Chapter Six

October 1811

London

Darcy

Darcy's boredom took him to the commercial district of London one afternoon in search of a diversion and unfamiliar sights. Cheapside was a busy place, so he left his carriage in favor of walking about. It was much faster to do so, given the congestion of the streets.

There were warehouses aplenty, each with painted signs displaying the names of the businesses and the goods they carried. There was Winston Woodworking , Thompson's Textiles, Hatfield Haberdashery Supply…. The list went on and on. One building, in better repair than some others, caught his eye.

"Gardiner's Emporium," he read. Hmm. Not much in the name to tell him what was inside. He approached, trailed by his footman, Jameson, and pushed the door open.

The inside of the warehouse was expansive and filled to the brim with all kinds of wares and treasures. He walked around in wonder, noting the exotic smells of spices in the air. It was apparent that the inventory came from all over the world.

"May I help you, sir?" a cheerful, portly gentleman asked.

Unsure how to reply, Darcy said, "Merely exploring—I have never been to such a… diverse place."

"I should imagine not," the man chuckled. "I am Edward Gardiner, owner of this hidden treasure, at your service."

"You are an importer?" Darcy asked.

"Indeed, I am, sir," he replied. "I also dabble in exports, but my specialty is acquiring hard-to-get and coveted items. All legal, I assure you."

"Your stock is marvelous," Darcy said, truly impressed. "Have you any books?"

"Yes," Gardiner confirmed. "I store them in another room, where the heat will not damage them. I have a few new arrivals, including first editions of some very fine works. There is a handsome volume of Robinson Crusoe that I could show you, if you wish."

Darcy eagerly accepted. Defoe was one of his favorite authors. Mr. Gardiner had not exaggerated the fineness of the book, either. It was bound in a dark red leather, with gilded letters on the front and spine. The pages also had gold leaf gilding, and Darcy immediately knew he wanted it. He bought the volume along with several other books he had been seeking for his libraries, and added a few gifts for Georgiana to his purchases, including an intricately crafted bracelet, a new fan, and a cashmere shawl. As he moved to the counter to make his purchases, he spotted a unique set of bookends in the shape of dragons and promptly added them to his pile. Darcy gave his name to Mr. Gardiner's clerk so that he could open an account to pay for his current purchases in full and provide an address to direct future bills.

"Thank you very much for your custom," Mr. Gardiner said cheerfully. "I hope to see you again."

"You will," Darcy said firmly. "Rarely have I seen so wondrous a collection. I am for Hertfordshire for several months, but I hope to be in London this winter and shall bring my sister with me next time I come here."

"I have family in Hertfordshire," Mr. Gardiner offered. "My brother-in-law has an estate there."

He had connections to the gentry! How fascinating! Darcy's former sensibilities would have thought Mr. Gardiner imparted the information to make himself appear better in the eyes of his peers, but he delivered his words so nonchalantly that Darcy was quick to believe them without guile. Yes, he liked this man very much.

"It is a small world," Darcy said neutrally, unsure of what else to say.

"Pleasant travels, sir," Gardiner said in parting.

"I thank you."

Darcy and his footman gathered the carefully wrapped parcels and returned to the carriage. As it headed back toward his house, he considered the kindness of the proprietor. Mr. Gardiner had been affable and genuine. Most people might speculate that all men of business behaved as Mr. Gardiner did, but Darcy's experiences in the following days belied that notion, as he visited several shops to buy a few necessary items he required for his journey to Hertfordshire. Many of the shopkeepers in the fashionable parts of London had been downright cold toward him, as if they feared having him in their shops would drive away their other patrons.

His first stop was his favorite place to purchase paper for letters. It was on Bond Street, and those of the first circles frequented the shop to order bespoke stationery and calling cards.

"Good morning, Mr. Tate," Darcy said upon entering. Mr. Tate frowned and barely tipped his head in greeting before turning to the lady he was assisting. Darcy did not mind waiting his turn; the other woman was there first. He perused the shelves, finally selecting a stack of thick paper, some ink, several quills, and a knife to mend the pens. He moved to the now-empty counter, placed the wares before Mr. Tate, and smiled. The bell on the door rang, and shocking Darcy, the proprietor turned away from him and moved toward the newcomer.

