Miss Darcy Falls in Love (9 page)

Sebastian glanced up in surprise, brows lifting. “No. Why should it be? We shall see each other in Paris.”

“She is an absolutely lovely woman,” de Marcov stated, watching his friend closely. “If I were not so besotted with my own sweet English Rose, I might consider making a play for her myself.”

“Those days are long over, my friend. If, that is, you wish to keep your manliness intact, as my ‘sweet’ sister would likely castrate you for even entertaining such a notion.”

De Marcov winced but then brightened. “By the end of this week, I assure you that castration will absolutely not be an option she would consider.”

“Please, remember this is my baby sister we are speaking of. I think I shall persist in believing in her virtue with any eventual conceiving occurring immaculately.”

“Very well, I shall control my instinctively roving eye. But I am not dead to female allurements, nor ever will be, so must again inquire how you can be so unmoved by the beauty and personality of Mademoiselle Darcy. I worry for you.”

“Your concern warms my heart,” Sebastian responded with overblown gratitude, “but you know I cannot allow myself to become romantically entangled at this time. I have an agenda, a plan for the present that does not include romance.”

“You and your obsessive need to organize and choreograph every moment of your life.” De Marcov shuddered. “How that clinical attitude lends itself to the creative artist is beyond my comprehension.”

“This discussion again?” Sebastian asked humorously. “Are you still annoyed that my marks in mathematics and the sciences were as good as in the arts, while you barely survived from year to year without disgracing your parents?”

“My parents understood the importance of studies outside of traditional education. So, are you assiduously forcing yourself to not fall in love with the charming Mademoiselle Darcy?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. She is my friend. We both appreciate the distinction and are content in the path our relationship has taken. Feelings cannot be fabricated if they do not exist.”

The marquis stared at Sebastian, who placidly sipped his wine, not speaking for a full minute. Then he said, “That makes no sense whatsoever. And I think you are lying. It is unnatural to behold such beauty and not be moved by it.”

“So says the man who seduced nearly every woman he ever met.”

“Until my heart was enraptured by one Vivienne Butler. I owe you my present happiness and merely wish to assist you in matters of
amour
, especially since you are hopelessly inept.” He grinned, Sebastian shaking his head as he laughed.

The differences in their characters when it came to sexuality were a long-standing joke between them. Lord de Marcov was the quintessential Frenchman with all the clichés. His list of lovers, all of who willingly went to his bed and left satiated, could fill an entire book. Sebastian was not a virgin, but his list would barely constitute a paragraph, a very short paragraph, in the Frenchman’s book! Lord de Marcov’s philandering had changed with the eventual commitment and binding love to Vivienne, but it had taken Sebastian some time to fully embrace the idea of his sister wedding someone so cavalier about sex, as much as he liked him. But he had been witness to the astounding, profound alteration in de Marcov’s character after he met Vivienne. He could vouch for de Marcov’s abstaining as he completed the final year at Oxford, was privy to the pining for her while they were apart, and knew the depths of the new marquis’s despair when their marriage was postponed due to his father’s unexpected death. The full extent of the love he felt was clear, the gushy Frenchman quite verbal on the topic.

In fact, he was quite verbal on most topics, Sebastian educated on bedroom matters well beyond his personal experience!

“You have taught me quite enough, thank you very much. I am sure when the time comes I shall be adequately prepared.” Sebastian spoke dryly.

“But not as yet? And not with Mademoiselle Darcy? You are going to persist in this affirmation?”

“It is the truth, no matter how differently your current romantic soul may wish it to be otherwise. You, my brother, have love deeply etched into your brain these days.”

“I think, lately, I have pure lust etched into my brain, if you must know the truth.” He shook his head, gazing at Sebastian’s grimace humorously. “Man was not meant to go so long without female companionship, Butler, especially when daily in the company of the exquisite example who owns one’s heart. It has been far too long, and if this next week does not hurry past, I truly believe I shall explode. You should have burst into flames ages ago!”

“Very funny.”

