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Chapter 20
Posted On: Thursday, 28 November 2002, at 11:54 p.m.
While Percy was getting all he could out of an unwitting Darcy, Georgiana was ensconced in a small sitting room with Elizabeth, Anne de Bourgh and Lady Cavendar, beginning the plans for her ball.
"I never realized how much goes into the preparation for one of these events," said Anne in a voice approaching enthusiasm. "Mama always handles those affairs at Rosings Park."
"Should there be a brass section, do you think, or would a string quartet be sufficient?" asked Georgiana, tapping a pencil on her chin.
"More importantly," said Julia mischievously, "whom shall we invite?"
Georgiana looked up at her in surprise.
"I thought perhaps all of you, my cousins, and a few of my brother's friends..."
"Oh, my dear," said Julia. "That will not do at all. This is your debut ball-you should have a whole gaggle of people to invite, even if you do not know them particularly well."
For the first time unsure of her scheme, Georgiana faltered.
"How are you so learned in this, Lady Cavendar?" asked Anne curiously. Taken off guard, Julia threw a quick glance at the girl, wondering if she shared any of her mother's venom. Deciding it was meant as an innocent question, she laughed airily and shrugged.
"Despite all reports to the contrary, there are such things as debutantes in Scotland," said Elizabeth, who, although warming to Anne recently, still begrudged anything even remotely approaching a slight to her old friend, Julia. "The Monroes are very well regarded."
"Or were," said Lady Catherine, entering the room. She was followed closely by Mrs. Bennet, who had taken to following her around, unaware that she was regarded by some people in the house as merely a replacement for Mr. Collins. The three younger ladies quieted immediately, sensing an attack on Julia's illegitimacy was coming. Luckily, before this could happen, Lord Montgomery also entered the room. He had slept off his drunkenness, but he now suffered the consequences, and peering blindly at each of them, eventually bowed to Georgiana and said,
"I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mrs. Darcy." Julia laughed outright. Georgiana looked startled. Elizabeth bit her lip in amusement.
"Foolish young man," said Lady Catherine unequivocally, and reached out to rap his wrist with her fan. "That is Miss Darcy."
"Oh. So sorry." He bowed in the general direction of all the ladies and said, "Your servant, ma'am," and moaning faintly, made his way to the sofa opposite them and collapsed into it. "What is the topic of the hour?"
"Georgiana's ball," said Elizabeth.
"We were just beginning to make up the guest list," said Julia.
"What about Mr. McGregor?" said Elizabeth. "We met him in Italy. He is a charming young man, and..."
"Lord Trenton's brother, ain't he?" mumbled Montgomery. "Never met the fellow, but if he's anything like Trenton, I wouldn't have anything to do with him."
"Much you have to say against Trenton, Michael," said Sir Brian, now entering the room. "From all I hear, your reputation matches his point by point."
Montgomery lifted his head to frown at him, and was caught unawares by Mrs. Bennet staring at him with her mouth wide open. His frown deepened.
"The Earl of Trenton," he said in as commanding a voice as he could muster in his present condition, "is the worst sort of libertine and scoundrel, whereas I merely..."
"Fine talk in mixed company," said Lady Catherine with a disdainful sniff. "I have heard no more said about Trenton than I have heard against Lord St. Clair, and.."
"Aye, ma'am," said Sir Brian solemnly. "Who is rumoured to have murdered his mistress...." He stopped when he noticed Anne's cheeks had become an alarming shade of red. Mrs. Bennet's handkerchief was fluttering helplessly as that lady tried to think of something impressive to say. Georgiana was pretending to be engrossed with the notes she had taken before the men had entered, while Elizabeth and Julia were engaging in some distracting small talk. "Perhaps you had better wait until Darcy returns to make your list," he said lamely. "It will be his invitation they respond to, after all..."
"Your wait is over, for I have returned," said Darcy, striding across the room to greet Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet never thought she would be relieved to see Darcy, but she sank into a chair with a deep sigh and finally managed a smile.
"Where have you been?" Elizabeth asked.
"Renewing a very welcome acquaintance. What are you discussing?"
"The guest list," she said in an ominous voice. "We have realized that, outside of our own families, Georgiana and I do not know whom to invite."
"Oh, well then, let me help you." He sat down between his wife and sister. "I just had a pleasant chat with Sir Percy Blakeney, and I have already secured his promise to attend."
"Oh, wonderful!" said Elizabeth. "I did not even know they were back in the country."
"I could never understand why an Englishman would willingly spend so much of his time outside of England. But I suppose that is what happens when he marries a Frenchwoman," said Lady Catherine.
"There was a Frenchman interested in Netherfield once," said Mrs. Bennet hopefully.
"Lady Blakeney is delightful," put in Montgomery helpfully.
"I did not know you had met them," said Georgiana.
"Yes, they attended many of the same parties we did," said Elizabeth. "I am sure you will adore them all. I trust they are well." She turned back to Darcy.
"Oh, yes. In fact, Georgiana, you must be expecting a visit from Miss Blakeney soon. She is very anxious to meet you."
Georgiana looked alarmed as all eyes turned on her.
"M-me?"
"Is there not a son, also?" asked Lady Catherine. "I am aware of all the fine families of England, and I am sure there is a son."
"There was," said Elizabeth. "But he..."
"I heard he ran off with some French slut and nearly ran his father into his grave..." Montgomery was interrupted by Darcy's,
"Well, of course that is not true, for Sir Percy has renewed the search for him. I doubt he would actively search for a person who tried to kill him, even if it was his own son."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes were now as wide as saucers.
"Tried to k-kill...?"
"Renewed the search?" said Elizabeth. "But was he not found in a river..."
"Must have been his French blood," said Lady Catherine, drawing herself up in her chair and pursing her lips primly. "No English boy would behave thus."
Georgiana, who had been following this exchange with rapt attention, blinked at her aunt.
"Does he expect to find the boy?" asked Elizabeth. "What was his name, do you know?"
"Blakeney, I'd imagine," said Sir Brian with a cheeky grin. The Darcys groaned; Anne tried not to grin too broadly; Montgomery snickered. Lady Catherine frowned at Sir Brian over the spectacles she now occasionally wore when reading.
"Young man, I cannot find it gentlemanly to make such a quip at a lady's quite sensible question."
Elizabeth gaped. She? Sensible? Lady Catherine seemed oblivious and went on.
"If he is alive, how old would he be now? Perhaps they will find him in time for Georgiana's ball. We cannot leave out any prospect, no matter how ineligible they may seem to us at the present."
"Indeed," murmured Julia, taking up some embroidery. "For all we know, he may have had a very good reason to attempt his father's murder."
"Pish," said Lady Catherine. "I do not believe that for a second, and it reflects poorly on your judgment if you do. If such a fantastically story were true, be assured, I would have known about it. As you know, I am acquainted with all the great families of England, at least through a third party..."
"I am glad to hear you defend him," said Darcy abruptly, "for I told Sir Percy that, if he should find him, he should certainly be invited to the ball."
"Very good," said Elizabeth, jotting down the names "Sir Percy, Lady Blakeney, Mr. Blakeney, and Miss Blakeney" on her paper. "Who else, Fitzwilliam?"
"Lord and Lady Danforth and all the Pearsons, Stephen McGregor, the Leiths, the Buchanans, the Alister Stanhopes, the Warringtons, and we mustn't forget Jocelyn Vaughan, then there are the Redmonds, and the Edwards', and the Bertrams, and the Ferrars' .. or perhaps not the Ferrars' .. and..."
