Chapter Five
Darcy took another sip of his lemonade and wished—for the third time in ten minutes—it were something stronger.
The gardens behind Chaffley Hall were filled with cheerful conversation, music drifting lazily from a string quartet on the terrace and the gentle clink of porcelain as liveried footmen threaded their way amongst the guests.
Darcy supposed that it looked, from the outside, like an idyllic English garden party.
To him it felt like a slow form of torture.
He was never at ease amongst those he did not know well, and the strange circumstances of this gathering added a further layer of unease to his customary reticence.
He stood at the edge of the lawn, wearing the mask that had slipped so easily into place over the past few months.
His expression was grave and composed as he surveyed the crowd.
It was astonishing how effectively a reserved manner discouraged conversation.
Unfortunately, there were always exceptions.
Richard had disappeared into the crowd almost as soon as they arrived, his friendly, open nature proving as irresistible as ever.
Within minutes he had gathered around him a small company of gentlemen and ladies, all laughing together as though they had been acquainted for years.
The colonel possessed an effortless talent for making strangers feel like old friends.
Darcy had often wished he understood how he did it.
While he was meditating on his cousin’s easy manner, he heard a gentile cough from behind him.
He turned to find a stout, elaborately dressed lady smiling up at him with enthusiasm.
Her gown, of vivid apricot silk, was trimmed with so many ribbons and artificial flowers that Darcy wondered whether the dressmaker had been paid by the embellishment.
Beside her stood a young lady of perhaps two-and-twenty, whose gown had evidently been made by the same hand.
It was cut in the very latest fashion and rather lower than modesty, in Darcy's opinion, should have allowed.
"Mr Darcy!" the elder lady exclaimed, though he could not recall having ever met her. "How fortunate. I have been hoping we might make your acquaintance."
Darcy set down his glass and bowed. "Madam." He had hoped brevity might prove discouraging and he schooled his features into stern reserve.
The lady did not appear to notice his hauteur.
"You do not remember me, of course." She spoke rapidly, her hands moving all the while, and the artificial flowers upon her gown bobbed gaily.
"Mrs Harrington, formerly Miss Goldsmith.
My dear mama enjoyed the acquaintance of your own excellent mother.
We attended Lady Hortensia's Challenge together many years ago. "
"Indeed?"
"Oh yes. We were girls together." She sighed happily. "Your mother was the very picture of elegance. I have often spoken of her to Amelia."
She turned with theatrical pride to the young lady beside her. "My daughter, Miss Amelia Harrington."
Miss Harrington curtsied low, affecting an unflattering pout as she gazed uncertainly up at him through her lashes.
Good lord, she was one of them, he thought. He tried to make his features even harder. At this point he felt he must be actively glowering at the girl.
"Mr Darcy," she said in a syrupy sweet voice that made Darcy’s teeth hurt.
"Miss Harrington."
"When Lady Hortensia's invitation arrived," continued Mrs Harrington without a breath, "I said to Amelia, 'If young Mr Darcy has inherited even half his parents' excellent qualities, you must make every effort to secure his acquaintance.'"
"Mama," said Miss Harrington, lowering her eyes. She looked embarrassed and Darcy felt a twinge of sympathy for her until she looked up at him again with that unappealing pout.
"Nonsense, my dear." Mrs Harrington gave her daughter's arm an encouraging pat. "A bright young lady like you cannot hide herself away."
At that precise moment she looked across the lawn and let out a little gasp. "Oh! Lady Pennington! I have been trying to catch her all afternoon."
Darcy followed her gaze. Lady Pennington was engaged in an animated conversation on the opposite side of the gardens and showed no sign whatsoever of having noticed Mrs Harrington.
"You young people must amuse yourselves for a few moments," Mrs Harrington continued brightly. "I shall not be long."
She bestowed upon Amelia a determined nod. It was accompanied by a meaningful widening of the eyes and a tiny inclination of the head towards Darcy, all of which seemed to shout:
Do not let him escape.
Miss Harrington gave an uncertain nod in return. Satisfied that her instructions had been understood, her mother’s smile broadened once more and she swept away across the lawn.
