Miss Darcy Falls in Love (6 page)

“I suppose you think you can persuade him better than I?” When she did not answer his mocking question, he grunted, waving his hand condescendingly. “Do what you think you can do. Just make sure he is betrothed before too much longer or I will sign the papers myself and drag him to the church.”

She nodded and steered the conversation away from talk of bargaining a wife for their son as one bargained for a prized stallion. “I was surprised at your compromise. I hope that you are sincere and finally accepting of music as a necessity to our son.”

“The ‘compromise’ was to shut him up. Oh bloody hell, Maria! I am sick to death of fighting with him! I swear he purposely goes the opposite direction from what I ask of him. If I thought it would do any good, I would pay the authorities at the Conservatoire to revoke his acceptance.”

“He would only pursue another course, probably heading to Italy.”

“Precisely.” Lord Essenton sighed, unguarded for a moment and showing a man confused and frustrated. He stared into the brandy, gentle hand motions causing it to swirl. “I hate music. Hate it with a passion. Why I ever allowed you to bully me into teaching the children is beyond me.”

“Ladies must be able to play. It is a requirement of our class along with other artistic capabilities. Our daughters would not be as valued if not fully accomplished. Artistic talents and refinement are vital for a good marriage. We have seen this already with Clarisse’s marriage to the Duke of Tichbourne and Guinevere’s betrothal to Lord Rycroft.”

“Yes, I have heard all the arguments and went along with it even at the risk of one of them being like my sister,” he spat, draining the glass and hastily reaching for the decanter. “And after being careful to hire instructors aged or hideous to look at, and limiting their exposure to any one art, who is it that ends up betraying me and running off as she did? My only son!”

“He has not betrayed you, Albert. And he is not running off with his instructor as your sister did.”

“He might as well have, living amongst poor musicians in shabby tenements and frequenting unsavory music halls and pubs. It is disgusting and shames the family just as her behavior did.”

Lady Essenton could not stop her laughter, even when her husband glared at her with the tips of his ears turning red. “Oh, Essenton! You do have an overactive imagination! Sebastian is studying with the finest, most respected artists of our generation. Why the Conservatoire is a highly prestigious institution with impeccable standards.”

“Yet what benefit is it to him?” he shouted, launching from the chair. “In the end he will have nothing to do with it except play in base locales just to feed this ‘need’ of his.”

“How many times have we sat in the best parlors and salons of London or Paris and been entertained by pianists or flutists? All of them have been men of renown and elegance, some with titles and family connections of the highest caliber.”

“Minor titles and none of our class or with our responsibilities.”

“You are shortsighted, my husband.”

“And you are a foolish woman, blinded by your maternal pride,” he snarled. “You forget the other danger of his philandering. What if he sires a horde of bastards before a legitimate heir?”

He
is
not
like
you
was what Lady Essenton wanted to say, but she kept quiet, not that he gave her a chance to reply.

“Or worse yet, what if some fortune hunter entangles him in a web and he marries without my permission? What if he falls in love,” he said with a sneer, “with a woman utterly unacceptable, like Miss Darcy?”

“What is wrong with Miss Darcy?”

“Are you a simpleton? She has no title and her dowry is paltry compared to Lady Cassandra. She is completely unsuitable and the sooner she leaves Lyon the better.”

“Well, I think she is a delightful young lady, from what I have seen.”

“Good thing these decisions are not up to you, then. Sebastian
will
marry a lady of breeding and nobility, not the daughter of a minor landowner. I will not allow it.”

Lady Essenton clamped her lips tight. It was useless to argue the matter. His mind was set. However, she also knew her son to be very like the man who sired him, at least in the area of his intractability and determination. Sadly, this probably meant there were battles ahead, regardless of the “compromise” forged that afternoon.

“One problem at a time,” he said in a quieter tone, his eyes again focused on his wife’s chest. “I have his promise to concentrate on his studies, as ludicrous as they are, and since he takes them so seriously, I doubt he will stray far. I will work to secure a proper betrothal as soon as possible so a marriage can take place immediately upon his return. Hell, if I work it right, and convincingly play the contrite father who wants the heritage secure, which is true, I may get him married sooner. A short trip home to stand before the altar and consummate the marriage can be done in a few weeks. Maybe he will even leave her pregnant and then he can cavort all he wants.”

