Darby's Angel

by Marcy Stewart

  What if she’d misunderstood him? She couldn’t bear the disappointment if she had.

  It was most disturbing. Thus, when she stood before her mirror on the evening of her birthday, she took only distant pleasure in her appearance. The soft blue-grey of her satin gown matched her eyes precisely; its low-cut bodice narrowed to a trim waistline (which felt strange, since it was seamed at her actual waist instead of beneath the bust as had been the fashion for years); below it, the gown flared outward to the floor. Tiny, embroidered butterflies were scattered at the hem and the cuffs of her puffed sleeves. A jeweled butterfly comb nestled into her upswept hair, which had been styled elegantly by Lenora’s maid, Rena; and a few golden-brown tendrils strayed past her earrings. Dove-grey gloves, the same shade as her slippers, stretched past her elbows.

  She would do, she supposed. Her heart fluttering with anxiety, she turned to open the door, then felt a rush of pleasure when she saw Alexander stood there, his hand raised to knock.

  “Happy birthday, old girl,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “For someone who looks amazingly like myself in skirts, you’re appearing well.”

  She thanked him and viewed his black evening clothes with approval. “As do you. Are you ready to go down?”

  “In a minute.” He eased past her and pulled her farther into the room, shutting the door behind them. “I want you to be the first to know. I have something to show you.”

  His excitement filled her with foreboding. When he pulled a ring from his pocket, her fears became real, and her heart plummeted. He held a large ruby set in a plain gold band. It was the ring their mother had worn all her married life.

  “I plan to ask for Lenora’s hand tonight,” Alexander said. “If she agrees, I want to announce our betrothal at the gathering.”

  “Oh, Alex,” she moaned. Was this why the merry widow had postponed telling him of her past? Did she suspect she was so close to grasping her prize?

  “I know you don’t approve of Lenora, but you have come to like her better lately, haven’t you? It’s important that you do.”

  “My approval is not the issue. I fear you’re rushing things, Alex. You don’t know anything about her.”

  “What do you mean? I know all I need to know. I’ve known her for years.” A stubborn look came into his eyes. “Your favorable opinion means much to me, but I warn you; this is one thing I intend to do, with or without your blessing.”

  “And you shall have it,” she entreated. “Later. Just promise to wait a day longer, at least.”

  “Whyever should I do that? Everyone we know will be here tonight. What better time is there?”

  “Please, Alex. Heed me in this.”

  “I listen to you in all things,” he said, frowning as he returned the ring to his pocket. “But I’m not delaying because of some whim of yours. I’m going downstairs now. Do you come with me?”

  “I’ll be down in a moment,” she said evenly, though fury was causing her earrings to shake. When he exited, she waited until he had time to leave the corridor, then stalked in a most unfeminine manner to Lenora’s room, knocked commandingly at the door, and swept inside without waiting for an invitation.

  “Unless you wish Rena to hear what I have to say, you’d best dismiss her,” Darby said without preamble.

  Lenora, garbed in a new pink confection, was seated at her dressing table while her maid adjusted a tiara over her golden curls. Seeing Darby’s irate face reflected in her mirror, Lenora put her own hands to the jewelry, patted it to check for stability, then rose gracefully.

  “That will be all, Rena,” she said, and the maid bobbed and hurried from the room. “You are looking quite fine, Darby, though I can see something is troubling you. What have I done now?”

  “It’s not what you’ve done; it’s what you have failed to do.” Darby’s wrath was not lessened by Lenora’s well-tended beauty. Alex would find her impossible to resist tonight. “Why have you not spoken with my brother?”

  Lenora’s dark eyes glittered. “You mean, why haven’t I told him I was an adulteress? This may be difficult for you to understand, Darby, but every time I begin to frame the words, they choke me.”

  “I have no difficulty understanding that at all. If you’re unable to do it, say so.”

  “And you will tell him,” Lenora said hopelessly.

  “Of course. And it must be done immediately.”

  “Immediately? Do you mean tonight?”

  “Yes, tonight.” She waited a few seconds. “Well, what is it to be? Do you wish me to tell him?”

