A Private Performance (28 page)

“A foolish remark, madam. Pray forgive me.”

To her horror she felt her eyes filling with tears.

“Allow me to fetch you a glass of wine,” he said, softly.

“No, thank you.” Her lips moved but she could not speak aloud.

However, he gestured to a footman, who brought the wine at once. Whittaker took it from the tray and handed it to her.

She took a sip. Her tears had retreated. She knew now she would not weep. She looked down to her lap, where the glass of wine shook slightly in her hands. She must put it down. She felt fingers brush hers, as Darcy leaned down and took the glass, putting it on the little table beside her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She dared not look at him.

 

As she prepared for bed, Elizabeth thought of the previous night and of how her cold reception of her husband's advances must have hurt his pride. They had buried quarrels between the sheets in the past, but last night was different, for she had never previously questioned his love and esteem for her. The thought of submitting to him when his passion was only for her body was repugnant to her. She felt a
chill, realising that she had even thought in terms of submitting. Where love had been a joy, was it now to be a duty, and irksome at that?

Elizabeth looked at her image in the mirror. She thought of the qualities for which she had so loved her husband: his high sense of honour, the keenness of his mind and the passionate, tender, chivalrous love he had shown for her. Had that love been burnt up by too passionate a devotion? One read of such things—but Fitzwilliam fickle? It did not seem possible.

She owed him gratitude. She had done something, perhaps, to annoy him, although she could think of nothing that could begin to justify such coldness. Yet he had, at times, betrayed a sensitivity so keen she had been astonished.

The foolishness of their situation dawned upon her. He must love her still. They had come to misunderstand each other. Instead of standing on her pride, all she need do was apologise. She did not know for what, but he obviously did. Later she would tease him about it, which was something to anticipate.

She opened the door softly and went in. She slid in beside him.

“Thank you for rescuing my wine, Fitzwilliam,” she said.

“I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself,” he said.

Her exclamation of pain was so soft it sounded like a sigh.

She nearly left it there, but desired to look back on this occasion with the knowledge that she had done her duty.

“I am sorry if my behaviour has caused offence, Fitzwilliam.”

“You have done nothing to justify complaint.”

She blew out the candle, and the cold darkness crept around them.

F
ROM THE MORNING LIGHT STREAMING
into the room, Elizabeth knew the weather had cleared. Her husband had likely gone fishing. She dressed with care, doing honour to herself. She breakfasted with the other ladies, then prepared for a long solitary walk. In the beautiful wood on the east side of the house she ran to lose herself far in the trees.

She gasped at the sharpness of the air, breathing deeply the delicious scent of the moist ground. Sunlight through the trees threw dappled greenish light round her. She forgot all that had come before.

She heard her name called, and turned to see a servant running up the path to her.

“We have been searching everywhere for you, ma'am. The marchioness asks if you would kindly come back to the house.”

She sighed and turned back. On her way down the hill she met Darcy.

“Good morning, Fitzwilliam. What diversion is her ladyship planning now?” she said.

“Come to the house, Elizabeth. I have something to tell you.”

“What is it? Pray tell me at once. It is Papa!”

“It does not concern your parents. Pray, sit on this bench.” She sank down. He would have taken her hands, had he not felt this would be unwelcome.

“Elizabeth, I have just received an express letter from Mr. Turner. Your sister is gravely ill, and he begs your speedy return.”

“Kitty?” She put her hand out to him and he enclosed it in his. She wanted more, wanted to feel his arms around her, but she did not wish this done in charity. She stood up and took his offered arm. As they emerged from the wood, she saw the carriage already pulled up before the steps, and footmen beginning to load the luggage. Georgiana ran across to them, put her arm around Elizabeth and
walked back with her to the house. In ten minutes, their whole party was on the way to Derbyshire.

 

Kitty opened her eyes. ‘Was I sleeping?' she wondered. ‘Who is this man, sitting by my bed?'

“Kitty, here is Mr. Edgeley,” said Edward, from the foot of the bed. “Do you remember that you asked to see him?”

“I am so sorry. I have been sleeping.” Her voice was so hoarse and weak, he bent forward, straining to hear her.

“Pray, do not hurry yourself. I have all the time you need.”

She looked, confused, from his kindly worn face to Edward, so sad. She remembered.

Her eyes sprang alive with fear, and she was fully present again.

At once Edward was at her side, taking her hands in his.

“My dearest, I beg you not to be afraid.” His face pressed against her hands.

“Poor Edward,” she said. She shuddered for breath. “Better for you if you had never seen me.”

“No, no. There is still hope. I do not despair.” He felt the warmth of the hand upon his shoulder.

“We pray to God that Mrs. Turner will be spared. Meanwhile, I should like to have a little conversation with her.”

“I am being selfish.”

“Do not be harsh upon yourself.”

Edward moved away from the bed and stood near the door, where Kitty's whispers did not carry.

Kitty looked into Mr. Edgeley's eyes. Why had she wasted the opportunity to know such a man?

“If only my papa had been like you, I would have been good.”

