Chapter 4
FOUR
Since arriving in town two days earlier, Darcy had spent too many hours in his study or at his uncle’s table.
Today brought no relief. He had sat through three interviews for a new companion for Georgiana; no matter what the agency had noted in its paperwork, the first two applicants were clearly unsuitable.
The third woman, however, had qualities warranting more scrutiny.
He approved of her manners, and after listening carefully to her French and her thoughts on lessons and reading material, Darcy had almost deemed her worthy of the position.
And yet, her stern surety in herself, while admirable, was likely excessively harsh for a girl as reserved as his sister.
Of course he would not make such a decision alone.
He lifted the quizzing glass from his desk to peer at the lady over her letter of introduction.
A shadow of black pulsated around her. Stunned, he shot to his feet and moved towards the door, swinging it open wide and beckoning the footman hovering nearby.
“Mrs Younge, I thank you for your time.”
An expression of angry surprise flitted across the woman’s countenance, securing for him that his estimation of her was correct. She rose, gave him a cool look, and saying nothing in response, disappeared through the door.
Roiled by angry relief that only his possession of the quizzing glass had kept him from endangering his own dear sister, Darcy took himself off to his club, where he proceeded to ignore his friends’ urgings to attend that evening’s amusements at Lady Hervey’s card party.
The last thing he needed tonight was a coquettish female or an acquaintance eager to ask his opinion.
In the past few years, he had done enough in society—and raised the quizzing glass far too often—to understand the ambitions and schemes of the ton.
A discussion of the weather would turn quickly to suggestions that he meet someone’s daughter.
‘So accomplished, and her dowry is more than generous.’ Another conversation on the state of the roads might inspire a proposal for his investment in a mine or a shipping concern.
‘Five thousand pounds, which you will double in a year. It is a certainty.’
The words and behaviours were familiar, the smiles and invitations cloying and disingenuous.
Darcy had a small circle of those he counted as true friends, whose decency and goodness was obvious.
Finding a lady of similar merit was difficult.
Every time he was tempted to further his understanding of a young lady by looking through the glass, he was stopped by a single thought.
Am I unable to choose my own bride? Is my judgment so weak, my will so irresolute that I rely too much upon its powers alone?
Yet he had nearly made a dreadful mistake choosing Georgiana’s companion; why should he believe he could select his own?
Thus the conundrum he faced: power for greater insight was thwarted by the fear of learning he had no discernment at all. No one is perfect, Darcy thought, before concluding that Thomas Grey was correct: ‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise’.
And rather lonely.
“Darcy!”
“Fitzwilliam.”
No one was happier to see him at Boodles than his cousin, who was quick to pull Darcy aside and secure his promise to attend a dinner party at his parents’ home the following evening.
“I had planned to call on them in the afternoon, after finishing some business here. I am to depart for Pemberley the day after.”
“You cannot leave in the middle of the Season,” his burly cousin barked. “Remain in town for another week, at least?”
“What is the urgency of my company?” Darcy looked at him closely. “Have you orders for France?”
Fitzwilliam gave him an odd look. “There is a young lady I wish you to meet.”
Darcy groaned. “You too? A matchmaker?”
“You are not the only man in this family who catches the eye of eligible young ladies,” came the indignant reply. “My mother has invited Baron Lewiston and his wife and daughter to dine. I met her at a ball a fortnight ago and have found her delightful on subsequent meetings.”
“You, in love?”
His cousin shrugged. “Infatuated perhaps. She is an exceptional beauty, from a good family.”
Darcy thought quickly on what he knew of the baron.
No sons to inherit and a family fortune burnished through investments in mining.
His daughter need not marry a gentleman of wealth, but societal connexions would ever be important.
Fitzwilliam fulfilled those requirements and brought a good heart and steadfast disposition to all that he undertook.
“I shall join you at dinner.”
Darcy was standing by the front window when the Lewistons entered the drawing room.
The baron and his wife were equally plump and expensively attired, but it was their dour expressions that caught his notice.
Did they dread dining at his uncle’s home—being at war with the French, Lady Matlock’s cook was a stickler for serving only English dishes—or were they displeased by Fitzwilliam’s attentions to their daughter?
Miss Lewiston stepped forwards to greet his aunt.
She was indeed a classic beauty, although her pale, red-haired delicacy did not excite Darcy’s interest. He was somewhat surprised she had caught his cousin’s eye, for he had a longstanding preference for blonde hair and had always celebrated liveliness in a lady.
Her presence coaxed a smile from Fitzwilliam, and she seemed as pleased with his company as he was with hers; her eyes never left him except to gaze demurely at the floor or at the evening’s other guests. She seemed…agreeable, if a bit dull.
Introductions were made and drinks served, and Miss Lewiston, enthralled as she was by his loquacious cousin’s banter, left him with no strong impression of her.
As it was, Darcy was eager to escape the baron’s persistent enquiries into his investments and interest in a mining venture in Cornwall.
His fingers itched to pull out his quizzing glass and take his measure of the man, but he wished not only to avoid such a theatrical gesture, he was determined to come to his own conclusions first, trying to strengthen them before examining Lewiston covertly. All in all, he was unimpressed.
Relief arrived when dinner was announced, and with every lady’s arm claimed, Darcy was odd man out.
He followed the group to the dining room.
As they walked down the staircase, he raised the glass to his eye and looked at Lewiston’s broad back.
A warm light emanated from him. Surprised, he peered at the baroness. It was the same.
Abashed to have thought ill of the couple, Darcy moved the glass away and glanced at Fitzwilliam, who appeared agreeably engaged with their daughter.
Almost unconsciously, he again lifted the glass to his eye and peered through it at the lady, nearly stumbling on the final step at the sight of the dark shadow pulsating within and around her.
Once again, he had got everything wrong.