Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions Page 7

  “Sir, before you go.” Mr. Darcy stepped forward. “May I request that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth join our house party, for the sake of the theatrical? Miss Elizabeth promised Georgiana she would help her learn her lines. I know she will want to practice a great deal. It should be easier for all involved if Miss Elizabeth is here.”

  “How do you feel about this, Lizzy?” Papa studied her face.

  There was no point in trying to hide anything from him—he always knew. “I do feel responsible for her dilemma.”

  “You feel responsible for foul weather on a day I wish for fine. You take far too much on yourself.” He turned to Mr. Darcy. “Have you suggested ….”

  “No, sir, Miss Elizabeth is not responsible for any of this. It is all my doing and mine alone.”

  Papa grumbled something indecipherable. “As long as that is entirely understood. My question remains. What do you wish for, Lizzy?”

  “I am concerned you will need Jane and me at home.”

  “Mary and Kitty, and Lydia too, can very well step up—it would do them good to rise to the challenge. But that tells me nothing of your wishes.” He took her hand. “It is entirely acceptable for you to indulge in something for your own pleasure, my dear. Not everything must be done in the service of others. You must refresh yourself, too—an empty well cannot provide refreshment for anyone.” He stepped a little closer and whispered in her ear. “You are a good girl, my dear. I would be pleased for you and Jane to have a bit of a holiday. It is not as if you would be so very far from home. Should there be any real need, we can send for you directly.”

  “I would like to visit Pemberley.”

  Papa squeezed her hand. “You and Jane have my permission. Mr. Darcy, I charge you to protect them in my stead. I expect you to be a direct participant in this theatrical so that you may observe it all first-hand and ensure nothing untoward is asked of my daughters.”

  The panicked look she had seen in Georgiana’s eyes appeared in Mr. Darcy’s. Papa recognized it, too, but remained unmoved. How unlike him not to have compassion on another’s discomfiture. He cocked his head and tapped his foot.

  “Very well, sir. I shall do as you ask.”

  “Then I shall trust you with that which is most precious to me. Shall we return to the party? I believe you have some news for Jane, and I for Lydia.” Papa set off ahead of them.

  Chapter 5

  Why had he capitulated to Bennet’s terms? Darcy resisted the urge to clutch his temples and groan as he trudged back to the picnic. Few demands were worse than performing in company. It was a very high price to pay for Georgiana’s safety.

  At least, this once, Georgiana was delighted at his efforts on her behalf, squealing and clutching Miss Elizabeth’s hands before she hurried off to inform Mrs. Reynolds of the new plans.

  Miss Elizabeth then followed her father, pulling Miss Lydia and the rest of her sisters into the gazebo. Thankfully, he had the decorum to manage the matter in relative privacy.

  Anne and Richard approached, looking back and forth from him to the Bennets.

  “So, we are to have more company?” Anne rolled her eyes and leaned heavily on Richard’s arm. “Do you not think people of their class very tiresome?”

  “Why must you find fault in everything?” Richard’s lip curled back just a mite. “Everything is one shade of disagreeable or another in your eyes. You really must learn to see the advantages in a situation, not just the flaws.”

  “But to add two more ladies—and I use the word only in the most general of ways— to the party. We are now so unbalanced.”

  “The Bennets are agreeable company.” Richard released Anne’s arm and stepped back. “If the elder had more of a dowry, I’d pursue her myself. Her temperament is as lovely as her face. And Miss Elizabeth, if she were not so poor, I think she might have made a match for you, Darce.”

  Darcy snorted and glowered. The Bennets were from a completely different social sphere—Richard should not even joke about becoming affiliated with them. Those sorts of remarks tended to be overheard, repeated, and the source of no end of trouble.

  “Heavens, no!” Anne clutched her chest. “Even if she were high enough to be suitable, she is neither pretty enough for you nor … well, she is lacking in the proper deference to male judgment, in my opinion.”

  “You think Miss Garland a better choice for him?” Richard snickered into his hand.

