Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  “Cast me out without a penny,” Hartnell replied, but the venom had gone from his voice. Instead, he looked upon El- sabeth with delighted bemusement, and with a spark deep in his eyes that she dared not gaze into for too long, such was its heat. “He called me—well, I shall not repeat it, but he clearly no longer thought of me as a brother. I was thrown from his lands without so much as the opportunity to say my goodbyes to his sister, whom I had seen as my own. I had never expected an inheritance—that is to say, an income—but he denied me the opportunity to follow my father’s profession and left me with no choice but to scrounge for a commission, which I received only because the army has some small use for magic itself. I believe I would have been happy as a vicar, Miss Elsabeth.”

  Elsabeth, impulsively, laid her hand upon Hartnell’s. “Are you not happy now, Captain?”

  Hartnell looked at her hand pressing his, then lifted a slow and warm smile to Elsabeth. “I have never been happier than I am in this very moment.”

  “Then fie on Mr Archer,” Elsabeth said with considerable anger. “To bear magical talent is not a condemnation, nor should it be. If he is so shallow as to throw away a lifetime’s brotherhood over society’s trappings, then he cannot be a man of any real substance, which is only as I have suspected since the beginning. Come, Captain Hartnell. We must return to my aunt’s company, but we may do so united in the intention to think no more of Mr Archer.”

  (23)

  To think no more of Archer was a pretty proposition, but could not be acted on as easily as it was said. Although eager to share her new intelligence with Rosamund, Elsabeth remained silent on the carriage ride home after dinner. There was no lack of chatter, despite her silence: between Mr Cox and Leopoldina, the conversation did not flag, though neither of them spoke to one another as they reported upon, on one part, the admirable food, the fine company, the excellent house and the propriety of the occasion, and, upon the other part, the details of numerous of the young officers who had been in attendance, their prospects, their family obligations and the appealing breadth of their red-clad shoulders.

  “I have rarely had such a pleasant evening,” Mr Cox announced as they approached Oakden, “for Miss Derrington’s health is so fragile that Lady Beatrice does not often entertain even the company of her beloved nephew, to whom Miss Derrington is, I believe, engaged.”

  “Oh!” cried Dina, “must everyone, even the sickly, be engaged before I am? To whom is she engaged, Mr Cox? I must know, so that I might understand what manner of man likes frail ladies. Perhaps I should not be so robust.”

  “To a Mr Archer, son of Lady Beatrice’s sister, dead these several years. I have never had the pleasure of meeting Mr Archer, but I understand him to be exceedingly wealthy and of exceptional breeding. But of course he must be, if he is to marry my patroness’s lovely daughter! No one but the very best could do for Miss Derrington, and I believe it is Lady Beatrice’s intention to have the two estates become one through marriage. Nothing could be finer, I am sure, and it will be my utmost joy to perform the ceremony when that happy day arrives.”

  Enthralled with his own exposition, Mr Cox did not notice that the entirety of the Dover party had fallen into stunned quiet, each of them for once gazing at him as though the words falling from his lips had become pearls. Elsabeth recovered herself enough to speak, exclaiming, “Can you mean Mr Fitzgerald Archer, Mr Cox?”

  “I can indeed. Are you acquainted with the man?”

  “He is lately come to Newsbury Manor,” Elsabeth replied in astonishment, and, exchanging a look with Rosamund, thought of Julia Webber’s ambitions toward Archer, and then of her own for Sophia and Archer, and could not smile. Had it only been Miss Webber, she might have indulged in an unkind pleasure, but it was not in her to be cruel towards Sophia. “What an extraordinary piece of news. He had made no mention of engagement.”

  “Perhaps it explains his aloofness,” Rosamund put forth softly and with evident happiness, for she could not bear the idea that anyone should be as unapproachable as Mr Archer. Elsabeth, with a pang, thought it might be kinder to withhold what she had learned from Hartnell, and, with a greater pang still, thought that it would be necessary to warn Sophia as soon as possible.