“Your plan may have greater success if you give up on Lady Cassandra. I rather doubt that will happen.”

“I have not given up, although I am beginning to agree with that,” he said after some hesitation. “I guess it was worth my time coming to you after all. Do your part in persuading Sebastian. Use that mothering bond you two have to convince him. Now, since that is settled…”

He grabbed her wrist, jerking her up from the chair and twisting the arm behind her back while pulling her against his chest. He bent for a harsh kiss, Lady Essenton melting into his body.

“Get this ghastly thing off,” he rasped, taking hold of the bodice’s edge, ripping the gown down the middle, and tossing it aside. “Much better,” he said, scanning her body with purest lust in his eyes. “Still heavier than I like, but you do have fine breasts, Maria. Now get in bed and show me you can still satisfy your husband.”

Chapter Three

Intermezzo Atop Fourvière

The rains ceased that night, the next day dawning with clear skies and a strong sun that commenced drying the soggy dirt. The ground was far from completely dry and the warmth transferred through the January air was minimal, but it was enough to satisfy the young people inhabiting the Châteaus la Rochebelin and Plessis-Rhône. Days of forced inactivity behind solid walls and roofs were making everyone edgy with the need for fresh air and exercise.

The only exceptions to the extreme irritability from gloomy weather were Miss Darcy and Mr. Butler.

Each day Sebastian braved the wind and rain, traveling the short distance to Plessis-Rhône for several hours of pleasant company. The de Valday siblings joined in for roughly thirty minutes of conversation and snacks, but that was the maximum amount of time that ever elapsed before the topic of music or composing was broached. At that point, the discourse went rapidly downhill as far as they were concerned. When Georgiana and Sebastian drifted to the pianoforte—an inevitability that averaged two minutes and twenty-three seconds after the talk turned to music, according to Frédéric who amusedly counted—that was their signal to exit the parlor, an exodus they doubted either of the musicians noted.

They were correct in that assessment, a fact Mrs. Annesley could have told them if they had asked her. Georgiana’s companion acted as chaperone, sitting in a far corner with a sewing project in her hands, softly smiling and enjoying the youthful banter. She was delighted to observe her charge and the gentleman sharing their mutual fervency for music. It was rare to see the shy Miss Darcy relax so thoroughly and rarer still for her to openly perform and express her opinions. But there was something about Mr. Butler’s demeanor that instantly eased her in a manner never witnessed by Mrs. Annesley. The developing friendship was clearly beneficial and lovely to behold as they exchanged knowledge and played musical pieces.

Nevertheless, as completely absorbed as they were in the joys of music—to the point of losing track of time until reminded that hours had passed and it was now lunchtime or beyond—Georgiana and Sebastian welcomed the break in the weather that allowed for an excursion outside.

A horse ride was decided upon with baskets of food and thick blankets carried along for what was planned as a full day. Lord de Marcov recommended heading west to Fourvière, an idea greeted with enthusiasm by the French residents and curiosity by the English.

“Fourvière is an ancient hill,” Lord de Marcov began, his horse leading the way with the others clomping near enough to hear his informative speech. “You can see it rising before us”—his hand swept the western horizon as they left the city behind, the tree covered slopes looming ahead—“over four hundred feet above the Saône. The summit is where our history as a city begins; it was founded when the Romans settled here, as a strategic position between the sea and mountains with the two navigable rivers aiding the transit of goods and armies. They named it Lugdunum, the capital of Gaul.”

Their horses wove between the thick trees and brush, following the well-trod and snaking trails that gradually ascended the hill. Aside from hooves striking stones and the human voices, the only other sounds were natural ones of leaves rustling, wildlife twittering, and rivulets splashing.

Lord de Marcov continued, “It remained a thriving city extending to Croix-Rousse Hill until the Empire’s fall, after which came centuries of upheaval, until the eleventh century when the church revived our prestige by declaring Lyon, as it was by then called in the Latin tongue, as the seat for the Primate of Gaul. We have moved forward since, but none forget that our origins lie on Fourvière Hill.”

“Tell them of the ruins, my lord,” Yvette encouraged.

