Page 12 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER TWELVE
DARCY’S FAMILY CONNEXIONS
T he morning following their arrival, Miss Darcy sent a note to Gracechurch Street, inviting Elizabeth to call on her at Darcy House in Grosvenor Square the next day. Elizabeth felt a short pulse of trepidation on seeing it; everything about it announced wealth, from the thickness of the paper to the evenness of the ink and the fine penmanship. I hope she likes me , she thought anxiously. What if she is the sort of sister who cannot bear to share her brother’s attention? What if she has no wish to cede her position as lady of the house?
Elizabeth did all she could to rest herself that day, not wishing to appear ill and wan before her soon-to-be sister. Unfortunately, she did not have a good night’s sleep—she was far too anxious for that—and awoke in the morning feeling grainy-eyed and tired. Nothing for it now , she decided as Mrs Gardiner’s maid, Norris, finished arranging her hair.
Darcy had sent his carriage and one of his maids to escort her to his home, despite the fact that Elizabeth had told him the Gardiners’ carriage would do. It was a fine conveyance and very comfortable; the maid, Sally, was sweet, and although apparently very curious about her, certainly knew her place.
A short time later, Elizabeth alit from the carriage in front of an undeniably impressive town house in Mayfair and paused. Darcy’s house was very wide, much wider than the ones it was situated beside, and seemed somehow taller as well. There were symmetrically placed arched windows and elaborate wrought iron balconies. The neighbourhood had a sort of genteel hush to it with trees and green spaces that belied the fact one was not in the country. Even the air smelt better here; she supposed with the park to the west of them, the breeze was more refreshing.
Looking at the grand edifice before her, Elizabeth immediately felt shabby, even if she was dressed in her finest day gown. Ladies of the ton have day gowns that far surpass my best ball gown , she reminded herself. I cannot compete with them, and evidently I do not have to. Darcy likes me in my country attire.
“This way, miss,” said the maid and escorted her into the vestibule where a housekeeper awaited them.
“Miss Bennet?” the lady said with what seemed to be a smile of genuine warmth. “I am Mrs Hobbs, the Darcy’s housekeeper. Mr Darcy has asked me to bring you to the parlour, if you will come with me. Sally, you may go.”
Elizabeth followed the woman down the hall, their steps ringing loud on the marble floor. It could not be denied that this was a home of someone wealthy—the thick rugs, gilt frames on portraiture, and sheer size of the place informed her of that—and she found herself a bit awestruck. Surely she, little Lizzy Bennet from Longbourn Village, could not become the lady of the house for such a place as this!
Outside the parlour, a young footman sprang into action to open the door for them, after which Mrs Hobbs said, “I shall go and retrieve the refreshments Mr Darcy wished for.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth told her and entered the room.
She had expected Darcy would be there to meet her; instead, an impeccably garbed man with golden hair and an imperious air stood by the mantel. He locked his gaze upon hers instantly, and before she could react, he strode across the room, crying out, “My darling!”
He was nearly bent in half as he bowed to her, raising her hand to his lips to kiss reverently. “Come, let us sit. It has been an age I have stood here awaiting you! Did those coachmen drive you all over London?”
As he led her across the room towards the fireplace, she managed to say, “N-no, sir, but I, ah?—”
“Sit,” he urged, having arrived at a cream-coloured sofa. When she had, he took a seat so close to her, their thighs nearly touched. He then grabbed both of her hands in his own. With a warmth that bespoke an acquaintance of the most intimate sort, he said, “They said you lost your memory, but I knew it could not mean you forgot me , or us .”
What? Elizabeth felt her heart constrict painfully. “Um, sir, I fear there has been?—”
“If you tell me you have forgotten me, I shall die. By my own hand! I promise you!” His deep blue eyes bored into hers. “Darling, sweet Elizabeth, do you not know what these last weeks have done to me? I have been tormented, terrified that all of our plans?—”
“Our plans?” Beginning to feel a little panicky, Elizabeth attempted to pull back her hands. “Sir, th-there has been some mistake.”
“Are you trying to tell me you no longer love me?” He squeezed tighter. “Pray do not say it!”
Elizabeth’s heart thudded as she prayed, desperately, for some sort of escape. “I…I cannot recall?—”
“You and I have shared something that no one else could ever?—”
There was a clicking sound as the door opened to reveal Darcy. He strode into the room, pausing to look at Elizabeth and the man on the sofa. Elizabeth stared at him, hoping he would comprehend her wordless plea for assistance. His gaze immediately narrowed on the man beside her, and he finished traversing the room with quick paces.
He gave the man a fierce scowl. “Saye, what nonsense is this?”
The man, Saye, released her hands and met Darcy’s gaze. Then he burst into loud laughter and pointed one elegant finger at Elizabeth. “You should see your face! You look positively appalled!” he crowed to Elizabeth, as she sagged with relief, one hand pressed to her chest as if it might help slow the rapid thudding of her heart.
