A Private Performance (10 page)

O
F ALL
G
EORGIANA'S RELATIONS
, Henry Fitzwilliam was the only one of whom she had never been in awe. From childhood, her heart had nestled in the warm safety of his affection. She believed she loved her brother more than she loved Henry, yet always felt the need to strive for Fitzwilliam's approval. Not so with Henry, dear Henry, whose affection never altered, whose face never froze with even a moment's disapproval.

In the last year or so, however, something had changed between them. He cared for her still, she knew, but, in some sense she could not define, he had withdrawn himself a little.

He had come to Brougham Square only once since they arrived in London, and that was merely a brief wedding visit. Now he had come again at last, and they sat together in the cosiness of her own sitting room. The firelight danced on the deep pink of the curtains and upholstery, reflecting warmth around them.

“You have neglected us most sorrowfully, Henry,” she said. “It is almost three weeks since you last called.”

“I have thought of you all constantly, of course. I trust you received my notes.”

“Yes, and I thank you for them.”

His eyes fixed on a framed drawing upon her table.

“Is this picture of your execution, Georgiana? Let me see it.” He picked up the crayon sketch of Elizabeth.

“It is not very good, but I love my sister too well to discard it.”

“Discard it! You shall do no such thing! What think you, Mrs. Annesley?” He turned to his cousin's companion, seated quietly by the window.

“I think it very like its subject, sir.”

Henry looked once more at the picture.

“Your skill improves constantly, Cousin.”

She looked as though she took no pleasure in the praise.
She reached out and took back the portrait, and returned it to its place.

“You must excuse my absence, Georgiana,” he said. “My position, at present, is exceedingly awkward.”

“You are staying with Lady Catherine, still?”

“Yes. My father has ordered me to attend upon her most assiduously. He fell short of forbidding me from calling here, but bids me pay every attention to her ladyship's desires.”

“Is the earl very angry with us, Henry?'

“Not with you, dear girl! Even Lady Catherine falls short of blaming you for her woes. She has expressed a desire to rescue you from contamination and bring you to live with her.”

Georgiana paled. “Henry, please do not try to make me go.”

He laughed and took her hands in his. “You are perfectly safe. Can you imagine your brother giving you up to her?”

“Of course, he would never betray me,” she declared.

“How does your brother fare in the matrimonial state? Does all go well?”

“Fitzwilliam is so very happy, Henry. Elizabeth is worth more than he has sacrificed.”

“Certainly, she is,” he said, quietly.

The sound of the fire crackling filled the silence.

Though Georgiana tried, she could feel but little compassion for him. He was jealous now, as he had been ever since he heard of the betrothal. She felt a hot spurt of anger. She sat gazing into her lap, and felt the slow trickle of a tear slide down her cheek and fall onto her hand.

“Sweet little cousin, do not weep for me. I shall recover. People always do, you know.”

“Do they, Henry?”

“Great heavens, yes! Younger sons are especially immune to despair—unless the lady concerned is very well endowed with government bonds. They feel keen regret then, I assure you.”

She laughed, then jumped up, when the door opened.

“Oh, Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam, see who is come!”

They brought the breath of the outdoors with them.

“Welcome, Cousin,” said Darcy, crossing the room to the colonel. “We do not see enough of you.”

“You have all been in my thoughts, but I've been kept as busy as a bee. Tomorrow I must return to my regiment. I come to take my leave of you.”

“You are to be gone no sooner than you arrive, Colonel,” said Elizabeth. “Will you not stay and dine with us? You will be very welcome.”

“I should dearly love to do so, but I fear my aunt would not be happy.”

“Would she deny you the opportunity to meet Lady Englebury?”

“I fear that your power to extend such a favour to me would rub salt in Lady Catherine's wounds. Only yesterday she was declaring that she is comforted by the knowledge that the marchioness will never honour you with a visit. Recent events have heightened her sensitivity to insult.”

“Do you mean her sensitivity to others doing as they please, which she perceives as insult?” said Darcy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled ruefully.

