Chapter 18 Impossible in Every Way
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IMPOSSIBLE IN EVERY WAY
Elizabeth’s dearest wish, on Mr D’s departure, was to burst into tears.
This was denied her. Instead, she was forced to smile in greeting to Anne, who swept regally into the room—having evidently recovered from the malady that had afflicted her two hours previous—Jenkinson scurrying behind her.
She was made to undergo all the tediousness of gathering up her belongings and summoning Mr Vaughan to show him what she had accomplished that day.
Arduous minutes were spent with Mr Vaughan instructing her further while Anne sighed impatiently, her gaze ostensibly on the art on the walls.
She continued to suppress her tears while they returned to Rosings House and greeted Lady Catherine, then refused their offer of refreshment in favour of running to the solitude of her bedchamber.
Then, with all the perverseness of such fits of pique, her tears would not come. She stood in the middle of the room, frustrated and grieved, a headache sending cruel darts into the backs of her eyes, wholly unable to experience the sweet relief of a good, damp sob.
It was a painful truth before her. She liked him. Perhaps she might have fallen in love with him, or perhaps she already had, or at least the side of him which was gentle and kindly, sweet, and not at all arrogant.
But the other side did exist. Mr D—or Mr Darcy if that was who he was—was not a man for her.
Not when her father lived, and certainly not now.
And it was precisely that which made her so angry.
A man like Mr D, who seemed to fit her ideally, could never be hers.
All she needed to do was speak the words—my father is dead and we are desperately poor and thus did I take employment—and she would never see hide nor hair of him again.
And that hurt her. Because she had begun to care for him.
And in case you have forgot, you are specifically forbidden from even being introduced to the infamous Mr Darcy.
She heard all the little grumblings and insults levelled at the infamous Mr Darcy by his own family.
She could not imagine they would take kindly to her disobeying them and falling in love with him.
It was a perfectly untenable position, best managed by extricating herself from the acquaintance.
Which was exactly what she had done. No doubt he despised her now.
No doubt he would never speak to her again regardless, not unless it was inescapable.
And if I do see him again, I will go the other way as quickly as I can.
Darcy left the gallery and strode for home with long, quick paces. It was when a young girl, with her governess, gasped at the thunder in his countenance that he realised what a fearsome creature he presented. He slowed, striving to appear sedate in direct contrast to the disorder of his spirit.
Miss L had completely beguiled him, sitting there so engaged in her work.
Her bottom lip, pink and plump, was caught between her teeth.
A beam of sunlight coming through the window had made warm chestnut highlights in her dark hair and set her fair skin aglow.
For a long, wonderful minute, he had imagined himself tracing the path of the sunbeam with his caress, through her hair and down her neck.
Her appeal, however, was not merely based on her handsomeness.
Yes, she was very pretty, a beauty; but there were beauties in abundance all about London.
There was something more to her, the sense that she held the key to his heart, the answer to all the many questions he had always had about women and love and romance.
And yet she will not so much as hear my compliments to her!
Ridiculous girl! Ladies all over London would be pleased to enjoy his attention—why should she be so different?
He formed perfect arguments against her his entire way home, full of examples of the superiority of his character, his position in life, and what he had to offer a woman.
In these arguments, conducted within his mind, he emerged not only victorious, but redeemed: Miss L not only acceded, but also assured him that she had no idea of ever so much as looking at any other man.
He arrived in his study and stood for a moment in the middle of the room, disappointment and anger rolling off him in waves.
Another man. A bitter taste flooded his mouth. She had not directly answered that query, had she? She had neatly sidestepped it with vexation towards him. That was the place where her amusement had turned to indignation.
What if she was kept by someone? Someone higher than he was; someone who paid a pretty penny for her fine gowns and art lessons. Someone who—he swallowed hard—paid to enjoy the delights of her body and her company whenever he so wished it.
“Bloody hell,” he growled into the room. It answered everything too neatly. She was a kept woman, and he had fallen in love with her. Had he ever done something more foolish?
It raised a dilemma within him. Would he want a woman who had been someone else’s mistress?
For Miss L, yes, I would. The answer came without equivocation.
He paced the room while he contemplated it. Another man before him. Well, they would need to wait a proper length of time to be married, to ensure that there was not a complication resulting from her prior situation. And after that?
The door opened and Saye strode in. “Come to White’s with me.”
“A good day to you too,” Darcy spat at him.
Saye rolled his eyes. “Good morning, dear cousin, how do you do? Full of spleen as ever, I see. May I have the honour of your presence at our club post-haste?”
“No. Yes.” Darcy exhaled noisily. “I do not know.”
Saye peered at him closely. “What on earth is the matter with you?”
“Let me ask you something,” Darcy replied and then stopped, carefully evaluating his cousin.
“It is something of great importance, and I must insist upon your discretion. Nay, not discretion, for you have none. Your absolute silence. You may not tell your father, your mother, your parson, Fitzwilliam, or Florizel about what I am to ask you.”
“Good lord!” Saye broke into a beaming grin. “This all sounds perfectly delightful. Yes, of course you have my silence. Shall I sit?”
He pointed to a comfortable chair and Darcy nodded, then poured a drink for each of them. He took the chair opposite his cousin and paused, taking a long, meditative sip.
“You are absolutely murdering me with these delays,” Saye informed him, taking a sip of his own drink. “Out with it!”
“I have…become acquainted, in a manner of speaking, with a woman.”
“When?”
“October.”
“October!”
“October is when I met her. I had not seen her for several months until I met her again in London in February.”
After another long pause, Saye prompted him. “And…”
“She is a beautiful lady, elegant, clever, witty, charming… She is everything I could ever have wished for in a marriage partner, and I have spent these six months positively obsessed with her.”
