Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The next time he went to see Bingley, two days later, Darcy was relieved to learn that Miss Bennet had gone to visit her Hertfordshire relations for the festive season.
He had successfully thought of her as a child whenever she intruded on his thoughts, but now he would not need to think of her at all.
He soon found himself wishing for the girl’s simple frankness, however, when he was forced to endure tea with Miss Bingley and her supposed chaperone, Mrs. Hurst. He and Bingley had been passing a relaxing hour with Hurst in their host’s study when a footman informed them they were expected in the drawing room.
Bingley appeared surprised but only glanced at Hurst, shrugged, and went as summoned.
Miss Bingley had certainly not been out when he had met her, but today, her hair was high, her neckline was low, and her fichu was absent. The girl’s gown was also lavender instead of black, though her mourning was only half over.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, swaying her hips as she approached him. “How do you take your tea?”
“Er…with a little milk, please, Miss Bingley.”
When she turned away to fulfill his request, he cast a panicked glance at Bingley and Hurst, who stood together near a smiling Mrs. Hurst. Bingley’s mouth hung agape, and Hurst worked admirably not to laugh.
The men all sat, and Miss Bingley returned, bending at the waist to offer him a teacup, exposing him to parts of her he had no business nor desire to see.
He immediately took his tea and looked away, murmuring his thanks.
Miss Bingley quickly distributed tea to the others and then sat on the settee next to Darcy.
Why had he chosen this seat? He looked around at the arrangements and saw he had been given little choice.
Only a large settee and a small one were near enough for polite conversation.
If Bingley had joined him rather than Hurst and his wife, this could have been avoided.
Darcy glared at his friend as his young sister placed herself far too close to him, leaving several inches on her other side.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy. I apologize. You are such a large man, but I believe I can squeeze in next to you.”
“No need,” he said. Appalled by her behavior, he rose and moved to a window, pretending interest in the quiet street outside.
Mrs. Hurst engaged her husband and brother in conversation, and Miss Bingley turned and raised her voice to speak to him.
“Mr. Darcy, it was a pleasure to meet your dear sister when she called a few months ago. I was sorry not to meet you when you came for her.”
“I arrived quite late that night.” Darcy recalled the bitter day.
“Thank you for hosting her for such an extended period.” He knew from his sister’s tale that the Miss Bingleys had not found it anything like a pleasure to have his sister forced upon them.
Georgiana’s day would have been nothing short of miserable if not for Miss Bennet, who had stayed with her until she slept, which is how Darcy had found her.
He was again grateful a girl closer to his sister’s age had been present on that occasion.
As soon as his tea had cooled enough to swallow it, Darcy thanked the group and took his leave.
“It is time you made your engagement to my daughter official, Darcy,” Lady Catherine de Bourgh declared. “Now that you have secured Pemberley, you have a duty to ensure Rosings Park also remains in the family.”
“Nothing need be made official, Aunt, as we have no unofficial engagement,” Darcy said. “Forgive me, but I will not marry Anne.”
“It was your mother’s dearest wish and mine, Nephew! Your father would have accepted the marriage, in time, but now we need not wait.”
Darcy stood rigid before his mother’s sister, frustrated to hear this topic mentioned again. He had already told his family he and his cousin would not make a match. He and Anne had discussed it years ago, and his father had supported their decision.
“You will need to take someone to wife, Darcy,” his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, added. He and his wife were seated to Darcy’s right. His cousin the viscount, Lord Blakely, sat at his left and snickered at his father’s statement. Darcy felt like he was on trial.
“Blakely, why do you not marry Anne?” Darcy asked. “You are five years older than I am and need a wife and heir.”
Blakely’s face fell but brightened again when his father returned to the point.
“You have the guardianship of a child now, Darcy,” Lord Matlock said. “She needs the guidance of a woman.”
Darcy sighed. His uncle knew he wanted the best for his sister.
“Georgiana and I have already made plans that do not require me to marry in haste,” he said. “She wishes to return to school in January. After that, she will have a governess or companion until one of us marries.”
Lady Matlock nodded. “That is a sensible solution. Will you allow us to help you in choosing a companion?”
“Gladly. Richard and I have no experience in such things.”
“Why your father chose a young military man instead of her aunt as co-guardian for his daughter, I will never understand,” Lady Catherine objected.
