A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 3
Darcy laughed at this, as there was some truth in it. His friend Northover, for all his aristocratic affectation, had always been a friend to the needy.
“There are a great many who would use the National Enclosures Act to fence off the common at Hardwick, and turn the land to their own profit let the peasants be damned,” Mr. Pettigrew continued. “They’d have them off to the factories, or the mines, or a bloody man-of-war—”
“Hardwick is a fine estate.” Darcy did not want Georgiana to hear further about the misfortunes of the peasantry; she tended to dwell on such things and be distressed by them. It distressed him! “It’s been an age since I’ve been there. How is your mother?”
There was some talk about days gone by, and Mr. Pettigrew seemed to realize he been insensitive in his choice of topic as he was all pleasantness and good humor. Darcy noticed that he was solicitous towards Georgiana, and paid a great deal of attention to her. That she paid attention to Pettigrew surprised and pleased him. It was good to see her come out of herself and overcome her shyness.
Darcy recalled a certain forward young lady who had admonished him concerning his professed discomfort with society. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had told him that proficiency in the social graces was achieved with practice, as was any other accomplishment, and implied that he had only himself to blame for his lack of ease in company.
She was right, of course. He had never made the least effort to be companionable, or agreeable. He had been taught manners and understood their importance.
But he had wholly neglected to apply himself to the social arts. He had never experienced any regret at this. Or any consequence for that matter.
Until, that is, he had met Miss Bennet.
Darcy regretted how he had behaved towards her. He blamed Wickham for poisoning her mind towards him, but the real blame was his. He had laid a foundation of mistrust which Wickham had built upon.
Darcy knew, that if he had paid more attention to cultivating his social skill, he would not have given Miss Bennet cause to reject his proposal of marriage, which, however ill-advised a union with her might be, was the greatest disappointment of his life, and one which stung him daily.
He wished for Georgiana to have an easier time in society, to be at ease with strangers, and enjoy herself in company.
To that end, when dessert was finished and the dishes had been removed, he suggested that she favor the party with some music by playing the pianoforte.
“I am sure, brother,” Georgiana said reddening, “that our guests would rather retire to the lounge for brandy and cigars then listen to my poor attempt at playing.”
Darcy realized he had made his sister uncomfortable—she was not used to playing for company—but before he could speak Mr. Pettigrew came to the rescue.
“Perhaps,” he said, “you could play while we had our brandy. If we left the door open I’m sure we would be able to hear you, would we not?” The latter was addressed to Darcy.
“Of course,” Darcy said, grateful to Mr. Pettigrew for the suggestion. “That’s an excellent idea. We will have the best of both worlds. Would you be willing to play for us, sister?”
Georgiana indicated that she would and that it would be a great pleasure, although the gentlemen must forgive her mistakes.
Darcy swirled his brandy in the snifter, watching the amber liquid gleaming orange and red as it caught the flames of the fire in the hearth. Crackling logs punctuated by the notes of the pianoforte which Georgiana was playing. He remembered the playing of another, one who, though not as proficient as his sister, nevertheless had captivated the attention of her listeners by the vitality of her performance.
“How did that thing with that chap go?” Northover asked. “That Wickham fellow.”
Darcy was startled from his reverie by this. Northover had assisted him in obtaining an officer’s commission for Wickham in the regulars. Northover had purchased one for his younger brother and had referred Darcy to a gentleman who sold commissions, a Mr. Henry Austen.
The commission was costly, as was clearing up Wickham’s debts but that was the easy part of the affair. Persuading Wickham to marry Lydia Bennet was more difficult, and more costly still, but necessary to preserve the reputation of the Bennet family and more particularly the reputation of Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy had taken this upon himself because it was his fault that Wickham had been able to carry out his mischief. The summer before, Wickham had eloped with his sister Georgiana, with the intent of improving his financial situation at the expense of the innocent girl. Darcy put a stop to it, but he kept the matter secret out of concern for Georgiana’s reputation. This had been a mistake. If he had been forthcoming about the true nature of Wickham’s character all would have known it, including the Bennets, and been on their guard where the miscreant was concerned.
“It worked out,” Darcy said. He took a sip of brandy and enjoyed the mild burning sensation in his throat when he swallowed it. “Thank you for your help.”
“You were ready to skewer the scoundrel, as I recall,” Northover said. “Had blood in your eye, I’d say. Glad you patched things up.”
Unwillingly, Darcy’s mind went to Wickham. He’d had three excellent reasons to challenge Wickham to a duel: the first was Wickham’s interference with Georgiana; the second, the lies that Wickham had told Miss Elizabeth Bennet concerning Darcy’s conduct towards Wickham after the death of Mr. Darcy senior; and the third was Wickham’s “elopement” with young Lydia Bennet, with no intention of marrying her until Darcy had made it worth his while financially.
Wickham richly merited to be called to account for his actions at the point of the sword, but Darcy had put aside his need for vengeance, had resisted the implacability of his resentments, and had mastered his unforgiving temper. Instead, he had paid Wickham’s debts, purchased a commission for him, and arranged his wedding to Lydia Bennet. He had done all this solely for the benefit of Elizabeth Bennet, a young lady who despised him.
