Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Georgiana was in better spirits than she had known for many months. Never could she have imagined that an encounter of but a few moments with a complete stranger could induce such an enduring sense of happiness, yet here she was, hours after her brief exchange with Lord Rutherford, still aglow with pleasure. She harboured a small measure of guilt for not yet mentioning the meeting to anybody, but she would, when a suitable opportunity arose.

Her companion would be the trickiest to handle. Mrs Annesley had been hired after the debacle in Ramsgate, when Georgiana had narrowly escaped ruin at the hands of George Wickham. She was a kind lady, but so determined to fulfil her role as protector that Georgiana had only to look at a member of the opposite sex to receive a stern reminder of the fragility of women's virtue and be dragged away to safety. That would be well and good if she were still a naive fifteen-year-old. As it was, she was only a few months shy of eighteen and was in London for her first Season. If the whole object was not to meet men, then she knew not what it was.

Her brother and cousin might be more reasonable, for they were desirous of her making a suitable match, and Lord Rutherford was assuredly no Wickham. He was, perhaps, a little less handsome, but where the latter's countenance was permanently decorated with the easy grins of shameless flirtation, the former's was more nobly framed with the genuine smiles of quiet respect. Moreover, Lord Rutherford was a viscount; he was courteous and well-informed—and steadfastly proper, for he had asked repeatedly for an introduction to Mrs Annesley and was only denied one because Georgiana had pretended not to be able to see her in the crowds and begged to defer one until the morrow. For now, she held her secret close, revelling in the anticipation of seeing him again the next day, and wondering what had occurred to put everybody else in such ill humour.

Her cousin Fitzwilliam had come to dine with them, but unlike the usual banter and cajolery he brought with him, there had persisted a strange tension to both his and Darcy's demeanours throughout dinner. It reminded Georgiana, disagreeably, of their comportment shortly after her failed elopement. They each had that same restless look about them, exchanging furtive glances and seeming impatient for her to be gone so that they might talk about her.

Strongly averse to giving them any such opportunity, she asked them to forgo their after-dinner brandies and join her directly in the drawing room. Mrs Annesley's absence due to a prior engagement gave convenient credence to her plea not to be left alone, and Darcy and the colonel dutifully followed her out of the dining room.

Ten minutes later, she rather regretted not simply going to bed and leaving them to say whatever they liked about her. Her brother had taken up a position leaning against the mantel, staring blankly into the empty hearth, and occasionally nudging the grate with the toe of his boot. The colonel seemed to be on a mission to drink the house dry of spirits and had already made three trips to the sideboard to refill his glass. Neither seemed inclined to speak.

With a sigh, Georgiana comprehended that if she wished for conversation, she would have to start one herself. The pall in the room was certainly not conducive to broaching the subject of Lord Rutherford, but thinking of that reminded her of something else she thought might lighten the mood. She wished she had thought of it earlier.

"I saw your batman at the gallery on Pall Mall today, Cousin. With a young lady. He was being terribly sweet, pointing out all the finest paintings to her. I may have inadvertently-on-purpose stood close enough to hear him invite her to walk out with him tomorrow in Potters Fields."

She had been expecting this to draw some amusement, at least from the colonel, if not her brother. Instead, it brought Darcy whipping around to face them, his expression one of furious disbelief, while the colonel raised both eyebrows in a guilty fashion and took a vast gulp of his drink.

"Is that not romantic of him?" she added, all bewilderment.

Both men ignored her. Darcy took two angry strides towards Fitzwilliam then drew up short and pressed a fist to his lips. After several measured inhalations through his nose, he said, "You sent Mulhall to meet Elizabeth?"

This did nothing to lessen Georgiana's confusion. "Elizabeth…Bennet? No, Brother, it was not her. At least, I do not think it was. Although, I was behind them, so I cannot be absolutely certain." Upon reflection, the young woman had been wearing a pelisse of a similar colour to the one Georgiana had last seen Miss Bennet wearing. And she was of a similar height. And she had spoken in similar accents. "Actually…it could have been her. I wish I had known. I would have said good day. I ought to have said something. Perhaps." The more she said, the more darkly her brother scowled. "Or perhaps not."

"What were you doing at the gallery? I thought you had already been," Fitzwilliam asked her. He looked at her intently as he awaited her answer. Georgiana thought it an excessively flimsy ploy to avoid Darcy's ferocious glare.

"I did not have the opportunity to take in the whole exhibition on my first visit. Indeed, I might go again tomorrow, for there are so many fine works there, I believe I could go every day for a month and find something new to see every time."

