Page 16 of Hidden Desires

DARCY FELT NO SMALL RELIEF at escaping Miss Bingley’s latest attempt to secure his company; the thought of being confined with her in a carriage to and from the Bennet estate made his skin crawl.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Georgiana said, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “I dread the idea of spending an afternoon alone with her.”

“Do not forget about her brother,” he said, his chuckle soft but not missed. “He would have protected you if needed.”

“Miss Bingley does not seem to share his regard for Mr. Bennet and his family,” she replied, brushing aside the teasing remark.

“So it seems. Still, let us keep this between ourselves. We gain nothing by choosing sides in their quarrel.”

Georgiana spread her hands in disbelief. “She is the most disagreeable person I have ever met. If not for her brother, I would refuse to acknowledge her.”

“If not for her brother, you would never have met her,” he said, reminded of the long and often tiresome association.

He had tolerated her company for years, not from affection, but from loyalty to Bingley, a man he esteemed. From their first meeting, he had seen her as a woman whose vanity blinded her to the opinions of those she sought to impress.

Her scorn for others betrayed her origin.

The daughter of a tradesman, she wielded her fortune as a shield while deriding those with no claim to fashion or consequence.

Her barbed remarks and prideful manner earned her few friends, and most who knew her avoided both her company and the entertainments she insisted on hosting.

She had decided they would marry almost from the start, and his every rejection had failed to dissuade her. At last, he turned to Bingley, but even his efforts had done little to redirect her purpose.

“Perhaps she is only waiting for you to come to your senses and ask her brother’s permission to court her,” Georgiana said, her voice pitched with mock innocence.

“She is the one in need of sense; I possess mine,” he said, which drew a laugh from his sister. “I have told her more than once it will never happen, but I might as well speak to the wind. Please do not encourage her.”

“Does she know about your engagement to Lady Catherine’s daughter? After all, you were promised as infants.” Georgiana tried to scowl, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “I hope you are not one of those men who offer their heart to every fair maiden who passes.”

He saw her intent but did not share her humor. “You know as well as I that Anne and I will never marry. We have spoken of it at length and agree we are unsuited. Your jests are growing tiresome.”

“Then why not tell our aunt? When we last visited Rosings, she spoke often of uniting the estates and the heir she expects from the union. I doubt she thinks of anything else.”

“I will let her know when the time is right, so you may stop pressing the matter. Anne trusts me to handle it, and she is the one who must bear the brunt once our aunt hears the truth.”

“Or are you afraid of her wrath, dear brother?” Georgiana laughed. “I never thought to see such dread of a woman who loves you as a son.”

“She is not harmless,” he said. “And I see no reason to hasten the day I must endure her anger. Now, may we speak of something else?”

“Fine,” she said, her smile the first he had seen in more than a month. “We can leave it for now, but you must tell her sooner rather than later.”

“I agree,” he said with a shrug, “but that does not make the task easier.”

Darcy felt some relief at the reappearance of Georgiana’s good nature. Although he had not told Bingley, the delay in reaching Netherfield had stemmed from concern over his sister and the ordeal she had endured at the hands of a man he once called friend.

He had feared the sister he loved, once playful and open, had vanished, replaced by a withdrawn, sorrowful girl who barely spoke.

That fear had kept him at Pemberley, unwilling to leave her alone so soon after his return.

But today, her lighter mood had lifted his own and renewed his hope for her recovery.

“I suspect our visit will last a few weeks,” he said, pausing at the entrance to her chamber and resting a hand on her cheek.

“Bingley’s plans for the estate are more ambitious than he realizes, so we will not return to Pemberley soon.

I will make time for you, but you must not expect my constant attention.

With him confined to the chaise, the responsibility falls to me. ”

Georgiana smiled and pressed her hand to his. “Then it will feel like every day at Pemberley,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Do not worry about me, William. I can occupy myself, whether you are on the estate or roaming the countryside.”

“Remember that the next time you accuse me of ignoring you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips before opening the door and giving her a gentle push inside.

“I will see you at supper,” he added, closing her door behind him and moving to the next room.

