Duty and Desire (13 page)

“No! You cannot be telling the absolute truth, Alex!”

“Ask my father if you doubt me, Cousin,” D’Arcy replied with a knowing smile, “for your brother will never admit to it.”

“Admit to what, Alex?” Darcy poured himself a glass of wine.

“To running off one Christmas Eve to join the Derbyshire Mummers just before their performance in Lambton.” Darcy winced. “You were ten, I believe, and we were all at St. Lawrence’s for the service when you turned up missing.”

“Brother, it cannot be true!” Georgiana looked at him in wonder.

Darcy nodded slowly as the wine gently awoke his palate. “It is true, but I
was
only ten; and you may believe that our father impressed upon me the indecorum of such an adventure.”

“But our uncle…?”

“Oh, your father was forced to call upon mine to help extricate your brother from an altercation with some of the younger mummers in which he was rather outnumbered,” D’Arcy supplied happily.

“Alex!” Darcy frowned at his cousin. “This is hardly fit conversation…”

“But it
is
very interesting!” came Fitzwilliam’s voice from the doorway. “I remember the occasion quite well
and
cheering you on from the carriage window. Oh, it was a lovely brawl, sir, a lovely brawl!” He raised his glass to Darcy, D’Arcy and His Lordship following suit. “Never let it be said you were not pluck to the bone, Fitz! One against three, wasn’t it?”

Darcy inclined his head. “It was four — and I admit it only for the sake of accuracy.” He turned to Georgiana. “It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do, and I was proud of it only for a very few minutes before Father caused me to see reason.”

“Caused his backside to see reason!” crowed Fitzwilliam. “I distinctly remember you standing for Christmas dinner that year and being devoutly thankful I wasn’t you.”

“Shall we have some music?” Darcy took the opportunity of the lull in the conversation occasioned by all the young men present remembering similar exchanges with their own fathers to change the subject. For the next half hour Darcy and his sister delighted their relatives with the duets they had prepared. Lady Matlock then arranged herself behind the grand harp and played upon the harp strings as well as the heartstrings of her dear relations as she rendered compositions that reminded them of Christmases past and loved ones no longer with them.

When she was done, Fitzwilliam led her from the instrument to her seat and then turned to the rest of his family. “I do not claim any musical talent, nor to have practiced in preparation, but here it is…and join in if you remember the words.” He sat down at the pianoforte and struck a chord.

Smiles all around attended Fitzwilliam’s contribution to the evening, and his brother, father, and cousin were drawn into it, joining him at the instrument.

The impromptu quartet bowed profusely to its audience with much laughter and congratulation among its members. But as Darcy looked up from another bow, he seemed to see that nuptial figure about whom he had just sung hovering at the music room door, resplendent in her bride clothes. And the lovely face beneath the twining holly and ivy was Elizabeth’s.

U
pon its wheels striking the London road, the traveling coach abandoned its unpredictable jolting for a gentler dip and sway, thereby allowing its two occupants to relieve the tedium of their journey with the books they had tucked into their valises. After a half hour had passed in their separate contemplations, Darcy chanced a glance at his sister. Georgiana’s lower lip was caught between her teeth, and the disposition of her brow seconded her air of deep concentration on the words before her. Darcy tempered his reflexive sigh and turned back to his own reading, but it could not absorb him as it had before. Absently, he plucked up the gossamer threads of the bookmark that had rested upon his knee and wound them round his fingers as he reviewed the holiday now spent.

True to his wishes, Pemberley’s tradition of Christmas had been upheld in a grandness of manner that more than satisfied its neighbors. Christmas Eve Day the public rooms had been opened to all who wished to view the Hall in its holiday glory. Visitors were conducted about in groups by the more brawny of the household servants, who pointed out each room’s aspect and furnishings with proprietary pride. At tour’s end, the parties were refreshed with hot cider and baked delights from the kitchen. Outside, there were games and roasting chestnuts, sleigh rides, and skating upon the lake; all accompanied by roving bands of musicians or singers. Later, every imaginable cart or wagon had been pressed into service to convey all of Pemberley’s people to evening service at St. Lawrence’s and then back again to the servants’ and tenants’ ball held in the great harvest hall of the estate. Here the generosity of Pemberley had continued in the provision of a great feast, complete with drink and music, for half the night. Every child had departed for home with a tangy, sweet apple, a pocketful of walnuts, and a pair of thick woolen stockings, while their fathers had brought shiny half crowns to their lips in thanks to their Maker for destining them for Pemberley.

