Page 24 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HOISTED WITH ONE’S OWN PETARD
“L et us go down to Jackson’s parlour,” Saye proposed one fine summer morning at the Matlock town home. “I understand he has some fellows coming in today that mean to make the rest of us look like schoolboys.”
His mother eyed him contemplatively over her teacup. Setting it down she said, “I despise all that sort of thing.”
“They ought to allow the ladies their time in there,” Saye proposed. “Perhaps there would be sweeter tempers in the ballroom if we permitted you to pummel one another occasionally.”
Lady Matlock laughed. “Now that I cannot disagree with.” Finishing the tea she had been drinking, she rose and excused herself from the men.
As the door closed behind her, Fitzwilliam said, “It seems a fine plan to me. Darcy? You will come, will you not?”
Darcy had remained silent through the exchange, speaking only to murmur his thanks to the footman who poured him coffee. His initial hope that Elizabeth might somehow forgive him was fading; he had written many letters, had sent his gift, and it had all come to naught. He knew not what to do next. “I have nothing better to do,” he said at length.
“Pray, dim your enthusiasm just a bit.”
“No doubt you wish to be at Pemberley,” Fitzwilliam said sympathetically.
Darcy made a noise of agreement but, though it was his habit to be at Pemberley in July, this year was different. He had Anne’s wedding to attend, as well as his obligation to stand up with Bingley, to keep him in town. More than that, however, was a general reluctance to be in Derbyshire without Elizabeth. Therefore no, he had no urgent wish to go to Pemberley, nor a wish to be in town. What he wished was to be back in time, in Kent, with her, to have a chance to re-do much of what had been done.
“The shine of the Season has dimmed,” Saye pronounced. “Nothing else to do but attend the inevitable weddings which result from the matrons’ efforts.”
“Our cousin’s wedding is less than a fortnight away,” Fitzwilliam said cheerfully. “When does young Bingley don the shackles?”
“I wish he would not don them at all,” Darcy admitted to his cousins. “But it is a mere se’nnight away. It may be unavoidable now.”
Saye was suddenly upright, looking startled. “A se’nnight? Good Lord!”
Darcy inclined his head but continued to speak to Fitzwilliam. “I advised him to speak to her people. She is none too kind to those in her employ, and they might wish to give her up for bad behaviour. Alas, they had nothing to say against her save that which he already knew—she is unkind and ill-tempered to them.”
“None too kind to him either,” Fitzwilliam said. “And corrects him as if she is his governess. She was forever hissing instructions to him at Lady Cockfoster’s dinner last week. One would have thought the poor lad was never in good company before.”
“I believed his wedding was in August?” Saye enquired.
“No, next week,” Darcy replied, then continued with Fitzwilliam. “She does at least seem quite enthusiastic about her new home.”
“Evidently she likes the nearness of it to London,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “No doubt poor Bingley has been tasked with buying her a new carriage for her travels.”
“She can buy her own carriage,” Saye replied. “Quite rich from all I know. And niece of a duke, as we are all reminded often.”
“A very proud, very haughty girl,” Fitzwilliam agreed.
“How can I reasonably support him entering into such a marriage? And yet when has he needed my support more?” Darcy asked rhetorically.
“If nothing else,” Fitzwilliam offered, “you ought to be there in case he swoons, realising what he’s just done.”
Darcy shook his head, regret consuming him. If only he had stayed out of the business of Jane Bennet and Bingley! “They mean to be off to Italy for six months, departing in August. Bingley is hoping the ship will go down or that he might be captured by pirates along the way.”
Saye drummed his fingers against the table. “I cannot say strongly enough how inconvenient all of this is to my purposes. I must be in Hertfordshire in September, and if Bingley is not there… What of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“You do not imagine she might invite you to Hertfordshire?” Fitzwilliam laughed.
“Elizabeth has gone to Brighton,” said Darcy.
“Brighton?” Fitzwilliam grimaced. “With all those encampments down there?”
The word ‘encampments’ made him wince. “The notion has weighed on me.”
“As well it should! Are there not packs of soldiers down there?” Saye asked blithely. “What of Wickham? He may try to?—”
Darcy felt his gut clench. “If he dares try to insinuate himself?—”
“You have told her about Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam observed soothingly. “She will not fall prey to his wiles now, not when she knows the truth of him.”
“I should hope that is true.”
“There are so many people in Brighton, far more than were in Hertfordshire,” Fitzwilliam added. “Wickham has no doubt found a greener pasture, if not two.”
