The Matters at Mansfield m&mdm-4

by Carrie Bebris

  Whether Miss de Bourgh had wished the match, he knew not, nor whether she harbored any other desires or dreams. If she did, he doubted Lady Catherine ever gave her opportunity to voice them. What a dreary existence his cousin must lead.

  “This set will end soon,” Elizabeth said. “Invite her to dance.”

  Darcy nodded, his eyes still on Anne.

  “What is this I hear?” The familiar male voice behind him prompted Darcy to turn round and meet the cheerful countenance of Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Not two summers wed, and already your wife encourages you to stand up with other women rather than endure your dancing herself?”

  Two years older than Darcy, the colonel was his favorite relation, his friend as well as his cousin, and one of the few people from whom Darcy accepted jesting.

  “I am afraid so,” Darcy responded. “Are you now disillusioned about the longevity of nuptial bliss?”

  “Not in the least. Rather, I am convinced that only true devotion could have blinded Mrs. Darcy this long to your rigid deportment on the ballroom floor.” The colonel bowed to Elizabeth, who answered with a broad smile.

  “Fortunately, Colonel, should you ever decide to enter the marital state yourself, your bride will have no such deficiency to overlook,” she said. “You and Georgiana acquitted yourselves quite well earlier.”

  “A compliment more deserved by my partner than by me. Miss Darcy inherited all her mother’s grace, leaving her brother bankrupt in that asset.”

  “You unjustly disparage your own talent along with my husband’s. I grant you leave to exercise all the modesty you like, but if you continue to tease Darcy so, he will never again dance with anybody, let alone with Miss de Bourgh.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Our cousin is the lady in question?”

  “Someone ought to invite her. Whether she accepts or not, a woman likes to be asked.” She cast an arch glance at Darcy. “Though I have heard that my husband is not in the habit of giving consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

  The gently delivered rebuke echoed in Darcy’s mind, pricking his conscience. “You are correct — Miss de Bourgh should at least receive the compliment of an invitation, though she is certain to decline. It would displease Lady Catherine if she exerted herself unnecessarily.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “All the more reason to ask, I should think. It does our aunt good to have her will subverted on occasion.”

  “And as I have already earned her ladyship’s censure for choosing my own wife, I might as well compound it?”

  “Nay, you have proven your valor sufficiently. As a younger son, I have not nearly as many opportunities to demonstrate independence. Therefore, allow me to be the one who invites our cousin to dance.”

  “Very well. We will abet you by distracting Lady Catherine. During our aunt’s visit to Pemberley this past winter, Mrs. Darcy developed quite an aptitude for it.”

  They joined Anne and her mother just as Lady Catherine paused for breath in the monologue she had been delivering. Lord Sennex nodded.

  “Quite right, quite right.” The white-haired sexagenarian leaned heavily on his cane, his own thin frame not much more substantial than the walking device. His clothes hung loose upon him, a contrast to the more close-fitting garments worn by all the other men in the room. “You are a sensible woman, Lady Catherine. I trust your daughter inherited that trait.” He looked at Miss de Bourgh, but Anne was oblivious to the viscount’s praise. The music had paused, and her attention was focused on the top of the room, where couples lined up to form a new set.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted the ladies and their companion. “Lord Sennex, have you met Mrs. Darcy?”

  “Mrs. Darcy?” He regarded Elizabeth blankly. “I cannot say I have the pleasure of acquaintance with the lady, or her husband.”

  The denial took Darcy aback. He had dined with Lord Sennex during previous visits to Riveton Hall, occasionally at the viscount’s own home.

  “Your lordship surely remembers Mr. Darcy,” Lady Catherine said. “He is my nephew — my late sister’s son.”

  Lord Sennex stared at Darcy, wrinkling his brow as he struggled for recollection. “Oh, yes,” he finally said. “Of course.” Though he nodded heartily, his eyes revealed no spark of recognition. “Pray, forgive my error.”

