Mr. Darcy's Daughters (36 page)

Sophie was crying now, but they were tears of despair that trick-led down her cheeks, not the sobs of hysteria. “She has tricked Captain Allington into going with her, for he feels nothing for her, I know he does not. Now he will have to marry her, and what is to become of me?”

Mr. Gardiner was frowning. “Sophie! Pull yourself together. What is Captain Allington to you?”

Sophie’s knees crumpled; she gave a little moan and sank to the floor. Mr. Gardiner and Fanny ran forward to tend to her, with Letitia close behind, smelling salts at the ready.

“Oh, Lord, she has fainted clean away,” said Alethea in mock horror. “What a bag of tricks she does have at her disposal.”

“Alethea, I don’t want to hear another word from you,” said Camilla, exasperated with her younger sister.

“Ring the bell this instant,” Fanny cried. “Where is Dawson? We must lift her up; oh, the poor child.”

“Alethea is right; fainting is an excellent way to deflect unwelcome questions.” Wytton had crossed the room to attend to the bell-pull, and now came to stand beside Camilla.

As she turned to him, she saw a look of caustic amusement in his eyes. “Why, yes, it is indeed, for her father’s concern will overcome any justifiable anger he may feel at her dramatic announcement,” she said.

“Her wholly unexpected announcement, I may say.” He raised an eyebrow at her and went to join Mr. Gardiner beside the recumbent figure. The smelling salts seemed to have had little effect, but Camilla would have sworn that her cousin was conscious, and had avoided inhaling the bitter fumes by holding her breath.

“Shall we lift her on to a sofa, sir?” said Wytton.

At that moment Dawson stalked into the room. She took one look at Sophie’s motionless figure and made a sound of disapproval, but before she could take any further action, Pug had dashed into the room after her, keen to join in the fun. Seeing a body lying upon the carpet, he hurled himself upon it with snaps and snarls.

This onslaught roused Sophie to immediate life, and she twisted round to escape from Pug’s attentions.

“Get off, Pug, you silly dog, do you think she is your dinner?” Camilla said, swooping down on the wriggling animal and picking him up. Pug gave an ecstatic snuffle and began to lick her face.

“He dearly loves excitement,” she told Wytton, tucking Pug under her arm.

“Then he must be very pleased, for this is as entertaining as anything to be heard or seen at the playhouse or the opera.”

As if on cue, a footman opened the door, his eyes popping out of his head with curiosity, and announced that Captain Allington had called and was waiting below.

Sophie, her senses quite restored, gave a shriek and cried, “He is here, he is with Belle,” and made to dash out of the room.

“Not so fast, Miss,” said Mr. Gardiner, putting out a strong arm to restrain his daughter. “Is the captain alone?” he asked the footman.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then desire him to step up.”

A clank of spurs upon the stairs, and the magnificent figure of Captain Allington stood in the doorway, in all the scarlet glory of his hussar uniform. Sophie wrenched herself free from her father’s grasp and flew across the room to him. She stood before him for a long moment, looking up into his face, and then began to pummel his chest with her fists.

Wytton winced and shook his head.

“A mistake,” he said. “Painful, with all those fastenings, very rough on the skin.”

Allington had seized Sophie’s hands and was holding them clasped to his plated bosom. “Sophie,” he was saying in what Camilla considered a very foolish tone. “My dearest little Sophie, do not take on so.”

Mr. Gardiner, in a state of complete bewilderment, strove to recover his wits. “Captain Allington, I would be exceedingly grateful if you would explain yourself. Is Belle with you? Are you come from Scotland?”

A look of puzzlement spread over the captain’s face. “Scotland? No, sir, I have just come off duty at headquarters.”

“Headquarters,” cried Sophie. “Duty! Here in London?”

“Why, yes, where else should they be? The regiment has not yet left on its posting.”

This communication caused first radiant smiles and then a further burst of tears from Sophie.

Fanny took command. “Sophie, Captain Allington, sit down, do. Captain, what brings you here? Have you seen Belle, is she not with you?”

