Beginning, Previous Section, Section VI
Jump to new as of November 30, 2003
The rest of the ball was a blur. She noticed that Mr. Morgan--or was it Blakeney?--was not present at dinner, which was odd; and she was aware that Elizabeth, Anne, and Mrs. Annesley were enthusiastic about the ball's success, which was gratifying. But though she presented a pleased and happy face to her family, inside she was tormented by one question.
Was Mr. Morgan actually Christopher Blakeney?
She was still thinking it over when she began to prepare for bed. The thought was staggering. It was ludicrously coincidental. And yet, it fit so well with all she knew of him, and what Miss Blakeney had said about their family. It made too much sense to be ignored.
She was brought up short in her musings when Anita commented resentfully that there was no need to look so stark, and startled by her maid's tone, felt obliged to ask after Spencer. Now forced to listen to a ten-minute discourse on the folly of men--particularly handsome footmen-- Georgiana could momentarily forget about the Morgan/Blakeney puzzle.
Listening to Anita complain did become tiresome, however, so it was fortunate that Mrs. Annesley knocked just as the thwarted lover was warming to her theme. Anita, with all her faults, knew when to bow out, and since Mrs. Annesley made her wish to speak to Georgiana clear by saying so, she could not pretend to be dense. She made her exit, and Georgiana was left alone with her inquisitor.
She was certain it was to be an inquisition, because Mrs. Annesley had met Mr. Morgan, and if she had recognized him tonight, there were sure to be questions. So she waited in trepidation. Mrs. Annesley began with,
"I trust you had as grand a time as you seemed to be having." This was said with a smile, and Georgiana's grip on her own fingers eased a little.
"It was rather overwhelming, but I believe it could be called enjoyable," she said diffidently.
"And were you successful?"
Georgiana looked puzzled, so Mrs. Annesley clarified.
"Were you able to decide who is to be your husband?"
Georgiana could feel her cheeks redden, and in an attempt to discover whether anything was to be said directly about Mr. Morgan, said,
"I was sure you would be keeping a careful tally of all my partners."
It was Mrs. Annesley's turn to redden, though her blush was not so fiery as Georgiana's.
"I was a little distracted," she confessed, in a tone that made Georgiana wonder.
"Distracted?" she said. "By what?" It had not occurred to her that the intrepid Mrs. Annesley could be distracted by anything.
Infinitely embarrassed, Mrs. Annesley looked away and mumbled something unintelligible. Georgiana began to be suspicious.
"What was that?" she asked, a sly smile on her lips. Mrs. Annesley sat up straighter, arranged her face in an indifferent mask, and looked directly at her charge.
"There was a man..."
"Oh! What is his name?" said Georgiana, a grin appearing on her face. Mrs. Annesley went on awfully,
"Colonel Richards. He was very long-winded, and would not allow me to desert him so I could keep an eye on you."
That explained it, then. Relieved, Georgiana continued to tease Mrs. Annesley for another few minutes until that lady grew so red in the face that she made a hasty exit. When she had gone, Georgiana indulged a little fantasy in which Mrs. Annesley married Colonel Richards, who would obviously rise in his profession to become a very important person, and maybe even a member of Parliament. Wouldn't that be lovely--if her own companion was married to someone who could make such a name for himself by helping people. No doubt he would be very outspoken in public matters, aiding the poor and upholding the laws of the land--perhaps even making the laws of the land.
Awed by her own imaginings, Georgiana was momentarily breathless. Then she shook herself and returned to her gloomy thoughts of only minutes before. She wondered why the idea had never occurred to her before that Mrs. Annesley could remarry. The lady was not very old; at least, she did not appear so in Georgiana's eyes. She was likely only a few years older than Mrs. Gardiner, in which case, she ought to remarry. But then Georgiana would be left alone.
Georgiana frowned at herself in the mirror. It was a selfish thought, to be sure, but it was true. Perhaps that was why Mrs. Annesley had been wondering if she had found her future husband at the ball. If Georgiana was married, Mrs. Annesley would no longer be needed in the Darcy household.
She had the sudden notion that perhaps she could see the Blakeney house from her window. They were next door, after all. She tripped in her bare feet to the window, tying the sash to her robe as she went, only to remember once she looked out that her room did not face the Blakeney house. Disappointed, she climbed into bed, certain to be haunted in her dreams by a pair of roguish blue eyes.
She was disappointed again, on waking, to find that she had not dreamt at all. Her head was still full of Mr. Morgan/Blakeney, however, so she indulged her imagination and pondered the mystery of him all the way down to the breakfast room. Here, she was joined by Elizabeth, who unlike Mrs. Annesley, was full of questions about the rediscovered Blakeney heir.
"I was not able to speak to him. Did you find him to be amiable?"
"He was very charming," Georgiana murmured, concentrating on her toast.
"That is what everybody says," Elizabeth sighed. "Poor Lady Blakeney told me she was quite overset upon seeing him. Can you imagine her shock? She had no idea that he was alive, much less in the same room."
"I cannot believe that they each thought the other was dead."
Elizabeth was puzzled by this, and asked Georgiana what she meant. Georgiana colored and said, haltingly because she could not remember if she was supposed to know this or not,
"Mr. Blakeney told me that he had thought his father was dead all that time, and his family certainly thought he was dead. I cannot understand why they would think that."
"Oh. Well, I do not know the particulars," said Elizabeth. "But I think that a body was found in a river close to their home in Yorkshire, some time after he ... disappeared, and it was understood to be him. I believe a close friend of their family identified the body."
"I still think it is odd," said Georgiana after a few minutes' consideration. "Why was a friend called upon to identify the body, and not his parents or sister? For that matter, how are they certain that this person really is Christopher Blakeney, and not an imposter after the inheritance?"
"My, you are of a suspicious turn of mind this morning, Georgiana," remarked Darcy, who heard this last comment as he entered the breakfast room. "For my part, I do not know how they are sure. However, there is little we can do but rely on their judgment. After all, who would know better than they who their son is?"
"Indeed," said Elizabeth contritely. "In any case, it is not our place to decide."
"Exactly so," said Darcy.
But Georgiana could not stop worrying over it. She did not really believe that Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney would allow themselves to be taken in by an imposter, but the matter of believing each other to be dead gnawed at her brain until she could take no more, and she sought refuge in her music. Beethoven could always pull her mind away from whatever was bothering her.
She was so absorbed in the music that she did not hear the door open, and was surprised when a hand reached out from behind her to turn the page. The hand was too slender to be Fitzwilliam's, so she looked up, expecting to see Max or perhaps Richard. But instead, her upside-down gaze took in a wicked grin and a pair of laughing eyes. The eyes sobered as she stopped playing with a crash. She jumped up and spun around, barely avoiding tripping over the stool.
"Oh, don't stop," he said. "You play so well."
"How did you get in here?" she gasped.
"Your butler--silly fellow--left me while he went to fetch your brother. I heard you playing, so..."
"You let yourself in. Very gentlemanly of you."
He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.
"What makes you think I am a gentleman?"
"Do not think you can come here dressed like a ... a..."
"Ahem. Dandy." He looked down ruefully. "I can't help it, you know. It's the way I was brought up."
"And expect to convince me you are a different person, Mr...um..."
"Blakeney." He handed her a card.
"Yes. Exactly."
"Blakeney. Morgan. They are very similar. It's no wonder you were confused."
"You lied to me. Again!"
"Well..." he made a faintly apologetic gesture, "...at the time, it was the truth, n'est ce pas? I couldn't very well tell you my real name then."
"Is Blakeney your real name?"
"Christopher James Algernon Percival Blakeney, to be precise. And may I add, I am wounded at your lack of faith in me." Her jaw dropped and she looked about to protest, but he went on, dropping the flippant air he had assumed in the last few minutes. "I do not expect you to think I am a different person. `A rose by any other name,'..."
