Page 35 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Georgiana moved toward the pianoforte with quiet composure, taking her seat with the practiced grace of one who had spent countless hours at the instrument and no sign of the nervousness she would still have exhibited at being asked to perform in such company only a few weeks ago.

Mr. Townend followed with his violin, positioning himself where they could maintain easy visual contact throughout the performance.

His customary social awkwardness had vanished entirely, replaced by the confident focus of a true musician preparing to practice his art.

They exchanged a brief glance that communicated volumes, a silent coordination that spoke of their hours of practice together – Darcy knew Mr. Townend was at Darcy House almost every day for an hour or two in the mornings, before any social activities.

Anne and Kitty took turns to chaperone Georgiana, and though Darcy had been mildly concerned at first, he had looked in once or twice on the practice and seen nothing of concern.

Mr. Townend was a gentleman, behaving with the utmost propriety at all times.

Georgiana’s fingers touched the keys, drawing forth the opening notes with delicate precision. Several bars into the introduction, Mr. Townend’s violin joined with perfect timing, the plaintive tone complementing rather than overwhelming the pianoforte’s steady accompaniment.

What struck Darcy most forcefully was the remarkable attunement between the performers.

When Mr. Townend introduced subtle variations in tempo or emphasis, Georgiana responded with intuitive understanding, her own interpretation adjusting to maintain the musical dialogue between their instruments.

There was none of the competitive display that often characterized duet performances in society, where each musician might seek to outshine the other.

Instead, they created something greater than either could achieve alone, each enhancing the other’s abilities through genuine artistic partnership.

The audience appeared genuinely moved by the performance, several of the more musically inclined guests exchanging appreciative glances as a particularly challenging passage was navigated with seamless coordination.

Lady Bellingham herself watched with evident satisfaction, clearly pleased that her entertainment offering had transcended the usual mediocre standard of society performances.

Not all reactions were entirely focused on the music, however. At a table just in front of where Darcy stood, several older ladies exchanged meaningful looks.

“A Darcy of Pemberley with thirty thousand pounds to her name, and quite a beauty,” murmured one, her lorgnette raised to better observe the performers. “And yet she encourages the attentions of a gentleman with neither title nor significant property.”

“Mr. Townend’s family is respectable enough, and wealthy – his father settled a decent amount on him, enough that he needs no profession,” her companion responded, “but hardly the connection one would expect for the sister of Mr. Darcy.”

“Three generations removed from a counting house, and a younger son to boot,” commented a third with a mixture of reluctant admiration and social censure. “Though I suppose his musical proficiency somewhat mitigates his other deficiencies.”

Darcy had grown accustomed to such assessments of his sister’s potential suitors, though they still occasioned a flicker of irritation.

Georgiana’s fortune made her an object of calculation in London society, her personal preferences considered secondary to financial considerations.

Yet watching her now, her face animated with genuine pleasure in the music she created with Mr. Townend, Darcy found himself increasingly inclined to value her evident happiness over society’s narrow expectations.

As the piece concluded to enthusiastic applause, Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye across the room, her smile conveying shared pride in Georgiana’s accomplishment.

Their silent communication was interrupted, however, by the reappearance of the Marquess of Byerly, who was leading Anne toward the dance floor with proprietary confidence as the hired musicians prepared to resume their playing.

“Their second dance of the evening,” observed Lord Matlock. “The marquess seems determined to establish his claim rather publicly.”

Darcy frowned slightly, noting Anne’s composed expression, which revealed little of her true feelings to those unfamiliar with her subtle tells.

To his more practiced eye, however, the slight tension in her shoulders and the careful blankness of her features suggested resignation rather than pleasure in her partner’s attentions.

“Anne has made no encouragement that I have observed,” Darcy replied quietly. “Yet the marquess proceeds as though the matter were settled.”

“The man has always had an excess of confidence,” Lord Matlock commented dryly. “Though his circumstances make his eagerness understandable. Rosings would solve a great many of his financial difficulties.”

