A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  “We ought to get up if we are to dine before we go to Almack’s,” he said.

  “My love, I cannot make you go to such a place tonight.”

  “You must go – you gave your word to Countess Esterházy. And therefore I must go.”

  “I could go without you. I believe it is not uncommon for married women to attend without their husbands.”

  “Yes, in those marriages where the husbands and wives lead separate lives,” he said, “but ours is not such and I hope it never will be. Through all of last year, through my most difficult times, you have been there for me, and tonight I will be there for you, my love.”

  “We will be there for each other,” she said, rising.

  She turned to kiss him, and before she could leave, he laid his hand gently on her wrist and said, “wait, I have something for you, before you go up.”

  Elizabeth might have expected a gift of jewellery, for in the ongoing process of resetting the Darcy family jewels, he was periodically giving her exquisitely reset pieces. Yet he had already deposited a topaz set with Hadley’s, their jewellers, when in town with Anne, and had presented the updated pieces to her before the Castlereaghs’s dinner. So she waited in curiosity as he opened the door to his desk and did indeed produce another box from Hadley’s, giving it over to her and saying, “I saw this when I went to pick up the last set, and I could not resist. I thought it perfect for you.”

  Elizabeth opened the box carefully, to find that he was entirely right. Inside was a most delicate festoon necklace with a matching pair of earrings, and the particular glitter of the stones told of their being rose-cut diamonds, not mere paste. The only thing that could mar such a piece was the thought of the cost, which must have been tremendous. When she raised her head to speak of it, though, she caught the trepidation in his countenance, which could only come from sudden fear that she did not find them as perfect as he had thought.

  “I have never seen such a beautiful set,” she whispered, on the verge of returning to tears. “Thank you, my love, they could not be more perfect, and I will be very proud to wear them tonight. I believe they will be just the thing to arm myself against the ton.”

  He smiled warmly. “I cannot say I had thought of them for such a purpose, although I suppose they will fill that role very well. I thought when I saw them that they should compliment the lustre of your eyes.”

  Elizabeth blushed and cast down those eyes, until he laid his finger under her chin and tilted it back up. “Do not deprive me of them now,” he murmured. “I hope the diamonds shall serve both of our purposes, but perhaps yours is the more useful. Use them as your armour against the ton. Indeed, I hope they will always remind you of this time – and particularly of my unceasing love for you.”

  This did prompt Elizabeth’s return to tears, and she tilted her head up still further, to kiss him deeply.

  +++

  Despite her new jewels, Elizabeth could not feel particularly enthusiastic about the ball that evening. Sarah, however, not privy to what troubled her employer, had enthusiasm to spare, and she had readied what seemed her favourite of the new ball gowns, as well as jewellery, slippers, and hair ornaments. The dress was yellow silk, heavily trimmed about the bosom and cut in tight just below it, flaring out to a much wider skirt than Elizabeth was used to, also heavily trimmed. Sarah gasped when Elizabeth opened the box from Hadley’s, and immediately agreed the new diamonds should be used in place of the set that had formed her plans. She suggested keeping things simple for Elizabeth’s hair, with such a dress and jewellery, and Elizabeth agreed readily; she could hardly be brought to care about such a thing on such a night, but moreover she realised Sarah was now plying her trade to the extent that it was art, and an artist ought to be allowed her vision.

  Sarah’s vision, when finally it descended the stairs to the entrance-hall, was an intricate but non-voluminous coiffure, accented with a pearl hair comb and three little feathers, an acknowledgement of the larger ones many ladies would no doubt be wearing, but of a delicate refinement Elizabeth liked so well she did not care if it was not found to be fashionable, for it had become her own preference as soon as she had seen it.

  It had an effect on her husband, at least, for his visage upon seeing her seemed to indicate that she had – at least temporarily – put his worries out of his mind in favour of admiration for his wife, and he said, “You, my love, look positively stunning.”

