Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Brooding silence and stiffness in his jaw might have indicated Fitzwilliam Darcy’s perturbed state of mind, had anyone taken notice. But being badly jostled about on a poorly-maintained track upon approach to the Bristol Channel was not the sole reason for Darcy’s irascibility.
For the sake of his sister and her friend, he exerted himself and presented a contented mask.
For nearly a decade, such affectation had come naturally to him.
Disguise of any sort might be his abhorrence, but a deceptive outward appearance was often necessary while navigating the treacherous waters of the ton.
He was a man with a purpose. Georgiana’s disastrous near downfall in Ramsgate the previous summer would be replaced with happier memories at another seaside on another coast. Not for the first time, he silently thanked his uncle for bequeathing to him a marine villa high on a remote Somerset cliff.
There his sister would be safe from rakes, rogues, and scheming opportunists.
“Are we almost there, Brother?” Georgiana, next to Miss Althea Wright, was across from Darcy, who sat upon the rear-facing seat.
How would one know where in the world we currently are?
He glanced again through the side glass, but there was no sign of the Channel, or anything, only greyness.
Like my world. Dull after my parents’ deaths and dull again after Georgiana’s narrow escape.
At once, Wickham’s sneering voice was in his head, saying, ‘Poor little rich boy!’.
Darcy had not noticed that colour had been gradually draining from his life until he met a certain young lady as arch and brilliant as a rainbow, full of promise and hope. But not for me.
Recollecting himself, he replied to his sister.
“I am unsure, Georgiana. But Samuel promised we should reach Strandsmere in time for dinner.” When his stomach loudly rumbled, he apologised and forced a grin.
“According to my coachman and my complaining middle, we must be close to arriving.” Nor was hunger the only cause of his vexation.
Partially responsible for Darcy’s irritable state was she who was out of sight but rarely out of mind.
No doubt she was gadding about the sunny Hertfordshire countryside, eyes bright and intelligent, hair escaping its pins, boots caked with mud, hems sloppy, cheeks rosy.
Closing his eyes, he wished her out of his head for the millionth time, but her cheerful wit and loving care of her ill elder sister at Netherfield had given Miss Elizabeth Bennet a strong claim upon his heart.
The foremost reason for his pique, however, was in the carriage that should have been following behind his own.
Turning sideways, Miss Althea peered through the rear glass. “I cannot spot Papa’s coach through all this fog. Do you suppose they are lost?”
One can only hope. Darcy pressed fisted knuckles against his lips, lest such uncharitable words escape.
“How I wish there had been sufficient room in here for dear Hannah to travel with us. She is such an entertaining conversationalist.” Sighing, Miss Althea shot Hector, Georgiana’s loyal and sweet-tempered Newfoundland dog, a pointed look.
“I am sorry, my friend. I cannot abide the thought of Hector sitting unsecured next to the coachman. You know how terribly I spoil my dog. And I would greatly fear for his safety were he sitting outside, for he cannot hold on like a person can. As well, were he out there, he would bark at each creature he sees, driving everyone to distraction. It was fortunate that Mrs Annesley decided to spend the summer visiting family in Nottingham instead of with us. Imagine how squashed we all would be right now were she or your sister here.”
What Georgiana failed to mention was that she had begged her brother to allow the beloved dog to travel inside the carriage, insisting that Miss Wright would be comfortable enough in her father’s coach. Darcy suspected his sister did not much care for the lady.
His original intention had been to invite the Bingleys and Hursts to Strandsmere Park.
The more the merrier they say, although he had never shared that opinion.
But the whole lot of them were in Scarborough for the summer, which was probably for the best. If Miss Bingley found Netherfield a desolate place, Darcy shuddered to imagine what she would have had to say about Wyman’s Cove.
Besides all that, Bingley had been aloof since leaving Hertfordshire and even had the audacity to call him a killjoy.
“Humph!”
“Did you say something, Brother?”
“No, dearest. I was simply clearing my throat.”…and ridding my head of Bingley and his younger sister. If only I could do the same for Miss Elizabeth Bennet and any overhasty impulses regarding Miss Hannah Wright.