  “No, of course not ...”

  At that moment, the door opened. “Knock, knock, knock!” sang Aunt Gacia as she entered. A beaming Uncle Richard followed on her heels. “Why, Darby, what a pleasant surprise; I didn’t expect to find you here! How stunning you look. Doesn’t she, Mr. Lightner?”

  “She does, indeed,” he said, his girth expanding the buttons of his black jacket more than it had when he last wore the suit. “Don’t know which pretty flower to gaze upon—m’lovely daughter or m’lovely niece.”

  “And what of your lovely wife?” asked Aunt Gacia teasingly, turning and swirling the layers of chiffon that topped her multi-coloured Indian silk.

  “You’re the prettiest of all,” he said loyally.

  “Oh, Mr. Lightner!” Aunt Gacia cried, giggling. “Only listen to you; my goodness, what a sweet liar!” She grew quiet then, apparently noticing for the first time how silent the young women were. “Have we ... interrupted something, children?”

  “Darby wishes me to tell Alexander about my scandalous, unforgivable past,” Lenora said flatly. “She wants me to do so this evening.”

  “Oh,” breathed Aunt Gacia, the merriment dying from her expression. “Oh, dear.”

  Uncle Richard’s demeanor underwent a swift transformation. In a stern voice he asked, “Why tonight? And why tell him at all?”

  “Alex deserves to know the truth.” Struggling against a feeling of disloyalty to her brother, she added, “He plans to ask her to be his wife.”

  It seemed a cool wind of joy breezed through the room.

  “Tonight?” queried Uncle Richard. “I knew it was coming, but tonight?”

  “God be praised,” said Aunt Gacia. “We are saved, Mr. Lightner!”

  “Perhaps not,” Lenora said, hope warring with caution on her face. “I’ve been told Alexander is unforgiving.”

  “All this worry’s useless,” Uncle Richard said gruffly. “It would be foolishness to trouble the boy with what’s gone on in the past. That’s water under the bridge now, and Lenora’s not to blame for any of it. You realize that, don’t you, Darby-girl?”

  “I understand what she did,” Darby said. “But Alex must be given the chance to judge that for himself.”

  “Judge! Judge Lenora?” shouted Uncle Richard, growing angry again. “Everybody fancies they’re a judge! Well, I’ve had enough of people wagging their tongues in judgment over me and mine, and I’ll not—”

  “Papa,” Lenora said soothingly. “Don’t become upset. I’ll tell Alexander, and he’ll forgive me; I know he will.”

  Her father’s face flushed. “No. Don’t say a word to him until I talk with Darby here.”

  Darby met his gaze unflinchingly, though his colour alarmed her. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

  “But you—” he began.

  “Why, Simon!” Lenora exclaimed effusively. “You are looking very handsome. Have you come to fetch us?”

  The others turned toward the open door, where stood Simon with an attitude of polite interest. When he spied Darby, the interest grew more pronounced. She felt blushes rising to her cheeks at the look of admiration and—what was it, relief?—in his eyes.

  Looking at him now, she knew she’d never seen a more astonishingly beautiful man. Thanks to Beckett’s nimble fingers, Simon wore a black frac, waistcoat and trousers which fit his strong body to perfection. A white shirt and neckcloth provided dramati
c contrast to the black, as did his light hair. On his feet he wore ebony shoes that had been sent all the way from London, at her insistence.

  For an instant, it was as though the room’s other inhabitants disappeared, and every worry about Alexander and Lenora flew from her head. A lesser woman would faint if Simon regarded her as he does me, she thought happily. And then worry saddled her again. What could he be planning to tell her that was so bad she might not want him to stay? Surely there was nothing so awful as that.

  Simon stirred to life. “Um, yes. The guests have begun to arrive. Alexander said to hurry.”

  Lenora began searching for her fan while Aunt Gacia exclaimed and rushed toward the door. Pausing at the threshold, she said to her husband, “Come along, dearest. I’ll need your arm.”

