The poor gentleman hovered nearby, wishing to approach Wilhelmina but unable to penetrate the fortress of determined relations surrounding her.
“Agreed,” Jane replied. “But we cannot drag Mrs Dempsey away. We require strategy.”
Elizabeth’s mind worked quickly, assessing the situation with the same care she might apply to a particularly complex chess problem. “Mary, you still have an interest in architectural history, did you not?”
“I have been reading extensively on Gothic structures. Why do you ask?”
“Because Sir Cormac Kennedy, who is currently conversing with Mrs Dempsey’s daughter, has just completed renovations to his estate incorporating Gothic elements. I heard him mention it earlier.” She gestured subtly towards the gentleman in question. “If you were to engage him in discussion about his choices, Miss Dempsey would be obliged to remain beside him.”
Mary’s face lit up with understanding. “Gargoyles and pointed arches. I shall keep him occupied for a considerable amount of time.”
“Excellent. Kitty, you and Effie must intercept Mrs Dempsey herself. She has been attempting to introduce her daughter to every eligible gentleman present. If you express great interest in her opinions on...what was it she mentioned earlier?”
“The proper management of household staff,” Kitty supplied with a grimace. “She lectured Aunt Ahearn about it for ten minutes.”
“Perfect. Flatter her expertise, ask for detailed advice, and keep her engaged in the subject. She will be unable to resist demonstrating her superior knowledge.”
“What about Mrs Murphy?” Effie asked. “She has been hovering near Wilhelmina all afternoon with her nephew in tow. She will pounce on Wilhelmina the moment she sees her alone, cutting off Mr O’Sullivan’s chance.”
“Leave her to me,” Elizabeth said. “I shall ask her opinion on the refreshments. She appears to have strong views about proper entertaining and will gladly share them if encouraged.”
Lydia clapped her hands together in excitement. “This is brilliant. We shall be like a military operation.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I believe it might work. I shall position myself near our dear cousin so that when the path clears, I can gesture for Mr O’Sullivan to approach.”
They dispersed to their assigned tasks with coordinated efficiency. Mary engaged Sir Cormac with a question about the symbolism of architectural elements, drawing both him and Miss Dempsey into increasingly detailed discourse. Kitty and Effie descended upon Mrs Dempsey with flattering entreaties for guidance on household management, their expressions appropriately earnest.
Elizabeth herself approached Mrs Murphy with a smile. “I wonder if I might ask your opinion, ma’am? I noticed the seed cake at the refreshment table was particularly excellent, and I am curious about the proper ratio of ingredients...”
Mrs Murphy’s face brightened immediately. “Oh, my sweet, there is an art to proper seed cake that so few understand. One must begin with the quality of the caraway seeds themselves...”
She was still expounding on the finer points of baking when Elizabeth noticed Jane making a subtle gesture towards Mr O’Sullivan. The gentleman, finally freed from the surrounding obstacles, moved swiftly to Wilhelmina’s side. Their cousin’s face transformed with pleasure as he bowed and spoke words Elizabeth could not hear from her position.
Within moments, the pair had drifted away from the main gathering towards the shade of an ancient oak tree nearby, deep in conversation that appeared to exclude the rest of the world.
“There,” Lydia whispered triumphantly as Elizabeth rejoined them. “Wilhelmina has him to herself now.”
Kitty looked pleased with their collective success. “It was rather well executed, was it not? I thought Mrs Dempsey would never cease discussing the ideal training of kitchen maids.”
“We ought to congratulate ourselves,” Effie declared. “It is not often our stratagems are accomplished so completely.”
“Let us not celebrate prematurely,” Jane cautioned. “We have secured them perhaps a couple minutes of uninterrupted discourse. After that, the crowd will reassert itself.”
Elizabeth glanced towards the couple. Wilhelmina’s countenance glowed with pleasure, her usual composure softened by joy in Mr O’Sullivan’s company. The gentleman leant closer as he spoke, his attention unwavering. Whatever reservations their cousin might have harboured about his modest circumstances seemed irrelevant in the face of such evident mutual regard.
The party had reached that pleasant stage of disarray that marked successful entertainment. The sun cast long shadows across the lawn and the orchestra had ceased playing to rest before the final sets. Clusters of people dotted the garden, their conversations creating a low hum punctuated by occasional laughter.
Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to her earlier conversation with Mr Darcy. His kindness about the Lucas Lodge incident had touched her more deeply than she realised at first. For weeks she had convinced herself that Mr Fletcher’s rebuke was justified, that she ought to diminish herself to meet society’s expectations. Yet Mr Darcy had suggested the opposite, that her intelligence and independence were virtues rather than faults.
The world has enough silent, simpering ladies,he had said.It could use more like you.
She watched him now across the lawn, once again besieged by a circle of hopeful ladies and their determined relations. She felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Poor man. He had come to Ireland expecting peace and found tiresome developments instead.
“I am going to find some lemonade,” she announced. “Would anyone care to join me?”
The others declined, still absorbed in monitoring Wilhelmina’s progress with Mr O’Sullivan, and Elizabeth made her way towards the refreshment tables. The path took her past a small grove of trees where several guests had sought respite from the heat.
Voices carried through the foliage and Elizabeth slowed her pace without conscious intention.
