Page 15 of Rumours & Recklessness (Sweet Escapes Collection #1)
Chapter 13
T hree miles away at Netherfield, Darcy bid his sister a tender good night. Georgiana had remained timidly by his side the entire evening, resolutely denying even Miss Bingley’s determined attempts at separating her from her brother. In a way, she had demonstrated a rare fortitude—it was not like her to have such success at thwarting the manipulations of others upon her. It worried him, however, that she was still so shaken that she would not leave his side.
Later, he had pulled her under his arm in the privacy of her rooms. “Georgie, you are not well. Is there something I can do to offer you some comfort? Would you like a glass of wine?”
She had smiled gently. “Brother, you must be truly concerned to be offering me wine. You do not often do so.”
“Diluted, of course,” he admonished with a raised finger, drawing a small silent chuckle from her. He crooked his finger and touched her chin. “It must have come as a shock to you to hear about Mr Wickham being so near. The fault is mine, Georgie. I should have told you before. I did not think….”
She shook her head. “You must stop blaming yourself, Fitzwilliam! You cannot always be responsible for the actions of others. It was my own foolishness that led me into danger, not yours.”
“I had not warned you….”
“William, please stop!” Her eyes flashed with a new spirit. “I was taught the same principles as you. I ought to have known what he asked me to do was wrong. He knew my weaknesses, and I fell for his lies.”
She took a breath, set her jaw, and met his gaze with a gravity out of character for her sixteen years. “You cannot know how fortunate I feel to have had you looking out for me! I know very well that many brothers or fathers would not have treated me so gently as you have. Many would behave with contempt or would have let me suffer in my folly. You have cared for me far better than I deserve, and yet you continue to blame yourself!”
He allowed himself a reluctant smile, admiring the fire which warmed her features. “You have done a good deal of thinking during your time in London. This is a new Georgie I see before me!”
She blushed. “I have been, but it was Miss Elizabeth who reminded me… showed me that there is more to me than my mistakes. You have been good enough to allow me to start over without shaming me, and I intend to do just that.”
“Georgie!” He clasped both her hands, struck dumb with delight. Blinking furiously, a trembling smile on his lips, he felt his heart swell. “You cannot know how pleased I am to hear you speak so!” He paused, peering carefully into her eyes. “Did you really like her so well?”
“Oh, yes, William!” she gushed. “Ever so much! Miss Elizabeth is truly kind. I so much wish to further my acquaintance with her. Do you think,” she breathed hopefully, “that she and you…?”
He swallowed. “I do not know, Georgie. Perhaps she does not dislike me so much as she did yesterday. Georgie—I told her everything.”
The girl stiffened. “She knows about me? Even… everything?”
“Yes, Dearest, she does. I am sorry, but after today, an explanation was required. It was not only your reaction,” he stopped her before she could protest her guilt again, “I had intended to speak to her today anyway, hoping we could clear up some misapprehensions. Miss Elizabeth had also been misled by Mr Wickham’s pretty words.”
“Even she!” Georgiana’s face betrayed her shock. “I would not have thought he could fool her. She is so clever!”
“You know how convincing he can sound, Georgie. He knows how to make himself agreeable and to cast others in a bad light. Without proper facts to counter his assertions, he is capable of fooling many.”
Her face lit with sudden comprehension. “So that is why she disliked you? The things she heard about you which angered her so, they were from him?” She paused in wonder. If even Elizabeth could be deceived, her own guilt seemed not quite so convicting.
He nodded. “In part, but as I told you before, I had not behaved as well as I ought toward her—or anyone else in the area, truly. She had no reason to disbelieve what she heard.”
Georgiana’s face brightened more. “But she knows the truth now! Did you think she believed you?”
“Yes, Sweetling, she did,” he answered, relief palpable in his voice.
A shadow passed over Georgiana’s features. “Does she think ill of me, now that she knows everything?”
He gave a wry little laugh. “If anything, it made her the more sympathetic toward you. You at least have won her good opinion. I should think you have made a true friend.”
She smiled shyly, with genuine pleasure. “And what of you? Does she think better of you now?”
He sighed. “I think she understands me better. Perhaps I could say she no longer retains some of her former reasons to despise me. Remember that she did not think highly of me before she met Mr Wickham. Whether she will improve her opinion of me in the future, I cannot say, but I believe I yet have some mending to do.”
