4
A month later
A grand Christmas ball was nigh, and the Selborns had invitations, including one for their son Cedric, and a spare. Now in his mid-twenties Cedric was affable, serious, handsome, yet his visit to Curzon Street was uncomfortable, for he did not fit in. Lord Selborn listened patiently to reports on their Hampshire estates, then ignored him. Lady Selborn’s aim was obviously to get him married. Justina said little to his face, and plenty behind his back. The trouble, Elizabeth realised, was that Cedric was conventional, having no ambition except to inherit the estate, raise a family, and make himself agreeable to neighbours. In other words, he was a typical country gentleman, akin to men she had known in Hertfordshire—worthy, but outshone by his influential parents and talented sister.
The great day approached, and Justina for once gave the pianoforte a rest while seeking a gown that would astound Almack’s. On her insistence the spare invitation had been offered to Elizabeth, whose ball gown was also at Madame Devy’s for alterations. Meanwhile, Lady Selborn had drawn up a list of debutantes, with notes on their families, dowries, and other attributes that Cedric should be aware of.
Elizabeth’s trial period had ended, with no worries over whether her role would continue. She had learned how to impress Lord Selborn—with much guidance from his wife. Whether she had steadied Justina was doubtful, but they had become inseparable, going out, playing, laughing, bickering, all day long. Piano practice was sacrosanct, but in the evenings Justina was prepared to play duets, or accompany Elizabeth as she sang. Together they entertained visitors from distinguished families; they had also called on the son and daughter of Lord Bathurst, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies. At concerts and the theatre Elizabeth sat at Justina’s side and exchanged whispered asides about the performance, or the people in the next box. All of this was paid for: she hardly needed her salary, and would give most of it to Mary, who in Jane’s absence was running the Meryton cottage.
Both Justina and Lady Selborn were interested in Elizabeth’s past. They knew now of Mrs Bennet’s nervous disposition, Mary’s preaching, Kitty’s scatterbrained pursuit of officers, Mr Collins’s absurdities. But of Lydia’s plight she never spoke. She had a new life, and the prospect of an exciting journey in the spring, when Lady Selborn and Justina were to accompany Lord Selborn on a diplomatic mission across the German Confederation. The last thing she wanted was to recall the shame and humiliation inflicted by Wickham and Darcy.
Near Almack’s Assembly Rooms was such a crush of carriages that the Selborns alighted in St James’s Street and proceeded on foot. Entering the main hall, Elizabeth was overawed by its splendour. The high walls had false columns, and blue satin curtains rising to the ceiling. Enormous chandeliers hung over the dancing arena, which was surrounded by divans and chairs upholstered in orange and crimson; the orchestra played from a raised gallery ten feet above the dancers.
No less daunting was the company. According to Lady Selborn, the hall would hold 600 on a regular Wednesday ball, but for the present occasion the committee favoured quality over quantity. From a secluded corner she pointed out the Duke of Wellington, the prime minister Lord Liverpool, and other members of the government. The prince regent was expected to arrive with Lady Hertford in time for supper.
A young gentleman approached, and Elizabeth recognised the honourable Seymour Bathurst, son of the Secretary for War and the Colonies. Just six months ago, as an ensign in Wellington’s army, the honourable Seymour had fought at Waterloo. Dressed now in military uniform, like the other war heroes, he nodded politely to Elizabeth before asking Justina for the first set.
As gentlemen circulated and ladies marked their cards, Elizabeth found herself alone: Lady Selborn was occupied advising Cedric, who had made forays among the debutantes with little success. When the first dance was called he had no partner, and after whispering to his mother came to Elizabeth’s side.
‘Miss Bennet. The cotillion?’
Elizabeth rose with a smile: she had expected to sit out the entire event. They joined a group of eight that included Lady Justina and Lord Bathurst’s son, along with two couples she did not know.
Although glad to join in, Elizabeth saw her partner was going through the motions. Her interest shifted to Justina, who was bewitching Seymour Bathurst with flirtatious gestures and jokes. Why so attentive, she wondered, to a fourth son, obliged to follow a military career? Looking around, she noticed how Justina’s antics fascinated other gentlemen: it seemed the girl loved to shine, at a society ball as much as on the pianoforte.
In the interval, after Lady Selborn rose to tour the arena, Justina took her place at Elizabeth’s side.
