Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle (35 page)

Her ruminations were interrupted by a question directed to Alfreda. “What do you intend today in the way of entertainment for Miss Bennet?” It was obvious from Wilkens’ tone of voice that he was not at all worried about Alfreda’s plans to amuse her.

Alfreda had blanched when Elizabeth ignored her brother’s overture about a mistress for Gatesbridge, but she tried to sound enthusiastic now in her response. “We shall visit the shops of Ramsgate and the artist’s shops along the beach and later picnic in the park. Then, if we have time, I shall take her by Hawthorne Hall and introduce her to Aunt Violet so that she will not feel like a stranger during the birthday dinner.”

Wilkens’ furrowed brow did not smooth as he considered her answer. “Just make sure that you do not go near the older section of town. That area is not safe for men, much less women. And be home in time for dinner. I have several meetings at my club this week, but I hope to be home in time to dine with you every night.”  He fixed a stony gaze on Alfreda. “Do you understand?”

Alfreda had an idea why her brother did not want them in that area of Ramsgate. Once, she had accidentally overheard him and his friends talking when she had passed his study and the door was left ajar. There was raucous talk of loose women housed in the brothel near their club, and she was certain that she heard her brother boast of visiting someone named Sally, who he referred to as his mistress. At the time, she had dismissed it as utter nonsense—surely a trick of her mind. Over the subsequent months, though, she had begun to wonder if it were not true, as his habits and temper had changed. He stayed away for days without informing her of his whereabouts and, more often than not, one of his friends would bring him home drunk.

Once when she confronted him with his dissolute ways, he had turned violent, squeezing her arms with such force that she had had dark bruises for weeks. And he had begun locking her in her room whenever she did not obey his orders swiftly enough. Fearing that only marriage to a good woman would save him, Alfreda had prayed that he would marry and that the responsibilities of a family would turn him around. But, after several of this year’s debutants had spurned his suit and left him embarrassed, he had gotten worse. Elizabeth seemed to be her last hope.

“Yes, Brother. I understand completely.”

Wilkens excused himself soon after and quit the manor with the pretext of business to see after. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief at his departure and remembered what she had wanted to ask Alfreda.

“Whatever happened to Mrs. Armstrong? I have not seen her since we arrived. Is she not going to break her fast with us?”

Alfreda looked apologetic. “She… she and Brother do not see eye-to-eye on certain things.  So when he is here, she resides with her sister in Ramsgate. However, should I desire to travel a good distance, she will be called upon again to accompany me.”

At Elizabeth’s look of incredulity she continued. “In all honesty, she is very happy with the arrangement.”  Then appearing overly eager to change the conversation, she continued, “Are you ready to see the sights of Ramsgate? I cannot wait to show you the beaches and the shops along them. I especially love the art gallery.” 

Elizabeth nodded. Though she was not satisfied with the explanation of Mrs. Armstrong’s disappearance, she would, however, agree to anything rather than occupy this dreary place all day. 

“Yes. I love to walk; the long trip was so confining. Besides, staying indoors when the sun is shining is not my idea of amusement.”

“You are so lively, Elizabeth! You make me want to walk about too!”

“Then, perhaps we should leave the carriage at one of the businesses along the beach and see what we can discover by walking!”

“Indeed! I think that is a wonderful idea!”

