Miss Darcy Falls in Love (24 page)

“The doctor diagnosed her ailment as influenza and is currently working to reduce the fever,” Lord Matlock said. “She has rallied briefly but is confused and extremely weak. An apothecary has been sent for as well with prescriptions ordered. For now, however, we can only pray. I suggest, as difficult as it may be, that we rejoin the ball and present a face of confidence and ease. Miss Darcy would not wish for her friends to fret over her and not enjoy the entertainment.”

“But your lordship! How can we dance and be gay when dearest Georgiana is abed and in dire straights?”

“Out of respect for her sensibilities and her selfless desire to please others, Mademoiselle de Valday. She will applaud your bravery when she recovers. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to see if anything else is needed upstairs, and then I too shall rejoin our guests.”

Silence fell after the thud of the door behind Lord Matlock, but it did not last for long.

“My lord, what is your opinion? How did she appear to you?”

Lord Caxton answered with a growl, “I was banished to the passageway moments after laying Miss Darcy upon the bed. Then the earl insisted I come downstairs with him. I know only what you have been told by Lord Matlock.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, whirled about, and stomped out of the room and onto the terrace. Sebastian watched him disappear into the shadows beyond the window and then followed. He was not sure what he wanted but some impulse prompted him.

The baron was leaning against the wall with his hands over his face. Sebastian did not hear crying, but the man’s whole body shook. He hesitated, even began to take a step backward when Caxton dropped his hands and turned an anguished glare upon him.

“Come to gloat have you?”

“No,” Sebastian began, truly surprised at the question.

“No? I would if the situation were reversed. I should be up there, damn it all! I should be sitting beside her, holding the cool cloth to her head, whispering of my love and lending strength. I would be if not for these bloody rules and ridiculous notions of propriety that keep me out of her room simply because we are not formally engaged as yet!”

“Yet?”

“That’s right, Butler! Yet!” He yelled it, pushing off from the wall with force and stalking toward Sebastian, who held his ground and returned the glare. “I told you how it is between Miss Darcy and me. Formalities may stand in our way, but nothing else does!”

“You are that certain, are you?”

Lord Caxton paused. The two men stared at each other defiantly, measuring and evaluating as conclusions were drawn. Caxton broke the tension first, his voice calmer if still as forceful.

“I know you care for her, Butler. I am not a fool or blind. I can empathize with how you are feeling, since I know how wretched I would be if she did not return my affection. I truly am sorry for that, but you must accept what is.”

“And if I cannot accept what is?” Sebastian choked.

“You must. Your persistence and presence benefits neither of you. Miss Darcy is pained to see her friend’s unhappiness and I cannot fathom how tormenting it must be to see us together.”

He stepped closer to the rigid Sebastian, laid one hand on his shoulder, and said, “For what it is worth coming from me, do not torture yourself needlessly. Take comfort, if you can, in knowing she is loved, deeply, and let it go. My advice? Stay away from what can only cause you pain.”

Caxton squeezed his shoulder and re-entered the library, leaving Sebastian in the dark and cold of the night. Yet the external was nothing compared to the black and ice inside his heart.

Chapter Fifteen

Two Requiems

By the next afternoon, Georgiana’s fever had broke. Word of this reached her many friends, all of them tremendously relieved. Sebastian received the report from Lady Warrow, nodded once, and went back to writing the letter he had been working on when she knocked at his door. His relief at the news was immense, but it changed nothing. His plans remained the same and the next several days were going to be focused on carrying them out.

For Georgiana, those days following her collapse were tumultuous. Youth and stamina were in her favor. Rest, copious fluids, healing herbal teas, and bolstering foods were efficacious. The constant nursing by a gaggle of concerned de Valdays aided in her recovery.

Lingering fatigue and persistent dizziness plagued her for days, but worse were her muddled memories. With each passing day, as her head cleared, she realized how disorderly and foggy she had been for nearly the whole week prior. Had Mr. Butler looked at her with ardent love? Was he standing there at all? And where was he now? Why has he not visited or sent word?

Fretting over these questions, striving to reconcile fever-induced illusions with facts exhausted her. However, real or imagined, her feelings regarding the two men in her life were crystalline. Mr. Butler’s absence, while painful and worrisome, was beyond her control at the moment. Furthermore, it changed nothing in regards to the wholehearted, irrevocable love she bore him. Nor did it change her decision.

“Are you certain you are up to this? You can barely sit up without the room spinning!” Mrs. Annesley frowned as she arranged the quilt about her companion’s legs, assuring complete modesty as well as warmth.

“No, I am not certain. But I do not think it shall be any easier a week from now.” Georgiana sighed, rubbing her aching temples. “The poor man has been haunting the downstairs rooms for the last two days. I cannot bear causing him further distress.”

“He is not exactly going to be leaping for joy after you speak with him.”

