Mr. Darcy's Obsession Page 4

  Chapter 4

  Georgiana perched on the edge on the fainting couch, her hands gripping the upholstered edge. “Please, Fitzwilliam, I beg of you. Do not make me go.”

  Darcy drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I know our aunt is hardly pleasant company, but we do owe her a duty as her family. It has been two years since she saw you last. I cannot keep making excuses forever.”

  “I cannot face her.”

  “Georgiana, I know she can be harsh, but you must learn to turn a deaf ear to her criticisms. That is what I do. They mean nothing.”

  “Yes, they do. She will tell me I do not practise enough, I do not draw well enough, I am too slender, or too tall, and everything else in the world that is wrong with me, and then she will tell me how much superior Anne would have been in every way, had she been able to learn. Blasted Anne.”

  “Georgiana!” he exclaimed. He would have to make an effort to use better language in front of her.

  “Forgive me. But why must I always be compared to Anne, when Anne can do nothing at all?”

  “Anne’s ill health is not her fault.”

  “Oh, bother Anne’s health! It is not ill health, the way she stares at nothing and will never look at you when she talks. There is something not right about her; you know it, too.”

  Darcy rubbed his hand over his face. “Yes, I know, but it is better if we do not speak of it. She is family, and we must remember that.”

  “I do not like our family!”

  Darcy looked at her wearily.

  Finally she said, “I am sorry. I know what Mother and Father always said. Family is the most important tie.” She did not have to say the rest; they had both heard it often enough. Be careful with whom you ally yourself. Do not forget you are a Darcy. “But must I go this year? I cannot face her.”

  “You are being unreasonable, Georgiana.”

  “I know.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Darcy knew she was fighting tears. He hated it when women cried. He never knew what to do. “Come, it is not so bad. Richard and I will both be there.”

  “She will know!” Her voice was agonized.

  Darcy froze. “How could she know?”

  “I do not know, but she will. She will look at me, and she will know.”

  He would never understand a woman’s mind. He crossed over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “She cannot possibly know. I made certain of it.”

  He sat beside her on the fainting couch. Georgiana’s distress could continue for a long time, he knew from experience. Nothing he could say would help, and all he could do was wait.

  He conjured Elizabeth’s image before him, as he had done so many times in the past, and her sparkling eyes and teasing look comforted him. Georgiana would have liked Elizabeth. She would not have been afraid of her. Perhaps Elizabeth could have eased the shadows over Georgiana, as she did for him. But it was too late for that. He would have to learn to make do.

  ***

  The following morning Elizabeth approached Moorsfield with combined trepidation and anticipation, but Darcy did not appear there that day or the morning after that. Elizabeth told herself it was for the best, and she should not be disappointed. His presence could serve only to add to expectations that would be impossible to fulfill. It meant nothing that he had felt a brief interest in her. For all she knew, he might have left London. He was not obliged to tell her of his plans. By the third day, though, she could no longer pretend to be anything but dispirited by his absence. On the sixth day, she decided to stay at home instead of walking. The disappointment was greater than her pleasure in the walk.

  She could not believe she had allowed herself to develop tender sentiments for Mr. Darcy. True, he had not been as proud and haughty during their walks as he had been in Hertfordshire, but there had been no reason why he should be, since it was only the two of them. It was hard to remember why she had disliked him so, apart from his infamous treatment of Mr. Wickham, but she was starting to wonder if there was more than one side to that story. Worse yet, he was starting to appear in her dreams, always with that intense look in his eyes, the one that made it hard to look away.

  How ironic that she was now dreaming of the gentleman she so disliked a year earlier! But many things she had never thought could come to pass were now the case. She had thought to live for many years yet at Longbourn.

  Her aunt, noticing the change in her habits, asked more than once whether anything was troubling her. Elizabeth, never prone to confidences, denied anything more than a headache. After several days had passed, though, her spirits began to rebel against remaining in the house, and she determined to walk out the following morning.

  She set forth after a fitful night’s sleep, reminding herself at each step that he would not be there, as if by predicting an ill fate, she could prevent it. It was an unusually fair winter’s day, with the sun gilding the brown grass of Moorsfield. She loosened the collar of her spencer and took a deep breath of cool air, with only a hint of the odor of soot that often hung over London. Truly there was more to life than the defection of Mr. Darcy. She would learn to remember that.

  ***

  A wisp of dark curl hung enchantingly in the air as she bent her head over the pianoforte, laughing at some joke his cousin had made. He longed to be the one beside her. Perhaps his arm would brush against the curl as he turned the page. The mere thought was lightning in his blood.

  Then she looked up at him with that delightful purse of her lips that foretold teasing. He could listen to her melodious voice forever, letting it wash over him, so it did not even disturb him when Richard joined in the teasing at his expense. Then she had asked him why he could not recommend himself to strangers, and for the first time ever he answered truthfully, without even a glance at Anne in concern that someone might see something of her in him. “I have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”

  He waited with bated breath for her reaction, but it did not seem to disturb her. Instead she showed him her understanding, as she said, “My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”

  She understood. For the first time, someone understood and accepted that he could not master this particular skill. He had never known the relief of being understood, and it flowed through him like a stream bubbling over rocks. He tried to put all his sentiments into the smile he gave her as he said, “You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.”