Darcy watched her go. Halfway to Lady Pennington she slowed, glanced back to ensure her daughter remained firmly beside him and, finding everything proceeding according to plan, continued on her way.
Miss Harrington opened an ivory fan with a neat flick of her wrist and turned her full attention upon him. "Mama has spoken of Pemberley ever since I was a little girl," she said. "I almost feel I know it already."
"Indeed," he replied in clipped tones.
"She says the gardens are quite magnificent."
"They are pleasant enough."
"I have always thought I should prefer a large house." She smiled sweetly over the edge of her fan. "I do so enjoy entertaining."
Darcy looked at her in horror. Could she really be being so brazen?
She mistook his silence for encouragement and tapped him on the arm with her fan as though they were old friends. Darcy clamped his hands behind his back.
"I imagine one could give the most wonderful house parties at Pemberley. Musical evenings, picnics, dinners..." She gave an affected sigh. "One should never allow such a house to stand empty."
"Fortunately," said Darcy, "my housekeeper has matters very well in hand."
She looked lost for a moment, as if he had wandered from a pre-approved script, then laughed loudly, as though he had made a charming joke. "Of course, servants are no substitute for a lively hostess."
She made another attack with her fan, this time catching him on the shoulder. He took a step back. Unfortunately, the lady followed, like one of his hunting dogs who had caught the scent of prey.
"And Pemberley! I should so like to see it," she went on, now almost manic in her enthusiasm. "I have often imagined driving through the park and catching my first glimpse of the house."
Darcy thought that Miss Harrington had imagined rather too much. Before she could describe how she would rearrange the furniture he heard a voice from behind him.
"Mr Darcy, sir, begging your pardon. A matter of importance requires your attention."
Burke stood a few paces away, looking towards the ground and speaking with more deference than Darcy knew he would ordinarily employ.
Darcy had never been so pleased to see his valet. "Indeed?"
"Yes, sir. It concerns..." Burke paused dramatically, looking between Darcy and Miss Harrington with a haunted expression, "your luggage."
Darcy rose to the occasion at once. "Good heavens, Burke… the luggage… yes, I had quite forgotten."
He inclined his head towards Miss Harrington. "You must forgive me."
"Oh." Miss Harrington's smile faltered. "Will it take long?"
"I cannot imagine," said Darcy gravely.
He bowed and walked away before she could frame another question. They had reached the far side of the terrace before either man spoke.
"Burke."
"Sir?"
"Does my luggage require my immediate attention?"
Burke paused as if considering the matter very seriously. "No, sir."
Darcy glanced sideways at him. "Then I am indebted to you."
Burke permitted himself the ghost of a smile. "I thought it prudent, sir. The young lady looked ready to pounce. Also, I believe Lady Hortensia is about to address the competitors. The guests are beginning to gather on the lower terrace."
Darcy glanced towards the terrace. Groups from every corner of the gardens had begun drifting in the same direction, ladies gathering their skirts as gentlemen offered arms and servants hurried discreetly to stragglers from the lawns.
Unfortunately, several of the ladies appeared to have noticed him.
One smiled brightly the moment their eyes met.
Another whispered something to her companion before both turned to look in his direction with unmistakable interest. Beyond them, Mrs Harrington had caught her daughter's eye and was making an urgent little motion with her fan.
When Amelia did not move quickly enough, she placed a hand at the small of her back and gave her a discreet but unmistakable push in Darcy's direction.
Without another moment's hesitation he turned and set off towards the terrace by the longest route he could contrive, reaching automatically into his waistcoat pocket as he walked.
Ever since his father's death, he had fallen into the habit of checking the gold watch whenever his thoughts became unsettled.
He glanced at its face, snapped the cover shut and slipped it back into his pocket.
As he did so, the worn clip securing the chain surrendered. He heard the faint metallic snap but, at that same moment, feminine laughter erupted somewhere behind him. He did not look down and quickened his stride.
???
Elizabeth was making her way towards the terrace with Jane when something caught the afternoon sun.
"One moment," she said, pausing.
She stooped and lifted a handsome gold watch from the grass. A broken length of chain still hung from it. Turning it over, she found a simple inscription, worn smooth by years of handling.