  “It is all your jewellery and Kelly’s handiwork. I am fortunate her family are our tenants, now, so she has very strong ties to our family, otherwise I fear someone will try to steal her from me.”

  He smiled. “They may try, but let us hope they do not succeed. I suppose you are going to ask me to increase her wages again, and I would believe them well-earned at five guineas a year more. The hair is particularly inspired. It shows off your eyes remarkably, particularly with the diamonds – I am pleased to see I was right about them, although neither the diamonds nor your maid could achieve this effect without such a foundation to build upon.”

  Elizabeth smiled, blushing a little under the heat of such an admiring gaze. “You are looking very handsome as well, although rather old-fashioned. I cannot recall the last time I have seen you in knee breeches in the evening.”

  “I feel rather old-fashioned, but rules are rules.”

  “Trousers are against the rules?”

  “They are, as is arriving after eleven, so we had best be going.”

  Elizabeth suffered a moment’s panic that something in her attire might be against these sacred rules of Almack’s, which she had never paid any attention to, then settled herself with the thought that surely Sarah would have researched them in advance. And upon their arrival, Elizabeth was greeted with great warmth by Countess Esterházy, who immediately said, “Oh, look at you – beautiful, simply beautiful. The hair and the necklace, I adore.” The countess, of more voluptuous proportions than Elizabeth, and very much able to put them to good display, was equally deserving of compliments on that evening, and Elizabeth candidly gave them.

  She was introduced by the countess to a great many people, including the only other patroness present, Lady Jersey, gave promises for dances to several men, and found Lady Tonbridge also present, as well as those newer acquaintances she had exchanged calls with in the course of the previous week. Darcy remained with her, through these events – their promised quadrille was to start soon – but mostly stayed quietly by her side, and on this night, Elizabeth would not fault him for it. Eventually, though, he signalled to an acquaintance across the room, and Elizabeth was startled to realise it was her aunt.

  “Lady E – Lady Brandon! Whatever is she doing here? I did not think this to be the sort of place she preferred.”

  “Not generally, but I asked if she might attend in support of you.”

  Feeling exceedingly grateful to them both, Elizabeth smiled across the room to her aunt and curtseyed, but any further greetings were made to wait, for the quadrille was called. It was a new dance to Elizabeth, but she found it simpler than the waltz and had a natural lightness of foot that brought her easily through the entrechats. Darcy could also have remarkable lightness of foot for his height when he made the effort, and tonight he was making the effort – for her, Elizabeth presumed, rather than any enjoyment of the evening or the dance.

  When the quadrille had ended, the Darcys walked over to greet their aunt more thoroughly. She was dressed in her usual elegance, and there was something almost ageless about her, as she stood there conversing with the little crowd that had formed around her, that made Elizabeth recall Lady Tonbridge’s description of the woman who had come out into society before her. What must Lady Ellen Montfort have looked like, in a different time and a different dress, but perhaps in these very rooms?

  Elizabeth had no chance for further ruminations, for her aunt made some indication of her intention to greet her family and smoothly left the group around her to approach her nephew and niece: “How are you tonigh
t, my dear? You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, as do you,” said Elizabeth.

  “Fitzwilliam, you cannot stay by your wife’s side the whole night, although I am sure she appreciates the effort. People will begin to wonder why you cannot leave her,” Lady Ellen said. “Leave her to me now and go find your uncle – I presume he has gone to hide in the card-room.”

  With a look of sheepish relief, Darcy left them in pursuit of the card-room, where he might play quietly or watch quietly, although his departure came only after he had done the gentlemanly act of procuring glasses of lemonade for the two ladies.

  Elizabeth sipped at hers and was surprised. She had not thought lemonade could be made into such a weak, insipid beverage.

  Lady Ellen smiled, just slightly, at her reaction. “Spend enough time here, and you will find much more has the appearance of quality, without the actual quality.”

  “May I presume this is not a favourite place of yours? I had wondered, when Georgiana came out into society, that you were not eager to bring her here, as – as her other aunt was.”