Georgiana beamed confidently. “I know she will change her mind! When she comes to know you for your true self, she will love you!” He interrupted her with a quiet laugh, shaking his head modestly. “I am serious, William! Perhaps neither of you realize it, but I think you are much alike. You are both thoughtful and kind, you both are well-read, and she is adventurous and loves being out of doors, like you. She cares little for people’s outward appearances, I can tell, and you know how you grow weary of people affecting wealth and status. There is nothing pretentious about her . I also noticed,” she batted her eyelashes at him playfully, “that she takes her tea exactly the same as you! No cream, one lump of sugar.”
“Oh, well, then that is surely a basis for an enduring attachment.” He chuckled at her good humour, allowing her hopeful spirits to buoy his. He visited with her a few moments longer, then left her to her maid to prepare for bed.
D arcy was too restless to retire for the evening himself. He found Bingley in a similar state of agitation and challenged his friend to a game of billiards. Bingley accepted with alacrity.
“Where the devil is Fitzwilliam?” Darcy asked, looking about. “I have not seen him since just after dinner.”
Bingley answered with a shrug. “Hiding in his rooms, I should think. I believe he is afraid of Caroline.” Bingley lowered his cue and took aim, sending the first ball into the side pocket with a sharp clatter.
Darcy made a face. “ He has nothing to fear from her. He is a younger son.” With a start, he remembered himself. “I am sorry, Bingley. I should not have spoken so of your sister.”
Bingley held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, Darcy, I should apologize. I know Caroline has made a nuisance of herself, pursuing you as she has. I wish to heaven she would listen to me, but she hears nothing I have said.”
Darcy heaved a sigh. “I should have been more forthright, I suppose. She is not one to take a hint.” Darcy considered his play, then pocketed the next ball. “I beg you would not trouble yourself further. It is no more than I have endured from many others, some even more determined than she.”
Bingley pursed his lips, wondering how much of the morning’s ruckus Darcy was aware of. Certainly, his sister was not yet ready to relinquish her quarry, but rather soon she would be forced to admit the futility of her efforts. Seizing that thought, Bingley brightened. “It seems we shall be brothers one way or another, eh old friend?” Bingley made his shot, hoping Darcy would drop some revealing comment. When his friend only silently lined up his next move, he tried again. “I can only assume that today went somewhat better with Miss Elizabeth, as you are not in your cups this evening.”
Goaded, Darcy missed his shot. He straightened, eyeing Bingley cautiously. “Only somewhat, you might say. It seems I am capable of effectively making a woman despise me after all.”
“She appeared to be speaking to you when we left. I say, that is progress, old man! Well, I mean, after yesterday, I would call it progress,” Bingley stammered. He reddened a little, wondering if he had overstepped. Darcy had never before spoken of women, save to express his dissatisfaction. Now that he had irretrievably committed both his honour and his heart to a woman who claimed to want little to do with him, Darcy’s introverted nature was even less inclined to pour forth his feelings.
Darcy’s mouth twitched, and a kind of sadness shone in his eyes. Blinking, he lowered his cue for another attempt, not really caring that he should have relinquished the table to Bingley after his failed shot. In his estimation, Bingley’s tactic of employing Elizabeth’s name was foul play.
Bingley cringed. Sensing that nothing he could say would improve matters, he clamped his lips shut. He determined to simply play his game and watch Darcy win… again.
T he morning fog hung drowsily over the fields. A light rain threatened, but he needed to be out. Darcy pulled his hat down a little more tightly on his head, hunching his shoulders against the chill. A brisk ride would warm him soon enough.
Walking into the barn, he startled the young stable boy, already up and about his duties. The boy offered to saddle his horse for him, but Darcy waved him off. It had been some while since he had allowed himself this pleasure. The rich, familiar smells of the fresh stable, the supple leather beneath his hands, the warmth of Pluto’s breath as the animal caught his master’s scent were all a balm to his soul. The black put his nose trustingly to his chest, communicating in his way that he was glad for the attention and eager for a ride.
Affectionately he stroked the stallion’s neck. Growing up with horses as he had, Darcy knew to be cautious with such a creature. So much raw power and native beauty existed in the form of a friend, yet even as trusted as his favourite mount was, he was still a stallion—still a virile animal in the prime of his life, and as such, the horse was not wholly predictable, not wholly his own. Never would he be. Darcy could respect that. Still, something deep within him ached for a heart he really could possess.
He swung into the saddle, striking a gallop immediately after leaving the courtyard area. Only one destination called to his restless spirits, and somehow, he knew she would be waiting for him. The dry, hard path clapped under his horse’s hooves as he made his way toward the short hill where he had last spoken with Mr Bennet.
