by Blake Smith
“And you shall have partners enough for every dance,” Anne gently teased. There seemed to be equal numbers of men and women in the room, and Georgiana would surely attract notice. Golden hair was not precisely the fashion, but Anne privately thought her cousin looked rather like an angel in her white gown, with her hair simply decorated with pearls.
Before Georgiana could answer, they were interrupted by Mr. Croydon, the master of ceremonies, whom Anne and her mother had greeted upon their arrival. A rather small, fatherly looking man, he actually stood upon a stool to raise himself over everyone’s head as he announced that the dancing was about to begin.
Georgiana’s attention was almost immediately claimed by a young man of her acquaintance, who had previously solicited her hand for the first two dances, leaving Anne tête-à-tête with Mrs. Hurst.
“Miss de Bourgh, I simply must introduce you to my brother-in-law. Mr. Jeffries is Mr. Hurst’s younger brother,” Mrs. Hurst explained, leading her toward a young man who was talking with Miss Bingley.
Anne hardly needed to ask why the two brothers bore different names; no doubt Mr. Jeffries had been adopted by a really rich uncle, or some such thing. It was not the most usual state of affairs, but not unheard of. She only hoped that Mr. Jeffries’s adoption had given him a better education and manners than his sisters-in-law. And with a little luck, he dressed more properly than his brother, that Anne would not be blinded by glittering jewels in his neckcloth or shining watches and fobs hanging from his waistcoat.
“My dear George,” Mrs. Hurst began the introduction, making Anne cringe inwardly at her familiar address, “I have someone I wish you to meet. Anne, may I present Mr. Jeffries? George, Miss de Bourgh.”
Mr. Jeffries had turned from his conversation with Miss Bingley, and Anne saw that he was startled at being thus accosted by Mrs. Hurst, but bore it well. He was a man of medium height, dark hair and eyes, and neat dress- not handsome, but not completely plain, either.
He bowed, very properly, and said, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss de Bourgh. Mrs. Hurst has been talking of you often; I believe she has mentioned your home- Rosings, is it?”
Anne could not like to hear that she was talked of among people she barely knew, but she nodded. “That’s correct. I live in my mother’s household.” She glanced in Lady Catherine’s direction, hoping a rescue might be forthcoming.
But Lady Catherine was not looking at her; she was talking to a large man in a dark blue coat. The man unbent from his bow, and Anne saw that it was Sir Henry Thornton. She quickly turned away, toward the lesser of two evils. “We have come to Scarborough on account of my cousin Miss Darcy, who I have not seen in for ever,” she said rapidly, hardly aware of the words.
He bowed again, as though not quite certain what to do next. “I’m slightly acquainted with Miss Darcy; I hope you have a pleasant visit with your cousin.”
Anne thanked him, then there was a pause, broken by Mrs. Hurst nudging Mr. Jeffries. “George, ask her to dance,” she said sotto voce, as though Anne was not standing right there.
Mr. Jeffries looked a little silly at this command. “Oh, of course!” He gave Anne a shy smile. “Would you care to dance, Miss de Bourgh?”
Anne was not at all impressed with this bit of awkwardness, but she had been glancing at Lady Catherine and Sir Henry, and had just seen her mother point her out to Sir Henry’s notice. “I would like very much to dance,” she said, and laid her hand on Mr. Jeffries’s arm.
He proved to be an able dancer, and appeared less nervous when not talking to his sister-in-law. Halfway through the first dance, Anne discovered why.
They had finished their figures and were watching the others. Anne was glad of a moment to rest; she was unaccustomed to exertion and for a few minutes found herself unequal to much conversation. So at first she was only able to show her mingled amusement and surprise in her expression when Mr. Jeffries said, rather bluntly, “I apologize for my awkwardness in asking you to dance. Mrs. Hurst is determined to find me acceptable partners for every dance, and obliges me to go into society at every opportunity, in hopes that I might fall desperately in love with some young lady. My delay in asking you to dance was not on account of anything you have done.”
By now Anne was able to talk, and asked, “Do you dislike dancing so very much?”
