by Gail McEwen
Elizabeth turned her eyes and popped them wide open in reaction to Holly’s silent scrutiny.
“Really, Holly!” she said.
Holly was caught off guard and was startled.
“Stop it!” her cousin went on, but with a smile on her face. “I know what you are thinking and I will not have it.”
“Have what? You cannot know possibly what I am thinking.”
“Of course I can! It is written all over your face! And besides, it is exactly what I am trying very hard not to think myself.”
“Well, you cannot stop me from doing so in any case,” Holly laughed, “and I think you had better get used to the idea. It is a lovely coach.”
“Yes, it was very friendly of him,” Elizabeth said quietly and Holly thought she could see a slight blush sweep over her cheeks as she looked outside again.
The exuberance of the ladies was cut short when Mr Pembroke belatedly climbed in and plumped down beside Holly. Elizabeth’s open countenance clouded over and Mrs Tournier steadfastly stared out of the window.
Mr Pembroke, unable to catch another friendly eye, had to be content with winking at Holly and apologising for being late without a flicker of remorse to his voice or demeanour. Mrs Tournier cut him off by knocking on the roof with a force that took them all aback and the carriage set off on its journey towards the evening’s entertainment.
TRISTAM LODGE WAS SPLENDID IN the early darkness of a November night, Baugham reluctantly admitted as he and Darcy approached. It was brilliantly lit, the owners sparing no expense, and the first glimpse of it when coming up the drive was an impressive sight not easily forgotten.
Lady Tristam displayed a barely contained enthusiasm as the gentlemen entered the already crowded rooms. Music could be heard coming from one of the salons and people had gathered to listen, but she came swooping in at full speed when informed of their arrival.
“My lord!” the lady said, completely out of breath and evidently suffering from the ambition of tightening her stays to the measure enjoyed in her girlhood. “Mr Darcy! I cannot. Tell you. How pleased. I am. My husband! My daughters! Here. Somewhere. I cannot believe . . . ”
Scanning the crowd with a look of breathless vexation, Lady Tristam sailed off as suddenly as she had arrived, possibly in search of the missing members of her family to present to the gentlemen. They did not tarry to see whether she found them or not, instead plunging into a crowd of curious whispers and stares. Darcy adopted a grim set to his mouth.
“Well, I don’t profess to love this any more than you do,” Lord Baugham said to him with an exasperated sigh, “but you must promise me not to relieve your frustrations by going around spouting sarcastic comments that will only confuse the provincials.”
“That will not be possible to refrain from, I’m afraid,” Darcy said dryly, “but I will promise to try to find someone who will enjoy them.”
Baugham noticed Darcy’s attention shift and his demeanour change. It did not become any less stiff or imposing, but a subtle difference came over him — a measure of apprehension and a new kind of irritation. The source of this transformation, of course, was not hard to discern and Baugham looked at the two women standing where the music still gently flowed out of the well-lit room.
“Music will play second fiddle tonight, I see,” Baugham murmured. “I think you owe me a two-day hunting trip and at least a stag for this.”
Baugham stole a glance at the obviously reluctant companion he was left with after Darcy so skilfully directed Miss Bennet’s attentions elsewhere. His first impression of her as he had crossed the room in Darcy’s wake had been a favourable one. She looked very well. She looked soft and vulnerable. Perhaps it was the candlelight and the attempt at making the best of what obviously was an old dress. The hair was different, too, but very becoming. Baugham gave an inward smile; an old dress, but a very fetching one. Women were strange sometimes. Who cared about the age of a dress when it was otherwise perfect? So even stern schoolmistresses knew the benefit of a low neckline and a flattering colour!
But what on earth was he supposed to say to her?
HOLLY WAS LOATH TO LET Elizabeth accept Mr Darcy’s invitation to find a seat for the music on display, but purely for selfish reasons. She was happy on her cousin’s behalf because she was so obviously happy herself, but for her own part she could have done without the company she was left with. It was awkward to stand so conspicuously together with Lord Baugham in a place where they were spotted by every single passer-by and with nothing to say. He was, of course, dressed as only a man who made his habitual residence in London could be and, with his height and looks and appearance, he stuck out like a sore thumb. She was so obviously a poor match for him in her old gown and her strange hair. She looked down at her feet. Oh no, not her feet! She swayed her gown awkwardly so that the tips of her slippers were no longer visible and looked out over the crowd desperately searching for something to say.
The feeling of discomfort was obviously reciprocated by Baugham.
“This seems a popular event,” was what finally popped out after a long deliberation.
“Yes, it is,” she managed. “Very.”
“Quite crowded.”
“Certainly; Lady Tristam is most generous with her invitations.” Like inviting the likes of us, she thought. She stole a quick glance at him to see if that was what he was thinking, but his lordship was looking out at the crowd he had so admired and did not react.
“It is my first time here,” he said and frowned.
“Yes. I know.”
There was a growing desperation in their stilted conversation. Holly kept her eyes on other parties and prayed for a distraction that would break them up. Any excuse, she begged silently, any little thing. Please . . .
