A Private Performance (7 page)

“I must say,” said Lord Reerdon, “he is very good.”

Lord Misrule bellowed, “Behold your king!” and the whole assembly rose to bow low.

The King seated himself on the throne, and there was a scraping of chairs as the guests all sat down. The pipers piped up and a little page boy entered. On a massive cushion he carried a ring, the diamonds of which would have been worth a king's ransom were they real.

Then Lord Misrule spoke again:

The king was only expected to name the queen, but Mr. Whittaker had a reputation to keep up. Leaning back in his throne, he produced expectant laughter with a slight gesture of his hand. Then he drawled:

Several young ladies newly launched upon society were the object of speculative looks, in particular, a young lady with whom Mr. Whittaker had danced twice. He raised one limp hand to his forehead in grief:

Elizabeth looked at Darcy, her dark eyes alight with laughter, but she felt that the smile Darcy gave her at that moment was somehow forced, and he was not the only person who looked her way.

With a true actor's gift, Mr. Whittaker paused again. Those lacking wit enough to solve the riddle needed only follow his eyes.

Lord Misrule paced across and bowed deeply before Elizabeth.

Before she had a chance to react, an objection was raised from another table. “Unfair! It is too long a parting for newlyweds.”

There were shouts of laughter, buried in coughs as Lady Reerdon frowned, always disapproving of jokes which threatened embarrassment to her guests.

With a shout, Lord Misrule declared:

Over the top of hoots of laughter, another ‘courtier' called out, from the dais:

Lady Reerdon moved to rise, and the room fell silent. Elizabeth's wit rose too quickly to check and she replied:

This was rewarded with a standing ovation as she rose and followed Lord Misrule to the dais, and accepted her crown, cloak and ring. She turned, took the King's offered hand and they stepped to the front of the dais; and, in answer to the shout “Behold your Queen!”, she accepted the deep obeisance of her court.

 

“Oh, Lizzy!” Kitty exclaimed. “Were you not dreadfully embarrassed?” She had come at two o'clock in the afternoon, finding her sister still at breakfast with her husband.

“Why should she be?” asked her brother-in-law. “She looked the part.”

“I own to feeling somewhat prominent, but it is remarkable to what one can accustom oneself.”

“How many people were there?”

“Three hundred or so. They next performed the play.”

“Was it very amusing?” asked Kitty eagerly.

“The usual Twelfth Night nonsense,” replied Darcy.

“Were there no more dances? Did you not dance, Lizzy, after they made you queen?”

“There were two more dances. The first I must dance with the king.”

“Did you like him?” Kitty looked guiltily at her brother-in-law, hoping he would not object to this.

“Mr. Whittaker?” said Elizabeth. “I cannot say. He is amusing certainly, but not, I think, altogether sincere. He is of a cynical turn and, I should imagine, very vain. I know not why he chose me. I fancy he would hate to attribute his choice to gallantry.”

Kitty found her eyes again wandering irresistibly to Darcy. His expression was impenetrable. Elizabeth continued: “We walked all the way up the set to the top, with all the other dancers bowing their deepest bows. Some of the ladies are very accomplished, sinking almost to the floor. Were I not so modest, I may have found the experience intoxicating.”

“With whom did you dance the last?” Kitty needs must have every detail.

 

On the way to the ball Elizabeth and Darcy had arranged to have the final dance together. Elizabeth's promotion to queen interfered with this. Mr. Whittaker had gallantly chosen the hostess, as indeed the king always did.

Then Lord Misrule proclaimed:

Certain gentlemen felt that their rank and talents qualified them to be the queen's partner. Elizabeth named her partner to Lord Misrule, who called:

He looked around:

Elizabeth caught Darcy's impassive look. He gave her a rueful little smile. Then Lord Misrule called:

“Off with his head!” called Mr. Whittaker.

However, the queen had spoken; and they had the happiness of enjoying the last dance together after all.

 

It was after four in the morning when the guests were finally on their way home.

In the darkness of their carriage, Amelia Courtney said: “Do you know, Teddy, Lady Englebury told me that Mrs. Darcy puts her in mind of someone. I imagine she means Lady Jeanette. My poor aunt, to have lost her only child.”

“Who would have been but the second marchioness in her own right in the family. Her death was a great misfortune for one of her ladyship's views.”

“That is very ungenerous of you! I wish you to try to like her more.”