"Mrs. Norton, how good to see you!" Mr. Tate cried. "How may I assist you today?" He moved around the counter, leaving Mr. Darcy to wait again. When Mrs. Norton left, Darcy waited for Mr. Tate to return to his position behind the counter. He did not. Instead, he dusted shelves and rearranged goods. Finally, Darcy cleared his throat.

"I am ready to depart, Mr. Tate. Pray, add these to my account."

Mr. Tate sighed and returned to the counter. "Your account will need to be settled before I can apply these purchases, sir," he said. His voice was firm and cold. His nerves betrayed him, though, and Darcy watched him swallow hard as he drew himself up to his full height.

Darcy furrowed his brow. "Has there been a change of some kind?" he asked. "In the past, your establishment sent my bills to Darcy House, and I settled them at quarter day."

"Sir, I insist on their being paid immediately," Mr. Tate replied. He was noticeably sweating now.

Darcy did not wish to argue and handed the man several banknotes. Mr. Tate took them and thanked him, effectively dismissing him from his store. Dismayed at the proprietor's incivility, he picked up his unwrapped parcels and left the establishment.

In the past, when his supplies ran low, Darcy sent a servant with his order to Mr. Tate's shop instead of going there in person. Given his state of constant boredom lately, he had opted to visit the place himself on this occasion, a decision he now regretted. Who was Mr. Tate to treat his betters so shabbily? Darcy was his superior in every way, and such behavior was not to be borne! While he had come to expect all manner of incivility from the gentry, to be the recipient of the same from a shopkeeper was insulting in the extreme! Did he not provide them with enough custom that they could at least pretend to want his presence?

It came as no surprise when Darcy received more of the same at the other shops he frequented. By the middle of the afternoon, Darcy gave up his quest for the items he desired and returned to Darcy House. Safely in his study, he wrote a list and rang for Jasper. His faithful valet could secure what he needed.

Though it was before the evening meal, Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and deliberated. It was in every way nonsensical. Why were rakes and lotharios welcomed with open arms to all the finest houses in Town, and the honorable Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley shunned because of baseless rumors? Money and position once assured him entry wherever he wished. Now, this newrealization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He fingered a stack of letters on his desk. His aunt's most recent one added yet another thread to the tangled web being woven. She reported the rumors had taken on a new life, this time declaring that Darcy was in financial distress. The proof given was his shopping excursion to the Cheapside warehouses.

"This is madness!" he cried out to his empty study, crumpling the letter and stuffing it angrily into his desk drawer. "That explains why less savory characters are welcome," he muttered bitterly to the silent room. Many of them still reportedly have enough funds to attract others.

He pulled the letter from his desk and smoothed the crumpled surface. Darcy picked it up and turned toward the light coming from the window, reading it again, more slowly.

Dear Nephew,

Be not alarmed by the contents of this letter. Georgiana is well, as are we all here at Matlock House. Due to unforeseen circumstances, our departure has been delayed and we plan to remove to Matlock in another week after we have completed the last of our business. I write, rather, of the unfortunate rumors that have so disrupted your life this last year or so. I had great hope that the idle gossip surrounding you would have faded by now, but some unknown source has again ignited it.

The stories swirling about London have gone beyond you being deemed unmarriageable or cursed. I have learned that this notion alone has frightened many ladies into begging their mothers and fathers to overlook you as a potential match. They are eager to agree, and many have resolved to look elsewhere for their daughters' felicity. This we knew, but now rumor and speculations have once again taken on a life of their own.

Darcy knew this. Had not Mr. and Mrs. Boxford discouraged their daughter from coming to his notice? He smirked; the memory of his mischievousness that afternoon cheered him up a bit. Turning his focus back to the letter, he continued reading.

