Page 16 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Darcy

T wo weeks in London had done nothing to improve Darcy’s spirits. The townhouse felt oppressive, each room a reminder of his own failures.

Not only because of his own poor mood but because of his company.

The Hurst’s home at Grosvenor Street had suffered damage when a cook had accidentally set fire to the kitchen the day after their arrival.

The stench was insufferable, according to Miss Bingley, and the clean-up would take several weeks.

Darcy had thus invited the Hurst and Bingley party to Darcy house. A decision he somewhat regretted.

Miss Bingley acted as though this were her home already, the Hursts—while generally well mannered—were both more curious about his affairs than they ought to be. And Bingley?

Bingley drifted about in a manner most forlorn, scarcely speaking or eating. Darcy could not deny that he had underestimated the effect his separation from Miss Bennet would have on him.

Had he done the right thing convincing him to leave?

Yes. Of course. Of course he had. Miss Bennet was engaged to another after all. Bingley would thank him. Eventually.

“You are being quite absurd,” Georgiana announced from across the breakfast table, her tone sharper than usual.

Darcy looked up from his untouched plate. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me perfectly well.” His sister set down her teacup with more force than necessary. “This pouting about like a tragedy has befallen you. It is most unlike you.”

“I am not pouting.”

“You most certainly are. And Charles is even worse. The poor man looks as though someone has died.” Georgiana’s eyes flashed with uncharacteristic fire. “When it was perfectly clear to anyone with eyes that he and Miss Bennet were quite taken with each other.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You spent precious little time in their company. How could you possibly—”

“Because I am not insensible!” Georgiana’s voice rose, causing even the footman to glance their way. “Miss Bennet’s face lit up whenever Mr Bingley entered a room. And he could scarcely take his eyes off her. Even I could see they were falling in love.”

“She was promised to another.”

“Was she? Or was she trapped by circumstances?” Georgiana leaned forward, forehead creased. “From what I observed, Miss Bennet seemed as reluctant about that arrangement as anyone could be.”

Darcy pushed back from the table. “You are a romantic, Georgiana. You see what you wish to see.”

“And what is wrong with being a romantic?” She stood as well, matching his stubborn stance. “At least I see possibilities for happiness instead of assuming the worst of everyone.”

“I protect those I care about.”

“You presume to interfere where you have no just cause.” The words hung between them like a gauntlet thrown. Georgiana’s mouth puckered, but she did not back down. “And speaking of assumptions, I thought you quite liked Miss Elizabeth as well.”

“That is of no consequence now.”

“Is it not?” Georgiana’s voice softened. “Because from what I saw, she seemed to enjoy your company. And you… you smiled more in her presence than I have seen you smile in months.”

Darcy turned towards the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “In any case, we shall never see them again. The Bennet family has no reason to venture into our circles.”

“How fortunate for you to decide so unilaterally,” Georgiana muttered. “To decide everyone’s fate without consulting them.”

Darcy said nothing more, turning back to his breakfast though the food held no appeal. The conversation died, leaving them in uncomfortable silence.

Later that afternoon, Georgiana suggested they take a walk to clear the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the house. Darcy agreed, hoping the fresh air might lift his spirits, though he doubted anything could penetrate the gloom that had taken residence in his chest.

They had been strolling through the fashionable streets near their townhouse for perhaps twenty minutes when Georgiana suddenly gripped his arm.

“Oh! Is that not—?”

Darcy followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop.

Across the street, near the entrance to a popular milliner’s shop, stood a familiar group.

Lydia, Kitty, and Mary Bennet stood with a refined looking couple in front of a shop window, peering in.

His eyes scanned the road to see if Elizabeth too was here but he did not see her.

“The Bennet sisters,” he said under his breath.

“Lydia!” Georgiana called out before Darcy could stop her, already moving towards the street. They had long forgone the use of their formal address in favour of their names.

“Lydia! How wonderful to see you in London!”

The effect on the Bennet party was immediate. Lydia’s face brightened, though wariness flickered in her eyes when they landed on Darcy emerging behind his sister.

“Georgiana!” Lydia called back, her voice carrying that familiar spirited edge. “What a pleasant surprise. Aunt, uncle this is my friend, Miss Georgiana Darcy.” She paused, then added “and her brother,” using the sort of tone one might reserve for the arrival of the undertaker.