“Has something happened to Miss Belle? When I came off duty, I returned to my lodgings and my landlady said that various persons had been enquiring for me. She mentioned your name, Lady Fanny, and so I thought I had better come round to Aubrey Square.” He looked around the room with a vaguely surprised air. “I do not see her here.”

“No,” said Letitia, “for she is in Scotland. We thought she was with you.”

This puzzled him still more. “But I am not in Scotland.”

“In which case,” Camilla said, “who is the man?”

“Never mind,” cried Sophie. “What does it matter? She may have run off with half the regiment for all I care, as long as she is not with Allington.” And tucking her hand into his, she gazed adoringly up at him.

“Very affecting,” said Wytton dryly.

Sophie’s face turned peevish. “You may keep your sour remarks to yourself, Wytton, for I know you do not want to marry me, and now that you see I love another, you will not have to.”

“I do not understand any of this,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Why should Belle say she has run away with Allington when she clearly has done no such thing? And you, Sophie, are behaving very badly; please do not cling to the captain like that, whatever will Fanny think?”

“I shall think what is as obvious as the nose on my face,” declared Fanny. “Sophie is in love with the captain, and I dare say has been so for some time.”

“In which case,” said Mr. Gardiner, exploding, “why have you led us all in such a dance, why did you accept Wytton’s proposals? What the devil have you been about? Answer me, Sophie.”

Sophie’s incoherent reply made little sense. Abbeys and fortunes and Greek remains and India and younger sons and horses all tumbled out in no particular order, until her father held his head and begged her to stop.

Wytton was laughing out loud now, and Camilla had to pull at his sleeve to calm him. “Do you understand this?”

“Oh, yes, I believe I do.”

“Then for heaven’s sake take pity on Mr. Gardiner, and explain.”

“Don’t say another word, Sophie,” he commanded, as she opened her mouth to pour out more disjointed sentences. “Captain Allington, is your regiment to be posted to India?”

Allington nodded gloomily. “Orders just through.”

A wail from Sophie, “No, no, you must not go!”

“Sophie!” Mr. Gardiner’s voice was impatient. “You seem not to understand. The army is Captain Allington’s profession, and an army officer, as you well know, does his duty and goes wherever his superior officers choose to send him.”

“Papa, you are the one who doesn’t understand, you are not even trying to understand. Allington does not wish to be a soldier, and he particularly does not wish to be a soldier in India, where it is hot and there are flies and insects of all kinds and snakes, and a long sea journey and fever and native women and—”

“She’s off again,” said Wytton.

It took a glass of wine and several handkerchiefs before Sophie could be brought to a sensible account of her relationship with Allington.

“You see, Papa, I knew that you would never approve of him, for he is poor and has no prospects.”

“Whereas I,” observed Wytton to no one in particular, “am rich and have excellent prospects.”

“Yes,” said Sophie with spirit. “And you were in love with me; you need not try to deny it, for it was so.”

Wytton looked not a whit abashed. “I was.”

“Only you are not now, so you need not pretend. You are in love with Camilla, and I suppose she will marry you, only I would advise her most strongly to think well what she is about, for she will either be left on her own in that horrid abbey or traipsing about abroad, having to put up with all the dirt and heat if she wishes to be at your side. Besides having to live with your abominable temper, and your moods, too, for you are always in a mood.”

“But, Sophie,” said her father, “why did you not tell us? Did you imagine that your mama and I would force you into a marriage with a man you no longer cared for, however great his fortune and position? Whatever have we done to deserve this? What have we said to make you think we cared for anything other than your happiness?”

“Younger sons are younger sons.”

“My dear, you have a fortune of your own, and I am, if I may say so, a rich man.”

“You mean you will let me marry Allington?” This was uttered in a piercing scream of delight.

“It is not so simple. Captain Allington will shortly be embarking for India. We cannot wish you to go to India, the climate will not suit you.”

“If we are married he need not go! He can sell out, and we shall buy land and he can breed horses.”

