Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lady Clifford’s ball was the grandest entertainment Ramsgate had yet produced that season.
The rooms glittered with warm candlelight reflected from crystal chandeliers. Music flowed from the musicians’ gallery, and the guests were dressed in their finest evening attire.
Lady Barry had installed herself in a commanding chair with the air of a judge presiding over an important trial. Mrs Charlotte Bennet, seated nearby with a lovely painted fan in hand and an expression of innocent civility, observed the room with interest.
A small cluster of visiting families from Bath and London entered. Perfectly respectable people; elegantly dressed; entirely doomed.
They had, in the last week, accepted calls from and issued invitations to dine to Sir Rupert Barry and his dreadful sister despite very clear local warnings. Worse…they had continued to do so after being warned of Lady Barry’s opinion. These families were now to experience regret.
Mrs Heyer of Bath entered with three marriageable daughters. No one acknowledged them. There was no incivility or rudeness. That was the beauty of their isolation. They were merely…overlooked. Greetings were deferred. Eye contact was avoided.
The Heyer ladies smiled pleasantly, then bravely for several increasingly painful minutes. No gentlemen approached them. Not one.
“Oh dear,” Charlotte murmured.
“Poor judgment should have edifying ramifications,” Lady Barry replied. “Do you not agree, Mrs Bennet?”
The genteel Quinton family from London fared little better.
Their eldest daughter was a pretty girl who obviously expected a successful evening.
Miss Quinton took up a position beside the dance floor with admirable optimism.
She remained through the first set without a single greeting.
By the third, the girl began to droop. By the fourth set of watching almost every lady either in conversation or dancing, with a number of single gentlemen available, her mother began to look feverish.
Mr Bennet was amused, but also intrigued. “Lady Barry, by what merit do you hold such power over Ramsgate? This is almost impossible, madam.”
Lady Barry did not hide her satisfied smile.
“It is possible my wealth may be rather greater than is widely known. There are a few important families hereabouts who are aware of just how many lease holds I own in Ramsgate…as well as other places. The income was controlled by my husband when he lived, but my properties and fortunes were held for me in trust and reverted to my control upon his death. I could have half of the tourists in Ramsgate turned out, if I chose, but that is not for you to repeat, Bennet.”
“I would not dare.” Mr Bennet was impressed.
The third unfortunate matron, who was apparently determined to ignore the reality of her predicament, actually approached Lady Barry. Mrs Alveston had been introduced at the assembly the week before by the Master of Ceremonies, but had ignored Lady Nibsby’s warning about Sir Rupert.
Charlotte nearly stopped breathing in anticipation of Lady Barry’s response. The woman might say anything.
The lady dropped a curtsey. “Lady Barry, how delightful to see you.”
Lady Barry glared at her. “Is it, Mrs Alveston? Is it indeed?”
“Why…yes, of course.” The woman faltered.
“Hmmm…perhaps you should leave my presence and go and seek connections and a husband for your daughter in that disgusting swine that you were warned about.” Lady Barry was merciless.
“You will not find her one here. But that hardly matters. It seems you will feed her to any villain for a connection to a title.”
With perfect ease, Lady Barry turned away to speak to Charlotte. Mrs Alveston was left standing in mortification, and under the judgment of all who had heard. Charlotte covered her mouth, wishing to feel sympathy for the lady, but finding none in her heart for such a mother.
As the night drew on, the families in question gathered together, for no one else spoke to them.
They were only there because their invitations to the ball were already accepted when their welcome of Sir Rupert became known, and Lady Barry wished to make an example of them.
They might not be reviled in society everywhere when they departed Ramsgate, but they were certainly rendered pariahs in the seaside resort now.
Mr and Mrs Bennet enjoyed themselves thoroughly among their Ramsgate acquaintances.
Mr Bennet had acquired three rather interesting gentlemen with whom to discuss books, estate matters, and the failings of the prime minister.
Charlotte, nearly recovered to her former strength and health after her stay in Ramsgate, was befriended by several matrons who discussed their offspring at length.
