Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 6

Posted on Thursday, 29 January 2004

I found Althea alone in the morning room when I came down for breakfast the following day. It was already rather nearer noon than not, I having slept in from the late night we had the previous evening. Indeed, I hadn’t expected to find anyone at all, but was nevertheless glad of the opportunity to speak with my friend.

“Who is the Marquess of Farrington to you?” I asked baldly as I sat down with my selections from the sideboard.

Althea nearly choked on her eggs, but after a few coughs and a sip of tea, managed to croak out, “I beg your pardon?”

“You cannot gammon me, Ally, into believing that the two of you are not at daggers drawn. Not only were you acting oddly around him for the whole of the evening, but both of you also disappeared for more than three sets. And never mind that he returned a few minutes before you, or that you claimed to have come from the withdrawing room. It will not fadge. You looked far too upset to have merely come from repairing your hem or...well, other matters.”

She sighed. “I made an absolute cake of myself last night.”

I waited patiently as she took another sip of her tea, and was rewarded when at last she began her tale:

Althea and Alceste were brought out the same Season in London, just before their seventeenth birthday in June of the year 1788. Their father had felt that with all the training the two girls had received from dancing masters, governesses and the like, they should be able to be fired off, even at that tender age. So they headed to Town in April, where their connections and relative wealth gave them entrée to all of the most select entertainments of the Marriage Mart. But for some reason, which Althea attributed mostly to Alceste’s more vibrant personality, the one sister was snapped up by an eligible parti that first year, whereas Althea never took.

But never one to give up, Althea’s father continued to fund the seasons, year after year, until her fourth year. At that point, Althea was nearly twenty and rather disheartened over her prospects. It was becoming exceedingly clear, at least to her, that she was not going to make a match.

In that fourth Season, a gentleman named David Trenton was brought to her notice. He was tall and handsome and well-connected, but at twenty-four, completely without prospects. There was still at that point three people between him and the title, and even then, indirectly. But this was no hindrance, really, for Althea’s family was not without connections and some measure of wealth.

So they courted--informally, of course, for there was nothing said or promised on either side--for most of the Season. They progressed from friendship to, at least on Althea’s side, love, and more than a few kisses had been exchanged and dances shared, raising some manner of expectations.

But a little over a month before the end of the Season, David had to return to his only estate for a week. During the time he was away, Althea became acquainted with a young lady named Felicity Blakewell, who had appeared rather late in the Season after her mourning for her father was finished. The two became good friends, having found in each other many of the same likes and dislikes. But when David returned from the country and laid eyes on Althea’s new friend, all else was forgotten--including his pursuit of Althea.

When an engagement was announced between David Trenton and Felicity Blakewell, Althea no longer could hide her anger and annoyance at being shunted aside, no matter that it was in favor of someone she highly admired. During one of the last balls of the Season, Althea cornered David in an antechamber where she said some seemingly unforgivable things to him. He, in turn, ripped up at her, and the two parted on unfriendly terms.

Althea returned with her parents to their estate in Essex, and then soon after fled to Hertfordshire, where she set up house with a companion. And while her parents were dismayed by this development, they did not stand in her way, for she was twenty-two and economically independent of them, due to a bequest from her grandmother.

There she resided for the next twenty-six years. In that time, David Trenton came into his title and, two years after their marriage, his wife died birthing his only son. There was no communication between Althea and her former beau, though Lord Farrington often ran into Alceste in Town, where she was more than happy to give him news of her sister, and Althea frequently heard mention of him in the papers or her sister’s letters.

Upon meeting face-to-face in the foyer of Lady Woodbridge’s townhouse, however, all of Althea’s long-buried feelings of pain from his rejection came to the fore, and she barely kept her temper in check. She did have some choice words for her sister when she descended the stairs, for having invited him to escort them, but those were issued quietly where servants could not hear.

“But I could not keep my anger to myself all evening,” she admitted. “When Lord Farrington asked me to dance I accepted, but instead of a reel we had a bit of a row. If David had not had the sense to take us into Lord Symington’s library so that I could vent my spleen, I would have looked quite the fool. How I could have been so bacon-brained, I have no idea.”

To discover this new dimension to my friend’s character and past was fascinating, to say the least. At the same time, though, I felt empathy for her situation. I had much experience looking the fool. “What did he say?”

She flushed. “He didn’t say anything until I burst into tears. It was so embarrassing, especially given my advanced age. But he just held me and told me that he regretted ever having given me pain. And foolish me, I believed him.” She paused then, and an indefinable expression flickered over her face before her brow darkened in anger. “At least, I believed him until he made his insulting offer.”

I only looked at her in confusion. Had he offered her a slip on the shoulder? That would certainly be insulting, but I just couldn’t see that happening. Firstly, Lord Farrington had not struck me as that kind of gentleman. And secondly, no matter how much I loved Althea and thought she was still exceedingly beautiful, she was just a bit too old to have been given carte blanche by any gentleman.

“He suggested we marry.” Althea fairly spat out the word. I raised my brows, and she said: “He was doing it out of some sort of misplaced feeling of duty. Apparently he thought that would somehow make it up to me. Would you wish to be married because someone felt they had to marry you?”

“I suppose not,” I said. “Still, he must be credited for proposing, don’t you think?”

She didn’t reply, and I continued to eat. After a long silence, she said, “What I don’t understand, Mary, is how I can still love him after all this time.”

I gazed at her, feeling her heartbreak as if it were my own. I couldn’t exactly say I understood, to be sure, but I had watched all four of my sisters--well, three, actually, for I don’t include Lydia here--fall in love, and knew how painful it had been for them. And to have been in love for nearly thirty years must have been infinitely worse.

I had never been in love, myself. In some ways, I highly doubted that such an event would ever occur. After all, I could boast of having made it through five and twenty years heart-whole, without even a twinge of the heartstrings--even last night when I was dancing with Lord Peter Trelawny. And I had felt that, despite his rather unfortunate lack of manners, he was definitely someone in which I should have been interested. He seemed intelligent, was very handsome and, by his own admission, was not a hardened gambler. Granted, he wasn’t incredibly responsible with his property, as shown, but that was a fault that could no doubt be rectified. Perhaps, I thought, I was simply not made for marriage.

Oh, but speaking of Lord Peter, I suppose I ought to let you know what happened during our dance the night before.

At first, we had simply waltzed, neither of us speaking. But after a few turns, I could feel the tension in his shoulders growing and was not surprised when he finally said to me, “You heard the conversation I was having with Max out on the balcony?”

I felt the color creeping up to my cheeks, but attempted to play it nonchalantly by asking, “Max?”

“A friend of mine, Maximilian Huntwell. But as to my question, you did hear us, did you not?”

“I did,” I admitted after a brief moment of silence.

“How much?”

“I won’t tell anyone what you said,” I hedged, feeling a bit defensive. Who was he to ask me questions?

He raised a brow. “And I am supposed to believe you, why?”

I bristled at that. “Are you questioning my honor? How dare you, sirrah!”

I attempted to release myself from his arms, but he tightened his grip and led me into a turn, drawing me closer. “Do not walk away from me,” he said tightly, though he kept his social smile firmly in place. “Do you have no sense of how to behave in society?”

“I am not green,” I retorted. “I probably have a better grasp of the proprieties than you.”

His smile took on a grim tone. “I highly doubt that, but I shall not bandy words with you in this rather vulgar manner.”

“Well, you started it,” I muttered, and then watched as his smile became quite genuine. “Are you laughing at me?” I asked, feeling nettled.

“Not at all, Miss Bennet. Not at all,” he said. “So where in Berkshire do you reside?” he asked after a few more turns.

“I do not reside there yet. I only purchased the estate a month ago.”

He shoulder tensed under my hand, then relaxed as he laughed shortly. “I must have windmills in my head, Miss Bennet. No doubt it is just a coincidence that you gained an estate at the same time as I lost one. In Berkshire. Western Berkshire.”

I paused, unsure whether I should say anything, then said slowly, “Not exactly.”

He looked straight at me as his eyebrows slashed downwards in dawning comprehension. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the music ended, and we were forced to stop. He glanced towards where my companions were waiting, seemingly undecided, and then, placing a hand on the small of my back and another grasping my arm, steered me towards the terrace doors where we had met earlier. I glanced over my shoulder at Alceste, whose expression had gone from one of complacency to one of concern.

But hardly had we reached the doors when suddenly Lord Thornfield impeded our progress, standing between us and the terrace. “Now, now, Trelawny,” he said, taking my free hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, “You know that simply is not done. And besides, Miss Bennet, I believe this is our dance?”

I smiled at him in some relief. “It is, my lord.”

Lord Peter released my arm after a moment, but not before saying, “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I forgot myself.” He paused a moment, then asked, “May I call on you tomorrow? Perhaps I might take you driving in the park.”

