14 #2
Jane was only half listening to her family’s conversation.
Tea at Lady Goddard’s! Would Archer be there?
Surely not. He would be at work in his law offices, or at the courts themselves.
She wondered why the old lady had invited the Darcys after ignoring them for so many years?
There was no avoiding the fact that it could only be because of Anne and Archer’s forthcoming engagement.
‘Lady Goddard probably wants to have a private conversation with Mama, to make sure that she and Papa are happy for the alliance to be announced.’ Her thoughts were as heavy as her heart.
Oh if only it was over and done with! If only this dreadful ball was in the past and she could return to Pemberley and the quiet seclusion of the library and her beloved books.
But even as she thought that, she felt a surge of restlessness.
She was no longer the same girl who had left Derbyshire for Dorset, who thought her heart had been broken because that ridiculous Digby had turned her head.
She realised she had no desire to return to that quiet life where she was protected at every turn, kept away from the harsh realities of the world.
Jane glanced across the table at Celeste, who was re-reading a letter that had arrived that morning, a secret smile curving her dark red lips.
How could she possibly stay for weeks with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Celeste when they married, knowing that Archer and Anne might arrive at his grandmother’s house at any moment and she would be forced into their company, have to witness their happiness together?
But there was no avoiding the invitation to take tea; what possible excuse could she give?
She was terrified that Anne should guess her feelings for Archer.
How could they possibly have a happy family life with that secret between them?
Anne might laugh: she might even tell her husband that his sister-in-law was in love with him.
And that was not to be born. No, she would go to Lady Goddard’s, she would smile and congratulate and lock away, deep inside her, all the passion and love she felt for Archer Maitland.
***
Lady Goddard’s London abode was situated not far away from Matlock House in Mayfair. It was a smaller establishment than Robyns, set in a street of elegant little houses, well lit in the gloomy November afternoon by the new gas lights that had been fitted along the pavements.
She had ordered a fire to be lit in the drawing room and was sitting, waiting for the Darcy party to arrive for tea, watching her grandson kick moodily at the smouldering logs.
“Do leave the fire alone, Archer, you will ruin your boots. Sit down and talk sensibly to me before our guests arrive. Andrew is tardy, as usual, but this gives us a chance to talk alone. We have important matters to discuss and you have been avoiding me of late.”
He threw himself into a chair opposite her, his expression stern and remote. With his dark hair and eyes he reminded her, painfully, of the daughter she had disowned: that stubborn set to the mouth, the air of intransigence, all brought back bitter memories of Violet to the elderly lady.
“So, have you decided when you will propose to Miss Anne Darcy? If you are not careful, some other ambitious young man will come along and sweep her off her feet.”
“Anne is not the sort of girl who would allow herself to be swept off her feet, Grandmama. She is far too sensible.”
Lady Goddard sighed silently. “Very well then, she might think that she could do better with someone else. I like the girl, she is ambitious and clever, all qualities you will need in a wife when you go into politics.”
“I am not sure if I still wish to enter politics, Grandmama. There is so much good I can achieve in the legal profession, people I can help, people who do not have the advantage of money and education. I feel that is where my future lies and I certainly do not wish to marry someone just because they are ambitious and clever.”
Lady Goddard caught hold of her temper before she said something she would regret.
“It has always been decided that your law career would lead you to the political arena where the real power lies in this country. The House of Commons is your destiny. Anne Darcy is elegant, beautiful and witty. I like her very much.”
“I like her, too.”
“Well, then …”
“But Grandmama, I do not love her.”
“Love! What part, pray, does love play in your decision?”
“It should surely play the most important part.”
Lady Goddard felt suddenly very cold. She was seeing and hearing a young woman, standing in this very room, many years ago dark eyes flashing, saying “But Mama, I love Mr Maitland and I intend to marry him whatever you and Papa say.”
“Your mother married for love and lived a life of poverty and hardship. Remember, you would not have had the good education you had if your grandfather and I had not stepped in to help.”
