Lorraine de Crécy leaned close to her ear. ‘Everyone is talking about the French advance. Some say it is just a border skirmish; others say Bonaparte is already engaging our Prussian allies. All rumour, but since Field Marshall Wellesley urged that the ball go ahead, my friend thinks the situation cannot be too grave.’
‘Is the Field Marshall here?’
‘Not yet. Normally he would never miss such an event, so it will be a bad sign if he stays away. But it is early, so we should not be concerned.’
‘Miss Bennet!’ Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy kneel beside her. ‘Might I make so bold as to reserve a couple of dances? The first, and the supper set?’
‘Two sets!’ She grinned. ‘You do me great honour, sir, but I warn you: tongues will wag.’
‘Tonight they have plenty else to wag about.’
She marked her card, while Darcy requested a set also from Mademoiselle de Crécy.
Lorraine bowed graciously. ‘Enchanté. The second set?’
‘We are paid a great compliment,’ Elizabeth said, with a sly glance at Darcy. ‘As a rule Mr Darcy does not dance at all. Three sets are exceptional.’
‘And sufficient for one evening,’ Darcy said. ‘The party is mainly for the officers.’
Looking around, Elizabeth saw that the redcoats did indeed outnumber the ladies present—and that Lorraine and herself were attracting the attention of British cavalry officers. But the room hushed as the Master of Ceremonies announced a Quadrille, and Darcy came to claim her hand.
Several sets later, Elizabeth returned with Colonel Fitzwilliam to a seat near the Vicomte, having just danced an Allemande.
‘You look tired.’ Lorraine de Crécy joined her on the sofa. ‘Take some refreshment. A glass of wine.’
She waved to a servant, who poured from a decanter.
‘The toast?’ Lorraine asked.
‘To our brave soldiers,’ Elizabeth said. ‘May they return unscathed; and may they tire of dancing before I am utterly exhausted.’
Lorraine clinked glasses with a smile. ‘Perdition to Bonaparte.’
‘May the rain fall upon his armies so that they stick in the mud.’
‘Is your card marked for the next?’
‘I hope to sit this one out so that I have energy left for the supper set.’
They continued talking through the interval, until an officer came to claim the next dance with Mademoiselle de Crécy. Elizabeth exchanged a few words with the Viscount, but they were interrupted by a buzz at the entrance, followed by cheering and clapping as a group of men in red-gold coats and white breeches entered the ballroom.
‘Hourra! A la bonne heure!’ The Viscount pointed to the leader. ‘Field Marshall Wellesley, latterly Duke of Wellington.’
‘He has come after all!’ Impulsively Elizabeth jumped up and advanced a few steps for a better view, almost colliding with two officers who appeared suddenly from behind a column. One of them turned, and with a gasp she froze, unable to believe her eyes.
He stared at her with equal shock. ‘Miss Bennet?’
She managed a bow. ‘Mr Wickham.’
He floundered, for once lost for words. ‘I hardly expected to meet you here.’
‘Nor I you.’
‘I am now in the regulars you know. First Yorkshires. Since …’
She nodded. ‘Since your marriage to my sister.’
‘A pity you were away and could not attend the wedding. It was arranged hastily, of course, in town. Mr and Mrs Gardiner represented your family.’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘I was relieved to learn it had taken place at all.’
‘Certainly it did not happen in the best way …’ His cheeks reddened and he blustered on, ‘Miss Bennet, if you are free may I ask for the supper set?’
‘I’m sorry, I am already engaged.’
‘Perhaps the second dance of this set?’
Elizabeth hesitated, casting round for an excuse, but he looked so eager, so lost, that she could not bring herself to refuse: after all, he might shortly be risking his life on the battlefield.
‘I should be delighted.’
