A Dishonorable Offer Read online

  “Georgie is the most sensible young woman I know,” Matlock replied. “I’m entirely pleased by her, even though her opinions are a bit radical.”

  Darcy shrugged. His sister was Matlock’s responsibility, and in truth he was glad for it. Darcy had a high opinion of his own capabilities, but he would have made some dreadful mistake with Georgiana. And though she was completely lacking in delicacy, and they would have a dreadful time marrying her off, she was happy and likely to stay so.

  “I have settled down, a little.” Matlock stroked his chin. “You are too damned young to want to do so yourself.”

  Darcy shook his head. It had nothing to do with age. He disliked finding a new mistress every few years when he grew bored with her bland personality. He wanted the sort of companionship with a clever and sensible woman that his uncle had. Going to bed with a woman could not be impersonal for him.

  Darcy replied, “Really? It bothers you so much that I wish to behave sensibly and without the rashness of youth? Singular. I thought old men always complained about young fellows mindlessly repeating their errors.”

  Matlock laughed. “I’m young enough to box your ears in. Don’t doubt that.”

  Darcy shrugged, tossed the stem from the grapes aside, and grabbed an apricot. It had a good juicy flavor.

  Matlock pounded the table with his mug again. “Three months — abstinence damages the organs, it causes mental imbalances, it harms the digestion. You need a woman and deuced soon. It is a matter of protecting your health.”

  “Father,” Derwent exclaimed, “how would you know that abstinence is unhealthful? You never tried it long enough to find out.”

  Lord Matlock raised his glass high in acknowledgment and drained it. “At least it makes you stupid about women. If you don’t have a good dance” — Matlock wiggled his eyebrows — “with a girl soon, you’ll fall in love with the serving girl at a tavern.”

  “I do not intend to fall in love at all,” Darcy replied sharply. He had long since become reconciled with how his father died, but he would not let himself make the same mistake. Darcy wrinkled his nose. “Certainly not with some tavern wench.”

  “No! Don’t say that.” Matlock blanched. “Now you inevitably will fall in love, and likely with a tavern girl. You read enough to know that soon as a gentleman proclaims he shall never fall in love, he inevitably does in the next hundred pages.”

  “I did not mean that I shall never feel passion or desire, but when I do I shall keep my emotions in proper bounds.”

  “Oh! So that is all you meant. You’ll just keep what you feel in proper bounds. A simple task. Forgive my skepticism.” Matlock rolled his eyes.

  Derwent said, “Darcy can be stubborn when he sets his mind to it. He only lets pure disinterested reason control him.”

  Darcy kicked his cousin’s leg. Derwent grinned and took a long pull from his cigar.

  “All the determination in the world won’t do any good,” Matlock said, “if he is so tight packed that he is fit to explode.”

  Richard tore an orange peel apart. “While you search for this diamond who wants to talk about Latin while rutting, you do not need to remain celibate. There are madames who take a great deal of care to keep their girls clean. You’ve been a coward about brothels since that friend died of syphilis, but if you are careful—”

  Darcy replied, “That is not why I avoid brothels. I like to have a reason to think a girl likes me before I take her to bed.”

  Richard grinned widely and opened his mouth. Darcy waved his finger in front of his cousin to stop him from speaking. “Some reason beyond masculine vanity.”

  “If you have enough vanity, it counts for everything.”

  Richard’s offer tempted Darcy. Three months without a woman was the longest he’d gone since he was fifteen. It was too damned long. He suddenly wanted to have a woman desperately. An image of a line of young girls in transparent dresses waiting for him to choose floated in Darcy’s eye.

  Something was missing in his life and a courtesan wouldn’t fill that gap.

  “You should marry.” Darcy looked at his uncle in surprise. “You’ve put it off too long — marry someone, and soon. It will give you an outlet for your needs, and I’d like more children to spoil.”

  “First you demand I find new mistress, and now you say I must find a wife? My dear uncle, I have been of age these six years.”

  “Darcy, you’ve always been like a son to me.” Matlock furrowed his eyebrows. “You will never be so old that I don’t try to help you.”

