by Pamela Aidan
“And what shall you be doing?”
“I hope to have an opportunity actually to hear L’Catalani! The last time I attended a performance, the noise from the gallery was so appalling, even her great voice could not be heard. Aside from that, I plan to spend the majority of the evening avoiding danger as best as I am able.”
“Danger! You make it all sound so sinister, Darcy. I fear you do not anticipate enjoying yourself in the least. I hope I am not interfering with your pleasure in the evening!”
“Of course not, don’t be a gudgeon!” Darcy shifted uneasily. “I have never enjoyed large gatherings, as you well know, and have little patience with the intrigues that so delight the haut ton.” He leaned forward. “But do not allow that to spoil your evening. Stay close to Brougham, and you will certainly enjoy yourself. Just take care not to be drawn into anything which might require me to act as your second.”
“I almost believe you are serious!”
The carriage swayed to a stop at the corner before Whitehall, joining the line of others awaiting their turn to pull up to the torchlit stairs and shivering footmen of Melbourne House. Darcy knocked on the roof with his stick, and in moments his groom appeared at the door.
“Mr. Darcy, sir.”
“Harry, I think we shall walk from here. Did Mr. Witcher give you anything?”
“Yes, sir.” Harry grinned and patted his coat pocket, which jingled impressively. “Me an’ James be well supplied fer an evenin’ at the Bull ’n’ Boar. Thank ’e, sir,” he replied as he reached inside the carriage door to let down the steps.
“Good man, Harry.” Darcy climbed down, Bingley close behind him. “Be available by two. I hope to make an early evening of it, unless Mr. Bingley will not be pulled away.”
“Aye, sir. Two o’clock it is, an’ a good evenin’ to ya, Mr. Darcy.”
The two men turned and walked hurriedly down the street, which was already crowded with gawkers and hawkers of every description. Darcy’s grip tightened on his heavily crowned walking stick. He pulled himself up to every inch of his tall frame, projecting an air of uncompromising purpose as he strode through the throng, Bingley at his heels. In short order they gained the line of torches illuminating the walks on either side of Melbourne House and, upon presenting their cards to the footman, were immediately escorted up the steps and inside the doorway past guests who had arrived before them.
Bingley turned a questioning brow upon him as a servant hurried to relieve them of their hats and cloaks, but Darcy would only shrug in answer. It had always been thus, this deferential treatment, and it would be difficult to explain to Bingley, newcomer that he was, that it was merely part and parcel of the game Society loved so well to play. Although, Darcy acknowledged to himself as he turned to the butler and extended his card again, he had not entirely expected such marked distinction here at Melbourne. He had rarely mixed with this set, despite the many opportunities and invitations to do so, and knew he was regarded by the majority as stiff-rumped in his adherence to principle and decorum. But his name and fortune outweighed all these defects tonight, it seemed. It remained to observe who Lady Melbourne’s other guests might be. Then, perhaps, he could make a determination on the manner of his reception.
He stepped to the arched doorway that led into the public rooms and waited for the Melbournes’ butler to announce him and then Bingley. A quick survey confirmed that they were all here, the peers and politicians, the literati and the artists, the men whose hour was upon them and those whose hour was nearly past. Peeresses and very rich misses hung lightly on their arms, their brilliancy of gown contrasting with the Brummellian starkness of the gentlemen, their eyes darting here and there in the quest to see and be seen. Music swelled from the ballroom beyond. The mingled sounds of voices and music were deafening.
Darcy turned back to Bingley and smiled wryly into the overawed expression on his friend’s face. Of course it would be daunting to a young man as unaffected as Charles! Darcy experienced a pang of uncertainty as to the wisdom of his plan, but it was much too late for reconsideration. The butler was, even now, announcing them.
Lady Melbourne broke from a group and advanced upon them with a smile long praised for its warmth if not for its sincerity. “Mr. Darcy, how absolutely delightful!” She extended her elegantly gloved hand, which he took smoothly and bowed. “Sefton,” she called over her shoulder. “See, he has come, though you vowed he would not!” Lord Sefton sketched Darcy a curt, apologetic bow.
