11 #3
Anne turned away for a second as Dr Moore had picked up her book and was asking her a question about it. Archer crossed the room and sat down next to Jane who had chosen a chair as far away from the other group as possible.
“I find you in good health, Miss Jane? Fully recovered from all your Dorsetshire escapades?”
Jane felt heat rising in her cheeks and pretended to study her embroidery. She could not, would not, look up into those dark eyes. If she did she would be lost. And how terrible that would be—she could not possibly be in love with her future brother-in-law! It was unthinkable.
“Quite recovered, thank you, Sir. And yourself? I am sure you are glad to be back in the hustle and bustle of the law courts.”
“Indeed. I have new offices. I am extremely busy, which keeps my mind from wandering down other, more pleasant paths.”
“Escapades? I know you must be joking, Sir. Please tell.” Bennetta had overheard the one word.
She joined their group and Archer immediately vacated his chair for her.
“Jane is never involved in escapades. She is the quietest and most sensible of all us Darcy children and, indeed, of all our many cousins too.”
Archer’s mind flew back to an angry girl, her hat crooked, the feather askew, glaring at him from a carriage window, the same girl perched precariously on a steep slope, about to plunge to her death, the warmth from her body as he waltzed her round the room at Robyns and her bravery as she shouted down the drunken revellers at the Green Man.
“Sometimes we surprise even our nearest and dearest, Miss Bennetta.”
Jane glanced up—she had heard a tone in his voice that made her tremble.
Nearest and dearest? What was he really saying?
Oh why didn’t he just ask Anne to marry him and be done with it?
He should not look at her with that expression in his eyes.
Bennetta was as sharp as a tack; she noticed everything.
“Bennetta, have you told Archer of our plans for a dance?” Anne had crossed the room to stand at his side.
“We have a beautiful ballroom here at Matlock House, Sir. Not as grand as that at Pemberley, of course, but it does very well for a small dance. I do hope you will be able to attend. And Dr Moore, of course.”
Jane looked to where Andrew and her mama were in deep conversation with a laughing Celeste.
There at least was one man who seemed not the slightest bit affected by Anne’s charms. She just hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed when he heard of Celeste’s attachment to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He was such a kind man; it was sad to think of him being anything but happy in life.
“I shall be delighted to attend.” Archer bowed in Anne’s direction. “As to Andrew, I am not sure. He leaves for Greece any day now and with the trip already sadly delayed, I know he will not wish to tarry any longer, even if it means giving up the delight of a dance with you charming ladies.”
Anne laughed and tapped his sleeve with her fan. “You turn a pretty compliment, Sir. I shall be delighted to dance with you.”
“And you, Miss Jane. Will you write my name on your card for a waltz? We both know that you are proficient at that particular dance.”
There was a silence. Jane knew her face had gone red and she struggled to keep her composure and answer sensibly, all the time remembering that magical night at Robyns.
“Oh you will be very lucky if Jane can spare you a dance,” Anne, irritated at losing his attention for even a moment, broke in with a light laugh.
“A certain Mr Frobisher is back in town. A particular friend of Jane’s.
La, there is no need to look shy and silly, Jane.
You know Digby is your greatest admirer and, if I am not mistaken, you were broken hearted during the summer when you had that little argument. ”
She tossed her head, her gold and garnet earbobs jingling merrily—“Really Archer, you have no idea what Jane put us all through this spring and summer. I have never seen two people so well suited who found it so difficult to admit the fact. But Jane, dear, you must let the poor boy know your true feelings. Being reserved and silent gives a suitor no indication of how he is to proceed. Why, as a jest, I once completely confounded Digby by pretending I liked him more than you!”
Jane stared helplessly at her twin. She had said earlier that she had encouraged Digby, because she had been certain he was fickle. Now, apparently, she had changed her mind.
There was another silence. Bennetta broke it by chatting aimlessly about the dance but she was hardly concentrating on what she was saying.
The last few minutes had been so interesting: Anne was being annoyingly bright, Jane was obviously deeply embarrassed and unhappy and Archer Maitland, having gone very pale, shortly made his apologies to her mama and left.
Bennetta picked up her embroidery and frowned down at the rumpled material. She sighed; no matter how hard she tried, her stitches were too big or pulled too tightly. Mama would frown and ask her to try harder, but plying your needle in and out, over and over again was so boring.
Now Anne’s news was far more interesting: so Digby was in town. Would he ask for Jane again? Would she accept him this time? Her heart had been broken so badly months before when he proposed to Anne, but a broken heart might easily be mended if you were being pursued by an ardent admirer.
As soon as she could, Jane stole away to her room, flinging herself down on her bed, regardless of her dress.
She had seen the look of disdain on Archer’s face when Digby’s name was mentioned in connection with herself.
He had obviously heard the gossip about that young gentleman’s proposal to Anne.
He would no doubt think her very shallow if she herself would now accept him.
Did it matter if her future brother-in-law thought her morally weak? Did he really believe she would marry Digby if he proposed?
She sat up, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it fall in a fair cascade around her shoulders.
Only a few months ago the thought of becoming Mrs Frobisher had filled her with joy.
How could she have been so stupid, believing that what she felt for Digby was true love?
She had been flattered at being admired, at being put before Anne in someone’s affections, that was all.
“And what if I had accepted him,” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. “If I had married, thinking that was love and then I had met Archer! What heartbreak that would have caused. How could I have been such a silly, green girl!”
Love, she now knew, was nothing to do with being admired, or being put first before her twin. Love was a consuming fire that burned inside you. Love was what she now knew she felt for Archer and was afraid she always would.
Leaving the carriage for Andrew, Archer strode away from Matlock House, fighting to keep his temper under control.
He cursed himself for being a fool. Jane’s beau had returned; she would be happy, accept him and go to live up north in Cheshire on the Frobisher estate.
He would never need to see her again, never have that desire to push those ridiculous curls back from her cheeks, hold her in his arms as they danced.
She could have that stupid puppy, if that was what she wanted, if she was the type of girl who could be satisfied married to such a man.
He had thought her more than that; believed she had principles, a belief in what was right. He was wrong.
And he would propose marriage to Anne just as soon as he possibly could!
He remembered the dance that young Bennetta had mentioned.
That would be the perfect opportunity. He strode on into the bustle and noise of London, his expression oddly dark for a man who had just decided to marry a beautiful young woman.