Georgiana listened eagerly at first, sure her brother could not be acquainted with someone too far removed from her knowledge. But to her dismay, the list of names never seemed to end. Montgomery suggested the Churchills and the Crawfords, but Darcy vetoed both of them. Max Callahan wandered in and suggested the Mandervilles, who were added to the list. Sir Brian suggested the Strands, but Lady Catherine vetoed them. Lady Catherine suggested the Dalrymples, but everybody else vetoed them. They made up for this diplomatic error by agreeing to invite Sir John Preston, who was actually suggested by Anne, but Lady Catherine quickly led everyone to believe that she had suggested him. By the end of the day, Georgiana was extremely dizzy, and had neither suggested nor vetoed anybody.
After a few weeks, she had accustomed herself to the idea of having a great many people at her ball. After all, despite her promise to Darcy, her main goal was still to marry herself off as soon as possible. The idea of being introduced to so many people at one time was disconcerting, but thankfully Elizabeth, dear woman that she was, had noticed Georgiana's anxiety. She alerted Darcy to this, and he had complied at once by introducing a small group of people to his sister each week, so that by the time April and her ball rolled around, she would not be too intimidated.
She was startled one night to find a note on her pillow. There was no writing on the envelope, except for "Georgiana" spread generously over the front in an unfamiliar hand. She frowned at it and turned it over, wondering where it could have come from. When that proved fruitless, she opened it. Her stomach jumped a little; she definitely recognized the handwriting now. She did not know why he would write to her, or why he would disguise his writing on the outside, but not the inside, but she skimmed over the note anyway.
Dear Georgie,I have been thinking about you often. I cannot get you out of my mind, and then when I think I have finally succeeded, I have visions of you. I had one such vision nearly a month ago. You will not believe me, but I thought I saw you walking in the East End of London, arm in arm with a man I know your brother would never allow you to be introduced to.
I know this is a ridiculous thing to imagine, but I cannot seem to help myself. I fear the delusion will go so far as to make me think I really did see you. The only reason I have these visions is because I am worried to death with business and family concerns. I will be frank; it is bad. I find it hard to stay at home, because I cannot bear to hear Marcus crying so with hunger, but it costs too much money to be from home, so I am miserable.
I should like to see you, so you can assure me I did not see you. I am not sure what could convince me of that; it has been worrying me a great deal. I know you will think of something; you were always a smart girl.
George Wickham
Georgiana did not know what to think of this letter. On one hand, it was laughable, the way he tried so hard to be subtle. Did he not know that word about the incident had already spread? On the other hand, she was not blind enough to be unaware that the purpose of this letter was blackmail. Perhaps he meant to do more than spread tales this time. She knew a quelling response was in order, but what should she say? At first she thought to share the news with Mrs. Annesley or Elizabeth, but then she remembered the trouble Mr. Morgan had gone to, to protect her, and she knew that would not do. She threw the letter into the fire and went to bed. In the morning, it had completely left her mind.
As it was, the scandal lasted only a few more days before fizzling out. Georgiana could not be certain why she should be so fortunate, but she suspected a concentrated effort on her cousins' parts. She had seen Sir Brian and Max come in late one night looking very smug, and she was sure that had something to do with it.
Of all her house guests, only Lady Catherine and Anne remained. Georgiana did not mind, for at least she could confide in Anne, and Lady Catherine turned out to be very helpful when it came to details about the ball. She had been extremely offended when Darcy had said he would handle the social side of Georgiana's London come-out himself, but she was mollified now when he allowed her to visit Lady Jersey without him. Elizabeth was unsure of this decision, and told him so, but he explained that he only wanted her out of the house when Miss Blakeney called that afternoon.
Georgiana was prepared to like Miss Blakeney, though she found it difficult to be enthusiastic about anything lately. She had been told that her prospective friend was a year or two younger than herself, not yet officially out, and very friendly. These things did not quite prepare her for the actual girl.
When Miss Blakeney entered the room, accompanied by a woman who must be her personal maid, she waited through the unavoidable introductions with barely-concealed impatience. She was a pretty girl, with eyes that were almost too big for her face, and a pair of lips that she was constantly biting to hide a smile. Georgiana was unnerved by the way the girl stared at her, as though trying to size her up. She tried to smile in a friendly manner, which resulted in a giant grin appearing on Miss Blakeney's face. She stuck her hand out.
"I am so pleased to finally meet you, Miss Darcy," she said, shaking Georgiana's hand vigorously. "I have heard much about you."
Georgiana's eyes widened.
"Really? From whom?" She looked at her brother, who looked equally surprised.
"Oh, not from him," Miss Blakeney laughed. "From my brother. Don't you remember Christopher, Miss Darcy?"
Georgiana could not understand why Miss Blakeney was looking at her so intently. Flustered, she tried to remember, but could think of nothing.
"Oh, well," said Miss Blakeney, shrugging her shoulders airily, "I suppose you were too young. But he remembers you, I'm sure."
"Oh!" said Georgiana, surprised. She had not been aware they had found their prodigal. Darcy expressed his happiness at the news. Miss Blakeney smiled and explained,
"We are very happy that he is alive, of course. It will be difficult to reassimilate him into our lives, but we are hopeful."
"I expect your mother is very glad," said Darcy. "She seemed to have doted on him."
"Yes. It was easy to dote on him then." She looked wistful for a moment, then collected herself. "I must correct you on one point, Mr. Darcy. My mother does not know about it yet. You see, when my father located him, he was in a very bad state. He knew my mother would want to see him as soon as possible if she knew, so he has kept it from her. Only until Christopher recovers his health, you understand."
"Then how is it that you know?" asked Georgiana. Miss Blakeney grinned.
"Me? I know everything."
The next few minutes were spent in congratulations and well-wishing. Georgiana was disappointed in herself for not appearing more interested in the news. She really was most sincerely glad for the Blakeneys. She could not understand why she must forever feel so listless. She had the uneasy feeling that it might have something to do with Mr. Morgan.
"Oh, what are these patterns, Miss Darcy?" Miss Blakeney exclaimed suddenly, having moved further into the room to look at what was strewn all over the table. "Are these for your ball gown?"
"Yes," said Georgiana shyly. "Mrs. Darcy and I were trying to come up with something.... They are only first ideas, but..."
"Oh, they are lovely! Do you have the material picked out? Or a dressmaker?"
"Actually, my cousin has an interest in sewing, and she has asked me to allow her to..."
"Ah, I see. Yes, I am sure it will be lovely. What about the material?"
Georgiana led Miss Blakeney to where they had several samples nailed to a board.
"They are all different shades of blue, and some white, but I cannot decide..."
They passed a very pleasant half hour while Miss Blakeney decided for her. By the end of the day, the girls were confirmed best friends.
Christopher flattened himself against the wall and risked another glance around the corner. After spotting his quarry, he leaned back again and waited, counting,
"Right, left, right, left..."
Just as the man turned the corner, Christopher pounced. One hand grabbed the man by the cravat, the other clamped over his mouth--Christopher had no desire to get arrested only because this was collection day.
"What the..." the man blustered when Christopher finally loosened his hold.
"You remember me, Mr. Cuthbert," he said easily. "I did you a great service in the matter of your wife, and I was wondering if perhaps you had forgotten the way to my office."
"You don't 'ave a office, you greedy little whelp, you 'ave a hovel! And I already paid you."
"Aye, a fraction of the price we agreed upon. I have the contract you signed right here." He waved a paper in front of the man's nose. "Ten pounds, not ten shillings. Can you read?"
