Mr. Darcy's Secret (22 page)

"I think we had better leave," said Tom, assisting Georgiana to her feet, but it was too late, the gathering was upon them, and the young couple were forced to stand still as a member of the party hailed them.

"Miss Darcy, what do you do here?" asked a familiar figure in a rude manner. Dressed for fashion in country hues, the dashing figure of Mr Wickham stood at the front of the mob whilst his companions stared, nudging one another, making no attempt to hide their amusement at the young couple's plight. Mr Wickham's expression was one of mock civility and he bowed before them in an action that was both exaggerated and scornful. The entire assembly laughed out loud. They stared at Georgiana and then back at Mr Wickham.

Miss Darcy reddened. "How do you do, Mr Wickham?" she said, not knowing which way to look and blushing more furiously as she recognised the woman standing next to him. Her old governess, Mrs Younge, stood at his side with a smirk on her face looking pointedly at her former charge before scrutinising Mr Butler and raising her eyebrows in a look of contempt.

"I hope your brother knows where you are this afternoon, Miss Darcy," she said, fixing Georgiana with a look that the young girl recognised from former times. Mrs Younge had always had the ability to crush Georgiana with a single glance, an accomplishment she had used to great effect in the past coupled with the capacity to bend Georgiana's will to her own fancy.

Before she could even think or speak, someone else who appeared to have been dawdling along at the back suddenly rushed forward, admonishing Mr Wickham as she did so. "Lord, Wickie, do be quiet! Oh, Miss Darcy, it is such a pleasure to meet you at last. You know, you and I are practically sisters!"

It was not necessary for Lydia to say anything else. Georgiana guessed this must be Elizabeth's poor unfortunate sister she had heard much about. Dressed in white muslin with a tall, highly decorated bonnet on her head as if she were about to promenade in Kensington Gardens instead of ramble through the countryside, Lydia looked most uncomfortable out of doors. But Georgiana couldn't help feeling rather sorry for the silly girl who had married Mr Wickham. Despite being foolish enough to involve herself with him in the first place, Georgiana knew only too well how that gentleman would have eased his way into her confidence by his charm and pleasing ways. She had almost suffered the same fate. Wickham was a man not to be trusted.

"How do you do?" cried Lydia, holding out her hand to Mr Butler. "You must be Miss Darcy's fiance. I'm very pleased to meet you.

Georgiana curtseyed. "We are just leaving; we have been sketching," she added, not quite knowing what to say.

Lydia winked and looked around at the company as if involving them in the joke and conspiracy. "Do not worry, Miss Darcy, your secret's safe with us, isn't it, gentlemen? We've all enjoyed a bit of sketching in our time, don't you worry. Young people like to have a bit of time on their own. I do not think I have such wonderful memories as the time Wickie was courting me. We could not wait to be on our own, but everyone knows about that." Lydia glanced over at Wickham with a coquettish smile which was completely ignored. "My lips are sealed, and if I should run into my dear brother Darcy, I should remember, or should that be forget... Anyway, Miss Darcy, rest assured that I and my friends will not say a word."

"Come, Miss Darcy, it's getting late," interrupted Tom, who could see the distress that Georgiana was feeling. "Excuse me, but we must take our leave." He took hold of her arm, pulling her away as quickly as he could. Miss Darcy allowed him to lead her away. Her countenance paled; she did not speak, so shocked and numbed was she by the experience of meeting her old foes. The young couple hurried through the trees, Georgiana's heart pumping with every footfall. Oh, the shame of it. Trying to erase the expressions of all those people who stared at her was impossible. Worst of all was the memory of Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge's faces, whose expressions not only mocked but showed their complete disdain and disregard.

Eventually, they came out of the woods but worse was to come. There was no sign of the boat they had carefully moored. There were several others bobbing up and down in the water that must belong to the Wickhams and their friends, but theirs was not amongst them. They looked out across the water in despair as Tom realised the unthinkable had happened. Whether by accident or design, the boat was drifting to the other side of the lake by itself and there was no way of getting it back unless he was prepared to jump in and swim. How on earth it had come adrift Tom could not fathom. He knew he had left it most secure. At the sound of distant laughter that echoed round the water, he realised some treachery must have taken place. There was only one way to get the boat back. Removing his coat, waistcoat, and shoes, he took up his position at the side of the lake. Georgiana could only gasp in horror as she watched Mr Butler dive into the water.

