Mr. Darcy's Daughters (25 page)

The trouble lay, as so often, with the twins. Completely given over to the distractions and amusements of the London season, they filled the house with their talk and thoughts of love, of beaux, of this man as compared to that man. Freely expressed admiration, likes and dislikes, yearnings for some particular man, envy of other girls who had taken some favourite’s fancy, all rang through Fanny’s elegant rooms.

“Fanny, I shall die; did you not notice that Mr. Walmsley only danced one dance with me last night, and that a polka? And he stood up with that odious Amelia Fanshawe twice, and took her into supper; what can he find to admire in her, with her long face and feet?”

“Belle has no reason to complain, for Mordaunt never so much as glanced my way, let alone asked me to dance.”

Fanny was shocked. “My dear Georgina, he was there with his wife. You must not be making eyes at married men, it will not do.”

“He does not behave like a married man, at least not when his wife—and she is so odd, did you not think so?—is buried away in the country where she belongs. Why cannot she take herself back there, what business has she in London? Or France; she is French, let her go to France for a good long visit.”

“Pray do not let Fitzwilliam hear you run on so, Georgina. I know you are only funning, but he will not be amused at all by such sentiments, let me tell you.”

“Lucky Georgina, not to have Barleigh Barcombe dogging her steps. He sat and stared at me for quite half an hour at the Farquahar’s drum. I longed to cross my eyes or stick out my tongue. No, Fanny, I did not do so, for Harry Salterton was there, the handsomest man in the world, and I would not for anything have him see me looking less than my best.”

“It is no use your setting your cap at Salterton.” Georgina had no compassion where her sister was concerned. “For I had it from Rampton that he is to marry Sally Hawkshead.”

“What, that ugly little creature! What a waste of a man. Why ever should he wish to marry her? You must be mistaken.”

“Sally is a charming girl,” said Fanny. “She will inherit everything from her uncle, who is very rich, and has lands that march alongside the Salterton estate. It is a very good match for both of them.”

Belle was unrepentant. “
Tant mieux
if the children inherit her looks and his sense, is all I can say.”

The door knocker was never still. Billets-doux, posies, invitations and callers were constantly flowing through the house. Fanny loved it, despite a lurking feeling that the twins should not be encouraged in their already intense emotional lives. However, this bustle and frivolity was what she had expected when she invited the girls to stay during their parents’ sojourn abroad, and she was delighted with the life and excitement that Belle and Georgina generated. True, they were not formally out, but you could hardly keep two such girls shut away. They were so admired, wherever they went, and they cast the older beauties quite in the shade.

It might have been different if Letty and Camilla had been more obliging as far as romantic adventures were concerned. They were a sad disappointment, however. Fanny had been thrilled by Camilla’s attachment to Sir Sidney and distressed by its unfortunate outcome. Of course she felt for Camilla, only she could see that it would be a long while before she reentered the ring, as Fitzwilliam unkindly put it.

He pulled the covers irritably over to his side of the bed one night after he had joined Fanny in her bedchamber.

“It is no good, Fanny. Camilla is as obstinate a girl as ever I met, and she is not the kind of young woman to attract the men so easily. They are scared of her.”

Fanny rescued the last six inches of the sheet, all that was left to her. “What nonsense. Why, when she is in looks, with those sparkling, expressive eyes, her grace of movement and her lively countenance, she is as attractive as any girl in London.”

“I dare say, only she is not in looks these days, is she? She’s moping, that’s what. If she does not give over thinking of might-have-beens and settle down to finding herself some other man to fancy, she will end up an old maid.”

“Not Camilla! Not with her spirit, and her fortune!”

“Her fortune is not to be sniffed at, I grant you, only men think she is bookish. I have warned you about that, Fanny; there is nothing turns a man off quicker than a whiff of learning about a young woman. Let her follow the twins’ lead. They are as pretty a pair as you could wish to see.”

“They are flirts,” said Fanny.

