Page 35 of Cads & Capers
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darcy tried to distract himself by whatever means he could, but nothing worked, not even a visit from his officiously energetic tailor. He stood, trussed and pinned into the canvas pattern of a new jacket, and remained mercilessly uneasy, plagued with visions of what might be happening in Potters Fields. His tailor fussed and flapped and eventually left. His sister went out and came home again. His butler came and went into his study. At least three books were picked up and immediately discarded, unread. Darcy could think only of Elizabeth.
Would she be pleased to see Fitzwilliam, dismayed not to see Mulhall, or furious to discover that he had orchestrated it all? The likelihood of her being grateful that he cared enough to involve himself and sending her regards was too trifling to waste a scrap of hope on it—so, of course, that is what he spent the chief of the morning wishing for. The minutes ticked by—each seeming to last an hour—until he thought he would go mad waiting for news.
There had been a time, at the beginning of his acquaintance with Elizabeth, when such incessant introspection and uncertainty had frightened him. Far too many chances had been squandered as a result, as he attempted to repress his feelings so that nobody—least of all himself—could deride him for weakness. He was better used to it now, having spent the best part of two years feeling this way. That made it no less objectionable, and by no means easier to endure; thus when he heard the front door slam and Fitzwilliam’s voice echo along the hall, he leapt from his chair as though he had been stung.
His apprehension intensified when he heard his cousin calling for him, repeatedly and angrily, as he made his way through the house, and erupted into blistering alarm when Fitzwilliam burst into the room and demanded, “Is Georgiana here?”
“Yes, she got back not long ago. She has gone upstairs to change. Why, what has happened?”
“I shall tell you what has happened. That cur Rutherford has turned his sights on her!”
Darcy stared at him, no less baffled than appalled by the complete non sequitur. “What?”
“You heard! The scoundrel is planning to seduce your little sister.”
“Did Elizabeth tell you this?”
“I did not see her.”
“You did not—” Darcy paused to swallow an imprecation. “Please do not tell me something came up at the barracks again.”
“Would that it had! Then I might not have spent the morning hanging around the arse end of London, waiting for the wrong bloody sister, when I clearly ought to have been here, watching over yours!”
“The wrong—? For the love of God, would you please tell me what is going on?”
Fitzwilliam began pacing up and down, shaking his head as he went. “I went to Potters Fields as you asked and spent most of my morning walking up and down the same four paths, waiting for Miss Bennet to show up. Which she never did.”
“Oh.” Darcy knew not whether to rejoice that she had decided against Mulhall or despair that he had been denied yet another opportunity to hear news of her.
“Shall I tell you who did turn up?” his cousin continued.
“Not Georgiana?”
“Oh, no. That would have made everything far simpler. No, the young lady I picked up off the ground after she was bowled over by a rampaging ewe, was not Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I see from your face that you have deduced the rest. Mulhall gave your warning to the wrong Miss Bennet.”
Darcy closed his eyes in vexation. “Which one?”
“I have no idea, and what does it matter? That is not the salient point.”
“Well, what is?”
“Miss Bennet was not there because, according to her sister, she was at the blasted exhibition, in search of Rutherford.”
“ What ?”
“Oh, do not concern yourself, she was not there.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there, and I did not see her.”
Fitzwilliam’s pacing, coupled with his rambling explanation, was driving Darcy distracted. “Speak plainly, man!”
“I am trying to!” his cousin retorted angrily before standing still and rubbing a hand over his face. “Rutherford has lived up to his reputation by throwing Miss Bennet over in favour of a different young girl.”
Darcy went cold. “Georgiana?”
The turn of Fitzwilliam’s countenance confirmed it. “Or at least, so I later found out, although I did not know it at the time. All I knew at that point was that somehow Miss Bennet had wind of an agreement the pair made to meet today at the exhibition. And after receiving your warning via her sister, she decided she must intervene to save Georgiana from Rutherford.”
“Bloody hell—I was trying to keep her away from him!”
“Precisely why I rode across town to intervene in her intervention. Only she was not there, and neither was he. Instead, I had the misfortune of becoming acquainted with his cousin.”
“And who is he?”
“ She , and I never discovered her name. She refused to tell me. All I found out from her before she flounced off in a snit was that the woman Rutherford was meeting was Georgiana.”
“But you said Rutherford was not there.”
“He was not.”
“Where was he?”
“How the devil should I know?”
They had each grown steadily louder in their responses and this last was all but shouted, bringing Darcy to his senses.
“We are going in circles. We had better speak to the one person who might be able to shed some light on the matter.” He rang the bell and, when a footman answered the summons, instructed that Georgiana be asked to join them. He poured his cousin a drink while they waited and thanked him for his efforts that morning.
Fitzwilliam raised his glass in acknowledgement, then took a swig. “I am sorry I did not manage to speak to Miss Bennet. I know you hoped I would.”