"I don't have it with me..."
"Then you start your day with no money in your pocket? Dear me, that must be terrible. Let me see if I can find something for you..." He reached into the man's coat and pulled out his wallet. His eyebrows went up as he turned around to rifle through it. "Twenty pounds! This must have escaped your notice..." He turned again to dangle the note before the man's eyes.
Mr. Cuthbert momentarily had the look of a trapped rabbit before saying triumphantly,
"That's for me rent, which is a sight more important than..."
"To you, perhaps. Oh, stow it, I don't have change for a twenty, anyway. But if you don't have it to me by tomorrow, I'll have to sell your debt to a real moneylender, and you wouldn't like that, would you?"
Mr. Cuthbert made an obscene gesture and stalked away. Christopher sighed heavily and rubbed one eye sleepily with the heel of his hand. He hated this method of making money, but what could he do? People never seemed to pay if they could get away with it. At least Mr. Cuthbert was not the type to resort to fisticuffs. He was aware he was not yet well enough recovered from the beating administered by Wickham's henchmen for that.
He wondered if Wickham's henchmen had been paid yet.
Just as he was turning the corner where another of his non-paying customers lived, he came face to face with Sir Percy and had to suppress a groan. He did not need this right now.
"What do you want?" He could not help the weariness in his voice, and he immediately regretted the brusqueness of the question, but he lifted his chin defiantly.
"Merely to talk with my son. Why was it so necessary for you to bully that man?"
"He has something I need."
"So you took it from him?"
That must have been what it looked like from this distance. Christopher flushed, but knew the truth would be even more humiliating, so he merely grinned and walked on. Sir Percy kept pace with him, not saying a word, but eyeing him warily from time to time in a disconcerting way.
Christopher spun around suddenly and asked,
"Why don't you go home, Father? We've lived without each other for four years..."
"Most of which time, we each thought the other was dead. I don't think that counts, Chris. I have a lot of questions."
"I don't want to talk about it. As you can probably tell, I haven't exactly been having a jolly good time."
"Understandable, I suppose. But you are still my son, and I thought you should come home."
Christopher snorted.
"What, like this? A dirty peasant in the drawing room of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart.? I don't think so."
"Would you rather live as you are now for the rest of your life? In a one-room apartment with Katie and her children, none of whom share the same father? When you have all you can do to scrape together enough money to feed yourself, let alone a wife and three young children. Where none of your neighbours even know your real name? Look at yourself. Christopher Blakeney, heir to one of the largest fortunes in Britain. Would you really rather live like this, than come home to me and your mother?"
In the heat of his argument, he had grasped Christopher by one shoulder. Christopher now pulled away and said with equal heat, if not the same conviction,
"I had rather live by my own merits, than come home groveling to you and my mother. Keep your fortune, Sir Percival. All I want is..."
"What do you want, Christopher?" came another voice from behind Percy. Christopher's words stopped in his throat as his sister suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere. He reddened and looked down, very aware of his shabbiness next to her elegance. "I made a new friend today," she added with a wicked smile. "Her name is Georgiana."
Christopher's eyes flew back to Percy.
"Thank you very much, Judas." Percy cocked his head to one side.
"No, I believe that term applies only to someone you believed to be your friend at one time or another," he said thoughtfully.
"I used to revere you as a demi-god," Christopher said caustically, one eyebrow going up.
"And having failed to attain that height of perfection, of course I must be sunk to the utter depths of depravity. I see." Percy nodded.
"Oh, you two are so stupid sometimes," said Miss Blakeney. "I vow, you likely cannot see each other without bringing out the same old arguments again and again. It gets very boring, I'll tell you! You do not even wait until you are out of the street to do it anymore!" She shook her head disgustedly. "Men!"
Christopher threw his head up and said with a faintly mocking smile,
"You are both welcome to my ... hovel ... for tea, if you please."
He had not expected to be taken up on his offer, or to be offered the use of the carriage in return. Every minute increased his awareness of how poor a picture he must present next to them, and he longed to at least be in something clean. Once they stopped in front of the bakery, he darted up the stairs to be certain they had tea and places for his father and sister to sit. There was still only one chair, alas, but he was able to find some tea in his stash under the bed, and he triumphantly set the water on to boil just as they approached the door. There was still some dashing around to be done, in the way of clearing the table and chair, making the bed presentable, and hiding any dirty laundry under the bed, but at least Katie was not here, and Sir Percy and Josephine were soon sipping tea in relative comfort.
"There is going to be a ball," Miss Blakeney remarked after a few minutes of awkward silence.
"At this time of the year? I am all astonishment."
"No, next April, silly. Papa thinks you should come."
Christopher looked perplexed. "Why?"
"It is a good opportunity to reintroduce you to society."
Christopher smiled and stirred his rather weak tea.
"I think society would be all too interested in me."
"Really? And since when do you dislike attention?" asked Percy.
"Why didn't Mama come?" Christopher tried to change the subject.
"She does not know yet that we have found you. I thought the ball would be the ideal place to tell her. Much more comfortable."
"Da-er, dashed unfair to her, though. Are you saying you want to keep me a secret from her for four more months, merely to..."
"Don't start again, Christopher," said Miss Blakeney. "Please. I only want to know if you will come to the ball."
Christopher glared at Percy then said,
"I suppose I must."
Miss Blakeney clapped her hands and bounced up and down in her chair. Christopher began to hedge.
"I haven't danced in ages. I don't have anything to wear." But they laughed at him.
"La! We have five months. We can go over your steps when we visit again, and we can take your measurements today and have a new suit made up. In fact, I brought some measuring tape just for that purpose."
"What? You planned this?"
Miss Blakeney only giggled in response and handed the measuring tape to Percy, saying she could not in good conscience take the measurements of a grown man. Christopher was beginning to be nervous about this as Percy guided him to the center of the floor and told him to take off his coat. He hesitated too long, and Percy had to help him. Christopher smiled reluctantly.
"I don't know how I got trapped into this. Do you think all this can be scraped off in five months?"
"I intend to make a heroic effort," said Sir Percy. "Lift your arms." Christopher did so, instinctively obeying. "That is," he amended, "I mean for my valet to make a heroic effort."
"Never say you mean to lend me Peters? Very generous of you."
"No. Peters died nearly a year ago. Sudden heart failure. I am training his son now, Peters the second." He was standing behind his son now, trying to measure his back. This would not have been difficult, if his impeccably starched cuffs did not have a way of catching in the material of Christopher's shirt. He flicked his wrist, intending to toss the cuffs out of the way, but this time snagged the shirt with his wedding ring.
"What are you doing?" asked Christopher, flinching slightly as Percy tried to shake it off. His sister was laughing helplessly and trying to sip her tea at the same time.
"Oh, devil take it," Percy exclaimed, losing his patience with gentleness. He grasped the shirt with his other hand and yanked it off. There was a small ripping sound. Percy did not hear it; his attention was on the scars he had exposed on Christopher's back.
"What did you do? This happens to be one of my better shirts," said Christopher, scowling at his sister.
"You needn't lament the fact," said Miss Blakeney merrily. "We will get you a new one."
"Don't bother. I think I can pay for my own clothes. Are you nearly done back there?" He inhaled sharply as Sir Percy ran his finger down one long scar.
Sir Percy straightened, one hand still firmly on Christopher's shoulder, and looked blindly at his daughter.
"Josée, I would be more comfortable with you outside."
"But Papa..."
