Page 2 of Lord Lonbourn’s Daughter

“Darcy! You were at the Stanford ball last evening, were you not?”

Darcy nodded at Lord Matlock, who had requested his presence a little prior to the dinner party on some business excuse.

“Did you get an introduction to the Earl of Longbourn?”

“No, I did not have that pleasure. It was quite the crush last night.”

“Yes, and you were hiding behind a column as usual.”

“Definitely not!”

“A potted plant?”

Darcy scowled at his uncle. He did not hide, he merely preferred to observe at a safe distance, looking unapproachable.

“Jesting aside, I have invited him and his three eldest daughters here this evening.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a family dinner,” Darcy protested. After attending a ball the previous evening, he was not in the mood for entertaining strangers, and certainly not three unmarried ladies looking for a husband.

“It is. He is a cousin of mine, thrice removed or something. It might be four times when I come to think of it. Well, we are distantly related, which must suffice. He has an orchid I want to purchase for the countess’s impending birthday. It is important that we make him feel welcome.”

“I shall do my best. We met once when I was at Cambridge, but I doubt he remembers me.”

His uncle poured him a tumbler of brandy while they waited, hiding from the countess, for the appointed time to remove to the parlour to greet the guests.

A female voice announced the failure of their endeavour. “Ah, so this is where you have concealed yourselves… I am surprised Richard has not joined you, but it is you I wanted to speak to.”

His aunt turned on him, and he knew what was coming.

“Why have you not brought Georgiana?”

“She is not yet out.”

“You know as well as I that she need not be out to attend a family dinner.”

“Yet I hear there will be guests.”

“Family, as I mentioned,” his uncle interjected.

It was not the first time his aunt and uncle had sprung a crowd of guests upon him without warning. He levelled his gaze at his aunt, but she was not easily deterred.

“It is time we made an appointment with the seamstress to have her hems and the front of her dress lowered.”

“She is sixteen,” Darcy countered with outrage in his voice.

“Exactly. Sixteen is no longer a child. She needs to get out more if she is to practise before her official come out. It is only a twelvemonth away, and with her reserve she will need to be eased into society, not dropped into the melee of a ball on her first night.”

“She could wait another year or two,” Darcy suggested.

“Out of the question! It may take her a few Seasons to find the right husband. I shall not allow you to wait until she is halfway to spinsterhood before you present her to society. You have no idea how difficult this is for a woman, Darcy. The marriage mart is merciless. By the bye, have you seen this?”

His aunt dropped one of the scandal rags on the desk and slid it in his direction.

He suppressed the impulse to scoff at its mere presence.

Why anyone would deign to read such balderdash was beyond his comprehension.

He pressed his lips into a thin line at the audacity and replied tersely, “Of course not!”

“You should. It involves you.”

“Who has the blasted AA paired me with this time? You might as well tell me and save me the trouble of reading this waste of paper.”

The journalist writing under the suspicious initials AA had been his nemesis for as long as he could remember. Whoever it was seemed to hold a particular grudge against his person. There was never anything remotely flattering recounted about him in that column.

“I think you should read it for yourself this time…”

His aunt pointed to an article titled ‘The Stanford Ball’. Grudgingly, he let his eyes roam the words until his gaze was arrested by his own initials paired with a young maiden’s, but further investigation revealed it was not what he had supposed.

FD of P in Derbyshire snubbed one of the anticipated new arrivals to the haut ton at Lady Stanford’s ball.

According to the gentleman, the lady was deemed a dowdy contribution to our superior society.

Dear readers who dreaded the reputed beauty of the Earl of L’s daughters may rest easy; the added competition to the marriage mart has been avoided.

Darcy had a dread of his own, lifting his eyes to meet the condemnation he was sure to find on his aunt’s countenance. He was wrong; it was not condemnation but more akin to rage he saw reflected in her usually so temperate features.

Her voice was very deep and distinct when she deigned to raise it.

“I am the lovely Bennet sisters’ sponsor this Season.

If you do not apologise, grovel, preferably on your hands and knees, I shall personally have you horsewhipped.

Do not for a second doubt my capability of doing so.

