Their conversation naturally ended, then, as they took their horses out and clambered on, beginning at a walk and increasing the pace briskly enough that speaking again became almost impossible.

  Darcy enjoyed the feel of the wind against his cheeks, and the enforced lack of conversation allowed his thoughts to turn over this interesting piece of news. Georgiana, it seemed, found time spent in Charles Bingley’s company as enjoyable as he did. He felt a tiny flare of jealousy that Charles seemed to know more of Georgiana’s hobbies and interests of late than her own brother but knocked it away easily. It was not difficult to see how, for Charles had a knack of being interested in people, and engaging them in conversation no matter what their personality. It was a skill Darcy envied, and valued his friend for. That such skill would be put to use on Georgiana ought not to surprise him, but nonetheless, he gave it consideration, and it was not until they had been riding some time that Georgiana slipped from his mind and he allowed himself fully to focus on their present exertions.

  THEY HAD WALKED THE entire span of Newton twice over by the time Caroline Bingley permitted them to stop and take tea, which circumstance Georgiana greatly rejoiced in. She did not mind walking, in fact she might happily have walked further or faster than either of her companions allowed, but the perpetual stopping to greet certain people, or pointedly to ignore others, and then to turn, the instant they were passed, and pass whispered comments on precisely who they were and why they must be ignored was almost too much for her to bear.

  “Did you have any particular errands you wished to see to, Georgiana?” Mrs Hurst asked, when they had taken tea and concluded an exhaustive discussion of those friends and neighbours who happened to be seated around them. Her lips curved up in a less than pleasant smile directed at her sister. “Caroline is always eager to spend on account, but you have not made any purchases yet today. Perhaps some new music, or a hair-ribbon?”

  Georgiana smiled blandly as if the promise of a hair ribbon afforded her all the happiness in the world. She had never been a particularly materialistic person and felt increasingly distanced from her companions as they gravitated towards several of Newton’s more fashionable and expensive retailers.

  “I have no need of anything,” she said, brightly.

  “Indeed, it is unkind of you to tempt poor Georgiana when she is our guest and you know she must not wish to run up debts without her brother’s permission.” Caroline uttered this in a knowing tone which aggravated Georgiana.

  “Actually, William is very generous with my allowance and insists I spend as I see fit.” She blinked. “I just do not have the need to return with new purchases after every single visit to town.”

  “No doubt you would win my brother for an admirer with that attitude,” Caroline remarked, with the toss of her head. “He never tires of lecturing me on my spending, yet he cannot begin to imagine how necessary it is to spend money as an unmarried young woman.” This last was muttered with a self-pitying sigh and had she not already exhausted Georgiana’s reserves of sympathy, she might have won a consoling hand clasp or a smile of encouragement. Instead, Georgiana looked away, feeling sure that she would shake Caroline herself if she continued in this way. Is it any wonder you remain unmarried when your every interaction is underpinned with self-interest? she thought. Any affection she had felt for Caroline Bingley had waned over their time spent in such close proximity, as she was forced to witness again and again how proud and selfish Charles Bingley’s sister was. It was a source of great confusion to her that a gentleman like Mr Bingley could possibly spring from the same family that had birthed Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley. Then she remembered her brother’s first writing of Elizabeth Bennet’s family and wondered if it were a universal truth that every family must possess at least one silly sister. That fate must be mine, in our case, then, she thought, with a sour smile. For William has but one sister, though I do not credit myself as so very silly. She might have thought so as recently as a few weeks past, particularly in light of The Wickham Debacle, as she had come to refer to it. She had made her peace with the part her own propensity to be led astray had played in the mess, however, and had put the past behind her. Compared to Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst she knew she must be intelligent, for they often made such ridiculous displays of stupidity that she did not wonder if it were a game between them to appear less clever than they were. But there were no gentlemen present whose own sense of self needs must be flattered, and they certainly would not wish to appear stupid in front of one younger than they, so she came to decide it must be accurate. She felt a flash of shame at such a judgment and wondered when she had become so scathing in her assessment of other people. These were comments her brother might have made, and never within the presence of the people whom he judged. Perhaps we are not as different as I previously thought! Georgiana remarked to herself with a grin.

  “What has amused you, so, Georgiana?” Caroline asked, spying her smile. Georgiana rearranged her features quickly and shrugged off her friend’s question.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I was merely recalling something Mr Bingley said at breakfast.”

  Both ladies looked blankly at her, and Georgiana hurried to re-tell the story that Charles had greeted his sisters with that very morning. It was not a particularly funny story of a friend of his who had written a letter intended for a young lady’s eyes, but been sent quite by accident to Charles instead. “The fellow wears spectacles, or ought to, yet he is vain and does not wish to be seen blinking, and so he perseveres without and is forever making such errors.” Charles had roared with laughter. “Wait until I see him next, how I shall tease him.”

  Mrs Hurst and Caroline had been horrified and were once more to be reminded of the story.

  “Charles had no business in telling us that! How dreadful!” Mrs Hurst exclaimed.

  “Nonsense,” Georgiana remonstrated. “I think it showed his affection for his friend. It is not as if he planned to gossip the story about the town,” as you might have done, she finished, addressing her friends in silent censure.

