Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Seven Months Earlier
In an elegant house in London, upon a mahogany table’s highly polished surface, an ornate vase held an eye-catching array of late-flowering chrysanthemums. According to what was generally believed, the mellow whites represented honesty. The bold reds signified love.
While adding yolk-coloured blooms to that arrangement, Miss Hannah Wright, a genteel lady of four-and-twenty, recalled that the yellow flowers supposedly symbolised slighted love. Consequently, dainty fingers snapped the remainder of those in half, making them unfit for display.
She considered summoning a maid to discard the entire bouquet and fetch a different variety of flowers. However, for the interim, her father employed a reduced number of domestics and had instructed his progeny to not make excessive or unnecessary demands upon them.
Undertaking the task herself was unthinkable.
All the potted plants had been brought indoors and were inconveniently located, necessitating a descent of two staircases and the traversing of four passages, not to mention the more arduous return trip.
Besides all that, the glass-walled conservatory smelt of dank soil and was too suffocatingly vegetative and verdant, too warm and humid, too cramped and confined for Hannah’s liking.
Why, in her opinion, the entire house was monstrously small for the five of them and their nine servants.
Heaving an unseemly “Humph” of disenchantment, she hoped her family might, before the onset of another summer, be in a position to vacate the premises and return to Barleybrae, their Norfolk country home which had been let to people not of her acquaintance.
In the meantime, the Wrights (widowed father, his twenty-one-year-old heir, and three daughters aged twenty-four, eighteen, and sixteen) occupied a terrace house on Upper Seymour Street, a stone’s throw from Hyde Park, if one had an unbelievably good throwing arm.
Upon taking a deep, calming breath, Hannah crinkled her nose.
The chrysanthemums’ odour—so sharp, so bitter—was akin to the anger and hurt pride she found difficult to relinquish.
Catching her reflection in a pier glass and seeing the resultant creases in her nose, she remembered what her dear departed mother always had to say about such an expression.
“Do not crumple your countenance in that unseemly manner, my dear. The wind could change, and your features will remain that way forevermore.”
Hannah knew it was utter nonsense. According to her father, the captivating shape of the Wright nose proclaimed the family’s strength, power, and authority.
Well, Papa, that power held no sway over stupid Mr Morley, did it?
Scolding herself for indulging in retrospection and resentment, she reminded herself to not look back with regret.
Only onwards and upwards henceforth. Still, the experience had been a humiliating one.
Enduring yet another Season in the hope of securing a husband would be a dreadful business, all to do with a family’s prestige and wealth, the latter of which the Wrights currently found lacking.
Nevertheless, she vowed that the next eligible bachelor deemed worthy of her hand would not slip away as easily as the skittish Mr Morley had done.
Any bloom had long since worn off the slight interest she once had in her former suitor, but her acrimony remained robust. She might not have had fond feelings for him, but he should have been utterly smitten with her.
It was beastly of him not to be madly in love with such a comely, accomplished, marriageable lady.
And how absurd it was to allow any gormless man to affect her so.
Why, it had been—she counted upon her fingers—nearly three whole months since his horrid rebuff back in early September.
The foolishly fickle Mr Morley had listened to scurrilous taradiddle regarding her family’s precarious financial situation.
Granted, the Wrights were attempting to reduce both debt and expenses, hence their temporary residence.
But surely by now our lot must have improved.
Her father had been terribly frugal and unfair, meaning that Hannah and her sisters had been permitted only two new gowns apiece since Mr Morley’s escape.
“Consider yourselves fortunate to have that many,” Mr Wright had grumbled. “But, at all costs, we must keep up appearances.”
Stepping back to admire her floral handiwork, Hannah thought the autumnal flowers lent the room additional warmth, something weak sunlight could not do as it struggled to shine through the fog and smoke.
But the sitting room was comfortable, and despite their reduced circumstances, the Wrights certainly did not live in squalor.
As she added sprigs of rosemary to the chrysanthemums, their housekeeper’s discreet “Ahem” sounded from the doorway.
“Yes, Mrs Parker?”
“Are you and Miss Althea at home this morning, Miss Wright?”
