Chapter 10
Darcy knew he must act, and soon. If he were not much mistaken, Grantchester sensed his growing determination. His old friend seemed to have been politely avoiding him since they returned to London, but this could not go on forever.
In the drawing room at Darcy House, Darcy listened absently as his younger sister’s deft fingers flew over the pianoforte keyboard in the final movement of a familiar Mozart sonata.
His mind was far away from this room, from Georgiana and from Mozart.
With a painful confusion of conflicting obligations, Darcy thought yet again of Miss Jane Bennet, an unworldly and unsuspecting young woman contracting a marriage she might well live to regret.
John Tellington, Earl of Grantchester, was not a wicked man, and yet he was leading Jane Bennet down a road with evil consequences. Did he genuinely not see this? Or did he think he could avoid these evils? Might he even think that Miss Bennet’s own innocence could protect her?
The presto movement of the sonata reached a climax and then rushed on still further and higher with all Georgiana’s youthful energy and enthusiasm.
The already grim situation had been made worse by Charles Bingley’s infatuation with Jane Bennet.
In a worst case scenario, Darcy could even imagine Bingley calling Grantchester out if he ever learned the truth. That could benefit no one.
Dwelling on one sister always brought the other to mind, no matter that Darcy would have preferred to keep Elizabeth Bennet out of his head entirely.
With her bright hazel eyes and quick, fearless manner, even the memory of her had the power to rouse and rile him in the most disturbing and disruptive manner.
If only Elizabeth Bennet understood what was at play, her force of personality might better steer her sister from danger than anything Darcy could do.
Honour, however, must always prevent him from telling Lord Grantchester’s secrets, even for the best of reasons, and even if it meant that his motives must be so badly misconstrued.
Do you detest marriage in general, Mr Darcy? Or only the match between your friend and my sister?
Recalling that heated conversation in the garden at Belton Manor made his heart race in more ways than one, just as it had done in reality.
Elizabeth Bennet showed Darcy no deference whatsoever, and he respected her for it.
How tired he had grown of the Miss Bingleys of the world dancing attendance on him, or rather, on his name and fortune.
Elizabeth stood in stark contrast to such manipulation.
She was honest, always, with a clarity of mind that Darcy could not help but admire.
“What are you thinking, Brother? You look miles away.”
Darcy blinked, realising that Georgiana had played the final chords some seconds ago and had been watching him since. He had neglected to either applaud or offer any other acknowledgement.
“You played that sonata very well, Georgiana,” he told his sister belatedly. “Your practice is paying off.”
She laughed and stood up from the instrument, coming to bounce herself down beside him on the sofa. Georgiana had just turned sixteen years of age, and while no longer a child, nor was she entirely an adult.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam. Are you going to answer my question, though? You are not normally a man to daydream, no matter how well I play.”
“I was thinking of marriage,” Darcy admitted, and then blinked as he realised what he had said. Was Bingley right that he was too frank? He certainly felt his cheeks colouring as soon as he had spoken, especially when Georgiana clapped her hands joyfully and laughed.
“Is there a particular lady?” she demanded, and the image of a furious Elizabeth Bennet immediately intruded itself into his head once again.
“It would be impossible,” Darcy muttered before grasping the thrust of his sister’s question and its implications. “I mean, that is… I have no present intentions towards a particular lady. I was thinking of impossible marriages in principle.”
“Oh dear, that is a depressing line of thought on such a lovely day,” Georgiana sighed, turning her face towards the sunlight streaming in through the window. “I would much rather there had been a particular lady, but I should have known better. Why should this subject occupy you?”
“There is a couple I know who are heading into a marriage bound to make both of them very unhappy.”
“How horrid. Someone must do something,” Georgiana declared instantly, with all the simple conscience and confidence of the very young.
“If the couple themselves will not act, no one else can do anything,” Darcy observed, “except maybe offer advice.”