Viscount Fitzwilliam had arranged matters such that he was nearly always beside Jane. His attentions were neither excessive nor dramatic, though Jane found herself in an eternal state of blushing from his increasingly deliberate courtesies.
Mary was dancing dutifully with whichever gentlemen presented themselves. She had accepted by now that the gentlemen she had met in Ramsgate were not, in fact, serious candidates for matrimony, in her opinion. Freed from expectation, she was pleasant and willing to be amused, but no more.
Colonel Fitzwilliam sensed this and settled into a cheerful friendship with her. He joined her after she danced with Mr Campden.
“I see you are surviving the evening, Miss Mary,” he said pleasantly.
Mary accepted the glass of lemonade he offered. “It is a pleasant night, do you not agree, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“Was Campden a pleasant partner?” he inquired.
“He discussed horses for twenty minutes,” Mary replied with an utterly straight face.
The Colonel winced. “Unforgivable. One should never introduce horseflesh into conversation in a dance, unless one is accompanied by one of the rare ladies who is interested in such things.”
“I should think not.” Mary sipped her lemonade.
He leaned slightly closer. “We should start a courting academy for gentlemen before they are permitted to approach ladies.”
“How practical.” Mary grinned. “I wish Mr Painswick and Mr Lovett had attended such a school before our ill-fated phaeton race.”
“I would gladly support such measures.” Laughter rumbled in the colonel’s chest. “More than half of men would benefit from it.”
Mary was faintly pleased. Colonel Fitzwilliam was one of the few gentlemen who treated her as though her serious nature was interesting rather than strange or tedious.
Priscilla, meanwhile, was in excellent spirits. She danced every set without a single romantic thought in her mind and appeared to consider the entire evening as arranged specifically for her own personal amusement.
Mr Bingley spoke to their hostess, and the second set was Mr Beveridge’s Maggot.
“Miss de Bourgh!” he approached, excitement alight in his eyes. “You must not deny me the pleasure of being the first to lead you to the dance floor!”
“Mr Bingley, I am not ready!” Anne hissed.
“But you are,” he insisted, eyes twinkling. “I am your dance master, I should know.”
“What if I make a mistake?” she feared.
“Miss de Bourgh,” he lowered his voice. “The lady who satisfies her dance partner need suit no other gentleman.”
Priscilla was delighted, and even Colonel Fitzwilliam was impressed by Mr Bingley’s way with Anne as they watched her enjoy her first public dance. Her dance master was correct. Though she looked only at him, she never missed a step.
For two of the guests, the room might as well have been entirely empty. Upon entering the ball, Elizabeth watched the room with interest as Darcy approached her.
He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth. The first, if you please.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You say that as though I have not already reserved it for you.”
“I would never take such a privilege for granted,” he assured her. “And your supper set?”
“I would be delighted. Then we shall both be assured of superior conversation during the meal.”
“And the last dance, of course.” He looked hopeful.
“Mr Darcy, you are in a monopolising humour, this evening,” she said in delight. “How could I refuse?”
“Yes, I am.” This response was delivered with perfect seriousness. “I must secure my happiness for the evening without delay.”
During the first set, the two of them found themselves perfectly at ease with one another. Gone was the tension of first impressions. Forgotten was the careful civility of recent weeks.
Elizabeth accepted that she liked being with him. Quite specifically. Not merely being admired by him. Not only enjoying his attentions. She was simply pleased by his company and thought of him constantly in his absence.
“It feels strange to have an evening devoted only to dancing and frivolity after the week we have had,” he remarked as the dance brought them together.
“Indeed. Not a single kidnapping tonight,” she agreed.
“No attempted elopements,” he added.
“And no abuse from those we should find trustworthy.” Elizabeth nodded.
“A remarkable improvement.” He smiled as the dance parted them, then brought them back together again. “Do you not agree?”
“I cannot deny that I prefer this arrangement.” Elizabeth sighed in contentment.