“I beg your pardon, my love. I will try, though your aunt seems loath to return the compliment,” said Courtney. Then, musingly, he added, “Still, her ladyship's loss was a gain for Lord Bradford, who has but a tottering uncle in his way to become marquess. The tragedy of Jeanette's death may also prove invaluable to your new friend.”

 

In the Darcy carriage, Elizabeth sank back in weariness. Her husband found her hand in the darkness.

“Queen of the Fair, I was so proud of you. You carried that off with wit as well as grace.”

“I thank you, sir,”

“I thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For choosing me. Again.”

“I feared it may be a dreadful blunder. Instead, everyone seemed to think I was rather sweet, which is a terrible blunder.”

“I thought you would make a more politic selection—Lord Reerdon, for example. I was feeling a little jealous in advance.”

“Of Lord Reerdon? Ugh! I thought you might rather not have the attention.”

“No, I did not object to that particular moment of prominence.” He paused. “Did you converse long with Mr. and Mrs. Foxwell?”

“I saw the lady but briefly. I danced with Mr. Foxwell.”

“How did you find him?”

“Very pleasant. My acquaintance with him is very short, so it must be difficult for me to judge. Why do you ask?”

“I felt him to be somewhat constrained in manner. I asked his lady if he were in good health. She replied most vehemently that he will always be as he ever was.”

“How strange.”

“Strange, indeed.”

M
RS
. C
OURTNEY WATCHED
E
LIZABETH'S FACE
for her reaction to Lady Englebury's home and indeed Elizabeth was impressed. Light seemingly poured from two enormous sun-drenched seascapes in the hall. At the top of the stairs was an extraordinary forest, which seemed curiously real, with its deep purple shadows. The drawing room was characterised by an elegant plainness; the furnishings were the very best, but they were a mere backdrop for her ladyship's collection of contemporary art.

“You are interested in my paintings, Mrs. Darcy? You have made a study of the subject?”

“Unfortunately, I have but little talent for painting and, spending my life almost exclusively in Hertfordshire, I had few opportunities to look at exhibitions.”

“Excellent!” barked the older woman. “The senseless daubs of the modern young woman are but poor imitations of art that died years ago, or ought to have died.”

“I am sorry to hear that so many young ladies are expending their energies fruitlessly, your Ladyship.”

Despite the marchioness's penetrating stare, Elizabeth's dark eyes looked serenely back.

“Ha! Ha! Come with me,” ordered the marchioness.

On the boudoir wall, a creature created almost of light itself emerged from a cave.

“The birth of a soul,” murmured Amelia.

“A pity the light generally goes out,” said her aunt. “Certain artists of today are seeing beyond the mere shapes of the objects before them. Some have the gift to share that insight with us.”

Elizabeth said little. While she was fascinated to see paintings of a style of which she had only read, she felt unqualified to take a critical approach to them.

She was struck by two landscapes hanging side by side, alike and
yet so different. The sight of the very Derbyshire peak she had climbed with her husband took her breath for a moment.

“These paintings are of a place in Derbyshire,” she said. “The different light and weather make them almost seem different places. One is all gloomy desolation, and the other raptures of wildness.”

The older woman looked at her sharply, suspecting a hidden significance in her remarks. She said, dryly:

“Of course the viewers also have their private interpretation.”

“Think you so, madam?” questioned Elizabeth, in mock doubt. “I daresay such a phenomenon is possible … in some cases.” Something essentially playful in Elizabeth's riposte made this not quite saucy, and Lady Englebury gave a bark of laughter. A blush or simper would have demolished the girl in her good opinion.

“I hope you will keep next Tuesday evening free, Mrs. Darcy. That is when I hold my little gatherings. I shall send you a note to remind you.”

 

When Elizabeth came home she sought Darcy in the library. She lightly told him of the invitation and discovered that she had just gained admittance to one of the most exclusive salons in London.

“It cannot be!” she said. “Her ladyship's famous salon is peopled by bluestockings and writers.”

“The main criterion for inclusion, I believe, is a decided facility in conversation.”

“How very daunting that sounds,” said Elizabeth. “However, we will enjoy it, I daresay.”

“I doubt very much that the marchioness has even considered inviting me, my love.” His calm shocked her.

“If this is so, I shall refuse,” she said. “It would be most ungracious of Lady Englebury to invite only one of us to an evening party.”

“No insult has been intended, Elizabeth. Lady Englebury is known for her disregard of the marital state of those whom she admits to her circle.”