“Absolutely unforgivable,” Darcy hissed at him. “And I do not even know what precisely you have done.”
“She has to forgive me, for evidently we are to be family,” the blond man replied cheerfully. “Cousins! I am from the Fitzwilliam side, Lord Saye…you may call me Saye.”
“Th-thank you?” Elizabeth replied uncertainly.
“What did he do to you?” Darcy asked her. “Do you need a glass of wine? You do look very distressed.”
“No, I am not distressed,” she said and tried to smile. Alas tears, the accursed tears that seemed always at the ready, had begun to sting her eyes. They were not unnoticed by Darcy.
“I ought to knock you into Thursday next.” Darcy had gone pale with anger, and he glared at his cousin. “Move away from her and tell me what you have done.”
With a sigh, Saye moved to a chair across from her. “I pretended she and I were in love. I thought it should be wildly amusing if she believed that she and I had had some hidden tryst to conceal from you.”
“You are going to pay for this, Saye.” Darcy’s fists were clenched by his side, and he ground his words from between gritted teeth. It would have made Elizabeth smile had she not been on the verge of stupid, silly tears. She turned her head away, knowing her eyes were shiny and hating appearing to be one of those ladies who wept at the least provocation.
“You are not going to cry about it, are you?” asked Saye. Half-rising from the chair, he extended his handkerchief into the space between them.
Darcy reached down and knocked it from his hand, then handed Elizabeth his own as he took a seat beside her.
“No, no, I am not crying,” Elizabeth assured them, dabbing at her eyes. “It is only…well, I suppose my illness has left me a bit…half-witted?—”
“If there is a half-wit here, he is sitting across from us.” Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand very tenderly, but his words were anything but tender as he said to his cousin. “You are despicable, Saye.”
“It is not so distressing as all that, I assure you. I enjoy a joke, I do!”
“You have never even met him before,” Darcy explained gently, “and likely wish not to know him now.”
“Not know me?” Saye exclaimed with indignation. Then to Elizabeth he said, “You will wish to know me. I am the fun cousin.”
“I am certain you are,” she told him, relieved that the tears had stopped. She sniffed a bit to clear her nose.
“Do you hear that, Saye? She is crying. Not five minutes since she met you and she is reduced to tears.”
“It was a joke! Miss Bennet, I throw myself upon your mercy!” Saye cried out theatrically, though he remained very much at ease, lolling comfortably in the chair he had tossed himself into. “I shall offer myself to do a penance. What would you like?”
“Revenge,” Darcy inserted. “Something painful, preferably. She is yet unwell, Saye, and you made a mockery of her. Nothing short of a public dressing down will do.”
“Dressing down?” Saye looked up at Darcy with one brow raised. “You mean like nudity? I am not opposed, but one must await the proper audience.”
At this, Elizabeth burst out laughing, even as part of her marvelled at the capriciousness of her spirits. One minute crying, the next laughing…would it ever end?
“See there? Now she laughs.” Saye gave Darcy a smug grin. “Miss Bennet, my fate lies in your hands. Shall I dash naked around Grosvenor Square for you? Drop my breeches at Almack’s?”
“None of that will do, because you would enjoy it too much,” Darcy replied grimly. “Elizabeth will think of something suitable, I am sure.”
A fraction of a second too late, Elizabeth roused her spirits enough to reply, with a smile, “Of course, all the best revenge involves things unexpected and sorely anticipated.”
“Ah-ha!” Saye nodded with approval. “I like your girl, Darcy. She will do very well.”
The door again clicked open then, and Elizabeth looked up to see a girl, very finely dressed, about Lydia’s or Kitty’s age, standing there with an uncertain smile on her face. Elizabeth smiled at her, and she came to where they all sat. Elizabeth rose and the gentlemen rose with her, Darcy’s introduction confirming that this was his young sister, Georgiana.
Georgiana Darcy was shy but sweet, and Elizabeth liked her immediately. She had imagined that for a girl with such a fortune, and such connexions, she would feel superior to a young lady from the country who had an obvious lack of such things. Instead, the opposite appeared to be true; Georgiana appeared almost desperate to please Elizabeth, starting with the light repast she served them all: fresh fruits of every variety and in vast quantity.
“What is this?” Saye looked at the spread of fruits in front of him with undisguised horror. “Are we meant to starve?”
Georgiana blushed scarlet but managed to say, “There is bread right there, Saye. I remember my brother writing from Netherfield last year and mentioning, Miss Bennet, that you do not eat meat during the day?”
“Good Lord! Only fruit? Is it some sort of religious conviction?” Saye asked, turning his dismay towards Elizabeth.
She had already taken a large bite of a strawberry and so could not immediately reply. Instead, she was treated to the sight of Darcy himself blushing.
“I only ever saw you eat fresh fruit during the day while your sister was ill,” he explained hastily. “I think I might have thought?—”
“I had been having some trouble with spots,” Georgiana inserted. “He said that you had a flawless complexion and that your hair shone with good health and said he felt it might be due to your diet in which you ate only fruit in the day.”