  This wasn’t the first time his uncle had hinted so. He wasn’t so very young anymore. Perhaps it was time to father an heir. “I agree — next season I shall look.”

  Matlock eagerly rubbed his hands together. “It is not my advice that makes you amenable at last.”

  “Georgie and Mr. Wickham made me think…it is time.”

  “I shall hold you to it.” Matlock clapped his hands together. “Susan will be delighted to figure out who are the best prospects. But with all your money — you merely need ask and most families will be happy to give a daughter to you. We shall find a very pretty and sensible girl for you. Don’t doubt that.”

  Darcy grunted ill-naturedly. “I’m not going to make a God awful fool of myself over my wife like my father did, and I don’t want a woman who will think I should.”

  “Susan will help you. But you’ll need to make some pretense of being devoted to keep her happy. Most women aren’t like Susan. Most are chuckleheaded fools.”

  What Matlock meant was that Lady Susan didn’t care about her husband’s affairs so long as she had a huge allowance. She was also a good mother and an asset in politics, and she took a careful care to ensure that none of her affairs gave him another man’s child to care for.

  The group fell silent and munched at the fruit. It was a golden day, warm, and birds chattered in the background. The beer had a strong, slightly spicy taste. Darcy rolled it around his tongue.

  Matlock puffed out a cloud of smoke. “You will visit your friend Bingley next week?”

  “He has been in possession of the estate he leased for a very short time, and he is eager to show off.”

  “Deuced good fellow, Bingley. Have him call on me when we are all in London for the season — the estate he leased is in Hertfordshire? How far from London?”

  “About twenty-five miles. You can get there in under three hours with a good team, he swears. I understand the roads are excellent. A profitable turnpike runs past the nearest market town.”

  “If you like the manor, I’ll visit Bingley for a week or so when it gets hot in the summer. It’ll be an extra feather in his cap to host an earl. How long will you stay?”

  “Until early December, then I’ll spend a week or two in Pemberley before Christmas here.”

  “If you don’t find a new girl by the New Year, I shall make you talk to a dozen or so actresses and the like looking for protectors. It would be six months then, which is far, far too long for a healthy man. Find some pretty light skirt in Hertfordshire.”

  Did Matlock plan for him to marry or to find a new mistress?

  He wasn’t supposed to see it as one or the other. He did not think ill of his uncle for keeping a mistress. But as long as he’d known her, Lady Susan had known and not cared, and in turn Matlock was happy to let his wife do as she pleased. As far as Darcy knew, Derwent’s wife, Lady Emily, knew nothing of Derwent’s mistress.

  The thought of behaving in that way made Darcy feel dirty. He did not wish to ever lie to a woman. He abhorred deception. His uncle would worry he was thinking like his father if he said that he would probably follow his vows.

  Darcy said, “I am to socialize with the local gentry — unless you think I should take up with a serving girl…”

  “Let a randy widow seduce you,” Derwent suggested.

  “Do that.” Matlock nodded. “Or seduce a pretty girl with no money and no prospects, like your old Miss Wickham. You can be charming if y
ou try. Half the girls in such a situation would prefer to be the mistress of a handsome rich man they liked instead of a governess.”

  God he wanted a woman. He needed to find a girl to kiss and hold and press against.

  Georgiana pranced into the clearing in a light summer dress and laughingly pecked each of her relations on the cheek before asking, “You are all so lazy — when are you coming back to the house?”

  Matlock grunted and stood. “We might as well now. It’s almost dark.”

  “What were you speaking about?”

  Darcy blushed and half hid his face with a hand as they walked under a thick grove of oak trees. His uncle was going to say exactly what they were talking about.

  “Your brother needs a new mistress. It is round about time he stopped longing after Miss Wickham.”

  “Oh! He does need a new mistress. He’s been surly these past weeks. Fitzwilliam, why ever did you let Isabella go? She is as angry at Mr. Wickham as I am. Did you know she is getting married?”

  “Already!” Darcy felt an odd twinge of unhappiness that she’d waited such a short time. “How do you know?”

