Chapter 13

The library was enormous, with three fireplaces and three large chandeliers, as well as row upon row of ebony shelving. The tomes thereupon were not precisely matching sets in coordinating colours of tooled leather and gilded pages; rather, they ran in all sizes, shapes, colours, and ages. Darcy had not, of course, memorised every one of them, for they represented the work of his father and grandfather’s lifetimes, as well as his own. Nevertheless, he knew them—knew the sections dedicated to agrarian pursuits and religious ones, the atlases, the elegantly illustrated pictorial masterpieces from classical Greece and Rome, the shelves possessing dictionaries, philosophies, histories, the works of Shakespeare, Thomson, Grey, Pope, Milton, and more recent purchases of Byron and Scott. The books were the greatest legacy his father had given him, and he could not enter without feeling a little, at least, of his father’s presence.

Once they were seated in front of the fire, Matlock wasted no time. “My dear Lady Matlock, when Ridley told me Cassandra was bringing her sister to this house party, I thought little of it, beyond that it would be good for Darcy to make her acquaintance.”

“And so it is,” she replied, a bit tersely. “Miss Lushington is accomplished, beautiful, of excellent family and property. Why would I not wish for him to take an opportunity to meet her in a less formal setting?”

“Why not indeed? It seems, however, that Georgiana might have had similar plans.”

Lady Matlock sniffed. “Even Georgiana, who is still a child, has noticed that Darcy spends very little time in town forwarding his own interests. If she put forth efforts to arrange females for his notice, her youth and inexperience have led her amiss. The Bingley girl is well off, but not nearly what Darcy has been raised to expect. Miss Bentley is eligible, I suppose, but she has the oddest notions of suitable conversation. I cannot see Darcy with her. As for the Bennet sisters, they have almost nothing! They live in Cheapside, or near enough to it, with an uncle who is a solicitor!”

She pronounced the word ‘solicitor’ in the same accents she might have used for ‘circus animal’.

A part of him had known, by the seating at dinner the evening before, that the Bennets could not be anything noteworthy. A small hope that he had not even realised he nurtured, plummeted. He was in trade himself, unbeknownst to them; he was hardly one to criticise their upbringing. Still, for his sister’s sake, he must look higher. Must I not?

“Neither Georgiana nor my aunts need concern themselves with my future. I shall take a wife of my own choosing when the time is right and not a second before.”

They both turned to him, but his uncle spoke first. “And yet, Darcy, here you are in the country, in the comfort of your own home, surrounded by eligible females.”

“They are not all eligible,” his aunt protested.

“Surrounded by eligible females,” the earl insisted. “Some of them more so than others, perhaps, but all eligible. Do you know why you have never considered Anne?”

“Because she is about as interesting in conversation as these wall papers,” he muttered, gesturing towards the hand-embossed prints nearest him—then gave them a measuring glance. His mother had designed them herself, from her memories of a palace in Italy. “Less interesting, perhaps.”

“Like your own dear sister, Anne has never been a comfortable conversationalist,” the earl said in gentle rebuke. “I believe that your reasons have far more to do with my sisters’ interference in your life than anything Anne ever did or did not say. I have an idea, and I ask you not to reject it out of hand.”

“What is it?” Darcy asked, more sharply than he had intended. A pit of dread formed in his gut, for as too many of his uncle’s political opponents had learnt, one seldom saw his manoeuvres until one was overwhelmed by them.

“When one looks to find fault, one will find it. I submit that your perception of the marriage mart resembles a fox hunt more than coming to know a female as a prospective companion.”

“That is ridiculous!” his aunt declared.

Darcy agreed wholeheartedly. “I am no animal in pursuit of prey.”

“What is more,” said the earl, continuing as if they had not spoken, “you are not the hunter in this little performance, but the fox, pursued by a pack of hungry hounds, forced into hiding lest he die. I promise you—the fox cannot ever see a single thing to like or respect in any of the dogs chasing him.”

His aunt tsked, as though her husband was speaking nonsensically, and Darcy wanted to agree, and yet…the memories of past reproofs from his father, Ridley, and even Richard assailed him.

‘Never dance a second dance with a girl, not unless you are prepared to give her ideas of matrimony. Avoid the opening set of any ball, unless you dance with an older relation. Women will make assumptions of a man of your position, upon the slightest evidence.’

‘Her mother trapped Edgeworth by ensuring he was locked on a balcony with her for fifteen minutes during the Parkington soiree. Do not allow a female to take your arm—it leads nowhere you want to go.’

‘You looked too long at her, Darcy! That is all it takes, for the heir to the Darcy fortune!’

He could see it now—as a youth and young man, he had been rather awkward. His male relations had been protective of him, unwilling to see him either trapped into marriage or ruined in reputation out of ignorance. His mother and Lady Catherine’s desire to unite him with Anne had added another layer of cautiousness. His period of personal poverty and yes, distrust of others due to his erstwhile good friend’s blackmail and even his father’s mistake, increased it. Richard’s afflictions, finally, had given him the excuse he needed to cease socialising completely.

Which naturally had a direct effect upon Georgiana’s loneliness, and the ease with which Wickham had made her his victim.

“I had already come to the conclusion that it is time I think of marriage,” he said, a little resentfully. “I do not require anyone, however, to procure me a bride.”

“Of course not,” the earl agreed heartily, all satisfaction that his point had been made. “Simply because we are so comfortably situated here at Pemberley with a group of lovely young unmarried ladies, there is no reason to pick one of them. It might be, however, a way to ease into the social side of life—a period of practise, so to speak. What if you were able to converse somewhat privately with each, learn to know them better, without a single bit of pressure that any of them think a marriage proposal is to follow? Would that not be agreeable?”

“It might be,” he replied guardedly, struck by the thought of half an hour’s secluded conversation with the girl from Cheapside.

“If nothing comes of it, there is no harm done. However, you will have polished those skills in conversation and comportment enough to feel easier in company.” He proceeded to explain his idea—which took some time, as Darcy enumerated several possible objections. “A few harmless exercises, a bit of fun for all your guests, and a bit of practise for you. Trust me, Darcy. ’Tis brilliant.”

Darcy did not want to proceed. With one exception, he was not at all interested in browsing through the characters and dispositions of his female guests. Besides, every conversation with Anne de Bourgh was fraught, whether or not his uncle believed them to be unremarkable.

However, there was that one exception. It was possible that he might have an opportunity to converse with and better know Miss Elizabeth Bennet, without raising her hopes. Tantalising, intriguing Elizabeth Bennet. Could he resist?

He should resist. Definitely.

“Very well,” he said instead.