B006O3T9DG EBOK (15 page)

Lydia was so often in want of conduct, Elizabeth had very nigh given up defending her. If she were to embarrass herself, Elizabeth would have much preferred that she would not do so in front of the worst magpies in Christendom. Yet, Lydia’s silliness did one good—it ridded Elizabeth of unpleasant companions. It was her sisterly obligation to chastise Lydia despite that, so she did.

“Really, Lydia!” she whispered. “Why must you insist on bringing us all to ridicule?”

Lydia whimpered, “What do you care, Lizzy? You hate Bingley’s sisters. ”

“It is unChristian to hate. That is too harsh a word. Everyone has some disposition to admire.”

“And what, pray tell, do you possibly find to admire about Caroline Bingley?”

“She does her hair well,” Elizabeth replied evenly.

Lydia was unmoved.

“You hate her and that is a sin—although not one of the “thou shalt nots.”

“You mean the Ten Commandments?”

Elizabeth was incredulous to find herself standing in the middle of a ball, conversing in such a stupid manner. However, speaking of the Bible and its admonitions sobered Lydia a bit.

She observed, “Say what you shall about the Ten Commandments—there are but ten of them. Think of what other evil deeds that could be added... thou shalt not speak ill of Caroline Bingley; thou shalt not break wind at the supper table; thou shalt not overspend one’s purse... oooh, there’s the punch bowl.”

She turned in that direction as if caught by a spell. Elizabeth caught her hand and redirected her. The last thing Lydia needed was further libations.

“Your strict integrity and delicate sense of honour astound me,” Elizabeth said as she pushed her towards the door.

To her great fortune, Darcy had found Kneebone and Kneebone then found them.

“Perchance, she needs fresh air,” Elizabeth suggested.

“Perhaps we shall retire for the night,” he wisely proposed.

In this, they thought quite alike. Lydia looked as if all the spirits she drank were to be cast out. As she was in grave danger of soiling a very fine Aubusson carpet, Elizabeth handed her to her husband. He nodded gratefully. With good fortune, Lydia would sleep until noon.

Happy at last to know Lydia was no longer a danger to their dignity, Elizabeth was much in want of sharing that intelligence with her husband. He could not be far, she was certain. After being delayed to speak and be spoken to by several guests, she eventually saw him.

He was not alone.

Chapter 19

Posit and Presumption

Charles Bingley believed his wife was the handsomest lady in England. There were those who agreed with him—especially if goodness had its say. Yet, Bingley was all but rendered a gibbering schoolboy under lovely Lady Howgrave’s alluring gaze.

Another wife might have been piqued. Jane, of course, was not. Indeed, she found Bingley’s befuddlement adorable. (Granted, there was little that Jane did not find charming of her husband.) After all, Bingley was not forward in his admiration. It was a matter of judgement. Effusiveness was not frowned upon as long as he did not fall headfirst into her ladyship’s bountiful cleavage.

Juliette’s special gift was attracting attention from both sexes and she revelled in that notice at Pemberley. Her severest chore was finding discretion. When need be, she was mistress of heedfulness. Those who clamoured for her eye and hearkened her every sigh were unhelpful. Therefore, she had become adroit at pretending to be engrossed in conversation without actually having to participate. A nod here, a smile there and those in her company were happy to know that she was entertained by them. Albeit, she did smile more brilliantly at Mr. Bingley. Even after his reversals, he remained a man of financial consequence—and of happy temper, not that she had any designs on him. To her, he was a bit of a buffoon.

Some innate instinct told Juliette that Bingley knew nothing of her long passed association with Darcy. Bingley was some years younger than Darcy and they became acquainted when the affair was on the wane. As they were both gentlemen, Darcy would never have told him of it regardless. Darcy, terse on all matters, was silent as the grave when the subject was intimacy. Had there been any question, Juliette learnt the truth absolutely when their paths crossed upon the steps of Howgrave’s apartments in London. When she spoke to Darcy, Bingley’s expression had been exceedingly inquisitive. He had wanted to know of their connection, but was far too daunted to inquire.

Shaking away such recollections, Juliette’s gaze expertly swept the room. It was important to have Darcy in her eye and gauge those about him before she bechanced him. Her initial objective of simply being an observer had been set aside for the possibility that she might gain a private word. To do so, it was important that he believe that accident brought it about. Was she seen to go to him, scandal would ensue. (In truth, she would have adored scandal, but a whiff of it would turn Darcy away.) In order to achieve that specific conjunction, she knew she must continue to oblige herself to the Bingleys’ company.

As Darcy’s closest friend, it was important for both the Howgraves to groom his friendship. Hence, Howgrave was near her elbow obtusely attempting to ingratiate himself to Bingley by publicly reminding him of a very private financial embarrassment.

“We had the income tax repealed, did we not?” Howgrave insisted on having Bingley’s agreement. “You sir, would still be retrenching otherwise.”

Well-mannered as he was, Bingley ignored that Howgrave made mention of his reverses. He looked to entertain Lady Howgrave instead.

Couching his voice for jollity, he bid her, “Pray, what distinguishes knowledge from stupidity?”

After a well-timed pause, she responded, “Knowledge is
finite
.”

“Yes, yes,” he explained to one and all, “Stupidity knows no bounds!”

Everyone laughed. Bingley allowed her to own the jest. It was, for all that, an old joke. If all of Derbyshire had heard it, they were too polite not to applaud. Juliette had good reason to fear that was to be the apex of wit for the evening. Had it not been for the sweet anticipation of encountering Darcy, she might have pled a headache and fled. Not unlike other much-touted virtues, she had never admired patience. It had always seemed an excuse for hopelessness. But she had begun to learn it—that and optimism.