Elizabeth sank into an armchair opposite his.

“I would rather stay at home with you and Georgiana.”

“I am most gratified that you should express this sentiment, Elizabeth. However, we will receive separate invitations at times; and some that cannot be refused. I feel that concern for my feelings is inadequate reason to deny yourself this pleasure.”

He paused. He rose from his chair and walked over to her. From her expression, he saw that Elizabeth could readily be persuaded. She wanted to go, with or without him. He continued: “The marchioness could be an invaluable connection for you, dearest.”

Elizabeth jumped up. They faced each other across the leaping light of the fire. She said: “I am the last person to be influenced by such an argument as this! Why do you not know this of me?”

“Do you deny her ladyship's influence in society?”

“I'll not flatter her!”

“Elizabeth, you know I cannot abide sycophants. There is a difference between fawning on someone on account of her rank, and acknowledging the indisputable fact that your connection with that person gives you consequence.”

“Spare me your indisputable facts. I do not desire consequence purchased in this way. I will not think of my friendships in such terms. I am your wife; that is enough for me.”

“It is because you are my wife that I do not accept your spurning of this honour.”

His words seemed to echo Lady Catherine's angry prediction of their marriage: ‘You are determined to make him the contempt of the world.' Elizabeth had refused to believe those words, though she was shaken when Sir Graham so rudely slighted her. Still, she refused to be cowed by the notion that her value was gauged in society's scales against the weight of her connections.

“I do not recognise you at this moment, Mr. Darcy.” (In fact she did, but she had thought this pride was buried in the past.) “I had not thought you so eager to raise me in the opinion of the world.”

The sparks of her anger ignited his. “You inform me of my feelings, and I am to justify them, I presume.” He was meeting her fire with ice.

He winced inwardly at the expressiveness of her lips, in her
anger. She said: “Then you deny that you believe the marchioness's patronage may counterbalance my social deficiencies a little? A very little, I cannot help fearing.”

“There is no point in denying it. Lady Englebury is one of the most sought-after women in London, not merely on account of her rank. To be distinguished by her is seen as a great honour. Elizabeth, I wish only to protect you.”

“From what, sir?” Her voice was mild, but scorn flashed in the lovely eyes. He was reining in his anger, and she knew it, yet put the spur to it.

“From the insults of unmannerly baronets?” she cried, giving away that her feelings on this point were stronger than she had pretended at the time, but he was too angry to pick this up.

He said coldly: “I'll warrant Sir Graham Eston was regretting his rash action before the night was out. He is desperate to regain the footing he once held in society.”

She stared at him, puzzled, silent, as he said: “It was the talk of the ballroom that you had been distinguished by the marchioness. People were all but congratulating me openly, and he had insulted you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you expect to experience such a degree of success at the ball? If so, you do not know the secret cruelty exerted by the Ton, in protection of the citadel of position.”

“Then they are all fools.” She was looking for a way to climb down from the peak of her anger.

“Certainly, yet this is the world in which we find ourselves.” (‘Why is she so confoundedly proud?' he thought. Yet he loved her the more for it.)

“Elizabeth, there is nothing I would not sacrifice for you.” His exasperation was at its limit.

Her words burst out, “You have sacrificed the good opinion and notice of your relations. I cannot bear the thought that you might feel you sacrifice your honour, too.”

“Not my honour, Elizabeth.” He strode over to the window and stared out at the steely cold of the street. He turned back to her. Her
colour was high, and the light of the fire leapt about her. He had still so much to learn about her. His anger was crumbling.

“I knew I would anger my family by marrying you, although I underestimated their severity,” he said. “However, dearest, you have taught me to esteem and value you above everything. I discard, without regret, the friendship of any of my circle who do not respect and honour you. When I see you distinguished by such new friends as you have made, I know their friendship protects you, by silencing critics.”

Sudden suspicion led her to say: “Is Lady Reerdon's kindness influenced by the marchioness's interest in me?”

“Lady Reerdon's?” he said. “No, indeed not. I never doubted her friendship. I see I have upset you needlessly. Forgive me my ungovernable temper.”

“Never mind. It is just that I have been so cross. No, there is more. I could not bear to think the countess had been insincere to me when she called yesterday.”

“What did she say, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth found she had to take a breath to settle the emotion that rose in her.