“Well then, I shall believe you if you say the two of you are just friends, although I cannot comprehend such an arrangement and judge it wholly unnatural…”

“You would,” Sebastian interrupted.

“…nevertheless, I will be the first to say ‘I told you so’ when you finally admit you are in love with her.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, but Lord de Marcov smoothly changed the subject.

Chapter Six

Parisian Melody

The beautiful Paris townhouse of the de Valday family was located on the Quai d’Orléans of Île Saint-Louis. The numerous gilded balconies afforded stunning views of the slow-moving waters of the Seine and the stone arches of the Pont de la Tournelle that spanned the river, giving access to the island residential district. Georgiana and the Matlocks had arrived over a week before, discovering the luxurious city manor—belonging to the de Valday family for over one hundred years—prepared for their stay, with the staff welcoming and professional. Many of the Parisian nobility had chosen to relocate to newer districts in the western part of the vast city, deserting their fine mansions to financiers, magistrates, artisans, and others of the bourgeoisie. The isle was a tranquil nook amid the very heart of the boisterous city, the eclectic collection of residents adding to the novelty.

Georgiana’s cousin and legal co-guardian, the retired Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had been residing in town since December with his wife, Lady Simone Fitzwilliam, and her youngest children from a previous marriage, Harry and Hugh Pomeroy. They had chosen to stay at one of the many sumptuous
hôtels
Paris was famous for, the distance a short buggy ride away. Georgiana had greeted her family with tremendous enthusiasm, not only because she had missed them terribly, especially her dear friend Richard, but also to ply them endlessly for details of her newest nephew, Michael Darcy.

The greatest misery for Georgiana during her long separation from her brother and sister-in-law, Elizabeth, was the knowledge that she would miss the birth and early months of their second child. After the announcement of his birth arrived unexpectedly in late September, letters from home became infrequent and uncommonly brief. Georgiana worried that something was amiss, strengthening the misty tendril of homesickness already wrapping around her heart. The colonel assured her that Michael’s fragile health from his earlier-than-expected birth was resolved by the time of his christening. Between him and Simone, she was regaled with stories of the youngest, tempestuous Darcy, as well as the rapidly growing Alexander, now over two years of age, and her sadness was alleviated.

Georgiana was able to relax and relish the serene, diverse scenery of Île Saint-Louis. She walked along the narrow streets with Mrs. Annesley or Lady Matlock as weather allowed and engaged in a number of excursions beyond the tiny island, for sightseeing rambles or social events.

Some portion of the day was inevitably spent in quiet solitude, such as that day, since the Matlocks had departed for an appointment with friends, leaving their niece to her own devices. She chose to brave the bracing air, cooled further by the waters of the Seine, and sit on a cushioned settee on the terrace outside the salon. She was ostensibly reading, but found her attention frequently distracted by the various vessels passing along the river. Additionally, although she tried to ignore it, her thoughts drifted to Mr. Butler. She was not sure when he would arrive in Paris but knew that his sister’s wedding had taken place four days prior, so assumed it may be at any moment. The number of times his image or voice intruded upon her as she went about her normal activities was too numerous to count. She recognized that she missed his company and anticipated his return, but stubbornly attributed it to the nature of a fledgling friendship. The fact that she rarely thought about Kitty Bennet or the de Valday twins or even her brother and sister with such intensity was a detail that had not occurred to her. Or at least she refused to acknowledge it.

She sighed, laying the book aside and giving up on the occupation. Instead, she gazed at the water in a half doze until the chill forced a retreat to the warmth of the salon. Yet rather than the hearth, she sat at the fine pianoforte to seek solace in music. Her delicate fingertips moved over the ivory keys, skillfully generating flawless, beautiful tones that rose into the air. She closed her eyes, reveling in the peace and happiness she inevitably attained while playing.

Instantly, the world faded away, her awareness of noises disappeared and concerns dwindled. Her heart lifted with the notes and her body warmed. It was a joyous place for the young woman who so adored music of all varieties, especially when playing favorite melodies. The rush of emotion was powerful. There were few times when she experienced greater surges of pleasure. She knew this and embraced the sensations as they flowed through her, not expecting that anything could ever supplant the jubilation.

