Elizabeth did not miss a note. The music continued. Darcy sat down, facing her. She sang with such ease. Since she was a child, people had delighted in listening to her lovely voice but it was the charm of her manner that gave her hearers much of their pleasure. She loved her music, and unaffectedly shared that love with others.
She sang now for him, and he left off brooding, losing himself in her music.
After lunch, they were perusing the theatre offerings, when the footman announced Mrs. Foxwell. The lady followed the servant into the room, the brown silk of her gown billowing out with the briskness of her step.
Darcy crossed the room and greeted her warmly.
“You will excuse me, I hope, Mr. Darcy, for not having the patience to wait until tomorrow to see you.”
She was not a pretty woman, somewhat mannish in feature, but she smiled up at him warmly and Elizabeth noted a hint of sardonic humour in her small brown eyes.
After being introduced and getting the usual compliments and congratulations out of the way, Mrs. Foxwell sat down. Her keen eyes soon sparkled with amusement.
“Gracious, Mrs. Darcy!” she cried, after fifteen minutes. “You will have me outstaying my welcome with all this laughter. I am forgetting the other purpose of my visit. Mr. Foxwell and I have invited a group of friends to dine this evening. I hope you are not already engaged? My husband is out for the day and I believe he does not know of your arrival in town. What a surprise for him!”
“A pleasant one, I hope,” said Elizabeth.
“I doubt not. He is always overjoyed to be reunited with your husband, and I cannot see what he might object to in you.” She rose, said her farewells and was gone.
“I like her very much,” said Elizabeth. “I shall look forward to knowing her better. There is a certain intelligent humour in her manner, which is very promising.”
She turned to Georgiana, who was looking as happy and excited as if she were included in the invitation.
“Georgiana, dear, we must postpone our visit to the theatre.”
“I do not mind, Elizabeth. I wish you to enjoy yourself. I will not be alone.” Indeed, Georgiana felt undismayed by the thought of the many evenings she would spend with her widowed companion, while her brother and sister-in-law went out. Only too soon she would be launched upon society; that was where her terrors lay.
As Mrs. Foxwell entered her house, her husband emerged from the library.
“My dear, you are returned at last! Come in here for a moment. I have news for you.”
“Have you, indeed, Foxwell?”
“My brother must be prevailed upon to take orders as soon as may be.”
“This is no news; it has been our constant lament these three years.”
“This I know, however, I have it on the best authority that the living promised him may fall vacant soon.”
“Ah! That is news indeed. Might we postpone our exploration of the matter until after our guests leave?” She moved to the door. “I barely have time to dress. First, I must arrange for more places to be set at table.”
“Only one, my dear Mrs. Foxwell. How is it that I can never surprise you?”
Mrs. Foxwell turned.
“What can you mean?”
“Lady Catherine comes alone.”
“Lady Catherine?”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of course. From whom, think you, had I my news? She called out to me from her carriage and I trotted over as obediently as any dog. What a lucky chance it was to invite her to dine before the Darcys come to London. It will be monstrous tricky at times, while they are all in town.”
“It will be monstrous tricky tonight!” she exclaimed in exasperation. Her freckles stood out in contrast to her pallor. “Why do you persist in interfering with my arrangements?”
“Ah.” He flushed. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are in London and are dining with us tonight?”
“Yes.” She turned angrily to the door.
He jumped up.
“All will be well, my dear. I shall write Darcy a note, putting them off. Better still, I will hurry to Brougham Place myself.”
“It is too late, don’t you see? We cannot put off Mrs. Darcy from her first invitation of the season and it is equally impossible to deny Lady Catherine on their account. We must make the best of it.”
Ever fearless in society, Elizabeth felt a pleasurable anticipation as she and Darcy followed the footman up the wide oak stairs. She squeezed her husband’s arm, where her hand lay inside his elbow and he gave her the slightest nod of reassurance. The door was opened and the footman’s voice rang out: “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”
Twenty-four pairs of eyes had but one object and that was Elizabeth Darcy. Everyone in the drawing room turned towards the door and conversation all but ceased. Their hostess swept towards them, followed by a gentleman. Darcy introduced his friend, Mr. Foxwell.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he cried. “I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance. I most earnestly wish you both joy, if you have not enough of the commodity without my assistance.”
In all his features Elizabeth was reminded of someone: a cynical humour in the warm brown eyes, an unfortunate complexion and mousy brown hair. Of course, he was like his wife!
Darcy glanced about the room and encountered the wintry face of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. With frigid correctness, he made his bow. She did not deign to return it.
Foxwell said: “Ah, here is my father approaching.” As they turned towards the older gentleman crossing the room, Darcy said quietly to Elizabeth: “Lady Catherine is here, by the fire.”
“Surely not!”
“I’m afraid so. She has just cut me.”
“Oh, my dear!” She touched his arm. He covered her hand with his.
“Do not present her with further opportunities to cause you pain, and embarrassment for Mrs. Foxwell.”
Elizabeth turned from the shock of this, to meet the elder Mr. Foxwell, while the son said quietly: “Darcy, my dear friend. I cannot apologise enough.”
