Kitty occupied herself chiefly by fidgeting, to the point where Elizabeth was required to twice reach out to restrain the swing of her reticule. She then set about an intense scrutiny of every patron remaining between them and the counter, as if assessing how many minutes each might dally over her purchases. When that diversion ceased to amuse, as it did very quickly, her gaze drifted to the window.
"Lizzy! It is Mr. Dashwood — outside, looking through the glass!" She waved. "Do you think he sees me?"
She begged Georgiana to hold their place so that she might go speak with her fiance, apparently willing to forsake all others on his behalf, but not her position in Grafton’s queue. Georgiana readily consented, and Kitty and Elizabeth stepped out of the claustrophobic shop and into the street.
Mr. Dashwood continued to peer through the window.
"Harry, this is such a pleasant surprise!"
Mr. Dashwood glanced at her with mild curiosity, then wordlessly continued his examination of the linendraper’s display.
Kitty’s face flushed with mortification. Her gaze darted round to see whether anyone else had witnessed the deliberate slight. Unfortunately, two young ladies — they of the sprigged muslin and triple order of gauze — had emerged from the shop just in time to observe the insult. With titters of "cut direct," they scampered off to circulate the latest on-dit.
Kitty next looked to Elizabeth. Her eyes beseeched her older sister for guidance. Elizabeth took matters into her own hands.
"Mr. Dashwood, I should think you could spare your fiancee a moment’s attention."
Harry stared at Elizabeth seemingly without recognition. "My — " His gaze ricocheted between Elizabeth and Kitty, before at last coming to rest on the latter. "Why, of course. Do pardon me, Miss — my dear. I was deliberating so deeply whether I liked those gloves in the window that I was quite insensible to all else."
His excuse did not fully satisfy Kitty but appeared to mollify her for the present. Elizabeth was rather less disposed toward forgiveness. His weeklong avoidance of Kitty, his manner during his most recent call, this latest rudeness — since securing Kitty’s hand, Mr. Dashwood’s conduct toward her sister had altered in a manner that did not bode well for Kitty’s future happiness.
"Are not your present pair serviceable?" Elizabeth said frostily.
Mr. Dashwood looked less tired than when she last saw him — seemed, in fact, full of youthful pie de vivre straining to burst forth. A fresh haircut showed his eyes to advantage, and they reflected an intensity she’d not observed in him before. He must have caught up on his sleep since the midnight gathering she and Darcy had spied upon. She, on the other hand, was still dragging herself through the day. Given that he was the cause of her present lethargy, she resented him his liveliness.
"I find them a bit tight," he said. "Besides, I have just ordered two new coats and half a dozen pairs of pantaloons, and thought new gloves would complement them well."
"Why stop there? Add shirts and cravats to your order and you will have a trousseau to rival Kitty’s."
"I have — a dozen of the former, and twice that number of neckcloths."
Elizabeth wondered at Mr. Dashwood’s sudden wardrobe overhaul but simply added it to the rest of his recent inexplicable behavior. "We were disappointed by your failure to call yesterday. My sister, especially."
Kitty finally found her voice. "Yes, Harry. You had promised."
"I did? I — well, I suppose it just slipped my mind. I am terribly sorry to have kept such a pretty girl waiting." He cast her a rakish look. "If you will favor me with some attention tonight, I’ll make it up to you."
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the suggestive undertone of his statement. Had it been deliberate? Given the accompanying look, she suspected it had. Fortunately, Kitty had not caught it, though Harry continued to regard her with an expression that threatened to make Elizabeth blush.
"You may join us for dinner tonight, Mr. Dashwood," Elizabeth said quickly, emphasizing the word "dinner" more heavily than she intended. "If you are not otherwise engaged."
"I shall, thank you." His countenance took on a more appropriate mien. "Will anyone else be of the party?"
"Only Mr. Darcy and his sister."
"I look forward to it."
"Splendid. Come round at the usual time."