“So do I.” The words slipped easily from his lips. “I cannot deny that since coming to Ramsgate, I have come to be more at ease in your company than any other.”
Elizabeth blushed and did not know what to say. Her blush seemed to be enough to light up his entire countenance.
They sat together at supper. Conversation hummed around the table.
And yet their corner of the room felt strangely sheltered from the conversation of the other guests.
Darcy was quieter now and more thoughtful.
“You are looking serious, suddenly, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth noted.
He nodded. “I must leave Ramsgate soon.”
Her smile disappeared as if Sir Rupert had joined them. “For Derbyshire.”
“Yes.” He nodded again. “I must supervise the harvest.”
Obligation; responsibility; Pemberley. The northern realities she had not considered until that moment.
“When must you go?” she asked, her eyes downcast.
“Perhaps a fortnight,” he answered, as if he were describing going to certain death.
Darcy’s voice lowered. “I hope my absence might not entirely erase whatever progress I have lately made in your estimation, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flew up to meet his.
There was something about his restraint that moved her far more than a dramatic declaration might have.
She smiled. “I think, Mr Darcy, you may safely have confidence in my estimation.”
His expression changed. “May I?” he said hopefully.
“You have made your company very difficult to do without,” she confessed in nearly a whisper, her face scarlet.
Not quite a confession of her feelings. But gentle and intentional encouragement.
“You are all kindness and generosity tonight.” He smiled radiantly.
“I hope so, Mr Darcy. I should hate to be misunderstood.”
During the last set of the night, their conversation wandered hesitantly to the future.
They spoke of books he meant to send her from his library.
Whether his father’s health would permit another stay at Ramsgate next summer.
Whether they preferred the sea to the countryside.
Whether Derbyshire might ever tempt her to travel to the north.
Elizabeth was acutely aware that in a matter of days, these small moments between them would be over. He would be absent. No more walks by the cliffs. No confectionery adventures. No absurdly attentive company. No Darcy. Elizabeth found it an intensely disobliging thought.
When the dance brought them together again, she spoke before caution could bring her to her senses.
“Do you mean to return?” she blurted out quite suddenly.
“From the north?” His gaze fixed on hers.
“Yes.”
“I hope so,” he answered. “I will come to London after the festive season, if I am wanted.”
Elizabeth’s smile was radiant. “You are.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Perhaps I might visit my aunt and uncle there.”
His countenance changed from uncertainty to utter joy. Their expressions showed them both, even from across the room, to be deeply in love.
Lady Barry observed with satisfaction and nudged Charlotte.
“Well, well.” Mr Bennet followed her gaze. “I believe I have lost my dear Lizzy.”
Lady Barry adjusted her shawl. “You could not lose her to a better man. If she must enter the detestable state of marriage, she could not do better than Anne’s boy.”
She paused. “Except for one of Reggie’s boys, perhaps, though your eldest seems to have caught one.”
“Finally.” Charlotte made no attempt to hide her smile.
“Indeed, my dear,” Mr Bennet said tenderly to his wife. “Indeed.”
Late that night, Elizabeth was quiet as she and Jane prepared for bed. Jane, however, was unable to contain her enthusiasm for Viscount Fitzwilliam. She wavered between admiring his merits and insisting that she could never interest him properly.
“He paid you quite enough attention, Jane.” Elizabeth was amused. “You never spoke like this about Mr Lovett or Mr Bingley.”
“Lizzy, it is almost as if I never met a man before! Mr Darcy, he is quite mature for his age. He has a sense of masculine dependability about him that is very attractive, though he is too reserved for me. Even if you did not like him, I should never encourage him. We would speak ten words between us in a year, I am certain. But these gentlemen. His cousins. Lizzy…they are men! Did you see how the viscount carries himself? I know he is too far above me, but oh! How a girl could dream about marrying such a man…”
Jane went on about not getting her hopes up for more than a quarter hour as Elizabeth brushed out her hair.
“I believe we might both be allowed to get our hopes up this time, Jane.” She grinned at her sister in the mirror. “But do not tell Charlotte I said it.”