Mr. Darcy's Daughters (7 page)

“So have Belle and Georgina, sir,” Alethea pointed out, as she sat on the chair Mr. Portal had courteously put forward for her. “Are they going to play?”

Georgina gave her younger sister a scornful look and announced that she and Belle were happy to play. They charmed their way through two or three duets; both of them musical, they played well, and looked enchanting. The men watched with great complaisance, and Camilla could breathe again, as good manners prevented even a Lady Warren from carrying on with her spiteful conversation during their performance.

Letitia declined to sing, declaring that she had a slight sore throat, it was always so in town on foggy days. This was true enough, although Camilla knew quite well that her spring sore throats were an annual source of considerable misery in Derbyshire, far from the dirt and bad air of the capital.

Lady Warren was ready with remarks about how depression of the spirits could make a girl ill, how affairs of the heart rendered young women peculiarly susceptible to infections of the lungs and throat, how—

Alethea gave her a look of contempt and brushed past her chair on the way to take her place at the pianoforte. “Camilla, will you play for me?”

The company put on an approving face. Modestly dressed, pretty-behaved young ladies who were soon to emerge from the schoolroom showing off their expensively acquired accomplishments gave a sense of order and decorum in an alarming world. The youngest Miss Darcy would sing two or three sweet airs, they would applaud and congratulate, tea would be drunk, the familiar rituals of society would once again have been observed.

Camilla looked at the music Alethea had placed on the stand and shot Miss Griffin a swift look of enquiry. Miss Griffin gave a tiny shrug of her bony shoulders, as if to say, It is nothing to do with me, and fixed her gaze on the fireplace. Well, if Alethea wanted to sing Mozart, so be it.

The effect of her singing was electric.

Lady Warren gave an exaggerated jolt of surprise and then fixed her features into a look of prim disapproval. Lord Warren cleared his throat and looked uneasy. He was unfamiliar with the works of Mozart and was not at all sure that he liked what he was hearing.

“By Jove,” whispered Captain Allington, who had an ear. “Ain’t that the thing?”

Pagoda Portal sat back in frank enjoyment, his foot moving and his fingers waving in time to the music.

The twins had moved across to the window. They twitched the heavy drapes aside and surveyed the street. Alethea’s music held no novelty for them, and a handsome buck might be passing in the street below, a more pleasing object of their interest.

Letitia sat with her eyes closed for a moment, affected against her will by the power of the music. She considered Mozart wholly unsuitable for Alethea to sing; indeed, unsuitable for performance anywhere.

Camilla, looking up from the instrument, saw Sir Sidney’s attention fixed on Alethea. There was nothing of the satyr in his regard; rather, he had the air of a connoisseur, of a collector who had found some new and exquisite item. His eyes met Camilla’s, and he smiled, shook his head slightly and was lost once more in the music.

“Well,” said Fanny as the last of her guests’ carriages rumbled away into the night. “I declare, I never want to go through such an evening again. Letty, my love, I have nothing but praise for you. That odious woman! Fitzwilliam, whatever possessed you to invite the Warrens? I beg you will not do so again in a hurry, for he is a fool and she is the greatest scandalmonger in town!”

“He is not so very bad, and his family has some influence in Lincolnshire, where there is soon to be an election; we hope the result may be favourable for us, and every vote counts, as you know.”

“Oh, politics. Politics are the ruin of any woman’s dinners. Alethea, how well you sang, such an astonishing and beautiful voice as you have. Sir Sidney and Allington were entranced by the music, and Mr. Portal, whose good opinion is worth having, let me tell all you young ladies, for he is so very rich and influential, said he had never been so well entertained at a private party. I hope he was referring to the music,” she added, with a doubtful look at her husband.

“It would not be suitable for a more formal gathering, however,” said Fitzwilliam. “Perhaps, Alethea, if you are to sing for us again, as I hope you will, for young ladies must learn to perform in company without appearing self-conscious or nervous, there are some English songs you could learn. I’m sure Miss Griffin—”

“I will mention it to her teachers, sir,” said Miss Griffin. “Alethea’s singing has long been the concern of visiting masters; she is beyond a governess’s skills.”

