Georgiana Darcy's Secret Letters Read online

  Georgiana Darcy’s Secret Letters

  Copyright © Francine Howarth 2019

  Coronet Press.

  All characters in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental: whether alive or dead.

  Real persons and places of note may feature.

  ~

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior consent of the author or the publisher.

  One

  ~

  Farthingly, Derbyshire 1812.

  ~

  “A hand delivered letter?” queried Georgiana, of the gardener, whilst quite assured the maid after having closed the door would not be with her ear to wood for fear of being caught.

  The gardener removed his hat. “A private courier, miss. In military uniform he were, an’ pledged me to keep the letter secret and see it reached your hands only.”

  “How strange. Why not simply bring it to the house?”

  ‘Tis none of my business, but I would say as how the young devil knew your brother were here visiting earlier this day.”

  “And you waited until my brother left before bringing me the letter?” As soon as said, she sensed the gardener thought her question a matter of his engaging in her clandestine activities, and that was untrue. “I can assure you I have no notion who it is from.”

  “I’d say as how it’s from an admirer, and seeing as I did see your brother ride out through gates a short while back, I thought I had best come as soon as able. Course, I also knew Lady Belle is away to Chatsworth House this day.”

  The gardener twirled his hat between his fingers. Was it a sign of wont for coin?

  “Wait one moment and I will fetch recompense for your kindliness.”

  “Heavens no, young miss. The officer gave I a whole shilling to keep me jaw closed.”

  “Officer? Could you determine his rank?”

  “Lieutenant, and a handsome blighter to boot. But what I’m wondering is, whether the flowering peas is to your liking. They’re new here at Farthingly. First time of growing ‘em. ”

  “Oh yes, yes, indeed, they are lovely and oh so fragrant.”

  “Well, so long as they pleases you, I’ll be getting on me way.”

  Shoulders stooping, his trousers tucked into canvas buckled gaiters, his dress smart but wear-worn, the gardener made his way to the door, hat in hand.

  “Thank you for bringing the flowers.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Darcy.”

  Whilst he closed the door behind him, in that moment Georgiana glanced at the letter, and pondered: who would send her correspondence in covert manner?

  In normal circumstances she would have opened it there and then, instead she sought to escape the sparse reception room, the one in which Lady Belle always held court with her estate bailiff, the local vicar, and other parishioners who thought themselves of some importance. It was a functional wood-panelled room with a table, padded chairs, and a settle. It was also the room in which her ladyship stored her treasured array of schooling and driving whips, her riding and driving boots. It was the room she would enter first on arrival back from Chatsworth, having prior set out in her curricle. It was not a place to be caught reading correspondence from an unknown source, for Lady Belle Sanders was as curious as the next woman, more so if she sensed deception afoot. She would be akin to her Scots terrier when he had a rag between his teeth worrying it to shreds.

  Hastening along the corridor she met Hamish en route. He was clearly returned from his walk with a footman and in search of his mistress. “She’s not here, little one.” Not that Hamish took note and scurried past her, and by the time she had reached the foot of the oak staircase, Hamish swept past her and led the way to his mistress’ favoured sitting room adjacent to her bedchamber. On reaching the sitting room door she opened it for him just as the footman appeared in haste and in search of Hamish.

  “Ah,” said he of middling thirty, of slim build in dark blue livery, and a broad smile, “you beat me to it.”

  “That or listen to his whimpering, and I noticed his paws were spotless.”

  “Washed, towel dried, and spoilt rotten by cook with treats.” The footman’s eyes alighted on the letter in her hand. “Did the post boy mislay letters again and returned on his way back to town?”

  “No, it’s—”

  Dark ebony eyes met hers with a noted sparkle of mischief. “Ah, by private courier.”

  “Well yes, and it’s a rather delicate situation.”

  “Whilst out walking Hamish I noticed the soldier cantering over the rise, and be assured I have not set eyes him or that missive.”

  “Thank you, Riley, but it is all rather silly, for I simply do not know who it is from.”

  The footman bowed and backed away. “I shall not reveal the young man’s identity. Else it would spoil the letter.”

  “You know who it is?”

  “I do, and a fine young man at that, his father too.”

  “I so hate secrets and here I am longer than was planned in stay at Farthingly because my brother and Lady Belle are harbouring a secret. It is one I fear, if I return to Pemberley, I shall let slip and spoil what is, presumably, a happy marital household.”

  “There are times secrecy is called for, and we are all acquainted with the dilemma prevailing in Mr. Darcy’s covert visitations. It will pay off when a happy outcome is realised.” He nodded to the posy of flowers. “Would you like those placed in a vase?”

  “Yes, I would. I had thought to stick them in the wash bowl for now.”

  He stepped forward and claimed the posy and sniffed. “My, they’re fragrant.” With that said, Riley bowed again and retreated, and she glanced in at Hamish snuggled on his favourite foot stool. Thus she hurried to her bedchamber. Its aspect through the leaded lights to parkland as pleasant as the overall ambiance of the room, its bed furnishings in shades of pink and jade green stripes interwoven with vines and leaves. The Queen Anne chairs were upholstered in cosy dusky pink velvet as were two foot stools. A comforting room all told.