‘Excellent. Your group is …’
Elizabeth flinched, recalling that she had given no account of her presence in so unlikely a location. What did Wickham know? He would have learned from the Gardiners of her expedition to Italy in the company of Sir Ambrose and Lady Havers; and perhaps of Sir Ambrose’s death from cholera. But the rest, including Darcy’s rescue mission? Probably not …
Her gaze wandered to the opposite alcove, where Darcy had joined a group of officers after dancing with Lorraine. She had spotted him several times in earnest conversation, probably seeking advice on their journey to the coast; for once, he had felt no necessity to keep her under observation.
‘Miss Bennet?’ Wickham prompted.
‘Sorry, I was distracted.’ She had to decide: mention Darcy, or not? With a sigh, she pointed at the sofa where the Vicomte was conversing with the Duchess de Beaufort. ‘I am with the Viscount de Crécy’s party.’
‘Good. Until later!’
They bowed, and she returned trembling to the alcove. As she took her seat, she realised at last the folly of what she had done. Wickham’s presence at the ball could not be concealed from Darcy: Colonel Fitzwilliam was still dancing, and sure to see them. What was worse, the next dance was not a traditional Cotillion or Boulangere. It was the latest trend, still shocking in London society, in which the gentleman might rest his hand on the lady’s waist …
Wickham stood before her, his earlier confusion replaced by his usual supercilious charm.
‘I had forgotten that this dance was a waltz,’ Elizabeth said as they walked to the floor.
‘Have you danced it before?’
‘Yes, at a ball in Venice. My friend Lady Havers taught me the steps.’
The music started and they circled slowly. He held her gently, with practised confidence, and gradually she relaxed and felt able to talk.
‘How is my sister?’
‘Well, so far as I know.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Lydia is not one to write often.’
‘Have you been in Brussels long?’
‘We have been encamped west of the city for just over two weeks.’
‘Could Lydia have accompanied you here?’
‘Since I am an ensign that would be rare, and we could not afford the accommodation.’ He grimaced. ‘Financially we are placed somewhat ill.’
‘And where is your new home?’
‘We have a town house in Newcastle.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Passable, but a far cry from the parsonage at Kympton that I should have had, if a certain gentleman had honoured his father’s wishes.’
‘You would have enjoyed preaching sermons?’
‘Exceedingly: a quiet life would have been much to my taste.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘Strange, for I have it on good authority that you were not always set on becoming a clergyman, so much so that you renounced the living, accepting a considerable sum as compensation.’
He forced a smile. ‘Well, there is truth in that too—indeed, I said as much when we first met, you may recall.’
‘It must have slipped my mind. Still, we need not dispute over the past …’
Elizabeth froze, almost tripping as a tall familiar figure emerged from the alcove and regarded them with thunderous rage. As they turned, Wickham saw him too and stared at her in shock.
‘My God, was that …’
‘Yes. Mr Darcy. I forgot to mention that he is visiting Colonel Fitzwilliam.’
He guided her to the other side of the floor as the music sped to its conclusion. ‘Pardon me, Miss Bennet, but I ought to re-join my party. The order to march may come at any moment. To see you again has been a delight. Pray convey my best wishes to your family when you return to Longbourn.’
‘Thank you sir, and I wish you every good fortune.’
He blinked, as if moved, and they parted.
44
As the waltz ended, Darcy lost sight of Elizabeth, who had been manoeuvred—deliberately he suspected—to the other side of the ballroom. So agitated that he could feel his heart pulsing, he crossed the floor to the seating area where the Viscount de Crécy and Duke de Beaufort were in conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mademoiselle de Crécy had returned, but not Elizabeth.
Darcy leaned over his cousin. ‘Have you seen Miss Bennet?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. ‘The Vicomte said she had been dancing. Should be back soon. I say, Darce, have you heard …’
‘Later.’ Darcy stood tall, peering over the crowd. ‘Ah! I see her.’
Without waiting for a reply he threaded his way along the alcove and blocked her path.
Elizabeth stared at him. ‘Mr Darcy! Are you well?’
