In Want of a Wife
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 82,705 (in 14 chapters + Epilogue) / This part: 6,077
Rating: T / PG-13 (some chapters a stronger T than others)
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 9: In which there are welcome and unwelcome arrivals.
Tuesday, 28 June
His delivery arrived on schedule on Monday, so Darcy had sent word that he was ready to begin her training in riding that next day. Monday evening brought a note advising that she would arrive after breakfast. Darcy then had instructed the staff that when she arrived she should be shown to the drawing room, where he would be waiting for her.
Along with something else.
When he heard her arrive, his stomach twitched nervously in anticipation. He had tried in his mind to think of the words she would say, but upon her appearance at the threshold of the room, the one reaction he had not counted on was the one she had.
Complete and total speechlessness.
She had not even had a chance to remove her gloves or bonnet when she walked into the room; from its place of prominence near the window he had not believed there was a chance she would see anything else first, and he had been right. At first she blinked as if she could not believe what her eyes showed her; then, as she stepped nearer, her gloved hands came up and covered her mouth. When she got close enough, she pulled off her gloves and reached out to touch it, running her fingers over the sleek surface.
"Where did this come from?"
"London," he said.
She looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. "Your trip last week?"
"Yes. I thought I might persuade you to take a break from reading and play for my mother."
Now she furrowed her brows. "You bought a Welsh harp on the chance I might want to play it?"
"No," he said with a smile. "I bought a Welsh harp on the chance you would feel guilty enough at my doing so to play it whilst you are here."
She stared at him a moment before she realised he was speaking in jest, and burst out with a laugh. "I thought I was imagining things," she said. "It really is very beautiful."
"I am glad you like it."
"I would be a fool not to," she said with a grin. "So was this a ruse to show me the harp?"
"Was what a ruse?"
"The promise of a ride?"
"Absolutely not a ruse. I trust you are wearing your best walking dress?"
She laughed, remembering the last time they went on horseback. "Actually, this is my new riding dress."
"Outstanding," he said, taking a moment to appreciate the outfit, simple yet lovely in fine tea-coloured wool. He then turned and reached for his hat, which sat on a small table beside him. "Shall we? Unless you would like to give the harp a try."
She shook her head. "I feel unprepared."
"But you will play sometime, I hope."
"I feel I must," she chided playfully, slipping her glove back on.
Together they walked to the stable, where one of the stable hands was saddling the mare. She looked scrupulously at the saddle; he thought she was probably inspecting it, trying to find the damage that had been allegedly repaired. She then turned to him. "You will be riding as well?"
He nodded.
The stable boy helped her up into the saddle as Darcy took his own mount, a chestnut stallion called Cosmo. Together they trotted out into the field. Darcy could tell his horse wanted to cut loose and run as he was usually allowed to do, but Darcy held the reins tightly and kept him under control.
They went over the basics first, techniques with which she already was familiar but had had no formal education. They walked side by side in great figure-eights; she seemed bashfully proud when she got it right, and unduly frustrated with herself when she did not.
"It is all right," he said gently. "You cannot expect to be an expert on the first go. I have been riding for many years."
She pouted.
"What is it?" he asked, though he already knew, or at least he thought he did.
"I cannot say. You will think ill of me."
"I find that highly unlikely," he said. "Please."
She drew her lower lip between her teeth in an expression of indecision, but in the end revealed her thoughts. "I can tell that what you would really like most to do is just…" She paused. "Ride. But I am holding you back."
"Miss Jones," he said. "I do not think ill of you, but you must banish any such notion from your head that I would rather be elsewhere."
"Since you are a gentleman, sir," she said, "I shall have no choice but to take you at your word."
Miss Jones did not again voice doubts that her company was somehow a second choice, and with each lesson she became less tentative, a little bolder and more daring. They met every other day for a week, then every third day. She was a good student, but more importantly, while he loved spending the time with her, he got the distinct impression that she enjoyed their time together more than just for the education. This was borne out when they were not riding; picnics with their respective siblings and even Lady Darcy and the Joneses; carriage rides to nearby Kettering and Northampton for errands and just for the pleasure of seeing the countryside; hours spent in their drawing room with Miss Jones playing the harp for them, the smile lighting her face when she saw how much joy the music brought.
