Mr. Darcy's Little Sister (15 page)

“Yes, I am afraid we have,” he said engagingly.

Georgiana, observing him from the edge of this conversation, noted that his smile did not reach his eyes, which studied them with chilly composure. He paused, and Georgiana could hear the wind rustling the dead leaves in the profound silence of the woods. He continued, and she could almost see him calculating his response, “May I escort you ladies back to the house, or were you going to walk further?” He looked meaningfully at Georgiana.

Elizabeth answered him, her face rigidly controlled, “I am afraid we must turn back. We have already walked farther than we should and it would be very rude to be late for our guests.”

“Oh, you have guests? I will not intrude, then, but will go only as far as the drive, where we can cross to the main road.” He offered Georgiana his arm and Pilot, who had been sitting quietly behind Elizabeth with his eyes glued upon the unwanted guests, growled deep in his throat, like the rumble of thunder.

“You are too kind, sir,” Georgiana responded. Ignoring his proffered arm to pat Pilot on the head, she managed to put the dog between herself and Walker.

After the three men left them at the drive, Kitty whispered to Elizabeth, “What is going on?”

Elizabeth touched a finger to her lips and shook her head slightly, hurrying them towards the house. Georgiana picked up Lucky, who continued growling softly as he peeked at the men from over her shoulder. They went quickly up the stairs and into the house while Pilot stayed behind on the terrace, silently watching the intruders walk down the drive. The ladies stared at each other while they caught their breath in the hall and a footman assisted them in removing their wraps.

“I think, perhaps, that we would all like some hot tea to warm us up. What do you think, ladies?” Elizabeth said, in an obvious attempt to behave as usual.

The others nodded silently and went to the drawing-room while Elizabeth gave the orders for their tea.

“Well?” Georgiana said when she had closed the door of the drawing-room.

“I don’t know exactly what Mr. Walker’s game is, but he is beginning to make me very uneasy,” Elizabeth said slowly. “His claim to have accidentally wandered onto Pemberley land is patently false. It is a full six miles to the Walker property, and they would have crossed several roads on the way by which he could have oriented himself. He also knew that Mr. Darcy was gone.” She paused and then said carefully, “I am afraid that Mr. Darcy has heard that Mr. Walker is in some financial difficulties. He might feel that Georgiana’s fortune could be the solution to his problems and wishes to press his suit however he can. At any rate, I strongly recommend that we do not walk out alone, even near the house, and we will take a couple of footmen with us when we walk together.”

She attempted to smile reassuringly, but Georgiana felt light-headed with the shock and she saw that Kitty pressed her hand to her lips as she nodded. Elizabeth added, with a weak simulation of her usual pertness, “Georgiana, you did very well, my dear. An empress could not have been more deadly courteous.”

Georgiana smiled tightly, her confusion and dismay turning to anger at the audacity of Walker’s invasion.

Elizabeth, mistaking the pale set of her face for fear, said reassuringly, “I hope that your aunt and uncle will be here very soon, my dear—I expect them in the next day or two. I will feel much safer with their support.”

At that moment the tea tray arrived and broke their tense conclave. Elizabeth changed the subject, but they were all rather thoughtful as they drank their tea.

***

The three ladies were very relieved when, at a few minutes before five o’clock, a fine carriage with four horses and liveried coachman and footmen pulled up the gravel drive. Lord and Lady Whitwell had arrived.

The three women rose when the visitors were announced, and Georgiana advanced to greet her aunt and uncle.

“It is lovely to see you my lord and lady,” she said smoothly, giving them each a curtsey. “I would like to introduce you to my sister-in-law, Mrs. Darcy, and her sister, Miss Catherine Bennet.”

Their visitors smiled and kissed Georgiana and greeted Elizabeth and Kitty courteously, if a little warily. George Fitzwilliam, Earl of Whitwell, was a slim, grizzled man of about fifty years, of medium height, and with blue eyes and a weathered complexion. Lady Whitwell was tall and slender, almost as tall as her husband, and had light brown hair liberally mixed with silver and with streaks of pure silver in front. She wore her hair in a simple style that enhanced its beautiful colour and her gown of blue emphasised the pale blue of her eyes. Although both had rather reserved faces at rest, the lines around their eyes indicated that they were not without good humour and were more accustomed to smiling than frowning. Elizabeth and Kitty returned their courtesies, Kitty somewhat hesitantly.

