Chapter Twenty-Three
The daughters of the Earl and Countess of Disley, along with many other young ladies of rank and wealth, were presented to Her Majesty Queen Charlotte amidst all the pomp and circumstance that event was known to generate.
Lady Cecilia and Lady Olivia Fitzwilliam had made their mother proud; she could find no fault in their appearance before the Queen. Their gowns were the most exquisite of all the debutantes, they had not tripped on the excessive length, their curtsies had not wobbled, and when they had walked backward away from Her Majesty, their gait had been perfectly steady, the train of their gowns draped most flatteringly over their arms. The only thing that could have made Lady Disley's pleasure in the day complete was if their father could have arranged for their debut ball to take place that very evening.
However, the granddaughter of a duke and the daughter of a marquess, who outranked the twin sisters, had been given their due precedence and the privilege of having their parties first. Luckily, the twins were invited to attend both through the acquaintance of Lord Disley with both the duke and the marquess, and of course those invitations had been returned to attend their own ball on Friday.
It was to the chagrin of the three gentlemen at Darcy House that they were all of them also invited, and they would each of them have declined had the countess not made it clear that she would brook no refusal. Nor would she accept her sons or her nephew spending the whole of the evening in the card room—they would all of them dance no less than twice, and each must dance with the belle of the ball.
It was due to these inescapable engagements that Georgiana Darcy was invited to spend her evenings at Gracechurch Street. She was growing ever fonder of the Bennet sisters, and the more time she spent in their company, the more she nurtured a secret hope of Elizabeth soon becoming her own. That Jane Bennet would be her cousin was already certain, for Philip had vowed that no action on the part of his mother would sway his determination to marry the girl he'd already waited nearly eight years for.
Though Elizabeth and Jane were required by civility and the bonds of family to spend some time with their young cousins on those evenings, Georgiana did not mind doing likewise. The Gardiner girls were sweet and kind in the way of their mother, and the little boys full of youthful energy. In watching the Bennet sisters guiding the children in their games, helping the girls with their first tries at sewing, and reading to the children when it was time that they go to bed, even Georgiana's young mind was able to conjecture what excellent mothers they would both make.
Georgiana had also been delighted to be asked to assist Jane and Elizabeth in finishing their ensembles for the twins' ball on Friday. While the sisters concentrated on their gowns, she was given the task of embellishing the long gloves they would wear. To Jane's she affixed a trim of the silver lace, and to Elizabeth's a thin ribbon of the same green satin as her open robe.
On both Wednesday and Thursday, Darcy and his cousins took their leave from the ball they attended that evening as soon as civility allowed, collecting Georgiana on the way home. Only Jane, Elizabeth, and Georgiana were awake at the hour they called on both nights, giving the sisters yet another chance to see their preferred gentlemen in their evening finery and the two cousins some few minutes in the company of their ladies.
Thursday evening—or rather, Friday morning, as the hour was past midnight—both parties expressed their excited expectations of the evening to come, during which they would finally be able to dance with one another.
"You will, of course, be introduced to my mother and father," Philip reminded Jane. "When your party comes in, I shall endeavor to have the task done as soon as may be, that we might spend as much time as possible enjoying each other's company."
Jane smiled indulgently. "Now Philip, remember what I told you—you must be agreeable and dance with other ladies. It will please your mother and curry favor with your guests."
"But I have no wish to marry their daughters," Philip pressed, smiling at her. "I only wish to marry you."
Miss Bennet beamed at his declaration. "Be that as it may, you must dance with at least two ladies besides myself, Elizabeth, Miss Darcy, and your sisters."
The others grinned as the viscount's brow furrowed while he counted the number of dances on his fingers, including the two he intended to dance with Jane.
"Come now, brother," said Colonel Fitzwilliam as he clapped him on the shoulder, "you're not so old that you can't dance half or more of the night away."
"And what about you, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked as the brothers joked with one another. "How many ladies does your aunt expect you to dance with?"
Darcy frowned slightly. "My evening will be similar to Philip's," said he. "I must dance one song each with my cousins and a set with my sister."
His expression changed as he looked from his cousins down to her questioning expression. "Also in the same manner, it is my hope that you will honor me with two sets."
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Indeed?" said she. "Will not two sets with the same young lady set the tongues of the ton to wagging?"
"If you do not think the prospect favorable—"
She silenced him with a laugh and a touch to his arm. "Sir, I am only teasing. In fact, I should very much like to have my preference of partners made known in such a manner. I only thought to warn you that the other guests may think me yours."
