Mr. Darcy's Secret (23 page)

"Thank you, Lord Dalton, I shall certainly pass on your ideas to my husband," Elizabeth answered as politely as she could. All she wished was to be released as quickly as possible from his side and to be reunited with Fitzwilliam.

"Good, good. I see it now, the finished article with you pictured as I see you in my mind... a goddess, your dark tresses flowing in the wind like Aphrodite rising from the sea."

Elizabeth was stunned into silence for a moment. "But I'm afraid that won't do at all," said Elizabeth, finding her courage. "I could not agree to such a scheme. Aphrodite was certainly a celebrated beauty, yet she was also unfaithful to her husband, not to mention rather too scantily dressed for warmth on any English coastline that might be deemed suitable for such a project."

They had reached the rest of the party. Elizabeth was pleased to see that her bold retort had completely taken him aback. He regarded her quite simply as if he could not believe his ears.

Lord Dalton's speech and recitation had been of a lengthy duration. One by one the participants had taken their places and held forth. Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley took their turn to extol the magnificence of the Lakes with many lamentations on nature's cruelty and fearsome strength alongside many descriptive and emotive inner visions and personal feelings on their reactions to the landscape around them. It was all Elizabeth could do to keep a straight face and she wondered how her lip did not bleed, so many times she did bite it to suppress the mirth that rose inside. At last it was over and as she settled with some relief to talking to Mrs Butler and Mrs Gardiner, she was suddenly arrested by a sound from the opposite corner that left her quite disconcerted.

"Lizzy! Lizzy, over here!" cried a voice that was instantly recognisable to Elizabeth--one that she was not too ashamed to say had the effect of immediately sinking her spirits.

From the other side of the room the figure of her sister Lydia could be seen calling loudly and gesticulating wildly. There was no alternative but to excuse herself from her party as soon as she could and advance quickly to her sister's side. Mrs Wickham was standing within a circle of officers arm in arm with an older gentleman that Lizzy did not recognise.

"Fancy, Lizzy, I bet you never thought you'd see me here tonight." Lydia noted that Elizabeth was perusing the group around her as if she looked for someone. "Oh, don't worry; Wickie isn't here. I declare I never saw him in such ill humour at the suggestion of accompanying me. Well, I do not care. After all, he has Mrs Younge for company, and I daresay he did not like the idea of meeting certain people here tonight. And besides, I have darling Willie for a partner. Mrs Darcy, allow me to introduce Colonel Arbuthnot, leader of the regiment, known to his friends as Willie. He persuaded me to come along at the last. I couldn't say no; I never can refuse dear Willie!"

No, thought Elizabeth, it would have been too much for her giddy sister to refuse a night of being admired by a group of officers. At least Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge had not dared to show their faces. Nevertheless, Lizzy dreaded the remarks of those others whom she knew would not resist making comments, especially when they perceived how closely her sister stood by the colonel, almost as if she were his wife.

"When is the dancing to start?" Lydia went on jumping up and down like a small child in her excitement. "Lord, I hope there isn't going to be any more of this dull poetry they keep spouting. There's a poet or an artist in every room spouting forth such nonsense about rocks and mountains that you ever did hear in your life. And as for the painting, I never saw anything so peculiar."

Colonel Arbuthnot smiled indulgently at his partner before remarking to Elizabeth, "The young never do appreciate such fine sentiments as have been expressed in poetic or artistic form this evening."

Elizabeth smiled back whilst privately thinking that her sister should learn to keep her thoughts to herself. No matter how awful the evening's entertainments were, Mrs Darcy would never voice her real feelings to anyone but her husband, and even then she would only do so when they were alone.

"You are looking very well, Lizzy," said Lydia, drawing her sister to one side. "Is there something you should tell me?"

Elizabeth ignored her question, asking her instead about what she had been doing in the Lakes, though the answer was one she knew would not surprise her.

"Oh, Lizzy, I have been to so many parties, I cannot tell you. We have had such fun; I've danced so much I've nearly worn my legs out. But Willie shares the same passion for dancing and if Wickie will not go out, I do not know what I am to do about it! He and Mrs Younge have become such dire company. They never want to do anything, so we just leave them behind. Lord knows what they get up to for they are so dull and tiresome. They are each confined to their rooms this evening. Wickie said he was going to bed... he's just so tired all the time. I have no patience with him, or her for that matter. I feel so sorry for Captain Farthing. I tell you, Lizzy, I have my work cut out entertaining both the captain and the colonel."

