Page 14 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
“And you, Miss de Bourgh,” the viscount declared, turning the full force of his attention upon her, “remind me of nothing so much as a Botticelli angel, all ethereal delicacy and mysterious depths. I am composing a sonnet in my mind even as we speak!”
Darcy’s irritation increased at this transparent flattery.
Anne was many things, but ‘ethereal’ was hardly an accurate description of a young woman whose complexion, while pale, owed more to a lifetime of restricted activity than to any natural translucence.
The viscount’s evident determination to cast each young lady in some artistic or literary role suggested a mind more concerned with appearances than substance, a quality Darcy found objectionable in a potential suitor.
Across the room, he noticed the marquess still monopolising Georgiana’s attention, while Mr. Townend had retreated to the vicinity of the orchestra once more, his expression suggesting he found the music preferable to competing for conversational opportunities.
Lord Joseph Sturt had joined Kitty’s circle and appeared to be reciting something that had her alternating between polite attention and barely suppressed amusement.
“You appear to be cataloguing the room’s occupants with particular attention,” observed Elizabeth’s familiar voice as she materialised at his side, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm with the easy confidence of secure affection.
“I recognise that expression, Mr. Darcy. You are finding most of the company sadly wanting.”
Darcy glanced down at his wife, feeling his features soften despite his general dissatisfaction with the evening’s proceedings. “Not most,” he corrected. “Merely a specific subset of young gentlemen who appear to have taken an excessive interest in our charges.”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced with suppressed mirth. “Ah, yes. The terrible fortune hunters and libertines who have the temerity to admire three lovely young women. How dare they appreciate what we ourselves value so highly?”
“It is not their admiration I object to,” Darcy replied, lowering his voice to ensure they would not be overheard.
“It is the nature and motivation of that admiration. Byerly sees only fortunes to repair his estates, Shandly appears to view each lady as a character in some theatrical performance of his own devising, and Lord Joseph seems primarily interested in acquiring new subjects for his abominable poetry.”
“Such a fierce guardian,” Elizabeth teased gently.
“And what of Captain Andrews, who described his ship in such minute detail to poor Georgiana that her eyes began to glaze? Or Mr. Worthington, who managed to talk to Anne for fifteen full minutes on nothing but the weather? Are they equally objectionable?”
“Less obviously calculating,” Darcy admitted, “though perhaps too focused on their own interests to make truly attentive husbands.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her smile both fond and exasperated.
“My love, if we disqualify every gentleman who displays any hint of self-interest or imperfection, our poor girls shall be relegated to spinsterhood before the Season properly begins. Not everyone can meet the exacting standards of Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“A fortunate circumstance for certain gentlemen,” Darcy observed dryly, “as my standards would see many of them barred from polite society entirely.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “And yet somehow I managed to meet your approval, despite my decidedly unfashionable tendency to form my own opinions and express them with unfortunate candour.”
“You exceeded every standard I had ever conceived,” Darcy corrected her quietly, “and continue to do so daily. Which is precisely why I wish the same happiness for Georgiana, and for Anne and Kitty as well. They deserve partners who value them for themselves, not merely for their fortunes or connections.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened at this declaration.
“A sentiment with which I entirely agree. But we must allow them the freedom to discover for themselves which gentlemen are worthy of their regard. Even you, with all your discernment, required time to recognise certain truths about both yourself and others.”
Darcy acknowledged this gentle reminder of his own past misjudgements with a slight inclination of his head.
“A fair point, though I maintain that vigilance is necessary when three young women of varying experience and temperament are suddenly exposed to the calculated attentions of London society.”
“Vigilance, yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “Overprotective scowling that frightens away even the most honourable of suitors, perhaps not.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Have I been scowling? I was attempting to maintain a neutral expression of polite interest.”
“My dear, your ‘neutral expression’ has caused at least two young men to abort their approach to Georgiana in the last half hour alone,” Elizabeth informed him with amused affection.
“You might consider occasionally allowing your features to arrange themselves in something approximating welcome, or at least not active disapproval.”
Before Darcy could formulate a suitable response to this suggestion, Lord Matlock rejoined them, having temporarily absented himself to speak with an acquaintance. “I believe Margaret has determined the young ladies have made enough conquests for their first ball. She has called for the carriages.”
Indeed, Lady Matlock could be seen across the room gently but firmly extracting Georgiana from the marquess’s company, while simultaneously gesturing for Kitty to conclude her conversation with Lord Joseph.
Anne stood nearby, her expression one of tired relief as Mrs. Jenkinson fussed with her shawl and murmured what appeared to be detailed observations on her interactions throughout the evening.
“A successful debut overall, I believe,” Lord Matlock continued.
“All three young ladies acquitted themselves admirably, and have attracted sufficient attention to ensure invitations to the most desirable events of the Season. Though I suspect you may have your hands full managing the various suitors who will undoubtedly begin calling tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” Darcy replied, offering his arm to Elizabeth as they prepared to depart. “A challenge I approach with mixed feelings, as Elizabeth has just been reminding me.”
“Oh?” Lord Matlock inquired, his expression one of amused curiosity.
“My husband,” Elizabeth explained with a fond glance at Darcy, “is discovering that protective instincts which were entirely appropriate when his sister was still a child, may require some moderation when applied to young ladies who must be allowed to make their own judgments and, occasionally, their own mistakes.”
“A difficult lesson for any guardian,” Lord Matlock acknowledged. “Particularly one as devoted as Darcy has always been to his sister’s welfare.”
“I am merely concerned that their inexperience may lead them to mistake superficial charm for genuine character,” Darcy said, watching as their party assembled near the entrance to farewell their hostess. “The consequences of such a misjudgement could be significant.”
“As always, your concern does you credit,” Elizabeth assured him, the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm conveying both understanding and affection.
“But remember that they have us to guide them, not control them. And that sometimes, the heart may recognise truths that even the most logical mind might overlook.”
As they joined the others and made their farewells to their hostess, Darcy found himself reflecting on Elizabeth’s words.
The tension between protection and freedom, guidance and control, was one he had struggled with since first assuming responsibility for Georgiana after their father’s death.
That same tension now extended to include Anne and Kitty, each with her own differing temperament and vulnerabilities.
Perhaps Elizabeth was right, and he must allow them room to exercise their own judgment, even at the risk of occasional missteps.
After all, had he not made his own errors in judgment, errors that had very nearly cost him the greatest happiness of his life?
The thought of Elizabeth, and how close he had come to losing her through his own pride and prejudice, was a powerful reminder of the limits of even the most well-intentioned guidance.