“No, but I sometimes wish Mrs. Hurst would allow me to find my own partners.” He winced. “That was not meant as a slight against you.”
But her pride had been pricked, and she said archly, “Do not feel obliged to dance with me if you do not like it, sir.”
“What, and leave you here alone?” he said, raising his brows. “I think not. I would not expose you to the gossip that would follow. And besides that, you are the only lady who has ever offered to release me from an obligation, and that intrigues me.”
Before Anne could answer, the music changed, and attention was required. She had only a moment to consider Mr. Jeffries, and why his interest might be piqued by her response- a response that bordered on rudeness.
Finally they were again together, and she was able to say, “Mr. Jeffries, if you do not like to dance with me, you need not.”
He gave her a look of clever curiosity, and she was struck by how his dark eyes sparkled. “Your protests make me wonder if it is, in fact, you who dislikes dancing with me.”
“Well, I do not like to be insulted by my partner.”
“I beg your pardon. No insult was intended, only a commentary on the match-making methods of Mrs. Hurst.”
Her attention momentarily diverted, Anne asked, “Why does she wish so strongly for you to fall in love?”
“I cannot say for certain,” he said after a slight pause, “but I believe there are two reasons. First, I am to inherit my uncle’s property, and Mrs. Hurst wishes that property to stay in the family once it is mine. Second, I have never before been in love, and she thinks it most unnatural that a man should reach my age without being stricken by Cupid’s arrow.”
Anne laughed at that. “Why, you cannot be much more than five-and-twenty; yet to hear you talk, it’s as if you were nearing your dotage!”
He returned her look of amusement. “Now you see why I find her reasons so strange. I am seven-and-twenty, hardly ancient, and a younger son as well. I am hardly necessary to anyone’s schemes.”
“Save for those of Mrs. Hurst,” Anne noted mischievously. “Take care, or she may bring her sister into her confidence, and then you will have to contend with two ladies focused on your welfare.”
He shot her a look of mingled horror and amusement. “You are quite right; I had not thought of it. Perhaps I should attempt a scheme to divert their attention.”
“Shall you pretend to fall in love with a lady?” she asked lightly.
“Would that I could, but I have never been able to pretend. And it would not be fair to the lady.” He looked pensive for a moment as the music drew to a close. “No doubt I shall think of something.”
Anne wished him all the luck in the world, and was silently amused at the thought that she might be able to see the outcome. Perhaps keeping company with the Hursts and Miss Bingley would not be so tiresome as she’d thought.
CHAPTER seven
When Mr. Jeffries left her side, Anne sought out Georgiana. Mr. Jeffries had said he was slightly acquainted with her, and Anne wished to know if his odd temper- so awkward at times, yet so blunt at others!- was usual, or if he was simply attempting to put her off.
“Oh, Mr. Jeffries is a bit odd,” Georgiana said in response to her inquiry. “He is occasionally uncivil, but always apologetic when it is pointed out to him. I think I would not have liked him at all a few years ago- one never knows what he’s about to say next!- but he’s pleasant enough company, if one is prepared to converse on strange subjects. Did you like him?- I thought I saw you laughing together.”
“I liked him well enough,” Anne allowed. “I’m not precisely sure what to make of him; he seems very
changeable. But he is a younger son. My mother would never consent to a match between us even if I did like him.”
“No one says you must marry him!” Georgiana said, laughing. “I merely asked if you could tolerate his company for the length of two dances.”
“Certainly, but when a lady reaches my age, she must be thinking of marriage, or preparing to give over all hope of being married.”
This remark earned her a look of exasperation from her cousin. “Anne, please do not be absurd. You are five-and-twenty. Not a girl, I grant you, but hardly stricken in years.”
“So you say, from the comfortable vantage point of eighteen years,” Anne teased, determined not to be made melancholy by the conversation.
“And the wisdom of my years says I am in need of a glass of lemonade,” Georgiana said as she looped her arm through Anne’s and positively towed her toward the room where the refreshments were located.
