Page 9 of Secrets Across the Sea

Pemberley in Derbyshire, England – 1812

Bingley proved as Darcy’s cousin had described, amiable, honest, and without care for Darcy’s less than regarded connections, his own connections to trade perhaps softening the man toward a similarly looked down upon sector. More than that, however, it appeared to Darcy that the man rarely dwelt upon negative things. He focused on promise. On those things he could find of worth around him. And on joy; for to him, laughter, gaiety, and pleasantness were of natural occurrence, always available and available in abundance.

The trade class may well be worth more than he had once assumed. Certainly, those in trade were worth spending additional time with; perhaps the lower gentry and those in ‘acceptable’ professions as well. At least they would be less likely to injure his sisters, and their company could be had by him without shame.

Striking the ball at the end of his cue, Darcy smiled as it hit its mark, the ball falling into the corner pocket to win him the game.

“Well, gentlemen,” Darcy said as he stood to full height, “another game? Or would you care to join my sisters in the drawing room? They ought to be having tea about now; with their governess away for the week, they would appreciate the company I imagine.”

“What sort of choice is that?” Fitz huffed as he scowled at the empty table. “Another lost game with you, or tea with my cousins? The way you put it, in any case, the cruelty of not visiting with them would be extreme!"

“Indeed, I would not disappoint such sweet girls,” Bingley grinned as he returned his billiard stick and gave a light tug to his coat. “They remind me of my cousins, though I imagine mine are a few years older–I delighted in providing them with all manner of amusements when they were Miss Darcy’s and Miss Catherine’s ages. Everyone ought to enjoy youth and serenity while they are able; responsibility comes to us all one day, we three know that… they should not have to experience that yet.”

“A little responsibility growing up can be agreeable though,” Darcy noted, “I enjoyed the slow progression of responsibilities.”

“True,” Bingley said, lips turned against their typical want. “Though it can be thrust upon one in ways no one desires.”

The evening he had first heard news of his parents’ death came tumbling through his mind–the faces of his sisters; the knowledge that everything lay on his shoulders. He had been older than his sisters currently were, but he had been far from ready for the weight of that responsibility. Of the loss that had brought it.

“That is true,” Darcy said simply, the ache within matched in Bingley’s eyes. Whatever the man’s upbringing, Bingley and he had something in common. Exactly what that was, he could not say for certain. Neither he nor Bingley being willing to say.

Not yet at least.

“William,” Georgiana said as the men entered the drawing room, “we were just sitting down to tea. Would you all care to join us? We have plenty.”

Several cups of tea and a great deal of laughter later, they all sat back, the quiet welcome as the rain dancing on the windows brought with it the soft tiredness of a lazy day. In a few hours Darcy would see to the accounts, perhaps discuss the decisions his steward had made and listen to his suggestions for the future, but for now, the comfort of the drawing room and all those within lent a rare and strange desire to linger.

“Once the weather clears,” Catherine murmured softly into the silence, “we ought to have a picnic. The grass has been beautifully green this year; it would be a fine thing to sit upon it, maybe high on a hill, where everything stretches out for miles and miles. Fine indeed.”

“Then we shall,” Darcy answered as he watched his sister’s face glow, “the first day the grass you wish to sit upon is found dry.”

“A jolly idea,” Bingley proclaimed. “If there is anything I can do, I am at your disposal!”

“Bring your energy and enthusiasm,” Fitz chuckled as he stretched lazily, “given the drowsiness of those in this room, it may be needed.”

“That it may,” Bingley laughed as he gazed at the various postures of repose. “I can only hope the vigor of a cool wind and a warm sun might stir your bones. A colonel, at least, ought to have some impetus in that regard.”

Fitz did well in inviting his friend without seeking his approval; this once at least, Darcy smirked as Bingley unsuccessfully dodged the Colonel’s barrage of biscuit crumbs.