Unfortunately her ardent prayers were answered by Mr Pembroke, who had gathered a party of young persons around him and was apparently entertaining them with his wit and observations and eliciting a rapt response. He glanced over at her and his lordship, causing the rest of the party to follow suit. Five pairs of eyes watched her for a moment before Mr Pembroke turned back and made a comment that caused his audience to break out into adoring laughter while shooting sidelong looks in their direction.
Holly turned crimson and felt her ears burn. She prayed it had gone unnoticed by her companion, but Lord Baugham had been watching the scene as well.
“Who is that?” he asked casually.
“That is Mr Pembroke, our . . . guest,” Holly managed, unable to hide a desperate note in her voice.
Lord Baugham watched the adoring court around Mr Pembroke and the man himself, posing and prancing with wide gestures and a cocky step and his romantically curly hair being swept aside in a studied gesture every so often.
“Miss Tournier,” he said with surprising alacrity, “is your mother here tonight?”
Holly was hardly surprised at the question. Naturally he wanted rather to talk to her mother. Well, it was a way out and quite a welcome one. She led him to the music room and, with a huge sigh of relief, he left her side and made his way to the company she realised he had much rather be saddled with than her.
UNFORTUNATELY FOR HIS LORDSHIP, THE music room was filled to capacity and though he could see Mrs Tournier seated directly in front, he could not get to her without disturbing the majority of those enjoying the performance. He stood on the outskirts of the crowd, listening, until he became aware that more sidelong glances were being directed his way from the audience than were trained on the string quartet before them. He made a great show of looking around and, pretending to spot an acquaintance out in the hall, did his best to quietly slip out.
“I can see them!”
There was a female flurry hurrying past him, forcing her way among the people and a gentleman struggling to keep up. Baugham took a step back and went unnoticed as one of the Tristam daughters stopped, put up her fan and proceeded to survey the room while vigorously cooling herself.
“Oh,” the lady said
as the gentleman reached her and tried to put his arm about her in protective familiarity, but the lady unceremoniously moved aside and he had to be content with standing shoulder to shoulder with her in an intimate whisper. “It’s just the dark one — Mr Darcy. And he is with that . . . niece of theirs.”
Baugham narrowed his eyes and took half a step forward. Shielded by an older lady still believing in the virtue and style of a towering powdered wig he was protected enough to overhear but not to be seen by who he now recognised as the eldest Miss Tristam and Mr Jonathan Pembroke.
“Jonathan,” Miss Primrose whispered quite audibly, “cannot you introduce me? I want to meet them. Both of them.”
“Oh, Primmie!”
The disgusted tone of Mr Pembroke was simply answered with a quick snap of the fan and a vicious look.
“Do you know how rare an occasion it is for a man like that to find his way into this deserted back garden of the world?” she hissed. “Never mind two! Mr Darcy is fabulously rich and his friend is an earl! You must introduce me!”
Mr Pembroke did not answer, but obviously looked over to where Mr Darcy and Miss Bennet were sitting and sharing some detail of the musical rendition.
“Well, right now is highly inconvenient,” he muttered back.
A pout came over Miss Tristam’s face and she lifted her chin before snapping open her fan and once more putting it between them.
“In other words you cannot. Or will not,” she said scathingly. “Really, Jonathan, for all your boasts and talk you really are so . . . inept, aren’t you?”
She sighed and looked out over the crowd again. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask my father then . . . ”
Baugham watched as Mr Pembroke grabbed Miss Tristam’s elbow and turned her back towards him.
“Don’t be silly,” he said smoothly, but not without obviously struggling at keeping his voice level. “Of course I can do it. You wish to meet Mr Darcy and Lord Baugham? It is no trouble and quite easy. My tenant at Rosefarm, old Mrs Tournier, will make the introductions as soon as I ask her. She knows the gentlemen quite well. They’re in and out of the house all the time!”
Miss Tristam turned and a concerned look flashed across her face. “Then I think you had better see to it at once, Jonathan, hadn’t you?”
Baugham could not help but smile to himself as Miss Tristam turned on her heel and walked away from her vantage point, once again making Mr Pembroke struggle to keep up with her through the crowd. By taking just one step to the right, Baugham was able to put himself in Mr Pembroke’s way and it would not be unfair, although not exactly flattering to his lordship’s manners, to say he took immense pleasure in the look of chagrin and even desperation on Mr Pembroke’s face as he half bumped into him and then hastily had to apologise before running after Miss Tristam, who was well on her way to the other side of the room where Mrs Tournier had sat herself down. Pembroke hesitated, looked after Miss Tristam, looked Baugham in the eye while obviously struggling with his next step, but his lordship just gave him a smug smile and withdrew into the crowd once more. Perhaps it was not right, but sometimes the tediousness of country balls must be relieved by taking one’s opportunities for entertainment as one found them. Now all that was left to do was to look forward to the second act and he had to confess he had great trust in Mrs Tournier’s pivotal performance.
WHEN HOLLY TURNED AROUND FROM the music room, it was only to find Mr Grant bearing down upon her with a determined look on his face. He watched Lord Baugham’s back all the way into the music room and then rather possessively held out his arm to her. Unable to see a way to gracefully decline it, she took it lightly and allowed him to escort her to the refreshment table that had been set up in the great hall in the hopes that whatever he had to say to her would be accomplished as they walked and would not therefore be witnessed by too many.