Alas, they were obliged to pass by the chaperones. “Anne, come here!” Lady Catherine’s voice rang out, unfortunately at the exact moment the musicians ceased to play for a bare instant.
Blushing for her mother’s incivility, Anne altered her course with greatest reluctance. For sitting next to Lady Catherine was none other than Sir Henry Thornton. Again. Anne sighed, which garnered a look of surprised curiosity from Georgiana. “I’ll tell you later,” Anne whispered.
Sir Henry rose as they approached, and though his greeting and bow were perfectly civil, Anne disliked the way he loomed over her. It was absurd; she was not a large woman, so nearly everyone she met was taller than she, but Sir Henry would stand a little too close, and hold her hand for a little too long.
So she was not obliged to speak to him, Anne said to her mother, “Do you require anything, Your Ladyship? For I thought I heard you call for me?”
“Don’t be absurd, Anne,” Lady Catherine said coolly. “You recall Sir Henry, of course; it would be terribly rude of you not to notice him after the assistance he rendered to us.”
Since she had already greeted Sir Henry, Anne could hardly do so again, and said, “Indeed, Your Ladyship.”
Sir Henry filled the awkward pause by saying, “I could not pass by Scarborough without seeing for myself that the rest of your journey was comfortable.”
“That is very kind of you,” Anne said. “Please be easy on that account; our journey was as comfortable and rapid as could be expected.”
“I am pleased to see you’ve recovered enough to attend this evening. Will you oblige me with your hand for the two next?”
The words were civil enough, but he held out his hand as though to bodily separate her from Georgiana. Anne shot him a quelling look, which was unfortunately spotted by Lady Catherine. “Anne, don’t be a goose! Sir Henry asked you a question.”
And since Anne did not wish to sit down for the rest of the evening, she would have to accept. She looked to her cousin, hoping to be rescued. But before Georgiana could make an excuse for them, Lady Catherine said, “Georgiana, you shall sit by me while Anne is engaged,” and Georgiana was obliged to obey, leaving Anne at the mercy of Sir Henry.
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her toward the other dancers. Anne had the distinct impression that he took great pleasure in her confusion. “There, Miss de Bourgh,” he said smoothly, “I shall not eat you. I have been wishing to talk with you since we met on the road.”
Anne said nothing. In the open air, and in a moving carriage, Sir Henry disturbed her less. But seen here, in a delicately furnished and poorly lit ballroom, his features wore a dark and slightly menacing cast that Anne associated only with villains in the occasional novel she was allowed- or the ones she’d read without the knowledge of Lady Catherine or Mrs. Jenkinson.
She tried to understand her own feelings, and why Sir Henry should disturb her. Perhaps it was simply his age and station; he had known her father, yet did not treat her as though an entire generation separated them. Perhaps it was the way he asked to dance with her, as though her acceptance was a foregone conclusion made without her consent. Perhaps she merely disliked him because Lady Catherine seemed to like him so very much.
Whatever the reason- and Anne resolved to consider the matter at length on the morrow, when she would not be distracted by the sights and sounds of the ballroom- she allowed Sir Henry to lead her into the set, a strong but unspecific reluctance slowing her steps.
Sir Henry was inclined to talk, and began the conversation by asking her how she liked Scarborough.
Anne, feeling her mother’s stern gaze upon her, answered as civilly as she could. “I like it well enough,” she said. “I have lived most of my life in the country; even such a small town as this one seems bustling and crowded- though not so much as London.”
“Have you been often to London?”
“Only once.”
They were obliged to separate for a time, and when they finished the series of figures, Anne was determined that he should be the first to talk.
Unfortunately, that was no barrier to Sir Henry. “It is strange to me to converse with a person who is little traveled,” he said. “I have lived in India for nearly ten years, making my fortune, and before that traveled thrice to the West Indies on business for my father.”
“Indeed.”
“I think you would like India very well, Miss de Bourgh. It is warmer than England, and Lady Catherine has said that you are subject to colds.”
“My mother is very solicitous of my health, perhaps because her own is so robust.”
