Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  All at once, the import of what had passed between Elsabeth and Archer overwhelmed her, and with a cry, Elsabeth thrust Archer’s letter into Rosamund’s hands. She had read it a dozen times: a hundred times, in the night before she left Charington, and what it imparted was in no significant way different from what Archer himself had said to her on the day she had received it. “Read it. Say nothing until it is read, and then tell me what to think, Rosa. I am at loose ends, and you are the star to my wandering bark.”

  Rosamund, distraught, took the missive and began to read; her attention had only been on the paper a few seconds when she gasped Elsabeth’s name in question. Elsa shook her head in desperation. “Do not ask. Not yet. Just read it, Rosa, and tell me what to think.”

  To her credit, Rosamund read it twice, and parts thrice, before lowering the tightly written pages. “I cannot know what to think of Captain Hartnell, Elsabeth, nor of—of Mr Archer’s confession to his—his interference in the matter betwixt Mr Webber and myself. I am perhaps relieved there, to know that there was interference, although I cannot fault Mr Webber entirely, as I did not return his calls, and could easily be seen as uncaring.”

  “Never!”

  “But that is not the matter of most importance to me here, Elsabeth,” Rosamund went on gently. “What is this matter Mr Archer speaks of in his first sentences? Surely, I cannot be reading it correctly. Has Mr Archer made you an offer? One which you have rejected?”

  Elsabeth, unable to speak, only nodded. Rosamund, flushed with more than fever-brightness now, sat quietly a moment, examining her closest sister before a rueful smile curved her lips. “Well. We must certainly never allow Mamma to hear of this. She would begin with palpitations and continue with endless lectures about thankless daughters who lacked the sense to marry ten thousand pounds a year when it came asking. You would be harried into your grave by it.”

  “Oh, Rosamund!” Elsabeth fell forward into her sister’s arms with a sob. “You do not think me a fool?”

  “I never could. Your heart is for you to decide, and though I care to see only the very best in people, even I must concede he has a somewhat arrogant air and an unpleasant inclination to insult those around him. I should never think you could marry him, no matter how prettily he asked.”

  “And he did not ask prettily at all.” Elsabeth wiped her eyes, and in a little while could tell Rosamund about Archer’s appalling proposal.

  “I am surprised he left with as much of his dignity intact as he did,” Rosamund said peacefully at the conclusion of the tale, and smiled when Elsabeth laughed. “You have no need to see him again, Elsabeth; this unpleasant chapter of our lives is concluded.”

  “Is it?” Elsabeth asked. “What of Captain Hartnell? Surely, until that matter is resolved, this cannot all be said to be behind us.”

  “You must speak to him,” Rosamund replied. “There is nothing else to be done, Elsa. You must speak to him and draw your conclusions from the two stories you have been told, and then—I know you are fond of him, Elsa, but have you—had you—any thought of marrying him?”

  “None.”

  A little relief swept Rosamund’s pretty features. “Then bring him what you have learned from Mr Archer and learn what he says in response, and from there decide whether his friendship is one to retain, or to allow to slip away into pleasant memory, as I have done with Mr Webber.”

  “I thought London was meant to fill your mind and hours with frivolous entertainment. Instead, it has honed wisdom in you, Rosamund.” With this observation, Elsabeth set all troublesome thoughts aside, and slept contentedly at Rosa’s side.

  (42)

  The morning saw Elsabeth much restored, if still burgeoning with concern for Rosamund’s well-being. Careful observation proved that Rosa ate well, slept well, and was as charming in company as anyone might hope for, but no matter how well she ate or how deeply she slept, the fever-brightness did not leave her eyes. She was all the more in demand for it: it heightened her already-considerable beauty until not a soul could approach her who did not wish to stay at her side, even at the expense of other acquaintances. At the end of each day, she seemed a little more fatigued, although she only laughed when Elsa noted this aloud. “Why should I not be fatigued, when we are so splendidly diverted? Truly, you are too worried, Elsabeth; I am sure I have rarely felt better. And did you see that Miss Derrington has a letter from Lady Beatrice, who will be in Town before the month’s end? There is to be a ball of astonishing proportion upon her arrival, and I am sure it will be Miss Derrington’s debut.”

