From Admiration to Love

by Maria Grace

  “Only if I may have the privilege of escorting you to the dining room.”

  “I suppose I can suffer that.” Her left eye twitched in something not exactly a wink, but still somewhat saucy. How did she do that and still remain so proper?

  He called the guests for dinner, and they proceeded to the dining room.

  ∞∞∞

  The dining room was exactly as Elizabeth had imagined it would be. Mouth-watering aromas from the dinner table beckoned everyone to their seats. In the daylight, the large dining room felt a mite overwhelming, even a little stern, but by the glow of candles, it transformed entirely. Crystal and silver glittered from the table, inviting the candlelight to play. The flickering light answered and danced along each place, dodging bits of greenery that had been laid in its path for sport.

  Darcy seated Elizabeth at the head of the table and took his place at the foot. Lady Catherine sat beside Darcy, which was unfortunate for him, but hardly avoidable. She was the ranking female in attendance and the place was hers by right. Her face was creased in disagreeable lines—but that was not unusual since Darcy refused to put Sir Jasper out of Pemberley on the basis of his pedigree alone. At least her manners were reliable enough that she would hold her peace until only family were present.

  Fitzwilliam seated his new acquaintances on either side of him; Anne took a seat beside one of them and Sir Jasper beside Anne. As annoyed as she was with Fitzwilliam, why was she sitting so close to him? Pray she did not want to find reason to criticize him to Miss Audeley. She could not be that cross, could she?

  Elizabeth announced the dishes on the table and waved in the footmen bearing a whole roast pig, a goose, and a haunch of venison. One of those alone would have sufficed at Longbourn. But with so many people at the table tonight, and so many Twelfth Night pies to be made from the leftovers, it seemed the right amount. Sir Graham, Miss Camelford’s father, sat beside her. He was largely deaf and content to satisfy his substantial appetite and watch those around him rather than converse. Elizabeth followed his lead and studied Fitzwilliam and his company.

  Sir Jasper served Anne’s plate, talking all the while. Anne seemed to enjoy his conversation, smiling demurely at what was probably intended to be a joke, but seemed really a rather cruel criticism of his cousin Wharton. Did he realize his was the kind of voice that could be heard clearly from across the table?

  Anne hung off every word, almost but not quite fawning. Odd, how she kept glancing at Fitzwilliam, though. What was she about? Seeking his approval?

  Fitzwilliam chatted merrily with Miss Audeley. She responded with an appropriate level of decorum and enthusiasm. She was a sweet girl, well-informed, and with just enough fortune to be acceptable to the Matlock family. Perhaps they would find each other pleasing company. But if not, no one’s expectations had been raised—at least not yet—so there was no harm done.

  Elizabeth rang a crystal bell, and the servants brought in the second course, equally impressive to the first. The menu was exactly what Lady Anne had planned for one of her Christmas dinners, so hopefully, none would find fault. She turned to her left, turning the table to converse with her other dinner partner. How convenient, or was it ironic, that Mr. Audeley had lost his voice that morning and was little able to manage a conversation. Since he did not actually own land and could not hunt, he was content to enjoy the rare treat of a very great deal of venison on his plate, leaving Elizabeth free to continue her observations.

  Fitzwilliam appeared to enjoy a lively conversation with Miss Camelford at least as much as the one he had shared with Miss Audeley. It seemed that Miss Camelford’s disposition and sharp sense of humor were more complimentary to Fitzwilliam than Miss Audeley’s. But that was not for her to decide nor would anyone hear that opinion from her.

  Did Anne not like the piece of pie she just tasted? That expression was telling—of something, but it was difficult to discern what. Elizabeth half-closed her eyes, listening carefully.

  “Your cousin seems a very gallant gentleman.” Miss Audeley took a dainty bite of goose.

  Anne shrugged, scowling.

  “He mentioned that you were good friends as children. I imagine that was very pleasing, to have such a friend. I am an only child, and my cousins are all much older than I.”

