Page 39 of Rumours & Recklessness (Sweet Escapes Collection #1)
London Holiday
Fitzwilliam Darcy crossed his arms and stared. “I will not marry Anne, Aunt Catherine. It is a matter of prudence—I will require an heir, and Anne is not healthy enough to bear one. Considering her frail constitution, it appears unwise to continue the family history of wedding cousins to one another.”
Lady Catherine whirled from the fire. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I mean to see that you do your duty. Do you not recall that this was your mother’s favourite wish? Have you forgotten that even your lamented father sanctioned the match, and the earl also speaks in support of it? Have you so little respect for your mother’s family that you would reject the unified voices of all? The announcement shall print on the morrow, and you are an engaged man whether you like it or no.”
“I shall have it repudiated!” Darcy objected. “You will not force my hand, Aunt Catherine. I will not have Anne, and that is the end of it.”
“If you do not marry her, she will be ruined! Everyone has been expecting the engagement for two years now.”
“That is because you have been broadcasting it as a fact. I have never viewed my cousin as a potential wife. I do not wish to see her ruined, but that would be your own doing, not mine.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, I am ashamed of you! You would deny the claims of duty and your family?”
“My duty to my family requires that I produce a healthy heir. It would be better if my wife did not expire in the process.”
“Anne is perfectly strong and quite capable of bearing a child.”
“Anne would break if I were to touch her with more than a cousinly embrace. The marriage bed itself might be the death of her.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy! That you should speak to an old woman with such callous indecency!”
“If it is what is needed to persuade you that Anne is not a suitable match for me, I would take up the speech of a sailor. I will not marry Anne, and that is my final word on the matter.” Darcy enforced this remark with a firm jerk of his head and turned to go. “I expect you and Anne will be returning to Kent on the morrow?”
Lady Catherine’s mouth clamped in rage. “I shall leave London only when I have received assurance that you will fulfil your obligations to Anne!”
“That, I shall never do, for no such obligation exists. You must make yourself comfortable for an extended stay, I am afraid.”
Lady Catherine stamped her cane on the ground in a fury. “Very well! Then I shall know how to act.”
Darcy stifled a sigh and retired to his chambers where his valet, Wilson, appeared to help him out of his coat and cravat.
“Did you wish for a nightcap, sir?” sagely enquired his long-time body man.
It was not Darcy’s way to drink himself into his bed, but his mind was still roiling with anger at his relation. Perhaps a drink would help soothe him to slumber. “Yes, thank you, Wilson. A brandy, if you please. And would you be so good to have a book sent up from the library?”
“Do you have a preference, sir?”
“No. Anything will do—your choice. The duller, the better.”
“Very good, sir.” Wilson gathered his master’s clothing and disappeared to procure the requested items.
Darcy sank wearily into the chair at his writing desk and frowned out of the darkened window. The surest solution to this predicament with his aunt and cousin was to find another wife. A suitable wife. The only trouble was that every eligible lady he had encountered was either as offensive as his aunt or as insipid as his cousin. There was not one with whom he would wish to share his house, to say nothing of his bed, for the remainder of his days. He was yet unwilling to condemn himself to such a sentence, and with Georgiana’s recent heartbreak at Ramsgate, he had enough domestic trials without adding another woman to his house.
In short order, Wilson had returned with a hefty treatise on different varieties of wheat and agricultural planting seasons. Apparently, he had taken his master at his word and found a book guaranteed to render him comatose, from either reading it or being struck over the head by it. He also presented a tray with a snifter of brandy, generously measured even for a man of the master’s height. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“No, thank you, Wilson. You may retire, and I shall speak with you in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.” Wilson bowed and retreated.
Darcy stretched in his chair and reached for his drink, sighing in at least partial satisfaction. Not many valets would be content to perform the tasks of a common footman. He was a good man, Wilson was. All his people were—at least the ones he knew. There were too many to know them all well, and therein lay part of his troubles this night. If only he could go about with fewer hangers-on, fewer who depended upon their connection to him, and fewer who took an interest in his affairs. Occasionally, he even wished to remove to the hunting lodge at Pemberley, with only Georgiana and occasionally Richard for company. He would dress himself, cook as his tenants did, and carry on with a simple existence, leaving the greater part of his worries here in London.