  Settling in the nearest chair to the window, an escritoire at its rear, she carefully dislodged the wax seal and unfolded the sheet of paper.

  ~

  Dear Miss Darcy,

  It is with regret I write to you in this somewhat clandestine manner, though I feel it will afford you the opportunity to weigh the consequences, rather than had I chosen a more direct approach. In no way do I wish to compromise your sensibilities barring referral to our formal introduction whilst you were in the company of Lady Belle Sanders. Brief as that moment in time and forgive me, please, if my words imply conceit and arrogance, save for sentient notion you were not averse to my company, in fact to the contrary. Happen I construed more from your smiles and your eyes than is good for me. If that be so then feel free to knock me back with justified words of rebuke. I fear, since the regiment’s return from Portugal, I am somewhat rusty in social graces and the predilections of the fairer sex toward battle hardened officers. Therefore I shall in no way attempt to flatter you with fancy prose, and will trust to the honesty of this missive to deliver the utmost esteem for the charming young lady met within the hunting field of Wednesday last. Henceforth, if you feel able to oblige in mutual correspondence, such would please me greatly, and perhaps later we may enact same in person.

  Ardent for reply,

  Lt James Dolby, Viscount Welton.

  c/o Chatsworth, Bakewell,

  Derbyshire

  ~

  Heavens! What to do? Indeed, he was mos
t charming, and overtly pleasing to the eye— a little too pleasing, and how shameful of me that he noticed my eyes to his person more than is considered appropriate.

  Out of politesse a reply is a must, but what to say?

  In rising from the chair she reread his words, and in moving to the escritoire placed the letter aside and gathered together paper, quill, and ink, and began—

  ~

  Dear Lieutenant Dolby, Viscount Welton,

  How could one refuse an ardent in waiting on reply, and I thank you for your charming and honest missive. Honesty deserves like, and yes, our introduction was a brief encounter, and a welcome distraction from the tedium of waiting for hounds to flush a fox from cover. In all honesty when the inevitable occurs, my sympathy lies with the fox. Even whilst relishing the thrill of the mad chase I am all the while willing that lovely amber creature to a safe haven the hounds cannot reach. And more times than not I have become detached and have lost the field at the gallop and indeed seen the fox watching the hunt disappear into the distance, for I must be frank and say I will not and cannot put my horse to a wall. I don’t suppose you are familiar with my reluctance at leaping walls, but it is how my mother perished. I was but three and bit years old, so have little if any memory of the day other than hearsay. Also, a friend of the family fell likewise and crippled by a similar accident in later years and it scarred my mind. You will probably look on my reluctance as cowardice, and I will for a second time admit to shyness in the social world most young ladies take for granted as passage to securing a suitor and eventual marriage.

  Whilst I love the glamour and joy of balls and grand gatherings, I much prefer occasions of that nature from the perspective of watching from the sidelines, in the main because I find them overwhelming and end up feeling at odds with self. Out of place is the best description I can summon, and unless prior familiar with a gentleman I experience awkwardness when besieged by one or several wishing to mark my dance card. Where possible I will seek escape to a quiet nook, a terrace, or a place to hide away for long lapses in time. Unlike most young ladies I always carry a book within my reticule, thus time passes unnoticed and I can put in appearances now and again and no one is any the wiser. I expect that sounds terribly unrefined and dreadfully unsociable, but such is my means of enduring events I would not attend if given choice to do otherwise.

  That is me in a small nutshell and I bear no desire to present falsehoods and prompt interest in my person as other than I am. I fear I may have misread your intents, and do believe throughout our brief and engaging discourse you are a well-travelled officer, and clearly a gentleman of good standing. Unfortunately I once lay trust in a man whom I believed was all those things and he betrayed that trust, though I hasten to add whilst it scarred my mind a little I bear no grudge toward him. I therefore thank you again for your missive, and would oblige in written correspondence if my honest frankness has not vanquished your former intent.

  Yours faithfully,

  Georgiana.

  c/o Farthingly.

  ~

  Oh dear, had she revealed too much? But no, surely not, for she had made no mention of Wickham’s name, but perhaps the viscount was cognisant to her indiscretion and that of Wickham’s betrayal?

  Fretting the written words, she chastised herself with fevered verbal rebuke. “You are hopeless Georgiana in not knowing how to express yourself. Why must you feel need for honesty. Why are you unable to flirt, why can’t you be as other young ladies, hmmm? Oh I could name numerous flirty young things who would afford extremes in flattery to his young lordship, heir to an earldom at that. And what have you written—words to deter him. That’s what you’ve set out to do, isn’t it, and why— because you’re afraid of your own heart, afraid he will feign affections and is nothing more than Wickham all over again.”

  Resolved to her fate as spinster and eventuality of maiden aunt, how thankful she was Fitzwilliam bore no desires to force her into an arranged marriage. As for the viscount, well, his missive would no doubt be the only tangible evidence of interest in her, and he would soon think of her as little more than a simpleton country miss.