  Georgiana gave him a completely superior look. “She is my friend. You know I do not have so very many. Just because you forgot her, does not mean I have.”

  Darcy loved Georgiana dearly, but sometimes he thought he should have sought to gain her guardianship from Lord Matlock when he came of age. It simply wasn’t…delicate for her to be on speaking terms with his former mistress.

  When it came time to find her a good husband, Georgiana would offend anyone religious or overly concerned by appearances, and because Georgie froze and became terribly anxious and shy with new acquaintances, she’d find it hard to meet many people.

  Matlock approved. “That shows a becoming loyalty. Give her my greetings next time you speak.”

  Chapter 3

  "Promise you won’t marry him."

  Jane’s perfect oval face was pensive, and she looked down at the straw bonnet she was stitching a blue ribbon onto. “I must marry someone. Mr. Thomas is willing.”

  The hot summer air in their uncle’s small London drawing room stifled Elizabeth. They had opened the windows, but there was no breeze. The faint miasma from the rotting cesspits and the leavings of horses along the road permeated the room. She anxiously waved a paper fan in front of her face to cool down.

  For the past weeks Elizabeth had watched her sister progressively lose hope of happiness and love.

  “You cannot marry him.” Elizabeth exclaimed, “He is old, bald, and fat! He looks at you as though you were a tasty joint of meat."

  “I have not encouraged him.”

  “You have not discouraged him. He will ask — you saw how he behaved yesterday. He has made up his mind at last. Promise to refuse him. Jane dear, you must promise me.”

  “We have no money!” With a sudden passion Jane tossed the hat aside. “I see how our uncles act. They hate hosting us. They blame me and you as much as Mama for spending all the money after Father died. You know Mr. Gardiner wants me to marry Mr. Thomas, though he won’t force me, yet. I am tired. I hate being dependent. I hate this house, I hate poverty, I hate the way everyone looks at me, I hate Mama, I even hate you for how certain you are. Nothing is right — nothing! It never will be.”

  Jane’s last sentence dwindled away.

  The color was visible in the clear skin of Jane’s cheeks. Her light cotton day dress and high lace collar made as pretty an image as ever, but the usual serenity in Jane’s sky blue eyes was missing. Jane buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Elizabeth breathed out, “Jane, my dear Jane.” With her stomach still clenched with anxiety, Elizabeth placed her arms around her slender sister and cried with her. “Oh, Jane, this is not like you. Don’t — you mustn’t let it hurt you, you mustn’t let it — please don’t cease to be my perfect good Jane."

  “I don’t mean it — I don’t, I could never hate you. I could never hate anyone…only…” Jane clutched Elizabeth harder. “I do not wish to marry Mr. Thomas, I really do not."

  “Don’t. We can be happy. I am happy, except I’m frightened for you."

  “Mr. Thomas is a good man; he is Mr. Gardiner’s friend, and he is even more successful than our uncle in his trade. Mama would never forgive me if I refused him. Mr. Gardiner would be unhappy — it would make all of our positions more secure. I should have encouraged him, and I will.”

  “No! You deserve to fall in love. Remember? We promised to never marry except for the deepest affection. Remember? Please—"

  “Lizzy, I know what I must do. I beg you to support me. Do tell me you won’t be angry when I marry him."

  “No. I cannot promise that — it would be a mistake. You would be unhappy. You deserve to be happy.”

  “Do you not always proclaim how happy we can be, no matter what?”

  “We can be happy no matter how poor — but this, you mean to attach yourself to an odious man almost thirty years your senior who you can neither like nor respect."

  Jane did not say anything.

  Elizabeth pulled back to look into her sister’s red-rimmed eyes. A perfectly proportioned nose, elegant cheeks with just a little childish plumpness left in them, long eyelashes, wheat colored hair. Jane combined a perfect beauty of form and content. She was too beautiful of character and person to end up Mr. Thomas’s wife.

  Elizabeth embraced Jane again, squeezing her shoulders together. “You’ll refuse him. I know you will — I trust you. You will not sell yourself. You are too perfectly good.”

