Suspense and Sensibility: Or, First Impressions Revisited

by Carrie Bebris

  Elizabeth didn’t know how to interpret the comment. Did Harry’s mother mean to give away the set before a new mistress arrived at Norland? Or, relinquishing her aspirations of an alliance with Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds, did she now harbor a wish that Regina might secure Harry’s hand? Nothing in Harry’s manner indicated that the latter possibility had ever entered his own head.

  By the time dessert concluded, Fanny had managed to subtly insult Kitty three more times, Lucy had performed an aria on the smoothness of the syllabub, and Regina had consumed as many maids of honor as had waited upon Henry the Eighth’s six queens together. Miss Ferrars’s conversation between mouthfuls demonstrated a simplicity of both manner and mind.

  After dinner, the ladies withdrew to continue the torment.

  “I suppose it would be improper for me to remain here with the gentlemen?” Elizabeth whispered to Darcy on her way out.

  “You wish to smoke and drink port?”

  “I wish to engage in conversation more stimulating than what Lucy and Regina Ferrars are likely to provide.”

  A flash of something metallic catching the candlelight drew their attention. Robert Ferrars was gazing at himself in the lid of his toothpick case.

  “I do not think you will find it here,” Darcy told her.

  The women settled into the drawing room. Elinor, suffering from a lingering chill following her damp ride, sat down near the fire. Lucy took the seat opposite and immediately commenced an ode to the perfection of the fire screen. It was exquisite. Had Fanny embroidered it? She had such talent. Had she embroidered the one in Lucy’s room, as well? How could one possibly choose which to admire more?

  Lucy’s attentions to her other sister-in-law were less inspired and even more transparent. “Elinor, I understand your sister Margaret was safely delivered of a boy this month,” she said.

  “A girl,” Elinor corrected.

  “Her first, yes?”

  “Her third.”

  “How redundant,” Fanny declared. “One daughter is a gift to her mother.” She cast her gaze toward Regina, who, now that the meal was ended, appeared to be chewing her cud. “A second is a comfort—she might care for her mother in old age. But more than that merely taxes a family’s ability to provide for them all, especially if they become spinsters.”

  “It is fortunate, then, that you weren’t so burdened,” said Elinor.

  “No, but I also was not blessed,” said Fanny. “I look forward, therefore, to gaining a daughter when Harry weds. A genteel, accomplished young lady will make a wonderful addition to our family. Perhaps someone like Miss Everett. Do you know of her, Elinor? She and her brother are among the guests arriving tomorrow.”

  Elinor confessed a lack of familiarity with either Miss Everett or her superior accomplishments.

  Lucy, however, trumpeted her knowledge. “Miss Everett? Surely you don’t mean Miss Maria Everett?”

  “Why, yes.” Fanny said.

  “Gracious, Fanny! Have you not heard? But no—you mustn’t have. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I believe she is engaged to Mr. Montrose. Or nearly so. Almost officially. Anyway, she could not possibly accept Harry’s addresses.”

  Or his mother’s.

  “Well!” Fanny’s disappointment was evident, but fleeting. “That is no matter. I invited several other accomplished young ladies. Lady Harriet Stenbridge, for instance.”

  Lucy shook her head sadly.

  “What?” asked Fanny. “What do you know of her?”

  Lucy leaned forward. “It’s only a rumor, mind you—” She spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “So I oughtn’t repeat it at all. But I understand she was found in a compromising situation with a certain heir to a dukedom who’s managed to hush it up.”

  “If he hushed it up,” Elizabeth said, “how do you know of it?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “People just tell me things, I suppose.”

  Elizabeth resolved not to be among them.

  Kitty attempted to initiate a discussion with Regina about favorite shops in London. They discovered a common partiality for Layton and Shears before Regina became nearly paralyzed with indecision over whether she preferred the ices or cakes at Gunter’s. She ended the crisis by resolving to visit Number 7 Berkeley Square directly she returned to London so as to test each again. She did not invite Kitty to join her in this excursion, nor, Elizabeth mused, could the shop likely produce enough sweets to serve another customer in addition to Regina.