“Miss Tournier, might I just tell you that you look stunning this evening? I must say, I think that gown is my particular favourite — each and every time I see you in it, I think you must be the most beautiful lady in the county. The pale which held that lovely deer . . . ”
Mr Grant could not have made a more unwelcome comment to Holly at that time, and combined with his ill-timed verses, she found herself feeling a terrible mix of embarrassment and humiliation and she fervently wished a large hole would open up in Sir Torquil’s magnificent marble floor and swallow her up. But, no obliging crack appeared in the stone and Mr Grant would continue along his theme.
“ . . . can surely see it is truly in your best interests as well as my own. And as much as my devotion to you is steadfast and true, not even I, Miss Tournier, can wait interminably for you to grant a favourable answer to my heartfelt pleas.”
He stopped in the middle of the room and took both of her hands into his own as her face flushed with mortification.
“Miss Tournier; I simply cannot wait. I must have an answer, once and for all. Will you do me the great honour — ”
“Please, Mr Grant,” Holly hastily interrupted. “I am very sorry, but I cannot see my way to an answer different than the one I have given you many times in the past.”
“Well, I suppose there is no rush, Miss Tournier.” Mr Grant would keep talking, and as expected, he was not daunted in the least. Despite his claims of mere seconds ago, he declared, “I will not give up hope just yet. Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross.”
She was aware that they were drawing curious stares from the other guests, and what was worse, Lord Baugham had just entered the hall and was looking at them too. Too desperate to be choosy, she quickly drew her hands away from Mr Grant’s and meeting his lordship’s gaze, seized the opportunity that was presented to her.
“Mr Grant,” she hurriedly began, “have you met Lord Baugham?”
“I have not yet had the pleasure,” Mr Grant said stiffly, not looking like he particularly regretted the deprivation.
Lord Baugham’s greeting, on the other hand, was all that was polished and polite, making Mr Grant display features remarkably resembling those of a petulant child and so Mr Grant hastily solicited dear Miss Tournier’s permission to fetch her a glass of wine since it was obvious from her flushed, but charming, face she was in need of one urgently. Holly was certain that her supposed flushed features were a result of Mr Grant’s frustrating behaviour, his lordship’s contrasting manners, and a feeling that this evening had all the hallmarks of a disaster, but off he went and she let out a sigh. Lord Baugham turned to her with an amused expression, though he said nothing. All too soon, they were right back to where they had started: both struggling to find a suitable topic of conversation, standing awkwardly side by side looking out over the room.
“I believe I see Sir Torquil,” his lordship said, taking a step away. “I should go and — “
He was interrupted by a voice behind them.
“Ah, here you are, my dear! Goodness me, how quickly you are able to take advantage of such a rare and privileged opportunity! I must say, I am impressed at your skill.”
Holly’s blood ran cold at the sound of Mr Pembroke’s acid drawl behind her. He was quiet enough at Rosefarm, when surrounded by universal dislike, but here, in his element . . . It churned her stomach and she was suddenly afraid the underlying contempt that must be inevitable in their relationship would very soon be expressed both vocally and publicly. In fact, despite his smiles and attempts to appear good-humoured, she felt certain by the sarcastic tone of his voice that Mr Pembroke neither wanted, nor was able, to avoid it.
Trying to recover her equilibrium, she took a breath, squared her shoulders and turned around to face the unwelcome intruder. Intending to be frostily polite and to carry herself with dignity, when she saw Miss Primrose Tristam leaning on his arm with a smug smile, she shrank back. Her voice, that she had intended to be strong and forceful, came out in nearly a whisper.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir”
Mr Pembroke laughed a strange, airy
laugh and smirked at Miss Tristam before returning his attention to Miss Tournier. “Oh, my dear, it surely cannot be a surprise to you that you owe your presence at this fine event to my being at Rosefarm,” Mr Pembroke said smoothly. “It would appear that Lady Tristam’s willingness to oblige me as a very dear and old friend outweighs her customary discretion and standards,” he chuckled, belying the cold look in his close-set eyes as he looked her up and down thoroughly, “but never mind that now, hm? As you’ve so deftly attached yourself to her loftiest guest, perhaps you would condescend to make an introduction to a couple of old, dear friends?”
IT WAS PERFECTLY OBVIOUS TO Lord Baugham that Mr Pembroke’s attempts to solicit an introduction from Mrs Tournier had been unsuccessful. It was equally obvious that the man was now going to attempt the acquaintance through Miss Tournier instead. He sighed inwardly, prevented by their arrival from completing his leave-taking, but he supposed it was best to get the business over with. However, he could not help looking on in surprise when he heard the unusual temerity in Miss Tournier’s voice. The man was obviously a boor — that he had concluded upon first setting eyes on him — but from all he knew of Miss Tournier, he could not fathom why she would be so disturbed by his presence as to give such a weak and ineffectual answer. Where was the thunderous brow, where was the famous frown of disapproval? His shock at this was great; however, it paled in comparison to what he felt when Pembroke next opened his mouth.
