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Chapter 21 ~ continued

I cleared my expression carefully and smiled unconcernedly at Lord Devlin as he told me in somewhat grotesque and disturbing depth about the difficulties in raising cattle where sheep had previously been kept. I nodded and made a brief comment of my own, knowing that at least he was not aware of my faux pas as of yet, and I could consider this as a somewhat safe harbor. At long last, though, I was forced to mingle again, and was confronted by the sly smiles of people who knew something scandalous about me about which they thought I didn’t know they knew. However, I did know. But in my current state, I didn’t care.

I continued to smile and talk without worry, deflecting all questions that bordered on the suggestive with an easy laugh. And when we went into dinner, I continued on as I had done, chatting smoothly with my dinner partners as if I had not a worry in the world.

And I didn’t; not really. Not in the role that I was playing, at least. As long as I did not think, as long as I did not consider the consequences, did not fret upon the troubles this would cause me, I could maintain my present state of equilibrium to eternity. I simply kept my mind focused on the present, kept it clear of anything other than the thoughts that were required for action, and my heart and mind remained unclouded.

After dinner, of which I could not recall a single dish, the men removed from the table as well when the ladies stood, and we all (except for our host and hostess) went into the ballroom, where the other guests of the evening were beginning to arrive.

I accepted many invitations to dance, both from the guests of the house party and those from the neighborhood, and soon enough my card was near full. However, I had saved a waltz, waiting, knowing that he would come.

“May I possibly solicit the honor of your hand for the length of a song, Miss Bennet? Do you yet have a dance free?”

I looked up at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and my composure faltered for the space of a heartbeat. “I have one dance left, Lord Peter,” I said with complete assurance again, my expression unconcerned and uninterested. “It is a waltz.” I lifted my card to show him, and then penciled him into the space beside the second waltz of the evening.

One brow went up briefly at my statement, but then his expression was hidden from my view as he bowed in acknowledgment. “I look forward to our dance, then.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, across the ballroom and through the door leading to the room where tables had been set up for cards. My face remained immobile.

John came to stand beside me then, waiting for the first dance of the evening to begin. Some minutes later, our host and hostess went out on the dance floor to open the dancing with the polonaise. John and I joined the other five couples to make a complete set, and we proceeded to perform the grand march.

I could feel the stares on my back as we went through the motions, but I smiled and nodded at my fellow dancers as we passed and circled the floor, concentrating on the pattern of the dance rather than the predators on the edge of the floor, waiting among the foliage for a chance to tear me to shreds.

When the dance was complete, though, and I had curtsied to John and to the others, I was obliged to take John’s arm and be led to the sidelines to await my next partner. The wolves converged. I had one fleeting plan run through my mind to duck behind the greenery that lined the ballroom, sidle along the wall, dive through the open French doors and escape into the night, laughing hysterically and tearing my hair out, but thought that it might inspire more gossip than just telling the truth. Or what we had decided would be the truth.

So I merely smiled and welcomed the Inquisition.

“Miss Bennet!” cried Lady Gillian Pomdetare, advancing first. “I must compliment you on your gown. Is it French?”

I replied that, indeed, it was not, that it had been made by Madame LeClere in London. The ladies around me all chittered among themselves about her exclusivity and the beautiful creations she has.

“Did she make your riding habit, as well?” Lady Bellingham asked, a hint in her voice making me quite aware of the purpose of her question.

When I said that she had, indeed, Lady Bellingham continued, “For I believe I saw you in it as you were coming back from your ride. I wasn’t sure about the sleeves, though. They were rather short, were they not?”

“Oh, they are, quite,” I replied unconcernedly. “The habit does have a short jacket that matches. However, with the weather the way it was yesterday...” I trailed off with a vague wave of my hand. The women around me nodded to each other.

“Did you go for a ride yesterday afternoon, then?” Miss Fellows asked.

I smiled widely, deciding abruptly the way I was going to handle this. “I did, indeed. It was quite exhilarating, actually. I am so grateful to Lady Symington for allowing me to borrow from her stables. The horse on which I had been mounted this past week was beautiful, and could ride like the very wind. It is so good to be able to ride again in the country.”

Lady Bellingham’s brows drew together momentarily, but the other ladies seemed to take this well. They all nodded and began talking about the difference between riding in the country and riding in Town. I continued to feed this particular conversation, avoiding any topics more personal to me, and shortly I was able to remove from their company when my next partner arrived to lead me into the dance.

The rest of the evening passed in much the same way. I would participate in the dance, then be led back to the skirts of the floor, where I would engage in verbal dueling until my next partner came to whisk me away. It was actually somewhat invigorating.

My dance with Lord Peter was tolerable, I suppose. There were not as many whispers as I half-expected there to be as he claimed me for his waltz. But then, I had discovered over the course of several conversations that no one actually had seen Lord Peter earlier. Apparently, from what I could gather, I had been seen entering the house in my disheveled state by Lady Bellingham, and I had been seen racing across the fields by Lord Sanders, but no one had seen the confrontation in the stable or anything else related to my companion in crime. So we appeared, for now, to be safe.

Which is what I told Lord Peter as we began the dance. He didn’t respond at first, but then said, “Yes, Miss Bennet, it would appear that you are.”

My smile grew a bit tense, but then I relaxed again as I let the comment roll right on out the rear door of my brain. “Are you going to return to London tomorrow, or will you be staying on a bit here with your parents?”

“I had thought perhaps to return to London,” he replied. “They have no use for me here. Besides, my mother and father will be following us all in but a few days. What would be the purpose of delaying my own journey?”

I cocked my head to the side thoughtfully. “Perhaps you might use the time to talk to them?”

He shot me a quick glance, then again looked over my shoulder, drawing me a bit more tightly to him to sidestep another couple and then relaxing his hold once more. “I wonder that you would seek to give me such advice. When are you going to talk with your family?”

My smile never faltered. “I had thought perhaps in two days, when I call on my sister for tea.”

“Mrs. Darcy?” he asked.

I nodded briefly. “It seems an opportune time. I have already written my father, asking him to London. I do not know if he will arrive before then...but it wouldn’t matter if he did, I suppose, as he already knows.”

Lord Peter’s brows rows, almost disappearing under the dark curls that flopped dashingly over his forehead, slightly more disordered than they had been at the beginning of the evening. “Your father knows?”

“He knew all along,” I said blithely.

My partner took time to digest this, then said softly, so softly I could barely hear him over the music, “We’re a pair of fools, Mary, aren’t we?”

I met his eye and said, “As the Bard had it, ‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.’ We’re halfway through our problems already, my lord.”

And as the music ended, we turned twice more and stopped at the edge of the dance floor, near where Althea and Maggie were standing with Lord Farrington. Lord Peter bowed low over my hand and kissed it briefly, then turned on his heel and left the ballroom.

