Such Peculiar Providence Read online

  Requesting a pot of the cheapest tea on the menu, Lizzy turned to her sister and re-evaluated their options.

  “The Parker house was small,” she began.

  “Too small!” Jane dismissed it. “Two rooms? Be reasonable, Lizzy!”

  “It would not house all of us, of course,” Elizabeth conceded. “But perhaps if we sent Lydia and Kitty to the country...”

  “Send them away?” Jane was horrified.

  “It is not ideal...”

  “It is not to be considered.” Jane was rarely adamant, but when she was, she could be just as firm as Elizabeth. There would be no arguing with her on this point. With an expansive sigh, Elizabeth sank into her seat.

  “Then I do not see there is any solution for staying here!” She shook her head. “We have both of us been through the accounts, Jane. There is not enough income to obtain and sustain a house in London fit for all six of us, no matter how conservative.”

  “Perhaps Aunt and Uncle Gardiner...”

  Lizzy shook her head vehemently.

  “We have already imposed on them enough. It is one thing for them to offer us lodgings temporarily, but we cannot expect their hospitality to last indefinitely. Besides, their house is hardly big enough for their own children, let alone all of us in addition!” Lizzy laughed, but her words had their roots in truth. It had been a delicious game to the Gardiner children, to have their five “big cousins” to stay, but as time wore on, she could only see the situation becoming increasingly untenable. It was what had encouraged her to go out today, never mind the weather, and follow up on a few properties she had thought potentially suitable. Aunt Gardiner had been horrified at Lizzy’s suggestion of going alone, pleading with her to wait until Mr Gardiner could see to matters on their behalf. Lizzy was nonetheless adamant about taking an active role in their search and had brought both Jane and Mary with them for the day’s investigations.

  “What has Mary got to?” she asked, peering around Jane towards the doorway in hopes she might see the figure of her sister.

  “She stays behind a few paces with Uncle Gardiner, discussing some pertinent detail of the last property we viewed,” Jane said, a tiny crease in her forehead suggesting the merest hint of irritation at her sister’s actions.

  Elizabeth had been grateful for Jane’s company on their fruitless search, but she had been even more surprised by how helpful Mary had been. She had never before credited her younger sister with intelligence and was surprised to find her, in addition, a shrewd businesswoman. When potential letting agents attempted to blind Lizzy with figures, Mary was able to hold her own and add the numbers together correctly far quicker than Elizabeth would ever have managed.

  The door opened, admitting both Mary and Mr Gardiner, who glanced around the tea room, a little unnerved at being one of few gentlemen in the company of so many women. His relief was palpable when his eyes settled on his two elder nieces, and they joined to make a four.

  “Well, my dears! I think that a very productive afternoon,” Mr Gardiner said, with a bright, cheery smile.

  Lizzy’s own smile was a little pained, and she could see Mary did not smile at all but frowned even more fully than Jane had moments earlier.

  “Come, now, do not fret!” Mr Gardiner said, hurrying up a fresh pot of tea and two clean cups for him and Mary. “We could hardly expect to find the perfect home straight away, could we?”

  We had the perfect home, Elizabeth thoughts, sourly. We might have it still, if not for that odious Mr Collins.

  “You are all to stay with us, at Gracechurch Street, for just as long as you wish!” Mr Gardiner continued magnanimously. “And anyway, it will soon be the assembly, and you surely will not wish to think of rents and rates with such a treat on the horizon.”

  This was balm indeed, and Jane was the first to brighten at the mention of a local assembly. Mrs Bennet would still be in morning, of course, but she was adamant that her daughters go and have a good time. It is what your dear father would wish for, she had offered, in justification. Lizzy had bit hard on her lip to stop from asking if any of this, really, was what Mr Bennet might have wished for, had he lived. He had not lived, and grieving or not, they must find some way to move forward with their lives.

  The mention of the assembly provided ample scope for conversation, and despite her anxieties, even Lizzy found herself joining with her sisters’ speculation as to what form the dances might take. Surely there would be new music that had not yet travelled as far as Hertfordshire, which promise enlivened Mary’s features no end. Jane was excited to think of all the people they might meet, only pausing in consternation over the state of their wardrobes. Elizabeth placated her sister with the compliment that Jane would look beautiful clad in rags, and Mr Gardiner, acknowledging his utter ignorance with regards to the modes of feminine attire, nonetheless congratulated himself on being blessed with five beautiful, elegant nieces, who were more than a credit to their mother.

  This effusive compliment ended their tea with laughter and smiles all around, and Lizzy felt her hopes lift, a little. They had not made the progress she had hoped for when they set out this morning, but with the promise of an assembly on the horizon, and her uncle’s reassurances that all was not yet lost, it would not do to surrender to melancholy just yet. As if the weather itself had eavesdropped on their conversation, they were pleased to find the rains ceased, and the clouds at last beginning to clear, as they set forth from the tea shop. As if sensing there was one more thing he might offer his nieces, in an attempt to raise their spirits, Mr Gardiner paused, stroking his whiskers as if the thought had just that moment occurred to him.

