Chapter 34
The Countess of Keaton’s Dressing Room
Keaton House
Midnight
Clara sat patiently as her maid’s skillful fingers swiftly wove gleaming strands back and forth into a neat braid. This done, the girl tied a pretty lacy nightcap over Lady Keaton’s dark head and stepped back slightly.
“You may go, Genevieve,” the countess said with a smile and watched as her maid withdrew. She waited until the door had closed behind the woman before turning toward her husband, who was standing by the fire with his back to the warming flames.
“My dear Keaton,” she said with an arch look, “what can you tell me about Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
Her husband stared at her in surprise and lifted one dark eyebrow. “Darcy? What about him?”
Clara huffed fondly. “Is he the sort of man to make a good husband for Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth? But did she not say that Darcy had insulted her the day they met?”
“She did, yes, but I am quite confident that the young man has a different view of the matter now. Did you not see that he could scarcely take his eyes off of her when he was visiting today?”
Her lord blinked and sighed. “I confess I did not, my dear. And even if he was looking at her, perhaps it was merely concern about Miss Darcy, who seems a shy creature?”
She narrowed her eyes in contemplation and then nodded reluctantly. “That is true enough. He is not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, certainly, and is difficult for me to evaluate. But what do you think of him as a man, my dear?”
“He is a good man,” the earl responded immediately.
“Rather quiet, but genuinely clever, and I have heard that he works very hard to manage his estate of Pemberley. It is odd, really, that we have not previously formed a genuine friendship, as like me, Darcy is not prone to foolish hijinks and gambling. But he is two years younger than me, and he went to Harrow while I went to Eton, so I daresay that explains it.”
Clara nodded thoughtfully and then turned back to the mirror to tuck a curl more firmly under her cap. “Well,” she remarked to her reflection, “I am determined to find Elizabeth a good husband. She is such a bright, clever lady, not to mention handsome, and she is also an heiress.”
The earl appeared in the mirror behind her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his in the reflection.
“Does Elizabeth even wish to marry?” her husband asked gently.
Clara nodded firmly. “Yes, I know she does, because we have spoken of it in the past, though she has long believed that she might well never wed. There are not many eligible men in Hertfordshire, and in any case, she has been so busy caring for both Longbourn and Emerald Island that there has been little time for dancing and courting. That truly outrages me, Keaton! She is but twenty years of age, and carrying a load that is far too heavy for her shoulders!”
“I cannot disagree with that,” her husband said and leaned over to plant a kiss on his wife’s capped head as he put both hands on her shoulders.
“You can, of course, match-make to your heart’s content, my dear, but I would not count on Darcy being truly interested in making an offer to Miss Elizabeth.
She has a great many wonderful attributes, but the Earl of Matlock is Darcy’s uncle, you know, and surely he expects his nephew to marry very high indeed.
Moreover, there are rumors that Darcy is intended for his first cousin, Miss de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent. ”
She twisted her lips and lifted a hand to place it on her husband’s right hand. “Not everyone has a love match, which is sad, I think.”
“It is very sad,” the earl agreed with a grin. “Now, shall my lady go to bed?”
“She shall,” she said with a matching smile.
***
Darcy’s Bedchamber
Darcy House
London
Midnight
Darcy was, once again, lying awake in bed into the wee hours to ponder the magnetic Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It was, he reflected ruefully, starting to turn into a habit.
From his very first glimpse of her today seated in the drawing room of an earl’s house like a jewel in its setting, his heart had started pounding, his mouth had gone dry, words had deserted him and he had been unable to look anywhere else.
She fit perfectly into her surroundings, as at ease in an earl’s home as in the provincial drawing room of Longbourn or the only slightly more ostentatious Netherfield.
Darcy had previously wondered whether she would be intimidated by Pemberley, with its grand dimensions and magnificent rooms, but no, she would grace those hallowed halls as she did every other place she chose to rest. She was amazing.
He took a moment to daydream of her in his home, with her bright eyes and silky hair and trim figure in the drawing rooms and dining rooms and mistress’s suite of Pemberley.
She would make an exemplary mistress of even such a large estate as Pemberley.
Skillful and knowledgeable and gracious and beautiful, everything a Mrs. Darcy should be.
He had noted with warm approval her kindness to Georgiana, the ease and tact and patience with which she had drawn out his painfully shy young sister.
Darcy’s heart directed him to rush off to kneel at Miss Elizabeth’s feet and offer her his hand and his name, but he had learned long ago to listen to his head over his heart.
Duty was a harsh taskmaster, and Darcy was nothing if not dutiful.
He had responsibilities to his estate and his sister, yes, but also to his illustrious family, to the Darcy name, which had gone unsullied for generations.
From earliest boyhood, Fitzwilliam Darcy had been reared to subsume his own desires beneath the mantle of his duty.
That was what George Wickham had never understood.
The elder Wickham had been a good man and had attempted to raise his son well, but he had not had the force of generations of breeding and discipline and honor behind him.
The younger Wickham had given himself wholeheartedly over to the very depths of selfishness, taking a ruinous path into dissolution and vice and pleasure with no care for those he left hurting in his wake.
In the end, Wickham’s licentious and craven path had resulted in an early death.
Darcy did not consider such a path to even be an option, but did it necessarily follow that he must marry Anne de Bourgh?
True, his relations expected it of him. Lady Catherine spoke of it every time his filial piety took him to Rosings for a visit, and his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, had mentioned it in passing once or twice, but was that truly the best course?
Lady Catherine spoke lovingly of uniting the estates of Rosings and Pemberley, but in truth, Derbyshire and Kent were too far apart from each other for Darcy to easily administer both estates.
There was also the question of heirs. Anne was not strong or well in body, and it was doubtful that she would be able to bear children in safety for either mother or infant.
Even socially, marrying Anne would be no advantage. She had never been introduced at Court, being too sickly to travel away from Rosings. She would not be able to present Georgiana or host the requisite balls and parties needed to find an acceptable husband for his dear sister.
Darcy had never before really thought in depth about marrying Anne, as he had vaguely and reluctantly accepted that he would do so because his elders wished it of him.
Now that he had seriously considered the matter, marrying Anne seemed foolish, and he was certain that he could persuade his uncle Matlock to share the same view.
The advantages such a union might bring were patently outweighed by the drawbacks, and Matlock was no fool.
In any case, whether his older relations approved or not, Darcy was his own man.
He need not, and should not, wed based entirely on the desires of his aunt and uncle.
Which did not quite bring Darcy back around to Miss Elizabeth.
Even if Anne was not an acceptable bride, it did not automatically follow that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was.
Close friends with a countess she might be, but she had relations in trade, and her father, though a gentleman, was still a mere country knight, no matter how brilliant.
But none of this took into account the fact that Darcy was very much in love with Miss Elizabeth due to her clever mind and quick wit, her kindness, and her beauty.
It was all too easy to imagine living every day of the rest of his life at her side, to envision her holding his children in her arms or running with them over the green sward of Pemberley, to spend evenings in cozy companionship in the shared sitting room between his chamber and hers.
Georgiana would love her and would blossom under the expert kindness of a woman who was sister to four other ladies.
Pemberley and Darcy House would both thrive with a skilled mistress at their heads, and any parties she might host would be successful.
Relations in trade, a vulgar mother, expert management of not one but two estates, and not raised to such management either, beauty and grace, and the daughter of a mere country knight .
.. it was all too much for Darcy at such a late hour.
He glanced across the room at the clock, where it sat shrouded in shadow on the mantel, groaned, and rolled over in his bed.
He could not see the time, but his body told him that it was late, and he was too tired to think anymore tonight.