What a fool the man must be, not to know that wasn’t Miss Darcy. If what his sister had hinted, which had been confirmed by the bets being laid in the clubs, Lord Gilbride intended to offer for Miss Darcy. In which case, how could he possibly mistake that woman for her? Their height might be much the same, but her bearing, the line of her jaw, her mouth, her neck, her figure; nothing there was in the least like Serafina Darcy.
Chapter Fifteen
Serafina felt first surprise and then gratitude when she saw Lord Gilbride lead out a the strange woman in scarlet and black. Elizabeth, coming up to her, was consumed with laughter. “The poor man, how foolish he will feel when he discovers he is dancing with Miss Birdley—I would know that diamond bracelet anywhere—and not with you. It is all the fault of the dress and the mask.”
“With any luck, he may not find out who she is until the time comes for us all to unmask. It seems to me that she is very well pleased to be dancing with him. Rather her than me, he is not a good dancer.”
“Miss Birdley will be delighted with her partner, let me tell you. She set her cap at Lord Gilbride a couple of seasons back, but nothing came of it. Oh, there is Colonel Forster, I did not know he was in town. You will excuse me if I go over to him.”
On her own again, Serafina stiffened as she finally caught sight of Marcus Talbot.
He was standing by a pillar, a particularly sardonic expression on his face. He was dashingly dressed in black, in the style of the last century, with a gold embroidered waistcoat and a good deal of lace at the neck and wrists. Serafina could not help but think how different an appearance he presented to Lord Gilbride.
He wasn’t wearing the wig that a gentleman of that time would probably have had upon his head, and his mask, like that of Mr Darcy, was the sort carried on a pole and he dangled it carelessly from one hand.
He saw her, she turned away, indignant with herself to be caught looking in his direction. It was no good. Marcus shouldered his way easily through throng of people and stood before her. “May I have the honour of this dance? The numbers are not yet made up, and I know you have been stood up.”
A variety of emotions chased through her and she knew, seeing the amused smile on his lips, that he had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking. She was filled not with a longing to dance with him, but to lash out at him. Naturally, she could not and would not do any such ungenteel thing, and she was rescued from the biting and equally ungenteel words that hovered on her lips by Mr Darcy.
He came up to them and shook hands with Mr Talbot. Serafina hoped he might draw Marcus away to have a conversation but no. He merely said they needed to have a word later about the present situation in Paris and nodded his approval at Marcus’s expressed intention to dance with her. He gave her a kindly pat on her hand and said quietly, before he moved away, “You are doing very well, very well indeed. You have the true Darcy spirit. I trust you will find yourself able to enjoy the rest of the evening. We shall not stay late.”
Off he went, and so she was obliged to dance with Marcus Talbot, in a reprise of the year before. This time, however, her eyes didn’t dart about to find a lost lover lurking in the corners. But neither were they fastened with any pleasure on her partner, although she would have defied the sharp-eyed dowagers watching their progress in the dance to find fault with her demeanour. At the times when they came together and could talk, he made pleasant, civil conversation, commenting on what an excellent man Mr Darcy was and how highly he esteemed his judgement. He praised her cousin Elizabeth. “She looks extremely well; she is a woman I greatly admire. Mr Darcy is a fortunate man to have such a wife.”
That could but not please her, but in her present mood, she suspected some ulterior motive in these encomiums. He sensed this, and said, “You need not look so wary, I make no secret of the high opinion I have of Mr and Mrs Darcy.”
She had to give him the benefit of the doubt on that; he sounded sincere enough. And, she even did him the justice to admit to herself how good a dancer he was.
“Our steps, suit, do not you think so?”
She smiled and was separated from him by the pattern of the dance. When they came together again, he undid all his good work by asking, with a glint in his eye, “And how do you find the Latymers looking?”
Was he testing her? Or was it pure malice? “You refer to the young Latymers, I assume and not to Sir Roger and Lady Latymer. Ranulph looks well; I think Julia seems a little weary, but that is only to be expected in her condition.”
He nodded as though he approved of her answer, which annoyed her and caused her colour to rise once more. “Allow me to compliment you on your looks, that colour suits you.”
Blue taffeta, or her flushed cheeks? She was not going to enquire.
When the dance was over, and they were standing a little apart, he said in a low voice, “I can see you have not forgiven me, but the day will come when you will thank me. You see for yourself how well suited Ranulph and Julia are, which I told you last year and you would have none of it. It was not surprising, given the blow to your pride, that you could not bring yourself to acknowledge the truth of it.”
No woman could stand that kind of arrogance, and she told him so. “I grant you they make a fine couple. And that is all I have to say about it. Your opinion of how I felt then and my sentiments now are of no interest to me.”
With which words, she dropped a slight curtsy and walked away, pleased with her restraint. What an intolerable man he was, and how angry he could still make her.
To her surprise, Ranulph came to ask her for the next dance. “For old times' sake,” he said. “You are very angry with me, I dare say. I treated you abominably.”
“It was shocking.”
“I know, and exposed you to all the worst gossip of the town. So my mother told me; she felt very much for you, you know. But it was for the best. You and I were not destined to marry and…well, for my part I could not now imagine being married to anyone other than my dear Julia.”