Mr. Dashwood arrived an hour later than anticipated. He acknowledged his host and hostess with an odd blend of unnecessary formality for one who enjoyed such intimate acquaintance with them, and excessive familiarity for a gentleman who had not yet officially joined the family. He offered no excuse for his tardiness, but his jovial mood suggested that a previous engagement with a bottle of spirits might have contributed to the delay.
He greeted Kitty warmly — a little too warmly, in Darcy’s opinion, even for a man affianced. There were limits to what a gentleman ought to say to a lady who was not yet his wife, especially in the hearing of others, and declaring that the sight of her caused him to look forward to their upcoming nuptials with "rising expectation" was beyond the bounds of decency. The comment, fortunately, escaped the understanding of both Kitty and Georgiana — so far as he could tell — but Elizabeth had immediately changed the subject.
Georgiana then, through no effort of her own, captured his attention. Mr. Dashwood expressed delight at dining with two such beautiful ladies, and enquired why no gentleman attended her this evening.
"I have no particular gentleman I cared to invite," Georgiana said.
"I’m sure many gentlemen would care for your particulars."
"Mr. Dashwood!" Darcy’s shock was so great, it almost rendered him speechless. "I must have misheard what you just said to my sister."
Kitty looked bewildered by her fiance’s audacity. Georgiana grew flustered and ducked her head to avoid both Mr. Dash-wood’s and Darcy’s gazes.
"Pardon me, Miss Darcy," Mr. Dashwood said, his expression anything but contrite. "I am afraid I forgot myself."
"I trust it will not happen again." Darcy let the matter drop for now so as not to embarrass the ladies further. But he intended to have a word with Mr. Dashwood in private later in the evening.
Once at the table, Mr. Dashwood entertained them with an anecdote peppered with so much vulgar cant that the ladies could hardly follow it — for which Darcy was grateful, because its subject was as inappropriate as the language in which it was expressed. The more he talked, the quieter everyone else grew.
When a servant approached to refill Harry’s wineglass, Darcy discreetly motioned him away. Elizabeth caught the gesture and met his eyes across the table.
Is he drunk? she mouthed.
Darcy nodded. Inebriation was the only explanation he could conjure for Mr. Dashwood’s extraordinary behavior. Either Harry did not hold his liquor well, or he had consumed a great deal more of it before his arrival than Darcy had originally suspected. Regardless, Darcy now intended to draw the evening to an early close, but tactfully enough to spare Kitty the humiliation of seeing her fiance bounced from the house. As soon as the ladies withdrew, he would pour Harry into his carriage and send him home.
And call upon him bright and early tomorrow morning.
The meal, however, continued longer than Darcy anticipated. Somehow, between all the slang words and mild oaths to which Harry introduced his stunned audience, he also managed to eat more than Darcy had ever before witnessed him consume. Excessive drink evidently made Harry ravenous, as Darcy had sometimes observed in others. Mr. Dash-wood partook of every dish, indulged in second helpings of most, and polished off three lemon ices at the end of the meal.
"You seem very fond of ices, Mr. Dashwood," Elizabeth observed.
"Exceedingly fond. A shame that they’re so hard to keep in the summer, just when one wants them most. At Wes — my country home, I have a first-rate icehouse that supplies enough ice year-round to keep the cook’s larder as cold as a witch’s tit — "
Or as cold as Elizabeth’s frozen expression.
" — so I can enjoy ices, or just about anything else, whenever I like. But this townhouse I’m saddled with has the most inadequate larder. The ice melts so fast that flavored ices won’t keep at all." He broke off, suddenly pondering an idea. "Say, I bet a larder built deeper into the ground — well below the house — would hold the cold better. Ha! I’m going to make arrangements tomorrow to have one dug immediately! Then I can enjoy ices at midnight, if I wish."
Darcy had long observed the ability of excess liquor to inspire new levels of genius in its imbibers. Brilliant schemes seemed to proliferate in proportion to bottles emptied. "I expect your landlord might object to your excavating his house."
