by Blake Smith
Everyone in Scarborough was there, their voices rising and falling in a low clamor of unintelligible murmurs as people greeted their hosts and talked to their friends, and occasional joyful exclamation rising above the din. They sparkled under the light of the enormous chandelier hanging over their heads, the ladies’ pale dresses nearly glowing in contrast to the gentlemen’s dark coats. The hall was redolent with the scents of beeswax from the candles and flowers from the garlands that hung over the staircase and every doorway.
Anne loved it. She had too little experience with beautiful things- Rosings was magnificent rather than pretty- to be unaffected by the sight, and it was only when Lady Catherine nudged her that she recalled her surroundings and was able to follow her mother to greet their hosts.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Miss Bingley, stood in a little line beside the staircase, graciously greeting everyone who passed by, which of course was everyone. Anne saw nothing to blush for in their appearance, though each was rather too bedecked with jewelry and lace than was to her taste. Mr. Hurst’s attire bore nearly as much decoration as his lady’s dress, and his shirt points lay against his cheeks. But that was the fashion in many circles, Anne reminded herself as she curtsied to Mrs. Hurst and shook hands with Miss Bingley.
Everyone said what was civil, and Miss Bingley volunteered that Georgiana was “around here somewhere. I saw her but a moment ago, talking with some friends,” which was not overly helpful but reassured Anne that no disaster had befallen her cousin.
Wishing to make an entrance, Lady Catherine had delayed their arrival, and it was only moments after they stepped through the door that the dancing was announced and there began a mass exodus toward the ballroom. Anne went reluctantly, her steps slowing at the thought of what awaited her.
Dance with him and be done with it, she scolded herself. You’ve lived long enough in the world that you can dance with a man without showing him any particular approval- or even civility.
This was all sensible enough, but could not stop her from looking away from Sir Henry as he happened to catch her eye across the room, nor from hunching her shoulders and looking at no object but the tessellated floor as they took their places.
Sir Henry pressed her hand. “Something is wrong, Miss de Bourgh; I can see by your countenance. What is it?”
This remark would have been acceptable had it come from any other person in the world, but Anne gritted her teeth. His manner, his tone, his expression, all indicated that he wished to hear a tale of sadness and woe from her lips, and that he would take great pleasure in anything that distressed her. He did not wish to hear of her discontentment for the purpose of fixing a problem she faced, or allowing her the comfort of unburdening her heart to a sympathetic friend; he only wanted to hear her admit that she was unhappy.
But the only other course open to her was to smile as brightly as she was able, and pretend that he did not disturb her in the slightest. Anne considered it, but any outward appearance of happiness would be seen by onlookers, and be taken as a sign that Anne was pleased by Sir Henry’s attentions.
He had a knack for placing her in uncomfortable and distressing situations. Perhaps a woman of stronger character would be able to give him a firm set-down- or more likely, many of them- and thereby alter his manners into something more respectable. But Anne knew herself unequal to the task, and could only say coolly, “I am very well, thank you. I am watching the other dancers; I know this dance, but not very well, and I would not wish to be moving wrongly.”
She had not thought there was anything in those few sentences that could provoke him to behave badly, but she was wrong. It was their turn to dance, and instead of performing the steps quietly and soberly, Sir Henry took the opportunity of adding his own flourishes, moving a single jarring beat faster than the music, even moving the wrong way at times.
But Anne was in fact, extremely good at this particular dance, and was able to account for her partner’s mistakes.
Deliberate mistakes, she noted, having caught a glimpse of something hard and cold in Sir Henry’s eyes as he attempted to provoke her into slavishly copying him, and therefore moving incorrectly. It was a piece of rudeness that she had not expected even from him, and she was divinely thankful that he was making a fool only of himself.
The ballroom was not large, as it was ordinarily the drawing room and dining room, separated by folding doors, and as a consequence of its size, Anne was able to hear the surprised whispers of the other guests. No words reached her ears, merely the low indistinguishable murmurs of Scarborough society. She wished to believe that they were talking of subjects other than her and her disagreeable partner, but it was likely a false hope.