I watched him go with a feeling of mixed regret and relief, and then turned to where my next partner was already waiting to claim me.

And the following morning, I descended the staircase to the carriage, ready to be back in London again. Flora had seen to the packing early that morning as I had finished distributing tips to the servants, and then after a brief breakfast, I had met Maggie, Alceste and Althea in the foyer, ready to be on our way. Lady Symington looked a bit disappointed as she bid us--especially me--farewell, and I reflected briefly on how close she had come to what seemed her dearest wish. But as she clasped my hand in hers I merely smiled and thanked her for the wonderful time we had had, and expressed a hope that we met again in Town. She seemed satisfied with that thought.

I followed the other three to the carriage, where John was already waiting, mounted on horseback. And as I reached out to take the hand of the servant, who was ready to hand me in, I turned to look back up at the house. But it wasn’t to Lady Symington, who stood on the step to watch us go, that my gaze traveled. It was a solitary figure that stood in a window on the second storey, looking down on the activity in the courtyard, to which my eyes were drawn. And as our gazes met, he bowed slightly, then released the curtain he was holding with one hand, hiding himself again from my view.

Turning away, I mounted the step into the carriage and took my seat beside Maggie.

“Glad to be done with that?” Alceste asked with a bright smile as the carriage began to roll down the drive, away from Symington Grange.

“Oh, yes. Very glad,” I said with a smile that I simply couldn’t quite manage to match hers in enthusiasm. “I’m very glad, indeed.”

Section I, Next Section

Chapter 22

Posted on Sunday, 16 May 2004

As soon as Flora had finished dressing me Friday afternoon, I dismissed her and she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. I remained where I was, in front of the mirror, gazing at the image reflected back at me from the plane of glass.

I was dressed in a gown of fine muslin, loose and flowing, the color a muted shade of sky blue. Ribbon the color of a robin’s egg tied underneath the bodice and around the edges of the short sleeves, the ends dangling fashionably down my arms. The skirt was flared slightly at the bottom, with a double row of flounces trimmed by the same colored ribbon, and ended at my ankles.

Around my neck I wore a simple silver locket, given to me on my birthday the year I had turned sixteen by my sisters, who had, according to Elizabeth, saved their pin money together in order to give me something special. Who knew if that was actually true? And who knew if she would even remember.

We had arrived back in Town on Thursday during the afternoon. As a collective whole, we decided against attending any entertainments, and spent the evening in quite contentment playing cards and reading in the Yellow Salon. John departed ostensibly for his club late into the night, sometime around eleven, and the rest of us retired to our rooms. I fell asleep fairly quickly, and spent the night plagued by dreams that mostly featured memories of the events of the day before, all jumbled up and rearranged into a hideous assortment of mistakes, lies, panic, and worry. I had awoken sweating.

Everyone else was already in the morning room when I entered for breakfast on Friday morning, after having taken a ride on Lysander in Hyde Park to clear the film from my mind. The conversation was lethargic.

“Apparently Lord Hirshfeld took a wife while we were out of Town,” said Alceste, reading the papers that had collected during our absence. “Took her to Gretna Green, in fact.”

“Oh, they eloped, did they?” Althea asked without much interest, picking at the eggs on her plate with her fork.

Alceste nodded. “And Lady Ingelby was seen in the company of Mr. Hiriam Winston. New development, from what I can tell. I believe he is the nephew of the Duke of Albany.”

“Cousin of the current duke,” corrected Maggie.

“Is he really?”

“The post has come, my lady,” said Barton, entering the room, directing a footman bearing a silver tray in his white-gloved hands. Invitations for Alceste, a letter from a relative for Maggie, and a letter for John from his man of affairs. I continued to make patterns on my plate with my breakfast.

“It appears I must go to Arborford, Mother,” John said suddenly, breaking the lazy silence which had overtaken the room. “There seems to be some trouble with the estate.”

Alceste lips turned downward in a pout. “Does it have to be now, John? There are only a few more weeks to the Season.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately, it must be now. There’s a problem with the cattle that have just been moved onto the eastern pastures. It should only take a week or so, I should think.”

“Did you have sheep on those fields previously?” I asked.

John looked at me with a surprised and confused expression. “Yes, in fact, we did. How did you know that?”

I shrugged. “You might want to talk to Lord Devlin about it. He seems to know something about the problem. It was some sort of parasite, I think,” I said, popping a strawberry in my mouth.

The brows went up. “Well. That’s rather interesting. I shall have to call on him before I go.” He folded up his letter again and put it in his coat pocket, standing as he did so. “Which, unfortunately, must be soon, or I shall never make it before dark, and I really don’t wish to spend the night at an inn.”

“That is quite understandable,” Althea said with a nod. “The squalor they try to pass off as a ‘comfortable room’ these days...”

“I’ve heard that Lord Geoffrey Halsworth travels with a pig,” Alceste said with a knowing nod. “He lets it sleep in the bed first before he even thinks of lying down.”

Maggie smiled. “I think sleeping in a bed where a pig has been just might be worse than having the bed bugs bite.”

“In any case,” John said, overriding this new, completely off-the-subject discussion, “I must be off.” We all wished him a safe journey, and after he bowed and replied that he would return as soon as he could, he turned to me and said in a soft voice, “Miss Bennet, might I have a word with you first?”

My eyes widened and my mouth turned down in surprise, especially at his formal address, but I nodded and lay my napkin on the table beside my plate. And, accepting his help from my chair, I preceded him out of the room. We retired to the study, where he closed the door behind us and offered me a chair by the empty hearth. I sat down gingerly as he took the chair opposite, wondering what this could be about. I discovered the answer soon enough.

“I was at my club last night, and heard some rather distressing rumors,” he began, gazing intently at his hands, which were clasped on his knee. “I had heard something similar at the Grange before dinner on Wednesday evening, but I did not pay it much heed. There, it was merely that you had been seen acting the hoyden. Here, it is a bit different. It has been elaborated upon. There is some speculation that you are...involved with Trelawny.”

I felt my face flame, and put a hand to my cheek in embarrassment. “We are not involved, John. It was a simple misunderstanding that got out of hand.”

He looked at me then. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is,” he said. “It matters what society believes is the truth. At this point, I wouldn’t worry. The rumors are just innuendo, and from what I can tell, limited to the betting books and idle curiosity. There is nothing concrete, nothing for which anyone could condemn him or you. However, if something should happen...”

“Nothing will happen,” I said decisively, as if by saying it I could make it true. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“But if something should,” he repeated, “know that my offer still stands.” He reached out and took hold of my hands, cradling them between his own. “If there should be any sort of scandal, know that you don’t have to marry Trelawny, that he is not your only option. I can take you away from here. We could marry, and retire to the country--or go abroad, if that is your wish.”