  “I say, my dears! Now that the weather clears, perhaps we might take a circuit of the park on our way back to Gracechurch Street.” His eyes caught Lizzy’s, and he smiled. “I can imagine at least one of you is homesick for a little greenery hereabouts...”

  “NO... NO... NO...!” Darcy’s grumbles grew louder with every line he read, his frustration giving volume to his words. Eventually, with a tortured groan, he threw the note aside and snatched up his own pen, determined to write a response while still incensed enough that he might vent his anger on the page. Jamming his pen angrily into his inkwell, the motion succeeded in dripping ink in all directions, ruining a perfectly good piece of paper, and causing him to cast the pen aside just as quickly. Absentmindedly, he blotted out the stain and forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. It would do him no good to write angrily to his agent. The man seemed utterly incapable of carrying out even the most sensible of instructions, what good would a page full of angry corrections do?

  There was a knock at the door, and he barked in response.

  “Come in!”

  “Mr Darcy, sir, Jones is here to see you.”

  The butler looked anxious to be broaching Darcy’s sanctuary when his master was evidently less than well-disposed to see him, and Darcy relented, striving to keep his vexations under wraps.

  “Well, send him in, then.” He swept his failed attempt at writing aside and turned in his chair so that he was facing the door when his estate manager came in. The man looked out of place in the halls of Pemberley. Usually, when they had business to discuss, Darcy rode out to his house, or the two met out of doors. For him to have risked coming not only up to the house but even so far as his master’s study, there must be a pressing concern indeed. A stout man pulled his hat off his head and twisted it nervously in his thick fingers.

  “Is something the matter, George?” Darcy used the man’s Christian name, in hopes it might settle him. If anything, this attempt at familiarity had the opposite effect, and the man flinched.

  “Forgive me disturbing you, Mr Darcy,” George said, at length. He still would not lift his eyes to Darcy’s, but traced the pattern of the parquet floor first in one direction, then the other. “It’s the storm, sir. It has wrought a deal of damage to the houses about the estate. I’m afraid repairs are more than I can manage, with the team we have on a
t present. I would need to hire more...”

  “Then hire them.” Darcy was dismissive.

  “Aye, sir, but before I do, I wish to discuss with you the matter of their wages. It’ll be casual work, for the most part, but some repairs will require skilled craftsmen, and securing their hours at short notice will not be without cost.”

  “We are capable of compiling the list, surely?” Darcy asked, his eyes snaking back to the letter he had thrown down in anger. Money. It was always money.

  “I have worked a rough list already, sir,” George said, thrusting a creased pile of papers towards Darcy, and daring, at last, to raise his eyes. “I’ll do nothing without your say so, but I’d be grateful if you could look at the matter with some urgency, sir.”

  Darcy’s hand closed around the bundle, and he nodded.

  “Of course, George, I’ll see to it right away.”

  Thinking the matter concluded, Darcy was surprised that the man did not leave straight away, but hesitated still longer on the floor of his study.

  “Was there something else?”

  “I thought you’d like to know, sir,” George said, faltering a little as he spoke. “We had a new arrival the other night. Brought on by the storm, I don’t doubt.” His lips quirked and Darcy detected a change in his voice. His own irritation receded a fraction, to see his manager, his friend, moved enough by this news to want to share it.

  “Well? Do not leave me hanging, George. What of the babe? And your wife?”

  “Both hale and hearty, sir,” George said, the quirked lips becoming a beam of satisfaction. “A boy, sir. My third. Named him Harry, after my brother who was lost at sea.”

  “A fine name!” Darcy congratulated him. “And I am grateful to you telling me, for I am sure Georgiana will want to send something to celebrate the new arrival. Now, leave these papers with me and go home to your family, George. You’ll not work anymore this afternoon.”

  “But-”

  “Go on home, take some rest,” Darcy said firmly. He turned back to his desk and waited to hear the click of the door as George took him at his word. His smile faltered, once he was alone again. He glanced over George’s figures, mentally tallying an amount that was not unreasonable, given the strength of the storm. Many of these tasks had been left undone for some months and had already been in a state of some disrepair, so it was not too far beyond the annual figure that would cover upkeep to the estate. It was, however, unexpected. Darcy reached for the letter from his London agent again, and sighed, going back over it rather more carefully this time. He had barely reached the end, when his door flew open once more, the lack of knock indicating it was Georgiana without Darcy even having to look up.

  “I just saw George Jones!” Georgiana said happily, glancing over at Darcy’s desk. “Mary had a boy, William. Isn’t that lovely?”

  “Wonderful,” Darcy muttered.

  “Goodness, such enthusiasm!” Georgiana said. “I’m going to put a basket together, and wondered if you might like to accompany me in delivering it.”

  “Now?” This was enough to lift Darcy’s gaze, and he looked up in time to see his sister frown.

  “Not right this instant! Perhaps in an hour or two?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “Very well.” He sighed, almost without realising, but it was enough for Georgiana’s attention.

  “What a mountain of paperwork you are shuffling through!” she said. “Every time I come here you are doing battle with some ledger or another.”