So Lydia carried on talking. It was a completely one-sided conversation, and when at last she paused for breath, Elizabeth made her excuses to return to Mr Darcy. Glancing over in his direction, she was relieved to see him engrossed in conversation. Fortunately, it did not appear that he had noticed the presence of her sister, but Elizabeth knew it could only be a matter of time before he would be painfully aware of her proximity. Elizabeth felt drained. She could quite understand why Mr Wickham felt tired all the time if this was how Lydia carried on, but there was something about her sister's descriptions of her husband's conduct and that of his friend, Mrs Younge, which made Lizzy very suspicious. But there was nothing she could say of her fears to her sister. Besides, Lydia seemed happy enough and, in any case, what could she do about it?

Elizabeth returned to her husband's side just in time to be introduced to Lord Featherstone. He appeared to be a gentleman of the old school; he was chivalrous, courteous, and extremely charming; an elderly man whose silver-white hair waved back from the noble brow of a still handsome face. He and Mr Darcy were discussing Dalton's paintings.

"I must admit, Mrs Darcy, though I've never picked up a paintbrush myself, I do enjoy seeing a pretty painting on my wall. These landscapes are especially fine, just the sort of thing I like to hang in my London townhouse to remind me of greener spaces. I'm the sort of fellow who hankers for the country when I'm in the town and vice versa."

"Well, that would seem to be an excellent solution," said Elizabeth. "A painting on a wall can be quite as restful as a rural scene through a window, I am sure."

"Yes, indeed. I hope I shall be indulging in this favourite passion of mine in the not too distant future. Mrs Butler's son, you know, has been working on some sketches with a view to turning them into oil paintings for me."

Elizabeth noted Fitzwilliam's bristle at the mention of Thomas Butler.

"You must know him, of course," Lord Featherstone continued.

Darcy nodded but remained silent, leaving Elizabeth to speak once more. "Yes, we do. He is a very talented landscape designer, is he not? He produced a most delightful scheme at Pemberley."

"He should have been here this evening, but I received a message before I left to say he was a little under the weather. I expect he's been sitting out too long by the lake and caught a chill. Master Thomas Butler will go far; mark my words, Mrs Darcy. He is a young man quite out of the common way, and without his father to see him established in the world, he has proved himself both diligent and industrious. Why, I think of him like a son. As you may or may not know, Mrs Darcy, I never got around to all that business of taking a wife and having children of my own. Well, he's a splendid young man and excellent company, too. And Mrs Butler, his mother, is a wonderful lady. I've never met her before this evening, but my goodness, I can see where young Thomas gets his handsome looks from."

The news that Thomas Butler was in the Lakes was shocking indeed, especially when Lizzy considered Georgiana's behaviour of late. Elizabeth decided it was highly likely that Georgiana knew of his being in the vicinity. What would Mr Darcy be thinking about the news of this revelation? But, at least, Lord Featherstone seemed fairly smitten with the Butler family and Elizabeth could not help but feel secretly pleased that Thomas's character had been painted in such glowing colours. She could not resist a glimpse at Mr Darcy's countenance to see if she could discern any reaction to Lord Featherstone's announcement or appraisal, but his expression gave nothing away, and before Mr Darcy had a chance to enquire further on the whereabouts of Mr Butler, his wife smoothly and deftly changed the subject of their conversation.

Caroline Bingley was doing her best to claim the attention of Lord Dalton. He was always engaged in conversation--mostly female, it had to be said. Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne were ever present in his company; she could not get him on her own. At last she saw her chance to speak to him alone. Henry was starting for the door with an expression of determination. Caroline decided that a little accidental encounter would be quite the thing. He looked rather furtive as he left the room. Caroline was rather pleased. The opportunity to converse with her hero in the dim candlelit corridor outside seemed like a heaven sent opportunity. She followed him. However, once in the hallway she could perceive neither sight nor sound of him. Miss Bingley rushed along, looking into doorways for any sign. There were groups of very earnest looking young men in deep discussion in the library and two ladies leading a poetry reading in a small salon, but Lord Dalton had completely disappeared. She was just about to give up when she saw a door open to the night air leading out onto what looked like a small terrace. It was hardly likely that he was outside, but there didn't seem to be anywhere else he could be. Caroline passed through the doorway. Discerning the sound of someone speaking, she ventured forward but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of Lord Dalton standing within very close proximity to a young woman she recognised as Theodora Winn. His head was bent very low; he appeared to be whispering something in the young lady's ear which made Miss Winn laugh heartily. Her hand was held by Dalton's, and it was clear he had no intention of letting it go. Caroline knew in that moment how mistaken she had been in her estimation of Lord Dalton. All her hopes for love and marriage were dashed in a second as she observed the look in Henry's eyes for his partner. She could bear to look no longer and fearing discovery, she turned on her heel and went back the way she had come, struggling with every step and willing herself not to cry.

