by Jayne Bamber
A few nights later, they were to return to Mrs. Sutton’s house for a dinner party, and Harriet was determined that Lydia should see that her attempt to sow discord in the family had failed. She would hold her head up high and make it known that for all Lydia’s mischief, she and Georgiana were better friends than ever.
***
Though Mary was happy to see Georgiana in better spirits the evening of Mrs. Sutton’s dinner, she was disappointed that Rebecca declined to attend. Rebecca claimed the excuse of dining at her father’s house with Richard and Marianne, but Mary suspected that Rebecca was still not reconciled to the notion of Caroline Sutton being accepted as a member of their extended family.
They were certainly an odd mix of people that evening. Mrs. Sutton arranged her table more formally then Elizabeth was prone to do, with the guests of the highest rank seated near the hostess, in descending order. Thus Mary found herself at the lower end of the table with her younger sister and her mother, who had discarded her lamentations of mourning in favor of crowing over Lydia’s marvelous transformation, as well as the great number of eligible gentlemen in attendance that night.
In fact, there were three rather handsome gentlemen all seated near her and Lydia, which Mary knew must be for Lydia’s sake – certainly her mother seemed to think so – but a little voice in the back of Mary’s mind, which sounded remarkably like Rebecca, whispered that it was all orchestrated to vex her.
Mary was on friendly terms with the handsome Henry Audley, whom she had seen often since returning to London. Lydia was also acquainted with Mr. Audley, and though seated a little further away from him than Mary, was determined to captivate his attention, as well as the notice of Mr. Edmund Bertram, a handsome but serious young gentleman who had recently given up his position as Lady Catherine’s parson, and Mr. Henry Tilney, a friend of Robert Fitzwilliam’s, whom her brother-in-law meant to recommend for the position now vacant.
If Mary had difficulty deciding which of the gentlemen she found the most civil, her mother’s quandary was even more apparent, for Mrs. Bennet could not focus her attention on any one of the three, so determined was she that they should all take an instant fancy to Lydia.
On Mary’s right hand side, Mr. Bertram, seated furthest from Lydia, seemed to be the least interested in Lydia, for he was far too somber. Seated so far down the table as they were from Lady Catherine, he seemed nonetheless aware of the her ladyship’s displeasure with him, and even expressed surprise at having been included in the invitation from Mrs. Sutton, whom he barely knew.
There was something odd about the man, and though Mary was not quite certain just what it was, she began to suspect that it had to do with the fashionable Miss Crawford, seated a little further down on the opposite side of the table from them. Mr. Bertram stared at her a great deal, and though they were close enough that they might have spoken, they did not. It seemed that whenever she felt Mr. Bertram’s gaze upon her, her wit only intensified, and she shone all the brighter for having captured his interest.
On such occasions, he would make a greater effort to converse with Mary, and though they spoke only of trivial matters, she had suffered far more tedious dinner companions before. She did begin to grow bored of his conversation, and perplexed at why Miss Crawford seemed to enjoy his silent attention so much.
The young man to her left, Mr. Tilney, appeared to be having a far livelier conversation with Lydia and Mrs. Bennet. He made occasional attempts to draw Mary in, and she was grateful for any opportunity he provided her to turn away from the dour Mr. Bertram and his heavy sighs and sidelong glances at Miss Crawford. Mr. Tilney was blessed with the ability to converse easily on any number of subjects, even partaking in Mrs. Bennet’s admiration over the very fine sprigged muslin Lydia was wearing.
“Oh, how you tease me, sir,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I know you gentlemen like to remind us ladies you care very little for such things, though I will say my dear Lydia is always in such fine looks.”
“Care very little for such things?” He gave an arch look. “I will have you know I happen to be in possession of one whole sister, a small triumph compared to the glory of having four, I am sure, but I congratulate myself on being an excellent judge of muslin. I buy my own cravats, you know, and just last month I bought my sister a gown, pronounced to be a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I paid but five shillings a yard for it, and it was a true Indian muslin.”