  Tea arrived, and soon after it, the gentlemen. Harry headed toward Kitty but was ambushed by Fanny and Lucy en route, and so wound up sitting beside Regina instead. Or rather, he perched on the small bit of sofa that remained beside Regina. Edward Ferrars seemed to be trying to continue a discussion with his brother as they entered, but Robert was examining the room through his quizzing glass as if he had not just been in it a couple of hours ago.

  Darcy trailed in last. His gaze immediately sought out Elizabeth and warmed at the sight of her.

  “I missed you,” he said softly.

  She handed him a cup of tea. “Was your gentlemen’s time as bad as all that?”

  “Actually, no. Robert Ferrars so occupied himself with the mechanics of opening his new snuffbox one-handed that the rest of us were able to talk intelligently.”

  “I envy you. Our discourse in here was not intelligent, merely educational.”

  She sipped tea from her own cup and surveyed the room. Harry had risen from the sofa and was subtly backing toward Kitty under the assault of Lucy’s chatter. Fanny had commandeered Edward’s and Elinor’s attention and presently expressed outrage on some matter. Robert now used his quizzing glass to study the tea service pattern, an inspection Regina aided by clearing a plate of tea cakes three at a time.

  “How long will it be,” Elizabeth asked, “before everybody decides that we have endured enough of one another’s society for the evening?”

  “I suspect that once one person makes good his escape, the rest will soon scatter.”

  “We all spent a good part of the day traveling. Do you suppose you and I could leave now with propriety?”

  He consulted his watch. “Unfortunately, it is early yet.”

  “But I am ready to retire.”

  He regarded her with concern. “Are you fatigued from the journey?”

  “I believe I am.” She coyly broke their gaze and scanned the room once more. “At least . . . hypothetical.”

  Eight

  “Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it, cost him what it might.”

  —John Dashwood to Elinor and Marianne,

  Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 37

  By the night of Harry’s grand birthday fête, the rain had cleared, and Norland reverberated with the sounds of youthful merriment. Harry, it seemed, had left no acquaintance uninvited, and as the house and grounds filled with school chums and club friends, frivolity ruled. The billiards room never emptied, the air echoed with shots at game birds, and the hunt was pursued with a wildness and intensity that rivaled any fey legend.

  Fanny accepted the invasion with surprising graciousness. Though by law the house officially belonged to Harry since his father’s death, it remained very much hers in essence. Elizabeth suspected Fanny’s indulgence of Harry’s rambunctious friends stemmed from a hope that their antics would distract him from Kitty.

  If that were indeed her design, however, Harry himself thwarted it. When a young man’s vision is filled by only one lady, all the entertainment in the world cannot divert his attention from her. Though he played the generous host and partook of the fun, he distanced himself from its more frenetic activities. Despite his mother’s none-too-subtle encouragement to spend as much time as possible with his gentlemen friends—in lieu of the young ladies of fortune who one by one had been discounted by Lucy Ferrars—Harry eschewed their companionship for that of Miss Bennet. Not that the besotted Kitty was herself anything approaching staid,
but Elizabeth observed in them a growing seriousness that met her approbation.

  Darcy noted it, too. “I think Mr. Dashwood is even more of a changed man since our arrival at Norland,” he said as they watched Harry lead Kitty to the center of the ballroom for the first dance. Elizabeth stole a glance at Fanny, who appeared about to choke on her own bile at the sight of Kitty being accorded the honor of opening the ball.

  “Yes. He seems very much to desire not only Kitty’s approval of himself and his estate, but ours, as well. I never would have thought of Kitty as a settling influence, but I am glad for it.”

  “You do approve of him, then? We have spoken of my thinking of him as a brother, but would you also welcome him as such?” He offered Elizabeth his hand, and they joined the couples forming a line on the floor.

  “I would. But it is premature for either of us to speak openly of Mr. Dashwood that way when the gentleman himself has not yet declared that intention.” The opening strains of the music sounded. She bent in a curtsy.

  “Not yet declared it to whom?”

