Chapter 14 To Meet Again
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TO MEET AGAIN
Darcy had not intended to walk along Bond Street at the fashionable hour, but his solicitor’s chambers lay just beyond, and there was no avoiding the thoroughfare entirely.
He kept his hat pulled low and his gaze fixed ahead, aware that he was the subject of considerable speculation thanks to the family disagreement.
Lady Catherine’s petition was preposterous; it seemed that the more outlandish the claim, the more eagerly it was discussed in drawing rooms across Mayfair.
Would it never end, this persecution from them? They had turned their backs on him, taken his sister from him, and now his reputation. Had they forgotten he was the son of their sister? Did it not signify that, save for this one thing, he had always done right by them?
He had nearly reached the corner when a flash of pale green pelisse caught his eye.
A young lady hurried down the street, something in the manner of her walk, and the three curls which bounced on her nape beneath her bonnet, arresting him.
Then she turned her face to look the opposite direction, and he saw her face in full.
It was Miss L. His heart, that traitorous thing, leapt.
She was alone save for a footman trailing her at a discreet distance, and she was utterly lovely in the late spring sunlight. She did not seem to perceive him, so he enjoyed a moment of study.
Her pelisse was well-cut, the fabric clearly expensive, and when she gestured to the footman—seeming to indicate which shop she meant to enter—the ease of the exchange spoke of means and consequence.
He longed to cross the street and go to her, but their last meeting still burned in his memory—the firmness in her voice when she declared she did not seek a husband, and most of all, the sharp withdrawal of her hand from his touch.
She had yanked her hand away as though scalded.
The mortification of that had plagued him since, even more so than the gossips bandying about his name had.
Miss L entered the shop, and the footman took up a position of waiting, glancing idly about towards the street.
Darcy did not recognise him from any of the houses he frequented, but nevertheless he retreated into the shadow of a doorway.
He must become adept at avoiding notice.
He had sat at his desk declining invitations all morning, an exercise he imagined would soon become unnecessary as the London hostesses decided his ungentlemanlike behaviour was not worth having at their parties.
His father would have been appalled by Lady Catherine’s behaviour, would have confronted her directly and ended her persecution with a few well-chosen words. But his father was gone, and his Darcy uncle, while sympathetic, had not liked the notion of entangling himself in such a thing.
It was illuminating indeed to see the real character of those he had esteemed so highly.
Lady Catherine had always been domineering, but he had thought her good at heart.
That changed when she had slapped him. Lord Matlock he had believed loved him like a son.
Evidently not. And his uncle Darcy too chicken-hearted to offer anything beyond the barest consolation.
I have always been possessed of such a strong familial pride! Somewhere in his mind and heart, he had truly believed them superior to other families. Grandson of an earl, part of the estimable Fitzwilliam family and the equally admirable Darcys.
None of it was any more substantial than a puff of smoke, and equally useful. They were like any other family, common or noble.
Pride, he had once believed, was a gentleman’s prerogative—the natural consequence of good breeding and respectable connexions.
But pride was a luxury afforded only to those whose position was secure, whose family stood behind them regardless of circumstance.
Without that bulwark, pride became mere arrogance, and arrogance without support was simply foolishness.
Perhaps I should retreat to Pemberley. Pemberley beckoned, a sanctuary, a haven from the gossip of London. He might spend the summer consumed in the familiar rhythms of the estate, and return to London only once Anne was married and Lady Catherine’s baseless accusations were proved to be nonsense.
But he did not like to leave Georgiana; even if he rarely saw her, knowing she was less than a mile away soothed him somehow.
Even more than that, to go to Derbyshire would mean that he had no chance whatsoever to meet Miss L.
And even if she had no wish to meet him, he did wish to meet her, to come to know her and perhaps even love her.
She said she had no wish for a husband, but surely she had not meant it?
What if he quit town and returned to find Miss L had become a Mrs?
Miss L emerged from the shop, a small parcel now tucked under her arm.
The footman stepped forwards to take it, and she surrendered it with a kindly smile.
She then paused to adjust her gloves, and for one terrible moment, her gaze swept towards his hiding place.
Then she began to move towards him, and he realised she would need to pass by to continue to her next destination.
There was nothing for it. He would need to go past her. It would surely look less suspicious than if she saw him lurking about in the doorway.
He stepped forwards and began to walk at an unhurried pace towards her.
When they met, he thought he saw her give a little start, her eyes flying upwards for the briefest, scantest seconds.