“Yes, quite, I do see. For myself I like a ballad or some such song. That kind of music must always be acceptable.”

Alethea smiled sardonically at her sisters and bade the company a civil good night, with a pitying look for Fitzwilliam as she left the room.

February, said Mrs. Gardiner, seemed to be lasting for ever, with its chilly, blustery winds and violent rainstorms. London was still thin of company; it would be a little while before the rich, the giddy and the gay came flocking for the season proper, but this and the bad weather led to a certain cosy intimacy among those who were, for whatever reason, fixed in town.

Bankers and rich merchants such as Mr. Gardiner were at their places of business, of course, mostly regarding with a benevolent contempt those of their more genteel acquaintance who went to be idle in the country. Some longed for the day when they could purchase a country estate and set up for a gentleman; for many, the pleasures of making money and deals were far greater than any delights offered by the round of country-house visiting and the Englishman’s outdoor pursuits of killing anything that moved.

Mr. Gardiner was not among those hankering for admittance to the ranks of the landed gentry. He was pleased that one of his daughters had married a gentleman of position and fortune with a snug property in Kent, but he secretly preferred the company of his other son-in-law, a busy, active lawyer who was rising fast in his profession. He was happy with the match that had been made between his youngest girl and Alexander Wytton; he liked the man for himself, and had a high regard for his brains and learning.

“You had better apply yourself to some study before you are caught up in a whirl of parties,” he told Sophie. “A frivolous girl such as you are is no wife for a sensible man.”

“He likes me just as I am,” said Sophie. “He doesn’t want a blue-stocking for a wife. Like my cousin Camilla,” she added cattily. “She frightens all her beaux away, that’s what comes of having your nose in a book half the day and walking round London looking at a lot of ugly old buildings and statues and such like. No one will ever want to marry her if she don’t change her ways.”

Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed at her daughter’s vulgarity. “Camilla is very like her mother, and look what a splendid marriage she made.”

“Aunt Elizabeth is full of fun, and loves clothes and balls, even now,” said Sophie. “She doesn’t care at all for a lot of old Greeks and Egyptians, or if she does, she didn’t when she was on the lookout for a husband.”

“Camilla loves a party,” said her father, rising from the table. “And I thought she looked as pretty as anything the other night at that little dance Lady Rampton put on for you young people.”

Sophie made a moue at her father’s departing back, but not an unpleasant one, for she was very fond of him, despite what she considered his old-fashioned ways. “Jamie Rampton is hanging out for a rich wife,” she said. “That’s why his mother is come back to town; all in a rush when she got wind of five heiresses. I suppose she thinks that one of my cousins might be persuaded to take to her precious son.”

Mrs. Gardiner wondered, yet again, why the exclusive girls’ seminary that Sophie had attended for three years, not to mention the attentions of a series of the most highly trained and ladylike governesses before she went to school, had left Sophie’s mind so little improved. Her behaviour in company was unexceptionable, but within doors, among the immediate members of her family, her views and speech left much to be desired.

“I do not think Camilla is on the lookout for a husband just at present, although a young woman must always be mindful that it is her duty to marry, and, if she is of good family and has a large fortune, to marry well. Nor does Letty appear to be in want of a husband; indeed, I fear that she is quite opposed to the married state at this moment.”

Mrs. Gardiner reached for another piece of toast and then, with a sigh, withdrew her hand; she must take care of what she ate, or none of her new dresses ordered for the season would fit her. She had a tendency to plumpness, and no wish to look like a parcel in the high-waisted dresses that were still the fashion. It would be a mercy when waists and stays came back into fashion, as was sure to happen. “It is a pity so many people know of Letty’s disappointment.”

“It’s hardly a secret that could be kept, when her engagement had been announced in the
Gazette.
”

“True, but that was a while ago, and memories are short. If she had formed another attachment, no one would have had anything to say about it.”

Sophie tightened a curl round her finger. “If she didn’t go round looking such a misery, people would talk less. I think it very ill bred of her to sulk, for that is what she’s doing.”