Why, oh why, had he extended an invitation to the entire Wright family?
He wished he had invited only the youngest daughter, Georgiana’s friend.
In addition to that not being appropriate, the girl’s eldest sister had been indefatigable.
Miss Wright had worked on him and worked on him, and he had succumbed like a fallen soldier.
At the time, surrender had seemed preferable to the woman’s constant complaints about having to endure another summer in town.
He suspected that, before leaving London, she had wandered about Harding, Howell & Company inspecting fabric for her wedding clothes.
Not that he had made her an offer yet. Nor would he. Will I?
Miss Wright was accomplished and handsome, to be sure.
In fact, nature had given the entire family no inconsiderable share of beauty.
She and her sisters were superlative horsewomen who loved the countryside but equally enjoyed urbane pursuits.
The eldest, proficient on the pianoforte, was a gifted vocalist as well.
She appeared to be a good daughter and sister, and the family seemed closely knit.
Most importantly of all, since her mother’s untimely death, she had overseen the running of both her father’s country house in Norfolk and a leased house in London.
And, like so many other single women, she seemed eager to see Pemberley through the eyes of its mistress.
Truth was, Darcy had spent an inordinate amount of time in the lady’s company.
How could he not when all through winter and spring she had surprised him by unexpectedly popping up—like a jack-in-the-box—everywhere he went?
Riding in Hyde Park. At the Harrisons’ ball.
Vauxhall Gardens. Mrs Hurst’s musicale. The British Museum.
The Smiths’ Twelfth Night revelry, et cetera, et cetera.
It had happened far too frequently to be mere coincidence.
By Jove, ’tis a wonder she did not attempt to gain entrance to White’s or Angelo’s while I found sanctuary at those establishments.
The only reprieve he had had from her was a se’nnight spent at Rosings Park in late March.
How had Miss Wright contrived it? Narrowing his eyes, Darcy looked across the carriage at Miss Althea and wondered whether she had gleaned information about his plans from Georgiana and disclosed them to her eldest sister.
In whatever manner she had managed it, the society pages had caught wind of an alliance between ‘FD’ and ‘HW’ and reported it in terms of seriousness.
Granted, he was attracted to the woman, but he had not yet decided to pay her his addresses.
Customarily, Darcy acted with an alertness of mind neither undecided nor dilatory, but he had dilly-dallied regarding Miss Wright throughout the spring.
As an intelligent man of the world, he had enjoyed his freedom.
Nearing thirty years of age, the stage of life when a man thinks of settling down, it was time he forgot about a certain unforgettable young woman in Hertfordshire, found a more suitable bride, and started to fill Pemberley’s nursery with handsome, clever little Darcys.
Absence, however, had made his foolish heart grow fonder of Miss Elizabeth, or at least his memory of her.
Half a year had passed since he had last been in her company at the Netherfield ball.
Still she lingered in his thoughts. Attraction to an unacceptable lady was imprudent, but there was something singular about her.
So clever and lively. All brightness. Were she there on the coast, her very presence would dispel the gloom.
Her character was fixed in his mind as perfection itself.
Except when she attempted to be Wickham’s champion. And her situation in life.
According to his Fitzwilliam relations, station and fortune were of the utmost importance when choosing a spouse.
Love played no part whatsoever in the selection process.
One merely had to tolerate the person. Lady Catherine pestered him to marry his cousin Anne, which was going to happen only over Darcy’s dead body.
In which case, he would be a very disgruntled ghost. Even the colonel, several years his senior, wondered why his cousin had become, in his words, ‘such a grumpy old man’.
While he had been ruminating over all that, the carriage had come to a halt on the sweep in front of Strandsmere Park.
This is where I shall make a life-changing decision.
Wed Miss Hannah Wright, find someone else, or remain a bachelor.
A complete summer in her company would be sufficient time to make up his mind about marrying the woman.
‘As to marriage or celibacy’—either Socrates or Plato had written—‘let a man take which course he will. He will be sure to repent.’
Apparently, I am damned if I do and damned if I do not.