Chapter Nine #2
Ashton’s lip curved into a smirk. “So that explains your sudden appearances at every ball this season. The matchmaking mammas are practically swooning at the idea that you might favour their daughters with more than just a dance.”
“A torment I endure with little enthusiasm.”
“There is always cousin Anne. She lingers perpetually in the shadows, while Lady Catherine loudly boasts of your eventual capitulation to her tightly held dreams of uniting your two grand estates in matrimony.”
A visible tremor passed through Darcy.
“Anne is... no. I cannot even consider it. She occupies as few of my thoughts as possible.”
“And succeeds admirably at remaining forgettable,” Ashton said, snagging a glass of wine from a servant’s tray. “Now tell me about your unsuitable lady. Maybe if you verbalize your agony, you can finally let go of her.”
Darcy took a cleansing breath and released it slowly, before telling him about an impertinent miss from Hertfordshire.
After speaking for nearly half an hour and emptying another goblet of wine, he concluded, “As we prepared to join the others for dinner, her sister came alongside, and after a brief exchange, Miss Elizabeth mentioned a family matter requiring her attention. She left with her sister, and I never saw her again, having departed myself the following day.”
“Did you discover the nature of this family matter?” Ashton enquired.
“I cannot say with certainty, however, Miss Bingley said she would not be surprised if the family hastened their departure from the ball because the youngest sister was discovered in an unseemly situation. She hinted broadly that the consequence of this indiscretion would make its appearance within nine months.”
“If ever you trust a single utterance from Caroline Bingley’s lips, I shall personally escort you to Bedlam,” Ashton declared with disgust. “Never have I encountered a woman of such detestable character. Her presence in your social circle baffles me.”
“She accompanies her brother. I merely endured her.”
“Your true friendship lies with Hurst. He, at least, is a gentleman.” Ashton fixed Darcy with a serious look. “You would be wise to distance yourself from both Bingley and his sister.”
“Following your refusal to be introduced at the theatre, I confronted Bingley at Whites. Hurst was there as well. The conversation ended poorly with Bingley ranting and storming off like a petulant child. I have terminated our association completely, and withdrawn my club sponsorship.”
Before Ashton could respond, Lord Blake approached with an easy stride.
“Ashton, Darcy, well met,” the young lord said with a smile. “Mother spotted you both skulking along the perimeter, and dispatched me to escort you to her side for proper greetings.”
Everyone knew Lady Blake’s delicate constitution kept the duchess seated during social gatherings, dependent on friends for company. Her matchmaking intentions for her lovely daughter, just recently presented, were equally well-known.
“Has Lady Arabella joined the festivities tonight?” Ashton enquired.
“Indeed, she is currently standing up with Sir I-Forgot-His-Name.”
Wine spluttered from Ashton’s lips while Darcy pressed his own together to suppress amusement.
“Sir I-Forgot-His-Name?” Ashton echoed.
“Her private designation for the gentleman.”
“And what sobriquet has she bestowed upon me?” Ashton ventured to ask.
“Lord Foppish Nincompoop, if memory serves,” Blake replied, eyes gleaming with mischief. He glanced towards Darcy, who merely shrugged.
“Her opinion of me is immaterial.”
“A pity, you have inspired her most inventive appellation.”
Ashton arched an eyebrow.
“Does Lady Arabella know you reveal her private nicknames to their unwitting subjects?”
“She need not worry,” Lord Blake replied with a dismissive wave. “Her creativity is reserved exclusively for gentlemen she finds thoroughly unremarkable.”
“The privilege of ducal blood, I suppose,” Ashton remarked dryly.
Darcy’s eyes swept the room discreetly, confirming their conversation remained private despite its impropriety.
“What epithet has she bestowed upon Darcy?” Ashton enquired, leaning forward slightly.
“The Shepherd of Derbyshire.”
Ashton’s brow furrowed.
“Curious choice. I would have wagered on something like, ‘Lord Perpetually Displeased.’ Why the shepherd?”
“According to my sister, he tends his friend like a prized sheep, carefully guiding him through society’s narrow gates.”
“Ha!” Ashton’s laugh was sharp. “Accurate, though outdated. The shepherd has released his lamb to a less tended field.”
Lord Blake’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? When did this occur?”
“Earlier this week, Bingley’s sister committed several egregious social blunders without a hint of contrition.
” Darcy grimaced at the memory. “When I suggested a tactical retreat from London’s society until the waves of gossip had settled, Bingley declared our acquaintance a misfortune, and we agreed to part company. ”
“Miss Bingley’s tongue proved to be their undoing. She disparaged not only a niece of the Cavendish family, but also the daughters of Earl Rumley. That became the final nail in her proverbial coffin of banishment,” Ashton said with a small shake of his head. “I, myself, refused an introduction.”
The gentlemen paused and watched the guests swirl by them in various shades of silk and extravagant waistcoats.
“This new Earl Rumley, who is he?” Ashton asked. “The man has been a ghost since inheriting the title late last year.”
“I know little beyond what Mother mentioned, that he and his countess received a royal summons to St. James’s.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed at this peculiarity. Newly minted earls had no obligation for court presentation. What warranted such attention? Lord Blake, noting his friend’s expression, pressed on.
“The new countess never had a formal curtsey in her youth. Mother remarked she must have been quite the beauty, for she is still handsome, and her two daughters were positively radiant.”
“Your mother attended the presentation?” Darcy’s eyebrow arched slightly.
“Indeed. She takes tea with the Queen regularly, and often accompanies the royal retinue for such occasions.”
“Two daughters were present?”
“Her Majesty enquired after a third, apparently a recluse with no taste for society. No others were mentioned.”
“Where is the earl’s family seat?” asked Darcy.
“Somewhere in Bedfordshire. The precise location escapes me. After the previous earl lost his son some six or seven years ago, the family withdrew entirely from society. Little else is known.”
“The family name?”
“Benning... or perhaps Benton.” Lord Blake’s shoulders lifted in apology as he tapped his temple. “Names slip through my mind like water unless I have met the person. I need a face to anchor them in this inadequate vessel of memory.”
After concluding their discourse, the three gentlemen parted ways, and Darcy, deeming it an appropriate hour to take his leave without causing offense, sought out his hostess.
Upon locating Lady Glanworth, he offered his appreciation for the evening’s entertainment and conveyed his intention to depart.
“You are leaving quite early for a young man, Darcy,” the lady had exclaimed. “I am certain I only saw you dance once this evening, and must now surrender a guinea to my husband. I had wagered that you would honour at least two young ladies with your attention.”
The muscle in Darcy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression remained perfectly composed. He loathed being the subject of such trivial betting.
“I must beg your understanding, Lady Glanworth. Colonel Fitzwilliam and I are bound for Kent at dawn to call upon Lady Catherine. Given the recent rains, we need to take into consideration they may have rendered the roads quite treacherous.”
Many observed his exit, but their opinions mattered little to him.
If only he could avoid these tedious social affairs altogether.
It was complete and utter devotion to his sister that compelled him to suffer through the calculated manoeuvres of London’s elite.
The city itself offered him no charm. Though business necessitated his presence, and he occasionally found pleasure in theatrical performances or exhibitions, his soul belonged to Pemberley alone.
All that remained was for him to find a woman who would gladly rusticate in the wilds of Derbyshire with him, and inherently knew he would not find her among society’s glittering debutantes.