Chapter Twenty One
A few minutes after Richard donned his shirt and left his chamber to see what all the commotion was, Lady Blanche kicked aside the tangled bedclothes and fastened her dressing gown around her as she moved to the door to listen.
There was shouting coming from around the corner – she guessed it must be Mr. Willoughby’s room.
The feminine shouting might belong to any number of the ladies present, for she could name at least three that had made it abundantly clear to more than just Willoughby that they were his for the taking.
She hoped it was not Marianne Dashwood, for Brandon’s sake.
But now her old friend was sure to put his foot down about turning the rake from the house.
She would be glad to see him go, if Brandon would not fight Willoughby and have done with it.
She could not decide whom she would prefer to bid farewell to more, Miss Bingley or Miss Elliot.
Miss Bingley fawned over Mr. Darcy too much for Lady Blanche’s liking, but Miss Elliot was cold and belittling to her kind and gentle sister Miss Anne, treating her like a servant.
The mousy creature might grow more lively, with her vicious sister sent away, and the disgrace of it would not bother Brandon, given the state of his ward Miss Williams.
It had been long enough for her to have walked up from the first floor, rather than leaving the scene of an unexpected tryst – her first in several years – and so Lady Blanche slowly opened the door to the corridor. Just as she stepped out, she saw movement across the hall. She froze.
Lady Rebecca stilled in the doorway to Mr. Bingley’s room, and her dark eyes locked on Lady Blanche.
The younger woman appeared entirely unruffled.
A lady sneaking out of a man’s room in the middle of the night generally looked disheveled, and vastly contented.
Lady Rebecca’s lovely face looked strange and half-wild, but her person was entirely tidy, her loose hair rolling into neat, undisturbed curls.
She brought a finger to her lips, requesting Lady Blanche’s silence.
Blanche was in no position to refuse this request, and she wondered if Rebecca knew whose room this was. She mimicked the gesture back to her and gave a nod of agreement. Lady Rebecca gave a doleful nod before creeping off into the yawning darkness of the corridor.
A pang of guilt struck Blanche. Elizabeth Bennet had made some witty quip about Lady Rebecca and Mr. Bingley, and Blanche had thought Richard would find it amusing to laugh at his sister, if she and their friend were made to play at romance. Perhaps she had pushed them too far, too swiftly.
The party had been raucous and racy for a purpose.
The scenes were all romantic in nature, the costumes all beguiling – especially for the ladies more blessed in the bust – and the actors and actresses had been given permission to mingle at the party, giving it an air of something naughty and indulgent.
The wine had flowed until the party reached a fever pitch of debauchery, and all so that Blanche and her relations could figuratively clear the board of useless pieces.
Those who did not improve the general company would simply have to go.
Blanche rounded the corner, and what a tableau she beheld!
The smaller corridor was full of people, and they were all shouting at one another.
Brandon was there, in his bedclothes, berating Willoughby, who stood in the doorway of his bed chamber, clad only in a banyan.
Miss Bingley was standing at his side, a fine linen bedsheet wrapped around her disheveled person as she received the scolding of her life from her brother.
Mr. Darcy and Richard stood at their friend’s side, seemingly offering moral support to the younger man, who ought to have taken his insufferable sister to hand years ago.
Mrs. Jennings was fairly shrieking at Willoughby.
She echoed every sentiment of Brandon’s displeasure and loudly lamented that poor Marianne would be heartbroken.
Sir Walter was there, too, speaking in hushed and frantic whispers with his eldest daughter, who was wearing a negligee designed for married ladies, and weeping profusely.
Dorothea came up behind Blanche, who was caught up in the vastly amusing spectacle. Her sister-in-law looked too cross to be impressed at what their own chaos had wrought.
“What in God’s name is going on? It is nearly dawn – the party ended above an hour ago. Someone explain at once.”
Everyone fell silent. After a tense pause, Brandon grabbed Willoughby by the ear and dragged him forward, halving the distance between them and their hostesses. “You. Speak.”
Blanche grinned at the sight of Brandon finally loosening the reigns on his temper – he ought to have boxed the lout’s ear. Dorothea regarded the younger man sternly. “Well?”