“Indeed?” Saye had gone from scornful to interested. “I once heard an excess of fruit leads to ruddy hues. Something about an imbalance of blood. But what has it done to your hair? I am excessively worried about hair loss. I should rather be dead than bald.”
Elizabeth had finally swallowed her strawberry. “As I have no recollection of my time at Netherfield, I really cannot say why I ate only fruit during the day. I do like fruit, and my mother does not often serve it, save in jams or stewed preparations, so I might have been indulging only because it was uncommon to me. But this is all quite wonderful, and I thank you both for considering my tastes.”
She gave both Georgiana and Darcy warm smiles; Georgiana smiled in reply, and Darcy gave her a look which caused her heart to flutter.
“Yes, yes, we are all charming people. But I daresay our new cousin may have a point about this fruit business. It is decided! Only fruit, all day,” Saye declared.
“I cannot boast to following an all-fruit diet, sir,” Elizabeth explained.
“But you do seem to have a great deal of hair,” he replied. “How long have you adhered to this diet?”
Smothering a grin, Elizabeth said, “I do not maintain an all-fruit diet, but if one had to, well, I suppose it would need to be life long.”
“Oh yes,” Darcy said gravely. “It would need to be a permanent change else the hair would immediately begin to fall out again.”
Saye winced, then asked, “What about wine? Is wine a fruit? Is brandy fruit?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hide her smile as Darcy told his cousin not to be a numbskull and that obviously brandy was not fruit.
“Actually,” Georgiana offered, “I do believe it is made from fruit. Fermented or something like that?”
“A-ha!” Saye cried out. “Now who is the numbskull, Darcy? I believe ’tis you! But very well! This seems a plan I can adhere to!”
As she prepared for bed that evening, Elizabeth gave the day, particularly her time at Darcy House, more consideration. Saye, for all his eccentricity, was amusing, and Georgiana was delightful. Elizabeth had liked her very well and had to admire Darcy for her upbringing. His sister had obviously been well cared-for, no matter her youthful missteps, right down to seeking advice from her brother when she feared her skin had got spotty. It was sweet.
His diligence in caring for others is one of the things I love best about him , she mused and then stopped herself. Did she love him? Was she in love? Do you really need to ask yourself such a silly question?
Even in her younger days, Elizabeth was not so foolish as to have expected some grand romance in her life. Kitty and Lydia always went about swearing how their husbands would be passionate lovers, but she and Jane understood their position in life too well to spout such nonsense. An admirable man, one who did not lie or cheat or steal, run them into debt, hit them or their children, and who provided a reasonable living would do well enough.
Except that I seem to have done a great deal better for myself. She knew that, despite her practicality, she would not have accepted Darcy merely because he was wealthy. She closed her eyes, thinking of him. He was so undeniably handsome, so very tall, and with such a commanding air about him. His character was unimpeachable and yes, his wealth was an inducement as well. Not that she needed fine gowns and jewels, but she should be a fool to deny that she would enjoy them. What lady would not?
Saye had teased her about it a little, earlier in the day. “You do know how rich he is, hm?”
“He is?” she had exclaimed with mocking surprise. “I thought everyone in London lived in such a house as this.”
“This?” Saye gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “This is nothing to Pemberley. I daresay this entire place would fit neatly into Pemberley’s drawing room.”
Elizabeth had noticed that Darcy did not disclaim his cousin’s teasing. At least she hoped Saye had been teasing. To imagine herself mistress of such an estate! She hardly knew if she was equal to such a thing.
Darcy was far beyond any man she had ever dared to dream of, and on top of all the material comforts he offered her, he loved her. That much she knew—that he truly did love her.
She thought about the way he was always on her mind, the way sunshine seemed to erupt within her whenever she beheld him…the way she longed, almost painfully, to be kissed and held by him.
Because I love him. The thought settled on her like a soft blanket. I do. I love him.
Not that she had ever told him. Or at least not at a time that resided within her memory. Sudden dismay struck her. Perhaps she had told him so regularly before her injury and then not at all since. Was the poor man suffering under the belief that she no longer cared for him as she once had? What grief would come from losing someone’s love in such a way! She could not imagine the pain she might feel if it were the other way round, if he was injured and sustained the loss of all memory…including his memories of her . She had not before considered that pain, but doing so now felt like an agony.
Perhaps that is why he never kissed me? Because he did not know my feelings? The thought sank her. Poor, dear man, pained by the weight of uncertainty, thinking he might have lost her love to the bite of a snake! And yet how good of him to behave so honourably when so many times he might have kissed her with not only her acquiescence, but her encouragement!
I should write him a letter. A love letter. The thought made her cringe with humiliation, terrified her, and electrified her all at once. It was an excellent notion, a love letter to assuage whatever griefs and fears her injury must have caused him. She would do it tomorrow.