Georgiana groaned, hiding her face within her palms. “What else can I do, Amanda?”

Mrs. Annesley sat beside, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Forgive my irritability. My insensitivity is unpardonable, even if it does arise out of recent frightful events and my concern over you aggravating your recovery. Of course this is not easy for you, and you are very brave to confront the matter boldly.”

“I am positive bravery has nothing to do with it as I am terrified. I have tried to rehearse the words, but even if my wits were not addled, I do not deem there is an easy way to tell a man who loves you that you do not feel the same.”

The door opened before Mrs. Annesley could reply, admitting Lady Matlock. She crossed to her niece, laying the back of her hand clinically against her forehead.

“If your fever was returned, I would forbid this interview. Are you sure you are up to this, Georgiana? I can speak to him for you.”

Georgiana smiled wanly and shook her head. “Thank you, Aunt, but this is something I must handle myself.”

Lady Matlock frowned, clearly not convinced. “Are you still resolved to speak to him privately? I should stay just in case—”

“I will not humiliate him additionally by having an audience,” Georgiana interrupted softly, continuing in a subdued, pleading tone, “but, please, stay close, both of you. I am not ashamed to confess that I will need comforting.”

“Of course,” they agreed simultaneously, Lady Matlock continuing, “I will fetch him then, if you are ready?”

Georgiana used the intervening minutes to murmur a prayer for strength and wisdom. Her hands shook and she clutched the fringed edges of her dressing gown’s tie tightly to still them. Inhaling deeply in a vain effort to settle her stomach, she gazed around the familiar environs of her bedchamber. The comfortable chaise, crackling fire, and casual atmosphere lent a peace she desperately needed.

The knock on the door caused her to jerk even though she expected it. Surprisingly, her voice was steady when she granted him entrance, but her heart constricted to see the sincere, relieved smile that blazed over his handsome features.

“Miss Darcy!” Lord Caxton rushed across the room, kneeling onto one knee beside her and clasping a hand. “I have been frantic! Reports only placated partially. I needed to see you for myself and daresay you appear quite well and breathtakingly beautiful.”

“That is kind of you, my lord, but an exaggeration to be sure.”

“Not in the least! But tell me truthfully, are you recovering as expected?”

She nodded, smoothly extricating her hand from between his palms under the pretense of securing her robe. “Please have a seat, Baron.” She indicated the chair positioned purposefully near her feet. “I remain fatigued and with a slight headache and ringing in my ears that causes dizziness if I move too swiftly. But the doctor assures this is normal after a fever.”

“You are young and healthy. I am sure your total recovery will be swift. Nevertheless, it does my heart good to lay eyes upon you for reassurance. Thank you for allowing me entry into your private chambers.” He glanced around the room quickly, returning to pleased contemplation of her face. “I fear I have been quite a pest. Lord Matlock, by rights, should have tossed me out on my rump, but mercy prevailed.”

“He would not have done that, Baron.”

“No, I suppose not, especially knowing of our relationship.”

Georgiana cringed, praying the reaction did not invade her face. This was the opening waited for, but before she could gather her thoughts he went on, apparently oblivious. “Of course, I was not the only visitor who sought information as to your condition. I am surprised the bellpull did not break!”

Georgiana blushed, ducking her head modestly. “I have been overwhelmed by the extravagance of well wishes and expressed concerns. I guess I did not comprehend the wealth of friends I have made in Paris.” Her voice fell, eyes involuntarily closing in pain at the marked absence of the one friend she most desperately wished to hear from.

The baron misinterpreted her expression, scooting his chair closer and grasping on to her hand once again. “Are you feeling unwell? Should I call for your aunt?”

“No. I am fine. It is simply humbling, and dismaying, to have caused so much angst among those who care for me. It has been unexpected and somewhat embarrassing.”

“You have dozens of friends here, Miss Darcy. They love you genuinely.” He smiled, squeezing her hand. “It is easy to love one as kind and wonderful as you.”

His voice lowered into a soft caress, one thumb beginning to trace tenderly along her knuckles. He cleared his throat, preparing, she knew, for a repeat declaration or renewal of his address—the request for a formalized courtship that she continued to evade. “Miss Darcy—”

“Lord Caxton,” she interrupted, forcing her eyes to engage his and again extracting her hand, “I wanted to see you today for a dual purpose. I know you have been troubled over my well-being, and this anguishes me while it touches me.”

“Indeed, I have been troubled, but it is a paltry price to pay for the happiness I derive from your company and my feelings for you.”

She winced. “Please, Lord Caxton, I beg you to allow me to finish before I lose my will. You have honored me, immensely, with your suit and constancy. Even in the face of my indecision, you have been the soul of patience. I truly do not deserve your regard, my lord, and pray you will believe me when I tell you it does break my heart to decline your entreaty for a deeper commitment.”

“I do not understand,” he interjected harshly.

