Eventually, the dinner gong sounded. At Rosings Park this was a wearisome sound, for it marked time that seemed to move more slowly there than anywhere else in the world. And although I had resolved not to complain, my body had made no such pledge, and I proceeded at a reluctant pace down to the drawing room in a posture that was perhaps more resentful than usual. Because deep down, I knew?—
Thereshestood, making her bows.
The impressions were too many to name. Her smile was glorious, her skin radiant, and she carried herself with a vibrant and natural vigour. She was of a normal height, but she stood tall upon her feet, composed and clearly at ease. And, of course, her eyes danced as she took in every detail of a scene that must have struck her as absurd. She stood before Lady Catherine, who inspected her as if deciding upon a purchase. Beside her were Sir William Lucas and his young daughter, both speechless with awe, and performing the introductions with unwarranted gravity were Mr and Mrs Collins.
I could not escape, nor could I shrink from the stupidity of the scene. Unfortunately, I could not contain a faint groan of dismay. Fitzwilliam, whose acuity is equal to my own, merely glanced at me, which prompted me to put a finger to my neckcloth and murmur a pitiful explanation.
“Carsten has tried to asphyxiate me again.”
Then our turn for introductions had come. My training as a gentleman quickly restored me to my dignity, and lest they be forced to mention it first, I instantly made known I had met the party while visiting Hertfordshire. This earned me a second glance from my cousin and seemed to irritate Lady Catherine more than a little, so I took my seat and retreated into silence.
Fitzwilliam, who had known me all my life, had dealt with my taciturnity many times throughout our history. As he had so many times before, he stepped into the breach and applied his particular gift—that of civil conversation and light observations meant to put everyone in the room at ease. While this was a lofty aim, and it did lessen the extreme awkwardness for those most affected—like young Miss Lucas—it could only go so far. No amount of civility could overcome Lady Catherine’s rude questions or blunt the sharpness of her corrections directed at Mrs Jenkinson.
Throughout this trial, the person least affected became the most obvious. She continued to be curious, entertained, amused, and utterly unmoved by all she saw and heard. Lady Catherine’s bearing did not appear to sway her in the least or rob her of her poise.
I could not deny her power thus shown to me.
And even when she was goaded into playing the pianoforte after honestly confessing her ineptitude, she assumed the attitude of someone unwilling to feel shamed by anyone for any reason. If and when she felt remorse or embarrassment, I could not say. But I felt certain that the only person whose opinion of her truly mattered was her own. This observation startled me more than a little, for it seemed the rarest of rarities in a man, much less a woman.
My cousin followed her willingly to the instrument and turned the pages for her while she playfully spoke to him and teased herself for her poor performance. While I also felt a strong inclination to join them, I sat immobile in a state I might call deeply confounded. The prospect of several weeks of such disturbing encounters struck me as truly terrible, and for half an hour I considered various excuses that would justify my escape.
CHAPTER 4
In general I did not catalogue what Ioughtto have done orought notto have done. In one swift stroke I owned my failures and continued with a resolution to do better. That night, however, I shifted restlessly in the tangle of my sheets. I ought to have been conversant and polite, if only to show my indifference. I ought to have put two words together instead of sitting in a chair like a mute troll.
Finally, at four in the morning, I sat upright, scrubbed my face with both my palms, and declared aloud in a low growl, “Enough.” I then forced myself back to sleep.
In almost every situation in life, each day constituted a chance to begin anew. When I rose the next morning and stared out the window, I had no notion of the particulars of how I would now behave, but I resolved not to repeat such an abysmal performance.
My resolution would have been far easier had Fitzwilliam teased me for my awkwardness or rallied me to at least try to be civil even when I was clearly uncomfortable. He had done so many times. However, when I saw him at breakfast, I comprehended that the depth of my challenge to remain in Kent would only deepen.
He smiled kindly at me.
In the language between us, crafted over many years of close proximity and a diversity of experiences from miserable to memorable, the number of times my cousin restrained himself from pressing on me in any manner he chose could be counted on two fingers—when my mother had died, and when my father had died. On each occasion, he had offered me something resembling the tender smile of condolence that he now sent my way.
He knew I harboured atendrefor her—and he pitied me!
What a trial! Now, more so than yesterday, the notion of retreat arose. Could I arrange for a believable reason I must race away to London—or Pemberley?
No. The option was no longer open to me. I could not run like a whipped dognowwhen my only recourse must be to hold steady and prove to my overly interested cousin that I was not a lovestruck fool.
In response, I merely returned a faint and distant smile.
A colonel in the First Foot Guards, currently on leave, my cousin had the decency not to further interrogate me by scouring my face for clues of the romantic distress he surely suspected. Instead, he began to read the newspaper.
“What is the word from the Peninsula?” I asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from what was unspoken between us.
“Dismal.”
“Oh?”
“Badajoz,” he grunted.
“That is in Portugal, is it not? What has happened?”
“Hmm? Oh. We have encircled a French garrison there and are attempting to lay siege to the city. Apparently, the French surprised our troops as they were digging in the artillery.” He continued reading with a heavy frown. “And according to thisreport, we lost a hundred and fifty men and officers before they were repulsed.”
“Whenever we are put on the back foot, I am always surprised. Our army, our generals, and our armaments are superior, are they not?”