That was all twaddle, and he chided himself harshly whenever the irresponsible fancies came to him. He was the Darcy, presently the last male of a proud line, and there was a certain honour in carrying that torch on behalf of his forefathers. There were times, however, when he confessed even to himself that the trappings of his station were not all pleasant. This business about marriage was but one of any number of restrictions clouding his path.
Marriage. To Anne! His aunt must be daft if she thought he would yield. It would be a miserable time of it in his house until she gave in and returned to Kent, and he calculated that he was set for at least a month this time. Darcy held up the rich, dark brandy to the firelight, wishing it would wash away all his troubles. That being a futile hope, he lifted it and drained the entire contents at once.
Ten minutes later, he was in his bed, still half-dressed and reading his exceedingly dull book. The brandy must have been of a remarkably potent vintage, or the book even less interesting than he had persuaded himself to believe, for within a very few minutes his eyelids were already beginning to feel rather heavy. They startled open, however, at a commotion at the door. There was a frenzied knock, and he bade entry more out of curiosity than a desire to see anyone.
Wilson stumbled into his room, his expression wild with alarm. “Sir! You have not already taken your drink?”
Darcy cast his glance to the empty glass on his writing desk. “Was I meant to admire it from afar?”
“Sir, I have good reason to believe it has been tampered with.”
“Tampered with? Who would do such a thing in my own house?”
“Lady Catherine, sir!”
“Wilson,” Darcy tossed his book aside and peered cautiously at his loyal manservant—a man he had been accustomed to think of as rational. “Do you mean to suggest that my aunt would break into my cellars, pull the stoppers, and somehow adulterate the drink?”
“Sir, it was one of the footmen, on Lady Catherine’s orders. I overheard a few of the maids talking, and it sounded as if Lady Catherine had intended for you to take your drink and fall so soundly asleep that she could bring Miss de Bourgh into your bed later so that they might force a marriage.”
“What? Even my aunt could not suggest something so ludicrous. Have you been drinking yourself, Wilson?”
“Well… sir, the same footman invited me back behind the kitchens, as he had a little left of his evening drink and wished for a companion. I thought nothing of it, as the same chap has occasionally offered me a drink on previous visits to Town. He was off his duty, sir, and I thought there would be no harm.”
“Wilson,” Darcy heaved patiently, “please come to the point. I am rather fatigued, but I believe I heard you make unfounded accusations against my relative. As I know that could not be the case, I would prefer that you cleared up the matter.”
“Sir, it was after the drink with the footman when I overheard Lady Catherine’s maid making the arrangements. Clearly, I was not meant to hear that, sir, but several others were enlisted to help her. It was no secret.”
“Do you mean my own staff would conspire against me? Wilson, that is quite impossible. Every member of this household has been with the family for at least a generation.”
“Sir,” Wilson suggested uncomfortably, “they were with Mr George Darcy, who was sympathetic to Lady Catherine’s cause, and some of them were even recommended for their positions by Lady Catherine herself. I have it on good authority that a number of them are quite on her side of matters. I also fear that those individuals she found beneficial to her purposes may have thought it no harm to take some additional pay from Lady Catherine. I am sorry, sir, but I am quite uncertain who may be trusted. I have a strong suspicion about that drink you took, sir, as it was given into my hand by the same footman who poured my own drink. Are you feeling well, sir?”
“As a matter of fact,” Darcy rubbed his jaw, “I am feeling rather unnaturally drowsy.”
“Then it is as I feared, sir! I believe we have both been drugged. I expect within an hour; we shall be beyond consciousness.”
“Wilson, that is a rather malicious accusation. Can you be certain of any of this?”
“Sir, I have seen evidence with my own eyes. Lady Catherine always brings several of her own staff, and you brought only myself and a pair of stable lads from Pemberley. I fear there is more to this than mere suspicion, sir. We must think how to act for your protection.”
“Protection from my own household! You must have imbibed too much, Wilson.”
“Sir,” the strain of fear began to bead as sweat upon the valet’s brow, “I heard it myself. A maid was sent to tell Miss de Bourgh that all was in readiness and waited only upon you to retire!”
Darcy stared in astonishment. “Is there no reason or sense left among my staff? How many of the household have been disloyal?”