  That was when he had decided to marry her, or more exactly, realized he could not let her go. But let her go he did, and without even a struggle, just a fear of condemnation from his family and peers. At least he could still have his memories.

  “Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana hissed in his ear.

  Belatedly he reached across her to turn to the next page of music. He forced himself to focus on the present, difficult as it might be with Georgiana sitting precisely where Elizabeth had sat that night, her hands touching the keys Elizabeth had played.

  The heavy tread of his uncle’s boots presaged an end to the interlude. “Darcy, I wish to speak to you,” Lord Matlock said. “Richard, wake your brother. I want the two of you as well.”

  Darcy gave Georgiana an apologetic glance for deserting her and then stood and bowed his acquiescence. Across the room, Richard shook Viscount Langley’s arm. “Henry, wake up. Father wants us.”

  Henry opened his eyes, shading them against the sun streaming in the window. “Oh, very we
ll.”

  The earl led them to the sitting room he had claimed for his own during this visit. He poured out four glasses of port and handed one to Henry and then Richard.

  Darcy held up his hand, refusing the glass. “It is too early in the day for port for me.” Not that he would have minded, but if his uncle wanted to have a family conference, Darcy needed his head about him.

  He saw Richard’s warning look an instant before his uncle snapped, “Very well, please yourself.” But Richard’s glass sat beside him untouched. Darcy wished he could think as quickly.

  Lord Matlock settled in the largest armchair. “Georgiana is growing up. It is time to find a husband for her.”

  “She will not be out until next year, and I see little point in looking at suitors before there are any.”

  “Nonsense. Waiting for girls to decide for themselves is asking for trouble. They haven’t the sense for it. If she chooses the wrong man, we can always refuse to give permission, but then she will have a fit of sulks and scare off the men we want. No, it is better to decide these things in advance.”

  “I am prepared to take that risk.”

  “That may be, but I am not. Henry, you know the inner circles the best. Do you have suggestions?”

  “Mm.” Henry took a long swallow of port. “Sir Thomas Neville is unmarried, and Georgiana’s dowry might be enough to tempt him.”

  “Absolutely not,” Darcy snapped. He would not allow Georgiana to be married to a drunken old sot.

  “Too old for your tastes? David Grenville, then.”

  The earl nodded. “A possibility. He is a second son, but Lord Grenville is a powerful man. A good alliance. Others?”

  “A good alliance? Sir John Blakeney, then. His father is Prinny’s delight.”

  Darcy snorted. “And the greatest fop in London, not to mention the greatest fool. I doubt his son is any better.”

  Henry laughed. “Why do you think Prinny likes him?”

  The earl cut in. “He will not do, in any case. The boy is half French, if you recall.”

  So a fop, a sot, or a fool was acceptable, but not French blood. Darcy was glad he had refused the port. Otherwise he might have been tempted to fling it in his uncle’s face.

  Richard, as usual, saved him. “I believe this needs further thought, Father. Perhaps we could each put together a list and reconvene tomorrow.”

  Darcy said, “She is very young. We do not have to marry her off this week, you know.”

  Lord Matlock drew out a cigar and rang for a servant. “True, but you are not so young. When will it be, Darcy? It is past time for you and Anne to wed. Catherine’s health is failing.”

  “Uncle, I do not plan to marry Anne at all.” Darcy braced himself for the explosion.

  “You have a duty to her. She cannot care for herself, so you must marry her.”

  “I will do everything I can to assist her, and I would even agree to be her guardian, but I will not marry her.”

  Henry muttered, “And who can blame him?”

  The earl glared. “What is all this nonsense? Why can you not lend her the protection of your name? You need not spend time with her, only tup her until she produces an heir. You may find your own pleasure elsewhere.”

  Darcy winced at his uncle’s crudity. “An heir? Therein lies the problem. We do not know why Anne is the way she is, but what if her child should take after her? I cannot take that risk with the heir of Pemberley, and you cannot afford to have Pemberley and Rosings in the hands of an incompetent.”

  The earl frowned and puffed on his cigar. “You have a point there. Still, we have no reason to think Anne cannot bear healthy children.”

  “But she takes after her father. Why would her child not take after her?”

  “I see no reason to assume that. True, there was something of Anne’s behaviour in Sir Lewis, though not the same extent. Still, Catherine always ruled the roost here. Even ordered him to propose to her.”

  Henry choked on a sip of port. Richard pounded his back, perhaps harder than the cause warranted.

  Darcy said coolly, “Anne seemed healthy enough as a baby. Anne’s child might be perfectly healthy, or it might be even worse than she is, as her condition is worse than her father’s.”

  Lord Matlock pursed his lips. “The problem remains, though. Anne needs a husband.”

  “If she needs a husband from the family, why not marry her to Henry? It has been over a year since his wife died.” Darcy took a certain pleasure in needling his uncle.

