Page 18 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Chapter Eight

Georgiana had never felt entirely at ease in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, when it seemed all of London society gathered to see and be seen.

The wide pathways filled with elegant carriages and carefully dressed pedestrians always made her feel as though she were upon a stage, each gesture and expression subject to the critical appraisal of an audience far more discerning than any concert hall could boast. Today the sensation was particularly acute, as she walked beside Elizabeth with Anne and Kitty, the group drawing no small amount of attention from those they passed.

Mrs. Jenkinson, walking beside Anne with a sour look on her face, maintained a running commentary on the proper deportment expected during a park promenade, advice that Anne appeared to be enduring rather than absorbing.

“Remember, Miss de Bourgh, that you must not overtire yourself. Fifteen minutes of walking will be quite sufficient. Lady Catherine would not wish you to risk your health for the sake of fashion.”

“I am feeling quite well today,” Anne replied softly, surprising Georgiana with the faint note of determination in her voice. “I believe I shall manage at least a half hour of walking before requiring rest.”

Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye with a subtle smile of approval, and Georgiana felt a surge of affection for her sister by marriage.

In the months since the wedding, Elizabeth had brought a warmth and liveliness to Pemberley that had been missing since Georgiana’s mother died.

Now, in London, her guidance was proving invaluable as Georgiana navigated the treacherous waters of her first Season.

“Remember to breathe, Georgiana,” Elizabeth murmured, correctly interpreting her rigid posture as they made their way along the fashionable promenade. “No one is scrutinising you quite as intensely as you imagine.”

But Georgiana was not convinced. Already she had noted Lady Jersey observing them through her quizzing glass, and the Countess of Lonsdale leaning to whisper something to her companion with a significant glance in their direction.

The sun shone with surprising warmth for an April afternoon, glinting off elegant bonnets and jewelled walking sticks, illuminating a parade of London’s elite in their finest walking dress.

“Remember,” Elizabeth said quietly, “you need only be yourself. There is no test to pass, no performance required. A pleasant walk among friends is all that is expected.”

Georgiana nodded gratefully, though she could not quite believe this reassurance.

In her experience thus far, London society was perpetually evaluating, judging, measuring each young lady against an impossible standard of beauty, accomplishment, and propriety.

Being herself had never seemed quite enough in such company.

Conscious of eyes upon her, Georgiana straightened her shoulders, raising her chin in an imitation of Elizabeth’s quiet confidence.

Her pale blue walking dress, though modestly cut, was of the finest silk, its subtle elegance a testament to Madame Delaporte’s skill.

The matching bonnet, trimmed with forget-me-nots that complemented her eyes, had been positioned just so by her maid after nearly half an hour of careful adjustments.

“Miss Darcy,” came a feminine voice, and Georgiana turned to find Lady Helena Fitzsimmons and her daughter approaching, their smiles warm but their eyes assessing. “How charming you look today. Blue is most becoming with your complexion.”

“Thank you, Lady Fitzsimmons,” Georgiana replied, executing a small curtsy as she had been taught. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

The exchange of pleasantries continued as they began their promenade, Elizabeth deftly managing the conversation while ensuring that all three young ladies under her care were properly included.

Georgiana marvelled at Elizabeth’s social grace, the easy way she navigated the subtle currents of status and expectation without appearing to give them any thought at all.

“I understand you made quite an impression at Lady Ashburton’s ball,” Lady Fitzsimmons remarked, her gaze moving speculatively between Georgiana and Kitty. “Several young gentlemen of my acquaintance spoke most admiringly of your musical talents, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana felt her cheeks warm at this. “You are very kind,” she murmured, unable to think of any more substantive response.

“And Miss Bennet’s vivacity charmed many, I hear,” Lady Fitzsimmons continued, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Including Viscount Shandly. Such an... artistic young man.”

Something in her tone suggested this was not entirely a compliment, and Georgiana glanced at Kitty, who either missed or chose to ignore the implied criticism.

“The viscount is exceedingly knowledgeable about art and literature,” Kitty replied with enthusiasm. “He has been most kind in sharing his experiences from his Grand Tour.”

