Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  But if envy pricked at Mr Dover’s heart, hope and confidence blossomed in Mrs Dover’s. “You will wear your prettiest dress,” she announced to Rosamund, “and you will walk. It intends on raining tonight; you will be obliged to stay, and in a day, Mr Webber will be entirely yours. I have planned it perfectly.”

  “Oh, Mamma,” the eldest Miss Dover replied in dismay, “these are fine people, gentlemen and ladies. Surely they will expect me to arrive in a carriage. May I have the carriage, Papa?”

  “Of course—”

  “Not,” Mrs Dover interrupted firmly. “They are in the country now and must not expect everyone to sally to and fro in carriages, as if they were in the finest of London Society. Besides, the walk will bring a healthy glow to your cheeks, Rosa; it will make you all the more appealing.”

  “I dare say Rosa is appealing enough,” Elsa protested. “Mamma, it is already damp, with a heavy mist in the air. Rosa’s dress will be wet through and through before she arrives.”

  “Miss Webber is of a size with Rosa,” Mrs Dover said with triumph, and in the momentary pause that followed, she examined Rosa’s bosom with a pleasantly critical eye. “Nearly of a size, but that will do no harm either. If she is wet, they will have to clothe her, and surely Miss Webber’s gowns will show our Rosa to her very best advantage.”

  “Miss Webber is of yellower hue,” Elsa tried once more, “where Rosa is entirely fair. Surely Rosamund’s own dresses would suit her better. Papa, you must insist that Rosa take the carriage.”

  “It would be such a pity,” Mrs Dover said in clarion tones, “if the wind should blow open the library windows and the coming rain lay ruin to all of Mr Dover’s books, don’t you think, Dina?”

  Leopoldina, who had waited through all of the discussion for an opportunity to finagle her way into visiting Newsbury Manor with Rosa, sat up so straightly as to nearly spill her tea, and blurted, “Yes, of course, Mamma,” before realising that without the carriage, she would certainly never be permitted to join Rosamund at dinner. Gloomy with understanding, she took two biscuits from the nearest plate, then, defiantly, stole one of Ruth’s as well.

  Mr Dover lowered his papers, which he had not been reading anyway, and exchanged a merciless look with Mrs Dover, at the end of which he said, grimly, “I must use the carriage this afternoon myself, Rosa; I am sorry.”

  “Then I shall walk with you,” Elsa proclaimed, “to carry a parasol and keep the worst of the damp off you, Rosa.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Mrs Dover. “They would feel obliged to invite you to dinner as well.”

  Elsabeth smiled. “Not if Mr Archer is on hand. He will cut Webber to shreds with a glance, and Miss Webber will not gainsay her brother. I suspect her of having her own intentions toward Archer, and think they are very well suited to one another.”

  “Oh, no,” Rosa said in dismay. “Miss Webber is very kind, and Mr Archer so...” Her own kind heart could not allow her to choose the words that Elsabeth would, and so she ended with “reserved” in a soft and gentle voice.

  “Then perhaps Miss Webber’s brand of kindness is just what a reserved gentleman requires. Come, let me go with you, Rosamund, and I shall abandon you at the gate to satisfy our Mamma; the Newsbury party will never know I am near.”

  Mrs Dover, mollified by this prospect, replied, “Very well,” and it was only a short time later that the two eldest Dover sisters set out to Newsbury Manor. Both wore oilskins, for it was damp; both wore bonnets tied close to their heads, though Rosamund’s was not as snug as Elsabeth would have liked, for Mrs Dover had feared damaging Rosa’s fetchingly-arranged curls.

  “As if a three-mile walk in the rain will not do them harm enough,” an exasperated Elsa had snapped, but the wounded concern in Rosamund’s large eyes had held Elsabeth’s tongue from there on out. Elsa did carry an oiled parasol, protecting Rosa from the worst of the drifting mist while peering around its edge to watch their path. When Rosa protested that she, Elsa, would be wet to the bone, the second Miss Dover only laughed. “The wind and mist have no use for me, Rosa; I have no suitor to concern myself with, and so the elements have no reason to distress me. If only they would not look askance should you arrive on foot and yet entirely dry and warm—!”