"You know," said Jamie after one such impromptu performance; he often accompanied his sister for her sake, not for Darcy's, "she really does not care to play."
"She is an excellent actress, then," Darcy said. "Why would she play so often for us, for me, if she did not care to do so?"
Jamie raised a brow, waiting for Darcy to understand he had answered his own question.
"Because I enjoy it?" Darcy asked at last, feeling a little dumbfounded.
"Your mother enjoys it as well," he said, "but Bridget does not feel the need to make a comment about playing for her."
Darcy stared hard at the ground, his heart racing. It had been six weeks since the elopement attempt; surely the time was nearing to tell her of his feelings. His mother had hinted towards there being a ball; perhaps Lady Darcy, too, was partial to private information about Miss Jones. Perhaps the time was right for that second dance to be accepted.
…
Thursday, 28 July
Darcy had never seen his mother looking so sepulchral. His first thought was to wonder if something had happened to Miss Jones; to his immediate shame he knew he should have first thought of his own brother, particularly when he saw she held a letter in her hand.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I have just gotten word," she said, "that we are to have… guests. This must have been mislaid. They arrive on Monday."
"Who arrives on Monday?"
"Caroline Glenville," she said, "and her daughter."
He did not reply. He did not need to and he did not trust himself to speak, his anger was so great, not at his mother but at the woman who he was sure was behind this, Miss Natasha Glenville.
"I did not invite them," his mother added quickly. "Caroline wrote several weeks ago to offer to come to visit, which is, I am sure, what I meant to tell you. She spoke of how I must feel lonely and how she longs to see me, longs to see the countryside. I wrote an immediate response politely declining. I am enjoying having my sons to myself, taking great pleasure in your company too much, though I did not say that to her."
"You probably should have."
She agreed, though did not say so aloud. "I thought she could take 'no' for an answer." She held up the letter, held it at arm's length to better see the script. "'My dear Elaine,'" she read, "'I insist. We both insist. We shall arrive on the first.'" She lowered it. "I am sorry."
Lady Darcy was of course going to be a good hostess for her friend and for Miss Glenville, and Darcy thought she would in fact probably be pleased to see Mrs Glenville. That was not for what her apology had been offered. She had been referring instead to Darcy's plan for the following week, a plan he intended on carrying out during the ball next Saturday at the Grafton Underwood Assembly Hall.
"There is nothing to be done about it," said Darcy. "My plans are unchanged."
He heard footsteps approaching the drawing room and within moments Peter appeared at the threshold. Peter looked to Darcy, looked to Lady Darcy, then said, "Good grief. Has someone passed on?"
Darcy thanked God at that moment for his brother's presence; he smiled for the first time since his mother had told him the news. Darcy then conveyed what the letter said, watched Peter's expression turn to one of consternation.
"I almost should have preferred someone had passed on," he said in what Darcy hoped was in jest.
Darcy surprised himself by saying, "Me too."
Peter's look of astonishment at such a verbal lapse turned quickly into a grin, which caused them both to chuckle.
The sobering voice of his mother chastising them to not say such awful things caused them to look to her; as if they were boys again they apologised in unison.
Peter proposed as they had their luncheon that his brother move his timetable up and begin his courtship of Miss Jones sooner rather than later, but Darcy declined. "There is a certain charm to the ball commencing a courtship."
"A certain… poetry?" asked Peter with a wink. He did not question that she would accept; Peter had expressed enough opinion on this matter.
Darcy had to admit there was, and that he had fully considered it in conceiving his plan.
"What about our plans?" Peter then asked.
The four of them, Darcy and Jones siblings together, had planned on a leisurely horse ride that afternoon. "I see no reason to change them," said Darcy.
"I mean for the duration. What will you say to Miss Jones about our impending guests?"
Darcy thought about it. "I will not mention that we have guests, because she will feel unnecessary."
"Unnecessary?" After a moment's contemplation, Peter seemed to understand: with two more ladies in the house, Miss Jones would reason their mother would have no need for her female companionship; thus Miss Jones would not come to visit, and Darcy could not reap the benefits of that close relationship. Peter nodded.
