Page 17 of The Power of Refusal

R eturning to town, Georgiana happily filled the air in the carriage with her opinions on fashion and entertainments whilst Darcy smiled. The taxing and expensive effort of ensuring George Wickham found himself on a ship headed to Van Diemen’s Land had rewarded him with this joyful, warm, and confident young woman planning her twenty-first birthday party. Darcy sighed with nostalgic pain at the rapid march of years.

The carriage swayed gently as it made its way along the well-worn road to London, the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves a counterpoint to Georgiana’s animated chatter. “Oh, Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana exclaimed, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you heard about the new French silks at Gardiner’s Imported Goods? Miss Terry says they are exceedingly fine.”

Darcy’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I confess, I have failed to keep abreast of the latest in silk fashions.”

Georgiana laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. “Of course not. But you must accompany me to see them. And then there’s Aunt Matlock’s ball next week. Do you think I might wear the blue gown?”

“The one with the lace trim?” Darcy asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to recall.

“No, no.” Georgiana shook her head, her curls bouncing. “The new one, with the embroidered design.”

As Georgiana launched into a detailed description of her gown for the upcoming ball, Darcy found his thoughts drifting. He studied his sister’s animated features, noting the confident set of her shoulders, so different from the timid girl of a few years past.

“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana’s voice broke through his reverie. “You are awfully quiet. Is everything well?”

“I am well,” Darcy said, his voice a touch gruffer than usual. He cleared his throat. “Now, tell me more about your plans. I fear I may need to economise on my adding to my library with this extravagant party you have in mind.”

Georgiana was easily distracted by his question “Can you credit it? I will reach my majority on April nineteenth,” she exclaimed.

The weight of the years pressed down on his shoulders. “I fear I cannot. You will never be much older than ten to me,” he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

Georgiana’s expression softened. “And now I’m planning my party for my twenty-first birthday.” She reached across to squeeze his hand. “But I remain your silly little sister.”

Darcy watched his sister with a mixture of pride and wistfulness, his heart swelling with love for the confident, vibrant woman she had become. The nerves that had once plagued her during her first tentative steps into society had melted away, replaced by a poise and grace that belied her tender age. He savoured these precious moments before the inevitable changes.

Darcy was struck by the realisation this might be one of his last journeys to London with Georgiana as his companion. It hit him like a physical blow; a sharp ache in his chest threatened to steal his breath. He pushed aside the melancholy thoughts, focusing instead on the joy and anticipation that radiated from his sister.

As she spoke, his stomach lurched. He realised Georgiana’s birthday might also mark the occasion of her engagement. The thought her embarking on a new chapter in her life filled him with a bittersweet ache he could not quite put into words.

Georgiana’s eyes took on a dreamy quality, her lips curving into a soft smile. “A small party—supper, dancing, lots of music. We must invite Julia’s beau, Mr Heffernan. And her family, of course,” she said, her voice filled with anticipation.

Darcy nodded, forcing a smile to his face. “And have you planned the menu? Commissioned a gown? Shall you engage musicians or are they no longer quite the thing?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

He could never quite be sure whether sleeves were meant to be long or short or those ridiculously puffed things that made ladies appear about to take flight. The thought of Georgiana navigating the treacherous waters of society filled him with unease. He could not shake a desire to protect her from the fickle whims of the ton.

As the towers and spires of London appeared on the horizon, peace settled over him. Changes lay ahead and he would accept them. The carriage rolled to a stop before the imposing facade of their Grosvenor Square residence. Darcy took a deep breath. Was he ready to embrace the joys and sorrows of the season ahead? Not entirely, but no matter what, the bond between brother and sister would never be broken.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth wandered Gardiner’s Imports, her sketchbook in hand. A recent shipment of silks was being placed in the warehouses and Elizabeth was itching to view them and make new designs. As she walked the aisles, she saw a young lady examining fabrics in the company of a very grand lady.

“What do you think of this, Aunt Eleanor?” the girl asked, her voice hesitant as she ran her fingers over a particularly sumptuous piece of silk.

“That is a beautiful silk, Georgiana. Does the colour suit you?” The lady gestured to Paul who pulled a length of the rich crimson bolt and held it up, the fabric shimmering in the dim light of the warehouse.

The girl stood back and examined it. Elizabeth looked from the girl to the admittedly lovely fabric, her artist’s eye assessing the match. It did not suit. The colour was wrong for the girl’s fair hair and peach complexion. Like Jane, this young lady would look best in pastels. Her delicate features would be enhanced by softer hues but overwhelmed by the deep shade she considered.

“I do not know. I think it may be too old for me. Even if I am reaching my majority, I am still just a maiden!” the girl said, her voice uncertain.

“It looks more suitable for me than for you.” The older lady stepped closer and considered the silk with a practiced eye. Her fingers skimmed over the surface with a connoisseur’s touch.

Elizabeth watched the girl flit from bolt to bolt with little satisfaction, her heart going out to the young lady in her quest for the perfect fabric. When the young lady reached for a very unsuitable, green-toned moiré, Elizabeth could no longer restrain herself. She stepped forward.

