In Want of a Wife
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 82,705 (in 14 chapters + Epilogue) / This part: 4,619
Rating: T / PG-13 (some chapters a stronger T than others)
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 10: In which an attempt is made.
Tuesday, 2 August
The following day was a bit easier to bear, as Darcy knew that the Joneses would be arriving in time for dinner. He and Peter made excuses to ride the perimeter of their property; to his relief, Miss Glenville had not brought a dress suitable for riding horseback. They went in a slow trot, which got them back in time for dinner preparation. For once Darcy was thankful for the country's tradition of early dinner.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Glenville, Miss Glenville," said Mr Jones upon his family's arrival to the house and the subsequent introduction of same. "You have met my daughter, I believe," he said, then proceeded to introduce his wife and son.
"Charmed," said Mrs Glenville, and it sounded sincere enough. Darcy vowed to not allow Miss Jones to occupy all of his attention in the hopes that Miss Glenville's attention would also be diverted as well, though he soon realised it would be a difficult task; she once again wore a pale blue dress, one he had seen before that was simple in cut and form, and that echoed the shade of her eyes, also placing her silver necklace beautifully on display.
"That is a lovely dress, Miss Jones," said Miss Glenville, with enough sincerity to be believable to the casual observer. "Lord Darcy, is it not a lovely dress?"
He decided, in the spirit of his vow, that he would downplay his opinions regarding Miss Jones and her attire. Despite wishing to proclaim it a stunning success on her, instead he said coolly, "It is quite nice."
"The colour really favours you," Miss Glenville said generously.
Mrs Bosworth came into the drawing room just then to announce that dinner was to be served. "Let us walk together," Miss Glenville said, taking his arm with prodigious speed. "Miss Jones has her brother, so I may claim you."
Darcy resisted the urge to turn to see Miss Jones' expression. He was sure she was disappointed not to continue their tradition of avoiding Napoleon's agents together. He certainly was.
Dinner conversation was dominated by Mrs Jones and Mrs Glenville, who, to Darcy's ear, seemed to be two peas in a pod on one level, and rival mother hens on another. Much like Miss Glenville had done with the dress, Mrs Glenville laid praise on Miss Jones and even Mrs Jones herself in such a way that deftly hid her backhanded insults.
"Such freshness and innocence to your daughter, Mrs Jones," said Mrs Glenville. "I did not spend much time with her yesterday but she certainly seems to say what she thinks and does what she likes. That must be so… liberating." The emphasis on that final word spelled out to Darcy her true message: that Miss Jones was unrefined and uncontrolled.
Mrs Jones, however, missed this message and merely smiled proudly. Darcy hated every moment of it.
Miss Jones had been relegated to her brother's side when Miss Glenville took the seat next to him and opposite to Peter as he took the head of the table as was his right. From his position he could see Miss Jones quite well though tried not to make himself too obvious. She was very quiet; she had very little to contribute.
Until Miss Glenville mentioned post-dinner diversions.
"Miss Jones, I thought of a piece to play," said Miss Glenville brightly.
"A piece?" said Miss Jones.
"Why yes," said Miss Glenville. "Yesterday you expressed an interest in my playing, as well as wanting to hear something new from town, though I suppose it may have since made it to Grafton Underwood. I do not have the music with me but I know it well enough." She cast a look towards Darcy. "I believe Lord Darcy wished to hear me play as well."
"I wished to hear you both play," he said.
"Which piece?" asked Miss Jones.
"I would prefer it to be a surprise," Miss Glenville said coyly.
"I understand," said Miss Jones. After a moment, she added, "I shall yield the floor to Miss Glenville this evening for our entertainment."
"Oh, Bridget dear, please reconsider," said Lady Darcy.
"I must insist on allowing your guest, a lady of far greater talent than my own, her audience," she said deferentially.
Miss Glenville smiled smugly. "You are too kind, Miss Jones."
The men stayed behind for a spot of port and to smoke their pipes. Peter pulled his brother aside once the ladies were safely away to the drawing room. "You must not wait," he said to Darcy. "You must take action."
"Of what are you speaking?"
"Miss Glenville wishes you for her own," said Peter.
"I am quite aware of this."
"You must make a formal offer to Miss Jones if that is still your desire, and you must do it sooner rather than later."
"Why would it not be my desire?"
