house.”

Darcy smiled at this, saying, “Perhaps you are right, Uncle. And I am sure Bingley would enjoy it; very well—we will go.”

“Just be sure to take your own coach,” advised his uncle wryly, “else, Lord knows when you might be home.”

Darcy actually entertained some hopes for the evening, at least for Bingley’s sake, as Delacroix was renowned for festivities at which a substantial representation of London’s most eligible young women would be in attendance. In point of fact, during his University days Delacroix had had a reputation as being something of a rake, and his appreciation of a fine countenance seemed to have outlived his bachelor days—at least to the extent of filling his home with beauty on social occasions. Curiously, although he and his wife seemed as close as any couple among Darcy’s acquaintance, Mrs. Delacroix was quite a plain woman.

Darcy and Bingley went to the Delacroix’s without the company of St. Stephens; indeed, Darcy, not having seen his cousin St. Stephens at the house all day; he could not even say with certainty whether his house-guest had slept at Grosvenor Square; that Cousin George treated his home as if it were an hotel was a fresh source of irritation to Darcy. None of that had any bearing on the entertainment before them, he reminded himself, and he put it out of his mind so he might enjoy the evening. Arriving at the Delacroix’s and having greeted their hosts, the two friends entered the hall, where Bingley was immediately hailed by five or six of his dearest friends, who dragged him gaily off into the depths of the house. While pleased on Bingley’s account, Darcy was therefore left, as often before, to his own devices. Looking about him at the congregation, he saw no one of his immediate circle; he drifted over to the side of the room, where he might be out of the way and observe the proceedings, as was his wont at such gatherings. He had just taken a glass from a passing footman when he heard his name called and a hand was placed familiarly on his shoulder. Turning, he found he was being greeted by St. Stephens. “Darcy! Good Lord—is it you? Finally decided to live like a gentleman and make an appearance in Society, eh? Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Darcy nodded a greeting to his cousin. “Where have you been all day, St. Stephens? I do not think I have seen you amongst us at all.”

His cousin, as usual, missed the implicit dig at his failure to do what was right by his hosts. He laughed and said, “Had myself quite the evening last night; Fox and I with some of the others were at a private showing at Drury Lane—a
very
private showing,” he added with a leer, nudging Darcy in the ribs with his thumb. “Ha! Didn’t get in till dawn. Then I had to be at the club for cards; Fenton and I took on Fox and Lord Haraldson. Had to be damn’ careful not to play too well, I can tell you: Fox is a wretched man at cards. I say, Darcy, give my compliments to Georgiana, would you? I meant to find her to-day and, you know, pay my respects to the lady of the house and all that, but Pater has been hectoring me lately about the company I keep, and ‘comportment becoming a gentleman’, and whatnot, so I thought it best to avoid his august presence.”

Darcy stared at his cousin, once again momentarily speechless, but gave it up as useless to pursue. He said at length, “I shall let Georgiana know you thought of her.” He then turned to go.

George laughed at this and held him by the arm, saying, “Lord, what a conversationalist you are! Here, no—wait, Darcy!—don’t pull away like that; let me introduce you to some people. If left on your own, you’ll never meet a soul.” Darcy was mustering the composure to decline this kind invitation without recourse to violence when the two men were approached by Miss Caroline Bingley; never had Darcy been so happy to see her.

“Miss Bingley,” he said with considerable relief. “What an unexpected pleasure!” A delighted smile spread across Miss Bingley’s features at this unlooked-for enthusiasm, and after her curtsey she linked her arm through Darcy’s. Even this familiarity was acceptable to Darcy in his desire to deflect his cousin’s good offices. “Cousin, allow me to introduce Miss Caroline Bingley; Miss Bingley, my cousin, Viscount St. Stephens.”

George looked Miss Bingley broadly up and down, and bowed so low and so long over her hand that Darcy feared he might devour it; Miss Bingley gazed at him with a mixture of pleasure and astonishment: pleasure at his title, and astonishment at his manner. She recovered directly, however, and said with a curtsey, “My Lord St. Stephens—you must be Colonel Fitzwilliam’s elder brother, I take it.”

“Your servant, dear lady,” said St. Stephens, smiling up into her face from where he still held his bow. Looking down again to where a simple chain locket rested above the rather daringly cut neckline on Miss Bingley’s gown, he said, “That’s a capital necklace, I must say!” He then straightened, saying, “But don’t let’s talk about Edmund; what do you say to a turn on the dance floor?” Leaving her barely enough time for a response, he led her by the hand, which he had yet to relinquish, out into a set that had already formed. At least, Darcy reflected, Cousin George was consistent in his courtesy; those in his family were not the exclusive victims of his etiquette. Miss Bingley looked askance back over her shoulder at Darcy as St. Stephens carried her off, but he smiled at her and nodded encouragingly; then, as they disappeared into the swirling couples, he let out a deep breath. A warm feminine chuckle came from nearby, and he turned in time to see a rather beautiful and very fashionable young woman watching him; she immediately hid her smile behind her fan, but a pair of
grey, remarkably intelligent eyes continued to hold his over the top of it. Then, turning away with a demur drop of her head that might have been taken for a curtsey, she made her way off through the crowd. Darcy, his interest piqued, was turning to follow her with his eyes, but was at that moment approached by Bingley, who had come in search of him.

“Darcy! What—all alone still?”

“No, not at all; your sister just left me to dance with St. Stephens.”

“Caroline? Here already? I had thought she would be later, to make an entrance. And with your cousin—what a pairing
they
must make!”

Darcy chuckled in his turn. “Quite. What have you been up to?”

“I was in the game-room—Delacroix was there with some of the fellows from University. Pender is there.”

“Vincent? I have not had a line from him in months.”

“Well then, if I were you I should not waste any more time,” his friend suggested. “You go along; I have some others to meet out here.”

Mr. Vincent Pender had been tutor at Christ’s Church to both Darcy and Bingley, although they had not then known each other, Darcy being six years ahead of Bingley; Pender was one of the few who knew them both well and was not surprised at their friendship. Indeed, it had been his presence that had brought the two of them to the same soirée on the evening they first met.