“Your sister plays splendidly,” Mr. Pettigrew said. He flourished his cigar in the matter of a conductor. “Does she sing as well?”
Georgiana was performing Johann Baptist Cramer’s Studio per il pianoforte, a difficult piece for an accomplished pianist.
She will not sing for us, Darcy thought, but he said, “Yes, perhaps she will sing another time.”
If Georgiana continued to perform before others—and even though she was performing in another room, this was still a good start—she would soon have the courage to sing for company.
“I should very much like to hear her,” Mr. Pettigrew said.
“Well, you will be at Rosings Park for Christmas, Pettigrew,” Lord Northover said. He was leaning back in his stuffed leather chair in such a state of repose that until he spoke, Darcy thought he was on the verge of sleep. “You can make her sing then.”
“You’re going to Rosings Park for Christmas?” It was the first that Darcy had heard of this.
“Yes,” said Lord Northover. “In fact, that’s what reminded me to call on you. I thought, when I received Lady Catherine’s invitation, that it was time I paid a visit on her nephew. Didn’t you know that she invited me? I was sure you must’ve known, given the nature of her letter.”
Darcy knew nothing about an invitation. Indeed, he had written to Lady Catherine some time ago telling her that he intended to spend Christmas in London as he had pressing business matters to conclude, and the Christmas season would find the men with whom he was dealing in town. He had made arrangements for Christmas at Pemberley—the traditional dinner, gifts for the poor —to proceed without him, having left these matters to Mrs. Reynold’s very capable hands.
“I’m not going to Rosings, myself,” Darcy said. “I’d no idea Lady Catherine had invited you.”
“How very odd,” Lord Northover said coughing and flinging his cigar into the fire.
“Are you all right?” Darcy asked. Northover’s health had always been delicate.
Northover nodded, coughing softly into his handkerchief for a few moments before looking back at Darcy. “You see, your aunt wrote me a singular letter. Not just an invitation mind, but a promise that if I should attend Rosings for the Christmas season, it should be to my fiscal advantage. Her exact words were that it would be the solution to my “fiscal dilemma.”
Darcy was not surprised that Northover had a “fiscal dilemma,” he knew as much, but that Lady Catherine should have some scheme to overcome it seemed improbable. She turned her mind to business even less than Northover did.
“Do you have her letter?” Darcy asked.
“No. It’s somewhere, I suppose. Whatever do you think she means? I thought you would know, if anybody did.”
But Darcy didn’t. He was as mystified as his friend.
“I’ve no choice but to go and see what she has to say,” Northover said philosophically. “I’m so strapped for cash that I’ll have to sell another portion of Hardwick. Too many daughters in the family with too generous settlements over the years. Nobody with money marrying in.”
Darcy was aware of the problem. In his own case, Georgiana received a settlement of 30,000 pounds. If he did not choose a wife of means, the Pemberley estate would be reduced by 30,000 pounds with nothing added to it.
This was why he had resolved to increase the estate through business so that he would be able to marry whom he chose. Not that it was likely he would have his choice, but he was determined that if he did not, it would not be for want of funds.
“The steward at Rosings Park is designing to use the National Enclosures Act to fence the common,” said Pettigrew. He was still waving a cigar like a conductor’s baton. “Perhaps Lady Catherine has some similar scheme to propose to you?”
The common at Rosings to be fenced off? Darcy couldn’t believe it. What would happen to the peasants who lived on the land and turned out their sheep on it?
Although it was true that the land of the common belonged to the estate and not the peasants, they had had use of it for generations and, as Pettigrew had pointed out at dinner, if they were evicted from the common they would have no way of providing for themselves.
Darcy had known many of those families since his boyhood, as he had often visited Rosings Park and had spent entire summers there. The prospect of those good simple people being turned from their homes, to leave the pastoral countryside for work in the mills, or coal mines—or worse, go to war—made his blood run cold.
“Are you certain of this, Pettigrew? The common at Rosings is to be fenced?” Darcy asked.
“Oh yes,” said Pettigrew. “There are provisions for compensating the peasants in the Act, of course, but the steward there—you know him, chap named McGinty—says that he knows how to get around those. Claims to have fenced off half of Yorkshire without having to pay off so much as a farthing in compensation.
“It’s an outrage, sir, in my opinion,” Pettigrew continued, addressing Darcy as Lord Northover was reclining back in his chair with his eyes closed. “I’ve no problem with being hard-headed about business—ask my competitors in the textile trade—but this isn’t business it’s legalized theft . . .”
Darcy knew McGinty only slightly, for the steward was new, having been only recently hired to replace old Jepson, who had been Lady Catherine’s steward since Darcy could remember but had finally retired to a cottage on the estate.
McGinty was a dour Scot, a flint-like man who seemed competent enough to Darcy. It seemed he was also ruthless.
Darcy felt a wave of emotion so strong that it threatened to overwhelm him. Anger at the injustice. Fear for the futures of the innocent families who would be thrown from the only homes they’d ever known. This could not be permitted to happen. He would not permit it!