Darcy returned her saucy smile with a grin of his own. "Let them, for it is the truth."
This led Elizabeth to blush, but when he and his family took their leave, she went to bed wearing a contented smile.
-…-
Friday, 24 January 1812
"Darcy, we are idiots!"
The self-command of which he had long prided himself enabled Darcy to prevent the undignified spewing of his coffee across his plate when his cousin Theodore burst into the breakfast room and startled him with that exclamation. He set his cup down slowly, affecting disinterestedness as he asked, "Whatever are you going on about, Theo?"
Theodore marched over to the table and planted his hands on it, leaning toward Darcy as he said, "These last few days, you and I have been all about Town trying to find out that filthy bugger Wickham—pardon me, Georgie—looking in every gaming hell and brothel which we know would attract him or that he's known to have patronized."
"Aye," said Darcy with a glance at his sister, who sat opposite him quietly continuing with her breakfast but clearly listening to the conversation. "We have. What is your point?"
"We need to start looking for his known acquaintances—anyone who might either give him shelter or know where he has taken it," Theodore replied. "We know he has no relations who would put him up, and few real friends, but he always boasted of a numerous acquaintance here in London."
Darcy nodded slowly. "That he has," he mused.
"Is it certain that G—Mr. Wickham is even in London?" Georgiana asked.
Theodore stood straight. "Oh yes, my dear cousin. Will and I met several people to whom he owes money."
A soft snort drew their attention to the breakfast room door. "Wickham's owing people money does not signify that he is currently in residence here," said Philip as he strode to the sideboard and began to fill a plate. "It is as likely that he was here, trifled with any number of young ladies' virtues and ran up debt as he always does, then departed as quickly because he wished to avoid the wrath of fathers and husbands and because had not the money to settle his accounts."
Georgiana shook her head. "Good gracious, Fitzwilliam. How were you ever friends with him? How could I have been so foolish as to believe he cared for me?"
"It is as we told Lady Amelia when she came to me for aid," said Theodore as he joined his brother in gaining his breakfast. "Ol' Wicky is a very practiced liar. His problem is that even when he has prosperity, it is not enough for him. He always wants more."
The breakfast room fell silent save for the brothers filling their plates and pouring coffee and the brother and sister consuming their breakfast at the table. It was not until after Philip and Theodore had taken their seats that Georgiana surprised them, and Darcy, when she said,
"What about Mrs. Younge?"
The three men all looked to her, and she swallowed nervously as a deep blush filled her cheeks. "You said she was complicit in the scheme to rob me of my fortune, did you not?" she asked her brother.
"She was, yes," said Darcy.
"Well, if she was so close to him as you told me—if she was so wicked as to join him in his hope of robbing a girl of her dowry—is it not possible that she would do so again for twice the amount?"
"It's possible, yes," said Philip. He looked then to Darcy. "Whatever happened to her after Ramsgate?"
"She was given a small severance and dismissed," Darcy replied sourly. "Mrs. Younge was packed and gone within two hours of my arrival, and I admit that I cared not what became of her."
"Georgie has a bright idea, Will," said Theodore. "As Mrs. Younge was Wickham's last compatriot in such a scheme, it stands to reason that he might seek her assistance in another."
"Your point is made," Darcy said, then looked down the table at his sister with a smile. "Thank you, Georgiana, for reminding us of an avenue of investigation that we ought to have pursued from the start."
Her countenance brightened a little under his praise, though her expression sobered before she said, in a soft voice, "I hope my suggestion may do you some good in finding him. I should be very much distressed for not doing my part in putting an end to his wretchedness and save another young lady from a sorry fate."
"The question you must now ask yourselves," said Philip after swallowing a bite of eggs, "is whether Mrs. Younge has any acquaintance in Town."
"She does," offered Georgiana. "Or she did at one time. I seem to recall her mentioning an aunt, I believe it was, who worked as a dressmaker."
Theodore perked up at this. "Do you recall the lady's name, or where she worked?"
"I'm afraid I don't," said she. "I only remember that Mrs. Younge said they were once very close."
"That's all right," said Darcy quickly. "You've given us something to start with."
As soon as they were done breaking their fast, he and Theodore set out to visit every dress shop and modiste they could in the time allowed—for Philip had reminded them they were to dine at five before making ready for the twins' ball. Darcy had only just stopped himself rolling his eyes, as he hardly needed hours to ready himself, even for a grand ball.