“I have heard so much about you,” Lord Whitwell said, his face flushing briefly, “and I am happy to finally meet you.”

Elizabeth returned the compliments calmly, but Georgiana could not repress a smile as her sister responded to his commonplace greeting: she was quite sure that he had heard a
great
deal about Elizabeth from Lady Catherine. She ordered tea for her guests and the familiar ritual of pouring and serving allowed everyone to recover from the awkwardness of the introductions. Once the greetings were over and Lord and Lady Whitwell had told Georgiana the family news and given her the birthday present which they had brought for her (a pair of fine doeskin gloves), the atmosphere became somewhat more relaxed and the time passed quickly until dinner.

***

The next morning Elizabeth rose early, in the hope that she could speak to Lord Whitwell about Jonathan Walker before the others arose. She was fortunate and found him breakfasting alone in the small breakfast-parlour.

“My lord, may I speak to you for a few moments before the others join us?” she asked.

“Of course, Mrs. Darcy,” he answered, his brows tilted quizzically. “How may I serve you?”

“I wanted you to be aware of a situation which has arisen since my husband left for London and to ask for your advice, but I do not wish to further alarm my sisters,” she said diffidently. “One of the young gentlemen of the neighbourhood has been rather importunate towards Georgiana, and my husband has heard some things which have given him cause for concern about the young man’s character. We do not feel that we can avoid his society entirely as his father’s ancestors have been the squires of Lambton for many generations and are long family acquaintances.” She then proceeded to tell him of the incident of the previous day and the measures she had adopted.

“You feel that the young man is a threat to Georgiana?” Lord Whitwell asked, a little scepticism in his voice.

“I feel, at least, that we should be excessively cautious to ensure Georgiana’s safety,” Elizabeth returned, suppressing the little sting of irritation she felt at his doubt. “The young man is deeply in debt and might feel that a forced marriage to Georgiana might answer where his charm did not. At the very least, he has accosted us on Pemberley property and lied about his reasons for being here.”

“You are certainly correct about Georgiana’s safety being paramount,” he said, tapping his fingers nervously on the table. “Well, we will adopt your measures and possibly we should leave for London a little sooner than we had originally planned.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

***

They decided to leave in two days and, as Lady Whitwell had brought her favourite seamstress with her to sew the gowns Georgiana would need for her debut, the ladies spent the morning looking at patterns and fabric samples while the maids began readying their trunks. While they were discussing gowns with Lady Whitwell, Georgiana earnestly insisted to her aunt that her ballgowns be cut lower in the bodice than what Lady Whitwell was suggesting she wear.

“My dear aunt, I am an adult now, and you do not want me to look like a child for my first Season, do you? I am not asking to appear in an unseemly way, but I would like to be as fashionable as is consistent with propriety.”

Lady Whitwell seemed surprised at Georgiana’s firmness of will but finally agreed that a lower neckline would be acceptable:

“I suppose we must show you off to best advantage, my dear, and you do have a lovely figure,” she said as she eyed Georgiana appraisingly. “I am sorry, Georgiana. I am having difficulty remembering that you are all grown up. I do not have any daughters, so I am not sure what the other young women are wearing during the Season, but you are correct: the current fashion is for a lower-cut bodice.”

Georgiana merely smiled.

Their time with the seamstress was interrupted in the early afternoon when Jonathan Walker came to call. Elizabeth introduced him to Lord and Lady Whitwell in the hall and ordered refreshments for their guest as they accompanied him to the drawing-room. His avowed reason for calling was to apologise again for disturbing their walk the day before and to ask if the ladies would consider taking one with his escort later. He did so while keeping an eye on Pilot, who was standing at the foot of the stairs watching him in an intent silence that Mr. Walker seemed to find more intimidating than the previous day’s growling, as evidenced by the glances he repeatedly flicked between the dog and Lord and Lady Whitwell. Georgiana reflected to herself in amusement that it would take a strong constitution to face the entire Darcy clan if Mr. Walker did not behave properly.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Walker,” Elizabeth said, answering his question without much warmth, “we are just now preparing to go to London with Lord and Lady Whitwell. We will be gone for the Season, so we are simply overwhelmed with business that must be concluded before we can leave. I doubt that we will have time for walks, even if the weather is conducive.”