"I detest `Romeo & Juliet,'" Georgiana said coldly.
"Really? How strange. It is one of my mother's favourites."
"Why are you here, Mr. Blakeney?"
"I wanted to see you. Arguing with you somehow seemed more pleasant than not arguing with Sir Percival. Perhaps because not arguing with him is so strenuous."
"Do you think the knowledge of your true identity will make me change my mind about you?"
"No," he said after a slight hesitation. "As I said last night, I did not come back expressly to win your heart--though that would be wonderful. I came to reconcile with my family."
"Then why are you here?"
Again he hesitated, and when he did answer, the words came out slowly.
"I like being with you...when you are not harping at me about how evil I am for marrying Katie, which, I can assure you, I would not have done if it could have been helped...."
"I do not blame you for marrying Katie. It is a gallant thing to come to the aid of a girl who needs you, especially when you are not the cause of her trouble..."
"What a way you have of phrasing things. I confess, I would not have done it if I had the choice. And as to that, I had not thought of myself as gallant since I left home."
"Why did you leave home?"
He avoided that question by asking a strained, "What do you blame me for, then, if not for Katie?"
It was Georgiana's turn to hesitate. Perhaps she should not have asked such a personal question. She tried to keep her answer as diplomatic as possible. "I do not blame you for anything. However, I cannot think well of a person who would accept a situation for years, then suddenly decide to cast it aside the minute he thinks he is in love."
He looked down and thought on this for a moment.
"You think I am unsteady. I am impulsive, I admit it. I acted on impulse when I asked you to marry me."
Georgiana laughed, surprising him.
"Very impulsive," she agreed. "At that moment, I thought you must be quite mad."
"Among other things," he said quietly. Georgiana felt a quick stab of remorse for the things she had said to him, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"Just so you know, I never had any intention of simply abandoning them. I could not allow Katie to know my true identity, or she would forever be harassing my family for acknowledgement. But I am not so heartless as to think of abandoning them."
"Where are they now, then?"
"The children--two of them--are with their grandfather. The eldest is with his father."
"What about Katie?"
He hesitated again.
"She is dead. Didn't I tell you?"
"No." Georgiana was stunned. She had to sit down. "How did she die?"
He bit his lip briefly. "She fell down the stairs."
Georgiana felt dizzy. Why did she feel so confused suddenly? He continued, almost as if compelled to speak.
"I wanted to tell you..." He stopped and cleared his throat, as if he could not bring himself to finish what he had been about to say. He began again. "The fall did not at once kill her. At first, she thought, as did I, that she had suffered only minor injuries. But that, together with ... previous difficulties, did weaken her so that, ultimately, she....well, she died."
Georgiana did not know what to say. He was watching her as if expecting an answer, perhaps an attack. Should she say she was sorry? He would certainly know she was lying. She was saved from having to make a response when Darcy came into the room.
"Mr. Blakeney, what a surprise to see you again so soon."
He had come in behind Christopher, so that he jumped at the sound of his voice. Quickly recovering, he protested,
"I only arrived yesterday, Mr. Darcy. It is not so easy to disappear as you might think; I have only done it once, myself."
"In this city," said Darcy, shaking Christopher's hand politely, "it is very easy to get lost in the crowd."
"Yes, but it is terribly exhausting, my dear fellow, and I need to rest before I do it again."
This response won a smile from Darcy, but all Georgiana could do was stare.
"You are not here to stay, then?" Darcy asked.
"That remains to be seen," said Christopher. "I cannot bear to be only tolerated. If certain people are not adverse to my company, then I will gladly stay, but if I sense that they cannot abide my presence, then I will humbly take my leave."
Darcy's smile faltered a bit when he took in Georgiana's expression, but he said,
"That would probably be the wise decision. Tell me about yourself. What have you been doing with your time?"
"Oh, you know, this and that. It is amazing how one's time is swallowed up so fast with the merest tasks, but I occasionally had time to spare for an odd assassination here and there."
"Assassination?" Darcy blinked, taken off stride, then peered at him. "Whom did you assassinate?"
"Oh, nobody. Do you know, it is so difficult to tell politicians apart. One is quite like the next."
Brother and sister stared at him. He stared right back.
"What about you?" he asked brightly. "Whom do you assassinate?"
Darcy blinked again, then grinned.
"Come with me, Mr. Blakeney. I must introduce you to my wife."
Christopher followed him out of the room, looking back just in time to see Georgiana bow her head into her hands. He understood he could not afford to alienate Darcy, but at this moment, he cursed the man's presence.
They found Elizabeth in the parlour, and introductions were made. Darcy remained somewhat reserved, but Elizabeth was delighted. By the time Georgiana joined them, the mysterious Mr. Blakeney had been all but absolved in Elizabeth's mind from any wrongdoing towards his parents.
Georgiana had not expected to find him still here, and was about to escape quietly out the door, when something her brother said caught her attention.
"I had heard that your return was delayed because your father wanted to wait until you were well enough to not cause any serious alarm to your mother."
"Is that what his reasoning was? He might have told me."
Georgiana halted in her tracks. He had been ill? Why had he not told her?
"I trust you are recovered from whatever was ailing you," said Elizabeth.
Could he still be sick? Her eyes flew to where he was sitting stiffly on the sofa, looking quite embarrassed.
"I am feeling very fit, Mrs. Darcy. Thank you."
Georgiana did not quite believe him. She came further into the room and sat down next to Darcy, who smiled at her then returned to his conversation with Christopher.
"I'll wager your mother is very happy."
"Oh, yes...." His face brightened, and for a moment he allowed his gaze to rest on Georgiana again before turning back to Darcy. "My mother has been beside herself. But I expected her to be happy to see me. What has surprised me is the welcome I have received from my father. He even opens his eyes occasionally now."
"What do you mean?" Georgiana asked while Elizabeth laughed. He leaned back in the sofa and, half-closing his eyes, drawled,
"It is so tedious to have to stand up when somebody enters the room. Usually, I am far too fatigued to do anything more than lift my eyebrows to show I have noticed their arrival."
"Oh!" Elizabeth gasped, trying not to laugh. "What would Sir Percy say if he could see your impersonation of him?"
"Merely that he was not attending, and could I please repeat the joke," said Christopher, assuming his normal voice and posture. "But I was speaking about his unexpected reception of me. He has been more than usually attentive, and..."
"Everything seems on-course for a perfectly happy reconciliation, then," said Elizabeth. Georgiana slanted a questioning look at him.
"I hope so," he replied.
Posted on Saturday, 12 July 2003
To Georgiana, nothing could have been more natural than a complete and total welcome home to the returning Blakeney heir. To Christopher himself, however, it was completely and totally unexpected, and the fact that almost his whole family had seemed to welcome him back without question caused him to be somewhat suspicious. He had spent so long thinking that a return was impossible, unthinkable, that it came as a surprise to him when his mother would ask him to help her with her knitting, or his sister would casually complain about the fact that he had still not cut his hair, and it would surely be humiliating to be seen with him in public. If it had not been for his meeting with Georgiana, he almost might have been able to believe that he had never left home in the first place.
Sir Percy's manner was still rather cool towards him. Though he had been more friendly than Christopher had expected, he still had a way of looking at his son as though expecting to find a flaw, either in person or character, that made it difficult for Christopher to keep his temper to himself. But that was to be expected, and Marguerite assured him things would get better with time. In any case, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up his indignation with his father, since it was obvious that none of the events of the past few days would have happened, had Percy not taken the initiative to try for a reconciliation. Christopher had to admit that the man must be a truly loving husband, if he was willing to have him in the house only to make Marguerite happy.
So it was with conflicting thoughts and emotions that Christopher went to bed that night. It was not his own bed; because of that infuriating study, he had been relegated to one of the guest rooms for the time being. But it was awkward, being set up in this room when by rights he should have still been sleeping in a hovel with Katie and her children.
