Suspense and Sensibility Page 10

  “Do not talk so foolishly. This interest you have in Miss Bennet is mere infatuation. I will find you a wife more worthy of you, one who can bring something to your marriage.”

  “Miss Bennet has consented to bring herself. That is enough for me.”

  A long silence followed. Elizabeth forced herself to take slow, shallow breaths so that the Dashwoods would not become aware of their accidental audience. She also prayed she would not be seized by the sudden need to sneeze.

  “You have made her an offer of marriage?” Fanny finally said, her voice strangled.

  “Yes. And she has accepted me.”

  “Of course she has. What other gentleman of your consequence could she hope to snare?”

  “I will not hear you speak about my future wife in this manner.”

  “Harry, you are still young. You don’t know what you are about. Marriage is too important to your future to enter into unadvisedly. Let me guide you.”

  “My heart has guided me.”

  “Your heart should have nothing to do with it. You owe it to yourself and your family to make a materially advantageous alliance. If you must have Miss Bennet, indulge in a liaison with her after you have married someone else and produced a proper heir.”

  Elizabeth stifled a gasp. Harry’s was more audible. A look of disdain crossed Darcy’s face.

  “Don’t be so naïve, son. It happens all the time.”

  “I have heard enough of this.”

  “In time, you will understand that I am right,” Fanny said. “I only hope it happens before you commit the greatest folly of your life.”

  Harry made no answer.

  “Harry? Are you listening? Harry!”

  To Elizabeth’s intense relief, sounds of movement suggested that Mrs. Dashwood followed her son out of the dining room. Darcy put a finger to his lips and moved to the alcove entrance.

  “They have gone.”

  Elizabeth at last released her breath. “What do you make of that?” she asked as she reached his side.

  “I think your sister has a difficult road ahead of her, but that Mr. Dashwood will do all in his power to smooth it.” He took her hand, but this time with a different purpose than when he’d last held it. “I also think,” he said, pulling her behind him as he crossed the dining room with rapid strides, “that we should make good our exit before Mrs. Dashwood returns to rearrange those cards.”

  Somehow, Harry managed to shake off the exchange with his mother well enough to seem his usual good-natured self at supper, though Elizabeth perceived the effort his show required. It probably helped that Fanny was seated across the room, presiding over a second table. Mother and son had no occasion to exchange words or even glances until the meal neared conclusion. Just before dessert was served, Mrs. Dashwood stood up and called for the attention of all assembled.

  “I wish to thank you for joining us to mark my son’s twenty-first birthday.” She nodded to a servant, who threw open the dining room doors. Two more footmen entered, carrying a large rectangular object covered with silk. They brought it to the front of the room and rested it on a stand that apparently had been placed there for this purpose.

  “Harry, I can scarcely believe twenty-one years have passed since you let out your first cry. And I know that in another twenty-one years, I shall wonder how the time since tonight’s celebration passed so quickly.” Fanny’s chin was tilted higher than usual, her voice more steely.

  Elizabeth sensed the anger suppressed beneath the maternal words, though Fanny, like Harry, was delivering a stageworthy performance for the benefit of their guests. Whatever lessons and values Fanny had or had not managed to impart to her son growing up, both shared the ability to present a convincing facade when required.

  “Your years of young adulthood will someday be only a memory for you, too,” Fanny continued. “I wanted, therefore, to fix this moment in time. And so, my darling son, I present my birthday gift to you.”

  The footman lifted the fabric to reveal a full-length portrait of Harry. It was an amazing likeness, the artist having perfectly captured not only Harry’s physical characteristics but his essence, as well. The image seemed ready to spring from the canvas to seize the pleasures of life with all the zeal of the original.

  “Thank you, Mother.” Harry rose and stiffly crossed the room to kiss the air above his mother’s cheek. “You are generosity itself.”

  The following morning, Elizabeth walked through a quiet house down to breakfast, where she found Elinor Ferrars alone.

  “Is no one else about yet?” she asked.

