Chapter 2
TWO
“Icannot believe my eyes! There must have been some kind of divine intervention! Mr Darcy, right before me!”
“Good evening, Lady Wistham! I am glad to see you again.”
“Why have you been neglecting us so?”
He inclined his head. “I must admit I got a little weary of company, and since dear Georgiana married, I decided a respite was in order.”
“At least you are honest.” She said with a knowing smile, “Now, where shall I seat you, Mr Darcy? We have a few most intriguing young ladies in attendance tonight. There is Miss Cavendish - very well read, keen interest in sciences and art and, if I am to judge, quite pleasing to the eye. Over there we have Miss Norwood — she might be a little plain, but I believe you are the sort of man who would enjoy her conversation a great deal. I dare say she might be for you.” Lady Wistham tapped his shoulder with her closed fan.
Darcy smiled at her as she winked slyly.
The acquaintance with Lady Wistham was essential for Georgiana, it facilitated the introduction to Viscount Grenville at her musical soirees, where their courtship unfolded.
“I am not in search of a wife, Lady Wistham.” He smiled, his tone light.
“Nonsense! A man of fortune, like yourself, must be in want of a wife!”
“I am afraid it’s a hopeless business. I would much rather listen to the concerto and then join the gentlemen for cards.”
“Go enjoy yourself, Mr Darcy! But remember, I will find her for you eventually!” She playfully swatted him with the fan again.
He shook his head as he walked away from her towards the refreshments. “It’s too late!”
* * *
Elizabeth was up and working in the still room early in the morning. She had slept soundly and felt her usual cheerful self, or at least the facade of it. Jonathan received a “good morning” from her when he inquired about how he could assist her.
Her meeting with Mr Brook began cordially enough as they planned for the next week, but tension crept into her shoulders when he left her a list of tinctures he needed prepared.
Predictably, he raised that same infuriating topic again—his insistence that they partner with a physician to improve business.
Thomas and Mr Brook working together had made them popular with families, he reminded her.
Elizabeth refused. It wasn’t that she disagreed with his reasoning.
The problem lay in employing a man who would inevitably treat her as nothing more than an assistant in her own establishment.
Heat rose in her chest at the thought. If she could become an apothecary or physician herself, she would bid Mr Brook farewell without a moment’s hesitation.
She had once respected him, even enjoyed his company, until mere months after Thomas’s death, when he had approached her with thinly veiled ambition gleaming in his eyes, asking when they should change the sign above their shop front to display only his name. The memory still made her blood simmer.
“I would like to remind you, Mr Brook,” she had said, her voice deceptively calm, “that this very building and at least three quarters of the stock belong to me personally. This apothecary will always bear my husband’s name; whether it will bear yours is up to you.”
“I meant no disrespect, Mrs Morley, I was just wondering whether it will not be confusing for our patrons.”
“We will have to endeavour to educate those who are confused, just like we try to cool down those who suffer from fever!” The words had left her lips like sharpened darts.
“Of course.” As his back disappeared behind the closed door, she had flung an inkwell at it, the satisfying crash barely releasing a fraction of her fury.
Now she smiled grimly at the stain—a daily reminder of both his presumption and her resolve.
They worked well enough together professionally; Mr Brook was undeniably knowledgeable, kind to patients and, for the most part, relatively broad-minded.
But the friendship that had once existed between them had withered into a careful dance of power.
* * *
Darcy’s morning was far more painful. He felt such mornings were not worth the merriment of the night before.
He had not drunk to excess, nor had he lost more money at card tables than he set out to.
Dancing with Miss Cavendish was something he did not expect.
He waltzed with her, no less. Lady Wistham had contrived it - and to be frank it had been pleasant.
Miss Cavendish was pleasant and intelligent and possessed a genuine curiosity about her, but no impertinence.
She was not servile, nor did she seek to flatter - he found something refreshing in that.
She also had a pleasing figure… He would be very tempted if he were younger, and if he had never met Elizabeth.
He closed his eyes and tried to summon the image of Miss Cavendish - her form arching on top of him, her breasts in his line of vision, her breath rapid, his hand sliding down her back towards her posterior…
nothing, not even a hint of desire. It all felt wrong.
