Mr. Darcy's Dream (20 page)

Never had Phoebe set out to any kind of a party with so little enthusiasm. She and Louisa were travelling in the barouche, and the children were coming in a separate carriage, accompanied by Miss Verney, looking far too elegant for a governess in a gown of pale green, and Sukey, the nursery maid. It was Phoebe who had insisted that Sukey should come as well, for, as she said to Louisa, she did not trust Miss Verney an inch, and what if she were to wander off on her own pursuits and leave the children to their own devices?

May had brought almost perfect weather, neither too hot nor too cold. The countryside was burgeoning into the lush greenery of late spring, and the hawthorn blossom was heavy against the myriad colours of greening trees and meadows. The hay was ripening well now, and the air was full of the scents and sounds of busy insects and singing birds. Such beauty in the landscape did much to cheer Phoebe and Louisa up, and for at least the first part of the journey, they both forgot their troubles and simply enjoyed the drive.

However, as they drew near to Harlow Park, Phoebe no longer noticed her immediate surroundings, as all her
thoughts were focused on what she considered the ordeal ahead.

 

Harlow Park was an old house, which had been much enlarged and improved by the present owner, Mr. James Harlow. He had a taste for the Gothic and the old house, which had been quite plain, had been embellished with pointed windows, crenellations, and a tower at the east end.

James Harlow also had a passion for fountains and waterworks of all kinds, and his grounds were famous for their pools, fountains, cascades, and basins. There was a lake in front of the house, and as their carriage drove up the long drive, Phoebe and Louisa saw that boats had been put into the water for the amusement of the guests.

Phoebe's spirits rose. She had known it was to be a large party, but she had not quite appreciated just how many people would be there; among such a throng, it must surely be possible to avoid Mr. Stanhope.

The Harlows, like many landowners, were acutely sensitive to the messages that the French Revolution had sent out, and took great pains to look after their tenants and those who worked for them. Today, their son Jack's twenty-first birthday, was a day of celebration not only for family and friends, but also for all the people connected with the estate. Huge trestle tables had been set out beneath the trees on the other side of the lake, and here, Mrs. Harlow informed Phoebe as she greeted her with warm affection, the tenants and their families would sit down to lunch.

“And afterwards there are to be the usual country festivities. Although May Day is past, there is the maypole, and morris dancing, and various games and entertainments. I am
so pleased you have brought the children with you, for several of our grandchildren are here, and the offspring of our guests as well, and we have taken pains to make sure that the children will also enjoy the day. Now, here is Jack, waiting to see you.”

She went away to attend to some of the numerous duties that fell upon her shoulders on such a day, while Jack greeted Phoebe with unrestrained delight. He was a tall, fair young man with very blue eyes and a naturally smiling face. He had frank, open manners and Phoebe was extremely fond of him.

“Let me congratulate you on your birthday and upon your coming-of-age, Jack. It is only a sadness that Charles isn't here.”

A cloud passed over Jack's face. “It still seems wrong to me that I shall be the one to inherit the house and the land. I was always very much the younger brother, and you know how much I admired and looked up to Charles. I'm glad to say that some of his fellow officers are to be here today; are you acquainted with Mr. Stanhope? And Hugh Drummond, a capital fellow, we only recently learned that he was in Derbyshire. Phoebe, I shall later claim a dance with you, and you too, Louisa, if you will allow me.”

Phoebe was wearing a white muslin dress with a pattern of tiny cherries on it. She wore it with a dashing red sash, and her bonnet was trimmed with little bunches of cherries. Despite her protestations that she did not care how she looked, Miniver had turned her out looking her best, and she and Louisa, who was as beautiful as ever in pale blue, turned heads as they walked along a shaded path towards an area of the garden which Phoebe particularly liked. At the end of the walk was a large circular fountain with two smaller ones at either side. The theme was oceanic, with Poseidon
holding a trident and his horses rising from the waves in the big fountain, and frolicking dolphins and mermaids in the two smaller ones.

Phoebe perched herself on the broad marble surround of the larger fountain, and dabbled her fingers in the ruffled water. “This fountain is a great joke with the family,” she said to Louisa. “I don't think you knew Mr. Harlow's father, but this Poseidon is modelled on him, and it has his features to perfection. It is an especially good joke, because you must be aware that Poseidon was not the sweetest-natured of the gods, and old Mr. Harlow was notorious for his bad temper and high-handed way with servants and tenants. It is remarkable how unlike him the present Mr. Harlow is, and Jack will be just the same as his father, a good landlord and kind and considerate to his dependants.”

