Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions Page 17

  She flinched as if struck in the face. She loved Mr. Darcy? How could he suggest such a thing?

  Because it was true.

  She contained the first wave of sobs, but the next overpowered her and drove her into Papa’s strong shoulder.

  He held her tight and stroked her back. “There, there, child. I should not have permitted you to stay there, feeling as you do.”

  “But … but ….”

  “I know, you did not even recognize it. But your mother did, long ago. That’s why we have always taught you the importance of keeping to the social sphere to which you were born. We thought that would be enough to protect you.”

  “I am so sorry. I did not mean to. Truly—”

  “I do not blame you. The heart makes its own choices—not always the wisest ones. Why do you think all the conduct writers advise against marrying for love?”

  “I know it is foolish, I am—”

  “You are no fool, Lizzy. You would make a fine mistress of Pemberley. But the differences between you are too great. I had hoped the house party might be pleasant and put you in the way of meeting other agreeable gentlemen—perhaps even encourage you to try another Season in London with the Gardiners.”

  “What am I to do now? I cannot face Pemberley’s society now—perhaps not ever.” She wrapped her arms around her waist lest another freshet of sobs escape.

  “Of course not. I would not ask you to. I hate for you to leave me, but perhaps a visit to your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner might be in order. The Season will begin soon. She just wrote to invite you and Jane to go.”

  “But Jane is much pleased at Pemberley with Mr. Bingley.”

  “So, I have gathered. I shall not insist she go. But I think it time for you to have another taste of society. The circles the Gardiners mix in are much more appropriate for you to keep company with. How soon can you be ready?”

  “Are you in such a hurry to be rid of me?”

  “Of course not.” He sighed and swallowed hard. “I am a selfish creature who would far rather keep you to myself. But Mrs. Green and her daughter will be traveling to London in just a few days and inquired whether one of you girls should be available to join them. I think Mrs. Green believes her daughter would enjoy the journey more with someone of her own age to travel with. I do not think your sisters are ready for such a journey, but you?”

  So soon? How could she leave her home? “I can be ready to leave with them. I do not really see any other choice.”

  “I will write to her directly. When you are ready, we will call Mary and Kitty to help you upstairs. They can help you pack.” His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the door.

  London. She worked her tongue against the bitter taste at the back of her mouth. How could it be that things here had gotten to the place where London seemed better than Lambton? How utterly arsey-varsey. Would things ever be right again?

  Chapter 13

  The day of Miss Elizabeth’s accident, Richard had presented Darcy with a pair of walking sticks, permitting him to leave the parlor for the first time in—how long had it been? If only those walking sticks had permitted him to make it all the way to the parsonage to find out firsthand how Miss Elizabeth fared.

  Three days later, Darcy sat at his desk in his study. The orderly shelves and tidy surfaces offered evidence that not quite everything in his life was turning upside down. Why had she not come back to Pemberley? That would have been the sensible thing. The staff was much better able to care for her here than her frail father and feather-pated sisters. It made no sense that Garland should have taken her there. That man became more insufferable by the day.

  And now this! He reread the neatly penned message. According to her father, Miss Elizabeth’s knee was healing well, but she was now much needed by her aunt in London and would not be returning to Pemberley’s house party. Mr. Darcy’s invitations were very kind indeed, but family responsibilities must come before parties of pleasure.

  He crumpled the paper and threw it aside. It rolled drunkenly along the regular lines of the carpet’s geometric pattern, landing in the shadow of his favorite wingchair. How dare she? She had refused all offers of the apothecary and surgeon, and now she turned her back on his invitation. He was her family’s patron, showing them every favor, every blessing in his power. How could she treat him thus?

  And how was he to tell Georgiana?

  He grabbed his crutches and struggled to his feet. Pacing with these monstrosities was not nearly as satisfying as stamping about freely, but it was better than being trapped on that blasted fainting couch. Today he would conquer the staircase and make it back to his own chambers, no matter what.