“And so they may be, with their looks and charm. Of course they flirt, but they mean no harm by it. The men flock to be with them; it is only natural that they should make the most of their opportunities. They are giddy girls, but they will settle down soon enough. Mark my words, they will both make excellent matches, while Letty settles down with that underbred clergyman of hers—a sad state of affairs, but I wash my hands of her, she will not listen to a word of advice. I have no patience with her these days, and to write to Darcy as she did! And as for Camilla, she will dwindle into an aunt and end her days running round after her brother’s family at Pemberley, you mark my words. If he will have her there, which may be open to doubt, unless she puts some honey on that tongue of hers.”

“You make her sound shrewish and spiteful and viperish, and she is none of those things.”

“She has a look about her as though she could see right through you. I do not like it, and I do not suppose any other man does, either. Or woman, if it comes to that. Now, pray be quiet, Fanny, you are keeping me from my sleep.”

He stretched out a hand to seize the rest of the sheet, and it came to rest on his wife’s silk shift. He rested it there for a moment, then slid his fingers upwards to the pretty breasts that so stirred his senses, and forgot all about sleep, the Darcy sisters, suitors and everything else besides.

Lady Warren was yawning her way through a humid, stuffy afternoon. Last night had seen her at a levee, two receptions and a ball, and even she, with more than her fair share of energy and stamina, was beginning to feel fagged from the relentless strain and demands of the London season.

Her stepson’s firm steps outside the door caused her face to brighten. “Come in, George, I am very dull today, so I am delighted to see you. What news? You weren’t at the Christchurch ball last night. I had thought to see you there.”

“No, I didn’t feel like polite company, so I went slumming it round a few taverns.”

Lady Warren never had the least wish to criticise her stepson for the darker side of his social life, which he took no trouble to conceal from her. She took a vicarious pleasure from it, in fact, aware that, if she had been born a man, her own tastes would as likely as not have driven her to frequent those very same low haunts.

“We ended up at Amy Wilson’s.”

“One of the demi-monde?”

“Oh, a high flyer, quite above my touch; she is in Argyle’s keeping. Her sister is the real dasher, though; Harriette—you’ve heard me speak of her before. What eyes! Wellington is one of her protectors, they say, although I fancy he visits her privately; I’ve never seen him in company with her.”

“Well, I am glad you had a good evening. I won’t ask if you met Miss Camilla Darcy during your round, for she doesn’t move in those circles.”

They both laughed heartily at the delightful if unlikely notion of one of the Miss Darcys coming upon the town and sinking into social oblivion among the frail sisterhood.

An unlikely scenario, although, as Lady Warren observed, it was a fate that very nearly overcame Lydia Pollexfen, when she was a mere Miss Bennet. “For she ran away with Wickham, you know, and lived with him before they were married. They never would have been married at all if Darcy hadn’t gone seeking them out in his interfering way. So unnecessary. If only he’d left well alone, Wickham would have taken off with some heiress, and Lydia would have had no option but to seek another protector.”

“Really?” said George, who liked even old scandals if he knew the parties involved. “That would have stymied the sisters’ chances in the marriage market. Not even your good-hearted brother would have married into a family with such a disgrace hanging over them.”

“Oh, he is such a fool, I dare say it might have made no difference. I do wonder about Darcy, though, for he has always been so proud.”

“In which case there would be no pert and forward Miss Camilla for me to take down a peg or two, and I should miss my fun.”

“You have met her, of course. Are you not charmed by her?”

“She is not my type. I observe her closely, see what she is about, and shortly I shall move in for the kill. I promise you, Caro, within a very little time, you will see her aristocratic name dragged in the dust. How will Darcy take that news when it reaches him in Constantinople? I’d like to think of him taking his pleasures there among the women who are truly a delight, but I suppose he is too strict in his ideas. A boring fidelity hangs about that family.”

“Who is it from?” asked Belle. “Georgina, Fanny, look, Camilla has a note!”

“From an admirer?” asked Georgina. “What a surprise.”

“You may read it, since you are so curious,” Camilla said, tossing it to Belle.

“Oh, Lord, it is only from Sophie. I would not for ever be demanding your company if I were her. Why does she not ask us to go with her for a change?”

“Mrs. Gardiner would not consider you suitable escorts,” said Fanny.

“Why should she need an escort?” Belle shook her head in disbelief. “Catch me asking for an escort if I were driving out with a beau! Camilla may like playing gooseberry; however, I think it is very strange.”

