Page 34 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

Darcy took Richard's counsel to heart. The very next morning, he penned a note to his aunt, Lady Helen, politely informing her that he would postpone his return to Pemberley for a fortnight.

He hoped, he said, that she might arrange a dinner during that interval, one in which he might become acquainted with the seven young ladies she had previously praised to him.

He further explained that he wished to meet them in a calm, private setting, form initial impressions, and then take the summer and autumn to reflect before narrowing his interest to the two or three most promising candidates in the winter.

Lady Helen, who had been champing at the bit since her nephew's arrival in town, fairly quivered with delight upon receipt of the missive.

She immediately began preparations for the dinner, setting it for Thursday of the following week.

A list of the seven families was drawn up, invitations dispatched, menus composed, and seating arrangements debated over tea.

Meanwhile, at Darcy House, preparations for the move north to Pemberley were underway. They were to depart the day after the dinner. Georgiana remained quiet, her spirits still unsettled. The peace of Derbyshire called to them both, but duty first demanded one final ordeal in town.

On the evening of the event, Darcy arrived at Matlock House in ample time. He was clad in a fine black tailcoat, a forest green waistcoat, and an elegantly tied cravat; his pantaloons perfectly fitted. Lady Helen, upon seeing him, declared with a laugh that he looked like a fashion plate.

The drawing room soon filled with guests, families familiar from Assembly rooms and Almack's, yet, owing to his years abroad, none with whom Darcy had ever been intimately acquainted. The young women, some newly out, others in their third season, were each presented in turn.

As was proper, Darcy began with polite conversation while the party waited to be called into dinner. He drew Miss Emily Fitzgerald into conversation. She was comely in both face and form, her eyes the clear, cool blue of the summer sky.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, offering her gloved hand with graceful composure, “I understand you are soon removing to your estate in Derbyshire. You must be relieved to be finished with the Season. It is such an exhausting parade of alliances and strategies."

He inclined his head. "I do find the social obligations taxing at times. But I hope they serve some higher purpose."

"Oh, certainly. My mother says marriages must be arranged with careful precision, like treaties. Dowry, pedigree, expectations, it is all arithmetic."

Darcy's brows lifted. "And affection? Is that not a consideration?"

Her smile faltered. "Affection is a luxury, Mr. Darcy. One cannot base a match upon whimsy."

He took her gloved hand and asked evenly. "How many children do you hope for, Miss Fitzgerald?"

“Two, an heir and a spare. You may think me bold, Mr. Darcy, for speaking so plainly, yet we both know this dinner to be but an extension of the marriage mart, and I would make my wishes known to you. My husband may, of course, keep a mistress, as is customary in the higher circles, and I should never object, provided he exercised the utmost discretion. Indeed, it is my preference, for I should wish to avoid the baser propensities of physical union.”

“I believe in fidelity within marriage,” Darcy said, his tone even. “I do not intend to take a mistress once I am joined in holy matrimony."

She blinked at him. "Then we shall not suit, Mr. Darcy."

He bowed and kissed her gloved hand. "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Fitzgerald."

Next came Miss Harriet Beaumont, who held court on a settee with moral superiority drawn tight across her shoulders like a shawl.

"Children ought to be kept from society until they are properly formed," she declared. "Seen but not heard, and preferably not seen either."

Darcy asked, "And how many children would you like to raise?"

"Two. Any more is vanity or folly."

He offered a polite bow and moved on, privately resolving that Miss Beaumont would never do.

No doubt she would set to reforming his character the moment the vows were spoken.

If children were to be seen and not heard, he rather feared she would prefer the same of a husband.

Sanctimonious and severe, she was quite out of the question.

Before dinner, he was introduced to Lady Dianna Fletcher. She looked pale and exquisitely fragile. He offered her an arm to escort her nearer the fire.

"You are too kind," she said faintly. "My nerves do not bear the bustle of society well."

She sighed often, complained of persecution by her parents, and described an unrequited love with a squire of modest estate. Darcy, discomfited, noted the pinched quality of her features and the damp sheen of nervous sweat along her brow. She played her illness like a fiddle.

Darcy thought privately, I need a wife, not a patient.

Dinner was announced, and Darcy found himself seated beside Lady Wilhelmina Pembroke, a reputed diamond of the first water, with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds.

She was exceedingly beautiful, perhaps the most striking woman he had ever beheld.

She launched into conversation before the soup arrived and did not draw breath until the second course was cleared.

She spoke of gowns, carriages, a recent trip to Bath, her pianoforte instructor, the scandalous behavior of an acquaintance, the weather in Brighton, and a cousin’s pug who had lost its teeth. Darcy nodded, hummed politely, and chewed slowly. His temples began to throb.

Under no circumstances will I marry this prattle-pate, he thought, reaching for his wine.

After dinner, as the ladies withdrew, Darcy felt relieved, quietly sipping his port and listening with half an ear to the murmur of political discourse.

When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, he crossed the drawing room to address Lady Olivia Huxley.

She was undeniably beautiful, but did her eyes harbor shadows?

He could not help but wonder whether this elegant young woman harbored secrets, for there was a guarded air about her, a manner too composed, too mysterious by half.

He opened with quiet pleasantries, but her responses were short and clipped. Her smile never touched her eyes, and her gaze never quite met his. She could not bring herself to look him fully in the face. She was hiding something, and he had no desire to discover what it might be.

He asked, "Have you long enjoyed town life?"

"I was abroad... for some time," she murmured. "Finishing school in Lausanne."

