Chapter 4
4
WHO IS WHO on Darcy’s tongue words withered and died.
The occupants of the room—eleven, if one counted him and Elizabeth—gaped at the two of them. Whispers then circulated round the parlour like wind through willows.
“Well,” said Mr Monroe, going to stand beside Darcy. “This is unexpected. I knew Miss Bennet was acquainted with Mr Hadley here.” The attorney indicated the blushing, widely smiling young man with coppery hair. “But this association was unforeseen.”
Of course! Bingley’s double—that nervous chap I saw at Pemberton & Monroe. How the deuce does he know Elizabeth?
“Ahem.” Mr Monroe raised his voice. “I had planned on addressing this once Miss Kensett arrived, but I want to make something perfectly clear right now. No matter their prior connexion, there will be no collusion permitted between competitors.” He pointedly caught Elizabeth’s eye, then Mr Hadley’s, then Darcy’s. “Is that understood?”
Everyone nodded, including the butler, a liveried footman, two serving girls, and two women Darcy had yet to meet, one in much finer clothing than the other.
And who is that? Darcy watched a gentleman, slightly older than himself, sidle up to Elizabeth. He and Mr Hadley demonstrated a marked interest in her, but whether it was of an adversarial, platonic, or romantic nature—or just Darcy’s own imagination—was debatable. Not that it is any concern of mine, but I shall keep an eye on them nevertheless.
Cheeks overspread with a rosy glow, Elizabeth said something to both gentlemen, then moved in Darcy’s direction, still looking as utterly astonished to see him as he was to see her. Had she read his letter? Would she even acknowledge him?
It immediately became evident her manners were as unaffected and pleasing as ever. She curtseyed and greeted him and smiled so sweetly that Darcy’s poor heart ached. Then she turned to Mr Monroe. “I am curious, sir. I realise we beneficiaries will be rivals and that it would be to one’s disadvantage to assist another. But why is collaboration strictly forbidden?”
The attorney rubbed his temples. Darcy suspected he had a headache. “Really, I should wait for Miss Kensett before delineating the rules.” Consulting his watch, Mr Monroe muttered, “She has less than a quarter of an hour to arrive with any degree of punctuality. But, very well, I shall gratify your curiosity. My client made it indisputable that her house was not to be put up for purchase—which is what Miss Armstrong and I assumed would happen if two or more competitors joined forces and won the tournament.”
He contemplated Elizabeth and Darcy for a moment. “Unless… I suppose… If two beneficiaries were engaged to marry… Young lady, do you and Mr Darcy have an understanding?”
Squaring his shoulders, Darcy spoke up. “Miss Bennet and I do not have an understanding.” As though such a pronouncement was not crystal clear, he added, “We most certainly are not engaged to marry.” She would not have me.
She regarded him with something like regret—not that she had refused him, of course, but that he had just behaved so poorly, and Darcy felt like the worst sort of boor. Bad form, you idiot. Bad form. But what else could he expect on the eleventh?
One of the mature women, the more finely attired one, rushed to Elizabeth’s side and spoke softly while patting her arm.
In Kent, Darcy had been certain he, eventually, would be the one to comfort her and offer succour. Alas, it never was to be. Accustomed to obtaining whatever his heart desired, he still could not understand why such a fate had befallen him. Nor could he imagine how he would make it through the se’nnight in one piece.
After what has passed between us, it will ill suit the feelings of either to remain in the same house. One of us will have to politely make our excuses and depart.
Mr Monroe consulted his watch again and muttered, “Someone is in imminent danger of being eliminated.”
Yes, I deserve that. Darcy hoped eliminated simply meant disqualified and not something more dire. Glancing round the room, he noticed the unfamiliar gentleman smirking while watching the goings-on.
“We shall wait exactly eleven more minutes for the late Miss Kensett.” Releasing an exasperated sigh, the attorney looked heavenwards. “Late I mean as in tardy.” He rubbed a temple again. “Mrs Vincent, more tea, if you please.”
While the other mature woman—the one Darcy assumed was the housekeeper—sprang into action, Mr Monroe turned to Darcy. “Since you are already acquainted with Miss Bennet, allow me to make you known to the rest of our party.”
