Chapter 23
“Vingt-et-un. House wins, gentlemen,” said the dealer.
“This cannot be!” shouted Beauford. He gritted his teeth.
“Hold your breath, man,” warned his companion.
“I will not. Never have I seen cards fall so poorly as these have.”
“Are you challenging the house, my lord?”
Beauford paused. Fanny Murray’s was not a gambling hell where a man could indiscreetly throw accusations about without facing recourse. “Not immediately,” he said.
“And you?” asked the dealer.
“No,” confessed his companion. “Certainly not.”
Where are your ballocks, man? Beauford expected his sycophants to side with him.
The dealer grimaced, then lifted a hand. A tall, reed-thin man joined him. After a whispered conference, the dealer rose and left the table. His master studied Beauford.
“You, my lord, are on the rocks in our books.”
Beauford snorted. “You do know who my father is, do you not?”
“Yes, the Duke favoured our establishment… in his youth.”
“As does his son,” Beauford replied.
“Yes, my lord.” He tugged at his cravat. “Unfortunately, the house cannot grant you further considerations.”
“I find that unacceptable,” replied Beauford. “I must have my pleasures.”
“You misunderstand me, my lord. We welcome your play, but we can no longer extend credit to you.”
Beauford held his temper, barely so. “What do you propose?”
“We know of a gentleman who caters to your circle.”
Beauford nodded, and within minutes, found himself in a small, private room. Inside stood a hatted man, his back to him. When the door closed, the man turned to face him.
Beauford’s throat tightened. Devil take it!
The man’s mouth lifted on one side; the thick white scar that passed from his eye to his mouth remain fixed. Beauford involuntarily shuddered. “How do we proceed?” He resented the shakiness in his voice.
“Sign this vowel. It covers your house debt and provides additional funds to play.”
Beauford read the document and noted the name inked on it. “This is adequate, Mr Gardiner.”
“Mr Edward Gardiner is my patron.”
Who is Mr Edward Gardiner? How lofty are his connexions?
Beauford signed the vowels and placed the pen in the inkwell. “Then, who are you?”
The man smiled, contorting his face into something fearsome. Beauford tasted bile and looked away.
“The name is Roark.”
The quarterly assembly at Meryton Hall had Longbourn in a frenzy. Bennet hid in his study and locked the door. In his view, every female in the manor had lost their wits—even the ever-reliable Mrs Hill, who had just sharply reprimanded Hill for some perceived infraction. Briefly, Bennet considered offering him refuge from the storm. Repeated footsteps flying up and down the stairs reverberated throughout. He glanced at the broadsheet’s headline on his desk:
June 15, 1807
House of Stuart’s Last Hope Dies with Lord Henry Benedict’s Demise
Uninterested, he pushed it aside and closed his eyes.
No,I shall remain here until Hill takes up my care.
This evening would be Jane’s come-out into society. Where had the time gone? It was only yesterday he had held a serene little bundle in his hands, fearful he would drop her. His terror then was nothing to how he felt now. He dreaded what would come next, with four more daughters.
The assembly hall was ablaze with window tapers, casting warm light on the polished floors and flickering lanterns. It was nearly a crush: ladies in elaborate dresses with intricate beading and lace, their hair styled in the latest fashion spoke with gentlemen in tailcoats and finely knotted cravats, who stood about with confident postures. Above the throng were a half-dozen musicians tuning their instruments. The cacophony was a pleasant mix of chaos and expectation. They entered in a myriad of emotions—Bennet amused, Franny cautious, and Jane excited. She looked up at the ceiling lanterns.
“They are well-placed so that you young swans do not experience the disgrace of tallow droppings upon your feathers,” he told her.
“Mr Bennet, do not tease Jane. This is her special night,” said his wife.
“I do wish Lizzy had been able to come with us,” said Jane.
“Her turn will come soon. Then you two may sit up all night discussing your conquests,” her mother replied.
The opening dance notes wafted across the hall. The rustling of skirts and tapping of boot heels followed as couples drifted towards the room’s centre.
“Bennet,” said Sir William in greeting. “How good of you to come.”
“I would not miss Jane’s first dance. What father would?”
“None that I know.” Sir William turned to welcome Franny and Jane. “Capital. Capital. Such beauty we have not seen in years. Your dance card will fill up quite soon, Miss Bennet. And I am sure you will not disgrace any of your partners.”