Mrs. Bennet was quite struck by his genius. “You must be a great comfort to your sister, sir.”
“I hope I am, madam.”
At this mention of a lady who was not herself, Lydia’s attention was easily captured by Mr. Audley, who had been moved to vie for his share of her notice. As Mr. Bertram had begun speaking with Mrs. Middleton on some of their common acquaintance from Kent, Mary was happily left with all the good luck of having Mr. Tilney’s attention all for herself.
He turned to her with an eager smile and addressed her thus, “I have hitherto been remiss, madam, in paying all the proper attentions of a dinner partner. I have not yet asked you how long you have been in London, whether you have ever been here before, whether you have been to Piccadilly, Vauxhall, the theater and the Opera, and how you like the place altogether. I have been very negligent – but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars? If you are, I will begin directly.”
Mary gave a gentle laugh at his teasing mode of conversation, grateful at last to have a share in it. “I have been in London about two months.”
“Really,” he cried with affected astonishment.
“Why should you be surprised, sir?”
“Why indeed,” he said in a very natural tone. “But some emotion must appear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed, and no less reasonable than any other. Let us go on. Were you ever here before, Miss Bennet?”
“Briefly, last autumn, for about a fortnight.”
“And you could not stay away! Now, have you been to Piccadilly or Vauxhall?”
“No.”
“Shocking reply, Miss Bennet! But have you been to Bond Street? Hyde Park? The Royal Menagerie?”
“Yes, several times.”
“What of the theater and the concert?”
“Yes, last week.”
“Are you altogether pleased with London?”
“I believe I like it very well indeed.”
“Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again,” he replied. Mary turned her head away, laughing again. “I see what you think of me,” he said gravely. “I shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow.”
“My journal?”
“Yes, I know exactly what you will say – Friday, attended a party in Grosvenor Street. Wore my cerulean velvet gown with red trimmings – appeared to much advantage, but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man who distressed me with his nonsense.”
“Indeed, I shall say no such thing!”
Mr. Tilney smiled teasingly at her. “Shall I tell you what you ought to say?”
Mary smiled back, unwittingly leaning in somewhat. “If you please.”
“I met a very agreeable young man, had a great deal of conversation with him – he seems a most extraordinary genius – I hope I may know more of him. Following the dinner there was dancing, at which I found him an uncommonly agreeable partner.”
Here Lydia turned away from Mr. Audley and seized upon the topic of dancing. “Who is an agreeable partner?”
“I daresay you shall find any number of agreeable partners tonight, Lydia dear, if you can persuade your new friend Mrs. Sutton to let us open up the pianoforte and have some dancing after the meal,” Mrs. Bennet interjected.
Though Mary could not like her mother and sister’s interruption of what had been a very entertaining conversation, she was no less hopeful that there might indeed be dancing later in the evening, and in this aspect she was not disappointed.
With so many gentlemen in their party, the ladie
s were left to their own devices for a half hour or more after they removed to the drawing room, during which time Mary occupied herself in observing the others around her. Mrs. Sutton was chiefly concerned with displaying herself to best advantage, and this notion was expanded to include Lydia as well. She would have everyone observe the vast improvements in Lydia’s style of dress and manner of walking and speaking, the subtle changes in her posture and inflection were to be marveled at, and the acquisitions of her new wardrobe to be described at length.
Though Mary wished to think well of all of Lydia’s efforts at self-improvement, she could not believe that they were done in the same spirit as Mary herself had strived for since Elizabeth’s marriage, and she found the changes to be largely superficial in nature. Mary had pursued a higher degree of excellence in reading, music, and conversation, purely for the benefits to herself, while Lydia’s new accolades seemed purely for show, encouraged by Mrs. Sutton, whose primary object was to have all of the appearance of goodness.
Lydia and Mrs. Sutton both seemed to have Elizabeth well and truly fooled, and Mary knew not whether Elizabeth merely had other matters to consider ahead of their youngest sister, or whether she truly believed Lydia’s present circumstances constituted a desirable improvement. Having no wish to give Elizabeth any alarm in her delicate condition, Mary endeavored to remain polite and keep her misgivings to herself.
