Page 1 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 1

SEPTEMBER 1811, PEMBERLEY

F itzwilliam Darcy leaned against the limestone column in his mother’s rose garden and breathed deeper than he had in the last three months.

His little sister was safe. Only months ago, Georgiana had sworn her heart was forever broken, but now she was tilting her chin and smiling. She looked so much like their mother, it made Darcy’s chest ache. She was a young lady now. When had that happened?

He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together. He knew how to keep a boy occupied and out of mischief, but a girl…even worse, an heiress on the edge of adulthood with a considerable fortune and a disposition to please?

After five years without their father’s protection, Darcy had perfected his skills of intimidation. One look—posture rigid, marked scowl, arms tight over his chest, eyes conveying anything from boredom to disdain—effectively discouraged scheming men from preying upon his fifteen-year-old sister. Unfortunately, the young man to whom Georgiana now directed her smile was too well-acquainted with Darcy to take his threatening looks seriously.

“Darcy, must you stand over us like an angry sentinel? Your glower is wasted on me.” Charles Bingley moved over to make room on the bench he shared with Georgiana.

She looked up from her sketchpad, her charcoal poised over the page, to regard Bingley with a tenderness that had stolen nights of Darcy’s sleep lately.

Bingley waved Darcy over, apparently impervious to her fluttering eyelashes and blushing cheeks. “Thrill your palate with these delicious strawberries before Louisa eats all of them.” He cast a pointed look towards his eldest sister, who ignored him as she dipped a piece of fruit deeply into a bowl of clotted cream and popped it into her mouth. Her husband napped on the blanket beside her, which explained why the supply of strawberries had not been exhausted; Mr. Hurst had an appetite worthy of his girth.

Darcy might believe Georgiana’s heart to be safe with Bingley, but he would not encourage her daydreams of love and marriage until she reached a more appropriate age.

Like thirty.

He flipped up his coattails and sat between Bingley and Georgiana. His sister was too shy to protest or even hint at her displeasure, unlike the object of her portrait, who sat across from her on a blanket before a colorful rose bush.

“A bee! Squish it!” Miss Caroline Bingley interrupted her preens and poses to flail her arms. She was surrounded by the last of summer’s second flush of roses, the full blooms hovering over her hair like a prickly halo.

“Take care of the thorns,” Darcy said for at least the third time.

Miss Bingley inclined her head, ignoring sense in favor of affectation. Did she think she conjured images of Aphrodite growing roses from her tears? One false move would soon dispel Miss Bingley of that sentiment. “I am perfectly aware of where I am, Mr. Darcy, but I thank you for your concern.”

Darcy clenched his jaw and held his tongue. His concern was for the flowers.

Miss Bingley heedlessly arched her back and then lifted her arm over her head, making a show of elongating her neck as she shifted a curl to drape over her shoulder. “It is so very warm,” she purred, directing her avaricious eyes towards Darcy.

“Gracious, Caro, are you quite well? You appear to be suffering from a spasm.” Bingley’s concern received only a glare from his younger sister in response.

Darcy feigned a cough and looked away. Good boy, Bingley. Unlike his sisters, he held no ambitions of grandeur. A point in his favor.

Mrs. Hurst commented on cue, “Where is your parasol, dear? I would hate for you to ruin your lovely alabaster skin. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”

He did not agree. Pale complexions looked sickly and bespoke an unseemly disregard for nature, but this he could not say. “Perhaps Miss Bingley would be more comfortable indoors.”

She fluttered her hand over her throat. “I would not dream of altering everyone’s plans.” Again she raised her arm over her head, leaning perilously close to the bush. Darcy rather wished she would return indoors. Between the thorns and the bees feeding off the blooms, there was very little chance of Miss Bingley remaining unscathed. While the lady deserved such a lesson, Darcy had tired of her complaints.

“Halloo!” shouted a deep voice.

Darcy’s heart jumped into his throat in the split second before his brain registered the source of the startling call. Georgiana squealed and leaped to her feet, dropping her portfolio on the bench and jumping into her cousin’s open arms. “Richard! This is a lovely surprise! William did not say you were coming!”

“I knew nothing of it.” Usually Richard’s calls were a source of great pleasure, but his sudden appearance after months of duty worried Darcy. Had something happened?

Richard’s gaze met Darcy’s over Georgiana’s head, conveying curiosity and wonder…but mostly relief. Darcy relaxed a bit. Explanations would come later. Georgiana was happy again, and that was all that mattered. Richard spun her in a celebratory circle and gently set her down. As he looked up, his eyes widened and the corner of his lips twitched.

Darcy heard the shriek before he looked over his shoulder. He had completely forgotten about Miss Bingley. She was stuck, the bush’s thorns snagging and pulling at her gown with her hair frizzed in the shrubbery.

Definitely not Aphrodite.

“Calm yourself, Caro. You are making it worse—Ouch!” Mrs. Hurst sucked on an injured finger.

