Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
T hey arrived in Mayfair in the late afternoon. Lord and Lady Fulford’s house was far grander than anything Elizabeth had ever encountered. Large, flagstone steps led to the main door, where a white portico framed the entryway, standing bright and brilliant against the red brick walls. Twisted, dormant rose stems were trained neatly above the majestic fan-light. A housekeeper, whose name Elizabeth did not catch, greeted them, and they were shown through a stately corridor and into a drawing room.
Elizabeth could scarcely take in its beauty. Every corner was filled with elegant furniture or a splendid work of art. They were greeted by a tall, striking, young woman, with auburn hair and a freckled complexion. Lady Fulford’s attire was of exceptional quality, but there was no pretension in it, and something about her immediately reminded Elizabeth of Charlotte Lucas.
“Well, come closer, then. I must say, you are nothing like I expected,” Lady Fulford said, giving Elizabeth a swift appraisal. She beckoned for them to be seated. “Sit by the fire and warm yourself—and I can inspect you better if you do.”
Elizabeth laughed and lowered herself into a chair near the hearth. “Dare I ask what you were expecting?”
“I was certain I would see perfection, to tell you the truth. Darcy is known for his exacting taste, and I thought if he were ever to take a bride, she would be a tiresome paragon of female excellence.”
“What led you to suppose that I am not such a person?” Elizabeth found it was impossible to be anything but diverted. She supposed it was the light-hearted manner of Lady Fulford’s speech or the teasing expression in her eyes.
“Oh, almost everything about you.” Lady Fulford smiled broadly. “But I am glad of it. Darcy told me that I would like you, and I believe he was correct.”
“He did?” Elizabeth glanced at her father, who had drawn up a chair next to her. By the amused purse of his lip, she knew he found Lady Fulford’s friendliness as amusing as she did.
“Well, no, he said nothing of the sort. He insisted I was not to meddle in his affairs, which made me desperate to do so immediately, as he knew it would. The sly devil! He said little about you, and, obviously, the greater his reticence, the more I needed to know everything. I quizzed him incessantly until he broke and begrudgingly conceded that you have very fine eyes. He claims you and I are of a similar lively spirit, from which I surmised he feels we would be good friends.”
“I cannot but be glad he recommended my daughter so highly. It shows he has more sense than I had believed,” Mr Bennet said, his eyes twinkling.
Lady Fulford laughed. She reached for the bell, saying, “I thought you would prefer to take a light meal here rather than sit all formal for dinner when you have just arrived. We shall eat together after you have had a chance to refresh yourselves.”
“I would be most grateful,” Mr Bennet replied.
Lady Fulford nodded, then turned to Elizabeth and said, “I have a feeling we shall get along famously. And we shall be family soon enough, which gives us an incentive to do so.”
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said. The observation made her uneasy; she disliked deceiving people, especially when they were as agreeable as Lady Fulford.
“I shall afford you the luxury of one night’s sleep before I begin cajoling you for more information than I could squeeze out of my taciturn cousin.”
Elizabeth laughed, deciding she liked her hostess. “I thank you for the warning. I shall be sure to rest well in preparation for your questioning.”
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Lady Fulford said, evidently pleased by Elizabeth’s light-hearted response. “Tomorrow, you will be reunited with your beloved. I anticipate teasing him mercilessly. Taunting Darcy has long been one of my favourite pastimes.”
Startled to learn that Mr Darcy would be calling the day after her arrival, Elizabeth’s eyes drifted towards her father for help.
“We were not aware of his intention to pay Elizabeth a visit so soon,” he said.
“How very like Darcy not to tell you of his plans! I am sure he could not possibly stay away, knowing you are here. He has always done exactly as he wishes.” A clattering sound echoed from deep inside the house and drew their attention. Lady Fulford smiled, but it seemed less warm than her previous ones. “In all likelihood, that is my husband. He sent his apologies for not greeting you, but he is unwell and has stayed abed.” Her eyes flickered towards the door, and she muttered under her breath, “I pity the poor servants who are at his constant beck and call.”
Elizabeth regarded the other lady with curiosity. Was Lord Fulford truly ill, or did he simply not wish to meet her and her father? And did Lady Fulford mean to imply he was a demanding master? In an instant, the lady’s mood was jovial again.
Elizabeth and Mr Bennet were shown to their own rooms, where they changed quickly for their meal with Lady Fulford. When they were escorted back to the drawing room, the refreshments had arrived, and they all sat and talked longer than Elizabeth had expected. Lady Fulford was of a talkative disposition, and conversation flowed easily; their party only broke apart when Mr Bennet pleaded weariness. A servant returned Elizabeth to her chamber, and after the usual preparations, she sank into the feather-bed, glad to be alone at last. Lady Fulford has been an unexpected pleasure, she reflected. But tomorrow's reunion with Mr Darcy will be sure to test my strength.
