Jane stared helplessly at her twin. She had said earlier that she had encouraged Digby, because she had been certain he was fickle. Now, apparently, she had changed her mind.
There was another silence. Bennetta broke it by chatting aimlessly about the dance but she was hardly concentrating on what she was saying. The last few minutes had been so interesting: Anne was being annoyingly bright, Jane was obviously deeply embarrassed and unhappy and Archer Maitland, having gone very pale, shortly made his apologies to her mama and left.
Bennetta picked up her embroidery and frowned down at the rumpled material. She sighed; no matter how hard she tried, her stitches were too big or pulled too tightly. Mama would frown and ask her to try harder, but plying your needle in and out, over and over again was so boring.
Now Anne’s news was far more interesting: so Digby was in town. Would he ask for Jane again? Would she accept him this time? Her heart had been broken so badly months before whenhe proposed to Anne, but a broken heart might easily be mended if you were being pursued by an ardent admirer.
As soon as she could, Jane stole away to her room, flinging herself down on her bed, regardless of her dress. She had seen the look of disdain on Archer’s face when Digby’s name was mentioned in connection with herself. He had obviously heard the gossip about that young gentleman’s proposal to Anne. He would no doubt think her very shallow if she herself would now accept him.
Did it matter if her future brother-in-law thought her morally weak? Did he really believe she would marry Digby if he proposed?
She sat up, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it fall in a fair cascade around her shoulders. Only a few months ago the thought of becoming Mrs Frobisher had filled her with joy. How could she have been so stupid, believing that what she felt for Digby was true love? She had been flattered at being admired, at being put before Anne in someone’s affections, that was all.
“And what if I had accepted him,” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. “If I had married, thinking that was love and then I had met Archer! What heartbreak that would have caused. How could I have been such a silly, green girl!”
Love, she now knew, was nothing to do with being admired, or being put first before her twin. Love was a consuming fire that burned inside you. Love was what she now knew she felt for Archer and was afraid she always would.
Leaving the carriage for Andrew, Archer strode away from Matlock House, fighting to keep his temper under control. He cursed himself for being a fool. Jane’s beau had returned; she would be happy, accept him and go to live up north in Cheshire on the Frobisher estate. He would never need to see her again, never have that desire to push those ridiculous curls back fromher cheeks, hold her in his arms as they danced. She could have that stupid puppy, if that was what she wanted, if she was the type of girl who could be satisfied married to such a man. He had thought her more than that; believed she had principles, a belief in what was right. He was wrong.
And he would propose marriage to Anne just as soon as he possibly could! He remembered the dance that young Bennetta had mentioned. That would be the perfect opportunity. He strode on into the bustle and noise of London, his expression oddly dark for a man who had just decided to marry a beautiful young woman.
12
“Ah, this is a part of London that I would never tire of seeing!” Celeste stood at the entrance to the Burlington Arcade, her eyes gleaming from under thebrim of her extravagantly decorated hat. She was wearing an elaborately embroidered cloak over a fashionable dress with vast puffed sleeves of darkest pink, her waist pulled in tightly under a belt above the billowing silk skirts.
Next to her, Jane in a simple green plaid dress whose sleeves were half the size of Celeste’s and a hat with only two feathers and a ribbon on top, felt she must look like a sparrow alongside a splendid peacock! She was quite unaware that the beauty of her face and the elegance of her walk far outshone that of her more robust companion.
A fine October day had drawn Jane and her Italian cousin out into London: Jane had been instructed by her mother to show Celeste interesting historical sites such as the Tower and St. Paul’s Cathedral. Accompanied by James, one of the Pemberleyfootmen who had accompanied them down to London, they had dutifully set out that morning.
Celeste had looked, listened and yawned. She had no interest in history or buildings and was more than happy when their carriage deposited them in the fine shopping parade called Oxford Street where they had visited several establishments.
James was now carrying a quantity of bags and hat boxes, all of which belonged to Celeste whose purse had been full of golden guineas—a present, she whispered to Jane, from their dear Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Jane had smiled in reply: it was only fitting that the future Mrs Fitzwilliam should be dressed with all the style and pomp her place in society would demand.
As the morning wore on, Celeste suggested they end their outing by visiting a place she had heard of recently, although she couldn’t quite remember who had mentioned it to her. Here in Burlington Arcade, the finest glass-covered walkway in all London, where well-dressed ladies and gentlemen paraded past the shops, trailed by their maids and footmen, Celeste was suddenly wide awake, her black eyes sparkling, anxious to look, admire and spend even more money.
She had no sense of regret about how she had spent her time since arriving in England. Celeste had learnt at a very early age that there was no one who cared or worried about her, that if she wanted to achieve anything in life, it would be down to her own efforts.
Admittedly she had never thought of marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam when she arrived unannounced on his doorstep, but she had soon seen that the man was rich but lonely and that instead of being just his poor cousin whom he helped in a modest way, she could be his very rich wife.
Then her plans had all come to grief when she met Andrew Moore. Did she love him? Celeste wasn’t quite sure what loveshould feel like, but she did know that she wanted to be his wife more than becoming Mrs Fitzwilliam, even if Andrew had no titled family in the background! He was young, goodlooking, with enough money in his pocket and the prospect of making much more in the future and she was tired of playing the role of poor relation. She also had no desire at all to meet the head of the Fitzwilliam family, the Earl, when he recovered from his bout of ill health. No, it would be far better to leave England as Mrs Moore.
She disliked the weather in England, longed for the sun on her face all day long. She was well aware that winter in Greece would be cold, but come the spring, it would be heavenly warm.
Glancing at her companion, she sighed—poor Jane! Celeste did not care for Anne Darcy, but she could see which twin was the better catch and, from her experience, gentlemen were impressed more by wit and elegance than softly spoken words and a demure manner.
She loved this Burlington Arcade: so many wealthy people, so finely dressed, but none of the ladies were as beautiful as she was herself and she could not wait to spend even more of the Colonel’s guineas on adorning herself. You could take jewellery with you anywhere in the world and if, by chance, her life with Dr Moore did not turn out exactly as she hoped, well, she would have plenty of portable wealth to carry her on to her next adventure.
“That is certainly a beautiful piece,” Jane said as they bent to consider a ruby necklace displayed on a white silk sheet.
“I prefer diamonds!” Celeste had turned her attention to a side window where several rings could be seen. “Why Jane, perhaps your beau, Mr Frobisher, will buy you such a ring when you marry. Although I suppose your papa will have given you many such things already.”
Jane winced at the mention of Digby, then smiled, trying to ignore the touch of envy in the girl’s voice.
“Indeed, he is not my beau and Mama and Papa do not care over much for young girls wearing expensive jewels. Mama says they detract from our natural appearance. Anne, Bennetta and I all received a pearl necklace on our eighteenth birthday and we have small pieces—garnets, peridots, amethysts for wearing in the evening. Anne likes to borrow Mama’s emeralds when she has the chance, but I fear they do not suit my personality.”
She glanced back to make sure James was still in attendance as the crowds parading through the Arcade were growing larger, and frowned as she saw him stopping to talk to a young woman, wrapped in a vivid red cloak, standing in a doorway. She beckoned him and he hastily took up his position once more but before she could reprimand him, Celeste said,“Oh, emeralds would look wonderful worn with a dress made from this white silk with this beautiful silver embroidered pattern!” She had moved on to the next store where quantities of rich materials were for sale. “Look at the intricate work, Jane.”