I slid my hands from his and turned my gaze to the hearth. “That’s really sweet of you, John--“

“It’s not sweet,” he said, his voice hardening slightly. When I looked at him in surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through is hair. “Just remember my offer, Mary. I’ll return in a week.”

And with that, he stood and left the room, closing the door behind him. I remained sitting there, in the chair, stunned. Not stunned at his offer, precisely. After all, I had heard it before. But stunned at the realization that I might actually have to consider something like that. I remembered suddenly the words I had heard Lord Farrington say to Maggie at my bedchamber door at the Grange on Wednesday afternoon: If there’s any scandal, he’s willing to make amends.

But was I ready to make amends? I didn’t even think I was ready to admit that there was anything to make amends for. A tight feeling began to grow in my chest as I began to realize that perhaps I might not have a choice in my future, after all. Was I going to be ostracized once again?

It just wasn’t fair. How was it that I seemed to be the only one to ever have problems like this? It was as if I had been born under a lucky star, as I had sometimes thought when I was younger.

I sighed, recalling myself to my present situation and the task that was at hand. I really didn’t have time to be doing this, standing here feeling sorry for myself, when I had an appointment to keep. I turned away from the mirror, picking up my reticule and parasol, and left my chambers without a backward glance, keeping my shoulders squared and my head held high. The carriage was waiting at the front door, and I entered with the footman’s help, settling myself on the forward-facing squabs, across from Flora, who had waited patiently for me there.

We reached the Darcy’s townhouse in short order and I descended the step onto the sidewalk, where I stood looking up at the imposing building. This was it, I though, the moment of truth. And with a sigh, I steadied my nerves and followed the footman up the steps to the door, where he rapped the knocker briskly.

“Miss Mary Bennet,” he said to the butler who answered, handing over my card.

The butler, a tall man with a stern visage, looked at the card, then looked at me over the tip of his nose. “You are expected, Miss Bennet.”

I followed him into the foyer after telling the footman to have the carriage return in an half hour, then sent Flora to the kitchens to await me. I handed the butler my bonnet, parasol and gloves, which he relegated to a footman standing guard in the hallway, and then was led to a set of double doors on one side of the foyer. With proper ceremony, the butler opened those doors, then stood regally in the center of the doorway and announced, “Miss Mary Bennet.” And standing aside, he allowed me to enter.

With hesitant steps I was not able to hide, as if my feet had suddenly decided to become as nervous as my stomach, I entered the room, looking around for my sister. She was seated on the sofa, next to Kitty, and across from Jane, who was seated on the opposite sofa with my mother. The only members of the family now missing were my father and Lydia.

I don’t know what I expected. I don’t even know if I had been expecting anything at all. But nothing prepared me for the first words I encountered upon entering that room, clad in an afternoon dress very becoming to me, my hair done properly, sans both glasses and spots. Nothing could possibly have prepared me.

There had been silence, at first, and I had found all of the eyes turned towards me enlarged in surprise. Jane’s teacup was arrested halfway to her lips, a stunned expression on her face, and Kitty’s expression, too, was no less. Only Elizabeth’s face held a certain measure of smugness, though her eyes betrayed her astonishment still. But my mother; ah, dear Mama...

“What is that you’re wearing, Mary? Whatever have you done with yourself, girl?”

“Mama!” Jane gasped, setting her teacup down with a thump and a clatter.

“It’s only a new dress, Mama,” Kitty said quickly, her eyes jumping everywhere but at me.

“Well, a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, if you ask me,” my loving mother continued, unabashed. “And why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”

But I had frozen at the first words, a tight ache squeezing my heart and my chest so that I could barely breathe. My shoulders slumped, the blood rushing from my head suddenly, and I felt tears burn at the back of my eyes. I barely noticed when someone took me by the arm and led me to a chair, helping me to sit.

As soon as I was in the chair, the pressure on my chest lightened and I was able to breathe again. I looked up into the face of Elizabeth, whose eyes reflected a measure of concern I had never seen directed at me before. But it was wasted on me. All my good intentions had fled at the sound of my mother’s voice, and I fell back a step, reaching down deep to pull out the old battle plans, dust them off, and roll them out again.

My courage rises, as I have said before, at every attempt to intimidate, but that courage is sometimes simply not enough. And I didn’t think it was cowardly to retreat a bit to recoup and count my losses; it was strategic. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

When I finally recollected myself and gained a stable composure, I was holding a cup of tea, my mother was still grumbling about girls who don’t know their places and the unreasonable taxes placed upon our father’s purse by young ladies who cannot learn economy, and Jane and Kitty were still trying to placate her. But Elizabeth continued to gaze steadily at me, her expression inscrutable.

“You are right, Mama,” I said finally, breaking my silence. “It is, indeed, an awful thing for a young lady to purchase things too costly for their pocket books. But this dress is not an expense paid for by Papa.”

For a moment, she was silent, and then a look of horror came over her face. “Oh, she’s become some gentleman’s mistress!” my mother wailed, fumbling in her reticule for her hartshorn. “Oh, we are ruined!”

“Mama, that’s ridiculous,” Kitty said, her patience wearing thin. “Mary would never become someone’s mistress.”

“I should think not,” I said, becoming quite offended and relishing in the performance. “I would never do something so vile and vulgar. I am not like some in the family who would think nothing of indulging without the benefit of marriage.”

A shocked silence pervaded the room. Mother was frozen in place, the hartshorn still directly below her nostrils, but she just stared at me, her eyes wide. A bright cherry blush stained Jane’s cheeks, and Kitty looked conscious, her gaze resting anywhere but on one of us. Elizabeth’s brows were drawn down into a frown as she continued to look steadily at me. My gaze slid guiltily away. “I apologize,” I said, feeling every word. “That was beneath me.”

Mother finally smelled her salts and her head jerked backwards, her face scrunched up in distaste. Jane took them out of her hands before Mother could drop them on the beautiful Axminster carpet. Kitty smoothed out her skirts to regain her composure.

“So, where did you get the gown, Mary? Is that another Madame LeClere?”

I looked over at Elizabeth and nodded. “It is. This was another that was made for me the day I visited Madame LeClere’s boutique and ran into Lady Doncaster on Bond Street,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I had been out with Miss Mulvaney.”

“And how is Miss Mulvaney?” asked Jane kindly.

“She is very well,” I said with a nod. “She has just become engaged to David Trenton, Lord Farrington.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” “Congratulations!” “I hope they are very happy.” “Hmph.”

Silence.

“And I hope you all are well.”

Conversation resumed with a vengeance, each of them taking their turn to tell me quite excitedly of their health and the health of their husbands, sons and/or daughters and assorted friends. We passed nearly fifteen full minutes on this topic. Ten more minutes to go...

“It is a pity we haven’t seen each other around Town,” said Elizabeth, an odd note in her voice that I couldn’t quite place. “Have you been attending many festivities?”