  It was a shame to see that the viscount had deteriorated so since Darcy last met him. He had always been a vigorous man, full of potency and fire. A second son, he had served as a major in His Majesty’s army during the American Rebellion before inheriting the viscountcy upon the death of his elder brother. Though he had sold his military commission, he had never relinquished his commitment to the principles of honor and courage he had served. He was even rumored to have fought a duel or two in defense of them, and was their advocate in the House of Lords when debating with his peers. His had been a life of dignity and vitality.

  And now he could not even recognize Darcy’s face as he stooped over his cane.

  “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. It has been several years since I last had the pleasure of seeing you.”

  “I suppose it has. Do you know Neville, as well, then?”

  Ten years Darcy’s senior, the Honorable Neville Sennex was the viscount’s only son and heir. “Indeed. He included me in one of his hunting parties the last time I was in the neighborhood.”

  At the word “hunting,” his lordship nodded enthusiastically. “Neville runs his pack five or six times a week during the season. This warm weather makes him restless as a treed fox — autumn can hardly come soon enough. I presume you caught your quarry that day?”

  “The creature eluded us with a ticklish scent for two days, but the third morning we managed to capture it.”

  “Neville won the brush, no doubt. He is a passionate sportsman.”

  “So I recall.” Too passionate, in Darcy’s estimation. Neville Sennex kept a large, well-trained pack, but was himself a noisy hunter whose excessive shouts and tendency to override his hounds impeded their chase. Insensible of his own contribution to their failure, Mr. Sennex had been so angry after the second blank day that he had beaten not just the dogs but also one of his whippers-in. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had shifted uncomfortably in their saddles during the ungentlemanly display, and returned for the third day of the foxhunt only to avoid offending their neighbor.

  Darcy glanced at his cousin to determine whether he, too, remembered the incident, but Fitzwilliam had engaged Miss de Bourgh in muted conversation. Just beyond Lady Catherine’s peripheral vision, Anne nodded and took the colonel’s proffered arm.

  Elizabeth, standing opposite the couple, also noted the exchange. “Is your son here this evening?” she asked the viscount. Her query drew Lady Catherine’s attention toward herself and thus even further away from Anne.

  “He is in the card room. Neville does not care for dancing.”

  “Nor does my daughter,” Lady Catherine declared. “If Anne chose to dance, she possesses so much natural poise that she would make a lovely figure. Indeed, she would be a credit to any partner. But Miss de Bourgh is a level-headed young woman who sympathizes with your son’s disdain for frivolity. Is that not so, Anne?”

  Anne, however, had escaped auditory range of her mother and was heading away with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Somehow, the couple had also managed to shed themselves of Mrs. Jenkinson, who remained behind.

  “Wherever is she going?” Lady Catherine asked Mrs. Jenkinson.

  “I am not certain, my lady. Miss de Bourgh merely said I was not needed.”

  “The room is rather warm,” Elizabeth said. “No doubt Colonel Fitzwilliam escorts her to refreshment.”

  “The air is indeed close,” her ladyship said. “I wonder that my nephew did not invite me as well. I could do with some lemonade. Riveton always serves excellent lemonade — not that tepid water they try to pass off as lemonade at Almack’s. A good lemonade requires the proper proportion of tart and sweet to adequately stimulate the palate.
You must sample Riveton’s lemonade, my lord. Let us join Miss de Bourgh and the colonel.”

  “Actually, Aunt,” Darcy interjected, “I was about to invite you to accompany me to the card room. Your lordship as well, if you are inclined. Perhaps we can find a game of whist.” Darcy had no interest in cards this evening, let alone becoming trapped at a table with Lady Catherine for a period of time, but he hoped the temptation of a game would provide sufficient distraction to grant Anne a set or two on the dance floor.

  “Quadrille,” his aunt declared. “You know I favor quadrille.”

