Chapter 29
29
D arcy loved Pemberley. He had always preferred to spend many months of the year here, whenever duty did not take him to town or elsewhere. And the times when Georgiana came with him and they could spend the evenings enjoying each other’s company, were a double joy to him.
She would play for him, and those performances gave meaning and a reason for the many hours she spent in practice.
On other occasions, he would read to her from the classics while she occupied her hands with needlework, fashioning clothes or blankets for the infants born to his tenants. She was growing and learning about the duties of the mistress of an estate, and he was very proud of her.
They had now been at Pemberley for two weeks, and he felt himself unwinding; relaxing into his work at the estate, and beginning to let go of the tension always within him when in town. All he had to do now was to forget about Miss Elizabeth and he would be content.
He huffed a silent laugh to himself. That would never happen. Georgiana looked up, a question in her eyes, and he tried to think quickly.
Fortunately, the butler came to his side with a large packet on the silver letter salver.
“I have put the post on your desk as usual, sir. However, I have taken the liberty of bringing the parcel to you, as I know it is important that it gets your attention as soon as possible.”
Darcy nodded at him. “I thank you.” Recognising the hand on the original direction to Darcy House, he smiled at Georgiana.
“I think we have just received something which will keep you fully occupied for some time, my dear.”
She squealed in delight as Darcy reached onto the tray for the letter knife that had been their father’s — and grandfather’s before him — and carefully slit the edge of the wrapper. Then he handed it to her indulgently, and watched as she carefully opened it, ensuring none of the sheets were torn in her enthusiasm.
“Oh, William! Look how many pieces there are! I wonder why they are all published at once and not one or two a week?”
Darcy watched, amused. “If you like, I will confiscate them and issue them to you, grudgingly, one per week.”
“You would not dare!” She gathered them up and clutched them to her. And then both of them were laughing — Georgiana, seemingly relaxed due to his good humour, and Darcy, because of her joy — and the sight of Santorio music bringing back the memory of Miss Elizabeth playing so hauntingly at Lucas Lodge.
Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat. Was she still in town, with relations he did not know? Or had she returned to Longbourn? If so, was Mr. Collins still there? No, he must have had to return to his duties at Hunsford. Darcy found himself wishing, in a way, that he was back at Netherfield. Bingley was holding his intended ball later in the year than originally planned, and it was taking place next week. If he was there, he might dance with Miss Elizabeth again, and a flame of heat around his heart left him gasping for breath.
He pushed the thoughts away and saw Georgiana was watching him, her head on one side.
“There is something you are not telling me, William. Is it about Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
Darcy swallowed, and met her gaze. “What makes you think that?”
“You know exactly why I think it, dear brother.” Georgiana rolled her eyes at him. “You must remember what you wrote in your letters to me.” She rose to her feet, the new music clutched protectively to her. “And when you go back to Hertfordshire after Christmas, I want to go with you. I would like to meet Miss Elizabeth.”
With that, she curtsied, amusement in her eyes, and left the room.
Darcy shook his head; she appeared to have learned the art of the verbal cannonball from Miss Elizabeth.
He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. It seemed ladies held a steel core that he had never before discerned. He rather liked it — although he knew life would never be quite as comfortable again.
Shaking his head and smiling, he rose to his feet to go to his library and look at his post. He must write to Bingley, too, and wish him well for the ball — and the announcement of his betrothal.
Perhaps when Miss Bennet became Mrs. Bingley, it might help his own efforts to court Miss Elizabeth — especially if he encouraged Bingley to buy an estate in Derbyshire.
He stopped, one foot still raised. When had he really started thinking that he would court Miss Elizabeth?
He huffed a laugh, and continued towards his library. He had no choice, his heart would not allow him to think otherwise. As he walked through the hall, his mind drew an image of her descending the great stairs towards him, a soft smile on her face and the memory of her voice winding more tightly around his heart.
He knew he smiled, and was glad Georgiana was not here to see it. She would love Miss Elizabeth, who would be the perfect sister. And wife.
It was two days later that he was writing to Gardiner, his sister leaning over his shoulder, telling him exactly what she wanted to say.
“Georgiana, I know what you want me to write. It will be much easier if you let me write it without breathing down my neck.”
“I want to be certain you get it correct, William. It is important.”
Darcy put down his pen and swung round in his seat. “Do you not trust me, dear sister? I hardly recognise you.” His shy, quiet, timid sister had vanished, and in her place was a joyful young lady, who seemed to be in a state of high excitement. And it seemed to be all down to a particular piece of music in the Santorio bundle.