“Of course,” he said politely, looking coolly into her eyes. “In that case I would, naturally, not want to take up any more of your time.” He turned to Georgiana as they said their goodbyes and made a deep bow. “I trust that you will find the Season delightful, Miss Darcy, and hope that you will not forget your friends in the north.”

“I never forget my friends, Mr. Walker,” Georgiana replied, her eyes meeting his with chilly courtesy. “Good day to you, sir.”

Georgiana and her aunt went back upstairs to the schoolroom, where the seamstress was holding court, but Lord Whitwell detained Elizabeth for a moment with a touch on her arm as she turned to follow them.

“I apologise for my doubts earlier this morning, Mrs. Darcy. I agree with you that Mr. Walker is a man of whom to beware. He has a cold eye that belies the courtesies that come from his mouth. I think I will have the forester and some of his men check the woods occasionally during the day and make sure that he does not become ‘lost’ again.”

“Thank you, my lord; I appreciate your assistance,” Elizabeth answered. “I am sure Georgiana will feel better knowing that Mr. Walker cannot disturb us.”

He returned her warm smile and went back to the library, where he had been reading before Mr. Walker had arrived, while she followed the others upstairs.

Utrum que enim vitium est, et omnibus credere et nulli.

(It is equally unsound to trust everyone and to trust no one.)

—Seneca,
Epistulae

While Elizabeth was returning upstairs to rejoin her sisters and Lady Whitwell, Darcy was recovering from a brutal ride to London. They had changed carriage horses at posting inns along the way and ridden from dawn to dusk to dawn, arriving at Ashbourne House on the morning of the second day. Burton had received the letter informing him that Darcy was coming to do some business, and he greeted his master without surprise at the unorthodox time of his arrival. Darcy ordered that breakfast be served in an hour and hurried upstairs, where his valet had already arranged a hot bath and clean clothes.

He tried to relax and enjoy the hot water as it soaked away the aches and stiffness from the trip, but without much success. As he was dressing, Burton brought a message from Colonel Fitzwilliam that he would pick him up at nine pm to take him to Carlton House. The Prince Regent would be preparing to go out for the evening, and there would be a minimum of hangers-on to note their meeting. Darcy sent an acknowledgement and an invitation to dine at seven.

He was dressed in his finest evening clothes when the colonel arrived, and they left as soon as he and the colonel had finished dining. On the ride to Carlton House, the colonel told him that they would enter by the main entrance to avoid any suspicions; it would not do to have them seen sneaking around the back entrance like conspirators.

“The Prince Regent chose this time,” the colonel explained, “because there is enough moving about to make our presence inconspicuous, but his usual sycophants (my word, not his) are dressing for whatever amusement they have planned. He is most insistent that this be handled confidentially.”

“Have you any idea yet why he wants to see me?” Darcy asked.

The colonel shook his head. “No, he has not dropped a syllable beyond what I told you at Pemberley. All I know is that he needs a gentleman who is completely discreet to perform some service for him. You, Darcy, are the most discreet person I know.” He gave his cousin a brief grin.

The carriage pulled up at the entrance of Carlton House and they alighted and walked up to the door, which had opened to reveal the majordomo by the time they had reached the top step.

“Good evening, Colonel Fitzwilliam, how may I serve you?”

“My cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, has an engagement with His Majesty the Prince Regent, Childes.”

“Yes, sir, I will ascertain if His Majesty is ready to see you. Please wait here.”

“Thank you, Childes.”

Childes returned immediately (causing Darcy to lift a brow in surprise), bowed them into an adjoining chamber dominated by a massive mahogany desk, and then left, shutting the door behind himself.

The Prince Regent entered quietly through an inner door. “Well, Darcy,” he said coldly, “I see that you are punctual, as usual.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I pray, Your Majesty, tell me how I may serve you.” Darcy returned his slight bow with one frigidly correct and stared levelly at his monarch.

The Prince Regent was a large man and his features were not unhandsome, but his looks were marred by his obesity and now, in his late middle age, he had a debauched look, with bloodshot eyes and sagging jowls.

“I have an errand that needs to be performed, of a most confidential nature,” the prince said as he paced the carpet, his hands clasped behind his back. “This errand requires someone who speaks French fluently and who is familiar with the Court; characteristics which are available in abundance among my courtiers. However, it also requires someone who can think quickly and keep his own counsel when he needs to; these characteristics are
not
found in great measure at the Court. The person performing this errand should also be someone whose absence will not be immediately commented upon, and so must be someone who is not a regular in court circles. The colonel has suggested that you would be the best man for this errand.”

