Page 15 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth sat in the drawing room of Darcy House, an embroidery hoop in her hands providing the pretence of industry, though she had failed to set a stitch in the last ten minutes, her mind busy considering the events of the previous evening.
The ball had been a success by any measure, with all three young ladies under her care conducting themselves with admirable composure despite the varied attentions bestowed upon them.
That those attentions would result in morning callers was inevitable; the question that remained was which gentlemen would be first to present themselves at Darcy House, and with what intentions.
She had not long to wait. Harrison announced Viscount Shandly with characteristic gravity that contrasted sharply with the young man’s theatrical entrance.
The viscount swept into the room as though making his debut upon a stage, his morning coat an unusual shade of blue that bordered on flamboyant, his neckcloth arranged in an elaborate style that must have required his valet’s undivided attention for the better part of an hour.
“Mrs. Darcy!” he exclaimed, bowing with a flourish.
“How delightful to find you at home. I trust you are not fatigued after the splendours of Lady Ashburton’s ball?
An enchanting evening, was it not? Though the orchestra lacked a certain vivacity, and the champagne was perhaps a touch too dry for my palate. ”
“Good morning, Lord Shandly,” Elizabeth replied, rising to greet him with a polite curtsy. “We are all quite well, thank you. The young ladies will join us shortly.”
“Excellent, excellent,” the viscount declared, settling himself into a chair with studied grace. “I have brought a small token for Miss Bennet, nothing of consequence, merely a trifling appreciation of her charming conversation last evening.”
From an elegant portfolio, he withdrew several sketches which he arranged carefully on the table with the air of an artist unveiling a masterpiece at the Royal Academy.
“A few humble efforts of my own,” he explained, though the studied casualness of his tone suggested he expected considerable admiration.
“Views of Florence, where I spent several inspiring months during my Grand Tour. Miss Bennet expressed such interest in Italy that I felt compelled to share these with her.”
Elizabeth examined the sketches with polite interest, noting their professional quality and precise technique.
While beautifully executed, they lacked the minor imperfections or personal quirks one might expect in amateur work, regardless of talent.
Looking at Lord Shandly’s expression, she developed a suspicion that perhaps they were not quite his ‘own work’ as he claimed.
“These are remarkably accomplished,” she observed, carefully selecting words that acknowledged the sketches’ quality without explicitly attributing their creation to the viscount. “Kitty will be delighted, I am sure. Art has always been an interest of hers.”
“A natural sensitivity to beauty is a quality I greatly admire,” the viscount replied with a self-satisfied smile that suggested he considered himself a consummate judge of both beauty and sensitivity.
“I find that artistic appreciation reveals the true quality of a person’s character.
Those who cannot be moved by a sublime landscape or an exquisite portrait must surely possess rather limited sensibilities. ”
Before Elizabeth could formulate a response to this rather sweeping declaration, the door opened to admit Kitty and Georgiana. The viscount leapt to his feet with theatrical alacrity.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Darcy! You illuminate the room with your presence,” he declared, bowing deeply. “I was just showing Mrs. Darcy some humble sketches I made in Italy. Nothing of significance, mere trifles really, but perhaps they might amuse you for a moment?”
Kitty approached the table with undisguised eagerness, her natural enthusiasm for anything new or entertaining undiminished by her recent lessons in proper decorum.
“Oh! How lovely!” she exclaimed, examining the sketches with genuine appreciation.
“Did you truly draw these yourself, Lord Shandly? You must be terribly talented.”
“You are too kind,” the viscount demurred. “Art has always been a passion of mine. These particular views captured my imagination during those golden Florentine afternoons when the light transforms even the most ordinary scene into something magical.”
Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye and noted the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that suggested she, too, had doubts about the viscount’s artistic claims. However, Georgiana said nothing to contradict him, merely complimenting the sketches with gentle politeness before taking a seat near the window.
The arrival of Mr. Townend was announced before the viscount had exhausted his expansive descriptions of Florence’s architectural wonders.