Soon after, Elizabeth and Alfreda were aboard one of Wilkens’ carriages and headed in the direction of the shops along the sea.

~~~*~~~

London
Grantham Townhouse

Dismissing the maid with a wave of her hand, Gisela Darcy stormed into her sitting room in a state of agitation. It would be another hour before her escort arrived, and she despised having too much time on her hands. Looking every inch a woman of substance with her elegantly styled hair and the costliest of satin gowns, she took note of herself in the mirror over the hearth, fingering her jewels as she studied her reflection. She had particularly chosen these diamonds and precious stones, worth thousands of pounds, to impress those she met tonight but privately she wondered if any of it mattered. Pouring another glass of brandy, she settled on a nearby settee and steeled herself against another round of melancholy. Lately it seemed to overwhelm her whenever she was left to her own devices, so she began an analysis of the room to occupy her mind.

She had inherited this richly furnished townhouse, filled with every imaginable comfort, from her first husband, Lord Stanley Grantham. And as Gisela studied the surroundings, she recalled having had most of the house refurbished as a new bride. That included this charming sitting room, wallpapered in delicate blue and yellow flowers and various types of greenery. She had simply adored it when it was first completed. Even the royal blue, antique settee with the matching tufted stool, both presents from Stanley, had pleased her for a brief period of time. She sighed, taking a deep swallow of the amber liquor. Such was her life—nothing had ever satisfied for long.

Despite every possible advantage, Gisela had lately come to the conclusion that she was miserable. And though the outward signs of wealth might make her the envy of most, she felt as poor as a beggar within. None of these
things
had brought her lasting happiness. Even Lord Attenborough, who would be here in a short while to escort her to yet another soirée, no longer amused her. She took a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily
.
Where had her life gone wrong?

Her earliest recollections of being entirely content were of childhood. As an only child, her parents had devoted themselves to her happiness. Had it all begun to change when her father, Lord Jackson Montgomery, began to spoil her in earnest? With no little guilt, she remembered flattering him in order to gain whatever she desired, and she reckoned that she could not have been more than ten at the time. It had been a game to get him to agree to her wishes over her mother’s objections.

Or had life begun to crumble when she had entered into the loveless marriage with Lord Grantham? There had been other opportunities for advantageous alliances, some with men a good deal younger and more handsome, but she had been determined to marry the suitor with the most wealth, even insisting that her father discuss with her each candidate’s worth. And after marrying Grantham for his riches, Gisela had fulfilled her every fantasy with his tacit approval, though it was carried out behind his back.

Then, when Grantham had finally expired, she slipped into the worst kind of decadence—running through a string of lovers, single and married alike, without any concern that the affairs were public knowledge. In fact, she revelled in flaunting her liaisons
.
It was no wonder that by the time she had set her cap for Fitzwilliam Darcy, she lived completely under the delusion that she could have him. Persuading herself that she could make him love her had been her greatest folly. Fraudulently she had managed to acquire his name, but he detested her and all of England was cognisant of it, making her a laughingstock.

The remnants of her seared conscience whispered,
Why keep him locked in this unholy alliance when you know he will never yield? Would it not be better for both of you if you grant him a divorce without contest?

Still ambivalent, Gisela reached for the unsigned letter on a nearby table. Left on her doorstep that morning, it had driven home the foolishness of trying to keep him bound to her. From the delicate handwriting, it was obviously written by a woman, and from the contents, it was clear that whoever had written it was jealous of her husband’s interest in another. Gisela had received anonymous notes and letters since her marriage, all meant to cause trouble, but this one held a detail that immediately caught her attention. She had heard the name mentioned before. It was the woman John Wilkens had escorted at the Trousdale’s dinner party—Elizabeth Bennet!

Why would anyone be stupid enough to engage my help in separating her from Fitzwilliam if she was not a serious threat? Could he actually have fallen in love with this woman?

Recalling an image of Elizabeth from the night of the party, her brows furrowed. From what she remembered of that lady, she was unable to see the attraction
.

She is certainly no beauty, and according to Wickham’s source, she is a country nobody with nothing to recommend. Still, why would someone consider her such a threat as to write me? And what of her supposed trip to Ramsgate with Alfreda Wilkens? Did that not signify that she was practically engaged?

Downing the last sip of brandy, she threw the glass against the hearth as selfishness won the struggle for her conscience.
If he does fancy himself in love with her, I shall see that it comes to nothing. I cannot be happy, then why should he?

Having too many unanswered questions regarding this Elizabeth Bennet, however, she rang for the butler before sitting down to draft a note to Grimsby. When he had returned from murdering Darcy’s solicitor, she had not had him killed as Lady Catherine ordered and Wickham believed. He was simply too valuable an
ally.
Thus she had sent him back to her estate in Derbyshire instead, knowing Wickham would likely not see him there. Grimsby had, however, mentioned that his grown son, Grady, would be joining him, and she needed someone she could trust implicitly to watch Darcy’s house and inform her of who came and went. She determined to ask Grimsby to send Grady to London to do just that.

Finishing with the missive, she walked over to the tray containing the bottle of brandy and more glasses. Pouring herself another two fingers, she raised it in a salute.

To you, my darling husband! To being miserable as long as I live!