“What is the problem, then? Offer for her. Unless…” Saye’s eyes narrowed at his cousin’s face. “She is unsuitable in some way, I suppose?”
Darcy pressed his lips together a moment before admitting, “I think she is someone’s mistress.”
He had achieved the impossible: shock rendered Saye silent. Then he began to laugh, continuing until tears rolled from his eyes. Darcy waited patiently until Saye was done, and had pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his eyes.
“Gadzooks, Darcy. Can you not simply fall in love with a debutante like anyone else does?”
“Evidently not.” Darcy shook his head. “It is impossible, yes? A man of my status should never consider…”
“Consider what? What is it you wish to do?”
Darcy pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace. “I hardly know. Can you buy someone’s mistress from them? And then make that mistress your wife?”
“Perhaps it would be more reasonable to make her your own mistress,” Saye suggested, then threw up his hands in reply to the look Darcy gave him. “Do not open fire on me! You know it is what any other man of our acquaintance would do.”
“I have not been raised to treat women as chattel,” Darcy retorted. “Miss L would be my wife or nothing.”
“Miss L?” Saye asked.
Darcy returned to his seat and sat down again. “I do not know her name.”
Saye threw back his head and enjoyed another hearty laugh. “Ah, Darcy. What a blunderbuss you are.” He shook his head. “You cannot be in earnest. You do not even know this woman’s name?”
“Our first meeting was…unusual.” Darcy quickly told his cousin how it had been, leaving out that he had gone over that memory in his mind so often that every detail was as fresh to him as if it happened yesterday.
“Hmm.” Saye drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Merry Fox. You know, I have often thought it would be diverting to open taverns named after torture devices. The Brazen Bull. The Rack. Iron Apega. Would that not be hilarious?”
“Is that what you heard from my story? Diverting tavern name?”
“No, no, I heard it all, and if I am being frank…”
“When are you not frank?” Darcy asked drily.
“A few hours in a storage closet, and you are in love?” Saye shook his head. “Seems like nonsense, Darcy, and not your game at all.”
“Clearly it is not my wont to fall in love with strangers and yet…I did. And all further intercourse has only strengthened my attachment to her.”
“How many meetings have you had?”
“Four.”
“Dances?”
“I have not been attending parties, if you will remember, and in any case—we are not introduced. Our second meeting, in February, was at a bookshop, the third in a dark hall at Lady Whitmore’s ball, a month ago.
That was when she told me she did not seek a husband.
” And when she yanked her hand away as if I was about to bite her, he thought, but did not tell his cousin that part.
“You last saw her a month ago?”
“No, I saw her today, at the British Institution.”
“And it was today you learnt she was someone’s mistress?” When Darcy nodded, Saye covered his face with both hands and moaned. “I do not know whether to laugh or take you down to Jackson’s to pummel some sense into you.”
“Just answer the question,” Darcy insisted. “Is it possible for me to marry her?”
“Of course not,” Saye said, dropping his hands with a last chuckle and a sigh. “Mistress, yes. Wife, no. Can you imagine what Lady Catherine would say about that?”
The answer was what Darcy believed he might hear and yet hoped he would not. With a sigh, he raised his hand to his mouth, biting on the pad of his thumb in a manner he had not done since his days at university.
“Whose mistress is she? If you say Prinny—”
“I am not wholly certain she is someone’s mistress. I simply cannot think of another reason a young, beautiful woman with charm enough to beguile me senseless is roaming about London, often alone, with seemingly ample funds to do anything she wishes,” Darcy replied.
“Oh! Well, that is better. Could she be an actress?” Saye enquired. “Or someone’s maid, perhaps?”
“An actress!” Darcy greeted that notion with some enthusiasm. “Now that would be a fine thing.”
“Still scandalous, but considerably less so,” Saye agreed. He rose and went to pour himself a brandy, then returned to his chair. “You have seen her at one ball, yes?”
“Lady Whitmore’s, who invites absolutely anyone and would not scruple to have an actress in her home,” said Darcy with a nod.
“And that is the only party she attended? No dinners, no balls since then?”
“I am not attending parties this Season,” Darcy reminded him. “She might be at all of them, for what I know. Lady Whitmore’s ball was the first and last I attended this Season.”
“And I can see how that pains you,” said Saye with a chuckle. “My only real surprise is that you have not decamped to Pemberley yet.”
“I would save for the fact that I do not wish to leave Georgiana behind,” said Darcy. “And of course because that would then eliminate every possibility of discovering the truth of Miss L.”
“Have you met Anne’s friend? Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Saye enquired pensively. “The woman you describe is much like her, and she has been forbidden from being introduced to you.”
Darcy shook his head. “I was not introduced, of course, but I saw her with Anne at Lady Whitmore’s ball. It was decidedly not that lady, although there was some little resemblance.”
“What about a widow?” Saye suggested.
“Widow!” Darcy exclaimed happily. “Yes, now that would be splendid, if only she were someone’s widow. But why then would she say she could not seek a husband? Could not, or would not—I do not recollect exactly what she said.”
“Because she is still mourning him?”
“I have never seen her wear mourning attire.”
“Perhaps if she marries again, she must forfeit the enormous fortune he left her.”
Darcy nodded, considering it. “I simply must see her again. End this anonymity nonsense and find out who she truly is, and whether it is, indeed, impossible.”
“I would most certainly do that before I went about London asking men if they happened to have a Miss L as their mistress.” Saye laughed again.
“Now come, I want you to go to White’s with me.
We have talked about your problems long enough, and now I must tell you about the latest harpy my father wishes to shackle me to. ”