Eventually her newly acquired forbearance was rewarded. And when it was, she had Charles Bingley to thank for it. It was he who spied Darcy and beckoned him.

No one, not even Jane, realised that Bingley was not merely overawed by Juliette’s beauty, he feared her. She flustered him. When disconcerted, his loquacity was known to run amok. He feared that once unfettered, his effusiveness just might expose information that he knew he should keep to himself.

Not that he held any intelligence of Darcy’s past. No, not at all. Bingley suspected, but he did not know. Suspicion was enough to test his tongue. Heretofore he had barely kept it in check. He could not think of another joke suitable for ladies’ ears.

Desiring escape at all cost, when Bingley espied Darcy, he saw reprieve. From across the room Darcy saw Bingley raise his hand and betook himself in that direction. Half the distance was crossed ere Darcy’s countenance altered. So little did it change, however, only Bingley was witting of his annoyance. Despite his good friend’s displeasure, Bingley experienced only the smallest regret. In some instances, it was every man for themselves.

Before Darcy could retreat, Bingley bid, “Tell us, Darcy, what is your opinion of the current economy? Shall it remain on the mend? What say you?”

At this inquiry, half of the listeners gave an inward groan. Few (and that included Bingley) cared to speak of politics. A few others were happy for a chance of contention—that which all political discussions were certain to bring. Everyone awaited Darcy’s response.

Darcy paused before answering Bingley, weighing his words. He disliked giving his opinion on such matters in public and Bingley was well-aware of that disinclination. Therefore, he did his best to remain vague and glowered at his friend as he did. (Wisely, Bingley gazed with great interest upon his toes.) Whilst equivocation was demanded by the onlookers, Darcy only said, “Unemployment looks to remain a source of agitation.”

“Yes,” agreed another, “I defy you to agitate a fellow who has a full stomach!”

That simple theorem incited an all-out political debate—arguments defending order and those who believed in the working class movement. This reignited Bingley’s interest. Granted, Bingley’s sensibilities were innately kind. However he had come very close to compleat financial ruin, so his understanding on this issue was sympathetic. The only thing that kept him in new waistcoats was that he had retained interest in his coal mines.

He said, “I must say that time in Fleet Prison has cured no man’s financial situation. We need good men of the people to represent us....”

Here he was interrupted by another, “There is no such thing as a good politician or an honest thief!”

Howgrave had better sense than to harrumph, but his laugh was hollow. A hint of a smile tempted the corner of Darcy’s mouth. Others whooped and laughed enough for twenty men. The group ebbed and flowed as those uninterested in political unrest repaired to other corners of the room, and those who enjoyed the possibility of fisticuffs, or at least a good argument, joined them.

“If you pick up a dog to feed him, he won’t bite you,” said a cadaverous man with a pock-marked face. “This is the main difference between dog and man.”

Unadvisedly, Bingley said, “If we are to speak of beasts, I beg a question.” He paused and then asked, “Pray tell, why is it that there are far more horse’s asses around than horses?”

When he issued that vulgarity, Bingley hastily glanced at Jane. Her countenance trembled, thereby advising her dear Charles that he overstretched his humour. Regrettably, her admonition was too late by half and the discussion was propelled into an arena better suited for other, less dignified, venues. A man named Feakes (who had nothing to promote of himself but a fat stomach and a wife with property) was most vexed upon the havoc the unrest had played on wages.

He announced, “When once a well-made woman in Haymarket was had for six shillings a year ago, now her time cost five pounds....”

“I
do
beg your pardon, sir,” said Bingley.

Mr. Darcy’s jaw clenched. When he did speak, it was in a low, precise voice.

“Indeed, Mr. Feakes, you forget yourself, sir.”

The man did not wait for the rebuke to take a hasty leave. With the compliance of a courtier, he genuflected his way out the door and had formed his letter of apology ere the footman called for his coach. A letter would be accepted. However, there was little chance that Feakes would insult propriety at Pemberley again. (There was little chance any persons witnessing Mr. Darcy unhappiness upon such a transgression would either.)

As the instigator, Bingley assumed an ingenuous—even beatific—expression and betook Jane’s hand. Thereupon, he led her and her poor, delicate ears from such unseemliness. Abruptly, Lady Howgrave found herself offended by the language and subject that she had listened to a hundred times over during her husband’s political campaigns. With a hint of distaste and upraised hand, she made it apparent that she was to be led away as well. Howgrave was busy haranguing another guest, punctuating his remarks by poking his finger in a man’s chest. There were any number of other gentlemen who would have climbed the Austrian Alps to take that delectable hand, but she eschewed them. With a glissade of one velvet slipper (and the agility of a cat), she moved in such a way that only Mr. Darcy had that honour. Neither delight nor abhorrence was betrayed by his countenance as he allowed her to place her hand upon his.

Because Mr. Darcy and Lady Howgrave took their leave, the other guests disbanded that corner of the ballroom as well. That entertainment having dissolved did not mean there was nothing left to amuse them. This dispersal was accompanied by the synchronous opening of a dozen fans. The ladies who owned these fluttering accoutrements floated away, kept aloft by raised eyebrows and wagging tongues. Their husbands did not follow their wives in any haste. Lady Howgrave looked to great advantage when she walked. Indeed, not an eye was spared from ogling her. She had honed that walk over years of practise. It was said that she had more swing to her undercarriage than a well-oiled barouche.