  “Being an only child is not so much of a trial.”

  That is hardly what Anne had been telling them for the last fortnight.

  Miss Audeley sipped her wine, still trying to smile. The girl really had a stern constitution. “Can you tell me of the colonel’s interests? The diversions he enjoys? Does he, for example, play cards? Is he a great reader, or does he prefer sport?”

  Anne wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I could, but do you not think it a useful conversation in and of itself for you to ask such things of him yourself?”

  “Forgive my intrusiveness. I only thought, well, never mind. I see that I have unsettled you in some way. I beg your pardon, Miss de Bourgh.” Miss Audeley turned her attention to her plate.

  How insupportably rude! What had come over Anne? Was she jealous that there were other eligible young ladies in attendance tonight? She had promised she would not be, but even the best of intentions might not withstand the realities of a situation. Still though, it was incumbent upon a lady to be gracious and polite under such circumstances. Perhaps Anne was not as ready for society as she thought.

  Anne sniffed and lifted her chin. How like her mother she looked. She would definitely not appreciate that observation.

  Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye. He nodded just enough for her to notice. She rang the bell, and the servants began their elaborate dance, clearing the tablecloth, placing the sweet course and extinguishing candles.

  Darcy had dared wonder aloud at the need for such pageantry. But heavens, it was the Christmas pudding! There could hardly be too much pageantry and drama. It had to be like the Harlequin in the pantos he so enjoyed—impossible to overlook or forget.

  Two footmen stood in the doorway, bearing a large platter with the huge cannonball shaped pudding between them. They lowered it for Mrs. Reynolds to light the brandy. Blue flames enveloped the pudding, filling the dining room with a distinct flickering glow, the color of the Christmas feast.

  The footmen paraded it around the table, ensuring all the guests an excellent view of the spectacle. Finally, they deposited it at the head of the table.

  Georgiana and the other young ladies at the table applauded softly. How dear they were and so easy to please. Clearly Lady Catherine did not approve of their display, but she was not Pemberley’s arbiter of acceptable behavior. Lucky for them all. Heartfelt joy and appreciation would always be welcome here, whatever form they took.

  The brandy-blue fames faded, replaced by the familiar glow of many wax candles while the footmen hurried to distribute slices of the pudding.

  Elizabeth snuck a quick glance at Darcy as he savored the first bite. He closed his eyes as a faraway expression painted his features. Yes! They had succeeded at recreating his boyhood puddings! Her eyes misted. It was a silly matter to be so moved by, but there it was.

  “Oh!”

  The charms were being found.

  “You found the ring!” Anne cried.

  What ring? Elizabeth jumped. How was that possible?

  Sir Jasper held a little pewter ring aloft on his little finger, to the admiration of Anne and the others around them.

  Darcy stared at Elizabeth wide-eyed. She shook her head. The Darcy charms were silver, not pewter. Her eyes narrowed, and she caught Sir Jasper’s gaze.

  Arrogant fellow only smiled and winked at her. But guilt was written in all his features. That he even thought to manufacture such an occurrence! It was an action worthy of Mr. Wickham. Her stomach churned. Despicable man.

  Anne flashed her a stern look. She offered one in return. They both returned to their puddings, though Elizabeth’s had suddenly lost all flavor.

  “Pray, ladies, would you join me in the drawing room?” El
izabeth rose. Perhaps it was a bit early, but she could not share a table with that man one moment longer.

  She led the ladies out, Lady Catherine at her elbow. What joy was hers. She clenched her jaw.

  “How could you allow—” Lady Catherine hissed through her teeth, not looking at Elizabeth.

  “How can I control a matter of chance? Perhaps you should have ensured you found that charm yourself had you been so concerned for the outcome.” She increased her pace, leaving Lady Catherine sputtering in her wake.

  Disagreeable though Anne could be, she was nothing—absolutely nothing—to her mother.

  A tea service and biscuits were waiting for their leisure in the evergreen-draped large drawing room.

  “Might Anne and I play?” Georgiana asked, eyes wide and innocent.