A flutter of green shawl caught the mild breeze as he neared the place called Oakham Mount. Dark hair shone in the sun, and a hatless young woman turned toward him, expectant. Elizabeth’s bright eyes smiled at him as he dismounted, with a gentleness that fairly radiated from her lovely face. It was so right coming to her in this place, with the glow of the sunrise warming her features and the whole of the new day before them. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a dove calling to his mate, and it filled him with a natural peace. He came wordlessly to her, claiming his right to be near her. Somehow, she found her way into his arms, resting her soft cheek on his chest.
Breathing deeply, he pressed his face into the swirling mound of her windswept hair and inhaled the fresh scent of her. She melded to him, fitting neatly under his chin as he curled his arms protectively around her waist. Then words—“I am sorry.” The same words tumbled from both their lips. She looked up, he down, surprise and amusement lighting her face. He brought trembling fingers to her cheeks, aching to share with her all his tender affections, but never daring to offend or frighten her.
A slight softening of the corners of her mouth, a barely perceptible crinkle around her sparkling eyes, and then she tipped her chin up to the beckoning of his hand. His head lowered, draping over hers to shield her from a sudden rivulet of water trickling off his hat brim. She arched away from the drenching but snuggled her shoulder closely under the protection of his arm. Undeterred, those marvellous eyes held him and drew him closer again.
He crooked two fingers under her chin, boldly this time reaching for her. His hand became instantly slippery and cold. She lifted her face from his fingers and straightened. She shook her head ever so slightly. “I cannot love a conceited man,” she murmured. She turned and vanished in a sudden fog.
With a strangled cry, Darcy’s long arms swept the cool air before his face. His hand crashed into a water pitcher which had been left by his bed, sending it splashing over his sleeves, the sheets, and the floor. Gone was the glowing vision of Elizabeth standing in the warm sunrise, favouring him with her inviting smile. He jolted out of bed to the cold reality of a bitterly chill morning. A glance out the window revealed a pummelling rain falling. No doubt the sound had filtered into his dreams.
Groggily he sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands to clear his vision. There would be no riding today, badly as he longed for an escape over the rolling fields. It was yet very early, and he doubted even Bingley’s staff were up and about.
Wilson, jarred from his sleep in the adjacent dressing room by the crash of the pitcher, opened the door and peered carefully into the room. “Mr Darcy? Is there something I can do?” His eyes widened when he took in the drenched person of his master. “Some dry clothes? Do you wish to dress for the day?”
Heaving a sigh, Darcy looked about him at the carnage wrought by his disappointed dream. “No, not as yet. Just a housecoat and a dry shirt, please. You may return to bed.”
Wilson quickly procured the garments his master requested but was dismissed before he could help him change.
Darcy looked askance at the sopping blankets. Even should he desire it, he could not return to his bed without rousing the housemaids. The fire had gone out, too, leaving the room frigid. He ought to re-light it himself, he thought. Instead, he moved to the window. It was almost entirely fogged over, but even through the milky haze, he could see there was no light at all yet.
He began to pace restlessly, his thoughts on his last conversation with Elizabeth. Had she hinted at the end that she might come to view him in a more agreeable light? It had pained him to see her so broken, so miserable. She had believed him; of that, he was certain. Would she blame him still? What was it she had accused him of after his disastrous proposal? Conceit, arrogance?
He spun around. Without a second thought, he jerked open the door to his room and made his way down the hall. So long and purposeful were his strides that he nearly collided with a sleepy housemaid, creeping through the corridor lighting candles for the morning staff.
She leapt back with a little squeak of surprise. “So sorry, Sir! T’was my fault, I were not watchin’.” She held her eyes down in contrition, afraid to displease so distinguished a guest. He could well understand why. Caroline Bingley had bullied the staff into a sullen fear, threatening them all with immediate dismissal on more than one occasion. He was not certain that fact had become apparent to her brother. He decided to speak to Bingley about that later.
He began to apologize but saw the girl’s face redden even further. He stopped, allowing her to speak. “Were there… somethin’ in partic’lar Sir was wishing for?” She shuffled uncomfortably, not daring to meet his eyes.
He cocked his head quizzically. “I do not understand you, miss...?”
“My name is Sarah, Sir.” She lifted her face and swallowed nervously. “Mr Benson, th’old master here, he….” she trailed off, dropping her eyes again.
Mortified, Darcy gasped. “Heavens, no! I regret you should have thought so, Sarah. No, and I am sorry you previously had such a disgraceful master. Have you been treated unkindly since?” He would not believe Bingley capable of imposing himself upon his servant girls, but he wanted to confirm it from her own lips.
She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the floor. “No, Sir, but Nancy… t’is not your concern, Sir. F’rgive me for d’sturbin’ you.”
“You do not disturb me. I should like to know. Your friend, Nancy, has she some trouble?”