∗ ∗ ∗

When Georgiana had not returned by four o'clock, which was the usual hour at which the company retired to dress for dinner, Mrs Butler became extremely upset, especially when she thought about the conversation she had shared with Tom earlier in the day. Mr and Mrs Darcy had both expressed their concern about Georgiana, although Elizabeth was sure she was not far away and had merely forgotten the time. If she hadn't returned before another half hour passed, they would walk out and look for her. Mrs Butler knew she should say something; she could stand it no longer; she must tell Mrs Darcy what she knew. Mrs Gardiner would be first consulted, but how she was to tell her that Miss Darcy was probably sitting at this moment unaccompanied except by a young man in a boat, she could not think.

Fortunately, Georgiana made an appearance in time, but her general demeanour gave Lizzy some cause for concern. When questioned, Miss Darcy confessed that she was feeling ill; she was suffering from a headache, which she knew would only be removed with quiet and solitude. All that she wished was to be allowed to go to bed early, and she begged that her excuses be made to Lady Catherine. Assuring Lizzy that she wished no one else to have their pleasure spoiled, she said she would prefer to stay at home. Elizabeth put up no opposition, thinking that her charge would benefit greatly from the added rest. Sleep was probably all Georgiana required to alleviate her symptoms. If only she had such an excellent reason for staying away, Lizzy thought, as she dressed with reluctance for the evening festivities.

It was a quiet party that left Bellingham Hall, though Jane and Charles Bingley, seated with Elizabeth and Darcy in the first carriage, did as much as they could to alleviate the subdued atmosphere that pervaded the interior with their usual light-hearted conversation.

"By all accounts my sister Caroline is enjoying herself here in the Lakes," Mr Bingley pronounced, as the carriage rolled out of the drive. "I received a note from her this morning saying she was sorry to have missed us when Jane and I called yesterday, but she has been very busy with her compositions which seemingly take up all her time. Apparently, she is immersed in the landscape, engaged in capturing the essence of nature at its most fearful and sublime. I hope you all have good constitutions; I imagine there'll be a vast body of verse on the transcendental significance of mountains this evening."

"Charles, you are in a very teasing mood tonight," said Jane. "Be careful what you say on the matter to your sister, for I imagine if she has been brave enough to pour out her heart on paper, any adverse remark might well put a stop to all creative output."

"Which might be a blessing for us all," said Mr Darcy, turning his head as he spoke to look out of the window.

"Yes, quite right," added Charles. "I must confess the prospect of this evening's pleasures do not quite hold the same charms as our usual diversions."

"You are talking of the billiard table, I suppose," Elizabeth responded with a laugh, "and the card table too, not to mention the wit, charm, and humour of one's companions at Bellingham Hall. I do not think we will find such gaieties at Golgarth Park. Our conversation will be limited to discussions on the picturesque... no doubt we shall have to arrange ourselves in groups of three or five when talking to Lord Dalton and his circle."

"Oh, Lizzy, you are too cruel," said Jane with a smile.

Mr Darcy, whose contemplative expression had been noted by his wife, suddenly turned toward them, becoming more animated in his composure and address. "Not cruel enough in my opinion. Well, I shall certainly hold my own in Dalton's company," he added with a smirk. "There is nothing I do not know on the subject of intricate foregrounds which command such painterly abilities for rendering the fine delights of tree stumps, nettles, thistles, and the like. My expertise on the subject of middle and far distances is, quite simply, outstanding... and I can spot the difference between a Gainsborough and a Claude Lorrain at thirty paces!"

They all laughed out loud.

"My dear Mr Darcy, I do believe you have been reading up on the subject," declared Elizabeth, tears of laughter misting her eyes.

"So what if I have? I could not bear to have my aunt, or worse your cousin Collins, correct me on some matter of painting or poetry."

"Well, I hope when Lady Catherine calls on you to supply the company with a sonnet that you will be able to oblige," Lizzy teased.

"I might have a little ditty for such an occasion," Darcy responded, with a wink at his friend. "But I need your advice; I fear my verse may be too scholarly and academic, however refined the company."

"Oh, do let us hear it," cried Jane, "I did not know you composed poetry, Mr Darcy."

"A hidden talent, I am certain," remarked Bingley, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "If I recall some of our past bachelor days, I feel sure I may have heard something of his proficiency as a poet before. But, Darcy, is it wise, do you think, to unleash such a masterly gift on the previously uninitiated?"

"I can think of no finer audience, Bingley, than my wife and my dear sister whose expertise in poetic creation will, no doubt, lend such worthy opinion upon my humble efforts."

"Oh, Darcy, do get on with it," cried Elizabeth. "I am beginning to fear that you have nothing to offer us but a lot of hot air."

Mr Darcy adopted his most serious expression. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat before pulling at his cuffs and commencing his recitation in as droll a fashion as Bingley had ever heard from him.