"Bah! He should thank me. And if he complains too much, I’ll just buy the house."
Darcy knew full well that trying to reason with a drunk was a waste of breath. Yet he could not help himself. "Is this not a rather expensive undertaking, simply to satisfy impulsive cravings?"
"Perhaps, Mr. Darcy," he said with a devilish grin, "if you satisfied your own deeper desires occasionally, you wouldn’t be so stiff." He chuckled. "As for me, I intend to buy many pleasures with my fortune."
Before Darcy could take issue with Mr. Dashwood’s vulgarity, Elizabeth rose to her feet. "Kitty, Georgiana — I think it’s time to leave the gentlemen and adjourn to the drawing room."
Past time. Long past time. As the ladies withdrew, Darcy regarded Mr. Dashwood with disgust. He’d hoped to question Harry this evening about the gathering at his townhouse, but Mr. Dashwood’s present condition precluded an intelligible interview. The interrogation would have to wait for a more sober occasion. In the meantime, now that Darcy was at liberty to address Mr. Dashwood man to man, he intended to subject Harry’s performance to a scathing review.
Mr. Dashwood slouched against his seat back and propped his legs on the chair next to him. He picked up his empty wineglass. "Have you any port about?"
"No."
"What? You’re not all out?"
"I am out of a great many things at the moment, Mr. Dashwood. Patience is chief among them."
He laughed. "This is where you upbraid me for my sins against decorum."
"Correct."
"A flea bite. But do go on, if it will make you feel better." The younger man’s cockiness provoked Darcy as much as anything had all evening.
"Mr. Dashwood," he said slowly, "you have insulted me directly. You have insulted my wife by arriving at her home intoxicated and conducting yourself in an appalling manner at her table. You have insulted your fiancee and my sister with ungentlemanly allusions. Because you are drunk, and out of a desire not to cause Miss Bennet any more upset than she has already experienced tonight, I have made allowances for your manners beyond anything I would tolerate from anybody else.
But I am done. I suggest you go home, sleep off your liquor, and endeavor to devise some way of atoning for the enormous affront you have visited upon this entire household tonight."
He rose and pushed in his chair. "Because, Mr. Dashwood, if this utter disregard for propriety continues, I may advise Miss Bennet and her father to rethink your engagement."
As far as Darcy was concerned, he was finished conversing with Harry for the evening. He turned to go.
"Do what thou wilt."
Darcy jerked round, stunned by the utterance. He blinked at Mr. Dashwood. "What did you say?"
Harry sprawled in his seat as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He rolled the stem of his empty glass between his fingers, watching the last few drops of wine swirl in response. "Do what thou wilt."
Their gazes locked. Darcy read in Mr. Dash wood’s eyes a hardness that hadn’t been there before. At least, not before the gathering in Pall Mall. There was no mistaking him now, no need to give him any benefit of the doubt concerning his recent activities because he himself had just removed all doubt. Harry had indeed hosted a meeting of the old Hell-Fire Club. The only question that remained was why.
"Did you learn that motto from your new friends? The ones who called upon you the night before last?"
He laughed hollowly. "I would call them old friends."
"Yes, very old," Darcy agreed. "Old enough to have been Sir Francis’s cohorts — members of his Hell-Fire Club."
"You mean the Monks of Medmenham." A sardonic smile twisted Mr. Dashwood’s lips. "You surprise me, Mr. Darcy. I did not credit you with such penetration. But what does an upstanding gentleman like you know about the Friars of Saint Francis?"
"Enough to know that you flirt with danger if you seek to rekindle those fires." Darcy leaned toward him, resting his hands on the table. "What are you about, Mr. Dashwood? What attraction could that immoral organization hold for you, that you would jeopardize your reputation and honor to experiment with it? Those men you welcomed into your home are honorless scoundrels."
"They are men who know how to live. Not stiff-rumped pansies afraid of their own desires, who never act or speak but in deference to what might cause offense to their equally prudish acquaintances. Cowards who let ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would.’"
Such as himself? The insinuation was obvious.