Peter looked exasperated. "You are as thick as a plank sometimes. Miss Glenville will drive away anyone who may be a threat to her goal with more of her syrupy sweet-covered poison if necessary. And I think she perceives Miss Jones as a threat."
He was starting to see Peter's point of view. It would not matter if Miss Jones was his first choice if Miss Glenville continued to put herself forward as Darcy's intended. "I cannot do so tonight."
"Why not?"
"It would be most improper."
Peter ran his hand over his face. "Then when?"
"Riding on Thursday."
"Very well, if you insist on torturing yourself more than you need to." Peter took a deep draw from his cheroot. "I am going to need more of these very, very soon," he lamented.
The first thing Darcy saw when they entered the drawing room again was Miss Glenville standing and running her fingers over the curves of the Welsh harp. Darcy felt a tightness invade his stomach, as if her touch, her very propinquity, sullied the instrument in some way.
She turned her dark eyes towards him and smiled victoriously. "Ah, there you are. I was just preparing to play."
"We shall just take a seat."
As the men found their chairs, Miss Glenville took the stool by the harp and arranged her skirts around her. When she was satisfied all eyes were upon her, she smiled, straightened her back, then placed her fingers over the harp strings.
After a few false starts, which she attributed to her lack of familiarity with the triple-stringed harp, she began to play in earnest; Darcy realised instantly that he knew the tune. It was Beethoven's Für Elise, fairly recent in the composer's portfolio of works but not so new that Grafton Underwood's denizens had never heard it. It was familiar enough to him that he recognised when she hit an off-note, and the rest of it, more or less correct in tune, was performed so mechanically and soullessly that she might have been some kind of automated musical device plucking at the strings rather than a human being.
When she finished, she brought her hands away and bowed her head to the expected applause, offered more out of politeness than appreciation, save for her own biased mother, whose enthusiasm was noticeable.
"Oh, I quite like Beethoven," came Miss Jones' voice; he swore he heard a new life imbued in her tone that had not been present earlier.
"So you are familiar with the song," said Miss Glenville. "I should have guessed I could not surprise you."
"I am very familiar with his work," Miss Jones said, "though I much prefer his sonatas."
"Oh?" Miss Glenville asked, as if being requested to accept a challenge. "Would you care to share with us, after all, one of your beloved sonatas?"
She raised a brow, lifted the edge of her mouth in a subtle smile that spoke volumes to Darcy. "I believe I shall, if it is acceptable that I have changed my mind."
"No, please, I insist." The self-satisfied tone told Darcy that Miss Glenville believed Miss Jones would embarrass herself in front of her family and family friends. Darcy knew better.
Miss Jones took the stool in front of her harp—and he did think of it as her harp, despite his earlier words—straightened her own dress, then raised her hands and began to play. He knew this tune of Beethoven's as well, the Moonlight Sonata, and she played it expertly with nary a missed note. She played with great passion and vigour, tugging at his heart with every swell and dip, with every chord struck; the emotion of it brought tears to his eyes. Finally, as she reached the end of the piece she drew her hands away, looking directly to the audience, then settling on him with that same small smile.
After a moment of silence all of those present burst out into raucous applause. "Oh, Bridget, you have outdone yourself," cried his mother, her cheeks wet with emotion. Discreetly he touched his fingers to his eye, said nothing at all, though in his heart he agreed with his mother. He had never heard her play so well, and he had to attribute it to the time spent playing for his mother and for him.
Miss Glenville merely looked stunned that she had been upstaged. She should have taken it gracefully, conceded that perhaps Miss Jones' talent on the harp exceeded her own, but she could not leave well enough alone. "That was well done," she said coolly, moving to stand near Darcy. "I suppose it is to your advantage that you have had more practice on that instrument. If I had my own harp, my own pianoforte…" She trailed off, nose in the air.
Where Miss Glenville had no tact or grace, however, Miss Jones had it in spades. "Thank you. Coming from a lady of your accomplishment, that means a lot to me."
Darcy was so moved by the music and by her composure in the face of such rudeness that he was tempted to request of her father a private audience with Miss Jones at that very moment, but it was not to be. "My dear, you have done us proud," Mr Jones said, rising from his seat in the chair. "It was very nice to make your acquaintance, Mrs Glenville, Miss Glenville, but we must unfortunately return home."
Mrs Jones looked a bit surprised, but stood at her husband's words and offered a smile. "Indeed," she said. "Very fine meal, Elaine. Come Bridget, get your hat and gloves, and your reticule if you brought it."