“Occasionally,” I said. “But I was out of Town this past week, at a house party with the dowager Countess of Woodbridge, her youngest son, Miss Mulvaney, and Mrs. Townsend.”

“Really? Where was that?” asked Kitty.

I told her of Symington Grange.

“I was going to ask you about that, Mary,” Elizabeth said, a sly look sparkling in her eyes. “About a fortnight ago, perhaps a little less, I had a rather surprising conversation with a Lord Peter Trelawny at the Palmers’ musicale.”

“Was that the gentleman you were talking to during the first intercession?” asked Jane with a modicum of curiosity.

Elizabeth nodded. “He was the same gentleman you ran into outside Georgiana’s townhouse the week before.”

I nodded, wondering where this was going. “Yes, that is correct.”

“And now I hear that this Lord Peter Trelawny is also the son and heir of Lord Symington, according to Fitzwilliam, whose house party you attended this past week.” She paused and took a sip of her tea. “Am I correct thus far?”

“Mary, do you have a beau?” asked Kitty in incredulity.

“A beau!” cried my mother in scorn, obviously still smarting from my verbal slight on her favorite daughter earlier. “Mary is highly unlikely to have a suitor, considering how she has resisted every attempt of mine to find her a comfortable position. One fine dress is not going to find her a husband now. Especially as she’ll never have the beauty of any of you, or my dearest Lydia.”

I smarted a bit at her refusal to talk as if I were in the room, but refrained from lashing out. “That is very true, Mama. But as Fordyce said in his Sermons, Nature has endowed our sex with a softness of constitution, which, as he said, ‘under right direction, would render them unspeakably more pleasing than any possible attraction that is purely external.’ True beauty lies beneath the skin.”

“Very true, Mary,” Jane said with a smile. “But I think your gown is very becoming on you, in any case.”

I found myself smiling in return. “Thank you Jane. That is overly kind of you to say so.”

“It is nothing but the truth,” said Elizabeth, smiling now, as well. “I wanted to ask you also, Mary, about your playing on the pianoforte. I have heard some rumors that you have recently been playing some pieces by Miss Imelda Hutchinson.”

Kitty nodded. “I heard that, too. Lady Westlake said that you, in fact, know Miss Hutchinson.”

I refrained from squirming in my chair. “I did play a piece by Miss Hutchinson one evening after a dinner at Woodbridge House.”

“And do you know her?” asked Elizabeth. “Or is Imelda Hutchinson a pseudonym?”

The other three in the room gasped, and Kitty said in awe, “I never thought of that. Do you think it’s Miss Mulvaney?”

My face impassive, I said, “I cannot say. I am sorry, but I truly cannot reveal Miss Hutchinson’s identity.” I glanced at the clock and nearly sighed with relief. “But I had better be going. Lady Woodbridge’s carriage was to return in an half hour to retrieve me.” I stood apologetically, and then, recalling my original intentions upon coming to tea, I dug in my reticule and pulled out several cards, which I handed to each of my sisters and my mother. “I would also like to invite all of you to dinner a week hence. Lady Woodbridge and I are planning a wonderful evening for you and your husbands. You will also be able to meet Alceste--the dowager Lady Woodbridge, that is--John Ryder, her younger son, and Mrs. Townsend, who serves currently as her companion.”

“Fitzwilliam and I would be pleased to attend,” Elizabeth said, glancing up from the card.

“As would Charles and I,” Jane agreed.

Kitty nodded, placing her card in her reticule. “Jason and I shall be there, no matter if we have to send our regrets elsewhere. I would not dream of missing it.”

Mother looked doubtful. “This invitation is addressed to both me and your father. But he is still at Longbourn, so I will only be able to accept for myself.”

“Papa will be arriving in London shortly,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping I was not telling a lie. “One of you, no doubt, will be receiving some letter soon telling of his imminent appearance.” I glanced again at the clock. “But I had best be leaving, so as not to keep the horses standing.”

“I shall see you out,” Elizabeth said, standing as well. She glanced at the others. “I shall return in a moment.”

We left the drawing room and entered the foyer. A footman came bearing my bonnet, parasol and gloves, and we proceeded towards the outer doors. “What is between you and Lord Peter Trelawny?” Elizabeth asked softly before we reached the door, where the butler stood waiting.

I stopped and turned towards my sister as I continued to tie the ribbon of my bonnet beneath my chin. “Why should you ever think there is anything between us, Elizabeth?” I asked quite seriously, my voice dropping to match hers at a whisper. “Do you honestly believe that a gentleman of the ton such as he would be interested in someone like me?”

She looked me in the eyes, her expression without the usual archness, and said, “Yes, I do. There is something more to you than you have led us to believe all these years. You may have been able to blind us all for however long as you have, but you can pull the wool over my eyes no longer, Mary.”

“I have never done anything of the sort,” I said, my face growing hard. “I have never lied about who I was. Whatever you or anyone else believed was due to your own assumptions. I am not at fault for another’s lack of observation.”

“But you never bothered to correct the misinformation, either,” Elizabeth replied.

I closed my eyes, suddenly weary. “Actually, Lizzy, I did,” I said, opening my eyes again to meet Elizabeth’s, her gaze reflecting a measure of dawning understanding and regret. “But no one ever wanted to listen.” I turned away, pulling on my gloves with a snap and adjusting my bonnet on my head. “I shall see you at the dinner at Woodbridge House in a week.”

And ignoring Elizabeth’s call, I exited the house through the door opened for me by the butler and, followed closely by a worried Flora, descended the stairs to the carriage that awaited me.

Chapter 23

Posted on Saturday, 22 May 2004

I returned to Woodbridge House in time to call up a bath before I had to begin to dress for dinner. Tonight was another ball, given by Lord and Lady Reginald Hampton. It was to be a well-attended ball, from what I understood of Alceste, and we were to be escorted by Lords Farrington and Thornfield, who seemed to have become something of a permanent addition to our party.

We arrived in good time, a very fashionable half hour late, to find that the ball was already considered a squeeze. As we all lost each other in the push of the crowd, I found myself rescued by several of my admirers, who immediately pressed their attentions in search of a spot on my dance ticket. I, of course, granted each of their requests.

Lord Bancroft, who had been most assiduous this whole Season, was the first to lead me out onto the equally crowded dance floor. “We have missed you this past week, Miss Bennet,” he said with a properly bored smile. “London has been intolerably flat without your shining presence.”

“Why, thank you, Lord Bancroft,” I replied. “My life, on the other hand, has been tolerably round without London.”

“I hear you were at Symington Grange for their annual house party,” he continued after we met again in the dance. “I have only been once. Did you enjoy it?”

I nodded, taking his hand as we passed. “I did, indeed. I must say, I found that I did miss the country and its entertainments.”

