24
After parting with Prince Metternich, Lord Selborn joined his family for the coach ride back to their lodgings at Minoritenplatz. He was obviously still delighted with the success of his parley with Metternich and Gentz; the only snag was how to deal with Lord Charles Stewart, the British ambassador, who complained of being sidelined.
‘What can one do?’ Having drunk toasts with the Austrians, Lord Selborn was more talkative than usual. ‘Stewart has brought this on himself. At the congress they called him the Golden Peacock owing to his ostentatious finery. He drinks to excess, then becomes indiscreet. At balls and soirées, fathers and husbands have to keep an eye on their womenfolk to protect them from his straying hands.’ He looked at Elizabeth. ‘Pardon me, Miss Bennet.’
‘On the contrary.’ She smiled. ‘We are forewarned.’
‘A sensible attitude. And timely too since he will be joining us this evening.’
Lady Selborn’s eyebrows rose. ‘I thought this was to be a private meal.’
Her husband sighed. ‘I know. But were are caught in a dilemma. Insult Stewart, and I insult the foreign secretary. Favour him, and I irritate our hosts. His latest lament is that he was not invited to the opera. Metternich obviously did not want him, so I sent Stewart an apology and invited him to supper instead.’
‘I shall order Mr Darcy to stay close to me,’ Justina said. She grinned at Elizabeth. ‘You can give similar instructions to your Mr Lindale.’
Lady Selborn sighed. ‘Let us not over-react.’
The meal was ready, and since the hour was already late, they passed directly to the dining room. Lord Stewart was waiting, accoutred in a red-gold waistcoat and sash; he directed searching glances at Elizabeth and Georgiana, but at least kept a proper distance. The party now numbered nine, with the translator Koch also in attendance. They began to eat. At head of table Lord Selborn conferred with Stewart; otherwise the atmosphere was one of relaxed celebration. As usual Elizabeth found herself speaking with Lindale; in the corner opposite Darcy was seated between Georgiana and an ebullient Justina.
Soup, fish, beef, were washed down with a succession of wines, and Elizabeth noticed that in spite of Lord Selborn’s efforts to distract their guest, Stewart had refilled his glass repeatedly. She knew such indulgence was common: many gentlemen could imbibe three bottles without ill effect. As a final sweet course servants brought plates of Punschkrapfen, small cakes of rum-soaked sponge biscuit covered in pink fondant icing.
A champagne flute tinkled, and Lord Selborn stood up. He waited while servants finished pouring, then raised his glass. ‘Dear friends and family. And honoured guest. Our odyssey has been crowned with success. The congress system to maintain stability in Europe is continued; the Quadrilateral Alliance is reaffirmed. Thank you for joining me in this venture. And raise your glasses.’ He beamed round the table. ‘To peace in Europe! And a safe journey home!’
The sentiment was echoed, the champagne sampled—although Elizabeth only managed a sip. Lord Selborn sat, Lord Stewart stood, and she steeled herself for yet further speeches and toasts.
‘Friends!’ Stewart swayed, and at his side Mr Koch held up a hand as if afraid the obviously inebriated ambassador would keel over. ‘My congratulations over this satisfactory outcome, for which I have been toiling these last years. And yes, let us applaud alliances, where they stem from honourable motives. Between nations, in time of war—and peace …’ He blinked, as if losing his thread. ‘Between men of good will. And between les amoureux!’ His eyes fixed on Justina and Darcy. ‘Of whom we have charming exemplars in this very room. Or do I speak out of turn?’
‘Decidedly you do,’ Lady Selborn muttered. But Stewart appeared not to hear, and his gaze shifted to Elizabeth and Lindale.
‘A toast then, to alliances d’amour. To our worthy Mr Lindale and his delightful fiancée! To the beautiful Lady Justina and Mr Darcy!’
Elizabeth flinched, and stared at Lindale, who frowned and shook his head, as if to reassure her that he had not betrayed their confidence. She wondered how Stewart had picked up these rumours of romance. Surely not from the experienced diplomat Lord Selborn. The likely source, she imagined, was gossip among their servants.
‘Enough, Charles.’ Lord Selborn pulled Stewart’s arm, encouraging him to sit down. ‘You are doubtless well-intentioned, but this is the wrong moment.’
‘Is that so?’ Stewart pulled away, almost overbalancing. Red-faced, he drained his glass and banged it down. It was if his pique at being sidelined was demanding expression. He would prove, not only that he had foreseen the result of the political negotiation, but that he was aware of the personal liaisons within their group. ‘What value has a love that will not declare itself? Come, sir!’ He spoke to Darcy. ‘How can you hesitate, when such loveliness is set before you? And you sir!’ He turned to Lindale. ‘Look me in the eye, man to man. Can you honestly deny your amour for the charming lady at your side?’
Lindale glared at him with a headshake, which Elizabeth took to mean that he had no intention of answering so unseemly a question. But Stewart, undiscouraged, turned his gaze to Elizabeth.
‘Dear lady, I beg you, do not keep us in suspense! Your lover’s wishes are plain. Let us have your answer!’
There was a moment of silence, in which even Lady Selborn was too shocked to intervene. Elizabeth felt all eyes on her, waiting, and within her a determination suddenly burst into awareness. No! I will NOT marry Mr Lindale. Perhaps I should, perhaps it would be best for my family, perhaps I will disappoint everyone, but I WILL NOT! But she said none of this. Instead she turned away from Lord Stewart, jumped up, and ran to the door. Reaching the corridor she heard a cry from Justina, and a chair falling. A staircase led to the upper floor and the sanctuary of her chamber, but she fled instead towards the drawing room, where a French window opened on to a balcony. Sliding behind the drawn curtains, she let herself out into the cool night air, and softly closed the door.
For once it was not raining. Elizabeth leaned on the balustrade and looked down into a formal garden where she could make out dim shapes of paths and bushes. She knew she should return, to reassure the Selborns. But not yet. She was still in shock, at the violence of her reaction to the drunken lord’s demand. It was as if she had broken free of a web of social expectation and exhortation, and in doing so, found herself.
It is my life. The only one I will ever have.
She shivered. And waited. Until behind her, the door of the French window creaked, and very softly, Darcy called her name.