“My father has commanded me to give her ladyship what assistance I can to ameliorate her present suffering.”

“In what manner does the earl anticipate this attention will be rewarded?” said Darcy.

The colonel laughed. “I have reminded my father that the purpose of her ladyship's visit to London is to arrange a match for our cousin, Anne. He, however, follows his own counsel.”

“How is his lordship?” asked Elizabeth.

“He is very well, I thank you. I am charged with a message for you, Darcy, and I hope you will be pleased. The earl says that he regrets the hasty wording of the letter he sent you before your marriage, and hopes it did not offend.” Henry's smile faded as his cousin tersely replied: “The earl exhibits an excessive misjudgment of my character, if he expresses any doubts on that score,” said
Darcy. “Indeed, his letter did offend. Had he made his views public, I should have called him out, despite his age.”

“Fitzwilliam, please! You are speaking to his son and your own good friend,” said Elizabeth.

“Forgive me, Cousin,” mumbled Darcy.

Henry chose not to take offence. “You know my father's choleric nature, by now. He says he is sorry and that is, in itself, highly unusual.”

Elizabeth laughed to herself. She could not help wondering how widespread this family failing might be.

“What has brought about this surprising state of remorse, Colonel?” she said.

The colonel smiled. “My father manifests a strong curiosity to see Mrs. Darcy, now that she has been taken up by Lady Englebury.”

“‘Taken up by Lady Englebury!' That makes me sound like a lap dog,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Perhaps I am a little like one. I feel an urge at times to suppress a saucy remark, like a naughty dog that will not do its tricks for the visitors.” Her hearers laughed.

Henry added: “My father waits only upon his sister's pleasure, before desiring to make your acquaintance.”

“I shall languish away from his recognition for a very long time indeed, if your father waits for Lady Catherine to forgive me,” said Elizabeth.

“The earl does not wait for that miracle,” replied Henry. “He waits to see how Lady Catherine ties up her fortune when a certain event takes place.”

“I see!” cried Elizabeth. “Your neglect of us is quite forgiven, for it was all in a good cause.”

Henry bowed, his manner as light-hearted as her own.

Elizabeth continued: “Lady Catherine does not share your father's faith in the marchioness's judgment?”

“She has faith, alas, only in her own.”

“Which is as well,” put in Darcy, “for I never intend communicating with her again.”

“Oh, my dear.” Elizabeth put her hand on his arm.

“I shall not vary in my determination, Elizabeth. Her ladyship's behaviour was unpardonable.” He turned to his sister.

“I have not been besieged by your complaints, Georgiana. Do you not miss your aunt's tender solicitude?”

“I'm sure it is ungrateful of me, Fitzwilliam, that I do not miss her. I was always a little frightened of her, you see.”

“Why only a little frightened?” asked the colonel.

Darcy said, “When Elizabeth first came face to face with Lady Catherine, she did not tremble; but in our defence, I must point out that she was permitted to reach the safety of adulthood before the first awful confrontation took place.”

“Fitzwilliam, I fear you will say something you may later regret,” she said.

“I can assure you that I have, and will have, no regrets whatsoever in regard to my conduct towards Lady Catherine.”

 

Lord Maddersfield had been disgusted to see his nephew throw himself away on a penniless young woman with such appalling connections. Now her friendship with a marchioness of vast influence at court promised future benefits to the family.

Over dinner the evening before, the earl had said to Henry, “My boy, you shall see that Mrs. Darcy has barely begun to harvest the rewards of the marchioness's regard. I doubt not that, if she plays her cards well, she will live to see her husband with a title.”

“I think the lady would scorn to employ such cunning, sir, and Darcy, too, would scruple to accept honours purchased with his wife's flattery,” Henry had replied.

“Highty-tighty!” retorted his father. “Every man has his price. People soon forget whence came a title once you have it.”

Henry knew well the futility of continuing the argument. He was gratified that his father was softening in his view of Darcy's marriage. He felt that his aunt may soon find herself alone in her condemnation. Poor Lady Catherine! He did feel sorry for her. His aunt had questioned him closely in regard to his visit to Brougham Place,
and he made as much as he could of Georgiana's supervision and attainments.