  Elinor smiled. “ ’Tis only ten o’clock. Do you truly imagine we’ll see many of the other guests before one?”

  “Yet you are awake.”

  “I have three children. I haven’t slept past dawn in years.”

  Elizabeth welcomed the chance to converse more with Elinor. She found Harry’s aunt kind and forthright, with a directness that was refreshing after so many weeks among London’s ton. They talked at first about the previous night’s festivities, then drifted to other subjects. Elizabeth kept the news of Kitty and Harry’s engagement to herself, as the couple would not announce it until her father had sanctioned the match. But she wanted to learn more about the family Kitty would marry into, and trusted Elinor to provide an honest, if tactfully delivered, view.

  Elinor and Edward, she came to understand, had married for love and had never known a moment’s regret since. Elizabeth believed the same would prove true for her and Darcy, and fervently hoped Kitty and Harry would be so blessed.

  “What of your nephew?” Elizabeth asked. “Do you think Mr. Dashwood could ever be satisfied with an alliance of affection that did not also bring wealth?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure,” Elinor said. “We have not had many opportunities to spend time with him and form an opinion of his character.”

  Before Elizabeth could learn any more, Regina Ferrars entered the breakfast parlor.

  “Lord, but I’m starving! I never danced so much in my life as I did last night. Is the chocolate still hot?”

  She headed straight to the buffet, where she piled a plate high with ham, cheese, eggs, plum cake, and one roll for each variety of jam offered. “What a splendid party! Didn’t Harry look handsome? Mama says she hopes our children inherit his profile.”

  Elizabeth choked on her toast. “Your children?” she asked when she recovered herself.

  Elinor appeared equally surprised. “I was unaware that you and Harry had an understanding.”

  “Oh, we don’t. Not yet, anyway. But Mama thinks he should keep all his lovely money in the family, and says it shouldn’t be hard for a girl with a figure like mine to catch his eye.”

  No doubt because there was so much of her figure to behold.

  “And last night, I heard my aunt Dashwood tell Mama that she’d rather see Harry wed me than some penniless girl. So it’s only a matter of time.”

  Not if Elizabeth had anything to do with it. With his whole family conspiring to oppose a marriage to Kitty, she would offer Harry a bit of reinforcement until they were able to depart for Longbourn.

  Regina’s mouth was soon too full of plum cake to provide any additional news. Elizabeth excused herself and headed back to her chamber to see whether Darcy had yet risen. On the way she passed Elinor and Edward’s room. The door stood slightly ajar, and Fanny’s voice carried from within.

  “If you would only speak to him. Please, Edward. You’re my brother, and his father is no longer here to guide him.”

  “Fanny, I simply cannot comprehend your objection. She comes from a respectable family, and her elder sisters’ marriages offer good connections. With Harry’s income, he doesn’t need a bride with a large dowry.”

  “Hmph. You would think that a man of Mr. Darcy’s fortune would settle something on his wife’s sisters to improve their marriageability.”

  “As you and John took care of his sisters?”

  Silence.

  El
izabeth reached her chamber, only to find it vacant. Darcy had apparently risen and embarked on some other occupation before breakfast. She returned to the hallway just as Fanny emerged from Edward’s room. Harry’s mother acknowledged her with minimal civility, then turned on her heel and retreated down the stairs. Having no desire to follow her, Elizabeth instead wandered into the long gallery.

  Harry Dashwood stood inside. He had been studying the portrait of his father, but her entrance diverted his attention.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I did not intend to disturb you.”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Darcy. Your company is always a pleasure.” He gestured toward the painting. “I was just contemplating what my father would think of my engagement to Miss Bennet.”

  “And what did you conclude?”

  He shrugged. “He would have wanted to see me happy, but I suspect he might have shared my mother’s . . . reservations.” He gazed at her directly. “It could not have escaped your notice that my mother would prefer I marry a woman of large fortune.”

  “I confess it has not.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Why? You are not responsible for your mother’s opinions.”

