• So what do you think? Has Georgiana done well? Might she have learned the lesson Elizabeth hoped she would? Tell me what you think of this final installment.
• Find earlier parts of this story HERE

Gracious heavens what had she just done? She hated to sing for company—and for Mrs. Dowding? Georgiana could regret an impulsive decision.

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Part 4

Elizabeth’s voice, while honestly not that accomplished, was warm and genuine, a pleasure to listen to. There was good reason that Fitzwilliam enjoyed it so. She was also easy to play for, adapting and adjusting easily if Georgiana faltered on the tempo just a bit. Perhaps it was because she did not know the piece well enough to notice that Georgiana erred, but it was more pleasing to believe in Elizabeth’s kindness and good will.

It was just the sort of performance that Mrs. Dowding was most likely to find fault with. The only question was how she would do it. In Ramsgate, she just came out and said her piece—that with more practice, Georgiana might someday be an adequate player and not an embarrassment to her brother. It still would behoove her to use her considerable fortune to hire a proper master, not the traveling sort of music teacher who had clearly taught her before. Proper instruction would be necessary for her improvement. Georgiana’s cheeks burned.

But Mrs. Dowding could not possibly say such a thing to her hostess. No, she would have to be far more clever than that. Would she simply gossip to her family at Elizabeth’s inadequacies, or would she try to co-opt Georgiana into agreeing with her negative assessments? Well, if she tried that, she would surely be surprised, because …

Soft applause—the sound of male hands—followed as the final notes faded away. The gentlemen had come in unnoticed while they performed. Georgiana glanced over her shoulder. Sir Paul had taken a seat beside his wife and Fitzwilliam occupied the seat beside Elizabeth’s empty chair, as far away from Mrs. Dodwing as he could be. Poor Mr. Dowding seemed resigned to sit next to his wife. But where was Mr. Pierce?

Elizabeth made her way back to her guests. Good, no one was paying attention to her. Georgiana quietly slipped out the French doors on to the balcony.

Cool night air bathed her as she drank in sweet gulps. How different the atmosphere away from the bitterness and spite inside. Crickets and other night creatures sang to the moon, a much more accomplished concerto than she would ever manage. If only she might spend the rest of the evening here.

What was that? A soft shuffle beside her.

“Mr. Dowding?”

He stood silhouetted in the moonlight, hands braced on balcony railing, shoulders stiff and tense. “Forgive me, Miss Darcy. Have I intruded upon your retreat?”

“Ah, no, no, not at all. Forgive me, for I seem to have intruded upon you.” She tried to catch his expression, but his face remained stubbornly hidden in the shadows.

“Considering this is your home, I hardly think that is possible. How can one intrude when one belongs anywhere one wishes to be?” His shoulders rose just a bit.

Her brows knit. What a very odd thing to say.

He looked up into the moon beams. “You think I am as peculiar as my brother and sister.”

“I hope to share very few opinions with them.” Oh dear, what an impolitic thing to say. She bit her knuckle.

He turned to her, eyes wide. “Is that so? That is a very bold thing to say.” Odd, there was no censure in his voice.

“No one has ever called me that before. I fear you must be quite mistaken.” She looked aside.

“Perhaps you have not been given a reason before.” He stepped a little closer, as though demanding her attention.

What an odd way he was looking at her.

He sighed. “I suppose I ought to go back inside and rejoin the … conversation.”

“You mean the monologue?” She pressed her fingertips to her lips. What had the moonlight done to her decorum?

His cheek dimpled. “I suppose that might be a more accurate, though to some, more objectionable, description.”

She looked away and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Forgive me, I do not know what came over me.”

“I think it was a rare moment of honesty. Quite refreshing and welcome after an excellent dinner, if you ask me.”

She chanced a quick glance at him. There was no disapproval in his eyes.

“Might I escort you in?” He offered his arm.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they left the cool night air.

Mrs. Dowding’s grating voice assaulted them as soon as the candlelight touched her hems. Mr. Pierce flinched just enough for Georgiana to notice.

“Gracious goodness, bring our little virtuoso to us. You cannot keep her to yourself!” Mrs. Dowding waved them toward the tea table.

Georgiana flushed. Compliments were uncomfortable to start with and from Mrs. Dowding, they were probably rather dangerous, too. How had her playing which was at Ramsgate barely satisfactory become a laudable performance at Pemberley? All false modesty aside, she really had not improved at all during the time between.  Mr. Pierce patted her hand with just the tips of his fingers. He probably distrusted her compliments, too.

Mrs. Dowding smiled—how did she manage to have her teeth seem so sharp and predatory? “Your playing was lovely, Miss Darcy, just lovely. Exactly what one would expect of a young lady of your accomplishments.”

So, it was just what was expected, essentially average and undistinguished among other girls of her status. What a clever way to disguise such an insult. While Elizabeth had cautioned her against becoming prideful over her skill, she had also said it was just as much a mistake to underestimate her abilities and unwittingly embarrass girls who might not be at her level. An honest evaluation of one’s abilities was always best, according to Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam agreed. And honestly, she was much better than merely average.

Elizabeth cast a very mild glance Georgiana’s way. She recognized the insult as well, and the creases in her brow hinted that she thought that was entirely Mrs. Dowding’s intention. Oh, this woman was one level of joy upon another.

“I do so hope that the Leighton Green vicarage hosts a pianoforte.” Mrs. Dowding batted her eyes. Someone should tell her what an unappealing expression that was.

