Mr. Darcy's Daughters (37 page)

The family were at breakfast when Belle came home, cool and demure in a white muslin dress, lounging into the breakfast room as though she had slipped out for a walk instead of returning from such an indecorous flight.

“Breakfast, oh good, for I am quite famished, and dear Charles would not stop, even though I did so want something to eat.”

Chairs were pushed back, cups tumbled over; Pug made a sortie to snatch a piece of toast that had been dropped on the carpet. Only Belle appeared perfectly calm.

“Charles?” said Camilla.

“He is downstairs with Mr. Fitzwilliam. I dare say he will be up directly, for he must be as hungry as I am. We have come sixteen miles this morning, is that not a distance?”

“Sixteen miles? Belle, where have you been?” Camilla said. Her sister looked remarkably pleased with herself, and not at all contrite. Sixteen miles? Was it the lonely farmhouse again?

It was not. “Charles took me to his house.”

“Charles?” Charles who? Camilla racked her brains. Who among Belle’s admirers was called Charles?

“Charles Roper, silly, who else would it be?”

Roper! The sisters exchanged glances across the table.

“Cradle-snatching, I call it,” said Alethea. She reached for another piece of toast. “He’s only a baby.”

“He is not! He is twenty.”

“Oh, tra-la, a wise old man of twenty.”

“Alethea, we can do without your views,” said Fanny.

Charles Roper. Camilla would never have thought it, had never noticed him showing any particular affection towards Belle; indeed, he had seemed only to have eyes for Mrs. Rowan.

Fanny’s mind was on the detail. “Where were you last night? Did you pass the night at Mr. Roper’s house? Where may that be?” And, sharply, “Was his mother there?”

“Of course, and his father, too, a very amiable, kind man. They live in Surrey, near Boxhill; it is very pretty round about there. I should like to live in Surrey, of all things; it is much prettier than Derbyshire.”

“And your maid was with you?” asked Letitia, still suspicious and possibly a little disappointed.

“Of course. I couldn’t dress myself for dinner without her.”

“So why did you leave a note saying that you had run away to Scotland?”

“You found that, did you? Well, when I wrote it, I thought that we were going to Gretna Green. It was what I wanted, and I was very cross with dear Charles when I discovered he had tricked me, and that we were not eloping.”

“Why did you say you were with Allington?”

“That was a very good joke, was it not? Did Sophie know I wrote that? How I laughed at the thought of her rage when she heard I had run off with her precious hussar. For she is not in love with Wytton at all, and I think her behaviour is just as bad as Georgina’s, and she has been so very rude to me, as though no one in the world must speak to Captain Allington. I might very well have run away with him, just to teach her a lesson, such a goody-goody as she is, if it were not that Charles is the only man for me.”

“Belle, how can you speak so?”

Belle’s lovely face took on a mulish expression. “You were not here, Camilla, you do not know how they have all been on at me, how I must mend my ways, how much better it was for me to be at Pemberley, how I should attend to my books and music and give my mind to rational pursuits, meaning anything but men and flirting.”

“And rightly so,” said Letitia. “You have become a most outrageous flirt.”

“Oh, la, only an old maid like you would make such a fuss about that. It is not so very dreadful after all, and I like flirting with men and having them make love to me.”

“Well, upon my word!”

“Hark at you, prosing away for all the world like an old dowager. Who are you to play Miss Prim with me, or with Georgina? Since you were so stupid as to fall for a man who wasn’t in the least bit interested in you, you grudge the rest of us any contact with attractive men. It’s all jealousy. You should take care not to let it show so much; nothing is more ruinous to your looks than that peevish, crabby expression you are wearing even now.”

There was so much truth as well as cruelty in this that Camilla and Fanny did not know how to look or what to say.

“Come away from that window, Camilla. You can be seen from the street, with the window open like that.”

Letty was being particularly tiresome and fretful this morning; Camilla felt sure it was because Mr. Barcombe had not called for two days. How she wished that Letty was going to accompany the younger girls when they went back to Derbyshire next week to spend the summer there.

