A Wife for Mr. Darcy

greatly complementing her fair complexion, blue eyes, and blond hair, and Darcy expressed his admiration for her new dress. After making sure her coiffure was new, with the curling about the face that Georgiana had described, he mentioned that as well, and after a series of such compliments, he saw it: a full smile. And she had all her teeth! Not always a given, so that was a relief.
    “I see you have made some new sketches, Miss Montford.” He assumed they were new, but since there were so many of them throughout the house, perhaps they had just been moved from another location. “You seem to favor St. Paul’s. It is Wren’s finest creation, so I certainly understand. I must say that your artwork is every bit as good as the artists who sell their prints in front of the cathedral.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Papa buys the visitor’s cards from the sellers for me, and I copy them in ink, charcoal, and watercolors.”
    “You copy them? I had not thought. Maybe you should open your own stall,” Darcy said in jest, and Miss Montford responded with her half smile. So this is how it would be. Compliments merited full smiles, while jokes earned only half smiles. He would make a note of it. “You are so busy with all of your sketches, painting tables and screens, and embroidery, I wonder you have any time to read.”
    “I read but little, sir, as there is nothing to show for it.”
    At first Darcy thought she was joking, but then he took her meaning.
    “It is true that there is nothing tangible produced, nothing to hang on the walls or drape over a chair, but ideas are real things. You only have to look at America, a new nation built on a foundation of ideas. Granted, they can be misused, as is the case with French revolutionaries, but they have their own power.”
    Miss Montford nodded. “And how is Miss Darcy?”
    So much for the power of ideas . He imagined with a father as hidebound to convention as Sir John Montford was, having “ideas” might be viewed as being dangerous, and unlike the Darcy dinner table, such things were definitely not discussed.
    “She is very well and at Pemberley visiting with friends.”
    “Miss Smythe?”
    “No, actually new friends. If you recall, Charles Bingley is to marry Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn Manor in Hertfordshire. Georgiana’s guests are Miss Bennet’s sister, Elizabeth, and her aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. I found their company to be most agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner spent some of her youth in nearby Lambton, and Mr. Gardiner is an avid angler and eager to cast his line in Pemberley’s streams.”
    “Are the Gardiners friends with the Bingleys?” she asked with that tilt of the head that made her look as if her head was weighted to the left.
    “No. The Gardiners only know Charles Bingley through the Bennets. Mr. Gardiner lives on Gracechurch Street here in town.”
    “And who is Mr. Gardiner?”
    “Who is he? Do you mean what does he do?”
    The puzzled expression returned. “I do not understand that question, Mr. Darcy. What do you mean by ‘what does he do ?’”
    “Are you asking how Mr. Gardiner earns his living?”
    “Oh, he earns his living,” she said, clearly unhappy with the answer.
    Despite Colonel Fitzwilliam’s claim that the integration of the wealthy merchant class with England’s upper class was well under way, not everyone had heard the news. In Sir John Montford’s world, merchants were “tainted by trade.” If you did not inherit your wealth, you were beneath his notice—and, apparently, in his daughter’s world as well.
    “Mr. Gardiner is a coffee broker.”
    Miss Montford shrugged her shoulders, clearly not knowing what a coffee broker was or did.
    “Have you ever thought about the tea you drink every day, Miss Montford? It comes from faraway lands, China, India, Ceylon, on ships with towering masts and billowing sails, hugging the coast of Africa, and following the outline of the Iberian Peninsula before veering out to sea with its destination of Bristol or London. After the ship arrives in port, the brokers go down to the docks and bid on its cargo. In turn, the brokers sell their commodities to the merchants, who sell it to your housekeeper. It is amazing to me the things we take for granted as part of our everyday lives come to us from such great distances, including our coffee and tea.”
    “That sounds very exciting. I have never given any thought to where my tea comes from, but I think I shall in the