“I have it on good assurance that it does,” Mr. Dowding muttered at his hands as he looked down into his lap.

“Well, that is some relief. I do hope though, that if it does not, perhaps our good brother might find it in his heart and assist us in supplying one. A home can hardly be considered civilized without some form of music present. What do you say, brother?” Was Mrs. Dowding’s expression hungry or expectant? It was difficult to tell.

Mr. Pierce waited half a dozen breaths before answering. He was hardly slow of tongue. It must be an intentional way to communicate his displeasure although the furrowing of his brows over his eyes accomplished the same purpose quite well. “Gregory and I shall discuss the matter. I would hardly wish to insult him by stepping in, suggesting that he is not able to adequately supply the needs of his family. Besides, as I understand, your dowry was quite ample to manage such wants.”

That brought an angry flush to Mrs. Dowding’s temples. “You see, I intend to start a musical club for the parish, and a pianoforte is quite essential for that. I even have made arrangements to be able to borrow music from a circulating music library, and have it conveyed to the parish each fortnight.”

“Gracious, that is quite an extravagance! It is fortunate you can afford such a service.” Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose just a little.

“We are still discussing the arrangement.” Mr. Dowding grumbled under his breath and picked at his fingernails.

“Well you know, all the Dowding family is quite musical. All of them. Have you heard Lady Dowding sing and play?” Mrs. Dowding reached to pat Lady Dowding’s hand on the arm of her chair.

Lady Dowding lifted her hand before Mrs. Dowding could touch it. “You know I do not play any longer.” Was that a touch of stiffness in her fingers?

“And I certainly do not sing for anyone but her.” Sir Paul’s voice was definitely sharp.

Mrs. Dowding shrugged and tossed her head. “Pierce, you should regale us with one of your concertos.”

The brothers exchanged hard glances that suggested the request was less than welcome.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Dowding,” Georgiana heard herself saying. “He cannot possibly play anything so complicated when he has already promised to play for me. I could not possibly accompany anything so complex.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped and Fitzwilliam’s eyes bulged just a little. Had Georgiana the luxury, she would probably have shared their expressions.

Mr. Pierce looked down at her, eyes wide, and just a little grateful.

 “I hope I will not insult your abilities by selecting something too simple to adequately display your skill.” Georgiana turned sharply and headed for the pianoforte.

Gracious heavens what had she just done? She hated to sing for company—and for Mrs. Dowding? This was madness as much as it was to try and sing something with someone she had never practiced with or even heard play before? How could she have allowed Mrs. Dowding to unbalance her so?

She riffled through the music on the pianoforte. Elizabeth always had a selection of music that was simple to sing and play. It was a welcome courtesy to guests.

“I think this one would do very well.” Mr. Pierce leaned over her shoulder to tap the top of one sheet of music near the title. An old—and very simple—folk ballad.

“It is one of my brother’s favorites.” Her hands trembled as she plucked it from the stack and handed it to him.

“You do not like to sing?” his whisper barely rose above the sound of her own breath.

“You do not like to play?”

“One with little skill rarely does.”

“I have an idea.” She sat at the piano bench and patted the spot to her left. “Please, sit here. Can you play this part and sing?” She pointed at the notes.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Then I will play the main part and sing as well.”

“A clever duet to cover our less admirable parts?” The corner of his eye twitched in something like a wink.

“It seems far more comfortable than the alternative. Shall I start?” She glanced at Mrs. Dowding and swallowed hard.

He raised his hands to the keys and nodded at her.

There was no false modesty in his claims; he was not a good player, but adequate to manage the single line of melody she had suggested for him. His voice was quite tolerable though, rather like Elizabeth’s in that way: pleasing to sing and play with, fuzzy and warm and homey feeling.  All in all, they managed a rather decent rendition of the ballad, considering they had never played together before.

As the last notes faded, they rose to soft applause. Even Mrs. Dowding brought her fingertips together very softly. She had little choice if she were to appear marginally polite among the others, but clearly she was not impressed—or perhaps it was that she was not pleased that Mr. Pierce had managed such a tolerable performance.

Either way, it was secretly appealing to have cast her plot awry. No, not a ladylike sentiment, but Mrs. Dowding was hardly ladylike.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy. You are a delightful partner. I can honestly say I have never enjoyed playing so much.” Mr. Pierce bowed deeply to her, much more deeply than the circumstance required.

“I consider that the highest possible compliment, my evening is complete.” She curtsied back to him with matching solemnity.

The edges of his eyes creased. “I hope I can persuade you otherwise. I see Mrs. Darcy has a game of spillikins on the card table. Would you consider delaying your departure until you have played a game with me?” He gestured toward the table.

She opened her mouth to speak, but could not force herself to insist it was time for her to retire.

He glanced briefly back at Mrs. Dowding and winked. “Esther not only despises the game, she is also quite the fumble fingers and utterly refuses to play.”

“Well, then, I cannot possibly refuse and leave you with no one to play with.” Hopefully he did not notice her relieved exhale of breath.

“You are a very kind hostess.” Mr. Pierce smiled broadly, the sort of smile novelists wrote about, but one rarely seen.

Perhaps, over spillikins, she might see more of that smile. It would certainly be pleasant to try. Then tomorrow, in the music room, they might work on a more proper duet, just in case Mrs. Dowding suggested he play again.

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So what do you think? Has Georgiana done well? Might she have learned the lesson Elizabeth hoped she would? Tell me what you think of this final installment.

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Find earlier parts of this story HERE

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