“I surrender,” Bingley chuckled as he raised his hands, the laughter of the room a welcome sound to Darcy’s ears, until the narrowed eyes and smirk of his cousin found him.

That never boded well.

“All this talk of picnics reminds me of when my cousins first came to London, oh, a little over three years ago,” Fitz remarked, his playful smirk growing in size as he glanced between Bingley and Darcy.

Brows furrowed, Darcy thought back to that day, a pair of fine eyes first to meet his memory.

“On that day,” Fitz continued as he leaned forward, “all of us were to meet at the park, Darcy and his sisters coming separate. They arrived before my parents and I, but lo-and-behold, there Darcy stood some feet from his sisters, unconcerned at our arrival and talking to a rather attractive young lady whom, to the best of my knowledge, he did not know. In fact, although he saw we had arrived, he did not seem eager to end their conversation. I suspect it was the cool wind and warm sun as you say, Bingley, stirring bones.”

“She had dropped something while helping her young cousins, I merely retrieved it for her and she gave her thanks,” Darcy huffed; the slightly longer conversation and her smile playing softly in his mind.

“Ah,” Fitz nodded as he crossed his arms behind his head, “you do remember her after all.”

Observing the sparkling eyes of his sisters and the amused upturn of Bingley’s lips, Darcy glanced around him, his empty cup grasped and held out as soon as he saw it, “Any more tea?”

∞∞∞

“The post, Sir,” Mr. Timmons announced, Darcy accepting the various letters with his thanks before turning toward his cousin.

“Fitz. If you like, we might enjoy a ride this morning–Bingley too of course, once he is finished with his correspondence. The rain is letting up. If it does well enough, the girls may have their picnic tomorrow. Carriages, lawn games, and all… a swift ride may not be possible then.”

“Only if you promise me a race. The last time we challenged one another, my horse lost a shoe on the final stretch, and I had been well in the lead too beforehand. You will learn what true defeat is, I promise you, for all you shall see is the back of me!”

“Is that how it shall be then?”

“It shall!”

“Then that is enough threat to see me in the lead; I will not allow such a terrible view to mar my memory. I imagine neither man nor beast would wish to see your front over long, much less your backside.”

“Amusing as that is, such reasoning has been mine in choosing victory. I already have been subjected to such a sight with you, and the memory torments me to no end. If anyone is to suffer this time, I fear it shall be you.”

“What of Bingley?”

“He shall see my back; I cannot speak as to yours.”

“Fair enough, he shall see both our backs… and you, mine,” Darcy said as he smothered a grin. Fitz always had a strong, competitive leaning.

A pity his horse had thrown that shoe all those months ago. Though, it had been entertaining to listen to him rail about the injustice of it. Perhaps he ought to have conceded victory to his cousin, but Fitz’s protestations gave a temptation he could not resist.

It would be interesting to see Bingley’s skill on a horse. And his view of competition as well.

“We shall see,” Fitz acknowledged, the glint in his eyes telling. He intended to be the victor.

With a chuckle, Darcy made his way through the many letters in front of him, most of an obvious labour lean–investments, updates on orders, and other mundane tasks–yet, two held hope of far more interesting contents.

“It appears your mother may have written, Fitz,” he said, holding out the letter for his cousin’s inspection, “leastwise, the handwriting appears thus. Strange though, she so rarely corresponds, and it has only been a fortnight since the last.”

“Definitely her writing.”

“Open it if you will,” Darcy suggested as he frowned at the other unusual letter, the feminine handwriting unfamiliar. “Doubtful there is anything you ought not know.”

Taking the proffered letter, Fitz shrugged, “Very well. Though if some secret I was not meant to know of is in here, I leave it to you to face my mother’s ire.”

“Agreed,” Darcy laughed. “The risk lay entirely upon my shoulders.”

Each man growing silent as letters were opened and contents read, the room grew thick with uncertainty. The chiming of the clock pouring out its melodic rhythm, every breath rising and falling in time as the papers the men held strained under tight fists.