As they moved through the patterns of the dance, the marquess’s posture and expression conveyed unmistakable ownership, his head inclined toward Anne as he spoke with animated confidence.

Though too distant to hear his words, Darcy could interpret their general tenor from Anne’s increasingly rigid carriage and the occasional glances she cast toward where Lord Joseph stood near the refreshment table.

“I cannot hear them clearly,” Lord Matlock said, “but I believe our friend the marquess is outlining his plans for ‘their future,’ as he terms it. Something about renovations to the east wing at Rosings and the advantages of connecting their properties through marriage.”

Darcy’s concern deepened. Such specific planning, discussed as though already decided, represented a presumption that bordered on impropriety. Anne’s increasing discomfort was now visible even to casual observers, her forced smile barely masking her distress as the marquess continued his monologue.

Lord Joseph had begun to move restlessly along the perimeter of the dance floor, his usual dramatic flair transformed into anxious energy as he watched Anne’s discomfort.

When the dance concluded, he moved with surprising swiftness to intercept the couple before the marquess could lead Anne away for private conversation.

“Miss de Bourgh!” Lord Joseph exclaimed, his voice pitched to carry over the ambient conversation. “You promised to give me your opinion on that volume of Wordsworth I mentioned. I believe my aunt Lady Bellingham has a first edition in her library that I’d be honoured to show you.”

The marquess’s expression hardened momentarily before smoothing into cold civility. “Perhaps another time, Sturt. Miss de Bourgh and I were discussing matters of some importance regarding estate improvements at Rosings.”

“Surely business matters can wait for a more appropriate occasion,” Lord Joseph persisted, his usual poetic affectations giving way to straightforward determination. “This is, after all, an evening for pleasure rather than property negotiations.”

Anne’s expression showed momentary relief at this interruption, though she maintained proper decorum. “Perhaps I might view the Wordsworth briefly, Lord Joseph, before the next dance.”

“I believe you agreed to spend the next set talking with me, Miss de Bourgh,” the marquess countered smoothly. “We had not quite finished our discussion regarding the southern fields.”

“Southern fields?” Lord Joseph repeated, a note of incredulity entering his voice. “My dear sir, if you cannot find more inspiring topics of conversation with a lady at a ball than agricultural drainage, perhaps you should confine yourself to gentlemen’s clubs.”

Several nearby guests turned at this unusually direct challenge, whispers spreading outward like ripples in a pond.

The marquess drew himself up, his height advantage over Lord Joseph suddenly more pronounced as his expression darkened.

“Your interference grows tiresome, Sturt. Perhaps you should direct your poetic sensibilities toward subjects more appropriate to your station, and leave Miss de Bourgh’s future to those with the proper standing to secure it. ”

Lord Joseph’s usual good humour vanished entirely, replaced by cold anger that transformed his typically animated features into something harder and more determined.

“Her future, my lord? You speak as though Miss de Bourgh were property to be claimed rather than a lady whose preferences deserve consideration.”

“Gentlemen,” Anne began, her soft voice nearly lost as the confrontation escalated.

“I warn you once, Sturt,” the marquess said, his voice lowered but intense, “Miss de Bourgh’s connections and position make her a suitable match for a man of substance and rank.

Your ridiculous poetry and theatrical displays may provide momentary amusement, but they hardly constitute the foundation for a serious attachment. Stand aside.”

Lord Joseph stepped closer rather than retreating, his voice dropping to ensure only the marquess could hear him clearly.

“And I warn you, Byerly, that your mercenary intentions are transparent to all with eyes to see. You look at Rosings Park, not at Anne herself. I may lack your title, sir, but I recognize the worth of the lady beyond her inheritance, which places me considerably above you in any assessment that matters.”

Darcy, observing the rapidly deteriorating situation, moved swiftly to intervene before the exchange could attract further notice.

He approached with measured steps, positioning himself between the two gentlemen with the practiced ease of one accustomed to navigating social difficulties and focussing his attention on Anne as though the two men were not even present.

“Cousin, I believe Mrs. Darcy was hoping to speak with you about arrangements for tomorrow’s excursion to the botanical gardens.”