Chapter Persuaded to Believe Herself in Love
PERSUADED TO BELIEVE HERSELF IN LOVE
Ashaft of sunlight speared between the curtains, cutting a brilliant path across her face.
“Too early,” she mumbled, turning over, away from the window, and pulling the soft cotton sheets up to her ears to block the light.
Georgiana had slept fitfully, excitement and worry and noises from the street below combining to prevent true repose.
It had only been as the dawn approached, that she had drifted into a more restful sleep.
“Ahh.” She nuzzled into the pillow. As she began to sink once more, the harsh cry of a seabird, right outside the window, assaulted her ears, followed by another. She opened her eyes reluctantly, yawning, and pushed her hair, which had escaped its braid, away from her face.
Then remembrance hit, and she sat up abruptly, peering past the shaft of sunlight into the dimness across the room. Yes, her filled trunk stood open in the corner, a petticoat tossed over it. She caught her breath.
Today was her birthday, the day that would change her life forever.
Darcy House, London, Several weeks earlier
Georgiana Darcy sat back in the brocade chair across from her brother, her arms crossed. She was not pouting! She was merely trying to have a mature conversation with a man who treated her like a small child.
“Please explain why I cannot remain in Darcy House, and return with you to Pemberley. I did not request to leave school only to be sent off again to my own establishment!”
“Mrs Younge explained,” Fitzwilliam Darcy responded with the tone of one stating the obvious. “It is not appropriate for you to live in a bachelor household. You—”
This was the third, no fourth, time they had entered this discussion since Georgiana had left her exclusive seminary a month prior.
And a fortnight of that month had been spent at Matlock House, with their aunt, until her brother had hired a companion for her.
Immediately upon Mrs Younge’s arrival, the discussion of a separate establishment had begun.
She leaned forwards, eyes fixed, challenging her brother to look away.
“Are not out. Yes, I am aware. That makes no sense. If it is not appropriate for me to live with my very respectable brother and respectable companion, in our family home, how is it appropriate for me to live with only my companion in leased lodgings?”
“Gigi.” He held his hands out pleadingly.
“I know.” She slumped back in the chair. “It is just—Brother, I want to be with my family. I was alone at school, and now you wish to send me away again.”
“I do not wish to send you away.” He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the careful arrangement. Jackson, his valet, would be appalled, she thought.
“But Mrs Younge—”
“Is not my guardian, or my family member. Truly, Brother, if I am not to live with you, I would prefer to return to Aunt Rebecca. No one could suggest that would be an inappropriate situation!”
Her aunt Rebecca was the Countess of Matlock and mother to Georgiana’s second guardian, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
He ran his hand through his hair again, leaving one curl standing. Oh, Jackson would be very annoyed.
“Perhaps we can defer the decision. Mrs Younge suggested you would enjoy a visit to the seaside. I have let a house in Ramsgate for a fortnight hence. I can escort you there, but I will have to return to London and Pemberley before joining you for the rest of your stay. We could consider it a trial of having your own establishment as well as a holiday?”
Georgiana nodded. “I would like to go to Ramsgate. Aunt Rebecca says it is lovely and not so busy as Brighton. And after, I can return with you to Pemberley? It seems so long since I have resided there for any time.”
“We have an agreement.” His sombre expression lightened.
She stood to leave the room, stopping with her hand on the handle of the heavy oak door. “And, Brother? You might wish to have Jackson repair your hair before you see anyone else.” She grinned and swirled out the door before he could respond.
24 May 1811
Ramsgate was not as quiet as Aunt Rebecca had suggested.
Spencer Square bustled with soldiers and navy men from the garrisons flanking the town.
The cliffs overlooking the harbour and beach sprouted with townhouses and cottages.
And everywhere were visitors enjoying the seaside, fishermen, and workers at the town’s brewery, among others.
The sights, the sounds, the smells, all were so different from London or Pemberley.
They had arrived late Tuesday, after a two-day journey broken at her aunt Catherine’s home, Rosings Park.
Lady Catherine had scolded them for not staying longer, but Fitzwilliam had explained that he must return to London by the end of the week and hoped to get Georgiana settled in Ramsgate.
And he had done so, spending two days escorting her about the town, setting up accounts at a few shops, and waiting patiently as she explored the beach and asked one of the dippers about sea bathing.