“You play that song far better than I do,” a voice interrupted, Georgiana’s eyes flying open as an intense pulse of delight jolted through her body. She smiled brilliantly, a remaining shred of self-possession keeping her on the bench even as her heart soared and begged her body to leap upward.

“That is a blatant falsehood purely designed to flatter, but I shall accept the compliment, pointing out that my ego is now inflated frightfully. I pray you can bear the consequences.”

“I am extremely tolerant. Nearly saint-like.” He grinned, halting at the end of the bench and bowing low. “Miss Darcy, I trust I am finding you well?”

“Indeed, Mr. Butler, I am quite well.” She offered her hand, which he took and brushed lightly with his lips. “You are the same?”

“Excellent, if a bit weary. It has been a busy week, and I am greatly anticipating a month or so of supreme laziness.” He turned serious, his wide smile fading slightly. “Miss Darcy, I do apologize for appearing so suddenly without properly informing you of my presence in Paris. I pray you can forgive my unseemly haste, but”—he shrugged—“I have no actual excuse other than that I wished to see you. I was planning to merely leave a note, see I even have it here”—he fluttered a folded piece of paper extracted from his jacket pocket—“but when I heard you playing my composition I shamelessly bullied the butler into allowing me entry.” He gestured toward the lurking and deeply frowning man standing in the doorway.

Georgiana assured the servant that it was fine to admit her guest. He bowed curtly, pointedly leaving the door open wide before he departed.

“Do you think he is skulking behind the wall just to be sure?” Sebastian whispered, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I am sure of it.”

“Well, I am relieved to know your safety is not an issue. Truly, I do not wish to intrude if you prefer your solitude.”

“Not at all! I was actually rather bored and unable to concentrate on my book. Music soothes me. But conversation is preferred, and I know you have much to tell me.” She rose. “Let me call for tea. Please, be seated Mr. Butler, and begin mentally preparing your update.”

He laughed. “As you wish, madam.”

The following hour was spent in humorous conversation. Sebastian recounted his sister’s nuptials in incredible detail, even properly describing the wedding gown, so that it was easy for Georgiana to envision it. As he had anticipated, Vivienne did cry throughout the entire ceremony, especially when he sang the song written for her and his dear friend.

“Adrien had tears in his eyes as well,” he said smugly, “but he refused to acknowledge the fact when I confronted him later. Now the newlyweds are on their way to Rome, drinking champagne, dancing, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes for hours on end, and doing all the other things that those passionately in love do.”

“Yes, I know the pose quite well,” Georgiana murmured as she bent to pour more tea into their cups.

Sebastian’s brows rose, the odd twist that invaded his heart shoved down as he asked teasingly, “Really? Who is the fortunate fellow?”

Georgiana laughed, waving her free hand in the air. “Oh, not me! Not as yet. I am speaking of my brother, Mr. Darcy, and his wife. And, I should add, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone. One likes to think that they will never succumb to such ridiculous displays, but after witnessing love firsthand, especially from people one never thought would be so sentimental, and seeing the happiness ensuing”—she shrugged—“well, it does not seem so comical after all.”

“I agree. And since a large amount of music and poetry is inspired by love, I suppose we artists should be thankful for the all-consuming emotion.”

“Thank you,” she said as she ducked her head modestly, cheeks rosy, “for including me in your reference to artists. I am not sure I deserve the designation.”

“Oh, but you do, Miss Darcy. Your talent is remarkable. In fact, I think you should consider studying at the Conservatoire. Women do enroll, you know.”

Georgiana truly looked stricken, even if her eyes did sparkle at the idea. “Oh no, Mr. Butler! That is very kind of you to say, but I could never be away from my family for so long, and I am sure Mr. Darcy would not allow it!”

He smiled to ease her distress. “It was just a thought, of course, but you must never ignore your gift or allow anyone to tell you that music is inconsequential. That is a lesson I learned.”