“Entertainments? Such as?”

“Why, horse riding,” I replied with a genuine smile. “That, of course, is first. Are you not a rider, Lord Bancroft?”

He replied that he was, indeed, but generally contented himself with Hyde Park while he was in London. We then entered a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages to riding in the parks in Town, which passed the time rather quickly. As we came to the end of the first dance, however, I happened to notice Alceste on the edge of the dance floor, Lord Thornfield beside her, in conversation with a lady perhaps a bit older than herself. My friend seemed to be doing most of the talking, and the other lady looked most uncomfortable, as if she wished to be elsewhere. Althea was also standing in the small circle, her mirth almost bubbling over.

“Lord Bancroft,” I said as we began the second dance of our set, “do you know that lady to whom Lady Woodbridge is speaking?”

As we turned, he was able to take a look toward that side of the room. “Oh! I hadn’t realized she had come to Town already. She usually doesn’t appear until this late in the Season, as she’s most often quite content to rule in the country, from what I hear.”

“But who is she?” I persisted, finding myself most curious as to how this woman, whose mien and posture seemed to indicate quite a deal of pride, could have withered so quickly in Alceste’s presence.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” replied my partner. “Resides at Rosings Park, in Kent. Her daughter Anne is quite the heiress, really, but has never been snagged. She’s a bit long in the tooth now--twenty-six, I think--but every year for the past five or six years, it seems, Lady Catherine shows up with the chit in tow. Don’t know why she puts the poor girl through it, really.”

I pondered this information as we were separated in the dance again. So that was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of whom I had heard so much during the Collins Capers and later during the Marriage Season. I even believe she had shown up to Longbourn once--I had been from home, visiting Althea, so had not met her. But from what I had heard, I thought her to be much more intimidating than she looked.

“Personally,” Lord Bancroft continued as we came together, “I think it’s probably that she’s holding off for a duke or a marquess, since her plans to pawn the girl off on a cousin came to naught. Darcy, if I remember correctly. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Married a girl named...hmm. Can’t quite remember. Elizabeth something. But in any case, she’s most likely holding out for a higher title, since she married down, herself.”

“Is her daughter so unmarriageable that she hasn’t had a decent offer in so many years?” I asked, curious now.

He raised a sardonic brow. “Unmarriageable? Perfect word choice. You can take a look yourself. She’s standing with the rest of the ‘failures of the Season’ over by the punch bowl, there. Beside the dragonish duenna.”

I looked over as we went through another turn and immediately saw what he was talking about. A tall girl with a particularly sallow and ill-looking complexion (aided, no doubt, by the hideous shade of puce she was wearing) was standing at the punch bowl, an older, hatchet-faced woman hovering within feet. Her expression was one I knew very well, having worn it for so many years at countless balls and assemblies in Hertfordshire. I made a sudden resolution.

“Are you well acquainted with Miss de Bourgh?” I asked Lord Bancroft.

“As much as I would ever wish to be; why?”

“I was wondering if you would introduce us.”

He goggled at me, his usual ennui forgotten. “Introduce you? But I couldn’t introduce you.”

I contained my grin--barely. “Oh, I promise I shan’t tell anyone. It will be a faux pas among us, my lord, I swear. And I’m sure no one else will even notice, in this crowd.” When he still looked doubtful, I persisted: “Come, come; don’t be so faint-hearted. I promise you won’t have to dance with her.”

That seemed to alleviate most, if not all, of the rest of his concerns, and so when we came to a point in the dance near the end of the line, he maneuvered us out of the dance and back into the crowd. In very short order, we were standing before Miss Anne de Bourgh and her companion.

On closer inspection, Miss de Bourgh was not as off-putting as she had seemed from a distance. In fact, she was not even very plain. She simply was not done up very well. In better clothes, devoid of the multitudinous bows and ruffles that adorned this current atrocity and of a better color that did not clash with her skin tone, and perhaps with a more simplistic hairstyle that did not overpower her and make it appear she would tip over with the merest breath of air, she would actually be somewhat pretty, I thought.

Lord Bancroft introduced us, looking around nervously all the while.

“It is very nice to meet you at last, Miss de Bourgh,” I said, holding out my hand with a warm smile. She looked confused, but took my hand in a hand clasp, anyway. “I thank you very much, Lord Bancroft, for introducing us,” I said, turning to that gentleman. “And I thank you also for the dance.”

“It was, as always, my pleasure,” he replied, bowing. “But I shall leave you two to become further acquainted. It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss de Bourgh.” And with another bow, he melted back into the crowd.

I turned to my new acquaintance. “Shall we stroll a bit?”

Though surprised, she acquiesced, and we moved away from the punch bowl and the crowds of wallflowers and made our way slowly around the room. I kept an ear out for the music, knowing that my next partner would show up soon and knowing that I had not much time to complete my mission.

“I am sure you are wondering, Miss de Bourgh, at my interest in you,” I began.

“I am,” she admitted in a voice that was at once shy and yet laced with a ribbon of steely resolve to conquer that shyness.

“Do you not recognize my name?”

She looked at me then, her eyes wide with confusion. “Should I know your name, Miss Bennet? I’m afraid that I do not recall...have we met sometime and I have forgotten? Oh, I am so sorry--”

“No, no,” I replied quickly, assuaging her panic. “It is nothing like that. I was simply curious...you know at least one of my sisters, I know.”

Her eyes widened even more now, in surprise. “Then you are related to my cousin’s wife!” she said in an excitement I had not expected. I glanced around to be sure no one had heard. “You are Elizabeth’s sister!”

I smiled, directing my gaze back to hers after finding that no one had taken note of our conversation. “I am, indeed. I recognized your name as soon as I had heard it from Lord Bancroft, and was immediately moved to make your acquaintance.”

Immediately, her face fell, her eyes growing sad again. “I can imagine what else he had said about me.”

Here, but for the Grace, thought I. We continued to walk, Miss de Bourgh’s companion (a Mrs. Jenkinson, as she had been introduced) following a bit behind us. “You and I, Miss de Bourgh,” I said after a bit of thought, “are two of a kind, I believe. We, neither of us, belong here.”

She looked at me askance and said, “Perhaps that is true of me, Miss Bennet, but you do not seem to have any trouble fitting in, I think. You are just like your sister. When she came to Rosings that first time, she refused to be intimidated by Mama or my cousin, or any of her surroundings. If it had been me...” She sighed.

“It is really too bad,” I said, “that we did not meet years ago, when you met my sister, or you might have had a different opinion of me. But as to my fitting in here...” I hesitated. “Do you enjoy coming to Town? I believe Lord Bancroft said that you come every year, but only for the end of the Season.”

“Mama brings me every year,” Miss de Bourgh said in a quiet voice that almost got lost in the crowd. “She doesn’t like leaving Kent, and she thinks that London is bad for my health, so we don’t come for very long. But she does want me to find a husband. She is so upset at me when I return every year still unwed.”

