Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Elizabeth stood before the bowed window in her bedchamber, discerning nothing of the wide, sloping lawn of the park in the darkness beyond the panes.
Winter in Yorkshire was cold, colder than in Hertfordshire, which was much farther south.
She had been feeling sentimental of late, something her father had always accused her middle sister Mary of.
Raising her hand, she traced an indistinct pattern in the frost that had formed on the glass with her fingertip.
A moment later she heard the creak of her bedchamber door, and the soft swoosh, swoosh, swooshing of her aunt’s evening gown as the train trailed behind her on the Persian carpet as she entered.
In the centre of the room Mrs Cahill paused, folded her hands in front of her, and waited.
Her reflection was just visible in the glass—her tall frame, her elegant bearing, and the glint of the diamond necklace she wore about her neck.
She had been a handsome woman in her day—the exact likeness of Elizabeth’s Grandmama Bennet. She was a handsome woman still.
“Well,” said her aunt at length. “I daresay that long face of yours is enough to deter even the most determined gentlemen from asking you to dance this evening.”
Clasping her hands together, Elizabeth turned her back to the window with a reserved smile. “I was not aware, madam, that your myriad talents include discerning that which you cannot possibly see.”
“I saw your reflection quite clearly in the window, Elizabeth, just as you likely saw mine. Either you are dissatisfied with my park, which I know to be patently untrue, or you are fretting quite needlessly over one thing or another. I would know what is bothering you so that I might badger you into enjoying yourself this evening.”
“I am perfectly well.”
Her aunt merely raised her brow in an impertinent manner, a trait she shared with her favourite niece, and awaited an answer.
Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “If you must know, I am feeling a bit dull.”
“Dull before a ball?” her aunt exclaimed as she joined Elizabeth at the window.
“You sound like your sister Mary who, despite my recommendations, will either remain stubbornly at home or slip a book into her reticule and attend to nothing but the utter nonsense that some old codger had to say about a young lady’s virtue for the duration of the evening. You love to dance.”
“True.”
“However…?”
“However, it does not follow that I enjoy engaging in those deceptions that most gentlemen seem to expect from their partners.”
Her aunt frowned. “And those deceptions are…?”
“Shallow pleasantries,” said Elizabeth with a frustrated huff.
“Mundane topics. I cannot stand the idea of speaking of the weather all evening, nor can I countenance smiling insipidly and batting my lashes like a coquette as I have seen so many other ladies do.” She made a show of doing just that, earning an inelegant snort from her aunt.
“You, batting your lashes? I have never once seen you behave so foolishly.”
“Nor do I intend to do so.”
“I was not under the impression that you would.”
The gown Elizabeth had chosen to wear that evening was an exquisite confection of silk, organza, and beadwork.
It was not new, but it was elegant—timeless and beautiful.
She touched her hair, which was arranged in a sophisticated style that flattered her, and smoothed an invisible crease on her overskirt.
“I have never been to Sallow Hall. It is likely I shall know absolutely no one in attendance.”
“And, of course,” said her aunt with an ironic twist of her mouth, “no one can ever be introduced in a ballroom.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“This is quite unlike you, Elizabeth. You are a beautiful woman. A confident woman. You are admired and esteemed wherever you go. I would wager that all of your dances will have been claimed within a quarter hour of our arrival, regardless of not knowing a single soul other than myself.”
Elizabeth glanced towards the window, and Mrs Cahill frowned.
“Where is my clever, intrepid girl? The one who so enjoys studying characters, and laughs in the face of absurdity? Surely, we shall witness our share of it this evening. I have met the heir to Sallow Hall but once. He is an incorrigible dandy, and his wife is equally ridiculous. She held her nose so high in the air that she would not drown were she thrown into the middle of the North Sea.”
The picture she presented had the desired effect; Elizabeth laughed. “Surely, you exaggerate.”
“Lady Emerson came with eighty thousand pounds and fancies herself to be superior to everyone under the sun. As for her husband, he is quite a colourful character, and I do not refer only to his waistcoats.” Mrs Cahill shook her head.
“It is a pity they did not seem to like each other at all. Their unfortunate situation, however, is further proof that a large fortune will by no means guarantee that a marriage will be a prosperous one for those who have to live within the confines of it, especially when one’s spouse is known for his…
eccentric proclivities. While his family is respectable, I have my doubts about the viscount. ”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “With such a glowing commendation, I wonder at our going at all.”
“Viscount Emerson’s mother is an old friend of mine. We attended school together. It is surely because of Lady Carlisle that the invitation was issued at all.”
“In that case, I suppose we must attend else we risk offending her ladyship.”
“Indeed, we must,” her aunt agreed, stepping forwards to tuck a wayward curl behind her niece’s ear. “She will be in attendance this evening, and I have no doubt that she will adore you, just as every gentleman in the county shall likely consider you the loveliest woman in the room.”
“I thank you for paying me such a generous compliment,” said Elizabeth, an affable smile tugging at her lips, “however biased it may be, but we both know that my sister Jane is and always will be the loveliest woman in any room, not to mention the sweetest and most patient creature who ever lived.”
“Jane is an angel to be sure, but you are no less beautiful for being yourself. You are dark where she is light, and you are deep where she is less so. I do not mean to imply she is shallow by any means, but you require…more, Elizabeth.”
“I do not require a palace, madam,” she said with a laugh.
“I did not say that you do. But Jane, bless her, is happiest when others are happy. Her kind soul and generous heart yearn for a man like her Mr Anderson, who protects her and treats her with the same heartfelt consideration and generosity she shows him. You, on the other hand, require a husband who will speak with you of more than household accounts and things of that nature. You are better suited to someone who will discuss matters of import—more worldly matters—and listen to your opinions with the same interest with which you will listen to his. A man who will challenge you and make you think and feel deeply. A man who values knowledge as you do—a man who values you as you are—and who is your equal in every respect.”
Elizabeth averted her eyes to the carpet. She had known a man like that once: a man who had claimed to love her; a man who had forgiven all she had said to him in anger and had met her with perfect civility, if not perfect composure, when he discovered her walking through his park two summers ago.
The likelihood of ever seeing Mr Darcy again, however much she desired it, was slim.
The likelihood of Mr Darcy declaring himself to her a second time, especially after Lydia had brought disgrace upon her entire family and disappeared without a trace, was non-existent.
It took her a moment to find her voice. “You are a dear old woman,” she told her aunt, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Never forget it,” Mrs Cahill replied, patting her hand with an affectionate smile.
“Come. We have tarried long enough. If we do not leave the house within the next five minutes, the bricks in the carriage will have grown cold, and the journey to Sallow Hall will take us nearly an hour in the dark.”
“And diversion awaits.”
“The viscount will be sure to provide it. Let us hope his mother can bear the humiliation better than his wife.”