White Sands Hotel: Arrival
Sept 16, 2008 11:27:10 GMT -5
Post by Mr. Darcy on Sept 16, 2008 11:27:10 GMT -5
This had been the last place he'd expected to find himself.
Darcy had filled the intervening months with his regular activities--he'd visited with Bingley, fended off Caroline, fenced and rode and generally combated this ridiculous infatuation with as much activity as he could muster. He'd taken a renewed interest in the family accounts--not that they were ill-kept before, but he needed something to focus his energy on. And he'd discovered something, a property that had passed to him through a convoluted series of business deals and familial irregularities until, it seemed, no one rightly knew what to do with it.
Not entirely unheard of, but for two things:
1. It was an inn.
and 2., most damning, it was in Avonlea, Prince Edward Island, Canada.
He could not deny that it was an attractive property, though it required some work. But he was not the person to do it, or oversee it, or take any interest beyond the immediate selling of it.
Until Georgiana glanced over his shoulder at the drawing, cooed with delight, and insisted they see to it at once, together.
"It's in Canada," Darcy said flatly.
"I know," Georgiana said with the air of a perfectly horrible teenager. "And it's right down the road from your Miss Shirley's Green Gables."
Darcy's eyes narrowed.
"There is nothing between us," he said, with all his usual communicativeness.
"Then there's no reason not to go!" Georgiana said, claiming a roundabout victory.
Darcy wavered on the matter, taking long walks and a few swims to think it over, and deciding utterly against the project until he found himself with two ocean liner tickets in hand and several trunks labeled with their name. He had to leave Horatio behind, which was a blow, but Georgiana had packed a great deal of romantic literature he was certain she would foist upon him on the long journey.
Aside from some incidents over Byron, and a heated discussion about Heloise and Abelard, the voyage passed uneventfully. It was not in the Darcy constitution to become seasick, so neither did. Georgiana proclaimed extensively the wild excitement of the New World, though Darcy found it either quite like home or else rather primitive.
It was October, and the leaves were turning, and it was not until they were in a carriage and bound for their first sight of White Sands that Darcy felt himself relax for the first time since sighting New York. This was a foolish idea, an idiotic notion, but the sky was clear and blue and the water was too and the air smelled crisp and fresh as an apple, a crop of which he could see over a small stone wall.
Perhaps, he thought, he would be saved the embarrassment of seeing Miss Shirley at all.
Darcy had filled the intervening months with his regular activities--he'd visited with Bingley, fended off Caroline, fenced and rode and generally combated this ridiculous infatuation with as much activity as he could muster. He'd taken a renewed interest in the family accounts--not that they were ill-kept before, but he needed something to focus his energy on. And he'd discovered something, a property that had passed to him through a convoluted series of business deals and familial irregularities until, it seemed, no one rightly knew what to do with it.
Not entirely unheard of, but for two things:
1. It was an inn.
and 2., most damning, it was in Avonlea, Prince Edward Island, Canada.
He could not deny that it was an attractive property, though it required some work. But he was not the person to do it, or oversee it, or take any interest beyond the immediate selling of it.
Until Georgiana glanced over his shoulder at the drawing, cooed with delight, and insisted they see to it at once, together.
"It's in Canada," Darcy said flatly.
"I know," Georgiana said with the air of a perfectly horrible teenager. "And it's right down the road from your Miss Shirley's Green Gables."
Darcy's eyes narrowed.
"There is nothing between us," he said, with all his usual communicativeness.
"Then there's no reason not to go!" Georgiana said, claiming a roundabout victory.
Darcy wavered on the matter, taking long walks and a few swims to think it over, and deciding utterly against the project until he found himself with two ocean liner tickets in hand and several trunks labeled with their name. He had to leave Horatio behind, which was a blow, but Georgiana had packed a great deal of romantic literature he was certain she would foist upon him on the long journey.
Aside from some incidents over Byron, and a heated discussion about Heloise and Abelard, the voyage passed uneventfully. It was not in the Darcy constitution to become seasick, so neither did. Georgiana proclaimed extensively the wild excitement of the New World, though Darcy found it either quite like home or else rather primitive.
It was October, and the leaves were turning, and it was not until they were in a carriage and bound for their first sight of White Sands that Darcy felt himself relax for the first time since sighting New York. This was a foolish idea, an idiotic notion, but the sky was clear and blue and the water was too and the air smelled crisp and fresh as an apple, a crop of which he could see over a small stone wall.
Perhaps, he thought, he would be saved the embarrassment of seeing Miss Shirley at all.