“Do you want to find a husband?” I asked her gently.

She looked at me then, her eyes serious, but with a strange wistful expression in them. “I do not expect to wed, Miss Bennet. I do not think I wish to wed, in any case. Any man who would have me would be merely interested in my money. I am quite content to remain alone.”

I nodded. “As am I. Shall I share a secret with you, Miss de Bourgh? I--” But I broke off, catching a glimpse over the heads of several matrons of Lord Simon Caberdeen finally hurrying over to claim his dance. I turned to my companion and took her hands in mine. “Will you call on me tomorrow? I would like to show you something. Perhaps around one in the afternoon?”

Though startled, she nodded. “I shall have to bring Mrs. Jenkinson, though,” she said apologetically.

“That’s quite all right,” I said, squeezing her hands briefly before releasing them. “One o’clock at Woodbridge house. Do not forget.” And then I turned to Lord Simon, who, after pausing to catch his wind, began apologizing for not being able to find me in the crowd. I forgave him, introduced him to Miss de Bourgh, and then took his arm as we made our way out onto the dance floor just as the music began to play.

Later, on the way home from the ball, I made sure to ask Alceste about Lady Catherine. She laughed briefly, her musical mirth filling the carriage. “Ah, yes. Dear old Catherine. She’s such a wonderful old biddy, I simply can’t help myself.” I looked to Lord Thornfield, but he just smiled and lifted a brow in shared confusion. When Alceste finally realized that we weren’t sharing her joke, she said, “But I suppose neither of you would understand.” She sighed. “You see, Lady Catherine, Thea and I go some ways back. The year we turned fifteen, my father tried putting us in a finishing school near my parents’ Kent estate. And that year certainly did finish us.”

She and Lord Thornfield started laughing over her (rather poor) joke, and I wondered exactly how much they had indulged in the bubbly champagne that had been floating around the ballroom on silver salvers. I simply rolled my eyes and waited. At last Alceste’s laughter died down enough for her to continue: “Lady Catherine was a few years ahead of us, in a higher form. And Faith! did she lord it over all of us younger ones! She and a few of her equally high-class friends in their little Society. It used to just punch my buttons at times, and I finally stood up to her. Well, she never let me hear the end of it, especially since she was an earl’s daughter, and I was just the daughter of a mere baron! Well, she ended up having her Season the spring she left school--which, incidentally, was the same time my father finally got tired of getting notes from our headmistress about the two of us, Thea and I--and married a baron! Imagine that. And then I married myself a fine earl, and our positions were quite the reverse.”

Alceste smiled wickedly. “And so for the past few years, every time she shows up with her poor daughter in tow, I have to take a few minutes to make her squirm. I know I’m positively evil, but I can’t help myself! I hear she’s an absolute bear in the country, where she terrorizes the countryside with her never-ending opinions on how she wants things done, but here in Town, she dances to my tune!”

“I did enjoy watching you deflate her pretensions, my dear,” Lord Thornfield said, leaning over to pat my friend’s knee briefly before lounging back on the cushions, one arm stretched out languidly in highly improper form along the back. “You always seem to know the right things to say. I still think you should up your rank a bit, though, and have a bit more clout over her.”

Alceste waved an airy hand at him, turning her face to the window determinedly. “Oh, Michael, that’s completely unnecessary, and you know it. Being a dowager countess is high enough for me.”

“Perhaps it isn’t high enough for me,” he riposted.

My brows shot up. Yes, indeed, I was definitely now wishing myself elsewhere. But I bore it stoically and said, “And now that Althea’s marrying Lord Farrington, she’ll be able to join you in your quest to depress Lady Catherine’s fine airs, Ceste.”

“You should take her example,” Lord Thornfield added.

“I never take anyone’s example if I can help it,” she responded. “I inevitably end up with a full hand and nowhere to hold my fan.”

“Oh, look! We’re here!” I cried in happy tones that were not in the least feigned. I escaped the carriage as quickly as I possibly could, which was unfortunately a while because I had made my declaration as soon as I could even see Hanover Square, much less the house. I left the two of them in the foyer, still fencing with their tipsy wit, and retired to my room.

The following day, Miss de Bourgh arrived promptly at one in the afternoon, Mrs. Jenkinson in tow. I left Maggie, who had graciously accepted the task while Alceste and Althea went off visiting old friends, to deal with the dragon while I maneuvered Miss de Bourgh to a pair of seats near the window.

“We were interrupted last night, during our conversation just as it was becoming interesting,” I said as we sat down. “I’m afraid that popularity has more of a price than I care for, most of the time.”

Miss de Bourgh’s gaze was still glued to her reticule, which was a beaded affair that matched the color of her afternoon gown. Who the deuce had thought she should wear olive green? “Miss Bennet,” she began, her voice small.

“Call me Mary,” I insisted. “We’re almost family, in a way, and I’m sure we shall be friends.”

She managed a shaky smile. “I suppose, Miss--Mary. And you may call me Anne.”

I acknowledged her offering with a smile. She went on: “Mary, I had been thinking since last night, and I know you think I’m pitiable, that I’m some poor on-the-shelf old maid who deserves your sympathy, but I’m not.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “You probably think it’s your duty to help me in some way, maybe try and make me pretty or find me partners or something, as if I were some charity case, but I assure you that I am doing fine on my own.”

“You are not pitiable,” I said flatly. “If I were to pity you, I would have to pity myself.” She looked up at me sharply, her eyes reflecting her confusion, and I sighed. “Anne, I know you won’t believe this, but at one time I was exactly like you. Exactly like you--except perhaps that my clothes were not made of the silks and satins you are accustomed to.”

I sighed. “I was the middle child in a family of noted beauties; I was the only one who didn’t live up to the standard. And I’m afraid I...became less likable as time wore on. But I came to London and changed that. I want to help you change it, as well.”

When she still looked doubtful, I leaned forward and said, “Anne, I haven’t done this for anyone else, you know. It’s not as if I have taken every wallflower under my wing to help them to change as I have. And I can’t quite explain why you are different. Perhaps it’s our familial connection. Perhaps it’s that spark in your eye that tells me that somewhere in your heart you truly believe that you can be different, if you could only get out from beneath your mother’s shadow. Or perhaps it’s something else entirely, something that won’t make any sense right now but sometime in the future will suddenly become clear. All I know is that I want to help you become the person I think you can truly be.”

Her eyes had been fixed on her hands clasped tightly in her lap for the second half of my speech, but now she looked up at me with an expression of hesitant hope. “Do you really think I could be as beautiful as you are, Mary?”