“Darcy!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice permeated Darcy’s consciousness, rousing him from his sleep. Lifting his head from his desk, his arms ached from spending all night in an awkward position. Bleary-eyed, he looked at his cousin.
“I hear I am to wish you happiness,” Fitzwilliam said.
The clock on the mantelpiece of Darcy’s library told him it was too early to be receiving visitors, even family, and he scowled at his cousin. “When did you arrive back in England?”
“Last night.” Fitzwilliam dropped into a chair. “Imagine my surprise when, after months toiling overseas, longing for the day I am amongst my beloved family again, I am no sooner through the door of my parents’ house then I am given another mission. Apparently, my serious, ponderous curmudgeon of a cousin is to be married and I must discover everything about the lady! Theirs is a complicated union, I am told. There is some sort of scandal about the business—according to the Morning Gazette .”
“What do you expect me to say?” Darcy responded irritably when Fitzwilliam paused, evidently expecting some sort of explanation. “There is nothing scandalous about my engagement. I have written to the editor to demand he cease publishing anything related to me or Elizabeth, and I have demanded to know the name of the author. Thus far he has refused my reasonable requests. It appears the Morning Gazette is content to publish the unsubstantiated reports of an anonymous writer and damn the consequences. I made it clear I would pursue him in court if our names appeared again in his so-called newspaper.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“Tell me of her,” Fitzwilliam said. “My parents know little, and what they shared with me was…not flattering. I refuse to believe it. You would not marry her if what they said was true.”
Darcy’s temples throbbed. He had spent a restless night worrying, and the conversation was erasing what little peace he had gained from sleeping.
Fitzwilliam clearly misunderstood his silence and in a voice limned with disbelief, said, “So you have got her into trouble? I am surprised. This is not like you at all. At least you are doing the honourable thing by marrying her.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” Darcy snapped. “I was thinking of how to describe her.”
Closing his eyes, he pictured her as she had been when they were last together in Hertfordshire. Should he tell Fitzwilliam that she was headstrong, opinionated, and did not appear to hold him in any particular regard? Would they even be friends, if a mischief-maker had not linked their names in such a public fashion? Yet, despite her initially refusing his offer of marriage, providing him an escape, he found himself unable to abandon her; he had convinced her to see the situation as he did, convinced her to accept him.
Scarcely able to articulate what he felt about Elizabeth to himself, not least his cousin, he said, “She is a gentlewoman from a modest estate. Her connexions and fortune are unremarkable, nearly non-existent.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows. “I begin to understand my parents’ disapproval and why they claim everyone is surprised. But you are hardly the first man to fall in love with a penniless woman.”
“Elizabeth is lively and intelligent, and she is capable of genuine kindness,” Darcy said, ignoring his cousin. “She has the talent of making people at ease when they are with her.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Undoubtedly.” Sensing he had spoken too warmly, too softly of her, and desperate for the conversation to be over, he added a touch of vexation to his tone. “Hers is not a commonplace beauty, but she has a vitality that is attractive. If you were to meet her, you would understand my interest.”
“You arrive very nicely at my next point. When shall I do so?”
“She and her father travelled to Curzon Street yesterday. I shall visit her later today. Your introduction will have to wait.”
Fitzwilliam’s lips pursed into a silent whistle. “Your Elizabeth must be quite a woman, if you believe her capable of tolerating my impertinent sister’s company.”
“She has encountered worse, I assure you.” Darcy stood, stretched his stiff back muscles, and rang the bell, intending to order coffee and food. “Do not forget that to you she is Miss Bennet. Do you have any more questions?”
“Yes.” The colonel’s gaze took in Darcy’s person. “Tell me, why do you look as though you have not slept or eaten a proper meal in weeks?”
Darcy stared at him for a long moment, then opened the hidden compartment of his writing desk to retrieve the letters referring to Georgiana and Ramsgate. Wordlessly, he handed them to Fitzwilliam, whose expression darkened as he read them.
“Do you have any notion who is behind this?” his cousin asked.
Darcy rubbed his hand over his brow. “There are only two people I suspect: Wickham and Mrs Younge. I have a man following Wickham.”
“Have you learnt anything?”