  “What a shock!” Darcy remarked, dryly. “Considering this is my study, and where I tend to my business.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes skywards as if the notion of business was so utterly dull as to require no further comment.

  “Alas,” Darcy continued. “It seems that this particular business will not be successfully managed from my study or any other room in this house. I think, Georgie dear, I must go to London.”

  The thought had only just occurred to him, but spoken aloud, he grasped the sense of it still more. The trip to London was not swift, and would not be inexpensive, but considering the meal that had been made of his last instructions, the opportunity to give them face-to-face might be worth the investment of his time and pocketbook.

  “I would offer to accompany you,” Georgiana said, “but if the visit is to be all business I am afraid I will leave you to see to it alone.”

  “I thought you might,” Darcy said. He glanced at the window, doing some calculation in his head. “What date is it?” he asked.

  “My brother the businessman, who can hardly keep the calendar in his head.” Georgiana chuckled. “It is September the ninth.”

  “In that case, I will definitely set off for London. I wager I may see Charles Bingley there so that the journey might not be all business.”

  The mention of his friend cheered him and gave his planned outing rather more interest than merely checking up on his wayward agent. “I shall not be gone long, Georgie. Will you manage here without me?”

  “I shall strive to,” she said, with the ghost of a smile playing about her features. “Only do not stay away too long, will you?”

  “Do you fear to lose me to London?” he asked, the notion striking him as amusing. “The endless round of society balls and making nice with people I have little interest in knowing better? Dear me, how will I tear myself away?”

  With a droll laugh, he let go his grip on his letters and turned to Georgiana.

  “Well, as my business will be conducted in person, rather than by pen, I suppose I am free this afternoon. Come, show me what you wish to send to Mrs George. I like your idea of us walking down together, to visit them. It has been too long since I called there, and I know you struggle to stay away from babies once you know there’s a new arrival on the estate.”

  Georgiana beamed and slid her hand into the crook of her brother’s elbow, and together the two walked out of the study to the kitchen.

  Chapter Three

  “Well, this is good news!”

  Caroline Bingley did not look up at her brother’s words, instead leaning closer to her book, as if by hunching her shoulders she might successfully keep his interruptions at bay. She had no such luck, alas, for, having received no immediate response from his sister, Charles tried again.

  “I say, Caro. Did you see this?”

  With a long sigh, Caroline slid a marker in between her pages and closed her book, looking across the empty expanse of the sitting room to the small desk, neatly positioned near a window, where her brother resided, attending diligently, but not at all quietly, to his correspondence.

  “Did I see what?”

  “This letter.” Charles held the paper aloft. “Did you see it?”

  “It is not addressed to me,” Caroline said, drily. “And I am not in the habit of reading letters that are not addressed to me.”

  “It’s from Darcy. You recall Fitzwilliam Darcy, my friend. Tall fellow. Dark. Scowls a lot.”

  Charles attempted to imitate Mr Darcy’s habitual frown, but such an expression resting on fair-featured, even-tempered Charles Bingley was as unnatural as it was comical and he abandoned the attempt.

  He need not have clarified, for at the mention of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Caroline’s breath had caught and her heart began to beat at twice its usual pace. Recall him? Yes, indeed, she recalled this particular friend of her brother’s very well. Tall, handsome Mr Darcy would have been of interest to Caroline Bingley even without the additional knowledge that he was worth upwards of ten thousand a year, had a charming sister, Georgiana, owned a fine property in the north in addition to his London townhouse and, most importantly, was not yet married.

  Caroline wet her lips, her voice strained when she spoke again.

  “Is he - is he well?”

  “Have you ever known him to be ill?” Charles asked, with a laugh. He scarcely noticed his sister’s discomposure, but stood and walked over to where she sat, reaching her in three long strides. He passed the
aforementioned letter to her directly, that she might read for herself Mr Darcy’s intelligence.

  Caroline’s hand trembled as she took the note and she willed herself to focus. She had always despaired of young ladies who turned into fluttering nincompoops at the very notion of falling in love. Not only that, she had certainly not spared them her scornful commentary when she observed their fussing and fainting. Now she was in danger of joining their ranks. She smoothed the letter over her knees and began to read.

  Charles -

  How neat Mr Darcy’s penmanship was! Not at all like her brother’s slapdash hand.

  Business seeks to call me to London and as it seems likely I will stay in town at least a few days in order to justify my journey I wonder if I might contrive to see you and your sister while I am there?

  And your sister! Caroline barely read the rest of the short note, which contained little of interest to her feminine sensibilities, dwelling instead on details of business and sport such as would appeal to Charles. Still, she faithfully forced her eyes to travel down the length of the short epistle, all the while hearing Mr Darcy’s invitation echo around and around in her mind. He wishes to see us. Both of us. Not just Charles, but your sister as well!

  Butterflies trilled into flight in Caroline’s stomach, and it was with some effort she arranged her features into the bored disinterest she knew her brother would expect to see upon them as she folded the letter and returned it to his waiting hands.