The merrymaking within the great house had been little more subdued than that without as, with the help of his aunt, Darcy had hosted a small ball and late supper for the local gentry. He had stood up with Lady Matlock for the first dance and Georgiana for the second. But, pleading his duties as host, he had forsaken the center of the ballroom floor for its fringes and the task of reacquainting himself with his neighbors and their concerns. Wellesley being in Winter Quarters, the main concern of most of the gentlemen present had been the Luddite raids upon the knitting industry of the region and the lack of progress in their apprehension by whoever was sent against them. Severe criticism, much the same as that Darcy had heard at his London club, had been leveled also at a certain young peer from Scotland for his support of the radicals and his shocking effect upon the ladies.

The peace between Darcy’s Fitzwilliam cousins had lasted throughout their visit, disturbed only occasionally by blunted barbs of wit at each other’s expense. Although, Darcy thought ruefully, their restraint with each other had seemed to encourage them into a joint effort against him. His Lordship and Lady Matlock had been welcome, charming guests. Further, his aunt’s eagerness to assist in chaperoning Georgiana about Town had been a most welcome development, and Darcy had discovered a renewed respect for them, which centered in their own persons rather than their connection to him.

All had gone well — very well — considering the trepidation with which he had arrived in his own hall. He glanced again at Georgiana as he now unwound the threads, his eyes narrowing with displeasure. Perhaps the temptations of Town would unwed her from that blasted little book! Never had he thought to find himself wishing his sister would confine herself to novels rather than engaged in his requirement that members of the fairer sex improve their minds with extensive reading.

She had received all his gifts with sweet exclamations of appreciation, and her pleasure in receiving them had been well matched by his in the giving. The books and music she had joyed in most especially, for she
was
a Darcy, for all that was changed about her. Maria Edgeworth’s next had been greeted with gratitude by his sister and a knowing laugh from his aunt. D’Arcy had chortled at
The Scottish Chiefs,
disbelieving that his young cousin would attempt so large a book, and had offered to give her a synopsis of it. This Fitzwilliam had advised her not to take, as he doubted his brother’s attention could ever have been held for so long by any one thing. Her aunt’s gift, the new novel by an unknown author, had barely been freed from its wrappings before their aunt had pounced upon it, begging Georgiana to lend it to her when she was finished. “It is about a widow and her three daughters, my dear, cast out upon the world by a heartless stepson and his odious wife. I am almost certain it is patterned after a true story. Do you not remember the scandal, my Lord?”

“No, I do not, my love,” His Lordship had replied as he examined the title on the book’s spine, “but I do hope that ‘Sense’ is vindicated and ‘Sensibility’ reproved, my dear.”

A lively debate had then ensued among the Fitzwilliams over the merits of sense against sensibility in making one’s way in the world. While they had been thus engaged, Georgiana had unwrapped the last of his gifts. He had been puzzled at its appearance, not being able to recall any other purchases. As the paper fell away, it came to him — it was the book he had used to excuse himself from “Poodle” Byng’s fascination with Fletcher’s knot. “Georgiana,” he had begun, “pardon me, but that was not meant for —”

“Fitzwilliam! Oh, how can I thank you!” she had exclaimed softly and come to kiss his cheek, the book held tightly to her breast. “It is precisely what I wished for.”

“It is?” he had answered. “That is rather wonderful, as I bought it by mistake without even knowing what it was.” She had looked at him then rather strangely and turned the title to his view. “
A Practical View of the Prevailing Religious System
,” he had begun to read and then looked up at her skeptically, “The title does not recommend itself to me, Georgiana. I am not sure it is entirely appropriate fare for one of your age.”

“Please, Fitzwilliam,” she had answered him back, “I shall abide by your wishes, but I beg you allow me this book. Its author is one of the most respected members of Parliament. It cannot, therefore, be
entirely
inappropriate, can it?” Darcy knew she had him, if not by her logic then by her gentle bending to his will in the matter. He had acquiesced, and since then, the book had been her constant companion.

Arranging the knotted threads once more upon his knee, he took up his book again. The excitement and entertainments of London were highly distracting, and they would begin clamoring for her attention almost immediately. Of that, he would make certain.