Subsequently, Darcy was presented to Miss Grace Rigby, the lady who had comforted Elizabeth and was acting as chaperon for the se’nnight. He surmised she was in her fortieth year. Next he was formally introduced to Mr David Hadley and Mr Peter Fordham. Then he met the household servants—being the housekeeper, two maids, and the footman Christopher, who, in addition to his other duties, would provide, along with his brother Alfred, the services of a valet to the gentlemen.
By that time the ladies had crowded round a table and were pouring out the tea. Thinking it advisable to get his apology over and done with as soon and as quietly as possible, Darcy approached Elizabeth. It took exactly eleven steps.
Blocking his way, Miss Rigby moved closer to her and, in a whisper Darcy could not help overhearing, said, “That man will not come and bother you, Miss Bennet, I am determined. You want nothing to do with him, do you?”
Miss Rigby certainly seems to know who is who and what is what. Not to be thwarted in his attempt, Darcy leant round the chaperon and, with commendable respect, begged for a moment of Elizabeth’s time. Likewise leaning to one side, she nodded her acceptance and moved with him so they might, if they spoke quietly, be out of everyone’s earshot.
“Miss Bennet”— I long to hear your name or see your face and no longer care —“I beg forgiveness for the harsh manner in which I responded to an enquiry made to you by Mr Monroe moments ago. It was not only rude but unfeeling, and I truly am sorry for my boorish behaviour. There can be no excuse for it. But, to be honest, your presence here shook my equilibrium.”
“I rather think the butler’s impact did that, Mr Darcy. But, please, think nothing of it. You spoke only the truth.” Her words were kind, but the look in her eyes still spoke of disappointment in his conduct.
She assumes I have not taken any of her words to heart. But he had, and he was trying to better understand how the whole affair had gone so wrong. And he was trying to be a better gentleman. He could not afford to repeat the same mistakes when, if ever, he fell in love again.
Between them, silence stretched taut. The strained tension seemed endless to Darcy, but according to the tick of a nearby pendulum, it had lasted mere seconds. Since Hunsford, days feel like months, weeks like years.
On both sides then, civil enquiries and responses on common subjects were attempted. All the while, what had happened at Hunsford—his marriage proposal, her vehement refusal—loomed over them like a heavy, friction-filled cloud.
Mr Hadley advanced and gave Darcy a dark, thunderous look. “Miss Bennet,” he said, expression gentling and concern evident in his tone, “I could not help noticing… Are yo u well? May I fetch you another cup of tea? Or a glass of sherry?”
She smiled and thanked him but declined. “Mr Hadley, if it is not meant to remain private, will you tell me about your further association with Miss Armstrong? I assume you visited her here.”
Darcy could not subdue his own curiosity. “If you have no objection, I should like to hear about both of your connexions with her.” And about your own acquaintance. Not that I care a jot.
The three of them were joined by Miss Rigby, and together they sat in a cosy grouping of four leather chairs with Darcy across from the chaperon and Mr Hadley opposite Elizabeth. The younger man then enthusiastically recounted his wild ride through Cheapside and Elizabeth’s rescue of Miss Armstrong.
“And so, the dear old lady bequeathed me a curricle and two flashy Cleveland bays. Although curricle accidents are common, I suppose she thought I might be less danger to myself and to others while sitting atop a buggy rather than a horse.”
Darcy’s features twisted into a reproachful expression. There is no excuse for such ineptitude…nor for blushing like a missish maiden every time Elizabeth smiles at you.
Evidently eager for any scrap of her attention, Mr Hadley turned to Elizabeth. “You may be pleased to know Bailey now roams greener pastures at Eastmeadow Park over in Eton Wick and is less skittish than he was in London. Originally, our family was from the North, but my older brother, Owen, inherited our uncle’s modest estate. I often stay there with him and Bailey.” Pausing, he took a sad look about the parlour. “I am grieved Miss Armstrong is gone. I visited her frequently and chatted with her in this very room, and— I say!” His eyes opened wide. “Do you suppose that is why she named me in her will?”
Darcy’s heart gave a little lurch when Elizabeth smiled sweetly at the other gentleman. Yes, madam, the youngster’s humility is to be commended. It is a virtue seated between the abominable vices of arrogance and moral weakness.