“I have many faults. You, like most of us, have done the best you could do.”

“No. I have never tried to be good.”

“You exposed yourself to this infection by going amongst the poor, knowing your own health to be delicate.”

“I did it only to please Edward.”

“Yet go there you did. Who can know what God's purpose was?”

“What will become of my baby?”

He met her wide gaze.

“If I thought this material world made sense, I should despair. One day we will understand God's will.”

As they talked, the afternoon advanced, and Kitty slept.

Edward came out to see Mr. Edgeley into the carriage.

“I can never thank you enough, sir. You have settled all her fear. May I trouble you to send the carriage back in the morning? There will be no moon tonight.”

“I will send it back at first light.”

 

The Darcy carriage rumbled onto the drive.

“Mr. Turner,” Elizabeth said. “How is Kitty?”

“She is sleeping. Mr. Edgeley has just been talking with her.”

“Mr. Edgeley? Then Kitty's health is as bad as you feared?”

“I sent for him because Kitty asked to see him. I would not have you think I have abandoned hope.” She could not hold his gaze for the bleakness she saw in his eyes.

Darcy and Georgiana alighted and they all went into the house. Mr. Turner's mother had arrived and they took refreshment with her. Shortly afterwards, having been informed that Kitty would not be able to receive them that day, Darcy and Georgiana departed for Pemberley.

 

Elizabeth watched as the carriage disappeared. Seemingly, her little family dwindled away from her. She went for a short walk. Returning, she saw Edward, his head lit up by the gold of the setting sun. “Kitty has awoken,” he said. “Will you come in to see her?”

C
AROLINE SWEPT UP THE AISLE
on her husband's arm. She paused for a moment by Georgiana.

“He's mine now,” she said, in the softest whisper. “He preferred me.”

“You do not love him!” cried Georgiana. There was a gasp from the assembled guests.

In the softest hiss, the bride replied, “Perhaps not, but how I shall love Rosings! What made you think you could save him, you little mouse! You cannot save him. Nobody can save him now.”

Georgiana pushed past the horrid girl and rushed from the church, stumbling into the graveyard. She ran so fast that her tears flew in the wind. She ran through the abode of the dead and found herself in the avenue leading back to the gate.

She heard a voice cry out, “Georgiana!” He was coming through the gate to her, but she gestured to him to wait there. She ran along the avenue and through the gate to him. He pressed her close in a forbidden embrace. She was raising her lips to his.

“Joseph,” she said.

At the sound of that name, Georgiana started awake. She stared into the velvety blackness, pressing her hands to her bosom. The sound of her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

‘Oh, oh. How dreadful! Such a wrong, wrong dream and at such a time, when poor Mrs. Turner …'

She lay awake until the morning brought her cousin to Pemberley.

 

He was waiting in the saloon, and stood as she entered. He looked just the same as ever. She could hardly believe it.

“Henry, you are home from Belgium,” she said, offering her hand to him.

Still she stared. He was absolutely unchanged. He was Henry
Fitzwilliam, her cousin, her guardian, her dear, dear friend. He meant a good deal, certainly, but he was nothing more than that.

“I believe you have fallen in love, Cousin,” he teased. “You used not to be so distant.” He kissed her cheek. Darcy looked at his sister in surprise, as she stood there.

“Georgiana, in your sister's absence, have you no duty to perform?”

“Of course. Forgive me. Pray, will you not sit down, Cousin?” She rang the bell, and ordered tea. She came back, sat with them by the window and looked out onto the lake. Henry was replying to Darcy's questions about the battle.

“I resigned my commission as soon as I decently could.”

“We are very proud, Cousin. When do you receive your medal?”

“I did nothing for my men that they would not have done for me. Their loyalty is more that any man could ask.”

“I doubt not that you have earned it.”

“It is not enough for our aunt. She demands to know why I am not Brigadier-General Fitzwilliam, ret.” They both laughed, but the girl remained silent.

Henry shrugged and glanced at Georgiana. Seeing her lost in thought, he said quietly, “I lost a quarter of my men, Darcy, in two days. The officers were brought back to England, but the men—buried in a field. I have written to their families; I cannot leave them to wait, endlessly, for a loved one who simply never returns.”

“I understand. One of my tenants has asked me to inquire after his son.”

Georgiana turned her head quickly. “What? Do you mean Bentridge? Has his son neither sent a message nor returned? The army does not inform the families of the fallen? I had no idea of this.”

“Do not alarm yourself, Georgiana. I imagine they rely upon the officers to do so,” said her brother.

“Indeed you must not worry. I am culpable for indulging in this gloomy talk in your presence!” said Henry. “I shall turn to a more cheerful theme. I had hoped to be able to present Colonel Kentley to you, but he will be obliged to remain in Paris these many months.”

“Colonel Kentley?” said Darcy.

“Yes, his promotion is most timely.”

“I do not recall the name. Have we met?”

“No, but I confess I am surprised you have not heard of him. I did not imagine there was any secrecy in the matter.”

