Chapter 2
It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.
- Krishnamurti
His next engagement was two days later and fortunately, it was only for a dinner at the Brandons', people with at least some sophistication and taste. The one downside was, however, that they had three unmarried daughters of marriageable age and no sons. Their dowries were said to be an impressive fifteen-thousand pounds each and yet, there was little else to recommend them. They were like all the other girls Darcy had met over the years: rather shallow, with no opinion of their own and their accomplishments, though manifold were nothing out of the common way. The eldest played the pianoforte, her sister the harp and the third the harp-lute. All of them sang, drew and excelled in watercolours as much as the next girl not suffering from colour-blindness. They diligently embroidered cushions, arranged flowers and netted purses - at least when they were not out to take tea in one of the many fashionable tea rooms before going for yet another appointment at one or another modiste.
Yes, to say that eight years of society had made him somewhat cynical was nothing but an accurate observation. Fitzwilliam Darcy had to admit as much himself. How his friend Bingley could find so much enthusiasm to attend pretty much every single ball was beyond him, but then again, with a pretty face, obliging manners and a becoming dress and he was a lost man. For Charles Bingley, the task of finding a wife amongst the young ladies of the 'Ton' had not yet lost its charm.
While his valet tied his cravat Darcy wondered if perhaps he was not too fastidious in his demands for a wife. He was seven and twenty, a man in his prime, master of a vast estate, proprietor of an impressive townhouse situated in one of the most fashionable streets of Mayfair, and with an income of ten thousand a year. He was in want of a wife and still, not one woman had ever managed to catch his attention for any length of time and that time was usually the duration of a dance, a set at most.
Slipping into his greatcoat and taking his hat, Darcy climbed into his waiting carriage that would bring him no further than two streets from his own abode. Yet, London, with its quirk for uncomfortable drizzle lived up to its reputation. The rain had set in a couple of days ago and never since stopped, and though Darcy much preferred to walk, it would not do if he arrived at his host's house all wet and rumpled. He would have to postpone his walk until after dinner. It was but a small sacrifice and at any rate, a walk after a rich dinner was the best way to prevent indigestion, was it not?
"Ah, good evening, Mr Darcy," he was greeted by his host five minutes later. "It is so very kind of you to accept our invitation to such a humble party as ours this evening."
Well, definitions of 'humble' seemed to differ, for Darcy would not have called a dinner for more than twenty people much of a humble affair. Though granted, compared to some functions he had attended, it probably was. It was a matter of context.
"Mr Brandon," he bowed in return, handing his hat, coat, gloves and cane to the butler who had opened the door. "The pleasure is all mine."
"You are too good, Sir."
"Not at all. It is always a joy to be able to spend an evening with such good friends and in such good company."
That technically was not an untruth, it was a joy to spend an evening in good company with witty conversation in a relaxed atmosphere, just that society had so little of either. The talk would stay shallow, to relax would be impossible and as for the company being good, that could only be said because such company was in fact, not bad. But there was a distinction between good company and not merely bad company as far as Darcy was concerned. Not two months into the Season and he already wished himself back at Pemberley. Why did this time of year have to be so very tedious?
But there was nothing he could do about it, as little as he liked to admit it even to himself, he did need a wife, if only to produce an heir and unless he would give in to his aunt's demands and marry his cousin, he would have to find one amongst the women in town. As much as he loved his relatives, wedding his cousin was not an option for him. Anne de Bourgh, he was sorry to say, was one of the dullest creatures he had ever met and he was glad to say, that she had just as little inclination in marrying him as he had in marrying her.
The parlour was already crammed with people engaged in conversation, and bracing himself to talk about the weather for the next half hour, Darcy duly joined them.
"It is a pity that it has been raining for so long now, is it not?" a Mr Dawson approached him without so much as a greeting unless the slightest inclination of the head counted as such.
They had been introduced only the other week, but already he distrusted the man. There was something sly and unbecoming about the man who strongly reminded him of his old childhood friend, George Wickham. But now there was a man he would rather not think about. Though one thing he had to give Wickham, he was a good conversationalist, he would have loved a gathering like this and would have excelled in charming everybody with his easy ways and pleasant countenance. That he was a dissolute and conniving man mattered little as long as one made good conversation.
"Yes, very tedious, I have to agree. One does not quite know what to do all day long being ensconced in the house all of the time," Darcy answered, though in fact the weather had bothered him little.
There had been matters of business to attend to and when that had been taken care of and after a little exercise, he had made himself comfortable in his library to read, a pastime he had little time for in summer when his estate took much of this attention.
"Indeed, indeed. A ride in the park has been made near impossible, has it not? Not that one would meet many people. All one would achieve with such foolishness is being soaked through and getting one's clothes dirty to a point where one is not fit to be seen."
Darcy had actually enjoyed the near solitary rides through Hyde Park and down Rotten Row. But true enough, he had hardly seen a soul, save for a couple of grooms exercising their masters' horses and he had looked rather grubby by the time he had returned home. The loose soil of the bridle path had turned to mud and riding at a faster pace than a simple trot did result in specks of dirt upon one's boots, breeches and even sleeves.
"On the other hand, this weather makes these sort of gatherings all the more welcoming," he replied instead, and even while he did so, his companion had spotted yet another acquaintance and was already in the process of turning around, leaving Darcy to his own devices once again.
"You look lost, cousin," a voice piped up behind him, making him involuntarily smile.
"Fitzwilliam! I did not expect to see you here."
"Nor I you. Have you decided to be sociable at last? Or is duty calling you to battle?"
"Decidedly the latter," Fitzwilliam Darcy said with some wryness.
"I thought as much. You know, you should relax more often. A wife should do the trick. - And yes, it is my father's opinion I am repeating there," the young colonel grinned.