  Henry sat up straight. “Never.”

  The earl waved his hand, as if it were no matter. “I have plans already for Henry. Lady Mary Howard is suited to be Countess of Matlock. Anne is not.”

  That was not a name Darcy had expected to hear. Beside him, Richard stiffened almost imperceptibly. Darcy hoped the others had not noticed. He wished he could give Richard another drink. Instead, he tried the next best thing, to distract his uncle. “So Anne is not good enough for Henry, but she is good enough for me. Thank you for sharing that valuation with me.”

  “Oh, pish-tosh, Darcy. As her husband, you can keep her locked away at Pemberley. You need not even see her. Henry’s position would not allow that. If you do not marry Anne, after Catherine dies she will be the target of every adventurer and rogue. Even a footman could take advantage of her and then claim the necessity of marriage. No, she must marry first, but who could we trust outside the family? Once she is married, her husband has complete control of her fortune.”

  Richard put his hands out in front of his chest. “Do not even suggest it. Lady Catherine would never accept me as her son-in-law. She has always wanted Pemberley.”

  “She will not gain Pemberley through me. Perhaps we should consider other plans.” Darcy had given the matter years of thought. “We need someone whose best interest lies in caring well for Anne. Perhaps a younger son of a country squire, one who is respectable and knows how to manage an estate and has no interest beyond land of his own. You could make it clear that if he mistreats her in any way, the combined might of the Fitzwilliam and Darcy families will be turned against him.” If Elizabeth only had a brother, he could marry Anne, and it would solve all his problems. Of course, if she had a brother, Longbourn would not have been entailed away in the first place.

  Henry nodded. “Better yet, make certain there is some flaw in the wedding ceremony, so we have the threat of annulling the marriage if needed.”

  The earl tapped the ash from his cigar. “Excellent idea, Henry. But we must approach this delicately, and I must find such a man.”

  Henry snorted. “And hire some pretty maids here before he visits, so he can have some consolation for his marriage bed. There isn’t a girl worth bedding in this entire house. Why can Aunt Catherine not hire maids who are not a punishment to look at?”

  “She does not want the competition,” Richard said. “It makes Anne look better.”

  “Still, it is dull for us. Thank God Georgiana is here. Her figure—now that is worth contemplating.”

  “Henry!” Darcy snapped.

  “Oh, do not worry, Darcy, I will not touch your precious sister. Though I would not mind marrying her myself, if Father did not have other plans for me. Those hips hold promise.”

  Darcy gritted his teeth. Hell would freeze over before he agreed to a marriage between Henry and Georgiana. “Henry, you are drunk. Save it for your London friends.”

  The earl raised his glass. “Your health.” He took a good swig and then pushed the remaining glass in Darcy’s direction. “Darcy, I insist you have some. You need something to raise your spirits. I have never seen such a gloomy countenance.”

  “I am perfectly well.” Darcy was not up to one of his uncle’s inquisitions, so he took a tiny sip of the port.

  “You should take Henry’s point of view, Darcy. You need a girl. That would make you lively again. I saw a girl in the village yesterday well worth bedding.” He ran his hands in front of him, demonstrating the attributes that a
ppealed to him. “And she would be willing, for the right price, I would bet on it.”

  “Darcy has no need of assistance in finding willing women, Father,” Richard said. “They are constantly throwing themselves at him.”

  Darcy understood Richard’s warning glance, but the frustration of dealing with his uncle and his aunts took the edge off his habitual caution. “I find this topic distasteful, Uncle.”

  The earl barked out a laugh. “Distasteful! Oliver Cromwell has been dead for a century and a half, Darcy. What a fine Puritan you would have made!”

  Darcy drained his glass of port and set it down hard enough that the crystal rang. “Better a Puritan than a wastrel.”

  His uncle’s eyes narrowed. Darcy steeled himself for a demonstration of the famous Fitzwilliam temper.

  This time it was Henry who intervened, stretching his feet out in front of himself and folding his hands behind his head. “Now, Father,” he drawled. “Be kind. Can you not see the poor boy is in love?” He smirked at Darcy.

  Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. “I am not in love!”

  Henry’s eyes held a look of spiteful glee. “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much! I have seen you staring out the window at nothing, taking long walks around the park and refusing company, reading love poetry. Such a long face, though. Is it so hard to be separated from your mistress for a fortnight?”

  “I have no mistress,” Darcy said evenly. Henry could be like a foxhound when he scented blood.

  The earl gestured to Richard to pour another round of port. “No mistress? What, did you happen to fall in love with one of the few virtuous wives in England? If not a wife, between your money and your name, you can marry at will, and if she is not appropriate, you can afford her price.”

  The vision of Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes laughing at him, making a mockery of the dull brown of Moorsfield, came before him. “Not every woman has a price,” he said, his words clipped.

  “Pish-posh.” Henry raised his glass to Darcy. “All women have their price. You have not bid high enough yet. Find out what she truly desires and give it to her. Dangle it in front of her. Or compromise her so she has no choice but to be your mistress.”