It was calm and peaceful there by the fountains. Phoebe thought that if only she could enjoy such solitude for the rest of the day, it would not be so bad. The gentle splash of the water soothed her spirits, and the cool breeze made it extremely pleasant to be there.

She was just about to remark upon this to Louisa, when they heard the sound of voices and approaching footsteps; seconds later the peace was shattered by the arrival upon the scene of Lady Martindale and her brother, Mr. Stanhope.

Phoebe shut her eyes in disbelief. With all the extensive grounds of Harlow Park, why, within minutes of their own arrival, had Lady Martindale and Mr. Stanhope ventured into exactly this part of the park? It was as though fate were determined to throw her into Mr. Stanhope's path. For a moment she contemplated turning on her heels and fleeing, but Louisa, as though sensing what she might be going to do, put a restraining hand on her arm and whispered, “I shall not leave
you, let us just greet them, and then I am sure we may get away.”

 

Although Lady Martindale had said nothing about it to her brother, her suspicions had been aroused at Lady Redburn's dinner party at Pemberley. She knew her brother well, and was aware of his longtime relationship with Mrs. Vereker, and some of the other women who had preceded her. She had never seen Arthur look at any woman in the way that he was now looking at Phoebe Hawkins. It was evident to her that he was overflowing with admiration; he was in love with the girl, there could be no doubt about it.

And that explained his presence in Derbyshire. She smiled wryly; she should have guessed that her brother would not have paid so long a visit, nor returned from his trip to London, simply to be in her company. Yet it did not look to her as though her brother's feelings were reciprocated. It was evident that Phoebe was extremely uncomfortable in his company, she appeared tongue-tied and took great pains not to look at him. That could be embarrassment, or an unwillingness to show her own affection before others, or simply, it was possible that she did not care at all for Arthur.

Her next thought was that her mother and her father would not approve of a match between Arthur and Phoebe at all. Not, of course, that it would matter a jot to Arthur, who was not of an age or temperament to allow his parents to rule his life.

Phoebe had turned on her heel, clearly eager to get away. Arthur stepped forward, but now it was Kitty's turn to put out a restraining hand. “Let her go,” she said quietly. “I am sure you will find an opportunity to talk to her later.”

Phoebe and Louisa were gone, with more speed than was
polite. Stanhope watched them go, and when they were out of sight, he turned back to Kitty with such a look of hurt and perplexity in his eyes that it wrung her heart. “Arthur, how long has this been going on? For how long have you been in love with Phoebe Hawkins? You have never mentioned her.”

“Is it so obvious?”

“To me, yes indeed it is. I think it would be plain to anyone who saw you looking at Miss Hawkins just now.”

“I met Phoebe the first time but a few weeks ago. Kitty, I was overwhelmed. Dazzled, enchanted, what can I say? I don't have the words to describe my feelings for her. Dammit, here I am, a man of thirty years old, and I can truthfully say that I have never felt for a woman what I feel for Phoebe Hawkins.”

Kitty looked at her brother with a puzzled expression in her eyes. “She runs away from you. Why is that?”

“You're asking whether her feelings for me are as intense as mine for her. I believed that they were. Kitty, I wanted her to marry me, and I had every reason to suppose that she was willing to accept me.”

She stared at him, astonished. “Are you telling me that you are engaged? Why has the engagement not been announced, to the family, to the world?”

“Ask Sir Giles that.”

“Young women today reserve the right to make their own choice as to their husbands. Although, from what I have heard, he is a Tory of the old school, and no doubt sets store by some of the old ways.”

“Phoebe is only twenty, she is not yet of age, and therefore, yes, I should have asked for Sir Giles's permission to marry her before I told her that I wished her to become my wife. Such niceties did not at that time seem important to me and all I wanted was to make sure that Phoebe could love me. She
swore she did, and I tell you, Kitty, there was no happier man in the whole of England than I was that evening.”

“So what went wrong? What reasons did Sir Giles give for refusing his consent?”

Arthur Stanhope could not stand still. He set off to walk around the fountain, and speaking to his sister across the water, said, “The Hawkins family are Tories. The Stanhopes are, of course, Whigs.”

Kitty had to raise her voice to make herself heard over the sound of the water. “That might be an inconvenience, but not a reason for refusing his consent. I never heard of anything so Gothic.”

Arthur Stanhope went over to one of the smaller fountains, and gazed morosely at the shapely form of a mermaid clutching a large shell. “That was just the beginning. Sir Giles does not approve of my morals.”

