Chapter 13
Once they were alone, the ladies regarded each other for a moment, and it seemed to Elizabeth that her friends were not sure what to say or how to act.
For her part, she wanted to laugh at Lord Bramwell’s obvious infatuation with Rebecca and remark that she believed Colonel Fitzwilliam was a very nice man whose company she would not regret.
Rebecca broke the silence. “I am sure it is horribly wrong of me to say it, but I am glad they have gone.” She quickly glanced about the room; Elizabeth assumed to ensure the housekeeper was no longer there, and she was not. Rebecca continued. “What on earth was he doing here?”
Marian smiled broadly. “Lord Bramwell, you mean? Well, he hardly came to see me or Elizabeth, since we do not live here. Therefore, my dear friend, he must have come to see you.”
The notion appeared to shock and even horrify Rebecca.
Her eyes widened, and she seemed to recoil.
“But why? Half the time, it hardly seemed like he wanted to speak to me, and the other half, he was asking the rudest, oddest questions. Which gentlemen did I dance with and what did I think of them?” She scoffed.
Elizabeth gently took her arm and indicated they should sit.
Her tone soft yet still amused—she could not mask it despite her attempt—she said, “I would say it was more that Lord Bramwell was incapable of speaking as he usually would. I saw it last night too. Do not ask me why. I can only speculate, and I do not believe you would like what I have concluded.”
Rebecca stared at her for a moment, and it surprised Elizabeth that she did not immediately understand what she was hinting.
From the look Marian gave her, she shared Elizabeth’s sentiments; she smiled and watched their friend, both of them silently agreeing to give her a chance to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Sure enough, she did. “You cannot mean he was trying to flirt with me!” Rebecca cried. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Marian asked. “Evidently, he saw something he likes in you last night. Perhaps he and his brother came this morning so that he might determine if he still believes you are a worthy object of his—”
“Please do not make more of it than it deserves,” Rebecca interjected.
“The viscount has a reputation of flirting—and more—with many ladies, and I cannot believe he thinks I would be an appropriate target for his games, given our connexion through my Darcy cousins. Besides, that could not have been flirting!”
Marian said, “He is supposed to be so accomplished at it, but you would hardly know it!” To Elizabeth, she added, “You have spent more time with him than either of us. Is he always so…awkward?”
“Not at all.” Elizabeth shook her head to emphasise her point. “In Dublin, he was everything easy and amiable. It must be his company that is making him so tongue-tied.” She gave Rebecca an innocent yet teasing look.
“Oh, no, do not even suggest I have any sort of effect on him!” Rebecca insisted. “Besides, he will soon be engaged—if he is not already. You will have to think of another explanation for his behaviour.”
“Will he marry Lady Cassandra?” Marian asked. “It has long been rumoured that he will, or rather that their parents would like it, but until I am told directly by either the gentleman or lady involved, or the banns have been called, I never believe such gossip.”
“Very wise of you,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps we should set aside the subject of Lord Bramwell.” Rebecca nodded vigorously, and Elizabeth asked Marian what she thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Her brow gently furrowed, Marian said, “He is very… I like him. You both danced with him. What do you think?”
Both Rebecca and Elizabeth agreed that the colonel was amiable.
“He is not as handsome as his brother or Mr Darcy,” Marian said.
“But I have always found that a gentleman could be too handsome. It makes them arrogant, as though us ladies should swoon just to see them. And if they deign to speak to us or ask us to dance?” She fanned herself with a hand as though overheated at the notion.
All three ladies laughed, but behind her amusement, Elizabeth found herself reflecting on Mr Darcy.
He was the handsomest of all three gentlemen.
Was part of his arrogance based on knowing he was so attractive?
Beyond his good looks, he was also rich and had excellent connexions.
The combination would be irresistible to many ladies and their families who dreamt of securing such an excellent match.
It will never be me, of course. I knew that even before we met, thanks to the conversation I overheard in Dublin.
It seemed so long ago, yet it had left a lasting impression on her.
She did not want or need Mr Darcy’s good opinion, yet she found it disappointing that he would hold such displeasing views, given she had found his relations—those she had met—more generous.
Shaking off her reflections of the gentleman she had told herself would never be more than an indifferent acquaintance, she instead engaged in the conversation with her friends.
Two days after the ball, Darcy attended a family dinner at Lord and Lady Romsley’s home; in addition to the earl and countess, their two sons were present.
Georgiana had a slight indisposition and remained with her companion.
He hoped she would soon be recovered, because he wished to take her with him to call on several people—family connexions and other acquaintances.
Given her age and that she had left school behind her, she should become more accustomed to being in company, and it would be a gentle way of encouraging her.
The conversation during the meal addressed common topics—the weather, whom they had all lately seen, plays and concerts they might like to attend, and a little bit of politics.
The countess did not like her husband to discuss the latter while they were eating, as she believed it impeded proper digestion.
Darcy suspected she simply found it fatiguing; the earl would speak of politics endlessly if given the opportunity, and with her ban, she secured herself a small reprieve.
Towards the end of the meal, and shortly before Lady Romsley would likely withdraw to leave the gentlemen to themselves, she said, “Bramwell, I heard you danced with Rebecca Darcy and spent much of the evening following her about at the Wares’ ball.”