Did he have sufficient influence over Lady Catherine to prevail upon her to put a stop to the scheme? She was amenable to reason and would consider his counsel. Although she had never sought his advice—for his aunt was in the habit of giving advice rather than taking it—she would be sure to at least give him an audience.
He would persuade her that to fence off the common was plain and simply wrong. He would make her see it!
He thought of how she would receive him. What he might say. How best to convince her that what McGinty proposed could not proceed? Darcy forgot his brandy and cigar and did not notice that Georgiana had stopped playing the pianoforte until his guests politely suggested that it was time for them to go.
* * *
After Northover and Pettigrew had departed, and Georgiana had gone to bed, Darcy returned to his lounge. The fire had died down to a few glowing embers.
The room smelled of cigar smoke; the house was still. He sat into the night, thinking of how to proceed, what he must do to prevent the dismal affair.
The fire was completely out, the decanter of brandy empty, and he was so lost in thought that he did not notice.
He must prevail upon his aunt to do the right thing rather than the profitable one. And he would have to do this in person; a letter would not suffice in so important matter.
He resolved to wrap-up his business dealings to the extent he could as soon as possible, after which he and Georgiana would make the trip to Rosings Park. He would send his aunt a letter announcing his intention to visit at Christmas after all.
Lady Catherine would be pleased to see them at Christmas he believed, and, with persistence and the right attitude, he was sure he would be able to make her see reason. He had to.
The irony of the situation struck him, even as he made the decision: here he was, determined to increase the wealth of Pemberley—that was why he was in London and had planned to Christmas in town—and now he was going to put business aside to urge his aunt to set aside her pecuniary interests, and the finances of Rosings Park, in favor of the people who depended on her to show them kindness and mercy.
Darcy was aware that by doing this he was not enhancing Pemberley’s wealth as he’d planned, and that he was instead compromising himself and his freedom in choosing a wife. Thoughts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet intruded, but he pushed them to the back of his mind.
First things first. Once he had made his aunt see reason, and put a stop to her steward’s scheme, he would again throw himself into business and increase Pemberley’s wealth more than the cost to it of Georgiana’s settlement. He would put Elizabeth Bennet out of his mind until then. Thank God he didn’t have to see her.
But there was something he had to do concerning her that he’d been putting off for too long, and that he ought to do before leaving London.
Tomorrow he would call on his friend Charles Bingley.
Chapter 4, Mr. Bingley
December 17, 1812
“You proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Bingley was astonished. “You proposed marriage? And she turned you down? She turned you down, Darcy? I don’t believe it!”
They were in the drawing room at Bingley’s London house. Darcy had wrestled with the matter but knew that he must tell his friend that he had been mistaken about Jane Bennet. He would lose a friend, and it might be too late to mend things in any event, but he could not leave things as they stood, with Bingley seeing Jane is an opportunist after his fortune rather than his love.
“She did indeed, and not gently. There could be no mistaking her meaning.” Darcy still felt the sting of Elizabeth’s words, the raw wound they had left upon him. She had been correct, his behavior had been inexcusable, but that did not lessen his pain.
“So what you’re saying is that the family isn’t as mercenary as you supposed? For all that the mother, Mrs. Bennet, is a . . .” Bingley struggled for the right word, “singular sort of woman?”
“I convinced myself, Bingley,” Darcy replied, looking his friend straight in the eye, “that you needed looking after. I further convinced myself that Miss Jane Bennet—given her family connections, and lack of property—was an unsuitable match for you.
“I was wrong in this. Her sister, Elizabeth, cared not a jot for my fortune. Believe me, Bingley, for I have some small experience with fortune hunters, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not of that stamp. So there’s no reason to suppose that her sister motivated to secure your affections.”
Bingley was so stunned by this that, instead of taking a drink, he put his glass down, and looked at his friend with an expression of incredulity.
Finally, he said in a soft, calm voice, “Why are you telling me this now?”
Darcy felt a pang of regret, something akin to shame, that he had interfered with his friend’s destiny and on such flimsy grounds. It was true that he had been trying to protect him, but that was no excuse.
“I’m telling you now so that you may take steps to correct the misunderstanding I’ve caused. I know you still love Jane Bennet. Go back to Netherfield, Bingley. Spend Christmas there. Christmas is a season of joy and merriment, and there’s no better time to heal old wounds and make a fresh start. Start off the new year with the lady you love, rather than letting more time pass and risk her growing of a distant.”
Bingley remembered his claret and took a long draught of it before settling back in his seat. Darcy was surprised that he did not become angry, or upset, but was instead reflective.
“Is there anything else?” Bingley asked finally.
Darcy looked at his friend for a while before speaking. “Yes, I’m sorry. I ought not to have interfered. I hope you can mend things with Jane Bennet. I truly do, Bingley.”
Bingley considered this for a moment and then a small smile began to play on his lips. “The fault is mine for listening to you. I know you were only looking out for me, as I can be quite silly and impulsive—no, no I know it’s true—you are only trying to provide me with good counsel.”
Darcy was pleased that his friend bore him no ill will. He doubted that he would’ve been so forgiving in Bingley’s place; it seemed that Bingley had much to teach him.