  Jane showed some emotion on her face that Elizabeth could not interpret. Then she sighed and let out a long breath.

  She and Elizabeth still held hands but settled back onto the couch. It was embroidered with bright floral patterns. Elizabeth looked around the room. The cast iron rack for the wood stood bare in the screened off fireplace. No need for heating at midday in September.

  On the mantelpiece, Mr. Gardiner had a collection of foreign curiosities his business correspondents had sent to England with various shipments. A carved ivory figurine of a man on an elephant, a brightly painted African mask, a painting of a buckskinned frontiersman in the colonies with a long rifle, a delicately colored Chinese vase. Mr. Gardiner cheerfully admitted the vase was a counterfeit Ming piece, but still very pretty.

  The objects Mr. Gardiner decorated his drawing room with displayed the breadth of his concerns. He ran a profitable business. A business that produced a fair amount of money.

  Money governed everything. When Mama spent almost a thousand a year on pretty clothes and entertainments, everyone in Meryton liked and admired her and Jane. Then Mama ran out of money and ran up unpayable bills with tradesmen. After that everyone looked at her and Jane with pity and thought less of them.

  Even Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.

  Elizabeth refused to be unhappy. She liked herself as much as ever. That was enough. When she missed the dresses, and jewelry, and books that were sold to pay her mother’s debts, she closed her eyes and pretended she still owned them.

  Jane had been nineteen when Mama’s attempts to hide her situation from the town and Mr. Phillips and Mr. Gardiner ended. For a long time, Jane had remained herself. But lately Elizabeth was not sure.

  Mary had been taken in by their cousins, Mr. Collins and his wife Charlotte. Charlotte was still Elizabeth’s closest friend except Jane. Mama, with Kitty and Lydia, had moved in with her sister, Mrs. Phillips. Elizabeth and Jane had been sent to London to find someone to marry.

  Hard-working young tradesmen who were not yet well established could not marry a pair of pretty sisters with a large set of penniless relations who would add absolutely nothing to their capital. The Gardiners had five children of their own. Beyond room, board, an occasional dress, and a little pocket money, they would not do anything for Jane and Elizabeth.

  Mr. Gardiner saw the interest of his recently widowed friend Mr. Thomas in Jane’s beauty as a godsend. At last the b
urden of supporting all of the women would be spread.

  The sisters had been silent for some time, both thoughtful. Mrs. Gardiner entered the room. “Jane, it is time to prepare your hair for tonight. You know Mr. Thomas will be at our dinner.”

  The smile of Elizabeth’s aunt was a little false. She knew Jane didn’t like Mr. Thomas, but Mrs. Gardiner still pushed the match. With a swish of her muslin dress Jane stood. Mrs. Gardiner added, “Lizzy, come up in a half hour.”

  Jane wouldn’t do it.

  Elizabeth understood her sister too well to believe it. Jane may think about it, but when Mr. Thomas asked, Jane’s good sense would prevail. Jane would refuse him. And someday she would meet a handsome young gentleman and fall desperately in love with him, and he would not care that she was penniless, and Jane would be ridiculously happy.

  If only Jane had a dowry. It would be so much easier then.

  If there were money, the anxiety they all felt would not be there. A dowry would allow sensible young men who needed capital to expand their businesses and improve their careers to think about marrying Jane.

  Elizabeth liked to imagine things going perfectly to make herself happy. She looked out the window at the heavy barouches and sprightly curricles and neatly dressed walkers passing along Gracechurch Street.

  Maybe there was gold buried under this house, left by whoever had owned the land before the great fire, or left by someone fleeing Cromwell during the Civil War, or — it did not matter, the important thing was she would find five thousand pounds worth of gold buried under the house. Jane would have a dowry, and not feel any concern at refusing Mr. Thomas.

  That was a rather absurd conceit.

  A distant cousin, who no one had ever heard of, would die and leave a great fortune to Jane.

  That was a little less absurd.

  One of Mr. Gardiner’s guests would bring his own guest. A young and amiable man of thirty — so he was well-established and successful and no longer needed a substantial dowry.