I hesitated, not really wanting to continue the discussion we had begun, but not being able to come up with a valid reason why I could not drive in the park with him tomorrow. “You may call on me, Lord Peter,” I said as something of a compromise, hoping that I could somehow find a good excuse by then. Not that I had come up with anything good since, to be honest. I had spent my night tossing and turning, thinking about--

“...Lord Peter?”

“I beg pardon?” I said, startled.

Althea shook her head. “I thought you might not be listening to me. I was just mentioning that I had heard you met Lord Peter Trelawny last night. I wondered what you thought of him.”

What I thought of him? Well, that wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. “He’s a very nice gentleman.”

“Yes, he is that,” Althea said with a nod. “Takes after his father, really. I used to know Lady Symington years ago; she married Arthur two years before I met David.” We both lapsed into silent contemplation.

“Well, it seems I’ve interrupted a funeral here. Ought I to have worn black?”

I looked up in surprise to find Alceste framed in the doorway, her expression one of wry amusement. But as Althea looked as startled and bemused as I felt, I merely returned to my meal after a polite, “Good morning, Alceste.”

“I suppose by your expressions I should assume either that we’re all out of currant buns or that I was the only one who enjoyed myself last night.”

“I would first check the sideboard, but the latter’s a pretty fair assumption, I should say,” replied Althea wryly. “All in all, it was a fitting beginning to my return to London.”

Alceste sat down at the head of the table with her plate, shaking her head. “Well, even if you did not enjoy yourself, Thea, I don’t see why you should think Mary didn’t. You seemed to be having a good time, I thought,” she said, turning to me.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But haven’t you figured out by now that what I seem to be is rarely the truth?”

She raised a brow in response to my sally. “Oh, I see. Well, thank you for clearing that up for me.” She paused to butter her bread. “And what do you think of Lord Peter Trelawny?”

I shrugged. “He has some fine points, but most of his character is rather blunt.”

“Hmm...” Alceste said, chewing her bread musingly. “By the way, where did you pick up that nasty habit?”

“What habit?”

“Shrugging,” she replied. “Rather French, don’t you think?”

“Actually, she may have gotten that from me,” said Althea. “Don’t you remember Pierre?”

Alceste laughed. “Our dancing master?”

“He was very handsome,” Althea said with a shrug.

“Yes, well, we’ve strayed from our topic,” Alceste said with a wave of her hand and the remainder of her bread. “I hear from Michael that Lord Peter will be calling on you today.”

I nodded. “It is true.”

“Interesting development.”

I decided that a change in subject would be best. “So, I’ve been wondering, Alceste, how you and your sister were named. Rather unusual names, I should think.”

Alceste grimaced. “I’d much rather talk about your impressions of Lord Peter than where our names originated, but I’ll bow this once. First of all, you have to know that our mother had a bit of a passion for seventeenth century literature. She read practically everything she could get her hands on. She was especially fond of poetry, but also of some of the products of the French drama. Well, when the two of us were born, our father was so utterly astonished at there being twins--and girls, at that--that he left it to my mother to choose our names. Althea was named after one of Mama’s favorite poems by Richard Lovelace, the lucky girl.”

“But our mother couldn’t think of another name that started with an A,” continued Althea with a laugh, “because, as you must know, it is essential for twins to have names beginning with the same letter. Then, inspiration struck! Alceste, from Moliere!”

“Um, but Alceste is a man’s name,” I said doubtfully.

Alceste screwed up her face into a pained moue. “Don’t remind me. But I feel that I’ve done credit to it, and made it my own, anyway.” She broke off as the butler came in with the post on a silver salver. “Thank you, Barton. Ah! A letter from John. But that’s rather strange...it appears to have been posted from Kent. You don’t mind, do you?” she murmured, ostensibly towards us, though she didn’t even wait for the reply before slitting the seal with her knife and reading the brief letter quickly. “Oh, my dears! John is back!” she cried, laughing excitedly and bouncing in her chair. “My son has returned from India!”

This announcement, naturally, had quite an effect on the rest of the room, including Barton, who was quite delighted (in the only way that a stiff-lipped butler could be delighted) that one of the sons of the house had returned to England, and Maggie, who came into the room for breakfast on the very heels of Alceste’s pronouncement.

I, for one, was quite interested to meet the war hero of whom I had heard much from his obviously doting aunt. For while I held local militia in no great esteem, I found the true soldiers to be quite fascinating, if only for their ability to spin stories of battles and the realities of life in a soldiers’ camp in a foreign country.

“This is incredibly exciting!” cried Althea, regaining her enthusiasm. “I haven’t seen dear John in...what? Nearly twenty-seven years, I think.”

“Since his christening,” Alceste agreed. “And if I recall, the only reason you agreed to attend that was because it was being held at Woodbridge Abbey, and not here in London.” She shook her head, her smile only dimming slightly. “Really, Althea, your stubbornness has deprived you of so many wonderful memories and relationships--why, you hardly know either of my sons, your own nephews! And you’ve not been to the Abbey above three times in your life, though you know you are always welcome both there and here. And never for more than three days, when you do come.”

Althea’s jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything of the matter, Alceste.”

“But I think that this is all quite beside the point,” interposed Maggie gently. “We should be simply grateful that John is returning safe and sound. Does it say why?”

Alceste shook her head. “But I am sure we shall know soon. Oh, it says here that he should be arriving in London on...why, that’s today!”

She stood up in some agitation and said, “Barton, tell Mrs. Hoskins that I wish to see her in my study--at once!” She turned to the rest of us, a bright smile on her face. “I have absolutely so much to get done this morning; I do hope the three of you can find some way to amuse yourselves.” And with that, she flounced distractedly out of the room.

“I had been planning on going out to Hatchard’s, to find myself a few books,” I said to the other two remaining in the room.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” said Maggie. “But do not forget that you will be having several callers soon.” At my furrowed brow, she chuckled. “Come, come, Miss Hutchinson--you do recall all the gentlemen you danced with the night before, do you not? They will, no doubt, be calling upon you, along with every female member of the ton who wishes to discover exactly what sort of threat you pose to the prospects of either themselves or their daughters, whichever the case might be. Why, the hall is already filling up with bouquets of every kind.”

This statement was enough to send me out of my chair and racing into the hallway where, indeed, bouquets of every shape and size were being brought in and placed on all horizontal surfaces not otherwise occupied. I stared in bemusement as a large bouquet of some exotic hothouse flower was brought from the direction of the back door by a footman.

In some amazement, I read the small note attached to the flowers, signed by Lord Barton. It was really quite astonishing, I thought, how a simple change of hair and gown could make someone go from being completely ignored and unknown to being feted and admired.

“Rather disturbing, even while it’s flattering, isn’t it?”

I turned to look at Maggie, who with Althea had followed me out into the hall. “It is,” I said. “I’m still having a hard time believing this is all happening to me.”

Althea came up and put her arm around my shoulder companionably. “It has to happen to all of us at least once in our lives, my dear. Your big splash is just more fragrant than most.

“By the by,” she continued as we entered the drawing room, her light tone indicating her recovered mood, “I happened to speak to Geoffrey, the footman that Barton sent over to your sisters’ houses. He said that Catherine--that is, Lady Halliwell--is in need of a new lady’s maid, and at the Darcys’ residence, he tells me, they are in need of a new housekeeper. Apparently the former one they had in London just recently fell and broke her leg.”

“Mrs. Reynolds?” I asked, feeling sorry for the old woman I had met last year when my parents and I had been invited to Pemberley for Christmas.

Althea shook her head. “No, it was something else. Hirschfeld or Prentiss or something like,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Not important. What is important is that this is a perfect opportunity to send in spies!”

“Spies!” repeated Maggie in surprise.

“Not spies,” I said. “We’re merely going to install someone in my sisters’ households to discover what entertainments they will be attending.”

Maggie nodded. “Very clever. And definitely not spies,” she said with a smirk. “But with regards to that side of your life, Mary, even aside from clearing up that particular issue we still have the problem of figuring out how you are going to call on your friend--I think her name was Georgiana?”

“Oh!” I cried, turning to Althea. “I had completely forgotten about that. When did I say I was going to call on her?”

Althea looked unsure. “I don’t really recall. Did I mention it to you and Alceste?” she asked Maggie.

That lady nodded. “You said Tuesday next.”

Sigh. “Well, that will be a problem, whatever day it is, won’t it?” I said. “Almost as difficult a problem as what to do with Lord Peter when he comes and demands I go driving with him.”

“Personally,” said Maggie with a smile, “I wouldn’t consider that a problem. After all, the man is healthy, wealthy, and quite, quite handsome.”

“Very true, Maggie,” I said, “but there actually is one problem. Lord Peter Trelawny, the only son of Lord and Lady Symington, is also the former owner of Landrey Manor. Which, of course, is now mine. And I think he wants it back.”

“Oh, dear,” said Maggie. “I don’t think anyone mentioned that.”

Chapter 7

Posted on Friday, 6 February 2004

It is universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a husband. However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the rest of the world, that she is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of the fools that show up on her doorstep.

Or her friend’s doorstep, as the case may be.