“Pardon my interruption, miss. May I suggest this material to you?” she offered. She walked closer to the two ladies and indicated a bolt to the warehouseman. “Paul, please show the young lady this one.”

He extracted the bolt from the pile and extended a yard of jonquil yellow silk before the young lady. The fabric draped gracefully from his hands. The colour was like sunshine, warm and inviting, and seemed to glow against the girl’s fair skin.

“Oh my. That is truly beautiful. Thank you, miss.” The young lady held the fabric up to herself and looked down with a broad smile. Her eyes lit with pleasure.

“Georgiana, I think it is perfect. It flatters your skin and hair remarkably well. How would you make it up?” the older lady said. Elizabeth started at hearing the name. A flicker of recognition sparked in her mind.

The girl, Georgiana, looked around the room. Elizabeth’s sketches were tacked up here and there. Georgiana’s gaze settled on two sketches, simple but elegant. Georgiana studied them with interest. Elizabeth went to the wall and took them down, her heart racing with excitement as she presented them to the young lady.

“This would be delightful in that silk. The way the fabric falls lends itself to a simpler design. It is gossamer-light, so too much decoration might cause it to pleat or droop. Perhaps some illusion around the neckline?” Elizabeth preferred simpler designs, but she understood many ladies needed to over decorate their gowns to feel well dressed. Certainly, she would never advocate the profusion of lace her mother preferred. An excess of frills and furbelows would overwhelm this delicate wearer.

The two women studied the drawings and conferred in whispers. Elizabeth stepped away, her fingers trailing over the bolts of silk and satin, the textures igniting her imagination with possibilities.

“Thank you, miss, for your help. Might I purchase this drawing? I would like to bring it to my modiste,” Georgiana asked.

As Elizabeth studied the two, she found herself struck by an odd sensation of recognition – something tugged at her memory with peculiar insistence. Did the grand older lady bear some resemblance to Colonel Fitzwilliam, the set of her jaw and the aristocratic arch of her brow ? The young lady was shopping not with her mother, but with her aunt. She was turning one-and-twenty, so had been about sixteen five years ago. Her tall, elegant posture and the set of her eyes and nose were highly reminiscent of Mr Darcy. How many young ladies called Georgiana would bear such a resemblance to Mr Darcy?

“Please, accept the sketch as my gift to honour your birthday, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth chanced calling a stranger by a wrong name. She simply had to know.

Georgiana’s smile confirmed the relation, her face becoming so like her brother’s Elizabeth’s breath stopped, her heart constricting painfully in her chest.

“Thank you,” Georgiana said with warmth and sincerity.

“Are you employed here?” the lady who was most likely Lady Matlock asked, her tone polite but curious.

“No, this is my uncle’s warehouse. He allows me to wander around and sketch ideas for gowns. I live with my aunt and uncle.” Elizabeth was babbling. How could she explain her situation? She did not want Mr Darcy’s aunt to think she was reduced to working as a shopgirl. Neither did she wish to deny she was more than a mere customer. Why did it even matter? She would never meet Lady Matlock as a member of the same society. How could she imagine that lady’s impression of her would be of significance?

Lady Matlock’s expression softened. “You are very fortunate to have access to Mr Gardiner’s stock. I am always impressed by the quality and variety he imports.”

“I shall tell him so, madam.” Elizabeth curtsied.

She turned to Georgiana, her eyes filled with a wistful tenderness. This sweet young lady might have been her sister. “My best wishes to you on your birthday. I wish you every happiness.” Her words brought a surge of emotion, as if she were delivering a message to Mr Darcy that had to last her entire life. She dearly hoped he was well and happy but could not allow herself to ask the millions of questions she would like.

Elizabeth accepted Georgiana’s thanks and stepped into the back of the warehouse to compose herself. The air was cooler here. The scent of dust and old wood filled her nostrils as she leant against a stack of crates. Unbidden tears streamed down her face. The saltiness mingled with the taste of regret on her tongue. She was pleased to have helped the young lady who ought to have been her sister to select a gown for her birthday celebration. But she had no part in her life and that of her brother. An overwhelming sense of loss devasted her.

∞∞∞

Darcy marshalled his strength for the social demands of Georgiana’s birthday. He speculated whether, if Elizabeth were to attend, would be pleased with his improvement in manners. He was certain his ease in company would have grown vastly more over the years had she been present. As it was, he had only her long-ago words to guide him. He would continue his efforts to be a man who considered the feelings of others and did not judge them based on foolish prejudice.

The daffodils were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine. Darcy mused they offered their tribute of beauty to the gentle mistress who loved them. Georgiana had long called them her “birthday flowers,” and thus they always would be in his view.

Georgiana looked very like a daffodil herself that evening. Her sweet heart and soul seemed to bloom in her face that day. Always fair and tender, Georgiana shone with more than beauty. Her pale-yellow gown lacked fussy lace or trims, the silhouette simple.

Darcy stood beside his sister as the guests made their way into the entry hall. Across from them stood the grand staircase with a sweeping curve and plush, patterned carpet runner. The chandelier cast an inviting glow over the entry hall. Their London home, which reflected his own and his late mother’s elegant but understated taste, set him at ease. Its calming influence did little, however, to dampen the excitement radiating from Georgiana.