“Your servant, Darcy,” the founder of the Four-in-Hand Club drawled. “Just trying to prevent the lady from suffering a disappointment. ’Sides, you never do come, leastways not till now.”
“Hush, Sefton, you shall make him think we do nothing but gossip, and that is not entirely true.” Lady Melbourne flashed her famous dark eyes up at Darcy and smiled. “We find any number of ways to amuse ourselves, Mr. Darcy, and many of them are here tonight for the enjoying.” She took his arm, at the same moment noticing Bingley, who had been standing mute behind him. “Oh, pray excuse me, sir! A friend of yours, Mr. Darcy?”
“Indeed. May I have the honor of introducing him to Your Ladyship?” At her curious nod, Darcy made the introduction. To his relief, Charles appeared to have roused himself from his wonder at the surroundings to the point that he was able to receive the lady’s hand with creditable grace.
“Mr. Bingley, you must take every opportunity to enjoy yourself tonight. There is dancing in the ballroom, cards in several rooms off the hall…” She paused. Darcy could see her quickly summing up Charles and assigning him a position among her ranks of acquaintances. Where will she place him? he wondered, which was followed by the more pertinent question, And where, tonight, does she place me? “But if your tastes run, as do your friend’s, to the philosophical and political, my son Lamb is entertaining the more scholarly of our guests in the Blue Room. Now, where may I introduce you?”
“Lady Melbourne, you are very kind.” Bingley bowed again to his hostess, then looked uncertainly at Darcy. “I hardly know where to begin…”
“Then allow me to choose for you, Mr. Bingley.” She turned and, after appraising those near her, gracefully lifted her fan and motioned to a young woman who immediately excused herself from her distinguished companion and came to her. “My dear Miss Cecil, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Bingley, a particular friend of our Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley, Miss Cecil, grandniece to the marquess of Salisbury, Hertfordshire.” Darcy watched as Bingley made his bow, wishing the young woman were better known to him. She curtsied prettily to his friend and to him, but there was a haughtiness in her air he could not like, although she was a very well-looking woman.
“Miss Cecil” — Bingley’s open smile set about working its usual charm — “should you like to dance or —”
“Of course she wishes to dance, Mr. Bingley; do you not, my dear?” Lady Melbourne smiled archly at Miss Cecil, who, quickly exchanging a glance with Her Ladyship, nodded her agreement and took Bingley’s proffered arm.
“Then dance we shall, Miss Cecil, if you will be so kind as to show me the way. Darcy,” he tossed over his shoulder to his friend, “you shall have to do without me. Good luck! Lady Melbourne.” He bowed and was soon lost in the crowd of guests, leaving Darcy with no doubt that he had been expertly outmaneuvered and wondering where, in Heaven’s name, Dy had gotten himself.
“There, Darcy, your young friend is well engaged.” Lady Melbourne lightly rapped his arm with her fan. “Now you need no longer play nurse to the charming puppy and may amuse yourself with no encumbrance.” She looked up at him, then, from under lowered lashes. “And what does amuse you, Darcy? Sefton was quite right; you never do come. Yet you are here! I wonder what could be the reason.”
“The reason, dear lady, is as plain as a pikestaff,” a voice intoned from behind her. Darcy’s left brow shot up as a splendid figure in the glossiest of black frock coats and the snowiest of starched linen came to stand before them. A circle of onlookers immediat
ely formed while the man proceeded to favor Darcy with a minute scrutiny, one hand held behind his back as the other cupped his chin, the index finger tapping his cheek.
“And that reason is —” Lady Melbourne began but was cut off with a swiftly upraised palm.
“Hisssst, I must have quiet, madam!”
Her Ladyship rolled her eyes at Darcy in apology, but his attention was wholly upon his examiner, whom he watched with narrowed hauteur. The silence demanded by Society’s unchallenged arbiter of Fashion spread outward, catching the notice of more and more of the other guests. Darcy drew himself up even straighter, determined not to reveal his distaste for this display to the man’s insolent gaze or deliver the setdown that hovered on his tongue, either of which he knew would be a deadly error. Even the prince submitted to the man’s exquisite taste.