"I do realise I will need to spend time with the Glenvilles out of courtesy, but I do not intend to allow their presence to interfere with our routines." After a pause, he added, "I feel guilty not only for not being completely honest with Miss Jones, but for feeling a little selfish."
"Mark," said Peter, clapping him on the shoulder. "I support you in this endeavour."
Over the next few days, there was much focus placed on getting the rooms ready for their visitors. They would be on the other side, in the other wing of the manor, with all of the amenities they could desire. Miss Glenville will be far away, Darcy thought, then scolded himself for the unkind thought.
Miss Jones came on their last day of solitude, letting herself in as had become her habit and joining them in the drawing room; she found Lady Darcy holding a book at arm's length to read, Peter reading by the window, and Darcy writing a letter. If Miss Jones had noticed the continuing preparation she had said nothing, and his mother had made no reference. At her entrance Lady Darcy happily and with some relief set down the book. "I am very glad to see you, dear child," she said.
"And I you, as always," Miss Jones replied, as she leaned over to place a kiss on her godmother's cheek. "Lord Darcy, Captain Darcy," she added in the brothers' direction, then went directly to the harp. "I would like to beg forgiveness in advance."
Darcy's curiosity was piqued. "Why should you need it?"
She pulled a small stack of pages from her reticule. "Because I would like to try a song I do not know well, and it may well turn out to be an assault on your unsuspecting ears."
Darcy set his pen down, careful not to get ink on the letter to the head of his London staff. "New song?"
"Yes," she said. "Mozart."
He was flattered that she felt so comfortable playing for them that she would play a piece she was unfamiliar with. "We would be pleased," he said.
"You say that now," she said darkly. "You may well be running from the room in a matter of minutes clutching your bleeding ears."
Peter chuckled aloud. "I sincerely doubt that." Darcy agreed with his brother.
Miss Jones looked sceptical, but sat at the harp, arranging her skirt and placing her music on a stand that Darcy had previously brought down from the music room for her. At once he was to his feet. "Shall I turn pages for you?"
She gifted him with a smile that spoke of her surprise at his solicitousness. "I would like that very much."
He recognised the music as being from The Marriage of Figaro, which he had seen performed in London not long ago. Miss Jones got off to a rocky start—while she played the harp, she never sang in accompaniment—but once she got into the piece she did very well indeed.
So well, in fact, that he nearly forgot to turn the page for her.
When she finished, they all burst into applause for her efforts. She blushed, stood and curtsied. "I fumbled through so much of it, though," she said. "Surely you noticed."
"I think Mr Mozart would be the only one to notice," said Peter.
"You are very kind, sir," she said. "Thank you."
"I apologise for not changing the page quickly enough," Darcy said at last.
"There is no need for apologies," she said, rising from her seat and striding towards her godmother. "Now I could not help but observe that you are reading something for which my own eyes may be better suited." She held out her hand, and Lady Darcy gave her the book, a new one Darcy had chosen for her in London, an anonymous work of fiction called Waverley.
"Thank you, my dear. This is one of the books Mark brought for me from London." She turned to her sons. "Mark, Peter, you may stay or go as you wish."
Peter glanced to his brother with a grin. Darcy suspected she was giving Peter a chance to leave, not that she thought he wanted to go, but giving Darcy the chance to be as alone with Miss Jones as he could. "I believe I shall attend to some business with my valet. Miss Jones, a delight as always." He stood, bowed then quit the room.
After Lady Darcy assured that Miss Jones had something to drink—reading aloud was tough on the voice—she embarked on the surprisingly good tale of Edward Waverley, into which the author had woven enough fact regarding political events in England and Scotland of the last half-century or so as to muddy the waters regarding how much was fiction and how much was fact. Darcy found it very intriguing, indeed.
At what must have been the end of a chapter, Miss Jones stopped and closed the book. "I fear I must stop for now, in order to return home in time for dinner."
If it were Darcy's choice, she would stay every day, but he knew she could not. A quick glance to the clock told him her brother would be along any moment to bring her home, and as predicted a knock was heard on the front door. The maid announced Jamie Jones just as he came in, smiling broadly. "Ready to go?"
