Chapter 21
The morning room at half past ten contained Darcy’s mother, her correspondence, and no one at all for him to marry.
He entered and took the chair across from her. From the music room came the notes of Georgiana’s sonata, the same passage worked over until his sister was satisfied. It already sounded perfect to him.
He opened the paper and read the first paragraph three times before he realised something was different.
For the better part of three months, ladies had been discussed each morning as reliably as the weather. His mother had compiled countless lists. For one particularly fraught dinner, there had even been a seating chart.
Since his discussion with his mother about Miss Finch, there had been nothing at all for him. His mother wrote her letters, spoke of the weather, praised the poultry. Before this winter he would have declared victory, but he was too wise to let his guard drop now.
“Lady and Miss Finch are to call this afternoon.” His mother signed her name and reached for the sand.
Darcy waited for the rest of it. In January there had been a full accounting of his mother’s plan for the visit.
“She asked particularly whether the camellias were in bloom,” his mother said. Her look rested on him a fraction longer than the remark wanted. Then she went back to her letter.
That was all.
“I shall be at home,” he said, mostly to hear her response.
“That will be pleasant,” said his mother.
He folded the paper. “Mother, what are you about?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You have been at me for months to choose a bride.”
“And what has that accomplished, my dear?”
“Very little, as I told you it would.”
“Yes.” She regarded him steadily. “There are a great many young men and women in London who would like to be matched by me, Fitzwilliam. I have been so entirely wrapped up in helping you that I have neglected them.” She addressed her letter in her quick, strong hand.
“You have asked me to stop, and so I have. I thought you would be pleased.”
He would be, if he believed that it was true.
Upstairs the sonata broke off, then began again. She was practicing for Miss Elizabeth, who had been invited here tomorrow.
He had been unusually eager to perform his mother’s errand, for he had been able to go alone. He had long wished to apologise to Miss Elizabeth properly, and that could not be done in a crowd. Mrs. Gardiner appeared to understand, for she had graciously given him the privacy he required.
It had eased his conscience considerably, and Miss Elizabeth had even laughed with him about it.
Darcy finished his paper and went to the library, where he answered his steward’s letter. He was distracted and could not recall precisely what he had written. He hoped he had not ordered the tenants’ cottages to be dipped and the sheep to be thatched.
Once he had finished, he sat back and considered that his mother, who was such a shrewd judge of matches, had not yet turned her eye towards Miss Elizabeth for him.
The only reason he could devise for this rare blindness on her part was that he had botched things so badly in Hertfordshire.
She had simply crossed Miss Elizabeth off her list once he had admitted to his behaviour and had never thought to revisit that decision.
It was a blessing, for he would need to proceed carefully with Miss Elizabeth, and his mother’s interference would be no help at all.
The Finches came at three. Darcy was surprised that his mother was to entertain them in her private parlour, but he did not inquire why.
Lady Finch entered already halfway through a sentence. “—for I told Sir Humphrey myself, no constitution could be expected to survive such crowded rooms. Shockingly hot. Shockingly. Arabella stood it better than most, of course.”
She took the chair nearest the tea tray without waiting to discover whether it had been meant for her.
By the time the cups came round, Darcy knew not only that Lady Sefton’s rooms had been heated beyond endurance, but that the Beaumonts’ ball had dwindled to no more than fourteen couples and was in danger of being cancelled, and the Grantley girl was very near an understanding with Mr. Fulford, though Lady Finch did not credit the gossip.
His mother only smiled and sipped her tea.
“Arabella was much admired at Lady Sefton’s,” Lady Finch added.
Miss Finch sat upright, holding her teacup without drinking it, eyes on the fire screen as her mother extolled her successes. Darcy thought she appeared a woman whose patience was nearly exhausted.
He knew the feeling.
Miss Finch set her cup down. “Lady Anne, I adored the camellias on display at your party.”
“They were a gift from my brother. Matlock House is building its own camellia house. Would you like to see them?” his mother said. “Georgiana would take you through, but she is chained to her instrument today.”
Darcy did not sigh, although he wished to. “Then I am at your service.”