Belle, to her rage and chagrin, was not to be allowed to stay in London, nor to enter into an engagement with her dearest Charles. Mr. Roper’s parents, while liking Belle for her charm and beauty as much as for her fortune, were of the opinion that it would be better if the young couple waited to marry until Charles came of age. By then Mr. and Mrs. Darcy should be back in England, Belle would be eighteen and it would be altogether more suitable.

Belle had not received this news gladly; Camilla still shuddered at the memory of the tantrums and scenes that had followed the decision that she was to return to Derbyshire for the present.

Tears, threats, hysterics were of no avail. Seeking safety in numbers, Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gardiner had written to Mr. Bennet, laying the situation before him, and asking for his support. He was not overly delighted at the prospect of having a lovelorn Belle at Pemberley, but he knew his duty and was in complete agreement about there being no engagement for Belle until her parents’ return to England.

Miss Griffin was to go to Pemberley with them, of course, charged especially with the onerous task of keeping Belle out of mischief.

“I make no promises, but I will do my best. She may be more tractable with her sister away, and with her affection for Mr. Roper to sustain her.”

Alethea had no such expectations. “She will have forgotten Charles within a fortnight and will be making eyes at the grooms and any neighbouring squires who chance to ride across our land.”

Camilla had politely but firmly resisted all attempts to make her return to Pemberley, and, rather to her surprise, Letty decided to remain in London as well.

“If we may stay with you, dearest Fanny, for a while longer, or, if it is not quite convenient, I believe that Mrs. Gardiner would be willing to have us both.”

“What is this, Letty?” said Camilla, not hiding her disbelief. “You were wild to go back to Pemberley not so long ago.”

The reasons Letty gave seemed vague. Chief among them, she said, with a flash of her old sanctimoniousness, was that Camilla had been invited by Mrs. Rowan for a long visit in the event of it not being possible for her to stay with any members of her family. Letty wholeheartedly disapproved of this proposal and was supported by Fanny and her husband in her opposition to the plan. The mere suggestion of such a visit caused Fitzwilliam to shut himself in his study for several indignant hours, muttering about nests of vipers and Radicals and making threats upon the character and well-being of Pagoda Portal.

“But you like Mr. Portal,” Fanny said, when she coaxed him out with offers of cold meats and beer.

“That is all very well, but the fellow is not to be trusted when it comes to politics. A man is entitled to his views, I suppose, but he is not to be corrupting the minds and morals of innocent young women.”

“He would not dream of doing any such thing. And the matter does not arise, since I have begged Letty and Camilla to stay on with us.”

“I am not so sure—Oh, very well, if you wish it.”

“You make a great deal of nothing,” said Fanny buoyantly. “It has not turned out so ill. Wytton is the most agreeable man, once one is used to his eccentric ways; I shall be so happy to call him cousin when he and Camilla are married. Georgina is become a great lady in Paris, and if she produces an heir, she will rise even further in Sir Joshua’s affections. Belle’s match, if it comes to anything, is well enough, and I shall think it a blessing for her to be married and settled with her own nursery to occupy her; that will keep her out of mischief. Three husbands is not so bad, you will admit, and it will very likely be four before long. I am sure Letty will soon be engaged.”

“However, there are to be conditions,” Fitzwilliam said. “I will have no carryings-on under my roof, and young men may call only at reasonable hours. And,” he added with a frown, “it is to be hoped that Darcy is never made aware of how close his daughters came to ruin.”

Camilla stepped out on the narrow balcony as a familiar figure turned the corner into the square. She leant over the wrought-iron railing and waved.

“Camilla, stop that, how can you behave so?” cried Letty, getting up from the sofa and running across the room to catch at Camilla’s gown and bring her inside.

“It is Wytton,” Camilla said. “He is come to see our cousin, to ask Fitzwilliam when we may be married.”

“Married, indeed. You always want to rush into things; how can there be any question of marriage until our parents are safe returned to England?”

“Letty, how can you say that! It may be a year, or more, before they are back. Oh, I so long to be married, to be with Wytton, and to go about just as I please, and to travel abroad.”

