Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
During a misty morning ride along the cliff, while regretting all the various demands upon his time, Darcy was grateful for a solitary hour of freedom.
Georgiana and his guests may have looked upon their summer sojourn at Strandsmere as a lark, but he enjoyed little in the way of leisure.
For him, there was no exemption from duties and obligations.
He had three properties to oversee, investments to be considered, his sister’s welfare and future to be protected, his guests’ comfort and safety to be ensured, and what seemed to be a mountain of correspondence to be read and written.
Once again, he could almost hear Wickham sneering, ‘poor little rich boy’.
If not for such pressing concerns, Darcy would be angling at Willow Bourn, or reading books rather than correspondence, or, preferably, calling at Cliff House nearly every day and rejoicing in such occasions of joy and gaiety.
A wife. He wanted a wife. Perhaps more than wanting one, he needed one to share his burdens and run his households.
Miss Wright knew how to do the latter, and she also was accomplished in the more frivolous requirements for a bride.
On those occasions when it would be necessary to make an appearance for appearance’s sake, he would be proud to have such a woman on his arm.
Alas, his heartstrings pulled him in an entirely different direction, a little farther along the precipice. With that young lady in mind, he turned his spirited blood bay towards the villa. Miss Elizabeth was to arrive in a matter of hours.
Having finished breakfast, Darcy set about performing his ablutions with a woody-spicy soap, scraped stubble from his face, and donned a fresh set of clothing.
Then he stood patiently while his scrupulously efficient valet completed the finishing touch to his employer’s toilette: an immaculate cravat tied with precision.
“What is your opinion, Graham?” Turning this way and that, Darcy studied the mirror’s reflection. “Should more have been trimmed from these side whiskers?”
“From my careful observations, sir, they are shaped according to the prevailing new tendency, and according to Mr Wright, you are the epitome of sartorial elegance and gentlemanly refinement.”
“About that… I hope he, upon his departure, will remember to pay vails in appreciation of your attendance upon him. What kind of gentleman does not bring his own valet when spending two months as one’s guest? You may speak freely.”
“One in pecuniary distress, I fear, sir.” Graham helped his master into a tight-fitting coat.
“It is not my place to express an opinion, of course, but the tittle-tattle below stairs is that Mr Wright and his heir share the services of one valet and that the son insisted he had more urgent need of a gentleman’s gentleman in London than his father would have here. ”
“Do you happen to know the current whereabouts of the senior Mr Wright?” Darcy hoped his guest was not suffering from ennui arising from a lack of occupation.
The house had no billiards table, and the man had yet to take him up on offers of fishing or fencing.
Other than reading newspapers with stale reports and gossip from London, the gentleman seemed content to occupy himself with a succession of busy nothings.
And writing letters. Lots and lots of letters.
“Oh and Graham, send someone to the village to purchase more writing paper.”
“Yes, sir. I have heard that Mr Wright will be occupied with correspondence the entire day and is not to be disturbed.”
At the door, Darcy accepted his hat and gloves.
“Rest assured, my good man, that there will be a substantial increase in your next quarterly pay. I truly appreciate you agreeing to oversee the male domestics here and attending to the personal needs of our guest. And let us pray that if the younger Mr Wright arrives, he will bring the valet with him, lest I end up in pecuniary distress from having to pay you exorbitant wages.”
“I shall remember to mention such in my prayers, sir.”
Having impatiently looked forward to the hour when Miss Elizabeth and her friend would arrive at Strandsmere Park, Darcy had not anticipated that the two ladies would come rattling up to the main entrance in the same manner as Miss Hughes’s uncle had done when he had called, which was in a donkey carriage pulled by a greyish-brown jenny named, by some imaginative soul, Jenny.
Mr Baker owned horses and a full-sized coach for longer journeys, but the gig was his preferred mode for jaunting about Wyman’s Cove.
With her friend beside her, Miss Hughes deftly handled the reins, and together they presented a pretty picture, one worthy of being captured upon canvas.
Being too dignified to run to greet them, Darcy walked as quickly as self-respect would allow.
His smartly liveried groom, having no such gentlemanly compunction, raced towards the two-wheeled carriage and arrived there before his employer.
Tipping his cap and bowing, Edward politely greeted the ladies, proudly assisted them from the gig, and promised he would take very good care of Jenny.