  Uncle Richard gave Darby a final glance. “We’ll talk later,” he said quietly. “Wait before you”—he darted a look in Simon’s direction, then lowered his voice further— “wait before you speak. Just give me a moment, is all I ask.” When she did not answer, he seemed to take her silence as affirmation and squeezed her hand. “There’s a good girl.” And hurried off to join his wife.

  Lifting his eyebrows curiously, Simon offered his escort to Darby and Lenora, and the three of them descended the stairs. Uncle Richard and Aunt Gacia, in their last role as guardians, stood at the head of the receiving line; Lenora took her place next to them, followed by Alexander and Darby. Claude stood to the side, greeting the guests he knew and smiling condescendingly at the ones he did not.

  As she welcomed her visitors, Darby glanced away frequently to catch Simon’s eye. He seemed even more anxious than she, if that was possible, meeting her looks with tight smiles while milling around aimlessly. When the foreman of the pottery entered, appearing uncomfortable in his Sunday-best and holding his cap in his hand, Simon brightened. She was surprised to see them talking conspiratorially to one another, and even more surprised when they dashed away.

  But when Simon returned almost at once, rushed to her and whispered, “I’ll be gone for just a few minutes; stay inside and remember: Don’t go near the pond!”, then ran after the foreman again, she became heavily concerned. Perhaps, after all, her angel was not quite right in the head.

  Darby guessed that everyone in the district was going to make an appearance at their ball; the stream of guests seemed endless. Even the local baron and his wife came. Yet there were two whose absence robbed the flavour from what promised to be deemed a successful evening. Before she had time to truly mourn that loss, Mrs. Wallace, Evelyn, and Edward entered. Darby could not wait until they filed all the way down to her; she jumped out of line and pulled Evelyn and Edward aside.

  “I’m so happy you came!” she cried. Looking pointedly at Edward, she added, “Thank you.”

  “We couldn’t miss it,” said Evelyn, who, though she glowed appealingly in a pale green gown embroidered with golden threads, appeared nervous. “I’m too cheered by the prospects of having you join me in the miseries of adulthood.”

  Edward directed his gaze over Darby’s shoulder with unsmiling determination. “I’m here because of my mother’s tears,” he said.

  Darby swallowed. “I’m pleased to see you, no matter what the reason.” Forcing brightness into her voice, she added, “Thanks to Lenora’s prodding, the orchestra will be performing several waltzes this evening. Do you think we’ll become the scandal of the village?”

  Edward looked her squarely in the eye. “Yes, most likely. Depends on how far you take it.”

  He was not speaking of dancing, Darby knew. She searched her mind for something of a peaceful nature to say but found nothing. To her relief, Evelyn clutched Edward’s arm and pushed him toward the receiving line.

  “Hush, little brother. You will not embarrass me tonight; I intend to enjoy myself. The line is breaking up over there; why don’t you go speak with Alex and leave us alone?”

  “With pleasure,” Edward said, and moved away stiffly.

  “He has lost all kindness this week, but he’ll recover,” Evelyn commented. “In truth, I must admit I, too, was disappointed by your refusing his offer. So was Mother. You caused her to cry—though who or what does not?” She looked longingly toward Alexander, who stood between Lenora and Edward. “I always thought you and I would be sisters, one way or another. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “In my heart, we are already sisters.”

  “Yes, well ... mine, too, I suppose. I just hoped among the four of us there would be one pairing at least.” With her eyes still fixed on Alexander, Evelyn said yearningly, “I haven’t seen you in weeks. I suppose there has been no change in that quarter?”

  Darby said reluctantly, “It only grows warmer. Yet do not abandon all hope; there are things about Lenora that Alex doesn’t yet understand.”

  “Truly? From the look of him, he is beyond all understanding or sensibility. You will not be surprised if I do try to banish him from my mind, will you?” She made a feeble attempt at a laugh. “I shall turn my attention to more worthy prospects than a lump-headed ... oh ...”

  Darby slipped her arm around her friend’s waist and offered her handkerchief. “He is a lump-head. A dolt. He’s not worthy of you, I know that.”

  Evelyn smiled and shook her head at the proffered scrap of linen and lace. “Perhaps you are right,” she said pensively, gazing again across the chattering knots of people to Alexander, whose face was rapt as a worshiper at a shrine as he attended Lenora and ignored Edward. “But he is dear to me all the same. If only once he had looked at me like that.”