  He clomped into the corridor, the walking sticks announcing to all that Fitzwilliam Darcy, invalid, was on the move again. Several servants paused to stare at him, ostensibly to ensure the master did not require their assistance. But it seemed to be more gawking than anything else.

  Damn ankle throbbed with every step—searing but bearable. Blanche would surely be there to offer her encouragements, if she knew of his plight. But in some things, an exposed décolletage was not as useful as a friend’s steady shoulder and words of wisdom and encouragement.

  Once he made it to his chambers, though, there were other inducements to look forward to. Blanche made sure to remind him of it. Regularly. He licked his lips, heat prickling his neck.

  Still though, with so many in the house, the notion left him equal parts delighted and uneasy. At least Miss Elizabeth would never know.

  Why did that even matter?

  “Fitzwilliam! You are so much steadier on those walking sticks than yesterday!” Georgiana rushed down the grand stairs to his side.

  Darcy leaned hard on the walking sticks and lifted his injured foot so only his toes rested on the floor. “I have just received some news from the parsonage.”

  “Elizabeth has not suffered something awful, has she?” She clasped her hands with a pleading look.

  “No, she is healing well, but now is needed by her aunt in London. She will be going there directly.”

  “She will not return to us and be here to watch our play?”

  “I am afraid not. Are you very upset?” Pray no tears, not today.

  “If her aunt needs her, then it would be selfish of me to wish her here. Oh, but I am disappointed. I had counted on her to help with some new lines Sir Alexander has written. And I have worked so hard on the rest. I wanted her to see how well I have done.” She traced the edge of a marble tile with the tip of her pink slipper.

  “Perhaps Miss Garland—Blanche—can help you. She will be your sister soon. It might be good for you to become accustomed to her help.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You like Blanche, do you not?”

  “Yes … yes, of course I do. She is very kind. I enjoy playing pianoforte with her ever so much. But—and I know it sounds foolish—she is not Elizabeth. When do you think Elizabeth will return?”

  No, Blanche was not Elizabeth. “I do not know. But even when Miss Elizabeth does return, I think you should expect her less at Pemberley than you have been accustomed to.”

  “Why? She is my friend.”

  “I expect she will be concerned that her long-time familiarity with Pemberley might make Blanche uneasy as she steps into her role as mistress.”

  “But I may still call upon the parsonage? That should not trouble Miss Garland, should it?”

  “I do not know, but perhaps it might be time for you to cultivate other relationships, ones more in keeping with our own sphere. You will have your come-out soon. Blanche will be able to guide you and introduce you to a far wider acquaintance than you have ever had.”

  Georgiana pouted. “I still do not see why I must give up my friend.”

  “Do not fight with me about this. Things will be as they need to be. We do not always get to have our choice.” No, indeed one did not.

  “But … could you … would you find out where she has gone, so I might wri
te to her, and maybe ask when she will return?” She turned pleading eyes on him.

  “You wish to write a letter?”

  “I will ask Mrs. Reynolds to help me … to ensure it is a good letter. I will not embarrass you. Please?”

  She would ask for the one thing he could not refuse. “I shall enquire after directions to her uncle’s house. Perhaps later today, while you and the house party are out riding.”

  “Thank you, you are very good to me.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Might Anne use the phaeton whilst we ride? She and Miss Bingley have declared themselves unable to ride and will stay here and keep company with you otherwise.”

  “Then, by all means, the phaeton will be at their disposal.” Being trapped in the house with Anne and Miss Bingley—the back of his neck twitched.

  “You will join us for breakfast now?”

  Fresh clothes and a bath would have to wait. Darcy followed her to the morning parlor.

  The mahogany table was set with a crisp white cloth and the marble-topped sideboards laden with an array of fragrant dishes. The Bath buns smelled particularly good.