‘Where is that—fiend?’
She recoiled. ‘How dare you accost me so!’
‘I asked you a question, madam.’
‘Which I refuse to answer, until you approach me in a more gentlemanlike manner.’
He flinched at hearing again a phrase that had haunted him, and struggled to control his voice. ‘Pardon me. I am not myself. I beg you Elizabeth, where is he?’
‘Mr Wickham has just left.’
Darcy screwed up his face in distaste. ‘Just like him to take the coward’s way out.’
She rolled her eyes contemptuously. ‘The coward of whom you speak is re-joining his regiment to fight a battle in which he will quite probably be injured, or worse.’
‘What could possibly have come over you? Why agree to dance with a scoundrel who has wronged your sister and mine, and cost me a fortune correcting his misdeeds and clearing his debts?’
Elizabeth held up a palm, glancing at a party nearby. ‘If you are determined to shout at me, can we seek a more private spot?’
He lowered his voice. ‘That is unnecessary.’
‘I think not: after all, I am dealing with a man who dare not vouch for his temper!’ She turned with a toss of the head and set off towards an open window at the back.
‘That’s better.’ She breathed deeply. ‘The ballroom has become so hot.’
‘My question stands, Elizabeth.’
She sighed. ‘I am not going to accept any more abuse, Mr Darcy, but if you try to calm down I will explain what happened. Of course I had no idea that Mr Wickham was here. We met by chance during the first dance of the last set. As you presumably know, he is an ensign in a northern regiment; in consequence he is now encamped outside Brussels and expecting any day to move against the French. You can imagine my shock on bumping into him. When he asked to dance, my first impulse, naturally, was to refuse. But somehow I could not. After all, the reason we are here is to provide solace and entertainment to our soldiers before their ordeal. What is more, like it or not, we are now kin: he is husband of my sister.’
‘So you agreed to dance the waltz.’
‘In my confusion I forgot which dance came next.’ She threw up her hands. ‘Even so, what harm was done?’
‘You could have warned me.’
‘I did not wish to disturb you.’
‘Be honest, Elizabeth. You knew your decision would anger me, and hoped to conceal it.’
She looked up, eyes flashing. ‘Certainly I feared an intemperate reaction, and with good reason.’
‘To see that devil smirk with satisfaction as you shared that most intimate of dances.’ Darcy looked away, unable to meet her eye. ‘I cannot believe you would do this to me.’
‘It is done, and I have nothing further to say.’
She whirled round and returned to her seat.
Darcy remained at the window, welcoming the opportunity to collect his thoughts. The fresh air cleared his head, and as his anger receded he noticed a buzz in the ballroom. People were huddling in groups, whispering excitedly; a woman nearby wailed openly in dismay.
He hurried back to the alcove, where Elizabeth was talking earnestly with Mademoiselle de Crécy. Colonel Fitzwilliam jumped up and drew him aside.
‘Rumours of a French advance are confirmed. The Duchess of Richmond’s daughter asked Wellington openly and he said yes, our army would be marching tomorrow. Or today, since it has now gone midnight. Some officers have already left, with instructions to return to their camps by three o’clock in the morning.’
Darcy frowned, recalling his ill-advised comment on Wickham’s departure. Perhaps Wickham had been ordered to leave, in which case cowardice had nothing to do with it—quite the contrary.
‘Has Wellington also left?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. ‘Not him—he prides himself on his insouciance, and continues dancing and talking to the ladies to show his contempt for the enemy.’
‘And so the ball goes on.’
‘As it should: there can be no immediate threat.’
The supper dance was called, and Darcy uneasily approached Elizabeth.
‘Shall we take the floor?’
She whispered a final word to Mademoiselle de Crécy and rose wearily to join him.
‘We could sit it out if you are tired.’
‘No. I will come.’
Their eyes met, and he realised she was more sad than angry. ‘Miss Bennet, not for the first time, I owe you an apology.’