  But the hour was far too late to presume upon the Entons; the news of Archer’s engagement would have to wait until morning, and, in truth, there was so much to share with Rosamund that Elsabeth offered good-nights to her family with unseemly haste. Rosa, bemused, allowed herself to be drawn off to the bedroom, and there learned the scandal of Captain Hartnell’s magic with increasing astonishment. “But this is splendid news, Elsa! He is clearly very fond of you, and would surely never find a gift you both share as a reason to dismiss his suit!”

  “I should hope not,” Elsabeth replied, “although it seems that what one might find forgiveable in oneself is less acceptable in a wife. But I am not thinking of marrying him, Rosa—”

  At this, one of Rosamund’s pretty eyebrows rose a questioning half-inch, causing Elsabeth to blush. “Very well, perhaps I am, but that was not where my thoughts lay at the moment. I am more concerned with the influence Mr Archer has on Mr Webber now. If Archer could cast away a man who had been his brother in all but blood over a question of magic, I fear how his prejudices might colour Mr Webber’s behaviours. Forgive me for sounding like Mamma, Rosamund, but I believe it may be necessary to secure an engagement with Mr Webber sooner rather than later.”

  “You feel I should trick him?” Rosamund asked with soft but genuine horror. “Elsabeth, I could not!”

  “Of course not! There is no trickery involved here, Rosamund. It would merely be entering an engagement without telling him absolutely everything about yourself, which is, I am quite sure, the natural manner of these things anyway. Once you are engaged, it will be safe to reveal the truth, for no gentleman would break an engagement. I am sure his affections for you will in the end prove greater than his concerns over the very little magic you possess, but should he learn of your magic before—if Archer should learn of it before—”

  “No. I cannot believe any man would throw away his friend like that,” Rosamund declared. “I am sure there is some deception here, some influence on this dreadful situation that neither of us—perhaps neither Mr Archer nor Captain Hartnell themselves!—are fully aware of. I cannot believe it, and I shall not believe that Mr Archer might interfere in Mr Webber’s affairs so cruelly.” She would not be swayed from her determination despite Elsabeth’s arguments, and, finally, with the candles guttering, both young ladies took to sleep with neither of them satisfied by their discussion.

  Morning was no gladder a time for Elsabeth, who not only endured Mr Cox over the course of breakfast—his second full breakfast, as he had once more risen at half past four in the morning and insisted upon a hot meal then, and then could not, as he explained, be so rude as to fail to join the family in breaking their fast—but who also had the unpleasant task of visiting Sophia Enton to tell her of Mr Archer’s engagement. They were in the garden and, by design, quite alone when Elsabeth broke this news to her friend; she did not want to subject Sophia to Mrs Enton’s temper when it was learned that Archer could not be relied upon as a potential husband.

  Sophia, for her part, gazed at Elsabeth in pure astonishment upon the relating of this news. “What could it matter to me that Mr Archer is engaged?”

  “Well, he—he spoke very highly of you! He was most taken with your form at dinner last week!”

  “Was he? How kind of him.” Sophia smiled, a rather polite expression that gradually grew more amused as Elsabeth’s amazement became clear to her. “Forgive me, Elsa! I hadn’t thought to set my cap so high. In truth, while I know that Mr Archer is a handsome man, I cannot recall exchanging two words with him over dinner. I was much engaged in conversation with Miss Webber, whom I found to be exceedingly warm and pleasant. I wonder that you and she do not get along.”

  “Such accolades for Miss Webber from you and Rosamund both
,” Elsabeth replied. “Now I begin to wonder that we do not get along. Perhaps there is something in her that I cannot see. Indeed, there must be, that my bosom friend and dearest sister both admire her when I do not.” She did not entirely mean what she said, being quite confident of her own opinions, but she had thought Sophia would side with her on the matter of Miss Webber, and to learn otherwise startled her. “I shall have to think on this,” she conceded, and Sophia, laughing, opined that to make Elsabeth Dover reconsider an opinion was an achievement indeed.

  “Now,” Sophia added, “I have a thought about this ball your sisters keep insisting will happen. You cannot hold it at Oakden, Elsa; it is not large enough. Nor can you sensibly hire the Bodton Hall, which lacks grandeur. I have spoken to Mamma and have nearly convinced her that it would be the event of the season to have it at Enton Manor. I believe, in fact, that she almost believes it to be her own idea, and that it would take little more than a nudge from a certain well-placed gentleman to make it a certainty.”