"Yes, Mama," Miss Jones said quietly. To the Glenvilles, she said, "Nice to see you again." They smiled and nodded their heads deferentially.
Jamie, who had been as silent as a spirit the entire night, came up to Darcy on his way out. "You can count on me," he said, "if you still wish me to be counted on."
"Yes," said Darcy quickly, though not completely sure of his meaning. Before he could ask for an explanation, Jamie nodded and departed with his family.
He turned back into the drawing room and got himself something more to drink. He did not wish to engage with anyone for conversation; he preferred instead to consider the day after next, when he was slated to see Miss Jones again for horse riding, and when he would take the unconventional approach of asking to court her whilst they rode.
It was Miss Glenville's voice that drew him from his reverie.
"It is very much a pity," she said with that authority with which she made all declarations, "when the colouring determined at one's birth is no longer considered fashionable."
"To what do you refer?" Darcy asked brusquely.
"Why, Lord Darcy, to the fairness of hair and eyes with which, say, Miss Jones is encumbered," she said with an expression of innocence. "It is all the rage to be brunette, as that ties in with things of material importance in the world, and not flights of fancy or idealism so associated with a blonde."
Her words set him to a near state of fury, but he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing she had riled him so. Instead he merely gave her a pursed-lip smile. "The preferences of some gentlemen are not so easily turned by the whims or declarations of popular fashion," he said. "It is the lady's character on which I base my preference, not the shade of her hair."
"That offers me great reassurance."
He had had quite enough of her subtle jellyfish-like stings. "I am not sure it should," he said, "as my preference is, by your reckoning, for a lady of unfashionable colouring."
To this Miss Glenville had no immediate response; she had the sense to not allow her mouth to hang open too long. Darcy swore he heard his brother clap his hands. However, she then allowed a knowing smile. "Lord Darcy, you are allowed your preference, of course," she said. "You have been left to your devices alone in the country, so maybe you forget who you are and what your place is in society… but in the end you will remember what you owe yourself and your family."
Lady Darcy looked like she wanted to speak up, but he did first.
"I would gently remind you, Miss Glenville, that I was born and raised in the country, like my father before me, and his before him. The country is from where the most noble of birth in your revered society come. I believe, Miss Glenville, that you and your more newly fortuned family has lived in London your whole life?"
She said nothing.
"Yes. I thought as much," he said. "Now, if you will pardon me, I would take counsel with my brother on matters of importance."
Peter took his cue and got to his feet. "Yes. Let us retire to your study."
With almost military precision the two filed from the room and directly into not Darcy's study, but into the billiards room.
"My God, she is insufferable," Peter said. "I thought you were brilliant, Mark, absolutely brilliant, but you may have made a major tactical error."
"What?"
"You have tipped your hand," Peter said with gravitas. "You have admitted your preference for Miss Jones. You can bet she will come on even stronger than before, and will grovel to kiss your feet in order to win your affection."
With great reluctance he admitted Peter was probably right. Any other woman would have admitted defeat and stepped back with her head held high. "She is like an errant puppy one must smack on the nose again and again in the hopes she will learn her lesson… but she never does."
"That is not true," said Peter. "She is more like an annoying flea."
He felt lighter already, though knew he would have to brace himself for the next day. With a great heave of breath he admitted to his brother his intention for the next riding lesson. At this news Peter's eyes widened and he grinned.
"Why not just go down there tomorrow, have a word with Mr Jones? He is not likely to deny you."
"Because—" Darcy stopped suddenly; he had no good reason not to. He grinned. "Excellent point, brother."
Darcy retired early and woke early, if it could be said that he slept at all. Gillies was surely perplexed by the greater care than usual he gave to his attire. He ate some bread and cheese before departing for the stable. Within minutes Cosmo was carrying him towards The Gables, his heart racing as quickly as the horse's hooves. As he approached he slowed down until he was at a respectable trot.
"Good morning, Lord Darcy," said a maid gathering herbs in the garden at his approach; he thought her name was Patricia, but he could not be certain.
"Good morning, miss. I realise this is unexpected, my visit."
"I am sorry, sir," she said, "the family is not at home."
"Oh," he said. "For the day?"
"Yes, I believe so, sir. An errand in Kettering, is what they said."
"Thank you, miss. Please inform… Miss Jones that she is most anticipated tomorrow for a lesson as usual." He bowed his head in courtesy, trying not to let his disappointment get the better of him as he rode away.