“Ah, the ruins,
oui
, mademoiselle, are intriguing. Stone walls and structures dot the plateau, piercing through the soil and grasses in bizarre patterns that invite archeologists from time to time. Excavations frequently occur with coins, jewelry, shards of pottery, and the like unearthed. Remnants of what is believed to be aqueducts have been partially revealed, but the complete history remains buried.”

“Perhaps a day will dawn when the hidden treasures are finally uncovered.”

“
Oui,
I pray you are correct, Miss Darcy, although I doubt it shall be in my lifetime. However, if we gaze downward we may espy an artifact upon the ground. It happens often.”

“Well, I intend to race across the fields with the wind whipping against my face,” Frédéric asserted. “Moldy coins hold no interest to me. Will you race me, my dearest Georgiana?”

“Can your ego survive a defeat, Monsieur de Valday? I warn you I am a skilled rider.”

“Ha!” He tossed his head at Georgiana’s tease. “I fear nothing!”

Sebastian laughed. “Do not be too confident, my friend. The Darcy reputation for horsemanship is renowned in England. I find myself trembling at the concept of daring a Darcy.”

“A mere female?” Frédéric asked with overdrawn incredulity, following the gesture with a wink for Georgiana who was blushing at Mr. Butler’s praise.

Vivienne harrumphed, but Sebastian answered. “I believe you need three more sisters to erase any idea of females being ‘mere’ in any way. I have never known my sisters to fail in a quest.”

“Precisely right,” Vivienne said, nodding.

“Even if they must succeed by cleverly finagling a male’s assistance,
oui
, heart of my heart?” Lord de Marcov grinned at his betrothed.

Vivienne smiled, her eyes crafty and tone smug as she replied, “Skills of coercion are to be valued, my love.”

The marquis laughed along with the others, a verbal comparison of special skills following as he led the way along the summit’s ridge. Finally, they exited the wood onto a flat expanse of grasses and weeds. The valley and rivers spread out far below, the rooftops of Lyon stretching for miles in a dizzying display. Not far from the rim sat a ring of stones, many quite large and jutting through the earth. Most were flat, smooth, and cushioned with moss, but some had broken or decayed, leaving behind jagged edges. They dismounted beside a cluster of level rocks, unloading the baskets and covering the damp rocks with the blankets.

Spirits were gay, as evidenced by the degree of laughter and joking. They strolled around the area and nibbled a few cold treats, but in no time at all they were again astride their mounts for the earlier challenged race.

The de Valdays proved to be poor riders in general, or perhaps were simply lazier, and fell behind quickly. Mademoiselle Gabriella de Marcov also halted, though it was doubtful that a lack of horsemanship was the reason, since she was an accomplished rider; it was more likely being due to her obvious infatuation with Frédéric de Valday! Lady Adele and Lady Reine Butler halted when the others did, preferring the company of adolescents.

Vivienne and Adrien rode neck-and-neck with Sebastian and Georgiana, their horses stretched in a row as they flashed over the uneven ground, leaping over or veering around obstacles. Sebastian shouted in triumph when he and Georgiana pulled into the lead, but the sense of victory was short lived when a quick backward glance revealed the lovers purposefully shifting course toward the thick trees to the west.

He laughed, shaking his head and turning to Georgiana. “We have been deserted,” he yelled against the rushing wind.

“Then it is between you and I,” she yelled back, following with a sharp command to her mount. The mare responded with a burst of speed, Georgiana flattening her body onto the back as the animal pulled ahead with ease. Racing with Sebastian in her wake, horse and rider kept to a straight path heading directly toward a stone wall nearly four feet high.

Sebastian gasped, panic rising as he watched her smoothly jump the barrier, her horse landing beyond the wall without the slightest hitch in stride and continuing the race toward the distant tree line. His horse followed her jump, as Sebastian’s fear was replaced with delight and esteem, and a broad grin lit his face when he joined her in the cool shadows of the trees.

He reined in, bowing deeply from his seat in the sweating animal’s saddle before meeting her glittering eyes. She was breathing heavily and several strands of golden hair had escaped her brimmed hat to fall loose over her glistening neck and flushed cheeks. Her face was suffused with exhilaration, and in that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. For a time he could not speak, staring fixedly at her countenance and breathing heavily along with her, although whether from the race or his reaction to her he could not say.

Finally he wheezed, “My assessment was correct. Darcys are formidable riders. My respect is immense, Miss Darcy.”