  “Shh,” Rosamund said gently, and then, because it was true, “besides, Dina has more skill at the wind than you or I. If I were to be delivered dry to their door, she would have been the best to accompany me.”

  “And to your arm she would have clung like a leech, until they were obliged to invite her to dinner too, and then all your chances of a happy life with Mr Webber would be dashed.”

  “Dina is impetuous, but her heart is good.”

  “You have never met a bad-hearted soul in your life, Rosamund, which is why everyone loves you so.”

  Within a very little time, for the walk was not insurmountably far, Elsa kissed Rosa on the cheek and left her to wend her way up the drive alone, both of them trusting that no one within Newsbury Manor would be the wiser. Indeed, it might have been so, had one of the Newsbury party not left the premises himself some hours earlier, only to be making his way back just as Elsa and Rosamund parted ways.

  Master Fitzgerald Archer, loath to pass a day without some form of exercise, had taken his horse, a big, talkative creature inclined to fill Archer’s habitual silences with his own conversation, out for a gallop as much to stretch the horse’s legs as clear Archer’s own mind; he had been discomfited the night before by Elsabeth Dover’s arch commentary, and had since been unable to shake thoughts of the woman from his head.

  She ought not have been able to discomfit him to begin with; she was of lesser station, her family rudimentary in their manners and their table barely presentable. Only the eldest sister, with whom Webber was so smitten, showed the grace and sensibility one would expect from a young lady; she would not be the sort to invent a relationship as the reason a gentleman might not enjoy a Season.

  She was also not the one who preyed upon his mind, and a long ride to acquaint himself with the countryside was the very best way Archer knew to shake unpleasantries away. It had succeeded: his thoughts were filled with plans for hunting, with admiration for a pretty stretch of country—nothing compared to his own acreage at Streyfield, of course, but for parceled lands held by small land-owners, they were suitable enough—and with a pleasant anticipation for dinner, where Miss Dover would be removed from her unfortunate family and Archer could at last determine whether he felt she was suitable for his good friend Webber.

  It was in this happy frame of mind, then, that he saw, from a distant hill, Rosamund and Elsabeth Dover parting ways from one another at the foot of Newbury Manor’s long drive, the latter having first pressed a parasol into the former’s hands. He reined in his horse, patting its shoulder in promise of another run soon, and watched in what he was obliged to name astonishment as Miss Elsabeth stood in the mist, watching until her sister was well up the drive; indeed, until she was out of Elsabeth’s sight, upon which time Elsabeth flung her arms wide and spun circles in the fog until it whirled with her. Though he could not hear her, he saw how she threw her head back and knew that she laughed like a madwoman or a child, and then, unselfconscious with joy, embarked on the road she had come on, having, it seemed, delivered her sister to safety with no further ambitions of her own.

  With an again-unsettled mind, Archer returned to the manor and the meal, and if he was often silent as they ate, that was to his friends no more than the usual mark of the man, and no sign of deep musings.

  (9)

  The oilskins had not done their job: before the evening’s meal was concluded, Rosamund Dover’s pretty nose was swollen and reddened to a degree that would please her mother immensely, if only that good woman could see it. Less pleasing to Mrs Dover would be the worrying wheeze that settled in Rosamund’s chest almost immediately, and the feverish brightness of her lovely eyes. A servant was dispatched at once to inform the Dover household that Miss Dover would
be a guest at Newsbury Manor until morning. Mrs Dover, upon receiving this news, was restrained from performing a jig only by Elsa’s expression, the severity of which would more commonly be found upon Ruth’s countenance.

  “Pshaw,” said Mrs Dover, in tones that could only be regarded as defensive, “a summer cold will do her no harm and may do us all a great deal of good.” Come morning, however, another servant was sent from Newsbury Manor with the knowledge that Miss Dover had worsened considerably in the night. Elsa, flushed with anger, no sooner finished her breakfast than put on her shoes and struck out, for the second time inside a day, toward Newsbury Manor. She did not ask permission, nor did she feel it necessary to tell her family where she intended to go; it was obvious to all, even flighty Leopoldina, who sat and held Matilda’s hand in concern as a fretful Mrs Dover paced the parlour, watching her second daughter go to support the eldest.