Several servants came running to assist, having heard Richard’s boisterous entry, Miss Bingley’s increasingly loud protests, and their party’s noisy pleas for her to calm herself.

Nodding at the gardener, who stood nearby with a pair of shears and a woeful expression at the sight of his abused bushes, Darcy motioned for the man to cut the offending blooms. Five snips later, Miss Bingley rose to her feet and staggered forward, thorny stems poking out at odd angles around her wild coiffure.

As the servants scurried away, Darcy noted hands covering mouths and eyes brimming with amusement.

Mrs. Hurst attempted to free a dangling bloom, but Miss Bingley’s withering scowl made the lady recoil.

Richard was the first to recover. Mischief in his eye, he swooped an elegant bow. “Miss Bingley! The epitome of fashion, as always. You will soon have the ladies of the ton wearing rose clippings in their hair.”

Miss Bingley lifted her chin, but she was too aware of social standing to glare at the son of an earl, even if he was only the second son.

Richard’s smile widened.

Darcy called to the nearest footman. “Please ask Mrs. Reynolds to send some of her ointment from the distillery to Miss Bingley’s room.”

The corners of her lips turned upward, but Miss Bingley’s expression was too pinched to deem it a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Shall I join you in the music room once my maid sees to my hair?” Clearly, she had had enough of nature.

“And waste this glorious day indoors?” Bingley replied. “I had hoped to ask Miss Darcy if she might sketch my likeness.” He propped his foot on the bench and looked off into the distance. “Is this dignified enough?”

Georgiana giggled. “Very dignified.”

“You will have to stand still, Charles,” Mrs. Hurst chided as she settled onto her blanket. Her husband, whose sleep had been disturbed by the recent excitement, looked about him as though he had quite forgotten where he was and with whom.

As Miss Bingley walked stiffly toward the house, she glanced over her shoulder to hiss at her sister, who was too distracted with fruit tarts and cream now to pay her any heed.

Richard elbowed Darcy. Nodding toward Georgiana and speaking as low as he was capable of doing, he asked, “What is this?”

“Nothing I shall speak of here.”

“It is just as well. My visit is not without a purpose. A word in your study? And perhaps a glass of your smuggled brandy? I am parched.”

They made their way to Darcy’s inner sanctum. It overlooked the rose garden, and Georgiana’s laughter could be heard through the open window.

Richard helped himself to the contents of the sideboard and settled into a chair with a view of the garden. “I had expected to see Georgie still in the doldrums. Am I to understand that we have Bingley to thank for this welcome change?”

Darcy raised his glass and took a sip.

“What do you plan to do about it?”

For too many nights, Darcy had tossed and turned pondering this very question. “I had thought I might encourage Bingley to let an estate of his own.”

Richard raised his eyebrows. “You take a keen interest in his life.”

“He is a trustworthy young man with a fortune of his own.”

“Meaning?”

“He is not after Georgiana’s dowry.”

“I doubt Bingley is after Georgiana at all! He is as agreeable to a countess as he is to a scullery maid.”

“Precisely. It makes him a safe choice.”

Richard swirled the amber liquor in his glass. “Are you certain she is in love, and so soon after Wickham? Could she not merely be acting as most fifteen-year-old females her age do?”

Darcy scoffed. “Georgiana is a Darcy through and through. She feels deeply, sincerely.”

“Just because Bingley is a saint in comparison to Wickham does not make him a suitable match for Georgiana. You cannot be serious, Darcy. Bingley falls in and out of love quicker than I change my waistcoat. He has been wanting to purchase an estate since his father’s death, but he is too fickle to settle on any one place. He is capricious, wholly manipulated by his pernicious sisters, and too reliant on others’ guidance.” Richard’s tone was grave.

All traits Darcy had considered.

“He is young, but what better experience than estate managing to help him gain the resolve he lacks? You must own that he displays an admirable strength of character to be so unaffected by his critical, grasping sisters.”

Richard continued swirling his drink, clearly unconvinced.

“As for guidance, he only requires good direction until he is able to make his own choices.”

“And you are the best one to give such direction? As if you do not already have enough to manage, you must take on Bingley and his entire household? He is a man, for goodness’ sake, not a property!”

Reasonable arguments, but they were all nullified with one, simple, undeniable fact. “He makes Georgiana happy.”

“And what Georgiana wants, she gets? You are coddling her, Darcy.”

Darcy felt the accusation like an undeserved slap in the face. What did Richard know of the past four months? His cousin lived his life by the orders of others—be it his commanding officer or his mother. He had not been in Ramsgate. He had not dealt with Wickham or seen Georgiana’s heart break before his very eyes. He had not been forced to conceal what, if discovered, would ruin her prospects. Clasping his trembling hands together, Darcy commanded his voice to steady. “She wept for weeks, refusing to eat, and keeping to her rooms. I tempted her with instruments, music, paints, books… all her favorite things, but the only creature she allowed to console her was Serafina.”

