“Indeed he does. I think I can safely say that Archer and I are in complete agreement regarding the situation. And now, here is my chair once more. Thank you for your arm, Miss Jane. Now, perhaps you would be kind enough to honour us with a few little tunes on the piano. I dismissed Purkiss for the afternoon and I think a little music before the afternoon comes to an end would be very agreeable.”
She beckoned to Anne, who moved to her side and they began murmuring to each other, their voices too low for anyone else to hear.
Elizabeth Darcy glanced round the room, wishing heartily that she could just get up and leave. Bennetta’s useful fit of coughing had saved her from saying something unforgivable to Lady Goddard. If Anne was to become Mrs Archer Maitland, then the two families would have to have at least an appearance of accord.
She sighed: she loved her eldest daughter dearly even though she irritated her a great deal. She saw all the faults that had been there in her husband’s early character appearing once again and it seemed that however hard she tried, she could not eradicate them. And, what was worse, Elizabeth sometimes thought she could see a startling resemblance in Anne to her sister Lydia.
Not in looks or scandalous behaviour, of course. But the ruthlessness of putting yourself first, of obtaining what you wanted regardless of how it affected anyone else, allowed memories to surface of the young Lydia Bennet and all the shame she had nearly brought on her family.
Anne had decided to marry Archer but Elizabeth could not see that it would be a happy marriage. On the surface he seemed as hard-headed and ambitious as she was, but Elizabeth was not at all sure that was true. Her sharp eyes had caught sight of his face when he had entered the room with Jane earlier. His usually dark, saturnine face had been lit up, as if fired by some extreme emotion. But that expression had vanished when he spoke to Anne and his grandmother.
Surely he did not have feelings for Jane! She wondered, suddenly, what exactly had happened between them down in Dorset. Jane had said very little, but then she never did. If it had been Bennetta, then Elizabeth knew she would have had a word for word account of every conversation, but Jane had always kept her silence.
She relaxed a little as she glanced across to where the younger twin was standing beside the pianoforte as Archer entered the room once more and walked up to her and relaxed. There was no sign on Jane’s face that she was delighted to be in his presence, that she liked him in any extraordinary way.
Then, once again, the past pushed its way into Elizabeth’s mind and she was back at Longbourn, talking to her dear friend, Charlotte, now long departed this world, who felt that Jane Bennet should show Charles Bingley that she cared for him. Elizabeth had argued that it was not in her sister’s character to do so and Charlotte had advised that the young man in question had no way of knowing that and might well feel that she was indifferent towards him.
She would have been glad of the opportunity to think more on the subject, but Celeste and Andrew Moore chose that moment to join her and conversation turned to what Greece would be like the spring and how Celeste longed for the sun once more.
Elizabeth smiled warmly at the couple: here at least was one relationship that was happy and straightforward.
***
Archer had walked the length of the street and black, glad of the cold night air on his face, fighting down his quick temper. With every fibre of his being he refused to believe that his feelings for Jane were not reciprocated, that she had been playing the dangerous game of jealousy between himself and Frobisher. He could recall, only too vividly, the kiss between them on the night of the fire. That had not been done to influence anyone. She had returned his embrace with all the passion he knew lay just beneath the cool calmness of her appearance.
No, until Jane told him in her own voice where her affections lay, he would not believe gossip or speculation.
Entering the drawing room once more, aware of his grandmother, her gaze sharp, he crossed to where Jane was now standing, looking at sheet music lying on the pianoforte.
“Will you play for us, Jane?”
She looked up quickly and shook her head. “No, Sir. Not today. It is a fine instrument and I will not do it justice. Perhaps Anne will oblige you.”
“She may well do so, if I ask, but I would prefer to hear from you.”
There was another silence and he was aware that his grandmother was still watching them. He found himself saying in an abrupt fashion, “Anne has been telling me more of your attachment to Digby Frobisher, how he broke your heart earlier this year. I admit I had heard it mentioned by Celeste when we were all together in Dorset, but of course I did not enquire any further. I hope you are now fully recovered.”
“Quite recovered, thank you.”
“The gentleman in question is currently in town, I believe, perhaps anxious to renew his attentions. Is that the type of life that would suit you, Jane? Being married, living quietly in the country, much as you do at Pemberley, I imagine. Somehow you strike me as a young lady who needs more excitement than that.”
His gaze caught and held her own and she reached down to grip the edge of the piano as the room spun around her. How easy it would be to tell him how she felt, that Digby had been a passing nonsense, that she had been flattered at coming before Anne in someone’s affections, then realising that she would always be second. That half of her heartbreak had been because she had not fully believed her twin’s explanation of her behaviour; consequently, she had felt betrayed by the two people she held most dear in life.
But that was impossible to say, just as she couldn’t tell him that she could hardly bring Digby’s face to mind, whilst Archer’s, lived in her imagination every waking moment and came to her in her dreams as well.
Behind him, across the room, she could see Anne, smiling at something Lady Goddard had said. Her sister looked particularly elegant tonight in her new red dress. As Jane watched, she threw back her head and laughed. She was so happy. There was not a suspicion of doubt or worry in her manner. Throughout her entire life, Anne had always got what she wanted and her sister had no doubt that Archer must find her irresistible.
Why Lady Goddard felt that Jane could possibly be a threat to this happiness, she had no idea. Surely she hadn’t shown by word or deed how she felt for Archer? She had taken such care to control her face and her voice whenever she was in his company.
Pushing back the pain that threatened to overwhelm her, she realised that, if she could find the courage, this was her chance to make it clear to Archer that she had no feelings for him, except those of a would be sister.
“I find excitement greatly over-rated, Sir. If I am offered a quiet country life, I will accept it.”
“I see.” Archer’s voice was harsh, his black brows drawn in a fierce line across his face. “I am surprised. You have given me the impression, especially of late, that you and I—despite our differences and arguments, that you might—”
Jane felt a flare of panic. She had given herself away that night by returning his embrace. This would not do. She took a deep breath. “I suppose you are referring to my behaviour the night of the fire. I think that is not the action of a gentleman, Sir. I was extremely tired and emotionally distraught, as well as being very scared. I had hoped that you had put it out of your mind.”
Aware that Lady Goddard was still watching them, she sat down at the piano and pretended to arrange some music on the stand in front of her.