“I have no way of knowing that, sir, and I would not unjustly accuse the innocent. I only know that many of the downstairs staff have likely thrown in their lot with Lady Catherine, seeing as that’s the way the wind is blowing—begging your pardon, sir, but that is what is said below stairs. She makes promises, sir, and I have heard of it myself.”
“Such as? What could she possibly say that could make my own household risk being turned out with no character? And why would any wish to betray me for my aunt’s good favour? Have I not always been a generous master?”
“Yes sir, it is only that they wish to be found amenable in the eyes of the future mistress as well. It is accounted as inevitable that you shall marry Miss de Bourgh, who will then spend more of her time here than yourself. Lady Catherine has done a substantial bit to enforce that opinion. She always leaves generous gratuities where they are not required, and she speaks with great sentiment of your father. Many of the older staff and those of the younger set who prefer an extra drink now and then are much disposed in her favour. I have no reason to believe it is like that at Pemberley, sir, but you are here less often. Perhaps your character when in Town is….”
“Is what?” demanded Darcy.
“Well, sir, though I must beg your pardon…”
“Speak frankly, Wilson. You are quite safe,” assured Darcy wearily.
Wilson drew a breath and nodded. “It is only that you are thought to be less approachable here in Town than you are at Pemberley. I quite understand, sir, for when you are here you have business to be about and social functions which weigh more upon your time. Few are privileged with a more personal acquaintance with you, such as am I. Unfortunately, sir, the effect has been that few know you well enough to disbelieve Lady Catherine’s assertions. I believe it is commonly thought that Miss de Bourgh and Lady Catherine would do the house good, and that matters only want a little assistance to move forward.”
“My aunt has corrupted my household!” Darcy breathed, his mind reeling and numb. “I would not have thought it possible! What is to be done? I will not permit my aunt to force my hand into marriage.”
“Sir, I could lock your door, but the housekeeper and the butler both have the key. I do not know if they are to be trusted, but the butler is the one who unlocked the brandy cabinet.”
“What drug was used? How incapacitated shall we be?”
“I do not know, sir, only that I heard talk of one hour, and that was considering a man of your height.”
“That is little time,” mused Darcy. “Are you certain there is no one else in the house we can trust?”
“There probably is, sir, but I do not know who they are. I fear that we may not be conscious long enough to stage an inquisition.”
“Then I must go elsewhere, for it is not safe here until I am no longer incapacitated,” decided Darcy. “I believe Colonel Fitzwilliam is in Town, and his apartment is not far.”
“Very good, sir, I shall summon the carriage.”
“No, no carriage. If I am to escape my household in the dead of night, I must do it discreetly. Fitzwilliam’s apartment is easily within walking distance, and my aunt will be none the wiser until I am beyond reach.”
“But, sir!” protested Wilson. “You cannot walk that distance safely. What if you were to fall unconscious? What if the drug overpowers you?”
“The cool air will help me to remain alert some while longer. You said I had an hour. It will take me only a quarter of that to walk the distance.”
“And it has already been more than that, sir.”
“Then I had better make haste.” Darcy rose from his bed, feeling a slight wave of dizziness shake him. Whatever he did, he must do it quickly!
“Sir, with all due respect, a man of your station walking out at night is rather vulnerable. Had you not better take a carriage? At least take a footman with you, sir.”
“You have said yourself that we do not know whom to trust.”
“Then I shall attend you, sir,” Wilson declared.
“No, I will ask you to remain here and be my eyes and ears. You can be of far greater use to me if you feign ignorance and convey to me how the matter lies tomorrow. I would know who has been honest, and who must be turned out. I expect we will both experience raging headaches upon awakening and must seek some chance to gather our wits.”
“And what of you, sir? Would it not be difficult to explain your disappearance?”
“I declined the drink you brought me and went out without apprising my aunt,” suggested Darcy. “Of course, as my valet, you would naturally know of my destination, but the entire household need not be alerted. I do not normally rouse everyone when I wish to go out late.”
“You do not normally attend your club in the evenings at all, sir.”
“My aunt would not know that. You can tell them that I had a note from an old friend who was in Town and wished to see me. That much is not untrue, for I have had such a note, but I declined the request earlier this evening. Still, it will give her pause enough, if she understands that others will know of my whereabouts and can provide an alibi if need be. Meanwhile, I shall be recovering my faculties at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s apartment.”