  “No, but I am now responsible for Miss Bennet’s happiness. I think it best to remove Kitty from my mother’s proximity at present, to spare her any further unpleasantness. I also wish to secure your father’s permission and announce the engagement as soon as possible. To that end, I plan to leave for Longbourn immediately—this very day. Can the three of you be ready by this afternoon? If not, I will go on ahead.”

  “We can depart within the hour if necessary. But how will you explain the abrupt departure to your other guests?”

  “I will tell them the truth—that I must attend to an important matter requiring immediate action.”

  “And what will you tell your mother?”

  “Nothing whatever. I am done with her. At least for this visit.” He issued a disgusted sigh. “She has harped on me about family duty and reputation as long as I can remember, but you have only to look around this room to see people who did far more to compromise the Dashwoods’ standing than what she accuses me of. Sir Stephen might have been a knight, but his youngest son was a pirate. And Sir Francis here—” He gesticulated forcefully. “If the Dashwood family honor can survive his infamous conduct, it certainly won’t be tarnished by my marriage to a gentle, well-bred young lady.”

  Mr. Dashwood’s manservant entered. “Your trunks are packed and await only your order to load them, sir. Will you also be taking the portrait?”

  “The one from my mother?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Yes, sir. What would you like done with it?”

  “My mother can do whatever she likes with it. I don’t need it with me as a reminder of her manip—” He cut himself short as his gaze fell once more upon the portrait of Sir Francis.

  “Come to think on it, pack this one instead.” He laughed bitterly. “Sir Francis and I can keep our disgraceful selves company.”

  Nine

  “I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character.”

  —John Dashwood to Elinor,

  Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 41

  Mr. Dashwood easily won the approval of both Kitty’s parents. A half hour’s observation of Harry’s earnest devotion to Kitty, paired with the testimonials of his most sensible daughter and son-in-law, proved sufficient recommendation for Mr. Bennet to grant his consent to the marriage without reservation. Mrs. Bennet’s admiration was secured still more quickly, with the mere utterance of the words “six thousand a year.” The couple fixed upon a date three months hence and returned to London with the Darcys.

  While Elizabeth and Georgiana made the rounds of warehouses with Kitty to order the bride’s trousseau, Darcy returned to his own affairs. The soon-to-be-vacant living at Kympton still needed filling, and a rare opportunity had arisen to discuss land enclosure—a practice Darcy contemplated implementing at Pemberley—with the country’s foremost expert. The Earl of Chatfield had invited a small group of friends to meet Arthur Young, former secretary of the Board of Agriculture. Hoping to encourage Mr. Dashwood’s newfound interest in estate management, Darcy had secured an invitation for Harry, as well.

  As arranged, Darcy met Mr. Dashwood at the younger man’s townhouse before proceeding to the earl’s. He arrived promptly at the appointed time, Darcy considering tardiness the eighth deadly sin. Harry, however, kept him waiting in the drawing room a full quarter hour. Darcy paced impatiently, thankful that at least upon this visit he hadn’t been invited to attend Harry in his dressing room. Despite his growing kinship with Mr. Dashwood, he preferred to maintain more formality in his relationships. He did have to admit, however, that the previous opportunity to see Mr. Dashwood’s newly discovered looking glass had proven an unexpected pleasure. He wondered if the portrait of Sir Francis had also found its way to Harry’s suite, as he had not seen it more publicly displayed when he’d been ushered to the drawing room.

  When Mr. Dashwood at last joined Darcy, he appeared to have rushed his toilette. His cravat slanted asymmetrically, and his hair looked even more unruly than was the current fashion. ’Twas a far cry from the style-conscious buck who had held court before his looking glass, or even the elegant host who had so recently entertained them at Norland.

  “Mr. Darcy, do forgive me.” Harry immediately sent for his hat and greatcoat. “But one minute more, and we can be off.”

  “I hope nothing is amiss?”