Darcy suspected, from the look of the blushing adolescent, that Edward also would like to take very good care of the two young ladies.
“Here is some fodder for Jenny.” Smiling, Miss Hughes passed a bag of hay to the groom.
“Oh no, miss. Jenny can graze in yon meadow, beyond the gardens.”
“Ahem.” Darcy tipped his hat and bowed. “Miss Hughes, Miss Bennet, welcome to Strandsmere Park. That will be all, Edward.” Barely sparing the young man a glance, he offered his arms to the ladies.
“Oh, wait!” cried Miss Elizabeth, as Edward led Jenny away. “We left something in the gig.” Instead of waiting for the groom to bring the item to her, she hurried after him.
Darcy could not hear whatever she and he said to one another, but there was no mistaking the admiring look the lad gave her nor the pleased expression upon Miss Elizabeth’s face when she returned.
Thinking it was ridiculous to be envious of a mere boy for having such an effect on the lady, he proffered her his arm again.
Looking into his eyes, she smiled so sweetly at him that his heart gave a little lurch.
“You brought books I see.” He watched as Miss Elizabeth passed one to her friend. “Do you intend to spend the entire day reading, Miss Bennet? Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I believe my sister and Miss Althea have other plans.”
“I am delighted that you have no objection to one of my favourite pastimes, sir, for I know of no other diversion where one may feel superior simply by sitting perfectly still and staring at paper for hours on end. I read that somewhere, by the by.”
“Madam, I would debate the fact that one sits perfectly still while reading a good book. One’s eyes eagerly race across and down each page, and one’s fingers quickly turn the leaf to discover what happens next.”
Miss Hughes added, “And if a book is really exciting, one might move to the edge of one’s seat or even bite their fingernails.” To Darcy, the young lady looked much happier than she had upon first acquaintance.
“I concede,” said Miss Elizabeth, as they walked towards the house.
“However, the books that we have brought today are not of that sort. They are what Miss Baker calls ‘friendship books’, and we hope that our friends within these walls will— Oh my!” Abruptly stopping and letting go of his arm, she leant back to stare, seemingly in wonder, upon the villa’s imposing facade of quarry-dressed Bath stone with Palladian windows that overlooked the Channel.
“Ostentatious, is it not?” As they climbed the stone steps, Darcy offered Miss Elizabeth his arm for the third time, wishing she could be securely fixed there.
“With that prominent central portico and pediments supported by classic Roman columns, it is evident that my uncle was impressed by the architecture he saw while on his Grand Tour. I believe he was especially fond of Venice.”
Miss Hughes asked whether the judge was an uncle on the maternal or paternal side.
“Paternal.”
“I should like to hear more about Judge Darcy sometime, sir,” said Miss Elizabeth.
Never had Miss Wright expressed any interest in Darcy’s family, other than questioning him about his more exalted uncle, the Earl of Matlock. But Miss Elizabeth seemed truly interested.
Upon entering the house and being told by a footman that the others were in the sitting room, Darcy espied Georgiana, along with the three Miss Wrights, awaiting them there. Once all the ladies were seated, Hector lumbered over to Miss Elizabeth, giving a wide berth to Miss Wright as he passed her.
“And who might this gentle giant be?” Miss Elizabeth scratched the black and white beast’s head.
“A Newfoundland dog who answers to the name of Hector, but only when there is food involved.” Darcy winked at his sister.
“Nay!” cried Georgiana. “Hector is an intelligent boy. Whenever the word s-w-i-m is mentioned, he becomes intent on escaping to the beach. That is his idea of life. Nevertheless, he is loyal and protective and prefers to remain close to me. I caution you to beware of being squashed, Miss Bennet, for I see that he likes you. I hope he is not too cumbersome, leaning against you in that manner.”
“No, not at all.”
“Do you know,” said Miss Althea, “that Lord Byron had a Newfoundland dog a few years ago? His name was Boatswain. When he died of rabies, Byron wrote a poem in his memory.”
“I do not recall anything unseemly in Epitaph to a Dog. However, Georgiana, you are not permitted to read Byron. I shall not have you swooning over such a self-indulgent man.” Too late, Darcy remembered his sister fainting in Ramsgate upon learning of Wickham’s true intentions.
Cursing himself upon seeing her bowed head, he sat beside her and whispered, “My apologies, little hen. Chin up now. You have guests.”