Before more than ten minutes passed since the arrival of my first caller, I felt the warning signs of an incipient headache, smack dab right between my eyes. By the time the fortieth person packed themselves into what had seemed a decently large drawing room, that headache had grown to the size of Devonshire.

It was just too much to have to welcome all of these people into Alceste’s home so that they could have fifteen to thirty minutes of close examination of the rumored wealthy and (relatively) young woman who had made her debut at the Symington’s ball the evening before, much as they would view the great beast in the Tower. But unlike that fortunate lion, I couldn’t pace. Or bite anyone’s head off.

I didn’t even have to meet Althea’s eyes to know that claiming a headache and running up to the refuge of my room was not an option. For while I would have loved to cry craven, it would have ruined the whole effect we were trying to achieve. I simply couldn’t insult any of these people if I ever wished to complete the London Season in style.

So I smiled at Lady Jersey and replied that yes, I did own both of Miss Imelda Hutchinson’s books and had read them quite thoroughly, and yes, I thought Miss Hutchinson was an excellent author and should publish another, and no, I did not have a voucher for Almack’s, and yes, I would think she was the most wonderful person for deigning to grant me one.

And I poured tea for the seemingly endless parade of people in and out of the room until I thought my hand would run off and tuck itself into bed on its own out of pure exhaustion. But I kept on smiling and chatting and, in essence, feeling like an oversized China doll dressed up for a tea party and given proper words to speak by some giant, unseen little girl. Rather disturbing, really.

And when, over the cacophony of people’s voices, I heard the sound of another carriage being drawn up in the street outside the house and Barton’s greeting to the newcomer, I inwardly sighed and glanced at Althea, wondering if she, too, thought that this afternoon seemed endless. It was therefore with some surprise that I found her gazing in unconcealed shock at the doorway, a broad smile slowly spreading across her lips. “John!” she cried.

I, as well as everyone else in the room, looked over to find a stranger standing in the open doorway, dressed in dusty traveling clothes, taking off his buckskin gloves and examining the room’s occupants with some amusement. He was surprisingly handsome, if a little too tan for current fashion, with light brown hair kissed by the sun that curled over his brow, and a smile on his lips that caused a boyish dimple to form in his right cheek.

“Colonel John Ryder,” announced Barton, pride evident in his voice, startling me out of my decidedly improper perusal of our newest guest. I really had to learn to stop doing that.

Althea made her way over to the doorway and held both hands out to her nephew. “It has been such a long time, John,” she said. “You probably don’t even remember your poor relation. You were so little when last I saw you.”

He smiled and replied apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t remember you. But your charming resemblance to my mother leads me to believe that you are my Aunt Althea,” he said, raising her hands to his lips. “It is very good to meet you at last.”

“And so good to see you. You are the very image of your father. But you must be tired after your journey. Why don’t I show you to your room?” She turned to look at me. “You will be able to carry on here without my help for a few minutes, won’t you, Mary?”

“Of course, Ally.”

Panic.

I glanced over at Maggie, but she was chatting with several older women and didn’t see my plight. What was I to do now? I wondered. Maybe I could throw everyone out, and then go upstairs and put a cool cloth over my brow. Or perhaps take a warm, relaxing bath in lavender-scented water. Ooh, that sounded nice.

But instead I simply laughed at a witty comment uttered by the gentleman sitting to my left and sipped my tea. Ugh. As if I hadn’t drunk so much by now that I felt fit to bursting, tea oozing from every pore.

I continued to act as calmly as if I had grown up in a drawing room, entertaining callers of such high stature all my life. I don’t think anyone had a single clue that I was a little less than fully self-assured. After all, I was acting a part and couldn’t be less than brilliant in it. As long as nothing broke my focus...

“Lord Peter Trelawny.”

I glanced over at the doorway in some consternation, meeting the steady gaze of the gentleman standing there. He came directly to me and saluted my hand, looking into my eyes the whole time. I felt a shiver go down my spine and withdrew my hand from his as soon as was polite and buried it in my skirts, trying to hide my reaction to him. “Good afternoon,” I managed quite sedately.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet,” he replied. “I hope you are well?”

“Perfectly, Lord Peter,” I said. “And you?”

He replied that he was. “Have you considered your response to my question of last night?” he asked. “Will you go driving with me at four?”

Here was the moment of truth, when I would laugh lightly and say, “I’m so sorry, Lord Peter, but I simply cannot go driving with you this afternoon. I heartily regret not being able to further our acquaintance, but I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. I am...”

Washing my hair? Fiddling at Rome? Running with the golden elephants of Xanadu? Well, dash it all! My mind was drawing a complete blank at this crucial moment. So, even while I rued my lack of imagination and inventiveness, I smiled graciously and said, “Of course, Lord Peter. I would be honored.”

He seemed a bit taken aback at my answer, and I felt a glow of satisfaction at having taking him unawares. But he recovered swiftly and bowed again, saying he looked forward to our drive.

As he moved away to talk to some of the others in the room, I glanced at the clock and realized that it was nearly one o’clock, already, feeling the tea churn anxiously in my stomach. That meant only three hours until the dreaded drive. But, I thought on a happier note, at least it also meant that most of my visitors would be going away soon.

In fact, it was only an half hour later that the drawing room was emptied of its last occupant. I turned to Maggie and Althea, who had returned a short while earlier, and heaved a sigh. They both laughed, and Maggie said, “So I take it you enjoyed your first at-home?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I absolutely love being scrutinized and judged and asked a million lightly veiled questions about my past and my prospects. It’s the most entertaining thing in the world, possibly even more fun than being drawn and quartered.”

Althea smiled. “I thought you would find it diverting; I simply can’t understand why you didn’t come to London earlier!” she said, a comment which set us all to laughing.

A few seconds later, the door opened slightly and a head popped around it. “I hear signs of genuine mirth,” Colonel Ryder said with a grin. “This must mean that we are finally devoid of callers.”

“Oh, come in, John!” cried Althea. “No sense hanging about out there. Yes, everyone is gone, so you are safe.” When the colonel came in by himself, she questioned, “Has your mother not found you yet?”

“She has, indeed, Aunt,” replied the colonel. “She waylaid me near the kitchen, where I was stealing some tarts from Cook. She will be here shortly.” He then turned an enquiring gaze towards me, and Althea quickly made introductions.

“Enchanted,” he said gallantly, bowing over my hand. “I can see that you were the cause of my rather quick journey.”

“Why, how’s that, John?” asked Althea with a laugh.

“Simply that everyone was in this drawing room, admiring such a paragon of beauty, and so there was no one on the road to hinder my progress.”

I smiled. “I thought you were recently from India, Colonel, and spent several years there. How is it that you have not exchanged your Spanish coin yet?”

That brought a laugh out of him, and he took a seat across from me. “I fear that you have mistaken my golden compliment, Miss Bennet, for a falsity. It is simple truth, I assure you.”

“If it is, it is surely no tribute to me,” I said, demurring. “After all, people flock to see the two-headed freak at the faire.”

“Then you are assuredly the most beautiful two-headed freak I have ever seen, Miss Bennet,” he replied.

Maggie smothered a chuckle, and Althea tsked at him. “Naughty boy. We shall have to teach you some manners, I see.”

At this point, Alceste swept regally into the room, one hand dramatically placed on her brow, and declared that if everything was not absolutely in order, it was not her fault. “For I swear that I have done everything in my power to make this a most perfect homecoming, my dear John.”

He had stood at her entrance and now led her to a chair, kissing her hand charmingly as she reclined back on the sofa. “I shall not complain of anything, Mother, for I’m sure that there will be nothing of which to complain. You could frighten even the weather into behaving, I am sure.”

“I’d much rather it rained,” I murmured, thinking of Lord Peter.

“What is that, dear?” Alceste asked. “I vow, you become more and more enigmatic upon closer acquaintance.”

Althea smiled. “I do believe she was praying to the rain gods for some relief from her ride this afternoon.”

“Oh! Who has asked you for a drive? At four o’clock, I suppose? In Hyde Park?”

“Lord Peter Trelawny,” Maggie answered for me.

“Trelawny?” echoed Colonel Ryder. “Symington’s heir?”

Alceste replied that it was. “Why, do you know him?”

“We were good friends at Oxford,” he said. “I lost track of him in the intervening years, what with the war and all.”

“Well, perhaps you would wish to renew your acquaintance? Say, at four o’clock this afternoon?” I asked ingenuously.

He smiled, his hazel eyes meeting mine. “What, are you trying to weasel out of your engagement, Miss Bennet? Not fond of poor Peter?”

“Poor Peter?” I laughed, then sobered as I considered this. “Well, perhaps you have some way of it. You see,” I said to his raised brow, “I’m afraid Lord Peter is much poorer than he has been. And he’s a little upset with me because of that fact.”

“Really?”