“And why does she want to call on Mrs. Rowan?” said Georgina. “She is the oddest female, and everyone knows she is Mr. Portal’s mistress. I’m surprised Mrs. Gardiner finds her respectable enough for Sophie to visit, she is such a stick in the mud about that kind of thing.”

Fanny was quick to suppress this kind of talk. “Nonsense, Mrs. Rowan is perfectly respectable, and you must not speak of her being anyone’s mistress; such a suggestion is wholly improper.”

The twins shrugged, exchanged scornful glances, and then, with the note only being from Sophie, and there being no man in the case, they lost interest.

“If Mrs. Gardiner wishes you to go, perhaps you should,” said Fanny. “Only I do wonder at it. Are you sure you do not mind?”

“Not at all.”

She did not say so, but Camilla, too, found it odd that Sophie should want to attend one of Mrs. Rowan’s gatherings. They were not at all the kind of affair to appeal to Sophie, and she was sure she would find the company a sad bore.

Mrs. Gardiner was not bothered, nor, apparently, surprised, by Sophie’s request. “For Mr. Wytton is often there, is he not? It is only natural that Sophie should like to spend time with him among his closest acquaintances. I don’t doubt that is the sort of company at which he is most at his ease, for although he is an excellent dancer, and appears to advantage at any dress function, there is no denying that he is a clever man and enjoys more stimulating companions than are generally to be met with at ballrooms and routs and so forth.”

Aloud, Camilla could agree that Wytton clearly enjoyed the hours he passed at Mrs. Rowan’s house; privately, she could think of nothing more boring for Sophie than the discussion of books, art, politics and travel that were the order of the day among Mrs. Rowan’s visitors.

Wytton was surprised to see Sophie come into the room with Camilla. Surprised, and not altogether pleased. He realised, with a sense of self-mockery, that he regarded Mrs. Rowan’s rooms as part of his masculine world, the part of his life which Sophie could not share. Which was absurd, for women were always present at Mrs. Rowan’s gatherings, and he tolerated them very well; even Miss Camilla Darcy, whose presence had at first bothered him. He had not thought her a blue-stocking, he had told himself; she would find herself shockingly out of place; she would be uncomfortable—but at least she would not come again. Only she had, and seemed to hold her own very well. He had to admit that she had a knack of talking in the most lively way to Mrs. Rowan’s male guests without a hint of coquetry in her manner.

Not that he hadn’t noticed that she earned herself many glances of approval, and warmer looks, even, among the men who came to discuss and amuse and be amused. There was no flirtatiousness, however, on her side. And that didn’t stem from a naturally serious disposition; he had several times seen her flirting with evident pleasure and enthusiasm at parties and dances. Sophie had commented on her cousin’s behaviour more than once, and in no very favourable terms. Wytton laughed at her disapproval, saying he was sure that Camilla was casting out no lures for a husband, and that she had no desire to snatch away a beau from under a friend’s nose, as so many young ladies were inclined to do.

He felt uneasy at Sophie’s presence. Whereas he had no doubt of Camilla’s ability to fit in well with the company, he felt that Sophie would be at a loss, and would show up badly. Unless, of course, she chose to converse with that dolt Allington—God alone knew what he was doing there.

Wytton greeted Camilla with enthusiasm, and said how very happy he was to see her. “I have come to pick Mr. Portal’s brains,” he explained. “For my regiment is likely to be posted to India, and he is a great expert on the subcontinent.”

“To India! How I envy you such an opportunity. Are you not delighted by the prospect?”

He hesitated. “As a soldier, in times like these, with Napoleon vanquished and no possibility of another European war, I should be glad to be posted where we may see some action.”

“Only you are not?”

“In truth, Miss Camilla, I am not cut out for a soldier. It is my chosen profession, and as a younger son with no fewer than four brothers older than me and two sisters to be provided for, I must have a profession, I have to earn my bread. I had little choice: It was the Church or the army; I am not clever enough for the law.”

Camilla thought of his dutiful attendance at the Reverend Valpy’s service. Any man who could endure to listen to Valpy preaching for more than five minutes must have a strong religious bent. “Would you not have preferred to go into the Church?”