Archer bowed his head; sometimes endless gratitude could be very galling. “Believe me, I appreciate how kind you have been. And I know how much you like Anne.”
Lady Goddard played with the long jet necklace that hung around her neck.
“Perhaps there is another young lady who has come to your attention. To be sure, the girl Celeste is pretty, if flamboyant, and related to Earl Fitzwilliam. However, from what I have seen, dear Andrew has already made his feelings towards her clear and I cannot see you hurting him by taking her away.”
“Celeste!” Archer almost shouted with laughter. “Dear Grandmama, please put that idea out of your head at once. I have no feelings towards Celeste at all.”
There was no way Lady Goddard was going to mention Jane Darcy.
She had spent too many years believing that if you ignore a problem it goes away.
And she intended to ignore the possibility that Archer might prefer the younger twin.
She would be so unsuitable as his wife, a pale shadow of her sister, a delicate creature who would probably die giving birth to any child they might breed.
She stood up in a rustle of black silk. “Archer—I can hear voices in the hall. Our guests have arrived. But let me say one thing more. I want you to be quite clear before you make any hasty decision. I wish you to marry Anne Darcy—I believe she is the right wife for you and will be of immense benefit in your future career. You are, of course, at liberty to choose someone else, someone of whom I do not approve. No—let me finish—” she said, holding up her hand as she heard the sound the footman outside the door.
“In that circumstance, you will not be surprised to learn that I will withdraw all my monetary support for you. You will always be my beloved grandson, but I will not be party to you ruining the brilliant career I know could be yours.”
Archer had no time to reply—which judging by the angry words that he wanted to speak, was probably a good thing.
During the past few weeks he’d begun to realise the truth in Andrew’s words—that for years, he had lived in a prison—oh a velvet one, no doubt, but still a prison.
His life was easy and productive, but only as long as he agreed with the person who held the key to his cell.
He felt as if the very foundations of his world were cracking when a footman announced Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy, Miss Jane and Miss Bennetta Darcy and Signorina Celeste Fiorette.
The room suddenly seemed full of bright colours that swirled and fluttered before him like so many butterflies as he bowed.
He was aware of Anne in deep red with wide diaphanous sleeves, her hair style in the latest fashion with rolls of fair curls over her ears.
She looked charming and beautiful, reaching out her hand to his, her eyes sparkling in the firelight.
Mrs Darcy was smiling at him and he could well see the attraction that had ensnared one of the richest men in the country twenty or more years before.
Celeste greeted him like an old acquaintance and then there was Bennetta, pretty in dark green velvet, with shining black ringlets who looked up at him under thick lashes and whispered that she was so pleased to meet him once more in such a flirtatious tone that he found himself grinning.
He could see that everything Jane had told him about her younger sister was probably true.
Then the doorway into the hall stood empty. Jane? She had been announced, so surely she had come with the others?
Two strides took him out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.
A maid had taken her cloak but Jane had stopped to talk to Miss Purkiss, his grandmother’s companion, who had been told her presence was not necessary at the tea party and had been heading for the sanctuary of her own room when the Darcys had arrived.
“Jane.”
She spun round, colour flaming into her cheeks, remembering that the last time she had seen him, they had kissed with a passion that was outside her understanding. “Mr Maitland.”
“Archer, please. l think we are long past the polite niceties of society.”
“I am so sorry to have kept Miss Jane talking. I do hope I have not delayed tea. Lady Goddard will not be pleased.” Miss Purkiss pulled worriedly at her necklace and then squeaked in horror as the thread broke, sending beads scattering across the hall floor.
“Oh dear, oh dear! No, no, dear Mr Archer, Miss Jane, please do not bother yourselves to pick them up … only a silly old necklace … no value … no value at all … one of the maids will help … oh, please, Lady Goddard will be wishing your attendance immediately … she will blame me for delaying you …”
Ignoring her, Archer scooped up a few beads and pressed them into her hands, remembering with a jolt how he had thought moments before about the pain of having to be continually grateful. Thanking him profusely, she turned and hurried up the stairs, still apologising as she went.