‘The famous Darcy temper.’ She forced a smile. ‘If we could only set you before Bonaparte’s troops they would take fright and scuttle back to France.’
‘Have you heard that men are already leaving, in case they have to march tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Her face clouded over. ‘It is truly horrible. I fear for your cousin, and for Mr Wickham too, whatever we may think of him.’
‘You are right. May fortune protect them both.’
Couples were forming up in a ring, and Elizabeth said, ‘This is unexpected. The gallopade usually comes last.’
‘A signal, perhaps, that there will be no more dancing after supper. Are you familiar with the steps?’
‘I tried it once in Venice. Similar to a waltz, but in two time rather than three.’
Elizabeth held out her right hand, and he held it gently as he placed his own right hand above her waist. She rested her left hand on his arm, looking up with a challenging grin, and as he smiled back he recalled a couplet from Byron’s satire on the waltz as a mutual embrace: Hands which may freely range in public sight where ne’er before …
The dancers circled, slowly at first. Always light on her feet, Elizabeth guided him gracefully through the gallop phases and the turns. Endearing waltz, to thy more melting tune. Not a waltz exactly, but the phrase still applied, and he did feel his limbs melt at the intimacy of their clinch.
The sequence was soon learned: four bars in the waltz hold; change sides and repeat; separate and face; join right hands and spin; return to the waltz hold and gallop. It was if a barrier had dissolved; two had become one. Their eyes met and he saw that she too was relaxed and immersed in the dance.
As the wheel of couples turned at a stately pace, Darcy observed the intensity of feeling on the dance floor. Men in red coats danced with wives in the knowledge that they would shortly be parted, and might never see one another again. There was little jollity, more a quiet tenderness, a savouring of these last precious moments.
The orchestra picked up the beat, and the melancholy mood dispelled as the dance became a romp. Some couples collided; others, unable to keep up, left the circle. Elizabeth’s embrace tightened in the turns; she whooped as they finally parted.
‘Wonderful! I am quite out of breath.’
He guided her to a seat. ‘I cannot recall enjoying a dance more. And yet how tinged with sadness.’
‘I know. Look—’ She pointed to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was partnering Mademoiselle de Crécy. ‘Your cousin is waving.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed to Elizabeth before drawing Darcy aside.
‘More news, not good. During the gallopade a message arrived for the Prince of Orange. The French have advanced faster
than expected, engaged the Prussian armies near Charleroi, and forced them to retreat. Field Marshall Wellesley is remaining for the supper, but the Prince and his entourage have left for his headquarters.’
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and Mademoiselle de Crécy who had edged across to hear. ‘Have you received orders for tonight?’
‘We can stay for the supper. After that I should return to my office at the Viscount’s home, ready to leave early in the morning.’
Darcy shook his head in wonder. ‘So we must make merry while these grave events are unfolding just a two-hour ride away.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. ‘It is our custom. Drake finishing his game of bowls …’
At the supper, Darcy had a good view of the Field Marshall, seated on an opposite table beside the Duchess’s daughter. On the other side sat a woman he had met earlier in the evening, accompanying her husband who was a lieutenant in the 9th Dragoons. Around him people chatted inconsequentially, in a poignant effort to stay cheerful in the teeth of anxiety.
‘So what happened to the timetable?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘I thought it had been agreed that hostilities would not start until July.’
Darcy smiled. ‘It seems Bonaparte has opted for a pre-emptive strike against his most dangerous adversary. Perhaps it was naive of the coalition to expect anything else.’ He brushed Elizabeth’s arm and pointed discreetly at the opposite table. ‘You recall my schooldays at Harrow?’
‘Don’t tell me you fagged for the Field Marshall?’
‘No, but I knew the lieutenant on his left, James Webster. The lady sitting next to Wellington is Sir James’s wife Lady Frances.’
‘How beautiful she looks.’
Darcy's Journey Page 19
