Duty and Desire (15 page)

“My Lord!” Georgiana gasped in unison with Brougham’s involuntary cry of pain, and she bent to retrieve the offending tome.

“It is nothing,” breathed Brougham, biting his lip. He stayed her from the book with a motion of his hand. “Please, allow me. I claim as recompense for my wound the discovery of your study, even though your brother
would
draw me off.”

As Brougham bent to recover the book, Witcher arrived with the tea, and in the ensuing activity, it seemed to Darcy that the book had been forgotten. The conversation turned instead to the latest news and
on-dits
exchanged in select drawing rooms and clubs of Town, a subject with which Brougham was intimately acquainted and which he most obligingly shared with his hosts. Darcy knew Dy’s grasp of his subject was unassailable, but when their guest apprised them of the news that Mrs. Siddons was to announce her retirement from the stage, he took issue.

“She has been threatening to do so for years, Dy,” Darcy scoffed. “Why do you believe it to be true this time?”

“Because, Fitz, I had it from her own lips and have seen the playbill announcing her last performance,” Brougham replied smugly. He turned to Georgiana. “I have also heard that you, Miss Darcy, sing and play delightfully. Would you be so kind as to honor us with a little music?”

Darcy rose as a shadow of nervous reluctance passed over his sister’s face and went to her, taking her hand in his. “The piece you have been practicing so diligently…that will be perfect. And you need not sing, if you would rather not.”

“I will forgo song, Miss Darcy, if only you will consent to play,” Brougham urged in softened tones, his eyes smiling at her in encouragement.

Bowing her head in acceptance, Georgiana gripped Darcy’s hand and allowed him to assist her to the pianoforte. As she arranged her music, he resumed his seat, offering Brougham a grateful smile before settling back into his chair. Georgiana had never performed for anyone outside the family before. And it is time she did, he thought as she laid her fingers upon the keys. She would be coming out in a year and must conquer her shyness or be outshone by young ladies with less of a gift to recommend them.
Who else but Dy would have had the temerity and address to prevail upon her to play?
He had proved himself friend twice in the space of an hour. Darcy shifted his glance to Brougham. The look of satisfaction on Dy’s face was all he could have wished for Georgiana. Although Brougham’s reputation as a fribble was well established, his approval in matters of music was something to be regarded, and his word on Georgiana’s ability would travel swiftly through the halls of Society.

Darcy looked back to his sister. The tension he had sensed in her seemed to have dissipated as her fingers caressed the keys, and it occurred to him that her selection had not sounded so well when she had practiced at Pemberley. Perhaps a better instrument should be ordered. A movement at the corner of his eye drew his gaze again to his friend. Brougham’s eyes were almost closed, mere slits in his face, as he slowly brought something up from his side. A cold shiver of apprehension shook Darcy as Dy surreptitiously turned over the volume in his hand to discover the title. Darcy knew what his friend would read. It was that book which he had so rashly picked up at Hatchard’s and which was his sister’s late, constant companion. If Brougham recognized it, he would write her down as a wretched “enthusiast,” and unless Darcy could prevail upon him, so she would be labeled by all of Society before she even made her curtsy.

Darcy eyed his friend warily, his breath held in suspension, waiting only for the snigger of contempt or snort of shocked disapproval. As he watched, Dy brought the book closer to his waistcoat and, after casually looking about him, peered down at its spine. In an instant, Brougham’s face paled. He frowned and looked at it again, as if disbelieving what he had read. Then, shaking his head slightly, he slid the book back into its hiding place and looked up at Georgiana, his gaze riveted upon her in a curious fashion whose meaning Darcy was at a loss to interpret.

Georgiana brought her performance to an end, the notes distilling sweetly through the drawing room as she rose from the instrument and curtsied to the applause of her small audience. Before Darcy could rise, Brougham was at her side, offering her his escort back to her chair. He saw that she took Dy’s arm hesitantly, not lifting her eyes to him but rather training them upon himself in mute appeal.

“Fitz, you have been hiding a treasure!” Brougham advanced them across the room and gently assisted her into her chair. “Miss Darcy.” He bowed over her hand before relinquishing it. “Allow me to say you are a very remarkable young woman.” Straightening then, he turned to Darcy. “Old man, I must beg your forgiveness. I toddle off to Holland House this evening, and my man has warned me that I must place myself in his hands earlier than is my habit. Therefore, I take my leave. Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley.” He bowed to them as Darcy rose and led him to the door.

Their progress down the hall was, to Darcy’s mind, disturbingly silent. His friend seemed much preoccupied with his thoughts, and apprehensive of their subject, Darcy could not determine whether his best course lay in silence or in demanding elucidation. When they had reached the stairs, his agitation on his sister’s future forced him to come to the point.

“Dy —”

“Fitz.” His Lordship spoke in the same breath. “When does Georgiana make her curtsy at court?”

Surprised at his question, Darcy stopped on the stairs and looked back at his friend cautiously. “Why, early next year, I believe.”

“And who will sponsor her?”

“My aunt, Lady Matlock, will introduce her. She comes to London next week to take Georgiana in hand.”

“Lady Matlock.” Darcy could almost see the wheels turning in Brougham’s mind. “Yes, excellent. Of the first circle in style and grace, but wholly unconnected with the fast set. Very good,” he murmured.

“I am gratified to have gained your approval in the disposition of my sister!” Darcy snapped at him, suddenly irritated beyond caution.

“Oh, my pleasure, Fitz, my pleasure.” Brougham preceded him down the remaining stairs. “These things need careful attention…” Reaching the bottom, he turned and looked meaningfully into Darcy’s eyes. “And I would be most happy to lend you any assistance you may require.”