“Sir, I must protest. It is not safe for you to walk out alone. You would be a target for footpads!”
“As myself, perhaps, but dressed as a manservant, I would not. Quickly, find me a set of clothes. Is there not a footman about my height? It will be well, Wilson. The sooner I am dressed and safely away from here, the less chance my aunt has of succeeding in her scheme.”
“O h, Lizzy, was this not simply a divine evening?” Kitty Bennet, aged sixteen, leaned back against the seat of the carriage and gushed her delight. “The music, the lights—I have never seen so many candles. And that soprano! Would Mama not simply swoon over her gown?”
“It was all stunning,” her older sister Elizabeth agreed. “The new Pantheon Theatre is not so lovely as the old, they say, but it is quite beautiful enough to suit my fancies. Aunt Gardiner,” she turned sincerely to that lady, “thank you so much for bringing us. Your generosity to us takes my breath away.”
“You are most graciously welcome, Lizzy. I confess, I had been longing to see the new hall myself, and you provided just the excuse I sought.”
“It is a pity that our uncle could not come this evening, for he would have enjoyed it greatly, I think.”
“Yes, he would have,” Mrs Gardiner agreed, “but I expect he will have accomplished a great deal of business this evening, and he will now be able to enjoy the park with us tomorrow. I believe your uncle really prefers the park to the opera.”
“As does Lizzy,” snorted Kitty. “But even you must admit, Lizzy, that was an evening to remember. What a pleasure it was to meet that lovely Mrs Jennings—she liked you very much, Lizzy, and that is something grand, I think. Did you see the gowns on some of the ladies above us in the private boxes? And each of the gentlemen looked so fine and handsome! There was that one fair-haired fellow who looked our way twice, and I am sure he liked me. Oh, Lizzy, you needn’t scoff at all the gentlemen! Do not forget, Mama has given you specific instructions to catch a husband while you are in Town, or you shall be stuck with that odious Mr Collins.”
“If only the catching of a husband were as simple as catching a fish, perhaps I should succeed.”
“Lizzy, you must not speak of such things in Town. What would Mama say? No one here knows that you are not a proper lady, so it is best to let them believe otherwise as long as they may.”
“Now, Kitty,” Mrs Gardiner chided, “Lizzy is perfectly ladylike, even when she is indulging in sport. Although, Lizzy, perhaps it is best not to reveal at first that your father and uncle have taken you out in their fishing boats, but there can be no harm in speaking of the outdoors in general. Flower gardens are quite safe to talk of. And who knows? We may meet with a gentleman who truly prefers remaining at his estate to life in Town. Many men retire happily from Town again after they have secured a wife, and such a man might be attracted to a woman knows something of the country.”
“La, that is not what Mama says. She says even country gentlemen prefer a refined lady. That is why Jane will marry first. Mama says that a gentleman is coming soon to let Netherfield Park and that he is sure to save us all by falling violently in love with Jane, as she is the most beautiful of us all, or so Mama claims.” Kitty emitted a little snort, which spoke as much of her reluctant agreement with her mother’s assessment as it did for her own mild sense of jealousy.
“He will be a fortunate man then, if his taste is so exquisite,” soothed Elizabeth. “Jane would be valued and admired by any sensible gentleman, no matter where he lived.”
“And so shall you, Lizzy,” her aunt interjected. “Do not allow your mother, or your most helpful sister here, lead you to believe otherwise. You are a perfectly lovely young lady, and even that sorry business with Lydia and Mary may be overlooked by the right sort of gentleman. Any man to catch your eye should call himself blessed.”
“It is not the gentleman who must catch the lady’s eye, but the reverse,” chuckled Elizabeth. “I know very well into what straits my sisters and I have fallen, though you are kind enough to spare me the full measure of the world’s disdain, Aunt. I have no desire to remain a spinster as Mama has accused, but I find it highly unlikely that I could go home next week an engaged woman. I mean simply to enjoy my visit.”
“Then indeed, enjoy it we shall. What else did you wish to do while you are staying with us?”
“Perhaps Kitty had other notions, but I have always wished to see one of London’s pleasure gardens. Do you think Uncle would object?”