  Garland studied a sheaf of handwritten pages, probably his blasted script, beside Richard who sipped his coffee. Anne tried to interest him in some bit of conversation, but Richard gave her the same empty nod and stare he offered his sisters when they chattered. Miss Bingley lectured Miss Bennet on the shape of fashionable sleeves this season.

  Bingley, his attention fixed on Miss Bennet, declared it a marvelous day for a ride and the rest of the company concurred. The rest, except for Miss Elizabeth. And Blanche who was also noticeable by her absence.

  Mrs. Reynolds appeared at his shoulder, a folded note on her silver tray. He opened it. The elegant flowing script could only belong to one person.

  Please give my regrets to your dear sister as I shall not be able to join the riding party. I have a ghastly headache which renders me most indisposed.

  Beneath that in much smaller letters, she added:

  I have availed myself of a remedy which generally sets me to rights in just a few hours. Perhaps you would consider coming to me and seeing to my comfort once the party has departed.

  His mouth went dry and blood rushed to his face and loins. He shifted in his chair.

  “Are you well, Darcy?” Richard asked.

  “Miss Garland expresses her regrets at being unable to join you for your riding this morning as she is quite indisposed with a headache.”

  Richard cocked his head and his eyebrow rose.

  Darcy looked away. Were his responses really that easy to read?

  “That is most unfortunate. Mornings like this should not be wasted.” Garland folded his napkin and laid it on the table. “She is prone to missing out on many things due to those headaches of hers.”

  Georgiana looked crestfallen, but Anne brightened noticeably.

  “We will certainly miss her company, but I believe we may still be a merry party nonetheless,” Miss Bennet said with a smile meant for Bingley.

  “Shall I see the horses readied?’ Richard rose, glanced at Darcy and snickered. “I imagine the beasts are fairly jumping at the chance to have a fair romp this morning.”

  Garland coughed. Or was that a chuckle?

  Heat crept up Darcy’s neck and over his jaw.

  “I look forward to our ride.” Garland nodded at Georgiana. “It is a shame, sir, you cannot join us in the exercise.”

  Richard snorted. “Shall I arrange the phaeton for you, Anne—or do you prefer to have a carriage and driver?”

  “I should prefer to drive myself. You may accompany me, Darcy, if you would like. I should be happy to drive you.”

  Richard and Garland looked at each other and sniggered.

  “I do not believe our cousin is—up—for that this morning.” Richard barely choked out the words.

  “Best he stay at the house and … rest.” Garland kept a perfectly straight face.

  “Of course, you should, Brother. You must get well as soon as may be possible. After all you can hardly perform—”

  Richard and Garland broke out in a bout of coughs. Georgiana eyed them with some alarm.

  Words, many words he would have with them later.

  “Then, ladies, I expect you shall wish to dress for the occasion. And we gentleman shall supervise the horses.” Richard ushered them out of the breakfast room with a final backward glance and wink at Darcy.

  Richard had spent entirely too much time in low and coarse company.

  He struggled up from the table and rang for Mrs. Reynolds to call for the butler and his valet.

  Who would ever have thought a simple trip upstairs would require the assistance of two grown men and leave him winded, and with his heart racing? Reaching his chambers had never been so welcome.

  To celebrate, he called for a bath. Warm water and his favorite scented soap floated away layers of curmudgeon. How pleasing to be clean and properly dressed, a gentleman once again.

  Now he might engage in more pleasurable pursuits. The crutches tarnished the picture, but only a little. He clomped for the door.

  Remember your place, Son, your duty to your family. Do not offer your attentions unworthily. They shall always find you out. His father’s sharp, judgmental voice rang in his ears.

  But she was his betrothed, and the settlement in process of being drawn up. Why should he hesitate to accept what she so freely offered? It was a done thing.

  He paused and leaned against the tall mahogany bedpost. Her offer was quite free. So free as to be unmaidenly. The very air she carried herself with was one of confidence and knowledge.