He spent the next hour emptying his trunk and sorting its contents, a task he could complete without thought.

Today, however, his mind turned to the upcoming introduction to Mr. Bennet and the impossibility of justifying his poor treatment of the man’s favorite daughter, as Bingley had described her.

What can I say that might change his opinion? Bingley said he laughed off the apology, but that does not mean he feels no resentment. If his daughter told him the truth of that night, my silence only makes me appear a coward.

How do I explain that I spoke without thinking, hoping only to drive Bingley away? Why did I let him bother me? It is not as though he has not done the same thing at every event we have ever attended.

But that does not excuse my words. And while raking myself over the coals may ease my conscience, it does nothing to repair the damage. I will speak to Mr. Bennet when he arrives. Whether that is enough, I cannot say.

With his clothing put away, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly and brought dreams of Mr. Bennet chasing him across the estate with a sword, enraged beyond words. The call to supper woke him just as the blade descended.

* * *

“Sit there,” Elizabeth said, pointing to a stool and watching Mary take her place before the mirror.

She took her time circling her sister, considering the changes that might best enhance her appearance.

Mary wore her light brown hair in a loose bun secured with a simple ribbon. A single curl fell on each side of her face, drawing attention to her hazel eyes, unlike those of any other sister.

Her lips were full and naturally red, often the cause of jealousy among the women of Hertfordshire.

Her fair skin and delicate features needed no powders or pomades, only the rose water and unscented soap she used to keep them clean. A small, pert nose sat between bright eyes and high cheekbones, each angle of her face working to highlight the elegant line of her jaw.

She scoffed at Elizabeth and Jane’s suggestions to use powders or rouge, refusing to disguise what nature had given her. Decorating her face to attract a suitor, she insisted, was deceitful and beneath her conscience.

Elizabeth had never understood why Mary worked so hard to hide her beauty, as though revealing it was itself a sin.

She took hold of the ribbon and pulled, letting the hair fall loose across Mary’s shoulders. At once, Mary’s hands rose to twist the strands back into place.

“Stop that,” Elizabeth said, giving her hands a light slap. “We will finish much faster if you do not fight me every step of the way.”

Mary dropped her hands into her lap. “Forgive me,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Force of habit.”

“Well, forget your habits until I finish, or we will be here all night.”

“Yes, Lizzy,” she sighed. “Forgive me.”

Elizabeth spent twenty minutes studying the texture and weight of her sister’s hair, deciding on a style to suit her face. Her thoughts shifted to Mary’s complexion, pale as ivory from long days indoors, spent at the pianoforte or buried in scripture.

She considered a light powder to frame the eyes, then dismissed the idea, recalling Mary’s familiar lectures on vanity and false appearance. The dresses, then, must take precedence.

Mary’s garments lacked form or color and were often hidden beneath a worn sweater.

When she did leave the house, she wore a hat pulled low across her forehead, shielding her hair from view.

The effect made her seem far older than her years and wholly detached from the world around her, though she had not yet reached twenty.

Elizabeth hoped to draw out the beauty her sister was determined to bury. With enough patience and steady work, she believed it could be done.

She held up locks of hair and laid them in different patterns until she reached a decision, then stepped back and retrieved a pair of scissors from the bureau.

“Before I begin,” she said, “I will ask once more. Are you certain this is what you want? I can cut your hair and shape it into curls, but anything I do touches only the surface. The lasting change must come from you. If you will not open yourself to friendship, all of this means nothing.”

Mary gripped her thighs and fixed her gaze on Elizabeth. She blinked, drew a breath, and released it.

“That is a lot of work,” she said, a timid smile forming on her lips. “But I promise to try. Can you and Jane help? I do not have Kitty’s confidence or Lydia’s experience.”

“We will give you all the help you need,” Elizabeth said, and began her work.

She spent the afternoon on her sister’s hair, cleaning, cutting, and shaping it into a new style. When the last curl fell into place, she turned to Mary’s nails, trimming and filing them with care. As the light faded and the room fell into shadow, she set the tools aside.

“I think that is enough for today,” she said, stepping back to assess her work. “We can finish tomorrow.”