by Glenna Mason
Anne was one of the first to push through the crowd of well-wishers. “My adorable cousin and my beautiful cousin-to-be, heartfelt congratulations.”
“Anne, are you having fun” You see Bingley and I have this problem—uh—“
“Named Caroline Bingley?”
“In a word, yes.”
“Do not worry about me. I am having a marvelous time, both hostessing and dancing,” Anne admitted. “Actually I’ve met the most fascinating young man—and I do mean young. And as luck would have it, he seems quite taken with this particular older woman.”
“Oh?”
“I doubt he is more than twenty-two, three years my junior. But why should I care, if he doesn’t.”
“How providential that you should escape Rosings, just when he reaches his majority. A year ago he was probably still at college.”
“Yes. Fortuitous! Serendipitous! Heaven-sent! I’ll take them all.”
”That is spectacular, Anne,” Darcy said, hugging her. “May I request the name of this beau-in-the-making?”
“Why, Mason Heyburn, the Viscount’s younger brother. He is a dream on the dance floor and knowledgeable on every subject I have broached.”
Darcy was pleased. He asked, “Such as?”
“Aristotle’s Poetics, for one.”
The two cousins grabbed each other and twirled around in gleeful exuberance.
“What a night!” they chanted together.
“Anne, I can’t wait to hear more, but I need to relieve Bingley, so he can come down and take Jane to the floor for the supper dance, which is coming up any minute now.”
“Go on, Fitzwilliam. Here comes Mason now to claim me for the supper dance.”
“How opportune, Anne, that you are planning to journey to Derbyshire with Aunt and Uncle Matlock, and that the Heyburns are joining your carriages in a caravan.”
“Yes, the fates are turning my way, Cousin. Good-bye, Kent. Hello, Derbyshire.”
They twirled again. This time Darcy swooped Anne straight into Mason Heyburn’s arms.
Darcy kissed Elizabeth’s cheek again, bowed to Mr. Bennet and headed for the staircase.
As Darcy walked down the hallway, he stopped first at Caroline’s door. Angeline answered his knock and reported, “Miss Bingley is better, sir. She’s sitting up in bed. Mr. Pearson gave her a soporific to calm her down.”
Darcy continued to Caroline’s former bedroom, the scene of the attack. Bingley was conversing with three men. “Oh here you are, Darcy. I believe you know Mr. Jones and Mr. Pearson. May I introduce Mr. Smith, the Meryton chief deputy?” The two bowed.
“I’ll take over now, Bingley. If you hurry, you can still make the supper dance with Miss Bennet. She awaits you at the Bennet table.” Bingley rushed toward the door, turning his head, as he reached the portal, “I forgot. I’ll be back after supper.”
“No, no. Stay at your ball. I’ll be down when I can.”
“Are you certain?’
“Yes, now go.”
Darcy turned to the three men. “Mr. Jones and Mr. Pearson, are the ladies going to be fine soon?”
“Yes.”
“Then please return to your wives. They no doubt wish to dance. I’ll just converse a little with the deputy.”
As it turned out, Darcy got downstairs in time for the last dance, but he missed all the excitement. Elizabeth filled him in as best she could between the stretches up and down the line of the reel.
“Mason Heyburn is truly smitten with your cousin Anne.”
“Oh, ho!”
“He follows her around like a puppy.”
“Well, he is a second son.”
“And she is an heiress?”
“Certainly—an unentailed estate of fifteen thousand pounds a year, which she gains full control of next year.”
“That is impressive.”
“And a fifty thousand pound dowry.”
“Unbelievable. I had no idea. And Mason is a second son.”
“Studying for the law.”
“He may never practice law.”
Elizabeth grinned. “How would he know this—about the dowry and the annual income? He and Anne just met tonight.”
“Elizabeth, the whole town knows about Anne de Bourgh. Why do you think her mother keeps her under lock and key at Rosings? Aunt Catherine will find herself at the Dowager’s House soon I imagine.”
