2 #2
Then she had laughed and her fan had opened to its widest to hide her expression, which, just for a moment, had bordered on wistful.
Archer had sympathised; he, too, had no time for the cosseted sort of girl who got her own way by fainting or bursting into tears at the slightest setback. Anne had painted her twin as just such a person.
That conversation had ended with an odd remark which at the time had struck him as a little unkind and left him feeling that his goddess was perhaps not as perfect as he had imagined.
“Well, at least it won’t matter if Jane never marries, and la, I cannot see that she ever will because what man would want a frail wife who needs constant attention?
But she will surely inherit her godfather’s estate in Dorset and so will be quite self-sufficient and no burden on me or my brothers in the future. ”
Archer didn’t know why Jane Darcy’s offhand attitude during their sudden meeting on the road irritated him so much. He had no time for girls who expected their slightest whims to be obeyed, who hid their real feelings and used tears and emotion to bend life to their expectation.
He could well imagine that she was a young lady who was completely unaware of all the upheaval that was abroad in the country at the moment, as working men began to clamour for more pay and better conditions.
Archer would have bet several guineas that Jane Darcy paid less attention to politics than the trimming on her latest bonnet.
He was aware that was why he admired Anne Darcy: she was a young lady who always seemed in control of her own destiny, who spoke her mind and had decided views on most matters. She was elegant, beautiful and very well connected.
He knew his grandmother, Lady Goddard, would be only too pleased if he announced his intention to marry the Darcys’ eldest daughter.
Even though she had purchased Robyns, she still retained her London address in Mayfair and spent many weeks of the season there.
Every time Archer met her, she expounded on the virtues of a wife who would bring lustre to his career in law and in the future world of politics.
He was not naive—he knew that to succeed amongst powerful men you needed money. His parents had left him very little on their deaths, but he knew his grandmother would happily give him the funds needed, as long as she approved of his future wife.
Anne Darcy would be a sparkling hostess at his dinner table and make him the envy of all his friends and acquaintance.
With all that in mind, Archer Maitland was not quite sure why he had hesitated to ask for her hand.
But recently, with his grandmother’s words of advice ringing in his ears, he had decided that the next time they met, he would propose that she became his wife.
He had no doubt at all that she would accept.
He sensed that she did not love him but, as Mrs Maitland, would have an extremely interesting and powerful part to play in his future career.
And he was definitely not going to make the same mistake his mother had made and marry someone who was unsuitable out of love.
At last he turned in his saddle to shout across to his friend. “I wonder if Miss Jane Darcy knows that Colonel Fitzwilliam has another visitor at the moment?”
“Oh, you mean the ravishing Celeste, she of the flashing dark eyes? Isn’t she some sort of a distant cousin to the Colonel and the Darcys?”
Archer nodded. “I think it will be most interesting to see the two young ladies at the same table. Smouldering hot night and chilly winter day, both vying for their cousin’s attention.
” And he laughed and urged his horse into a canter, leaving his friend staring after him, his pleasant, mud spattered face creased with concern.
Dr Andrew Moore knew he was not the most astute of men.
An eminent archaeologist, he was never happier than when kneeling in a trench in some foreign land, gently scraping away the soil in order to discover clues to the life and times of the people who had lived there centuries ago.
Engrossed in his books and papers from various learned societies, he often seemed bewildered when faced with modern day life.
He had known Archer Maitland since they were at school together where Andrew had been mercilessly bullied, first for being so clever and second for coming from a very humble family background, until Archer had intervened, teaching the bullies a lesson they would not forget in a hurry.
Since those days the two boys had become firm friends.
Andrew had been amazed when Archer offered him friendship.
He was completely unaware that Archer, under his forthright manner and blunt behaviour, had a passion for justice and fair play.
It was why he had chosen to study law and it was accepted by all their acquaintances that he would rise to the top of his profession very quickly and eventually enter parliament.
As he grew older, Andrew had realised that Archer’s family life was not as happy as his own.
He learnt that Archer’s grandparents, Admiral and Lady Goddard, had disowned their daughter, Violet, when she married Mr Maitland.
A lowly lawyer in a small country town with no way of progressing in his profession, was not the husband they had wished for their only child.
Mr Maitland had died when Archer was fourteen and he and his mother lived in very reduced circumstances in a small town near Winchester in the county of Hampshire.
Somewhat reluctantly, his grandparents had paid for their grandson’s education at a good school and when he reached the age of eighteen, gave him a sum each year to sustain himself.
Archer was fond of them and visited regularly, always hoping that in some way he could bring about a conciliation between them and his mother.
But neither side was prepared to make the first move at improving relations and, when Archer turned twenty, his mother followed his father, almost thankfully, into the graveyard.
Now, years later, Andrew could see that the pride which had made the Goddards and their daughter so stubborn was just as prevalent in Archer’s character.
The little boy who had refused to accept a holiday with richer school friends because he felt he could not invite them back to his own modest home had turned into a man who kept all his emotions locked away, determined not to show any weakness to the world at large.
Archer had grown closer to Lady Goddard when the Admiral died and Andrew, too, often found himself in her company, although he did not care for the way she expected to control every facet of his friend’s life.
He had been delighted to receive Archer’s recent invitation to accompany him on a short visit to his grandmother’s new home in Dorset.
It had come at a most opportune time. Andrew was hoping to travel out to Greece where new, exciting excavations were beginning on the site of the Acropolis in Athens.
His parents had moved to Wales with his younger brothers and sisters and he had already given up his London lodgings when the trip was delayed, so it seemed fortuitous that Archer should offer this invitation to stay at Robyns until his new travel arrangements were verified.
Now he urged his horse into a trot, shivering as the breeze chilled his wet shirt, looking forward to a bath and clean clothes.
He hoped Archer wouldn’t play too many games with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s distant relations.
He never meant to be unkind, but then, thought Andrew, as he clung to the horse’s mane and urged it into a canter, neither did a leopard with its prey.
The late afternoon was slowly turning into evening: the wind had dropped and somewhere a blackbird was singing his last song of the day.
The sun was setting in a glory of peach and apricot as Colonel Fitzwilliam opened the massive oak door that led into his rambling old house, stood on the stone steps and gazed anxiously down the length of the long driveway to where it finally curved out of view and vanished under an avenue of lime trees towards the lodge gates.
His visitors were late and he only hoped they had not run into trouble on the rough Dorset lanes.
In this hidden valley tucked away under the range of hills that protected it from the sea, progress was slow in coming and once you left the main road, the potholes and uneven surface were a liability when travelling.
Jane’s godfather was not an elderly man—but a career in the army had caused his health to suffer: he limped badly and found riding a trial.
Although not quite an invalid, he led a quiet life, busy with his collections of silver, books and manuscripts, running his estate with care and kindness, seeing few people except close friends and relations.
He was well cared for by a loyal staff, headed by his housekeeper, Mrs Oxley, and only ventured away from Dorset to stay with the Darcys once a year and to his house in London every six months.
His once dark hair was shot through with silver but he was still a handsome man with a pleasing appearance.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had fallen in love over twenty years ago with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but he had never shared his feelings with that lady—indeed, he had soon realised that compared to the all-consuming, white hot passion his cousin Darcy felt for her, his affections were mild.
But mild or not, he had never loved anyone else and had long settled for comfortable bachelorhood.