Darcy had engaged Georgiana first dance of the evening. As they danced through the patterns, a surge of emotion threatened to unman him. His baby sister was grown.

“Do not look so unhappy, dear brother. All is well.”

“I am not unhappy, sweet girl. I am borrowing trouble, thinking of you growing up and leaving me. But you are here now, and I must enjoy that. I am grateful for you, Georgie. You have brought me great joy,” Darcy said, fighting an unwelcome accumulation of moisture in his eyes.

Georgiana’s eyes likewise shone with tears. “I am so torn. I wish to stay with you forever,but I know I wish to marry. I hate to leave you alone. I wish you could find a lady to share your life.”

“This is a heavy topic indeed for a ballroom. Do not fret about me, Georgie. I have all I need.”

“I cannot agree, Fitzwilliam. You are too much alone. Please, promise me you will seek a bride. Promise you will make your life less lonely,” she said.

If he gave his sister a promise, he would keep it at all costs. Georgiana was feeling her power and using it as a woman may for her brother’s good. She did not speak again, but she looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, and a smile that said, “No one can refuse me anything today.”

“For you, sweet girl. I will seek someone to share my life.” His stomach tightened. It was as though something was being ripped from his soul. Could he keep his promise to his sister whilst still loving Elizabeth? He must.

The evening continued, with dancing, and champagne, and even fireworks. Richard made a speech, praising Georgiana and bringing tears to the eyes of family members and close friends. Unequal to speaking of such a tender subject, Darcy merely made a toast in her honour, celebrating her accomplishments and the promising years ahead. Georgiana graciously thanked her guests for their presence, displaying the poise expected of a lady of her standing.

Darcy sat beside his sister as a supper was served. By request of the hostess, the typical formal meal was replaced with traditional breakfast fare, including kippers and eggs, muffins, and tartlets.

“Are you enjoying your party?” he asked.

“It feels like a perfect night,” Georgiana said, glancing across the table at the Hallidays, “for breakfast at midnight!” On Georgiana’s night, no one objected to her unusual menu.

“Perhaps you will set a new fashion,” Darcy observed. “I fully intend to,” she said.

Darcy noticed the look of amusement and something else the viscount cast toward Georgiana. Was this odd menu connected to him? He had called frequently. The two had their heads together whenever they could. The apparent private joke between them did not extend to a lurking older brother.

Not long after supper, quieter music prevailed. Lively country dances gave way to a series of waltzes, drawing courting couples to the floor. Darcy stood away from the dancers, looking to ensure the guests were all well entertained.

Lady Harriet swayed to the music in her seat beside her companion. Darcy approached to greet her again.

“Are you enjoying the party, Lady Harriet?”

She laughed in response. “As much as I can. I love to watch the waltzers. It looks so romantic, but I doubt I would perform it well.”

“I think it is relatively easy for a lady. You need only follow the lead of your partner.”

“For a certainty, I would tread on his toes or collide with another couple.”

“I doubt that.”

“You have not seen my pathetic attempts at dancing, sir. And my stamina for the practice is so slight, it would be over before the second stanza.”

Darcy smiled at Lady Harriet’s self-deprecation. Her ability to jest in the face of her restricted life always amazed him. He ought to emulate her positive approach. What could he do to make her life less circumscribed? Were Georgiana so limited, he would hope her friends would ensure she tasted the fun of the party.

“Would you permit me the honour of a stanza of this dance?” he asked with a formal bow.

Lady Harriet looked at him quizzically. “You wish to dance just a few steps?”

“If you feel up to it, yes,” he said.

Lady Harriet rose, taking his proffered hand. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. You are very kind.”

Darcy escorted her a few steps to the closest door, then into a small, unoccupied sitting room. Leaving the door wide open for propriety and to permit the music to be audible, he positioned Lady Harriet for the dance. Placing his hand on her waist, he was shocked at how very frail she was beneath her gown.

“We need not spin around a great deal. We will simply practice the steps. It is a waltz rhythm—one, two, three, one, two, three,” Darcy counted out the pace, his steps as small as he could manage. He looked up to catch Lady Harriet’s excited smile.

They danced alone in the little room for a very short while until Darcy sensed her energy flagging.

“Perhaps that is enough for our first lesson,” he said, leading her to a soft chair. “Let me call your maid. Is there something you would like? A glass of wine, shall I get you one?”

“Thank you. I merely need to rest. That was lovely. I thank you for your very kind dance lesson.” Lady Harriet sat back, breathing heavily, her face flushed.

Had he overstepped? Had he worsened her condition somehow?

“Perhaps I was overly ambitious, Lady Harriet. Forgive me if I have made you unwell,” he said.

“Please, call me Hattie. You are a very dear friend. You have done more for my happiness than you can imagine. I am well. If I am a bit overcome, it is by no means your fault. I am aware of my limitations. I wish to live whilst I can, despite these minor consequences.”

Darcy shook his head. “You are a remarkable lady, Hattie.”

She smiled her appreciation. “I have two alternatives. I can wallow, or I can savour. Thank you for helping me savour.”