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“I am Aurelia to you—we shall be good friends, shall we not? And we will make it a charity ball, and require large contributions to your school as the price of entry. I love to see my enemies pay, do not you?”
* * *
Mr Darcy demanded I acquire a new dress for the affair, even tried to insist I go to a London modiste—or have one brought to Pemberley.
“I have a number of beautiful dresses as yet unworn, including a ball gown or two, you have already purchased,” I reminded him.
“Ah yes. I have heard of your fiercely loyal following amongst the villagers now, a louder set than the naysayers. Still, you would have to spend a good deal more frivolously than is in you to quiet them all.”
“All that anyone really wishes for is prosperity. The more prosperous the town, the happier its residents. There are many hardworking, excellent people in Hopewell. Pemberley will help them in any way it can. You will see that I can be frivolous,” I assured. “Perhaps you have not yet seen the latest bills from Miss Bickford.”
He shook his head—for I was not fond of overspending, and he knew it—but laughed. “Miss Bickford’s ambitions shall soon require you to have the bed removed from your chamber to make room for her creations.”
“I know where another bed is.” I shrugged insouciantly.
“You do indeed,” he replied, his voice lowering a notch as he stepped closer. “Perhaps I shall be the one to require the furniture removal, so you shall only sleep with me.”
I knew he was teasing, but I grew serious, looping my arms around his neck. “I have perhaps grown too casual in assuming you never need privacy at nights, simply because I seldom do, and you never enforce a separation. You must only tell me, you know. You are too kind and might worry, I think, that you will hurt my feelings if you wish to sleep alone. I have invaded your private spaces—frivolously, even carelessly. Clara is forever feuding with Pennywithers because he will see to the laundering and pressing of any little articles of mine he finds lying about—only not to her strict standards, she claims. Which is nonsense, I tell her, as they look full new if he returns them. ’Tis only professional jealousy, as he will not share his receipts.”
He pulled me in more closely to him, laughing softly. “Last week Pennywithers passed by me with a stack of your things and a smirk, saying, ‘Very nice to see your chambers brightening these days, sir’—and I suddenly knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he never was fooled by Anne’s deceptions. I cannot imagine why I thought he would have been.” He kissed my hair. “My darling, those few nights a month when you choose your privacy are the longest nights of my life. You must do what makes you most comfortable, of course. But know I am longing for your return, and care little for any inconvenience, no matter the night. I require no privacy from you.”
And as he kissed me, I marvelled. He mentioned her simply, easily, and only because he wonders at his current happiness. She has lost her power over him, I think.
* * *
The Cavendish ballroom was not more majestic than Pemberley’s, but it was larger, and, like its master and mistress, the height of elegance. We stood with Lord and Lady Cavendish in an informal receiving line of sorts; I tried to memorise names and faces while utterly distracted by Lady Cavendish’s little asides.
“Ah, approaching is Lord Howard, one of your most vocal detractors. In a drunken rage, he challenged Mr Worthington to a duel and when he sobered up, realised Worthington is a crack shot. Failed to appear, he did.”
She smiled broadly in welcome to the peer. “Lord Cowar—oh, pardon me, Howard—my tongue is tripping! And what news from your son?”
Lord Howard flushed an unbecoming shade of purple, but quickly launched into a travelogue of his eldest’s Grand Tour, from which Lady Cavendish managed to expertly extract us to greet the next guest, the deaf, slightly doddering Lady Harrington, who shouted to the company at large that the tea cakes at Pemberley were much improved since ‘that new girl took over the run of the kitchen’. Mr Darcy stiffened, but I had to hide a giggle.
“The first Mrs Darcy had distinct opinions on each meal or refreshment served, and most often chose appearance over every other attribute,” Lady Cavendish whispered. “Word is, everyone is eating better now, above and belowstairs.”
I had to admit, it was somewhat of a chore to summon a ‘company smile’ when Mrs Longthorpe presented herself. “We have already met,” I muttered to my hostess, who glanced at me sharply.
Taking both her hands, Aurelia said, “My dear Isabella, I understand you have already made Mrs Darcy’s acquaintance. I wanted to assure you that the punch tonight is completely safe for consumption.” She turned to me. “At poor Isabella’s last garden party, three mice were discovered having a bit of a swim in her punch bowl. One of them leapt out and dove down the front of Miss Longthorpe’s gown—oh, I can hear her screams, still, as she slapped herself silly!” She chuckled, still clinging to the hands of a very red-faced Mrs Longthorpe. “Isabella finally captured it with her lace fichu. Did not Lord Dibley publish an epic poem of over thirty stanzas memorialising the event?”
“I am certain I could not say,” Mrs Longthorpe mumbled.
“Oh, but you were the talk of the town!” Aurelia began reciting, not precisely shouting but speaking with definite force:
“‘A Parent so Fearless Redeemed the Occasion’
“‘Of the Determined Vermin Bosom Invasion!’”
She beamed at Mrs Longthorpe, while those nearby tittered. I covered a smile. “So nice to see you again,” I called as she hurried away.
In this manner, I learned much more about my neighbours than I ever would have known after a year of formal invitations. Her aim, I was certain, was to help me see them as people, not as the ton sitting in judgment. Their foibles, flaws, and families, their ambitions and apathies were laid out before me in such a manner as to help me feel comfortable with mine.
“My father would have loved you,” I said, during a pause in arrivals. “He was a grand spectator of human nature.”
“He was,” my husband added, taking my hand. “It was not always comfortable to be an object of his wit, but it was always memorable.”
“Lady Cavendish seldom aspires to mediocrity in her observations,” Lord Cavendish remarked drily, but I thought I saw him wink at her.
The musicians began their playing, and the line disbursed as sets formed. I opened the ball upon Lord Cavendish’s arm, while Mr Darcy paired with Lady Cavendish. It was a lively country dance, and while not conducive to conversation, neither was Lord Cavendish silent.