  Of all the party at Newsbury Manor, it was Archer who was least surprised to see Elsabeth Dover striding up the drive. He was not first to see her; that distinction belonged to Miss Webber, who drifted from her morning rooms to the sitting room with the air of one tragically condemned to a lifestyle which did not suit her. It was her hope that she would elicit sympathy from Archer with this pose, although he had been retired for some time to the sitting room himself and was unaware of her posturing until the moment her voice cracked through the halls, carrying such a distance that the servants whispered of it among themselves: “Good God,” proclaimed Miss Webber from the height and vantage of a first floor window, “could that be Elsabeth Dover? She is all over mud, and her hat has come off!”

  “If her hat has come off,” Archer murmured to no one but himself, though Mr Gibbs was close enough to hear and did, “then can there be any question that it is Miss Elsabeth? No,” he answered himself, “I thought not,” and upon this satisfactory reply, rose to attend not the shrill Miss Webber and the astonishing view upon which she exclaimed, but rather the entrance hall, as a dark and sobering shadow to the butler.

  The butler, whose name was Peters, had come from London with Webber out of fondness, not obligation; the house in town might have been his to command while his master was away, and the difficulties presented by Mrs Gibbs and her husband, or Miss Webber, not his to contend with at all for weeks or even months, dependent on how long the country manor was to remain let. But his preference was to tend to the good-hearted youth’s staff wherever Webber might be, and as he waited for the precise moment before sweeping the manor door open to greet Miss Elsabeth Dover, Peters was quietly pleased that he had chosen as he did. London did not condone well-bred young ladies taking matters into their own hands, as Miss Elsabeth clearly intended to do. It was not proper, Peters conceded, but it was interesting, whereas London Society was too often predictable, even for those below-stairs.

  It was a rain-lashed, pink-cheeked and highly muddy young woman to whom he opened the door, though she showed not a whit of discomfiture at her disheveled state. “I am Elsabeth Dover,” she announced. “I have come to look after my sister. Pray tell me where she is.”

  “Of course, Miss.” Peters bowed as he stepped back, then took a second, prudent step out of the way as he captured a glimpse of Master Archer from the corner of his eye. Archer, as though it was natural he should be there, moved more fully into the light cast by the open door, but before Elsabeth could appreciate that he alone had come to greet her, a flurry of activity and footsteps echoed through the hall and it was suddenly no longer he, but he and Webber and Miss Webber, who stood as one before the wind-swept Miss Elsabeth.

  “Miss Elsabeth,” Miss Webber said with an astonished titter poorly hidden in her voice. “You did not walk all this way in such weather, surely?”

  Elsabeth performed a polite smile. “I did, Miss Webber. It is a mere three miles or so. Too far, perhaps, for a London lady like yourself, but I am accustomed to taking my exercise. I should like to take it the remaining distance to my sister, if you please; Mr Webber, where is Rosamund?”

  Webber, his usually cheerful face now muddled with worry, said, “This way, Miss Elsabeth. I’m glad you’ve come. Miss Dover is not well. A doctor has been sent for.” He whisked her away, their footsteps fading quickly down the long halls.

  Miss Webber’s gaze followed them in stiff offense, and her tone begged that she should be corrected: “I believe she cut me there, Archer.”

  “I believe she did, Miss Webber.” Archer bowed and retreated to the sitting room, where he studiously bent his hand to the letters he had earlier abandoned.

  Elsabeth Dover had not even looked at him.

  (10)

  “Elsa!” was Rosa’s glad cry when that lady entered her room, though much to Elsabeth’s dismay, it seemed that all of her sister’s strength was spent by that single ejaculation. At once, Rosa faded back into the bedclothes; Elsa rushed to her side to feel her brow and hold her hand comfortingly. Mr Webber, who surely could not remain in the room with any degree of propriety, did so regardless, hovering at the door like a nervous manservant.

  “I am so very glad you have come,” Rosa whispered once she had recovered herself a little. “I had not wanted to ask, but I am sure that already I am better because you are with me, Elsa. Mr Webber and his sisters have been so kind. You must entertain them, Elsa, for to my embarrassment, I cannot.”