  Mrs Hurst shrugged, disagreeing with Georgiana’s sentiment but finding the topic of little enough interest to engage in an argument.

  “How avidly you seem to listen to all that my brother says, Georgiana!” Caroline remarked, with a sly smile.

  Georgiana straightened, and coloured, feeling sure there was some slight intended in Caroline’s words.

  “Ought I not to listen to him? I happily listen to your own stories, too. Pray, tell me one now. Who was the elegant lady you stopped to speak to in the doorway?” Georgiana desperately sought for anything that might engage her friend in conversation once more and dissuade her from reaching the conclusion that was all too apparent to Georgiana herself. She could not bear to think that Caroline had deduced what she had striven to keep secret, what she had barely even acknowledged to herself until quite recently. Georgiana Darcy was fond of Mr Charles Bingley. She could not dare to imagine he felt the same, nor felt anything other than the natural affection for her as the sister of his old friend. Indeed, the quietness that had settled over Mr Bingley’s manner in the wake of the news of Jane Bennet’s engagement had not escaped Georgiana’s notice as thoroughly as it seemed to have bypassed his sisters’. She wished to help, wished somehow to offer him some consolation and encouragement, but knew little enough how to begin, what to say, where to start.

  Caroline looked at her carefully and Georgiana was certain at that moment that she saw right to the very core of her being. Silly or not Caroline was perceptive, and more so than Georgiana in matters of the heart. She held her breath, waiting for the mockery that was sure to come. To her surprise, Caroline said nothing, merely smiled a strangely sympathetic smile, and turned back to her teacup.

  “Elegant? Pah! That was plain old Sarah Marchant, although she considers herself a well-to-do lady now she is married. Her husband may be wealthy, but he is little more than a tradesman....”

  Georgiana let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Caroline’s tongue be sharpened on poor Mrs Marchant, rather on than on Georgiana herself. I must guard my words better in future, she thought. It was one thing for Caroline Bingley to assume some tendresse between Georgiana and Mr Bingley, quite another if word of it should reach his ears. Or her own brother’s! It would be too, too humiliating. Still, Georgiana could not help her mind returning to the breakfast table, to the way Charles Bingley’s eyes had met hers as they laughed over his retelling, and she bid him explain, again, who he suspected the lady in question to be and whether he thought her suited to his friend. It had been pleasant to see him happy again after so many days of diminished spirits, and she dared to hope, maybe, it was because she had been the one listening to his story, and laughing along with him.

  Chapter Four

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was not prone to worry. In fact, he rarely felt more than a vague flicker of anxiety in the face of circumstances that would wreck a lesser man. Now, though, it took a modicum of concentration to keep his breathing steady, and his heart beat rather more rapidly than usual.

  “Well?” he asked, unable to bear the wait any longer.

  “It’s perfect!”

  He let go his breath in a rush, and could hardly keep the smile from his face as he embraced his wife.

  “You like it, truly?”

  “Very much!” Mary nodded, enthusiastically, extricating herself from his arms to dash to the window and observe the grounds of their new home.

  Richard had narrowed the selection to two and then invited Mary along with him to visit both. He had orchestrated to visit this first, though it was the furthest away, for it had been secretly his favourite and he had hoped, although he would not permit himself to confess as much, that Mary would fall in love with it the same way he had. It was hardly masculine to admit affection for a house, and Richard would never do so in mixed company, but in the quiet of his own mind and perhaps in the hearing of his wife alone he would confess that the house had charmed him immediately he stepped over the threshold. It was not a large house but nonetheless felt spacious, comfortably elegant without being stuffy. They would keep most of its existing furnishings, as he had little to add, having been often at war and living something of a peripatetic life since his return to England. There were certain pieces he might request of Philip, now that he and his brother were on slightly better terms. And there would be the necessary purchase of at least one new extravagance. He strode forward two paces, surveying the room for where best to place this imaginary piece.

  “I think here ought to do it,” he said aloud, his words drawing Mary’s attention. She turned back to him, a quizzical expression on her face.

  “It is a fair position for a piano, do not you say?” He beamed. “I suppose I ought to defer to you in this instance, for it is you who shall be playing it.”

  “A piano?” Mary breathed.

  “I promised you one, didn’t I? You’ve played so many different instruments in the last few weeks I don’t doubt you are anxious for your own. I have made arrangements already but had no confirmation of where to deliver it, of course. I shall write immediately we sign for the house and it should be in place even before we are.”

  Mary’s delight was worth every penny Richard had paid for the piano, and more besides, and she flew back to his side. Arm in arm they walked contentedly through the house once more, happily discussing what might unfold within these walls, admiring a particular view, or piece of furniture, and determining who should be their first guests.

  “We shall have Mr Heatherington, I suppose, in addition to my family,” Mary said. “His house is not far from here, I believe.”

  “No,” Richard said. “Not far, although I confess I was not familiar with the place when he named it.”

  “For you are familiar with so much of Hertfordshire!” Mary remarked, lightly.