“And surely he knows she jilted you,” said Saye with painful candour. “No doubt he imagines that you should be more than happy to leave her to the consequences of her own actions.”
“Have I ever been so spiteful?” Darcy retorted instantly. “My temper is not so resentful as that, is it?”
Neither of the two brothers replied.
“It is not,” Darcy insisted. “For those whom I love, there is little I would not do.”
“I believe Wickham imagines you always resentful, always spiteful,” said Fitzwilliam carefully. “Because he caused you to be so. No doubt he believes that any woman who has jilted you would receive the same feeling, if not worse.”
“Let us hope that notion keeps him away from her,” Darcy said. “I could not care less what he thinks if it keeps her safe from harm’s way.”
“When do you think you will have the opportunity to speak to her yourself?” Saye enquired.
“I do not know that I have any reasonable hope of seeing her again.”
Saye leant forwards. “Which brings us round again to the subject of the house party.”
Darcy took a long drink of his coffee. “There is no house party. At least not in the foreseeable future.”
“Positively insufferable. All hope for my future felicity is pinned on Bingley’s party.” Saye grimaced and rolled his eyes. “There is a sentence I could not have ever imagined saying. And a mere week to act! What to do, what to do?”
There was a silence while Darcy and Fitzwilliam both observed Saye. At length, Darcy enquired, hesitantly, “You would not…make an attempt on Miss Roberts’s virtue, would you?”
Saye abruptly brought his gaze from the study of the ceiling, his face screwed up with disdain. “What do you take me for? In any case, I am in love. All other women are abhorrent to me.”
“You will not make Sir Frederick do it?” Fitzwilliam pressed. Sir Frederick was Saye’s most intimate friend, and it was widely agreed that if Saye told him to jump, Sir Frederick asked him how high. “It would be cruel to the lady to engineer her ruination.”
“That is an interesting possibility,” Saye owned. “But I think not. Too risky. What if she slapped poor Fred? He would run off with his tail between his legs before his face showed the welt.”
“You appear to be scheming,” Darcy said. “Pray tell us what you mean to do.”
“Do? What is it to me to do anything? What, pray tell, could I do with a situation so wholly unrelated to me?” Saye rose from the table, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “I must toddle off, fellows, important things afoot this morning.”
“What about Jackson’s?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“Too busy, little brother.” With that he was gone, his boots rapping smartly down the hall until the sound faded.
Fitzwilliam turned to look at Darcy. “Do you think he is going to ruin Bingley’s lady?”
“Where your brother is concerned, anything is possible.” Darcy sighed. “Do you think Elizabeth is safe? Were it not for Bingley’s wedding, I should be down there at once, even if she would certainly run the other direction the moment she saw me.”
“I think I could ensure she is well on your behalf, if you would like me to?”
Relief swept through Darcy even as he said, “I could not ask you to go to Brighton?—”
“As it stands, my general needs a favour, and while I do not usually enjoy being an errand boy, in this case, I might be persuaded.”
“I would be in your debt,” Darcy said.
“Well! Double the pleasure,” Saye drawled in his most flirtish voice. He had just been shown into the drawing room of Lady Jersey’s home where she sat with another of Almack’s lady patronesses, Lady Emily Cowper. “If it is not the two most beautiful married women in London.”
As he had anticipated, both ladies laughed and blushed.
“Lady Cowper, I understand your husband is ailing? When may I wish you joy?” Saye smiled broadly as he accepted a cup of coffee and refused cake.
“You, sir, are terrible to speak of my beloved husband in such a way,” Lady Cowper scolded, the sparkle in her eye easily belying the truth beneath her words. Lord Cowper was stupid and dull and despised any sort of fun, and thus Saye had no use for him whatsoever. How the man had managed to connect himself to such a vivacious and sweet creature as Lady Cowper, he could not imagine, but so it was.
“You all but jilted me in favour of the scoundrel,” Saye informed her. “You might have become the Countess of Matlock one day!”
“And instead,” said Lady Jersey with the acerbic wit she was known for, “she is the Countess of Cowper, today .”
“You wound me,” he replied with an easy smile. “I suppose ladies are in scorn of viscounts these days, hm? Better an earl older than one’s father than a lively viscount, is that the way of it?”
The ladies laughed. “Fortunately for the viscounts, the decrepit earls are declining in number now,” said Lady Jersey. “Something to do with the war, I believe.”