"Let me just get my music."
After she packed the sheets back into her reticule, Darcy walked with her to the door. "We shall see you tomorrow afternoon, then?" he asked.
"For riding? Absolutely." She smiled as she fixed her bonnet's ribbons under her chin, slipped her gloves back on. "I have rather come to look forward to our riding sessions. And oh, I am particularly looking forward to the ball."
Darcy smiled and tried not to feel unduly optimistic about the upcoming ball, but he swore that her smile to him held more than fondness; there was a warmth that spoke of much more.
"Oh!" she said again. "I wonder if we could have another waltz!"
"Absolutely not," he scolded, which only made her laugh. This made him realise she was only teasing. In all honesty he would have really liked to waltz with her again and he knew this was what had caused him to snap back his answer. Well, he thought in all optimism, perhaps we can waltz when we marry. Surely society cannot deny a bride her wish…
…
Monday, 1 August
"Elaine, my dear. It is so good to see you."
Darcy did not know Mrs Glenville that well, but he could easily see from whom her daughter had gotten her looks. As his mother clasped her friend's hands and declared the same, Darcy saw that the two bore a striking resemblance to one another; walnut hair, beetle-black eyes, thin lips perpetually pursed, it seemed to Darcy, in disapproval. Darcy knew Miss Glenville's eyes were upon him but he refrained from returning the gaze as long as was polite.
"Lord Darcy, sir," Miss Glenville said as she extended her still-gloved hands towards him, "it is just as good to see you."
"I am glad you had a safe journey," he said, bowing slightly at the waist. "You are arrived in time for luncheon. That is, of course, unless you would prefer to rest after the sojourn. Mrs Bosworth could show you to your rooms."
"Luncheon sounds wonderful," she said, dropping her hands as if she had never raised them. "I have missed speaking to you, missed seeing you. You must tell me what you have been doing since last I saw you." As they moved towards the drawing room, as was always her habit in London society, Miss Glenville claimed his elbow. It would have been rude to push her off. To Darcy it seemed now that he was within her sights, she was not about to relinquish it. Perhaps the duration of their stay would be more difficult than he had imagined.
The first thing the visitors noticed upon entry was the newest addition to the room, the statuesque Welsh harp. "My word," said Mrs Glenville as she approached it. "Since when do you play the harp? This is an odd one; so many strings."
"I do not play," said Lady Darcy, taking her usual, favourite chair. "Mark purchased it in London."
"Darcy, you do not play either," said Miss Glenville. "To what purpose?"
"It is a triple harp from Wales," said Darcy, taking a seat on the sofa.
"Have you taken to purchasing such things for decoration?" As she sat at a discreet distance from Darcy on the same sofa, Miss Glenville had an odd little smile on her face. It may very well have been from genuine amusement, which did not keep her from pursuing her question.
"He purchased it for the pleasure of my hearing it," said Lady Darcy. "My goddaughter often visits and she plays beautifully."
"Perhaps we shall be so blessed as to hear," said Mrs Glenville.
"Goddaughter?" enquired Miss Glenville, raising one brow ever so slightly.
"Yes," Lady Darcy said. "Her family lives very near."
"Do we know this young lady, so accomplished on the harp?"
"Unlikely," said Lady Darcy. "She has not yet been introduced in society."
The brief expression of smug superiority that flashed across Miss Glenville's face was unmistakable.
Luncheon was announced and the subject of Miss Jones and her family was thus dropped. Darcy was fortunate to have the cold beef and bread; it enabled him to keep his participation in the conversation to a minimum.
When, near the end of the meal, Darcy heard the front door open and close, he thought nothing of it until the newcomer was already entering the dining room. It was Miss Jones, and she looked as surprised as he would have expected.
"Oh!" she said. She was dressed in her riding gear, prepared for another horseback session. "I am… I am sorry." She looked bewildered and embarrassed.
Lady Darcy spoke to make up for her son's silence. "This is the young lady about whom we were speaking earlier. Miss Jones, this is a very good friend of mine, Mrs Caroline Glenville, and her daughter, Miss Natasha Glenville. And this is my goddaughter, Miss Bridget Jones."
