Day 3 #3
“These are very fine, not items I would assume to find in a small country mercantile, Mr. Bingley.”
The man fingered the edges. “And you shouldn’t, Mr. Fitzroy. They were to have been a gift. They come from the finest Parisian modiste in London.”
“Madame Claudette’s?”
“I see you know your way around London.” Bingley chuckled.
“As any self-respecting brother would. But will these not be missed by the recipient? Are you willing to part with them?”
“Yes. I think it is time,” Bingley said, folding the silk and wrapping them with twine and paper. “They were originally ordered for my wife—”
“Your wife?” Darcy almost choked on the words.
“Yes. My late wife.”
Darcy at once noticed the black band on Bingley’s arm. “Forgive me, but I had not heard.”
“Of course not. I thank you, but do not concern yourself. It has been almost a year, and I dare say it might have been a tender mercy. Rosalind would not have wished to live in such reduced circumstances.”
“Rosalind?”
“Chesterfield. The former Rosalind Chesterfield,” said Bingley.
Darcy remembered Miss Chesterfield had been one of Bingley’s original “angels” before they had ever heard of Netherfield Park.
He had met her at a party in London, and it seemed wherever Bingley went, Miss Chesterfield followed.
Twenty thousand pounds, spoke Italian, played the harp—and an older brother with gaming debts and a penchant for loose women.
Darcy remembered her pursuit of Bingley and how his young friend had imagined himself in love.
She was classically beautiful, only second behind Jane Bennet.
But she had a heart as hard as the cliffs of Dover. And even the reputation for being fast.
Darcy was brought out of his ruminations by the bell on the door as customers entered.
“They are just what I wished for,” Darcy said, removing coins from his pocket and setting them on the counter.
“And, if it is not too much trouble, I would enjoy reestablishing our connection while I remain in Kent.”
“I would like that as well. Are you free to dine tomorrow evening?”
“I am and will look forward to it.”
Bingley’s attention was arrested by something over Darcy’s shoulder, and he turned to see the ladies from the parsonage along with Mrs. Wickham. Miss Elizabeth gave him a gentle smile while Mrs. Wickham glanced around the quiet shop, seeming content in her solitude.
Handing Darcy his purchases, Bingley said, “Mrs. Collins, I received your…husband’s order today from London. It is rather large, and I can have my boy bring it around later when he is back from another errand.”
“That would be lovely, sir,” Mrs. Collins said, lowering her eyes, a soft blush rising to her cheeks.
Good heavens. The woman blushes just talking to Bingley. Could I have been so blind at Netherfield?
Their voices faded into the background as he once again set his attention on Elizabeth and Georgiana. “May I ask what delights await you ladies today? Are you to visit the circulating library? Or go on a walk through the orchard?”
“I do not believe our plans are fixed. Our sole purpose was to ascertain the arrival of Mr. Collins’s package from London.”
“Can I entice you to accompany me to the inn for a small repast? Mr. Collins has sung the virtues of the Hunsford Inn’s apple bread, and I confess, I am curious to its merit.”
Georgiana’s head snapped up with the first hint of pleasure Darcy had witnessed in their recent acquaintance. “Apple bread is my favorite.”
“Is it?” he asked, with a knowing smile. “Extraordinary.”
Elizabeth approached Jane and informed her of his invitation, and they then set out, basking in the sunshine. Darcy began to hum but tempered the joy he felt at his sister’s upturned spirits. Miss Elizabeth glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a crooked grin.
They walked companionably along, Mrs. Collins catching up as Darcy held open the door for the three ladies, and they took a seat at a table in the corner.
A young girl played an old Scottish folk song on the nearby piano, when unexpectedly both Darcy and Georgiana said in unison, “My mother used to play this song.”
They looked at each other, one smiling and the other in shock.
“I wonder if our mothers played this as a duet,” Georgiana said. “Did you not say our parents knew one another? You even remembered Sir Lewis’s pointer’s name.”
Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a weak smile. “Quite possibly, yes.”
“Would you tell me what you remember of my parents? I love to hear stories of them.”
He watched as his sister’s features eased. This was his Georgiana, and he would fulfill any request she asked of him. “Of course. Our fathers were friends from Cambridge. They were in the same societies, and our mothers had known each other from the women’s seminary in London.”
“How lovely.”
“Yes.” Darcy swallowed again, trying not to wander too far from the truth lest he was called upon to recount the story at another time. “I remember visiting Pemberley as a child and sliding down the bannisters of the grand staircase.”
“That is one of my favorite activities from my youth too,” Georgiana said, a soft lilt in her voice.
“I also remember your housekeeper, a Mrs. Reynolds, I believe, taking me down into your kitchens when I fell from the tree in the garden and hurt myself.”
“The willow?” she asked with excitement.
“The very one. Our parents were at an event at Lord Malvern’s estate, and, although I was not too terribly injured, she knew there was nothing a warm scone from Mrs. Roger’s kitchen would not fix.”
“Mrs. Roger’s scones,” Georgiana said with more feeling than he expected. She then whispered, “How she cried when I married.”
For no other reason than to bring his sister joy, Darcy persisted in the same vein, intentionally ignoring the pain in his heart at his sister’s statement, and reminisced about his true childhood at Pemberley.
“If I might ask,” Darcy began, “does Mrs. Roger’s still reside at Pemberley? If not, I might have to attempt to steal her and her delicious cooking away.”
Georgiana offered a weak smile. “I do not believe so. She retired shortly after we took up residence in Kent with my cousin Anne.”
“You no longer reside at Pemberley then?” he asked with more calm than he felt.
“Not at this time.”
He recognized the expression which crossed her features. He had seen it twice before, in another life: once upon the death of their father, and the other at the death of her innocence at Ramsgate. He determined not to press the issue but instead seek out information from different sources.
“Well, then my own cook is in luck, and her job is secure, until I can find Mrs. Rogers again.” His jest carried the mood as he had intended, and the three women began to discuss local topics and interests, as well as the delicious apple bread.
“This is delectable,” Elizabeth said, finishing her slice.
“Yes. It reminds me of home,” Georgiana said before reaching for her gloves. “So very little does now. I feel it is just a wisp of memories I have conjured up.”
He strained to hear her final words as a sadness crept into her voice.
“I hope it is a pleasant memory?” Darcy asked as the ladies stood.
Georgiana shook off her doldrums, and her face brightened. “This whole afternoon has been one pleasant memory after another. I thank you, Mr. Fitzroy, for giving me a moment of my childhood back.”
“Whenever you wish, I would be happy to try again.”
She looked at him quizzically, then she shook her head and smiled. “I may just call in the favor.”