Chapter 23 The Prince Regent #2
Unable to speak, I took his handkerchief and wiped my eyes. The miasma raged like a sea, churning higher and higher from my emotions. Then the storm vanished behind Mr. Darcy’s perfect ivory waistcoat, each decorated button aligned, and a starched neckcloth with fifteen symmetric lobes.
I forced my gaze up to his eyes. He was standing overly close to block my view of the room. Relief shattered my last pretense of strength, and I whispered, “I must touch you.”
His brow furrowed. “I do not see how that can be accomplished.”
Despite my turmoil, his propriety made me laugh. I shut my eyes, pulled off my gloves, and fumbled them onto the floor. By the time I opened my eyes, Mr. Darcy had retrieved them. I accepted them in my left hand, said “Thank you,” and offered my bare right hand.
No gentleman took a lady’s ungloved hand without removing his own glove. That reflex of etiquette bared his skin, then our fingers met.
Scarlet roared up my arm. The thickening miasma vanished like a popping soap bubble. My senses exploded—the vital warmth of guests around us, the staircase glows of candelabra, the feathery swansdown on my cuffs.
This health and clarity of perception was astonishing. My pathetic rituals of distraction were a toy by comparison.
I realized our fingers still touched. I opened my hand. “Thank you for my gloves, sir.” I drew them on, watching how the yellow cloth filled unevenly and wondering at my lack of distress.
“Miss Woodhouse,” he said. I looked up into wondering eyes. “We must decide how to manage this.”
“Has no lady fooled you into a touch before?” That sounded silly, but I was giddy with relief. Then I remembered Mr. Knightley striding away, and my relief became shame. “I do not mean to joke. You have saved me this evening. I am grateful.”
He bowed with utmost formality and said, “You are welcome. I beg your pardon. I must speak with Elizabeth.” He vanished into the crowd.
Was he affronted? Furious? I swallowed through a tight throat. I had offended two upstanding men in as many minutes. And I had not even left the foyer.
I moved to the next room, hoping to spy Mr. Knightley, or Harriet, or anyone I knew. Not Mr. Tinsdale, though. Not yet.
This was an exhibit hall, with suits of armor and weapons around the perimeter, each collecting chattering admirers. Near the back was a roped off six-by-six square with a small pedestal. A black, curved dagger rested in purple velvet. Gramr.
An elegantly dressed lady in her early twenties stopped beside me.
She wore white silk, an extravagant jeweled gold necklace, and ostentatiously styled yellow curls.
She inspected me heels to hair, then wrinkled her nose in grudging approval.
“How delightful to have an addition to our winter society. May I assist you with an introduction?”
The simplicity of social ritual made me smile in gratitude. “I am Miss Emma Woodhouse. You are quite right. This is my first ball in London. I reside in Surrey.”
“I am Miss Caroline Bingley.”
We exchanged curtsies. Hers was carefully measured to be shallower than mine.
Miss Bingley nodded to Lizzy and Mr. Darcy on the far side of the room. “Our hosts. The tall one is Mr. Darcy. I fancy that I played some part in their marriage.” She laughed lightly. “They are married six months now. You cannot imagine what a relief that is.”
That was a peculiar comment. My enthusiasm for my new friend diminished.
When I did not reply, she resumed, “Mr. Darcy was so tiresome before.” She arched an eyebrow outlined with pencil. “Infatuated, you know.”
It seemed I had to speak. “That is charming in a new marriage.”
Miss Bingley tittered. “Oh no! Before that. He was infatuated with me! It was perfectly shocking. The man followed me like a lost puppy. Finally, I was able to cast him toward Eliza.”
“How incredible,” I said tightly.
Miss Bingley lifted her face, an actress on stage. “He even danced with me. You cannot imagine how remarkable that is. Mr. Darcy never dances. That is the one thing I miss. For all that he was scandalously attentive, he is a handsome figure on the dance floor.”