I hesitated, and her face fell immediately. Realizing my error, I quickly jumped to respond: “Do not think that I did not answer immediately for any other reason than that I wasn’t sure how to respond to such a ridiculous question. You are beautiful right now, Anne, and nothing I can do will change what you are. My maid once told me, when I had told her that I didn’t know how she made me look like such a lady, that she merely helped to show I was in there, that I made myself look like a lady all on my own.” I paused, smiling gently. “I can help show that you are in there, Anne, help you find the way to make your beauty shine from inside.”

A smile started in her eyes, then spread slowly to her lips, transforming her face from something that had been but charming before to something that was quite transfixing. Her skin practically glowed with the sudden happiness that gave color to her cheeks and sparkle to her eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that I was beautiful before, Mary,” she said, sudden tears appearing on her lower lashes.

I felt an answering glow in my heart as I realized what my simple words had meant to her. Embarrassed, I busied myself with picking up a notebook that I had left on the table beside me and flipping through it to find the page I wanted. “May I ask you who chooses your gowns? Is it your mother? I seemed to notice a similarity in color and style.”

Anne nodded, her expression returning to its customary forlorn state. “Mama has complete rule over what goes into my wardrobe each year,” she said. “I am not even able to choose my bonnets, which I have always longed to do.”

“I see,” I said with a nod. “Well, I spent much of last night drawing up several styles that I thought would suit you more than your current...well, your mother’s current choices.” I showed her a page in my notebook of an evening gown suitable for a fine dinner or perhaps a soiree. It was in the Spanish style that had become more en vogue this Season, with a long flaring skirt and slitted sleeves. The bodice was more lengthened than previous years’ styles, but was still quite flattering to one of Anne’s more...limited proportions.

“That is beautiful,” Anne breathed in awe. “Did you really draw this yourself?” I nodded, and she smiled. “You are quite talented, Miss Bennet. It reminds me of something out of What the Well-Dressed Woman Should Know.”

“Oh!” I said, ruffling the pages slightly to distract from my flushed cheeks. “Have you read Miss Hutchinson, then?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. But I never thought that I would ever wear something as beautiful as she described. Nor did I ever think that her strictures on sleeve length or hair styles would ever apply to me.”

“Well, we shall change that,” I said. “You shall become all the crack, if I have my way. And I always try my best to make sure that I do.” We giggled over that, and then I turned to the next page to show her another drawing.

No more than an half hour later, Anne and I left the house on the pretext of a walk in the park, taking a footman and Flora with us. Maggie promised to keep Mrs. Jenkinson busy--apparently they had found common ground in their interest in other countries (Anne seemed as surprised as I that the staid Mrs. Jenkinson was interested in foreign locales).

We did not, however, enter the park, but entered Lady Woodbridge’s carriage, which I had arranged to have pick us up around the block, and drove to Madame LeClere’s shop. There we spent a good half hour in fittings (I admit it--I chose something for myself as well) and then went to the nearby draper’s to select fabrics.

“What shall I do when Mama discovers that I have spent so much on new gowns?” Anne asked at one point, as Madame’s assistant was measuring her for a ball gown. “I know she shall be quite upset with me.”

“How shall she find out before it is too late to change?” I asked. “Is your maid not trustworthy enough to keep quiet the fact that you have altered your wardrobe?”

“Oh she is,” Anne quickly said. “Lucy has been with me since I was very young. But the expense...Mama will surely refuse to pay for this.”

Madame looked up here, a little worried, but I shook my head and she was satisfied. “Anne, how old are you?”

“Six and twenty,” she replied.

“And have you come into your inheritance?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. When I came of age, at twenty-five, it was mine in its entirety, as I had not yet wed. I do have a solicitor who handles it, though.”

“And if you send the bills to him directly, he will pay them?”

A new light entered her eyes, and she smiled. “Why, of course! Mama would never know until she sees me in them. But by then, I shall already have rid myself of my old gowns, and she will not be able to do anything about it!”

I smiled, hearing the note of self-confidence that had already begun to enter her voice. It really was amazing how quickly a person could learn to believe in themselves and take pride in their opinions. When we were selecting fabrics, less and less did I have to suggest or reject a choice, as she seemed to become more and more understanding of the colors that would suit her form, complexion, and style.

As we were returning to Woodbridge house not more than an hour later, having stopped at a haberdasher’s and a milliner’s shop first to purchase several items, I asked Anne more about herself, interested as I was in some academic fashion about what had made her the way she was.

“Well,” she said after some thought. “I am an only child. Papa was very old when he married Mama, and it was nearly six years into their marriage before I was born. Papa was very disappointed that I was not a male, to inherit both his estate and title, but Mama did not mind it so much, or so she had said. She was prepared to forward a match between myself and my cousin--your brother-in-law--to unite both our fortunes and estates. And so she had continued to think, until my twentieth year, when Fitzwilliam married your sister.”

“What was it like being an only child?” I asked, curious.

She sighed. “It was very stifling. Mama ruled every moment of my life, it often seemed. I could not do anything without her knowing it and directing my every movement. Even my studies were chosen by her. And as for much of my childhood I had often been very sick, she continued, even as I was older, to regulate and limit my activities, when I knew that I could do so much more. But after Fitzwilliam married, and my mother’s hopes of an alliance between us were dashed, she paid less attention to me, I think. Except when she was dragging me here to London to try to snag a rich and titled husband, she left me alone much of the time. I think I had disappointed her.”

I knew what it was like to feel as though I was a disappointment to my family, and felt my heart reaching out to her. “So what did you do?”

“Do?” she echoed, a bit surprised. “I didn’t do anything to try to regain her attention, if that is what you mean. To be honest,” she said with a small smile, “I relished my freedom. Even with Mrs. Jenkinson always being so near, I was able to sometimes slip away and do things on my own, like play with the kittens in the stables, or practice the pianoforte.”

“You play the piano?” I asked.

She nodded. “Oh, yes. Not very well, of course. But I do enjoy it.”

I smiled. “Then that is simply one more thing we have in common, Anne.” And, indeed, it was quite amazing how much we had in common. Anne, I found, had done much reading and learned French on her own, and was very interested in art, though she denied having any talent at it, herself. She was also fond of horse riding, and enjoyed the country much more than she did the Town.

And yet, we did differ in some respects. Her sense of humor was not so sharp as mine, perhaps, nor was her personality, even as it was still blooming out from behind the shyness that had blocked dampened her spirits for so long, quite as definitive and forceful as I considered myself.

But despite our differences, I discovered that I really enjoyed her company, and looked forward to seeing her the following evening at the Bridgeports’ ball. And while she would not yet be dressed in the style in which she perhaps deserved to appear, as the gowns would take some time to be made, I knew that even the small change we had wrought just that day would stand her in good stead. And for now, that was enough--for her and, I admit, for me as well.