  “I believe Neville plays quadrille,” said Lord Sennex. “Or is cassino his game of choice? No, no — I think it is quadrille. Yes, I am almost certain of it. Well, no matter. Whatever he plays, there may be an opening at his table. That would provide you an opportunity to renew your acquaintance with him, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I would be pleased to play cards with Mr. Sennex.” In truth, Darcy had little desire to court the friendship of a man given to fits of temper, but he would tolerate his company if necessary to occupy his aunt. “However, should insufficient openings exist at his table, we can form our own.”

  “If your lordship plays, we would then require a fourth.” Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth appraisingly but without enthusiasm.

  “Perhaps Mrs. Jenkinson could complete your table?” Elizabeth suggested. “She is the more experienced quadrille player.”

  As Anne’s paid companion, Mrs. Jenkinson’s primary responsibility was attending Miss de Bourgh. Her secondary duty was serving Lady Catherine’s convenience, an obligation that commanded as much if not more time and exertion. Among other functions, Mrs. Jenkinson spent many an evening at Rosings rounding out her ladyship’s card tables.

  “Mrs. Jenkinson should see to Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Miss de Bourgh is well attended by her cousin at present,” Elizabeth said. “I will inform her of your whereabouts upon their return.”

  “Tell her to come to me. She can take Mrs. Jenkinson’s place at cards.”

  Darcy offered his arm to Lady Catherine. As they departed, Elizabeth caught his gaze with a smile.

  “Enjoy your game.”

  Three

  “Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.”

  — Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride and Prejudice

  Elizabeth watched Darcy steer Lady Catherine out of the room. No sooner had the small party crossed the threshold than the musicians struck the opening chord of the next tune. She scanned the arranged couples for Miss de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and discovered them not yet on the floor. They stood behind the gentlemen’s side of the longways set, also waiting for Anne’s mother to disappear from view. Once safe from her ladyship’s surveillance, the couple hastily joined the bottom of the set.

  Anne cast a final look over her shoulder toward the doorway. Apparently satisfied that her mother was not about to charge out and promenade her right off the floor, she indulged in a conspiratorial half-smile at her partner. The two made a charming couple. Colonel Fitzwilliam cut a striking figure in his formal dress uniform; the decorated red coat with blue facings, gold lace, and gold buttons created a presence that lent handsomeness to his otherwise unremarkable features. Anne held herself with all her customary dignity, but there was a lightness in her stance not ordinarily displayed. Her face reflected expectation and delight as she watched the top couples complete the dance’s opening figures.

  Elizabeth was not the only one to notice Anne’s enjoyment. Lady Winthrop, a longtime friend of the Fitzwilliam family, also observed the cousins.

  “I do not think I have ever seen Miss de Bourgh in such high spirits,” Lady Winthrop said.

  “Nor I, and the lower couples have not even joined the dance yet.”

  Anne watched the top dancers closely, no doubt committing to memory the order of figures and studying their execution. Lady Winthrop’s eldest daughter led the dance, partnered with a gentleman Elizabeth did not recognize. Both were accomplished dancers, performing the figures flawlessly and with contagious enthusiasm.

  “I am not acquainted with your daughter’s partner,” Elizabeth said.

  “We were introduced only briefly, but my daughter and her friends were all information regarding the gentleman within ten minutes of his entering the room. He is Mr. Henry Crawford, and his catalogue of charms includes an income of four thousand a year and an estate named Everingham. He attends tonight as a friend of Admiral Davidson.”

  Elizabeth had met Admiral Davidson, one of Riveton’s neighbors, earlier in the week, and recalled his having mentioned houseguests. “Mr. Crawford does not reside nearby?”

  “His house is in Norfolk. He accompanies his uncle, Admiral Crawford, who visits on business with Admiral Davidson. My daughter tells me that Mr. Crawford and his sister were raised by the uncle in London.”

  “Is his sister also present tonight?”

  “No. Miss Crawford is not part of the admiral’s traveling party.”

  Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford cast off and moved to the bottom of the set, taking their new place immediately below Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Their progression afforded Elizabeth a better view of Mr. Crawford. He was shorter than the colonel, perhaps five feet nine or ten, and had dark hair. His features were on the plainer side, but what nature did not provide he made up for with a genial expression that rendered his countenance pleasing to look upon.