Mrs Glenville happily made Miss Jones' acquaintance. Darcy felt Miss Glenville's hand touch his sleeve. "A pleasure," Miss Glenville said flatly. "I understand you play the harp."
Miss Jones' confused expression was, Darcy realised, equally about the reference to the harp as it was to Miss Glenville's proximity to himself and her possessive manoeuvre. "Yes," she said. She looked to Darcy. "I did not realise you would have guests for luncheon. I should not have come."
"We are not here just for luncheon," Miss Glenville said. "We are here for the month."
Darcy stood abruptly, looking to Miss Jones; she appeared slightly lost. "Your riding instruction will continue unimpeded," he said. "I am finished with eating. You have arrived at just the right time."
"Are you… certain? I do not wish to intrude."
"Absolutely certain."
"I shall see you later, Lord Darcy," Miss Glenville called after him.
They walked to the stable, met the stable boy as usual, who went to saddling the mare. She was unusually quiet, maybe even a little upset. As they waited, Darcy hoped she might say something to indicate what was on her mind, but she stood in silence. Finally he said to her, "I should have mentioned we would be having guests, but I did not want you to think…." He trailed off. When he went over his prior reasoning in his head it sounded foolish. Instead he said, "I wanted to keep my commitments, not stray from my routine, and after all, they are my mother's guests, not mine."
"Commitments and routine," she repeated softly. "No, I understand completely." She looked up with what Darcy suspected was a false brightness, for which he felt terrible; he had not meant to hurt her feelings with the mere presence of the ladies. "I think Fiona's ready for me," she said, indicating the mare she had been in the habit of riding.
Once they were both on their respective horses, they began to gallop gently through the meadow. He flanked her with his own mount to continue his explanation. "Mrs Glenville wanted to ensure my mother was not too lonely, and though my mother demurred to a lengthy visit, we only discovered on Thursday the intent to arrive today."
"And what of Miss Glenville?" she asked, continuing to look forward. "She seems to know you very well."
"We have had an acquaintance for some time, particularly since I have started to go to London for the season," he replied. "Mr Glenville was a friend of my father's, a man who is himself a man of trade, so naturally his wife and my mother became friends as well."
"Naturally," she echoed. At that moment she made a motion with her foot and the horse trotted forward much more quickly.
"Miss Jones!" he called to her, stepping up Cosmo's pace.
"How is my form?" she called back. "I would hate to look improper. Unduly embarrass myself in front of others."
Her riding form was excellent, and he was sure she knew it. He was suddenly equally sure that the comment had nothing to do with riding. "I should have given you notice."
"You are not required to give me notice," she reminded. "However, I would have preferred not to appear quite like such a savage in front of two ladies evidently of society, coming in without presentation and the like."
He spent a moment in silence thinking on the matter, and knew she was absolutely right. "I am sorry," he said in all humility.
Miss Jones turned to look at him at last, offering him a smile borne not of false brightness but of genuineness and sincerity. "All is forgiven, sir," she said solemnly; in that moment Darcy felt himself slide even more irretrievably in love with her.
It was a very good lesson indeed, not that she needed much more in formal horse riding for her needs; for the latter portion of their time together they just allowed the horses to leisurely gallop through the meadows. At the conclusion, upon dismount he invited her to come in for refreshment.
"Jamie should be here at any time," she said, "and I am not fit for company."
"I insist," he said. "You must be thirsty, and it is very warm out here."
"Hmm," she said. "If you insist."
They strolled towards the house; once inside, Miss Jones removed her bonnet and gloves, and Darcy requested water with lemon be brought to the drawing room for their enjoyment. "Perhaps a few biscuits too," he added.
As they came around into the foyer proper Darcy nearly burst into a laugh: his brother was clearly trying to be as surreptitious as possible in moving through the house. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"I have been having a grand morning keeping to myself," he said. "Reading Waverley in the library. Very good by the way, excellent purchase, though 'Anonymous,' my eye. If the author is not Walter Scott I will eat my hat."
Darcy came up close to his brother. "If we must suffer, so must you."