The evening was beginning to deteriorate in every way to Elizabeth's thinking. Her youngest sister, who had purposely avoided Mr Darcy as long as she could, finally appeared to shake his hand. Lydia was looking considerably worse for wear. No doubt she had found her courage after imbibing several drinks. It was obvious she had been making free with the punchbowl and that her companions were not only encouraging her to drink more, but were finding her general demeanour and outspoken behaviour amusing.

"Mr Darcy," Lydia cried at the top of her voice, "shake my hand, if you please. You are my brother, you know, so you are quite at liberty... or better still, kiss me!" She pressed her finger to her cheek and, closing her eyes, pursed her lips.

Mr Darcy stared, his face flushing with the all too familiar agitation that his wife speedily recognised. Elizabeth moved into action, taking her sister by the arm and steering her away. "I think it's time you left, Mrs Wickham," she said. "You are looking most ill, Lydia. Please be sensible and take my advice."

"I'm not going anywhere," Lydia declared, wrenching away her arm from Elizabeth's firm grip. "Mrs Darcy, I do declare, you are trying to spoil my fun. I want to dance! Lord, when is the dancing to start? Willie, come over here. Tell them to play some music!"

Colonel Arbuthnot, on hearing this last impassioned plea, was quite aware that Mrs Wickham had perhaps drunk more rum punch than was good for her. To Elizabeth's great relief, she saw her sister taken in hand by the colonel and Captain Farthing as they steered her toward the door, but unfortunately not before Lydia had insulted both Mr Collins and Lady Catherine as she went. Lady Catherine fixed Elizabeth with such an expression of disdain that Lizzy could only turn away with feelings of mortification.

Elizabeth wondered if it were possible to die of shame. Fitzwilliam was exceedingly cross, refusing to speak to her on any matter, and left Elizabeth's side to join his aunt, who left him in no doubt of her feelings. Removing herself from the room as swiftly as she was able, Elizabeth knew she must try to compose her feelings, but moving along the corridor only increased her sense of hopelessness. How could Lydia behave in such a manner? Elizabeth was sure that Lady Catherine and Mr Darcy were discussing the whole event. Fitzwilliam's aunt would surely be reminding him how ill conceived his alliance had been with a family of such low connections.

As she turned the corner she ran straight into the person she most dreaded seeing. However, Lizzy was immediately struck by Miss Bingley's appearance. Elizabeth felt some concern, for it was clear that Caroline had been crying and had drunk rather too much wine. With her bloodshot eyes, her blotched complexion, and a scarlet nose glowing under her slightly skewed turban, Miss Bingley looked a very sorry sight.

"I see your family are as diverting as ever; Mrs Wickham always was a crowd pleaser," she slurred, sneering as she spoke. Malice and spite positively oozed from every pore. "It must be a comfort to you, Mrs Darcy, to have such entertaining relations. Such a
bon viveur
, such a raconteur, you must be so proud of your sister Lydia. And she has such a way with the colonel of the regiment and the captain and most of the officers too. What a pity her husband could not be here to witness seeing his wife at her best. Well, I daresay he has fish to fry of his own. The Wickham family always did have zealous appetites, or so I have heard. George Wickham could never pass up on any female. And as for his step-sister, I daresay, you have heard the tales for yourself. It is not for me to say, of course, and I do not suppose we will ever know the complete truth of the matter, but I am sure I heard something on the subject concerning Viola Wickham's hasty departure from Pemberley all that time ago. Oh, yes, Mrs Darcy, I do believe her appetite for a certain dish was utterly sated, and if I tell you she left with more pudding than that with which she arrived, I think you will understand me."

Elizabeth could find no words. All she could think about was the letter she had received. The recollection of its contents came back with a clarity which left her feeling sure that she now had an answer to some of the puzzle. That Miss Bingley had written that poisonous note, she began to think must be a certainty. Suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of hopelessness and a longing to be as far away from Miss Bingley as possible, she excused herself without further delay whilst doing her best to show that she was not discomfited in the least. She moved away not knowing where she went or what she did. Only the acknowledgement that everything she had formerly refused to believe might after all be true filled her mind and left her feeling more perplexed than ever before.