Chapter Seven #3
When she could bear the prattling no longer, Marianne wiped her face one last time and refastened her mask.
She checked herself in the mirror and was satisfied.
As she stormed out of the room, she looked over her shoulder and snapped at Miss Long and Miss Goulding.
“I recall that you both were fooled by his appearance of goodness, as much as the rest of us.”
Marianne turned on her heel and stalked away, her hands balled into fists at her side.
She was not minding where she was going as she returned to the ballroom, and promptly collided with a masked gentleman who was holding a glass of wine in each hand.
The wine sloshed onto Marianne, who let out a sharp cry as she gaped down at herself with dismay.
The gentleman looked even more horrified. “Good Heavens, I am terribly sorry! I fear I was not minding where I stepped – I was searching the room for someone.”
“I was distracted as well – oh dear.” Marianne fidgeted uncomfortably, willing herself not to shed any further tears.
The gentleman set aside the nearly empty wine goblets and offered his handkerchief.
Marianne had no wish to return to the ladies’ retiring room; she simply turned her back to the man and dabbed at her dress, relieved that at least her gown was nearly the same crimson shade as the spill, and thankfully only one of her silver gloves had been lightly splashed.
She spun back around to face him, and returned the handkerchief, which he stared at with bemusement before tucking it into his pocket. “It is not so very bad, and thankfully the candlelight is dim enough to conceal the stains.”
“Even so, I insist upon replacing what I have ruined; I hope I am a man who will always put right what I have done wrong. But perhaps you ought to stand by the fire so that your lovely gown can dry – or if you were to dance with me, I might make amends properly.”
“Somebody is expecting you to bring them some wine,” Marianne said, gesturing at the two goblets he had spilled on her.
“Only my sister-in-law Lady Rebecca, the smirking little devil over there,” he replied, tipping his head toward a dark-haired beauty in opulent attire, who surveyed the dancing with a look of humor.
“We only arrived this afternoon, but I daresay she will be commanding the room soon enough, and then she will have any number of eager cup-bearers.”
Marianne smiled appreciatively at the diminutive but imperious woman, and then at the gentleman before her. He extended his hand. “Will you dance? Truly, you looked quite distraught when I first saw you.”
“I… I had only heard some dreadful news about one of the local officers, who committed some serious offense and is to suffer a severe punishment for it.” Marianne’s hand lingered inches above his.
She did wish to dance, for she had promised to make merry, and had thus far failed abysmally. “Pray, do I know you, sir?”
“As I said, we arrived only today. You may introduce yourself, though I know it is not quite proper, or we could choose to maintain this air of mystery, for I had thought to unmask myself at just the right moment.”
Her hand fell into his, and Marianne smiled.
“Now I am vastly curious, and I shall ply you with questions!” She wondered if perhaps he were a great lord or peer of some kind, or a person of such reputation that he would be recognized in a new place.
She ought to be wary, but she was instead quite intrigued.
She took one of the goblets and drained its contents, and then did the same with the second one.
Feeling herself quite fortified, she was resolved to make it through the dance without shedding a tear over either of the wastrels who had taken her in.
He led her to the dance, and it was he who began by asking questions. “Where are you from? And how long have you been in Meryton?”
“Perhaps I have lived here all my life.”
“Oh. Have you?”
She shook her head. “No. I suppose I do not sound like I am from Hertfordshire? My family is from Sussex, but we presently reside in Devonshire. My mother and sisters and I are visiting our cousins here.” She decided that if he meant to be opaque, she would be vague as well; the mystery of it was rather thrilling, and she silently prayed that he was not a cad, while convinced that surely all men must be.
Despite this resolution, Marianne was able to converse energetically with the gentleman, and she was glad of the distraction.
They spoke of idle things, their fondness for music and outdoor diversions, and when he declared that he scarcely read at all, though he often wished to, Marianne was relieved that she might consider no more than a passing friendship with the newcomer, for he intended to remain in their area for quite some time.
It was only when the conversation turned to his residency there that things ran aground.
