“He sounds a very sober and proper gentleman,” Bennetta said from where she was lying full length on a sofa, her shoes cast off on the floor, showing a great deal of stockinged leg. She was already bored with life in London—there was to be only one small dance held at Matlock House, not even a proper ball and she had met no new young men at all on this visit. She might as well have stayed in Derbyshire.
Sober and proper! Jane bent her head over her embroidery, so her expression should not show. Pictures flashed through her mind, Archer leaping off his horse when they had first met, his face when he stopped her from falling by the waterfall, the midnight escapade to the Green Man, his defiance of his grandmother’s wishes in insisting on waltzing around the room. Sober and proper he certainly was not.
“Do sit up, Benny! I have never known a girl to slouch about the house as you do.” Elizabeth Darcy’s words were cross but she was smiling to take the sting out of her comments. “Did the gentlemen in question say they would hope to meet up with us all in London, Jane?”
“Er…yes…I believe something of the sort was mentioned by Mr Maitland, Mama. But I am not certain.”
“You have said little about your meeting with his grandmother, Lady Goddard,” Anne said suddenly, looking up from the table where she was reading. “Did she speak of me at all?”
“She mentioned that you had met in London,” Jane replied quietly.
“I liked her very much.” Celeste was wandering around the room again, idly fingering the ornaments, gazing at her reflection in a mirror, stopping every now and again to peer out of the window as if she was expecting visitors. “Except she asked me too many questions about Italy. I am from Sicily—I have never been to Rome or Florence.”
“They are both beautiful places,” Elizabeth Darcy smiled at her own memories. “Your papa and I travelled there after our wedding.”
“But you have lived in Rome, have you not?” Jane was puzzled: Tabitha had been so sure of what Luisa had said. But Celeste was still occupied with the view from the window and did not reply.
“Lady Goddard’s interest seems to be of great importance to you, Anne.” Bennetta was still lying on the sofa, eyes closed, as if half asleep.
“She is his mother’s mother,” Anne replied. “A very clever, influential woman. I found her most interesting; I think we established a rapport when we met. Archer is devoted to her. It was good of him to take the time out of his busy life to invite you all to dinner, Jane. It must have been boring for him—after all, Celeste can not be expected to be able to hold a long conversation in a foreign tongue and you have never shown any interest in politics or law.”
Elizabeth Darcy looked up and frowned. “You call Mr Maitland by his Christian name? Is that the modern practice nowadays? I fear your papa would not approve.” She looked sharply at Anne—“Or is there more to your relationship than you have told us, Miss?”
Jane felt her breath catch in her throat as she waited for her twin’s reply. Her hands that had been busy with the intricate embroidery on a linen runner for her dressing table, were suddenly stilled. All she could think of was the candlelit room at Robyns, the pianoforte tinkling in the background and Archer’s body against hers as they waltzed round the room. She could still see the expression in his eyes as he gazed down at her and was scared to think that hers had shown him how she was feeling too.
Bennetta’s eyes flashed open to see a smug smile cross Anne’s face as she said, “Mama, you can’t possibly expect me to confesssuch a thing. Let me just say that I would be surprised if I still carried the name of Miss Darcy this time next year!”
As Bennetta watched, a bright drop of blood appear on Jane’s finger as her needle missed the linen and with a gasp she pushed her work aside in case it suffered and bent her head to staunch the little wound with a scrap of fabric. Her fair hair fell across her cheeks, hiding her expression, but her younger sister had seen enough to notice how pale she had gone and how her eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
Celeste, who had not been paying great attention, suddenly said from her position by the window. “Goodness, what a surprise, here are arrived Dr Moore and Mr Maitland in a carriage, come to pay a call.”
“Oh and I am still in my old morning gown!” Anne fled for the door and hurried upstairs to array herself in something more becoming. Jane followed; she felt no need to change her dress, she was not out to impress anyone, but the longer she could stay out of the company the better.
“Help me, Jane,” her twin called imperiously from her room. “I’ve rung for my maid but I believe the wretched girl is deliberately slow when I most need her.”
“You are wearing your best plaid?”
“Archer complimented me on it when we last met. It will send him a clear signal that I appreciate his admiration. Really, Jane, do you know nothing about how the game is played?”
“Game?”
Anne spun round so her sister could fasten the little hooks at the back of the dress. “The marriage game, you silly cuckoo. At our level of society, you must realise that who we marry is of consequence. I think that as Mrs Archer Maitland I will have a place in the world that will eventually be just as elevated, perhaps even more so, than life as Miss Darcy of Pemberley.Papa may enjoy a quiet life in the country, but I know Archer has far bigger ambitions and I intend to rise in the world with him.”
She turned again, pulling a fine wool shawl across her shoulders. Tall, elegant and beautiful, it was difficult to see anyone stopping Anne Darcy from getting her own way.
Jane stared at the face that was, supposedly, so like her own, and once more felt like a pale shadow. All the confidence that her stay in Dorset had given her began to drain away and, taking a deep breath, she struggled to retain the self-worth that she had gained over the past weeks.
But as hard as that was, even worse was the pain that Anne’s words caused. She seemed so sure of Archer, so determined to have him as her husband. Jane fought back her own feelings—she must see him only as a brother, for that was what he would be.
Hopefully, once they were married they would live most of the time in London and she could return to Pemberley and only have to see them maybe once or twice a year. Then another blow fell. Deerwood Park, her beloved sanctuary, would be denied her; Archer would be certain to visit Robyns regularly with his wife and if it so happened that she was visiting Dorset at the same time, there would be no way of avoiding his company.
She left her sister and returned to her own room to tidy her hair and pinch her cheeks hard to bring up some colour. There was no way she was going to allow Archer to suspect that she was upset at seeing him once more.
Bennetta swung her legs off the sofa and hunted for her shoes as the drawing room door opened and the footman announced two gentlemen. This was the first time she had seen them and she considered both critically from under her lowered lashes as she was introduced by her mother—Dr Moore had a pleasant, kind face, untidy brown hair and a jacket that needed a good brushing. Mr Maitland—tall, dark, was he goodlooking? Hisface, she decided with all the critical ability of eighteen years, was too stern for her taste.
Yes, she decided, neither man could be compared favourably to Martin, the third Courtney brother, with his mischievous green eyes and fair hair. Martin was an idle, man-about-town, much older than her, but still her favourite acquaintance.
Archer Maitland, who considered that there was nothing in the world that could disturb him, didn’t understand his own tumultuous feelings as he entered Matlock House. He knew he was tardy in paying his respects to the Darcys; he should have come days ago. Andrew had urged him to do so and had been irritated when he had made various excuses.