The newcomer entered with less ceremony, his tall figure somewhat awkward in formal morning dress, his dark hair slightly dishevelled as though he had absently run his fingers through it on the walk to Darcy House.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he greeted her with a bow that was correct if not particularly graceful. “Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet.” His gaze lingered briefly on Georgiana before returning to Elizabeth. “I hope I am not intruding at an inconvenient hour.”
“Not at all, Mr. Townend,” Elizabeth assured him. “We are delighted to receive you.”
Mr. Townend produced a slim package wrapped in plain brown paper.
“I brought this for Miss Darcy,” he explained, his manner becoming more animated.
“New compositions by Clementi, recently published. I recalled your mentioning at the ball that you admired his work, and thought perhaps you might wish to borrow them… of course I understand you could not accept a gift, but...” He trailed off, suddenly self-conscious, and thrust the package toward Georgiana with unintentional abruptness.
“A loan would be acceptable,” Elizabeth said gently when Georgiana looked at her for permission. “Most kind, Mr. Townend.”
“How thoughtful,” Georgiana murmured, her cheeks flushing slightly as she unwrapped the book of music. “I am indeed fond of Clementi’s sonatas. Thank you, Mr. Townend.”
“Perhaps you might favour us with a performance?” Elizabeth suggested, noting Georgiana’s genuine pleasure at the offering despite her shyness.
After some gentle encouragement, Georgiana seated herself at the instrument and began to play.
Her technique was, as always, exemplary, her fingers moving with precision over the keys as she sight-read the unfamiliar composition.
However, Mr. Townend’s expression shifted from initial appreciation to growing dissatisfaction, his brow furrowing as he moved to stand beside the pianoforte.
“No, no,” he interrupted after a particularly complex passage.
“The tempo is all wrong. This section requires more urgency, more passion.” He gestured emphatically, his previous awkwardness forgotten in his musical fervour.
“And here, these arpeggios should cascade like water, not proceed with such mechanical precision. The notes themselves are insufficient, you cannot simply play them correctly, you must feel them.”
Georgiana’s hands froze above the keys, her cheeks flushing deep crimson as Mr. Townend continued his critique without apparent awareness of her mortification. Elizabeth rose, prepared to intervene, when Kitty surprised her by speaking first, rising to her feet and going to Georgiana’s side.
“How fortunate we are to have such an expert among us,” Kitty declared with unexpected poise, though Elizabeth detected a hint of iron beneath the light tone.
“But perhaps, Mr. Townend, we might allow Georgiana the chance to practice privately before she must perform for an audience? Georgiana, you simply must tell Lord Shandly about the exhibition at Somerset House that we plan to attend. He has a very great interest in art, and I am sure he would have most interesting observations to share.”
The deft change of subject, delivered with such apparent artlessness that it could give no offence, effectively rescued Georgiana from her uncomfortable position at the pianoforte.
Elizabeth watched with approval and some surprise as Kitty guided her friend back to the seating area, continuing to speak with calculated animation that required no immediate response from the still-flustered Georgiana.
Mr. Townend appeared momentarily disconcerted, as though suddenly aware that his passionate critique might have been inappropriate in a morning call. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly to Georgiana. “I sometimes forget myself when music is concerned.”
“Not at all,” Georgiana replied softly, recovering some of her composure. “Your expertise is most valuable. I shall certainly practise with your suggestions in mind.”
As the conversation turned to the upcoming exhibition, Elizabeth observed the subtle shifts in the room’s dynamics with interest. Kitty, who Elizabeth privately admitted she had once dismissed as the silliest of the Bennet sisters, had shown unexpected social adroitness in her rescue of Georgiana.
Mr. Townend, despite his tactlessness, appeared genuinely chagrined at having caused Georgiana distress, suggesting a sensitivity beneath his musical obsession.
And the viscount, for all his theatrical affectations and dubious artistic claims, had at least paid enough attention to Kitty the evening before to know that she would be interested in the sketches he had brought for her perusal.