  Elsabeth’s hands flew to her mouth, hiding both a gasp and a smile. “Sophia! How cunning of you, and how kind. I do not believe Mamma has in any way considered the difficulties of hosting a ball ourselves, but Enton Manor is as grand as Newsbury, and newer. What gentleman did you have in mind?”

  “I believe Mamma still harbours certain hopes for Mr Webber. A word from him...?”

  “Thank goodness you asked for Mr Webber, and not Mr Archer—although I still believe he looked very kindly upon you, Sophia. Oh, I am sure that might be possible. Perhaps we might arrange to accidentally meet in Bodton Square tomorrow, perhaps at half past two? A day is surely enough time for Rosamund to prevail upon Mr Webber’s kindness and to provide such a... nudge.”

  “I shall make certain we are shopping at half past two tomorrow,” Sophia replied with an air of triumph. “Perhaps Miss Webber could be in the party, Elsa. I believe I could rely upon her fine breeding to convince Mamma that a dress selected by Miss Webber would be the most flattering thing I could wear at a ball...?”

  “Sophia Enton,” Elsabeth said with admiration. “You have become wily.”

  “I am not wily. I am tall and rather plain, but with—perhaps—just a spark of magnificence in me. If Miss Webber can bring it out, then maybe Mamma will not be burdened with me forever.”

  “My dear friend, you have far more than a spark of magnificence. Let me go now: I shall make all these arrangements, and you will be the talk of Bodton at your ball.”

  (24)

  A calling card was sent; an acceptable agreement was received, and, that very afternoon, the two oldest Dover girls descended once more upon Newsbury Manor, where, much to Elsabeth’s surprise, not only was Mr Webber amenable to their plans, but so too was Miss Webber. The following afternoon, a seemingly chance encounter led Mr Webber to praise Mrs Enton on the remarkable descriptions he had heard of her home and to insinuate he hoped he might have the opportunity to see it himself. Her very next words were to issue a declaration that the Dovers’ ball was to be the Enton ball, and to press Mr Webber into promising to attend.

  Miss Webber, with all the skill of a trained actress, cried, “Oh! We must find you a new gown!” to Sophia Enton, and, without further consultation with Mrs Enton, drew Sophia into the most expensive shop in Bodton. Mrs Enton followed; some time later, they emerged with the mother looking faint and the daughter radiant with pleasure as she squired Miss Webber back to the Newsbury carriage. Elsabeth, watching from a distance, was obliged to admire Miss Webber’s deftness as she turned a sweet smile upon Mrs Enton and commended her, loudly enough for the whole town square to hear, on her exquisite taste in clothing and her extremely good eye for what a daughter of Sophia’s height and build should wear. “I should never have thought to choose that mulberry,” Miss Webber declared, “but it will look exquisite on Miss Enton. I do so look forward to admiring her at your ball, and to seeing your magnificent home.” With this speech lingering on the air, the Newsbury contingent was driven away. Sophia, looking very much as though she struggled not to laugh with joy, caught Elsabeth’s eye and satisfied herself with a bright smile. Elsabeth herself returned home on the wings of that smile, feeling like she might fly, buoyed by her friend’s delight.

  It was something of a horror, then, to traipse lightly up the Oakden walk and encounter Mr Reginald Cox busy at the act of gardening. Upon Elsabeth’s arrival, he leapt to his feet more lightly than a man of his size might be expected to, and made much of wiping suspiciously undirtied hands cleaner on his trousers. “Miss Elsabeth! What a surprise to encounter you.”

  “Indeed, it cannot be much of a surprise, as this is my home. I do hope you have not disturbed Mamma’s nasturtiums, Mr Cox; it would distress her greatly.” As it was clear he had done little more than kneel in their vicinity, Elsabeth felt this was a safe remark; she did not expect the flow of assurances and apologies that the comment engendered. “Enough, enough, Mr Cox,” she was obliged to say after some minutes of this behaviour. “I can see that you have done them no damage. Forgive me—”

  “Do forgive me, Cousin. I am quite overtaken with emotion, as you can see. I should hate to upset you in any way. Perhaps I might beg your forgiveness by offering to escort you on a walk around the gardens; I know how you like to walk.”