  “I must do nothing of the sort. I am here for you alone, Rosa. I shall read to you”—and upon hearing these words from Elsa, Mr Webber fled the room—“and I shall tell you fanciful tales of home until you are well enough to return to them yourself. That is my duty here, Rosa, not to fall in with the sisters. They think highly of you already, and I have no need to parade myself before them. Oh,” Elsa said with a certain pleasure as Mr Webber returned with a small stack of books, which he presented to the sisters Dover as if they were paged with gold.

  “I have only a small library,” he said apologetically. “Better you should have fallen ill at Streyfield, Miss Dover, for the library there goes on for miles.”

  “Streyfield?” Elsa was obliged to ask, and was rewarded by an exclamation of surprise.

  “Surely you know of Archer’s holdings? They are to the north, to be sure, but they are known throughout the ton for their beauty, their spaciousness and their hunting. Streyfield itself must be five times the size of Newsbury Manor, with galleries of art that even the Prince Regent is known to envy. Oh, you must see it, Miss Elsabeth! Your heart would swell!”

  Elsa directed a smile at her lap, then lifted that smile to meet Rosa’s eyes with laughter dancing in her own. “I am afraid, Mr Webber, that we are less versed with London’s high society than we might be, so you will forgive us our ignorance of Mr Archer’s lands. But I think it in every way unlikely that we should ever find ourselves in a position as to fall ill at Streyfield, so it is better by far to find ourselves here, at Newsbury Manor, with such fine companionship as yourself and your sisters.” This last Elsa was obliged to look away from Rosa in order to speak, for fear that Rosa’s pleased and grateful relief would send Elsa into undignified laughter. “These books will do splendidly, and I thank you for your thoughtfulness. Mr Webber, I wonder if I could trouble your household for tea and perhaps some dry bread or crackers with salt; I am certain Rosa needs to eat a little, but it must be something that will not upset her stomach.”

  “It is my very wish,” Webber proclaimed, and with a gentle smile for Rosa, went, it seemed, to fetch these things himself. Betwixt his comings and goings, and the visits of Mrs Gibbs and Miss Webber, and Elsa’s reading, the day went swiftly. So swiftly, indeed, that the three o’clock bells came as an unpleasant surprise to Elsabeth, who rose and said she supposed she must excuse herself.

  Rosa caught her hand immediately, her dismay so evident that Miss Webber insisted at once that Elsabeth stay at Newsbury until Rosa was well. Yet another servant was dispatched, and in short order, Rosa, relieved that her most beloved sister would remain at her side, succumbed to gentle sleep.
With Rosa resting, when the call came for dinner, Elsa was of a mind to attend, though she was no less mud-stained than she had been upon her arrival that morning.

  The party was gathered in the hall beside the dining room, waiting to go in, when she arrived. Their finery gave her a moment’s hesitation; it was not, she believed, above Miss Webber to have chosen a delicately yellow, high-waisted gown and the jewelry to match in the awareness that Elsabeth could not possibly dress so well. Mrs Gibbs was equally well presented in light blue, though her husband, a round and dull-eyed man, looked as though he had already spilled the soup on his own evening wear.

  The other gentlemen were at the height of presentability: Archer stood stiff and handsome a few steps from the door, and turned when Elsa entered. His expression became, if anything, stiffer yet, and Elsabeth’s heart sank. But Webber, the more sensible of the two men by far, forewent his conversation with Miss Webber instantly and all but flew to Elsabeth’s side, clasping his hands around hers. “Miss Dover is improved, I hope?”

  “Not nearly so much as I would like,” Elsabeth replied. “She is resting, else I could not in conscience join you for dinner.”

  “Then we will eat swiftly,” Webber announced, “so that she will awaken to your presence and not feel herself bereft. I shall call for the doctor again before I sit down, Miss Elsabeth; I will have nothing less than the best care for your sister.”

  “I think—I hope—she is not so unwell as all that,” Elsabeth said. “If she is not better by morning, Mr Webber, I will gladly accept your offer, but—let us not trouble him a second time. Not yet.”

  It was Mr Webber, then, who looked troubled, but, unwilling to disagree with a young lady, acquiesced. Mr Archer, eternally less agreeable, said, “After dinner, perhaps,” to the surprise of all attending and none more than Elsabeth Dover.