“Mr Hadley,” he said, “you remind me of a very good friend of mine, not only in appearance but in character, which is a compliment to you.” Although speaking to the young man, Darcy’s gaze rested upon Elizabeth. “Having given him some ghastly counsel, I have not been such a good friend as he has been to me.”
“Oh well, if he is anything at all like me,” said Mr Hadley, “he will forgive you. But only after you are honest with him and apologise for whatever ghastly guidance you gave.”
“Excellent advice,” said Elizabeth. “Do you not think so, Mr Darcy?” Her silent challenge spoke volumes.
“Indeed. And that is why, upon leaving Kent, I put pen to paper and did what is morally correct, as advocated by this clever young man here.”
Head bowed, Mr Hadley denied being clever. Sitting up straighter, he said, “Speaking of counsel and of advocation, though, I hope to plead cases in a court of justice one day.”
“Studying to be a barrister, are you?” enquired Miss Rigby.
“Yes, madam, and during my stay here I hope Mr Monroe will answer some questions about his occupation.”
“I rather expect,” said Darcy, “we shall be too busy trying to win the forthcoming tournament, whatever it might entail, to think about much else.”
“Oh, I have no expectation of winning a contest of mental acuity. The chaps at the Inns of Court say my wit is as thick as Tewkesbury mustard. ”
“Spread no malicious slander upon your knowledge, Mr Hadley,” said Elizabeth, eyes twinkling. “I cannot abide false-spoken statements.”
Turning red, he thanked her. “Now I am all anticipation to hear about your more well-deserved bequest from Miss Armstrong. Will you speak of it, please, Miss Bennet?”
“Certainly.” Raising her feet and a bit of her hems clear of the floor, she exposed not only dainty brocade slippers with shiny buckles but, unintentionally, a pair of nicely turned ankles.
As it would have been ungentlemanly to ogle them, Darcy averted his eyes. Besides, I already glimpsed those ankles at Netherfield during Bingley’s ball when she danced a lively reel with some unworthy partner.
“I was given Miss Armstrong’s gold-headed cane and these pretty little golden buckles from her shoes. Are they not lovely?” Elizabeth waggled her feet back and forth, and Mr Hadley followed the movement with undue interest until Miss Rigby cleared her throat and gave the young man a stern look.
Crossing one leg over the other, Darcy silently scoffed. A rather meagre legacy, considering you saved the woman from harm.
When he was asked about his own experience with Miss Armstrong, Darcy recounted the woman’s brief stay at his estate, his gift of a Pomeranian pup, and his being given a strangely shaped parcel during his appointment with Mr Monroe. “I had an inkling what might be inside. Still, when I unwrapped the unwieldy bundle, it was disturbing to have the preserved Biscuit the dog land feet up upon my carriage floor.”
“By George!” cried Mr Hadley. “Good old Biscuit! I knew the dear dog well. Miss Bennet, if you like, in the galleried hall I can show you several portraits of Biscuit.”
When she indicated she would like that, Darcy told himself he cared not a groat about the two of them spending time together. That was before eleven foolish words spilled forth from his tongue. “I can do better than that. I, essentially, have Biscuit himself.” Of course, you would have to go to my town house to see him, and that will not be happening in either of our lifetimes.
Miss Rigby broke a prolonged and awkward interval of silence. “I have heard of upholsterers using rags to stuff the cured skins of trophy animals but not of family pets.”
Regaining a modicum of his considerable dignity, Darcy said, “Cotton-wrapped wire was used, I believe, to support Biscuit’s form.”
“My word! What a peculiar bequest! Some might consider it stuff and nonsense.” Mr Hadley grinned with pride when Elizabeth uttered a delightful little giggle.
Darcy cared nought for wordplay. Nor did he care for the pleasure the two younger people seemed to find in one another’s company. Witnessing it hurt his wounded pride.
A crunch of carriage wheels from the gravel sweep sent the attorney and housekeeper scampering from the room.
At that point, Mr Fordham—holding a wine glass with his left hand and a plate of fruit and nuts in his right—hooked a foot round the leg of a Hepplewhite chair. Dragging it, with a screech, inch by inch across the oak floor, he manoeuvred it into place beside Miss Rigby and apologised when a walnut fell upon her lap.
Shortly thereafter, a female voice cried out, “Here I am! At last!”