Twixt Two Equal Armies (70 page)

Oh, he could not help it. It
would
be good to see her; he pondered the upcoming meeting with equal parts anticipation and dread and he was anxious to get on with it rather than continue to wait around in uncertainty. He was not so much concerned with her reaction and feelings as he was with his own. A selfish thing to confess, to be sure, but even so, all his energies must of course be spent to assure that he did not betray himself or act irrationally. However skilled he was at hiding his true feelings and true self from the world, a practice he had been perfecting since he was a boy, this was truly uncharted ground.

Yet, if the prospect of seeing her, here among her family, under the guise of a wedding, was confusing to his resolve and temper, seeing both of them would remind him of better days, of a calmer existence, of a truer self — someone he liked better than what he was in other company. Of course, he must start by apologising and putting right the rather strained way they had parted. But as he did so — and he had no doubts he would be forgiven — perhaps they could talk and be as they had been. And then . . . Still avoiding Miss Bingley’s eye, Baugham smiled at his page. Would anything have changed in removing south, he wondered? Would it be easier and would he be spared this restlessness? Whatever the case, it would be very good to see her again.
And
her mother, too.

Right then a languid voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I have always thought,” Miss Bingley said right above his shoulder, “that the charm of the country lies in the contrast it offers to Town. Just as you can find something soothing in old buildings despite their discomfort, draughtiness, dullness and impractibility.”

Baugham looked up and noticed Mr Bingley ducking his head to avoid his or his sister’s gaze.

“You’re not fond of the country, Miss Bingley?”

She gave a little laugh. “Oh, Lord Baugham. ‘Fond’ I certainly am. As long as there is always the reliability of the season that will allow me to quit it in time.”

In one long, graceful movement she descended on the other end of the sofa and placed her arm to decoratively rest along the back of it.

“Am I to understand you share my attitude? I have heard you are very fond of your country estate — as long as it does not interfere with your London pleasures.”

Baugham frowned. Was this woman hinting at his past troubles and his flight to Clyne? But no, how could she know. She was not an intimate of his, regardless of her insinuations and he had never come across her as part of polite society in Town. As for Clyne and his reasons for taking up residence there . . . Well, presumably there had been gossip, but that had died down long ago and no one cared about that anymore.

“Scotland,” Miss Bingley prompted with a small smile. “What on earth did you find so enticing in
Scotland
?”

“The same you found in Town, I suppose,” Baugham smiled back. “Novelty.”

Miss Bingley looked down on her string of pearls and managed to look both amused and offended.

“But,” Baugham amended, “even if that was what lured me there, novelty was never what kept me coming back.”

“Are you a romantic, my lord? An avid admirer of scenery? A finder of truth in nature?”

That Miss Bingley could have come so close to reading his heart and yet been so mistaken at the same time amused him.

“Truth,” he mused. “Yes, I think that is exactly it, Miss Bingley. I did find the truth and as we both know, that is one thing neither one of us will ever find in London.”

“
S
IT YE DOWN,
R
OSE, AND
rest yer feet.”

Mrs McLaughlin abandoned the dust covers she was spreading out over the furniture and sunk down into the soft chair upon her cousin’s arrival. Mrs Higgins threw her a quick look and followed her example, putting her feet up on the fender in front of the small and economical fire as well. She lifted the small glass Mrs McLaughlin had given her and sniffed.

“Elderberry?”

“Aye. I made fifteen bottles of it and now there’s no one here to drink it.”

“Well, the ladies will be back after the wedding . . . ”

“Ye’re right, Rose, I’ll pack a few bottles in yer basket afore ye leave. This is dusty work.”

The women sampled Mrs McLaughin’s homemade potion and licked their lips in silent appreciation.

“Och,” Mrs McLaughlin finally said, “an empty house again . . . ”

“But he stayed longer this time than usual, dinnae he?”

“Aye, that he did. I was thinking he’d never be gone.”