"To a Fly!

Giddy trifler, cease thy strife,

Turn thy wing, and save thy life;

Shouldst thou enter Elizabeth's eye,

That might suffer, thou must die.

Is a summer's day too long

For thee to live thy tribes among?

Is there not, in all the air,

Room enough and room to spare?

Wilt thou buzz about her still?

Silly creature, take thy will;

And warn all triflers as you die,

What dangers lurk in Elizabeth's eye."

Elizabeth and Jane could not help but laugh out loud. The prospect of Mr Darcy reciting such nonsense before the august company at Golgarth Park conjured up such images in their heads that it was impossible to do anything else. Lizzy, for one, was relieved to see her husband in such good humour. He had said very little about Georgiana since the day before, apart from saying that he wished to discuss the matter with her as soon as they could. He was avoiding broaching the subject, she knew, but was certain that he must be coming round to her viewpoint that Georgiana's engagement was wholly unsatisfactory. His last words on the matter had been to the effect that Georgiana's happiness and wellbeing were the subjects dearest to his heart.

All too soon the carriages rolled round the gravel sweep before the magnificent edifice of Golgarth Park. Lady Catherine de Bourgh greeted her guests with affected affability. Elizabeth was amused to see that affectation seemed to be the order of the day from the costumes of those who were decidedly artistic in appearance down to the way in which they conducted themselves.

"Oh dear, Mr Darcy," whispered Elizabeth, when she had a chance, "if I had understood it to be fancy dress I would have exchanged my gown for Grecian robes and an urn. Don't look now, here comes Caroline Bingley, a vision in drapery."

Miss Bingley was rushing toward them. Dressed in white with embellishments of gold in the key-shaped motif around the hem of her diaphanous gown and her hair swathed in a voluminous turban of the same, she appeared unrecognisable, not only in appearance but also in her behaviour.

"Mr and Mrs Darcy, how delighted I am to see you. It must be an age since last we met," she enthused, her countenance beaming as her mouth broke into a wide smile. "You must come and meet Lord Dalton; he is so anxious to make your acquaintance. I told him there is not another couple in the whole of Westmorland who equal the Darcys in taste and refinement. Charles tells me you are to make your debut in our poetry reading circle this evening, Mr Darcy. I confess to be more than a little excited at the prospect. May I dare to ask on which topic your effusions have been inspired? No, do not tell me, for I am sure I can guess the answer. No doubt, Mrs Darcy's fine eyes are the stuff of eulogistic praise!"

Elizabeth was completely taken aback. Regarding Miss Bingley closely, her first thought was that the lady was merely being satirical, but on closer examination she could find no hint either in her voice or expression of sarcasm and ridicule. Caroline's countenance was open and she was smiling most sincerely. Elizabeth looked at her husband. She longed to know his answer.

"Miss Bingley, as much as it would give me great pleasure to confer such an exhibition on the present company, I feel obliged to decline in order to leave the way uncluttered for superior expertise in the field. Your brother tells me we are to hear from you, however. I could not hope to equal your command of articulation and bow to your superior grasp of poetic virtuosity."

Miss Bingley smiled and looked down with an expression indicative of modesty. "If I were ever considered vain about anything, it would certainly be of my eloquence, a fluency which involves imparting the spoken word succinctly, distilling the very quintessence of life itself within a sentence or two in the creation of the poetic form. At least, Lord Dalton is so kind as to have ventured the fact that he has rarely heard such command of the English language. He is my guide and confidant on such matters."

"Lord Dalton himself, indeed!" Elizabeth immediately responded, her countenance suitably arranged to give an impression of awe, whilst simultaneously wondering quite why she had formerly considered Miss Bingley's character to be so reformed. "You are very fortunate, Miss Bingley, to have attracted such a tutor; I believe Lord Dalton is very much in request."

"I am very privileged to have made his close acquaintance, indeed; lately, we are hardly ever separated. He listens to my work, I give him the benefit of my advice. It is a partnership made in heaven."

"Oh, I see," said Elizabeth with a knowing nod of her head. "That quite puts me in mind of a solution to the mystery I have been puzzling over. For we have all been wondering who is the inspiration for Lord Dalton's latest clutch of love poems. Who is the muse that inspires such declarations as, 'Her step was elastic, a vision so rare, a goddess divine, she is youthful and fair.' Tell me, Miss Bingley, do you know who is responsible for such an outpouring of emotion?"

