When I saw her at Admiral Walton’s dinner, I hoped my chance had come, and during the meal I divided my thoughts between being properly attentive to my dinner partners and composing an apology. We re-joined the ladies after our port in time to hear another charming performance by the Bennets, but I was not able to secure her company for even a moment afterwards. She was damnably elusive, always in smiling conversation with someone or other. That old lecher, Lord Telford, kept her to himself for more than half an hour, and I was becoming concerned for her sensibilities when they parted at last, with smiles on her side and a curious expression of consternation on his. I was relieved to know that he had said nothing to overset her, but still I could not find a way to capture a moment of her attention for the communication I was so anxious to deliver.
Nearly a week passed before we were in company again, this time at a ball where she had all her friends about her. Neither my courage nor my pride would allow me to approach her before the company which had borne witness to our previous interaction, so I bided my time and waited for an opportunity. While I waited and avoided Miss Bingley, I saw Miss Elizabeth take to the floor several times: once each with Deane, Mr Downing, and Bingley, and twice with Sir John Hatton. Deane and Sir John had been good friends for a time, years before, but there had been a falling out and the two rarely spoke. He and Miss Elizabeth had seemed to enjoy each other’s company very well, even engaging in some light, acceptable flirtation. A moderately wealthy baronet such as he would be a stupendous match for Miss Elizabeth, but the knowledge that Deane maintained only the barest acquaintance with the man made me uneasy.
I managed to separate my cousin from the crowd and asked, “Will you tell me why you no longer associate with Sir John Hatton?”
With a grimace of distaste, he replied, “Years ago, long before I met my wife, I was rather enamoured of a Miss Cole, who became Lady Hatton. After her marriage, we remained friends of a sort—as much as we properly could—until her death. She was very unhappy in her union, for Sir John was neither faithful nor discreet.”
While infidelity was more the rule than the exception among men of the higher circles, it was bad form to shame one’s wife, the mother of one’s children, in that way. I understood perfectly why my cousin had distanced himself from the man; I had done the same, for the same reason, with several acquaintances of my own.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet did not strike me as the sort of lady to quietly accept such treatment, and I thought that in addition to my apology I might be able to do her a good turn through a quiet warning of her suitor’s proclivities. I thanked my cousin for the information and returned to the ballroom to continue seeking an opportunity to speak with her.
My chance finally came when she left her friends to acquire a cup of punch during a set, while Sir John danced with another. I intercepted her at the otherwise deserted refreshment table, and there I asked her forgiveness for my weeks-old slight, and for not having made my apology sooner. To this, she replied with courteous acceptance, though I could see that my presence was unwelcome. There was more I felt I had to say before I released her, and so I hurriedly, quietly, spoke.
“Miss Elizabeth, I feel I must tell you something, so that you may...make any future decisions with all the necessary information. Sir John was not an ideal husband to Lady Hatton. She was made very unhappy by his...other interests. Some ladies are content with such an arrangement, but I would wish that you know what awaits you, should he make you an offer.”
I could not determine whether her expression of disgust was for me or for my words, until she spoke. “And I am now expected to trust you, I suppose, over one who has never been anything less than a gentleman to me? I think not,” she replied rather sharply, though quietly.
I stepped back and bowed, saying only, “Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant.” I had done what I could. I hoped very much that she would not marry him. I should hate to see her bright spirit crushed.
CHAPTER13
ELIZABETH BENNET
How dare he? I fumed inwardly as I returned to my friends. As though he were any judge of gentlemanly behaviour! I could not imagine Sir John behaving as alleged, and if by some chance it were true, he had been younger then, and he had hinted that his marriage had been one of suitability rather than sentiment. If he had sought tenderness elsewhere, I could not approve, but perhaps I could understand. He would certainly not behave so were he to marry for affection.
“I saw you speaking to Mr Darcy,” Miss Downing murmured in my ear, as the others eagerly debated the merits of the early chapters of a novel we had all agreed to read together. “And you do not seem happy. Was he unkind again?”
I squeezed her hand. She was such a dear, and remarkably lacking in that bitterness most ladies would feel in her place. “No,” I replied, equally quietly. “But he was rather infuriating, which perhaps he cannot help. He apologised for insulting me when we met—and I appreciate that—but then he had the gall to...to suggest that Sir John and I are not suited. Even had things progressed to such a point, he has no right to concern himself.”
“I think there are few of whom Mr Darcy approves,” she murmured. I nodded my agreement and, seeing that Lady Julia was regarding us with curiosity, turned my attention to the general conversation.