  “Her wealth and connections certainly are. She is far better looking than that upstart.”

  Darcy schooled his features into something properly neutral. No doubt Anne thought herself a better match for him. That was certainly what her mother had raised her to believe. Hopefully, unlike Aunt Catherine, Anne would be well-mannered enough not to bring it up directly.

  “But her deference to Darcy is certainly not as favorable as you suggest it ought to be,” Richard said.

  “I was not intimating that she would be at all suitable for Darcy.” Anne tucked her hand into the crook of Darcy’s arm. “Only more suitable than Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I will thank you both to cease your speculations. I am in no need of a matchmaker.” How could he disengage himself from Anne without creating greater problems?

  “I beg to differ, Cousin. I think you are in great need, and you should listen to my advice. Miss Garland is an excellent foil to your stuffiness. Under her guidance, you might well become acceptable in society.”

  “Richard! How can you say such a thing? Do not listen to him. He only means to provoke.” Anne batted her eyes at Darcy.

  He cringed and removed his arm from her grasp. Damn the consequences. “Excuse me.” He stalked away.

  Was no one but Miss Elizabeth on his side today?

  That evening, Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth joined them for dinner. Whether encouraged by Miss Elizabeth’s presence, or cowed by Anne’s badgering, Georgiana suggested the ladies withdraw after dinner and leave the gentlemen to their port. A most gratifying turn of events considering Anne had placed herself next to him during the meal, and all sensible conversation seemed to be taking place at the other end of the table. What a relief to enjoy a few moments of good port and conversation where he might relax just a bit.

  The servants cleared the tablecloth away, revealing the brightly polished walnut tabletop that reflected the flickering candles nearly as well as the wall mirrors. How much easier his breath came with the clutter cleared. He poured the rich burgundy port and distributed the crystal wine glasses.

  Bennet savored a long sip. “Mr. Darcy, your taste is impeccable.”

  “Indeed, it is.” Garland raised his glass. “You are a most gracious host. Particularly in indulging my sister’s desire to flaunt my humble theatrical work before all of you.”

  “You are not keen to have it performed?” Bingley asked.

  “Of course, I am. There is little to compare with seeing your works come to life on a stage. But this work is still quite rough.”

  “What do you mean by ‘rough’?” Bennet resettled himself in his seat with a pleasing parental air.

  “Nothing untoward, to be sure. I just have not quite worked out all my characters, their motives—”

  “You do not know how it ends, do you?” Richard chuckled and took a long draw of his port.

  “Not precisely.” Garland drew his fist along his chin.

  Bennet grumbled. Good, perhaps he could raise an objection that might bring a halt to this scheme. “I thought you told me—”

  “I did, and I have purposed that virtue will indeed triumph in the end. But I am at a loss as to why or how.”

  “I do not follow.” Bennet’s shaggy brows drew tight.

  “Neither do I,” Richard said.

  “Are you not the master of your pen?” Bingley asked. “Do you not hold the fate of your stage-world in your hands, your players doing as you direct?”

  “Would that were true! A common misconception, indeed. I am in no more control of my characters than our ho
st Darcy here is in control of the seasons. Like him, I can only try my best to predict their direction and do my best to stave off disaster when the unexpected comes.”

  What melodrama! Darcy fought not to roll his eyes. “Surely you jest. You do not know at the beginning what the end will be?”

  “I try to, most diligently I do. And sometimes my characters are most cooperative with me. They obey my command and speak the very words I intend for them. Well-behaved children who honor their father. But then others are as headstrong as—well, as my sister. They take on their own notions, speak words I did not expect of them—even march from the room when I would command them to stay.”

  “Balderdash! You speak of them as though they were alive and willful beings,” Darcy muttered.

  “Does your harvest, do your flocks, always follow your commands? Are you ever in perfect control over all that surrounds you?” Garland shrugged almost apologetically.

  “By no means, only one who believes himself the Almighty could make such a claim.” Darcy turned to Bennet who frowned just a bit.