Mrs. Gardiner couldn’t but agree. Letty was doing herself no good in the eyes of the fashionable world, always keen for a fresh scandal. Men were laying bets in the clubs, she had heard, as to whether Letty would faint clean away when she came face-to-face with Tom Busby.

“Men are so horrid,” said Sophie, who was on her third slice of toast, having a good appetite and no fears for her figure.

“It isn’t as if she had been thrown over in any direct way. Mr. Busby could hardly help losing his memory.”

“People are saying that it was no such thing, that when he had been wounded, he saw it as a way out of an engagement he regretted.”

“Indeed, the circumstances are such—It is impossible, of course, for a man to end an engagement, quite out of the question. However, it would almost have done Letty less harm if she herself had broken the engagement.”

“That would have made her a jilt, and there is nothing worse than a jilt,” said Sophie with scorn. “You know how the old tabbies go on when a girl ends a formal engagement. Would you not be very angry with me if I said that I didn’t want to marry Mr. Wytton after all?”

Sophie’s eyes were on her plate as she spoke, and she stabbed at a crumb with her finger.

“Oh, my love, don’t be ridiculous, it is not at all the same. Letty was never in your happy situation. Her engagement was a mistake, and I said so at the time. It was folly to rush into it simply because Tom Busby had been recalled to his regiment and was going to Belgium. All very well in the pages of a novel, but I cannot think why her parents gave their consent.”

In fact, she knew perfectly well why Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had agreed to it; there was no dealing with Letitia in one of her obstinate moods, and the young couple had seemed to be very much attached. “I hear from Fanny Fitzwilliam that Captain Allington is showing Letty a good deal of attention, so perhaps one soldier will drive out another.”

“Captain Allington!” cried Sophie, her last piece of toast suspended in mid-air. “You must be wrong, you are quite mistaken. He has no fortune, he cannot be considered a suitable match for a Miss Darcy.”

“Oh, I dare say there is nothing serious to it. I believe they share a great love of riding; Letty is a notable horsewoman, and Camilla does not ride, so she will be glad of the captain’s company.”

Sophie put down her toast, uneaten, and rose from the table. “You would never let me ride in the park with Captain Allington.”

“The cases are quite different, my love. Your cousin is a woman of one-and-twenty, not a girl of seventeen.”

“You even objected to my dancing with the captain more than twice in one evening,” said Sophie, pausing in the doorway.

“My dear, that is all behind you now you are engaged.”

Sophie’s mind was on another track. “I suppose my cousins will receive vouchers for Almacks.”

This was a sore subject, and Mrs. Gardiner sighed. Not all Mr. Gardiner’s wealth nor his wide circle of influential friends had enabled Mrs. Gardiner to persuade the patronesses of Almacks to give her the vouchers that would have allowed Sophie to attend the weekly subscription balls. Heiress she might be, but her fortune came from trade.

“When you consider that Lady Jersey’s fortune was a banking one, and what is banking if not trade, it is very unreasonable. But do not dwell on it, I beg you. Mr. Wytton seldom attends Almacks; he has told us more than once that he considers such affairs a dreadful bore.”

Sophie went to her room, and Mrs. Gardiner told the servants to take away the toast before she succumbed to temptation. She sat at the table with the coffee-pot, consoling herself for Sophie’s exclusion from the balls by the knowledge that although the older Miss Darcys might have the entrée to Almacks, they were neither of them able to hold a candle to Sophie as far as prettiness went.

Had Mrs. Gardiner but known it, Fanny Fitzwilliam was very exercised in her mind on the subject of Almacks. She was likewise at the breakfast table, sitting alone with her husband. The girls had breakfasted earlier.

“They must go,” she said to her husband, who was deep in his morning newspaper.

“Eh? Who must go? Are you turning off a servant? That is entirely your affair, my dear, do not be bothering me with such things.”

“I am talking about Almacks—Letty and Camilla and Almacks.”

“Do you go to Almacks? But it is not Wednesday today—and, indeed, the balls do not begin before March.”

“You are quite right, but when they do begin, the girls will need vouchers.” She looked pensive, and sighed as she pushed her cup away.