  She jerked to a stand, rapidly assessing him in the few moments the dance’s first figure would allow her to face him. His face was completely impassive, but his eyes held amusement.

  “Darcy! Has Mr. Dashwood—”

  The steps of the dance forced them apart. She stumbled through the figure, distracted by his cryptic question. Had Mr. Dashwood sought Darcy’s permission to marry Kitty? Had he already proposed to Kitty herself?

  Elizabeth nearly bumped into one of her fellow dancers as her gaze ricocheted from Darcy to Harry to Kitty. The dance had brought the latter two back together, but as they faced each other, Elizabeth could detect in their manner no secret understanding.

  Darcy at last stood opposite her once more. “Will you now explain yourself?” she asked.

  “Explain what?”

  “Are you in Mr. Dashwood’s confidence?”

  “I believe so. Why, today he entrusted to me a review of Norland’s accounts.”

  “Darcy! You are being deliberately obtuse. Are you in his confidence on more personal subjects?”

  The dance parted them again, and Elizabeth was forced to endure shuttered expressions from Darcy as his only response. With growing impatience, she walked through the succeeding figures until they were reunited.

  “Do not keep me any longer in suspense,” she said.

  Before he could speak, the figure brought Regina Ferrars and her partner directly next to them. “Mrs. Darcy! Are you enjoying the dance?” Regina puffed with exertion. “I think there are twenty couple! We’ll be half an hour in this set, at least. Isn’t it splendid?”

  Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze. He crooked his lips in a maddening smile and said not a word.

  “Yes—splendid,” she replied.

  This was going to be the longest half hour of her life.

  When the set at last ended, Harry immediately led Kitty off the floor, through the throng, and out of the ballroom. Elizabeth caught Darcy’s arm and drew him to a quiet corner. “Tell me,” she demanded.

  “I have nothing to tell.”

  “Your expression suggests otherwise.”

  “Does it? I shall have to work on that.”

  “Has Mr. Dashwood spoken to you? Has he proposed?”

  “Why would he propose to me? I am a married man.”

  “With a more patient wife than you deserve.” She released an exasperated breath. “Has he proposed to Kitty?”

  “I do not know.” He smiled—a real smile this time, not the taunting one he’d borne until now. “The night is still young.”

  She seized upon the intimation. “He plans to offer tonight?”

  “He asked me this afternoon whether I thought your father would approve a match between them. I told him that I believed so, and that he could rely upon my endorsement should Mr. Bennet solicit my opinion. Beyond that, I am not privy to Mr. Dashwood’s intentions.” Something past Elizabeth’s shoulder caught his attention. “But I suspect your sister is. Here she comes.”

  Kitty didn’t walk across the room—she floated, oblivious to the sea of people as she made her way straight for Elizabeth. Mr. Dashwood followed in her wake but became sidetracked by William Middleton. Kitty did not wait for him but pressed on until she reached her sister’s side.

  “Lizzy! I have the most wonderful news!” She lowered her voice so that no one but Elizabeth could hear, but she needn’t have spoken at all—her face revealed everything. “Mr. Dashwood just proposed, and I have accepted him.”

  Elizabeth hugged her with genuine joy. “You will be very happy together, I am certain.”

  “He means to go to Longbourn directly he leaves here to ask Papa’s permission in person. I would like to go with him. Will you and Mr. Darcy take me?”

  “Of course.”

  The evening slipped by in a blur from that moment until supper. The sisters could not talk openly of wedding plans or trousseaus, but they did determine that the distance between Norland and Pemberley was not so very great if one traveled with four horses and fair weather. Mr. Dashwood joined them long enough to receive quiet congratulations from Elizabeth and Darcy, but his duties as a host prevented him from spending as much time in Kitty’s company as he obviously wished.

  About an hour before supper, Elizabeth and Darcy left the noisy ballroom in search of a spot where they could indulge in a few minutes’ quiet conversation without fear of being overheard. They wandered into the dining room, where servants were coming in and out as they prepared to serve the meal. The small alcove stood empty except for a large arrangement of spring flowers that emitted a fragrance too lovely to leave.

