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To that end, when dessert was finished and the dishes had been removed, he suggested that she favor the party with some music by playing the pianoforte.
“I am sure, brother,” Georgiana said reddening, “that our guests would rather retire to the lounge for brandy and cigars then listen to my poor attempt at playing.”
Darcy realized he had made his sister uncomfortable—she was not used to playing for company—but before he could speak Mr. Pettigrew came to the rescue.
“Perhaps,” he said, “you could play while we had our brandy. If we left the door open I’m sure we would be able to hear you, would we not?” The latter was addressed to Darcy.
“Of course,” Darcy said, grateful to Mr. Pettigrew for the suggestion. “That’s an excellent idea. We will have the best of both worlds. Would you be willing to play for us, sister?”
Georgiana indicated that she would and that it would be a great pleasure, although the gentlemen must forgive her mistakes.
Darcy swirled his brandy in the snifter, watching the amber liquid gleaming orange and red as it caught the flames of the fire in the hearth. Crackling logs punctuated by the notes of the pianoforte which Georgiana was playing. He remembered the playing of another, one who, though not as proficient as his sister, nevertheless had captivated the attention of her listeners by the vitality of her performance.
“How did that thing with that chap go?” Northover asked. “That Wickham fellow.”
Darcy was startled from his reverie by this. Northover had assisted him in obtaining an officer’s commission for Wickham in the regulars. Northover had purchased one for his younger brother and had referred Darcy to a gentleman who sold commissions, a Mr. Henry Austen.
The commission was costly, as was clearing up Wickham’s debts but that was the easy part of the affair. Persuading Wickham to marry Lydia Bennet was more difficult, and more costly still, but necessary to preserve the reputation of the Bennet family and more particularly the reputation of Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy had taken this upon himself because it was his fault that Wickham had been able to carry out his mischief. The summer before, Wickham had eloped with his sister Georgiana, with the intent of improving his financial situation at the expense of the innocent girl. Darcy put a stop to it, but he kept the matter secret out of concern for Georgiana’s reputation. This had been a mistake. If he had been forthcoming about the true nature of Wickham’s character all would have known it, including the Bennets, and been on their guard where the miscreant was concerned.
“It worked out,” Darcy said. He took a sip of brandy and enjoyed the mild burning sensation in his throat when he swallowed it. “Thank you for your help.”
“You were ready to skewer the scoundrel, as I recall,” Northover said. “Had blood in your eye, I’d say. Glad you patched things up.”
Unwillingly, Darcy’s mind went to Wickham. He’d had three excellent reasons to challenge Wickham to a duel: the first was Wickham’s interference with Georgiana; the second, the lies that Wickham had told Miss Elizabeth Bennet concerning Darcy’s conduct towards Wickham after the death of Mr. Darcy senior; and the third was Wickham’s “elopement” with young Lydia Bennet, with no intention of marrying her until Darcy had made it worth his while financially.
Wickham richly merited to be called to account for his actions at the point of the sword, but Darcy had put aside his need for vengeance, had resisted the implacability of his resentments, and had mastered his unforgiving temper. Instead, he had paid Wickham’s debts, purchased a commission for him, and arranged his wedding to Lydia Bennet. He had done all this solely for the benefit of Elizabeth Bennet, a young lady who despised him.
“Your sister plays splendidly,” Mr. Pettigrew said. He flourished his cigar in the matter of a conductor. “Does she sing as well?”
Georgiana was performing Johann Baptist Cramer’s Studio per il pianoforte, a difficult piece for an accomplished pianist.
She will not sing for us, Darcy thought, but he said, “Yes, perhaps she will sing another time.”
If Georgiana continued to perform before others—and even though she was performing in another room, this was still a good start—she would soon have the courage to sing for company.
“I should very much like to hear her,” Mr. Pettigrew said.
“Well, you will be at Rosings Park for Christmas, Pettigrew,” Lord Northover said. He was leaning back in his stuffed leather chair in such a state of repose that until he spoke, Darcy thought he was on the verge of sleep. “You can make her sing then.”
“You’re going to Rosings Park for Christmas?” It was the first that Darcy had heard of this.
“Yes,” said Lord Northover. “In fact, that’s what reminded me to call on you. I thought, when I received Lady Catherine’s invitation, that it was time I paid a visit on her nephew. Didn’t you know that she invited me? I was sure you must’ve known, given the nature of her letter.”
Darcy knew nothing about an invitation. Indeed, he had written to Lady Catherine some time ago telling her that he intended to spend Christmas in London as he had pressing business matters to conclude, and the Christmas season would find the men with whom he was dealing in town. He had made arrangements for Christmas at Pemberley—the traditional dinner, gifts for the poor —to proceed without him, having left these matters to Mrs. Reynold’s very capable hands.
“I’m not going to Rosings, myself,” Darcy said. “I’d no idea Lady Catherine had invited you.”
“How very odd,” Lord Northover said coughing and flinging his cigar into the fire.
“Are you all right?” Darcy asked. Northover’s health had always been delicate.
Northover
nodded, coughing softly into his handkerchief for a few moments before looking back at Darcy. “You see, your aunt wrote me a singular letter. Not just an invitation mind, but a promise that if I should attend Rosings for the Christmas season, it should be to my fiscal advantage. Her exact words were that it would be the solution to my “fiscal dilemma.”
Darcy was not surprised that Northover had a “fiscal dilemma,” he knew as much, but that Lady Catherine should have some scheme to overcome it seemed improbable. She turned her mind to business even less than Northover did.