“She has worked diligently not to do so,” said Bennet.
Moments later, Jane blushed at the appearance of a handsome, albeit familiar, young man.
Bennet sighed. And so it begins. “Good evening, Mr Smyth. We are surprised to see you away from Cambridge. What brings you home?”
“A most important task, sir,” he replied. “Mrs Bennet, may I solicit two sets from Miss Bennet?”
Mrs Bennet turned to Jane, who nodded, her cheeks pink.
“You may have the second and the fourth. Mr Bennet has the honour of her first.”
“As a father should,” he replied. His attention claimed, he bowed and departed.
Bennet escorted Jane to the line and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was sure his pride was evident to all, even if his dread was not. I shall repeat this performance for four more daughters!
Jane gripped his arm as they returned to Franny, who cried, “Oh, Jane! You dance so heavenly.”
A moment later, Smyth was there, bowing and extending his hand to Jane. “Miss Bennet? May I claim the honour?”
“You may.” Hand-in-hand, they moved towards the centre line.
Bennet waited a few moments then turned to Franny. “You are pleased, no doubt?”
“Are you not? They are our closest friends. Should a match be in their future, Jane would remain in the neighbourhood.”
And closer to the danger he represents.
Bennet’s concerns grew as the evening wore on, and expanded exponentially when Jane danced the final set with Mr Smyth.
It was their third.
Bennet and Lambrook stood at the study window and watched the couple amble arm-in-arm, heads nearly touching. It had been only three days since the assembly, and the attachment between their children was clear.
“John is resolved in his course.”
“As is Jane.” Bennet glanced at Lambrook. “Have you warned him?”
“No.” Lambrook paused.
“He is unaware of what follows him? Of the threats...?” asked Bennet.
“He has not been told.”
“I would beg to ask why not, as he has nearly reached his majority.”
Lambrook shook his head. “It seems easier to forget the danger.”
Bennet scowled. “Our children’s safety—Jane’s safety—is my primary concern.”
“You have my full attention,” replied Lambrook, his eyes following the young couple.
“Who but Franny and I know of your true standing?”
“The magistrate.”
“Sir William? And this has remained a secret?” asked Bennet with incredulity.
“It has. It appears that in matters of import, Sir William is as trustworthy as you.”
Bennet smiled at the barb. “Your son is aware of his consequence, but not of the threat from your cousin?” He glanced at Lambrook, who nodded. “Jane has no knowledge of any of it. You take the danger too lightly.”
“By your description, we maintain a defensive posture.” Lambrook turned to him. “Would you have me engage the enemy as you did in India?”
“The villagers were not the enemy,” replied Bennet. “They were pawns in a broader game of greed.”
“You confirm my point.”
“You debate like you fence. You thrust at everything but the true target!” Bennet lowered his voice. “You cannot feint when your son’s life is on the line.”
Lambrook huffed. “What do you advise?”
“Mitigate the threat. Send an emissary to Somerset.”
“I have done so twice.”
“Your proffers were not enough?”
Lambrook shook his head. “Somerset rebutted every monetary offer with a distasteful counter.”
Bennet recalled their earlier conversations of the duke’s insults towards Lady Lambrook. “An irrational man cannot entertain a rational solution.”
They both turned back to the window. John held both of Jane’s hands in his. She was nodding her head. They embraced for a moment, then resumed walking.
“When will Jane learn of her soon-to-be elevation?” asked Bennet.
“My wife and I will speak with John once he has informed us formally of his betrothal.”
“The fictional détente you live in is untenable. This threat must be dealt with prior to a wedding.”
“Threat or no, they are bound to one another.”
Lambrook held out his hand. Bennet grasped it and squeezed. Hard. “What are you not telling me?” he asked.
Lambrook squeezed his hand back. “The letters patent for the Somerset and Lambrook lines are conditionally paired.”
Bennet released his hand and looked out the window. Clouds had begun to shut out the summer sun yet John and Jane remained illuminated as they toured the near garden oblivious to all. They were a golden couple.
“The demise of your cousin and his heir would cede his patents to you,” Bennet replied.
“As my death and that of my son’s would give Somerset my holdings.”
