I know my brother would have been happy to cancel the celebration this year, for Elizabeth's sake. But she wouldn't hear of it, only said that this baby was after all a Darcy, and as such, it couldn't dream of disrupting a fine old Pemberley custom by choosing the night of the ball to be born. Which made my brother laugh--and so the preparations for the ball went on.
At any rate, the ball took place tonight. Or rather last night, I suppose I should say, since I've just looked at the little clock on my mantle and found that it is in fact two in the morning.
Elizabeth came to my room, just as I was finished with dressing and about to go downstairs to greet the guests. She looked a little pale, I thought--but she smiled when she saw me and said, "Good heavens, Edward had better put his name down on your dance card quickly--every gentleman in attendance will be clamouring for a dance with you tonight."
I laughed. "Well, you know what they say about fine feathers making fine birds."
I was wearing a new gown--and it is very pretty. White silk embroidered with touches of silver, tiers of vandyked lace around the hem and pearl rosettes around the neckline. And I had tiny white rosebuds for my hair.
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, it's not just the dress. You look--" And then she smiled and squeezed my hand. "You look happy, and I'm so glad for you. You and Edward both."
"Thank you. But you're looking lovely, too. Are you feeling all right?"
Elizabeth truly was lovely, in an ivory satin gown with a pale-green spider-gauze overdress, embroidered in gold and trimmed with silk roses in a deep pink colour. She put a hand over the swelling of the baby, and said, "Apart from feeling as though I ought to be black and blue with all the kicking going on inside me." And then her smile faded. She was still holding my hand, and even through her evening gloves and mine I could feel her fingers grow tense. "Georgiana, have you noticed your brother--" She stopped abruptly.
I waited, but she didn't say anything more. "Have I noticed my brother ...," I finally prompted.
But Elizabeth shook her head. "No, never mind, it can wait. We'd better go down. The guests will be arriving soon."
This time, I might have pushed her further. For it's not usual at all for Elizabeth to question me about Fitzwilliam; anything she wants to know of him, she would ask him herself. But at that moment, Kitty came bursting out of her room, demanding whether Elizabeth had any spare pins, because Kitty had accidentally torn a few inches of lace off the hem of her gown by stepping on it, and could Elizabeth come and help her? Because she'd already sent the maid away?
She'd banged back into her room--to get her slippers on, she said--before Elizabeth could answer.
"I'll go," I told Elizabeth quickly. "You go ahead downstairs. Because the one thing I do know of my brother is that he'd never forgive me if I let you bend down to help Kitty with the hem of her dress tonight, when I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."
I did help Kitty with re-pinning the lace. And listened to her talk the whole time about who was to be at the ball, and how many dances she was going to grant each of the men she expected would ask her. Thomas and Jack came knocking at her door just as she was standing before the looking-glass on her dressing table and pinching her cheeks to make them red--and Kitty and I both promised to smuggle a sampling of all the cakes and pastries on the supper table to them up in the nursery. I can remember my brother doing that for me when I was too young to attend the Christmas ball.
And then we went downstairs.
Every time the seasons change at Pemberley, I think that whatever month it is must be my favourite time of year here. When the trees are all covered with the first green-gold new leaves of spring, and the daffodils are opening like tiny drops of sunshine. When summer comes, and all the roses in my mother's garden bloom. When autumn turns the sunlight into golden amber, and the woods are a riot of oranges and yellows and reds.
I love them all. But I think I love Pemberley House--just the house itself I mean--best of all at Christmas time. It looks so beautiful, with swags of greenery on all the mantles, holly sprays in vases, and the smell of paper-white narcissus in the air, and fires in every hearth.
Tonight the downstairs hallway had been decorated with wreaths and garlands of holly and ivy and evergreen, all twined with ribbons of red and gold silk. All the candles in the chandeliers had been lighted, and the musicians in the ballroom had already started to play when Kitty and I came down. The room was filling quickly with the guests who had already begun to arrive, handing their cloaks and hats and wraps to the servants, greeting Elizabeth and my brother, who were standing just inside the door.