  “No. I come here as infrequently as I can help, and were it up to me, Georgiana would not have come, particularly not in her first season. I did not want my niece to have a marriage mart marriage.”

  “That she did not have,” said Elizabeth, and then her heart fell. “I do not believe you will have been told of her latest letters.”

  “No, pray tell, how is she?”

  “Some months in the family way when she left Bombay, which means she is likely to have had the child by now.”

  “Oh, the poor dear,” Lady Ellen said, looking stunned, but continuing, “I pray childbirth does not take another woman from this family. I could not bear it. It must be particularly hard on my nephew. He always did take his responsibilities too seriously, and I cannot believe he has given up that responsibility in his mind, even if he has done so legally.”

  Elizabeth smiled faintly. “No, no he has not. I tried to offer to let him stay home tonight – I am glad at least that you are here, so he may have a little respite in the card-room. And I must thank you for coming in support of me, particularly if this is not how you would prefer to spend an evening.”

  “It is nothing, my dear. You are family.”

  They might have conversed further, but they were approached by the Duke of Rougham and Baron de Neumann, the latter of whom Elizabeth had promised the next set of country dances. The duke’s aim was to ask Lady Brandon for the same dances, and Elizabeth watched this interaction curiously, for the duke was of an age to have known Lady Ellen Montfort, although time had not treated him nearly so well as Lady Brandon. The dance was agreed to, although with some reserve on the lady’s part.

  This reserve melted away when Lord Brandon and Darcy returned to dance the next dance, the waltz, with their wives. Elizabeth had always enjoyed the waltz, although she did not think she would like it so well with some other man’s hands in the places her husband’s were presently. Aside from this intimacy, the dance allowed them the opportunity to speak with the nearest thing to privacy that could be had in a ballroom, and he inquired with great solicitousness on whether she was well, receiving a favourable response.

  “And how has your evening been? Have you and Lord Brandon won or lost, at the card-tables?”

  “Lord Brandon never plays, and as for myself, I do not like to play when I am distracted.”

  “I know there has been much to distract you tonight.”

  “Perhaps that is good,” said he, squeezing her hand. “Otherwise I would have just remained in my study, worrying over my brandy, and as you have reminded me, spending my time in such a manner is no good for me. Nor would Georgiana wish me to do so.”

  They transitioned to the Sauteuse. “Whom are you to dance with next?” he asked.

  “I promised the next to the Comte de St. Antonio.”

  This intelligence did not seem to please him, but he said nothing.

  “You do not approve of him?”

  “He has a bit of a reputation as a rake, and you – you are in such looks tonight as to rack up a string of admirers.”

  “Oh dear, you had better put your hands in slightly more scandalous places, then, so my admirers know that a man who feels a rake’s desires towards one woman will always win out over a mere rake.”

  He chuckled softly and did as instructed.

  “And anyway, I believe Lady Ellen has a greater string of admirers than I. Did the Duke of Rougham court her?”

  “I hardly know. I was not in being, at the time, but I suppose there were few who did not court her, with her looks and her fortune.”

  They could speak no more, after this, for it came time for the Jetté, and Elizabeth had no breath aside from what the dance required.

  Lord and Lady Brandon and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy came back together after the dance had ended, and the men would supply their ladies with new glasses of weak lemonade before making their return to the card-room. The Comte de St. Antonio came to claim Elizabeth’s hand for the next dance – a reel – not long after this, and a silver-haired man Elizabeth did not know asked for her aunt’s hand. He was refused. “I am too old for a reel,” Lady Ellen said, but in a peculiar tone, and walked away from him.

  After Darcy’s reaction to her partner, Elizabeth was glad they were dancing a reel, rather than something that might require more contact, for the Comte was of an exceedingly handsome countenance and pleasing manners, and it was impossible to be completely impervious to his charms. The reel allowed for less conversation, as well, although the Comte made a valiant effort, and by the time the dance was over, Elizabeth was beginning to conclude he was less a rake and more a flirt, and had come to be amused by his endeavours to charm her.

