Chapter Six
On Monday the whole household attended a celebration at Vauxhall hosted by Lord Douglas, who had by the end of Lady Matlock’s dinner party invited everybody present to join him for an exhilarating excursion to the pleasure gardens.
The flowers, which were now prominently displayed at Elizabeth’s bedside despite Rebecca’s protests of the fragrance, gave Lady Catherine every cause to believe that Lord Douglas was the sender.
“He is a marquess – just the sort of match I have dreamt of for you, my feisty little darling!” Lady Catherine attended to Elizabeth’s toilette personally that evening, and congratulated her at length for her supposed conquest. “The invitation tonight must surely be a compliment to you, Lizzy. He has even invited all your friends – and I must say, well done on selecting Miss Darrow as one of them. Her mother and I went to school together a hundred years ago; they are excellent people!”
This pleased Elizabeth far more than the talk of Lord Douglas, the Marquess of Queensberry. “She is a sweet girl, though your old friend may not appreciate that I have advised her to read more.”
“Poor Martha,” Lady Catherine tutted. “She always was illiterate as a brick – but sensational at planning parties.”
“A woman of priorities,” Rebecca quipped.
She had been dressed and ready for an hour, but was content to remain with Elizabeth, making increasingly brash insinuations about Lord Douglas’s peculiar proclivities in an effort to provoke Lady Catherine.
She sat perched indecorously atop the dressing table as Elizabeth moved to stand before the mirror and admire herself, while Lady Catherine flitted about, making minor adjustments to her hair and garments.
“I wonder what sort of books Lord Douglas likes to read,” Rebecca mused. “I cannot think of any novels that feature the style of romance he may prefer. But then, perhaps he may find the tales of heroes wooing heroines to be… instructive….”
Elizabeth made a droll face at her cousin, who stuck out her tongue and then carried on in her insolence.
“Perhaps he might consult Sir John Dawson, who aspires to become an encyclopedia of everything even remotely sentimental that has ever been written. I might suggest he is the D who sent your flowers, but Sir John could not possibly have done with less than a dozen little cards to contain his eloquence.”
“You could fill a few volumes yourself,” Lady Catherine bristled. “Remarkable, for a girl of seven-and-twenty, who has never been courted.”
In an effort to contain her laughter, Elizabeth let out a snort, which was rather worse.
Miss Darrow ought to hear such impudence and take notes!
She shook her head with amusement, and then resumed the great pleasure of examining herself in the mirror.
She looked very well indeed, for the lustrous ivory silk of her gown hugged her curves most becomingly.
Shiny pearl beads were sown in an elaborate design along the hem of her gown, and she wore matching pearl pins in her dark chestnut curls.
Lady Catherine loaned her a remarkably unique necklace – a thin strip of gauzy ivory lace trimmed with tiny pearls, bearing a pendant set with diamonds in a pattern that resembled a firework, and rested perfectly on Elizabeth’s collarbone, accentuating her elegant jawline and slender neck.
When Jane came into the room, Elizabeth was even more bowled over.
Her sister wore an elaborate confection of gold and pale rose, the layers of luminous sheer netting seeming lighter than air and rendering Jane’s every movement ethereal, almost fae.
The cut of the gown was flattering, the neckline daring, and the effect cast her as a golden Grecian goddess.
She wore gold pins set with large topaz stones in her elaborately arranged flaxen hair, a matching necklace, and bracelets worn over her shimmery gold gloves.
Elizabeth gaped at her. “Jane, you are a masterpiece! But your hair….”
Jane smiled brightly. “Gold flake brushed in, set with a little wax. Is it not marvelous?”
Lady Catherine beamed, extending a hand to each of them.
“Vauxhall is famous for its lanterns – the two of you shall glow brighter than any spectacle there. You are absolutely radiant!” She kissed them both on the cheek, and pronounced them ready to amaze the throng of revelers with their incomparable elegance.
But everybody at Vauxhall that evening was exceedingly glamorous, in Elizabeth’s estimation.
It was already crowded when the large party from Matlock House arrived, and they cut through the throng of fashionable people promenading amidst the many wondrous spectacles, and finally presented themselves in the opulent outdoor booth Lord Douglas had secured for their private use.