“The colonel does me too much honour,” Darcy said, unsmiling.

“Darcy,” the prince said impatiently, “as you know, I have always considered you to be a prig, always disapproving of the enjoyments of others and too unimaginative to step out of the mould your father formed for you. I hear, however, that you were recently married and that your bride is a gentlewoman of no family name or pretensions, nor of any fortune.”

Darcy glanced at the colonel, his brows furrowed.

“No, no, I did not hear it from the ever-discreet colonel; it is a matter that I heard mentioned briefly in court gossip. Frankly, it was the cause of some chagrin to a number of predacious mammas.” He smiled slightly and flicked his fingers dismissively. “Now that you are married they have gone on to other, juicier topics of conversation. The incident has, however, made me wonder if I have misjudged you over the years. I wonder if, perhaps, there is more to you than meets the eye if you have the audacity to risk the displeasure of your formidable aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh in order to marry as you wish.” The Prince Regent eyed Darcy speculatively. “I would prefer to turn this problem over to Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose reticence I trust implicitly; however, he has his own work here and I cannot spare him.”

“If you have decided that I am the one who must perform this act, perhaps you will give me more details of what it is,” Darcy said, careful not to let his impatience show.

The prince sighed, rubbing his well-shaven chin uncomfortably. “I would prefer to avoid the entire topic, but ignoring it will not make the problem easier. So… about two months ago a new ambassador from the Austrian court arrived with his wife and household. His wife is French, a ravishing little creature who is about twenty years younger than her husband. We became friendly, and one thing led to another, but after a couple of weeks I tired of her attentions and wished to move on to… greener pastures, shall we say?” He looked at the ceiling and clasped his hands behind his back again, his movements uncharacteristically awkward, as Darcy gazed at him stonily. “She, however, with Gallic passion and tenacity, was not ready to fade into obscurity with the gifts and favours of a prince to remember, but had taken, as insurance against such an eventuality, something from my room. I need to have that item back.”

“What is the item, Your Majesty,” Darcy asked, his jaws clenching, “that is so important that you are willing to risk a scandal to obtain its return?”

The Prince Regent sat behind the desk and irritably turned a paper knife over in his hands. “It is a packet of letters. The letters are from a lady who has been a friend for many years. They are quite indiscreet. I do not know how Frau Klein found them and spirited them from my room, but they are gone.”

“How can you be sure that they were stolen by the ambassador’s wife?” Darcy asked.

“She left London not long before I discovered the loss—sent home by the ambassador because of her scandalous behaviour, presumably.” He added in an aside, “He is one of those horrible, rigidly upright Germanic types who could not see that it was an honour to have his wife singled out by a monarch. In any case, I received a letter from her a few days after, written from Paris, demanding what was, literally, a king’s ransom for the letters and threatening to send them to my wife if I did not pay her, a consequence that I need not say would be most undesirable.” He shivered slightly in horror, dabbing his lips with his lace-edged handkerchief. “The difficulty is that I do not have that kind of money, my income being totally inadequate to cover my expenses, as you are probably aware—which is why Parliament must periodically, and most grudgingly, give me grants to pay my debts,” he added irritably. “I most certainly do not have the money to pay off blackmailing females.”

Darcy suppressed a sigh. “Just how sensitive are these letters, Your Majesty?”

“Sensitive enough to affect the succession to the throne,” the prince said simply, finally looking Darcy in the eye.

“Good Lord, Your Majesty,” Darcy said weakly, “how many letters are there, all told?”

“There are about twenty of them; I do not know the exact number, but they were tied in a packet with a pink ribbon when they were stolen. Of course, I cannot know whether they have been separated since the theft.”

“Are there any other political concerns at stake that you know of, Your Majesty,” Darcy asked, “such as a foreign head of state who wishes to embarrass you or something of that sort?”

“Not that I know of,” replied the prince hesitantly. “I have not heard any murmurs of that kind since this started, but it would certainly be to Napoleon’s advantage if the British monarchy was in jeopardy and the country in turmoil; and the lady is undeniably in Paris, not in her husband’s native country.”

“If we could summarise the problem, then, Your Majesty: you wish me to travel to Paris while Napoleon is crouching near there with his army, baring his teeth at the armies of the Sixth Coalition, find these letters, and return without allowing them to fall into the hands of either Napoleon
or
the Coalition on the way. Is this correct?”