  The dance was paired with another country dance, but Elizabeth found herself growing overheated and asked that they sit it out, which the Comte seemed to think due to his smouldering glances, rather than what Elizabeth presumed the true cause to be – that she was pregnant, and prone to overheating in such a place and after such a dance. With every possible gallantry, he led her to the edge of the ballroom, opened a window, procured a pair of chairs to place by the window, and brought her another glass of lemonade.

  “This is superiore for talking, anyway,” he said. “I hope you do not mind that I claim your company through the rest of this dance.”

  “No, not at all,” Elizabeth said, fanning herself.

  “Good. I should not like to be deprived of such delights. Now tell me, Mrs. Darcy, why it is that I have not seen you here before. I know it is that I have not seen you, for you are not a woman who could be forgotten.”

  “We have been in the country for much of this season and all of the last, after the birth of our sons.”

  “And how do you like Almack’s, now that you are here?”

  “Much better than I was expecting,” she said. “I am enjoying myself more than I had thought I would tonight. I had thought this place to be nothing more than a marriage mart.”

  “Ah, to many it is, but it is also where the cream of société comes to gather. Marriages are not the only alliances made here,” the Comte said, giving her a very particular look, the sort of look no-one other than her husband had ever given her.

  Elizabeth had begun to feel cooler, but felt the need to apply her fan again. She determined to approach matters directly in her response. “I have heard it said that you are a rake. How disappointing to find the rumours to be true.”

  “Rake! Such a harsh word!” the Comte exclaimed. “I would prefer to say I am a connoisseur of beautiful women. I see beauty before me, and I am honour-bound to pursue it.”

  “That seems a very peculiar sort of honour.”

  “I am Italian, madam. For me, honour and passion are intermingled.”

  “You would call yourself a passionate man?”

  “Oh yes, but of course.”

  Elizabeth fixed him with a dubious gaze. “In my experience, the most passionate men
are those who keep their feelings hidden, who have no capacity for idle flattery when the deepest current of love runs through them. They are not men who declare themselves immediately after one dance.”

  It was plain by his countenance that no-one had ever said such a thing to the Comte before, and for a moment his debonair mask entirely fell. He recovered impressively, though, smiling and saying, “If these passions run so deep, how is a lady ever to know of them?”

  “In time, like the water of a deep spring, they bubble forth, and then he may declare his ardent love.”

  “You, madam, are a singular creature, and your husband is a very fortunate man,” said the Comte, with a look of further admiration, but also of defeat. “Since I cannot have your heart, I shall claim one of these,” he said, plucking one of the feathers from her hair, tucking it into his waistcoat, and departing her company with a very deep bow.

  Elizabeth smiled wryly at his departure, murmured, “and I am a very fortunate woman,” and rose to go find female companionship, which was highly preferable to her now. She had enjoyed sporting with the Comte, but had no desire for an immediate repetition of such entertainments.

  She found her aunt in conversation with two other women of comparable age; they requested and were given an introduction to Mrs. Darcy, and then Lady Ellen said, “We had been wondering if you needed rescuing from the Comte de St. Antonio, but you seem to have extricated yourself.”

  “Yes,” laughed Elizabeth. “He is quite a determined flirt.”

  The conversation turned to fashion, for a time, and Elizabeth was roundly complimented on her hair and all she wore. Then Lady Tonbridge approached them, curtsied, and said to Elizabeth,

  “My dear, whatever did you say to the poor Comte? He claims you broke his heart.”

  “If I did, I daresay he will have got over it tolerably in a quarter-hour or so, once he finds a new object for his admirations,” replied Elizabeth. She suffered a moment’s panic in thinking that she had not taken care in her response, that she ought to have been guarded rather than letting her wit flow free amongst Lady Ellen’s friends. It provoked a strong round of laughter from her companions, however, and she returned to ease.