“Though you will not reveal yourself so early in the evening, I can hazard a guess where you shall reside,” Marianne said, unable to resist some curiosity.
“There are only a couple houses in the area that are grand enough to accommodate a lady as fine as your sister by marriage appears to be. Mrs. Jennings, who accompanied us into Hertfordshire, has only quit Purvis Lodge four days ago, and I doubt it should be let again so quickly. Which means… but wait, it cannot be Netherfield, for the odious Mr. Bingley means to return there next week, if the rumor is to be believed.”
“The odious Mr. Bingley?”
“Ugh! I wish he would not come amongst us at all, for….” As a turn of the dance required them to separate, Marianne was glad of the interruption, for it occurred to her that perhaps she may in fact be dancing with the odious Mr. Bingley.
Kitty had been sure it was him when the man entered with his sister, but Mary had given some reason why it was impossible.
Marianne could scarcely recall, for she had been wretched at the time, and forever more so in the interval.
Still, Marianne began to feel inexplicably apprehensive. When they came back together for the next figure of the dance, the gentleman prompted her to elaborate. “Why do you call this Mr. Bingley odious? Have you any acquaintance with him?”
The room was lit by hundreds of candles, but the glowing gold light was still dim, and the man was masked; even so, Marianne attempted to assess his expression as best she could.
She sensed a trace of trepidation in his eyes, and the longer she remained silent, it began to look like panic.
And then, all the vexation she felt at Willoughby and Wickham seemed to rush to the surface, and she allowed it to overcome her. She hoped this was Mr. Bingley.
“Because he used my cousin Jane very ill, last autumn. Everyone believed him to be in love with her – the entire neighborhood had been given every reason to expect a match between them! He even threw a ball in her honor, and then abruptly departed the county afterward. He did not even deign to bid her farewell; his vicious sister, who had been a false friend to my cousins, wrote a letter dripping with triumph in declaring that they meant never to return. I think him the cruelest, most heartless man in the world, and I have known my share of villains!”
He blinked, his mouth agape, and he missed the next steps of their dance. “Perhaps he does mean to return to her, and his sister misled your cousin for some purpose of her own.”
His stumble caused Marianne to falter, and he reached out to steady her, but Marianne stepped out of the formation of dancers and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “If that is what he meant, he might have made it known to her, rather than allowing her to believe for these last six weeks that she had been trifled with. Fortunately, she has been spirited away to London with a fine new wardrobe, along with Lizzy, where they shall divert themselves in Mayfair with my friend Mrs. Jennings. We are all sure she shall soon forget him.”
Mr. Bingley came to stand with her, removed from the dance entirely. “Jane is in London? Since when?”
“Aha! I knew it,” Marianne hissed at him.
“You have come too late. Jane and Lizzy left for London on the first of January.” She glared at him, but inside she felt some confusion.
He had only left London that morning, and Mrs. Jennings had promised to make haste in taking Jane to call on the Bingleys. “Have you not seen her in town?”
“No, I have not – I have been much occupied with Lady Rebecca’s family, for her brothers and cousin are my dearest friends. If she called while I was away from home, my sisters never told me of it.”
“I suppose they would not have,” she snarled. “I heard that they made it clear while they were at Netherfield that they did not approve of Jane’s relations – my relations – and were often implying they desire you to make a match with Miss Darcy.”
“Never! She is too like my own sister, they know that.”
Marianne shook her head. “I do not speak of what they know, but of how they behaved; Lizzy would have no reason to misrepresent their behavior. She told me they run roughshod over you, which I daresay explains why it has taken you so long to return. Well, I am glad you are too late, for we all believe she deserves better, and dear Mrs. Jennings is determined that she shall find my cousins far better matches than capricious cads who break their hearts and expose them to the derision of all of Meryton!”
“Good God!” Mr. Bingley removed his mask, letting it drop to the floor as he covered his face in his hands and groaned. “You paint me as the worst sort of villain, Miss…? Lord, you have torn me to shreds and I do not know your name.”