He encountered his brother first as he returned to the house. "You are returned so soon," Peter said in his surprise.
"They are not at home."
"Ah. I am sorry."
"No matter," Darcy said. "I shall proceed as planned tomorrow."
With strength in numbers, he and his brother went to the drawing room together to find his mother and the Glenville ladies already present. Miss Glenville rose as he entered and strode rapidly towards him. "Lord Darcy," she said quietly. "I would like a brief word, if it is not too much trouble."
"What can I do for you?"
"I would like to offer my sincere apology," she said with great contrition. "I stepped too far out of line last night, speaking not only out of turn as your guest, but unkindly about someone very dear to your family."
It was just as Peter predicted. He waited for more.
"She is very talented, Miss Jones," she said. "I think I was perhaps envious of her performance, and in turn I treated her with unfair harshness. Please sir, see fit to forgive me."
He looked to Lady Darcy. "Has my mother granted you such forgiveness?"
"Yes," said Miss Glenville as his mother nodded once.
He turned his gaze back to the lady before him. He had to wonder how much of what she said was sincere, but Miss Glenville would never have his heart whether she was forgiven or not. He did not care to hold a grudge. "I shall grant you the same."
She smiled meekly. "Thank you, sir. You are very kind."
It did not take her long to try working her finesse on him. As their luncheon concluded she proposed a walk.
"You and me," she said then added almost too hastily, "and of course Captain Darcy. Perhaps we could also invite Miss Jones and her brother as well."
"Judging from the morning, I feel it is too warm for a walk," he said, not wishing to admit he knew that the Jones clan was not at home.
"Yes, yes, of course," she said. "Perhaps we can stay in the north of the house. We can play cards, or I can read to you and to our mothers."
"A generous offer," he said, "but I would prefer to read my own book."
"What are you reading?" she asked.
"Waverley," offered his brother.
He was grateful for Peter's quick-wittedness.
They retreated to the library, which was indeed cool, and he began to read from the point where Miss Jones had last left off and found himself quickly engrossed. When he got to a stopping point at the end of a chapter he looked up to see a couple of hours had passed, saw Miss Glenville poring over Fordyce's works again.
"I should have suggested you were reading Byron and truly scandalised her," whispered Peter from over his shoulder. Darcy had to stop himself from laughing aloud.
For the remainder of the day Miss Glenville was remarkably meek, though given that it was still so soon after being granted forgiveness it did not surprise him at all. Dinner was a peaceful blessing, for which he was grateful, as he could think of nothing but the next day.
Unable to sleep that night, Darcy found himself requesting warmed milk as if he were a boy. It did help him to drift to sleep, though he did then awaken much later in the morning than usual.
"My goodness, Mark," said Lady Darcy as he emerged for riding just prior to luncheon. "Are you unwell?"
"I am quite well, thank you," he said.
"Did you have trouble sleeping?" asked Peter. Darcy wanted to kick him under the table.
"A little," he said; there was no denying what could easily be verified via the late night staff. "I am well now."
"Are you intending on a day outside?" asked Miss Glenville, who sat with her embroidery, looking up from it only as she spoke.
"I intend on—" he began, then stopped; he did not wish to draw attention to his instructing Miss Jones on horseback. "Yes," he went on, "I shall be spending time outside."
"Oh, perhaps we can make a day of it!" she said brightly; he could not tell if it was said in innocence, or suspected another riding lesson with a woman she thought of as rival. "Captain Darcy, does that not sound grand?"
"I would prefer to stay indoors," said Peter. "I had thought you might read to us some more from Shakespeare." Bless his brother's soul, thought Darcy; he was willing to undertake something Darcy knew he found abhorrent to allow Darcy his chance.
It did not surprise Darcy at all that such flattery overrode her desire to stick to his side like glue. "Oh, I would be most pleased," she said, "though I should like to read from Fordyce instead."
Darcy would owe his whole family a debt of gratitude.
He decided to await her arrival outside of the front of the house; within a few minutes of his departure from the room he saw the Jones family coach ambling down the drive. He straightened his hat, smoothed down his jacket, and stood up straight, not moving until the open air coach came to a full stop.
"Good afternoon," called Jamie from his seat beside his sister, who was focused on her knee and seemed exceedingly sullen. "You almost had a free day. She almost did not want to come."
"Are you unwell?" Darcy asked, reminded of the same question asked of him all too recently.