The dance was finally over, and the next was more agreeable only because it was a Boulanger; the dancers formed into a line each of men and women, and there were so many couples that had any moved wrongly, they would have run headlong into the person on their left or right. So Sir Henry could not continue with his attempts to provoke her.
Anne had never felt such relief in her life as the moment she was able to leave behind Sir Henry. Mr. Darcy found her a moment later and claimed her attention for the two next, looking down at her with a grim countenance as they found their places.
“Anne, you look unhappy,” Mr. Darcy said in his usual blunt way. “Has something happened to distress you?”
She attempted a smile. “You are frowning at me very fearsomely, Mr. Darcy.”
“I beg your pardon,” he excused himself. “But I mean that you seemed unhappy with your last partner. He is not a man I recognize.”
She had no idea if Mr. Darcy would understand her feelings on the matter. Sir Henry’s manners- though not his conduct of the last few minutes- might be more to his taste that it was to Anne’s. “Sir Henry Thornton is his name. He was a friend of my mother and father, I believe. He is recently returned from India, where he made his fortune.”
“And promptly reclaimed an acquaintance with your family.”
“Yes; my mother likes him.”
Mr. Darcy eyed her, no doubt attempting to hear what Anne did not wish to say in a ballroom. “Do you dislike him?”
So much for discretion. She gave a tiny nod.
“Would you like for me to speak to him? I would not ordinarily presume so far, but since you have no father and no brothers, a cousin must do.”
“You are kind to offer, but no. He has done nothing… wrong, precisely. I think I caused him some small offense; that would account for his behavior during our dances. But he is not usually so ill-mannered. Our temperaments are merely unalike.”
He nodded pensively. “Sometimes a match between two different characters can be quite happy, if the principles of each party are alike. In other times, such a match can be very unhappy indeed.” They had reached the top of the dance, and Mr. Darcy could only say, before they were obliged to separate, “You must do what you think is right.”
Anne could only be pleased that Mr. Darcy had not encouraged her to refer the matter to Lady Catherine. Perhaps his own experience with acting contrary to her advice had taught him to value her counsel less than previously.
They did not speak again of the matter, and Anne was able to dance without thinking of anything more distressing than the thinness of her slippers on the ballroom floor and the possibility that she might fall victim to dripping wax from the candles of the chandelier over her head.
Her next two dances, with Mr. Caverleigh, were unexceptional. She surreptitiously looked about the room for Mr. Jeffries, wondering if he might be in some quiet corner, but to no avail. Fortunately, Mr. Caverleigh did not seem to mind her slight inattention.
But the dance must come to an end. Not wanting to be accosted by irksome persons, Anne hid herself among a group of giggling acquaintances. She was not an intimate friend of any of them, but there was among them a Miss Stowe who seemed to look upon Anne as the pattern of good manners, and took any chance to be seen in her company.
Anne
did not particularly like Miss Stowe, who, though extremely rich, was of low origins and little breeding. But she did not object to her company if it helped hide her from the notice of others.
She could not hide forever, of course. The dance changed, and all of the girls of their group save Anne were claimed by their partners. Anne grimaced, resigned to searching for another party in which she could hide.
Perhaps she could flee the ballroom altogether, at least for a moment. Yes, she required refreshment. And how lucky- the refreshment room could not be reached from the ballroom; she must go out into the hall.
She had nearly gained the door when Sir Henry stepped directly into her path. Foiled! Anne was too well-mannered to show her seething resentment, and greeted him with cool civility.
Her tone had no effect on Sir Henry, who bowed, answered her greeting, and asked, “Will you dance the two next with me?”
She was ready with an answer. “I beg your pardon, but I must ask to be excused. I do not think my strength equal to more dancing this evening.” She gave a bright, false smile. “Shall I introduce you to some other lady? I do not want you to be deprived of the pleasure of dancing.”