“I am glad to see you so happy.”
He searched her face. “It is difficult to know when I can’t see your face just how much you mean that.”
“Believe me, I speak nothing but the truth. We had a tendre for one another, but it was no more than that. Our mutual affection was not as strong as I at one time thought. Indeed, Ranulph,” she went on, with warmth in her tone, “it has all turned out for the best. We should have been at odds before our honeymoon was over.”
He gave her a grateful look and squeezed her hand. “You have a generous spirit, Serafina. I just wish you might find a soul mate as I have done.”
A look that she knew of old came over his face, the look that meant he had a scheme come to him.
“I should like to see you married. I hear…that is, there are rumours that you will marry Lord Gilbride. That would be a catch indeed.”
“Yes, a good match as such things go, but I shall not marry him.”
She wondered whether even now, as his lordship figured away, he might be making up his mind to pour out his heart to Miss Birdley. What a situation that would be, and she could not help laughing as she thought of it. Perhaps it was unkind to laugh at Lord Gilbride. Yet he deserved a set-down; she had not forgiven him for what he had said to her mother. Who had not passed on his comments; Serafina had learned about them from an eavesdropping younger sister.
“I like to hear you laugh, you are clearly in a merry mood. I tell you not, if you do not intend to marry Gilbride, and I think you had much better not, for he is a dull fellow, then you should marry Marcus.”
“Marcus? Marry Marcus Talbot? You have taken leave of your senses.”
“No. It was Julia, you know, who said she thought you were made for each other.”
“When we meet, he criticises me and we argue.”
“That is just his way. I always thought he rather liked you. He had not a good word to say about us marrying, he said you were too clever and witty and lively for me, and I dare say
he was right. Not so in his case; you are exactly the kind of woman to make him happy.”
“It is all nonsense, Ranulph. Pray do not speak of it any more.”
Chapter Seventeen
She was annoyed by his words. And how dare Julia say she and Marcus were made for one another? The impertinence of it.
She took her indignation with her into the next dance, alarming the man who stood up with her. After a while, the music and the rhythms of the dance soothed her troubled spirits and she gave him an apologetic smile.
“Forgive me, my thoughts were elsewhere, which was discourteous of me.”
Pleased that she was venturing into conversation, he said, “I see Marcus Talbot further up the line. He dances with Lady Helen Faraday. Do you know her? A charming young lady, who has lived much abroad. I have heard it said she and Mr Talbot will make a match of it. I dare say they might, they would suit; such a wife would be a great help to him as he rises in his profession.”
These words stung her as though they had been drops of acid falling one by one on to her skin.
As she moved away from her partner, she turned her head to scrutinise Mr Talbot and Lady Helen.
Lady Helen was masked, so Serafina could not form a complete judgement of her, but from what she could see, she was certainly a lovely young woman. Of course her mask could hide small mean eyes, bags above the cheekbones, a blotchy complexion…
She doubted that it did.
Marcus Talbot marry Lady Helen? She had never heard his name linked to any woman. Surely it was one of those insubstantial rumours that flew about town, nothing more.
She went mechanically through the rest of the dance, retreating back into silence so that when they finished, she wasn’t surprised to find her partner eager to be done with her. A few civilities and he hurried off.
She pressed her hands to her temples. It was hot and stuffy and there were too many people in the room. Talking, smiling, enjoying themselves.
She wasn’t.
Why had she come? She had expected an ordeal, but not an ordeal of quite this kind.
She must escape; she must get away from here. But she couldn’t leave, it was too early and besides, the time of her departure must be determined by the Darcys. She could not summon their carriage, nor could she walk out into the street. She contemplated that idea for a moment. It was but a short walk… No; impossible. There was the rain and even a short walk at this time of night, alone, might not be safe. It was not to be thought of.
But, she recollected, she did know of somewhere she might be alone, if only for a few minutes. Off the ballroom at the Latymers’ was a room Serafina knew well, an semi-oval chamber known as the Mirror Room.
Chapter Eighteen
She slipped out of the ballroom and walked along the passage that would take her to another part of the house. She opened door and went into the mirrored chamber.
Perhaps some Latymer ancestor before the revolution had been at the Palace of Versailles, where there was a famous hall lined with mirrors. This room had nothing palatial about it, but was enchanting when lit, as it was at the moment, by branches of candles set on marble tables against one of its mirrored walls.
Serafina glanced up at the ceiling, exquisitely painted by Angelica Kaufmann, and then sank down on the sofa that was positioned opposite the mirrors. She and Ranulph had often stolen a few minutes together there. Indeed, on one occasion they had been disturbed by Lord Gilbride, paying a morning call on Lady Congreve. Embarrassing at the time, and that was no doubt the reason he had said those absurd things to Mama. Ridiculous man, to draw such conclusions from a kiss.
These memories held no place in Serafina’s mind now. She had come into this chamber simply to be alone. She knew that it was not a room that would be used by guests this evening, being as it was quite some way from the ballroom and the supper room.