Two dozen people or more were crammed in, and many of them perfectly content to sit much closer to their companions than they might have managed anywhere else.
There was a thrilling frisson of excitement in the air, as if anything might happen.
The hum of activity around Elizabeth exhilarated her like nothing she had ever felt before, and she was elated to be taking it all in at Mr. Darcy’s side.
Unfortunately, Lord Douglas had maneuvered himself into a place at her other side, but happily for Elizabeth he was increasingly distracted by Rupert’s antics and Rebecca’s raillery as they progressed through their cups of arrack punch.
Elizabeth was seldom obliged to speak to the Marquess, though when she did, she expressed with great animation her gratitude for being invited to such an enchanting gathering.
But for most of the decadent meal, Elizabeth enjoyed a rare chance to speak to Mr. Darcy without her mother’s watchful eye fixed upon them, for Lady Catherine was positioned so that she could not easily observe her youngest without being too obvious – and she was far too caught up in the overwhelming admiration of Jane’s person.
Mr. Darcy seemed similarly struck by Elizabeth’s appearance.
Elizabeth felt herself aglow, as her mother intended, under Mr. Darcy’s appreciative gaze.
She wished he might always stare at her thus.
He had been rather cold to her for the last week, but tonight there was a tantalizing warmth in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her, and this was far more intoxicating than the seemingly endless supply of wine and arrack.
They spoke of idle things, as if they were each not entirely sensible of what the other was saying, or even what they themselves were talking of.
Elizabeth did not mind. If she was to be quite stupid, she had never enjoyed it so fully.
She was giddy with drink, and from the shared sense of splendor as their conversation seemed to ebb in time with the strains of the orchestra playing in the Rotunda.
After they dined, their party began to break up into smaller groups to explore the many marvels under the light of so many colorful lanterns.
Georgiana, who was again escorted by Lady Findlay rather than her mother, took Elizabeth by the arm, speaking shyly of the same sense of awe that Elizabeth felt as they explored the pavilions full of paintings, the brightly laid out gardens, the sham castle, and the Grand Walk.
After an hour of idly wandering through the crowd, and being admired by strangers so often that Elizabeth teased her young cousin she would grow quite vain, they were shepherded by Lady Catherine back to the Rotunda, where some of their party wished to dance.
Elizabeth passed by Mr. Darcy, and in a moment when her mother was distracted by some inquiry from Lady Darrow, she extended her hand toward him, hoping to signal that she wished to dance with him. He furrowed his brows, glancing pointedly at Lady Catherine, and gave a subtle shake of his head.
Elizabeth was whisked away and presented by her mother to Lord Douglas, who had apparently been looking for her for a quarter hour.
She could hardly decline to stand up with him, and his conversation was far from dull.
He was an extravagant man, fond of every form of indulgence and luxury, and Elizabeth found his commitment to enjoying himself to be a fascinating study. Instructive indeed!
As she regarded Jane dancing with Richard nearby, Elizabeth could not resist a pang of jealousy, for they appeared entirely lost in one another’s ardent gaze.
She desperately wished to be dancing with Mr. Darcy, and being stared at with such tender regard; at present she could only revel in his gaze from afar, for she knew that he was watching her.
She was next cajoled by Miss Bingley into standing up with Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth rather pitied the poor man, for he seemed to have lost Lady Rose’s enthusiasm, and often reminded her of a lost puppy in want of attention from anybody kind enough to remember him.
It was only the company they kept, she supposed, for Mr. Bingley was really quite charming, and certainly handsome – but these things meant little to the elevated set the Fitzwilliams moved amongst, where even the most affable tradesman was nothing to the titled bores and rakes.
She was pleased to see Mr. Darcy enter the fray and stand up with Jane.
When she was claimed next by Sir John Dawson – who felt compelled to apologize profusely for not being the sender of her lovely flowers – Mr. Darcy danced with Georgiana, who had been looking about nervously in want of a partner.
When she tired of dancing, Elizabet went in search of Mr. Darcy, hoping they might speak privately, perhaps as they explored one of the Dark Paths, which were notorious for being ideally suited to lovers who wished to escape the brilliant lights for private interludes.
Of course, she only wished to speak with him, to thank him for the flowers and assure herself that all was right between them at last, for he had spent the last few days occupied chiefly with his Cambridge friends.