  “And I am certainly not He, sir, merely a mortal man. So why should I be able to exert more control over my world than you can yours?”

  “Because mine is real, tangible, substantive. Yours is of your own making. If you are unable to order what is of your own creation, then what are you able to manage?”

  “According to Blanche, very little.” Garland raised his glass to them and took a gulp.

  Bingley laughed. “Your sister and mine seem to have much in common.”

  “She is not actually my sister.”

  “Indeed?” Bennet set his glass down. Hard. “How then do you come to pass her as your sister?”

  “Do not think ill of me, for I do regard her as my sister. She is my cousin, daughter to my father’s elder brother, who originally held the title of baronet. He and his wife were struck by small pox. She was sent to us for her protection and then stayed when her parents succumbed to the infection. Since Blanche was their only child, the title passed to my father, and thus to myself. She and I grew up together as brother and sister might, so I count her as a sister. I fancy being the sister of a baronet is preferable to being the cousin of one—I hope I do not cast her in a bad light if I suggest that she likes the distinction and connections it affords.”

  Interesting. Darcy chewed his cheek. It should not matter that she was not so closely related to the baronet, but it did. Miss Garland might be no more like him than Georgiana was like Richard. Her peculiarities could be only an affectation due to her current association with him, but not native to herself. After all, Georgiana did pick up characteristics of the Fitzwilliams when she visited. Interesting.

  “…so then, tell me of what you have crafted thus far in your play. I am less convinced than ever that my daughters should be involved.”

  “Oh, pish posh. Show me a little good faith. It is called The Appearance of Goodness. It is the story of a young woman of good fortune and good breeding who is faced with two suitors. Both rich and handsome men.”

  Richard sniffed and waved off the notion. “No wonder you are having difficulty—could you not find something of more interest to write on? That is the gossip every young woman of the ton desires to be the center of.”

  “And no man wants to have a part in.” Bingley elbowed Richard.

  “On first glance, it would appear so. But bear with me, the story goes much deeper. No one—well almost no one—is as they first seem. Before we can resolve the apparent conflict of who will marry whom, we must come to know each character’s secrets.”

  “Secrets?” Darcy ran his fingers under the edge of the table. Secrets were rarely a good thing and never a safe thing.

  “Yes, secrets. Everyone has them—even you, Mr. Bennet.” Garland studied Bennet.

  “What secrets do you believe a widowed old vicar with five daughters would keep?” Bingley snickered.

  Garland studied Bennet, tapping his fist on his lips. “A colder man would speculate that you secretly wished they were all sons—but that is far too obvious—and obvious does not make for good drama. No, for that it must be something entirely unexpected.”

  “So, he is a vital member in a secret tea smuggling operation and uses the follies of Pemberley as stations for the transfer of the illegal stuff?” Richard asked.

  “And unbeknownst to his fellow smugglers, he is actually an agent to the crown setting them up for capture,” Bingley added.

  Bennet’s eyebrow arched. “Thank you for redeeming my character. For that you may have permission to converse with either of my daughters freely tonight.”

  Bingley smiled sheepishly. “I count myself honored.”

  “While that plot device is certainly unexpected, it perhaps goes so far afield as to be unpalatable to my audience. No, a secret must be both unexpected and acceptable to the ones to whom it is revealed.”

  Darcy bit his upper lip. Pompous nonsense.

  “So, then what do you propose?” Richard leaned back and crossed his arms.

  Garland stared at the ceiling, a range of nameless expressions passing over his face, like a man trying on hats for fit and style. “You are difficult to make out, sir, for your character is good at keeping secrets. I think—if I were writing your character, your secret would not be so dark as smuggling but rather something inconsistent with the man we commonly see. I might suggest you would have a truly shocking temper and live in fear and dread of ever being found out. So, you portray yourself as kind and moderate all the while a tempest seethes within.”

  “Which becomes the source of your conflict?” Bennet asked.

  Why was he playing along, encouraging this nonsense?

