Rose and Lavender Water 06

Rose and Lavender Water

Part the Sixth—Interlude I

Darcy’s mind was in turmoil.  He knew that he was in love with Isabella Bennet to the point of distraction.  It was also irrefutable that she had connections in trade.  He had been stricken by her as soon as he had seen her in a field of bluebells there when he had gone to view Netherfield Park with Bingley.  He had almost feared that Bingley had been similarly struck, but had learnt on the ride back to London that Bingley found her merely “agreeable” and “charming.”

Darcy had been unable to help himself when Mr. Bennet came to pay a call on Bingley and he had learnt that his youngest daughter had accompanied him.  He should have been circumspect and remained in Bingley’s study, but he immediately sought out Caroline and gained her permission to invite Isabella to tea before seeking out the maiden himself.

She was once again in the field of bluebells.  It was how he would always dream of her now.

Caroline and Louisa Hurst were fortunately allies in his endeavor to secure Isabella for a set at the Assembly.  Caroline found it romantic, Darcy finding a local woman of fashion reading amongst a field of flowers.  Mrs. Hurst, whose romantic passions had been dulled by her own marriage, found it quaint.

Bingley, Bingley laughed when he realized Darcy’s purpose.  He even in his excitement asked for Darcy’s set himself.

Darcy had never been so bewitched in his life.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, esq. of Pemberley was of the first circles, his grandfather having been the late Earl of Matlock and Darcy’s estate rumored to be worth ten thousand a year (though, in fact, being worth quite a deal more).  Although not titled himself, he was friends with the prince regent and knew that he was due for a knighthood if not a baronetcy because of his position in society and friendship with the crown.  He had been invaluable in recommending his own personal physician to the prince regent for the benefit of the ailing King George III.

He was accustomed to being chased for his estate, his wealth, and his excellent connections.

Isabella, however, never chased him.  She was like a waif hidden among the countryside, waiting to be found by the first worthy man who broke the spell surrounding her.  She showed them the house and when she told them of the Assembly, she did not even angle for a dance.

She did, however, let slip that the Lucas boys left her and her sister apples on the windowsill.

Fortunately, one of the stablehands had a seven-year-old son who, for a penny, was willing to watch Longbourn and learn which windowsill the Lucas boys employed and, for another penny, would shimmy up the tree and leave a bouquet of bluebells.

Darcy should not have taken such liberties with his Isabella so early in their acquaintance—lifting her into her saddle, leaving her bluebells, running his finger down her ear in the dance—but he was enchanted.

He had never met a young woman who took such especial care of her elder sisters.  He imagined her caring for Georgiana, and the thought warmed him.  She had a bevy of suitors, which greatly vexed him, but it was only to be expected with her midnight hair and unearthly eyes.  She was a beauty when her other sisters, fair as they were, were merely pretty.  The eldest, Jane Bennet, smiled too much.

Bingley liked fair beauties and while Miss Jane Bennet could never be called a beauty, certainly when compared with her youngest sister, Bingley gravitated toward her.  It was an innocent flirtation.  It would come to nothing.  Caroline certainly ignored the eldest Miss Bennet.  Mrs. Hurst did not even look in her direction.  All of the Bingley sisters’ attention was taken up by his Isabella.  The sisters were already talking about a Christmastide wedding.  Darcy usually hated speculation, but on this one point he would allow it.

The party at Lucas Lodge could not come quickly enough.  He tried to manufacture an excuse to visit Mr. Bennet, but could not find one, and it seemed as if the Bennet patriarch had forbidden his Isabella from seeking out the bluebell fields at Netherfield Park.

Isabella appeared at Lucas Lodge in a yellow muslin, her twin in dark blue.  While Miss Mary looked passably pretty with her blonde hair and blue eyes, Isabella looked enchanting.  It was strange how they shared a face and yet their coloring was so different.  It had startled Darcy when he had first compared the twins.  (If he was honest, he had also startled Miss Mary Bennet, though he was still uncertain as to why.)

Joshua Lucas seemed to be a problem.  He had an intimacy with Isabella that Darcy did not like and he was certainly possessive of her.  He may only be sixteen years of age, but that did not mean he was not a threat.  He had known Isabella his entire life and was therefore a known quantity to her, a safe bet.  His Isabella had not danced with him at the Assembly but then again, Joshua Lucas had not been present.  Darcy was not used to a rival, but it was a challenge he was willing to accept.

