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Chapter 17
London
“Mrs. Fairfax, thank you so much for inviting us this evening. Let me introduce my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtseyed, made the appropriate compliments to their hostess, and followed her aunt into the drawing-room, which had been opened into the adjoining music room, where a very fine Broadwood piano-forte took pride of place, next to which stood a new Erard harp. To one side lay a six-stringed guitar of the Spanish style by Louis Panormo.
They were handed glasses of wine by a liveried footman before walking to the mantel to admire a painting of Lord Wellington just after his victorious entry into Madrid. Her aunt asked her, smiling, how she liked it.
“It is a true likeness, Aunt. While he was triumphant, he was near exhausted from battle—see how gaunt his face is.”
“Does the lady presume to know Lord Wellington, that she can comment on how he appeared after taking Madrid?”
Elizabeth coloured. “Perchance.” She turned to find a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, staring at her.
“Ma’am, I do not take your meaning,” said Elizabeth, aware that the lady was frowning at her.
“I am remarking, Miss, that it is the greatest impertinence to claim an acquaintance when, quite obviously, it cannot possibly be true.”
“I am Miss Bennet, and you are?”
“I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh—a great favourite of the Earl. I do not recall your being among his friends.”
“I do not claim friendship, only a passing acquaintance. I met Lord Wellington in Salamanca, some days before his great victory over Marshal Marmont.”
“A great day for my family, for Britain owes very much to my nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth gave a start, and before she could contain herself, blurted out her acquaintance with the Colonel.
“Oh, you are impossible, Miss Bennet. I will ask Mrs. Fairfax to have you removed. You claim friendship with Colonel Fitzwilliam, the son of an earl. Impossible! Who are you, merely the niece of a tradesman? I have never heard of such pretension.” The lady cast widely about the room. “Darcy! Come here. There is a person who claims to know both Wellington and Fitzwilliam. You were there, were you not, in Salamanca, when Wellington routed the French Marshal… what was his name?”
“Marmont, Aunt.”
Elizabeth’s heart stilled; it was his voice. Darcy.
“Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again. I trust your family is well.”
Elizabeth looked up; by the veriest chance, their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were over-spread with the deepest blush. She instinctively turned away, but stopped herself. She must answer, if not for herself, at least for civility.
“M-Mr. Darcy. We last saw each other—was it in León?”
“Darcy, who is this girl?” interjected Lady Catherine. “How do you know her? Not a friend of those Bingley women, is she? If I had known so many were to come from trade this evening, I would have declined the invitation.”
“Lady Catherine, may I introduce Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Well, if you must.” Lady Catherine inclined her head. Both Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth curtseyed.
Mrs. Gardiner stepped forward. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Catherine. I have heard much of your good works for the orphanage from Lady Matlock. On behalf of the committee, it is indeed gratifying to see you attending our charity soirée.”
“Harrumph. I rarely come up to Town—and Mrs. Fairfax insisted the evening would not succeed without my attendance.”
As Lady Catherine de Bourgh deigned to accept the introduction, the eyes of the room—some curious, others simply eager for diversion—turned discreetly toward the little group. Elizabeth, still flushed, resolved to recover her composure. She took a sip of her wine and, emboldened, glanced at Darcy. He had not moved from his aunt’s side, but there was a gentle warmth in his gaze.
The hush was broken by the strains of a harp, tentative at first, then firm, as a young lady seated herself at the Erard. Conversation resumed in polite, subdued tones. Mrs. Fairfax, with the ease of a practised hostess, drew Mrs. Gardiner into a discussion of the evening’s charitable purpose. Lady Catherine, unbending only slightly, remarked with pride on the recent enlargement of the orphanage’s west wing, for which purpose she had made a substantial donation.
Elizabeth, finding herself momentarily at liberty, wandered to the edge of the music room. She admired the craftsmanship of the Broadwood piano, then picked up the guitar, softly tuning the instrument, her fingers running lightly over the strings. Darcy, having extracted himself from his aunt’s side, quietly approached.
