Sufficient Encouragement Refresh– Chapter Fourteen

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Chapter Fourteen

Dinner was a quiet affair. He still felt the effects of his cold, and he was looking forward to retiring early when his aunt and uncle called during coffee. Georgiana sent him a knowing look.

“You simply must come with us tonight,” his aunt began.

“I am truly tired from my travels.”

“Nonsense! Now, James has cancelled and cannot come, and Lady Crenshaw will be so put out if you do not attend. I had wanted James to meet with Lady Belinda, but you will do just as nicely.”

Darcy closed his eyes in frustration. “My lady, my presence cannot be missed if they do not know I have returned.”

Aunt Eleanor smirked. “But they do! Miss Bingley announced it to everyone she met in the park yesterday.”

“I only chose to come today!”

“Is there trouble with Georgiana?” Aunt Eleanor grasped at a necklace about her neck.

“She is as angelic as usual,” Darcy answered. “I came at the behest of my friend and partner in the Northern mills. There may be trouble.”

His aunt visibly relaxed but then sent a look to her husband. His uncle waded in at last. “Come, my boy. It is expected, and it is only gentlemanly to please the ladies.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “Why is Arlington not attending? Who else has been invited?”

“He recalled a previous engagement at the theatre,” Aunt Eleanor sniffed.

Darcy rolled his eyes. Yes, Arlington was quite fond of certain aspects of the theatre, never more so than when his mother attempted to match him with a proper lady of society.

“Lady Belinda is very lovely,” his aunt put forward. “She is sweet-tempered, too.”

“Tell him about her twenty thousand pounds and that her uncle is the Earl of Oxford. That will be what really interests him.”

Darcy resented it all. This was the sort of wife he should take to please society. A cold, heartless, mathematical decision. No wonder his sister believed herself in love with the steward’s son. No wonder he was attracted to a penniless country lady. Was not God to ordain marriages? Instead, most of them of his circle were arranged like this with relatives tallying the money and prestige to be gained.

Lord Matlock spoke again. “Come and enjoy yourself this evening. We will not let you lock yourself away in your study and worry about your business and the small number of lunatics attacking mills. The Countess of Matlock surely outranks General Ludd.”

Darcy sighed. “I will come but only because Arlington has cried off. Do not think you can bend my arm into this sort of thing more than once either. I am my own master, and I keep my own schedule.”

And it was true. He kept his world exactly as he liked it, and he did not allow his aunt and uncle—an earl and countess—to think otherwise.

The party proved tedious and not only due to the scratching feeling in his throat. Lady Belinda had about as much depth as a piece of paper. Everything felt so very choreographed. At supper, they were seated next to each other. While he was seldom enchanted with a lady, even for an evening, he had to admit she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He looked at her as though she were a painting. Her features were perfectly formed and spaced. Her countenance was the flawless complexion society desired. Her eyes were large and clear, her hair shiny and artfully arranged. Her gown was the latest style and made to her advantage. However, through all this observation, he remained unmoved. She lacked animation. It was as though she were nothing more than a piece of art. Or rather, as Elizabeth had put it, she was made to be an ornament on some man’s arm.

Her conversation proved no better. She was not deficient by any means, and she performed on the pianoforte with precision and sang with grace. She was passably witty, but her thoughts seemed to hold no true expression. It gave the impression of an over-rehearsed play. Everyone knew their role; himself included. It occurred to him that he was overly critical. He always was with the prospect of a lady. Certainly, he had told himself, Elizabeth Bennet was unimpressive at first.

He sighed to himself as he sipped his coffee. Of course, he had only told himself that. The truth was he had thought her pretty before Bingley even pointed her out, but he would not bend to Bingley’s will. He never danced with ladies with whom he was unacquainted; their imaginations were too rapid. Yet throughout his time in Hertfordshire, he struggled to contain his admiration. However, Lady Belinda might be the most stunning and witty creature the world had ever seen. Men might launch wars for her, and it meant nothing to him. She was not Elizabeth.

“You are all alone over here, Mr. Darcy,” Lady Belinda whispered to him as he stood by a generic Greek bust. He nearly jumped.

“Forgive me, I only just arrived in London this afternoon. I am rather fatigued.”

She looked at him for a moment. “You do look tired. I hope you will not take ill from the exertion.”

Her kindness surprised him. When she approached him alone, he thought she had unscrupulous intents. “Thank you.”

She let out a sigh. “Men are so lucky to come and go as they please! Your aunt was just telling us that you had spent several weeks in Hertfordshire.”

“I did.”

“I tire of London. I long for home, near the seaside in Essex. I do not think I could ever live away from the sea.”

She said it so pointedly that Darcy began to think she had another motive for speaking to him. He was uncertain how to reply. “I, too, prefer my estate over town.”

She cast her eyes about the room. “That is a shame, Mr. Darcy. I cannot think of a single lady in this room, or even in all of London, who would make such a confession, unbidden at least. We are all of us, supposed to prefer town. Certainly us ladies are taught to flatter a gentleman’s estate and its location.”