“Thank you, no. I believe I see your mother beckoning to me.”
“Oh, of course you must go and see what Lady Catherine desires,” Anne said, and before Sir Henry could suggest she accompany him, she walked off in the direction of the refreshment room. Her weariness was not fully feigned; the room was quite warm and she was determined to procure a glass of lemonade.
No sooner had she stepped out of the ballroom than she quite literally ran into Mr. Jeffries. He flung out one arm to catch her; she would have crashed to the floor without his support. “I beg your pardon-” they said as one, then stopped and stared at each other.
He was the first to speak. “How do you do, Miss de Bourgh?” he asked, with evident delight. “I am very glad to see you, though I hope I have not injured you.” They moved as one to a spot that would not block the way of other people, and he quickly looked her up and down as if he might be able to divine any hurts she might have taken.
“Oh, no, I am quite well,” she hastened to assure him, hardly aware of what she was saying. After the past few hours of searching and waiting, she’d given up hope of finding him, yet here he was, looking no worse for having spent nearly six weeks attending his invalid relations and looking after the estate.
He looked very fine in his ball-dress; she could not recall if she’d previously seen him wearing such attire. His eyes looked very green when contrasted with his black coat and white shirt, and when she allowed herself a single minute glance at his stocking-clad calves, she highly approved of what she saw.
But he was smiling down at her, and though he seemed content in this attitude, some conversation was necessary, lest any passersby think them very singular.
“How long since your return?” she asked. She could not, with propriety, say that she had looked for him, but, “I did not see you among your guests until this moment.”
“I arrived barely an hour ago, but I could not stay away from such a gathering as this. I must say,” he briefly looked around the hall, “poor old Number Eight looks better than I’ve ever seen it.”
“It does look very fine,” she agreed, happy for a safe topic of conversation. “I believe Mrs. Hurst has been working day and night to make everything perfect.”
He darted a quick, amused glance at her. “And did you assist them?”
“Only with the invitations, and soothing the ladies of the house when preparations became too much for their nerves.”
“The perfect task- you are of such a calm temper that you must likewise calm anyone in your presence.”
Anne smiled at the compliment; it was precisely the sort of odd but gentle thing she’d grown accustomed to hearing from him. “My time has not been completely engaged in such endeavors,” she said, unaccountably wishing to share her small triumphs with him. She knew he would not laugh at her. “I believe I have spent more time out of doors in the past six weeks that I have at any previous point in my life. I am determined to see the ruins of Scarborough Hill.”
His attention was caught by this, and it was with a smile of genuine pleasure that he asked, “Have you seen them? I like the castle very much, and the view from the top of the hill is rather spectacular.”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “I believe I am now strong enough to ascend the hill, but I could not bring myself to do so without my friends around me, and they none of them have had time to accompany me.”
He nodded at this and was silent.
Anne saw what was in his mind. “I do not think I shall attempt it tomorrow- not after so much dancing and so little rest- but perhaps the day after. Shall you be one of the party?”
His smile returned. “I would like that very much. In the meantime, are you engaged to dance?” he asked, gently gesturing in the direction of the ballroom.
If only he had asked her to dance a mere five minutes ago! By now, everyone knew that she would dance no more that evening, courtesy of Sir Henry and Lady Catherine, who would certainly speak loudly enough to be heard by the rest of the chaperones. She could not, with propriety, go back on her decision, even for a friend such as Mr. Jeffries.
She said something of the like to Mr. Jeffries, and the sight of his disappointment was disappointing to her in turn. She did not like to see him unhappy. “I am terribly sorry,” she repeated. “I would have liked to dance again, and with you.”
“But I would not wish for you to incur a scolding from your mother, or the censure of the dowagers of Scarborough,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we may instead sit together and talk?”
“I would like that,” Anne said, relieved at this alternate plan. “though I am sure Mrs. Hurst will require you to dance at least once, with her sister or some friend who has no partner.”