  Carnal knowledge.

  He sank into onto his mattresses. Breathe. He must breathe. Just how much knowledge had she?

  He dragged his hand along his freshly shaven cheek. Was it wrong to expect his wife to come to him a maiden, chaste and untouched? He had maintained himself under good regulation, at least since his grand tour. His future wife should have as well.

  But Blanche’s reputation was beyond reproach. If no one considered her compromised, no one held any transgressions against her, did it matter what she may or may not have done?

  He chewed his knuckle. How was he to know her past? He needed to know—perhaps it was unreasonable, but he had to.

  Richard and Bingley would be of no help. And his surest source of wisdom was most certainly not to be consulted now, even if she were at Pemberley, which she was not. He raked his fingers through his hair.

  The only person with whom to discuss the matter with was Blanche herself. Not a conversation he relished, but it must come before any other diversions.

  He struggled to his feet and hobbled to her door. The hard wood stung his knuckles, like the sting of a schoolmaster’s ruler.

  A soft sound filtered through the door, indecipherable, but enough to give him leave to enter.

  The rich guest chamber had been appointed by his mother specifically for the pleasure of female guests, with everything soft and dainty and delicate. Georgiana begged to have her chambers made up like it when she had turned thirteen.

  Sunlight filtered through the sheer pink silk drapes with a complexion-flattering glow. Floral paper hangings and a pale green counterpane with matching pillows lent the room the air of a spring garden.

  Blanche lay across the bed clad only in the sheerest silk nightdress, teasing him with all that was barely hidden. It draped every womanly curve to greatest advantage, lighting his every nerve on fire.

  “Blanche.” Where had his voice gone, suddenly lost to a dry, scratchy throat?

  She murmured and shifted, her gown falling open over an exquisite breast.

  He worked his tongue over the roof of his mouth. “Blanche, I have come.”

  Her face turned toward him, and her eyes peeked open. She blinked and squinted at him.

  Did she not recognize him? He limped closer. Damn the walking sticks.

  “Da … arcy?” She slurred as though her tongue was too thi
ck for her mouth.

  “Are you unwell?”

  “Had a headache … told you that.” She rolled to her side and fumbled around the bed for something. “Took my tonic.” She held an empty bottle out to him. “Better now.”

  A splash of cold as sharp as spring water struck his face and trickled down, cooling every kindled fire.

  She glanced down at her gown and loosed another tie. A small tug and her other breast tumbled free of its covering. “Do … do they ... please you?” She smiled up crookedly.

  Her form was as beautiful and flawless as a marble sculpture and the passions sparked anew. Her sloppy drunken laugh quenched them.

  “You are unwell. I shall call your maid.”

  “I do not need a maid. I need a man. I need you.” She reached both graceful arms toward him.

  “No. I shall leave you now.”

  “But you … you have not had … what you …what you came for.” She pushed up to sit, unsteady and teetering.

  “I have had all I care for. Good day.” He bowed from his shoulders and clomped out as quickly as he could.

  He would not, could not avail himself of what she offered, not like this—a shiver snaked down his spine. Though she invited him now, would she remember she had done so when her tonic wore off? No, this was too much like taking advantage of her and that he could not do.

  His valet met him in the hall. “Have my coach readied. I will go to the parsonage.”

  “Need you some willow bark tea before you leave, sir?”

  He grumbled under his breath. Damn. Miss Elizabeth would have already prepared that for him had she been here. “Yes.”

  The valet bowed and hurried off.

  A carriage—he required a carriage for the mere mile journey to the parsonage. Humiliating. But things would soon be better.

  Soon, he would know when Miss Elizabeth would return. Then he and Georgiana might be comfortable again.

  The driver helped him down in front of the vicarage all covered in white climbing roses, just beginning to bloom. Gah! To be handed out like a lady! He would never, never play pall-mall again, nor even set foot on a mall for the rest of his life.