I have friends in very high places, but it is my connections in the lowest classes that I would hire for this kind of assignment. ”

It was a well-known fact that his aunt was close to the Catholic Mrs Maria Fitzherbert, Prinny’s first wife that mad King George had not approved of.

The marriage had been declared void, but the love between the two seemed not to have been dampened by the law of the Royal Marriage Act.

Mrs Fitzherbert was rumoured to have a chamber adjoining the Prince of Wales’s with the substantial influence that came with that position.

However, he seriously doubted his aunt was connected to riffraff who would do anything for a few shillings.

“I shall apologise, Aunt. In my defence, I did not speak to her directly—it was a confidence shared between two friends. I am sorry I was overheard, but I did not even get a proper look at the lady in question. I only observed her from behind.”

“You did not even lay eyes on her countenance, yet you thought yourself sufficiently informed to judge her appearance? I am appalled, Darcy, not to forget disappointed. Thank heavens your mother is not here to witness your disgrace. Did you know that the Longbourn girls have been in mourning for their mother for the last year? Tending her in her sickbed for the previous two years?”

“I shall apologise as soon as the lady arrives.”

“An apology is only the beginning, Darcy. Lady Longbourn was a dear friend of mine before she married. I come from Hertfordshire, remember. You will engage Lady Elizabeth for a set at every ball you both attend for the rest of the Season. It is the least you can do after ruining her chances for a match this year. Do not roll your eyes at me! If you even think of fleeing to Pemberley to hide, your plans will be thwarted. I shall personally travel to Derbyshire and haul you back by your ears, which will be suffering from a recent boxing.”

Darcy dared not point out the ridiculousness of his petite aunt dragging his large person anywhere.

It was obvious she believed herself capable.

He had behaved badly, and the remedy was easy enough.

Apologise and forget all about it. It was not like he attended many balls to begin with, and they were usually crowded.

To find someone specific might prove exceedingly difficult, but he did feel the need to defend himself a little.

“Her gown was very simple and out of fashion.”

“Says who?” Lady Matlock scowled at him.

He had better explain that those were not his words.

“Miss Bingley.”

His aunt scoffed. “Of course it was Miss Bingley! Her ostentatious garb would make any fashionable lady seem out of place. You will be shocked then that it was I who convinced the lovely Elizabeth that her simple gown would be refreshing amongst the many garish costumes that the ladies of the haut ton seem to favour. Taking into consideration the mourning period for their mother, they had no opportunity to acquire new gowns. A situation I have been enlisted to aid the three sisters in rectifying. I am greatly anticipating escorting those amiable young ladies to Bond Street to acquire what they need. I shall vehemently discourage them from adopting Miss Bingley’s style, though.

When you are a natural beauty, no such outlandish embellishments are necessary.

I was hoping to take Georgiana on occasion.

She is in desperate need of friends her own age.

Miss Bingley is not appropriate company because her supercilious air and the vitriol she spouts are not traits I would like my niece to adopt. ”

His aunt left them in a flurry of skirts, their rustling sounding as indignant as she had been. Her angry footsteps reverberated down the passage, leaving him in an uncomfortable silence with his uncle, who seemed inordinately occupied with his tumbler of port.

Darcy’s unease increased as the appointed time approached. He stood at the end of the line, after his uncle, aunt, the viscount and his wife, and Richard. The door opened and the butler announced, “The Earl of Longbourn, Lady Jane Bennet, Lady Elizabeth Bennet, and Lady Mary Bennet, sir.”

Their guests greeted their hosts in a formal line.

The father was a tall and broad man with long white hair tied up in a queue, as it had been when Darcy had seen him at Cambridge.

He looked solemn but had a twinkle in his eyes and wrinkles around them that betrayed that this was a common occurrence.

Behind the Earl of Longbourn, he could see Bingley’s angel.

She was beautiful and angelic but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.

He kept staring at her as she approached down the line, trying to gauge what could possibly be missing from her serene countenance that made him deem her lacking.

On paper, she fitted his list of requirements, supposing she was accomplished, but what daughter of an earl would not be?

His eyes rested on her too long, a throat cleared in front of him, and he had to lower his eyes significantly from the eldest sister to the next.