Together the three of them went into the drawing room, where Miss Glenville had taken up a volume of Shakespeare's love sonnets and was reading them aloud, though devoid of any discernible passion in the inflection of her voice. She stopped upon noticing that the three of them had entered.
"Peter! There you are!" Lady Darcy smiled up to him, though Darcy knew her tone masked a reprimand. "Caroline, Natasha, you remember Peter, of course."
"Captain Darcy," said Mrs Glenville. "Your father would be so proud." Peter nodded gratefully.
"Of course I remember you, sir," said Miss Glenville. As the second son, however, Darcy knew she had never given him more than a fleeting thought. She had always had her sights set higher.
One of the servants came in then with a tray bearing a pitcher of water, some drinking glasses and the promised snack, setting it upon the low table there. The ladies already present were well-provided with their drinks. Miss Glenville was on the sofa, and Miss Jones took a seat beside her, smiling cordially; nothing like the smile with which Darcy had often been graced, he noted. The gentlemen took additional seats near the table and Darcy poured the glasses.
"Thank you, sir," said Miss Jones, accepting the first as well as a little pastry biscuit.
He poured some for his brother, as well, although his brother had not been astride a horse that day.
"We have heard such nice things about you from your godmother, Miss Jones," said Miss Glenville. "We would love to hear more."
Miss Jones looked pleased and flattered to receive attention from her; he considered she had little to no contact with women from London society, and the difference between the highly coiffed Miss Glenville (with her satin and feathered hat) and Miss Jones (with her blond hair carefully pinned for placement under her riding bonnet) could not be more striking.
"Well," she said. "I had my schooling at Miss Bangor's School for Girls. I do a bit of embroidery and… writing."
"Languages?"
"A little French, and poorly," she said with her usual air of self-deprecation.
"Oh," said Miss Glenville, a hint of not only disappointment but superiority in her voice; he knew she spoke French and German fluently. "Pianoforte?"
She shook her head. "I play the harp, as you have heard."
"Oh, yes, the Welsh harp in the room is yours."
Miss Jones tinted pink. "You are mistaken," she said. "It is Lord Darcy's, purchased for his mother."
"For his mother Lady Darcy's pleasure," Miss Glenville said, casting an affectionate glance her way. "He does not play, and if I am not mistaken she does not either."
"I might play," said Peter.
Miss Glenville and Miss Jones both laughed, but where Miss Jones' was in amusement at the ludicrous notion of Peter playing the harp, Miss Glenville's was dismissive. "Since you are the only one who can play, it is in essence yours. That is to say," she added, "the only one besides myself who plays."
"You play the triple harp?" she asked in astonishment.
"I play the harp, and once or twice I have performed on a harp that large," Miss Glenville, "though I much prefer either the smaller harp or better still, the pianoforte. It is, in my opinion, a far superior instrument."
Miss Jones looked to her glass of lemon water.
"Still, you must play for us, Miss Jones," continued Miss Glenville. "I am certain there is no finer player in all of Grafton Underwood."
"Indeed there is not," said Lady Darcy.
"Not today, I beg you," she said. "My hands are still somewhat fatigued from holding the reins." Her features brightened, and she asked in all sincerity, "Perhaps you will play instead?"
"Oh, yes, horse riding," said Miss Glenville, ignoring the request. "Lord Darcy is instructing you, I understand? I am sure he is the very best you could want at any age. How fortunate he can spare the time."
Darcy was coming to see that Miss Glenville meant to belittle Miss Jones with every supposed compliment. "I feel very fortunate indeed." As if realising the lateness of the hour, Miss Jones set her water glass down. "My brother will be arriving at any moment to collect me. It would behove me to meet him when he does."
"Bridget, my dear," said Lady Darcy, "please convey to your parents and your brother that you should all come and dine with us tomorrow. This way we shall have the pleasure of hearing both of you fine ladies play."
Miss Jones seemed delighted by the prospect. "Perhaps then, Miss Glenville, you will play us something new from town that we here have not yet heard."
Miss Glenville's lip curled into a smile. "Yes, I would be pleased to do so."
Miss Jones rose from her seat; Darcy and Peter both rose likewise. "We shall escort you to the door," said Darcy.
