A Wife for Mr Darcy

attractive, accomplished, and two of her sisters have five sons between them, and I must have an heir.” Following a long pause, he continued, “Mercer, please hail a hackney.” After taking one last look in the mirror, he added, “And so it begins.”

Miss Montford looked pretty in pink. It was her best color, greatly complementing her fair complexion, blue eyes, and blond hair, and Darcy expressed his admiration for her new dress. After making sure her coiffure was new, with the curling about the face that Georgiana had described, he mentioned that as well, and after a series of such compliments, he saw it: a full smile. And she had all her teeth! Not always a given, so that was a relief.

“I see you have made some new sketches, Miss Montford.” He assumed they were new, but since there were so many of them throughout the house, perhaps they had just been moved from another location. “You seem to favor St. Paul’s. It is Wren’s finest creation, so I certainly understand. I must say that your artwork is every bit as good as the artists who sell their prints in front of the cathedral.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Papa buys the visitor’s cards from the sellers for me, and I copy them in ink, charcoal, and watercolors.”

“You copy them? I had not thought. Maybe you should open your own stall,” Darcy said in jest, and Miss Montford responded with her half smile. So this is how it would be. Compliments merited full smiles, while jokes earned only half smiles. He would make a note of it. “You are so busy with all of your sketches, painting tables and screens, and embroidery, I wonder you have any time to read.”

“I read but little, sir, as there is nothing to show for it.”

At first Darcy thought she was joking, but then he took her meaning.

“It is true that there is nothing tangible produced, nothing to hang on the walls or drape over a chair, but ideas are real things. You only have to look at America, a new nation built on a foundation of ideas. Granted, they can be misused, as is the case with French revolutionaries, but they have their own power.”

Miss Montford nodded. “And how is Miss Darcy?”

So much for the power of ideas. He imagined with a father as hidebound to convention as Sir John Montford was, having “ideas” might be viewed as being dangerous, and unlike the Darcy dinner table, such things were definitely not discussed.

“She is very well and at Pemberley visiting with friends.”

“Miss Smythe?”

“No, actually new friends. If you recall, Charles Bingley is to marry Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn Manor in Hertfordshire. Georgiana’s guests are Miss Bennet’s sister, Elizabeth, and her aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. I found their company to be most agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner spent some of her youth in nearby Lambton, and Mr. Gardiner is an avid angler and eager to cast his line in Pemberley’s streams.”

“Are the Gardiners friends with the Bingleys?” she asked with that tilt of the head that made her look as if her head was weighted to the left.

“No. The Gardiners only know Charles Bingley through the Bennets. Mr. Gardiner lives on Gracechurch Street here in town.”

“And who is Mr. Gardiner?”

“Who is he? Do you mean what does he do?”

The puzzled expression returned. “I do not understand that question, Mr. Darcy. What do you mean by ‘what does he do?’”

“Are you asking how Mr. Gardiner earns his living?”

“Oh, he earns his living,” she said, clearly unhappy with the answer.

Despite Colonel Fitzwilliam’s claim that the integration of the wealthy merchant class with England’s upper class was well under way, not everyone had heard the news. In Sir John Montford’s world, merchants were “tainted by trade.” If you did not inherit your wealth, you were beneath his notice—and, apparently, in his daughter’s world as well.

“Mr. Gardiner is a coffee broker.”

Miss Montford shrugged her shoulders, clearly not knowing what a coffee broker was or did.

“Have you ever thought about the tea you drink every day, Miss Montford? It comes from faraway lands, China, India, Ceylon, on ships with towering masts and billowing sails, hugging the coast of Africa, and following the outline of the Iberian Peninsula before veering out to sea with its destination of Bristol or London. After the ship arrives in port, the brokers go down to the docks and bid on its cargo. In turn, the brokers sell their commodities to the merchants, who sell it to your housekeeper. It is amazing to me the things we take for granted as part of our everyday lives come to us from such great distances, including our coffee and tea.”

“That sounds very exciting. I have never given any thought to where my tea comes from, but I think I shall in the future.”

With that slight encouragement, Darcy recalled stories told to him by his father and governess as well as the journals and accounts of the great explorers he had read while at Eton.

“Those who faced the dangers of the open seas have been a subject that has always fascinated me. As a boy, I sailed with Captain Cook on his voyages of discovery to the South Seas and intercepted ships from the New World laden with silver and gold bound for Spain with Sir Francis Drake.” After a short pause, he added, “I am speaking figuratively, of course.” Surely, she knew that. Cook had died a few years before his birth, and Drake had sailed for the great Elizabeth, Regina Gloriana, in the sixteenth century.

And then the silence he so dreaded returned as Miss Montford did not know how to respond to his childhood imaginings. After a few minutes, Darcy fell back on the old reliable: the weather.

“Georgiana writes that the autumn colors at Pemberley are still quite beautiful. I think this may be the first autumn I have ever missed in Derbyshire.”

“Why did you not go with your sister?”

“Because there are people I wished to see in London.” Like you, my dear. That is why I am here. “This will be the first time my sister has acted as the mistress of Pemberley, but it is a small party and manageable for her first effort.”

“I imagine you wish you were in Derbyshire since London is rather dull at this time of year.”

“Yes, very dull.”

“Since your sister is alone and you wish to be in the country, maybe you should go to Pemberley.”

“Miss Montford, my sister is not alone. And I have been gone from London quite a bit of late, as you may have noticed, and I feel I may have neglected some of my… friends.”

“But, Mr. Darcy, you should not neglect your sister on anyone’s account. Papa would never permit me go to the country without a male relation.”

Neglect? Darcy wanted to laugh. This was absurd. Georgiana was in the company of a mature young woman and her middle-aged aunt and uncle and in the midst of an army of servants. His staff could have fended off a French raid.

“I have always encouraged Georgiana’s independence,” Darcy explained, and then he heard a gasp from Miss Montford. With a harsher tone than he had intended, he said, “You should not be uneasy on my sister’s account. There is always someone about,” and then he saw an opening. “But if it would make you feel better if I went to Derbyshire, I would consider it. However, I am perfectly agreeable to staying in town if that is what you would wish.”

“I can only say what my father would do, and he would go to Derbyshire to be with me.”

After another fifteen minutes of weather-related discussions—Letitia was predicting cooler temperatures with some rain and snow sometime during the winter season—Darcy took his leave. When he emerged from the Montford house, a hackney pulled over, but he waved him off. He needed to walk and to think. He had finally taken the first step in beginning a courtship with Miss Montford, and after paying her what was for him an excessive amount of compliments, she had encouraged him to leave town, which he was willing to do. There was only one problem. He could not go to Pemberley.

Chapter 22