I hesitated, then explained briefly about my purchase of Lord Peter’s estate, and the reason for this purchase and sale, on both sides, as I knew it. The colonel listened attentively, occasionally asking questions to clarify some points. At the end of my tale, as I described Lord Peter’s attempt to get me alone on the terrace during the ball and his frustrated expression when he was thwarted, the colonel laughed and said, “That sounds just like Trelawney. When he has the bit between his teeth, he tends to forget his all-so-important proprieties. When first we met, I had thought him an awful prig, but after a while I came to know that it was just a front. It’s only occasionally that he loses his all-important calm.”

“How interesting,” I murmured, intrigued. Was Lord Peter more like myself than I realized? A memory of him quickly removing his spectacles rose in front of me. Perhaps there was, indeed, more to him than I thought. I listened as the colonel described some of their pranks at school (much to the surprised amusement and half-serious admonishment of his mother, who had not heard of most of these goings-on), and while I should have, if I were truly like Miss Imelda Hutchinson, been shocked by his recitation of such personal and truthfully uncomplimentary behavior, I found myself laughing more often than not at their supposed antics. And when I retreated upstairs to find a suitable carriage dress for my outing, I found myself actually looking forward to seeing Lord Peter again. But it was pure curiosity, I told myself. Curiosity.

Chapter 8

Alceste greeted me a moment after I had come through the door. “Oh, Lord Peter! Here is Mary, all set to go on your drive.”

I looked over at Lord Peter, who was staring at me with an odd expression on his face, and I looked down at my dress, wondering if I had perhaps gotten a stain on it or something. But no, the rich blue and black striped colors were unmarred, and the muslin showed no signs of misuse. Perhaps I had something on my face?

The colonel cleared his throat, and Lord Peter seemed to shake himself out of whatever stupor he had sunk into and approached me, his hand outstretched. When I placed my own in his, he kissed the knuckles charmingly and said, “You look enchanting.”

Hmmmm...now I was sure there was something wrong. Was he trying to turn me up sweet? I had never been enchanting in my life. Despite my radical transformation, I simply couldn’t see that word ever being attached to my humble self. Pretty, perhaps; maybe even handsome, but enchanting? Yeah, I’m sure, I thought sarcastically.

At least, I meant to think it. But I must have spoken that last thought aloud, for expressions suddenly began to flit across his face in rapid succession: first astonishment, then confusion, then offense, then...amusement? “I’m sorry that you disbelieve me, Miss Bennet,” he said in a low tone brimming with laughter, “but I speak only the truth. Surely you have been put into close contact with a mirror some time in your life?”

The only thing to do in moments like these is ignore the problem. So I turned and smiled at the others in the room, all of whom had been pretending not to listen intently to our brief interchange. Alceste stood and came towards me, one hand outstretched. “You do look quite lovely in that shade of blue, Mary.” She kissed me on the cheek, and then made a shooing motion towards the door. “Now, have a very nice drive, you two. And Lord Peter, I expect you to take very good care of our houseguest.”

“Of course, Lady Woodbridge,” Lord Peter said with a bow. “You have my word that Miss Bennet will return safe and sound.”

A few minutes more and we were out the door. Lord Peter’s curricle, an understated and elegant work of craftsmanship, pulled by matched grays (very fashionable, I had to admit), was waiting out front, the horses’ heads held by his tiger.

Lord Peter helped me into the seat first, then circled around and, hopping up, took the reins from his tiger, who jumped on to the back of the curricle as we pulled away from the curb. Silence reigned as my companion maneuvered the curricle though the congested streets of London towards the park. And once we reached Hyde Park, we were so besieged by friends of Lord Peter and curious acquaintances that there was no time for talking. It wasn’t until Lord Peter turned down a less-used path and stopped the curricle that I realized my short reprieve was over and that we would, indeed, have to discuss our common interest in Landrey Manor.

After throwing the reins to the tiger and dismounting, Lord Peter came around to my side of the curricle. I had expected him to hold out a hand for support as I descended, but instead he placed both hands on my waist and lifted me bodily to the ground. To say I was surprised and rather flustered was an understatement. My skin burned where his hands touched me, no matter the number of layers between my body and his. I stepped away quickly when I felt solid ground beneath my feet and fussily adjusted my skirts and re-opened my parasol, trying to hide the flush I could feel stealing up into my cheeks.

As soon as I recovered my equilibrium, which took but a few moments, thank goodness, I accepted Lord Peter’s proffered arm, and we proceeded to walk down a path into a small grove. Once surrounded by the trees and other assorted shrubs, Lord Peter led me to a small bench, where we both seated ourselves.

Neither of us had spoken until now, and I felt the silence keenly. When he didn’t immediately start speaking, I looked over at him curiously. He sat beside me, his hands on his knees, gazing towards some indefinable point in the distance, his expression unreadable.

“I suppose I owe you some explanation,” I said, a bit nervously despite my bid for calmness.

“You owe me nothing,” he said flatly, finally turning his head towards me and meeting my gaze full-on. “It is I who should be offering an explanation, I fear. After all, you have done absolutely nothing wrong in all of this.”

“Well, I suppose that is true,” I admitted. “I rather do enjoy being blameless. It’s a much more comfortable state of affairs.”

His lips now twitched upwards into a half-smile. “Miss Bennet, are you never at a loss for words?”

I tried to answer that query lightly, but found that somehow I couldn’t. His words had struck me somewhere near the breastbone, making it rather difficult to breathe, and I turned my face away from his for a moment. I recalled words of a similar nature, directed at me with a more antipathetic tone, and the feelings of hurt that had washed over me then filled me again with a sense of shame.

It was true that I was rarely at a loss for words, but that was merely a part of my role. I had to have a comment for every occasion, because it was expected of me. But now...now it seemed as if this role were no different. I was still a liar, though the nature of the lies had changed.

“Miss Bennet, did I say something wrong?” Lord Peter now asked gently from my side.

I shook my head. “No, of course not, Lord Peter. You merely reminded me for a moment...Lydia, one of my sisters, once said something quite similar.”

“You have sisters?” he asked.

I hesitated, glancing over at his earnest face, then nodded. “I have four.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “You have four sisters...and yet you were able to purchase an estate of your own? Are you the eldest?”

“By no means,” I answered, avoiding his first question. “I have two older, and two younger.” I smoothed my skirt restlessly. “But you did not bring me here to talk about myself, Lord Peter.”

He didn’t respond for a full moment, then sighed and said, “No, I didn’t.” He stood and paced away from the bench, then stopped before a tree and leaned his forearm against it briefly. After a moment, he turned and faced me, his feet braced apart and his hands clasped behind his back. “You own Landrey Manor now, do you not?” When I indicated that I did, he continued: “I need to purchase my estate back from you, Miss Bennet. I would be willing to pay a handsome sum.”

The surprise must have shown on my face, because he made an impatient noise deep in his throat and said, “My offer really shouldn’t be a shock to you, as I believe you overheard the whole of my conversation last night--or at least enough to comprehend the situation. If my father finds out that I sold that estate...if my mother finds out...”

“Yes, I understand the problem, Lord Peter,” I said, “but I’m afraid I simply can’t sell.”

“Why not?” he asked. “There are thousands of estates in England, Miss Bennet. I am sure you would be able to purchase another quite nearly as worthy of your ownership.”

My jaw clenched at his mocking tone. “Your sentiments do your offer no advantage, sir.”

He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, pacing a few steps to his right. “I am sorry, Miss Bennet. That was uncalled for. I can only claim in excuse my impatience to be free of this bumblebroth I’ve created of everything. And the only way to do that, Miss Bennet, is for you to sell Landrey Manor to me.”

“Or for you to marry me,” I mused. His face drained of color, and I found I actually felt some sense of pity for him even as the familiarly cold sensation of humiliation and rejection filled me. I made my tone bright and humorous. “I’m sorry, Lord Peter, that was a very poor joke. Of course I don’t expect you to do anything of the sort. I wouldn’t marry you for the world.”

If he had been pale before, now his face flushed a dull red color. “Thank you,” he responded tightly. “That relieves my mind considerably.”

“Not that it’s anything personal,” I continued as lightly as I possibly could. “It is merely that I do not wish to marry at all. That is why I need your estate.”

“But why mine?” he asked. “What is so special about Landrey Manor?”

I shifted uneasily on the bench. “That, I’m afraid, is a bit complicated.”

“Well, I’m not averse to you explaining it,” he said.

I thought for a moment, then reached into my muff and pulled out the small watch I had cleverly pinned inside. “But I fear that there is not time for any such explanations,” I said, smiling sweetly. “It has already grown quite late. Althea must be wondering what has become of us.”

He took the hint without a visible sign of his dismay at such a turnabout, and held out an arm. I placed my hand on it and we returned to his curricle. The ride back to the townhouse was as silent as the drive from it, and he properly handed me down from the curricle and led me into the house, where he, with frigid correctness, took his leave of me in the foyer.

And as I remained there, watching the door close behind him, Colonel Ryder came to join me from where he had stood in the doorway to the salon as Lord Peter and I parted. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Not very well,” I admitted somewhat bitterly. “He wishes me to sell him Landrey Manor, and I have no intention of selling it.”