Miss Jones fought a smile of her own. "We must be ever vigilant against those bears." This made Darcy smile as well; Peter only looked confused.
As if perfectly timed, Jamie approached with the small carriage just as they descended the front porch. "We shall see you tomorrow, Miss Jones," said Darcy.
"I look forward to it."
When they came back into the house they could both hear Miss Glenville speaking, evidently attempting to hold court with her elders. "She seems a sweet girl," said Miss Glenville. "It is unfortunate she has not had the benefit of exposure to society. She might have thoroughly enchanted the gentlemen left and right." Her mother made a sound of agreement. His own mother said nothing, for she likely perceived it as the insult it was.
"I do not like that woman," muttered Peter. "Now I know precisely whose tidings of untimely demise I should have liked to have received." Darcy said nothing, merely strode into the room. Upon seeing him, Miss Glenville smiled in her calculatedly coy way.
"Safely on her way?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Glad to hear we will not need to worry thus. Please, come and sit and we can talk of the latest news from town."
It was an oblique invitation for him to join her on the sofa. Instead he walked to the window in order to gaze out upon the landscape. He should have realised it was no escape from her attentions. She proceeded to inform him on the events that had transpired since he had gone to the country; he heard more detail than he cared regarding the plays and operas she had seen, the parties she had attended and the announced engagements of several mutual acquaintances. He thought it was no accident that she would mention the latter. She was not exactly renowned for her subtlety in that regard.
"Mark," called Peter, "I should like your opinion on a matter of great import."
Darcy turned to where his brother was standing at attention befitting an important matter. "Miss Glenville. If you will pardon me."
"Of course."
He followed Peter out of the room and directly into the billiards room. Peter closed the door behind them.
"We are sure to be undisturbed here."
"Very well. About what did you need my opinion?"
"Nothing," he said. "You looked liked you needed to escape."
At this Darcy laughed aloud. He knew no sound would escape the room so he was not worried the ladies would hear. "Come, let us have a game while we plot the reason for your taking me away from Miss Glenville's fascinating discourse."
It was decided that the matter of importance involved his naval career; it was sufficiently believable that a naval captain might want to discuss things with a confidant such as a brother, that he might not wish to do amongst general acquaintances. It was a good, spirited game, almost enough to make him forget what awaited him at dinner.
Dinner that evening took Darcy back to that disagreeable time at King's Lynn spent avoiding the attention of young ladies seeking to land a husband. Miss Glenville stayed within the boundaries of propriety, but made her intention all too clear. He thought it only a matter of time before she struck out at Miss Jones as a possible impediment to her goal. He was right.
"It is an enlightenment to me," said Miss Glenville as they had dessert, "that country manners are so different from what I have always known in town."
Darcy knew better than to ask what she meant, but Lady Darcy asked anyway.
"Well, that young ladies are free to wander around unescorted, enter houses unannounced, and have their betters giving them instruction in the most elementary of skills."
Lady Darcy chuckled lightly, then offered her a smile that Darcy knew to be calculated, even protective. "If you refer to Miss Jones," she said, "that is a special situation. Bridget has a standing invitation to see me whenever she likes and needs no prior permission."
Darcy enjoyed watching Miss Glenville grovel and trying to back out of the insinuation; it would not do to get on the wrong side of the woman she hoped would be as her own mother. "Oh, I meant nothing by it," she said. "If that is a special situation, then of course it should be viewed as such, and not as widespread practise. My apologies."
Lady Darcy nodded; all was forgiven, but, Darcy suspected, not forgotten. Darcy also knew it would not be the last such dig at a perceived rival; the notion amused him greatly, as in his own mind, there was no rivalry. Miss Glenville did not compare.
After the guests retired for the evening, Darcy was moved to have a private word with his mother. "Oh, it is unkind of me to say," Lady Darcy lamented, "but I wish Caroline had been able to leave her daughter in town. My only consolation is that at least the girl did not read her first choice to us."
"Which was what?"
"Fordyce's Sermons."
Darcy could not stifle the groan at the very thought.
"She is after you, Mark," said his mother. "Take care."
"You have nothing to worry about," he assured.
"Take care all the same."