Then he heard Isabella sing with Miss Mary on the pianoforte.  She was a veritable songbird with a rich alto voice.  Although she did not have the benefit of the Masters, she controlled her voice exquisitely, and he was quite struck by her.  If Darcy had not already been in love with Isabella, he certainly would have fallen in love with her that evening.

“You will certainly marry Isabella then,” Caroline checked when they in the sitting room at Netherfield Park, drinking coffee.

Mrs. Hurst was sitting near them, Bingley a slight ways away.  Mr. Hurst had fallen asleep on a settee from too much drink.

“I thought that was already apparent.”

“She is most talented.  I would not know that she had not studied in London or Bath,” Mrs. Hurst commented, glancing over at her husband in resignation.  “Miss Mary plays passably well for a country miss, but Isabella—”

“Yes,” Darcy agreed.  “I look forward to her performing with Georgiana.  They will make an elegant duet.”

“An excellent idea!” Caroline cried, drawing Bingley’s attention.  “I do not know why I did not think of it myself.  Shall you send for your sister?”

“I think it will be necessary soon enough.  Perhaps when our engagement is announced.”

“And when will that be?” Mrs. Hurst asked.

“Soon,” Darcy agreed.  “I need to just check off one more item on my list.”

Caroline leaned toward her sister in what seemed to be a confidence.  “Mr. Darcy has a list.”

“Every gentleman and every lady has a list,” Mrs. Hurst replied, a twinkle in her eye.  “Whether or not he admits it is another matter.”  She turned to Darcy.  “Pray tell, what is on your list.  Her dowry?”

“For that I must speak to Mr. Bennet, and I cannot speak to Mr. Bennet until I propose the match.”

“I do not know if Mr. Bennet is aware of the match,” Mrs. Hurst told him honestly.  “He was not at the Assembly and he was not at Lucas Lodge.”

“However, he was here when I personally invited Miss Bennet to tea.  He must know that I danced with her twice at the Assembly and Mrs. Bennet will inform him of my attentions to her this very night.  No,” he slipped his cup into its dish.  “We must learn of her connections.  We know she is of the foremost family, but we do not know her mother’s family.  It is merely a formality, of course, but I must be careful of fortune hunters.”

“Isabella Bennet,” Caroline told him flat out, “is not a fortune hunter.”

“Of course she is not,” Darcy responded.  “That does not mean her mother is not.  It is—fortunate—for Mrs. Bennet that two of her four daughters have caught the attention of the two most eligible bachelors in the neighborhood.  I have heard her speaking to Lady Lucas.  She is most pleased.  Miss Jane Bennet could also be a fortune hunter.  Her smile hides something, I am certain of it.”

Caroline and Mrs. Hurst exchanged a look.

It was Caroline who spoke.  “I was speaking with Isabella about inviting Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Lucas.  Sir William’s elder son, William the younger, keeps the family shop so I need not invite Miss Lucas as her family is actively engaged in trade.  She is also,” and here she leaned forward although only Bingley might hear them, “six and twenty.”  She leaned back and took a sip of her coffee.  “I professed I did not wish to invite Jane Bennet and Isabella suggested I invite her as she was also a Bennet and a previous acquaintance.  Of course, if I invited Jane we could get the information from her—”

“She smiles too much,” Darcy reminded the sisters.  “No, Miss Isabella Bennet is the finer prospect.  She is your friend.  Miss Jane Bennet is hardly an acquaintance.”

“Then we must have a ladies’ tea with her,” Mrs. Hurst decided.  “We will send you gentlemen hunting.”

“Hunting, Louisa?” Bingley asked, finally entering the conversation.

“Never you mind, brother,” Mrs. Hurst told him with a smile.  “I am just scheming.”

Of course, the tea never quite happened.  Instead, a Colonel Forester quartered his troop at Meryton and Darcy, Bingley, and Hurst were invited to dine with the officers.  Caroline took this as an excuse to invite Isabella to dinner and Darcy extracted a promise from Mrs. Hurst that they would learn of Isabella’s relations before they sent her home for the night.

Their dinner with the officers was long and dull.  Darcy was quite distracted and it was well past eleven when they returned to Netherfield Park.

When they arrived, he found Caroline and Mrs. Hurst playing cards in the drawing room.