Then she lowered her face again and hurried past, no sign of recognition having passed between them.
It felt like a dagger had gone through his heart.
It is as it should be, as it must be, he reminded himself, feeling bitter nevertheless as he continued on his way to his solicitor.
It gave her a jolt to see Mr D on Bond Street, and it pained her inexplicably to pass him by with no notice. It is for the best, she told herself. He is a man of means, and he is not for you. And he is likely Mr Darcy, the one person you were told not to meet.
Anne and Lady Catherine had retired to their bedchambers for the afternoon rest both required, and Elizabeth, never one to nap during the day, spent the hours reading.
Or at least trying to read; her thoughts were too consumed by Mr D.
She wished Anne or Lady Catherine might still have been with her so that by their reactions she might have known his identity.
She asked the footman who accompanied her if he had known who the man was, but the young man only shook his head, explaining that he had only held his position since January and was not in London before that.
Only stop thinking of it, she scolded herself over and over again. What can any of this signify?
When Anne had awoken from her rest, she sent word to Elizabeth that she might like to take a turn round the square. Elizabeth, never one to disagree with fresh air, was immediately agreeable.
They set out at a slow pace, Elizabeth admiring the fine edifices along with the ample greenery as they walked.
Anne enjoyed telling her which notable personages occupied which of the lovely houses, and Elizabeth was amazed anew that she found herself in such surroundings, even if she was paid to be there.
“Does, um, your cousin live hereabouts?” she enquired. It seemed reasonable that he might. After all, Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock had adjacent homes.
“No,” said Anne, sounding haughty. “Only noblemen can get one of these houses. Darcy might be the grandson of an earl, but he is not himself an aristocrat.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said as they continued to stroll. Anne appeared to be in a good humour, so she further ventured to ask, “Were you in love with him?”
Anne pondered that as they went a short distance more. At last she said, “I wanted to be married. You see why, do you not? Mama, I fear, is not…” She let the sentence dangle, apparently unwilling to give voice to her fears.
“You do not think it only the heat?”
“The heat is part of it,” Anne admitted.
“It does seem that excessive warmth provokes these episodes, and I have told Dawson to be easy with her corset… Of course, then some of her dresses are too tight and she scolds Dawson for ruining them in the laundry. The first episode she suffered was the worst—she fainted and fell down the stairs at Rosings.”
“Oh no,” Elizabeth said, feeling truly dismayed for her ladyship. “Has she seen a physician?”
Anne nodded gravely. “He said she suffers from something to do with her heart; it is called angina.” She looked down at the path beneath her feet then, quietly telling Elizabeth, “It will eventually kill her, and alas there is nothing to be done. I think my mother believes she can scold it away. She gave the doctor quite a dressing-down for daring to diagnose her with such a malady.”
Elizabeth gave a weak little laugh at that.
“She claims the doctor is an old fool and insists she will live to be eighty or so, but it was not long after that when her wish to see me married grew to a fever.”
“And when was that?”
“Shortly before Mr Darcy jilted me,” said Anne. “The summer of ’10, and then she had two more episodes in the autumn—it was quite warm in the autumn that year.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said.
“She went to Pemberley that Christmas with her plans all laid. She decided that Darcy would propose then and that he and I would marry in early February at St George’s, after which we would all remain in town for the Season. It seemed agreeable enough to me.”
They walked a bit farther and then Anne continued.
“Darcy has always been there. He always came with his father, at Easter, and then when my uncle died, he continued to come. It seemed to me that he cared, about me and about Rosings. If he had fallen in love with someone else, I suppose I might have understood it better, but he offered no explanation at all. Or none to me, at least.”
Elizabeth glanced over. Anne wore such bonnets as to make beholding her face impossible, but by her accents, Elizabeth knew she was reliving her dismay. She slid her arm into Anne’s. “It must have felt as if the rug was pulled out from under you.”
“Yes.” Anne turned to look at her. “Just so. As if the ground suddenly gave way beneath my feet. And now, here I am, most women my age having long since married, just hoping and praying I can find someone who will like me for me, at least a little, and not only want to get his hands on Rosings.”
“You are brave,” she told her.
Anne looked over with surprise.
“It is not easy to do this, particularly when you have not done it before.”
Anne laughed, an unpractised, high tinkle of humour. “There is something no one has ever called me before. Brave! Yes, I rather like your idea of me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth squeezed her arm. “We will find you a husband who is mad for you, not merely your property, because you do not deserve any less.”