She nodded, then looked up at last. "I am well, thanks," she said. He wondered what had made her want to stay at home, then realised it was probably for the very reason he had been reluctant to tell her about the Glenvilles' visit.
"Go on, then," coaxed Jamie. "Your horse no doubt awaits."
Darcy helped her down, and thanked Jones for bringing her over as he did. Once the coach departed, together they strode towards the stable. He did not wish to begin the conversation he hoped to have only to be interrupted by the stable boy, so they walked in silence.
Once they were atop their horses, however, she proved very difficult a person with which to converse. She took his instructions—short and to the point—well enough, but she seemed to deftly be avoiding being close enough to initiate his query.
It was not until they were riding back towards the stable, on horseback, side by side, that he spoke up at last.
"Miss Jones," he said. "There is something about which I have been meaning to speak with you."
She did not respond, and in fact was so silent he wondered if she had heard him at all. He repeated himself, only getting as far as her name, when she said, "I did hear you, sir," she said, staying focused directly ahead of herself, which was a little unnerving. She then offered a smile, one that quivered along the edges. "You do not have to speak to me about anything at all, need offer me no explanation, nor do you owe me one," she continued, still looking forward.
"Lord Darcy!"
This, a new female voice, called out from the direction of the stable, and Darcy turned his gaze at last; there stood not only Molly the maid, but Miss Glenville.
Darcy felt as if his stomach had been plunged into ice; his chance was slipping away. He looked back to Miss Jones, wishing to get out quickly what he wanted to say, but only got as far as saying her name again before she said in a papery voice, "I wish you nothing but joy and good health."
The mare headed to the stable without direction from her. The stable boy assisted her down as he dismounted his own stallion, but by the time he had put his soles to the ground she was already leaving the stable.
"I believe my brother has returned for me," she called, again not looking to him, purposefully striding until she reached the drive. The Jones family carriage indeed sat by the door. She turned and met his eye at last. "Good day, sir; good day, Miss Glenville."
As the coach departed, kicking up dust in its wake, Miss Glenville was the first to speak with her usual candour. "Poor dear looks devastated. Did she have a fall?"
Darcy realised Miss Glenville was right, though he would never give her the satisfaction of knowing; Miss Jones had looked devastated. He had no idea why.
She claimed his elbow as they walked the short distance to the house. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice until they were already inside. His brother stood waiting in the foyer as she released Darcy from his services as escort; Peter's expression barely concealed his confusion.
"Brother, a word?" Peter asked, indicating Darcy accompany him. They walked together to what Darcy had begun to think of as their war room, the billiards room, and Peter closed the door.
"I am sorry," Peter said almost immediately, "for not keeping rein on the wayward Miss Glenville…. Whatever happened out there? Surely Miss Jones did not turn you down."
"I did not get a chance to ask," he said. "She anticipated me, but incorrectly, and bade me not to speak. Exactly what her misapprehension was, I cannot know."
Peter's look went from confused to amused. "Mark, I think the answer is as plain as day."
"And that is?"
"Miss Jones has developed feelings beyond those sisterly ones expressed at one time, and is jealous of Miss Glenville."
Darcy snorted in derision. "That is untrue. She only dislikes Miss Glenville's company, and I cannot fault her for that opinion. It is also impossible that she could believe I am interested in a woman like Miss Glenville."
"Love is not rational." Peter pursed his lips with an expression of dubiousness. "What precisely did she say to you?"
Darcy cast his thoughts back to the moment. "That I need not speak or offer explanation. That one was not owed her."
"Explanation?" asked Peter.
"I know not what of," he said. "And she also wished me joy and good health."
At this Peter laughed aloud. "You are definitely thick as a plank," he said. "The girl obviously thinks you are betrothed to Miss Glenville!"
"Utter nonsense," said Darcy.
With this the matter was dropped and they played a few games of billiards before dinner. The next few days were spent taking care of tedious but necessary tasks, for which Darcy was grateful; it kept him constructively occupied, and though Miss Glenville desired by default to stay close by his side, some of what he did was so boring to her—tending to expected farm yields and food storage inventories with the steward—that even she could not be enticed to hang on in the way she would have preferred.
Despite Darcy's declaration that it was utter nonsense, Peter's observation regarding Miss Jones' behaviour lodged in his mind; such a seed planted into a mind as fertile as Darcy's could not help but germinate, even if he was not cognisant of it doing so.