Chapter Six #2
His stepmother’s influence, perhaps? She had never been more than lukewarm towards Darcy, and, he suspected, harboured the usual bitterness of a second wife that her own children would not inherit.
He had been what, when his father had remarried?
Four? Five? Papa had brought her to Ashbourne to meet him.
She had been kind enough, he supposed; a tall, pretty figure all in white, topped by an immense hat wreathed with the same blue ribbon that formed her sash.
She had smiled a great deal, and her voice was light and sweet.
All the same, she was not the warm, familiar presence of his Aunt Ashbourne, to whose skirts he had clung and from which refuge he had refused to be coaxed, no matter how much cake his new stepmother offered him.
He had been as shy at that age as Georgiana appeared to be now, though he grew more able to deal with it the older he got.
It was not an entirely successful meeting.
In the end, Robert Darcy had been persuaded to leave his son at Ashbourne, and Darcy had been content to stay.
“You stand between him and Pemberley.” George offered him a sympathetic smile.
“I will grant him the compliment that he loves the place dearly and is not mercenary, but all the same, he is aggrieved about it coming to you and not to him. His temper is not helped by your long absence, meaning many in the house and the estate think of him, and speak of him, as the young master.”
“Of course Pemberley comes to me. He cannot have expected otherwise, no matter what the servants call him.”
“More than once it was clear you had been in dangerous situations.”
“Yes.” Darcy touched his upper right arm where a long scar bore testament to past dangers, then abandoned the port for brandy. He splashed a generous libation into two glasses and pushed one at George.
George took the brandy with a nod. “Under those sorts of circumstances, it should not surprise you that your demise was considered a possibility.”
And hoped for, although George was obviously considerate enough not to say as much.
“Are you shocked?” he asked.
Darcy forced his mouth to turn up at the edges.
“I should not be. You know our family history. Papa and I were not estranged, but the circumstances of my upbringing at Ashbourne meant I had not the intimacy with him that Hugh enjoyed. I can understand how Hugh’s feelings about Pemberley and about me came to be.
Tell me, how deep does his resentment run? ”
“He is hot-tempered, and rash, and too much indulged by both his parents. He will be difficult and unfriendly, and I would not look to him for support in whatever you envisage for Pemberley’s future. Although, I do not think he will attempt any harm.”
“Harm! I should think not!”
George’s grimace was extraordinarily exaggerated. “No. It was foolish of me to suggest otherwise. He would not, I am sure, do anything rash. He will grow accustomed to the change in the end. We all will.”
Darcy eyed him over the edge of the brandy glass. “Perhaps we should say no more of it for now.”
George nodded, and for a few minutes they drank in silence. The Good Lord alone knew what George was thinking. After James Wickham’s decline and the loss of all hope of his uncle’s Cheshire property, any contention with Hugh must seem inconsequential.
Time to clear the air. Darcy had sought his uncle’s advice, and the earl had been his usual practical self: Be open to a resumed friendship, but be wary and watchful, while dealing with him fairly. He regained your father’s trust. Perhaps he can regain yours.
He opened with, “With Hugh gone, we must have some discussion, I believe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Let me begin by saying I hope we eschew that ‘sir’ business. We are family, after all.”
“I… I did not wish to presume. We were not friendly at Cambridge, and have not met since. I cannot assume you retain any regard for me.”
“I do not deny I was disappointed when I arrived at Cambridge and found you so altered.” Darcy noted George’s grimace. “Forgive my bluntness, but we should be honest.”
George nodded. “I understand. I fell in with people whose pockets were deeper than mine, and whose morals were suspect. We are all fools when we are young. I was more foolish than most.”
“I valued our cousinship, our friendship, when we were young, as much as I value Edward Fitzwilliam’s. I would like to rebuild it. Everything my father told me about you suggests he trusted you, that you had…” Darcy hesitated.
“Reformed. That is the word you seek. My uncle’s drunken folly in losing Waulkmill in a game of cards and the effect on my father…
well. I am not such a fool that I did not see the perils of the path I was following.
I do not wager any longer, I drink only in moderation”—he raised his glass and saluted with it—“and I am quite monkish in my habits. I think ‘reformed’ describes me nicely.”
Darcy chuckled at the wry tone. “Papa told me you had returned to yourself.”
“He was very kind. He paid my debts at Cambridge, did you know?”
“He never mentioned it.”
“He would not break a confidence, I suppose. He was the best of godfathers. I owe him so much.”
“He had no qualms offering you the steward’s role, and that speaks of his trust and confidence in you. Well, I am glad of it. I did not misspeak earlier. I will depend upon you and your good offices as I take up the reins. We must rebuild the trust between us.”
George inclined his head.
“We were friends, and more. Do you remember how we always called each other our ‘almost-brother’?” Darcy hoped he did not reveal too much of his uncertainty when he added, “That bond was, for me, one of the highlights of visiting Pemberley, and your cheerful and open manners eased my way at school. I do not forget how close we were. If we are to be frank, then I do not know my own brother by blood half so well as I do the boy who was my almost-brother and my friend. Do not ‘sir’ me, George. I am Fitzwilliam, still, in private, though I suppose we must be more formal in company.”
“Fitzwilliam.” George smiled, and they shook hands.
Darcy drained his glass, relieved the uncomfortable discussion was over.