“He could always marry you.”

I shot him a look of surprise. “That’s what I suggested,” I said in wry amusement.

The colonel laughed at that. “Didn’t take it too well, I suppose?”

“Not a bit,” I replied, ignoring the feeling of regret that filled me at the thought.

Chapter 9

Posted on Thursday, 12 February 2004

Saturday we attended the theatre at Drury Lane to see a production of Richard III. Alceste had secured a box, as usual, for the Season, and had felt that she might as well use it once. “Besides,” she said, “outside of Hyde Park, and a few of the more important fetes, this is the one place to see and be seen.”

So we went, I dressed as usual to the height of fashion in a rich burgundy and black velvet that brought a hint of color to my cheeks. A small ruby-encrusted gold cross dangled from a linked chain, coming to rest just above the edge of my bodice, which was framed in black lace. My hair had been bound by a burgundy bandeau ribbon that complimented the faint red highlights in my dark auburn tresses. The entire ensemble was a nearly exact, though slightly updated, replica of a description I had written for What the Well-Dressed Woman Should Know. I felt it did me credit.

We went in the company of the marquess of Thornfield and Colonel Ryder, taking again two carriages. We arrived at the theatre in good time and proceeded directly to the box, not stopping to talk with acquaintances for, as Alceste said, it heightened one’s sense of selectivity. I was seated near the front of the box, with Colonel Ryder beside me, and gazed in wonder at the crowd that was already filling the theatre.

Below us in the pit and the gallery were many of the less fortunate of Londoners who could not, for one reason or another, purchase a box or share a friend’s, and I found them nearly as interesting as those who were filling the upper echelons of the theatre, glittering with jewels and wearing expensive satins and silks. I scanned the crowd eagerly with my opera glasses, knowing that I was safe and would not see any of my sisters here tonight (Mrs. Hoskin’s sister, Mrs. Oslow, who had taken the position at the Darcy’s residence, had reported back to us that the Darcys and the Bingleys were attending Lady Rawling’s rout. Catherine’s new maid let us know that Lord and Lady Halliwell would be attending a musicale).

When the lights were dimmed by the candle-snuffers, I turned eagerly to the stage. The first act passed in awe and wonder, especially at Kean’s acting, of which I had heard so much. And when the curtain dropped, I turned to Colonel Ryder in excitement. To my surprise, he was watching me with a smile.

“If Trelawny could see you now, with your eyes sparkling and a fine flush high on your cheeks,” he said, flicking one of my cheeks with the back of his finger, “he might reconsider that whole marriage idea.”

I felt myself blushing even more, to my utter dismay. “I’m sure you are wrong, Colonel. It would take more than a little color in my cheeks to improve Lord Peter’s opinion of me.”

My companion raised his brows in disbelief at this, but was prevented from responding by the sound of a knock on the door to the box. The man who entered was not unknown to me, and I felt myself tense in sudden apprehension. Why was he here? Had I been found out already?

“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” cried the gentleman sitting next to me. “How are you, you old dog!”

Colonel Ryder knew Colonel Fitzwilliam? Of course, how could I have expected anything different, considering the way my luck was running since this whole farce began? As an intimate relative of Darcy, Col. Fitzwilliam was always at their house, or at least in close contact with that family, and hence, my sister. And now he was in this box, being introduced to everyone, finally turning to me with an expectant look. I would have to be very clever to worm my way out of this one.

“This, my dear fellow, is a wonderful young lady, a friend of my Aunt Althea’s, Miss Mary Bennet,” Col. Ryder said. “Miss Bennet, this is Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam, son of the Earl of Matlock.”

“Mary Bennet!” Col. Fitzwilliam echoed, his brow lightening as a spark of recognition flared in his eyes. “Of course! Elizabeth Darcy’s younger sister. I had thought I recognized you, but there’s something....different about you since last we met.”

“Or perhaps it’s just your faulty memory, Fitz,” his friend said with a laugh. “After all, getting on in years.”

Col. Fitzwilliam smiled wryly at this sally and ran a hand through his dark hair, lightly speckled with grey. “Can’t deny it, I’m afraid. But Miss Bennet, you look absolutely wonderful. That gown is the height of elegance and becomes you very well.” I thanked him kindly for the compliment, and he continued: “So you are spending the Season gadding about at various balls and routs and such, I suppose? Is your sister aware of your presence?”

“Mary is staying with me here in London,” said Alceste as she strolled over to where we were standing in the box. “She and my sister are my houseguests for the time they remain in Town. You shall have to come and call on us.”

“I would dearly wish it, my lady,” he replied with a bow, “but I’m afraid that I am leaving tomorrow.”

I felt as though a huge weight had been dropped from my chest, and I could breathe normally again.

“Tomorrow, Fitz!” Col. Ryder exclaimed. “But that is not nearly enough time for us to catch up on old times!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid it’s all I have, though. Have to ship back to my regiment. But I was invited by a friend to share his mother’s box with him--had to be introduced to some young thing, and figured there was safety in numbers, I suppose. But I’m sure you remember Lord Gilbert Barringford--Major, as he was?”

“Of course!” The two of them chatted, laughing over various scrapes they had gotten into, until Colonel Ryder said, “But why don’t you ask Lord Gilbert if he would like to retire to my club later? Perhaps after I’ve escorted the ladies home?”

“Oh, I am sure you would not have to wait until then,” said Alceste with a crafty look in her eyes that I fully mistrusted. “If you truly feel guilty over abandoning your duties, find someone else. Oh, I know! Look across the way--isn’t that Lord Peter Trelawny? He looks absolutely miserable sitting there with his parents and that young chit Lord and Lady Mosely appear to be toting around this Season. She looks to have more hair than wit, especially if she takes after either of her parents. Why don’t you go rescue him during, oh, say, the fourth interval. He could easily take up your duties as escort, I am sure.”

“And I’m sure you just thought of that straight off the cuff, Alceste,” I murmured in her direction. She only smiled innocently at me and then turned back towards her son, who was nodding thoughtfully.

We were interrupted by another visitor to our box, and at last the next act was announced. The following acts passed in a whirl of enjoyment of both the play itself and of the visitors to our box, and I almost forgot about the plan to add another member to our party, but I was soon reminded of it during the fourth entr’acte, when the two colonels stood and prepared to depart on their errand. Col. Fitzwilliam bowed over my hand as they were exiting, saying, “I probably shan’t see my cousin and your sister before I leave, so I send my compliments to them along with you.”

“I shall be sure to mention my seeing you when next I see them, Colonel,” I responded, knowing I couldn’t be faulted with that simple statement.

The two gentlemen soon after left the box, bidding a good evening to everyone present. A few minutes later, I saw Colonel Ryder enter the Symington’s box and say something softly to Lord Peter, who glanced sharply in our direction. I redirected my opera glasses quickly toward the stage, trying to act nonchalant. I then nodded casually to Althea, who was now sitting beside me, and made some innocuous comment. She only grinned and responded in kind, giving me a look that let me know she knew what I was doing.

When there was a knock at the door to the box a short time later, just as the curtain rose for the fifth act, I didn’t bother turning around, but focused my gaze on the stage where the actors were entering. My skin prickled on my neck and I knew that he was looking at me, no doubt wondering if I were the reason Colonel Ryder had gone to request his escort for our party. But he did not approach me and did not address me, and I was left with a bereft and slightly empty-feeling, but in a panicky way--the same as when I know I’m missing something, but can’t quite figure out what it is, and all the time I know I can’t leave it behind. That sort of feeling.

It was rather an uncomfortable sensation, and I shifted in my chair impatiently. I really didn’t want to delve into the reasons for my current state of disquiet, especially as I was sure that I wouldn’t like them. And while I had never found that ignoring a problem made it go away, it at least usually made me feel better for a while.

But, you know, when I thought about it for even a few moments, I determined the problem had really started when I had met Lord Peter that evening at his parents’ ball, when he had challengingly looked at me in retaliation for my own improper conduct. I was unsure what exactly it was, but something about that action had somehow set those tiny little strings in my heart aflutter. I was sure it was just one of those silly schoolgirl fancies--the kind a young girl has for the first handsome man her eye sets upon. Granted, I was theorizing there, because honestly that sort of thing had never happened to me...which of course might possibly explain why it was happening now; perhaps I was finally entering that stage. Annoying, I know. But I felt I would just have to work on trying to squelch it.

Suddenly I became conscious of the presence of ghosts on the stage, and I realized I had just missed a good deal of the act. Silently cursing my ability to wander away while sitting in the middle of a crowded box, I focused my attention on the play in progress. But no matter how much I enjoyed the thrilling tones of Kean’s “A horse! A horse!” I simply couldn’t force my thoughts from straying two feet behind me and four to the right. It was rather annoying, to tell the truth.

But at last the play was over, and I clapped politely with the rest of the audience, then rose and turned to face my companions. I immediately met Lord Peter’s eyes, glittering in the dim light of the box, and I smiled coolly and nodded in his direction.