Miss Crawford approached her and began to engage her on their mutual interest in music, and Mary spoke with no little hesitation to her new acquaintance. All of Mr. Bertram’s puzzling appearance of attempting to resist her allure, coupled with the cold reception Miss Crawford had received from her own sister-in-law, Kate’s intimate friend Mrs. Crawford, made Mary rather wary of Mrs. Sutton’s friend, who must surely be cut from quite the same cloth as Lydia’s duplicitous benefactress.
And yet, the woman was certainly well informed about a great number of subjects, and expressed herself easily with manners designed to put Mary at ease. When the gentlemen returned, Mary and Miss Crawford were seated at the harp, where Miss Crawford had been giving Mary some instruction on maintaining an elegant posture while performing.
The drawing room was a large one, and had been arranged in such a way that allowed everyone to be comfortably seated while engaging in conversation with as many companions as they liked, in full view of the instruments at the corner of the room. Mary watched with no little disappointment as the single gentlemen positioned themselves near Lydia, Harriet, and Georgiana.
Mrs. Sutton was in fine form, and gaily suggested they must have some music. As Miss Crawford was already seated at the harp, Mary quietly moved away and allowed her new friend to give the first performance, which was a very fine one, during which Mary observed Mr. Bertram continuing his longing glances at Miss Crawford, who met his eye with a significant look for most of the piece.
When Miss Crawford had finished, and the rest of their party made all the appropriate remarks of applause, Mr. Bertram abruptly quit the room, and was followed some minutes later by Miss Crawford herself. Mary hoped she might be called upon to exhibit next, but Miss Elliot quickly moved to the pianoforte and began to play a complicated piece by Haydn. The performance was one of the best Mary had ever seen, both technically perfect, and infused with a great deal of feeling, and so warmly applauded by the present company that Mary was mortified by being asked to follow such a display of talent.
Knowing her voice to be rather weak, Mary played it safe and selected a Scottish air she knew to be one of her best performances, and did rather well despite being aware for most of her time at the instrument that Lydia was whispering loudly to several of the nearby gentlemen about how poor a performer Mary had been, not so long ago.
The final exhibition was a duet, with Mrs. Sutton at the pianoforte and Lydia standing alongside her in a dramatic pose as she sang a lively Irish love song of a rather suggestive nature. Mary observed that through most of the song, the same gentlemen who had been content to whisper with Lydia during Mary’s performance now listened to Lydia perform with rapt attention. The worst of it was, that this was the first time Mary had ever witnessed her sister perform, and Lydia did uncommonly well.
It was only at the end of the song that Mary began to feel less bitter, when Mr. Tilney turned to address her with an observation that he vastly preferred Scottish airs to Irish ones, and believed his opinion on the matter was quite fixed. “I daresay nobody shall convince me otherwise,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “But it puts me in a mood for dancing! I am sure there is enough space here for four or five couples. Who shall play us a jig?”
With a significant look at Mary, Elizabeth declared that she would be happy to oblige, only they must all pay a great deal of attention to their partners, and kindly not notice any mistakes she made in her performance. Once Elizabeth had seated herself at the pianoforte, Mr. Tilney leapt to his feet and quickly solicited Mary’s hand. Lydia spared her a nasty roll of her eyes before claiming Mr. Audley as her own partner. Sir Gerald, after being waved away by Lady Catherine, who declared she would much rather play at cards with Mrs. Bennet and the Hursts, addressed himself to Miss Elliot, while her father, Sir Walter, claimed the hand of a rather discomfited Harriet Sutton.
***
Caroline took a seat beside Mr. Knightley, for though he was at least ten years her senior and little known to her, he was very refined in his appearance, and she rather hoped he would ask her to join the set – after all, she had been nothing if not obliging in her hostessing this evening.