“I’m sure he has,” Lady Fitzsimmons murmured, exchanging a knowing look with Elizabeth that Georgiana could not quite interpret.

They had completed nearly half a circuit of the park when Georgiana became aware of a subtle shift in the crowd’s attention.

Heads turned, whispers increased, and several ladies adjusted their bonnets or patted their curls.

Following their gaze, she saw the cause of this disturbance: Viscount Shandly approaching on horseback, his mount a glossy black stallion that pranced dramatically across the green as if it, too, were performing for an audience.

The viscount himself was a vision in sapphire blue, his coat cut in the very latest fashion, his hat positioned at a rakish angle that somehow remained just within the bounds of propriety.

As he neared their party, he executed an elaborate dismount that seemed designed to display both his horsemanship and the fine cut of his riding breeches.

“Mrs. Darcy! Miss Bennet! Miss Darcy! Miss de Bourgh!” he called, sweeping off his hat and bowing with theatrical grace. “What fortune smiles upon me today, to encounter such a constellation of beauty amid the prosaic greenery of the park!”

Georgiana noticed several nearby gentlemen exchange looks of barely concealed disdain, while a group of young ladies tittered behind their gloves.

The viscount, either oblivious to or unconcerned by these reactions, handed his horse to a waiting groom and strode toward them with the confidence of a man who had never questioned his welcome in any company.

“Lord Shandly,” Elizabeth greeted him with perfect composure. “How fortuitous indeed. We were just remarking on the pleasant weather.”

“Ah, but what is weather compared to the pleasure of such company?” he replied, his gaze moving to Kitty, whose face had brightened visibly at his approach. “Miss Bennet, you look positively radiant today. That shade of pink suits you admirably, like the first blush of dawn on a Venetian lagoon.”

Kitty’s cheeks coloured to match her gown at this extravagant compliment. “Thank you, my lord. I am particularly fond of this bonnet. The ribbons were my sister’s suggestion.”

“Mrs. Darcy has exquisite taste,” the viscount declared, bowing slightly in Elizabeth’s direction before returning his attention to Kitty.

“But tell me, Miss Bennet, have you given any thought to our discussion of the Venetian masters? I recall you expressed particular interest in Titian’s use of colour. ”

“Oh yes,” Kitty replied with evident enthusiasm. “I found your description of the Accademia quite fascinating. You said the light there was unlike anywhere else in Europe?”

“Precisely so!” The viscount seized upon this opening with alacrity, offering his arm to Kitty with a flourish.

“If you would permit me, I should be honoured to expand upon that observation. The quality of Venetian light is absolutely transformative, you see, filtering through the mist from the canals to create an ethereal glow that has inspired artists for centuries.”

With a quick glance toward Elizabeth, who gave a slight nod of permission, Kitty placed her hand on the viscount’s arm, and the two moved slightly ahead of the main party.

Georgiana watched with a mixture of concern and curiosity as the viscount launched into what appeared to be a memorised lecture on Venetian art and architecture, complete with expansive gestures that occasionally required Kitty to duck to avoid being struck by his enthusiastic hands.

“Venice!” she heard him exclaim, his voice carrying clearly despite their modest distance.

“Imagine, Miss Bennet, a city rising like a dream from the sea, its palaces and churches reflected in waters that shimmer with centuries of history! I spent three months there, studying with a renowned art historian who claimed descent from Titian himself, though I found his credentials somewhat suspect when he later tried to sell me a ‘previously undiscovered’ Tintoretto at a remarkably convenient price.”

Kitty’s laughter at this anecdote rang out, bright and genuine, drawing attention from nearby strollers. Georgiana felt a twinge of envy at her friend’s easy social grace, the way she could converse with anyone, even the most dramatic of viscounts, without apparent anxiety or self-consciousness.

“And Florence!” the viscount continued, warming to his subject.

“The cradle of the Renaissance, where every stone seems to breathe artistic inspiration! I resided in a villa once owned by the Medici family, or so my landlord claimed, though the plumbing suggested a considerably less illustrious provenance.”

“Was it very beautiful?” Kitty asked, her face tilted up toward him with apparent fascination. “I have only seen engravings in books, but I have always longed to visit Italy.”