“So you are, indeed, able to escort us home?” Alceste was asking him. He indicated that he was, and Alceste continued: “I am glad, for my son abandoned us so cruelly! We have only Lord Thornfield here to find our carriages, and though he is always the epitome of gentlemanliness, it is rather difficult for one man to escort four women at once!”

“But with such ladies as you four,” the marquess said with a bow, “it would have been my honor.”

Alceste smiled at that gentleman and placed her hand gently on his proffered arm. “Such gallantry does you credit, Michael. Shall we all go?” she asked, addressing us.

Althea immediately fell into step beside them, and Lord Peter offered his arms to both Maggie and I, and we proceeded out of the box and into the crowd that was still spilling into the halls. We were pulled along with the current, pausing often as more people made their way towards the doors. We lost sight of the other trio quickly amidst the moving waves of people, but Lord Peter seemed to know what he was doing and kept us riding the tide until we reached the doors and spilled out into the open air.

What seemed like hundreds of carriages filled the streets, standing below streetlights, their lanterns bobbing in the darkness. People milled about on the pavement, standing in little clusters and craning their necks, watching for a sight of their own equipage. Lord Peter finally pulled Maggie and I towards a railing, where he had us wait as he called our carriage over. He disappeared into the crowd, and I stood on my tiptoes, trying to get a glance of him over the heads of the people around me.

“That is highly uncouth,” Maggie said in amusement.

I glanced over at her, a smile on my face. “I know. But it is difficult to not know what is going on.”

“Sometimes you simply have to trust that everything will work out right,” she replied somewhat enigmatically.

A few moments more and Lord Peter returned to guide us to where our carriage was waiting by the curb and handed us in. Maggie and I sat on the forward-facing seat and Lord Peter sat across from me, his long legs seeming to take up much of the space between the benches. I pulled my skirts closer.

He must have noticed the movement, for he smiled mirthlessly and said, “I am sorry to have imposed my presence on you, Miss Bennet. If you so wish it, I assure you it shall be the last time.”

I flushed, not intending at all for that to have been his impression. “Oh, no, Lord Peter. I...I only wished to make sure you had enough space.”

There was a pause, and then he nodded his head. The silence stretched.

“So your parents are well, Lord Peter?” asked Maggie finally, in an effort to maintain a polite conversation.

He replied that they were, and from there we discussed the weather and the state of the roads and any other niceties that came to mind. We passed the time like that until finally we reached Woodbridge house. When the carriage rolled to a stop before the steps, and the door was opened and the steps lowered by the footman, Lord Peter got out and handed down first Maggie and then me.

But as I made to follow Maggie to the door, he held me back by retaining his grasp on my hand, and I glanced back at him in confusion. “Am I not allowed to return to the house, Lord Peter?”

“Not quite yet,” he said softly, with a glance at the servants to make sure they weren’t listening. “I must talk with you.”

“Can this not wait?” I asked.

He paused, then shook his head. “I don’t think it should.”

At first, I didn’t respond, but then finally realized that he probably wouldn’t let go of my hand unless I agreed to talk with him. So I nodded and said that it might be easier to speak in the library. He agreed with the scheme, and we entered the house.

Maggie must have already ascended the stairs, as she wasn’t in sight, and the only one waiting for me was Barton, who conveyed the impression of being censorious of Lord Peter’s presence without actually moving any of the muscles in his face. The impression intensified when I asked him to leave a candle on the hall table, as Lord Peter and I would be in the library for a short while.

“Shall I inform Lady Woodbridge?” he asked woodenly.

I hesitated, glancing at Lord Peter, who said to me, “He is only trying to protect your reputation, you know.”

“Well, as I am sure you will not take advantage of me, Lord Peter,” I said in a tone that was as much of a warning for him as it was a reassurance for Barton, “and as Barton will be the soul of discretion, I cannot believe rousing Alceste to be of any use. If you wish to stay on duty, Barton, I will not object, but if not, I will lock the door behind Lord Peter when he leaves.”

“I will remain at my post, Miss,” replied Barton with a slight bow.

I thanked him and then led Lord Peter down the hall to the library, where a fire still glowed, dying in the fireplace. My companion went straight to it and stirred it, adding a few more pieces of coal. He then lit a few of the candles around the room from it when it had regained its strength.

I offered him something to drink, and he accepted Brandy. I poured out a glass and handed it to him, then filled my own glass with a bit of sherry. Feeling as though I should probably have as much power over this situation as I possibly could, I went straight to the desk and took the chair behind it, offering the chair on the opposite side to Lord Peter, who took it with a nod.

As soon as we had been seated, he began: “Miss Bennet, I could hardly fail to notice that you do not like me.”

“I am not sure what gave you that impression,” I said in an even voice.

He laughed, a somewhat bitter sound. “It’s fairly obvious, Miss Bennet, but it is not what I came here to discuss, so I will not go into details of which I am sure you are completely aware. I only ask that you set your feelings aside and listen to my appeal with an open mind. I must request again that you sell me Landrey Manor.”

I raised a brow. “And this is what could not have waited? I could be sleeping, Lord Peter.”

There was silence for a moment, and then he spoke again: “I realize that, Miss Bennet, but I cannot wait for opportunities like this. If you had your way, I am sure you would do everything in your power to avoid me, now that you know my purpose.” I couldn’t deny it, and he nodded after a short pause. “When would I have had a chance to renew my offer?”

“I do not wish you to renew your offer,” I said.

“Miss Bennet, you can hardly realize how much you would be benefiting from the sale. I will give you twice what you paid for the estate, if you would only agree to sell.”

“’What female heart can gold despise? What cat’s averse to fish?’ But I’m afraid you may have found the only one, Lord Peter,” I murmured.

“You know the works of Thomas Gray?” he asked, a startled look on his face.

“As do you, apparently,” I replied. “But, and I hesitate to repeat myself so often, I will not sell, Lord Peter.”

He stood, setting his glass on the edge of the desk, and agitatedly paced across the room towards the fireplace. I turned in my chair and watched him, watched the expressions that flickered across his face. “Will you this time explain to me why that is, Miss Bennet?” he said, seemingly addressing the flames.

I sighed and tried to find the best words to explain how I felt. “It is a matter of honor,” I said finally, wearily though earnestly. “I cannot go back on my word, once it is given. I’ve made too many promises, said too many things to too many people to suddenly reverse myself. I value the truth above all things.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes boring into mine. “And that’s it? What, because you told a few people that you would be living at Landrey Manor sometime in the near future? Or are you providing people with homes or something such, that you need a place for them? I would be willing to take them on, if necessary. And you can tell people that you reconsidered your decision, decided that the place didn’t suit you. It shouldn’t be that hard, Miss Bennet.”

“I don’t think you understand anything about the matter,” I replied. “I simply cannot sell, and that is my final word.”

He hesitated, one elbow on the mantle, looking at me steadily, and I held his gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away. Moments passed, and suddenly, I saw something flicker in his eyes, and a moment later he began to slowly approach the desk where I sat. I felt myself tense as he came closer, an intentness radiating from him that captured my attention in the same way one is fascinated by the scene of a carriage wreck. He finally placed both hands on the desk edge and leaned towards me, saying in a near-whisper, “You did suggest that one way for me to get Landrey Manor back was to marry you.”

I licked my suddenly dry lips and leaned as far back in my chair as I possibly could, but I didn’t say anything, and at last he continued, his voice soft and silky. “It wouldn’t take much for me to compromise you, given our unique situation right now.”

I froze like a helpless bird being cornered by a cat, realizing that he was entirely correct. “’His designs were strictly honorable, as the phrase is; that is, to rob a lady of her fortune by way of marriage,’” I whispered, more to myself than him.

I could see that startled him, and I thanked whatever muse had prompted me to say those words. Until, of course, I remembered where the quote was from, and I felt my face flush brightly in embarrassment.

He had jerked backwards in surprise at my utterance and now regarded me with wide eyes. “Interesting, Miss Bennet. I had no idea you were a devotee of Fielding,” he said with a slight curve to his lips. “I didn’t think many young ladies read Tom Jones.”

“I think you should leave,” I said, taking the opportunity his distraction afforded to get out of my chair and skirt the far edge of the desk, making for the door. I could feel my hands shaking when I reached for the knob, and willed myself to be calmer. I could handle this situation. Really, I could.

Lord Peter stopped me as I began to turn the knob, placing one hand over mine and the other on the door, holding it closed. I pulled away my hand, as if scalded, and backed away from him. He stayed for one minute more in that same position against the door, and then stepped away as well, running one hand through his dark hair and taking a deep breath before expelling it loudly.

“I’m sorry. I cannot imagine what came over me just then, Miss Bennet,” he said, and I looked up at him in surprise at his pleading tone. His eyes were distressed, and a finger of pity started creeping its way into my heart. “I would never take advantage of a woman--ever. I just...I don’t know what came over me. I was desperate...you don’t seem to understand how much I need this.”

