Free Memory: Volume 1, Lasting Impressions, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) by Linda Wells

members since its inception I would have left immediately.  Allowing in tradesmen is insufferable.  I have voiced my displeasure, but I do not know what good it will do.  Someone sponsors them, and they have the money.  But surely there must be some sort of requirement that your money be more than a step away from the till box!  No matter, what is done is done.  They are there, and we must put up with them.  But if this fool that I met today is an example of what is to come, I am sure that I will go to my chess club or fence instead.  Bingley, Charles Bingley.  That was the boy’s name.  Not a day over twenty and in cotton so I heard.  Smiling and laughing at everything.  How can anyone be so agreeable?  Surely it must be an act to ingratiate himself with his betters.  Bingley, a name known to no peer.  I would like to see him receive the attention I have from the ladies!
     
    Darcy finished his entry with a flourish and dropped his pen back in the tray with a satisfied nod.  “Yes, will any lady want your favour Mr. Bingley?”  He demanded of the page, then sat back and smiled, remembering his cold reception and the approving nods he garnered from the old members gathered nearby.  Then he thought again of how Bingley seemed to take no notice of his cut, if anything he seemed to be grateful for the conversation and endeavoured to be . . .very pleasant.  “Listen to me speaking of the ladies as if there were a competition for them!  Take them all Bingley, not one of them interests me.”  Darcy thought it over some more, and remembered actually feeling a twinge of pity for the young man, as friends and acquaintances seemed to join together in small conspiracies, telling him of initiation rituals he must endure to truly become a member of the club’s upper circles, and how Bingley eagerly lapped up the information.  “You are in for a rough time.”  Darcy said softly, reverting to his old self, and felt ashamed that he did nothing to step in.  He would have been listened to, a Darcy of Pemberley was important; a Bingley of nowhere was not.
    A knock at the door was quickly acknowledged and pulled him from his thoughts.  “Georgiana, you look very pretty!”  He said a little more enthusiastically than was his wont of late.
    She blushed with pleasure and looked down at her striped gown.  “Thank you, Fitzwilliam; at least it is no longer all black.  I am ready to go if you are.”
    “Yes, yes, come, I understand that the exhibition is quite breathtaking.”  He jumped up, offering her his arm, and led her from his study and out to the carriage where they were quickly on their way to the Royal Academy of Art.  He smiled warmly at her.  “Tell me of your studies, what has Mrs. Somers set you to learn this week?”
    “Oh, we are discussing Donne and Blake, and then tomorrow we will begin studying the new globe that you purchased for me.”
    “Excellent!”  He smiled.  “You will be a very accomplished lady one day, and will add admirably to any conversation.”
    “I hope so, Brother.”  She whispered.  “I want you to be proud of me.”
    “I will be, dear.”  He smiled.  “I already am.  Father would be so pleased with you.” 
    She smiled shyly in return and they arrived at the exhibition.  “There seems to be quite a crowd today.”
    “Yes.”  He frowned at the varied dress of the visitors.  “It seems that anybody is able to visit.”  Shrugging, he stepped out of the coach and offered his hand.  “Well, we shall enjoy it despite the company.”  They entered and joined the slow-moving queue as they wound their way about the exhibition.  Darcy took the opportunity to point out his favourite artists and encouraged Georgiana to speak and comment on hers.  Coming behind a man and two ladies, they waited their turn to step closer to one painting.  He listened to the intelligent comments of the gentleman, nodding in approval, then startled when he heard a soft,