"Go."
Josée left hurriedly, casting one backward glance at her brother, who was now looking very scared. When she was gone, Percy turned Christopher around and stepped back.
"All right. Off with the shirt. I want to see the damage."
"But Father, surely, when you brought me here that night... you must have seen..."
"Your friends Sam and Lucy took care of you that night. I want to see now."
"I would rather not." Christopher was pale, but he had that stubborn look about his face. Percy stared at him in disbelief, then swore.
"Whipped?" he demanded. Christopher winced but made no move to answer. "Why? When?"
"About three years ago." He ducked his head and made the familiar gesture of rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.
Percy was already beginning to calm down. His first fear was that Christopher had done some awful thing that had merited a whipping as punishment, but now he realized that if that were the case, he would probably still be in jail for the same crime, besides which, he would not have had time to start a family with Katie.
His eyes widened as it came to him: Katie. Of course!
He looked at Christopher again, still standing there, his head bowed. Percy decided a change of subject was in order.
"Well," he said a little too brightly, "I think the new suit shall have to wait. Only until you gain some weight, you understand. You are skin and bones, and I hope there will be an improvement before the ball." There was no answer. He said hesitantly, "Chris?"
"I didn't do anything," Christopher said quietly. "I have done other things, but..." He cleared his throat. "No rape. No murder."
The relief Percy felt was almost a tangible thing. Christopher looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of it on his face, and his own expression changed to indignation.
"Well, thank you for your faith in me!"
Percy was glad of the show of spirit, but he must defend himself.
"I decide based on what I know, Christopher. I can hardly be expected to have faith in something where there is no evidence of it."
Several minutes later, Josée poked her head around the door and frowned.
"At it again, I see. Will you two never stop? What are you bickering about this time?"
"Oh, nothing," said Christopher. "Except that my own father thinks I am bred for the gallows."
"Which says little for me," said Josée. "Considering."
"Josephine Louise!" exclaimed her father, laughing despite himself. "Mind your tongue. I did not say anything about the gallows, Chris."
"Firing squad, then," said Christopher pithily.
Josée looked from one to the other and made a decision.
"I think Papa and I should leave now, before you do serious damage to each other. It was lovely to see you so feisty, Brother. Come along, Papa."
She pecked Christopher on the cheek, then left the room once again. Christopher smirked at Percy.
"Who is the parent, and who is the child?"
Percy sighed.
"I do seem to command a sad lack of respect from my children. Before you say what you are obviously thinking, Chris...."
"Don't call me that."
"..I would just like to put in another word about that ball."
"I said I would go."
"Yes, but you didn't mean it, did you?"
"I think it would be interesting..."
There was a shrill scream that sounded like Josée. Father and son glanced at each other, then leaped for the door. It swung open, barely missing Josée, who was huddled on the stoop, sobbing. Percy took her in his arms and risked a glance down. For a moment, he was too shocked to speak. Curious, Christopher came to see what it was. He muttered a mild oath.
Katie was lying on the ground, motionless.
Sir Percy motioned for Christopher to see if there was anything to be done, but he balked.
"If she is dead and people see me with the body, they will assume I killed her. If she is not dead, she will assume I meant to kill her. Either way..."
"Take your sister, then. I will check," said Percy crossly, and handed Josée to him. She huddled against his chest, still sobbing.
"It was an accident," she said, shivering from the cold as well as the shock.
"I'm sure it was."
"She's alive," Percy called from down below. Josée wept louder, too relieved to say anything. Christopher sank his face into her curls, his own emotions mixed: disappointment that Katie was not dead; guilt because he could not empathize with his sister's relief; fear that he was as depraved as his father so obviously thought.
Percy carried Katie upstairs and laid her on the bed. She looked oddly vulnerable this way, and almost they could understand why so many men fancied themselves in love with her.
"Quite a minx you married, Chris," said Percy.
Katie stirred suddenly and, opening her eyes, smiled.
"I shan't die after all. Bad luck. Maybe next time...Chris."
For Georgiana, Christmas was the only notable exception to a rather tedious winter. Once again, the Darcys spent the festive season in London, this time with the Gardiners, de Bourghs and Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam as guests. It was a jolly time, and if Georgiana was quieter this year than usual, it escaped the notice of most people.
Sir John Preston became a regular visitor, much to Anne's delight. After each visit, she and Georgiana would sit up together and analyze everything that had happened, trying to find any sign that he was interested in Anne. This was not difficult for Georgiana, who believed the two to be destined for each other, but Anne was hesitant to believe anything meant he had a preference for her. Georgiana was often frustrated with her cousin during these discussions, but she supposed it could not be helped, particularly since Lady Catherine had made it clear that Sir John was to marry Georgiana, and the poor man had all he could do to keep Lady Catherine happy, as well as try to give Anne some signal that she was actually his preferred choice.
April finally came, and with it, Georgiana's ball. All of her relatives, except Richard, came, even Andrew Darcy all the way from Cornwall, and the Duke of Carrington, all the way from his perpetual deathbed. Lord and Lady Danforth were there, as well, with all of their various children and grandchildren. All in all, it was a splendid crush. But the master of the house, one Fitzwilliam Darcy, stood off to one side, in a deep panic.
It had not been so bad when he and Elizabeth had stood together, greeting the guests. It had not really sunk in until Mr. Avery had led Georgiana out for the first dance. Then he had stood, watching, as his baby sister took her first real steps into Society.
He was still standing where he had stood before, barely noticing Elizabeth's irked glance when he neglected to claim her for the dance before Lord Montgomery could come up with them. With his wife safely dancing with his cousin, Darcy wandered outside for some fresh air. A few moments later, he heard steps behind him, and turning, saw Charles Bingley looking at him. He smiled ruefully, if indiscernibly.
"Come to check on me, Charles?"
"Jane said you might be feeling badly."
"Your wife is a wise lady."
"Your wife is miffed, I think, Darcy. Really, what were you thinking, allowing her to be swept away by Montgomery?"
Darcy did not reply. His attention was fastened on two young men coming up the drive. One very dark, and the other just as fair, they walked slowly, casually, taking the time to observe everything around them. They were both strangers to him. Darcy felt the hair stand up on his neck, a familiar danger signal. The dark one looked in his direction and stopped abruptly, turning to address his friend. Darcy strode forward hurriedly and came within hearing distance in time to hear these words, spoken laughingly:
"No, I have to perform some social niceties. You find him, observe him, and report to me. In two hours."
"Excuse me, gentleman," said Darcy, staring at them from his most formidable height. "What is your business here?"
"Run along, Sam," said the dark one again, but his friend stayed put, looking quite amused. "I am here for the ball," he said to Darcy.
"I do not know you," said Darcy.
"Well, no, you wouldn't, would you? I would prefer you did not announce me, but if you need to know my name before you allow me to enter, it is Christopher Blakeney. Does that satisfy you?"
"Quite," said Darcy, thinking this young man needed to be spanked. "I have heard of you, Mr. Blakeney. I count your father as a very good friend. My name ... is Darcy."
He had the pleasure of seeing the boy lose his colour and stammer,
"Oh. Well, hello, Darcy. I d-did not..." He collected himself all at once and grinned, suddenly amused. "Gad, you look like a butler. Actually, you bear a marked resemblance to an old retainer at my father's house. Especially about the chin...." He reached out to put one hand over the upper half of Darcy's face, then yelped, jumping back as if in a fright. "Oh! Forgive me. I thought I was seeing a ghost."