Darcy shrugged. “Do not trouble yourself, Foxwell. This undesirable convergence was inevitable.”
“I regret that it should take place in my father’s house.”
Darcy shrugged moodily and both men joined in Elizabeth’s conversation with their hosts. Foxwell said: “Mrs. Darcy, I had it in mind to come into Hertfordshire to make your acquaintance, but Darcy told me to attend to my own affairs.”
“Just as well,” interrupted his father. “What use would you be to Mr. Darcy before his new relations, with your rattle and prattle?”
“I must protest, sir!” cried the son. “‘Prattle’ is perhaps justifiable, but I am not happy with ‘rattle’.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I shall have opportunity to convince you of my discretion as I have the honour of taking you in to dinner.”
At a sign from his daughter-in-law, the older man moved off to escort Lady Catherine to the dining room. Offering Elizabeth his arm, the son said: “I so value these opportunities to sacrifice these honours to my noble parent.”
At this, Elizabeth was too clever to laugh.
The dining room was long and well-lit. Its heavy ornateness, which the old man could not be prevailed upon to relinquish, was lightened by the sparkle of the table settings. Against the background of the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of many conversations, Elizabeth steered Mr. Foxwell from the direction of Darcy’s courtship to talk about his family.
With the removal of the covers after the first course came the usual shift of conversation. Mr. Foxwell said: “Reluctantly, I bow to the curiosity of our neighbours. May I introduce them to you?”
After a while, Foxwell reverted again to the subject of their courtship, this time with a wider audience.
“Matters matrimonial ought not to be arranged deep in the countryside, away from the kindly gaze of friends.”
“Hertfordshire is not so very deep in the countryside, Mr. Foxwell.”
“Do not let us quarrel over geography, my dea
r Mrs. Darcy. I just want a little taste of your secrets. You can trust me.”
“Trust you indeed! I doubt not that my little taste would later be served as a full dinner.”
The laughter that this sally produced confirmed her suspicions.
“Darcy,” her victim cried, silencing the whole table, “is your lady always so merciless?”
“When called for, Foxwell, I am afraid she is.”
“You cannot call her merciless, Mr. Foxwell,” another wit called out. “She married Darcy. Now there’s an act of mercy, if you like.”
“Indubitably,” said Darcy, with a smile.
More laughter and a shout of: “Prettily spoke, sir!” almost smothered a decided ‘Humph!’ from Lady Catherine’s end of the table.
When Mrs. Foxwell rose, signalling the time for the ladies to withdraw, Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. His aunt would be harder to avoid in the smaller group of ladies in the drawing room. She gave him one of her quick whimsical smiles. He had never felt so reluctant to sit over port.
Immediately upon entering the drawing room, Lady Catherine commandeered her armchair by the fire. Elizabeth wandered over to the pianoforte, intent on looking at the music. She was approached by a diminutive lady who had been seated near her at dinner.
“Mrs. Darcy, I so enjoyed your conversation earlier. Pray, let us take coffee together and talk some more.”
“With great pleasure, Mrs. Courtney,” she replied and they took their coffee to a small settee. Their conversation skipped from topic to topic. Elizabeth had never met anyone quite like this: funny and analytical, with an elfin charm that took the sting from her words. Other ladies joined them, attracted as much by curiosity to know Mrs. Darcy as by the wit of both young women. Only a few older women with, perhaps, something to gain, continued their attendance upon Lady Catherine.
When he came into the drawing room, Darcy found Elizabeth in animated conversation, having quite forgotten the presence of his aunt. Instead, she was able to introduce him to a new acquaintance, Mrs. Courtney.
For her own part, Lady Catherine was relieved that another nephew, staying with her in London, had been unable to accept tonight’s invitation. She doubted her power to keep Colonel Fitzwilliam away from his cousin’s bride. She bent her cold glare upon Elizabeth.
“Mrs. Darcy seems to get along famously with Mrs. Courtney,” said one of her companions. “Mrs. Courtney is a very charming lady! How different she is in manner from her aunt, the marchioness.”
Slowly, her ladyship turned her magnificent head to the speaker, who fell into a nervous silence.
The elder Mr. Foxwell escorted Lady Catherine down to the hall. Her ladyship stopped on the landing, and turned to him.
“I was speaking to your elder son today, sir. I told him that the living I may see fit to bestow upon your younger son, Mr. Reginald Foxwell, may fall vacant at any time now.”
“Indeed, he told me of this, your Ladyship. We are, of course, extraordinarily grateful for the very great kindness you have shown my boy.”
“I have not shown it yet, Mr. Foxwell. I said the living that I may see fit to bestow.”
Carefully, he replied: “With respect, Lady Catherine, we have long understood this to be a definite arrangement. My son is almost four and twenty and is well advanced in his studies. It is late for him to seek another profession.”
“It is nothing to me, if a more grateful candidate should appear.”
“Reginald never stops speaking of your Ladyship with praise and gratitude.”
Lady Catherine banged the floor with her stick. “But what of his family, sir? I do not like to see, in the houses I condescend to visit, a nephew who has disgraced the house of Maddersfield. Do not imagine that my brother, Lord Maddersfield, will have ought to do with him.”
