Perhaps Georgiana has found a sympathetic soul amongst their house party.

Part 2

Georgiana clutched the mahogany banister and stopped halfway down the marble grand stairs, her breath coming in sharp ragged pants. If her heart raced any harder, it might just leave her chest entirely. The Dowdings had arriving whilst she was walking in the gardens. Now they were gathered downstairs in the parlor waiting for dinner. And now as she had changed from her walking dress to a proper dinner dress of blue silk embroidered with self-colored roses, she was to join them.

Truly, it was not an untoward expectation. Not at all. It was expected and appropriate that one should interact with one’s guests whilst they stayed.

But the Dowdings were not her guests. She would never have invited anyone who had ever visited Ramsgate, or been acquainted with Mrs. Younge to her house, ever. But to be fair, Fitzwilliam did not know—nor would he ever—if she had her way. He was a kind brother and would not knowingly put her to such discomfort.

Sir Paul, he had told her, was an old friend from school, an older student who had taken Fitzwilliam under his wing so to speak, easing his way and helping him to make friends at university. They hunted together at Ashburton, the Dowding estate, which was much like Pemberley, so he and Fitzwilliam spent a great deal of time talking about the management of their estates.

While it sounded rather dull, it also sounded rather less taxing than the sorts of things ladies talked about when they gathered—gossip and sniping at others, tearing down anyone who was not in the immediate groups and even some who were. Elizabeth was not apt to go to such places. She steered the conversation not only way from gossip, but away from the subtle dark jabs that frequently filled the parlor and drawing room. No doubt she would be willing and able to shield Georgiana from any sharp remarks Mrs. Esther Dowding would cast her way.  With an ally like Elizabeth, she really had little to fear.

Georgiana released the banister and gulped in several long deep breaths. She could do this, and she would. She descended the stairs, slowly, deliberately, counting the steps as she went and relishing the feel of the solid stone underneath her slippers. Yes, it was a little silly perhaps, but it was also quite calming.

A loud, deep laugh flowed from the open parlor door. Not Fitzwilliam, he rarely laughed like that. How unusual that he drew friends to himself that did so, though. Mr. Bingley was apt to laugh that way as was Cousin Richard. She had never noticed that before.

She peeked through the doorway of the small parlor. The whole party sat in a cluster of matching upholstered seats near the fireplace. Fitzwilliam had insisted Elizabeth have all the furniture in the room recovered to suit her taste when she had moved it.  The turquoise fabric with a pale woven geometric pattern all over it suited the room so much better than the light colored floral print that had been in its place before.

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth shared a small couch with mahogany ball and claw feet opposite the fire while the Dowdings arranged themselves on either side. Sir Paul and Lady Dowding were just as Georgiana remembered them—it was a distant memory though. She had been introduced just once, some years ago, when they had visited Pemberley without their sons.

Lady Dowding was tall and willowy, as a Lady ought to be, with soft brown eyes and gentle features. Her voice and manner matched, making her easy to like. Beside her, her husband was just flirting with the line of being portly, his cheeks a little round to match his belly. But there was something about him that just seemed, well, content with everything around him. Not quite happy, that was too forceful a word, but yes, content. That made his company easy to tolerate.

The younger Dowdings sat at Fitzwilliam’s right. Esther—Mrs. Dowding—was a different from Lady Dowding as summer was from winter. She was short, sharp and shrill. Nothing about her felt soft or gentle: not her voice, not her comments, not her looks. Even her husband did not sit close to her on the settee as though trying to avoid something prickly. Mr. Gregory Dowling looked nothing like his twin brother. She had been told he was the younger brother of the two by a quarter of an hour, and his face bore evidence of feeling it all a very unfair happenstance. He was tall and thin like his mother, but fair complexioned, with an icy stare that seemed to fit very well with his wife.

Mr. Pierce Dowding’s chair was pulled slightly aside from his brother and sister. He was the spit and image of his father, without the paunch. His features were gentle, but he, like Fitzwilliam seemed to watch the conversation more than participate.  He nodded and his face shifted with what was said, so he was paying attention, but he did not force himself into dialogue when he had little contribution to make.

“Georgiana!” Elizabeth rose and joined her at the doorway. “I am so glad you have joined us.” She looped her arm in Georgiana’s and gently guided her into the room.

The gentlemen stood first. Sir Paul had to help Lady Dowding up, bad knees Fitzwilliam had said. But there was no reason for Mrs. Dowding to be so slow to rise. Well, yes there was, but it was hardly a good one.

 Fitzwilliam made introductions as Mrs. Reynolds peeked in and signaled that dinner was ready. Fitzwilliam took Elizabeth’s arm and led them toward the dining room. The married Dowdings followed suit.

Georgiana watched them depart, but her feet would not follow.

“Might I escort you?” Mr. Pierce Dowding offered her his arm. His voice was gentle, like his father’s, as was the expression of his very green eyes.

“I … thank you.” She tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm.

He hesitated as he led them out, as though to give the rest of the party a little distance. “I saw you watching from the doorway, taking a measure of our little group.”

She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, pray forgive me, I was not—”

His eyes grew a little wider. “No, of course you were not eavesdropping. I never meant to suggest such a thing! I meant what I said, you were taking our measure, and I do not blame you at all. When I can, I prefer to do the same thing before entering with an unfamiliar group.”

“Truly?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. But there seemed no guile in him.

“I have found it a good way to keep oneself from saying the wrong thing often enough to make it a habit.” His right eyebrow—bushy and a little unruly—rose just a mite.

Georgiana giggled. “I often find it best not to say anything at all.”

He chuckled in the same rich tones as he father. “Around my brother and my sister, it is just as often easier to do that than to try and join in.”