Mrs Harvey was a heavy-set woman with a tanned face and arms, and a warm smile, who said she would be welcome at any time.
Georgiana peeked into the bathing wagon, a sort of dressing room on wheels with benches to sit on while changing and steps to descend to the water.
As they left she patted the horse, a placid grey mare, on the nose, and promised to bring a carrot or two when they returned.
But it was now Friday morning, and they said their farewells.
“Enjoy your holiday,” he said as he hugged her goodbye. “The watercolour master, Miss St John, will call next week. And both your aunts have sent letters to their acquaintances here, so you should have plenty of society.”
“Thank you, Brother. I am sure I will enjoy it.”
“I will return to spend the last week in June with you, then we will travel to Pemberley,” he promised.
She watched the coach as it disappeared from sight, re-entering the house with a sigh.
“Well, what shall we do today?” Mrs Younge asked brightly. “If I might suggest, we should visit the modiste. You will need more light muslin gowns. It is quite warm here.”
The modiste’s shop was a delight, bolts of fabric in every shade arrayed on shelves along one wall, and cosy seating areas with low tables covered with fashion plates. An assistant served tea as they sat, looking through the plates.
Mrs Younge steered her to styles more sophisticated than she had been wont to wear.
“But the neckline is so low, and I am not out,” she protested, even while admiring the lines of the drawing in the fashion plate.
“It is perfectly appropriate, in light colours, of course.”
They left after ordering three gowns, a pale blue, golden yellow, and white, fabric samples in hand to help with the selection of bonnets and gloves.
Two doors down, Mrs Younge stopped suddenly before a jewellery store, its window displaying a glittering collection of rings, necklaces and bracelets.
“You should buy a bauble or two to wear with your new gowns, something to celebrate your first visit to the seaside,” she said abruptly.
“I really do not need anything.” Georgiana shook her head. A ring caught her eye; a large, irregular pearl, with two blue stones on one side, and one on the other. She turned to see Mrs Younge enter the shop, and followed.
“The pearl ring in the window,” Mrs Younge said with an imperious wave of the hand. “My charge wishes to see it.”
The clerk rushed to the window, returning with the ring nestled on a small velvet pillow.
“The sapphires are just the colour of your eyes. And after all, your birthday is little more than a fortnight away.”
“It is beautiful,” Georgiana said, examining the ring. “Perhaps I shall ask Fitzwilliam to get it for my birthday.”
“But it may be gone by then. Your brother is not to return until several days after your birthday.”
Georgiana bought the ring, surprised at how easy it was to have the bill sent to Darcy House in London.
The shopping continued for several days, with Mrs Younge encouraging her purchases with frequent references to her quickly approaching sixteenth birthday.
Wednesday at dinner, Georgiana hesitantly raised the subject of her spending with her companion.
“Do you not feel I am being somewhat… extravagant with my purchases? My brother has never questioned my spending for clothing, but I would not wish him to think me irresponsible.”
“Not at all!” Mrs Younge turned to her with wide eyes and raised a hand to cover her mouth. “Are you questioning my advice? I believed we were becoming such friends, and you know I am only trying to prepare you to come out into society.”
She blinked and raised a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, her ragged nails a contrast to her otherwise genteel appearance.
“Oh, no.” Georgiana rushed to comfort her. “I am enjoying our shopping very much, and greatly appreciate your guidance. I would not know where to begin with purchasing more mature styles. I only wish to be sure Fitzwilliam will not be disappointed with me.”
“Oh, that is no concern.” Mrs Younge waved her hand, her apparent tears forgotten.
“Mr Darcy instructed me to see that you had anything you needed. I am sure he is so busy with all his responsibilities that he has not thought a bit about your wardrobe or spending. He will be so pleasantly surprised when he returns to find you so lady-like. Is he still to return at the end of June? Have you had a letter from him?”
“Only to inform me that he had arrived in London. He should be leaving for Pemberley soon,” Georgiana replied.
At the milliners the following day, Mrs Younge lingered to admire a particularly fine silk shawl, embroidered with a design of peacock feathers. When she stepped away, Georgiana asked the clerk to add it to her order, presenting it to Mrs Younge when they returned to the cottage.
“A token of my appreciation for your help in my shopping,” Georgiana said, as she held out the brown paper wrapped package.