Jane Austen Made Me Do It (44 page)

Cathy watches them go but she hangs with me. Maybe she's not a complete one-eighty. So I shift my pack onto my other shoulder and take hers in one hand and hold out my arm like we did in country dance class.

Then I wait for five hours. Okay, it was five seconds, it just felt like five hours.

Finally, Cathy goes, “This doesn't mean we're engaged or anything,” takes my arm, and we walk up to the entrance and kids are
staring
at us, and it takes me a second to realize it's not
us
, it's not even Cathy, who, even cakefaced, is still hot—everybody's staring at
me
. And I start thinking I may be on to something here: I can start off freshman year as James the Nobody, James the Creet, James the Lunch Table Leper—or I can be James, founder and CEO of Team Austen.

T
here is no truth better established than that a young woman on the brink of the possession of a good fortune will become the matrimonial object of every fortune hunter and imprudent noble family from either side of the English Channel. And should that heiress be as lovely and modest as Miss Georgiana Darcy, the task of fending off plausible suitors was mightily increased. Darcy sighed and glanced at his sister riding at his side. This was especially the case when they were in Town. More so, in that London was then in the midst of paroxysms of a wild, joyous relief this April of 1814 that Bonaparte was defeated and the Treaty of Fontainebleau signed.

The sound of swift hooves behind them sent Darcy slewing around in his saddle, narrow-eyed and prickly with suspicion. The glare he bestowed upon the gentleman who approached was specially calculated to blast any tender hope the young man might have entertained that he would receive encouragement to join them. In truth, just the rigid set of Darcy's shoulders had caused the rider to think better of his manners. With a sheepish nod, he passed them and continued down the track of Hyde Park.

“Fitzwilliam! That is the third gentleman you have frightened away this hour!” Georgiana shook her head at him and then laughed. Her mount performed a little jig at the sound of her merriment. “No one will dare ask me to dance at my own ball! I shall have none to stand up with me but you and Cousin Richard.”

“Frightened? Don't be ridiculous!” Darcy replied. He was only thirty, but lately he was feeling much older. The prospect of Georgiana's coming out was aging him before his time and encouraging the worst of his old habits to re-appear. His dear wife Elizabeth had said as much with the teasing candor he both prized and, truth be told, dreaded. How was a man to make good on his progress when new challenges to his hard-won equanimity were forever being flung at him? He looked over at his sister, whose wide eyes and arched brows put the lie to his claim of innocence. Darcy snorted and a grin flashed across his face. Georgiana's natural shyness was giving way to a self-confidence that was delightful to behold. Elizabeth was teaching her well.

“Shall I ride after him and—”

“No, no, you shall not!” she laughed. “Shall you leave me alone to be accosted by some other? Most improper, brother!”

“As you wish,” he replied with a shrug, but the grin remained as he considered her. At eighteen, Georgiana was a beauty who, he had been warned, bid fair to exceeding the celebration that had surrounded their mother and made their father the envy of London when he won her heart and hand. But woe to any suitor who did not quickly detect the intelligence and purpose behind the lovely exterior. It would take an extraordinary man, indeed, to win his sister's respect and love, and in that fact lay Darcy's peace. That and Georgiana's confidence in Elizabeth's keen assessment of the line of hopeful swains who even now were pressing for introductions as soon as she was officially “out.”

With only the natural attractions of the Park to distract him, Darcy's mind turned to the contemplation of nothing more than the satisfaction inherent in a companionable ride. He reached down and patted Nelson's neck, glad that he had gone to the trouble of bringing his favorite mount to Town for the Season, even if it was only for moments like this. Hyde Park was not his first choice for riding, but it was convenient and the favorite haunt of the fashionable for riding, driving, and … walking.
Walking!
He grimaced. Walking was all well and good. He liked a vigorous ramble as well as any man. But riding!
There
was challenge and mastery, the wind in your face, the melding of human will and horseflesh as the world sped past you at the rate of pounding hooves and sleek-muscled grace!
Marvelous!
Marvelous save for one thing: Elizabeth did not ride. Elizabeth walked. Her sister Jane rode. In point of fact, Jane's ride in a cold downpour was in a direct line of events that had culminated in his present, very happy matrimonial state.

Besides, if Elizabeth were here, it would not fall upon him alone to discourage the plague of locusts that now hovered in the Darcy corner of Society's otherwise fenced fields. Elsewhere in this endeavor, Elizabeth was a helpmeet indeed. Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was not a woman to whom name or rank or wealth were permitted to disguise a deficiency of character or a frivolous mind. Her quick reading of the dangerous and the foolish no longer amazed him as it had at first. Although there remained those who continued to sniff at her pedigree, he had considered Elizabeth well launched upon Society when intimations of a Blessed Event had put an end to public life. It had also put an end to his plan to teach Elizabeth to ride.

But the Blessed Event had come and gone four months ago, leaving in the nursery a lusty young son and heir to the Darcy name and estate. Little Alexander Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy was
surely the center of his mother's universe and the pride of his father. Another grin creased Darcy's face as he recalled the radiance of mother and child that morning.

“What are you smiling about, Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana asked, bringing her horse close enough to bump his leg with the tip of her well-shod foot.

“Is it so unusual for me to smile that you must ask?” he returned, unwilling to confess that tiny, bright eyes and cooing infant lips were the source of his happiness.