"Most amusing," said Darcy in his least-amused voice. "And who is your friend, sir?"
"Oh, this is my ... my valet. Run along, Sam, do."
The other young man was busily suppressing his laughter, but he managed a travesty of a bow, and said,
"You'll report to me, too, eh? I wouldn't wanna miss nothin'."
He ran off just as Bingley came up with them. He and Darcy glanced at each other, then back at Blakeney, who had not taken his eyes from Darcy.
"You'll be wanting to find your parents as soon as possible, I collect," said Darcy, preparing to walk with them into the house.
"So I am told," said Blakeney, looking down as if to be sure he was all in order. Darcy smiled and led the way. He had been surprised by the appearance of the Blakeney prodigal, not so much because of the suddenness of it, but because of how little he resembled the rest of his family. All of them were fairly robust, and fair, while this young man was just short of being frail, and quite dark. He was hoping to see more of a resemblance once they had more light than what the moon afforded.
He was gratified, once they were inside, to find he actually had quite a lot of his mother about him. The resemblance to his father was faint, but it was there, especially about the eyes, which sometimes looked as if they saw more than what was actually there. These eyes were turned on Darcy again and the boy said,
"I think I was told this ball was in honour of your sister, Darcy. Where is she?"
"She is there, dancing. She will want to meet you, I think."
Blakeney laughed somewhat nervously.
"No, I doubt that. She is a great deal younger than you, is she not?"
"Yes."
"In fact, you have been her guardian for some time, have you not?"
"Yes. I share that position with my cousin."
"Yes. And I'm sure you do a very good job of it." A slight pause. "Do you not?"
Darcy looked at him suspiciously, but the boy was smiling quite amiably, and did not at all look as though he was trying to goad him.
"I do my best," he said modestly.
"Yes, I am sure you do." Blakeney sighed and looked away. Darcy was frowning at him now. He could not be sure, of course, but he thought he had detected a sort of bitter resentment in the boy's tone. He could not know about Wickham, of course, but his questions had seemed to be leading in that direction.
He noticed now that Blakeney's eyes seemed to be fastened to Georgiana, who was still dancing with Mr. Avery. That would not do at all. Darcy cleared his throat.
"I believe your father is in the card room, Mr. Blakeney. If you like..."
The boy started and, tearing his eyes from Georgiana's smiling face, said,
"Oh, no. No. I think I can find my own way. Thank you." And so saying, he started off in the opposite direction. Darcy shook his head. No wonder Sir Percy had had so much trouble managing his son.
Georgiana could not understand why she was not enjoying herself more. She was dancing with Sir John Preston, who was a fine dancer. They were talking about their favorite subject: Anne. That alone should have cheered her--she would have welcomed a declaration of love for Anne, almost as much as Anne herself would have. But beyond the basic enquiries, she found she had nothing to say to him, nor he to her. She was constantly searching for something to say, while he was constantly searching for Anne.
She began looking for Elizabeth in the crowd, wondering if she was enjoying the success of the ball. What she saw instead nearly stopped her cold in her tracks. The amusement vanished from her face, and she looked back at Sir John at once. She did her best to put her mind to remembering where she was in the dance.
Maybe she had been seeing things. He couldn't have been real--it was impossible, to think he could have somehow snuck his way onto the grounds and into the house. She looked again, and just as she had reasoned, there was nobody there. Only now did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She tried to concentrate on regaining her breath.
"Are you all right, Miss Darcy?"
She looked up at Sir John and managed a smile.
"Yes. Thank you. I am just a little tired. Do you think we could..."
"Of course." He led her away from the dance. "Miss Darcy, may I ask you a question?"
"You already have," she murmured, then looked up at him, horrified with herself. What if he did not understand her humor? But he was smiling, thank heaven. She must remember not to make the same mistake with someone else, though. It was not good to show sarcasm to such a new acquaintance.
"I have another question, besides," he said gravely. "About your cousin."
"Which one?" she asked, suppressing a smile. He grinned, but continued in that grave voice,
"It is about Miss de Bourgh. Would you know if...I mean, does Miss de Bourgh find me repulsive?"
Georgiana blinked. How could he think that? Anybody could see how Anne adored him if they only looked at her. But perhaps he was unsure of himself because he was not so handsome as some men.
"No, of course not," she replied. "Why would you think so?"
"She seems to be avoiding looking at me." He glanced to where Anne was dancing with Sir Brian.
"Oh, that is only because Brian is so very good at making people pay attention to himself," Georgiana said, with a careless shrug. "Besides knowing how to put Anne at her ease. She is very shy."
"She barely speaks to me. I have not been able to coax more than two words out of her at a time."
"Again, it is merely shyness." Georgiana paused, then ventured, "May I ask why you are so interested in my cousin?"
"She is interesting," he said carefully, but saw she was not satisfied. He sighed. "I would like to know what she is like away from her mother."
"That is something nobody knows," said Georgiana dryly. "She has never been away from Lady Catherine."
"The woman is a dragon," said Sir John in the first show of real feeling she had ever seen in him. Her eyebrows went up, and she blinked. "I'm sorry. I should not have spoken so." His eyes lowered, he went on, "I knew a woman once, very like Lady Catherine. She was.... I cannot stand to see anybody, especially someone so timid as Anne, terrorized by people like her."
"Then...it is not love you feel for my cousin, but...."
"I admire her, certainly," he said quickly. "But love...love is a fantasy. I would prefer to offer her something more tangible."
"That is a great pity, Sir John," said Georgiana. "Because I know my cousin...she wishes for love."
He looked at her levelly for a few minutes. Then, smiling, he bowed over her hand.
"Thank you for your honesty, Miss Darcy. I am in your debt." He left. The dance was over, and he must search out his next partner.
Georgiana sighed. No longer desirous of dancing, she headed onto the terrace. She would not tell Anne about this. It would be too big a disappointment for her. Then again, maybe she should know that Sir John was definitely considering her for his bride. But would she want that, without his love? Georgiana knew she could never accept somebody, knowing that was how they felt. She held herself tightly as she went over the conversation again. As his words repeated themselves over and over in her head, she began to feel pity for him. What must have happened, to make him so cynical about love?
Wearying of such depressing thoughts, she latched onto the fact that he had referred to her cousin as "Anne." That, at least, must mean something.
Still wrapped up in her thoughts, she did not notice that someone had come up beside her until a husky voice said,
"A beautiful picture. But too sad, I think."
Once again, Georgiana jumped. She had been convinced that she had been seeing things. But here he was, standing beside her.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed. Wickham laid a hand on his heart and said,
"Would you exclude your oldest friend from your debut, Georgie? I came to see how you were keeping yourself. As beautiful as ever, I see."
Georgiana narrowed her eyes and tried to move past him.
"I am going to find my brother. If I were you, I would not stay any longer."
He blocked her path with a hand on the rail on either side of her.
"If I were you, I would not avoid me any longer."
"Avoid you? That shouldn't even be necessary, considering what my brother told you the last time we were all together. To be honest, you don't occupy enough of my mind to let me even think about avoiding you."
He raised an eyebrow at her, still not abandoning his threatening pose.
"Did you not receive my note?"
"Your note?" Her face was a blank, then she remembered. "Oh, yes! I am so sorry, I forgot about it. I hope you do not want it back; I do not have it anymore." She hoped obtuseness would drive him away.
"You know very well I want something else entirely," he growled, finally turning away in frustration. A few seconds passed before he had composed himself again. He turned to smile at her. "I suppose you took exception to the tone."
