Chapter 21 #2
Richard and Em had known that he was interested in Miss Elizabeth. But Miss Finch was the first to tell him that Miss Elizabeth might be interested in him.
His heart felt lighter, and while he still harboured some doubts as to Miss Finch’s conclusions, the hope he felt carried him past them. He would speak to Miss Elizabeth when she attended Georgiana’s evening and ask whether he could call on her.
Lady Finch was waiting near the tea table. The moment she saw them enter together, her fan came up and she took half a step forward. Then she saw the space between them as her daughter stepped into the room first. The fan sank again.
Miss Finch crossed to Darcy’s mother and curtsied. “Thank you for the tea, Lady Anne. It was very good of you to receive us.”
His mother inclined her head. “Not at all.”
Miss Finch glanced once towards the conservatory. “The camellias were stunning, I must say. Lord Matlock’s camillia house will be a marvel when it is completed.”
Lady Finch brightened. “Perhaps we might—”
“Mamma,” Miss Finch said, with some urgency, taking her mother’s arm. “The carriage will be waiting, and you know Papa is expecting us.”
They made their farewells and Miss Finch led her mother towards the door of the room and out into the hall. Lady Finch had one foot on the stairs when she gathered herself enough to say, “Perhaps we might have the pleasure of seeing you at a little card party next—”
Miss Finch tightened her hand on her mother’s sleeve and kept them both walking. “Good day, Lady Anne,” she called over her shoulder, and the rest of Lady Finch’s invitation went down the stairs with them.
When the door had closed, his mother descended the stairs as well. He followed as she stepped to the window and watched Lady Finch’s carriage pull away.
His mother turned slowly to look at him. “Fitzwilliam, whatever did you do to that poor girl?”
Darcy laughed. “Nothing at all, I assure you.”
“She all but fled the house. Whatever happened?”
“I said very little to her. Miss Finch did nearly all the talking.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“Miss Finch does not wish to be married, and I do not wish to be matched. That is the only explanation I possess.”
His mother’s brows rose. “Indeed?”
“Miss Finch and I understand one another perfectly. She has declared us friends, no more, and I am very happy to accept that honour.”
“Friends,” his mother repeated, as though she had tasted something sour.
“Friends,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“And this satisfies you?”
“It satisfies me,” he said. Regarding Miss Finch, that was.
“Fitzwilliam.”
He looked back at her, already bracing for some final salvo.
“I promise you that I did not arrange any of this. Now, please tell me truthfully. You have not offended Miss Finch?”
Darcy shook his head. “I have not, Mother, I can promise you that.” He held out his arm and his mother took it.
“Miss Finch was brought here because you and Lady Finch wished to see whether we might suit, but she has no more desire to be handed about this season than I have. She spoke about her mare and her wish to be left alone. We have agreed upon friendship, and she escaped just now because she did not wish either of you to arrange another meeting. She is an estimable lady, but she is not for me, and clearly I am not for her.”
His mother’s mouth tightened, though whether she was disappointed or amused was difficult to discern.
“Miss Finch knows what she wants,” he added.
His mother looked up at him. “And you? Do you know?”
He thought of Miss Elizabeth in the conservatory and the new start between them.
“No,” he said. “But I am making progress.”
“Hmm,” she said, and released his arm to return to her letters.
Darcy was left alone in the hall, with the door closed before him and a hope he almost dared not feel.
Georgiana played until late in the afternoon and then came to ask him about the visit. “Did Miss Finch see the camellias?”
“She did, but she finds the red and white ones too disordered for her taste.”
Georgiana laughed and gathered her music against her, half out the door already. “Do you think Miss Elizabeth will like the sonata?”
That was a simple question to answer. “Yes,” he said. “I am certain she will.”
Georgiana bounced a little as she walked. “I have put the Clementi away in case I am asked for something after. One does not follow a sonata with a sonatina.” She said it in a very good imitation of her mother’s voice and was gone before he could decide how he ought to respond.
Wickham came after dinner. As with Richard, Hewitt had given up announcing him years ago.
He appeared in the library doorway with his greatcoat still on, which meant he did not intend to stay. But then, Wickham never intended to stay.
“You will want the brandy,” Darcy said, half question, half statement.
“I will. I come bearing intelligence.” Wickham poured for them both and settled into the chair opposite as he had done a thousand times before.
“For me and not my mother?”
“For you. Aldridge has gone into the country. This morning, by the Bath road.”
Darcy’s hand froze above his book. “Men do leave town from time to time.”
“He says he shall be back by the end of the month.” Wickham drank. “Lord Matlock is out five guineas, by the way. So is Milton. They had him speaking before he left town.”
“So he did not?” He held his breath waiting for the answer.
“There are no signs of it.”
Wickham stretched his legs towards the fire.
“Now the wager is that he will speak upon his return. Even Bingley has written from Yorkshire to take a stake. Em has disallowed it, on the grounds that a man ought to be in the room when he loses his money.” Wickham turned his glass by the stem.
“Somebody at Boodles asked Aldridge whether his return was worth waiting for.” Wickham lifted his head to catch Darcy’s gaze.
“Apparently, upon his return, he intends to make an offer of marriage.”
The fire crackled in the quiet.
“Miss Elizabeth knows her own mind,” Darcy said, feeling a little ill.
“No doubt,” Wickham said. He finished his drink and stood.
“I know that you and I are very different sort of men, Darcy. I am well aware that Lady Anne and Em have kept me from running into ruin, and you do not require assistance of that sort. But being married to a good woman—I am grateful Em came with a fortune, I will not deny it, but knowing her as I do now? I would have married her even were she a pauper. I highly recommend the condition of marriage if you find the right woman.” He straightened one cuff and then the other.
“You should decide what you mean to do, Darcy, and do it.”
And with that, Wickham was gone.
Aldridge would be back by month’s end. If he had a mortgaged estate, a weakness at the tables, a temper—anything at all that would have allowed Darcy in good conscience to issue a warning to Mr. Gardiner, he would have felt easier.
But there was nothing. The man was sound.
Miss Elizabeth’s family had every reason to hope she would take him, and no reason in the world to hope otherwise.
He remembered Miss Elizabeth walking the path next to him. So close that he could have taken her hand.
“I do know it now,” she had said. And she had forgiven him.
Darcy crouched to bank the fire himself rather than ring for a servant.
Tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth would sit in his mother’s music room to hear the sonata Georgiana had been practicing all week. Darcy would have to contrive a few minutes with her before or after it, if only to discover whether she had any expectations of Mr. Aldridge.
How Aldridge had made such an important decision so quickly, Darcy did not know. But perhaps the man’s decisiveness only appeared rash to a man who had spent months waiting for a proper moment to simply tender an apology.