“Anne is very pretty.”
“Yes, Mason will acquire a beautiful and wealthy wife, if his suit succeeds, every second son’s dream.”
They separated in the dance, moving the length of the line. Reconnecting, Darcy asked, “And Miss Mary and the Viscount?”
“I am confident that Mary and the Viscount admire each other. They are less flamboyant than Anne and Mason. I believe their romance, if it flowers, will bloom slowly and precisely.”
“Good observation and analysis, I’d say.”
“We’ll see what happens when we travel to Pemberley for your New Year’s Eve ball.”
“Good,” Darcy said, passing down the line with a broad smile on his face. When the two joined hands again at the top of the reel with bows and curtseys, Elizabeth said, “I haven’t told you the best episode of the evening.”
“Oh?”
“Best for last. You will love this one,” she said, stalling.
“Oh?”
“After supper there was another drum roll.” Darcy looked confused.
“Richard asked Kitty to join him on the pedestal.”
“Oh?”
“He bent down on one knee and asked her to marry him, right there in front of the whole assemblage.”
“Did she accept?”
“Of course.”
“Good thing. A refusal would have been mortifying for both,” Darcy said.
“Yes, talk about the talk of the town.”
“Richard is renowned for his bravery. He did fight in Spain and Portugal.”
“This might have eclipsed those two campaigns in courage.”
“The ton will think so. Richard, the lionhearted. Nothing will surpass him—for at least a week.”
“He may upstage Caroline and her ripped gown,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
“He might,” Darcy said, hesitating. “But she’s pretty popular among certain—uh—”
“Twenty-eight year olds,” Elizabeth continued her repartee. They both laughed exuberantly. “Now since we are already speaking of Caroline . . . ”
“The two ladies are conscious and faring well. There is no substantial clue as to who might have perpetrated the attack. Well, at least not yet.”
“Oh?”
“I believe a clue is available.”
“How so?”
“Pauline was in front of the dressing table—her back to the room—arranging the combs and brushes, just after she finished styling Caroline’s hair. She looked up into the mirror the instant she was struck from behind.”
“Did she see the attacker?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Was he masked as Caroline claimed? Did she know him?”
“She won’t say.”
“She won’t say?”
“No.”
The two had to move down the line again, returning to bow and clasp hands again two minutes later.
“Pauline’s response seems mysterious, Fitzwilliam,” an astounded Elizabeth said, once again coordinating her move down the line with Darcy’s. “Was Caroline in the room when Pauline was hit?”
“I wonder.”
“Oh, no. You think Caroline might have planned her own robbery? But why?”
“She was quite piqued at Charles for his reception of her arrival.”
“Enough to knock out her maid?”
“There have been rumors of a jewel thief striking at balls and house parties. Such narratives have certainly been the highlight of this year’s social gatherings.”
“Which might have inspired Caroline to perpetrate a similar crowning moment with her
self as the centerpiece?”
“Caroline is delusional. She does envisage herself at the zenith of the London social world.”
“So?”
“She did arrive at the last minute. Maybe, when she heard from the Viscount that her brother was holding a ball for which she had received no invitation, she came prepared to facilitate an embarrassment of the highest order.”
“The exciting tales of the infamous jewel thief foremost in her psyche.”
“Or having heard the tales and the excitement they generated, she could have composed her little drama on the spot spontaneously after Bingley unceremoniously dismissed her to the far reaches of the hall. Caroline is nothing, if not spiteful and bitter.”
A rousing crescendo indicated the closing bars of the reel. The two bowed and curtseyed. The music concluded with flourish. The dance and the ball were at an end.
Darcy and Elizabeth linked arms and followed the raucous guests to the hall, shaking hands and extending good-byes.
“What will happen?” Elizabeth whispered, while the two stood on the porch watching the carriages, curricles and landaus fill with cheerful, satisfied party-goers, leaving the party, going home.
“Nothing I imagine, unless Pauline tells what she saw in the mirror,” Darcy said, bowing to His Grace’s carriage.