“I apologize with all my heart, Lady Dorothea. I had too much wine at the party, after being swept up in the acting scheme – I daresay we were all rather debauched. In a moment of impulse, I sent a note to Miss Elliot, asking her to come to my room after the party. Miss Bingley received it….”
“Stole it,” Miss Elliot hissed.
“It was given to be by mistake – an honest mistake, I daresay, for you are far too old for him!” Caroline moved to accost her rival, but Bingley stayed her with a firm hand.
Willoughby looked pained; Lady Blanche imagined he must be riddled with regret.
“I had no notion that the note had gone astray, and as I left the party I urged Miss Elliot not to tarry in coming to me. I can see now why this surprised her, but still she came to me… only, Miss Bingley arrived first. It was dark, and I….”
“It would have to be,” Miss Elliot snarled, crossing her arms and glaring at Miss Bingley.
“Quiet, Elizabeth,” her father said sternly.
Mr. Bingley came to stand beside Willoughby, who was still held roughly by Brandon. “I demand satisfaction, sir.” Mr. Darcy and Richard trailed behind their friend, looking frightfully imposing, the younger man stood up straighter. “You must marry her, to preserve her honor.”
Willoughby looked livid, but he nodded his head. “I am sure my benefactress, Lady Allen, will find her a suitable bride; I have no objection.”
“I should say not,” Mr. Bingley hissed. He turned his head sharply toward his sister. “Caroline, the banns will be called on Sunday.”
Miss Bingley nodded her head smugly, and Miss Elliot hissed at her, earning a sharp look from her father. “Go to your room at once, Elizabeth. You have lingered here too long as it is, making a spectacle that is beneath us.”
Miss Elliot let out a raspy snarl of irritation, but did as she was bid, casting a desperate look at Willoughby as she stalked past him. The haughty chit looked as if she were actually wished she had been caught in the rogue’s bed!
Sir Walter cleared his throat. “Mr. Bingley, might I have a word?”
Mr. Bingley went to speak with the baronet, and Richard shoved his shoulder into Willoughby's as he trailed behind his friend. Blanche could not meet Mr. Darcy’s eye, for when the commotion began, he had entered Richard’s chamber through the shared parlor of their suite as she and Richard had been lounging together in a contented afterglow.
He was quite mortified at what he had discovered then, and now they were left to manage more of the same.
Brandon jostled Willoughby roughly. “Lady Dorothea, I believe I must inform Mr. Bingley of all my dealings with this reckless wastrel – what he had done to my ward….”
Mr. Darcy stiffened, looking a little pale.
“Mr. Bingley might also wish to disclose the terms of his sister’s inheritance.
I advised him after his father’s accident, when her settlement was arranged.
She will receive only an annual stipend until she is twenty-five, which is more than three years from now. ”
Willoughby looked far from pleased, and Blanche could not resist smiling.
She withdrew for a moment to subdue her hysterical friend Mrs. Jennings, who had been given a room on the bachelor's floor, ostensibly because Miss Dashwood had taken the last room on the ladies’ floor.
In truth, Lady Blanche had arranged it thus precisely because she knew that she could depend upon her friend, a devoted busybody, to discover any intrigue that took place.
As Blanche went back to her sister, wondering what they ought to do next, Richard fell into step beside her, while Mr. Bingley summoned his sister to speak with him and Sir Walter.
Richard grinned as they rejoined the miscreant and his captors.
“Well, Willoughby, you might be off the hook. Sir Walter has offered himself up as an alternative to Miss Bingley, should she elect not to marry a man who preferred to arrange an assignation with a different lady – and who is known amongst this party as a wastrel of the first order!”
Willoughby looked offended, and yet a little relieved. “Would she have an old man?”
“A man with a title, not beholden to any ancient and mercenary relations, who is not widely known as a reprobate? I cannot tell you. Sir Walter is in need of an heir, to be sure, and he is laboring under the impression that the Bingleys will soon be intimately connected to the Earl of Matlock.” Richard waggled his brows at Mr. Darcy.
“Miss Bingley has apparently boasted to him of the peculiar friendship between your friend and my sister. Utterly delusional.”
Blanche bit back a smile. Dorothea was still scowling. “Well, neither of them were invited to attend this party. At least they have something in common.”