That treacherous pity was again trying to weasel its way in, but this time it was accompanied by something different, something a bit deeper that I didn’t want to examine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I was wavering, I knew. No, I didn’t really need Landrey Manor. I would survive without it. But there was something about a dream, about this particular dream, that I simply couldn’t give up. Without Landrey Manor, my dreams somehow would be dead.

“I think you should go,” I said again.

“Miss Bennet--“

“Just go.”

And without another word, with only a last, pain-filled glance, he opened the door and went out. Only when I heard the door close behind him and Barton’s footsteps as he made his way towards the library did I move. I blew out the candles around the room and damped down the fire, and when I entered the hallway I met the solemn butler, who was standing in the dark with a candle lit for me.

“Is everything all right, Miss?” he asked, a soft, somewhat worried note creeping into his otherwise impassive voice.

“Everything’s perfectly fine, Barton,” I replied. “Thank you for waiting up for me. Did Lord Peter find his way out?”

“He did,’ said the butler, and I thanked him again. And without another word, I took the proffered candle and made my way upstairs to my room, where I closed the door, rid myself of my gown, and crawled into my bed. And without a single tear shed, I fell asleep.

Chapter 10

Posted on Saturday, 21 February 2004

I awoke the following morning surprisingly early, just as the grey of dawn was beginning to fade from the sky and the red and orange of morning burst brightly through my window drapes, which I had neglected to close the previous evening.

Rolling out of bed, I padded across the room, pulling on my dressing gown as I went, and curled up in the window seat. I leaned my cheek against the cool glass and looked out upon the garden, listening to the drifting sounds of cheery flower sellers just beginning to ply their trade and sleepy hackneys rattling along, dropping off their last fares of the night. From where I sat, I could just see the corner of the street where gentlemen still in their evening dress strolled along, walking ostensibly towards home from their clubs or gaming hells or wherever they may have been. Several early morning riders went past, making their way towards the nearest park to give their jittery mounts a good, refreshing run.

So this was London, I thought. Quite different than what I expected, I had to admit, no matter how much I had read on the subject. There is simply nothing that can compare to first-hand experience, I supposed.

And first-hand experience was something I was getting in spades. It seemed like one thing after another was going wrong. And while it was true that I was having much success, it seemed as though it was constantly being tempered by something else that simply didn’t come off right.

I turned away from the window with a sigh. No, I wasn’t going to dwell on this. The last thing I needed was to send myself into the dumps over some trivialities. I had much more important things to do with myself.

Ringing for Flora, I went into my dressing room and flung open the double doors of my wardrobe. The interior of the cabinet was filled with riotous color--a rainbow of satin and silk and muslin and sarsnet. I sifted through the many gowns, looking for something proper to wear to morning service, and decided upon a modest lavender-colored muslin with long, rather close-fitting sleeves and a white scalloped hem, and a rich violet redingote to match.

By the time I had laid my choices out, Flora had arrived with warm water, and I quickly washed myself before being helped out of my nightwear. “My, my, we’re up early, aren’t we?” she asked.

I smiled in response. “I’m afraid I simply couldn’t sleep, Flora. Has breakfast already been laid out in the morning room?”

“Oh, bless you, no,” she replied. “Cook wasn’t expecting no one to be up until later this morning. Why, I don’t even know how late it was you came in, Miss, as you had told me not to wait up for you, but I’d heard one of the footmen say that when he had gone off duty at one this morning, still no one’d been back yet.”

“I don’t recall exactly how late we were,” I said as I sat at my dressing table to have my hair done. “Not much later than one, though, if I remember correctly. But, as to the other topic, I suppose it doesn’t matter if nothing has been laid out yet, as I am going to services this morning. I am sure I shall be able to break my fast afterwards.”

“Of course, Miss,” she replied, brushing out my hair into a shining mass of silky chocolate. A few minutes later she had braided and twined and pinned it up into a proper coiffure, and I looked on her handiwork with satisfaction.

“I really don’t know how you do it, Flora, but you somehow make me look like a lady.”

She clucked as she laid down the brush and pins and went to the bed to pick up my lavender gown. “All I help you do, Miss Mary, is show that you’re in there. You make yourself look like a lady all on your own.”

I stood and went over to the bed and, holding my arms above my head, was immediately buried in fabric. A moment later, though, and Flora began closing all of the buttons down the back as I looked at the finished product in the mirror. The lavender color suited me well, a delightful foil to my dark hair. The neckline was higher than my other gowns, with white lawn stretching up to end in a light ruffle around my neck, but it suited its purpose admirably. I clasped a small gold locket I had fished out of my jewel case earlier around my neck as the last of the buttons were done up. And as Flora helped me on with the violet redingote, I smiled in satisfaction at the picture I presented.

No, I wasn’t becoming vain over my looks, but it was something of a relief to look in the mirror and not see a tragedy. I could truthfully say to my reflection that I was good-looking. I don’t think I could say with absolute truthfulness yet that I was beautiful, or even “enchanting” as Lord Peter had said, but I at least had something in the way of beauty.

“Will you be coming with me to service,” I asked Flora, “or should I see if any of the other maids would wish to accompany me?”

She replied that she would be honored to attend, and I nodded in satisfaction. With one last glance in the mirror, I went into my sitting room and pulled from my desk drawer the list I had made earlier of the churches in the area. I had discovered where my sisters and my aunt and uncle attended service, so that I would avoid running into them, and had narrowed my choices down to three churches.

I finally hit upon nearby St. George’s, as it was so close by that we didn’t even have to take the carriage. So in a few short minutes Flora and I were on our way down the street towards the church. Only a block later and we passed the imposing Greek columns and then through the large wooden doors into the cool dim interior of the church, and took seats halfway up the aisle. I didn’t look around, not expecting to see anyone, and, kneeling, bowed my head to wait for service to begin.

I began with a small prayer, but was quickly finished with that and began thinking instead about what had happened the night before, and the reason for my inability to sleep late that morning. I had slept soundly for most of the night, until early in the morning when a dream had driven me out of the realms of Morpheus.

The dream was even now slowly fading from the periphery of my brain, no matter how much I tried to retain the elusive wisps of memory. I could vaguely recall it had something to do with Lord Peter, a carriage and a really, really important piece of paper, but aside from those impressions, all else had fled. It had left with me when I awoke, though, a feeling of regret and dissatisfaction. I just wasn’t sure if the feelings had more to do with the dream itself or the fact that I had been unable to finish it.

I gradually became aware of someone next to me, and looked over in some surprise to see Lord Peter kneeling beside me. He didn’t look over at me, but a slow smile began to creep across his lips. At last he asked, “May I be forgiven for last night?”

“You were forgiven the moment you left the room,” I whispered.

He looked at me then, and the expression in his eyes quite took my breath away. A tight pressure began in my throat, and I found I couldn’t say a word if my life had depended upon it. “Mary,” he said in a hushed voice that shot a tremor through my veins, “Landrey Manor doesn’t matter to me anymore. All that matters is your good opinion. I would do anything to win your love, and with it, your hand.”

“Do you love me?” I asked.

“More than anything in the world, Mary, my love,” he said, his green eyes glowing behind his spectacles. He reached out a hand and took my own, raising it to his lips and bestowing a kiss upon the palm. “Would you marry me?”

“Of course,” I breathed.

“Dearly Beloved,” came a voice from the front of the church, and I snapped my head up in surprise, suddenly realizing that everyone else was already on their feet. Somehow I must have missed the opening procession. I glanced back at the pew beside me, knowing instinctively that he was not there, already feeling the warm dream feeling retreating into the distance.

I stood and listened to the rector’s introduction, then knelt with the rest of the congregation when bid. I felt absolutely awful for allowing myself to fall asleep at the beginning of the service, and vowed to make it through the rest of it in complete consciousness, if only by not ever closing my eyes.

And I did honor my vow, though there were moments I felt my lids being dragged down as if weighted by overly large sandbags. So it was with relief that I greeted the bright sunlight as Flora and I made our way out through the doors of the church. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with the (relatively) fresh air and smiled, feeling as if the day were already much cheerier.

I was so lost in my own world of contentment that I didn’t realize anyone was hailing me until Flora said, “Miss Mary, I believe that gentleman there wants us to pause a bit.”

I turned to discover what she meant, and saw Lord Farrington hurrying towards us through the crowd filing out of the church. “Miss Bennet!” he called again.

I held up a hand in greeting, which he took when he came to a stop in front of me, bestowing a proper kiss upon the knuckles. “I am so glad that I caught you, Miss Bennet. I saw you earlier in the church, but was unsure whether I would be able to reach you before you left. You seemed to be in something of a hurry.” He ended the last statement on a bit of a questioning note, and I responded promptly:

“Indeed, I was, Lord Farrington, but only to return home to break my fast.”

“In which case I shall not detain you long,” he replied. “I simply wanted to enquire after your health.”

“And that of Althea, too, I suppose?” I asked with an arch smile. A fine red flush stole onto his cheekbones, and I took pity on him. “She is very well, sir. But I am sure that you could call on us and discover that for yourself.”