“Two of my brothers are in holy orders. Livings are hard to find, and such family influence as we have has been directed to securing their future in the Church. Another brother is in the navy, but I should like that no more than the army, less, in fact, for I have to confess I suffer most dreadfully from seasickness.”

“Come, come!” said Mr. Portal. “That’s no obstacle to a career upon the seas. Nelson was always seasick for the first few days at sea.”

“Oh, I know, but in my case it is not merely a matter of a few days. I travelled out to the West Indies and was sick for the whole journey, and all the way back.”

“Then the prospect of voyage out to India must be off-putting, I do see that,” Camilla said. “However, it is not a lifetime, only one journey. I recommend you consult Dr. Molloy. He will have many friends among naval surgeons, and they should surely know one or two excellent remedies for the seasickness. With favourable winds, you will soon be secure upon dry land once more, and only think of how much there will be to see and do! The people, the customs, the very different landscapes, the abundance of animal and plant life, all of it quite strange to you.”

Portal laughed. “Why, Miss Camilla, it is a thousand pities you were not born a man; what an adventurous life you might have had.”

“It is not just as you imagine it, though,” Allington said. He looked gloomily at her face, alive with traveller’s zeal. “Life in cantonments, a soldier’s life, is not the same as that of the free-spirited tourist. India may have all to offer that you say, but I doubt if any soldier will get to see much of it.”

“Tell me, if you do not feel you are intended by nature to be a soldier, what occupation might suit you better?”

He had no doubts about that. “A farmer. I should have liked above all things to be a farmer. My family comes from a farming country, and I can think of no better way for a man to spend his days than working the land. I should breed horses, too, if I had the opportunity.”

“You are in fashion there,” said Mrs. Rowan. Her voice was sympathetic. “So many of our great landowners now choose to live and work on their estates.”

“Great landowners, yes,” said Allington. “Only not poor fellows like me, without an acre to our names.”

No one there could disagree with him, and no doubt many of them felt for his predicament. However, it was the way of the world: Younger sons had to fend for themselves, and land was there to be passed down from eldest son to eldest son, not to be parcelled out.

Camilla knew of several others in the same case, younger sons of neighbours in Derbyshire. Perhaps it was, after all, preferable to be a woman than an impoverished younger son—at least, to be a woman with a good portion, when the right marriage might open all kinds of unexpected doors to a new life. Although, more often than not, the landowner’s daughter married another landowner, the bishop’s daughter would marry a parson, an aristocratic girl would remove from her father’s great house to her husband’s similar one, and where was the change there?

Some did move from one milieu to another. There was Sophie, for instance. The daughter of a rich, successful merchant, even of such a gentlemanlike one as Mr. Gardiner, would nearly always make a match outside that world. As Sophie had done. Her father’s wealth and her fortune—combined with more than usual prettiness on her part—had given her the entrée into the world where birth and family counted for more than ability.

She knew she couldn’t ever understand the social unease that pushed a Sophie out of her circle and into another. She and her sisters had the name, the connections, the great family behind them, and her cousin didn’t. So it was easy enough for her to dismiss all that as not being of vital importance. But it mattered to Sophie’s parents that their grandchildren would belong as of right and birth to a higher social order than theirs. The Gardiners were modern in their outlook, they would never have forced Sophie into an unwanted match solely on grounds of social advancement, but Wytton was perfect for both daughter and parents.

Wytton was fortunate enough to be an eldest son. Allington would inherit next to nothing. Yet he had youth and energy enough to make his way in the world, and the freedom and opportunity to do so if he wished. He was, in her opinion, better off than young ladies who had no choice of occupation. Marriage or spinsterhood was their lot.

That was not something to dwell upon, so she put the depressing thoughts from her and turned her attention instead to Sophie. She had been cornered by Piers Forsyte, a poet with a long, angular frame, a lugubrious expression and an unstoppable flow of words. Captain Allington was standing close by her, and she was sending him such a look of appeal that Camilla almost laughed out loud. There was a rescue mission for the gallant soldier. Anyone who could deflect Mr. Forsyte in midstream was a brave man indeed.