“In what matter, Henry?” urged Georgiana. “Why are you being so mysterious?”

“Come, come! You will have to tell us now.”

“My good friend Kentley is engaged to marry Miss Bingley.”

Georgiana flushed scarlet. Darcy gave a sigh of relief.

“Of course,” said Georgiana, in a tone of brittle graciousness. “Naturally, we knew she was engaged to be married and we were so delighted.”

“We have not seen Miss Bingley since she returned from Brussels, and have received no further communication from the Hursts, so …” muttered Darcy.

Henry looked from one to the other, and smiled.

“Tell me,” he said. “Did you mistake the identity of Miss Bingley's intended?”

Georgiana burst out, “It was told me by Mrs. Hurst, and you did not contradict it in your letters, so we supposed it to be true.”

“Did I not mention it?”

“I hope you were not disappointed, Henry.”

“I was delighted to hear of Kentley's success. Others may have misunderstood how matters were between us. However, I hazarded a guess at the true direction of Miss Bingley's inclinations.”

Georgiana felt an inexpressible calm.

“It is no brilliant match for Miss Bingley,” said Darcy.

“Indeed, Kentley has done well. Yet, do you know what he said to me? ‘I am a madman, yet what a splendid creature she is.'” Darcy laughed, but Georgiana was strangely silent.

“Kentley is of a very respectable family. His promotion is most opportune, for they will not be wealthy. They will live with his mother and older brother for several years at least. He hopes to
purchase a small estate at some time, if his wife can be persuaded to part with her fortune. It is tied up in her name for life. He does not see himself being in a position to resign his commission for many years.”

“Caroline will want an estate,” declared Georgiana.

“Will she? Of course you know her so much better than I,” said Henry. “Now you must tell me of the wonders of Deepdene. Father was most gratified at the news you had gone there.”

“We were not there above three days,” muttered Darcy.

“I was surprised to hear of your being seen passing through Derby yesterday, for I imagined you would stay much longer with the marchioness. Where is Mrs. Darcy? Taking an early walk, I imagine.”

“She is at Kympton, Cousin. I am afraid we were in receipt of some worrying news that brought us home early from Deepdene.”

“Her absence should have been my first concern. Now I understand why you both seem so out of spirits. Tell me what has happened.”

“Mrs. Turner is gravely ill. It is feared she will not be with us much longer.”

“Mrs. Darcy will be most grieved if her sister passes. Even you, Darcy, I imagine must have some considerable affection for her, after having her at Pemberley so much.”

“I have some urgent business,” mumbled Darcy. “Will you excuse me for half an hour?”

“Of course,' said Henry. “Let us walk down to the lake, Georgiana.”

They stood at the lake's edge, looking out at the grey expanse of the water. Georgiana broke the silence.

“Fitzwilliam and I are all alone just now. We stopped at Kympton for an hour, but Mrs. Turner was not well enough to receive us. My brother felt we would be relieving Mr. Turner of a burden by going home.” She turned and put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Henry, I fear this will be her final illness. She has seemed so happy since her marriage. How unfair life can be.”

“Her death would go hard with Mr. Turner, certainly. For myself, there was a time when I would rather have had a few months of happiness, than none.”

“Dear Henry, are you very unhappy still?”

He turned to her.

“Sweetest girl, no. I am long recovered from what seems now a foolish infatuation.”

She smiled and turned to look over the cold ripples of water.

“Georgiana—' He took her hand. “I cannot tell you what your affection and kindness meant to me in those first months after your brother's marriage. Truly, I think God could not give a man a greater gift than your love.”

He smiled at her with infinite tenderness. She looked back at him, smiling, but feeling a nervousness too much like fear. Had she not always loved him, better than all the world? Yet she would do anything to put him off. Still he held her hand, enclosed in both of his, as though he would never let it go. If he asked her, she would accept—naturally, she would. She could not deny him anything.

He went on. “I have learned from you a lesson more precious than gold. Do not look so modest, Georgiana. You do not hold yourself in a fraction of the esteem that others do.” She blushed to the roots of her hair, but said nothing.

“Dearest Georgiana, you have taught me how much more important is a true and steadfast love than all the wit, beauty and wealth in the world. I would seek a partner whom I love with all my heart and soul, and who values that love. This is what I wish for you and for me.”

She trembled from head to foot.

“What have you to say, dear?”

She looked at him, full of the most unaccountable feeling.

She thought of the heroine of her favourite novel, who was unable to say nay to her lover when he wished them both to drown themselves in a lake. Georgiana could no longer admire her willingness to embrace that watery death. Still, she must answer Henry, and tried to think of the words.

In the silence, he turned and looked out over the lake.

“I wonder where they are, Georgiana.”

“Who, Henry?”

“Why, these perfect loves awaiting us. I imagine that we have not met them yet. I am sure I have not met the lady. Until I do, you are the queen of my heart, my child and my dearest friend.”

She began to laugh and laugh and could not stop.

He blushed. “You must think me a complete idiot.”

“No, Henry, not you. Not you.”