Her father hovered nearby with watchful intensity. Darcy sensed something unspoken hung between them.

There is a scandal here, Darcy thought grimly. One that might erupt sometime in the future.

Knowing a woman of mystery was out of the question, Darcy excused himself and crossed the drawing room with quiet resolve, approaching Lady Isabella Bedwin, who stood admiring her reflection in the mirrored panel above the mantel.

Her silk gown was a pale shade of rose, fashionably cut and trimmed with seed pearls.

She adjusted the fall of one sleeve as he approached and smiled, though the expression did not quite reach her eyes.

“Lady Isabella,” he said with a bow, “I trust you are enjoying the evening?”

She turned to him with the affected languor of one who considered herself a practiced enchantress.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she drawled, “everything is tolerably arranged, though the debutantes are frightfully underdressed, none of them possesses the least taste, and as for Lady Fletcher’s jewels this evening, well, one must endeavor to be charitable. ”

He offered a noncommittal smile. “Do you find these gatherings tiresome or agreeable?”

“They are necessary,” she replied, surveying her own rings. “How else is one to display a new gown or be seen by the right gentlemen?” She leaned in slightly. “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, appearances are everything .”

Darcy inclined his head. “To some, perhaps. Others might prize conversation or shared interests.”

She gave a tinkling laugh. “Conversation? How tedious. I cannot abide the melancholy types who talk of books or, heaven forbid, the state of the world. What matters is connection, useful connection. My mother always says the only suitable marriage is one that improves your standing and keeps you properly housed in Town.”

Her candor was almost bracing. Still, Darcy pressed gently. “And children? Do you look forward to raising a family?”

Lady Bedwin blanched at the suggestion. “None, if I could help it. They ruin the figure and are such a burden. My duty, of course, is to provide an heir and a spare, as they say, but I should rather not be bothered. Children ought to be seen rarely and heard never.”

Darcy arched a brow. “Indeed? I had hoped for six.”

At this, she physically recoiled, nearly losing her balance in her haste to step away from him. “Six?” she repeated in horror. “That sounds positively obscene.”

He allowed a small smile, devoid of warmth. “Forgive me. One more question, for clarity’s sake: if your husband were to offer you a kiss, purely as an expression of fondness, would you welcome it?”

Her face twisted in distaste. “Kissing? I think it is rather archaic. Such vulgar displays are for peasants and the lower sort. Civilized people maintain dignity.”

Darcy inclined his head slowly. “I see.”

He took his leave with practiced civility, but inwardly, the matter was closed.

Beautiful though she was, and the daughter of a duke notwithstanding, Lady Bedwin’s affections were embalmed in cold ambition.

Whatever warmth she might offer in society would not survive into the marriage bed.

She would no doubt produce the required heir, but affection, tenderness, and even simple intimacy would be met with disdain or possibly horror.

No, he thought as he crossed the room again, this one is not for me. I seek a wife, not a wax figure.

His last encounter of the evening was with Lady Emma Stanton. At first, she was charming, even beguiling. She danced easily through conversation, laughed at his driest remarks, and showed a remarkable interest in Pemberley.

But her answers, when pressed, became elusive.

"You mentioned a half-brother, Lady Emma?" he asked.

The young woman flushed from her neckline to her hairline, a sheen of fine perspiration gathering on her brow. “Oh, just a figure from my father’s earlier life. Nothing of importance.”

Her tone remained light, but her fingers twisted her fan with nervous energy, and from that moment, she avoided his gaze entirely. A furtive air settled over her.

By the end of their exchange, Darcy's instinct warned him sharply. There were depths to Lady Emma, but not ones he wished to plumb. He rejoined the group and, with deliberate care, seated himself beside Richard just as Lady Emma Stanton approached the pianoforte to begin the evening’s musical performances.

As the final note of the pianoforte faded into silence, Darcy reflected on the women he had met that evening. The night was drawing to a close, and with it, any remaining hope that one among them might suit.

Each young woman, sculpted by governess and seminaries, seemed less a person and more a product. They conformed, yes. But they did not think. They did not feel. They obeyed society’s form without possessing true substance.

They are replicas, he thought. And not one of them would do for Pemberley. Not one would do for me.

The next morning, Lady Helen and Richard called upon him at Darcy House.

Lady Helen beamed. “Well? What say you? Which fortunate girl captured your notice?”

Darcy gave a pained smile. “Aunt, I am most grateful for your efforts. The meal was excellent, the company... varied.”

Richard leaned in. “Come now, Will. Which one’s a maybe?”

Darcy raised a brow. “Miss Fitzgerald regards marriage as a business merger. Lady Bedwin recoils at the thought of kisses. Miss Beaumont considers children a regrettable necessity and morality her sport. Lady Huxley’s past is wrapped in secrets.

Lady Fletcher appeared ready to faint if I so much as inquired after her health.

Lady Stanton may be charming, but she seems rather.

.. entangled in a past she will not disclose.

And Lady Pembroke nearly talked me into an early grave. ”

Richard choked on his tea.

Darcy stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “In short, I am relieved to return to Pemberley unmarried and unscathed. And should you ever again suggest seven women in one evening, I shall have to conclude you wish me dead of a heart seizure.”

Lady Helen sighed. “You are impossible.”

He kissed her hand. “Impossibly grateful, Aunt Helen. Thank you for making the effort to host a dinner and to assemble the very flower of England on my behalf. My eyes have been opened.”

And with that, the matter was closed.