“Morals! As to morals, I should have thought yours were a great deal better than most men's. Oh! Does he mean Emma Vereker? Arthur, I do hope that that affair had come to an end before you offered to Phoebe. To take a mistress after a marriage is bad enough, but to have one on the go even while you claim to be with another young woman would be despicable.”

“What do you take me for?” said Arthur Stanhope, torn between laughter and rage. “Should I have the great good fortune to make Phoebe Hawkins my wife, I can promise you, Kitty, that there will be no question of a mistress.”

“All men say that when they marry, they say that when it is May and the sun is shining and their hearts are full of love. But what happens in the dog days of August, or when autumn winds begin to blow through the matrimonial home?”

Arthur Stanhope had returned to his sister's side. He took
both her hands in his. “I do not pretend not to understand that what you say has a strong personal element to it. I can see your own unhappiness, and I can have a very good guess as to the cause of it.”

Kitty drew her hands away and shook her head. “That is my affair, Arthur, and it is something that I will discuss with no one, not even you. But this conversation is about you, not about me. Can you really believe that you will be faithful to Phoebe, if she becomes your wife?”

“It is not so extraordinary. I agree with you that many of the Stanhopes haven't set a good example as to fidelity, but there are others in the family who have made happy and lasting marriages. I do not resemble our father in appearance, nor in attitude, nor in the way I conduct my life, and certainly not as to morals. And remember, the marriage between him and Mother was made in another century, it was a marriage of convenience, an arranged match, with no very great pretence of any affection from either of them.”

“It is better to marry with love than without it, certainly,” said Kitty with feeling. “But no degree of love and affection can be sure of lasting forever.”

Phoebe felt a mixture of relief and despair. Relief that the encounter with Mr. Stanhope that she had both expected and feared had come so early in the day, and despair at the intensity of her feelings for him, and the misery which it caused her to see the chasm that had to exist between them.

She walked alongside Louisa, mingling now with others as more and more guests arrived, not taking in a word that Louisa said and quite oblivious to her surroundings. She smiled when she saw people she knew, made her curtsies, extended her hand and said everything that was proper. It was as though she were a mere simulacrum of the real Phoebe, as though this person walking around the grounds was a stranger, another person all together. She had never felt so remote from herself and from her surroundings, and the detachment frightened her.

“You are in a state of shock,” observed Louisa. She looked around, and led Phoebe towards a lilac tree. “Sit on this bench, here in the shade. I am going to fetch you a glass of wine. No,” she went on in a firm voice. “You will do as I say for once, Phoebe. If you are not here when I return, I myself will go and
find Mr. Stanhope and together we will come and find you.” With these daunting words, she set off at a good pace in the direction of the house.

And what if Mr. Stanhope appears again, Phoebe said to herself, while I'm sitting here? He seems to have a knack of finding me. This thought caused her so much alarm that instead of sinking back and allowing herself to relax, she sat bolt upright, her eyes darting to and fro in case that tall figure in a blue coat should appear again.

To her consternation, she was discovered by a man wearing not a blue but a green coat, someone she was even more reluctant to meet. George Warren drew level with her, bowed, a supercilious smile on his face, and without asking her permission flicked up the tails of his coat and sat on the bench beside her.

Phoebe fiddled with the catch on her parasol, looking down, and choosing to say nothing to this unwanted companion.

“That is not a very friendly greeting,” Mr. Warren observed. “You had better come down off your high horse, Miss Hawkins, and treat me with a little more civility than you have shown to date. The Darcys are well-known for their pride and haughtiness, but I assure you, it is unwise for you to look down your nose at me in that way. Tell me, how is Mr. Stanhope? Have you been in his company today? I know how warm your feelings towards him, and surely you would wish to take advantage of the opportunities offered by these lovely gardens to sneak into the shrubbery, or perhaps that little Roman temple at the other end of the garden, where you and he may indulge in yet another passionate embrace.”

Phoebe stared at him, aghast. What was he saying? Why was he saying it? What could have caused him to make such a deeply offensive remark, unless he had a very good idea of
how things had been between her and Mr. Stanhope? How was that possible? She did not trust herself to speak to him, and instead, without a word, she rose and ran away from him, down the path, taking a left turn, a right turn, heedless of her direction, only anxious to get away from him.

It was not long after her disappearance that Louisa returned. She was accompanied by Mr. Drummond, whom she had met while on her way back to Phoebe, carefully carrying a glass of champagne. He had taken the glass from her, and asked where she was going with it. She explained that Phoebe was not feeling quite the thing, and she thought a glass of champagne would refresh her.