“She isn’t likely to, if Caroline is the villain in this little drama.” Elizabeth nodded at the Lucases in good-bye, and then, continuing her analysis, said quietly to Darcy, “Not if she wishes to retain her position.”
“Certainly not,” Darcy said, with a big grin and a wave at the Baron, squeezing the hand he held tightly in his own.
“I may speak to her privately, with Mrs. Chambers in attendance of course—perhaps tomorrow.”
“Will that help?”
“You need a lady’s maid. If she is cooperative, I might offer her a position. She can travel with my entourage to Pemberley and await your arrival on the new year.”
“Oh, how sweet—“
“—it is,” Darcy said, completing Elizabeth’s thought.
“Will you mention these new suspicions to Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, but only after I speak again to Pauline. If Caroline has put on a show for the express purpose of spoiling her brother’s ball, she is very unbalanced. Bingley should, therefore, be aware of her propensities, so he can act accordingly.”
“She should perhaps be under a doctor’s care.”
“Exactly! Or assigned to an asylum somewhere in the countryside.”
“My goodness! What a night!”
“A glorious one,” Darcy said, kissing Elizabeth’s hand. “The whole world of Hertfordshire knows that I love you. I shall send an announcement to The Times tomorrow, so the rest of the world will be in on the good news.” He raised her hand to his lips once again.
On the way up the stairs about two in the morning, Bingley grumbled, “Here I met Miss Bennet before you and the colonel even arrived at Netherfield, fell madly in love at first sight and still you and the colonel will beat me to the altar.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Mine of course,” Bingley admitted, “but I shall make up for it tomorrow.” The clock struck two. “I mean today.” The two clasped hands firmly at the top of the staircase and separated to their rooms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A missive from Lydia arrived at Longbourn Wednesday morning by post. It read:
Dear Family:
Count Pierre and I are married. I haven’t brought him to meet you because we have been busy searching for an estate of our own in Northumberland. More soon.
Lydia, Countess of Loirre
Another missive, this one delivered by hand, arrived at Longbourn Wednesday around noon.
Dear Misses Bennet, Mr. Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner:
Would you join our party for a horseback ride to Oakham Mount, concluding with a late afternoon picnic on the summit?
Sincerely, Anne de Bourgh, Miles and Mason Heyburn, Earl and Countess of Matlock, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, Charles Bingley, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Postscript: Mrs. Bennet and the Gardiner children are of course welcome if they care to ride.
Postscript: Do you require extra mounts? If so, our carriage will pick you up and bring you to Netherfield to choose a suitable mare. If not, meet us at Miss Elizabeth’s brook at two this afternoon.
The answer:
Dear Netherfield Eight:
Two at the stream it is.
Longbourn Seven plus one half, Patricia Gardiner, age 10
*****
Saddlebags full of fruit, cheese, bread, ham and wine, the eight Netherfield riders happily clattered out of the brick stable yard and up the gravel drive, which curved gracefully in front of the manor house, headed first to the dirt roadway and then, over fences, to the fields beyond.
All, being consummate horsemen, they trotted prettily down the lanes, jumped any fences in their way, raced each other across the intervening fields and cantered to the top of the final hill to look out over the brook below.
Meanwhile the Longbourn riders, including novices Mary, Kitty and Elizabeth Bennet, as well as Patricia Gardiner, took their time, cantering across fields to gates they could open and walk through. When they approached the brook, they glanced up to see a sky full of riders on the rise. The latter used their whips and galloped the last distance down the hill to the tune of cheers, jeers and sneers—then laughing jauntily, as they mingled with the Bennets and the Gardiners.
The riders quickly paired off and walked their horses across the burbling stream, between the wood’s thick tree line and into the meadows beyond, before trotting excitedly toward the famous neighborhood ridge.
By his design, Jane and Bingley lingered in the rear.
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley began, when the other riders had outpaced them by almost an entire field.
“Yes, Mr. Bingley.”