He smiled slightly; his sister had fallen with delight on the printed version of the piece Miss Elizabeth had played at the gathering at Lucas Lodge. She was, of course, already familiar with it from the hand-written version passed to her from Miss Elizabeth.
But her attention had very soon been drawn to another piece. She had practiced it, spending a lot of time upstairs in one of the practice rooms instead of in the drawing room, which he could faintly hear from his library.
He didn’t like the silence, but she had said it was an interesting piece and she wanted him to hear it when she was ready to perform.
“All right, Georgiana. I want to hear you perform that piece you’ve been rehearsing so seriously. If you play it for me tonight, then I will allow you more say in this letter tomorrow. How does that sound?”
She drew herself upright. “I think it is ready. Yes, I can do that. But you will write it in the morning, after breakfast? And post it at once?”
Darcy nodded. “I have to say I do not think Gardiner will actually agree to your wishes, but I will do the best I can for you.”
“Thank you, William. I know I can trust you.” Georgiana dropped a kiss on his forehead. Then she stepped away. “I will go to practice it again and make sure it is as good as it can possibly be, given that I only had the music two days ago.”
“Am I asking too much of you?” Darcy was anxious.
“Not at all.” She blew him a kiss as she hurried out of the room, and he shook his head.
“Mrs. Annesley.” He checked Georgiana’s companion as she made to follow her. “My sister seems very er … excitable. Is it something I ought to be concerned about?”
“I do not believe so, sir. This behaviour is very much what I would expect to see from a young lady of that age.”
“Thank you. Though she has always been shy and quiet, so it is rather disconcerting to see this.”
The woman smiled maternally. “I cannot speak for the time before I was appointed here, of course, but she has had a series of difficulties in her life — the loss of her mother, then her father, then the incident last summer. She has not had much to cheer her. But now she is excited, not just about the new music, but for you, if you will forgive my forwardness.”
“For me?” Darcy recoiled.
“You must forgive me, sir. But your sister seems to believe you may be thinking of marrying, and she cannot contain her joy.”
Darcy drew a deep breath. “I would be grateful if you can attempt to temper her expectations, please, Mrs. Annesley. She has not understood all the implications in this matter.”
“I see. Then I will do what I can, Mr. Darcy.”
That evening, Darcy listened to Georgiana. He found, strangely, that he felt he was listening to Miss Elizabeth some of the time, although there was no doubt his sister was not quite as skilled, and the ability to tear his heart out with emotion was not there.
But the music seemed so different, yet still obviously composed by Santorio. The crashing chords and relentless tempo reminded him of the military brass bands they had heard together when walking past the Artillery Garden in Bishopsgate some months ago. Now he knew why his sister seemed so different. He knew he sat straighter, and his foot tapped with the tempo. Almost he wished to be striding out along the paths of Pemberley. Suddenly, he felt invigorated, alive — and hopeful.
It was a full week before he received a reply from the publisher, and his lips tightened before he rose and went to find his sister.
“Georgiana, I have received a reply from Gardiner, and I’m afraid it is not as helpful as you wished it to be.”
She turned on the piano stool and glanced at the clock. “Do not sound so disheartened, William. Shall we go downstairs and take tea while we discuss it?”
When settled downstairs, he handed her the letter and reread it over her shoulder.
Mr. Darcy,
I am in receipt of your letter of the 19 th inst, and I thank you very much for your sister’s sentiments about Signor Santorio’s latest publications. His work, ‘The March of Hope’ has already received much acclaim, despite being so new, and I am sure the composer will be delighted when I inform him of the enjoyment it has engendered for your sister.
I am sorry I cannot furnish you with his direction; as I have said to everyone who enquires, he does not wish to be contacted directly, and I hope you will also communicate to your sister that he does not provide any teaching. There is no offence to your sister’s skill at the instrument, merely that there are many gifted masters who can be hired, and Santorio finds it better to refuse everyone than appear to have favourites.
I will be writing to him today with the well wishes I have received for him, and it will undoubtedly be a great joy and gift to him for the Christmas season.
May I finish by thanking you for your custom over the years, and I am happy to be of assistance whenever possible.
Yours, etc
Edward Gardiner
“I am sorry he is not more forthcoming, Georgiana.” Darcy reached for the letter, and folded it, frowning.
“Do not be so concerned, William. I thought it worth making the attempt, although I did not expect any different answer to the one we got.” She looked thoughtful. “But I am glad he will know of our appreciation before Christmas. I hope he is not lonely.”