"Your tone is always objectionable to me," Georgiana said coolly. He ignored her.
"I am sorry. But things were so desperate at that time, I could not help myself. You are the only person I can turn to on these matters."
"Perhaps that is because you already owe money to everybody else."
"I am serious, Georgiana. You are the only person I trust. The only person I know, who could have pity on me. Because I know you, Georgiana. I know you could never bear to think of a child in distress, especially when you could help him."
"If you care so much about your child, why are you not with him now?"
"I was not talking of my child," he said in a low voice. Georgiana stared at him, her breath beginning to shorten again.
"You would not dare."
"You think not? I am surprised. You of all people should know how much I will .. dare. I am sure there are many people who would pay dearly for a son of their own. That is, of course, if your brother were unwilling to pay a ransom, which I am not sure he would be. But what would he say, if he learned that you could have prevented it?"
Georgiana glared at him, her jaw clenched in anger. She smiled sourly.
"Well, Mr. Wickham, you give me no choice but to inform my brother right now..."
He pushed her back towards the railing.
"Your choice, Georgie, is to do as I say, or else."
"Or else what?"
Wickham and Georgiana spun around to see who had spoken. At the sight of Mr. Morgan standing in the shadows, Wickham stepped between him and Georgiana.
"What are you doing here, Morgan?"
"Do relax, Mr. Wickham," said Mr. Morgan, leaning lazily on the rail. "I am not here to seduce or in any way harm Miss Darcy." He directed his gaze at Georgiana and said, "You have my word on that." He looked back at Wickham and smiled saucily. "But it appears that you are here to do just that...if you have to. Do go on; I was enjoying the show. You had just said, `Or else.'"
He folded his arms and moved a few inches back, as if to give them space to perform. Georgiana and Wickham glanced at each other in some confusion, then stared back at Mr. Morgan. Completely abandoning his scheme for the moment, Wickham stomped over to glare down at him.
"What do you think you're doing, following me in this manner?"
Mr. Morgan laughed.
"What makes you think I followed you?" he asked incredulously.
"You have been following me ever since the night we met, despite the numerous times I have warned you not to do it again." He waved a finger in Morgan's face. "You know very well what happens when.."
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Morgan, forcing Wickham's hand down. "I know very well what happens when you fail to do your own work.. No, Miss Darcy, there is no need to fetch your brother. Mr. Wickham was just leaving."
Georgiana stopped where she was, and looked back at them. They were still glaring at each other, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. Finally Wickham sneered.
"I ought to take you to the police right now. Whose corpse did you steal those clothes from?"
Georgiana had noticed that Mr. Morgan appeared different tonight, but she had not yet noticed the reasons. She paled as she realized Wickham must be right: the clothes were most certainly stolen. Somebody like Mr. Morgan could never afford them, no matter how lucky he was at cards. To her dismay, he only laughed at Wickham's accusation and threat.
"That is for you to speculate, Wickham. I never tell." He looked Wickham up and down. "That is a very nice suit you have, as well."
Georgiana choked unexpectedly on a laugh as Wickham stepped back a few steps.
"I think you had better go, George," she said, still unable to keep the tremor out of her voice, though this time it was from suppressed laughter.
"Very well," said Wickham grudgingly. He took Georgiana's hand and would have kissed it, had she not drawn back immediately. "We will continue our conversation later."
"Or else," said Mr. Morgan sweetly. Wickham only growled at him on his way out.
After he had gone, Georgiana approached Mr. Morgan, who was looking smugly after Wickham. She hissed,
"What are you doing here?"
He glanced disconcertedly at her then switched his gaze to an examination of his boots.
"I don't know," he said quietly, to Georgiana's extreme dissatisfaction.
"Oh, that's very fine," she said sarcastically. "In ridding myself of one blackguard, I acquire another. What do you want from me?"
He stood up straight now, and glared at her.
"Listen to me, Georgiana. I am not George Wickham."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Well, you can't be him, because he just left," she said dryly. He held his glare for a moment, then laughed abruptly.
"You are right about that. And I am the one who sent him away. Remember that, will you? I need to ask you something."
"Then you do want something from me."
He scoffed and shook his head incredulously.
"If I did want something, do you think I would ask permission first?"
"I need to get back to my guests," Georgiana said, turning her back to him.
"Oh, but you can't, not looking like that."
"Like what?"
"As though you'd swallowed a lemon. Am I really that distasteful to you?"
"Yes," she said firmly. He laughed.
"Well, before we do anything else, I need to claim my reward for ridding you of Blackguard the First."
"What do you want?" she asked warily.
"A dance."
"What?"
"No, don't tell me you've twisted your ankle. I've been watching you for the past hour, and you are a tolerable dancer, I suppose.." She gasped in indignation, but he went on. "Well, you are right, you need to return to your guests. But I need to ask you something, and this is the best way to do so without inconveniencing anyone else."
"But the next dance is..."
"Taken already? Let me see your card. Oh, well, that is perfect--a waltz. Very good. With Gregory Vernon. Oh, but he was removed quite awhile ago. Had a bit too much to drink, you know. Those Vernons never could hold their liquor." He clucked his tongue. "What a shame. But that leaves the next dance free so I may claim my reward."
She grabbed her card back, indignant.
"You are insufferable," she said, but allowed him to lead her in, anyway. She caught Fitzwilliam's eye, desperately trying to make him rescue her from this situation, but he only smiled approvingly at her and went back to the conversation he was having with Sir Percy.
"Your brother, I presume," said Mr. Morgan, following her gaze. "I don't think he will be coming to your rescue any time soon."
"If he knew who you were, he would come quickly enough."
"I'm sure he would. How much does he know?"
"Not nearly all. All that nonsense you told Max forced me to lie to him. It is very uncomfortable, especially when he is so kind to me."
"Max or your brother?"
She raised her eyes to his.
"This is not a subject for teasing, sir."
"Do you know how lovely you are when you are behaving especially prim?"
"I'm sure you want to tell me."
"Not at all; I do not like it. I wish you would stop."
"So do I."
"Then why don't you?"
"I wish you would stop!" she said, frustrated. "You...! Why don't you tell me what you wanted to say, so we can stop this farce?"
"Very well. What did Wickham want from you?"
"Why must you ask me that?" she asked, frowning up at him.
"I'm warning you, Georgiana: I will not leave you until you answer me."
She clenched her jaw, angered by his familiarity, but decided he had a point.
"He thinks I will give him money whenever he asks."
"Why would he think that?" His hold on her had not been very firm before, but now she thought she detected a distinct tension. Armed with this premonition, she was able to restrain a gasp when his other hand tightened around her fingers. He was angry. Why?
"Because he is conceited," she answered shakily. "I do not see that it is any of your business. How long have you known him?"
"Almost a year, but that does not signify. As you can see, neither of us cherishes the acquaintance."
"Why are you here? Did you actually follow him?"
"No, not precisely. Does he always threaten so clumsily?"
"Yes. But he has done nothing."
"Hmm." He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Georgiana sighed. His dancing had been perfect moments before; now he seemed to have lost his concentration, and they were dragging terribly.
"Why are you here, then, if you did not follow Wickham?" she asked again. She was glad when he shook himself and returned to dancing.
"I am here to see my father," he said, smiling a little sheepishly.
"Really?" She was surprised at how interested she truly was. "You arranged to meet him here?"
"He arranged it," he nodded. "That night I..when you..well, he followed me home, you might say. He was persistent, and finally we agreed to meet here for a civil discussion." He smiled ruefully. "He wants to introduce me to my mother."