  “I have only just returned from walking to and from town, Mr Cox. It had rather been my hope to retire to the house for a drink and perhaps some quiet reading.”

  “I should be delighted to read to you.” The unshakable Mr Cox fell into step beside Elsabeth, deaf to her protest that quiet reading seemed to her by its very definition to be not done aloud. Desperate to escape, she hurried ahead and threw the door open to rush inside, and instead collided with first an enormous jug, and then Ruth, who bore the jug in both hands.

  Scummy water sloshed upward and spilled down Elsabeth’s front in dark streaks. It pattered on the floor, turning flagstones black. Elsabeth’s shriek, more borne of startlement than anger, was followed hard upon by the sound of falling water, and Ruth, trembling, looked up with two hard spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. Elsabeth gasped, “Ruth!” with anger burgeoning, but even as she spoke, saw a strange combination of stubbornness and fear rising in her middle sister’s gaze.

  It gave her pause, if only for an instant. Ruth did not by nature blush: indeed, the colour in her cheeks was unnatural, as if unpracticed and therefore unable to be pretty. Her hair, though, which was always knotted tightly against her head, was rather pretty today: though still snugger than any other Dover sister would wear it, it had been loosened enough to suggest there might be some native body to it, and she appeared, of all things, to have borrowed one of Matilda’s more conservative dresses: it scooped along her collarbones and had long sleeves that puffed gently at the shoulders.

  Moreover, the jug she still clutched in her arms was one of the laundry jugs, filled with dirty water, and there was no sensible reason for her to be carrying it out the front door. Elsabeth, with a sudden suspicion, let go of all anger and instead completed her exclamation with, “Are you all right?”

  Ruth gazed at her in evident mortification. “Oh, Elsabeth, forgive me. Let me help you into something dry—”

  “No, no, I’m quite all right,” Elsabeth said hastily. “I’ll just go upstairs and change. But goodness, Ruth, you shouldn’t be carrying something so dreadfully heavy. Mr Cox, you are such a very strong and able gentleman, perhaps you could help poor Ruth with this jug; she’s far too fragile to be carrying such a weight herself.” She stepped nimbly around Ruth, whose mor- tified expression softened just slightly into gratitude. Elsabeth allowed herself one glance backward to see Mr Cox taking on the weight of the jug with what appeared to be his best effort at gallantry, and, joyful once more, Elsa whispered, “Well done, Ruth, well done!” as she hurried to change her dress.

  (25)

  The sennight betwixt Mrs Enton’s appropriation of the Dover ball and the event itself dragged on interminably, with
Leopoldina and Matilda keeping close watch on the dressmakers upon whom all their hopes for a magnificent evening lay. It would not be past Mrs Enton, they agreed with their mother, to postpone the ball should Sophia Enton’s dress not be finished in time, and it was with a great sigh of relief that the gown was passed from seamstress to maidservant as a sign that the ball would proceed as planned.

  For the duration of that week, Mr Cox continued to pay especial attention to Elsabeth, who grew increasingly grateful that she had slipped his grasp for the first dance of the evening, and all too often exchanged rueful glances with Rosamund, with whom she had entered a pact to allow Ruth as much access to Mr Cox as could be socially permissible. Ruth grew prettier yet, even her gaze softening behind her round spectacles as she wore both hair and gowns more fashionably. If Mr Cox remained unaware, no one else in the Dover family missed her transformation. Nor did a scarlet-coated youth upon their arrival at the ball: Ruth, who had an empty dance card upon crossing the threshold, found herself sought after for one dance, then another, whilst Mrs Dover looked on with astonishment.

  It was dismay rather than astonishment that beleaguered Elsa, though: having been promised the first dance by Captain Hartnell, it had not crossed her mind that he might not present himself at the ball. Escaping her sisters—who were, by order of age, engaged in conversation with Mr Webber, a serious-looking young lieutenant who held in one hand a Bible and with the other pointed out the passage of which he spoke, and a bevy of handsome officers all heartily attendant on the liveliest and most pliant of the Dover girls—Elsabeth slipped through the Enton public rooms in subtle search of Hartnell.