Thoughts of the children alternated all night with thoughts of Georgiana, and what she would say when it occurred to her that they had not been erased from the picture when Katie had died, or that Katie's death had been terribly convenient, which only increased any awkward feelings in his current situation. He had not mentioned any of this to her, but he was sure she would think of it eventually, and then he would be out of favour again--if he could ever creep back into favour. Thoughts like these are not pleasant bedfellows, and when morning finally came, Christopher found he could not imagine seeing anybody without a confrontation of some sort.
He dressed himself with whatever was nearest to hand, then stumbled sleepily down to the breakfast room, where his parents were waiting. His eyes took in the feast laid out for them, one dish at a time, then traveled back to their expectant faces.
"Well, Sleepy-Eyes, aren't you going to sit down?" Marguerite asked, gesturing to the seat beside her. Christopher shook himself out of his stupor, and obediently fell into the chair. There was a plate of scones on the table, and he took one of them and began picking at it.
"Where is Josée?" he asked.
"Anthony came by this morning and whisked her away," said Marguerite. "She was in transports."
"Anthony? Ffoulkes?" Christopher was astounded. "Well, I suppose it was to be expected. She always did rather fancy him."
"They had not seen each other since before we went to Italy," said Percy. "For them to have already formed a romantic attachment seems unlikely."
Christopher felt properly set down. He bent his concentration on the scone in his hand until Marguerite said,
"You really must eat more than that, Christopher. Percy, will you fix a plate for him?"
Percy looked up from his own food and blinked. His jaw probably would have dropped in astonishment, had his mouth not been full. Both amused and embarrassed, Christopher stood up.
"I can do it myself, thank you."
Percy watched him as he walked to the buffet. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his own plate.
"I shall need to see about getting you to a proper tailor. My son cannot be seen wearing the same clothes two days in succession."
"I wonder if you ever wear anything twice," Christopher muttered under his breath.
"And he shall need a proper valet," Marguerite added brightly. "He cannot continue to share with you, and I do not trust this Sam person he brings around."
Consciously ignoring the fact that they were talking about him as if he wasn't there, Christopher surveyed the smorgasbord, wondering where to begin..
"Did we always eat this much for breakfast, or has it been put here solely for my benefit?" he asked, slightly exasperated.
"Well, I remembered you always liked raspberry tarts, so I ordered up more of those than usual," said Marguerite, frowning slightly at his tone. Percy said nothing, but Christopher sensed that he had misspoken, and took two extra tarts in an attempt to make up for it.
There was an awkward silence after he had sat down again. Marguerite attempted to break it by asking if he had slept well, to which he of course answered that he had. Marguerite bit her lip then tried again.
"Tell me...Christopher...how have you been keeping yourself? Did you manage to....to live comfortably while you were away?"
Christopher glanced to Percy, who was frowning portentously, then back to his mother.
"You might say that," he said. "We certainly did not have three-course breakfasts, but we were ... not miserable."
She smiled in what could only be called relief. Christopher had to look down.
"We?" she asked. "Was this...was Sam part of this `we'?"
Christopher mentally berated himself for making that slip and vowed to keep his answers as short as possible from now on.
"Sam has been a good friend," he said neutrally.
"How did you meet him?"
"It's a long story, Maman."
"I have time," she said, laughing nervously.
"Well, I do not," he said cheerfully. He threw down his napkin and almost leapt out of his chair. "I have an appointment to keep. We will talk later."
He practically ran out of the room, and before he knew it was out of the house, as well. He tried to shake himself sensible, but he could not make himself go back inside just yet; it was simply too uncomfortable in there. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he wandered down the drive and out the gate. Only a few steps later he found himself at the gate of the Darcy house. He stood there for awhile, allowing himself a moment to wonder what Georgiana was doing just now. Lost in the daydream, he almost failed to notice the scene taking place before his eyes. George Wickham was sauntering towards him, with Georgiana hard on his heels.
"You are mistaken, George," she was saying breathlessly. "I merely want to give you the chance. I will tell my brother if you do not give it back immediately."
They both stopped in their tracks upon seeing Christopher. He had taken his hands out of his pockets and was now wrapping his fingers around the bars of the gate.
"Hullo, George," he said pleasantly. Wickham turned pale and glanced around for another way of escape. "You have become bold, to come here in broad daylight. You are not afraid of her brother, then?"
"I am not afraid of anything," Wickham sneered unconvincingly. Christopher raised one eyebrow at him.
"M-my brother and sister are out for the afternoon," Georgiana explained, her stammer betraying how close she was to tears.
"That would explain it, then," said Christopher sweetly. "The snake, seeing the mouse unprotected, decided to attack. Will you let me in, Miss Darcy, or shall I climb over?"
Georgiana moved hesitantly to open the gate.
"Do you think you can protect her? You cannot even protect yourself."
Christopher experienced a sickening feeling at what little memory he had of that beating, but he mustered a smile.
"I don't think we need to resort to violence this time, George. Simply give the girl whatever it is you took from her, and you may leave in peace. You see, Miss Darcy and I have each other, but there is nobody here to protect you."
Wickham looked frightened, but still he did not give in. Whatever he had taken, he must have needed it desperately. The gate opened, and Christopher stepped onto the Darcy property.
"Has he hurt you?" he asked Georgiana. She shook her head. He turned to Wickham for confirmation.
"Of course I haven't," the worm stammered. "I would never hurt her. I only..."
"Will you give her back her property, or will you not?" Christopher asked, trying hard to control his temper in front of Georgiana. "Answer me quickly, for you must know how I would purely love to thrash you right here."
Wickham put his hand into his coat and drew out a small, feminine purse. He threw it at Christopher's feet then ran out the gate as fast as he could. Christopher picked it up and handed it to Georgiana.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"I wish he hadn't given it back. I would have enjoyed making him do so." Christopher winced at his own words. He really must learn to speak less freely.
"How did you know he was here?"
"I didn't. Call it a chance meeting. Blind luck, if you will." He smiled again but she had already dropped her eyes.
"Then, I will thank you again, Mr. Blakeney." She curtsied, turned on her heel, and marched back to the house. Christopher watched until the door closed after her. He put his hands in his pockets again and turned to go home. What could he possibly do to win her back?
As he approached his own house again, he found Sam and little William waiting for him on the front steps, Sam holding the child on his lap. At the sight of Christopher, William launched himself down to the ground and toddled forward on his tiny feet, pudgy hands outstretched.
"Papa!" he cried gleefully. Christopher scooped him up and carried him back to Sam, who was looking quite sour.
"I just saw Wickham next door," he mentioned casually. Sam nodded and dug into his pocket to produce one of his typical wads of paper. Christopher sighed as he took it, deciding it would have to wait until later to be deciphered.
"I followed 'im. Thought we'd stop by, since we were in the neighbourhood."
Christopher's jaw dropped.
"You brought William with you to follow somebody? What if something happened?"
"He's my son, ain't 'e?" Sam fired up. "Anyway, I couldn't leave 'im with Lucy, or Will."
"Why not? Will has the other two; I don't see why he wouldn't take William, as well."
"I don't wanna leave 'im there," said Sam softly. "Will still thinks you're 'is father, and 'e might take it out on the mite."
Christopher softened, acknowledging his point, and sat down on the step next to Sam. He looked up just as a coach turned inside the gate. It came to a stop a short distance away from them, and Josée alighted with Anthony Ffoulkes. They walked together arm in arm until Josée spotted the trio on the steps and ran forward to admire the baby.
"Oh, how adorable he is!" she squealed. "How old is he?" She turned enquiringly to Sam, who seemed to suddenly be struck dumb and could only stare at her.
"Almost three," said Christopher, standing.
"May I hold him?"
Sam happily obliged and William's fists immediately became entangled with Josée's curls. She laughed and practically floated into the house, Sam trailing after her as if in a daze.