“No,” she admitted. “You are an extraordinarily happy man, or were until we came to London.” She sighed. “I know that this faradiddle has occurred at a trying time—”

“Your Coming Out? You must not think so,” he interrupted. “I was thinking of Elizabeth. It is nearly four months since Alexander's birth. She should be well enough to learn to ride.”

“Ride?” Georgiana gave him a startled look. “But Elizabeth does not ride.”

“So she says.” He frowned at his sister's lack of perception. “Yet she has arms and legs and spirit enough for any horsewoman. She must learn.”

“I see.” Georgiana grew thoughtful. “Who would be her instructor?” Her brother offered her an elaborate bow. “You, brother?”

“Who better?”

“As you say …” Her voice trailed off, then took on new life. “Oh, look! There is our Aunt Matlock and Richard! Does Richard not look splendid? And Auntie as well!”

Darcy looked up. It was true; their cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam always did look to advantage on the back of a horse and the one he bestrode now appeared to be an excellent creature in all respects. His aunt also commanded attention in a very smart riding habit and on a horse on which most gentlemen would not
dare to set a lady of any years, much less the mother of the soldier beside her. Darcy and Georgiana pulled up and bowed their heads in respectful greeting.

“Aunt, so good to see you. Richard, how are you?” Darcy spoke for them both.

“And you as well, my dears.” Lady Matlock smiled brightly. “Georgiana, my love, has your ball gown arrived from Madame's?” Her ladyship reined her horse away from the men, turning back the way she had come, and motioned her niece to follow. The gentlemen fell in behind them.

“Well, Fitz?”

“He's magnificent to look at, I grant you.”

“Look your fill, for you won't see much of either of us when the shillings are down. We've already taken Sheridan's grey, you know.” Richard cocked an impish smile at him. “Fancy a little go now or are Nelson's racing days well behind him?”

“With all these people and carriages about?”

“Ha! There was a time,” Richard laughed, “when you were not a stodgy old … no, come to think of it, you always were. Ho, there!” Richard's mount interrupted him with a sudden jump, hooves dancing a rapid tattoo against the turf. “What the devil!”

“I'm going to bring Elizabeth riding tomorrow,” Darcy announced as his cousin worked to calm his beast.

“What? Riding?” he huffed, the horse now wrestled into wary compliance. “But Elizabeth doesn't ride. And what did you do to my horse?”

“I shall teach her,” he replied, ignoring his cousin's very legitimate question. “It is past time that she should have learnt.”

“Well, Fitz, there must be a reason. Perhaps she does not
like
horses … frightened her as a child, or some such a thing.”

“Elizabeth? Frightened?” Darcy laughed. “It is not possible.
Besides, I have found the perfect mount for her, a sweet little mare with the calmest temperament.”

Richard looked askance at him, but Darcy's pose was assured. “You, of all people, would know,” he acceded finally. “Tomorrow, you say?”

Darcy nodded.

“Well, well.”

Elizabeth Darcy rose from the settee in the family parlor of the Darcys' London home and firmly set the novel aside. “Abominable!” she breathed in disgust. In the next moment, she snatched the book back up and prepared to pitch it into the grate. “No, better yet, out the front door you shall go! Out to be trodden underfoot!” Such an ignominious fate seemed harsh for a tome no more ambitious than any other of the popular host of Gothic romances filled with secret passageways, ancient ruins, and vengeful ghosts. But it was neither these trappings nor the dark and ridiculously petulant hero that had roused her ire with the latest book to be pressed hand to hand among the
ton
. No, it was the heroine of the piece or, perhaps, the authoress, herself.

“Deceptive … insufferable … oh!” she exclaimed, and turned to put her impulse into action. So intent was she upon her course that she didn't hear the knock before the parlor door swung open.

“Mrs. Darcy.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Whitcher, curtsied. “I was wondering if you had finished with the—Mrs. Darcy, ma'am!”

“In a moment, Whitcher,” Elizabeth tossed over her shoulder as she moved with purpose into the hall and toward the front door. “Nedley!” she called to the hall footman, “the door, if you please!” The footman scrambled to attention and sprang to the door, stepping back just in time to avoid the cheaply bound missile
that was hurled past his head. The paste and board hit the sidewalk and bounced into the street, bursting apart to lie in a heap that was soon torn and scattered under iron-shod hooves and carriage wheels.

“There,” she sighed, wiping her hands as if they had been soiled. “Thank you, Nedley. You may close the door.”

“Y-yes, ma'am!” Nedley gulped and looked questioningly at the housekeeper. Mrs. Whitcher frowned him back into the unruffled countenance servants were expected to display regarding the behavior of their betters. He closed the door.

“Now, what were you wondering, Whitcher?” Elizabeth smiled and motioned her to follow.

“The menu, ma'am; have you decided on the menu for Miss Darcy's ball? An' then there're the flowers. With the celebrating going on, they say lilies nor daisies are to be had.”

“Yes, the ball!” Elizabeth breathed and mentally squared her shoulders against the rush of dismay that swept over her whenever she was reminded of the enormity of Georgiana's coming-out arrangements. Her experience entering Hertfordshire society at the age of eighteen and Georgiana's entrance into the
beau monde
were hardly to be compared. Lady Catherine had warned her of this before her marriage and in the bluntest fashion:
If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up
.