“An excellent notion,” said Mr. Drummond, falling into step beside her. “May I accompany you? I know hardly anyone here today, and so I am glad to see a familiar face.” He held out his arm for Louisa, and after a moment's hesitation, she smiled, and laid her hand on it.

Louisa stopped short as the two of them turned the corner and came into the broader path where she had left Phoebe. There was a figure sitting on the bench, but it was certainly not Phoebe. “George!” she said with displeasure. “What are you doing here? Have you seen Miss Hawkins?”

Warren got lazily to his feet, and extended a hand to Louisa, while giving a brief nod in Mr. Drummond's direction. “I think the sun has affected Miss Hawkins's wits,” he said. “She bounded away from here as though the hounds of hell were after her. I suspect a guilty conscience.”

“Knowing you, George,” said Louisa with asperity, “you said something deeply unpleasant to her, as is your way. No, do not raise your eyebrows and look at me in that way, I have no time for a politeness which you do not deserve. Phoebe was not feeling quite the thing, I left her sitting here while I fetched
her something to drink, and now I find you have driven her away. Which direction did she take?”

Warren sat back on the bench and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, quite at his ease. “As to that, I couldn't say. She flitted off like a madwoman. If you find her, tell her that I take no offence, and merely put it down to the effects of the sun.”

Mr. Drummond cleared his throat, but Louisa gave him a speaking look, and saying to Warren that she considered it a great pity that he had ever come to Derbyshire, she set off down the path without taking any further leave of her cousin.

Mr. Drummond gave Warren a hard look and then followed Louisa. She was walking extremely fast, and it took him a few minutes before he caught up with her. When he did so, she stopped and turned to him, an apologetic look on her face. “I'm sorry about that, Mr. Drummond.”

“I am sorry that you were having to put up with that insufferable man's bad manners. What is he thinking of, to speak of Miss Hawkins in that extremely unpleasant way?”

“There is no love lost between any of the Darcys and Mr. Warren, I'm afraid. His stepmother is my aunt, you know, which is why he calls me cousin although we are not in fact related by blood. I cannot speak ill of my aunt, but I will say that she dotes upon George Warren, and he has perhaps been too much indulged all his life. He delights in schemes and intrigues and is always pleased if he can catch any member of the Darcy family at a disadvantage; he has a long-standing grudge against all the Darcys.”

They walked on together in silence, Louisa marvelling at how very comfortable she found his company. She would not admit to herself that this was more than the comfort of friendship, or that the feelings she had for him were growing be
yond the companionable. At the moment she had no time for her own feelings, she was far too worried about Phoebe. She stopped again and looked directly at Mr. Drummond.

“Mr. Drummond, I believe you have been acquainted a long while with Mr. Stanhope.”

“Arthur?” said Mr. Drummond, somewhat surprised. “Yes indeed, I have known him since we were at college together. He is the best of good fellows, and an excellent friend. Why do you ask?”

Louisa began to speak, then hesitated, and shook her head.

Mr. Drummond was watching her closely, and he spoke in a gentle voice. “It seems to me, Miss Bingley, that you are troubled about something. If there is anything that I can do to help, you have only to ask.”

Louisa made up her mind. “Since you are such a good friend of Mr. Stanhope, I am sure you will have his best interests at heart. I betray a confidence in telling you this, but I do it for the best of reasons, and because I judge that it may in the long run be of great benefit to both Mr. Stanhope and to Phoebe Hawkins. They formed an attachment—”

Mr. Drummond interrupted her. “I knew it,” he exclaimed. “I could not mistake the signs.”

“Oh dear, I do hope that does not mean that falling in love is a regular habit of Mr. Stanhope's.”

They walked on, and had gone some way before he spoke again. “I can't deny that Mr. Stanhope is far from averse to the female sex. And it is the same the other way, that is to say, that women find him a man easy to admire. Yet I would not call him a libertine, nor a philanderer. He has had a long-standing relationship with an actress, you may have heard of her, a Mrs. Vereker. No, do not look like that, it is not an adulterous affair,
for Mr. Vereker died several years ago. From some words that Arthur let drop recently, I have reason to believe that his feelings for Mrs. Vereker are no longer what they were. So he has fallen in love with Phoebe Hawkins, has he? She will make him an admirable wife, she is the very woman to suit Arthur. But I take it that there is a problem. Perhaps Miss Hawkins does not return his feelings?”