He knew her father from Cambridge; the man was only a few years his senior.
A gentleman ought not to know details of his father-in-law’s indiscretions of youth.
He got up with determination, his valet attending him.
Looking at himself, he felt a mix of incredulous amusement and slight repulsion at what he had just attempted to school his mind to do.
A man of his age was supposed to escort a debutante to a ballroom as a father, not waltz with a debutante and then imagine her in illicit poses.
“A dance invented by the Beelzebub himself!” he muttered while descending the stairs to his breakfast parlour.
He only sat down with his coffee (no sugar or milk - he didn’t deserve those for his mind was full of sin).
“Lady Grenville, Sir.” Cranston announced, opening the door. A flutter of fabric went through with a swish, and Georgiana sat down next to him after kissing Darcy’s cheek.
“How are you, brother?”
“It is a little early for a morning call, isn’t it?”
“I have calls to pay, but wanted to see you before anyone else. Edward spoke to Richard last night at the club.” She regarded him quizzically.
“Ah.” He carried on spreading butter on his bread. He deserved butter for having been intruded upon.
“What happened? Richard is worried. Apparently, you are acting ‘irrationally’.”
“Did he not say I am ‘out of my mind’?”
“He may have…” Georgiana smiled with a hint of blush on her cheeks.
Darcy only shook his head and chuckled.
“Will you not tell me what it is about?”
“It is about a woman.” Darcy said with a twinkle in his eyes and hungrily bit into his toasted muffin.
Now Georgiana laughed. “Don’t jest!”
“I am not jesting. I perchance discovered the whereabouts of an old acquaintance and visited her. The occasion was badly planned and ended in an amusing anecdote.”
She arched an eyebrow. “That was a little vague account.” She said, her voice laden with suspicion.
He shrugged and continued his meal.
“Miss Elizabeth?” She whispered, her eyes round and full of something akin to horror.
He mirrored her expression.
“Oh Fitzwilliam, I remember. I remember your letters from Hertfordshire; you were singing her praises. Then again, the letters from Kent - I used to think you would offer for her. You never mentioned her again or any other woman. Apart from that horrible Miss Evelyn.” She shuddered.
“I would rather not continue this conversation,” he said, looking down at his plate.
“I can see that, but if I may, I think it would be good for you to talk to her. It is likely she is not who you used to know. It might help to find out.”
“Thank you, Georgie.” He smiled at his sister and squeezed her hand on the table.
His mind travelled back to Miss Evelyn, a beautiful and what he would call accomplished woman.
She had been well read, her dowry had not been remarkable and her connections had only been adequate.
She was 24, while he was not yet 30; she had been picky.
He had hoped they were alike in trying to find a connection, not merely convenience.
They had got on well; he had been seriously considering proposing.
He had even asked Georgiana for her opinion of the lady — and that was where he found out how she spoke of him as if he were a prize to be won.
He had decided to test her character and motivations.
The next time he met with Miss Evelyn was at his aunt’s soiree.
He invited her to an empty library and said: “Miss Evelyn, your accomplishments and beauty are most seductive. I find myself unable to resist your charms.” The look on her face was not one of bliss, but a victorious smirk of conquest. She had looked him straight in the eye and replied, “I always knew you would eventually declare yourself, Mr Darcy.”
Everything he despised about himself, all that anger and righteousness he was trying to keep in check, bubbled to the surface, and he had said the most despicable thing he could think of:
“I am glad we understand each other so well. I will set up a household for you at a small estate I own in Scotland and visit with you… I believe two weeks every other month would be agreeable?”
“What exactly are you proposing?” she said without flinching.
“Madam, I propose a mutually agreeable arrangement. I am not in a position to marry you. Your dowry is insufficient, and your connections are mediocre. I am not inclined to act against my family’s wishes or my better judgment, and yet I find myself drawn to your beauty…
Is it at all possible to solve this conundrum with an arrangement of convenience?
I am certain it would be mutually beneficial.
” He could not sound any lewder if he tried.
A slap across his face was what he fully expected, but to his astonishment and disgust, she started shamelessly negotiating her price, not omitting to factor in her innocence.