She snickered behind her hand.

“Pray forgive me. I should not have said such a thing, especially to you who has never met them before. I should have allowed you to form your own opinions.” He scuffed his toes against the rich wool carpet.

“I might be quiet, but that does not mean I do not have my own opinions.” Gracious, what prompted her to say such a thing? It was true, but to voice such a statement? Fitzwilliam would be shocked.

The barest edges of his mouth turned up, but his eyes made up for the mildness of his expression, twinkling merrily. “Excellent. I shall look forward then, to hearing more of them.”

He led her into the dining room where two seats at the middle of the far side of the table remained for them. When the rest of the house party arrived, they would probably move to the larger dining room to accommodate the larger party, but for now, this smaller room was cozy and pleasant.

Oak sideboards lined the walls parallel to the table, one laded with covered dishes, the other with cooling wine bottles. Mirrors gleamed above both sideboards, reflecting the candles in the tall silver candelabras on the dining table.  There was something fanciful and dainty about the way the firelight twinkled in the mirrors.

Mrs. Dowding made a show of arranging her crisp white napkin in her lap. “I am glad you saw to it that our brother found the dining room, Miss Darcy. I was beginning to fear he had gotten lost in such a grand house.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened just a bit and she shot Fitzwilliam a telling look. Lady Dowding squeezed her temples with one hand and shook her head.  Somehow it did not seem a good sign when the leading ladies of the table already seemed so discomfited.

Georgiana glanced briefly at Mr. Pierce Dowding. His expression was completely neutral, as though he had heard nothing. But there was something, a tension in his neck perhaps, that had not been there before.

The question was, just who did Mrs. Dowding aim that barb at. A casual observer might easily believe it was toward her brother. But, there was the sly sideways glance Mrs. Dowding maintained toward Georgiana and an edge to her voice that had been there when they met at Ramsgate. Was the woman so clever as to be able to cut her under Elizabeth’s nose?

It was just possible.

Soup plates were served from the sideboard and Elizabeth announced the other dishes at the table prompting Lady Dowding and Mrs. Dowding to prattle on a bit about the excellency of the dishes and how considerate Elizabeth had been to find out some of their family favorites. Who knew that carrot soup might be anyone’s favorite?

They were right; it was very considerate of Elizabeth.

Sir Paul cleared his throat. “We have recently had some very good news for the family.”

“Then you certainly must tell us. Good new ought to always be shared.” Elizabeth seemed to be avoiding any look at Mrs. Dowding’s face.

“It is your news, Gregory.” Sir Paul extended his hand toward his son.

Georgiana winced, but hopefully caught it before anyone could recognize the expression for what it was.

Mr. Dowding pulled back his shoulders just a bit. “I received a letter just before we left. I have been appointed to the living at Leighton Green.”

“That is indeed wonderful news.” Elizabeth gushed just a little too forcefully to be authentic.

“I have been there. It is an excellent living with a very well kept parsonage. Have you been there?” Fitzwilliam’s eyes drew tight at the sides, a sure sign the conversation was a strain on him.

“No, we have not.” Mrs. Dowding did not seem pleased at all as she looked directly at her husband.

“I think you will be please when you settle there. The house is quite pleasant and in a very good situation. I have met the previous vicar. He and his wife seemed quite pleased with the situation when they lived there.” Fitzwilliam sough Elizabeth’s gaze as though looking for confirmation that it was indeed the right thing to say.

“I found the parsonage at Ashburton parish quite pleasing.” Mrs. Dowding muttered not looking up from her plate.

Mr. Pierce sighed and cut his meat a little more forcefully than strictly necessary.

“It is a shame that the vicar there is young and looks forward to at least another decade of service to his parish.” Sir Paul certainly was politic; the effort hardly seemed to cost him.

“Well, perhaps then,” Mrs. Dowding shot a fierce glance at Mr. Pierce, “Someone will see fit to remedy the current situation. It is quite acceptable for a man to hold more than one living.”

Mr. Pierce’s brow tightened and he chewed his food very slowly. It was rude to talk with one’s mouth full, especially when it seemed one appeared to disagree strongly with something that had just been said.

“The Leighton Green living is a very generous one.” Lady Dowding said softly, plucking at the napkin in her lap.

“Is not a friend of yours the vicar’s wife at Hunsford?” Georgiana swallowed hard. Elizabeth was not entirely comfortable with the situation, considering it was her cousin who was the vicar there, but she could not dislike that more that the current conversation.

“Indeed she is.” Elizabeth’s lips smiled, but her eyes did not. But neither did she offer the narrow-eyed look she wore when irritated, so it probably was not a totally wrong thing to say.

“I think Hunsford Parish is very similar to Leighton Green.” Sir Paul launched into a comparison of the two parishes, effectively stealing the conversation from Mrs. Dowding.

Mr. Pierce glanced at her with a long, slow blink over warm eyes. Poor man, it seemed this was not the first time the conversation had taken this sort of direction. The audacity of that woman, hounding her brother in law to find some way to present her husband with a second living at the dining table, in front of company. Perhaps the patroness of Leighton Green was a woman like Aunt Catherine who would teach Mrs. Dowding some decorum.

Lady Dowding and Elizabeth deftly turned the conversation to the weather and the state of the roads and finally the latest plays opening on the London stage just as the sweet course was served. After a lively debate on the merits of several playwrights, Elizabeth rose and invited the ladies to the drawing room.

It might be the polite and proper thing to do, but it meant spending at least an hour trapped in polite society with that harpy! Georgiana might just bite through her tongue by the end of it!

Find earlier parts of this story HERE

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