“Oh! I have not been since before Maddy was born, Lizzy, but that sounds delightful. Perhaps we will speak to your uncle and see if he will take us tomorrow.”
Elizabeth was smiling her delight at her aunt’s easy agreement and gazing out the window of the carriage when a figure in apparent distress caught her eye. She saw only a hunched-over flash of dark clothing; then he disappeared. An instant later, the carriage lurched as the driver pulled up the horses in alarm.
Mrs Gardiner caught at the hand loop, then put her head near the window to listen as the driver addressed someone outside. “Clear off, my good man,” he was ordering. “You have upset the ladies!”
They heard a slurred apology, and Elizabeth, who sat on the proper side to see, gestured to her aunt as the figure came back into view. “Aunt, look. That man there, do you see him? He looks as though he has been injured. See how he holds his head? Perhaps he needs help.”
Mrs Gardiner did look, and to her dismay saw a tallish fellow, dressed respectably as an employee of a good household, staggering to the curb. “More than likely he is intoxicated. Look away, Elizabeth. Do not let him see you.”
“He does not have the appearance of a drunkard or a criminal, Aunt. Is that not livery he is wearing? Surely no master would countenance such behaviour, and particularly not in public.”
Mrs Gardiner reluctantly turned her eyes back to the man on the walk. He was clinging lethargically to a street lantern, his face pressed against the cool metal of the post. What they could see of his expression revealed that he was nearly asleep where he stood and only wanted a horizontal posture to make it a reality. His clothing bespoke some connection to gentility, as Elizabeth had asserted, else she would not have dared give a stranger on a dark street a second glance.
“Lizzy, this is not Meryton,” Mrs Gardiner decided. “You cannot believe appearances. I have heard of ladies’ carriages being set upon by ruffians after they have stopped to help someone who appeared to be hurt. I am very sorry for the poor fellow, if indeed he is in distress, but it is not our place to look to him.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the same thing, Lizzy,” seconded Kitty. “Remember that story Lydia told us?”
“That was on a deserted road near a seaport. We are still in Mayfair. You cannot believe that criminals could set up such a ruse in this neighbourhood, do you? There are too many about, and the houses nearby too well secured for such activity to succeed. Can you not at least ask the driver to see to him?”
Mrs Gardiner’s brow puckered in concern, but she obliged her niece. “Jones, please step down and see if the man is injured.”
The carriage rocked as the driver obeyed, and the ladies watched him approach the man on the walk. “My good man, are you well?” they heard Jones enquire.
There was a moan, and some muttered reference to a cousin, then the man’s head drooped against the post. Jones leaned close, and the ladies could see their driver sniffing the other man’s person. He returned directly.
“I do not think he is intoxicated, ma’am, but neither does he appear to have any sort of head injury. I can think of no reasonable explanation for his condition.”
“We cannot leave him here on the street,” Elizabeth insisted. “He truly will become a victim of some crime if we do. Look at him, his knees are buckling.”
“Perhaps he works in the nearest house,” Jones suggested. “Do you wish me to ask?”
“Please do,” Mrs Gardiner agreed. “We shall be safe enough in the carriage for a moment.” She glanced at her niece, a nervous hope written across her features.
There was only one large house on this corner, and there was no knocker on the door, so Jones apparently decided to try the one across the street. The man had, after all, been crossing when they had nearly run him down. The ladies waited in silence for his return, watching all the while as the man on the walk began to sag lower and lower to the ground. Finally, just before Jones’ return, he crumpled, and his head struck the pavement. Elizabeth cried out in dismay, and it was only her aunt’s staying hand which kept her in the carriage.
“They claim that none of their footmen could have made such a spectacle,” Jones reported. “I doubt they would acknowledge him, even if he did belong to that house, for it would be too much of an embarrassment.”
“You said he does not appear to be intoxicated?” Mrs Gardiner glanced back at the man.
“There is no odour of drink, ma’am, but I cannot be certain.”
“Aunt, is it not our duty to look to those in distress?” Elizabeth reminded her.
“I do not consider that a mandate when the man is a rather tall stranger and we number but three ladies.”
“And one driver!” Kitty helpfully pointed out. “It would not be so very hard to have Mr Jones set him on the box. He could stay below stairs this evening and go on his way on the morrow. I can see Lizzy has got this in her head, Aunt, and we shall have no peace until she sees that ridiculous fellow safely put up for the night.”