“Has it been difficult, Mr. Butler, dealing with your father’s displeasure?”

He sighed, shrugging away his bitterness as he sat back into the sofa and stretched his long legs out. Neither gave any consideration to the relaxed, mildly improper posture they were engaged in, too comfortable with each other and caught up in conversation to notice. He gazed at the ceiling, hands clasped over his head, his voice introspective when he spoke.

“The worse part is that I cannot convince him that my love and devotion to music does not mean that I do not adore our estate, Whistlenell Park, and revere the title that I shall someday wear. He persists in seeing it as an all or nothing proposition. In his view, my passion for the arts therefore excludes the ability to have a passion for anything else, including my home. He fears that I shall run off to live in some artist’s commune, embarking on a decadent lifestyle with prostitutes and degenerates, immersing myself in composing and playing until I am driven mad.” He laughed, glancing at Georgiana. “He has a fanciful imagination, my father.”

“Indeed, he must, as even I would assert the unlikelihood of you doing any of those things.”

“You know me better than you may suppose, Miss Darcy. For some reason, I find my mouth babbling on when we are in conversation. I pray you do not mind overly?”

“Have I protested thus far, sir? Indeed, I am just as wordy, to my surprise. And you have already promised to keep my revelations to yourself, remember? I shall die of embarrassment otherwise.”

“I definitely would not wish for that!” He chuckled, growing serious as he continued, “The truth is, Miss Darcy, as I have told you before, I know my musical gift is not a brilliant one.” He waved a hand to halt her instant negation. “Do not say it! Believe me, I have long since accepted the reality. That is not to say I debase myself entirely, as I know I am talented far above most. See”—he winked—“I am still arrogant and egotistical! There are few Mozarts or Bachs or Beethovens, but many others have minimal success and are content to entertain or contribute humbly. I see no reason why I cannot enhance and explore what talent God has given me while also embracing my role as Lord Essenton, when that time comes. Especially since that, as my grandmother is quick to point out to my father, will likely not be for years.”

“You are his only son, Mr. Butler. Despite your conviction that he shall live a long life, it is not always a certainty. He probably is not consciously dwelling on his mortality, but the truth is that we never know when God will call us home. I imagine he worries that you will be unprepared.”

“Indeed, I know you are correct. I have thought of all this, Miss Darcy. I am not an unfeeling son.”

“I know you are not! I apologize if I spoke imprudently.”

He smiled at her obvious distress, his voice warm and soothing. “I spoke imprudently, Miss Darcy. Please forgive me. I know you meant no disrespect or were making allegations. In fact, what you say is utterly accurate!” He laughed. “I am a man, many of my friends are men, and thus I am well aware of how insensate the male species typically is, especially when surrounded by females who delight in pointing it out. I am referring to my sisters,” he clarified to allay her instant self-recrimination. “Along with fabulous feminine fashion sense, I am also blessed with a heightened awareness of my own brainlessness in emotional matters, thanks to the hourly reminder, nearly from the moment Vivienne was able to speak.”

Georgiana could not resist laughing. The mental image of a toddling Lady de Marcov badgering a child Mr. Butler was highly amusing!

“I am afraid our time together is too short for me to relate all the mistakes I have made that my dear sisters have kindly taken upon themselves to correct me on. But back to the original topic, I am abundantly prepared to assume the Earl of Essenton mantle, Miss Darcy. My father first began sitting me on a stool situated by his side as he conducted estate business with our steward when I was seven. Every day without fail, whenever I was home, I spent an afternoon in management instruction. Until I was fifteen, I was not allowed to speak, could not ask a single question, or offer an opinion. I vividly recall the day when he first turned to me after discussing a matter of crop rotation with Mr. Kline, inquiring what I thought.” He smiled, eyes on the ceiling and faraway. “I knew it was a test, that if I said the wrong thing, or hesitated for a fraction of a second, another year would go by before he asked me again.”

“What did you do?” Georgiana was raptly listening, mesmerized by the tale and the play of pleased emotions that ran over his handsome face.