“Quite correct, Mr. Darcy,” said the Prince Regent, lifting his fat chin pugnaciously.

“How do you propose that I get the letters from the lady, and how can I be sure that I have them all, Your Majesty?”

“You could get them back the same way she obtained them in the first place,” the prince said, a smug smile crossing his face.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, I am not willing to go that far to assist you.”

“No, Darcy, I assumed you would not be,” he returned with disgust.

“Where can I find this femme fatale, Your Majesty?” Darcy asked pointedly.

“I have the particulars here.” He took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Darcy. “You must be ready to leave in the morning; the lady is expecting an answer within the next few days. I am sure you can find a ship willing to take you to Calais, for a consideration,” the prince said briskly, standing up and starting towards the door. “The colonel tells me that your sister is to be presented at the Drawing-room in four weeks, so you must be back before that day. He looked back as he reached the door and paused, his hand on the knob. “You will present your wife at the same time; I am eager to see what type of woman was able to capture the well-regulated heart of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Darcy said in resignation, bowing as the door clicked shut. He had hoped to avoid putting Elizabeth through the ordeal of the formal presentation at court, since he had no intention of attending any court functions with either his wife or his sister, but there would now be no alternative. He and the colonel made their way back out to the entrance in silence, where his carriage appeared, summoned by some unseen lackey.

“Well, this is a delightful situation that you have dropped me into, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy whispered bitterly. “I have not the first idea of how to accomplish this ‘errand,’ and the fate of the Crown may hang upon its success. Thank you so much, my dear cousin.”

“I am sorry, Darcy,” the colonel said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “but I could not think of anyone more capable than yourself to do this discreetly. I would have undertaken it myself if I could have absented myself, but I am in the middle of an important investigation. We have received several reports suggesting that there is an arms smuggling ring operating between here and France. These reports are not through official channels and are more in the nature of rumours than actual confirmed reports, but there are some suggestions that these same men may find it to their benefit to assassinate the Prince Regent and keep the war going, which is how I became involved. I think you will agree that the Prince Regent’s safety is more important than his love letters, and on the positive side, this is an opportunity for you to improve your standing with the prince, which may be of benefit to both Mrs. Darcy and Georgiana.”

“Well, it is done now, and I have agreed to attempt the thing. I will contact you when I return, as it is unlikely that I will be able to do so safely until I am back on English soil. What do you think the Coalition is planning over the next few weeks?”

“I know, as do you, that Napoleon is in France, where he has been driven by the Coalition forces from Eastern Europe. The British forces are moving up from the south towards Paris. Napoleon could conceivably be in Paris by the time you arrive there. If you must escape quickly, it would be better to try to leave from the south of Paris and meet up with the English forces or, better yet, from the west and avoid the armies entirely. Darcy,” the colonel added seriously, “be careful, Cousin, I am not ready to lose you and I had no idea what this errand was going to involve.”

“Believe me, I will be as careful as I can. I have a good many reasons to want to return unscathed.”

The two men shook hands solemnly before the colonel alighted and Darcy saw his cousin staring after the carriage before it rounded the corner and he was blocked from view.

***

At ten minutes past midnight, Darcy left the house in a hackney chaise, and he instructed the jarvey to drive to an inn on the Dover highway where the post chaise stopped. Burton had been given instructions to tell any callers that he was out of town but would be back within three weeks. As he drove away from Ashbourne House, Darcy suddenly realised the date and grimaced to himself. It was the Ides of March. He hoped they were more fortunate for him than they had been for Caesar.

***

Lord and Lady Whitwell and the rest of the Pemberley party arrived in London several days after Darcy’s departure. They had taken a leisurely four days to travel and Lady Whitwell had instructed Georgiana on court protocol during the drive; they had practised the court curtsey in the evening after they dined. By bedtime each night, Georgiana was trembling with nerves and sore muscles, sure that she would not survive her presentation without at least one major solecism. Her life would be ruined and she would be a laughing stock. Each night she would lie in bed, Lucky tucked comfortingly in next to her, and her stomach would churn as she tried to block out the instructions still repeating in her head. When she finally slept she would have only two or three hours rest before it was time to rise and dress for the day of travel. She was greatly relieved when she finally felt the cobblestones of the London streets under the carriage wheels.