“I am so sorry, madam, that I did not bring up this subject myself. I did not wish to pain you. The invitation of the people to whom you refer was entirely a misunderstanding. I humbly beg your forgiveness. It will never occur again.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up to her impressive height and said: “It will not occur again, because your son will never acknowledge that … gentleman … again.”
Mr. Foxwell paled. “They have been friends from childhood. It is a bond as strong as any brothers feel. Can we not come to a compromise?”
“Mr. Foxwell! Do you not know who I am? I do not compromise. Give me some proof of your decision this se’enight. Goodnight to you, sir.”
The Darcys left not long afterwards. In the dark carriage, Darcy gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“You were very successful this evening, Elizabeth.”
“I enjoyed myself very much. Tell me, are Mr. and Mrs. Foxwell related other than by marriage?”
“Indeed, they are much alike. They are first cousins, predestined for each other from birth.”
“You had that in common with him?”
“I did. Among my intimate friends, only Bingley married where he chose.”
“Are the Foxwells happy, do you think?”
“After their own fashion, yes, I think so. You liked Foxwell?”
“Yes, although I am somewhat mystified.”
“By what?” The darkness gave his voice a teasing quality.
“Mr. Foxwell appears a little … unorthodox. How came you to have such a close friendship with him?”
“I have known him since my first day at school, a few weeks after my mother’s death. He was the only person that made that first term bearable.”
He took her hand and continued, “Foxwell may seem somewhat ‘eccentric’, if he would excuse the word. However, I am so accustomed to his style of address that I believe I respond to his intention rather than his words. Even as a child, he was capable of the greatest kindness.”
Her hands were warming in his. In the darkness, she heard him say: “Elizabeth, you are the only person I have ever known, since childhood, to whom my heart has gone out, unsought and unbidden, in love or friendship.”
What could she say in reply? There was nothing to say.
After the last of the guests had left, the Foxwells sat for a few minutes in the drawing room.
“Mrs. Darcy is very charming, clever and pretty, too,” said Foxwell.
“They generally are in such cases, Foxwell. You did not expect her to be a fright, I daresay.”
“I rather thought you liked her, my dear.”
“I liked her very much. She will be an interesting addition to our circle.”
Foxwell smirked in his wife’s direction.
“I remember when you were charming to me,” he said.
“Such nonsense you speak, Foxwell. I was never charming.”
Surprised that her father-in-law did not throw in his own caustic comment, she looked at him. He was pale, and his brow creased with worry.
“Are you well, Father?”
“My dears, something has occurred that has troubled me greatly.” He told them of his conversation with Lady Catherine.
“I never heard of such an outrage!” cried his son. “She cannot do this. All the world knows she has promised that living to Reginald.”
His father nodded. “I should have thought that this action would seem too dishonourable for her ladyship to contemplate it.”
“Are there no legal means of opposing her in this, Father?” said Mrs. Foxwell.
He shook his head. “I shall look through my correspondence tomorrow, but I am almost certain she has never put her name to the offer in writing.”
“Her ladyship’s impertinence beggars belief, Father!” burst out his son. “How can she imagine I am to look away as I pass my friend on stairs; to see him in the street and return his friendly greetings with coldness?”
“How else is your brother to find his way in the world, without patronage in the church? What is left to him but the army? He is such a fool that he will chase after heiresses for three months, before running off with a governess.”
“He is not such a fo
ol as that, Father.”
The old man stared back at him.
“Well,” said the son, “he is a little impetuous, certainly.”
His father snorted. “I will send for him tomorrow and see if anything can be done. He may yet have some sway with his patroness.”
There was a silence.
He looked long and sadly at his son.
The young man flushed. “I hope you do not ask me to deny Darcy, sir.”
CHAPTER 7
“DEAR DARCY,” murmured Lady Reerdon, as the Darcys moved away towards the ballroom, “such a romantic gesture.”
Lord Reerdon’s pallid eyes followed the pair, his expression one of dreamy indulgence.
“How happy he must be, Mother.”
“You will not follow his example, Frederick,” she said quietly, and turned towards the next guests. He grimaced. What chance was there of his marrying a penniless girl, for love, with his affairs in such a muddle and his dear Mama so extravagant?
Darcy and Elizabeth paused at the top of the steps that swept down into the ballroom. He gave her a half-smile of reassurance, which she met with a flash of mischief. She turned her head to survey the room. There was the buzz of many conversations, bursts of laughter, and the background lilt of music.
How happy she was to look so well, when she saw the finery of the women. In the past, her annual dress allowance would scarce have paid for her gown. Emeralds sparkled on her neck, wrists, and in her hair. They descended into the glittering light and noise of the ballroom.
Two men standing at the foot of the stairs briefly caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she could hardly forbear to laugh. An aging Bacchus addressed himself to an Apollo (both in brocade waistcoats).
“So this is the lady whose name is on everyone’s lips, Whittaker?” His sneer was a wonderful source of amusement to the younger man, who said:
“I rather like the look of her, Sir Graham.”
“Pretty enough, I daresay, but hardly a beauty.”
A Private Performance Page 5