Sir John appeared as the penultimate set was forming and asked if I should care to take a turn about the room. I accepted with alacrity, for we had danced twice already, and as much as I enjoyed that activity, I preferred our conversations. For a full half hour, we strolled along the edges of the ballroom, speaking of Shakespeare and of Parliament, of our acquaintances who had gone to fight Napoleon and of autumn in London. All the while, I ignored the dark glower of Mr Darcy from his lonely place between a pillar and a plant.
Perhaps it was that which prompted me to raise a subject I never had before, when our time was drawing to a close. “I am surprised, sir,” I opened lightly, “that you are willing to be seen so often in the company of a lady found unworthy by a man of high mark.”
He laughed, a low rumble that made my stomach quiver pleasantly. His hand brushed the small of my back, but when it did not linger there, I concluded it had been an accident. “For all that we know many of the same people, Darcy and I move in different circles. He prefers the stodgy and staid, afternoons at White’s discussing the price of wheat and evenings having as little fun as possible.” His teeth flashed briefly, and I bit my lip against a laugh. “I prefer music, and laughter, and interesting people speaking of interesting things: literary salons where they discuss Sterne and Cleland, not Richardson and Johnson. I prefer people like you, who are not always pretending to either a fashionable ennui or a saint-like probity, and who have thoughts beyond the latest fashion or scandal.”
I blushed and smiled at his praise, and agreed that my tastes were very like his, though I was a little uncomfortable that I did not recognise the authors he praised. I concluded that they must be current, evenavant-garde, and put it from my mind. He returned me to my friends then, after relating with a wry expression that he was engaged for the last with the daughter of a friend of his mother’s. I ventured a little quip about family obligations and was rewarded with another of his shiver-inducing laughs before he departed.
We met again only days later at a tea hosted by Lady Ganlon, and there he introduced me to his good friend Lord David Montmorency, the third son of the Duke of Leeds. His lordship seemed to approve of me, which I thought very promising. Though I could not say that I loved Sir John, I felt that it would be very easy to do so. Though our acquaintance spanned only a month, I considered that I might soon be in receipt of his proposals and was minded to accept. Never before had I met a gentleman whose conversation so beguiled me, nor whose mere presence caused a response deep within my body. Jane, in our whispered conferences in the darkness of our shared chamber, had admitted that merely being near Mr Bingley created a warmth and a sort of longing in her belly which had quite alarmed her at first. This, I took to indicate that the sensation was a sign of love, for if Jane was not in love, I had never witnessed the state.
I cherished a hope that Sir John would request the first at Lady Oglethorpe’s ball the following evening, but he did not appear until halfway through the second. He was flatteringly quick to secure the third, however, and Lord David requested the fifth, as I had already granted the fourth to Lord Deane. After my recent experiences in ballrooms, three sets in a row quite went to my head, and I felt myself positively bubbling with good cheer. All of my partners were fine dancers and entertaining company, and by the end of the fifth I was puffing with exertion and laughter. Lord David kindly led me to the refreshments, where he procured a cup of punch, and then to a quiet place along the wall where I might catch my breath.
“I am usually hardier than this, my lord,” I assured him, “but our assembly hall at home is rather more draughty than this lovely house, and does not become so warm!”
He grinned. “I have never considered a draught as an advantage, but now that you explain, I can only agree that it must be so, in that circumstance.” He leaned forward confidentially. “Tell me, Miss Bennet—have you and Sir John come to an agreement? My friend is being remarkably close-lipped on the matter.”
“We have not,” I replied, and his broad smile confused me.
“Capital. I am glad I asked. I feared I had missed my chance. You see, Miss Bennet, though I have not my friend’s independence, I do have more ready cash. I can keep you better than he, for I have neither children nor estate to support, and I maintain a fine set of rooms in Soho where you would be most comfortable. You would have no reason to complain of my generosity.” His countenance expressed real security in my positive reply.
Before my encounter with Lord Telford, I might have been baffled by this offer. In that moment, I was almost grateful to the old man, for that distressing encounter allowed me to react swiftly to the surprise of this one. I drew myself up, placed my empty cup of punch into his hands, and as he tried to puzzle out why I had done so, I whispered, “I will thank you never to speak to me again. You, sir, are no gentleman.”
I walked away from him then, struggling not to allow my fury to speed my steps and draw notice. I was not thinking clearly, which must be why I walked out onto the terrace alone, as I would have done at the assembly rooms in Meryton, though my aunt had several times reminded me that it was not advisable in London. It was deserted, however, for the night was chill and the wind biting. I relished the slap of cold on my heated cheeks, and drew in great lungfuls of frigid air to cool my temper.
“Miss Bennet, are you well?” Sir John came up beside me, brow furrowed with concern.
“No, sir, I am not. Your friend, Lord David, has just...” I drew a breath, and confessed the humiliating truth. “He has made me a dishonourable offer.”