And I scarcely saw or heard any of it, because Edward was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.
I did see Kitty dart away at once--and I felt another prick of worry, because I could see that she made straight for Lord Carmichael. He was looking very dashing in a gold brocade waistcoat, with an emerald-headed tie pin in his cravat--the complicated folds of which must have taken him an hour or more to arrange.
But then Edward took my hand, and I forgot all about Kitty--and about everything else.
He was wearing his army uniform for the formal occasion: red coat trimmed with gold braid. And just for a moment as our eyes met I felt overwhelmed by the realisation: that he truly is mine, and I'm his.
He was smiling as he took my hand. "Hello."
"Hello."
Edward's smile deepened as he drew me with him through to the back of the hall and into the parlour , which was empty of guests, since everyone was moving from the hall directly into the ballroom or the billiard room for some of the men. He didn't say anything, though, just stood smiling at me, his dark gaze moving over my face slowly, as though he were trying to memorise every feature. "What are you thinking of?" I finally asked. It was quiet, here, the sounds of music and the crowd outside muffled, and somehow it seemed right to keep my voice to barely above a whisper.
Edward laughed at that. "I was thinking that none of the practised lines seem to fit with you."
"Practised lines?" I repeated, puzzled.
"The ones you're supposed to say to girls at a ball. I must be in heaven, for you're surely an angel. Or, Who stole the stars for you and put them in your eyes?"
We were both laughing by that time. "Men actually practise saying things like that?"
Edward's shoulders moved, and he grinned. "It saves you from sweating over whether you'll trip over your own feet or tread on the hem of some girl's dress during a dance, at least." And then he sobered, interlinking his fingers again with mine. "You are beautiful, though."
He drew back, though, before his lips touched mine, and shook his head. "Wait. I didn't drag you back here for this--I brought you in here because I have something I want to give to you."
"What is it?"
"Your Christmas present." Edward grinned again as he reached into the pocket of his uniform coat. "Close your eyes first."
I did close my eyes--and as I did, I felt myself thinking, Please let me like whatever it is he's giving me.
Because I had no idea what Edward would have chosen for me. Gifts are so hard--even my brother hardly ever gets me exactly what I would have chosen for myself. And this was such a lovely night--it would spoil it a little if I had to pretend to be delighted. Or if Edward realised my delight was just pretence.
But then I felt him place something into my gloved hand. I opened my eyes--and instantly drew in my breath. "Oh, how lovely!"
It was a ring, but the design was unlike any I'd seen before. Two tiny golden hands clasped a heart fashioned from a sea-green emerald, which itself was topped by a golden crown.
"Do you really like it?" Edward asked. He was watching my face. "They're fairly common in Ireland. Claddaugh rings, they're called. They're often given as betrothal or wedding gifts. The hands are for friendship, the heart is for love, and the crown for loyalty, so the story goes. I saw this one in the window of a jeweller's shop in Galway, and it made me think of you, somehow. But
if you'd rather have something else--" he added quickly. Probably because my eyes were starting to brim over with sudden tears.
"It's perfect." I wiped my eyes with the tips of my gloved fingers and gave him a shaky smile. "I'm sorry--I've always thought crying from happiness completely idiotic. But I can't seem to help it. I love the ring." I took off my glove and slid it onto my finger. The gold already felt warm against my skin. "It's absolutely, completely perfect."
So was the rest of the ball, really.
A group of mummers from the village dressed in spangled paper caps and coloured ribbons came in and performed a play of Saint George and the Dragon. And then the Christmas cake was brought in and cut and served. And Edward and I talked and danced.
I did look around for Kitty a few times. But I couldn't see her anywhere. Though I did see Caroline, looking very grand in a bright-yellow gown, the skirt and sleeves slashed with pale-green silk and the neckline embroidered with green rosettes. Frank was speaking to her. And they were too far away for me to overhear what he was saying, but it looked as though he were asking her to dance. And Caroline was refusing, a peevish-looking frown on her face.