That was not untrue—the skill of the artists and intricacy of the art fascinated her—though she thought that day's particular find would be difficult to best. When Lord Rutherford had sat down next to her with his unaffected, affable smile, her heart had leapt about like a jack-in-the-box. When he began to talk, openly and warmly, as though they were old acquaintances, she had quite melted with delight. It had not been long, of course, before his mistake came to light—she was not the individual his cousin had sent him to meet. That young lady had never appeared, however, and instead, Lord Rutherford had enraptured Georgiana with his knowledge of the paintings and their various artists. She grew warm remembering his gentle but sincere attentiveness and dared to wonder whether he was thinking of her with the same fondness.

"At a shilling a visit, you would do better to look more diligently the first time," Fitzwilliam quipped.

Nobody laughed. His smile died on his lips. Darcy continued to glare rancorously at him. Georgiana decided it would be a spectacularly impolitic moment to mention her assignation with Lord Rutherford, and excused herself to bed without reference to him, her plans for the morrow, or the unfamiliar but not unpleasant flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

The door closed, and Darcy rounded on his cousin. " Mulhall? Hell's bells, Fitzwilliam, I thought you comprehended how important this was to me!"

His cousin held up one hand in defence and used the other to push himself from his chair. "Untwist your bollocks, man. Something came up at the barracks, and I could not get away. It was send Mulhall or leave her to Rutherford, and I knew you would not like me to do that." He approached and grasped Darcy's shoulder. "He assured me the message was safely delivered and your part in it kept concealed."

Darcy batted his hand away and walked with quick steps across the room. He had been waiting all evening with barely repressed impatience to hear it confirmed that Elizabeth had been forewarned, that she was safe. Beyond that, he had grown nigh on desperate to hear news of her, to have her words relayed to him—to discover whether she had asked after him. It was a chance—and one that was never likely to be repeated—to have some small connexion to her, however fleeting, and this alteration blasted his last hopes of achieving even that much.

"Yes!" he retorted. "He warned her off Rutherford, then jumped directly into his place! What the devil? Elizabeth cannot step out with your batman! I will not see her saved from one blackguard only to be passed around the bloody barracks!"

"Steady on," Fitzwilliam replied defensively. "Mulhall is a decent fellow. In fact, if you cease your paroxysms for a moment and look at it with an impartial eye, he is not a bad match for her."

"An impartial eye ? Is that supposed to be amusing?"

"No—unusually. Look, he is from a good family, he is not without connexions—yours truly included. He has money, and he is a thoroughly nice chap. He is also not a cad. Miss Bennet could do a lot worse."

"She could also do a darn sight better! Fitzwilliam, you may be easy watching the man who irons your shirts make love to the woman I want to be my wife, but I assure you, I am not!"

Fitzwilliam had filled two glasses while Darcy railed, and he came towards him now with one proffered in a conciliatory gesture. "Forgive me. I have, once again, underestimated the strength of your regard for Miss Bennet. You must give some allowance for the fact that this old dog has a very confined modus operandi when it comes to the fairer sex. I am afraid sensibility is outside my area of expertise."

Darcy accepted the glass and knocked back a substantial gulp before conceding, with a sardonic huff of laughter, "As it is mine."

Fitzwilliam dropped back into his chair. "I shall speak to Mulhall. Tell him not to meet her." He must have perceived Darcy's dissatisfaction, for he added, with an impatient sigh, "Will that not suffice? What troubles you now?"

"I cannot like the thought of her left wandering the park, waiting in vain for him to come. In Potters Fields, too! Hardly the sort of place a young lady ought to loiter if she can avoid it. What was Mulhall thinking?"

"Who says it was his idea? It is not far from the City—perhaps she suggested it. Not everybody has the means to hop in a curricle and trot all the way across town to prance up and down Rotten Row at the drop of a hat. But in any case, I daresay she is not foolish enough to go alone."

Darcy grimaced, all too aware of Elizabeth's propensity to walk unaccompanied, sometimes for many miles.

Fitzwilliam let out an almighty sigh. "Very well! I shall go myself and explain to Miss Bennet that Mulhall cannot be spared from his duties. But I beg you would make this the last time I must interfere in your disastrous love life."

It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to remind Fitzwilliam of the damage he had already done to his love life by the careless disclosure to Elizabeth of his part in separating Bingley and her sister. Were it not for that, Darcy's proposal might not have been so emphatically rejected, and his efforts to win back Elizabeth's good opinion might have met with more success.

He said nothing of it. The past could not be changed, and he needed Fitzwilliam to help avoid a future disaster. He only thanked him and prayed no further incidents would occur at the barracks that would prevent him going this time.