Chapter 1 #2
The colonel scoffed. “I may be sent to the Continent, and my mother is frantic to see me resign my commission. In her desperation to impose her will upon me she has decided that Miss Cromwell, her fifty thousand pounds, ties to the earldom, and seven unsuccessful past Seasons will be the best way to expedite her wishes. I fail to see how such a hasty arrangement of my most intimate concerns shall ever ensure the happiness of either myself or the lady in question. My father, thank God, is attempting to relieve her ladyship of her mistaken notion, although by no means fast enough for my liking.”
He gave Darcy a pointed look. “You should know that my mother’s machinations encompass your own felicity as well.
Lady Harrow is here somewhere with her daughter, Lady Eliza.
It is rumoured they have taken a house in Park Street—a little too close for comfort if you ask me, but my mother is certainly pleased.
You know she has long considered Lady Eliza an advantageous match for you. ”
Darcy stiffened. “I have no interest in Lady Eliza. Your mother and hers would do well to abandon their efforts.”
“At least she is handsome,” the colonel grumbled, turning his attention to his wine.
“You can hardly say as much for my own prospect this evening. Her ample dowry aside, I suppose even Miss Cromwell must possess at least one winsome quality.” He chuckled crudely and drained his glass, grimacing at the finish.
“Whatever it is, I shall never discover it, for it is most likely well-concealed beneath one of her chins.”
Darcy shot him a disapproving look. While Miss Cromwell was known to possess as hearty an appetite as many gentlemen of their acquaintance, she was from a respectable family.
“Take care, Cousin, or you will find yourself on the wrong end of Lord Everett’s pistol.
You know as well as I that physical beauty often goes no deeper than a cursory level. ”
“Cursory smursory. Of the two, Lady Eliza is the most preferable prospect, especially if one wants to beget an heir.”
Darcy snorted. “You are welcome to her, but your heir would be the silliest in England. I have never known a young woman with such ill-formed opinions. Her mother is little better, though I cannot help but find her society even more intolerable than her daughter’s.”
Smirking, Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his empty glass in a mock toast. “Now who risks facing pistols at dawn? I know you detest the woman, Darcy—and with good reason—but you can hardly fault her for wanting to make an advantageous match for her daughter. After all, what mother does not want to see her daughter well settled? There are many here who would stop at nothing to secure a husband, though I admit I have rarely seen a woman so willing to do quite so much to further a match for her daughter as Lady Harrow.”
Unbidden, Mrs Bennet came to mind and Darcy frowned.
His cousin was correct—there were plenty of mothers who wanted nothing more than to see their daughters advantageously wed, but what a difference he now recognised between Elizabeth’s mother and the more resourceful matrons of the ton who were, without a doubt, far better acquainted with the intricate workings of the world!
When compared to the duplicity and scheming employed by most of the ladies in the first circles of society in their pursuit of a rich husband, Mrs Bennet’s machinations appeared almost demure.
Not only was Lady Harrow one of the most cunning of the lot, she was also the most persistent.
Even before her husband’s death, it was rumoured there was little she was unwilling to do to obtain what she desired, as Darcy well knew from his own past encounters with the woman; but unlike Mrs Bennet, whose manoeuvrings were born of affection and motivated by real concern for her daughters’ futures, Lady Harrow was driven by covetousness, greed, and a baser instinct of which Darcy had never approved, especially in a lady.
“I cannot fault any mother for wishing to secure a future for her daughters, but that woman is as base as they come. Her scheming is for herself alone. I cannot abide such singular selfishness. There are other ladies far more deserving of notice from a gentleman of honour, despite their standing in society.”
Chuckling, Colonel Fitzwilliam eyed his cousin with a raised brow.
“You are feeling charitable I see. That is well and good, but you cannot tell me that when faced with the prospect of marriage to some untitled miss with a meagre dowry or the daughter of an earl, you would choose the untitled miss. I daresay even you would act with more prudence than what your words imply. After all, you can hardly expect an unknown young thing to step into your mother’s shoes and act the part of Pemberley’s mistress in the manner that would be expected of her.
Granted, I suppose she could be taught, but why go through the trouble when there is already an abundance of well-trained young women in town? ”
Darcy started at this pronouncement. “Good Lord, Fitzwilliam, you sound like your father. Surely, you believe there exists within our circle a gentleman who craves the companionship and admiration of a sensible lady over the shallow attentions and insincere tittering of the bon ton—a man who desires a woman of intelligence and discernment who esteems him for his intellect and his merits rather than his property and the heft of his purse?”
“I imagine most of us would prefer to unite ourselves with a woman of sense and sensitivity as well as beauty,” the colonel replied, “but you and I have lived enough in the world to know that finding each of those desirable qualities in one lady is hardly probable, and so I know I must sacrifice certain traits in favour of others. I am afraid my habits shall dictate I marry a handsome woman whose equally handsome income will support me in the style to which I have grown accustomed. You must do the same and you know it. You cannot possibly overlook a woman like Lady Eliza to pay your addresses to, say, a lady with Miss Bennet’s situation. ”
Darcy felt a rush of indignation and, before he could check himself, blurted, “What can you possibly find to object to in Miss Bennet? You appeared to enjoy her company while you were in Kent, with no one else on hand to amuse you except Lady Catherine and our cousin Anne. I vividly recall you admiring Miss Bennet on more than one occasion, a wistful look upon your face and pretty words falling from your lips as you attended her while she played, dined, walked about the grounds—”
“Easy, Darcy. It is true. I cannot deny it. I found nothing wanting in the lady’s appearance, manners, or the turn of her mind and did not mean to imply otherwise.
No one admitted to the privilege of knowing Miss Bennet would find anything to criticise.
I meant only to point out that her situation in life is hardly ideal.
One of five daughters—all of them out—with nothing more than five thousand pounds between them, not to mention an entailment hanging over their heads and a high-strung mother? No sane man would do it.”
Livid, Darcy shook his head. “So, Miss Bennet was nothing more than sport for you? A pleasant diversion while you whiled away your time at Rosings? You would flirt with her, toy with her, but nothing more! Even if you were a first son and in possession of your brother’s fortune, you mean to tell me you would not consider making her an offer of marriage?
You would choose to take a girl such as Lady Eliza, with her hefty fortune and empty head, to wife rather than Miss Bennet—a bright, attractive, well-informed young woman who is in every way her superior, save for her woeful dowry and lack of a title! ”
His cousin gaped at him. “What the devil has gotten into you?” he asked, indicating a group of matrons across the room whose keen eyes were fixed upon Darcy with eager expectation. “For the love of God, lower your voice, or else half of London shall overhear you.”
It was not so much the harshness of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s reproach that made Darcy blanch, but the realisation that he had very nearly allowed his temper to get the better of him in front of an audience; an audience for whom his prior performances had always been carried out with painstaking neutrality and indifference.
He exhaled a harsh breath and tugged at his cravat, which felt as tight as a hangman’s noose.
This blasted heat must be making me mad. This blasted heat and Elizabeth Bennet!
With some effort, he composed himself enough to put a rein on his heightened emotions and speak with civility. “Forgive me,” he muttered, and drained the last mouthful of wine from his glass. He needed to away, and sooner than later, or else risk saying or doing something truly regrettable.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Fitzwilliam regarding him with a look of grave concern.
“Darcy,” he said, but Darcy only waved him off, set his empty glass upon a nearby table, and turned on his heel.
His long strides were quick as he wove his way through the crowded drawing room and out of the door.