Page 61 of To Love And To Cherish
He bowed and kissed her gloved hand. "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Fitzgerald."
Next came Miss Harriet Beaumont, who held court on a settee with moral superiority drawn tight across her shoulders like a shawl.
"Children ought to be kept from society until they are properly formed," she declared. "Seen but not heard, and preferably not seen either."
Darcy asked, "And how many children would you like to raise?"
"Two. Any more is vanity or folly."
He offered a polite bow and moved on, privately resolving that Miss Beaumont would never do. No doubt she would set to reforming his character the moment the vows were spoken. If children were to be seen and not heard, he rather feared she would prefer the same of a husband. Sanctimonious and severe, she was quite out of the question.
Before dinner, he was introduced to Lady Dianna Fletcher. She looked pale and exquisitely fragile. He offered her an arm to escort her nearer the fire.
"You are too kind," she said faintly. "My nerves do not bear the bustle of society well."
She sighed often, complained of persecution by her parents, and described an unrequited love with a squire of modest estate. Darcy, discomfited, noted the pinched quality of her features and the damp sheen of nervous sweat along her brow. She played her illness like a fiddle.
Darcy thought privately,I need a wife, not a patient.
Dinner was announced, and Darcy found himself seated beside Lady Wilhelmina Pembroke, a reputed diamond of the first water, with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds. She was exceedingly beautiful, perhaps the most striking woman he had ever beheld. She launched into conversation before the soup arrived and did not draw breath until the second course was cleared.
She spoke of gowns, carriages, a recent trip to Bath, her pianoforte instructor, the scandalous behavior of an acquaintance, the weather in Brighton, and a cousin’s pug who had lost its teeth. Darcy nodded, hummed politely, and chewed slowly. His temples began to throb.
Under no circumstances will I marry this prattle-pate,he thought, reaching for his wine.
After dinner, as the ladies withdrew, Darcy felt relieved, quietly sipping his port and listening with half an ear to the murmur of political discourse. When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, he crossed the drawing room to address Lady Olivia Huxley. She was undeniably beautiful, but did her eyes harbor shadows? He could not help but wonder whether this elegant young woman harbored secrets, for there was a guarded air about her, a manner too composed, too mysterious by half.
He opened with quiet pleasantries, but her responses were short and clipped. Her smile never touched her eyes, and her gaze never quite met his. She could not bring herself to look him fully in the face. She was hiding something, and he had no desire to discover what it might be.
He asked, "Have you long enjoyed town life?"
"I was abroad... for some time," she murmured. "Finishing school in Lausanne."
Her father hovered nearby with watchful intensity. Darcy sensed something unspoken hung between them.
There is a scandal here,Darcy thought grimly.One that might erupt sometime in the future.
Knowing a woman of mystery was out of the question, Darcy excused himself and crossed the drawing room with quiet resolve, approaching Lady Isabella Bedwin, who stood admiring her reflection in the mirrored panel above the mantel. Her silk gown was a pale shade of rose, fashionably cut and trimmed with seed pearls. She adjusted the fall of one sleeve as he approached and smiled, though the expression did not quite reach her eyes.
“Lady Isabella,” he said with a bow, “I trust you are enjoying the evening?”
She turned to him with the affected languor of one who considered herself a practiced enchantress. “Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she drawled, “everything is tolerably arranged, though the debutantes are frightfully underdressed, none of them possesses the least taste, and as for Lady Fletcher’s jewels this evening, well, one must endeavor to be charitable.”
He offered a noncommittal smile. “Do you find these gatherings tiresome or agreeable?”
“They are necessary,” she replied, surveying her own rings. “How else is one to display a new gown or be seen by the right gentlemen?” She leaned in slightly. “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, appearances areeverything.”
Darcy inclined his head. “To some, perhaps. Others might prize conversation or shared interests.”
She gave a tinkling laugh. “Conversation? How tedious. I cannot abide the melancholy types who talk of books or, heaven forbid, the state of the world. What matters is connection, useful connection. My mother always says the only suitable marriage is one that improves your standing and keeps you properly housed in Town.”
Her candor was almost bracing. Still, Darcy pressed gently. “And children? Do you look forward to raising a family?”
Lady Bedwin blanched at the suggestion. “None, if I could help it. They ruin the figure and are such a burden. My duty, of course, is to provide an heir and a spare, as they say, but I should rather not be bothered. Children ought to be seen rarely and heard never.”
Darcy arched a brow. “Indeed? I had hoped for six.”
At this, she physically recoiled, nearly losing her balance in her haste to step away from him. “Six?” she repeated in horror. “That sounds positively obscene.”