“It is entirely my fault for not being bolder. I have been confused and unsure of my sentiments, but now I know. Please forgive me, Baron, as I never meant to cause you pain.”

“I have rushed you and been overbearing. I apologize. But, Miss Darcy, this is what a courtship is designed for! An opportunity to grow closer and learn about the other and to clarify one’s affections. You know, surely, how strongly I feel for you? I love you and have no doubts about us. However, if you require time I shall be more patient—”

“I do not require time.” Her tone was slightly shrill and she faltered, swallowing and inhaling deeply to calm the rapid pounding of her heart.

Lord Caxton looked as if he had been slapped. His cheeks flared with color, lips pressed together firmly, and dark eyes smoldered.

“I am so sorry. This is awful!” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, begging the dizziness and ringing to disappear. “I am saying this wrong and creating a muddle of it. Perhaps I should have waited until I felt better. But I refuse to procrastinate further, thus protracting your suspense and worsening the disappointment. Lord Caxton, I—”

“Does this have to do with Butler?”

She should have anticipated this, but the surprise knocked her breath away. Treading too close to the tangled situation with Mr. Butler was nearly more than she could tolerate, the mere mention of his name sending shivers of longing up her spine. The epiphany of her consuming love for the absent musician, whether returned or not, had indeed cemented her decision. Her decency and ethics would not allow her to marry one man while her heart was firmly fixed upon another.

Nevertheless, there was a voice sequestered into a hermetic chamber that wondered. Was she making a terrible mistake? Could she eventually fall passionately in love with the baron? Should she be so hasty and concrete? Was she sentencing herself to decades of loneliness and regret?

She did not know the answer to all the questions spiraling inside her brain except for one. Looking into the baron’s stormy visage and hurt eyes swelled her pity and remorse, but that was all. She did not love him.

“Mr. Butler has nothing to do with us,” she replied firmly.

“I am not unaware of your affection for him, Miss Darcy. Trust me when I tell you he does not return your interest. Do not close the door on us because of a one-sided infatuation without a future. Mr. Butler is one of those men who waste their lives on pursuits that have no lasting benefit. He is driven, which is admirable, but prevents caring for anyone outside himself.”

“Whether I agree with you regarding Mr. Butler or not is irrelevant, and it is a topic I do not care to discuss. I am honored by your request, my lord. My sincerest hope is that you will not hate me for being immature and capricious. I truly never intended to”—she paused, struggling to find the right word—“lead you on. You are a decent, good gentleman—”

“Enough! I do not want to hear how wonderful I am followed by assurances of finding a more suitable mate. I want you! I choose you!”

He lurched to his feet. Gazing at her with arrogant command and faint undertones of sympathy, he declared, “You have been unwell, Miss Darcy. I shall impose upon you no further today. We can discuss this matter when you are restored to full clarity and health. I am confident that you will see our relationship in its proper light.”

“Please, do not expect me to change my mind, Baron! I know my heart and this is my final answer. Please try to understand and accept my sorrow over hurting you!”

He stiffened and his eyes flared. “As you wish, madam. I will trouble you no further with my unpalatable presence. Bear in mind, however, that I am not a fool. Do not expect me to run back when you realize your error in judgment. Good day, Miss Darcy.”

And with a smart bow, crisp pivot, and swift stride, he was gone, Georgiana’s whispered apologies and wrenching sobs dampened by a slamming door.

***

Sebastian knew he was a coward. The idea of leaving, probably to never lay eyes on her again, was ripping him apart one thread at a time. Therefore, facing her and attempting composure as he lied about his reasons for quitting Paris were beyond his ability.

With this reality in mind, he rode into Île Saint-Louis at a quarter hour before nine on the night of an exhibit of paintings by Théodore Géricault, Lady Warrow having commented that Miss Darcy was finally well enough to attend her first public appearance.

Suspicions as to his grandmother’s motives for sharing this news gave him pause, but lack of trust in his self-control did not overrule common decency. Miss Darcy may not love him, but she did care for him, this he knew. The friendly note telling of his departure to Vienna for an impromptu educational program at the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde was secure in his pocket and would have to suffice.

The butler greeted him formally and admitted him without question.

“Sorry to disturb, monsieur, but I shall be quick. I need to retrieve a portfolio of music I left with Miss Darcy some weeks ago. May I search the music room?”

“As you wish, sir. Did you wish for me to inform Miss Darcy of your presence?”

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath, his eyes darting about the foyer before he could reassert control. “She is at home?”

“In her room, sir. Resting.”

“Ah, then no. Please do not bother her. She needs her rest. I will be only a moment.”

He hurried into the room, intent on grabbing the folder containing his psalms, leaving his letter, and departing. If the compositions were not there, he would sacrifice the work gladly to prevent having to face her, such was his state of mind. He knew talking to her would cause the fragile remains of his heart to shatter completely.