“A match between Phoebe and Mr. Stanhope has been forbidden by Sir Giles Hawkins, Phoebe's father. I gather that the reasons he gave were partly to do with the Stanhopes' politics, and partly his mistrust of Mr. Stanhope's morals. He forbade her to have any contact with Mr. Stanhope, and so you see what a quandary she is in. I am sure that she is as much in love with him as ever she was, but she is a dutiful daughter, and her father did give reasons for the attitude he was taking, which she felt were just. He does not approve of Mr. Stanhope as a husband for Phoebe, now or at any time.”

“I do not see what possible objection there can be. Arthur is an excellent fellow, a clever man, who is sure to make a name for himself. And besides that he is rich, and will one day inherit the title. I cannot see why any father in his right mind would turn down such a match for his daughter.”

“The two families come from opposite sides of the political spectrum, but I think it is rather that Phoebe's father objects to Mr. Stanhope as a man, not because of his political background. You say that Mr. Stanhope is neither a libertine nor philanderer, but he has a reputation as a rake. However undeserved this reputation may be, there is a particular, personal reason, which I am not at liberty to divulge, for Sir Giles Hawkins's reluctance—no, refusal—to sanction a match between him and his daughter.”

“A rake!” said Mr. Drummond in surprised tones. “I as
sure you, Arthur is no such thing. Lord Stanhope, now, that is a different matter. That man deserves the bad reputation he has acquired, and although you will not find Arthur ready to criticise his father, he knows this as well as the next man.”

They had come to a sloping lawn, which led down to the lake, and Louisa, who had excellent sight, exclaimed as she saw Phoebe on the other side of the lake. “There she is, but she will be gone long before we can come up with her.”

Mr. Drummond gestured to the row of boats which were pulled up alongside the jetty, under the care of an aged man who lacked most of his teeth. “I suggest we take one of these skiffs which Mr. Harlow has so obligingly placed here for the use of his guests. That will be much quicker than taking the path round the lake; I can row you across in a trice.”

Mr. Drummond handed her into the boat, and settled her down on the cushions that had been provided for the comfort of the ladies. Then he took his seat at the other end, and seizing the oars in his capable hands, told the man holding the rope to let it go, and began to row with steady, sure strokes towards the centre of the lake.

Louisa sat in silence, enjoying the cool breeze on the surface of the lake, and admiring the easy strength of Mr. Drummond's movements. She was considering what Mr. Drummond had said, which reinforced her own idea that, while she felt it was very wrong for children to go against their parents' wishes, in this case it might be Sir Giles who was in the wrong. “So you would say that Sir Giles has misjudged Mr. Stanhope?”

Drummond lifted his oars, to let the boat drift past some large water lilies. “I think that possibly Sir Giles has been listening to too much gossip and hearsay and rumour. Since he does not move in the same circles as the Stanhopes, it would be difficult for him to form a just opinion of the kind of man
that Mr. Stanhope is. Perhaps there is something in his own life that has caused him to make a rather sudden and unfair judgement.”

Louisa gave him a quick look, but she was not going to say anything more upon that topic. “In which case, I am going to ask your help. I am convinced that Phoebe is unhappy at the forced estrangement between her and Mr. Stanhope. Her feelings for him are intense, I am sure of it. It is not made any easier by the fact that Phoebe has a great deal of reserve. To the best of my knowledge, no other man has ever come close to winning her heart. Most of all, I fear there is a danger that if she were permanently separated from Mr. Stanhope, she might never find another man that she could care for in the same way, which would mean her ending her days as a spinster. There is of course nothing wrong with spinsterhood, but I think that for Phoebe—”

“The single state may be a cause of blessedness for some people,” remarked Mr. Drummond drily, “but I cannot see that it would be the right kind of life for Miss Hawkins.”

The smiles they exchanged were smiles of complicity. Their shared concern for their two friends, and their unspoken decision to do what they could to reconcile Phoebe and Mr. Stanhope, bound them together, completing a pattern that had begun on the night of the storm, and that had been shaped by Louisa's real interest in the work that Mr. Drummond did. For his part, what had begun as admiration had grown into liking and then deepened into love. The realisation that this had happened to him, and the implications of it, made him pull on his oars with unnecessary strength, with the result that he caught a crab and fell backwards over the bench he was sitting on.

Louisa laughed, and extended a hand to help him up. Then
she began to speak again of Phoebe's troubles, her resolution strengthened by the support and interest of Mr. Drummond.

“If she were to discover that the grounds upon which her father refused to let her marry Mr. Stanhope were false, or of no real significance, then I suspect that she would go against all her upbringing and her natural feeling for her father, and would defy him in this matter. And,” she added defiantly, “I think she would be perfectly right to do so.”