Georgiana shook the dark head that was so similar to his own, unconvinced by this answer. “Their friends must speak, surely. Their families must have influence. Don’t you remember how you prevented me from such an act of terrible folly, not even six months ago?”
Darcy took a deep breath before nodding.
Of course he remembered. The day that fifteen-year-old Georgiana had confessed her intention to elope with that fortune-hunting blackguard had been one of the most awful days of his life…
He had to control his voice and expression carefully even now, lest the force of his emotion frighten his sister.
“This case is very different, Georgiana. Both the lady and gentleman are above one-and-twenty, and neither is a fortune hunter nor of vicious character.”
“Then why should they not marry and be happy together?” she asked with evident mystification.
Georgiana’s knowledge of the world and its denizens was still far too limited for him to make her understand the complexities at the heart of the present situation. Darcy already feared that he might have said too much.
“It is very complicated, and we ought not to ruin such a lovely day, as you have already noted. Do change the subject to something more pleasant, Georgiana.”
“Very well,” she agreed obediently and then, after a few moments’ thought, grinned at him. “Let us return to the subject of your own marriage someday. Have you really never considered making an offer to any lady?”
“Must we talk of that?” he sighed, avoiding a direct answer but smiling at Georgiana’s affectionate enthusiasm for matching him.
“I like imagining future wives for you, Fitzwilliam, but I do not know what qualities you look for in a lady. You ought to tell me. Then, if I ever meet such a lady, I may introduce you.”
Darcy laughed a little at this harmless conceit and then went along with it.
“I suppose I must have a wife of similar status and fortune to my own. She must match me in intelligence and principle. Ideally, she should speak French and Italian or German. Knowledge of Latin and Greek would be an advantage, as would some facility in mathematics, music, and art. She must keep abreast of current affairs and developments in the arts, sciences, and literature.”
“Is that all?” Georgiana asked, with a twitching smile and a hint of sarcasm.
“To interest me? No, there is more. Indeed, the most important is yet to come. Her character must be strong and sensible enough to manage Pemberley,” Darcy continued, “and her heart gentle enough to love you and any children that bless our marriage.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” laughed Georgiana, planting a kiss on his cheek. “No wonder you have not yet made any offer of marriage. There cannot be many women in the world as accomplished and worthy as you require. You may never meet one, I fear.”
Darcy smiled wryly, supposing that he must have sounded quite pompous in setting out such a list. Yet, how else did one choose a wife, if not on the basis of such qualities and accomplishments as he had listed?
“Would you really be content if I one day brought home a wife purely on the strength of her fine eyes, quick wit, and enjoyment of reading?” Darcy asked his sister, intending to make a joke and expecting her to laugh and disagree.
“Even if she had neither fortune nor connections nor any great accomplishment?”
To Darcy’s chagrin, Elizabeth Bennet appeared in his mind’s eye, as if summoned by his question, hands on hips and gaze full of challenge. Darcy always had the sense that she was demanding something of him, although he would have struggled to specify what that was.
“Yes, I should be entirely happy,” Georgiana pronounced with complete sincerity. “If you loved one another, I would be happy only to see you happy, Brother.”
Darcy looked at her in surprise, an answer dying on his lips. With Georgiana’s unanticipated reaction, the scene at the garden party came back to Darcy yet again, this time played in a slightly different and rather fantastic way.
Do you detest marriage in general, Mr Darcy? Or only the match between your friend and my sister?
His imagined self stepped forward in this version of the scene, entering into conversation rather than confrontation with his comely assailant.
I do not detest marriage at all, Miss Elizabeth. On the contrary, I ask you to do the honour of accepting my hand…
Darcy’s mind told him that such daydreams were undignified and ridiculous. His heart, however, was not convinced.
“You are a most generous sister,” he remarked, rising to his feet and turning towards the window, closing his eyes as he fought to banish the tremor that passed through him as his dream-self raised Elizabeth Bennet’s hand to his lips.