“But it does. Your father would hardly be a man if it did not.”
In his own bedchamber, Darcy was soldiering through a similar confrontation with his wife.
“Mama, marry Mr. Woodhouse! And you planned this?”
“I cannot take all the credit,” he said modestly, “but yes.”
“You know it is Mary whom Mama thinks and plans for, not herself. I expect the idea has never occurred to her.”
“Then we must suggest it.”
“Fitzwilliam, how? You know how stubborn Mama can be.” Elizabeth gave a sharp sigh. “I knew you were up to something.”
“I was a fool to think that I could hide anything from you.”
“Mary will not do for Mr. Woodhouse; she is much too young. But Mama will never see it. All she sees is his fine estate and generous income.”
“What do you think of arranging a different match for Mary?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “With whom?”
“You suggested William Coxe.”
“The lawyer? Fitzwilliam, I was teasing. The man has eyes only for your sister.”
“Everyone does. Until you rescued me from bachelorhood, I faced the same dilemma.”
This brought a smile. “That, sir, is a poor excuse for snubbing us all.”
“It is, rather. Perhaps you and Emma Knightley can put your oar in, so to speak.”
“To do what, pray?”
“Promote Mr. Coxe. Encourage Mary to converse with him.”
“As if that will cause him to propose!”
“An interest would be enough. Recall how your mother responded when your cousin wished to court Jane.”
“Mr. Collins, do you mean? How is he helpful?”
“Your mother prevented him from pursuing Jane because Charles Bingley had an interest in her.”
Elizabeth lapsed into thought. “I see what you mean,” she said at last. “A hint of interest might be enough to dissuade Mama. You do realize that if we were staying longer, she would send for Kitty.”
Darcy laughed softly. “There is that. Mr. Woodhouse is a kindly old fellow. He is a pleasant companion and merely acts the part of an invalid. Your mother would be happy here.”
Elizabeth sighed heavily. “She would indeed. This house and grounds are exactly what she likes.”
“Are we forgiven, then, for trying?”
Elizabeth’s dimples appeared. “I hate to admit it, but the match does make sense. Do you think Mr. Woodhouse can be brought to propose?”
“That,” said Darcy, “is a long shot. Then again, the entire project is.”
“I’ll speak with Emma tomorrow. You are right; it is high time we put our hand in. The three of you shall never accomplish this on your own.”
“Yes, dear,” said Darcy humbly.
Chapter 10
It was only a matter of time before the Sucklings were introduced to Miss Darcy. This took place on the following day, when she and Mary walked to the post office with her brother and George Knightley. As the weather was fine, they strolled through the village past Highbury’s parish church.
Mrs. Elton and her guests came bursting from the vicarage. Had they been on the watch? There was no mistaking the look of triumph shared between Mrs. Elton and Hervey Suckling’s mother.
Hervey edged nearer to Georgiana Darcy, but Mary stolidly remained by her side. Had Elizabeth or Emma foreseen this possibility and given a warning? Mary linked her arm through Georgiana’s and sent a defiant look in poor Hervey’s direction.
Presently the party turned back and walked together along High Street. Mr. Coxe came out of his office. “Hallo-allo,” he called from the doorway. “Splendid day, is it not?”
George thought it was cold enough for snow, but he did not mention this. Mrs. Suckling was not pleased to see the cheerful Mr. Coxe.
George fell into step beside Darcy. “That woman,” he said quietly. “She is accustomed to lording it over everyone she encounters. This is not how a gentlewoman behaves, but I expect she neither knows nor cares. And I thought Mrs. Elton’s manners were lacking.”
This drew a laugh from Darcy.
It was obvious that Mrs. Elton was studying Georgiana. Presently she called, “Miss Darcy, what say you to a card party? I expect you are proficient at any of our favorite games.”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
“But of course,” cried Mrs. Elton. “How foolish of me! You prefer music! Therefore, instead of a card party, I shall arrange a musical evening at the vicarage. How you shall delight us all!”
Darcy spoke up. “Perhaps another time.”
“But sir! You cannot deny us the pleasure of hearing Miss Darcy play and sing!”
“I can and I do,” he said firmly. “My sister is occupied with preparing for the Christmas ball.”
“Oh yes, the ball. I had quite forgotten.”
George saw her share a glance with Mrs. Suckling. “But after?” Mrs. Elton went on. “Do promise that you will spend an evening with us, Miss Darcy. We should so enjoy it.”
She gave a trilling laugh, but no one else joined in; particularly not Darcy.
Later that afternoon, Mrs. Suckling and her son came to Hartfield and were brought into the drawing room. Hervey Suckling was big with news. “I have a poem for Miss Darcy,” he announced.
This created a little stir. Emma signed for tea and sandwiches to be brought in. George settled back to observe. The callers might be irksome, but they were never dull.
Shortly thereafter, who should arrive but William Coxe? Elizabeth surrendered her seat on the sofa beside Mary. Here was more evidence that she and Emma were at work behind the scenes.
“I saw them through my office window,” George heard Mr. Coxe confide to Mary. “I came at once, just to annoy the old cat.” He gave a sidelong glance to Mrs. Suckling. “It’s plain where her ambition lies.”
“Did you arrive in time to hear?” said Mary. “Her son has brought a poem for Miss Darcy.”
“You don’t say. He wrote it himself?”
“Apparently.”
Presently Hervey took up a position before the hearth. He unfolded a page and shook back his lank hair.
“Gad,” muttered Mr. Coxe. “It’s like he’s a blasted Red Setter. Why the devil hasn’t he tied it back?”
George saw Mary bite back a smile.
“Thoughts Upon Meeting Miss Darcy,” announced Hervey.
“I should think,” said Mr. Coxe quietly, “that a tribute would be private.”
So did George!
Neither he nor William Coxe had reckoned with the artistic temperament. Hervey Suckling’s voice fairly throbbed with emotion.
Here Hervey paused to share a look with his mother. After another toss of the head, he continued.
There was a short silence.
“But-but that is from Marmion,” cried Mary Bennet.
That scotched Hervey!
But to George’s surprise, the budding poet was not at all embarrassed. With a smile, he shook back his hair. “I adapted it.”