  “I shall never forgive him for not doing so.”

  “Yes, you will. You love him even more than I do, and if I can forgive him, so can you.”

  “Evelyn, you are too good for this world.”

  Darby looked up then and was vexed to see Uncle Richard approaching. She had no desire to speak with him. Bundling Evelyn’s arm within hers, she began making her way through the crowd. But before she moved far, she stopped, stunned by the sight of the pottery’s schoolchildren lined up across the balcony. The youngsters were clothed in matching uniforms: white shirts and black trousers for the boys; pink ruffled gowns for the girls. Their faces were freshly scrubbed, their hair washed and combed. Many of them held slim volumes by their sides.

  The chatter in the hall began to die away as, one by one, the guests turned their attention to the balcony. Hearing the sudden hush, a few others wandered from the adjoining rooms. And then, to Darby’s everlasting shock, Simon appeared at one end of the line of children. A guitar was strapped around his neck with a leather thong. While Darby’s mouth dropped, he strummed a chord, and one of the children—Millie, she saw it was-—clicked a finger cymbal. And then the youngsters began to sing.

  Their voices were sweet and true as they sang a haunting folk song—something about a mountain flower. At its conclusion, before there was time for applause, Clemmy moved down a step and recited his letters so adorably that Darby could scarcely stop herself from rushing up the stairs to hug him. After he finished, one child after another read or recited a brief poem. One little girl was so frightened she could hardly be heard, but the guests murmured encouragingly and by the end, she was almost shouting. And then Simon began to play chords on the guitar again, and the children marched down the stairs and through the kitchen while singing a farewell song. Clemmy was the last to leave, and when he did, the audience burst into resounding applause.

  The children emerged from the kitchen to take their bows. After that, Simon, having caught Darby’s eye and mouthing, “Remember,” led them back into the kitchen promising treats.

  Darby was so delighted she could not stop laughing. She received many compliments from her guests on the excellent entertainment, compliments she knew were undeserved since the program had been a secret to her. But judging by Alex and Lenora’s proud faces across the crowded hall, the performance had been no surprise to them.

  It was evident that Lenora had not spoken
yet. Darby’s spirits dampened a little, and when she saw Uncle Richard again headed in her direction, they fell even further. With determination she pulled Evelyn behind a large knot of people and into the library.

  “What are you doing?” asked Evelyn, who appeared in a lighter mood after hearing the children. “I feel as if we’re playing hide-and-seek as we did in the old days.”

  “I hope you’re seeking me, then,” said Claude, emerging from the corner of the room half-hidden by the open door.

  “Claude!” Darby heard the censure in her voice and knew Evelyn would wonder at it, but she could not help herself. “Why aren’t you with the other guests?”

  He looked nonplussed. “Why, I was only admiring your gifts and trying to escape Simon Garrett’s caterwauling runts. What a treasure-trove you have here!” He gestured toward the space behind the door, which was piled high with decorated boxes. “Some of the larger items are unwrapped, such as this vase. Look, the card is made out to both of you, Darby; what shall you do when you marry and move away—saw it in half? Ha! At least Sir Wilfred and his wife are not such shilling-squeezers; he has given each of you walking sticks engraved with your initials.” He hefted one of the sticks in his hand. “This one is yours, Darby; see the scripted D. How elegant, and yet how inappropriate, unless you think you need a cane at your age.” He studied the mahogany object more closely, fingering a circular seam near the handle. “Say now, what is this button for? Shall I push it and find out? Egad, a blade! I suppose we must be careful of you henceforth, Warrior Darby!”

  “And what have you given them?” asked Evelyn, who had always been straightforward in her dislike of Claude.

  “Please,” Darby said. “We really didn’t expect—”

  “Oh, there you are!’’ exclaimed Uncle Richard, entering the room. “A moment of your time, my girl.”

  “Whatever you want, it will have to wait,” Alexander said, following him. “The orchestra is starting the first dance, and several guests are demanding the birthday twins lead it.”