Of course, searching for a person who was wholly unknown to them was no easy task. Their first difficulty was in how to phrase their queries—how did one ask after a person whose name and appearance was unknown to them? The method of inquiry soon decided upon was to enter each shop and ask if any of the ladies there were related to a Mrs. Robert Younge of Derbyshire. It was, in truth, the only lead to Wickham they had—if he was in London, he was hidden well. If he was not, there was no telling where he was, and Lady Amelia had told them her father had been given a fortnight to make his decision.
In secret, Darcy had begun to wonder if perhaps Theodore had been right. Had he consented to his cousin challenging Wickham to a duel for his conduct at Ramsgate, the latter would surely be dead, as Theodore had long boasted of his being alive as proof that he'd not lost a challenge yet. Darcy had also considered that if he'd turned in all the receipts of debt that he'd bought up over the years, having himself long felt obliged to clean up Wickham's messes, that his one-time friend would have been locked away in a debtor's prison and by no means in a position to seduce his 15-year-old sister or threaten the reputation of a duke.
"Oh, the things we do for love," muttered Theodore as they exited the fifth dressmaker's shop, yet again with no reward for their efforts.
Fully understanding his cousin's meaning yet finding himself unable to resist the opportunity of teasing him, for he was more often on the receiving end than not, Darcy said with feigned nonchalance, "Oh yes. I do love my sister and wish to see her equanimity restored. I've no doubt she appreciates your efforts as well."
He climbed into the carriage as Theodore stared at him incredulously; they were next to go to Gracechurch Street, where a number of linen drapers and dress shops could be found.
"You know that's not what I meant," Theodore said as he climbed in behind Darcy.
Darcy knocked on the roof and the carriage started off. "Oh, you mean Lady Amelia? Yes, I suppose one might say you admire her—she's a very pretty girl and she has sixty thousand pounds. A man in your situation can hardly help admiring such a young lady."
"Darcy!" cried Theodore. "You know there's more to it than that!"
Darcy sat back into the squab, rather enjoying his cousin's discomfiture. "Oh yes. As I recall, you mentioned that should her father grant you her hand, your firstborn son would be the next Duke of Mildenhall. I'm certain I need not remind you that such may not be the case—as the second-born son of an earl, you are well-versed in primogeniture and inheritance law. Your son would inherit the dukedom and His Grace's other titles only if the remainder in the letters patent which created them allow for the title to be inherited through the female line. In which case, Lady Amelia would, in fact, become a duchess upon her father's death, and the second-born son of an earl with no independent fortune would not be considered a worthy match for her."
Theodore's expression at first was one of shock, as though he could hardly believe what he had just heard. His mouth hung open for near a minute before he suddenly snapped it shut and scowled, crossing his arms as he shot one of his Hessian-clad feet across the space between them to strike Darcy's shin.
"That was a mean trick," said he, vexation evident in his tone.
Darcy smiled, the action deepening his cousin's dark expression. "Come now, Theo. You know it is no less than you or Philip—often both of you—have inflicted upon me."
Theodore threw his head back with a groan. "All right, I have paid my dues!" he cried, and when he looked back at Darcy his countenance was a fraction less severe than it had been.
"Unfortunately, you're also right. I've taken on this task in part as a courtesy to His Grace, who is known to my father, but yes, also in some small part to curry favor with the duke," the colonel said. "I do like Amelia, and very much so. She's not only beautiful and rich and one day to be a duchess—for I am already possessed of the knowledge that His Grace's family is regrettably down to him and his daughter on the Northam side—but she is also graceful and intelligent. She has a sharp mind and wit that makes me think of your dear Elizabeth, as you have described her."
Here Darcy's smile grew. "Then it is as well that you have become attached to Lady Amelia, or I might find myself competing for Elizabeth's affections."
Theodore chuckled. "And it is as well for me that your heart is already thrown away on a mere country squire's daughter, or I might have competition for the affections of Lady Amelia."
The cousins laughed heartily for a moment, Theodore afterward being the first to speak. "I'm not doing this just to have a chance of marrying her, you know. "
Darcy nodded. "I know." And he did. Though marriage to the duke's daughter would be a prize indeed for his cousin, the greatest success to them both would be ridding the world of a reprobate like Wickham.
"Even if I should be so fortunate," Theodore continued, "I might have to… Do you think my father would be aggrieved if I offered to change my name to Northam? Or perhaps to give that name to my firstborn son, that the line would have chance to continue?"