“Hmm,” the man commented as he looked at Darcy from one side, then the other. Then, suddenly, “What!” and he stepped closer, peering through a gold-handled quizzing glass, which had dangled from a fob at his waistcoat. “Ah, yes, I see!” Heaving a great sigh, the man retreated a pace and finally looked into Darcy’s face. “What is it called?”
Darcy’s lips twitched briefly at the resignation in the man’s voice, but he retained his stony aspect, replying indifferently, “The Roquet.”
The other’s brows rose at that. “Rather a bold name, wouldn’t you say? Fletcher?”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “Fletcher.”
“Come now, Brummell, do not keep us all in suspense.” Dy’s welcome voice reached Darcy, who turned to see him shoulder his way to where they stood. “More than a few guineas are put down on this. What is the verdict, man?”
The entire room gasped in astonishment as the Beau offered Darcy a deep obeisance. “Let it be known: the Roquet is a masterpiece, worthy of the highest acclaim, and in the face of such genius, I hereby place my own creation, the Sphinx, in honorable retirement.”
“Surely, Brummell, you do not mean to say that Mr. Darcy has come merely to issue challenge to your cravat!” Lady Melbourne’s protest was almost lost in the general shouts at the Beau’s astonishing concession and the totting up of guineas lost or won by it.
“But that is precisely what I mean, ma’am.” Brummell lazily turned his quizzing glass upon her. “Although I could not attach the term merely to such a matter. I am quite cast down, Your Ladyship, quite cast down. My one consolation is that I have been bested by a true artist. Do observe, ma’am, the foldings here and the knot thus —”
“Brummell, if you wish to conduct a lesson, I will gladly put a room at your disposal, but Mr. Darcy —”
The Beau turned and surprised Darcy with a wink only he could see, saying, “Heavens no, Your Ladyship! If I spilled all I knew, who would pay me the least attention thereafter?” He bowed to them both, intoned “Your servant, Darcy,” and sauntered away, only to stop suddenly before a gentleman and in a few moments declaim, “My dear fellow, you call that a waistcoat?”
Lady Melbourne laughed lightly and drew Darcy’s arm to her once again. “I had not thought you a rival of Brummell’s, Darcy. How is it that I have not heard of this before? And who is Fletcher?”
“Rival I most certainly am not, Your Ladyship,” he answered forcefully. The appreciative look that she returned him on this declaration caused a flush to begin creeping up his collar.
She looked away, as if determining a route through the crowded room. “And Fletcher?” The smile she turned back upon him was one of polite interest only.
“My valet, ma’am.”
“Yes, of course.” She indicated a direction, and Darcy could not but escort her. Out of nowhere, Dy fell in beside them.
“Lady Melbourne, please allow me to say what a shocking crush you have accomplished tonight! It but lacks the regent’s presence to be the biggest ‘do’ since the fete at Carlton House.”
“Brougham, you exaggerate obscenely, but I forgive you for it. I hope you will not be disappointed when I tell you that dear Prinny will not be coming tonight, and further that I have resisted furnishing my guests with a fish-stocked stream down the length of my table.”
Brougham’s face fell dramatically. “Ma’am, I had not heard! But this news is most distressing. Darcy, did you hear? The prince is not to come —”
“Darcy,” the lady interrupted, turning her attention back to him, “were you at the fete at Carlton House? I do not recall you there, but in such a confusion one can easily miss even one’s greatest friends.”
“No, ma’am, I was not in London at the time.”
“Not in London! I distinctly remember you accompanying me to the Grand Review only days before,” Dy said, looking at him curiously over the top of Lady Melbourne’s headdress.
“I was in Ramsgate…visiting my sister, my lord.” Darcy returned him a hard stare, hoping to discourage further discussion.
“Visiting your sister, Darcy, instead of attending the prince’s fete!” Lady Melbourne looked up at him closely. “What an uncommonly attentive brother you are! But that is your reputation, sir. You are attentive to all your concerns, as was your dear father before you.”
Darcy bowed his head in acknowledgment of her compliment. “That is high praise indeed, my lady.”
“I wonder, sir, are you attentive as well to the broader concerns?”
Chill fingers of warning played down Darcy’s back and were only heightened by the slight narrowing of Dy’s eyes above the lady’s head. “Broader concerns, ma’am?”
