Kitty looked up so quickly it was a wonder she did not hurt her neck. “Do you mean it?”
“I do. It is late, but I do not think it is too late. We are both dressed for it. Yorke has a hackney coach waiting. What is to stop us?”
There was nothing, other than the tight knot in Elizabeth’s stomach which she was doing her best to ignore, and in short order, they were in the coach on their way across town.
Elizabeth was mesmerised by the transformation at the gallery. A forest of candelabras had been brought in and cleverly arranged to complement the paintings in different and fascinating contrast to daylight. The architecture of the building itself was emphasised to majestic effect. Musicians played in one of the upstairs rooms, and people had taken to whispering, giving the whole place an ethereal, almost hallowed feel. She was enthralled.
She came to her senses when Yorke excused himself to wait in the servants’ area. She thanked him and went with Kitty to join the people meandering about the exhibition. There were fewer than there had been on every other visit, no doubt due to the lateness of the hour, and she did not have to fight as hard or wait as long to view each painting.
“Howdidyou get into Uncle’s study?” she asked as she looked.
Kitty was bouncing on her tiptoes, impatiently searching the room, and answered distractedly. “I picked the lock.”
“Kitty!” It was a good thing for her sister that Elizabeth had not asked the question before now, for if she had received that answer when they were still at home, she most certainly would not have rewarded the behaviour with an excursion. “How do you know how to pick a lock?”
“Wickham taught me.”
She wished she had not asked, and when a handsome man in regimentals approached them in the next moment, beaming from ear to ear, she had to forcibly remind herself that not all officers were as disreputable as her brother. He had not said more than a few words, however, before the distinction became self-evident. Sergeant Mulhall was well-spoken and civil, with none of the self-important charm she had come to expect from Lydia’s husband.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing to Kitty. “I am excessively pleased to see you. I began to think you would not come.”
“As did I!” Kitty replied. “But here we are—disaster averted. My aunt and uncle were engaged for the theatre this evening, it turns out, but this is my sister, Lizzy. She is the eldest of the two of us, which gives you leave to call me Kitty this evening. Lizzy, this is Sergeant Mulhall.”
Something about the exchange struck Elizabeth, and it took a moment for her to realise that it was the want of Kitty’s usual giggling flirtation. Her sister spoke to this man as though they had known each other for years, all ease and friendliness. It reminded her of how she and Mr Darcy had conversed, even when they were disagreeing. There had been no undue deference or officious attention from her, no pompous flattery from him. Mr Darcy did not flatter by compliment; he flattered byacknowledging her equal mind and speaking to her accordingly. The memory made her miserable for herself but delighted for her sister.
“Good evening, Sergeant. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“That is a good start,” he replied. “But I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. Colonel Fitzwilliam has said enough in your praise that I could not have been happy to make the acquaintance of anyone less lovely. He sends his regards, by the way.”
“Does he?” Elizabeth said, striving to sound easy. “He has not sent any more messages of whose company I ought to avoid, then?” She tried to make it sound teasing, but her smile felt fixed, and she was sure the heat in her face must expose her as having meant more than she had said. What she really wanted to ask was whether the colonel’s warning about Lord Rutherford had truly originated with Mr Darcy, but she had not the courage to enquire, certain as she was that she would not like the answer.
Sergeant Mulhall cleared his throat. “No, madam, but he did ask me to pass on his apologies. He regrets his presumption and wishes you every happiness with Mr Knowles.”
“Mr Knowles?” Elizabeth repeated stupidly.
“I told Sergeant Mulhall you were coming here with him this evening,” Kitty explained. With a shrug, she added, “I thought you were.”
“I see.” Here was the answer to the question she dared not ask, then. So far from confirming his cousin’s interest in her romantic affairs, Colonel Fitzwilliam had instead sent Elizabeth the clear message that she ought to cease wallowing and marry someone else.Et tu, Colonel?she thought wryly.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “Please tell him that his regards are returned. But you are not here to talk to me. Pray, both of you, go! Enjoy your evening.” She gestured to the wider gallery,encouraging them to move away together. “I shall be over here, admiring this painting of a…” She cast a glance at the nearest easel. “Dead fish.”
Sergeant Mulhall looked unsure, but Kitty wasted not a moment in snatching up his arm and leading him away. Elizabeth watched them go, fighting prodigiously hard against a swell of jealousy at the way they bent their heads together to whisper to each other.
“Miss Bennet!”
She froze, the knot in her stomach squeezing tighter, for she knew that voice. Never mind that she had been steeling herself for this moment, she still felt unprepared. Slowly, she turned around and curtseyed.
“Mr Knowles.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Her uncle’s acquaintance seemed displeased to see her—alarmed, almost. “I thought you were not coming this evening.”
Before Elizabeth could reply, a woman in gaudy attire and with half an ostrich in her hair appeared at his side, laughing too loudly for the hushed event. She draped most of her upper body over Mr Knowles’s arm. “There you are, Dumpy. I thought you had abandoned me.” She cast a disparaging look at Elizabeth. “Who is this?”
Elizabeth was not particularly worldly, but even she could guess who—and what—Mr Knowles’s companion must be. She supposed she ought to be shocked, perhaps disgusted, certainly wildly offended, yet all she could think as she looked between them was—Dumpy?It was a struggle to keep her countenance.
Mr Knowles, who had gone as red as the woman’s rouged lips, tried unsuccessfully to prise her off his arm. “Your uncle assured me you were not coming,” he said to Elizabeth. “I did not want to miss the occasion, and Miss Delaney expressed a wish to see the paintings.” Every time he pulled one of ‘Miss Delaney’s’ hands away, she replaced it somewhere else, putting him into an ever-greater fluster. “I had already purchased two tickets in advance. It seemed a shame not to use them.”