He scrabbled about for a different topic, to lighten their mood.
“Was that little dowdy of a female my stepmother claims as a relation invited for my entertainment, George? I do hope not. I do not find ladies of trifling consequence to be amusing company; not in shabby dresses a size too large for them, and particularly if they also sport pert tongues and pinched countenances.”
George started, and for an instant Darcy fancied the expression on his face was inimical, but before he could speak, a noise at the door had them both twisting in their chairs to see what was afoot.
Miss Bennet—no, Miss Elizabeth, she had insisted. Miss Elizabeth stood there, her expression unreadable. “Forgive my intrusion, gentlemen.”
Darcy surged to his feet, his face suddenly hot. Dear Lord, had she heard him?
“Mrs Darcy’s compliments, but she is feeling unwell and is retiring. She asked me, Mr Darcy, to let you know she will be pleased to meet you tomorrow. I hope that is acceptable.”
“Eh. Erm… yes. Of course.”
“Excellent.” She glanced from him to George. Her eyes were bright, perhaps with amusement. Or anger. “I will have Mrs Reynolds refresh the tea tray in the drawing room for you. Goodnight.”
“Er…thank you.”
But she was gone with the merest dip of a curtsey, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind her. Good Lord, but he hoped she had not heard.
“There was an outbreak of scarlet fever in the district a few weeks ago.” George’s tone was distant, disinterested.
He resumed his seat, and picked up his brandy glass.
“Lizzy does much of the charitable visiting on Mrs Darcy’s behalf, and we think she was exposed to it in one of the cottages.
She was quite ill, and is recovering but slowly. ”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Darcy sat, pushed his brandy glass back and forth along the table, avoiding George’s gaze. “That was badly done. I should not inflict my discomfort on her. Or anyone else.”
“I do not know if she heard.”
“It does not matter. It was badly done.” The brandy glass came to a halt, most conveniently next to the bottle.
He should not care if a young woman of no consequence was offended by his unthinking words, but no gentleman should have spoken so.
He had fallen short of what he expected of himself.
He must make amends, apologise for his ill-tempered remarks.
It was not Miss Elizabeth’s fault that he was discomposed by his forced return to Pemberley.
He knew better than to forget himself and his good manners.
“It will be four years come Christmas when I brought the Bennets here. Mrs Darcy and their father were raised as brother and sister, so although she and Lizzy are cousins, the years between them bring the relationship closer to that of aunt and niece. They all call Mrs Darcy ‘aunt’. Mr Bennet fathered five girls but no son, so when he died at the end of the year seven, the estate went to a distant cousin who is, simply, a brute. The widow and girls were not safe. He would have had no qualms about imposing himself upon them, and all the girls are uncommonly pretty.”
Darcy grimaced with distaste, and George nodded.
“Aye. Just so. The girls were in grave danger, and Mrs Darcy had them conveyed here. The widow is one of your tenants, in fact. She has a long lease on Frith House, for a peppercorn rent.” George smiled at last. “Literally, one peppercorn on each quarter day. We make quite a ceremony of collecting it. Mrs Bennet enjoys the opportunity to entertain a trifle.”
Darcy forced a smile. “Gentlewomen, then.”
“Did you doubt it, despite her dowdy dress? Yes. The mother has ties to trade, but the girls are gentlewomen. They are all in and out of Pemberley, some sharing Georgiana’s lessons, but Lizzy lives here. She is Mrs Darcy’s favourite.”
“The other girls?”
“Jane is Hugh’s age, then comes Lizzy. Mary is next. She shares Georgiana’s music master and is a sadly serious sort of girl who could do with learning to smile more and read improving books less.”
“Immune to your charm, is she?”
“Where Mary is concerned, I have no charm. Kitty and Lydia take lessons with Georgiana’s governess three days a week.
Kitty… well, Kitty has none of her elder sisters’ sense, and follows wherever the youngest, Lydia, leads.
Lydia is Georgiana’s age in years, and about twenty years her senior in worldliness.
She is not shy at all. Something of a coquette, our Lydia.
Luckily, she can get up to very little mischief at Frith House. ”
“Not a good influence on Georgiana, then.”
“You must make the judgement for yourself, but I would not say there is any real harm in the girl. She is full young yet.” George rubbed at his chin in thoughtful fashion before adding, “Mrs Bennet is bruised by losing her home, and wants all her daughters settled safely so their fates do not mirror hers. She encourages Lydia’s liveliness in the cause of husband-hunting. ”
Ah. Another matchmaking mamma, this time in widow’s weeds.
“I must make their acquaintance, of course, if only because they are Mrs Darcy’s relations.”
“You should come with me at the end of next month when I collect the Michaelmas rent. Mrs Bennet sets an excellent table, despite the privations of a reduced income. The Michaelmas goose will not disappoint.”
“I must make my apologies to Miss Bennet first— Miss Elizabeth, rather, as she made a point to tell me.”
“Well, if I know Elizabeth Bennet, she will not give you an easy time of it.” George’s smile had a slightly vicious tinge to it. “No more than you deserve.”
Darcy tried to laugh, but he could not help thinking George had the rights of it. And really! For a wretched chit with no countenance and less consequence! Worse, the favourite of his stepmother.
He supposed he deserved whatever mortification was to come.