“That she had known your mother better than anyone in the world; and that there was no doubt in her mind that Lady Anne Darcy, had she lived, would have quickly learnt to esteem and love me.”

He said: “What else could she have done, had she known you?”

“Lady Reerdon's kindness to me is offered in memory of your mother. I do not claim it for myself, but her words meant more to me that I can express.”

Her hands were trembling. He held them.

“We have quarrelled, my dearest,” she said.

“Have we slain that dragon?” he asked.

“I think we were fighting its ghost.” She looked away, then slowly, slowly back to him. She smiled and tilted up her chin as she said: “I will bear in mind, if Lady Englebury pursues this strange friendship, that she is a useful connection. I may be prepared to make allowances.”

“I think you are wise,” he said, looking very wise himself.

“Very small allowances,” she added.

“Indeed, there is no call for excessive compromise of your dignity.”

She continued: “I shall make these very small allowances … so long as she amuses me.”

He laughed, replying: “She does amuse you? Are you not curious to partake of conversation of a brilliance you may never find elsewhere?”

“I am intrigued, in spite of myself.” There was a little flare of excitement in her eyes, and, preoccupied, she did not notice the oddness of his smile. He was reaching out, needing to hold her, when a footman entered.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hurst are here, madam, and Miss Bingley. I have shown them into the drawing room,” he said.

“Thank you. Please tell them I shall be with them presently.”

The footman withdrew.

“Well,” she said, “this is an exciting conclusion to our morning.”

 

The two ladies awaiting them in the drawing room were the elder of Charles Bingley's sisters. Miss Caroline Bingley was a tall, handsome young woman, whose bearing left one in no doubt of her high estimation of her own worth.

Caroline was accompanied by her sister, Louisa, along with Louisa's husband, Mr. Hurst. The three represented the epitome of fashion, in dress and in manner.

“What an age it seems since your wedding!” declared Miss Caroline. “How the weeks have flown!”

“Indeed, they have,” replied Elizabeth.

“Such a happy time that was. I have never felt such joy as on the day when our two families were united by matrimony, and I was able to call your sister Jane my very own sister.”

“I am most gratified to hear it,” said Elizabeth, although ‘surprised' might have been closer to the mark. “Have you seen Jane and Charles since you arrived in town?”

“We shall wait upon them after we leave you, dear Mrs. Darcy.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst added their compliments and congratulations. Then Miss Bingley turned to Darcy.

“Mr. Darcy, where is dear Georgiana? I long to see her again.”

“My sister is, at this moment, receiving her music instruction. I am sure she would not object to your waiting upon her in the music room for a few moments.” He began to rise, but Caroline's longing had not reached a pitch intense enough to propel her from the drawing room.

“I see you have made some pleasant little changes to the arrangements already, Mrs. Darcy,” said Mrs. Hurst. “I do not recollect seeing that delightful little cabinet last season.”

Her husband levered himself out of his seat and went over to the ornament stand in question. He put his glass up to his eye to examine the inlay work on the top shelf.

“A dainty little piece, indeed,” he declared.

“We greatly treasure this item,” said Darcy. “It was presented to Elizabeth by Lady Reerdon.”

Mr. Hurst gave a grunt to indicate his appreciation of this fact. Caroline looked at the little cabinet, her expression betraying a certain sourness. In truth, she had not yet become accustomed to the idea that Darcy was a married man.

‘This should have been mine,' she thought. ‘What is more, I would have placed it better.' Aloud, she said: “A charming piece, Mrs. Darcy. An elegant gift, from a very gracious lady.”

“Indeed,” said Elizabeth, “Lady Reerdon has been very kind to me.”

“Naturally, she has,” said Mr. Hurst, startling Elizabeth with a burst of chivalry. “Who could be less? Mmm?”

She had not opportunity to frame a response, as Mr. and Miss Whittaker were announced. Elizabeth glanced at Darcy in surprise, as he had not spoken of them as friends. He shrugged.

Miss Bingley felt a flash of alarm, as Miss Whittaker's beauty, wealth and connections were the talk of London and could be a threat to her. She then recollected that Darcy was already married.

Arabella Whittaker knew how to enter a room; one could not but admire. She greeted her hosts elegantly, then turned to greet each of the other visitors in turn, having made their acquaintance the previous winter.

Caroline noted the graceful lines of Arabella's jacket, the tassels of which hung in a particularly attractive manner. She shifted her attention to the brother. She thought how pleasing were his looks also, and elegant his dress.