“Thank you, kind sir. However, if ever you encounter my brother, please resist relating your respect, as he would surely have a seizure to learn of my recklessness.”

“I promise to keep your secret of daredevil exploits, but one must presume this is not your first bout of reckless riding?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I have, from time to time, managed to evade the escorts William insists on. And then, of course, he is not with me now and I am fortunate that my aunt and uncle are not as protective. This too is a well kept secret or even the Earl of Matlock would be in serious trouble.”

“I have no wish to be in trouble with Mr. Darcy, so you may trust my silence on the topic. I am not, however, above a little blackmail, so be warned.”

She laughed again, steering her horse to a rock so she could dismount. Sebastian leapt to the ground and hastened to her side just as she slid off the saddle. His gloved hands grasped one elbow and leather-clad palm, pressing her body into the horse’s side and for a short time in his embrace. For too long after her feet were firmly planted on the ground the pose held. Sebastian finally collected himself, released her, and stepped away. The tingling sensation elicited by the contact radiated through his arm and into his whole body, the scent of roses and perspiration invading his nostrils for a combination that worsened his disorientation.

Georgiana’s head was bowed, not allowing Sebastian to gauge her reaction. Then she murmured
thank
you
and turned away to pick a path through the brush. He gaped at her back for another second or two before returning to his wandering horse. He needed the moments to collect his composure, whispering and brushing a hand over the strong neck of his mount until his hands quit shaking. Then for good measure, he busied himself at the saddlebag, eventually withdrawing two carefully wrapped cheese stuffed meat rolls and walking to where she stood near the plateau’s edge.

Wordlessly, he handed one to Georgiana, careful to avoid touching her fingers, and in silence they strolled over the grass, welcoming the weak warmth offered by the sun as they ate their snack.

“I have waited for a solitary moment to share this with you, Miss Darcy,” he broke into the quiet, drawing a folded envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handing it to her. “It was delivered yesterday while I was visiting with you. Lord de Marcov awaited my return impatiently and I have impatiently waited for the opportunity to inform you of my news.”

Georgiana skimmed the calligraphy, her eyes widening and delight evident as she exclaimed, “Oh my! The Conservatoire! How utterly phenomenal, Mr. Butler! However have you contained your happiness all this time?”

“With difficulty, I assure you.”

“Englishmen are so rarely admitted, so I am to understand.”

“That is true. I am still in a state of wonderment at my fortune.”

“Fortunate indeed, but I believe your skill plays a larger part in this accomplishment.”

“You are very kind, and nearly as devoted as de Marcov, who insists the Conservatoire is benefitting the greater. Nonsense, of course. I am humbled by the admission and intend to prove my worth at every turn.” He sighed, gazing at the letter now in his hands with an expression of awe and sincerity. “Studying at the Conservatoire has been a dream and ultimate goal for as long as I can remember,” he finished softly.

“Then I am doubly thrilled for you. Your family must be bursting with pride.”

He hesitated a fraction of a second before agreeing that they were indeed quite proud, his eyes instinctively darting downward and hand tugging on his cravat in a nervous gesture typical whenever he fibbed. Georgiana said nothing, but he saw the creases that flashed across her brow and he smiled gaily to ease any distress. He resumed their stroll, stooping to pick a broken twig off the ground and twisting the flexible wood with his fingers as he spoke. “My mother, grandmother, and sisters are most supportive and delighted for me. My father is a different matter, I fear. I hinted of his attitude at the de Marcov’s gala if you recall.” She nodded. “I wish I could say he appreciated my endeavors but, alas, that would be an untruth.”

“Does he oppose your choices?”

He shrugged. “To a degree, yes. I am man enough to stay my course, and at times I think that annoys him while simultaneously making him proud. He admires strength and fortitude even while annoyed that it is coming from me in this matter. He simply wishes I displayed those traits in areas he prefers and remained at home.”

Again he smiled, his voice light, but she sensed the pain underneath and wished she knew what to say. Sebastian seemed to read her thoughts. “Do not concern yourself, Miss Darcy. I should not have burdened you with my affairs. My father is a good man and our love will survive these disagreements. They are not the first and likely will not be the last! Yet you can see why my drive to pursue my studies now—before duty pulls me in another direction—and to prove myself capable is critical.”