“Why, then, do you not give her another cat instead of Bingley? Georgiana might only like him because she senses your approval. You do not need a new project; you need a wife! You are soon to be twenty-eight.”

“Is that your purpose in coming here, Rich? You might have spared yourself the journey and saved your breath, for I cannot rightfully see to my own happiness until I am convinced that Georgiana is safe and content.”

“And you think Bingley is the answer? You do not know how to help Georgie any more than I do. She needs a sister. You need a wife!”

“How could I neglect her for another woman just when she is recovering from her heartsickness? You cannot expect me to be so cruel.”

“She seemed to be perfectly fine to me minutes ago.”

Darcy gestured wildly. “Thanks to Bingley.” Clasping his hands again, Darcy calmed his breath. “I am well aware that he is full young, but so were we once.”

“Can you remember that far back?”

Darcy ignored the comment. An eternity had passed since he had been able to live with only his own future in mind. But his experience had taught him that a great deal could be learned in a short period of time, and this gave him hope for Bingley. “A few years managing his own affairs, having others dependent on his care, will grant him the maturity and steadiness he lacks.”

Richard looked at him askance. “He is a puppy! A lovable puppy, but time consuming and far too amiable for his own good.”

“I shall not actively encourage the match. In fact, my aim is to encourage Bingley to let an estate some distance from Pemberley. There is a serviceable property in Hertfordshire, only half a day’s ride from London. It has been empty for several years and will need more of Bingley’s attention than the other options my secretary found.”

“Keep you occupied, you mean. What if Bingley falls in love with some country squire’s daughter? What will you tell Georgiana then?”

“He will be too busy for flirtations.”

Richard barked a laugh. “Bingley? Too busy for a pretty face? This is high-handed, even for you!”

A floorboard creaked outside the door, putting a quick end to their conversation. Georgiana’s beloved pet wandered inside, pushing the door wider as she passed, the bell around her neck jingling with every step.

Richard leaned down to pet her. “Was that you that made the floor squeak? You should tell Cook not to feed her extra scraps. Or is this the doing of the mouser in the kitchen?”

Serafina left Richard to hop onto Darcy’s lap, displaying her superior taste. “She is too grand a lady to pay the tomcat any mind.” He rubbed under her chin. “Besides, with the servants trained to listen for her bell and Georgiana’s constant doting, such an unseemly union is unlikely.” She leaned against his chest, rubbing her head against his jaw and purring loudly.

“Cats are not as fastidious as you are. Come, Darce, I have had to delay romance until I could afford to wed without being mercenary in my selection, but you—”

Darcy did not care for the direction of this conversation. “How are your investments performing?”

Richard frowned, but he allowed for the shift in topic. “Thanks to my early investments in the colonies, I have had sufficient capital to invest in other industries. Had you not advised me against Trevithick’s steam locomotive, I would be even better positioned.”

“His ideas are sound, but his engine is too heavy. In my opinion, Matthew Murray and George Stephenson will do more to advance the locomotive.”

Richard grinned. “While you and the gentlemen in your clubs argue over who to back, I shall continue to invest in the steel used to make the iron behemoths.”

Darcy was glad Richard had used his strategic mind to benefit himself outside his military profession. He could not remain in the army forever, nor was he the kind of gentleman to be content living off the charity of others.

“That was a nice aside, Darcy, but I shall carry out my mission. Every year you delay marriage gives Aunt Catherine more reason to believe you intend to marry Anne.”

“Aunt Catherine is delusional,” Darcy grumbled. He would rather talk about trains.

“Yes, and also vociferous and insistent. Seriously, Darce, Mother wants me to have a word with you… as if I or anyone else can convince you to do anything you have not already resolved to do. God help the woman you decide to marry. She will have no choice at all in the matter.”

Darcy felt his color rise, heard his pulse thrum in his ears. “Aunt Helen expects me to take her counsel when she was the one who insisted I allow Georgiana more freedom? That I set up her own residence in Ramsgate? Need I remind you how Mrs. Younge came to be in my employ?” Serafina hopped down from his lap and left the room. Darcy wished he could follow her and leave Richard to his mother’s interfering orders.

“Mother regrets Mrs. Younge, but she came so highly recommended by her friends, really, you cannot blame her.”

Darcy could, and he did, and he resented Richard for suggesting otherwise. Nobody else took Georgiana’s protection as seriously as Darcy did.

Richard sighed. “I see you are determined. But, Darcy, love blooms where it will, and it will thumb its nose at you for interfering where you are not wanted.”

He was one to talk. “I assure you, I only have Georgiana’s best interests in mind. And Bingley’s.”

Richard filled his glass. “Let us pray the young ladies in Hertfordshire are not so handsome, plentiful, or charming as Bingley finds the young ladies to be in London.”

Darcy was not ignorant of the challenges before him, but he knew estate management and young men like Bingley much better than he did the confounding mind and tumultuous emotions of his own sister. He raised his glass and drank deeply.