~~~*~~~

Ashcroft Park
The gallery

Georgiana stood in front of the life-size portrait of Joseph Ashcroft, her head tilted back in order to view the entire figure of the man that she had come to admire after listening to her aunt’s tales. A dashing fellow, well over six feet tall with curly golden hair and dark brown eyes, she thought him exceedingly handsome, second only to her brother, if she had to say. His expression was almost sombre, until she focused on his eyes. There was no mistaking the twinkle in them, as though he were about to laugh aloud. Recalling her aunt’s story of how she had made faces behind the artist’s back so that he might lose his composure, she was beginning to chuckle when Audrey Ashcroft came around the nearest corner.

“Do you still find it amusing?”

“Yes, I never tire of seeing it. Uncle Joseph’s portrait is just like every other gentleman’s portrait until you notice the crinkling around his eyes and the mischievous sparkle therein. If only Brother had looked more like that when he sat for his portrait!  As it is, he just looks older than he is and sad.

Audrey Ashcroft looked up at the portrait of the man she loved. A lump filled her throat as she took in his dear face and gazed once more into the eyes that she had adored.
“Yes,” she whispered roughly. “There is definitely a gleam there. And as for your brother, remember that he was faced with tremendous sorrow when his portrait was painted, as your mother was very ill. Besides, my Joseph was always more cheerful by nature than Fitzwilliam. Joseph very seldom—” Her voice caught and a single errant tear escaped. She could not finish the sentence.

In all the times she had visited Ashcroft Park, her aunt had never refused to recount her love story over again and visit the gallery. But now, mindful for the first time of how much seeing his portrait affected her, Georgiana began to apologise.

“Do not cry, Aunt Audrey. I am sorry that I have asked you to expose something that must still be very painful for you. I have been so selfish not to think of your feelings.”

Turning to grip her niece’s shoulders, she attempted to ease her worry. “Yes, it is painful, but you do not have to apologise. In truth, my memories are accompanied by pain, but I do not wish to forget anything about Joseph, so I endure what I must.” She brushed a tear from Georgiana’s face. “In the past, your inquisitiveness has forced me to face my sorrow, and I am stronger for it. I have learned that occasionally I just need to open my heart and embrace his loss once again.”

“I… I think I know what you are saying. For so long, I could not bear to think of Mother or Father, but now,” she took a ragged breath, “now I can remember them for a short while without feeling that I shall break down entirely.”

“Exactly. Our hearts heal as we learn to deal with our sorrows.”

“Do you know why I want to hear your love story over again? It is because it gives me hope that there will be such a man for me.”

Lady Ashcroft smiled lovingly. “Of course, there will be, child. When you are a good deal older, your brother and I shall see that you are introduced to the finest of men. I have no doubt that the man of your dreams shall walk right through the front door one day. You shall see!”

Georgiana’s eyes lit up. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.” Audrey Ashcroft was surprised when a moment later the smile left her niece’s face and she began to study her shoes.

Hesitantly, Georgiana asked, “Would it be impertinent of me to say that even I know that Lord Landingham cares for you? He is so kind and attentive. Do you not care for him a little?”

“Georgiana Darcy! Where did you ever get the idea—” Lady Ashcroft stopped. “No, I shall not dismiss you. You are correct in your observations, even if it is not polite to ask such personal questions unless someone has indicated your opinion is wanted.”