  Did she really think that Elizabeth did not see through her ruse to avoid playing for a larger audience? No doubt a mix of maidenly modesty, shyness, and a desire to allow Anne to have center stage for her ‘come out’ as it were. “Please do.”

  As they played, Elizabeth circulated among her guests, all uniformly complimentary and gracious, as proper ladies always were in the company of their hostess. What they would say behind Elizabeth’s back remained to be seen.

  “Elizabeth.” Anne appeared at her shoulder.

  When had they stopped playing?

  “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth followed her to an unoccupied corner between two large curio cabinets.

  Anne worried her hands together. “I am sorry to bring this up now, after all you have done for me to make this evening truly special and memorable. I do so appreciate everything, truly I do. But I cannot hold my tongue on such a matter of great import.”

  Thank heavens! She realized Sir Jasper’s nature and would not need—

  “Those women you introduced to Fitzwilliam—”

  “Miss Camelford and Miss Audeley?”

  “More to the point, Miss Thinks-Too-Well-of-Herself and Miss Has-no-Good-Connections-of-her-Own.”

  Elizabeth edged back, eyes wide. “Excuse me? You are speaking of—”

  “Your friends? Truly? You cannot see their motives? I am shocked, positively shocked that you would consider either of them appropriate to admit into his acquaintance. If I did not know you better, I would think you some kind of horrid matchmaker in cahoots with them. Neither of those girls is worthy of him.” Anne’s face turned positively florid.

  Upset she might be, but she would learn what her mother had. “Then I imagine you have little to be concerned for. If they are as you say, he is possessed of adequate discernment and strength of character to discontinue their acquaintance with him.”

  “He is under pressure from his family to marry, and if he believes those ninnies have the Darcy approbation, he might indeed be snared. It would be the greatest kindness for them all if you would discreetly mention his family’s disapproval to those girls.”

  “His family?”

  “You cannot imagine my mother approves.”

  She could not imagine Lady Catherine had even noticed.

  “If you are their friend, you will set their expectations appropriately.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, but no words formed.

  “Thank you so much, I knew you would understand.” Anne took Elizabeth’s hands, squeezed them hard and faded back into the drawing room.

  Chapter 8

  December 30, 1813

  Several mornings later, Fitzwilliam hurried to the morning room. Someone had made a mistake—at least according to his valet—and his society pages had been delivered with the newspaper to Darcy’s place in the morning room.

  Granted, a servant would shoulder the blame for those pages appearance, not him—but still that was hardly fair. Not to mention, it might make it far more difficult for him to acquire them in the future, and Anne desperately needed the education they would provide, especially now.

  Fortune smiled on him! Darcy was nowhere to be seen and the room was totally empty! Not even coffee or tea had been brought in.

  He rifled through the papers at Darcy’s place and removed the gossip pages. Breathing more easily, he sat opposite Darcy’s chair and settled in to read, quickly, before Darcy arrived. The usual suspects, the usual antics—wait—this was different. A Sir P. from Derbyshire—damn the writers for trying to obfuscate just enough to be difficult when one really needed to know what was going on. He slapped the paper with the back of two fingers. Drunkenness at a party … in the company of multiple ladybirds, what debauchery might have taken place? … gambling for very high stakes … hints of ruin, but nothing, no one definite.

  Heavy foot falls echoed in the hall. No servant would dare walk so loudly. Fitzwilliam jumped and tucked his papers into his coat. “Good morning, Darcy.”

  Mrs. Reynolds scurried in behind him, a pot of coffee in hand. She poured him a cup and set it at his place before he even sat down. “Sir?” She looked at Fitzwilliam.

  “Yes.” A cup of his own appeared. “So, have you rested enough now that you can think about the Twelfth Night ball?”

  “Already on to the next event? Are you not unable to savor the pleasures of the first? I am quite certain Mrs. Darcy’s Christmas dinner compared favorably to any Mother hosted.”