She had meant it to be a dry comment indicating she treasured her reclaimed peace and quiet, but Mrs Higgins knew it was the confession of a hope that his lordship would have stayed even longer.

“And when will he come again?” she asked.

Mrs McLaughlin shrugged. “No one knows. Mebbe when the salmon fishing starts.”

The women sighed in unison.

“I’ll tell ye something, Rosie,” Mrs McLaughlin said, “and I dinnae mind if ye think I’m daft but I did think . . . Well, I thought the reason he stayed so long was mebbe . . . I mean, he always liked his stay here, I know he did. It is a shelter for him, he says, a sanctuary that he treasures and even when he does leave he is already looking forward to coming again, even if he doesnae know when that’ll be. But this time, with him staying so long an all, I thought that mebbe there was some new . . . attraction that kept his interest. Ye’ll think I’m daft, I’m sure.”

“No-oo Heather,” her cousin said, “I’ll match yer confession and own up I . . . well, I know that it is presumptuous of me, but one does hear things, and see things, and sense things, even if they do go on in a respectable parlour under the eyes of a chaperone like Mrs Tournier . . . ”

“Well, Mrs Campbell was wrong then,” Mrs McLaughlin said. “Although . . . ”

“Yes,” sighed her cousin and looked into the fire.

For a while they each contemplated the if’s and delicious consequences of what the realisation of their fancies would have brought, but since there was nothing to be done about that and plenty to be done about his lordship’s drawing room, they soon abandoned their empty glasses and set about rolling the carpets aside and covering the ornate candle holders on the walls to shut all the rooms of Clyne Cottage except the library.

Chapter 31

The Days that Led up to the Big Event

The parlour was filled with women, all sitting in a circle and busily sewing. In the middle of the night, Mrs Bennet had been struck with the sudden realisation that she had not ordered nearly enough handkerchiefs for Mrs Bingley and Mrs Darcy to begin their married lives with, so every available seamstress was recruited to remedy the oversight. Arabella Tournier plied her needle alongside the rest and watched as her daughter valiantly tried to keep pace with her more skilled cousins. She saw, too, how Holly’s smiles looked slightly strained, and how, as thrilled as she obviously was with her cousins’ good fortune, there was a dullness about her that she did not like — as well as a question that hung, unasked, in the air. She decided to take the initiative in the one area she could.

“So, Sister,” she turned to her brother’s wife, “Has his lordship arrived in Hertfordshire yet?”

At one and the same time, her sister’s exclamations and her daughter’s cries filled the room.

“My dear sister, how kind of you to ask . . . !”

“Ouch! Oh, it’s nothing, just a prick. I’m so clumsy . . . ”

Holly was tended to by her solicitous cousins who wrapped her finger and declared that she would be excused from any further needlework if she would instead consent to read to them while they worked, but not before Elizabeth looked up to meet her aunt’s eye. The young woman’s questioning gaze was met by the older woman’s wiser one and Elizabeth returned to her work with the belief that perhaps her cousin was suffering from another sting as well. Mrs Bennet’s effusions were not so readily dealt with.

“Oh yes, indeed he has and he graced us with his presence the moment he arrived. Who would have thought I would be entertaining an Earl in this very parlour . . . ”

She abandoned her smug face for a moment and leaned forward in confidence.

“He is an odd man, as far as I can tell, a nervous, restless sort and I could not interest him in my poor Kitty, though she did try her best. Snubbed her is what he did.”

“It is no matter, Mama,” Kitty replied, “he talks too much anyway.”

Elizabeth, who had sent her cousin a searching look, but been assured by a quick shake of Holly’s head that she was fine and it was nothing to remark upon, noticed her aunt still watching her daughter with narrowed eyes.

“I think you must take great care, Kitty,” she said in an attempt to steer the attention away from Holly and let her surprising clumsiness be forgotten. “I distinctly remember sitting in this very parlour and comforting Mama with the promise of never dancing with Mr Darcy when he had been so unforgivably rude to me at the Assembly Rooms last Michaelmas. And now it seems I am expected to dance with him at every event we ever find ourselves at together again,” she finished with a dramatic sigh.