The gentleman stepped forward with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to managing social situations. “Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, how lovely to encounter you. I am Mr Gardiner, and this is my husband.” She gestured to the gentleman beside her. “We are relations of the Bennet family.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Darcy replied, though his gaze kept drifting to the rest of the party. Mary and Kitty Bennet stood behind their aunt.

“We are staying with the Gardiners for a time,” Lydia announced, her chin lifting slightly. “A change of scenery after… after recent events.”

The words carried a weight that made Darcy’s chest tighten. Recent events. His interference. Jane’s heartbreak.

“I do hope you are finding London agreeable,” Georgiana said, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents.

“Oh yes,” Lydia replied, though her eyes remained fixed on Darcy. “Although it was much more rejuvenating without reminders of the past one has fled. I do not mean you, of course,” she said and squeezed Georgiana’s hand.

Mrs Gardiner shot her a warning look, but Lydia continued undaunted. Darcy looked across the street as though the milliner’s shop had caught his fancy.

“How are Jane and Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked then. “Are they here also?”

“No. Jane is at home. She is quite miserable. Heartbroken, one might say.” Her voice gained strength with each word. “And sister Elizabeth is not herself either. She is quite disappointed in humanity. Or certain members.”

“Lydia,” Mrs Gardiner murmured, but the girl pressed on.

A flush of mortification coloured Darcy’s neck. He turned, aware he was under assault if he acknowledged it or not. “Miss Lydia, I—”

She entirely ignored him.

“Pray, would you join us Georgiana? We were returning home for tea and sweetmeats. We bought candied lemon peels that are most divine.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Georgiana agreed quickly after glancing at Darcy who was quite clearly not invited. “If your aunt and uncle do not mind.”

“Not in the least. It would be lovely.” She glanced at Darcy, awkwardness descending upon their gathering. “And Mr Darcy?”

“Mr Darcy does not care for tea,” Lydia said, though he had never uttered such words.

Georgiana turned to him. “I will be perfectly safe, William. And you can send a carriage to collect me later. Please?”

Darcy pondered the scene with growing bewilderment.

How was it that Lydia could be so angry with him yet maintain such easy friendship with his sister?

The girl remained an enigma—still clearly struggling with anger or grief or both, yet showing flashes of the spirited nature the Phillipses had warned him about.

He did not want Georgiana in this company but knew if he refused, he would be beleaguered all night and day and perhaps the rest of the week. Thus, he nodded.

“I shall send a carriage in two hours,” he said and then obtained the address from Mr Gardiner who, to his surprise, carried an embossed card with him. He took it, saw the Gardiners living in Cheapside, and nodded.

“You are in business, Mr Gardiner?”

“Import and export of goods from India and the Canadas,” he replied with a smile.

“I see.” Why had this gentleman not helped the family when he so clearly could afford it, if based upon his clothing and the jewels dangling from his wife’s ears and wrist. Or did he not have such funds? It occurred to him he did not even know how much money the Bennets owed.

“William,” Georgiana said and tugged on his arm. Only then did he understand he had been wool-gathering.

“Right. Yes. Two hours.”

With that, the party departed, leaving him to wonder if he would ever find a way to separate himself from the Bennets—and Elizabeth—at all.

***

That evening at Darcy House, the dining room felt suffocating despite its grandeur.

The mahogany table gleamed under the candlelight, but tension hung in the air like smoke from a poorly tended fire.

Bingley sat in melancholy silence, moving food about his plate whilst Caroline prattled on about the latest fashions with forced gaiety.

Georgiana had arrived only moments before dinner was announced, her cheeks still pink from the cool evening air and her eyes bright with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.

Darcy had been burning to enquire about her afternoon since the carriage returned her, but with Caroline and the Hursts present, such questions were impossible.

Any mention of the Bennets would provoke Caroline into either raptures or hysterics, depending on her mood.

Mrs Hurst seemed rather more interested in the wine than the conversation, leaving Darcy to observe his sister whilst trying to appear otherwise occupied.

Georgiana seemed unusually animated, contributing more to the discourse than was her custom.

Whatever had transpired during her visit to Gracechurch Street had clearly lifted her spirits considerably.