  “I did see,” Elsabeth confessed, and could press Rosa no more on the status of her health. Annabel Derrington invited them both to the dressmaker’s with her, and a delightful two days were spent in the midst of organzas and muslins and silks. Sophia, accompanied by Miss Webber, joined them for an afternoon, and they went away with new gowns of their own on order. Elsabeth watched them leave with a note of longing in her breast: once she might have happily confided the tale of Archer’s proposal in Sophia’s ear, but there was no opportunity with Miss Webber in attendance, and, more, there lay a thread of fear that a tale told might wend its way back to Miss Webber, and through her, to Archer. To have been badly proposed to was awful enough; to have it become gossip and the offending gentleman aware of it was worse by far, and so, Elsabeth, regretfully, did not speak of such matters to her one-time closest friend.

  To her surprise, Miss Derrington insisted that both the Dover ladies and Mrs Penney should have an entirely new gown in the very latest fashion for the purposes of Lady Beatrice’s ball, and to Mrs Penney’s surprise, Miss Derrington would hear nothing of the Penneys footing the bill. “There is hardly any point in having money of one’s own if one cannot spend a little of it on friends,” Miss Derrington insisted, and then more shyly confessed, “and I have had few friends indeed, since coming to England. Please, allow me to be generous; it is only a small way to thank Elsabeth and her family for their kindness.”

  And so, they were bedecked nearly royally on the fateful night at the end of February; so well bedecked that even Lady Beatrice, whose arrival had been accompanied by a thunderstorm so ferocious, it appeared to echo her temper, forgave Elsabeth for conniving to take Annabel to London. Her Ladyship was once again adorned in the strong colours and bold patterns that honoured her Oyoan heritage; beside her, Mrs Penney, who was pretty, looked quite ordinary in plum, and the three young ladies were eye-catching in orange, which suited Miss Derrington every bit as well as it did Lady Beatrice, blue, which turned Rosamund into a beauty meant to be captured in oils for eternity, and, somewhat to Elsabeth’s discomfort, red that was so striking and appealing that she found herself shyly looking for shining spots in which to glimpse her own reflection.

  The ballroom into which they arrived was already a sad crush, and yet, as Mrs Penney and the Dover ladies were introduced, it began to fall silent and attentive; by the time Lady Beatrice was put forward with her daughter, Miss Annabel Derrington, the entire party was attuned to them. Whispers of admiration rushed through the room and beyond, and before they had reached the bottom of the ballroom stairs, innumerable young men were jostling for position in hopes of an introduction and a dance.

  Rosamund’s time in Town became suddenly invaluable: she, who had kind words for everyone, knew now who was likely and who was not; her sweet voice warmed when she spoke of those she genuinely admired. Those she only liked because she liked everyone were dismissed by one chaperone or the other, and, within the half-hour, Miss Derrington’s dance card was as full as she wished it to be.

  So, too, were Rosamund’s and Elsa’s, though Elsa’s was no more than half-full. “No, do not mind me, Aunt,” she replied to that lady’s concerns. “I do love to dance, but I would like more to observe Annabel and Rosamund, to see if the one seems to find a gentleman particularly to her liking and to ensure the other does not exhaust herself too quickly.”

  “She seems very well, Elsabeth,” Mrs Penney repl
ied with newly born concern. “Or do you feel she is otherwise? I thought London had been good for her.”

  “I am sure it is only a sister’s excessive worry,” Elsabeth promised, but did not accept any further invitations to dance.

  In some little time, she began to believe perhaps it was merely excessive concern: Rosamund, always so shy, blossomed now, able to laugh and flirt gently with gentlemen who were clearly besotted. She danced gracefully, never with the same gentleman twice, and when she asked for a strengthening drink, three handsome young men raced to be the first to acquire it for her. Elsabeth, between her own dances, scolded herself for unnecessary alarm, and turned her attention to Miss Derrington.