Mrs Gardiner sighed and frowned at her nieces. Elizabeth was watching her intently, with a small quirk of her brow. As her younger sister had surmised, she had indeed taken the man’s welfare to heart, but she was not petulant. Instead, she employed a measure of playfulness to achieve her ends.
“He is too well-dressed to be a vagabond, Aunt. Perhaps he is a highly valued employee of some handsome and rich single gentleman, and some ailment has befallen him. After he is recovered, both he and his employer will be so grateful for our assistance that his master may thank us in person. I may then have the pleasure of informing my mother that I obeyed her wishes to find a husband!”
Kitty laughed and declared it a good joke, but Mrs Gardiner was still reluctant. “We have no way of knowing anything about the man. He is not a gentleman, clearly, and he could have come from anywhere.”
“Aunt, I am confident we shall be quite safe. Look at the man! I do believe he is drooling. Can anyone be more harmless?”
Mrs Gardiner rolled her eyes and summoned Mr Jones. “Do you think he can ride on the box with you?”
“If I can wake him, ma’am.” He went, therefore, and nudged the man on the pavement. When that did not yield the desired result, he shook the man’s shoulder, earning only a groan in protest for his efforts. Jones, at last, picked the man up by his lapels—a considerable feat, as he was a rather large man—and rattled him to and fro. The dark head only rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and a throaty rasp escaped him. Jones shook his head. “I cannot lift him if he is not to be gotten to his feet, ma’am.”
“Right, then,” Elizabeth muttered, and handed her muff and bonnet into her sister’s keeping. Before her aunt could object, she was out the door of the carriage and staring down at the man on the ground. “Can you lift his shoulders, Jones? I think I can help you drag his feet.”
“Lizzy!” Mrs Gardiner cried from the coach. “What in heaven’s name?”
“He can ride on the rear-facing seat, Aunt. We will all have to squeeze together. It is perhaps only twenty minutes to your house; we shall manage.”
Mrs Gardiner, lacking the powers to resist, put two slim fingers to her aching head as Kitty sniggered beside her. She left unspoken her horror at Elizabeth being seen engaged in hauling a dirty man off the streets and into her uncle’s private carriage. How would she ever explain this?
Elizabeth grasped the man’s silver-buckled shoes, which seemed to curl his large feet in a way which must have been uncomfortable, and tugged at their weight as Jones stumbled with his torso. The sleeping man snorted once or twice at the insult of being dragged, groaned an indignant protest directed toward someone named Wilson, and tried to roll over in Jones’ grasp.
By the time they reached the carriage, Kitty was on the pavement as well. Her intentions were helpful, but her efforts were less so. It was Mrs Gardiner, the sensible one who still objected to this madness, whose assistance was the most valuable in lifting the inert form of their unwitting guest. She braced her feet and bent to raise him from above while Jones hefted from below. If the man were conscious, he would rightly have just cause for deepest mortification at the way the strange lady was forced to grasp his person. It was just as well he was not. The task completed, Mrs Gardiner straightened her bonnet and shot her nieces a glare which swore them forever to secrecy.
The man did not fit well, inert and crammed into the small carriage bench. The girls crowded on either side of their aunt and stared at the broad shoulders, nearly bursting the seams of the coat, and the long, white-stockinged legs that threatened at any moment to drag his entire frame down to the floor of the carriage. As Jones mounted the box and the carriage dipped slightly, Mrs Gardiner breathed a prayer that he—whoever he was—would remain where they had stowed him.
It was not to be. The horses moved off, and the body rolled with a heavy thud to their feet. The ladies drew back, each cringing and fearing that their assistance may have injured the man even further. The stranger, however, only stirred with a grunt and proceeded to nestle his large frame more comfortably in the small space. His forearm thrashed about as he sought some place for his head, and at last, he was satisfied by wrapping it around Elizabeth’s legs and pillowing his face upon her satin shoes.
Elizabeth tugged uncomfortably at her feet but could not extricate them without engaging in a wrestling match with a very strong and very unconscious man. She grimaced at her aunt. Mrs Gardiner rested her head back against the carriage squabs and exhaled, trembling. “We tell no one of this,” she commanded.