Bingley was still seeing about his cloak and Mr. Hurst was across the room, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Well?” Darcy asked as he approached the women.  “What did she say?”

Mrs. Hurst sighed.  “Isabella is staying the night as she took a horse over.  She wishes to speak to you after breakfast.”

He did not like the sound of this at all.  “What do you mean she wishes to speak to me after breakfast?”

Mrs. Hurst looked up with pale green eyes.  “They are her relations.  She wishes to tell you herself.”

He felt his stomach sink.  “There is something to tell.”

Mrs. Hurst shared a look with Caroline.

“What room is she in?” Darcy suddenly demanded just as Bingley came in.

“How was dinner?” Bingley asked congenially.  “The rain is pouring down quite dreadfully.  I hope Miss Bennet came by carriage.”

“She came by horseback,” Caroline informed him.  “We put her in the blue bedchamber.  She shall go back in the morning if the rain lets up, if it does not, she has accepted use of our carriage.”

“Oh, indeed,” Bingley agreed.  “Has she gone to bed?”

“An hour since,” Caroline answered, but Darcy was not listening.  He was already grabbing a candle and heading for the landing.  He heard Mrs. Hurst call out after him, but he had a singleness of purpose in mind.

Going to the blue room, he knocked gently on the door, not wishing to disturb his Isabella.  At first, he heard nothing and thought he had the wrong room, but then he heard the sound of sheets and the door opened.  Before Isabella could say anything, he pushed in.

“I beg your pardon!” his Isabella demanded, but he shushed her.

“Mrs. Hurst will not tell me,” he informed her, seeing her hair falling down past her shoulders in the candlelight.  He wanted to reach out and touch her hair but knew that propriety would not allow it of him.  “She told me you would tell me on the morrow.”

“Mr. Darcy, you are in my bedchamber,” she worried aloud, her dark violet eyes looking up to catch his gaze.  “You are compromising me.”

That was certainly the truth.  By being in her bedchamber, he was compromising her and he could be forced into a marriage with her, not that he minded.  He loved this woman.  He loved her desperately and wanted to make her his wife despite this question of her relations that loomed between them.

“No one in this house will reveal it, not if I ask for their silence, and I do not mind if I compromise you, Isabella.”

Her Christian name slipped from between his lips, but he could not regret it.  She was his Isabella.  She always had been, since he had first seen her standing among those bluebells.

Her breath hitched.

“Tell me what is damaging about your relations,” Darcy demanded, “so that it might be overcome.”  He hoped it could be overcome.  If she became his wife, he could cut her off from her relations, however damaging they might be, and sequester her at Pemberley.  She would find it painful, but he could do it—he could do it for love of her.

She took a deep breath and sighed.  “In about a week, the Netherfield Party will receive an invitation to a card party from my Aunt Philips in Meryton.  She is my mother’s sister.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed.

“Her husband is an attorney.”

Silence descended.  Darcy considered.  After a moment, he reached over to the nightstand and lit the candle there before setting his own candle down next to it.  Now the bed was cast in shadows and Darcy could see Isabella’s slender shoulders and form in a borrowed nightshift.

He reached out and clasped her upper arms.

“Are you telling me, Isabella, that your mother’s sister married beneath herself?”

“No,” she breathed in.  “I’m telling you that my mama’s brother owns several warehouses in London where he imports Italian silks.  My mama married above herself.  My grandfather was in trade.”

Darcy completely stilled.  “Your mother’s family is in trade,” he qualified.

“My father is a gentleman.”  Her voice was firm and resolute.

“I know, my darling,” he murmured, drawing her closer and pulling her into an embrace.  He tucked her head under his chin and breathed her in.  “You still smell of rose water even though you are wearing someone else’s nightshift.  The scent of roses is going to torture me for the rest of my life.”

“You are leaving me then,” she guessed astutely.

“I must think.”  He must leave Netherfield Park.  He must withdraw completely from her.  It was the only way he would gain objectivity.

“Do not think too long,” she begged.  “I depend on finding bluebells at my window.”

He laughed wryly into her hair.

They stayed like that for several minutes until she pulled away and tried to look into his eyes, but he knew he was draped in shadows.  Eventually he took his candle and left through the door.

He would go to Aubrey Hall.  He would go see Benedict.

Darcy barely slept that night and long before dawn he wrote a note to Bingley and then saddled his horse and took the post road toward Hampshire.