“Your trip to France has gone to your head, and as to going about just as you please, that is what is to be avoided at all costs. This is no doubt why our cousin is so set against your marriage at present. An engagement, even, is out of the question, with the scandal that still hangs about us.”

“Oh, I don’t give that for scandal,” said Camilla, snapping her fingers in the air.

“Camilla, how can you be so vulgar?”

“Vulgar, who is vulgar?” asked Alethea, dancing into the room. She still had on her straw bonnet from a visit to the park, and she tugged at its ribbons before pulling it off and tossing it on the sofa. “Oh, it is so hot, and London is so boring, with Signor Silvestrini gone to Italy and no concerts to be had.”

“Well, as to that, Miss,” said Letty crossly, “you will soon be at Pemberley, where you may sit in the shade of the trees and take your leisure.”

“Leisure? Oh, no, I have so much I want to do. I have put in an order for quantities of music that I want to study and play, and I shall write some songs. By the time the signor is back, he will find me altogether a different kind of a musician.”

Letty drew in her breath, and Camilla gave Alethea a sharp look. “Take care, I think you do very well as you are.”

Alethea shrugged. “I know, I have to behave; as if I ever do otherwise.” This with a wicked look from under her eyelashes.

Camilla, with Wytton to lend moral support and worldly authority, had done her best to bring home to Alethea how careful she must be, how close to disaster she had come with her foolish prank at the ball. Even as she uttered her words of caution, Camilla had a suspicion that she knew only a part of Alethea’s unsanctioned musical activities. Wytton, laughing at her, had advised her not to delve, but merely to extract promises as to future behaviour.

“The threat of bringing her lessons with the Italian master to an end should make her see reason,” he had said.

“I had not thought you to be so censorious,” Camilla had exclaimed. “It would distress her beyond anything to lose her lessons.”

“Then let her behave with more circumspection. I am not talking of threats; I am talking of what the consequences will be if she runs wild again. I do not criticise her, but you may be sure Fitzwilliam and your sister Letty long to put an end to musical excursions of whatever nature, and only need an excuse to do so. Alethea needs to learn how to get over rough ground lightly.”

“It is her slyness that alarms me.”

“She is not sly, rather single-minded and with too much energy and intelligence to enjoy a restricted schoolroom life. She will be better when she comes out and has other things to occupy her mind.”

Camilla felt that as Wytton got to know Alethea better, he would quickly realise that the social whirl would hardly satisfy her sister’s lively sense of adventure or her passion for music.

“Where she is going to find a husband to suit her, I cannot imagine.”

“Oh, time enough to worry about that. The firebrand of sixteen is often the meekest and most amiable of creatures by the time she is nineteen or twenty. It was so with my youngest sister, who is now most happily settled.”

“Would she have dressed up as a boy and gone out in public to play the flute?”

“Why, no, for she has no ear for music and has always been rather plump. One must say that Alethea looked very well in breeches; she has the figure for them.”

Camilla had cried shame on him, and their discussion had ended in a stolen kiss; stolen, since Fitzwilliam was taking the greatest care to allow them little time alone together.

Now Camilla paced up and down the room, seeing in her imagination the study below; what would Wytton be saying, how would Fitzwilliam reply?

“It is no good,” Wytton said, as he came into the drawing room. He greeted Letty and Alethea with civility and warmth, but his eyes rested on Camilla.

One look at his face told Camilla that he had not met with any success.

“It is not to be thought of,” he said angrily. “Nothing, if you please, can be decided, no consent to an engagement given until your father returns. And we are to comport ourselves in such a way as will give no rise to any further talk or gossip.”

“Oh, that is unfair,” Camilla exclaimed.

“No, it is only right and proper,” said Letty.

“Letty,” said Camilla, turning on her sister. “Do not interfere; this is nothing to do with you.”

“Damn it,” Wytton went on. “Your sister Georgina takes off like a demi-mondaine and is allowed to live in married bliss, and here we are, quite prepared to do everything that is proper, and with no hope of being married for a year or so! You know how these diplomatic missions are prone to drag on far longer than was originally intended. I had meant to return to Egypt in the winter, when the weather is at its best, and I should have liked of all things for you to go with me, as my wife. Now there is no hope of it.”