For George. Every hour, yours. Anne.
She looked up immediately. The gentleman her father had recognised upon the road was already striding across the lawn with determination.
"Jane, I shall be only a moment."
Without waiting for a reply, Elizabeth hurried after him.
"Sir?"
The music from the terrace swallowed the word.
He continued walking. She quickened her pace, weaving between guests until she was close enough to touch his arm. He stopped so abruptly that she almost collided with him.
"Must we really continue this pursuit?" he said sharply, without turning. "I had hoped to avoid speaking so plainly, madam, but you leave me little choice. I have not sought your acquaintance, nor shall I. I must ask you not to seek mine."
Elizabeth stared at the back of his head. "I beg your pardon?"
He turned and his expression was one of unmistakable impatience. "If this is yet another attempt to become acquainted with me," he said, "I can only advise you that persistence is unlikely to succeed."
"You may set your mind entirely at ease, sir," she replied, every bit as coolly. "The acquaintance is one I had no intention of pursuing. Indeed, had I known so simple an act of courtesy would be received with such extraordinary self-importance, I should have spared us both the trouble."
Darcy frowned and looked at her more closely. "Madam, if you would allow me to—"
"No, Mr Darcy—I believe you are that gentleman, are you not?—you have spoken quite enough."
Her voice carried farther than she intended. A few nearby conversations faltered, and several heads turned discreetly in their direction.
"I am perfectly aware that you are a gentleman of consequence, and no doubt many ladies are prepared to overlook a great deal on that account.
I am not amongst them. In my circles, lowly as you may think them, a gentleman is valued not for the size of his estate or rank, but for his conduct towards others.
I regret to say that, in that respect, you have made a singularly poor first impression. "
She held out the watch. "You dropped this, sir."
"Miss—I have behaved abominably. I was under the impression—"
Elizabeth folded her arms.
"That every lady who speaks to you must be laying siege to your estate and person?"
Darcy opened his mouth. But he could not think of a single thing to say.
"Had I known returning your property would provoke a lecture upon my supposed designs," she added, "I might have left it where it lay."
Jane had evidently seen enough of the exchange to be concerned. She crossed the lawn at a brisk walk, her expression anxious as she came to her sister's side. "What has happened?"
Elizabeth did not take her eyes from Darcy. "Nothing of consequence," she replied, though her cheeks still burned. "Mr Darcy appears to have mislaid both his watch and his manners."
Darcy closed his fingers around the watch. He drew breath to answer, but another gentleman arrived before he could.
"There you are, Darcy."
The newcomer was the gentleman Elizabeth had seen laughing so easily amongst the guests since their arrival.
Tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in military uniform, he possessed an openness of countenance that stood in complete contrast to his companion's reserve.
His easy smile faded as his eyes travelled from Darcy's expression to Elizabeth's and back again.
"Have I interrupted something?"
"Only the conclusion of an unfortunate misunderstanding," said Darcy quietly.
The colonel looked from one face to the other and sighed as if repairing Darcy’s misunderstandings was a cross he regularly had to bear.
"Allow me," he said, stepping forward with an easy bow.
"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service.
This taciturn fellow is my dear cousin, Mr Darcy.
He is sometimes lacking in the powers of conversation, but I assure you he improves—well at least a little—on closer acquaintance. "
Elizabeth inclined her head politely. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet. This is my elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet."
Richard turned towards Jane. "Miss Bennet..."
Whatever easy introduction he had intended deserted him the instant she looked up.
She met his gaze with a gentle smile, adding warmth to her already lovely features. Richard stood for the briefest moment in complete silence, looking at her with an expression Darcy had never seen upon his face before.
Darcy frowned. His cousin possessed an almost inexhaustible supply of conversation. He had yet to encounter any social occasion where Richard Fitzwilliam could not put the company immediately at its ease. To see him robbed so completely of speech by a lady's smile was, to say the least, unexpected.
Richard recovered himself with visible effort and bowed, though rather less gracefully than was his custom. "The honour," he said, clearing his throat, "the honour is entirely mine."