“You have found no sign of contamination then from that woman?”

This stung him but he simply replied, “I believe we may always have confidence in Georgiana's propriety.”

Her ladyship grunted. “That creature, who is in my daughter's rightful place, may have been received in Park Lane, but the marchioness will never honour such a nobody by condescending to visit her in return.”

Of course, that very evening was the first occasion on which Elizabeth was to receive her influential new friend at dinner, although Henry forbore to mention this event to Lady Catherine.

 

Elizabeth and Darcy stood by the drawing room door, receiving the last of their guests. At one end of a settee Lady Reerdon sat, consummate grace and refinement. At the other was the marchioness.

The countess laid her hand on the space between them.

“I find Mrs. Darcy most charming, very sweet. I grow quite fond of her,” she said.

“Sweet? You find her sweet!” barked the marchioness.

“Certainly. She will be wonderfully good for Darcy.”

“I don't care a fig for Darcy. One only hopes he improves upon acquaintance.”

“I imagine you do not speak thus to his wife,” said the countess.

“Ha! Ha! I would soon be sent packing. That is her sweetness for you. I hear she cut Sir Graham Eston in Bond Street the other day. I wish I had seen it, for I loathe the man.”

“Mrs. Darcy cut him? How so?”

“It seems he had the effrontery to approach her as she walked to the bookshop.”

“Sir Graham accosted her in a public street, without her addressing him first? That was ungentlemanlike of him! What motive could he have had?”

“My nephew Whittaker tells me that Eston refused, to her face, to be introduced to her at your ball. She had only just entered the room. Perry was most annoyed with him.”

Lady Reerdon smiled inwardly at the incongruity of annoyance, indeed, any emotion, in the languid Peregrine Whittaker. Aloud, she said: “Sir Graham must feel very sorry for his neglect of Mrs. Darcy, now that she is making so many friends.”

“That can be the only motive for him seeking her acquaintance now.” The marchioness chuckled and continued, “I hear that he called her name, and when she did not look at him, he hurried after her and began some explanation of himself. She said, ‘Sir, I have not the honour of your acquaintance.' Half of Bond Street heard her, and there was a deal of laughter, I understand.”

“Then I feel sorry for him, although he deserved his punishment,” said the countess.

“I daresay his standards of decorum have suffered dreadfully in the ten years he has spent in the wilds of the Americas. How came he to be at your hop?”

“I feel Sir Graham ought to be given some chance in society, Marchioness,” said Lady Reerdon. “That scandal was long ago and he has cooled his heels abroad for such a long time. He shot poor Houghton, but what else could he do? Houghton all but accused him of drowning Lady Eston.”

The marchioness frowned. “The girl was Houghton's sister, and drowned herself after three weeks of marriage; she was but sixteen.”

“I am sure Lady Eston's death was an accident, as he says. Nevertheless, I'd not have asked him, had not Frederick done so before I had a chance to warn him. Frederick was a schoolboy at the time of the duel and any details he learnt then he has since forgotten. Darcy was cross to see Sir Graham at the ball.”

“Oh?”

“Darcy was Houghton's second, you know. Poor boy, he saw his friend shot dead before his eyes. The unfortunate Mrs. Houghton lost two children in such violent ways. Houghton's brother succeeded to the estate. So long ago, but time will procure no pardon for his
lordship in the eyes of all the Houghtons' intimates.”

“Long ago enough for scores of fond parents to be eager to throw their daughters in his path,” said Lady Englebury.

“He is highly eligible, a baronet with an excellent estate.”

“What comfort are riches for a woman married to a bully?”

“What, indeed?” agreed Lady Reerdon. “But we know not that he is so.”

“How long must we wait until women have the protection of the law and the compassion of society when they must live separately from their husbands?” said the marchioness.

Lady Reerdon looked startled. “Forever, I should think.”

Her companion looked around the room.