It appears you have been frequenting the finer parts of Town, maintaining an air of good cheer and greeting your ‘acquaintances.' Numerous accounts have circulated that earls, barons, and baronets are cutting you and ignoring your salutations. These incidents have only fueled the rumors that you have become a pariah in society.

Darcy scoffed. Most of those who had issued the cut direct were lower placed in society than he. This was why it had been so easy for him to dismiss their behavior as ridiculous. However, the behavior of his peers and those placed above him was more painful, and while many had regarded him with raised eyebrows and smug expressions, only those with unmarried daughters had cut him.

He read on. His aunt's next words unveiled additional aspects to the sordid tale.

However, the latest gossip suggests you have lost your fortune, and matrons and ladies of the ton are being informed that you must secure a wealthy bride or face potential ruin. These tales are further enforced by the reports of your recent visits to the warehouses in Cheapside.

At least Mr. Tate's actions, and those of the other shopkeepers , were more fully understood now. If everyone believed him to be destitute, it was natural that they would call in all outstanding balances on his accounts. That the fashionable set believed his foray into Cheapside meant he had lost his fortune was laughable. Many peers sent servants to the warehouses to purchase less expensive goods. But since Darcy had gone to that shopping district himself rather than sending a footman or maid, it likely fueled the rumors. He read the rest of the letter, struggling to smother his irritation.

Your decisions are yours to make, of course, and I have seen the fine wares you bought for Georgiana. Therefore, I have no wish to deter you from such ventures. I do harbor doubts that these rumors will cease anytime soon, and thus, I urge you to depart London until they do. Should you decide to return, keep your knocker down and move about discreetly. I shall keep you well informed of any future gossip.

I pray this finds you well and that you hasten to follow my counsel.

Your loving aunt,

Tilda

Darcy groaned, placed the already crumpled letter on his desk, and smoothed the creases a bit more. So, he was cursed, unmarriageable, a rake or worse, and now poor. Goodness. Mirth overcame him. He started laughing, suddenly far more amused about the situation than he had any right to be. He laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. Very well, then. He would leave. He had an unopened letter from Bingley, no doubt telling him that all was ready in Hertfordshire.

Netherfield Park was close enough to London for the rumors to spread there, but he did not care. He would go and enjoy himself—enjoy the freedom the malicious gossip had granted him. He would dance when he wished and speak with whomever he desired. It was now entirely impossible for him to make the fortuitous match his parents had wanted for him, and so he would marry where it suited him , if he could find a lady willing to brave the vile gossip and dishonor attached to his name.

He pulled his friend's letter closer and cracked the seal. He winced at Bingley's poor penmanship; there were blots and crossed-out words everywhere, but eventually, he deciphered what his friend wished to say.

Dear Darcy,

I have at long last filled the staff at Netherfield Park and made ready for your arrival. My carriage will return to London by the time you receive this letter to retrieve my things and my family.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst will travel with my younger sister on the tenth of October. I had initially planned for you to accompany them, but Caroline insists she will not travel in the same carriage as you. You should have seen her tirade, my friend, for it was a sight to behold. On second thought, it is probably better that you were not witness to it.

It seems your troubles have grown. Caroline reports that you have lost your fortune and will seek to ensnare her so that you may gain her dowry. Despite my words to the contrary, my sister remains convinced the rumors she has heard are accurate. She tried, at first, to get me to rescind my invitation, claiming that you will also seek to relieve me of my wealth. I have stood firm, and she has capitulated to allow your presence so long as you journey hither in your own conveyance.

Might we expect your arrival on October thirteenth or fourteenth? Be so good as to send me word when you have decided your course.

Your faithful friend,

Bingley

Darcy glanced at the date on the letter and noted with amusement that Bingley had penned it a week and a half ago. It was likely that his friend had written it and then forgotten to send it in the post. It was now October thirteenth.

He ought not to find so much entertainment in Miss Bingley's fears, but he did, nonetheless. If he did not laugh, he was certain to cry out and rage against the injustices perpetuated against him. No, he would much rather laugh.

Finally given a means of escape, Darcy ordered his trunks packed, determined to depart the next morning. He was done with London and the harpies of the ton .