Richard Fitzwilliam was the younger son of an earl, the son of Darcy's maternal uncle and since his own dear father had died four years ago, joint guardian to his younger sister Georgiana, presently at school near Bath.
"And that was just what I thought. How is the Earl? How is your mother?"
There was no need to inquire after his other cousin, Fitzwilliam's older brother or his wife for Darcy had met them that very morning in passing, and though it had been a brief encounter, it had been very clear that both the young Lord Everston and his wife were both healthy and happy – and perfectly unconcerned by the weather.
"Oh, they are well, though the Countess has suffered from a 'severe cold' of late."
Or in short, his aunt had no wish to go into society for whatever reason, presumably because for once she had been on the receiving end of gossip. It happened to the best of families on occasion. One little faux-pas in dress could lead to amusement for a couple of days until it was another lady's turn to show a lack of taste and be laughed at by those she had derided just the previous day.
"I hope she will recover soon," Darcy remarked, though knowing full well that with that he did nothing more than participate in a farce.
"I think she will, Darcy. By the by, I have heard you are courting the younger Miss Bingley? When am I to congratulate you?"
"Miss Ca.. Ca...- Caroline?"
It had been a while since Darcy had been so flummoxed by a remark that he literally stammered. But where did that rumour, perfectly false, of course, suddenly come from? He and courting Caroline Bingley? Most certainly not!
"Yes, I heard it at White's this morning and I have to say, it took me somewhat by surprise. I never had much of an idea you cared for that woman."
"I do not. Or at least in no other way than that she is the sister of a friend of mine."
"And yet, I heard that you basically spent a whole evening with her by your side. Darcy, do be careful, I know you are eager to keep the ladies at bay but to resort to using another young lady as deterrent has its dangers," his cousin continued with some seriousness. "You know how quickly people talk, and with you being seven and twenty and unmarried still..."
He need not say more.
"I did, Fitzwilliam, and it was no pleasure, I assure you. However, there is little I can do to avoid her. She is, after all, Bingley's sister and as it stands, I have been invited by him to join their party on the morrow to go and see an exhibition. What I have most certainly not done, is encourage her in any way."
"I would not have thought you had, but perhaps you should distance yourself from the family for a while to show there is nothing to the gossip."
He would do just that. Tomorrow he would go to the museum with his friends and then... well, what then? He could actually do with a little break. A little rest from the treadmill of sheer endless social obligations. But where should he go? If he went to the continent it would be a change of scene, but not necessarily of society. He would have to think about it, but for now, there was little to do than to follow the call for dinner and march into the dining room.
Two full courses of fairly decent food, dull conversation and awkward smiles from across the table where the eldest Miss Brandon had been placed by obvious design. Nothing out of the ordinary. The leaving of the ladies while the gentlemen stayed behind for cigars and port was the highlight of the meal.
"I heard you have an estate in Derbyshire?" a man unbeknownst to him approached Darcy.
Oh, but he did know him, at least by sight. It had been the pasty-faced man who had asked Louisa Bingley for a set just before Darcy himself had left the last ball.
"I have, Mr?"
"I am so sorry, Mr Darcy. My name, Sir, is Walter Hurst. How do you do?" the man simply introduced himself, reaching out a sluggish hand.
"How do you do, Sir."
Already he had no opinion of the man, but since they were now introduced, he could scarcely avoid speaking to him.
"Then I take it you know how to deal with gardeners, Mr Darcy? Miss Bingley, I believe, mentioned that you had extensive grounds and the most beautiful gardens she has ever seen."
"Gardeners?" Darcy once again more stammered than actually asked.
Oddly enough, the one time Bingley and his sisters had visited him at Pemberley for a week before carrying on to Scarborough both ladies had determined that the park had looked far too natural and could do with a bit of artifice here and there and practically everywhere. What were gardens without a hermitage or a folly? Without a Grecian temple or an impressive fountain? And the lake... - No, better not think about Pemberley at this moment.
"Yes. You see, I have only recently purchased a house in town and the gardens, quite small, of course, do need a lot of tending to be of any lady's liking. But the man who has seen to the grounds seems unable to think of anything but lawns and hedges."
"If that is the case, I recommend you consult Mr Rapton or Mr Dawlish. The latter is perhaps less renown, but I have to admit that I myself much prefer his style."
And not only that, Darcy doubted that Humphrey Rapton would concern himself with any garden smaller than ten acres unless his client happened to be an Earl at the very least.
"Do you, indeed? I have never heard of the man. But perhaps, you could have a look?"
"I am afraid not as I am currently engaged in preparations for a journey I intend to take and which I have planned for a while now."
What had possessed him to say that was beyond him, but all of a sudden, what had been nothing but a vague idea, had manifested itself out of thin air. Yes, he would go travelling... no actually, he would leave society for a couple of weeks and Mr Hurst, of all people, had just given him an idea.
"Oh, a Grand Tour?" the man, unaware of his involuntary helpfulness, asked familiarly.
"Yes."
Well, not quite, but to voice what his real intentions were would raise more than an eyebrow, no it presumably would cause a scandal and possibly have him end his days in Bedlam.
The rest of the evening, Darcy spent deep in thought, and as was his habit, excused himself as soon as was possible without giving too much offence. Not that he was too fazed by it if he did, but as with everything, it was a matter of not overdoing things. The walk home was a relief. To breathe the fresh air, humid and cold this early in the year and despite the denseness, it always possessed in town, was more than welcome after the increasing stickiness of the over-crowded salon and the noise from the entertainment that had been provided by the ladies as soon as the gentlemen had joined them. He liked music, but where conversation and singing competed with one another it was bound to quickly turn into an ante-chamber of hell.