Christopher looked over to where Anthony Ffoulkes was standing, the only person left outside with him. Less than a year younger than himself, Anthony had been his closest friend as a child.
"You might have some competition there." Receiving no answer, he tried again. "You certainly lost no time in reacquainting yourself with Josée."
Anthony turned his head to look at him and said, "Miss Blakeney has been in London for several months. If I had been eager to make her acquaintance, I surely should have done so earlier, wouldn't you think?"
Although the words themselves were not offensive, there was a hostility in his tone that caused Christopher to bristle.
"Perhaps," he conceded. "Though for a young man to take a girl riding in Hyde Park is usually looked on as, if not a form of courtship, then something very near to it."
"Are you interrogating me?" Anthony said with a short laugh. "If I were in your position, I would not be so presumptuous."
"I don't think it presumptuous for a brother to want to keep track of his sister's suitors," said Christopher, taken aback.
"Well, you never were very aware of your own foolishness," Anthony said. "If you must know, I took your sister riding today in an attempt to gauge her reaction to your presence, and to brighten her spirits. And now I suppose you will be surprised that anybody should be in low spirits, when you are around. You very likely expect us to jump for joy as soon as we see that you have, indeed, returned."
"I do not expect everybody to be happy to see me," said Christopher, now standing very straight. "Though I confess, I had expected better treatment from someone who I thought was my friend."
"Your friend?" Anthony shot back, his voice rising alarmingly. "If I was your friend, you would not have left so suddenly. You would have at least told me where you were going. I might even have gone with you. But I had stopped being counted as your friend long before you left, hadn't I?" They glared at each other for a few moments until Anthony spun on his heel and marched towards his carriage.
"I didn't tell anyone where I was going," Christopher said suddenly. "I didn't tell anybody because I didn't have time. For God's sake, Anthony, what did you expect me to do? I thought I had just killed my father!"
"You could have come to me," Anthony said, not looking back at him. "I would have tried to help. But I suppose you ran off to that slut, Melissande, didn't you?"
"Anthony!" Josée's stricken gasp caused Anthony to whirl around. Christopher could hardly move. He closed his mouth with a snap and stared at Anthony. He managed to keep himself standing straight, but he was sure his face was completely ashen when Anthony glanced from Josée back to him. Josée came to stand between them. Looking from one to the other, she said,
"Why must you fight? Can't we try to live peaceably, the way we did before any of that mess happened?"
"No, Josée, that time is past," said Anthony. He glared at Christopher again, simmering with righteous indignation. "It would be better for all of us if he left for good."
"What?" Josée screamed at him. "What business is it of yours, whether he goes or stays? None! Did you come here to pick a fight? Was that your only reason for calling on me this morning, Anthony?"
"I do not want a fight," said Anthony indignantly. "I came to see how you were faring. He may have provoked me to say some things in anger, but everything I said was true. Look at him. He cannot deny it."
Josée looked back to Christopher. He was obviously fighting to keep calm, but he managed a bitter smile.
"Of course I do not deny it. Undoubtedly, you all would be better off without me. Much better to let everyone think I drowned."
"Much better if you had!" Anthony retorted. This was all that was to be borne. Christopher spun around and hurried into the house and upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood in the center of the room for a moment, trying to calm his breathing. He had never expected an attack like that from Tony, of all people.
A few minutes later, Josée knocked on his door. She entered without his invitation and surveyed the room. He did not look up from what he was doing.
"You're leaving?" she asked, dumbfounded.
"Obviously," he grunted, taking off his coat.
"He did not mean it," Josée said. Christopher gave her a look.
"Don't worry. I won't stand in the way of your marriage."
"Marriage? Don't be ridiculous. How could I marry someone who would throw Melissande in your face?"
He shook his head, pushed his things off the bed, and sat down with a sigh.
"It doesn't matter. I knew I had no business coming back. This incident only confirms it."
"Why do you say that? Did you expect it to be easy?"
"Of course not. But you must see that a complete reconciliation is impossible. The only person who is happy to see me is our mother, and that is only because she knows I am alive. Everybody else hates me, and rightfully so. After all that has happened...."
"Christopher, you were seventeen. You had no idea what was going on, you were terrified. I was there, I know."
"I may have been only seventeen, but you are still only sixteen now." He looked at her darkly. "Don't tell me what happened. I was there, too."
Josée could see she was not going to win this argument. She tried another tack.
"What about Georgiana?"
He looked up at her, then resumed the examination of his boots.
"What about her?" he shrugged. "Whether I am Christopher Blakeney or Matthew Morgan, she still thinks..."
"What does she think?" she prodded. "Surely she does not think you would seduce her, or anything of that nature?"
"If it were only that, it would be much simpler to convince her otherwise. She thinks I am unsteady."
"Well, you are," Josée laughed. He frowned. Sobering herself, she added, "In regards to trivial matters, you are extremely unsteady. That is one of your most endearing qualities."
"She does not think it's endearing," he commented. "And with all respect, I do not want to marry you."
"Then show her your dependable side. Let her see the Christopher who worked so hard to keep the orphanage open in Barnsley, for instance, or..."
"Though it pains me to disillusion you, dearest, that was purely for Melissande's benefit."
"Do not use that name together with `purely' ever again; they do not mix. And don't try to credit her with that adventure. She was a scheming whore. You were the one did all the work, and you could not be distracted from it, no matter how hard we tried."
"I would feel better about it if I had done all the work. In the end, Father was the only person they would listen to."
"There is nothing wrong with a little influence, if it is used properly."
He sent her a withering look, but she only smiled at him.
"All I'm saying is, don't give up yet. It might take years before you can decide with any certainty that you do not fit in our family anymore. And as for Miss Darcy....I think she probably likes you better than she would care to admit to anybody."
She spent the next hour convincing him, and when she thought she had finally succeeded, left to fetch someone to clean up the mess he had made in trying to pack. The poor boy was hopeless when it came to dressing himself. She was confident that with time, Christopher would be just as comfortable at home as he had ever been, but she could see that it would need something besides sisterly devotion to work. Something needed to be done about Georgiana Darcy.
Posted on Friday, 5 September 2003
Georgiana had expected life to slow down again after the ball, but in life's contrary way, it had opted to become even more hectic. She had been excessively pleased at first by all the attention paid to her by gentleman callers. Now, on the second day after the ball, it had already become tedious.
And yet, she was scheduled to go driving with Mr. Elton in less than an hour. It really was most vexing. She was certain that it was because of distractions like this that Wickham had managed to sneak into her bedchamber yesterday. That had been dreadful in itself, especially when he had threatened to become violent, but it had been a terrible relief to be rescued again by Mr. Morgan. Mr. Blakeney, as she should become used to calling him.
It really was most inconvenient of him to have chosen to occupy the house just next to her own. Even more vexing was that she could never remember that her bedchamber did not face the Blakeney house, and she was constantly forcing herself to stop peering out of her window.
Had she always had such poor equilibrium, or was it only the effect Mr. Blakeney had on her? Whatever it was, it was doing her no favors, and she must learn to stop this preoccupation.
A knock on the door sounded. Already vexed, Georgiana looked at the clock and became even more so. Mr. Elton was more than half an hour early! Such presumption was not to be borne. She made up her mind to be half an hour late in getting ready.
She had settled on a chair in the library with a good book when the butler entered with the news that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter had called. He added a comforting,
"Lady Catherine has gone looking for Mr. Darcy, miss, but Miss de Bourgh is in the large drawing room downstairs."
Georgiana gave him a relieved smile, thanked him, and made her way downstairs. Anne was pleased to see her.
"Georgiana, you are looking so pretty today! Is it still the aftereffects of the ball, or for some other reason?"
"Oh, I am going riding, as soon as Mr. Elton comes. I thought your knock was him, which is why I was not down sooner...."
"Mr. Elton....." Anne looked perplexed. "Is he the one you were dancing with...."
