The house on Nelson Crescent covered four floors and was a brand-new townhouse, very cosmopolitan in style and with a balcony to the front. Indeed, the household of Georgiana Darcy were to be the very first tenants, and local society was fizzing with excitement upon hearing that Mr Darcy from Derbyshire had rented the house at the princely rate of sixteen pounds a month. The Darcys had reached Ramsgate on the Tuesday after a long and arduous journey from Rosings Park, arriving dishevelled and in need of refreshment. Georgiana squeezed out of the carriage, which had felt cramped and stuffy, even with only Mrs Younge and herself inside it, her brother choosing to ride up on his horse, for reasons she knew not. Her new companion was a handsome woman with a good taste in clothes, she had dressed for the last leg of their journey in a blue velvet spencer with cream dress underneath it embroidered with tiny flowers, and her bonnet was decorated with the finest ribbon and an ostrich feather, even though it had become crumpled in the carriage. She was fairly young too, and Georgiana had let her mind wander to thoughts of why Mrs Younge had been seeking a position such as this. It was obvious from her manners and interests that she had been well-educated, was not like the frumpy Mrs Bradshaw who always dressed in old-fashioned clothes and, despite her title, was most definitely a spinster. Mrs Younge, however, spoke French and told tales of her exploits on the continent, and she always knew what to order when they ventured to the teahouses in town, where the waiters would smile and flirt.
"What do you think of the house, Georgie?" Fitz said, as he finished his coffee. They had been welcomed with a cold supper of meat, cheese and bread, their trunks silently taken up to their rooms as they enjoyed their meal, whilst Mrs Younge disappeared downstairs to eat with the servants. It had taken a week to have the house prepared for their arrival, and he had planned everything meticulously with Mrs Younge to ensure that his sister had a full programme of activities for the next month.
Georgiana walked through quickly into the drawing room, a narrow thin room with tall ceilings embellished with intricate plaster, and a crystal chandelier that hung low and splendid.
"Oh," she gasped, "what a beautiful room!" She turned to her brother, "you spoil me, Fitz, you really do. You know it would have suited me perfectly adequately to stay Lady Roehampton in Brighton or with Lord Suffield in Cromer, you didn't need to rent an entire house for just me. But Ramsgate," she sighed delightedly, "I can smell the salt on the air already."
He took a seat on the new sofa, "not at, sister. I want you to be happy and have an enjoyable month while I am away. I didn't want to leave you with Aunt Catherine for another four weeks."
"Thank goodness! I think another week alone might have finished me off… she never lets me finish a sentence, Fitz, and she seems to think that my own opinion on my own activities is invalid."
"Aunt Catherine is a lady of her own mind," he said, "I find that the easiest way to deal with her is simply to agree."
"It's all well and good for you," she sat on the piano bench, her legs swinging idly, "you are her favourite, after all. Did this come with the house?" She gestured to the mahogany pianoforte that stood on claw legs, the lid already open, sheet music waiting on the stand.
"Not quite," he said, "I ordered it just after Christmas. Mrs Hurst thought you might enjoy playing it, she chose the music for it herself. We will take the instrument back to Pemberley when the month is done."
"Really? I get it to keep it?" He hadn't seen a smile so wide on her face for a long time as he nodded in confirmation. "Oh Fitzwilliam, you are the best brother in the whole world entire."
He laughed at her excitement, the trip to Ramsgate would do her good. "Mrs Younge and I have planned a whole itinerary for you whilst you are here, I shall stay for the next few days and then onward to Wakefield."
"And then back to town?"
"Only for a week or so, Bingley would like me to help him a find a country estate."
"Mr Bingley is looking for a house? That's brilliant, you must find him one with spectacular views and good attics."
"Good attics? What would you know about good attics?"
"Well, I don't know about good attics, but Mrs Reynolds always says that they are very important, so it would be a good thing for Mr Bingley to have a house with them."
"I suppose so, although I think good hunting and a ballroom are his main priorities." He poured himself a glass of port, "he would like to begin his search in Hertfordshire."
"And what is there in Hertfordshire for Mr Bingley?"
"He is searching for a wife, after exhausting nearly all of London I think he has moved his search outward."
Georgiana idly pressed the keys on the pianoforte, "it seems a good a place to start as any. What about you, Fitz, did you meet anyone?"
"Nobody important."
He wasn't in the habit of lying to his sister, but for the moment he wanted to keep his feelings of affection for Miss Godwin to himself, he didn't like the thought of sharing her. It wasn't that he wanted to keep it a secret, because Fitzwilliam would have climbed to the roof of the house in Grosvenor Square and shouted it to the heavens for all to hear, but that he needed to make sure.
"You are smiling, Fitz," Georgiana said, "I think you have been introduced to someone important."
"No, not at all." He didn't realise that he had given himself away so easily, but it should have been no surprise, his sister could read him like a book.
"Tell me, Fitzwilliam…" She raised an eyebrow at him, reminding him very much of Aunt Catherine.