  Harry shrugged into the overcoat. “Pray remind me, who are we meeting?”

  “Mr. Arthur Young.”

  Harry stared at him blankly.

  “One of the greatest English writers on agriculture?” Darcy prompted.

  “Oh, yes—yes, of course. And we will be discussing what, exactly?”

  “Land enclosure.” Darcy suppressed his growing annoyance. When he’d tendered the earl’s invitation a se’nnight ago, Mr. Dashwood had accepted enthusiastically. Darcy’s review of Norland’s records had revealed that, far from cheating Harry, Norland’s steward had seized upon the lack of direct supervision following John Dashwood’s death as an opportunity to implement practices the estate should have adopted years earlier. Harry’s father had enclosed the land but not altered its tillage methods to take advantage of the larger holdings; as a result, crop production fell far short of its potential. Darcy had suggested that Harry study Jethro Tull’s agricultural theories to better understand the changes his steward now sought to make, and Young was a strong advocate of Tull’s methods.

  Darcy remained undecided about whether to enclose Pemberley’s lands. Though there was no doubt that the practice vastly improved productivity, it turned small farmers into landless laborers with no stake in the earth they worked so hard to cultivate. Darcy disliked the thought of robbing his tenants of their independence. Yet he had to consider the greater good of the people in his care, and with England at war, growing enough food to feed its families was the duty of every landowner. In Harry’s circumstances, since Norland was already enclosed, the fields ought to be cultivated to their full potential. Mr. Dashwood had agreed, and welcomed the invitation to learn more. Now, however, Harry seemed completely uninterested.

  “Do you still wish to accompany me, Mr. Dashwood?”

  “What? Oh—yes. Certainly! I remember our conversation now. I’m sorry—I just forgot for a moment there. I’m sure this afternoon will prove most instructional.”

  They stepped into the street, where Darcy’s carriage waited. A light mist enveloped the city, casting everything in greyness. In the dreary light, Darcy noted circles under Harry’s eyes. Had he been out all night? If he had risen late, that might explain his careless appearance and distracted demeanor.

  “Mr. Dashwood, are you quite well?”

  “Hmm? Oh, fine—fine. I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. But I assure
you, Mr. Young shall have my full attention.”

  Mr. Dashwood remained true to his word and managed to attend to Arthur Young’s discourse well enough so as not to embarrass Darcy, who’d gone to some trouble on his behalf to obtain a coveted invitation to the private party. His distraction, however, returned at dinner the following evening. Harry was their guest for a family supper, but poor Kitty had all she could do to carry on a conversation with her fiancé. Were it not for Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Darcy, the confused bride-to-be would have spent most of the meal in soliloquy.

  “I cannot account for Mr. Dashwood’s conduct this evening,” Elizabeth remarked later, when they had retired for the night.

  Darcy could not explain it, either. “He behaved similarly on our way to Chatfield’s yesterday. When I enquired whether he was all right, he said he had not slept well.”

  “He did look tired.”

  In fact, the circles under Mr. Dashwood’s eyes had darkened in the four-and-twenty hours since Darcy had last seen him. “I wonder what disturbs his rest.”

  “I hear his mother has returned to town. Perhaps she provokes him.”

  “From the exchange we overheard at Norland, it does not sound as if her disapprobation is likely to cost him any sleep.”

  “He did seem quite confident in his decision, and equal to the challenge of opposing her.”

  Darcy hoped nothing too grave caused Mr. Dashwood’s sleeplessness. He indeed now regarded Harry as a brother. Independent of Mr. Dashwood’s relationship with Kitty, they’d struck a rapport in which they both seemed to take pleasure. Harry was eager to benefit from Darcy’s greater experience of the world, and Darcy found that he enjoyed lending his guidance. He looked forward to their friendship soon being reinforced by a true family connection.

  As Darcy’s reflections strayed to the approaching wedding, a troubling thought entered his head. One that would explain an apparent lack of sleep.

  Elizabeth noted his frown. “What is it?” she asked.