“Very well.”
When we entered the drawing-room, the sight of Bennet almost coaxed my lips upwards. The handsome child, who sat in between his parents, gleefully rocked in his seat and bounced his legs on the sofa. Based upon the boy’s overt enthusiasm and his broad grin, he must have been informed of the plans. Two footmen carried in an assortment of boxes, and refreshments had been arranged on a large table.
My daughter and I took seats as did the others. With each present Bennet opened, his giggles and squeals made his delight apparent. He toddled to each giver and thanked them with a bow.
Elizabeth lifted a brightly decorated gift to read the tag. “This one is from…Lady Catherine and Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
What?My respiration faltered. What could explain this? Anne and I shared puzzled gazes.
When Elizabeth stood and thanked us for the gift, a splendid silk scarf, I nodded at her, my usual poise absent. Anne mumbled an appropriate response. Soon thereafter, Elizabeth discovered a second present from Anne and me for Bennet. Had this been Darcy’s doing?
Anne patted my arm. “I suspect Mr. Graham is responsible for the gifts in our names. He is a peculiar man.”
“If so, that was most officious of him.” What did the jackanapes hope to achieve by this? I spotted him on the other side of the Darcys; he sat with his attention upon Bennet as the child opened the colourful wrapped box to reveal a stuffed, fabric dog.
By the time Bennet thanked us for the toy, I had recovered enough sobriety to offer a more composed response than before.
Elizabeth and Bennet stood together to thank everyone again for their generosity. When Anne left her seat to approach Mr. Graham, who had moved to stand near the fireplace, I went with her. She sidled next to him, giving me a quick look. “If I am not mistaken, you provided the gifts for my mother and I tonight.”
He shrugged. “I could not resist buying the presents, yet they placed me in a troublesome position.” His sight shifted to include me. “You may not be aware of this, but Darcy is touchy where Elizabeth is concerned, and I should not want my largesse to incur his jealousy. I presumed, since neither of you had advance notice of the birthday celebrations, that you did not have gifts for them.”
What an absurd explanation! “Humph, you might at least have provided us advance warning of your intent.” He raised his palms in a helpless gesture.
Anne, though, gave him a warm smile. “You are a kind man, and I thank you on behalf of myself and my mother.”
“You are both quite welcome.” He provided an ostentatious bow.
How dare she speak for me when I am standing right beside her!I should give her a piece of my mind later.
Bennet’s nurse took him upstairs, and we all proceeded to the music room. In my pique, I had no wish to be accosted by anyone, so I took a seat alone at the side of the room nearest the entrance.
Georgiana approached the pianoforte to exhibit her skills first, announcing she had selected Elizabeth’s favourite Mozart and Beethoven pieces. My niece gave an admirable performance. I sat back and raised my chin. Darcy must have passed on to her my admonitions over the years on the importance of practice.
Next, Elizabeth and her much prettier golden-haired sister came to the instrument. They sang as Georgiana played several familiar and well-loved songs. If Darcy had had to choose a Bennet sister, why had he not preferred that graceful, demure one? Instead, the beauty had thrown herself away on a man who reeked with the stink of trade.
They finished to a hearty round of applause and returned to their seats. Mr. Graham came up carrying a Fabricatore guitar and regarded Elizabeth. “In honour of your birthday celebration, I have selected a special song. The melody is of my own creation. The lyrics I cannot claim as mine. A gentleman wrote them many years ago on the eve of his departure, so his beloved would be assured of his everlasting love. I sing this tonight in tribute to you and Darcy.”
“That is a delightful surprise.” Elizabeth resumed her seat beside Darcy. “I am eager to hear the song.”
What a mawkish exhibit. Mr. Graham must be a sentimental oaf.I glared at him before my gaze shifted to Darcy and confirmed my suspicion: despite the presence of guests, including his father-in-law, my nephew held his wife’s hand. Why did he persist in this vulgar familiarity whilst in company?
The room fell silent as Mr. Graham strummed a few preliminary chords on the guitar. Beginning anew, he played an unfamiliar, but pleasant, tune. His rich, melodious voice filled the vast music room.
I cocked my head as the sound of his superb baritone surrounded me. His singing stirred my senses in a most pleasant way.
A second later, though, everything changed, and it seemed the walls of the room closed in upon me. My breathing arrested, and a choking sound passed my lips. Those lyrics struck me as eerily familiar. I scrambled to reconcile the maddening situation. Then the recognition came to me: the lines of Mr. Graham’s song, the exact words, had been recited to me at Bellwood Hall almost forty years ago!
Those lyrics evoked long-buried remembrances of that summer so long ago, when I had been happy and in love. My eyes closed as a masculine image took shape in my mind. His rugged, handsome, face, his ever-present smile, his dark, sinuous hair, and the green eyes that had warmed my core with every loving gaze all returned in vivid detail.
My dear, sweet James, who had adored me with all his being, had written those words for me in the form of a poem. He had explained that while he had never attempted to compose verses before, in a sudden burst of inspiration, the words had flowed with ease from his mind to his pen in a span of thirty minutes. The poem had expressed his love and devotion on the eve of his departure. At the time, we had believed the separation would last for a year at most.
My eyes flew open wide, startling me from my reverie. This defied belief! How could Mr. Graham know the words James had composed for me all those years ago? The poem remained locked away in my desk at Rosings, and I had never shown it toanother living soul. I had not viewed the verses myself in many years, yet the lines had etched upon my memory.
I held my forehead in my hands as an overwhelming flush of heat spread through me. A quick perusal of the room assured me that no one paid me any heed. Thank goodness I sat well away from the others, for I should not allow myself to be observed in such a state. With as little noise as I could manage, I rose and quit the room. Incapable at present of climbing the stairs to my room, I settled for the peaceful seclusion of the library.
Chapter 11: Lady Catherine’s Story
Lady Catherine