He rode for many hours and then, well past luncheon and into teatime, he arrived at Aubrey Hall.  Darcy knew he looked a ruin when he was announced and entered the drawing room.

The Dowager Viscountess looked up in shock.  Several of her children were around her.  Darcy noticed Anthony, the Ninth Viscount Bridgerton, seemed not to be there, and Colin also seemed to still be on his travels in Greece.

“Mr. Darcy!”

“Viscountess,” he greeted, bowing to her, “I apologize for my sudden arrival, but I had no time to write.  My trunk should arrive later this evening.”  He looked over and saw that Benedict was sitting in a corner with a sketchbook, a bowl of fruit in front of him.

“You know you are always welcome in my home,” the Dowager Viscountess told him.  “But come.  Have a dish of tea.  You are here to see Benedict, of course, so I shall leave you two alone.”

“If I may refresh myself, Viscountess?”

“Of course.—Samuel,” she ordered, “set the Rose Room aside for Mr. Darcy and send up a bath.—I think you should like a bath, Mr. Darcy.  Then I will send Benedict up with a tray.”

“Thank you, Viscountess.”  He bowed.

Benedict did not wait until the bath was made.  He came up immediately, tossing the sketchbook on the bed.  “I thought you were in Hertfordshire.”

“I was in Hertfordshire until this morning.”

“Whyever are you here then?”

The servants came in with the bath water.  A privacy screen was brought round and Benedict’s valet, Thompson, came in with shaving cream and a razor.  Darcy must look a sight.  He had not even taken the time to shave before he had left Netherfield Park that morning.

Benedict looked at him.

Benedict was the second son and second child of the late Eighth Viscount Bridgerton and Dowager Viscountess.  He was tall, with brown hair and bright blue eyes, looking very much like his elder brother, the Viscount, and his next younger brother, Colin, who was away in Greece.  Darcy and Benedict had attended Harrow together when they were boys (Wickham, fortunately, had stayed at Pemberley, only attending Cambridge with Darcy; Benedict, at this point in time, entering London society). 

Darcy and Benedict had been fast friends since the age of twelve.  Where Benedict always wished to be an artist, Darcy was always set to become a landowner and possessed no artistic talent.  Benedict was a younger son while Darcy had an estate and a younger sister to look after.  They had nothing in common.  Still, the unlikely friendship had sprung up when they competed for firsts in their studies, Darcy always wishing to make his father proud, and Benedict always wanting to outdo his elder brother Anthony, now the Ninth Viscount Bridgerton.

As the servants got the bath ready, Darcy took out a miniature that Caroline had painted of Isabella, wearing a pink muslin gown and deep rose pelisse.  He handed it over.

“This is surely not Georgiana!”

“No,” he agreed.  “Caroline Bingley painted that for me.”

“It is not of herself,” Benedict guessed.  “I believe I met Bingley.  He was ginger haired.  His sister surely is not dark.”

“No, Caroline is not dark.  She has the same looks as both her brother and elder sister.”

Benedict studied it for a moment.  “Then who is it?”

“Miss Isabella Bennet.”

The name clearly meant nothing to Benedict.  He handed it back and Darcy put it again in his waistcoat pocket. 

The bath was now ready, and Darcy took off his dirty clothes behind the screen and he sat in the bath, allowing the servants to pour hot water over him.  When he was done, he was dressed in some of Colin’s clothes that were left behind, and was shaved, Benedict nattering on about how this next season would be Daphne’s first and the Dowager Viscountess had great hopes for her.  Anthony still refused to marry and had his opera singer on the side.  Darcy rolled his eyes at that.  Anthony never took his responsibilities seriously.

When Darcy was made respectable for good society again, they went to sit in the sitting room portion of the bedchamber and Benedict opened the port, pouring them each a glass.

“So, you have met Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire, you are so enamored of her that Miss Bingley has painted her likeness for you, but now you are here.”

“She and her sister Mary are the two youngest of four sisters.”

“Twins?” Benedict guessed.  “Their poor mother.”

“I take it, from something Isabella said, that the pregnancy was difficult and Mrs. Bennet could not have children after Mary and Isabella.  The estate is entailed away to a cousin, unfortunately.”

“What is her dowry?”

“I have not discussed it with Mr. Bennet, but I do not much care.  Mr. Bennet is the foremost gentleman in the community, save perhaps Sir William Lucas—although his fortune comes from trade—so there must be some money.  I would take Isabella without a penny, however, and I am prepared to do so.”