“Positively dreadful,” Saye agreed. “But what do we do? Speaking of wars and death…too tedious by half. What news from the Marriage Mart, ladies? Tell me all that I do not know.”
The ladies needed no more than that, quickly setting off to tell him who was marrying whom, who had jilted whom, and which hapless souls were presently in disgrace with them. Among them was a lady who had run off with her coachman.
“Convenient,” Saye opined. “One does not have to worry who will drive to Gretna if the groom becomes the bridegroom.”
“Yes, I am positive it was the convenience of it all which drew her,” Lady Jersey said with a roll of her pretty eyes. “Nothing at all to do with his handsome face or figure.”
“In any case, nobody cares who anyone marries anymore,” Saye replied dismissively. “Why, I lately heard that the niece of the Duke of Rochdale is to be married to a tradesman. Such a notion!”
“Who is that?” Lady Jersey asked, suddenly all attentiveness.
Saye tapped one finger on his temple, both to build suspense and to seem unsure. “Miss Robinson? No—Roberts. I daresay the entire thing happened at Almack’s, so no doubt you already knew about that.”
“A tradesman? And he was dancing with her at Almack’s?” The two ladies exchanged glances.
“I am sure I scarcely know either of them,” he told them in an affectedly weary manner. “That is only what I heard. My cousin Darcy, you know, is great friends with the man. Bingley is his name.”
“Friend of Darcy or not,” said Lady Cowper, “he had no right to be dancing at Almack’s. How did he get a voucher? Whose was it?”
Saye examined his nails while replying, “I have not the least notion, my dear. Maybe he found it on the street?”
The two ladies gasped, but then Lady Cowper giggled. “You are ever so naughty, Lord Saye.”
“Lord Saye raises an important point,” Lady Jersey said earnestly. “If we do not maintain exclusivity for Almack’s, then we might as well scatter vouchers about on the street.”
“Too right,” Saye said with an approving nod. “But I do feel terribly bad for Miss Roberts. Such a sweet soul! But merciful as you both are, of course you would not ban her simply for lowering herself. Bingley is quite wealthy—two or three thousand a year, I believe.”
He knew, of course, that it was at least double that, but best to make this all as shocking as possible.
“Two or three thousand?” Lady Cowper enquired. “Surely she is not…I mean, it is a decent income, to be sure?—”
“One cannot keep a house in town on that,” Lady Jersey asserted.
Saye inclined his head in barest acknowledgement. “There is always economy,” he asserted. “A place in the City perhaps.”
Lady Jersey frowned while Lady Cowper looked as if she had swallowed something unpleasant.
“On such an income, one could not afford the voucher,” Saye added. “You would not even need to ban her outright.”
“No. It must be done,” said Lady Jersey firmly, and Lady Cowper murmured her assent, so vigorously that her turban nearly came off. “Otherwise, the whole thing becomes nearly farcical.”
“If we do not continue to preserve the distinction of rank, who will?” Lady Cowper added earnestly.
Saye nodded. “We are of like mind in this, madam.”
“Speaking of Darcy, I thought I had heard that he was engaged?” Lady Cowper enquired. “To some lady no one knows.”
“No, not engaged, but he is quite in love with her. I do not doubt the matter will come to the natural conclusion shortly.”
“In love?” Lady Jersey exclaimed. “Darcy? Why, how…unexpected. And who is the lady?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Who?” Lady Jersey asked abruptly. “I never heard of her.”
“Have you not?” Saye raised one carefully shaped brow. “Lady Cowper, I should think you of all people would know the Bennets. They have been at their seat in Hertfordshire for above a century. Is not that Elizabethan monstrosity your husband has been remodelling in that county?”
“The Cowpers have extensive property in Hertfordshire,” Lady Cowper agreed. “Where, precisely, in Hertfordshire is her father’s estate?”
“I confess I do not know. Near to Ashworth, which is the Goddards’ place.”
“Oh, that is about fifteen miles?—”
“There you go, then! You are neighbours. No doubt you will wish to host a dinner for her or something once they are wed.”
Lady Cowper smiled uncertainly and agreed, and Saye was filled with all the contentment of having done a good turn for Darcy. Where would any person in this family be without my efforts , he thought with indulgent satisfaction. If only they all realised what they owe to me.
Saye spent another few minutes with the ladies, obtaining some last giggles and blushes before leaving them with grand bows and kisses on the hands of each. Then he left them, satisfied that his work had been done and done for the best. Miss Roberts has been hoisted with her own petard. Let her uppishness be its own punishment.