"No, I did not dance with him. That is how he trapped me into riding with him."
"Oh, dear, then you do not like him?"
Georgiana sighed.
"It is not that I dislike him, exactly. He ... irritates me. He chatters, you know."
"Oh." Anne smiled. "I see. Is Mrs. Annesley accompanying you, then?"
"No." Georgiana pouted. "She is visiting her sister today, since she is in Town for the Season."
"Poor Georgiana." Anne clucked her tongue.
"Perhaps you could accompany me!" Georgiana said on a sudden burst of inspiration. Anne's eyes lit up, then darkened.
"Do you think it would be polite for me to intrude? Mr. Elton perhaps will not like it."
"Very likely he will not, but what is that to the matter? I shall tell him you are in need of the exercise." Georgiana sat back happily on the sofa.
"Have you had any other callers, besides Mr. Elton?" Anne asked, trying to appear casual.
"Scores. I am so tired of them. None of them say anything interesting. Get more than two together, and they start a competition on who can make the grandest compliment. It is very tiresome."
"Sir John has not called, then? I was sure he would."
"No, I suspect he is waiting until the tide slows down."
"What about that man you were waltzing with? I thought you and he seemed to be engrossed in your conversation. Has he called, or is he, too, obsessed with grand compliments?"
"Waltzing?" Georgiana had to think a moment. "Oh! You mean Mr. Blakeney."
"Yes. I suppose you did not find him so memorable as he seemed to me."
"It is not that. I simply had no idea that what we were doing could be called waltzing." Georgiana forced a little laugh. Anne smiled uncertainly.
"Has he called?"
"Yes, he has called." Georgiana pursed her lips a moment in thought, then said hastily, "I suppose I might as well tell you, Anne. I told you everything else, and I have to tell somebody. Mr. Blakeney is Mr. Morgan."
It took a moment for Anne to remember the name, then her eyes widened and she sat back in shock.
"No, he is not! Oh, my goodness! He is so young!"
Georgiana blinked.
"Young? Is that all you have to say? He is older than I am, in any case..."
"I expected him to be older, is all," said Anne. "At least five and twenty..."
"How do you know his age?" Georgiana asked curiously.
"My mama made me memorize the baronetage," said Anne ruefully. Georgiana had not thought of that as a source of information. Now she was embarrassed by the sudden desire she had to pore over the book. Anne smiled slowly, almost slyly. "At least now you know he was not after your money. As the Blakeney heir, he stands in no need of wealth."
"Oh!" Georgiana exclaimed piteously, and sank down in dismay. "I am a very silly girl!"
"What is the matter?" Anne was at once concerned.
"It is nothing, only.... I don't know, Anne. It is so confusing. I keep reminding myself of why I had to turn him down, but every time, I have a harder time remembering!"
"Perhaps it is better you did not," Anne suggested. "After all, much of your reasoning was based on what he was doing then. Now, it is substantially different...."
Georgiana shook her head.
"It is true that some things are different. Now I know my brother would likely approve of the match, rather than damning it. But I still do not think I would be able to trust him."
Anne nodded, then tilted her head to one side and said,
"Well, I for one am very disappointed that Mr. Blakeney and Mr. Morgan are the same person. I have to tell you, Georgiana, that the way he was looking at you the other night made this tired spinster sigh."
"You are not a spinster, Anne. If Mr. Blakeney is young, then so are you."
"Ah, but he is a man. Besides, I am older than he is."
Just then, the butler came in and announced the arrival of Mr. Elton.
Georgiana sighed and cast an apologetic look Anne's way as Mr. Elton once again ignored her hint to include Anne in his attentions. The gentleman had graciously acquiesced to Anne accompanying them, but he had failed to bring himself to pay any attention to her. Georgiana tried to steer the conversation in a direction that would include Anne, but he only kept up a steady stream of conversation so that she could not get a word in edgewise. Now she was beyond being sorry, and had moved on to being annoyed. Why had he asked for her company, if he only wanted to talk about his situation as a clergyman and his other property? She had no use for somebody who could only talk of himself.
He soon realized that she was no longer paying attention, and quickly thought of something else to speak of.
"I am surprised there are not more people here. I was told Hyde Park was usually very busy."
"It is, but we are a trifle late for the particularly busy time."
"Oh." He looked cast down by this, as if he had looked forward to taking part in the promenade. "But there is Lady Brabington. Do you know, Miss Darcy, if the rumors about her are true?"
"What rumors?" Georgiana asked. "I have not heard anything about her lately."
"Then perhaps it is not actually news, though I only heard it myself a few days ago." He waited for Georgiana to beg to hear to what he was referring, but she did not comply. "I heard the marquess found her in Russia."
"Yes, but I do not know why her nationality would be such a scandalous topic."
"Oh, it is not that, in itself. It is where in Russia he found her."
Anne was squirming uncomfortably. Georgiana knew what he was referring to, but did not want to do so herself. She was certain this was a forbidden topic in mixed company.
"My brother does not have much acquaintance with the Brabingtons," she murmured.
"I am not surprised. Your brother seems to take very good care of you."
"Yes, he does. I..."
"As a clergyman, it saddens me to see harlots like her accepted into Society. But such is the case nowadays. It is refreshing to see someone like you, Miss Darcy. So innocent, so..."
"Lady Brabington was an actress in Russia," said Anne abruptly. Mr. Elton pivoted in his seat to look at her. "She was not...." her voice trailed off. Mr. Elton smiled sadly, condescendingly to her.
"It is the same thing, Miss de Bourgh. Actresses, courtesans....it is all the same."
"You seem to know a great deal about London Society, Mr. Elton, for someone who spends the majority of his time in the country."
"Oh, a man in my position must keep abreast of certain situations, Miss Darcy. Ah, speaking of actresses who are accepted into society. Here are the children of one other such person. Lady Blakeney, as you know, was an actress in Paris before she met Sir Percy..."
"Yes, I know." Georgiana looked to where the Blakeney siblings had just come into view. Instead of riding in a carriage, they were mounted on matching horses. Miss Blakeney was waving what looked like a riding crop at her brother. "It has been awhile since I heard it, but I remember it was a lovely story."
"Very romantic, to be sure, but what is the result of such a match? Look at their children, Miss Darcy. Both as wild as can be, without a shred of decorum or..."
"Now really I must protest, sir!" Georgiana said. "Miss Blakeney is a very good friend of mine, and I...."
"I am sorry if I offended, Miss Darcy," said Mr. Elton. "I will admit that I may have been hasty in my judgment of Miss Blakeney. She is very young still, and her antics on the Continent may have been the result of boredom or bad company. However, you likely have not heard the latest news about her brother, Mr. Blakeney."
"I am not interested in gossip, Mr. Elton."
"But it is not gossip, Miss Darcy. I had it straight from the mouth of a gentleman who said he had it straight from Mr. Blakeney himself."
Georgiana rolled her eyes and looked away. Miffed, and determined to make his point, Mr. Elton pressed on.
"He said that Mr. Blakeney had lately boasted to him of trying to commit patricide."
"Strange thing to boast of, considering his father is still alive," said Georgiana. Surprised by this outburst, Anne snapped her head around to stare at her. Georgiana met her eyes, felt her cheeks redden, and once again looked away, only to find herself staring straight at Mr. Blakeney, who had somehow managed to pull up beside their curricle.
"Hello, Miss Darcy," he said cheerfully. "Are you all right, sir? You look as if a hornet had lodged itself in your throat."
Mr. Elton glowered at him. "I am perfectly well, thank you," he said.
"Mr. Philip Elton, this is Mr. Christopher Blakeney," said Georgiana.
"Yes," said Mr. Elton. "I was not aware you were acquainted."
"Oh, Miss Darcy and I are neighbours. Have been for years, have we not, Miss Darcy?"