“It must be love.”

Darcy looked over at his friend and Benedict sucked in his breath.

“It is love.”

“I adore Isabella.”

“Then why are you here and not at her side?”

“I had Caroline and Mrs. Hurst invite her to dinner to ask her about her connections.”

“You said her father is the foremost gentleman in the neighborhood,” Benedict reiterated.  “She may never have had a season—” he checked.  (Darcy shook his head.)  “However, surely that is respectable enough.”

“I thought so.  I wanted to make certain.”  He stood in irritation.

“What are her connections?” Benedict asked carefully.

“Her mother’s family is in trade.  Her mother’s sister is married to an attorney and her mother’s brother owns several warehouses in London where he imports Italian silks!”  He ran his hand down his face in anguish.

“She told you this?  She did not hide it?” Benedict checked.

“Yes,” Darcy answered in the affirmative.  “Isabella is all goodness.  She could never be false.”

“That speaks only in her favor.”

Darcy went and looked out of the window.  He saw the sprawling Hampshire countryside in front of him, devoid of bluebells, and he instantly missed Isabella. 

“Do you still love her?  Despite this?” Benedict asked.

“Obviously, man!”  Darcy turned, his eyes blazing.

“Well, it seems you cannot live without her.”  Benedict drank down his remaining half glass of port.  “I will simply have to go to Netherfield Park and meet this Miss Isabella Bennet and take the measure of her.  If she is worthy of your love, despite her unfortunate relations, you will have to raise her up.  Are any of her sisters married?”

“Bingley has a flirtation with the eldest Miss Bennet.”

Benedict laughed.  “Bingley always has a flirtation.”

“Isabella is so good.  She takes prodigious care of all her elder sisters, always making certain that they have a dance partner at the Assembly, always checking that they are enjoying themselves at a gathering before she takes note of her own comfort.  She is too good.”

Breathing out, Benedict noted: “She will make an excellent sister to Georgiana, then.”

“I had thought of that,” Darcy groaned.

Benedict’s blue eyes looked at him.  “She is a gentleman’s daughter.  Her father is not in trade himself.  You associate with Bingley although his grandfather was in trade.”

“That is not the same.  Bingley was at Cambridge.”

“His father was not,” Benedict reminded him.  “Bingley does not attend Almack’s.”

No, no, the Bingleys certainly did not.  The thought soured in Darcy’s mind.  He should certainly like to see Isabella attend Almack’s although the food was certainly subpar.

Benedict clapped his hand on Darcy’s shoulder.  “Now, come and see Mama.  She will certainly like to see how you are.  We can write to Bingley tomorrow and I will invite myself over so that I might meet your Miss Bennet—and Bingley’s Miss Bennet if I must—”

(“Bingley will never marry, at least for several years yet,” Darcy commented.  “He is much too young and does not even have an estate.”)

“Daphne shall surely like to see you, and Eloise.  You know Eloise enjoys goading you.”

“Your sisters are nothing but a delight,” Darcy told him, although he did not always agree with that statement when it came to Miss Eloise Bridgerton.

The two friends stood and Darcy took up Colin’s jacket from the bed and put it on.  It was a dark blue.  Darcy usually wore a dark green, but he did not mind borrowing Colin Bridgerton’s clothes for a half day until his trunk arrived.  They would undoubtedly take a carriage back to Hertfordshire and could strap their trunks on the back of it.

They came down the stairs and met the Dowager Viscountess with a smile.  Miss Daphne Bridgerton was sitting prettily with her hands in her lap, a smile on her face.  Miss Eloise was slouched in a chair and reading a book.  Miss Francesca was at the pianoforte playing a piece by Chopin.  Gregory and Hyacinth were playing with marbles on the floor.  The Viscount Bridgerton was still missing.

“Ah, Mr. Darcy,” the Dowager Viscountess greeted.  “I am glad you are recovered from your journey.  Come, sit by Daphne, and tell us how you have been since the end of the season.”

Darcy shared a look with Benedict and obligingly took a seat near the eldest Miss Bridgerton.  She had dark hair and blue eyes.  They were not violet.  He could only find fault with her figure.  It was too thin, nothing like Isabella’s.  Still he smiled, and told the Dowager Viscountess and Miss Bridgerton of his time in Hertfordshire.