  As the music continued and the dance incorporated the set’s formerly neutral couples, Elizabeth wondered how Miss de Bourgh would perform. Fortunately, the first three figures were simple ones. Anne completed them charmingly, exhibiting all the grace her mother had boasted. Her step was smooth and light; her expression reflected concentration but not anxiety.

  The next figure was longer and more complex, involving Anne with not only her own partner but also their neighboring couple. Now temporarily partnered with Mr. Crawford, Anne moved with less assurance. She faltered, and a flush crept into her cheeks.

  Mr. Crawford said something to her and offered a smile of encouragement. His kindness seemed to restore her confidence, and his superior dancing skill strengthened her fledgling efforts. She completed the figure without further error.

  Whatever the gentleman had said, he apparently knew how to set a woman at ease. Perhaps it was his sister’s influence. “Does Miss Crawford keep house for her brother now that he is of age?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She lives with another relation,” Lady Winthrop replied. “A half sister.”

  The colonel and Anne took right hands across with Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford. When her hand entered Mr. Crawford’s grasp, Anne raised her eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes danced as merrily as he.

  At the song’s conclusion, he smiled at her once more before bowing to Miss Winthrop. Anne looked away quickly and honored her own partner with a curtsy. Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed the set and spoke to her, apparently encouraging her to remain with him on the floor for a second dance. She glanced toward the doorway through which her mother had disappeared, and shook her head.

  Poor Miss de Bourgh. The risk of being caught enjoying herself was too great. The colonel escorted her back to Elizabeth.

  “You dance beautifully, Miss de Bourgh,” Lady Winthrop said. “I hope I have another opportunity to observe you this evening.”

  “I thank you for the compliment, but I fear I must disappoint your hopes. I rarely dance, and doubt even my cousin can persuade me to do so a second time tonight.” She looked back at the dance floor, where Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford were among a dozen couples beginning a reel. Anne’s expression suggested it was her own desire, rather than Lady Winthrop’s, being thwarted by her abstinence.

  “Perhaps some refreshment would revive your interest,” Elizabeth suggested. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I have it on good authority that Riveton serves exceptional lemonade. Is that so?”

  “The finest. Would all of you ladies care to determine
its quality for yourselves?”

  Lady Winthrop declined, citing the need for a word with her daughter when the current dance concluded, but Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh accompanied the colonel to the next room, where a table offered lemonade and rout cakes. The beverage was soon pronounced by all three to be without equal. Lady Catherine would have approved.

  But her ladyship remained at cards, anticipating Anne’s imminent participation. Elizabeth wondered how much longer she would play before sending Darcy to fetch her daughter.

  The cessation of music in the ballroom heralded a break for the instrumentalists. Parched dancers took advantage of the lull and crowded the refreshment room. Anne having finished her lemonade, Colonel Fitzwilliam offered to refill her glass. When he returned, Mr. Crawford accompanied him.

  “Mrs. Darcy, Miss de Bourgh, this gentleman has begged an introduction to my fair cousins. May I present Mr. Henry Crawford?”

  “Indeed you may,” Elizabeth said. “I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Crawford, particularly after witnessing your performance in the ballroom.”

  “I do like a good ball. Have you danced yet this evening?”

  “I have not.”

  “By inclination or happenstance?”

  “My husband is in the card room, and most of the other gentlemen present have engaged unattached ladies for their partners, as they should. A married woman such as myself has no business dancing when there are single ladies wishing to do so.”

  “You are noble to your sex, but even the most altruistic person cannot be expected to deny herself the pleasure of dancing for the entire length of a ball. You must stand up with me for the next set. Surely Mr. Darcy will not object to your enjoying a dance while he amuses himself at cards.”

  Elizabeth suspected “amusement” hardly described what Darcy experienced just now, but she kept that thought to herself. “He would not frown upon my dancing, though he would likely prefer that my partner be someone with whom he is acquainted, and the young ladies present might take exception to my monopolizing one of the most eligible bachelors in the room.”