“If I must, I shall,” he said as they entered the ballroom. “I do not like to disappoint any lady by failing to observe the proprieties. But I think my time will be better spent in talking to you.” They found two unoccupied chairs and were seated. “Shall I tell you of my time in Berkshire? It is a beautiful place.”
Anne expressed her eagerness to hear of Salford Hall and its inhabitants, and was not disappointed. Mr. Jeffries was interested in all aspects of the estate, from the park to the gardens to the cottages in which the tenants lived, and was even more delighted to share his enthusiasm with an audience. For the rest of the ball, nearly four hours, they talked of what they had been doing since their separation, with only two interruptions- going in to supper and the intrusion of Mrs. Hurst, who, as Anne predicted, required Mr. Jeffries to dance with some young lady with whom he had a slight acquaintance.
Anne saw him off on this errand with amusement and a touch of relief. She wanted nothing more than to talk to Mr. Jeffries for the rest of the night, but such singular conduct would be noticed and remarked upon. She would not have it said that either was uncivil.
When he returned, it was nearly two in the morning, and Anne was weary. A cup of tea had kept her from falling asleep in her chair, but it was nearly time to leave, and they had only a short time together, during which he told her what to expect from the castle ruins atop Scarborough Hill. His description of the blasted tower and the keep fired her imagination. She was determined to see it for herself, to stand where handsome knights and beautiful ladies had once stood, and look out over both land and sea.
Together, they painted a vivid picture of those long-ago inhabitants, and by the time Lady Catherine came to fetch her away, Anne’s little scheme had been taken up by Mr. Jeffries, Georgiana, Miss Bingley, and the Darcys. It promised to be a fine party of explorers.
The clock was chiming three when Anne crawled into bed. For an evening that began so poorly, it ended rather well, she thought.
Then she was asleep.
CHAPTER Eighteen
The next day was the worst of her life. She slept until noon, and woke
a little sore from the exertions of the evening. Walking, though very good exercise, was a different sort of exercise from dancing. Anne expected to sleep late and to be sore of limb, and was not troubled by either circumstance. She dressed in one of her favorite morning dresses, a fine little gown of figured muslin, and smiled when Harris said of the dress, “I’ll have to let this one out sooner rather than later; you’ve grown plumper of late. It does my heart good so see you looking so healthy.”
To a lady wishing to reduce her size, this would not have been very gratifying, but Anne had always been so thin that she took the compliment as it was intended.
She went down and ate a small breakfast as was her habit, and regaled Mrs. Jenkinson with stories of the ball. Once that good lady was absolutely certain Anne had not caught a chill, or been overtired by the excitement, she was a pleasant companion, asking many questions about the decorations, the ladies’ attire, who had danced most gracefully, and so on. Anne was able to answer most of her questions without too much trouble, and finally ventured a confidence.
“Do you remember Mr. Jeffries?” she asked, quite casually. “Mr. Hurst’s brother.” She casually glanced at the doorway; there was no sign of Lady Catherine.
“Oh, yes; I remember,” was the reply. “I thought him a fine gentleman, and he seemed a good friend to you.”
Anne agreed that this was true. “He was away for the past few weeks, assisting with business at his uncle’s estate, but he returned yesterday in time for the ball.”
Mrs. Jenkinson smiled. “Did you dance with him?”
“No,” she admitted. “He arrived late, and I did not see him before I decided to stop dancing for the evening. We sat together and talked of Salford Hall. It seems a good estate, besides being rather pretty. Mr. Jeffries takes a keen interest in the managing of it.”
She could not say bluntly that she liked him very much, but Mrs. Jenkinson seemed to understand. “Think you that he will call today?”
“I hope so,” Anne said, rather more fervently than was proper. “But he might not,” she said, recalling herself. “Lady Catherine dislikes him, and has made it clear to him. Though I cannot see what he has done to offend her.”