“Oh?” Bramwell said, his tone affecting disinterest mixed with a touch of irritation.
Given how much his cousin’s actions were spoken of, Darcy understood his vexation. He found the attention his own behaviour garnered ridiculous and frustrating, and it was nothing compared to what the viscount had to deal with.
“Oh?” Lord Romsley repeated, the word a reprimand for what might be seen as a flippant response. “It was noted, which means it is of interest to your mother and me.”
While taking a sip of wine, Bramwell nodded, accepting his father’s message. They were tired of hearing about—and more to the point, worrying about—what their eldest son was doing.
The earl continued. “A man in your position ought not to be paying any lady particular attention, unless it is the one he intends to marry.”
“We expect you to call on Lady Cassandra tomorrow morning,” the countess added. “I believe I mentioned she and her family are now in town.”
Slowly and carefully, Bramwell placed his glass on the table. “I do not believe that would be wise.”
“Why?” Lord Romsley demanded.
Glancing between his brother and Darcy before replying, his expression silently requesting their support, he said, “Because I have resolved not to marry her.”
There was a heavy pause before Lady Romsley cried, “Dear Lord! Why not? Whom will you marry? It is past time that you do. A wife, if properly chosen, might be able to keep you out of trouble.”
“You cannot be thinking of Rebecca Darcy,” the earl said. “I have nothing against the girl, but she is not the match we intended for you.”
“He cannot mean her,” the countess assured her husband. “He has not seen her for several years, and as much as he may have found her company the other night genial—”
“I do mean her,” Bramwell said, his voice firm and just loud enough to be heard over their words.
Again, there was a long moment of silence. Darcy met Fitzwilliam’s eyes, expecting to see the same surprise he felt reflected in them, but he did not. Instead, the colonel gave a small shrug that suggested he had thought as much, as unexpected as it seemed.
“A few hours in her company, and you are prepared to rewrite the direction your life will take?” Lord Romsley said. “Without even discussing it with your mother and me?”
“Well, we are talking about it now.” Bramwell grinned, but his levity was not appreciated by his parents, who stared at him wearing twin expressions of severe admonishment. He sighed and said, “I would have spoken to you of it, but there has been no occasion yet.”
“Bramwell…” his father said, his tone warning.
“Father, please,” the viscount said. He cleared his throat and thought for a moment before going on.
“I must follow my conscience. Although I have never been eager about it, I accepted that you wanted me to marry Lady Cassandra. Even last spring, when Darcy and I were in Dublin, I wished there was something more to her, something that drew me in.”
Darcy recalled Bramwell once wishing he found the lady as charming as he did Elizabeth, even though he insisted he was not even slightly infatuated with her.
The viscount went on. “I admit that when I met Miss Darcy again, I found her…attractive. I would not have done so if Lady Cassandra was more to me than a mere acquaintance. In Miss Darcy, I see the possibility of a different future, one that calls to me, that offers me more than the satisfaction of having fulfilled a familial duty, and I must follow it.”
His words resonated with Darcy, and, unfortunately, he was immediately struck with a series of images of Elizabeth, mostly from Ireland, but one or two from the recent ball.
Yet again, he reminded himself that she was not the lady for him, but he could not deny there was something alluring about her that went beyond her liveliness and fine eyes.
Such feelings were of minor importance, he told himself.
Prudence, self-interest, his responsibility to his family and dependents were all more relevant.
Maybe he should consider marrying his cousin Anne. It would be the easiest path to take.
Just as marrying Lady Cassandra would be the easiest path for Bramwell.
Yet, the expectations of his parents, even of society—in terms of the sort of lady he would marry—were not strong enough inducements, not when he had met a lady that made him realise how much more he might have, if he made a different choice.
It is not Anne who occupies my thoughts, who I anticipate seeing and talking to.
And who had appeared in his dreams more than once, although he was determined that that would remain a secret even to himself.
As much as I do not want to admit it, as wrong as I believe it to be, it is Elizabeth Bennet.
But would it be so outrageous? That would require more thought.
And there was the matter of her dislike of him, which might be a permanent barrier between them.
“I never knew you were so poetic,” the earl said drily.
“You cannot object to her,” Bramwell said, his voice containing a hint of pleading.
Lady Romsley said, “I do not care that her father was your uncle Darcy’s brother, you will one day take your father’s place—”
“Not for a good few years, I trust, my dear,” her husband quietly interjected, causing Fitzwilliam to snigger softly.
“Your wife will assume my role,” the countess continued. “You need someone more…suitable.” She turned briefly to Darcy and added, “I trust you understand my meaning,” before concluding, “A future earl requires a lady who has been instructed on how to take on such a position.”
Straightening his spine and pushing back his shoulders, Bramwell spoke firmly but respectfully.
“You will have to decide what you most want. Me married to Miss Darcy—who is more than capable of learning whatever she must to be a viscountess or countess—or for me to remain single. Nothing could compel me to propose to Lady Cassandra. She is a very fine girl, I am sure, and will find another gentleman, one whom she can love and anticipate sharing a happy future with.”
The conversation continued a few minutes longer before Lord Romsley called an end to it, announcing that, “We all have a great deal to consider. You included, Bramwell. We shall resume this discussion tomorrow morning.” With that, he helped his wife stand, and the couple left the room.