She wanted to collect her wits and gather her thoughts. Especially as they concerned Marcus. Why did the mere mention of the man, let alone his presence, arouse such strength of emotion in her? What was it about him that made her feel uneasy and restless and uncertain in his company? Why did the sight of him dancing with Lady Helen so disturb her equanimity?
So, they were betting in the clubs that Lord Gilbride would offer for her? How odious men were. Well, those of them who had staked their money on their making a match of it would lose their stake.
Of course, her parents would be displeased with her if she spurned such an offer. An honoured name, a title, estates, wealth. What more could a jilted young woman, and one who was soon to be on the shelf, want?
Love. A man she could look up to and admire. A man she could laugh with.
She watched the light of the candles flicker and twinkle in the mirror and ran a hand over the silk brocade of the sofa. It had been recovered since she was last in here, in a pretty shade, the colour of ripe raspberries.
She looked at her reflection; several reflections as the mirrors were faceted. She was overcome by a sense of melancholy. Her dark eyes looked back at her. Was she destined never to find the man who was right for her? What had been her lot so far? Some mere flirtations and then two suitors; one a man so much less than she had thought him, the other a humourless if well-meaning man who roused not a spark of feeling in her.
One man did arouse feelings in her. Strong feelings. And—she must now admit it—he had done so from their first meeting.
Marcus Talbot.
Her appalled face stared back at her. How could she have been so blind? Julia; naïve, young Julia had seen it, but she, who prided herself on her perception, had not.
Now it was too late. Anger flooded over her. Lady Helen, indeed. In her mind’s eye, words formed themselves in flowing writing across the mirror: Mr and Lady Helen Talbot…
Not if she had anything to do with it.
Marcus’s face seemed to shimmer at her from the mirror and she put a hand across her eyes as though to shield them from this imaginary presence.
She had found her love, as she had thought, in Ranulph, and lost him. Now, she knew that all along she had been in love with Marcus—and she might have lost him also.
She exclaimed, “How could I have been such a fool? Where will I ever find a man I can love like that?”
Drat this mask. The lace was irritating her. She put up a hand to untie the ribbon holding it in place, but the knot had caught. She tugged at it, and as is she did so, she felt her hands removed from it and strong fingers undid the knot.
The face in the mirror was no illusion. Marcus lifted the mask from her face, looked into her eyes, and then, dropping it on the sofa, swung her up and into his arms. Their lips met and, lost in the passion of his embrace, a voice in a remote part of her mind said, “You have found him.”
* * *
MR DARCY’S DRAMA
Chapter One
As the carriage drove out of the village of Lambton towards Pemberley, dark clouds were massing in the sky ahead. A flash of lightning illuminated trees starkly outlined on the crest of a hill and, as they turned in past the lodge, a crack of thunder made the horses plunge with fright.
The clouds parted for a moment, allowing pale moonlight to cast eerie shadows across the water of a lake and reveal a mossy stone arch on the far side. An owl flitted past, white with huge eyes, and Theodosia Beckford, revelling in the high drama of the landscape, leaned forward to take in the drama of the landscape.
Her arrival at Pemberley a few minutes later was announced by more thunder and lightning, and a blast of rain lashed against her as she descended from the carriage. The scent of wet earth rose from the ground. Fine country air after the smoky streets of Bath, but she didn’t linger to enjoy it.
A broken bridge had forced the carriage to take another route, delaying her arrival long past the hour when she might have been expected. It was late, very late, and the household must long since have retired for the night.
A silent servant gave her a candle and led her up a set of wide stai
rs and then another flight to her room, shadowy except for the light from a fire that burned fitfully in the grate. Was she in some vast chamber, with a sinister door at the far end, leading who knew where? The more prosaic sight of a tray with bread and butter and some cold meat that was set on a table, with a glass of wine beside it brought her mind back from these gothic fancies.
She woke the next morning to find she was not in some gloomy apartment, but in a pleasant, well-appointed chamber, with a pretty rug on the polished wooden floorboards, a comfortable chair placed near the fire, a writing table and chair, a cheval glass and a clothes press.
She lay in bed and looked around the room, hoping that the promise of these attentions to her comfort meant that her new position as governess to the two daughters of Mr and Mrs Darcy would turn out to be an agreeable one.
Miss Theodosia Beckford had never heard of the Darcys of Pemberley until Captain Hyde, an officer in the Royal Navy, had called on her in Bath, where she was staying with a cousin. He had served with her father, whose death at Trafalgar had left Theodosia and her mother in much reduced circumstances.
When, some weeks before, a letter came inviting Mrs Beckford to live with her cousin in Bath, Theodosia had wrapped herself in a cloak and gone out to contemplate her future. With a rising storm and the sea lashing against the Cobb and the harbour walls, she had walked up and down, getting wetter and wetter.
There, as the wind howled about her ears, she decided she must go out into the world and make her own living.
And how might she do that? Should she cast aside all pretensions to respectable gentility and come upon the town, living under the protection of some man? No, she did not have the temperament for an irregular way of life. Besides, how would one embark on such a career? There would hardly be advertisements in the newspapers.
Mr Darcy Requests the Pleasure Page 20