  Elsabeth found Miss Derrington warm and kind, and was bemused to see that, on the dance floor, the lady shared something of Mr Archer’s stiff formality. But, she reminded herself, Miss Derrington had had very little chance to dance and socialise in her life at Charington Place, and could well find Lady Beatrice’s ball overwhelming. She danced with a handsome youth now, a gentleman Rosamund had described as a fourth son to a family whose fortunes were in question. Entirely unsuitable in Lady Beatrice’s opinion, but precisely what Annabel might be looking for. His polite formality on the ballroom floor had a soft edge to it: he clearly could not take his eyes from Annabel, and as they danced and spoke, her smile became slowly less strained, until it brightened into fulsomeness near the set’s end.

  It was too much to imagine Miss Derrington might find the very gentleman she sought on the first night of her Season, and yet the thought pleased. Elsabeth turned away with a smile, seeking Rosamund again, and instead, to her delight, encountered Sophia Enton, who fell upon her with an embrace. “Elsabeth! You have been in London a month and we have barely seen one another! Your gown is magnificent: I would hardly know you.”

  “Nor I you,” Elsabeth replied with a laugh, and returned the embrace. “London suits you, Sophia. I cannot imagine you returning to Bodton now. Have you a beau?”

  “There are gentlemen who call upon me,” Sophia said carelessly. “More than enough to please my mother, although not one of them has turned my head.”

  “Must they now turn your head?” Elsa asked in amusement. “You have changed!”

  “Perhaps, when I thought I must marry for security, I could not afford to love, but that was before I had even one admirer, and now I have several. Oh, do come with me; we are all huddled against a wall, avoiding the crush as we indulge in Lady Beatrice’s table. I believe it is the finest table of the Season so far, and there are innumerable dishes I have never before encountered. Mr Archer tells me they are of African origin, and their depth of flavour is astonishing. Do come with me! I must know how you have been!”

  Until the announcement that Mr Archer was with Sophia’s party, Elsabeth was most inclined to join her; upon it, she was already engaged in walking that way with Sophia, and unable to refuse without giving offence. “I am well,” she promised. “I have visited a little with Ruth, who is happy, and have come to London to look after Rosamund, who seems—”

  “Well, too,” Sophia inserted with pleasure. “We have seen her—not so often since your arrival, which is curious!—but we have seen her, and I have never seen her looking so fine.”

  “Nor have I,” Elsabeth said after a moment’s silence. Sophia had once been the most likely after Elsabeth herself to show concern over Rosamund’s health; to hear her accept it as presented now was disconcerting. “I must only stay a few minutes with you, Sophia: I am to keep Miss Derrington company a little while after her next dance. Will you not dance yourself?”

  “I have stood up with Mr Archer and Mr Webber, whose attendance on me makes the line of eligible gentlemen grow ever longer. I had never thought I might find it tiresome, Elsabeth, but there are times when I wonder if I must marry at all. I should rather remain with Miss Webber, though I suppose someday she will marry Archer and we will be parted. Here! Look who I have found, Julia, Mr Webber.”

  “Miss Elsabeth!” cried the latter, and bowed with delight. “How long it has been since we have seen one another! How splendid you look!”

  “Too long.” Elsabeth smiled and curtsied about, murmuring greetings to each of Sophia’s party. “I understand you have been keeping Sophia in excellent style, Miss Webber. Allow me to commend you on your unparalleled choice in friends.”

  “Oh, do not be jealous, Miss Elsabeth; I am only fortunate that Sophia is so willing to share her time with me.”

  “You misunderstand,” Elsabeth replied instantly. “I truly meant to commend you. I could never resent that which has brought Sophia so much happiness as you have. I only wish that we might have seen more of each other these past weeks, and I do not mean to exclude you when I say we.”

  “But you have been very busy with Miss Derrington, have you not? It is an extensive piece of work, settling a young lady into Society.”

  “And we have been of virtually no assistance at all,” Mr Webber proclaimed with obvious dismay. “It is one thing to allow someone time to settle in Town, I have argued, but it is another to be entirely removed, as we seem to have been. And Miss Derrington your own cousin, Archer! I believe we have been badly neglectful.”

  “You have happened into the heart of an argument that has been going on for several days now,” Sophia whispered to Elsabeth. “We cannot agree on whether it is more proper to have given her the opportunity to settle herself or if we ought to have been more attentive.”