Lady Finch rose too. “I have always adored—”
“Mamma, the heat of a conservatory gives you the headache within five minutes. You know it does.” Miss Finch was already at the door, and Darcy observed that if he did not rise to join her, the lady would escape without him.
Darcy caught his mother looking at them. Very briefly, without reacting. Then she turned to Lady Finch and asked after her husband Sir Humphrey’s gout, a subject good for at least half an hour.
Miss Finch sighed happily when she entered. “The scents are exquisite, Mr. Darcy.” She inspected the camellias without hurry, giving each plant the same frank attention she gave people.
Darcy recalled that Miss Elizabeth had also mentioned the scent. He wondered whether she would like to walk here during the day, for the conservatory appeared quite a different place in the sunlight.
“The white is very fine,” she said at last. “But the one with more than one colour simply appears like a sloppy painting to me.” She lifted her eyebrows as she said, “You may tell whoever praises it that I said so.”
“I praise it.” They were his favourites.
She smiled. “Then you need only tell yourself.”
Darcy inclined his head. He felt no need to challenge her opinion.
She stopped at the end of the row. “Mr. Darcy, I likely have about ten minutes before my mother remembers that she would like to join us, and so I shall use those minutes now, if you are willing to hear me.”
“You have my attention,” Darcy replied.
She took a breath and began. “My mother has put me in the way of every available man in London this season. It is February, and I am already weary nearly to death. By my count, you and I are among the two most hunted people in town at present, and it seems to me a great waste for the hunted to avoid one another when we might offer solace instead.”
A cold tendril of alarm began to curl around him, but he thought it better to know what exactly Miss Finch was suggesting. “I am listening.”
“I thought you a good man when we met, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Finch said. “But please believe me when I say that I did not immediately fall in love with you. I am not a fool. I am not considering you, and you are not considering me. I have liked you much better since that was settled in my head.”
The tendril released its hold. Darcy was not offended, but he was curious. “When did you settle that?”
“When I spoke with Miss Elizabeth Bennet at your mother’s party.” Darcy must have paled for Miss Finch shook her head. “You were not obvious. Indeed, I do not believe that Miss Elizabeth noticed anything at all.”
He kept his eyes on the camellias. “Miss Finch, if I have given any affront, I must—”
“Heavens, you have done nothing for which you ought to apologise. I was watching only because I wished to know how much trouble you were going to be to me.” She said it without a particle of embarrassment. “With a mother like mine, Mr. Darcy, I am rather attuned to such things.”
There did not seem to be anything safe to say in reply.
“You need not look so guarded. I do not wish to know anything about it, and I shall certainly not carry tales to either of our mothers.” She turned a leaf over with one finger, examined its underside, let it go. “I should simply like to be on friendly terms with you, and Miss Elizabeth as well.”
She wanted nothing from him. It was an unusual position to find himself in, and he embraced it. “Gladly,” he said. “For my part, that is.”
Miss Finch nodded. “Excellent. I hope you did not mind that nonsense about country and gardens. I wanted to see how gentlemanly you are, and I was not disappointed. You were even a little amusing about it.”
“I do what I can.”
Her smile was a wry one. “I had no intention of finding a husband this season, but my mother is evidently determined to be rid of me. I had other hopes for the year. A better mare, for one.”
“What is wrong with your mare?” he asked as she turned back to the flowers, because it seemed the sort of thing one might ask a woman who was also a friend.
She straightened. “Everything is wrong with my mare. She shies at nothing on the left side and at everything on the right, is afraid of sheep even when they are nowhere near her, and stops dead at every gate. She is a great trial to me, but I cannot sell her, for my father remains very pleased with himself about obtaining her at an excellent bargain.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I am sure it was a bargain. For him.”
“I do love my parents, Mr. Darcy. They are very good to me. I think Papa would not mind if I stayed home forever, but Mamma would like grandchildren. And so I am being led about for inspection much as my mare once was. Lately I find I have more sympathy for her.” She took one last look down the row.
“I am not certain you are aware, but Miss Elizabeth watches for you as well.”
“What?” Darcy’s throat was dry.
Darcy had been certain Miss Elizabeth could not think of him at all. His mother had thought so, and although he had wished it otherwise, had never really believed it.