“Yes, I suspect Lady Catherine could travel anywhere in the world without turning a hair. But you must be treated more delicately. The natives of India have a remedy for colds, in which the subject is wrapped up warmly in the hide of a freshly-killed tiger, then anointed with the animal’s blood. It is said to be a true panacea, and give the patient relief from ailments of all kinds.”
Anne stared, horrified. “You cannot be serious; how could such a gruesome practice cure anyone’s illness?”
Sir Henry smiled. “I know not how it works, only that it does. Had I any tigers nearby, I would offer one to you, that you may feel some relief.”
“You are very kind,” she said, her voice positively dripping with irony, and breathed a sigh of relief when the dance obliged them to separate.
Sir Henry seemed to realize he had offended her, and spoke of merely commonplace matters for the rest of the time they were together- the dance, a lady’s headdress of particular extravagance, the manner in which the rooms were furnished. Anne answered civilly, but allowed him to make every foray into conversation, and left his side as quickly as she could.
Georgiana had also made her escape, and they met at the door to the refreshments room. “Now perhaps you will tell me of this Sir Henry,” Georgiana hinted. “He seemed civil enough, but you did not like him.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Anne admitted. “And what’s worse, I can’t say precisely why. He has some rather gruesome tales from his time in India. And he orders one about, but I’m accustomed to that from my own family. And my mother seems to like him.”
Georgiana’s raised eyebrow said silently what could not be said aloud. As if Lady Catherine’s approval was ever any recommendation. But she merely nodded. “Perhaps you dislike his orders because authority over you had been always reserved to your family. He is too much a stranger to be always telling you what to do.”
“I think you must be right.” And how different was Sir Henry’s conversation from Mr. Jeffries’! A slight awkwardness had attended each man, yet Mr. Jeffries’s smile and air distinguished him as a gentleman of superior understanding and pleasant temper. Sir Henry seemed filled with menace, and his stories of freshly killed tigers did not endear him to Anne.
She mentioned the subject to Georgiana, who was predictably disgusted by it. “He should have known better than to speak of such things to ladies,” she said. “Perhaps those tales are appropriate for the society in which he is known, but I cou
ld pass my entire life without knowing of such barbaric practices.”
This was exactly as Anne thought of the matter. “I wish my mother did not like him. I think she is pleased that he pays her attention, and he was acquainted with my father.”
“And now he is behaving as though he is a suitor for your hand.” Georgiana shivered. “I am engaged for the next two dances, but after that, I shall help you to hide from him. With a little luck, he is not staying long in this place.”
Anne thanked her warmly, but they were separated shortly after, by Georgiana’s being claimed by her next partner. Anne wished to sit down with the chaperones, but Lady Catherine would see her and demand an account of her movements. So she walked from one room to the next as though searching for a friend, hoping that her activity would persuade everyone to leave her alone.
Her scheme was successful for a time, until she happened to look up and see Sir Henry rise from his chair next to her mother, she looking satisfied, he looking determined. That could not bode well, and Anne quickly sought out the nearest gentleman for assistance. It happened to be Mr. Croydon.
“Mr. Croydon, perhaps you recall me from our introduction; I am Anne de Bourgh,” she said rapidly. “I must ask a favor of you- will you endeavor to introduce me to some respectable gentleman who requires a partner for the two next?” She glanced about for any sign of Sir Henry. He was moving through the ballroom with his head high, certainly looking for her. “Quickly, if you please,” she added.
Mr. Croydon was a well-practiced master of ceremonies, and from his smile and sudden alacrity, must know what she was talking of. “Of course,” he said, taking her arm. “I believe I see a Mr. Caverleigh standing about- a younger son, unfortunately, but a respectable partner for you.”
Anne assented this introduction, and very shortly found herself dancing with a dark-haired man who, though a younger son and shorter than she, proved to be an able partner. They talked of merely commonplace things- the town, the state of the roads, and where each lived when they were not holidaying by the sea- but Anne was so pleased to be rescued from Sir Henry that she was not at all annoyed by the insipid conversation.