“Wickham was in Hertfordshire at the same time as I. He has accumulated debts and the only conclusion to be drawn is that he is in need of money. As for Mrs Younge, she now goes by the name of Madam Aphrodite at a bawdy-house in Covent Garden. I understand she is usually drunk and…occupied. It is unlikely she is involved.”
“But it is not impossible,” Fitzwilliam interjected. “I shall post some of my agents to keep watch on her at all times.”
Darcy nodded.
His cousin stood and announced, “I shall leave you. My parents are anxious for my report on your lady. I promise to expound on her charms and assure them you have not been taken in by a mercenary.” He turned to go, then stopped and added, “Oh, I almost forgot! I have an invitation from my mother for dinner to you and Miss Bennet. It is in a se’nnight, on Thursday, which, as I am sure you remember, is Dominic’s birthday.” He handed Darcy a note.
Darcy had not forgotten, but having it spoken aloud nearly caused his grief-stricken heart to shatter into a thousand fragments. He bid his cousin farewell and sank into his chair, his mind turning, as it seemed to do with increasing frequency, to Elizabeth. She, at least, he had a chance of saving.
“That must be Darcy now,” Lady Fulford said, as the sound of carriage wheels and hooves clattering across the cobblestones drifted through the open window of the saloon where she, Elizabeth, and Mr Bennet were enjoying refreshments. She raised her eyebrows mischievously at Elizabeth. “He has arrived in good time. I am sure that you are longing to be reunited with him.”
Elizabeth forced a smile at this remark, whilst privately thinking nothing could be further from the truth. At their last meeting, Mr Darcy had been courteous and attentive towards her, but their hasty plan to proclaim the engagement a true one had occurred so quickly that sometimes it seemed as though she were trapped in a dream. How am I meant to behave? If I were in love this would be difficult enough in the presence of my father and Lady Fulford. But I hardly know him, let alone hold him in any intimate regard. She smoothed a wayward thread of her dress. This is not forever. I must do all I can to make the best of it.
She took a deep breath, pleased with her decision to allow Lady Fulford’s maid to style her hair. She had been scraped and moulded into something resembling a fashionable gentlewoman, not a country miss of inferior wealth and connexions who traipsed across muddy fields and nursed wounded dogs in stables.
As the sound of footsteps approached the room, she and her companions stood to greet Mr Darcy. Rising from her curtsey, she looked at him. She had forgotten how tall he was; his imposing masculine form dominated the space in a way her father’s did not. His face looks thinner, and his cheekbones are sharper. The troubled look in his eyes worried her. Did he have bad news? Had something else been written about them? Mr Darcy did not say much, rather he gave her a polite bow and made a tentative enquiry after her mother and sisters.
“Is that all your Miss Bennet gets?” Lady Fulford asked Mr Darcy. “I was expecting a little more emotion.”
His cousin’s teasing appeared to ease Mr Darcy’s fatigue. He smiled, and deep dimples formed at the side of his mouth. He gave Elizabeth a long look before saying, “You must allow a man to be lost for words when presented with so much loveliness.”
Elizabeth’s mouth almost dropped open. Of all the things that she expected him to say about her, a compliment was not one of them.
She felt Lady Fulford and her father watching them, and replied, “A fine excuse to avoid making conversation—and rather clever of you to blame your reticence on me , rather than claim any of it for yourself.” Mr Darcy’s eyes shone with amusement, and her father chuckled softly next to her.
They sat and spoke of a variety of common topics for the next while. Mr Darcy did not say much, but he responded politely to his cousin’s enquiries about Miss Darcy and Lady Fulford listened with pleasure as he mentioned seeing her brother Colonel Fitzwilliam that morning. What he did not do was say anything to Elizabeth, although he did look at her a great deal. His silence confused her; why had he come to visit, if he did not intend to speak to her?
“Miss Elizabeth, would you care to join me for a walk?” Lady Fulford abruptly ended her robust commentary on the length of Mr Darcy’s whiskers, stating her request in such a manner that it felt more like a royal command. “There is a pretty walk in the park a short way from the house. I shall call for a footman to escort us.”
“I would like that very much,” Elizabeth replied, suddenly conscious of Mr Darcy’s gaze on her. Was it her imagination or did she detect a slight slump of disappointment in his shoulders? Did he wish to join us? She did not know if she ought to have invited him.
“I imagine you have matters you wish to discuss with Mr Bennet,” Lady Fulford said, sparing Elizabeth more of her internal debate regarding Mr Darcy. “Gentlemen always have such important business to conduct. You may join us once you are finished.”
Mr Darcy gave a nod and another glance in Elizabeth’s direction, a half-smile on his lips. “I would like that very much.”