Chapter 3
“We ought to dance again,” Elizabeth murmured to Jane as they stood undecidedly in the doorway to the ballroom at Almack’s assembly rooms. “If we don’t, we might have to speak to more people, and I am convinced that nearly everyone here is a fool or a bore.
It would cut conversations shorter if I could wear a sign around my neck saying ‘without fortune’ or ‘ineligible’. ”
It was now after ten o’clock at night, and the ballroom was filled with idly chattering ladies in gowns of fashionable colour and cut, as well as equally well-dressed and vacuous gentlemen.
“We could always go back and sit with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in the supper room again,” Jane suggested, regarding the noisy crowd and loud music in the ballroom anxiously. “It was quieter in there.”
“If we do that, our aunt will think that we are not enjoying ourselves, and she took some trouble to get these tickets. I’m afraid we must dance and make the best of it, Jane.
If we linger near the edge of the dance floor, someone is bound to ask us.
At least there are a good number of gentlemen here tonight and our chances are good. ”
“Not all of these gentlemen are particularly accomplished dancers,” Jane cautioned, following Elizabeth’s lead into the room.
“My toes were aching after the reel with that major when we first arrived. You are right, though, Lizzy; we must try to enjoy ourselves for Aunt Gardiner’s sake.
Still, I wish we did not have to. I am in no mood for dancing tonight. ”
“The major’s friend, Captain Gregory, was no lighter on his feet,” Elizabeth agreed. “It is a pity that Lydia and Kitty are not here tonight to enjoy the company of such galumphing partners. It might finally cure our sisters of their universal enthusiasm for red or blue coats.”
Although Jane was trying to smile, Elizabeth could see the fundamental sadness of her older sister’s face tonight. Good dancers or not, none of the gentlemen at Almack’s were Mr Charles Bingley, and therefore none of them ever had any chance of success in raising Jane’s spirits.
There had been no further letters or calls from Caroline Bingley since that insultingly brief visit to Gracechurch Street.
Elizabeth had quietly concluded that the whole Bingley family now intended to drop Jane.
She expected little more from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, sly as they were, but felt disappointed in Mr Bingley, who had seemed made of better stuff than his womenfolk.
As if summoned by her reflections, Elizabeth suddenly caught sight of those very two ladies on the other side of the ballroom, some distance away across the crowd.
Briefly, she considered dragging Jane into the conservatories or music rooms to avoid being seen, but it was already too late.
The Bennet sisters had been spotted, and Elizabeth made eye contact with Miss Bingley as the latter whispered something to Mrs Hurst.
“Should we go over?” questioned Jane uncertainly as they exchanged nods of acknowledgement across the busy room. “I would not want to be rude.”
“Do they look as though they would welcome us?” Elizabeth returned. Jane did not answer.
Caroline Bingley had looked over at them again and laughed as she whispered some further remark into her sister’s ear. Elizabeth could not imagine that whatever she was saying would be either edifying or amusing.
“No, I don’t believe they wish to talk to us,” conceded Jane softly, looking down at the ground, her face flushed with hurt. “It would be more polite to remain here.”
As Elizabeth was trying to think of some comforting remark for Jane, a jolly-looking young man with curly black hair approached and bowed to them both. He looked to be barely out of the schoolroom, but otherwise pleasant enough.
“I say, would you care to dance the quadrille?” he asked Jane with some awkwardness. “I mean, may I have the pleasure of the quadrille, if you’re not already engaged to dance with someone else?”
When Jane looked to Elizabeth, the latter nodded, encouraging her older sister to accept and escape onto the dance floor.
Making small-talk and dancing with a cheerful youth must be better than suffering under the scornful glances of Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth wished that the young man had a friend who might dance with her too, but he appeared to be alone.
Compared to many here tonight, Elizabeth knew that she and Jane were simply dressed in their cream silk ball gowns with satin sashes, Jane’s blue and Elizabeth’s green.
Jane wore their grandmother’s pearls and Elizabeth a silver cross as their only jewellery.
There was little to distinguish them except Jane’s natural beauty.
With more resignation than pleasure, Jane accepted the young man’s hand and went to the dance floor.
Taking a flute of champagne from a tray, Elizabeth retired to a wall to watch.