"In a manner of speaking, sir," Georgiana replied, a touch more coldly than she had intended. Christopher grinned and shrugged.
"Very true. We did not actually live next to each other, did we? But our houses are next to each other, and that is what I meant."
"Your brother will want to sell his house immediately, then, Miss Darcy," said Mr. Elton. "Before the value goes down. Good day, sir." So saying, he started forward abruptly. Georgiana and Anne rocked forward helplessly at the jolt. As soon as she was sitting upright again, Georgiana turned on him.
"That was unforgivably rude, Mr. Elton."
"I was merely looking out for your welfare, Miss Darcy. With his reputation, he should have known better than to pester a respectable young lady in public."
"Would you rather he had pestered me in private? Set me down here. My cousin and I shall walk home."
"Miss Darcy!"
"Georgiana!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Anne. Would you be able to walk home with me?"
"I'd like to, of course, but..."
"If you ladies have no further use for my company, I shall drive you home."
"There is no need to bother yourself. I shall relieve you at least of my part of the burden." Georgiana stood up, making it necessary for Mr. Elton to stop or else risk tossing her to the ground. "Good day, Mr. Elton."
Mr. Elton made no answer, but prepared to drive off again.
"Wait!" Anne said, and hurriedly scrambled to the ground. She waited for the curricle to drive away, then hurried over to Georgiana. "Of all the notions!" was all she said.
"Well, he was very rude," Georgiana said defensively.
"Yes, but I was not talking about that. I was talking about you thinking you could walk home by yourself." She adjusted her reticule and hat self-consciously.
"Will you be all right walking?" Georgiana asked, beginning to feel sorry for her rashness. "I'm sure one or another of my cousins will be by shortly...."
"Oh, I will be fine. I assure you. But we had best get going, do you not think?"
"I'm sorry, Anne," Georgiana said penitently. "Do you want to sit down for a moment? There is a nice bit of shade over there, by the river."
Anne replied that she would like nothing better than to sit down in the shade. Georgiana accompanied her to the spot and saw her safely deposited on the bank. But while Anne was wearing a gown that, though not at all flattering to her complexion, would not be harmed by the grass, Georgiana's gown was white. So she strolled a little ways off to reflect on her situation.
It really had been too bad of her to subject Anne to this predicament. But what else could she have done? Mr. Elton had been unpardonably rude to Mr. Blakeney, who she supposed had done something terrible in his past, but nothing so awful as trying to kill his own father. Such fustian!
She looked back to where she had left Anne, and saw that she had been joined by a man. She started to hurry back to prevent any impropriety, when something bounced off her head. She put a hand to the back of her head, and looked down to see what had hit her. There was a walnut lying in the grass next to her feet, and she bent to pick it up. How strange. She looked back to where Anne was still sitting. Oh, the man was only Sir John. Anne would be safe with him. He would probably even offer the use of his carriage to take them home.
Feeling better with the knowledge that she was not in so very much trouble, she looked around to see where the nut had come from. She peered around and saw nobody who looked likely. She looked up. Christopher Blakeney grinned down at her from his perch in the tree.
"What are you doing up there?" she exclaimed, astonished.
"Eating. Would you like another one?"
"Not if I am to be pelted with them."
He climbed down and handed her another walnut, along with a grand bow. When he straightened back up, she was frowning.
"What is the matter?"
"I thought you were a fortune hunter."
"Of course you did." he said, smiling at the pouting tone in her voice.
"You might have told me otherwise."
"Would it have made a difference? You already thought I was the most despicable person imaginable. You probably weren't surprised with what you heard this morning, were you?"
"What, that you tried to kill your father?" She snorted and turned to face the Serpentine. "As if I would believe something that outlandish." She looked back at him when she received no answer, and was surprised by the dumbfounded look on his face. "What? You didn't really do that, did you?"
He laughed shortly and turned back towards the tree.
"It is only fitting that you would believe all those other things, but not this one, isn't it?" He looked down and poked his boot into the dirt. "My friends and I had been out drinking. They told me we were going to search the house of a traitor. By the time I realized it was my own house, my father was...." He shook his head, then turned to face her again. "The gun went off, and my friends ran away."
"So did you, I collect," said Georgiana. He shrugged and sat down at the base of the tree.
"What else should I have done? I'm only surprised he hasn't had me arrested already."
Georgiana knelt in front of him. It had surprised her when he had begun to speak so freely. Somehow, this only made her think better of him. She sat quietly as she turned these new facts over in her mind, eyeing him doubtfully.
"Are you going to say anything?" he asked. She took a deep breath and blurted out,
"Why did you come back?" He looked confused, so she asked again. "Was it to see your mother? To see me? Had you had enough of the squalor and wanted to be rich again?" His face took on a decidedly sardonic look at the last suggestion, which caused her to pause.
"I have no use for a fortune, yours or mine," he said.
"Are you a revolutionary, then?"
"No." There was a look of confusion in his eyes that soon vanished. "I don't think I believe in anything." He looked her in the eyes now for the first time since the conversation really became serious. "Revolution is a nice thought. In some places, it is absolutely necessary. But it is in the hands of people. And people, Georgiana, will always let you down."
Georgiana felt a pang in her chest at these words, and the memory of Wickham cruelly taking his leave flashed through her mind.
"Not always," she said, so softly it was almost a whisper. He looked at her so keenly she had to look down. She tried to lighten the conversation a little, but her voice sounded too cheerful even to her own ears. "I have my brother to comfort me whenever anything goes wrong."
He continued to look very serious for a moment or two, then from out of nowhere he scoffed.
"What could have happened in your life to cause you to need comfort? You seem to have everything you could want or need."
She frowned severely on him.
"It might have escaped your notice, sir, but both of my parents are dead."
"Well, you looked so heartbroken, I thought it must be something else. Your mother, I know, died when you were very little; your father, several years later. Besides which, we were talking about disappointments, not only sadness."
Georgiana was beginning to feel cornered.
"We were talking about needing c-comfort," she said defensively, then switched to the attack. "I may have never done anything as rash as running away because of it, but...."
"I was running away from the constable, not disappointment. When were you disappointed, Georgiana?"
"I d-don't understand what you're t-talking about," she said, flinching away from the intensity of his questions. He stared at her a little longer, then suddenly relaxed and smiled reassuringly.
"I'm sorry for upsetting you. I thought you had outgrown that stammer." He stood and began to wipe grass particles off his clothes.
"I wasn't s-stammering," said Georgiana, sulking. She turned back towards the river and folded her arms across her chest. She peered over her shoulder. "How did you know about my stammer?"
"You don't remember? I am hurt. I was ten or eleven when I first met you. It was right before I went to school. You were a little thing with ribbons in your hair, and freckles. By the way, I am sorry about the freckles. They were adorable."
"I don't remember," Georgiana admitted. He sighed forlornly and came to stand next to her.
"Oh, well. I should have guessed when you did not recognize me, but I supposed it was because I had changed too much. You have not changed, though....except for the stammer and the freckles. And height, of course." He grinned.
"You mean you knew who I was all the time?"
"No," he admitted. "But I remembered when you told me your name." He was going to say more, but they were interrupted by Anne and Sir John approaching. Sir John had indeed offered the use of his carriage. Georgiana allowed Christopher to bow over her hand, then left.
Christopher rushed home as fast as his horse could safely go in crowded streets. After handing the horse over to the nearest stableboy, he ran upstairs to his room, slammed the door behind him, and began to search everywhere for the papers Sam had given him that morning. For some reason, all his attempts to teach Sam to read and write had failed, and yet they had been able to derive a code with which to communicate that Sam seemed to like very well, most likely because he had done most of the deriving.
This wad of paper was almost unreadable, however, and the only thing Christopher could make out was a letter Sam had apparently copied from a Major Wyndham to Colonel Dorsey, in Newcastle.