“Breed horses!”

“Sir, it may seem—” began Allington.

“Young man, provided that you do not have another wife tucked away, or a mistress in your keeping, and as long as you are content to marry my daughter in an orderly way, in a church, in the presence of her family and friends, then you may have her with my goodwill, and breed horses, or dogs, or goats even.”

Wytton’s eyes gleamed. “A happy outcome.”

“For you as well, one may suppose,” said Mr. Gardiner dryly.

“This is all very well,” said Fanny. “But what of Belle? If she has not eloped with Captain Allington, then whom is she with?”

They were gathered in the hall while Mr. Gardiner and Sophie waited for their carriage, and Captain Allington hovered about, still looking slightly foolish, but rather pleased, and giving Sophie an enraptured smile whenever their eyes met.

The talk was still of Belle, and under cover of more improbable speculations about what would be the outcome of her flight, and whom her companion might be, Wytton grasped Camilla’s hand and drew her slightly away from the others.

“Is there nowhere we may be private for a few minutes at least?”

His voice was ardent, and there was a look in his eyes that made her blink. “In the morning room,” she said.

How odd that she should feel so shy now that she was alone with him. Where had the easy companionship gone, why was she so ill at ease, why did he seem a different man, almost a stranger, as he stood there in the firelight?

He held out his hands and took hers. Then he drew closer. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes.”

His voice shook slightly as he spoke, and the ardour and warmth she saw in his face when she looked up made her giddy. She was not in control of herself or her feelings, she had no awareness beyond his presence. They stood there in the shadowy room, motionless, until he lifted her hand, kissing the back of it, touching her fingers with his lips. Then, turning it over, he kissed her palm.

It was she who put up her arm to pull him to her, astonished by the intensity of the unfamiliar emotions flooding through her. He ran a finger down her cheek to her mouth, then kissed her, nothing tentative or gentle in his touch as his own passion was at last allowed expression.

“Camilla!” came Mr. Gardiner’s voice, reproving, but at least with none of the outrage Fitzwilliam would have shown in such a case. Wytton moved apart from her, self-possessed, still keeping hold of her hand.

“This is not the time nor the place for such a display of affection. Wytton, did you come on foot? Then I shall take you home in my carriage. It is here.”

They all had to remain in suspense as to Belle’s fate until the following morning. A disgruntled Fitzwilliam had returned home in the early hours to awaken the household with his knocking.

He received Fanny’s news that Captain Allington had not run away with Belle with a philosophic shrug. “It makes little difference. There is no sign of them, whoever she is with, no trace upon the road north; they have not gone to Scotland, in my opinion.”

Fanny was wide awake now, and all her worries crowded in on her. “Scotland would be bad enough, but if they have not gone there—And Belle might have run off with anybody, a drawing master, a handsome footman, even.”

“Do not you believe it,” said Fitzwilliam, sitting in his dressing gown in Fanny’s bedchamber and drinking a glass of wine before he ate the food that she had thoughtfully provided for him. “Belle is not such a frippery creature as all that; she knows the difference between a man of her world and one who is not; she has not been in the habit of wasting her attentions on footmen. No, no, she is with some other of her numerous admirers, some stupid fellow she has hoodwinked, who does not know what he is letting himself in for, and who most certainly has never encountered her father! I do not want to waste another moment’s thought on any of these Darcy girls.”

“No, but you must listen for a moment. I have not told you the half of what has been going on in your absence, such an astonishing evening as we have had. Sophie Gardiner is to marry Captain Allington; what do you say to that?”

Fitzwilliam was unmoved. “The man’s a blockhead. I am glad I never had him serving under me.” He rose and stretched. “Wytton’s the poorer by ninety thousand pounds, then.”

“No,” said Fanny. “Only forty thousand pounds the poorer.”

Fitzwilliam pulled a nightcap firmly on to his head—always a sign that he was not feeling in an amorous mood—and climbed into bed beside Fanny to give her a chaste kiss before turning over and taking all the covers with him.