And yet she just had said the opposite.

“There are jewels to be found even in the country, I find.”

“I am sure it is true.” Darcy did not follow the odd shift in conversation.

“I do not know of anyone who would pass up a jewel when they see it, though.”

He took a sip of coffee before replying. If she would say nonsensical things, so would he. “Perhaps it is cursed pirate gold.”

“Oh, not even then! For how else would we have the tales of cursed jewels if people did not take them anyway?”

“Fools,” he said. The conversation was intriguing. Not on a romantic level, but something compelled him to continue.

“It is not the jewel’s fault either, sir. And to my mind, the ones who take it, knowing the legends and the risks, seem to find their own joy in it.”

“You do not find that a man who is willing to risk his health, happiness, and the security of a great many people simply for a stake at one jewel — or even many —  to be the worst kind of mercenary and foolish?”

“No, sir. For the man knows the value of the treasure. No, I call a man who marries a wife for nothing more than twenty thousand pounds mercenary and foolish.”

She looked at him boldly — not accusingly — but as though seeing through him just the same. Sorrow filled her eyes, and then she fled his side. He made his excuses soon thereafter.

Georgiana was still awake upon his return home. “How was Lady Belinda?”

“We had the most peculiar conversation.”

“There is talk that she is, well…eccentric…lately. You were in Hertfordshire and did not hear. She was attached to a young naval captain who visited near her estate last year. Her parents did not favour the match. He was sent off to sea, but she has refused several offers. The news came just after Michaelmas that her beau was killed in action. She is unable to mourn him as they were not engaged, and her parents continually push her into the path of others.” Georgiana blew her nose into a handkerchief. “I know now I never really loved Mr. Wickham, or he me, but could you imagine being kept apart from the one you love because of your parents’ expectations?”

Darcy meditated on Georgiana’s and Lady Belinda’s words before falling into a restless slumber that night. He awoke late the next morning to a re-emerging cold. This time, he welcomed his dreams of Elizabeth Bennet’s bright eyes and pert remarks. He was unsure how to arrange things with Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley had requested to journey to her daughter’s home in Hampshire. Georgiana could stay with Lord and Lady Matlock, but Darcy was loath to leave her behind after Wickham’s threat. He disliked the idea of them meeting as well, but he knew he would be returning to Hertfordshire whether he had to drag Bingley with him or not.

*****

James Fitzwilliam, Viscount Arlington and eldest son of the fourth Earl of Matlock, almost leaped out of his seat when the crowd at the King’s Theatre applauded. His eyes flew open, and the undeniable truth descended. He had fallen asleep!

“Are you ill, Arlie?” The blonde beauty next to him asked. “You fell asleep again.”

“Perfectly well,” he said. Only his companion was no longer listening as a tall, handsome man entered his box. Arlington recognized the gentleman, Lucas Hopewell, an acquaintance of his who had recently inherited a vast fortune. Sophia had eyes only for the younger—and seemingly more virile—man. Blast it if he was going to lose another mistress.

“Come, Miss Smith, you had claimed to not feel well,” Arlington said as Hopewell approached.

“If you are feeling unwell, then I will not delay you. It would be a crime to deny the stage your talent and beauty.” Arlington waited for the normal rage to emerge, but it did not come. He simply was not that interested in Sophia…or the last several mistresses he had.

“Oh, you are too kind,” she said with fluttering eyes. “I am in perfect health. It was his lordship,” she attempted to whisper, “that is fighting a cold, I believe.”

Not a cold, utter exhaustion at life. Boredom. And fatigue…it was as though his four and thirty years finally caught up with him after a decade of raucous living.

“Then I will bid you good night. Unless that is…Arlington would allow me the honour of escorting Miss Smith home.”

Arlington considered the situation for a moment. He had no exclusivity rights with Sophia. If Hopewell wanted a bite of the unimaginative, ignorant aspiring actress he discovered in a milliner’s shop, then he was welcome to her. On Sophia’s side, he could little blame her.

Hopewell had no title but was an independent man of means. Arlington had learned ten years ago there seemed to be only one lady who could be interested in him despite wealth and titles. He had thought himself unable to give up his allowance and marry her as he wished. How did he repay her love and devotion? By having Claire banished to a damp cottage on the coast of Kent and dying of a fever. Now, he lived off investments of his own—refusing Matlock money—and it certainly was insufficient to buy women like Sophia the jewels they craved.

“As you please,” Arlington replied at last and said his goodbyes.

As he left the opera house, he noted the expression of interest of many of the ladies of Quality looking for lovers. They might condemn Sophia, but they traded their virtue for pleasure and money just as much as Sophia and her kind did. Then, there was the sort his brother had briefly been engaged to. They threw themselves at him for his name. Faithless creatures, the lot of them! No amount of begging from his mother to meet Lady Belinda Crenshaw—much accomplished, divinely beautiful and with twenty thousand pounds—could convince him to make a marry any more than he would consent to marry his cousin Anne. Their arranged marriage was the beginnings of all his problems.