  “Indeed. What happens when his secret is exposed—will he rise above his weakness or fall as a tragic hero? Sometimes, I do not know until the very end. Such is my dilemma with the two suitors now. They do not readily confess to me, so I do not quite know what they are about. They both appear good, but father and sister favor one, mother and brother and friend another. My poor heroine does not know whom to believe.”

  What utter hogwash.

  Bennet stroked his chin. “That is a very realistic dilemma, for who can know a man’s heart? Do you not worry that perhaps it is too close to truth for your audience to appreciate?”

  “Another very good question for which I have no equal answer. I had thought at first this was to be a farce, a comedic romp in the ridiculous, but it has turned far more serious than that. Yet, it still retains too much good humor to be a tragedy.”

  “I do not envy your dilemma.” Richard swirled his glass. “I have no desire to play maker, even in a world of my own creation.”

  “Perhaps that is why Blanche contrived this theatrical as a means of helping me past this impasse. She has always been the most considerate of souls.”

  ∞∞∞

  The ladies paraded in a loose group to the drawing room through a long, dimly lit corridor populated by an array of portraits and landscapes of country houses, enough to inhabit an entire county. Elizabeth lingered behind the rest.

  Miss Bingley and Miss de Bourgh’s conversation offered little pleasure. How did Jane managed to tolerate it with such equanimity? Miss Garland’s seemed better, but only a little. Though she did not engage in the same sorts of talk, her facial expressions spoke volumes, most of it rather caustic.

  Odd that no one else seemed to notice. But even if they did, what could come of it? No doubt someone would come to her with the observation, and she would be put in the position of having to defend Miss Garland. Not an ideal circumstance by any reckoning.

  Miss Darcy dawdled at the doorway and took Elizabeth’s arm as she entered the drawing room, holding her back. “Do you think I chose rightly, Miss Elizabeth? Withdrawing with the ladies?”

  “I am quite sure no one will fault you for following established convention.” Elizabeth patted her hand as she scanned the room, heady with the fragrance of beeswax and a veritable garden of la
dies’ perfumes.

  The burgundy and ivory of the drawing room lent a formality to the space that was just the slightest bit strict and demanding—reminiscent of the way Pemberley felt when the two elder Darcys were alive. Mrs. Darcy, gentle, but formidable, somehow mediated the elder Mr. Darcy’s harshness, but it always lingered in the air. It was difficult not to walk gingerly and look over one’s shoulder in their company. Only in the late Mr. Darcy’s waning years did she understand what drove him to demand so much of his son. Not that it excused the pain he inflicted, but at least it made sense.

  Miss Darcy shook her arm. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, yes, I am sorry. I was distracted for a moment. Have you rearranged the furniture in the room? I do not remember the chairs being so near the cabinet.”

  “I did, just a little. But that is not why I am worried. I do not wish to embarrass myself or my brother.” Miss Darcy bit her lip and stared at her guests, gathered at the far side of the room, admiring a tall curiosity cabinet.

  How kind of Miss Garland to illuminate the other ladies about the collection of shells that Mr. Darcy had acquired from the Indies.

  “I have every faith in you. Do not fear. Your company wants to see you succeed. They will be gracious to you.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  Miss Garland peeked over her shoulder at them, eyebrow raised.

  “They all desire your brother’s good opinion and are wise enough to realize they cannot obtain it if they are critical of you in any way. So, they will convince themselves that whatever you do is right and proper. Even if you were to dance upon the pianoforte, they would create some excellent reason for it being the right and proper thing to do. They might even join you there. Perhaps not Miss de Bourgh and Miss Bingley, but Miss Garland would likely dance with you and defy any who dare call it peculiar.”

  Miss Darcy tittered behind her hand. “You say that to humor me.”

  “Miss Bingley might placate you, but when have you ever known me to speak words I do not mean?”

  “Or not to know exactly what you are talking about.” Miss Darcy sighed. “You probably would like to go over there and correct Miss Garland’s description of my brother’s favorite shell. Even I know she is entirely wrong. It is a cowrie, not a conch.”