‘Well, Lizzy, I’m exceedingly impressed by your footwork! If only your fingers traversed the piano with equal grace.’
‘Thank you. A most elegant compliment.’
‘What did Cedric have to say for himself?’
‘Very little.’
‘At least he has learned to perform the steps, quite an accomplishment for one so dull-witted.’
‘Why must you be horrible? Cedric is not brilliant, but he is capable, and it was kind of him to ask me to dance.’
‘That wasn’t kindness. The ladies on his list were all engaged, so he made do with you.’
Elizabeth snorted. ‘The way you flirted with poor Bathurst, he probably imagines you besotted.’
‘I was merely being sociable.’
‘Is he not a man that deserves to be taken seriously?’
‘Because he fought at Waterloo?’
‘Yes, and because he is modest and does not give himself airs, as some do.’
‘Seymour knows that my father would never consider him as an appropriate suitor.’ Justina got up. ‘Are you dancing this set?’
‘Not unless Cedric takes pity on me again.’
‘Then you can watch me play with my next victim.’
After sitting out the next set, Elizabeth received an unexpected offer for the quadrille, from Seymour Bathurst. This dance, like the waltz, had only just been introduced, and as they took the floor Bathurst explained that he had learned the steps in Brussels, at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo. Like the cotillion it was performed in groups of four couples; as they searched for a group with vacancies, Elizabeth wondered whether this invitation stemmed from Justina, who might have dropped a hint that her companion was in need of partners.
They joined a group midway across the arena, including an officer whom Seymour introduced as John Fane, also known as Lord Burghersh and son of the Earl of Westmorland —another minister in Lord Liverpool’s government. While wondering how Fane could remember all his titles, Elizabeth began to notice a young lady in her group, tallish and demure, with a blue gown as elegant as her dancing, and fair hair beautifully arranged. Their eyes met occasionally, and she acknowledged Elizabeth with a shy smile.
After the first dance of the set, the young lady was walking away with her partner, when Justina passed and affectionately took her arm. Elizabeth kept them in view while Bathurst continued discoursing on the Westmorlands. The lady in the pale blue gown moved to the opposite end of the dance floor and joined two gentlemen, one of whom turned to greet her …
Elizabeth flinched, and instinctively darted out of view behind her partner. Squinting over his shoulder, she studied the man again. Tall and dark. Proud bearing. The familiar stern features.
The last man in the world that she wished to meet.
‘So you see, Fane has had a most distinguished career,’ Bathurst continued. ‘Aide to the Duke of Wellington. Promoted to colonel, then before Waterloo to Commander of the Order of Bath …’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Elizabeth raised her hands to cover her face. ‘I feel faint.’
‘Let me escort you to your seat.’ He took her arm, and facing safely away from Darcy she retreated, her mind racing. Almost certainly he had not spotted her across such a crowded dance floor. But sooner or later he would.
‘Here.’ Bathurst guided her to a place at Lady Selborn’s side. ‘Excuse me, your ladyship. Miss Bennet has taken a turn.’
Lady Selborn studied her. ‘You do look pale, dear.’
Elizabeth looked up at Bathurst. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I can manage the second dance …’
‘Of course.’ He bowed. ‘May I get you a glass of wine?’
‘You are very kind.’
Elizabeth breathed deeply, trying to regain her wits. Her indisposition was not entirely feigned: a knot in her stomach made her physically nauseous. Suppose Darcy noticed her? He would probably come over, as much from curiosity as politeness—and might then discuss her with the Selborns. How kind of you to appoint Miss Bennet as companion. Yes, so sad about her father. Oh, you have not heard? About the shame brought on her family by the youngest sister?
Perhaps she should have confided in Lady Selborn.
But too late now.
Bathurst returned with Lord Selborn, and passed her a glass of red wine. She thanked him and took a long sip.
‘Better?’ Lord Selborn asked.
Her hand shook as she set down the glass on a coffee table. ‘It would be best, I think, if I returned to the house.’
Lady Selborn touched her brow, and looked up at her husband. ‘No fever, but she’s sweating and off-colour.’
‘Perhaps if you rested a few minutes?’ he suggested.
After an awkward pause Lady Selborn said, ‘Dobbs can take her home and call a physician.’
‘I’ll ask Cedric to fetch him.’
Elizabeth felt tearful, with relief—and also shame. ‘You are very kind.’
She shrank into her seat, praying that Darcy would remain at the far end of the arena.