  Oh well, powder to the gun and all that, thus she sanded the letter blew on it in careless manner thus depositing sand grains to the polished surface. With accuracy she carefully folded the paper, and placed it in one of the upper facia drawers along with the original missive. When candles were alight later she would seal it and place it with the morning mail for posting.

  Oh, but what if Belle should see it on the hall table and question the writing of it? Oh dear, dare she ask Riley, or was it too much to expect a footmen to shoulder the burden of posting clandestine mail. And yet, it was he who dealt with paying the post boy on arrival and dutifully handed over mail for subsequent delivery.

  She would ask Riley.

  Two

  ~

  Four days later:

  ~

  Belle’s eyes veered to the window and then settled disconcertingly on the only other person seated in the upper sitting room, but her words most thankfully directed at Hamish. “What say you young sir, to a brisk ride in the curricle and a walk on the fell?” Hamish leapt to attention tail wagging. “Will you come with us, Georgie? It’s a fine day, if a little breezy.”

  “Yes, yes, I would like that, and I’ll ride with you in the curricle for a change. It will save on delaying Hamish and the changing into riding apparel.”

  “Come then, for I ordered the curricle made ready for eleven. It’s about as warm as it will ever be for October, though best you wrap up warm with pelisse and cloak.”

  And so they hastened from the room, and whilst she went to fetch a warm winter pelisse and cloak, Lady Belle scooted along the corridor chasing Hamish to the staircase. In a very short while they were wrapped up warm and standing outside the main entrance, and Hamish was already waiting in the curricle. As soon as both were settled and Hamish sitting, or rather wedged between them, the carriage groom let slip the bridle from his grasp and stepped to the rear footplate and settled to the tiger seat. Thus, with a gentle tap of her carriage whip to the equine’s hind quarter Belle urged her horse onward. Soon they were flying along the carriageway the sorrel’s red mane and tail flowing and curling in the rush of air from its forward momentum.

  “I am quite surprised you don’t have his mane plaited and his tail bound when driving. It’s all the rage with the young buck tearaways and reckless they are in their differing sporting equipage. Why only the other day Fitzwilliam set to in bemoaning a near collision with a high-top phaeton on a dangerous stretch of the highway, and to his chagrin when sure he and his beloved Matlock had escaped near injury, a dashed low-slung curricle flew around a bend at breakneck speed.”

  “I remember his outrage and was he not set on dispatching letters of complaint to the offending whips for endangering Matlock and the lives of their own horses?”

  “He will have written to their fathers, for he abhors cruelty and said the two young men were leathering the horses’ hides whilst clearly racing one against the other.”

  “Foolish young men and their racing bent are the bane of society and a dire danger to other users of highways and byways, is that not so, Hamilton?”

  The groom responded as Belle reined the horse and equipage out through the gate and turned toward the fell. “Indeed, your ladyship. Reckless devils, all told.”

  Belle laughed. “Hamilton would have verbally castigated those devilish young rogues, as would I. Instead, your brother is the epitome of good manners and puts his words to paper.”

  She could not entirely agree with that sentiment. “Not always. There have been times of vocal outburst when keeping quiet would have been sage. But Fitz being Fitz, well—”

  Belle laughed heartily this time: “In Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s case true enough. His blundering and shameful insult was unconscionable, and I told him so in a letter, though all was resolved and they are now wed.”

  “Did he confess to a blunde
ring and shameful insult, for whilst in London he was beside himself with rage and guilt and I did wonder the cause of it?”

  “Your brother and I have been mutual confidantes for so long, whenever we need to vent spleen or seek advice, he on matters of female peculiarities and I on the male of the species, we turn to each other for good counsel.”

  “I am of little use to him in that respect and I suspect he despairs my ever becoming wed and off his hands.”

  “It will happen one day, Georgie, when the right beau comes along.”

  “I cannot see it happening any time soon,” said she, pondering the writing of her letter to the viscount and no reply. “Besides, you lead a happy and contented life at Farthingly. Perhaps I could become your companion.”

  “It’s not altogether a lonely life here at Farthingly. I have much to occupy my time, not least Bonnie and the stud. Though having Bonita and her nanny stay is of a necessity, and more so now that Darcy is wed. Which is part why I needed to get away from the house for a short while. Her illness is wearing me down, and every possible means at hand has been applied to getting her well. And of course, the Earl of Mayberry has provided support throughout your brother’s absence, when he could. By the by, I extended invitation to the earl and his son for supper of Wednesday next.”

  “Oh,” said she, startled by the certainty the earl would accept, for he had seemed quite enamoured with Belle, but his son was coming too?

  “Do I detect hostility to the notion, Georgie? Shame on me, for I never thought to consult you on the matter, when I know perfectly well you are akin to Darcy, and shy of new faces.”

  “Why are we so shy and uncomfortable in new company?”

  “Sheltered upbringing my love, and parochial neighbourly gatherings.”

  “Well yes, but we do venture to London.”

  “Oh indeed you do, and in company with people you know.”

  “We attend at the opera, the theatre, supper parties, and do meet the occasional unknown personages.”

  “But always in the company of your little closed circle.”