Miss Bingley blushed and simpered. "Mrs Darcy, I cannot think what you mean by your wicked insinuations. Lord Dalton and I are just very good friends bound by our shared passion. The fact that he has expressed a wish to capture me in oil on canvas is neither here nor there. Oh, do come and meet him. He is about to start his talk and there is such a fine exhibition of his work."

Fortunately, Charlotte Collins presented herself at that moment and so Elizabeth had the perfect excuse to delay the meeting with the gentleman everyone else seemed eager to meet. Miss Bingley rushed away with the excuse of having to guide visitors to their seats. There was a large party gathering, Elizabeth supposing they consisted mostly of the people from London who had followed in the wake of their mentor. Mrs Collins and Mrs Darcy exchanged their news, and Georgiana's absence was explained. Mr Collins professed his disappointment whilst concurrently urging his wife and his cousin to pay heed to Lady Catherine, who was announcing in a loud voice that the exhibition was open. There was nothing else to be done but follow the swarming crowd into the drawing room. Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Butler linked arms as if in defence against those that might want to part them and perused the vast wall of Lord Dalton's paintings, which had been specially mounted for the occasion. There were so many people all crushed together that it was quite impossible to study the paintings very well. Most people paid little heed to what was on the wall, Lizzy observed; they were too busy eyeing one another and discussing their peers. Looking about, Elizabeth noticed that there were several military officers in attendance, which gave her some cause for concern, but thankfully there was no sign of her sister or her husband. Lizzy could not imagine Lydia wishing to come to any evening where poetry and art might be discussed and felt satisfied that she would not be of any party to arrive.

At one side of the room standing before the fireplace was Lord Dalton, surrounded by females all speaking at once. Handsome, yet with an air of pride and undeniable vanity as was proved by the constant checking of his appearance in a pier glass opposite, the gentleman was holding court before a rapt audience. Caroline Bingley was staring up at him with pure adoration. Poor Miss Bingley, thought Lizzy, as she noted Lord Dalton making eyes at a very young and pretty girl across the room who returned his glances most appreciatively.

Lady Catherine, who had been engaged in conversation with her many guests, finally rounded on the Darcys. Her daughter Anne, still as pale and sickly looking as when they had seen her last, stood meekly at Lady Catherine's side as they exchanged pleasantries. Henry Dalton was hailed from across the room and the introductions made at last.

"Lord Dalton has been giving Anne the benefit of his mastery and skills when her health permits it," announced Lady Catherine immediately following the formalities. "He is such a very loyal companion whether she feels like dabbling or not, sitting at her side daily, entertaining her with little
bons mots
and such-like. Is not that the case, Anne? Lord Dalton is very attentive, is he not?"

Anne did not speak; she merely nodded her head. At least, Elizabeth thought it was a nod but was not quite certain if she hadn't just been going to sneeze and had been saved from doing so at the last second.

"It has been my great pleasure, Lady Catherine," Dalton simpered. "My lady Anne shows great promise and talent; I only wish I could finish paintings as quickly."

Elizabeth scrutinised Lord Dalton's expression. Neither Lady Catherine nor Anne it seemed had registered his less than sincere compliment. His smug countenance suggested he had made a private joke for his own amusement; one he was certain would not be understood by any of them present.

William Collins, solemn and awkward, joined them in time to offer his apologies for not having attended the Darcys sooner. Turning toward the rest of the party he bestowed his compliments upon Henry Dalton and made several flattering allusions to the ladies, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter. Lady Catherine took Mr Darcy's arm to lead him to his seat. Elizabeth looked about her, preparing to follow on her own. Mr Collins looked about for his wife and so Lord Dalton offered an arm each to Mrs Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.

"The rumours I've heard are perfectly true," he began, smiling at Elizabeth as they progressed about the room.

Lizzy felt a certain discomposure at this comment but endeavoured to smile back at him.

"Mrs Darcy's fine eyes are the talk of the Lakes," he said, looking deeply into her dark eyes. "Could any artist do true justice to their beauty, I wonder. Perhaps the colour and the shape might be imitated, but that expression of vitality, the fire within... now that might prove impossible for any man to capture."

Elizabeth did not know where to look. She felt herself blushing at the impropriety. There was something very artful in his way of talking, and Elizabeth did not like it. Henry Dalton made her feel extremely uncomfortable.

"With Mr Darcy's permission, I should consider it an honour to paint you," he continued. "His wife's celebrated loveliness should not forgo being recorded for posterity. Ask any of my clients here; they would not have forfeited the experience for the world. The relationship between client and artist is of a peculiar kind, formed with interests to satisfy the other. A symbiotic bond both intimate and fulfilling, an experience unsurpassed." He lowered his voice. "Perhaps something for Mr Darcy's private collection."