Recognizing Dashwood’s final words as an allusion to Macbeth, Darcy responded in kind. "‘I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none.’"
He was not about to sit in his dining room engaging in literary ripostes with an intoxicated fool. But he also was not yet prepared to abandon his attempt to redirect Harry’s misguided steps — if not for Mr. Dashwood’s sake, for Kitty’s. With effort, he reined in his growing anger.
"Mr. Dashwood — Harry — trust me. You do not understand what you are getting yourself into by associating with — "
"Mr. Darcy, it is you who do not understand. You think yourself so wise in the ways of the world. But I have done more and seen more than you ever will; I have tried things you haven’t the courage to imagine. I have not solicited your advice, nor do I need it."
Darcy clenched his fists in frustration. The confidence of one-and-twenty! Would that every young man entering his majority truly possessed the wisdom he thought he did. Unfortunately, it was apparent that only hard experience could teach Harry what he needed to learn. The best Darcy could hope for was to save Kitty from the carriage wreck Mr. Dashwood seemed intent on making of his life.
"I thought you a better man than this, Mr. Dashwood. I thought you a gentleman. But if you persist in clandestine proceedings and unpardonable public behavior, I shall have no choice but to dissuade Miss Bennet from allying her future with yours."
"As I said, do what thou wilt." He set his wineglass on the table upside down. Blood red droplets rolled down to stain the white linen. "I intend to."
Fifteen
"His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than both."
— Colonel Brandon to Elinor,
Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 21
Elizabeth waited in the drawing room with Kitty and Geor-giana for the gentlemen to rejoin them. She expected Darcy and Harry would be closeted either a very short time or a very long time, depending on Mr. Dashwood’s degree of inebriation. If their guest was too drunk for questioning, she doubted Darcy would have much else to say to him tonight.
"Lizzy, Mr. Dashwood seems so altered this evening. I feel as if I hardly know him."
Kitty’s words echoed Elizabeth’s thoughts. She wanted to reassure her sister, but hardly knew herself how to explain Harry’s conduct. Drunkenness was no excuse — he should not have so compromised himself in the first place, let alone called upon his fiancee in such a state. But beyond that, the changes in his manner seemed to exceed the effects of liquor. Elizabeth had not been exposed to many men that far gone into their cups, but even so, she sensed something different in Mr. Dashwood, a more fundamental alteration that had taken hold before the alcohol and that would remain after his head ceased to ache in the morning. She’d perceived it earlier today at Grafton House, and could not yet define it, but it was there.
Mr. Dashwood and Darcy soon entered. One look at Darcy revealed to her that they had argued — she could read it in the tense line of his jaw. What an unpleasant evening this was turning into all around.
"Miss Bennet, I’m afraid I must take my leave."
Mr. Dashwood’s announcement disconcerted Kitty, who glanced uncertainly from him to Darcy and back.
"So soon?"
"Unfortunately so." Harry raised Kitty’s hand to his lips. He then turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist, lingering over it long enough to make everyone in the room fidget. "Bon-soir, ma cherie."
Kitty turned deep scarlet. "Good — good night, Mr. Dash-wood."
Harry next turned to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Darcy, I thank you for your hospitality." He reached for her hand.
Elizabeth hesitated, sincerely hoping her wrist wouldn’t follow the same path as Kitty’s, but Mr. Dashwood merely grasped her fingers in his palm. Nevertheless, she experienced a sense of revulsion at his touch — a reaction, she presumed, to his unconscionable conduct all evening.
She masked her discomfort, but he regarded her curiously. There passed between them something unspoken. Again, she had the sense that a shift had taken place within him. He was at once more and less the Mr. Dashwood who had entertained them at Norland — more intense in his address, more bold in his actions, more hungry in his pursuit of desires. Yet less disarming, less moderate, less kind. Where before his manner put one at ease, it now set one on edge. It was as if he’d lost his balance, and those around him shared that endless moment of anxiety before it is known whether one will fall.
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