Letty opened her mouth to say more, and Camilla, as annoyed as Wytton at Fitzwilliam’s intransigence, was about to say some sharp words when Mr. Barcombe was announced. Camilla could have laughed out loud as the shrewish look left Letty’s face, and she looked eagerly towards the door, her face suffused with blushes and a smile on her lips.

“Lucky fellow, she may marry him whenever she wishes; he does not have to wait for a father’s consent,” said Wytton, when he heard the news that Letty had accepted Barleigh Barcombe’s proposal of marriage.

“Oh, but he does, for Letty says she will not dream of getting married before our parents are returned. She insists that Papa must be there to give her away, and Barleigh agrees with her. He says he wants to be able to ask her father for her hand in the proper way, even if she is of age.”

Wytton’s face darkened. “Folly!”

“It is customary to have one’s family present at a wedding.” Camilla did not sound entirely convinced, and indeed she found Letty’s willingness to wait strange, and much at odds with her own desire to marry Wytton as soon as possible; the prospect of waiting for so long depressed her exceedingly.

“Why do you not write to Papa?” she said. “He will only hear what Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gardiner choose to tell him, and they are prejudiced, as you know.”

Wytton wrestled with his conscience—“For I agreed, in the end, with Fitzwilliam, you know, that it was not to be thought of”—and then he wrote to Mr. Darcy in Constantinople, setting out his circumstances and declaring his love for Camilla in clear if impassioned tones.

Unbeknownst to either Wytton or Camilla, Fanny had also wrestled with her conscience and—sympathising entirely with the lovers whatever Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gardiner might say about prudence; how a marriage would look in the eyes of the world; how waiting did no harm to a young couple—had written a long, private letter to Mrs. Darcy, without her husband’s knowledge or consent.

Darcy, it turned out, remembered Wytton from their meeting some years before and had retained a good impression of the clever, turbulent young man.

“How extraordinary,” said Fitzwilliam one morning as he lingered over the breakfast table. “I would not have believed it possible. Fanny, pay attention, for here is a letter from Darcy in which he agrees that Camilla and Wytton’s marriage should take place directly. It seems he has written to Wytton suggesting that he and Camilla travel to Constantinople as soon as they are wed, so that he and Lizzy may become properly acquainted with him. Did you ever hear of such a thing! What will people say?”

“What they always do, but Camilla and Wytton will not mind it, and they are the only people who matter in this; you know that.”

“I know no such thing. Hasn’t there been enough tittle-tattle? However, Darcy says that it is to be so, and I cannot argue with him when he is a thousand miles away.”

Fanny smiled to herself, pleased at the success of her efforts, and forbore from pointing out that Fitzwilliam would most certainly not argue with Darcy however close at hand he should be. “And given the alarums and excursions of the last few months, my love, Camilla’s marriage to a man as respectable and rich as Mr. Wytton must be a cause for general relief.”

Camilla’s first view of Sillingford Abbey, country house of the Wytton family, should have taken her breath away.

Formerly home to an Augustinian order, the abbey held a high position against a backdrop of rolling, wooded hills. A river ran its lazy course along the valley, with one of its tributary streams diverted to feed the lake that lay to the side of the long, front part of the house. Cattle cropped the rich grass of the meadows alongside the river, and sheep grazed under the trees of the orchards, which stretched almost to the river. It was a scene of rural harmony and prosperity.

Gentleman’s seat it might now be, but everything about it, from the long, low lines of the stone building, to the tall windows and the heavy, arched wooden doors, proclaimed Sillingford’s mediaeval and monastic origins. Wytton’s father had prettified some of the more austere windows with elegantly pointed arches in the Strawberry Hill style, which had the effect of softening the rather stern lines of the abbey, and in the late-afternoon sunlight, with the windows reflecting the slanting rays and the shadows of the great trees making a pleasing patchwork across the lawns, it looked mellow and beautiful.