I also saw Caroline inveigle my brother into dancing with her. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were sitting on the settee at the side of the ballroom--because of course Elizabeth finds it tiresome to be on her feet for any great length of time. Edward was a short distance away, talking to Mr. Waterstone, who has an estate some ten miles away. Moments before, we had both been speaking to him--but I excused myself to Mr. Waterstone and went to check on Elizabeth, to make sure she was feeling all right and to ask whether there was anything I could get for her.
That was when Caroline came flouncing up in a swirl of yellow skirts and dropped to perch beside Fitzwilliam on the settee. "Come, Darcy." She put a hand on his arm. "You must dance at least once tonight. You are our host, after all." I give her credit that she didn't go so far as to bat her eyelashes at him. But she spoke in a low, throaty tone, teeth flashing in a smile. She gave Elizabeth a brief, dismissive flick of a glance. "I'm sure you won't mind my borrowing your husband for a short while, will you? It does seem so very unfair that he should be unable to enjoy the festivities at his own ball as much as the rest of us."
My brother's face stiffened and went blank of all expression--the way it does when he's either offended or angry. He opened his mouth, and I'm sure he was going to refuse. But Elizabeth stopped him before he could, smiling brightly and saying in a very level tone, "Yes, Darcy. You must dance. Caroline is quite right."
There was very little my brother could do. I could see he had no wish to dance with Caroline. But after what Elizabeth had said, there was also no way he could in courtesy refuse. He did look at Elizabeth a moment more, seeming to hesitate. But then he bowed to Caroline and held out his hand, and they moved off together onto the dance floor.
Someone else came up to speak with Elizabeth. And Edward came to find me again for the dance. And then after that, supper was announced.
I leaned against Edward as the guests began to stream into the supper room, and he put his arm around me. "Tired?"
"A little." We'd been dancing and circulating among all the rest of the party for hours. But I turned in Edward's arms to smile up at him. "I think what I'd really like, though, is to find some quiet spot. Then you can thoroughly compromise my reputation by being alone with me there. And I'll have no choice but to marry you."
Edward's arms tightened about me. "Done."
The drawing room and even the morning room were filling with the guests who had spilled out of the crowded supper and card rooms. So we ended up in the gallery upstairs, which was dim and cool after the heat and noise of the ballroom, though the scents of the wax candles and pine boughs still drifted on the air.
Edward gave me his arm, and we had started to walk along--just slowly and idly--under the rows of family paintings that line the gallery walls. And it was only then that I thought to ask, "Edward, are you all right?" I stumbled a little over the words, because I didn't wish to spoil our night. But I could still remember the taut, strained look his face had worn during the last ball we'd held at Pemberley in the spring. The fine tremors that had run through his whole frame, however hard he fought against it. And I felt guilty that this was the first time all evening that I'd thought to ask. "With all the noise and crowd and everything else, I mean? I'm sorry--perhaps I should have suggested we get away sooner. I just completely forgot--"
I stopped. Because Edward's brows had risen, as though with surprise. And then, slowly, he shook his head. "Do you know, I completely forgot, too." He frowned a little and his gaze seemed to turn inward, as though he were taking his own measure or examining his own internal response. "I forgot even to think about the noise. But"--a slow smile started at the edges of his mouth--"I'm ... fine. Just fine."
And that was when we heard it: a soft, scuffling sound, a rustle of clothing and a muffled laugh or indrawn breath, coming from the shadowy far end of the gallery. Edward turned to me, his brows rising again--in both surprise and silent inquiry, this time. I shrugged and shook my head. I suppose really I ought to have guessed who it was. It wasn't as though I'd had no warning. But still, when Edward took the candle from one of the wall sconces and crossed to the shadowed corner in several swift strides, I still felt my jaw drop open with shock. The candlelight was dim, but perfectly bright enough for me to make out the identities of the man and woman on one of the stiff brocade sofas. It was Kitty and Lord Carmichael.