  Elsabeth, who was for her own part grateful that she and Mr Archer had not crossed paths, could only reply, “It is in the past now, and, as of tonight, Miss Derrington is out; surely, it would now be wholly appropriate for you to see her as often as you might like.”

  “There,” Mr Webber said in delight. “Archer, you must approach your cousin and inform her of our intentions to visit tomorrow. You will, of course, be there, will you not, Miss Elsabeth?”

  “Oh, no, Mr Webber. Although Miss Derrington has been visiting with my aunt these past weeks, with Lady Beatrice now in residence, she has of course joined her there. It is a more fashionable address,” she added, the better to take a moment in which to gauge each expression at the delivery of this news.

  Nothing less than relief could be said to have settled on Miss Webber and Mr Archer’s features; nothing less than disappointment lay heavily upon Mr Webber’s. Of the three, the first two were precisely as Elsabeth had expected, and the third, as she had hoped. She did not think it her imagination that Miss Webber still preferred to keep Mr Webber from Rosamund’s presence, nor did she in any measure doubt that Mr Archer wanted nothing more than to avoid any location where Elsabeth herself might likely be found. But unless she mis-read him badly, Mr Webber had hoped to visit the unfashionable Penney address and encounter Rosamund; Miss Derrington was a pretext, from a man for whom deception was an unfamiliar tool.

  “I could never ask you to break tomorrow’s engagement with Miss Derrington,” Elsabeth continued lightly, “but perhaps, if the opportunity is available on the following day, you might be so good as to escort Sophia to my aunt’s home? She and I have had so little opportunity to catch up since we have been in London, and I should very much like to hear about your own adventures over the past months as well.”

  “A capital idea!” burst Mr Webber before Miss Webber could rally. “And I should think we will all be at our best two dayshence, whereas tomorrow, we may still be suffering the effects of a ball of this magnitude.” This clearly struck a thought in him, and he turned to Archer with some concern. “Perhaps we ought not impose upon your aunt so soon as tomorrow, at that, or would it be unspeakably rude to not call on her as soon as possible? Oh, Julia, I leave it to you: you have an excellent head for social engagements.”

  “I shall arrange something,” Julia Webber said in the voice of one thwarted, but nothing more beyond that was said, as a commotion shifted the crowd behind them and Mr Penney, who had been so little involved in the ball as to have been forgotten, s
tepped through, his face pale with concern.

  “Elsabeth, you must come quickly. Rosamund has fainted.”

  (43)

  It was not uncommon, of course, for ladies to faint at balls, especially ones so crushed with attendees, but it was commonly acknowledged that many of those swoons were dramatic in nature. Not so with Rosamund Dover: by the time Elsabeth and Mr Penney arrived at her side, much assisted by the bulk and barking deep voices of Misters Webber and Archer, Rosamund had not yet wholly recovered, despite the aroma of ammonia in the air.

  Her colour, which had been so fever-pitched and flattering to the blue of her gown, was now so pale as to be reflective of her gown’s hue, and the curling tendrils at her temple and nape were wet and cold with sweat. She lay trembling in Mrs Penney’s lap, at the centre of a circle opened in the crowd to give her air, and when Elsabeth fell to her knees beside her, she offered Elsa an uncertain smile and whispered, “Oh, do not look so concerned, Elsabeth, I am quite well,” before shivering so hard her eyes closed again.

  “She is not well at all,” Mr Webber said in a terrible voice. “Miss Elsabeth, our home is only a few streets away. I must insist that Miss Dover be brought there rather than risk the cold nightacross the distance to your uncle’s premises.”

  Elsabeth cast a look at her aunt and uncle, whose grim nods were all she needed to seize upon Webber’s offer. “We would be grateful, sir.”

  “Archer, send for my carriage and have a doctor sent to the house. Now, man!”

  Mr Archer, as unlikely a man to act on another’s command as could be imagined, spun and pressed through a crowd that fell away before him. Without further permission, Webber scooped Rosamund into his arms. “My God, she weighs nothing at all. Miss Elsabeth, implore Miss Derrington for her furs: I am sure that whatever coverings Miss Dover wore here will not be sufficient against the cold.”