“Is there a problem? Are you not on good terms with the patronesses? Surely you have not crossed Lady Jersey, or the Princess Lieven.”

“No, no, I know my duty as far as they are concerned, I am on perfectly good terms with them all—or, at least, not on bad terms. Only, you know how it is. If the patronesses, dreadful hypocrites that they are, take it into their heads that there is any breath of scandal hanging over Letty, then she—and Camilla—will be refused vouchers of admission. Which would lead to a great deal more talk and gossip. Mrs. Burrell—horrid woman, always such a cold fish—passed a very chilly comment only yesterday about Letty and the Busby affair.”

Fitzwilliam frowned, folded up his paper and laid it on the table. “Letty behaved very well the other evening, in the circumstances. She seems a little down, to be sure, but what can she have done to set the world talking?”

“Her spirits are depressed, and it shows. Especially when she is with Camilla, who is so full of life and laughter. Sir Sidney commented on it when we were at the Ramptons’. I had quite thought he was a little
épris
in that direction, he did seem to admire Letty, only she has become quite dull, you see.”

“Sir Sidney? I suppose he may be looking out for a wife. At least he is no fortune hunter. He has a considerable income and is not one of your gamesters; he manages his affairs very well. Does Letty have a liking for him?”

“Letty,” said Fanny tartly, “has no interest in the male sex whatsoever. She wants nothing to do with London, or society; she says she only wishes to be allowed to return to Pemberley.”

“Let her rusticate in Derbyshire for a while, then, if it will help her. I should have thought it would have the opposite effect; young Busby hails from those parts, does he not? The whole neighbourhood is bound to be abuzz with the story.”

“Exactly, besides the unhappiness of being where all the scenes of her courtship will come flooding into her memory. No, she shan’t go home. It would cause no end of talk, to be off just at the start of the season. Everyone would know why it was. And she declares that not only she but all her sisters must go back to Derbyshire. Imagine how impossible it would be to explain to Mr. Darcy why all his girls had decamped from London even before the season had got under way.”

Her cousins must be aware how important an appearance at Almacks was, but they didn’t seem at all concerned when Fanny mentioned that there might be a problem with vouchers.

“For my own part, Fanny, I do not mind so very much,” said Camilla, who was getting ready to go out for a walk. “I love a ball, indeed I do, but there are plenty of dances we may go to, are there not, apart from Almacks? And indeed, there can be no question of Belle and Georgina going this year, and they will object violently if Letty and I go and they are excluded.”

Fanny smiled as she thought of the twins. “It is a shame they may not go, but I take your word for it that your parents would not wish it.”

Privately, she agreed with this view. Belle and Georgina, each a very pretty girl, made such a ravishing pair that there was a danger of even Letty’s beauty being eclipsed, and Camilla’s own modest good looks would be quite overshadowed. Although Camilla did have her own charms of liveliness and a playful wit, these were not necessarily ones that showed to advantage in the stuffy and somewhat subdued atmosphere of an Almacks ball.

If she could find a husband for Letty, and for Camilla, too, then the twins—Only the older girls were far from desperate for husbands, what with Letty cherishing her broken heart and prating about Pemberley and the hatefulness of town, and Camilla casting an all too cynical eye over all the eligible young men. Perhaps Sir Sidney would win her favour; she had thought the other evening that he seemed to be paying her some attention—although the matrons and dowagers these days tended to consider him a confirmed bachelor. No one had ever got to the bottom of that unfortunate business with Miss Harper, to be sure, but what had that to do with his marrying now? He must be in need of an heir.

He was an attractive man; she felt his attraction herself. Handsome, with an assured air and a good deal of cleverness about him, he might be the very man to catch Camilla’s fancy. He was older than she was, which was all to the good, since she found so much in younger men to make her laugh. He was cultured, well travelled—hadn’t he spent a year abroad after the Peace of Amiens, in the year two? He had gone to Italy, and had travelled in France as well, she remembered hearing—and had been lucky not to have been stranded there like so many of his fellow countrymen and -women when Bonaparte marked the resumption of hostilities by ordering the arrest of any English person on French soil.