The gardens behind Chaffley Hall were filled with cheerful conversation, music drifting lazily from a string quartet on the terrace and the gentle clink of porcelain as liveried footmen threaded their way amongst the guests. Darcy supposed that it looked, from the outside, like an idyllic English garden party. To him it felt like a slow form of torture. He was never at ease amongst those he did not know well, and the strange circumstances of this gathering added a further layer of unease to his customary reticence. He stood at the edge of the lawn, wearing the mask that had slipped so easily into place over the past few months. His expression was grave and composed as he surveyed the crowd. It was astonishing how effectively a reserved manner discouraged conversation. Unfortunately, there were always exceptions.
Richard had disappeared into the crowd almost as soon as they arrived, his friendly, open nature proving as irresistible as ever. Within minutes he had gathered around him a small company of gentlemen and ladies, all laughing together as though they hadbeen acquainted for years. The colonel possessed an effortless talent for making strangers feel like old friends. Darcy had often wished he understood how he did it.
While he was meditating on his cousin’s easy manner, he heard a gentile cough from behind him. He turned to find a stout, elaborately dressed lady smiling up at him with enthusiasm. Her gown, of vivid apricot silk, was trimmed with so many ribbons and artificial flowers that Darcy wondered whether the dressmaker had been paid by the embellishment. Beside her stood a young lady of perhaps two-and-twenty, whose gown had evidently been made by the same hand. It was cut in the very latest fashion and rather lower than modesty, in Darcy's opinion, should have allowed.
"Mr Darcy!" the elder lady exclaimed, though he could not recall having ever met her. "How fortunate. I have been hoping we might make your acquaintance."
Darcy set down his glass and bowed. "Madam." He had hoped brevity might prove discouraging and he schooled his features into stern reserve.
The lady did not appear to notice his hauteur. "You do not remember me, of course." She spoke rapidly, her hands moving all the while, and the artificial flowers upon her gown bobbed gaily. "Mrs Harrington, formerly Miss Goldsmith. My dear mama enjoyed the acquaintance of your own excellent mother.We attended Lady Hortensia's Challenge together many years ago."
"Indeed?"
"Oh yes. We were girls together." She sighed happily. "Your mother was the very picture of elegance. I have often spoken of her to Amelia."
She turned with theatrical pride to the young lady beside her. "My daughter, Miss Amelia Harrington."
Miss Harrington curtsied low, affecting an unflattering pout as she gazed uncertainly up at him through her lashes.
Good lord, she was one of them, he thought. He tried to make his features even harder. At this point he felt he must be actively glowering at the girl.
"Mr Darcy," she said in a syrupy sweet voice that made Darcy’s teeth hurt.
"Miss Harrington."
"When Lady Hortensia's invitation arrived," continued Mrs Harrington without a breath, "I said to Amelia, 'If young Mr Darcy has inherited even half his parents' excellent qualities, you must make every effort to secure his acquaintance.'"
"Mama," said Miss Harrington, lowering her eyes. She looked embarrassed and Darcy felt a twinge of sympathy for her until she looked up at him again with that unappealing pout.
"Nonsense, my dear." Mrs Harrington gave her daughter's arm an encouraging pat. "A bright young lady like you cannot hide herself away."
At that precise moment she looked across the lawn and let out a little gasp. "Oh! Lady Pennington! I have been trying to catch her all afternoon."
Darcy followed her gaze. Lady Pennington was engaged in an animated conversation on the opposite side of the gardens and showed no sign whatsoever of having noticed Mrs Harrington.
"You young people must amuse yourselves for a few moments," Mrs Harrington continued brightly. "I shall not be long."
She bestowed upon Amelia a determined nod. It was accompanied by a meaningful widening of the eyes and a tiny inclination of the head towards Darcy, all of which seemed to shout:
Do not let him escape.
Miss Harrington gave an uncertain nod in return. Satisfied that her instructions had been understood, her mother’s smile broadened once more and she swept away across the lawn.
Darcy watched her go. Halfway to Lady Pennington she slowed, glanced back to ensure her daughter remained firmly beside him and, finding everything proceeding according to plan, continued on her way.
Miss Harrington opened an ivory fan with a neat flick of her wrist and turned her full attention upon him. "Mama has spoken of Pemberley ever since I was a little girl," she said. "I almost feel I know it already."
"Indeed," he replied in clipped tones.
"She says the gardens are quite magnificent."
"They are pleasant enough."
"I have always thought I should prefer a large house." She smiled sweetly over the edge of her fan. "I do so enjoy entertaining."
Darcy looked at her in horror. Could she really be being so brazen?
She mistook his silence for encouragement and tapped him on the arm with her fan as though they were old friends. Darcy clamped his hands behind his back.