"You've never met her?"
"Of course, but she thinks I'm dead...or some such nonsense. He tried explaining it to me, about a body in a river, but he wasn't very coherent. He takes pride in that sometimes." He looked annoyed. Georgiana grinned.
"Oh, so that is where you get it."
"What?"
"Your unintelligibility. You seem to take delight in confusing people."
"It can be amusing," he conceded, ruining his solemn mask with an impish grin. Georgiana bit her lip to try to hide her smile, but it was useless. He was still charming. She swallowed hard before saying,
"Is Mrs. Morgan well....and the children?"
He looked at his feet before answering, as if wondering what was the best response.
"I suppose an apology is in order, for my behaviour that night--for the whole episode. I should not have taken your feelings for granted the way I did."
Georgiana only sighed; she noticed he did not mention the lying, or his wife. He continued softly, a shy smile in his eyes,
"Am I forgiven?"
"I accept your apology," she said reluctantly, "because it is the gracious thing to do. I can hardly not accept it, can I?"
"Perhaps not."
The dance ended and they broke away from each other. Georgiana pretended to have an urgent problem with her gloves, while he stuffed his hands back into his pockets and pretended to survey the room.
"Could I have a private word with you, Miss Darcy?" he asked, his voice oddly distant, his eyes still avoiding looking at her. "There are some things I would like to tell you."
"I do not think you and I should be alone together, Mr. Morgan. It would be highly unseemly."
"I see. Ever so proper. Very well, then, I shall have to simply wait for a chance meeting."
"What do you need to tell me?"
"Something very important, I assure you. Two very important details about myself, that I think you would like to know. But I cannot tell you here--it is not the right setting, you see, and..
"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" she snapped. "Why not just tell me and be done with it?"
"Why indeed?" he murmured, looking up and seeing Darcy headed their way. "But now is not the time. Are you thirsty? Allow me to fetch you something to drink." He quickly headed in the opposite direction just as Darcy came within hearing distance.
"Well, Georgiana," he said, looking after Mr. Morgan's retreating figure, "how did you like your dance partner?"
"He is altogether too charming," she said angrily. "There ought to be a law about that."
Darcy laughed.
"Well, I think by now it is time you met the source of your inquisitiveness. Sir Percy Blakeney, this is my sister, Georgiana."
Chapter 23
Posted On: Tuesday, 25 February 2003, at 11:37 a.m.
Georgiana looked up into a pair of laughing blue eyes, and instantly felt it would be impossible not to smile back. Sir Percy bowed lazily over her hand while Darcy performed the introduction.
"My sister has been quite eager to make your acquaintance," said Darcy.
"I cannot imagine why; she did not find me so interesting when she was a girl." Georgiana blushed. Sir Percy continued, still half-teasing. "No, she found the company of my son much more amusing."
"Oh, was Miss Darcy a friend of Christopher's?" said a female voice from behind Percy's shoulder. Georgiana was now introduced to Lady Blakeney, who again brought up the subject of her son once the introduction was made.
"I did not know he had any friends in Richmond. He was not there very long before he went to school."
Georgiana looked at Lady Blakeney helplessly. She had vague memories of having rocks thrown at her by a small boy, and of scolding him soundly, but beyond that, she did not know.
"No, I was not able to make a very close acquaintance with him," she stammered.
"Somehow I don't think he feels the same way, judging from what I saw," said Darcy. His tone was light, but Georgiana sensed a note of warning. She hoped Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney would not notice the disapproval, and smiled graciously at them.
"I was quite young," she said apologetically.
"That must have been the day he came home talking about those silly walnuts. I never did see one of them," mused Sir Percy. "He was quite taken with you, Miss Darcy. He would have been very hurt if he knew you did not remember..."
"Oh, I'm sure Miss Darcy is kind to everybody she sees, and you are making her feel guilty," said Lady Blakeney, smiling warmly at Georgiana. "We cannot expect her to remember everything, can we?"
"Memory is a tricky thing at best," said Sir Percy, suddenly solemn. "Sometimes, I have trouble remembering even what I am wearing." He looked innocently from one to the other of his small audience, then asked with feigned petulance, "If you ladies are thinking it should be a simple matter of looking down, then you have obviously never had the misfortune of wearing one of these." He motioned with his cane to his cravat. Darcy chuckled. Lady Blakeney smiled mischievously and said she would have no personal objections.
"But you really must not ask Miss Darcy to wear one."
Georgiana was momentarily bewildered, but soon realizing it was only a joke, laughed abruptly. The interview would have gone on with more jollity, but they were joined at that moment by Miss Blakeney, who reminded Sir Percy of something he had to tell his wife. The two of them went off together, Darcy wandered away to rescue Elizabeth from Lady Catherine, and Georgiana was left alone with Miss Blakeney. The younger girl seemed unusually quiet this evening. Her eyes were searching the room for something--or somebody. Georgiana attempted to distract her by asking if she was having a pleasant time.
Miss Blakeney started and looked at Georgiana as if just realizing she was there. Then her eyes lit up, her mouth widened into a grin, and she said enthusiastically,
"I am enjoying myself excessively. I have never been to a real ball before, except once when I was four or five, my brother and I sneaked in to watch, and he got tipsy." She laughed and Georgiana giggled timidly, uncertain what to think. "I am sure your brother never did anything so silly," Miss Blakeney finished, sobering herself slightly when she realized Georgiana seemed more startled than amused. Georgiana smiled.
"I shall have to ask him later."
Miss Blakeney smiled, obviously still amused, but trying to seem more subdued and less frightening. "There seem to be a great many men in your neighbourhood. I have never danced so often in my life."
"But this is your first ball, after all," said Georgiana.
"Yes, but I have been to parties and such. Assemblies, and one masquerade in Italy, but that was only because I could wear a mask, and I left before midnight. But even there, I did not see so many people."
"Well, most of the people here are my relations," said Georgiana modestly. "We are very clannish."
"I see," said Miss Blakeney, her expressive blue eyes sparkling. "I do not have such a large family, I'm afraid, and all of them live in France. I love being among all these people, though." She brandished her dance card, which appeared to be full, and giggled, though her giggle was actually more of a loud laugh. "There seem to be more than enough partners to go around. You have never been without, have you?"
Georgiana shook her head.
"You even danced with Mr. Ffoulkes," Miss Blakeney continued, making a poor attempt at nonchalance. Georgiana smothered a smile and said absently,
"Did I?"
"Yes, and he rarely dances."
"I must count myself fortunate, then."
"Indeed."
"Such a fine young man," Georgiana sighed. Miss Blakeney sucked in her breath and glanced at her in consternation. Then she grinned and waved her fan threateningly.
"You mustn't tease me, Miss Darcy. I am not used to it from you."
Georgiana laughed. Miss Blakeney's expression sobered again, and she resumed her perusal of the room. Georgiana sighed and followed her gaze. Brian and Sir John, talking to Anne. Her brother and Elizabeth flirting with each other. Lady Catherine looking quite put out. Mr. Morgan talking to Max. Lady Danforth haranguing her grandson.
Her eyes flew back to Mr. Morgan and Max, and her heart plummeted. What on earth was he doing? If Max recognized him as the fictitious "Mr. Marlow," everything would be ruined!
Max Callahan was in a hurry. It was vital that he return to the bewitching Miss Hersh before the next dance, and it all depended on how quickly he could fill two glasses with wine, then navigate back through the crowd. The wine poured quickly. Success! Then he--gracefully, he hoped--took one glass in each hand, and turned around on his heel.