He refused to concede, but she continued to stare at him until he sighed with exasperation.
"Alright, I was introduced to someone."
"Pray, continue…"
"She is called Miss Godwin. Her family are from Yorkshire, her father owns property there. In fact, her family home, Selwyn Court, is but ten miles from Waddingham."
"Does she know Aunt and Uncle Fitzwilliam?"
He shook his head, "she is not acquainted with them."
"But you would like her to be, am I correct in my assertion, brother?"
He smiled a wry little smile, his eyes sparkling a little, Georgiana had never seen Fitz like this, but she liked it.
"Whoever I marry, my dearest darling sister, would have to meet your approval first," he said as he held her hand tightly, "or I have to be absolutely sure that you would adore her."
"I am certain that whomever you choose, Fitz, will be perfect."
"I hope so."
They had an extended family of cousins, aunts, and uncles, but it was always Fitzwilliam and Georgiana against the world, he knew it always would be as long as she needed him, as long as they needed each other.
Fitz stayed for three days before travelling onward to Waddingham, Georgiana begged him to write every day and he promised that he would as often as time allowed. She watched him mount his horse, feeling almost tearful. It wasn't the first time they had been separated since their father died, and it most certainly wasn't the first time Fitz had been away for extended periods of time, but it was the first time he had left her alone with a household of her own. There was no Aunt Catherine or Uncle Henry to run to if she needed advice, and she wasn't quite sure if she knew Mrs Younge well enough yet to confide in her.
The first week proper was filled with visits from the younger ladies of local families and their mothers, as well as a visit from cousin Richard, which was quite unexpected. He brought her more sheet music, strands of silk yarns for her needlework and a little bundle of brightly coloured fabrics that he had brought back from France.
"Is it true they are going to make you a Colonel, Richard?"
"I hope it is," he said, enjoying the jugged hare that had been carefully chosen and prepared for his arrival. Georgiana knew that it had been a favourite of his. "I return to the regiment on Saturday, but hopefully not for long."
"Well, I am very proud of Richard," she smiled, raising her glass, "Colonel Fitzwilliam."
"Not quite yet, G, but next time we meet…if god wish it."
"All talk has been of wives recently, Richard, do you think you will have a wife the next time you visit?"
"It's always harder to find a wife when one is a second son," he lamented.
"But easier, I think, because there are no expectations."
"No money either," he said. "Who has been talking of wives? Fitz?"
"Yes," she grinned, eager to share with her cousin, "he has met a lady who has caught his eye and he seems fairly enamoured with her. I have written to Mrs Hurst to fill me in with the details, but she is very reticent when it comes to gossip and my brother."
"Ah yes," he said, "I heard that Louisa Bingley had wed."
He took a mouthful of the jugged hare, and Georgiana was pleased to note how much he was enjoying it. She had asked the cook, Mrs Gibbons, to cook it as his particular favourite. Richard was so unlike Fitz, apart from their height which was the same. He carried his weight differently too, and whilst Fitz would sometimes look proud and awkward in social situations, Richard was full of confidence. He had been gone a long time though, away from society, fighting the French, and he had been very brusque earlier with Mr Edwards, the family's London butler who was running her household here in Ramsgate.
"She has. She wrote to me a few days ago to say how wonderfully happy she is, and how eagerly she is anticipating my arrival in town at the end of the season, for she has many trips planned to recitals and plays."
"How wonderful a friend she is," Richard said, his mouth full, "I hear she has a sister – maybe I should call on her when I am next in London."
Georgiana tried hard to hide a smile, for she knew that proud, disagreeable Caroline Bingley would never allow herself to be courted by a gentleman like Richard Fitzwilliam, regardless of his noble ancestry and good name, but it would be amusing to see him try. He could be quite determined when he wanted to be.
"That sounds like a marvellous idea, cousin."
Richard smiled, a big grin, and continued on with his meal.
Miranda Tench looked at herself in the mirror. She wondered where the bloom of her youth had gone, disappeared already in the arms of a disreputable gentleman, she guessed, although she was unsure which of them finally wiped her away. She had done a good job with her costume for this job – the role of a lady's companion – the clothes borrowed from a girl who had left to become mistress to a young lord from Scotland – they were slightly too small and she had to lace her stays extra tight to fit into them. The references had been acquired through immoral means too, written by the unfaithful wives of cuckolded husbands desperate to avoid a scandal. She had sailed through the meeting with the young gentleman, who seemed to take her at face value, not digging too deep after he read her recommendations, and he had offered her the position within the day. It was all part of the plan. The girl was asleep now, finally, Miranda thought, as she combed out her hair. She was a nice enough girl, spoke more like an older lady than a child barely out of the schoolroom. Luckily it was only for another few days and then she would be able to get back home to London, back to her daughter, and if all went as it should, a few days after that she would be in receipt of a handsome fee. But for now, she was Mrs Emily Younge, and she simply had to maintain the pretence for a little while longer.