“Miss Bingley,” I began, “I am acquainted with—”
She shushed me loudly. Mr. Darcy was threading the assembly toward us. I exhaled the rest of my sentence as a sigh and waited to see what would happen.
Mr. Darcy arrived and bowed. Was that his sixth bow to me this evening? “Miss W—” he began exactly as Miss Bingley laughingly enthused, “Mr. Darcy!”
Mr. Darcy swiveled his bow to her. “Miss Bingley. I trust you are well?”
His adjustment was subtle, but Miss Bingley’s eyes darted between him and me. Her smile thinned. “You know each other.”
“Miss Woodhouse was our guest at Chathford House.” To me, he said, “Are you enjoying your new accommodation?”
I smiled brightly. “It cannot match the elegance of Chathford, but it is convenient.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze remained intent on mine. The moment lengthened. He was here for some purpose.
Finally, he said, “Will you dance this evening?”
“I may,” I said. It would have been impossible before I brimmed with Yuánchi’s strength.
“It would be my honor to accompany you,” he said with yet another bow. I nodded, and he departed.
Miss Bingley was rigidly silent. I debated describing the splendors of Chathford House to cheer her up.
Georgiana and Mary arrived smiling with an older, pleasant woman, and I was introduced to Mary’s mother, Mrs. Bennet.
That caused Miss Bingley to vanish in a jangle of irritated jewelry, after which Mary and Mrs. Bennet exchanged a satisfied glance while Georgiana looked disappointed.
At this rate, I would need a list of who disliked whom.
“There are a good number of draca present,” Mary said with satisfaction.
“Does that help your project?” I said.
“Society restricts the display of draca to diminish the power of wyves. The patriarchy abhors any sign of female achievement, so they distort binding, a feminine strength, into a moral bludgeon of virginity and virtue. The Britons at Pemberley bind draca without any of that masculine probity, and their wyves have superior relationships with draca.”
That was a more interesting answer than I expected. “How do the Britons bind?”
At that, the crowd fell suddenly silent, and our conversation ended. Every head turned to the entrance as a voice rang out. “His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent.”
A buzz rose. People backed to the walls, clearing a large receiving oval for the prince—England’s reigning monarch, as King George had been declared mad years ago, causing the establishment of the regency.
“Was he expected?” I whispered to no one in particular.
Georgiana answered, “No. But he is always invited to London events.” Mary was backing into the crowd. Georgiana caught her hand and pulled her forward. “You stay right here!”
I could see the prince’s black, double-breasted evening coat, a military style though not a true uniform. He was with a half-dozen attendants and members of court. After hearing shocking stories of his infidelities, he looked far more mundane than I imagined. Rather old and stout.
The royal party met Mr. Darcy and Lizzy, then began circuiting the arrayed guests, occasionally exchanging a few words.
“Will he speak to us?” I asked.
Georgiana hmmed a knowing smile. Mary, evidently alarmed, began shuffling backward again. Georgiana hauled her forward and whispered, “He is quite harmless. That is Lady Hertford beside him. She keeps him in check.”
“Have you met him?” I asked.
“I have played for him. He is a patron of many arts.”
The royal party neared us. They seemed to be greeting the titled aristocrats, so I relaxed. Then the prince’s gaze found Georgiana, and he stepped to us with a pleased smile.
An attendant rattled off our names. “Mrs. Bennet of Hertfordshire. Miss Darcy. Miss Bennet.” A man behind him whispered, and he finished, “Miss Woodhouse of Surrey.” I had no idea how they knew.
We dropped in deep curtsies saying, “Your Royal Highness.”
“Miss Darcy,” the prince said as we rose. “Beautiful as ever. The last pianoforte I heard was played by a boor of a man. You must give us a proper recital.”
“I would be honored, sir,” she said.
He looked us over, nodding politely to Mrs. Bennet who was audibly gulping, then settled his gaze on Mary. “Very striking. I think you have the gown of the evening.”