  “I am growing familiar!” Richard sighed. “As would you if you had traversed as much of it as I have of late.” He listed the houses he had visited in searching for the one that would become their home and Mary obediently offered him sympathetic nods and smiles that quite soothed his ruffled feathers.

  “You are a hero indeed, and I cannot begin to imagine I am deserving of you!” she said, a sly smile giving her words a teasing tone.

  “Willing to build our home a stone’s throw from your parents?” Richard waggled his eyebrows. “I call that heroic indeed!”

  Mary laughed and then hurried to compose herself, evidently feeling guilty for casting such aspersions on her own family.

  “I think it important for your father’s sake he is offered some refuge away from the women if he chooses it,” Richard said. “I like him, and fancy he is not unfond of me.”

  “And Mr Heatherington,” Mary pressed. “I know he is hardly known to either of us, and I am still adjusting to the notion that Jane is to wed at all, never mind to wed a stranger! But tell me, what do you think of him”?

  “I like him well enough.” Richard shrugged. “Although you are right we are hardly acquainted at present. He seems a sound fellow and I certainly look forward to knowing him better.” He frowned, a certain concern that he had not yet fully addressed lifting in his chest. “Has Jane ever alluded more to the nature of his injuries? He acquired them in the war, he said.”

  Mary frowned, surprised to see her husband stumbling over this fact.

  “She never spoke of it, but you saw for yourself how happy he was to mention the war when nobody else would. He was not shy in confessing his infirmities, and the poor gentleman could hardly hide them, equipped as he is with a cane!” Mary’s eyebrows drew lower still. “I hope you are not suggesting that because he bears an infirmity Jane ought not to marry him, because -”

  “No, no!” Richard said hurriedly. “Good God!” He paused, chastened by his wife’s expression. “Er, I mean, goodness me!” He smiled, fleetingly. “If I thought a fellow ought not to be married if he were a trifle unfit I’d have never asked for you.” He dropped a swift kiss on his wife’s hand. “I know I appear in fine fettle but we are both only too aware of the legacy the war left me.” He cleared his throat. “No, I think Jane a saint walking and perfectly able to bear with a man’s injuries, and think all the more highly of this Heatherington chap for enduring them. No doubt it is difficult to limp as he does, and be a young fellow still, and be forced out of riding or racing or dancing...” he grimaced. “Well, perhaps he is not devastated to be excused the necessity of dancing. In any case, you must not think me passing judgment on the fact that he has an injury, nor the way he bears it with cheer and humour. I would hope you think better of me than that.” He paused. “I only query how he obtained it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “My suspicions are doubtless running wild after all that has happened with Wickham. But I quizzed him on a few areas of conflict, trying to determine what colleagues in the regiment we might share, for it is a small world, the militia, and I felt certain there must be somebody we both know. He was evasive. When I asked his rank, he changed the subject.”

  “Perhaps he did not wish to be thought a braggart?” Mary suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Richard was not convinced. He had never met a military man alive who did not enjoy to speak of his exploits, particularly if there were ladies present and his adventures might be retold to bring glory to himself or his companions. Richard himself was guilty of such behaviour on occasion, although he did not rush to admit it. No, this Heatherington fellow was evasive to the point of secrecy, and Richard could not bear mystery.

  “I dare say you are right, my dear, and I am merely demonstrating my own flaws in wanting everyone to be like me.” He bowed his head, chastened. “Let us invite Mr Heatherington to dine as soon as we are settled. Your family too, if you wish it. I shall do my utmost to set my suspicions to rest and know him better. Now, would you care to tour the gardens? There is a particularly pretty spot where the first hints of spring are waking up, and I dearly longed to show it to you....”

  I NEED NOT ENQUIRE after Kitty or Lydia for I am certain they are much the same as they have always been...

  A squeal from somewhere else in the house spoiled Mary’s quiet, and she glanced up from her letter, wondering if her sisters had sensed themselves thought of and must, therefore, make their presence known by shouting.

  Shaking her head, she returned to the letter that had so recently arrived from Elizabeth. She had been surprised to be the only member of the family to receive such a note, feeling certain that Lizzy would have written first to Jane, or to their parents. Indeed, Mrs Bennet had been suitably disappointed not to be the first to receive news from Elizabeth of life at Pemberley and muttered unhappily some notion of her absent daughter’s taking on airs with marrying so fine a gentleman as Mr Darcy. It had taken Mr Bennet to kindly remind his wife that she had been first to approve of Mr Darcy for one of her daughters and could hardly then complain, once married, that he sought to return to his home. And had she not professed a great interest in visiting the young couple at that grand estate that had only ever before now been mentioned in an awed whisper?

  Mary reached for her own implements and began to write. She covered the news at Longbourn quickly and spared a line or two to offer some detail of the house Colonel Fitzwilliam was in the process of securing for the both of them. There is space enough to comfortably house any guests we might wish for, so you and Mr Darcy must feel free to visit us at any point, should you be able or willing to make such a journey. She paused. Georgiana too, should she find being at Pemberley at all difficult with all that has happened. She wrote on for a few lines more, covering everything and nothing and feeling sure her sister would sense the delaying tactic and bid Mary hurry to get to the real information she wished to know about, the topic of Mr Heatherington.

 

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