“It seems we have more immediate concerns,” Darcy replied, though it was not true. Whatever was afoot between Georgiana and Rutherford, she was here, safe and accounted for. Elizabeth had not been where her sister believed her to be, and to his mind, that was a far greater cause for concern.
His sister arrived not long after, entering the room with altogether too cheerful an air. “You wished to see me? Oh! Good day, Cousin. I did not know you were here, too.” Her smile faded when her breezy greeting was met with stony faces.
“Sit down,” Darcy told her.
She did, looking nervously between him and Fitzwilliam, though he could perceive no hint of guilt in her expression, and since he well knew what that looked like on her, he did not think he would miss it if she felt any.
He crossed his arms. “Where did you go when you went out earlier?”
The enquiry obviously surprised her, but other than a vague frown, she showed no great alarm at the line of questioning. “To the exhibition on Pall Mall.”
“You admit it, then? Without shame?”
“Why should I be ashamed? I did tell you I was going there today.”
“But you did not tell us why.” This time, Darcy saw her contrition plainly, and it cut him to the quick. It was Ramsgate all over again. “Tell us what you were doing there. And we want the truth, young lady.”
She continued to look between them, wincing in distress. “I will tell you, and I beg you to believe that I meant to tell you, because this makes it seem as though I was deliberately keeping it a secret.”
“Keeping what a secret?” Fitzwilliam pressed.
“Upon my word, it is not a secret. I was going to tell you last night, but you were both so angry with one another, the opportunity never arose.”
“It has arisen now,” Darcy said, his struggle to remain calm giving his voice a hard edge. “What were you doing at the exhibition?”
“I went to meet somebody.”
“Lord Rutherford?”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
Darcy looked at Fitzwilliam; he had pinched the bridge of his nose and was silently shaking his head. Darcy shared his consternation. After everything that had happened with Wickham, he had not thought his sister could be so foolish again.
“Please, let me explain,” Georgiana said plaintively. “It is not what it sounds like—this is not the same as what happened before, I swear it.”
Fitzwilliam made a noise of disbelief. “You have concealed a clandestine liaison from us. It is exactly the same.”
“Let her explain,” Darcy said darkly. “I would hear what this blackguard is playing at.”
“Blackguard? Oh, no, he?—”
Her naivety was infuriating, and he snapped “Explain!” more brusquely than he meant to. It made her sullen.
“We met by accident when I was there yesterday. He thought I was someone else, but after we cleared up the confusion, we talked for a while about the paintings. He was knowledgeable and kind, and when he suggested we meet again today to continue our conversation, I agreed. Mrs Annesley was with me. It was all very proper.”
Darcy shook his head in disbelief. “There is nothing proper about rendezvousing with a man to whom you have not been formally introduced and whom neither of us knows. A man, I might add, of negligible honour and ignoble reputation.”
Her face contracted as though he had spoken to her in High Dutch, and she shook her head. “I refuse to believe it.”
“Oh? And pray, on how long an acquaintance is your good opinion founded?”
“At least I have met him! You just admitted you do not know him at all.”
Darcy did not much care for the defiance that was blossoming along with Georgiana’s womanhood. “I know of him. His reputation precedes him.”
“And I have met his cousin,” Fitzwilliam piped up. “She is proof enough for me that the whole family is trouble.”
“But Lady Tuppence is lovely!” Georgiana cried.
“When did you meet his cousin? You only met him yesterday. Is he already introducing his relations? Moves fast, does he not?”
“I met her today, at the exhibition. She came to tell me that Lord Rutherford had been called away on business and wished to postpone our meeting until tomorrow. And he would not have sent her to do that if he was as awful as you say. He would have just left me waiting and wondering.”
The prospect that Rutherford’s ‘business’ was somehow connected to Elizabeth’s absence from the exhibition troubled Darcy exceedingly. “Well, it will be your turn to leave him waiting tomorrow, for you are not going back to that exhibition.”
Georgiana exclaimed theatrically, then launched into a stream of entreaties as she begged him to reconsider, impressing upon him the strength of feeling Rutherford had stirred in her. Then, perhaps recognising that this was not likely to succeed, she tried instead to persuade Fitzwilliam and him that they, too, would like Rutherford, sketching a picture of his character so detailed that Darcy began to doubt they could only have met once.
She did not mention—because she could not know—that Rutherford frequented brothels and gambling dens, that he had a reputation for being a cad, and that he had heartlessly cast off the finest woman of Darcy’s acquaintance in order to work on her. To hear her singing the man’s praises was sickening.
“If you would come with me,” she pleaded, “you would see for yourself! You could?—”
“An excellent idea,” he interrupted.
“What?” Georgiana and Fitzwilliam both said at once.
“ You are not going anywhere,” Darcy told his sister. “But I shall go, and I shall tell Lord Rutherford to cease trifling with all the people I love!”