“Yes, well, the deed is done, Cathy,” her brother soothed, not mentioning the restrictions placed on female legal guardians. “Perhaps his new responsibility will encourage Richard to leave the army and settle down, as well.”
“Not likely,” Darcy heard Blakely mumble, and he was inclined to agree. Darcy knew he was almost solely responsible for his sister, and he would do all he could for her, starting with sparing her witnessing a sham marriage to their cousin.
Darcy had thought he disliked balls before his father had died, but if his limited mourning experiences in town this month were anything to go by, he would like them even less now that he was not an heir but an estate owner.
Women in bookshops, pastry shops, and even on the street approached him, bumped into him, and introduced themselves.
Although he hated what his black armband and cravat symbolized, as he felt weak and disoriented when he thought of the loss of his father, he was glad for the excuse to escape social situations.
He sat with Bingley and Hurst once again at Grosvenor Street.
He had successfully avoided Miss Bingley on most of his visits the past weeks.
One other time, they had been forced to drink tea with the ladies.
He now knew Bingley’s sister was of marriageable age and had decided to come out a few months early, despite being in mourning.
Bingley had not understood his sisters’ explanations, but he had confirmed the change had occurred between meeting Darcy and seeing him again two days later.
Bingley said he had convinced her to return to wearing black, if nothing else.
“Shall we see the location I propose we practice fencing, Darcy?” Bingley asked.
“Please. I have been too sedentary since coming to town.”
Bingley and Darcy had met about a year and a half ago at Angelo’s, but they were not going to the fencing school while in mourning.
Darcy exited Hurst’s study slowly, looking down the passageway in both directions to ensure no females were about. Hurst chuckled as he passed him.
“Good luck, my friend.”
They made it upstairs to the large parlor without incident, and Darcy relaxed.
Early afternoon light streamed in through tall windows to reveal ample space for exercise.
As he looked around the room, he noted little furniture and almost a dozen easels, as well as a long table, all cluttered with artwork and supplies.
He approached to see paintings of varying skill and half-finished drawings spread on the table.
“Are these your sisters’ work?” he asked. Some of them were incredibly skilled: pastoral landscapes, children’s faces; some of them were simpler still lifes that could use additional polish and perhaps a few more lessons.
“The misshapen fruit and uneven bowls are Caroline’s work,” Bingley said.
“And the others? They are Mrs. Hurst’s?” Darcy asked without looking away from the scenes. He could easily imagine riding his horse over the hills and through the woods depicted in the landscapes.
Hurst laughed. “My wife does not paint.”
“What of this one?” Darcy had found a lifelike drawing of Miss Bingley, with her hair down and modestly dressed, he noted.
“Lizzy drew that,” Bingley said. “She had been drawing and painting Christmas gifts for her relatives. She took all the best paintings with her, but you can see some of her practice drawings of her young cousins.” He pushed aside papers at random, revealing a drawing that made Darcy gasp.
“Georgiana!”
“Is it? As I have not met your sister, I thought it was one of her cousins in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy assumed Miss Bennet’s landscapes were also of Hertfordshire.
His eyes drifted back to her paintings. How was she fairing living in town, and why had she moved to London?
She clearly thought of the countryside. He saw only one painting that could have been London: A canal with children playing near its banks appeared to be St. James’s Park.
Bingley was still looking through the sketches. “Here, Darce. She has made several of your sister, so I am sure she would not mind your keeping one…Ha! She has drawn Hurst and me, as well. What a talent!”
What a talent, indeed. She must have studied for years to be this accomplished.
Some of the drawings were heartbreaking, one showing his sister standing alone with shoulders slumped, another of her looking wide-eyed but with tears streaming down her face.
He preferred the one of his sister playing the pianoforte and smiling or even the one in which she sat against a bed pillow and held a book, gazing at a woodcut print contentedly.
These drawings held the private details of a day he and his sister would never forget, no matter how much they tried.
“I would not wish to anger Miss Bennet again. You know her better than I do, Bingley. I would like to have these sketches of my sister—at least one—but perhaps I will wait to ask her permission. Do you know when she will return?”
Bingley considered. “I know only that Caro said she wanted to host her for Twelfth Night, and Louisa said we could not host a party while we are in mourning. Caro said Lizzy is always visiting, so it made no difference to call this a party and said she wanted to see Lizzy before Caro goes back to school…And then I left the room.”