“I . . . “
“Yes, Mr. Bingley.”
“I love you, Miss Bennet.”
“I’m glad, Mr. Bingley.”
“You are?”
“Of course.”
“Very well, then. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Miss Bennet—“
“Jane.”
“Oh, Jane, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Charles.”
“When shall we marry? I am ready any time you are.”
“Shall we talk to Papa first?”
Bingley batted himself on the head. “I’m sorry. Of course we must. Want to race up and catch up with him now?”
“No.”
“No?”
“He’s having a great time escorting Patricia Gardiner on her first riding excursion. Her parents are fairly novice riders also, so he volunteered to assist them all. I’d not like to spoil their fun, especially Patricia’s.”
“No.”
“Maybe after we receive Papa’s permission, we can meet with Kitty and the colonel and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy and coordinate our wedding plans.”
“Elizabeth and Darcy have decided on March.”
“March is a lovely month to wed.”
“Actually I was rather hoping for late October,” Bingley teased.
The two, picking up their speed and galloping over the fields, reached Oakham Mount with the others.
*****
“Bingley, we forgot the table cloth and the plates,” Darcy complained.
“No, we didn’t,” Anne and the Countess corrected Darcy. Then with satisfaction, the two pulled a linen table cloth and napkins and china plates from their own saddlebags.
“I didn’t forget the wine glasses,” Colonel Fitzwilliam announced, handing out the glasses his batman had carefully rolled in a blanket behind his saddle.
“Let’s eat,” the Earl said, when the spread was laid out in pristine order.
The Viscount and Mason had brought a navy blanket, which they unfurled under a tree on
the edge of the cliff, presenting a spectacular view of the valley below. “Will you join us, Lady Anne?” Mason requested. “Miss Mary?” Miles added.
“I just love romance,” Countess whispered to the Earl.
“Why yes,” he said, winking, “it is rather nice, isn’t it?” He surprised the Countess with a kiss on the cheek.
Mr. Bennet, although appearing to amuse Patricia, while seemingly attending to the myriad of conversations circulating around him, actually was lost in a state of wonderment. “Was it less than two months ago,” he queried himself, “that I had five unmarried daughters with no prospects in sight? And now, what sons-in-law I have on the horizon!”
He chuckled, “And apparently one already in the bag. A Count at that.”
Mr. Bennet’s thoughts wandered to the long-ago. “If only I—No! Don’t go there, Bennet—This is no time for regrets.”
He heard Elizabeth’s laughter through the trees, saw Jane’s sweet countenance smile at Bingley, and Kitty charming the colonel with her flashing eyes. And, look at Mary, with a Viscount at her feet. “No, Bennet,” he admonished himself, “this is no time for regrets. Look to the future. After all, it’s what you’ve got. The past is gone.”
Mr. Bennet inadvertently said the last aloud. Mrs. Gardiner glanced his way, understanding. Her sister-in-law had captivated Thomas Bennet with her pretty face and her flirtatious manner—probably much the way Lydia had captured a Count. Thomas had never taken the time to discover that Francine Gardiner had not one sensible thought in her head. She had enticed him to the altar one fortnight after they met.
*****
As Darcy and Elizabeth carefully walked their horses down the cliff’s narrow path, she asked, “Did you speak to Pauline?”
“She won’t admit anything about last evening, claims that she doesn’t remember due to her head injury.”
“So was it Caroline or one of the staff that she recognized and wants to protect?”
“I’d say the former. She’d hardly protect a servant who knocked her out.”
“Will you tell your theory to Mr. Bingley?”
“Yes, I’m going to advise him of my conclusions. Then I am going to back out of this family crisis. It truly is not my concern. I put myself in his place; if this were Georgiana, I would not wish him to intrude.”
“Good, but I am glad you will talk to him.”
“I feel I must. I don’t want Bingley thinking some vicious thief entered his house and struck his sister and her maid. Not when it is probably some inexplicable gambit by his own sister.”