To come into a near-collision with another young man who appeared to also be in a hurry. Wine sloshed over the tops of the glasses. Max lifted tragic eyes to the young man before him.
"Oh, I am sorry. I'm sure I can pay for any cleaning..."
"Don't worry about it. I think more has gotten on the floor than on me, in any case."
"Oh. Very true. Dashed nuisance. Um..." Introductions must be made, but his hands were full. Botheration. There was nowhere to put the glasses, so he smiled ruefully and tried to summon some charming nonchalance. "Max Callahan," he said, and instinctively extended his right arm. The newcomer dodged the sloshing wine, then touched his own glass to Max's.
"Christopher Blakeney. Salute."
"Ah, thank you. Oh! Blakeney! Yes, I remember now. Thought you looked familiar. Weren't you at Eton?" Max watched curiously as the wary look faded into amusement.
"Sent down."
"Oh. Well, yes, now that I recall, you were. Well, it wasn't your fault, so no need to be sorry for it."
"Oh, I'm not."
Max hesitated a moment, but seeing it would be impossible to navigate this crowd without baptizing somebody in wine, decided to stay and reminisce here.
"You were a few years ahead of me. I believe I was assigned to you for a short time, when I first arrived. But I don't suppose you remember little Max Callahan."
"Of course. You were the red-headed nightmare with the unfortunate tendency to bring stray puppies to school. What's the Max for?"
"What?" Max blinked.
"Maxwell? Maximus?"
"Oh." Max grinned. "Maximilian. But everybody calls me Max."
"Why?"
"I don't know. That's what everybody always called me." Max frowned. "Christopher's a rather long name. Doesn't anybody call you Chris?"
"Never twice. Well," he amended, "except my father. He knows it irritates me, so he calls me that quite often."
Max laughed. Surprised, Blakeney stared at him. Max sobered immediately.
"Why does it irritate you?" he asked, all seriousness, and absently took an olive from the table.
"I am not a child. I don't need a nickname."
Max popped the olive in his mouth and considered this.
"That makes sense, I suppose," he said.
Georgiana was close to panicking. She smiled politely at something Miss Blakeney said, then tried to surreptitiously glance to where Max and Mr. Morgan were still talking. How could she stop them, before Max realized who he was talking to? That wicked Mr. Morgan was undoubtedly enjoying himself hugely at poor Max's expense.
She jolted out of her reverie when she realized Miss Blakeney had stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly.
"I am so sorry. I was not attending. What did you say?"
Miss Blakeney smiled and followed her gaze to land on Mr. Morgan.
"I was going to compliment your fine taste in jewelry," she said, turning back to Georgiana with a significant look at her necklace. She smiled archly. "But perhaps you found other matters more interesting."
Georgiana's hand flew to her necklace. It was the one Mr. Morgan had given her. She had not meant to ever wear it, but it had chanced to go perfectly with her dress. She bit her lip, then realized that Miss Blakeney was now also staring at Max and Mr. Morgan. She had a sudden idea.
"No, I have been very remiss. I should be introducing you to people, since this is your first ball." So saying, she led Miss Blakeney to stand directly between the two young men. "Max, this is Miss Josephine Blakeney, just returned from Italy. Miss Blakeney, my cousin, Mr. Max Callahan."
Max looked surprised, but because he was not blind, and Miss Blakeney was a very pretty girl, he lost no time in making himself agreeable to her. Georgiana looked triumphantly at Mr. Morgan, but was surprised to see him still looking quite pleased with himself. Miss Blakeney also looked at him and immediately her already-delighted smile brightened. His expression apparently conveyed some sort of warning, however, so that she only said,
"I was surprised to see you here. I did not see you arrive."
"I would have been extremely put out if you had," he replied.
"Then you know each other?" asked Georgiana, and was at once disconcerted by the amused looks on their faces. Max exclaimed,
"Well, of course they do!"
"I am surprisingly difficult to place sometimes, though, so perhaps Miss Darcy's surprise is understandable," said Mr. Morgan gravely, giving her a look that made her want to scratch him. He handed her one of the glasses he was carrying, and she succeeded in darting a look of contempt over the rim as she took a healthy swallow.
And immediately started choking.
"What is this?" she gasped. Max jumped to pound her back. Dismayed, Mr. Morgan took the glass back, then looked from one person to the other in confusion.
"You gave her yours by mistake," said Miss Blakeney helpfully.
"Oh, Lord, now she'll be drunk," said Max.
"From one sip?" said Mr. Morgan scornfully, then proceeded to apologize abjectly when Georgiana, in changing from mortified gasps to giggles, abruptly hiccoughed.
"It is not worth the fuss," she said.
"Though this one went perfectly white," said Miss Blakeney, jerking her thumb at Mr. Morgan. "Anyone would have thought Miss Darcy to have been expiring."
"I very well could have been," said Georgiana, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.
"If you like, I will down your ratafia as a punishment," said Mr. Morgan.
"That will not be necessary, thank you."
Max then struck up his conversation with Miss Blakeney again, and Georgiana successfully detached Mr. Morgan from them.
"You must leave here at once," she hissed, all but pushing him into an adjoining room.
"But Miss Darcy, you are too cruel," he said, coming to stand directly in front of her, and much too close for her liking. "I have not yet spoken to my father, much less my mother. Besides which, cherie....you block my way."
"Could you not have met somewhere else?" she asked fretfully, moving away from him.
"It was not my idea, I assure you." He watched her wistfully for a few moments, then said, "I am sorry if I am ruining your ball. I will promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night, if you will only allow me to call on you tomorrow."
It was said with a diffidence she had not known he possessed. She looked at him doubtfully, almost wanting to accept him tomorrow without the added condition, but knowing she dared not.
"I cannot think why you would want to see me anymore," she muttered.
"I don't. I mean, I didn't. But it has become necessary, and...I wish to explain a few things."
"What? Do you mean your wife, for instance?"
Once again, Georgiana had the opportunity of seeing him change from endearingly earnest to seethingly furious in all of ten seconds. He closed the distance between them and, catching her wrist before she could hit him, said in a very low voice,
"If you think I came here to force my presence on you, you are sadly mistaken."
"You came to meet your father," she all but sneered. He stepped back and, as if he had been reminded of something awfully amusing, smiled mockingly.
"Indeed. I don't think you will believe this part, either, but what if I told you I had intended to avoid you for the entire evening?"
"You do not seem to be doing a very good job of it."
"Well, things happen. And when those things are named Wickham, I...." His head jerked up suddenly as if he had heard a noise. "But that is neither here nor there. Somebody is coming, so unless you want to be thoroughly compromised, I would suggest you leave right now."
Georgiana blinked at the rapidity of his words, but understanding the basic need for urgency, hid behind a curtain next to the door. Just as he had warned, the door opened and somebody came into the room. It was a feminine someone who said,
"What are you doing in here all by yourself?"
"Bracing myself, I suppose."
"Oh. Well, I hope you're ready, then. I think Mama suspects..."
"Suspects what?"
There was a lull, then a gasp. Out of curiosity, Georgiana peeked around the curtain to see what was happening. There were two feminine shapes in the doorway now, and one seemed to be supporting the other. But she could not see who they were.
"I don't think I shall faint just yet," said the second woman with asperity, then stretched out her hand. "Christopher..."
Once again panicking, Georgiana took the opportunity afforded by the two ladies' progress into the room, and slipped out the door behind them.