3 #2
She was about to add that Susannah was also sister to Sir Robert Courtney of Courtney Castle in Northumberland, then realised that her friend was pressing down on her foot under the table and swallowed her words. For whatever reason, the connection was obviously not to be mentioned at the moment.
It was of course, in her opinion, the height of bad manners to inquire in such an offhand fashion about someone to whom you had just been introduced, but, Jane thought doubtfully, no one else seemed to think anything out of place had occurred.
Perhaps she was too old fashioned, as Anne often said.
It was 1834, not 1734! She knew she had a tendency to live in the past and abhor modern manners.
And Celeste was a foreigner; Jane was sure their ways of living were very different in Sicily. The girl obviously meant no harm and was now chattering away to the Colonel, insisting that he tried this or that delicacy from the platter of cold meats and pastries which formed one of the courses.
Jane tried to concentrate on what Mr Maitland was saying but found her attention drifting. She sighed: this evening was turning out so differently from what she had imagined on the journey to Dorset.
Her unhappiness over Digby had been soothed by the thought that she and Susannah would sit with her godfather, exchanging news of Pemberley and catching up on all the local gossip from Compton Forge.
But she had hardly spoken two words to the Colonel since her arrival; Celeste had monopolised his attention the whole time.
Instead, she must spend her meal being polite to Mr Maitland and Dr Moore.
She found the younger man, far more approachable than his dark haired friend. He had interesting comments to make about historical sites in Greece and Italy and Jane found him an easy dinner partner.
To her distress, she realised she was neglecting the gentleman on her other side, but could sense that he did not find her company congenial.
He appeared tired and his apparent disapproval of her made her uneasy.
Aware that she had once more failed to be of interest, she retreated even further behind cold words and short replies to any question he asked.
“We can learn a lot from our ancient ancestors,” Dr Moore said as the footmen brought in the final course.
“But I wonder if the Greeks knew how to make a dessert such as this—with gooseberries, cream and iced liqueur. I must compliment your cook, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Keeping such a dish cold in this weather is an achievement.”
“The Colonel has an ice house in the grounds,” Jane said.
“It is built deep underground, close to the lake. When that freezes in the winter, great blocks of ice are stored in straw and wood and because the room is so cold it takes a long time to melt away. My papa was so impressed that he had one constructed at Pemberley.”
“Is the ice house somewhere you visit often, Miss Jane?” Archer Maitland asked. His tone was polite, but his friend looked up sharply and immediately changed the subject from ice houses to what he hoped to find out in Greece on his next archaeological dig.
“I am sure it will be even hotter in Greece,” Archer said with a smile. He pretended to shiver. “It is distinctly chilly in here tonight, I fancy.”
“Perhaps you are sitting in a draught, Sir?” Jane said, stunned into reacting at this not very well concealed barb. “You must be careful, Mr Maitland, although I believe cool air is always advised for those who have a tendency to be hot-headed.”
To her surprise, the stern, hawk like features broke into a grin that was almost boyish and she caught a glimpse of someone very different as his dark eyes gleamed. “You are quite right, Miss Jane. I shall heed your wise words.”
“Poor Mr Maitland!” Celeste’s husky voice purred down the table.
“Being criticised for being hot blooded! Why, Jane, I fear you would not care for many of the young gentlemen you would meet in my country. We prize those whose passions are easily aroused. Indeed, I believe gentlemen in any part of the world would prefer their companions to show their emotions rather than hide them away.”
And she laughed and tapped the Colonel on his arm with her fan, gazing at him with her brilliant dark eyes.
There was an uneasy silence until Susannah neatly changed the subject with an interested question to the Colonel about the age of the house.
Jane sipped her wine in silence but her thoughts were tumultuous.
Was Celeste right? Would she have kept Digby’s admiration if she had shown him just how deep her own feelings for him were?
Could he possibly have decided that her quiet, cool exterior covered an inner person who was just as cold and retiring, someone who really didn’t care for him? It was a frightening thought.
When dinner was finished, with a hot cheese relish for the gentlemen and iced rosewater for the ladies, the party moved into the drawing room where the windows were still open a little to let in the cooler night air.
Jane had always loved this room—the low ceiling, criss-crossed with ancient beams, the oak panelling, each panel embossed in the centre with a wooden rose.
The heavy chairs were covered in patterned damask and thick rugs lay scattered across the old floorboards, cut from oaks that Jane believed had been saplings at the time of the battle of Agincourt.
“You were very reserved at dinner, Miss Darcy.” Carrying his coffee cup, Archer Maitland crossed to her side and seated himself next to her. “I hope you were not too fatigued by your journey and the heat to enjoy your meal? Or perhaps it was the company that tired you.”
“The company, Sir?”
“I am sure it was a great surprise to find a cousin you knew nothing about in residence here at Deerwood, and then Andrew and I have also helped spoil the quiet evening I imagine you thought you were about to enjoy. I remember Anne telling me that you prefer a life of peace and solitude, that you spend more time in the Pemberley library than dancing or visiting.”
Jane felt her cheeks redden and flicked open her fan. There was nothing in Mr Maitland’s words that she could dispute, but it was the tone in which he spoke them that irritated her.
“It is true that I enjoy reading, but I do not consider that a fault. I am afraid my sister is somewhat extravagant with her opinions. I have no wish for continual solitude; I enjoy the company of many people.”
“But I have never seen you in London society? Miss Anne Darcy is often to be found gracing the assembly rooms and balls when she stays with Mrs Tremaine. Are you never tempted to do the same? Or perhaps you do not care to dance?”
To her horror, Jane realised that tears were welling up in her eyes.
She blinked rapidly, mortified to think that Mr Maitland might think he was the reason for them.
It had been a sudden memory—Digby dancing with Anne at the Pemberley ball.
Until that time she had truly believed that he liked and admired her more than her twin and the pain she had felt during that evening was still raw, when even Bennetta had danced with him twice and he had ignored her completely.