Her every preparation had resulted in absolute perfection, and she took a great deal of pride in how well it had all turned out. Her new French cook had more than exceeded her expectations, the seating arrangement had been contrived to satisfy deference to rank while also allowing everyone partners perfectly suited for lively discussion, and her sister had admonished her only a very little on what a sad thing it was that Charles could not be present. The music had all been quite pleasant, and Lydia’s success was on display for all to see, garnering Caroline no little gratitude from all of Lydia’s family. Miss Crawford and Mr. Bertram’s disappearance indicated that her little scheme appeared to have worked well enough, and when they rejoined the group halfway through the dance in finer spirits than they had shown all evening, Caroline felt all the joy of her private victory. The furniture she had purchased for the drawing room allowed for both comfort and conversation, and that there was space for dancing as well was a very fine thing, too. Yes, everything was going splendidly; she now wanted only the freedom of a wealthy widow for her happiness to be complete.
When several minutes of stilted conversation with Mr. Knightley did not result in an invitation to dance, Caroline moved away, approaching the card table, where she draped herself languorously against the window frame and observed the game of whist.
Eliciting groans from the Hursts and sputtering of excitement from her partner, Mrs. Bennet, Lady Catherine took another trick before turning to address Caroline. “Pray tell me,” said she, “what do you know of that gentleman dancing with my daughter?”
Caroline glanced up at her sister-in-law. Elizabeth had finished one song and begun another, and Harriet exchanged a very attentive Sir Walter Elliot for an equally keen Henry Tilney.
“Do you mean Sir Walter, or Mr. Tilney?”
“Oh, I know all about Mr. Tilney,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “I think it the hardest thing in the world II should lose yet another parson, and why my nephew thinks I should take another of his recommendations when his friend Mr. Bertram has lasted but six months, I cannot account for. I suppose I shall have to accept Mr. Tilney as a replacement, though I cannot like the idea of a parson being so very handsome. It is hardly a good thing for the girls of the parish, for the Holy Word can be confusing when delivered by such a fine looking man! We had such a one before Mr. Bertram came to us, who preened and strutted about as if he were the Almighty’s finest creation! No, my dear, I mean to inquire after Sir Walter Ell
iot – what do you know of him?”
“I became acquainted with the Elliots about a year ago, when Charles and I went to Bath. Sir Walter has an estate in Somerset, Kellynch Hall, which is entailed upon his infant grandson. His daughter, the child’s mother, is the widow of his heir, Mr. William Elliot – I take it you have heard of that nasty business with Mr. Rushworth’s wife?”
“I have. So, his heir was the rascal killed in a duel over stealing Mr. Rushworth’s bride? I know his mother – Mrs. Rushworth, that is. I have invited her son to the ball next week, and I am sure he must do well for one of the girls. Not much to look at – he favors his father – but he has twelve thousand a year!”
Mrs. Bennet leaned forward with interest. “What a fine thing for my girls! But this Sir Walter, you say his estate is entailed. What a nasty business, and I ought to know.”
“Well,” Caroline said, “I understand from his daughter that he is not averse to creating a new heir, if you take my meaning.”
Lady Catherine harrumphed. “At his age! What of his estate, Mrs. Sutton? This Kellynch Hall in Somerset, is it solvent?”
“I think not. I understood last year in Bath that he had let the place to tenants on the recommendation of his solicitor, and I have it on good authority that he is a bit of a spendthrift.”
“A fortune hunter, then, as well as a cradle-robber,” Lady Catherine said sternly. “A penniless poppycock who means to pass on an estate he cannot even afford to reside in. Well! My husband has seen fit to accept his invitation to the theater on Tuesday, and I daresay we shall have to go, but I shall not let him form any designs on my Harriet, no indeed. I suppose she may regard his company as practice, for when she receives the addresses of a more serious suitor, though I am not likely to entertain any offers for her hand in the near future. Why, I know plenty of young ladies of the highest circles in London who did not marry until they were nearer your age, Mrs. Sutton, and I might enjoy keeping my daughter with me for another six or seven years at least. Perhaps I shall invite my niece Rebecca to attend the theater with us, for I daresay she is a better age for him, and Lord knows my brother would like to wash his hands of her once and for all.”