  “It was a memorable event and a very fitting way for Elizabeth to establish her reputation as a hostess.” There were a few bits that could have used some improvement, but it would not do to express that to Darcy now.

  “Poor Elizabeth was utterly spent the days after. I am not sure she left her rooms at all for two days complete. I am a mite concerned—”

  “Pish-posh man, I swear you worry for sport. It was not just Elizabeth. I saw nothing of Anne or Georgiana, or even Aunt Catherine those two days, either.” It was a relaxing, easy pair of days, not having to keep watch over Anne and her suitors.

  Darcy twitched his head and picked up his paper and scanned through it. Did he really read that fast, or was he just looking for specific information?

  Mrs. Reynolds appeared again, this time with letters on a silver salver. Elizabeth followed on her heels, with a countenance as lively as the morning sunshine.

  Darcy brightened for a moment and took the letters. Then his scowl said it all; these were the letters he had been waiting for.

  “Pray excuse me. There is urgent business I must attend.” Darcy escorted Elizabeth to her seat and left.

  “You seem well-rested at last,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Thank you. I am glad to at least have that appearance. None of the events at Longbourn were quite so elaborate. The differences in scale are noteworthy.” She reached for her sewing basket.

  “I can imagine, but be assured I heard nothing but compliments from your guests.”

  “You are too kind, but I know people too well to believe that. Every society has its scolds and curmudgeons, even this one.”

  Fitzwilliam chuckled, probably exactly as she intended. “But everyone knows they are not to be attended to—even here.”

  “So, I gather you enjoyed yourself and found the company agreeable?”

  “Very much so.” He winked.

  Would Elizabeth be amused at the conversation he had with Anne yesterday when she had declared his two new acquaintances simpering ninnies? Who knew Anne could be so severe upon her own sex—but indeed she was. Perhaps it was only in revenge for his disapproval of her suitors. It would not be unlike her.

  Still though, she did have a few good points in her arguments. Perhaps neither of them was truly suitable. He would have to observe them more closely the next time they were in company. That is where he and Anne were different—he could take opinions and advice without taking offense.

  Something in Elizabeth’s expression— “Did Anne complain to you—”

  Elizabeth looked down demurely.

  “Pray pay no attention to her. As much as I am her friend, I do not forget that she is indeed her mother’s daug
hter and will find fault with anyone and anything simply because she can.”

  Elizabeth fixed her eyes on her sewing. “Does she know you say such things of her?”

  “I cannot hazard a guess, but I prefer that she did not.”

  Elizabeth sniggered behind her hand.

  Mrs. Reynolds appeared in the doorway, again. Did she do anything but lurk about waiting to pop into the morning room? “Excuse me. The master would see the Colonel in his study.”

  Fitzwilliam jumped, nearly spilling his coffee. “Pray excuse me, Elizabeth.”

  She looked concerned, but asked nothing. Which was good as he had nothing to tell—not yet.

  He all but ran to the study. Darcy waited at the door and closed it firmly.

  “And? What is the word?”

  Darcy fell into his seat. “The news is worse than I imagined. My acquaintance tells me he attended the card party in which Sir Jasper bet his family seat in a game of Vingt-et un and lost it. It seems he is desperately in search of sufficient cash to purchase it back. He was given until the end of January to do so. One can only assume his interest in Anne is—”

  “Interest only in her fortune and in Rosings, which no doubt he would gamble away at the very first opportunity.”

  “Even if he got Rosings Park back for the de Bourgh family, there seems little chance it would remain in the family long enough to be passed to another generation.” He handed Fitzwilliam the letter.

  He scanned it and muttered under his breath. There were some oaths that even Darcy did not need to hear. “How am I going to tell Anne? She did not take my recommendations for caution well.”

  “I had thought to invite my acquaintance to Pemberley and allow him to deliver the information first hand.” Darcy raked his hair back from his forehead.

  “Can you not just pitch Sir Jasper out of the back door? It would be far simpler and much more satisfying. I would be very happy to assist you.”