“It seems Mother is in remarkable health,” Fitz huffed as his eyes flitted over the page. “Exceedingly so, to seek running your life and mine in one fell swoop. I take it your letter is the result of my mother’s meddling?”

A swift nod, several seconds passing, and then Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy wrestled his composure to the forefront. “It would seem so. Lady Clarissa Charmane, the Dowager Countess of Underhill in Staffordshire has included a note of introduction from your mother, as well as an invitation to join her house party in a month’s time. The invitation extends to you and any acquaintances I see fit to join… she hints that single gentlemen are preferred as there is to be a party of young ladies who might benefit from the entertainment.”

“Hints?”

“I was endeavoring politeness.”

“Indeed? Well, I have heard worse attempts,” Fitz smirked at his cousin, Darcy’s frown causing the smirk to grow before his attention drifted to the letter he still held; the mirth dissipating in short order. “Mother and this Lady Charmane are of a matchmaking turn it would seem; kindly meant but insultingly put at that.”

“Well,” Darcy announced as he let the letter fall where it may upon his desk, “I intend to send word of my refusal!”

Brows drawing upward, Fitz tilted his head toward his brooding cousin. “While I would be content not going–save for the knowledge that I am bound to hear of it for years, and you as well–I wonder at your swiftness at declining. I trust it is not due in any part to the refusals of your invitations? Or wounded pride? Or, worse still, a dislike of Lady Charmane because she is a peer? I too dislike matchmaking, and if that is your only reason for dismissing such an invitation, you shall hear no more of it from me… however, should any of these other reasons play a part, I suggest you reconsider. For your sake, as well as your sisters. Pride, heartache, or prejudice do not speak well of any man if they push him to rashness; your sisters need your strength. And the friendship of Lady Charmane is not bound to hurt you or them either, for all the trials of her wishing to find us partners.”

Hands clenching as he let out a soft growl, Darcy considered his cousin’s words. Matchmaking was only a small part of his reasons for rejecting the invitation. He did not wish to leave his sisters alone for the better part of a month. Well, never alone, their governess, masters, and Mrs. Reynolds would keep them company, but still, they had not been apart more than a day since their parents had died. They needed him.

That, however, did nothing to take away the rightness of Fitz’s words. His rejection by the neighboring families had hurt him. His heart and his pride. Though, if any prejudice resided, that was fully justified. Indeed, Lady Charmane was a member of the Ton, and that fact alone meant fair odds she ought not be trusted.

“Well?” Fitz questioned; the long silence giving rise to the rightness of his claims within the man’s mind, as evidenced by the tall posture and broadening of his shoulders.

“I cannot deny that matchmaking is not my only reason for turning down the invitation, though I have one solid reason that ranks above it. My sisters. Neither should find themselves alone. Not for so long in any case.”

Chuckling, Fitz shook his head at Darcy, “Mother has seen to that; it is her intention to visit Pemberley and spend one month with your sisters. And, my, would you have guessed her dates overlap those of your invitation exactly! It is uncanny.” Crossing his arms, he leaned his head back, eyes cutting toward his cousin as he laughed. “All your reasons for remaining here appear to be falling to the wayside. I trust there are no others to add?”

Shaking his head slowly, Darcy’s gaze dropped. No. There were no other reasons. As much as he disliked how little their aunt and uncle had written or seen them, he would not deny his sisters time with family. Lady Matlock did love them, for all the groveling she had engaged in with the Ton… and perhaps discovering what wonderful girls they were would lead her to put family over society?

Certainly, it was a risk worth taking.

“You will join me, I assume,” Darcy said, his glower reminding that it was not a question, but a statement.

“Of course. Shall we invite Bingley as well?”

A sly grin forming, Darcy agreed. If Lady Charmane proved as harsh toward the trade class as most peers, he, Bingley, and Fitz would be removed from her home in short order. If not, the three would enjoy one another’s company, and prove ample barrier against single ladies.