  Elizabeth inhaled deeply. “Mmm. Do let us linger here a moment.”

  They slipped into the alcove and around one side of the table. The nook was unlit, but the dining room’s many candles provided sufficient indirect illumination that they could talk without standing in the dark.

  “You are happy,” Darcy said. It was a statement, not a question, for her delight in the betrothal was so evident that she feared her expression would announce the engagement before Mr. Dashwood and Kitty could.

  She nodded, grateful for the opportunity to speak freely of her joy for at least a few minutes before returning to the party. “This is a good match for Kitty.”

  “I would not in general consider you a woman prone to matchmaking.”

  “Neither would I,” she said. “I certainly do not share my mother’s belief that any husband is better than no husband. But I truly cannot imagine a superior partner for my sister than Mr. Dashwood.”

  “Nor can I.”

  “Now you admire your own handiwork. You have helped him become a steadier man, one worthy of my sister.”

  “I did no more than offer direction,” he said. “Mr. Dashwood is his own man. He himself made the transformation, and he could not have done so if he did not wish to. The change would not last.”

  “Nevertheless, I thank you for extending him your friendship.”

  “You need not. Though you encouraged my initial overtures toward him, it was not long before genuine amity motivated me. Why, I think I now like him quite as well as I do Bingley.”

  “We are fortunate in having two such gentlemen as my sisters’ husbands.” Of her third brother-in-law, Mr. Wickham, she omitted mention altogether. Darcy could scarcely tolerate the utterance of his name, and she did not want to allow Lydia’s scapegrace spouse to spoil such a perfect evening.

  “Does Kitty’s betrothal mean we can leave London without finishing the season? Or do you wish to stay until the bitter end?”

  Elizabeth recalled her conversation with Georgiana at the pianoforte. One engagement was enough for their family this season. “I believe once Kitty’s wedding clothes are ordered, our business in town is finished. I imagine, however, that Kitty might wish to remain in London longer so as to see Mr. Dashwood regularly.”

  “I thought you might say that. Very well. Though I had
hoped to take you back to Pemberley soon.”

  “Pemberley?” she asked in a light tone. “Why ever would I want to return to Pemberley now that you have immersed me in the glittering society of the beau monde?”

  Darcy lowered his voice. “I am a selfish man, remember? I do not want to share you with the beau monde.”

  She glanced quickly toward the arched entrance to the alcove, suddenly quite conscious that no one could see them where they stood. Meeting Darcy’s gaze again, she saw that he—her utterly straitlaced, ever-proper husband—was also very aware of the unexpected privacy of the moment.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, “I hope you are not contemplating something shocking, like kissing your wife in the middle of Mr. Dashwood’s birthday fête?”

  “Never.” He took one of her gloved hands in his and slowly interlaced their fingers. “But I confess,” he whispered back, “that I was contemplating kissing her here. Only contemplating, mind you.” He leaned toward her.

  “What are you doing?” came a haughty, all-too-familiar voice from the dining room.

  Elizabeth and Darcy jumped apart, dropping each other’s hands as if burned.

  “I had those place cards carefully arranged!” Fanny Dashwood’s voice bounced harshly off the china and crystal settings in the dining room. Elizabeth, still startled, required a moment more to finally realize Harry’s mother was speaking not to her and Darcy, but to someone else entirely. They, thankfully, remained unseen in the alcove.

  “You have titled guests,” Fanny hissed. “You are defying the proper order of precedence.”

  “They are my friends,” said Mr. Dashwood. “They will not mind.”

  “I mind. Will you let the news circulate throughout the ton that at a fête I hosted—”

  “Norland is my house now. I will accept the earth-shattering repercussions of sitting beside the woman I love at my own birthday celebration.”

  Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze. He, too, clearly wished they could escape the alcove, but they remained trapped until Mr. Dashwood and his mother left. As much as they regretted overhearing the private conversation between mother and son, revealing themselves now would only make the situation worse—they would embarrass Mr. Dashwood and make themselves look ridiculous in the process. Feeling acutely the awkwardness of their position, they backed farther into the shadows.