The other ladies either standing nearby or sitting on the few clusters of chairs by the wall seemed largely to be mothers and chaperones.
There were one or two other wallflowers like Elizabeth, but these young ladies seemed shy and did not meet her eye.
There would be no conversation for her here, she accepted with a sigh.
Sipping her champagne, she took a slip of paper from her reticule and glanced through the list she had made of books to be obtained for her father while in London.
Three books were still to be collected from the bookseller off Charing Cross Road, having not yet arrived on the first day Elizabeth called at the shop.
There was a new translation of one of Mr Bennet’s favourite Roman history works, a recently published Italian travel book with particularly fine maps, and some agricultural work that Elizabeth could only imagine her father wanted for an acquaintance.
“What very eclectic reading tastes you have,” remarked an unfamiliar woman’s voice, sounding both cultured and friendly to Elizabeth’s ear.
Elizabeth looked up to find a handsome, black-haired woman in her middle thirties at her side. This lady’s sharp and interested eyes glanced over the list through a silver-rimmed lorgnette which hung on a chain at the front of her muted and elegant blue dress.
“I must admit that they are all books for my father,” Elizabeth told the woman with a laugh.
“I am neither so learned nor so wide-ranging in my own interests. Though I should very much like to read Travels in the Italian Hills and Lakes, Father may do as he wishes with Modern Drainage and Irrigation Techniques in English Agriculture.”
“A wise decision,” agreed the woman with a smile. “I would likely make the same choice, although I would recommend reading Professor Helming’s translation of Livy, too. One must know the original to appreciate a good translation, of course, but it is a familiar work to many.”
“You know Latin?” Elizabeth asked with interest. “That is an unusual accomplishment for a lady.”
“Not in my line of work,” her new companion returned, her voice amused and confident. “As a governess, it is another string to one’s bow, and means I can teach in households with boys as well as girls. Some modern parents do like their girls to learn the classics too nowadays, but not many.”
“My father began teaching my older sister and me Latin when we were small, but he lost interest long before we reached the stage of being able to read Livy in the original,” Elizabeth reflected and laughed at the memory. “You are a governess?”
“More a companion at this time. My present charge, Lady Charlotte, came out this year and is presently dancing the quadrille.”
Elizabeth followed the woman’s gaze to a placid-looking young blonde woman in pale yellow silk, dancing rather mechanically with her partner to Jane’s left.
“My sister Jane is dancing too, just there, beside Lady Charlotte,” Elizabeth indicated, and then remembered her manners. “Oh, I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, and that is my sister, Miss Jane Bennet. We are presently staying with our uncle and aunt in London.”
She made a small bow, respectful of the woman’s age and authority, regardless of her status as governess. This gesture was returned in kind, and the woman smiled back at her.
“I am Miss Alicia Caruthers, presently with the Earl of Kemworth’s household as companion to Lady Charlotte, but also teaching Latin, Greek, and mathematics to her youngest brother, Lord Michael.”
“Dear me, I am now sorry that my father is not here, although he hates balls,” Elizabeth observed. “He rarely has anyone to talk to of Latin, Greek, or mathematics at home, and this would be his opportunity.”
“Then your father ought perhaps to have done himself a favour and kept up his daughters’ education for his own benefit, if not theirs,” returned Miss Caruthers with an easy smile and no real judgement in her voice.
“If he had, he would not now lack the conversation he values. It may be a salutary lesson that we reap as we sow.”
“Perhaps he ought,” agreed Elizabeth with a rueful smile, conscious that her father had abdicated many of his responsibilities in the Bennet household for hours of peaceful and solitary study in his library, not only the academic education of his children.
“Did your parents teach you at home, Miss Caruthers?”
“At first, yes,” Miss Caruthers told her. “My father, bless his soul, was a rather absent-minded baronet from Devon with more children than fortune, but at least in possession of a well-stocked library.”
Elizabeth smiled in both sympathy and recognition of the young Miss Caruthers’s situation, apparently somewhat similar to her own.
“After my older brother defied our parents and married a farmer’s daughter, my own marital prospects were even poorer than before,” Miss Caruthers continued. “Thankfully, one of my mother’s relatives had me sent away to school, and my learning there better placed me to earn my own living.”