He looked at me here with a bit of a penetrating gaze, and then glanced away. “I fear, Miss Bennet, that you do not quite understand the situation if you believe that.”

“Perhaps, my lord. And then, perhaps not.”

There was silence for a moment, and then, looking at me shrewdly, he said in a normal, detached way, “I enjoy horseback riding, Miss Bennet. Are you fond of the sport, as well?”

“I am, Lord Farrington. In fact, I have had my mount brought up from the country, though I have not yet had a chance to ride him.”

“I generally ride in Kensington Gardens,” he continued in the same tone. “At one o’clock I am usually found at the Queen’s Temple near the Serpentine.”

“Rather curious,” I said, containing my smile, though just barely. “Very curious, as I was just contemplating a ride this afternoon in that very park.”

He smiled at that. “Then perhaps we shall come across each other in our separate rides.”

“Perhaps,” I replied, and with a curtsy and a bow, we both moved off, I towards Woodbridge House and he towards whatever he had yet to do that morning. Flora and I reached the townhouse in good time to find that most of the household was still abed. Colonel Ryder had already departed for his club.

I sat down to breakfast in the morning room, therefore, in a solitary state that lasted nearly the whole of the meal. At long last, though, Maggie entered the room and greeted me before going to the sideboard.

When she sat down, she asked if I had slept well. “Tolerably,” I replied. “I was up earlier for morning service.”

“I suppose you went to St. George’s?” she asked. When I replied that I had, she continued: “And how is Lord Farrington?”

Stifling my surprise, I responded, “Very well. I plan to go for a ride in Kensington Gardens this afternoon. Did you wish to come along?”

“Oh, no,” she replied. “I do not ride well at all. But be sure to give my regards to David when you see him.”

We looked at each other in shared comprehension, and then returned to our respective meals. “I suppose Althea has told you what happened between the two of them?” Maggie asked after a bit. I said that she had, and Maggie said, “I would take everything with a grain of salt, of course--for both versions of the story. Truth is in the eye of the beholder.”

“I believe that is beauty that Hume said ‘exists in the mind which contemplates them,’” I said, “and not truth. But I suppose that the same dictum applies. It is just rather difficult, I think, to determine which story has more truth than the other.”

Maggie shook her head. “It is not that either story lacks truth,” she said. “On the contrary, both are as complete a truth as each party can see. It is up to the discerning mind to determine how those truths both represent the truth in all its totality. I think you’ll find that it’s a simple matter of finding the common threads.”

This advice stuck with me as I guided Lysander to a stop near the Queen’s Temple at one o’clock. I contemplated the building with a solemn gaze, considering how the following conversation was going to unfold. For though I knew Althea’s story, I realized that it was entirely possible that there was a lot more to it.

I was distracted from these thoughts by the sound of my name. I turned to Lord Farrington with a look of surprise. “Why, Lord Farrington! How goes it with you?”

“Very well, Miss Bennet. And with you?” he asked with a smile. I replied the same, and he said, “Imagine seeing you here. It is a beautiful park, is it not?”

“Quite,” I replied. And moving my horse closer to his, I asked, “Would you care to accompany me as I discover more of its beauties?”

“Of course,” he replied with a gallant nod, and we fell into step beside each other down a path leading further into the park. My groom hung far enough behind so as not to overhear our conversation, but still close enough for propriety.

Lord Farrington didn’t speak at first, so I felt it up to me to bring up the subject I knew was at the forefront of both of our thoughts. It truly was refreshing to be in a role that gave me the freedom to be bold, I thought: “So how is it that you came to break Althea’s heart, Lord Farrington?”

He looked over at me, a grin breaking out on his face. “You come right to the crux of the matter, Miss Bennet, without any prevarication. A very good quality, as you tend to get better answers from those who are taken unawares. But I will not give you the roundabout, do not fear. As to your question, I hadn’t known that I would be breaking her heart. Truly,” he said at my skeptical expression.

He sighed. “I met Althea in ’91; twenty-eight years ago, now. She was a beautiful young lady then; she still is. She was a bit shy and uncertain, but I do not blame her for it. With a sister like hers, who was forever at the center of the attention, and after having gone through four seasons without attracting any beaux, I think any young lady would have been the same way.

“What I didn’t realize then was that her reserve was a bit deeper than that. The whole time I was courting her--unofficially, of course--she never once gave me any overt sign of a growing affection. I, myself, was more than half in love with her, but I feared that she bore no affection in return, that I was fooling myself into believing that any love could possibly develop. Even the few times I kissed her, she held something back, not really responding. And I realize that perhaps it was my inexperience--after all, I was only twenty-five then--but I truly believed that it meant that she was only accepting my attentions for some reason other than interest in my person.”

“But you were a young man essentially without prospects, from what I understand,” I said.

Lord Farrington nodded. “I was, but that isn’t what I was referring to,” he said. “Althea is in no way mercenary. I merely meant that I thought that as one of her only eligible beaux, she saw me as an escape. As if I were the one she had decided would ‘suit her’ enough, so that she would not spend the rest of her life as a spinster. I knew that her parents were applying some measure of pressure on her to marry that Season.

“Well, when I came back from settling some business at my small estate in Norfolk, I met Felicity Blakewell. I fell in love immediately.” He glanced at me. “That’s not to say that I fell out of love with your friend, Miss Bennet. No, I was in love with them both.”

I ignored the oath that slipped from his lips, under his breath. If I had been in that situation, I might have felt the same way. We trotted along in silence until he spoke again: “I became engaged to Felicity, as you must know. She had loved me in return, had shown it in every word and gesture; I was sure of her heart, whereas Althea’s was still an unknown quantity. When I first told Althea of my engagement, she took it well--not a word of rebuke slipped from her tongue, not a glance of censure ever came from her eyes. I thought that I had been right, that she had felt nothing for me. I found that the boot was on quite the other foot when she pulled me aside one evening at the Hartford’s ball and rang a peal over my head. But even then, I couldn’t be sure if she had been in love with me or merely was upset at my desertion.”

We fell into silence again until I asked, “And when you asked her to marry you at the Symington’s ball?”

“I think I insulted her,” he said with a grimace. “I felt so incredibly guilty when she left that Season without attracting a match. And when I discovered from her sister that she had left London for good, that she had set up house in Hertfordshire with only a companion, I knew that I had hurt her deeply. But there was nothing I could do. I was married to Felicity--happily married. I must admit that I did not think of Althea often during my marriage. I had done what I believed was best suited to my happiness, and that of at least one other. Someone would have been hurt in any case. If I had taken a chance on Althea, we may all have been unhappy, if it had been proved that she did not view me with any real esteem.

“But I never stopped loving Althea. A few years after Felicity died, and I returned to London, I ran into Alceste at a ball and asked after her sister. It became something of a habit after a while--every time I would see Alceste, and later Maggie, I would enquire after Althea, needing to know that she was still well. Such second-hand knowledge, while it did not satisfy me completely, was enough to keep my heart and mind at peace. And when Alceste told me that her sister would be coming to London, I did not stop to think of Althea’s reaction to seeing me again. I fairly begged Alceste to allow me to escort your party to the Symington’s ball, to allow me another chance to be close to Althea. I found immediately upon seeing her that I had not been creating chimeras in my mind--I was as in love with Althea as I had been when I was twenty-five.”

“And so you asked her to marry you,” I said again.

“I did. After she had ranted at me for a while. But when I had seen the tears, I could do nothing but hold her close, try to make it better in the only way I knew how. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe all she felt for me was loathing. I wouldn’t blame her. And yet, I can’t keep myself from fairly dangling after her still, to believe there was some measure of hope.” He halted his mount and turned half in the saddle, gazing at me with a pleading expression in his eyes. “Is that what you were telling me this morning, Miss Bennet? Do I, indeed, have a reason to hope?”

I hesitated, as I feel anyone in my situation would. After all, my friendship with Althea demanded loyalty to her wishes, whether spoken or not. And yet, I felt as though by not giving Lord Farrington hope, I was essentially closing the book on their story. I knew Althea loved Lord Farrington, and I now knew that he loved her in return, but with a word from me, it was possible they would neither of them ever know it.

And yet...could I honestly tell Lord Farrington that he was welcome, knowing as I did that Althea said that did not want to see him? But then again, saying one thing did not always mean that one felt that way. I could attest to that truth.

“You must know, Lord Farrington,” I said, “that I cannot answer that question. I must honor confidences. But you must know that there is always reason to hope for all things. Given time, faith, and a bit of perseverance, one can achieve even the impossible.”

He smiled, no doubt sensing instinctively what I was not saying. We rode on, and soon after reached the entrance to the park from where I had entered, at which point I took my leave. And as I rode back to Woodbridge House, I felt a warm feeling bubbling up inside of me, knowing that I had done my part in bringing about the happiness of at least two more people in this world. I fully ignored the voice in my head that asked when someone would do the same for me.

Continued in Next Section