She was clearly reluctant to speak. He was fairly certain there was a Nancy who was still in Bingley’s employ—was that the girl who had been helping tend to Georgiana? Of course, any shame attached to her would naturally result in her immediate dismissal. Little wonder Sarah was afraid to speak.
“Sarah, please trust me. Has someone disgraced your friend Nancy? I would like to try to right any wrong done to her.” He spoke gently, hoping to encourage her to confide fully in him.
A tear began to tremble at the corner of the girl’s eye. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “There’s a bairn, sir, born last year. Nancy has to pay a woman in the village to watch him and to stay quiet.”
Darcy pressed his lips together. “Thank you, Sarah. I will see to it that Nancy has the provision she requires. You need have no fear for her.” The girl stared wide-eyed at him in shock. In sudden inspiration, he thought to ask, “Are there any others who have suffered under your old master?”
Beginning to relax somewhat, she nodded, hesitantly. “T’is not in that way… my brother. My father was one o’the farmers, but he took sick a couple of years ago. Mr Benson ‘victed us when my father could not pay the rent. My brother tried to pay him back, rent the farm again, but then Papa died, and Mr Benson would not heed.…”
“So, your family is without an income? How many are there?”
“Mama died just after Papa. John—my brother, Sir—he works some odd jobs for other farmers to keep my two sisters fed, but they’re not old ‘nough for work. I were lucky to be handsome enough for Mr Benson to take me on here, though I were young. I’ve been able to help a little.” The girl bit her lip, her embarrassment at her circumstances painfully apparent.
Darcy was filled with disgust. He had heard little of Bingley’s lessor, but the more he knew, the more revolted he was. He had always been ashamed of masters, members of his own class, who dallied with their servants; little more than girls, mostly, bullied into compliance. Hearing a first-hand account of one man’s ignominious ways made him feel a new contempt. Was this how the landed gentry were perceived in much of the kingdom? Heartless, profligate libertines who used and discarded people for their pleasure? The French gentry had been accused of such offences, and the result had been brutally cataclysmic. He wondered suddenly if Elizabeth lumped him in with that lot as well.
Gulping down his sudden ire, he forced his fingers to unclench. “Sarah, I am sorry to hear of your family’s distress. I will look into the matter. Please, have no fear that any harm will befall them because of your revelation. I have kept you long enough. Please excuse me.”
She nodded, surprise and doubt still written across her features. She picked up the snuffer that she had dropped when he nearly collided with her and scrambled away. Darcy sighed and resumed his trek down the hall, missing the creak of the nearest bedroom door as it closed softly.
C aroline Bingley crossed her arms and huffed in amazement. Always a light sleeper, she had been awakened by the voices outside her door. What she overheard made her head spin. What would cause Mr Darcy to take such a burden upon himself, to attend the cares of the servant class? It was far below his notice, shameful even that he should dabble in such concerns.
She feared the same influences she found alarming upon her brother were now swaying her own Mr Darcy. It’s those Bennet sisters! They flutter their lovely eyes, and the men swarm to them! What was it about Jane and Elizabeth that made men forget their place?
Caroline began to worry the notion about in her head. They were fair; it was true, but so coarse and vulgar! Had they been brought up in good society, they may have made passable ladies, but they could claim no elegance or refinement that she could discern. Then there was the insipid mother! And the younger girls, so insufferably wild! Caroline wondered at the father who had not troubled himself to control his family.
She sneered a little, remembering how at the ball, the haughty Miss Elizabeth had tried to champion that knave Wickham. She knew little of the man herself, only that Darcy disdained him. That was enough to satisfy her. It was proof enough of Elizabeth’s ill-guided notions that she would concern herself with a soldier of no account and no good family. She did not doubt that Miss Elizabeth would even associate among the farmers and tradesmen, as the girl obviously had no taste or discretion. To think that Darcy would be brought to such lowness should he marry her!
A pit of yawning dismay gnawed at her stomach. Elizabeth’s influence may already be too strong! Only moments ago, Darcy appeared concerned that someone would mistreat a servant girl… a servant girl! Why should he care what happened to a mere chit of a servant? And had she heard properly that Nancy had a child? Well! She must be dismissed immediately! To think such a girl should be tending Miss Darcy of Pemberley, right under her own roof, was shocking. What if word got out among their friends?
Caroline glided back to her bed; even in the privacy of her own rooms, she always practised the correct poise and comportment that should be expected of the future Mistress of Pemberley. It was surely only a matter of time, she comforted herself. Only one obstacle stood in her way, and she was confident that with a very little more effort, she could puncture the veil of Eliza Bennet’s allure.