Jane’s heart fluttered as she walked with John through Longbourn’s garden paths. They had danced three times together at the assembly, and each dance only solidified her feelings for him. As they strolled through the garden, her hand tucked in his arm, Jane could not help but reminisce about their long-standing friendship.
She remembered the first time they had met, when they were both just children. John had settled into Netherfield Park with his mother and father, who was one of her father’s closest friends. Their mothers had immediately taken to each other. From that day on, John and Jane had been in each other’s company regularly. They had spent endless summers riding in the fields and chasing each other through the rows of flowers and trees. As they grew older, their friendship never wavered, but dancing together at the assembly—touching his hand, feeling herself in the warmth of his closeness—had changed the way she saw him. He was more than a friend. Was she to him?
John stopped walking under a sprawling oak tree. The sun had cast an orange glow over the wildflowers. The air was vibrant with the smell of spring. In the faint shadow of the tall oak, he turned to her.
“Jane,” John began, taking both of her hands in his, “I cannot begin to express how much the last fifteen years has meant to me.”
Jane’s heart skipped a beat. She knew John was not one to express his emotions easily, and when he did, he hid his nervousness behind enumeration.
“I have long admired your grace, your intelligence, and your unwavering loyalty to those you hold dear,” he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have come to realise that you are not only my dear friend, but also my perfect match,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “You are perfection, and I esteem you beyond words.”
Her heart raced. Now that John had spoken of feelings so similar to hers, love felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“I know that I must return to finish my studies, but I cannot bear the thought of being apart from you any longer than that,” he continued, his grip tightening on her hands. “I shall return prior to harvest and remain. With you.”
Her heart swelled. John was the most handsome, honourable man of her acquaintance. She could not imagine spending her life with anyone else.
“Is there a question you would like to ask me?” she whispered.
He stared into her eyes; his lips formed a tender smile. “Miss Jane Lily Bennet, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
She nodded as she replied, “Yes, Mr John Charles Smyth. I will marry you.”
John tugged her into a light embrace; much as she thought he might kiss her, she knew he was as mindful as she that their families were likely watching through the windows. They separated and resumed walking Longbourn’s paths, her hand wrapped around his arm. She listened to his plans, happy that he spoke as ‘we’ repeatedly.
A fortnight later, two carriages departed Meryton for London. The lead carriage carried Lady Lambrook and Mrs Bennet. Jane, Elizabeth, and Sally, the Bennets’ upstairs maid, rode in the second. Their final destination was Matlock House.
After a week in London shopping for Jane’s bridal trousseau on Bond Street and browsing through fabrics at Mr Gardiner’s business warehouses, the happy but tired party mounted their carriages for their return home. Mrs Bennet directed Elizabeth to ride with Sally as she and Lady Lambrook desired to continue their wedding planning with Jane.
However, after two hours of Sally’s monotonous, off-key humming, Elizabeth had a change of mind; unable to concentrate, she was on the same chapter of her book as when the carriage ride had begun. At the St Albans coaching inn, she pulled Jane aside. “Would you mind if I rode with Mama?”
“Whatever for?”
“I am craving conversation. Sally is no company at all, which will serve you well. You shall do nothing but stare off at the horizon, hopeful your prince will appear.”
“John is not a prince.”
“John, is it now?” Elizabeth giggled.
“He has always been John to me.” She sighed.
“This is what I am referring to.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I hope love does not turn me as dull as you.”
Jane smiled. “We shall see. When it is your turn, I may throw your words back at you.”
Elizabeth hugged her.
“I shall be fine with Sally,” Jane offered.
Jane stared out the window of the carriage, her thoughts on her suitor. I wonder what he is doing? Is he thinking of me? She put her hand to her heart, which had begun the flutters that always accompanied thoughts of John, and hoped she was not, again, turning pink.
She flinched, hearing a sudden, shocking blast, then gasped as something fell past her window. Was that the coachman? Another blast and she was thrown rearwards. Sally fell across her lap and screamed.
The carriage bounced hard, and her head hit its ceiling. Then the vehicle rocked back and forth, before tilting sharply. The door shattered and Sally was thrown out.
“Sally!” Jane screamed. Lord, help us!
Jane thrust her hands out to brace herself against the carriage wall. Suddenly glass shattered, and she felt a sharp pain in her cheek. Mercifully, everything went black.