Darcy's brow had risen in surprise at Theodore's suggestions, though he said in reply, "I should think your father would agree to either, though knowing him as I do, he would be less offended if you were to do the latter. After all, Lady Amelia is young and healthy and no doubt of a robust constitution. Should His Grace reward you with his daughter's hand in marriage, I do not doubt that you have as much chance of siring at least as many sons as your father. You may yet still have a son to carry on your name."
His cousin smiled but made no reply, and the few minutes more that passed on the way to Gracechurch Street were silent.
The carriage stopped before the first of the shops they would visit, and as he alighted, Darcy could not help himself glancing in the direction of the Gardiner house, though he knew it was too many blocks away to be seen. Theodore, in noting the direction of his gaze, said to him, "If we learn anything useful, perhaps we'll have time to call."
With a mute incline of his head, Darcy turned his attention to the task at hand. They went into the shop, inquired as to whether any who worked there were a relation of Mrs. Younge, and as soon again exited on receiving a negative answer. They walked to the next block and were again unsuccessful at the dress shop they found there, but a further two blocks down and across the street, their tireless efforts were at last rewarded.
"I beg your pardon," Darcy began in speaking to the woman behind the counter, as he had done at every other shop. "But my associate and I are come to make a rather unusual inquiry. We are looking for a young lady who used to be in my employ but cannot locate her and have heard that an aunt of hers with whom she was once close may know her direction. Can you tell me if you or another of your associates are related to a Mrs. Robert Younge of Derbyshire, whose Christian name is Mary?"
An older woman, her black hair liberally shot through with gray, was just then stepping into the shop proper from a door on the wall. She regarded Darcy and the colonel with equal parts curiosity and distrust in her gaze, and crossed her arms under her bosom as she asked, "What do you gents want with her?"
The cousins shared a glance, then Darcy looked back to her and said, "Do you know Mrs. Younge, ma'am?"
"I just so happen to have a niece of that name, who just so happens to be the widow of a Robert Younge of Derbyshire," said the lady. "What do you want with Mary?"
Theodore smiled at her and bowed; Darcy knew him to be ready to charm her apron off.
"Colonel Theodore Fitzwilliam, ma'am," he said. "My cousin and I have need to speak with Mrs. Younge on a matter of some delicacy. We would be most grateful to you if you could tell us where we might find her."
Mrs. Younge's aunt scoffed. "A 'matter of some delicacy' you say? Maybe I should be askin' you gents what kind of trouble she's in."
"My dear lady," said Theodore, "Mrs. Younge is in no trouble at all! We only wish to speak with her, for we are certain she can help us with our task."
The woman eyed them, a suspicious glint still in her gaze, before she suddenly laughed. "I get you now—you're lookin' for someone else and think Mary might well lead you to 'im. No doubt one of those rotten chaps she's always fallin' in with, thinkin' she'll get herself out of the sphere in which she was brought up."
She snorted, the sound one of disgust. "Foolish girl. I always told her she'd get herself tied up with the wrong sort."
Mrs. Younge's aunt moved at long last toward the counter and rested one arm atop it. "You got a few quid to spare? If I'm to be expected to tell you where my niece is, I think I ought to be compensated for the row we'll no doubt get into when she learns it was me what told you."
Darcy immediately reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a few one-pound notes; there were five folded together, and rather than risk annoying the woman into telling them nothing by giving her only one or two, he held out the lot.
"Five pounds," said he as he held the notes out. "Pray let your information be genuine."
The aunt snorted again. "Mary may be my niece, but if she's been fool enough to get herself caught up in some wastrel's schemes, she deserves what's comin' to her."
She took hold of the notes, but Darcy did not immediately release them. "So, you've seen Mrs. Young recently?"
"I 'ave," said the lady. "In fact, we been sharing a room at a boarding house for some months since she lost a very plump position as companion to a rich girl up Derbyshire way. But Mary come into the shop Tuesday with this fellow what was real gentleman-like—I've seen her with 'im before—and said they was headin' off with a friend of his to Hertfordshire."
Darcy froze. "Hertfordshire. You are certain?"
"I am. Said this friend of the gent had decided to lease an estate in… oh, Meryton, I think it was… and her gent was to advise his friend on how to best manage it."
He released his hold on the bank notes—her information was well worth the loss of the five pounds. Thanking her hastily, he gave a curt bow to her and to the woman behind the counter who had watched the entire exchange in silence, and taking his cousin by the arm, guided him with long strides out of the shop.