Chapter 17

Thankfully, Darcy’s own rooms were near—he was able to reach sanctuary before Miss Elizabeth’s onslaught of well-wishers arrived. His feelings were a mass of tangled emotions.

Holding her all-too pleasing figure in his arms had been the highpoint of his year. Guilt, that he had so much pleasure in her nearness, in his hands upon her, smote him. Fury at Miss Bingley’s incompetence circled his thoughts.

He had been approaching the young ladies while they played, telling Bingley he needed a word with Georgiana. Bingley, ever eager to join Miss Bennet, bent to speak with his seated angel. Darcy was caught by Miss Elizabeth’s exuberance, watching enraptured, even as a part of his mind wondered why Miss Bingley was charging so close to her opponent—everyone knew it was easiest to give oneself plenty of space to keep up.

Lady Matlock had stepped into his line of vision then, distracting him. He had seen nothing of the interaction until Miss Elizabeth fell to the ground.

Miss Bingley had always been ferociously competitive; motherless, with a father who took little notice, she had often sought attention from the brother only one year her senior. When Darcy, in essence, joined the family, she followed them both about. When rebuffed, she had at times resorted to tricks and even aggression. Foolishly, they had laughed at her childish guile, mopped her tears when her chicanery or inept assaults failed, and in general allowed, encouraged, almost taught her to be selfish and overbearing—they had spoilt her, never trying to correct her temper.

Had she swung viciously at Miss Elizabeth? He could not think she would go so far as that, but she certainly had become too caught up in the competition, and too aggressive and thoughtless in her determination to win it. Worst of all was her lack of remorse, her selfish disdain for the feelings of her victim.

His anger at Bingley’s sister was misplaced. This was his fault and the lovely, graceful Miss Elizabeth, possessing the prettiest smile he had ever seen, had paid.

“I hate her,”Georgiana said. “With every fibre of my soul, I despise her. If Fitzwilliam marries her, I am moving to Matlock.”

Elizabeth, propped on pillows at the insistence of nearly every person in the household, smiled sympathetically at her new friend.

“Is your brother in any danger of marrying her?” She asked only out of curiosity, not because she gave a fig who Mr Darcy married.

“I do not know. I hope not. It will be my fault if he does.”

“I think Mr Darcy perfectly sound of mind,” Sarah put in from the wingback chair pulled close to the bed. “I cannot see him choosing a rabid mongrel as a mate. Why do you fear he might?”

Jane hid her smile but Elizabeth giggled, and Georgiana looked as if she wanted to.

Then the younger girl sighed. “Not long ago, I…I made a large error in judgment. There was a man…I will not go into details, and anyway, I hate him now. But Fitzwilliam believes that had he married earlier and provided me with an elder sister, it would never have happened.”

“Was he handsome?” Elizabeth asked. “If so, take my word for it—a sister would not have made him appear any uglier.”

Sarah and Jane laughed—and, Elizabeth was happy to see, Georgiana joined them. The girl was entirely too serious most of the time.

“He was very handsome,” Georgiana said, blushing. “I suppose I am a shallow girl.”

“All it means is that there is nothing wrong with your eyesight,” Sarah said. “Atropa Belladonna—it blossoms so prettily, but is an absolute stinker. It is not your fault you could not recognise the species. He baited his hook with practised charm, and went fishing for a lass too young to realise it.”

“If only good character was as easily perceived as broad shoulders and a handsome face,” Elizabeth agreed, smiling.

“It is unfortunate that great beauties of either sex do not follow the example of our dear Miss Bennet who has crafted her character instead of casting her lures,” Sarah said.

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “She is the Ideal, lovely inside and out.”

“I am not!” Jane protested, blushing in embarrassment.

Sceptical expressions appeared on every face, not just Elizabeth’s. Her sister was not simply pretty, but exquisitely so, and her blushes only added to her innate beauty.

But Jane frowned. “A handsome appearance is all well and good, but if one does not possess a certain something in her air, in her address and expressions, such as Lizzy does, her looks will not help her land the male in question. Not really.”

Guilt shot through Elizabeth, her own mistakes in Jane’s direction spearing her. “Jane, no?—”

“We have overused our fishing metaphors, I think. Georgiana, you must tell me, who is the handsome stranger wandering about your gardens?” Sarah interrupted. “I met him yesterday, and require reassurance that I did not see a ghost.”

Georgiana looked very alarmed. “Handsome stranger? Golden-haired? Blue-eyed?”

But Sarah shook her head. “Dark hair, dark eyes. Oh, he has a scar across his face which diminishes the effect of his looks, I suppose. But the overall picture is very handsome indeed.”

“You cannot mean Richard?” Georgiana cried, looking shocked. “You saw him? Did he speak to you? Was he…um…fully clothed?”

All heads swivelled towards her. “It is only that at times, not very recently, he has, um, forgotten to don his shirt before leaving the house. He was in the war, you know.” She flushed, not nearly so attractively as Jane.

“I am sorry to have missed it,” Sarah answered seriously. “One always wonders what lies beneath those massive amounts of linen men are always wrapped in.”

Her friends gaped at her. Elizabeth stifled a giggle.

“Oh, I should not have said that aloud. I apologise. It is my dratted curiosity. Yes, he was fully and respectably dressed. I wanted him to look at one of your wild orchids—the one you all refused to tramp back to view yesterday for fear of missing your tea. He was about as interested as you were, I am sorry to say.”

Georgiana shook her head. “If he spoke to you at all, ’tis astonishing. He is Richard Fitzwilliam, my cousin, Viscount Ridley’s younger brother. He does not care for most people, you see. Not since his return from Portugal.”

“I cannot say he took to me either,” Sarah said, adding a dramatic sigh. “I fear I would need the looks and address of both Miss Bennets to change his mind. It is a shame.” She gave them all a sly grin. “I would dearly love to reel him in.”