“Concerns that lay beyond the charming borders of Pemberley, beyond even Derbyshire.”
“I hope I am a good and loyal subject of the king, my lady,” Darcy hedged. He looked again to his friend, but Dy only shrugged and appeared exceedingly bored.
“As are we all, Darcy,” Lady Melbourne replied smoothly. “But the tiller is not in His Majesty’s hands alone, and at times, the course of the ship of state must be amended, different stars followed, to bring it safely to port.” She stopped their progress through the guest-thronged hall and indicated a door that opened from it. “Let me introduce you to some of those whose broad concerns encompass all our smaller ones.”
The door cracked open upon Lady Melbourne’s soft knock, and while she conducted a whispered exchange with the servant who stood within, Darcy cocked a brow at Dy in indication that now would be an excellent time to bring his vaunted social acumen to bear and forestall their proceeding any further into Her Ladyship’s toils. But as his friend was unaccountably absorbed in a study of the lace at his cuff and returned him no answer, there appeared to be nothing for it. So, frowning in irritation, Darcy reluctantly crossed the threshold into the room when it opened for them.
The handsome salon into which they were admitted was not overly crowded, but it was decidedly masculine in its occupation; not a single female was present save their hostess. Lady Melbourne smiled at Darcy reassuringly as she held out her hand to a gentleman who was nodding to the servant she had sent. The man’s eyes narrowed as he observed them at the door, but he moved quickly enough to Her Ladyship’s side. “Lady Melbourne,” he greeted her tersely with a tight smile and short bow.
“Lamb,” the lady addressed her son, her smile wide but somewhat brittle, “are you acquainted with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Derbyshire?”
The Honorable William Lamb allowed himself another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am, although not so well as I should like. Your servant, sir.” He bowed to Darcy. Darcy returned the courtesy, shocked that he had not recognized the man. The years since he had attended Lamb’s marriage ceremony had not, evidently, been kind ones, leaving a man Darcy knew to be his senior by only four years looking much worn.
“I am certain you know Lord Brougham,” Lady Melbourne continued, “as he is always here, there, and about.”
“Yes, of course, Your Ladyship. It was that shooting party of Grenville’s the last time, wasn’t it, Lamb?”
“I believe you are right, Brougham. Caught nothing but a cold
that day, but marvelous geography, as I remember.” Lamb’s features relaxed somewhat at the memory but cooled again before he turned pointedly to his parent, saying, “Madam, you must not neglect the rest of your guests. I shall take these two in hand.”
The flash of fire in her eyes was unmistakable. “Then I shall leave you to it!” Lady Melbourne curtsied, and in a swirl of skirts left them.
“A formidable lady,” Dy murmured as they watched her leave.
“Indeed!” Lamb returned with feeling. “But now, gentlemen, I must ask you a question: Did you seek us out” — his hand swept the room — “or were you press-ganged by Her Ladyship?” Dy chuckled at the allusion but made no answer, leaving Darcy to smooth their way.
“Lady Melbourne is not a woman I should wish to gainsay.” Darcy hesitated, then added wryly, “Even were I given the opportunity.”
A genuine smile then spread across Lamb’s features. He offered his hand to Darcy. “Well said, sir, and quite politic of you! Perhaps you are in the right place after all! But, in truth, you have come tonight to hear the diva my mother has promised, not to argue politics; is that not so?”
Darcy took his hand in a firm grasp. “You have it, sir, although I am not uninterested in the ‘broader concerns’ as Her Ladyship described them. Rather, I believe we should find ourselves on opposite sides of the room on many issues.”
“The Darcys were ever a Tory lot,” Lamb groused in jest. I suppose there is no hope of you throwing for Canning against Castlereagh? I thought not!” he concluded at Darcy’s polite grimace. “And I know far better than to solicit Brougham here, who has as much interest in politics as does a fence post.” Dy’s answering bow elegantly acknowledged Lamb’s perspicacity in the matter. “Ah well, it is all one with the events of the day. You have heard that our illustrious regent will not appear tonight?”
“Lady Melbourne said as much,” Darcy replied. “The duties of state have commanded his attention, no doubt.”