I have made inquiries, and regret to inform you that the young man's character has been called severely into question by every person to whom I have spoken. Besides being a dissolute gambler, he is a fortune hunter who was recently stymied in his attempts to elope with a young lady, whose name was not divulged to me, whom he knew from his boyhood in Derbyshire. He has lately married, but has not ceased his other behaviours, which include....
Christopher stopped reading. The rest was unimportant. He sat back in his chair and stared out the window for some time, trying to think of something to do. Looking down, he saw that he had crumpled the paper into a tiny ball. He tossed it into the fireplace, then jumped up and began to go to work.
A few hours later, George Wickham was beginning to think his luck had finally changed for the better, until he looked up and saw the one person, besides Darcy, who he hated the most, walking towards him. Beginning to get a queasy feeling in his stomach, Wickham looked around for his bodyguards. The other men at the table exchanged amused glances and sat back to watch the scene.
"Are you busy, George?"
Wickham hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I am. Very busy. Run along now."
"Oh, are you winning, then?" Christopher walked around the table to stand behind him. "I don't see how you can win, with only two threes. Really, George, you had best come outside with me."
"Why aren't you dead yet?"
"You're not that lucky. Come with me." Wickham was then hauled up and pushed outside into the corridor.
"Listen to me, Morgan. If you don't stop..."
"You listen to me, Wickham," said Christopher, pushing Wickham against the wall. "I don't care how many men you pay to get rid of me. If you go near Georgiana Darcy again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"
"I do not recall ever putting myself under your authority. I shall do as I please, and without any interference from you, unless you want a repeat of the last time...."
"Do not try to threaten me, Wickham," Christopher shouted, giving him a shake for emphasis. "I don't care what you do to me. But you will leave Georgiana alone, or you will die. Do you understand me?" Wickham made no response; he only stared at him with his mouth open. "Do you understand me?"
Wickham nodded his head hurriedly, and Christopher released him. Wickham rubbed the back of his head where it had banged against the wall, and watched him walk out the door. When he had gone, he spat and muttered,
"Not if I kill you first."
Posted on Thursday, 20 November 2003
The second story window creaked open and a dark, wiry figure heaved itself into the elaborate study. Christopher sat there on the floor for a few seconds, both to catch his breath and to seize the opportunity to rest his head on the ledge. He forced himself to stand, and almost immediately froze. There was somebody in the hall.
Too exhausted to hide, he waited to be found, and tried to think of an excuse for sneaking in and out of the house at such an hour. The door swung open, revealing a small, feminine silhouette. Josée let out what sounded like a strangled sob, and rushed to him, almost toppling him in the process.
"Oh, I'm so glad you came back! Where have you been? I was so worried you had run off again. How could you do this to me?" She pulled back and swatted at him.
"I had some business to take care of. No need to worry."
"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"
He shook his head wearily. "Just tired. Thought it would be easier to climb the tree. Wasn't."
"Stupid. You could have come in the front door and saved yourself the trouble. Let me help you to your room."
He roused himself sufficiently to sound indignant.
"I can walk, Josée. I'm not an invalid."
"I can see that," she said with a short laugh, and began guiding him down the hall. "Though you really shouldn't exert yourself so. You aren't exactly in top form, you know." He made no answer, but smiled sardonically when he nearly lost his footing. Josée looked closely at him, then asked carefully, "Did you talk to Miss Darcy?"
"Yes."
"What did you speak about? Had she heard the talk?"
"Of course she had. She doesn't live in a box."
"Did she believe it?"
"She does now. I verified it for her."
"What?" Josée was appalled. She stared at him in horror as he sank onto his bed and began to pull his boots off. "Why would you do such a stupid thing?"
"Why should I deny it? At least now, if she hates me, it will be for something I actually did."
"No! This could ruin everything!" She put both hands to her head distractedly, then dropped them down again and demanded, "Why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes? I thought you had burned them."
"I can't very well visit St. Giles in a Weston's waistcoat, can I? Stop being a goose, Josée, and go back to bed." He lay down and yawned.
She closed her mouth with a snap and fought the sudden urge to cry. Pulling herself together, she squared her shoulders and said,
"You and I shall visit the Darcys tomorrow."
"Whatever for?"
"Well, you have to inform Mr. Darcy of your intentions, don't you?"
"It is usually customary to ascertain the lady's feelings in the matter first. I think."
"We shall go immediately after luncheon." She tossed her chin up and departed in a regal huff. Christopher watched her go, then rolled his eyes, lay down again, and promptly went to sleep.
Darcy put his pen down with a sigh and sat back in his chair. It had taken him all week to catch up on his correspondence, and today, he had even missed lunch. At that thought, he leaped out of his chair and began to seek out Elizabeth. After all, how could a man enjoy a meal without his wife present?
He was halfway down the hall when he heard somebody clear his throat. Turning cautiously, he was surprised to see Christopher Blakeney standing outside the parlour, looking sheepish.
"Mr. Blakeney," he said. "I had not expected to see you."
"I had not expected to come. But apparently I have something to discuss with you."
"Really?" Darcy looked disappointed. Looking over his shoulder and taking a few steps in that direction, he said, "Can it wait? You see, I..."
"About your sister," Christopher added. Darcy's attempted exit halted, and he turned his full attention on the young man before him. Looking him up and down, he drawled,
"Indeed? Then perhaps you would care to step into my study."
Georgiana ended the sonatina with a flourish. She jumped up at the sound of applause behind her.
"Miss Blakeney!" she gasped, putting one hand over her chest. "You frightened me!"
"I am sorry," said Josée penitently. "Your butler announced me, but I suppose you did not hear him. I did not know you could play so well. What a lovely instrument!"
"Yes," said Georgiana. "It was a present from my brother for my sixteenth birthday."
"How splendid of him! I wish my brother would give me such an expensive present. But the last time he gave me a present, I was eleven, and it was a ribbon for my hair." She laughed, but almost immediately fell somber. "It is of him that I wish to speak to you. I am worried about him."
Georgiana braced herself for a petition. "Why?"
"Because he keeps secrets. Last night, I discovered him sneaking into the house. He would not tell me where he had gone, but he did mention St. Giles.... I am afraid he means to run away again."
"Would he not have done that already, if he meant to go?"
Josée shook her curls and sat down in a chair, her chin in her hands.
"I think he wants to stay home. But it is very difficult, and I think very soon it will be too much to ask, that he and my father.... You know why he left, do you not?"
Georgiana nodded. Josée sighed and looked down.
"My father does not blame him. Nobody who knew all the facts could blame him. But Christopher is convinced that everybody does, in fact, blame him, and so will not listen to reason, or even admit that he was wrong."
"I do not understand," said Georgiana. "If he is not to be blamed, how can he admit that he was wrong?"
"Yes, that is confusing, isn't it? You must not know the whole story, then. Yes, he was wrong to join that little band in the first place, but as for the actual shooting itself, that was not his fault. But he does everything backwards, and apologizes for the shooting while defending the band. He is very contrary."
"What band?"
"A little political band in the village near our home in Yorkshire. Did he not tell you about that?"
"No. In fact, he said he had no political convictions."
Josée laughed.
"Christopher has no political convictions? Dear me!" She eventually stopped laughing and said thoughtfully, "I wonder if the shock had anything to do with that. I can see how he would have become less idealistic if he knew the truth about Melissande. But he ran away immediately afterwards, so I don't see how he could know. Unless..."
Georgiana looked sharply at her friend. "Melissande?" she echoed, trying to sound casual. Josée snapped out of her pensive state and nodded.
"She was one of the leaders of the band. My brother met her when he was in town with his friends from school. He worshiped her, and she claimed to have some affection for him. But it was all false. She spent two years using my brother for her political machinations, spying on my father, and in the end, she and her stupid brothers left him to take the blame for what they hoped would be my father's death."
Georgiana stared at Josée wide-eyed.
"W-why would they hope for that?" she managed to ask. Josée gave a half-smile.