Monday 26 December 1814
I did not break off at that point in the story last night just for dramatic effect. Kitty knocked on my door, and I had to quickly close this journal and slide it out of sight into the drawer of my dressing table. Because whatever she's done, it would be needlessly cruel to let her know that I was recounting the whole ugly little story in my diary.
To tell the story in order from the point where I left off, though:
Edward stopped short at the sight of Lord Carmichael and Kitty, and the hand that was holding the candle jerked with surprise, sending a spatter of hot wax onto the floor. But then he turned to me and said, very calmly, "Georgiana, I think you'd better escort Miss Bennet to her room."
Kitty opened her mouth and looked sulky, as though she were about to argue. Her hair was coming down, her lips were slightly swollen, and her cheeks were flushed. But then she glanced at Edward's face, and whatever she saw there must have made her change her mind, for she ducked her head and went swiftly past him towards the passage to her room.
I looked at Edward. He looked angry, but in a measured, composed way, and not the frighteningly controlled fury I've sometimes seen in him before. So I followed Kitty down the hall.
Though really I should not have bothered. She was alternately sullen and defiant and said only that she hadn't done anything so very dreadful, and no one here could punish her in any case, and that she would run away if anyone tried to stop her seeing Lord Carmichael again.
Finally my fingers were twitching with the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. So I walked out and shut the door on her and went downstairs to my brother's study. Since the ball was still going on, I assumed that was where he and Elizabeth and Edward would be found.
And in fact they were there, Edward and Fitzwilliam standing together at the hearth and looking grave, Elizabeth sitting on the sofa, her dark lashes sparkling with tears.
I slipped into the room and came to stand by Edward, putting my hand into his. "What's happened?" I asked him. "Where is Lord Carmichael?"
Edward turned, and the lines of worry and temper on his face lightened a little as his fingers tightened around mine. "Gone."
"Edward, you didn't--"
"Hit him?" Edward finished for me. He gave me a quick, wry flash of a smile. "No. However much I may have wanted to. He left here wholly unharmed. The trouble is, he refuses point-blank to marry Kitty. He says he has no reputation to lose, and he has no conc
ern whatsoever for hers."
I wasn't surprised, really--although I did wish that my opinion of Lord Carmichael's character hadn't been so accurate.
Because of course marriage to Lord Carmichael would be the only solution, as far as saving Kitty's public character is concerned. Only Edward and I saw her and Lord Carmichael in the gallery--but that's only so far as we knew. Others might have seen them if anyone besides Edward and me went upstairs. Or some of the servants might. And others could well have seen them slip away from the ball together, which in itself would be enough to ruin Kitty's reputation, when a man of Lord Carmichael's character is concerned.
It may be cruel, it may be unfair to think that Kitty could be ruined forever, where nothing worse happens to Lord Carmichael than that he is confirmed as a rake. But it is the truth.
My brother cleared his throat. "He might be persuaded, though." His mouth twisted with distaste, but he said, "The fellow plainly likes money. He might--"
Elizabeth stopped him, though. "No!"
I've rarely seen Elizabeth truly upset; she's so good at seeing the humour in almost anything. But she was upset last night. Her eyes were swimming and twin spots of angry colour burned on her pale cheeks. "No, Darcy, I won't let you!" Her hands clenched. "It's unthinkable that you should be forced into buying a husband for yet another of my empty-headed sisters!"
She meant, of course, that just over two years ago when her youngest sister Lydia eloped with George Wickham, he would never have married her if my brother hadn't intervened to settle Wickham's copious debts and buy him a place in the army.
Fitzwilliam sat down at once on the sofa beside her and pulled her towards him, cradling her head against his shoulder and stroking her hair. "You can't think that there's any price I wouldn't pay to spare you worry, love."
Elizabeth shut her eyes and rested her head against him, tears slipping from under her closed lids. My brother hugged her harder. "Please, Lizzy, don't cry." He searched through his pockets for a handkerchief and finally found one, using it to wipe her cheeks. "Listen to me, love. We'll find some solution. I promise you." He kissed her temple.
Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 Page 6