The crowd oohed and clapped admiringly. Mary stammered, “Thank you, sir,” then drew a breath and continued more firmly, “The crimson mourns the bloody death of our fellow sentient animals.”
The prince’s attendants thrust out their lips and sucked in dismayed air, but the prince chuckled. “You must be another performer.”
“Miss Bennet is a composer,” Georgiana answered for her.
“The Darcys always discover superior talent. We shall have to hear your work.” The crowd hummed.
The royal party moved on. Georgiana hugged Mary, who hissed, “I shall burn this dress!”
Across the room, Harriet, attended by her officer, caught my eye with a raised hand. Kitty was beside her, waving madly and mouthing Mary! while clutching her laughing purser with her other arm.
I nudged Mary and inclined my head to the display. Mary closed her eyes in sisterly dismay, so I switched my attention to Georgiana, who was ecstatic, and said, “That was remarkable.”
“It is wonderful for Mary. He will stay for a dance, you know. It is a great privilege to dance in his presence.”
That gave me a thought. The receiving oval was dissolving as people mingled. I excused myself and circled the narrowing space until I spotted Mr. Knightley.
My arrival was met with stiff silence.
“I am ashamed of my behavior,” I said. “I wish to apologize.” He did not answer, so I forged on. “I am embarrassed that I appeared to deny our… our friendship.”
“I am accustomed to being disowned,” he said. “It is a recurrent event.”
“I do not wish to disown you! It was terrible, desperate behavior that I deeply regret.”
“I meet many privileged gentlemen and ladies. They smile at me, then stare past me when society observes them. Actions speak truth, not words.”
“You cannot imagine how deeply I regret my actions. I would list my excuses, but none matter, except one: I desperately require Mr. Tinsdale’s help for Harriet.”
His lip twisted in revulsion. “Do you understand what that man is? You cannot seriously think he will assist Miss Smith.”
“I have something he wants.” When Mr. Knightley frowned, I added, “Do not worry. I will not give it to him.”
Emotions chased across Mr. Knightley’s stern demeanor.
Finally, he softened. “You must not trust him. Tinsdale is evil. If you need proof that England is not the tolerant society it claims, watch the hypocrites in Parliament as they dance for him. The lords give grand speeches trumpeting English freedom, then they secretly beg for his favor. Tinsdale toys with them and betrays them, and then they start all over again.”
“I can use Mr. Tinsdale,” I said stubbornly, and realized I had a plan to do just that. “It is only for a few days. Then Harriet’s future will be secure.”
“You are a fool. Does Miss Smith even desire this future you press on her?”
“She does not know the world well enough to judge.”
“And you do?” His long-fingered hand swept past my dress. “Wealthy Miss Woodhouse, who resides in country splendor?”
I straightened my shoulders. “I do not pretend to understand your challenges, Mr. Knightley. Do not pretend to understand those of a woman alone, who is a tenant in my own home, and who must beg for my own funds.”
He was silent, then said softly, “Is your situation so dire?”
I waved a hand in frustration. “That is not what I wish to discuss.”
“What, then?”
“I…” My attempt at apology now felt foolish and self-aggrandizing, but at least it was action, not words. “The first dance will be a royal dance, observed by His Royal Highness. It is the pinnacle of social visibility.”
“And whom will you dance with?” he responded shortly.
I gathered my courage. “With you, if you will ask me.”
There was a surprised silence. “Have you not been reserved by a parade of stuffy lords?”
“Only by Mr. Darcy, and he wishes to scheme, not dance. He will have his opportunity.” Censure and humor warred on Mr. Knightley’s features. That was hard to interpret, so I presented a lively smile and said, “Mr. Knightley, would you honor me with the next dance?”
He broke into a laugh. “If you are asking gentlemen to dance, you have spent too much time with Mary. Are you completely corrupted?”
“Not completely,” I said with a smile.