"Why, because my father is--was--a sort of a spy for England." Georgiana gasped in surprise, but Josée went on, almost apologetically. "He has many connections in France, you see, and some people in the government thought it would be convenient to use Sir Percy Blakeney against Bonaparte. He had already built up a loyal following during the Revolution, so it was really very simple." She chuckled. "The prime minister was quite befuddled by it all, actually."
"My goodness," was all Georgiana could think to say.
As he poured wine for himself and his guest, Darcy took the opportunity to observe the young man before him. He was not an impressive figure, with his ill-fitting clothes and slight build, and yet there was something striking about him that Darcy could not quite put his finger on. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that his eyes never wavered from Darcy's face. It was unnerving. Darcy dropped his gaze, ostensibly to hand Blakeney his glass.
"You only met my sister two days ago," he observed. Christopher took a sip, settled into his chair, and shook his head.
"We first met many years ago. She does not remember, though."
"Are you saying that you kept her in your mind all these years..."
"No." Christopher laughed. "I only mentioned it for the sake of accuracy."
"I see. You will pardon me, Mr. Blakeney, if I find it difficult to understand how you can have developed an interest in my sister so quickly."
"Of course."
Darcy waited for a more forthcoming response, and sighed when he did not get one. "Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Believe me, Mr. Darcy, if I could explain, I would. All I really know is that I like her, and I would like to know her better. If all goes well, I hope to marry her, and I thought you should know that."
"How considerate of you to inform me of your plans," said Darcy dryly. "What is her opinion in this matter?"
Christopher hesitated briefly. "I believe she is cautiously receptive. I would not bother her if I thought she did not like my company."
Darcy nodded. He sat back in his chair and continued to observe the boy over steepled fingers. He was rather impertinent, but there was nothing else really objectionable in his manner. But still something about him needled Darcy, warning him that there was something amiss.
"Tell me about yourself," he said impulsively. "I do not know very much about you beyond what your parents have said."
Christopher smiled. "I wonder then that you agreed to see me. You cannot have heard good things."
"Why do you say that?"
"I'm sure you know the circumstances."
"I do know about the incident with the French girl. I do not know what led up to that, or what has happened since. When a man seeks my permission to court my sister, I should like to know what he has been doing in the last few years." He had noticed Blakeney's demeanor change at the shift in focus. Instead of lighthearted sincerity, he now saw clouded defensiveness. A moment passed before the response came.
Christopher spread his hands helplessly. "There is not much to say. I came to London, where I met a man who taught me a trade. I supported myself until I chanced to ... come across my family again."
"What sort of trade?"
Again a hesitation. "Information," was the brief reply. He smiled impishly. "Gossip, if you will. If a person chances to hear the right information, he can usually make some kind of profit."
"Blackmail, you mean?" Darcy looked away and began toying with his pen. Christopher shrugged.
"Sometimes, when necessary. We usually tried to avoid that, though. It is not a very wise step; dangerous."
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "I must say, I am surprised you would be so forthcoming about this. You must know it is not exactly the sort of thing a man likes to hear when he is being petitioned for his sister's hand."
"No," Christopher agreed. "But I expect you will be hearing many different things about me. I know what sort of a ... notoriety I have, already, and I have not yet been back a whole week. People will talk. I think it is best I tell you the truth, rather than leaving you to speculate. If you have any objections to me as a suitor for Georgiana, I would like to address them openly."
"I do, actually, have an...admittedly short...list of objections. They do add up to something substantial, however." Christopher nodded, and Darcy went on. "The first, we have already discussed. I have only one more point regarding your past, and that is: what are your plans for the future? You cannot expect me to hand my sister over to someone who is involved in such dealings as you have described."
"Of course not." Christopher grimaced and sat forward. "I have not given much thought to what precisely I will do with myself. I cannot bear idleness, so I suppose I must do something. At present, my domestic situation is highly unstable; I hardly know whether I am coming or going. However, I can assure you that I would never subject your sister to the kind of life that I have lived for the past four years."
"Very well." Darcy nodded a reluctant approval. "The final objection, which I suppose will take care of itself given time, is your very young age. Georgiana is seventeen. You are barely twenty-one. How can I be assured that, given your volatile nature, and her inexperience, that this ... romance will last?" He expected the boy to be given pause, but instead Christopher cocked his head to one side and smiled.
"Is that a trick question, Mr. Darcy? I believe you underestimate me."
"Perhaps you overestimate yourself," Darcy countered, smiling. Christopher laughed.
"I am merely trying to avoid an argument over the semantics of the word romance. I like your sister for many reasons; perhaps her physical appearance is the least of them. I like her because she can converse intelligently, without having an inflated opinion of herself. I admire her ability to disagree without being disagreeable. I enjoy being with her. I do not think that will change." He paused, frowned, and looked down at his hands. "Her opinion of me is still undecided."
Darcy looked at him thoughtfully, finished his wine, and stood up. Christopher quickly followed suit, and they shook hands.
"I thank you for your candor, Mr. Blakeney," said Darcy. "I will consider your words very carefully before I make my decision. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you."
"Thank you, sir. Likewise."
Darcy then accompanied Christopher out of the study, where they met Georgiana and Josée, who were just coming out of the parlour.
"Here you are!" said Josée, looking much more cheerful than she had an hour ago. "I was just telling Miss Darcy about our party next week."
"I did not know you were here, Mr. Blakeney," said Georgiana, curtsying shyly.
"I am easy to miss," he replied.
"Would it be all right, Mr. Darcy, if I borrowed your sister next week for our party?" asked Josée. "It will be ever so much more fun with her there."
"Or you could both come," said Christopher. "Bring Mrs. Darcy too, and your cousin--as many cousins as you like. Josée's right, it will likely be a great bore, especially for me. My mother, you see, is inviting all of our family and friends to come and have a look at me, and the fewer people exclaiming over how I have or have not changed, the better."
"I never said it would be a bore! You will make them not want to come! Do not mind him, Mr. Darcy, but please say you will come."
"Very well, then, I shall," said Darcy, laughing. "Though I cannot promise that my cousins will oblige."
Christopher and Josée expressed their heartfelt thanks at this promise, then took their leave. After the door had closed behind them, Josée bounced happily down the steps. Christopher watched her dubiously.
"I take it your visit went well," he said. "Honestly, I did not know you valued Georgiana's company so very highly."
"You know, I do. I really do not think you could have chosen a better girl. How did your visit go?"
"Well, I think. At least Mr. Darcy does not seem opposed to me.....yet."
"Why so ominous? If he is not opposed, he is not opposed. And I have fixed everything with Georgiana, so...."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have undone any damage you did by telling her about the shooting."
Christopher stood very still. "Damage?"
She turned around to look at him. "Yes. I thought she should know the whole story, so I told her about Melissande."
"You what? Why..."
"Well, I thought she should know that there were extenuating circumstances that would explain...."
"You told Georgiana about Melissande. How much did you tell her?"
"As much as I knew. I thought it would make her more sympathetic...."
"More sympathetic? I don't want her to feel sorry for me, Josée. I don't want to give her excuses. My God! What if she thinks I sent you?"
"She does not think that." She waved the idea away and resumed walking towards their house. He quickened his own pace to catch up with her. "I don't understand why you would not want her to know about it," she said sullenly. "It's not as though she would not find out anyway. I suppose you don't intend to tell her about how Will forced you to marry Katie, either."
"Of course I would rather not, but obviously she will find out about it if we marry. The point is, I will tell her only when I think it is necessary, and when I am ready. That information is not yours to give, and I would appreciate it, Josephine, if you would not meddle anymore in my affairs." With those last seething words, he shoved the front door open and stomped up the stairs. Marguerite came out of the drawing room to see about the noise.
"What is the matter?" she asked, noting Josée's stricken face.
"I think I made a mistake," said Josée, then burst into tears.