“That depends upon who is calling.”
“’Tis Miss Darcy in company with Mrs Annesley.”
Hannah’s fingers stilled upon the rosemary, but her heart-beat quickened.
During the spring, her youngest sister had formed a friendship of sorts with Miss Georgiana Darcy, a tedious and mousy creature who had been Althea’s contemporary at the seminary the two girls had briefly attended.
Then the Wrights’ wealth became threatened by profligacy and gaming debts, and Althea had been swiftly removed from Mrs Dean’s Academy for Young Ladies.
Later they learnt that Miss Darcy also had been taken from school.
Hannah was certain that Miss Darcy’s removal, unlike Althea’s, was not due to the Darcys’ wealth being in any peril.
The girl—naive, excessively protected, and knowing little of the world—had a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, a far cry from the amount which the three Miss Wrights would bring to a marriage.
Thanks to the gambling houses my stupid brother is so fond of frequenting.
Hannah would not admit their situation was also thanks to the manner in which she and her father had resisted restraint until it had become unavoidable.
As for Miss Darcy, her demeanour had mysteriously altered since an early return from a summer sojourn in Ramsgate.
The poor girl seemed almost afraid to speak or make a move, as though fearful of misconducting herself, and the Miss Wrights were wild to know what had brought about such an unfortunate change.
The girl’s brother, however, was an entirely different sort of creature.
Well, he too can be dull. And reserved. Not at all lively.
His manners definitely need improvement.
Proud and extremely confident, Fitzwilliam Darcy also happened to be wealthy, intelligent, attractively tall, and always neatly attired.
Not at all a rake, he was the kind of gentleman to whom that great word ‘respectable’ was always given.
Whenever he deigned to attend an event, female eyes hungrily followed his every move.
If he were a little spoilt by such universal admiration, who could wonder?
Hannah thought she would do well to make him notice her, for he met all prerequisites for a husband, being as he was in possession of a large fortune for her father’s sake and devilishly handsome for hers.
The housekeeper cleared her throat again, regaining Hannah’s attention.
“Very well, Mrs Parker. You may bring the ladies through. Oh, wait. Has James arisen from his bed yet?” Miss Darcy was a bit young and far too insipid for him. Still, beggars could not be choosers. “And is my father presently at home?”
“The latter left for Boodle’s an hour ago, miss. As for your brother, he was out all last night…again.” Pursing her lips, the housekeeper glanced at the mantel clock, which indicated it was a quarter past one. “Thus far today, the younger Mr Wright has not graced us with his presence.”
The Wright heir had recently celebrated his majority and, to all intents and purposes, carried on pretty much as he desired. Such male freedom rankled Hannah, for she was the eldest but still very much under her father’s rule.
If she had to sit with Althea and suffer through a deadly dull morning call, she certainly would not do so without Margaret.
Misery, as they say, loves company. “Mrs Parker, you will most likely find Miss Althea sulking in the library with her nose buried in some dreary old book because my father will purchase no new novels for her. Also summon Miss Margaret to join us. She is probably moping in her room, lamenting the sale of her beloved little mare.”
“Very well, miss.”
“Oh, and whilst Miss Darcy is here, we shall be at home to anyone else who may call. Anyone at all will do. Even Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley.”
With the housekeeper gone, Hannah preened awhile in front of the mirror, fussing with the auburn curls she, her sisters, and her brother had inherited from their father’s side of the family.
If asked why she currently is without a mount, I hope Meg will remember to answer that she has outgrown Aurora and needs a horse with more spirit.
As to why the family was spending so much time in town instead of at Barleybrae, the girls were to sigh and explain that, alas, there were no eligible gentlemen in the vicinity of their Norfolk estate and that London was the best place to find husbands.
Patting her perfectly arranged hair, Hannah girded herself for the coming quarter of an hour. It would be endured for one reason only: the prestige of having a Darcy of Pemberley call at one’s home.
At least the painfully shy Miss Darcy would adhere to decency and depart within fifteen minutes, unlike Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, who, in their defence, customarily had an overabundance of delectable, gossipy titbits to share.