Kitty looked at her sister and scrunched her face in disbelief, but Mrs Bennet put down her work and looked at Elizabeth.

“Yes, yes . . . That is very true, I suppose . . . ” she said, a mercenary hope kindling in her eye. “I remember it distinctly. Kitty, you know there may still be . . . ”

“
The Lady of the Lake?”
Holly said quickly and picked up a book from the side table.

“Oh yes, please!” her cousin said, instantly regretting that she planted such a thought in her mother’s fertile imagination.

“Perhaps if he could be persuaded to come and dine and even a little dancing afterwards,” Mrs Bennet persisted and turned to Kitty. “And you must wear your blue gown — ”

“
Harp of the North!”
Holly suddenly exclaimed, a little more loudly than necessary. Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up and Mrs Bennet gave a start in her chair and lost her train of thought. Mrs Tournier’s lips tightened and she turned her attention to the lace in front of her while Holly lay the book on her lap and continued in a more subdued tone. “
That mouldering long hast hung, On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan’s spring, And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung
. . .
”

As Holly drew her breath at the end of the tenth stanza, Mrs Bennet had already grown tired of verse and seized the opportunity to return to her favourite subject.

“As to your kind inquiry, Sister, perhaps I should add that the gentlemen have been here every day. Except yesterday, unfortunately, because . . . well, I’m glad you are settled in now and I dare say they will come running again as soon as they’ve . . . well, done whatever it is gentlemen —
fine
gentlemen — do in the mornings before going visiting.”

Mrs Tournier gave her daughter a look. “How about some more of those ‘
wondrous scenes’
, Lie-lie?

Holly quickly picked up again, but she had not been reading for long before Mrs Hill announced the arrival of the gentlemen from Netherfield. All pedestrian sewing was hastily put away and replaced with delicate embroidery, a move performed with the deftness and skill that could only come from much practice. The gentlemen entered, the ladies rose in greeting, introductions were made, bows and curtseys were exchanged and Holly paled a little at the sight of Lord Baugham among them.

Thankfully . . . ? yes she decided, thankfully, she was spared the necessity of speaking to him right away, because once he had politely extricated himself from his gushing hostess, he strode directly to Mrs Tournier and greeted her enthusiastically.

She watched their exchange out of the corner of her eye. To her dismay, her mother was short in her tone and her facial expression showed none of the regard she knew she held for him.
Oh no,
Holly thought,
she is going to tell him. She is going to let him know she knows . . . Oh, I should not have said anything.
Her thoughts were muddled and she turned away from the scene in an effort not to see, not to hear.

She could have cried with relief when Mr Darcy approached and smilingly sat in a nearby chair. They talked amiably and as Elizabeth came up to his side, his whole being lit up and the smile, which had seemed almost apologetic and sheepish earlier, turned into a definite satisfied grin.

Had Holly not turned away from her mother and Lord Baugham’s exchanged greetings, she would, perhaps, have been comforted to know that not even her mother’s staunch resolution to give his lordship a piece of her mind could override what she knew was expected of her in her sister’s salon.

Thus she restricted her words to an absolute minimum and very soon gave him to understand she was very eager to greet Mr Darcy and become acquainted with Mr Bingley rather than enter into any extended conversation.

The affianced couples having gradually separated themselves slightly from the group, Mrs Tournier purposefully moved over to Mr Darcy and Elizabeth’s side. Mrs Bennet was flitting around the parlour and trying to position Kitty to her best advantage and Holly again found herself somewhat at loose ends. She had no fine sewing to turn her attention to, as Mary had quickly done, and her reading could be no longer wanted, so she retreated to the fireplace and stood quietly, ostensibly admiring the screens. However, it was not long until she felt a presence behind her, and knowing exactly who it was, she turned to him.