Goodly Creatures: A Pride and Prejudice Deviation (4 page)

Currently, Anne viewed Edmund with great favour as he had promised to choose a matched pair for her from Tattersalls to replace the ponies she had for her phaeton. She was such a fickle creature—one day she wanted greys and then next only chestnuts would do and just as quickly she would return to greys. Ever since he had told her of the daily promenade in Hyde Park, she had become determined to be a most fashionable participant. She was even dreaming of eventually becoming one of the few ladies who drove a perch-phaeton. They were set for him to teach her to manage two horses while they were at Rosings for Easter. Her goal to become a ‘first rate fiddler’ was rarely out of her thoughts. Upon observing the ladies who had achieved that appellation, nothing but a boy groom, in a livery of black and yellow stripes would do. A ‘tiger’ to stand behind her had gone to the top of her list for things she must have by the start of the Season. Darcy tolerated her ambition, but Edmund could tell he did not share her enthusiasm.

Despite his indifference to the theatre, he’d agreed to a night out with the Darcys. All in all, except for that tiresome lecture over his debts and that one incident where he and his stiff cousin argued over the smoking of cigars, his sojourn at Darcy House had been pleasant. At least this evening afforded him the chance to ogle the participants, though the pickings were slim this time of year. As they made their way to the Darcy box, he smiled amiably at those of his acquaintance. When seated, he noticed several ladies and their mamas who eyed him from behind their fans. He laughed with the knowledge that there were plenty of other rich fish in the sea when it came time to get riveted.

As he surveyed the spectators upon arrival, an unexpected sight set his blood tingling and snapped his sporting instincts into a salute. He could not take his eyes off a very young woman practically hanging out of the box across the way. Even from this distance, there was something about her that did not smell of the
ton.
Those from the first circle who still occupied the schoolroom always seemed coyly aware of any opportunity to be seen and admired—their mothers and governesses having groomed them to that necessity. This one seemed wholly unconcerned that she was unfavourably calling attention to herself with her exuberant enjoyment. Before the commencement of the play, she too had seemed to be curious about those in the surrounding boxes. When their eyes had met, he had smiled—and he was certain she had blushed.

Now that her attention was directed toward the stage, his gaze rarely wavered from the object of his delight. As he watched her, he speculated about her circumstances and became inflamed with the provoking thought that this was one he might capture. Her gown was girlish and far from the latest style even for young misses. A profusion of reddish-gold hair, not styled in careful ringlets, but simply hanging in a riot of curls with nothing but a ribbon to repress it was her crowning glory. She was in a box with Sir Gareth Hughes—a neighbour in Derbyshire—accompanied by Lady Hughes and another man and woman. The other couple with this fascinating little pixie were dressed fashionably but they were unknown to him. The woman appeared too young to be the bird’s mother. Perhaps she was with a preoccupied older brother and sister, or maybe a careless aunt and uncle were hosting their country niece. The absence of familiarity would leave her vulnerable. This chit was just the way he liked them—tiny and not at all womanly. Her face, what he could see of it, was dominated by large, expressive eyes, the way children’s are before they grow into their features—eyes so very appealing. How he would delight in seeing them helpless.

London bored him without funds to pursue his pleasures in earnest, but his only other alternative was Elderton. His father in residence there until Easter, made that an objectionable choice. The Earl incessantly pushed for his firstborn to marry and produce an heir. Most importantly, he ordered him to find a young woman with a large dowry. The last time he had endured his father’s urging, his patriarch had said even a ‘cit chit’ was acceptable as long as she brought at least fifty thousand pounds with her to the altar. Their family, an ancient titled one, could stand the stench of money from trade as long as there was plenty of it. Through his brother Richard, the Viscount had met a candidate for the position. Captain Fitzwilliam had seemed quite fond of this Eleanor Harding, but he had neglected to propose before he left London for his military obligations. If he liked her that meant she was not a vulgar harpy, caring about nothing but improving her family’s connections. His brother preferred pleasant, amiable women who loved dancing and witty discourse. With his considerable charm, good looks and title, Eleanor and her considerable dowry should be his before the Season was over. Until then, the little bird across the theatre held the possibility of providing a delightful diversion.

As he watched the presumed country lass, a plan began to form. Sir Gareth’s estate lay next to Pemberley in Derbyshire, and Darcy must speak to his nearest neighbour, or appear rude. He only need be present when Darcy made the introductions, and he could count on Mrs Darcy to divert suspicions from his intentions. Once acquainted, he could easily encourage Anne to befriend her.

Lord Wolfbridge returned his thoughts to his ability to charm his cousin. In an unguarded moment, when she was about the age of the one across the way, she had told him she wished her mother was set on a marriage for her to him instead of Darcy. After her admission, he had thought briefly about pursuing such a union of convenience but was not prepared to act at that time. Anne had been pleasingly small, but it had seemed the result of poor health; and not the innocent child-like appearance he preferred. Also Anne might not have been as accepting of an indifferent marriage with Edmund as she was with Darcy—that could have been troublesome. The Viscount did not need the family discussing his peccadilloes at every gathering. Of course, his stiff cousin was never going to commit any indiscretions.

Lord Wolfbridge noticed that his cousin’s eyes had also often left the stage in favour of watching the little bit in Sir Gareth’s box. His lordship was momentarily distracted from his pleasurable thoughts as he observed both the fascination and the discomfort the vision was causing Darcy. He doubted he had a rival in his cousin, since very little besides duty and honour ever seemed to rouse passion in the master of Pemberley.

Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself mesmerized by the same vision as his cousin, a very young female—more a girl than a woman—leaning precipitously out of Sir Gareth’s box. Normally such hoydenish behaviour would cause him to dismiss such a creature, but he was curiously drawn to her. From what he could see of her face, partially obscured by an abundance of hair, she displayed an amazing array of emotions as she mouthed Miranda’s dialogue. Oddly, sometimes she seemed to be out of step with the play. He wondered what caused her sadness when she should have been laughing at the inebriated antics of Trinculo and Stephano. Still, she obviously knew
The Tempest
well.

Her enthusiasm caused him to remember his first time seeing Shakespeare performed by a professional troupe. He’d come to see
Hamlet
with his parents, and he, too, had known much of the dialogue. The brooding Danish prince with an obsession for doing his duty by avenging the murder of his father by his uncle had captured his thirteen-year-old imagination. Now, he experienced something that had nothing to do with family honour or exposing villainy when he looked at this young woman. As he tried to put words to his feelings, he settled on kindred spirit—and a belief that what captured his admiration was her enthusiasm and unaffected manner. Thoughts of what might be the basis for his cousin’s interest left him momentarily unnerved. It was definitely not her love of Shakespeare. He was appalled to think his own appreciation could stem from someplace akin to Edmund’s. He was, after all, a married man, and any breach of propriety was abhorrent.

He had married his cousin for noble reasons. Though their marriage had not been founded on the romantic notions poets wrote about, it existed as an honourable and sensible match. The disparity between his life and Anne’s had pulled at his heart strings from an early age. The Fitzwilliam sisters had differed in the treatment of their children. Lady Anne had expressed her love for him without reservation; while Lady Catherine had offered little affection to her only child. It was not that Anne was neglected, so much, as that her mother seemed to feel it her duty to control every aspect of her daughter’s life.

Each year when he would visit Rosings, the two would steal away for rides in her phaeton. This provided the opportunity for Anne to detail for Darcy all the conflicts that had occurred between mother and daughter during the previous year. He heard, early on, his cousin’s complaint that her mother considered learning to play the pianoforte too strenuous for one whose health was so fragile. Later, Lady Catherine applied the same reasoning for the prohibition of her daughter’s studying drawing. Darcy, who could not imagine being unable to ride, had been particularly furious when Anne had told him that activity was considered totally out of the question by her mother.

It was during one of their phaeton journeys around the grounds of Rosings that he had proposed. The knowledge that his shy, quiet cousin who had never been given a proper education was now to be denied a Season in London had been the catalyst. He had despised his own first Season, but it was unconscionable that Anne would be kept from ever meeting a suitable young man who could rescue her from her domineering mother. He had to admit his aunt’s fear that her wealthy daughter would fall prey to fortune hunters had some merit—from what he had seen during his participation in the ‘Marriage Mart.’ Still, it was also well known in their family that Lady Catherine steadfastly refused to consider any marriage for Anne but one with Darcy. This latest suppression of Anne’s rights had propelled him to say the words that would save her.

In a moment of quiet reflection, Darcy had asked his new bride how she had ever managed to win the right to drive her phaeton about the grounds. He pictured the candour with which she had answered.
‘From the time I was very young, I realized I must choose my battles with my mother very carefully. The best strategy to defeat her is to refuse to relent on only my most desired request. I wore her down.’
Darcy had occasionally seen that trait in Anne since they wed. Their being in London was an example of her determination to have her way. He acknowledged that she had needed to develop such a formidable skill in order to survive life with his aunt. He reached over and took his wife’s hand. With a smile, he raised it to his lips.

When Darcy returned his focus to the stage, he still could not let go of a desire to protect the young one in Sir Gareth’s box. Perhaps, he should talk to his neighbour of his fears for this young woman with regard his cousin. No, he was over reacting—he knew none of the particulars of the relationship between her and Sir Gareth and Lady Hughes. They could be casual acquaintances. Besides, Edmund was just looking and admiring. The idea of calling attention to his possible poor behaviour, and creating gossip about a rupture in the family was unacceptable. Surely the young woman had adequate supervision to protect her from rakes and their lascivious propositions.

Darcy, his two Fitzwilliam cousins and his friend George Wickham had played together as boys. Edmund, the eldest of the four, had been the leader of their group. He looked over at his cousin as he remembered the selfish recklessness that Edmund had often displayed in their childhood games. The long forgotten image of his torturing a foxhound pup surfaced and sent Darcy’s eyes back to the young one across the hall. As the four had matured, Darcy and Richard had drawn closer together—closer even than the two brothers. Their personalities were much more compatible, even though to the outside they appeared opposites. Darcy, quiet and aloof, gave the impression he was arrogant to many on first acquaintance. Richard, amiable and even jovial, exhibited a similar charm to Edmund’s; but unlike his brother, honour and obligation were first in importance to the recently promoted Captain Fitzwilliam. It was those qualities that created the bond between the two cousins. Darcy’s father, in admiration for his sister’s youngest son’s strong sense of duty, had chosen to appoint Richard to joint guardianship of Georgiana, his young daughter, with his son.

Fitzwilliam Darcy’s mind wandered to the squandered opportunities of the fourth in their boyhood quartet. His father had not been as discerning in his evaluation of George Wickham. From an early age, Mr Darcy had formed a high opinion of his namesake and godson, supporting him at school and afterwards at Cambridge. The elder Mr Wickham, Pemberley’s steward, would never have been able to provide a gentleman’s education for his son. It was the hope of his sponsor that the engaging young man would make the church his profession, and he in return would provide him with a living if that came to pass. Fitzwilliam tried to remember the first act of his childhood friend that had caused him to think of him materially differently from his father. Wickham’s vicious propensities and want of principle had come to light several times over the years. Fitzwiliam, In deference to his father’s standing, had never revealed his godson’s depravity.