The burden of dread he had carried for the last half hour suddenly lifted, leaving Darcy almost weak with relief. He reached out his hand and clasped Dy’s ready one in a firm grip, so firm, in fact, that it raised his friend’s eyebrow.

“Glad to help, old man,” Dy assured him, flexing his fingers. “Now, shall I see you at Drury Lane on Thursday night?”

“Yes, Georgiana and I will be attending.”

“Then I shall call at your box at intermission. If you have no fixed engagement, may I invite you both to supper after?”

“That would be splendid!” Darcy’s tentative relief expanded. “But you must know, Mrs. Annesley will make a third of our party, if that is agreeable.”

“Of course, Miss Darcy’s companion! Yes, the excellent Mrs. Annesley is very welcome. She will do nicely to entertain my elderly cousin, who will also make up our party. A fine old lady, but a trifle deaf.” Witcher and a footman appeared with His Lordship’s things and assisted him in the donning as he and Darcy spoke of the upcoming Chess Tourney. “Will you be competing, Fitz?” Brougham asked as he set his beaver at a jaunty angle upon his auburn locks.

“No, I have been asked to judge again this year.”

“Pity, that! I would have liked to have seen you take them on!” He advanced to the door. “Oh, by the by, Fitz” — his brow contracted and his voice lowered so that Darcy had to lean toward him to hear — “you never told Georgiana it was I who hid her doll when she was a child?”

“No,” Darcy replied, amused by his friend’s look of deep concern. “I did not. Why?”

“Good! Good, indeed. Let it remain so! Tah, Fitz!” Darcy stepped through the door, despite the cold blast, and watched Dy run down the stairs.

“Shall I close the door, sir?” the footman asked.

“Yes…yes.” Darcy turned back in bemusement to the warmth of Erewile House.

“My dear Georgiana,” Caroline Bingley pled throatily, “I beg you will be guided by me.” She fingered the page they were discussing of
La Belle Assemble
. “I assure you, you will think quite differently when you are ‘out’ and observe that all the young ladies will be wearing their gowns so. It
is
the fashion! Anything else would be cause for comment of a most disagreeable sort.”

Darcy looked up from the hand of cards that Hurst had just dealt him and directed a narrowed gaze upon Miss Bingley. Caroline Bingley to guide his sister in her coming out frocks? Not bloody likely! He played his card and leaned back in the chair. Georgiana smiled faintly to their hostess, but a tightness that only a brother could detect laid to quick rest the words of caution that had begun to form in his brain. Darcy’s gaze returned to the clutch of cards in his hand as he waited for the others at the table to finish arranging theirs and meet the challenge of his first play. He had long ago eschewed the practice of arranging a hand by suit; doing so communicated far too much to an observant opponent and was indicative, in his opinion, of a laziness of mind.

“There!” Bingley threw down his answer to Darcy’s card in exasperation. “And may you have the pleasure of it!” A warning “tch-tch” from Hurst did nothing to quell Bingley’s dismay with his hand; rather, it encouraged him to look daggers at his brother-in-law’s head, causing Darcy to wonder what had his friend’s wind up. Hurst removed a card from his hand and, employing it as a shovel, pushed the pile toward Darcy.

“Interesting opening, Darcy,” he grunted as Darcy’s long fingers covered the cards he’d won and flicked out his next play.

“Darcy makes it a study to be ‘interesting’ at the card table,” groused Bingley as he brooded over his hand. “Sets everyone else at a disadvantage, I
must
say.” Sighing, he picked out a card and carelessly tossed it atop Darcy’s.

Darcy arched a brow at his friend. “Poor spirits, Charles?” A triumphant “aha!” from Hurst as he slapped down his card prevented him from hearing Bingley’s reply, but the set of his friend’s shoulders dissuaded him from pursuing his question. They finished the hand in silence, the conversation from the ladies nearby serving admirably as an excuse for its lack at the table.

“When do you leave for Lord Sayre’s?” Bingley’s sudden question halted all discourse in the room and brought Miss Bingley slowly to her feet.

“Monday next,” Darcy replied as he gathered the cards.

“Mr. Darcy,” began Miss Bingley, “this is rather sudden, is it not? I had not heard you were to leave our company.” Her eyes flashed toward her brother.

“I believe we may get on without Darcy for a week, Caroline, especially if he intends to be always winning at cards,” Charles replied. Then he turned back to his friend. “But it is rather sudden, this idea to go haring off. At least, you never mentioned it to me before today.”

Miss Bingley seconded her brother’s words, adding, “How will Miss Darcy go on if you leave her?”

“My aunt, Lady Matlock, has arrived in Town and will be taking Georgiana under her chaperonage for the week I am gone.” He laid the pile of cards precisely on the table and, picking up the small glass of port at his right, he took a sip, allowing its sweet savor to reveal all its pleasurable nuances before continuing. “My cousins will look in on her, and my friend Lord Brougham has promised the same. I would never leave Georgiana without first seeing to her care.”

Miss Bingley paled at his rebuke and hastily returned to her journal of fashion.

“Well, then.” Bingley coughed and took up the cards. “Shall we continue?” Darcy nodded and reached for the cards Bingley dealt him. His decision to accept Lord Sayre’s invitation to a house party at Norwycke Castle
did
appear rather sudden and out of character, but despite its eccentricity, he knew his attendance there to be essential.

Darcy’s direction to Hinchcliffe to send his acceptance to Sayre’s invitation had succeeded in both raising that retainer’s brows and compressing his lips into a disapproving line. “Why, what have you heard?” Darcy had demanded of his secretary.