Chapter 24

Posted on Sunday, 30 May 2004

The following Tuesday, I had most of the day to myself and spent much of it on Bond Street, doing some shopping but mostly simply enjoying myself by examining the styles and fashions on display in the various shops. It was always interesting to see what silly things certain people thought should become the current mode.

I was on a bit of a high, having had an excellent few days previous. The night before, in fact, had been my biggest triumph yet, I felt, when I had introduced a much improved Anne de Bourgh to the notice of the ton.

She had sent a note to Woodbridge House during the morning, informing me that her gowns had begun to arrive, and I had responded by inviting her over for tea. When she arrived with her maid, I had spirited her away upstairs with me to my dressing room, where Flora was waiting, scissors in hand.

In no more than fifteen minutes, much of Anne’s pale tresses littered the floor, and the image in the mirror reflected an extremely stylish young woman with blond hair whisked back off her face and swept up into the very popular Grecian style. We had even found that, as the weight of her locks was lessened, Anne’s hair took on a light wave that softened her face dramatically. Flora used hot tongs to lightly curl the pieces that framed her face as a temporary measure, as curling papers would have taken far too long, but she made sure to show Anne’s maid, Lucy, how a more complicated style could have been done.

“What do you think?” I had asked Anne as the two maids discussed various styles together, poring over a copy of Belle Asemblee. The look in her eyes was a more than sufficient answer. I smiled in return and handed her a handkerchief.

We then returned to the drawing room, where the others had already begun to have tea. Alceste handed me a cup as I sat down on the settee.

“You look quite lovely in that style, Miss de Bourgh,” Maggie said with a smile. “I almost didn’t recognize you when you entered.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Thornfield, who was standing behind the chair where Alceste was seated, one hand resting along the back and the other holding a cup of tea, “and the gown is exquisite. The simple lines perfectly compliment your figure.”

Anne blushed charmingly and Alceste glared up at him. “I think, Michael, that it is highly improper for a gentleman to comment on a young lady’s figure in mixed company. In any company, for that matter. You are supposed to ignore such things.”

Althea laughed. “They are not supposed to ignore a lady’s figure, Ceste. Quite the opposite, I believe,” she said, sharing an amused glance with Lord Farrington, who was seated on the sofa beside her.

“In any case,” Maggie said with a resigned shake of her head, “the gown and your new hairstyle are quite becoming.” She paused and set down her cup. “Now, I hear from Mary that you are quite proficient at the pianoforte.”

“Well, that was a rather abrupt change in topic,” I said with a grin.

“I do not know if I could be called proficient, Mrs. Townsend,” Anne replied. “But I do enjoy playing.”

“Are you practicing anything currently?” Althea asked, taking a sip of her tea.

Anne glanced at me. “Mary has very kindly lent me a piece by Miss Hutchinson to practice. It’s very hard, though.”

“Oh! Which one?” Althea said, glancing at me in a surprised manner. Anne immediately pulled the folded sheet music from her reticule (I must say that I was rather flattered that she carried it around with her) and showed it to Maggie, who asked her to play as much as she could. Anne agreed, though reluctantly.

I really wasn’t worried about having my friends hear a portion of my finally finished Atalanta opus. Anne had been quite excited when she had seen the music, and so I had felt no qualms over allowing her to try her hand at it. What could it hurt, after all? But what I was worried about, and what I hadn’t expected to have happen was the appearance of a visitor during our little tea, just as Anne was in the middle of playing the piece. And I definitely wasn’t ready for it to be heard by any number of people greater than those who had been sitting around me there in the drawing room.

“But you really must agree to play such a spectacular piece for my amateur musicale on Friday, Miss de Bourgh. Especially as it’s, as you say, written by the exquisite Miss Imelda Hutchinson. Why, to have the cachet of such a performance! I shall be the envy of all my friends.”

The tension in the room was practically visible by this point. Indeed, it had risen steadily like the smell of sulfur off a bog and now threatened to choke us all, all due to the inimitable Lady Woodbridge (the younger) having entered the room several minutes previous. She had greeted us all in turn and was introduced to Anne, who had stopped playing on the lady’s entrance, then immediately insisted that our young friend finish her performance. Anne did so, but she kept shooting panicked glances at me all the while.

When at last the final note was played in that movement, everyone politely applauded, and Lady Woodbridge then offered her invitation. “For, you see,” she continued, “I have just gotten word that one of the young ladies that I was planning on having perform has been called home on the death of her father. It really was too bad of that gentleman to die at such a time as this and completely ruin all of my plans!”

She lay back in her chair, resting the back of one hand against her forehead dramatically, sighing as if under a heavy weight. And I’m sure many of us in the room were wishing that, indeed, she was. A large mountain would have been nice.

“If you really need me,” Anne said hesitantly.

“Oh, that is wonderful of you!” cried Lady Woodbridge, immediately recovering and sitting upright to take a sip of her tea. “And you, Miss Bennet? I am persuaded that you would enjoy performing something for my guests as well, am I correct?”

For a moment I toyed with the idea of saying, quite truthfully, that I rather would not perform, but a glance at Alceste’s pleading expression (the less arguments and theatrics, the faster her daughter-in-law would leave, I assumed she was thinking) told me that I had better simply grin and bear it.

“Of course, Lady Woodbridge,” I replied with a smile that was as honest as Lord Devereaux was virtuous, “I would be honored.”

And she was satisfied, and went away quite happily. To the relief of everyone in the room, and probably even the footman in the hallway who had had to hold her rather weighty fruit-and-bird-trimmed bonnet and parasol.

Later that evening, we attended the ball at Fulsome House. Anne was an instant success. Lady Catherine was not present, as we discovered when Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson entered the ballroom on the arms of an elderly friend of her mother’s (a Lord Rushton, if I recalled rightly from being introduced near the beginning of the Season), due to an unfortunate case of the vapors when she discovered her daughter’s intransigence in not dressing in something more suitable and not putting her hair back the way it was. I was not all that disappointed at not being able to meet the (sometimes) formidable dame. Anne didn’t seem too unhappy, either.

It really was wonderful to see her so happy as she twirled around the floor on the arm of this gentleman or that, her face glowing in pride at her accomplishment. But I have to admit, even as my heart swelled with sympathetic pleasure, I felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy. Jealousy? Pshaw! Why in heaven’s name should I be jealous?

I turned back to Lord Jeremy Cranshaw with a smile as we passed, taking hands briefly before turning and weaving between another pair. I couldn’t possibly have any reason to be jealous of her, I mused. Not as I was the one who had caused the very transformation that was currently turning me into a green-eyed monster (though I rather hoped that my eyes weren’t actually turning green--I had worn blue that evening). Perhaps it was simply the novelty of it.

As my partner and I came to the end of the dance and made our courtesies, I happened to catch the eyes of someone on the edge of the dance floor. My eyes widened as I recognized those familiar green eyes and the dark curls that fell dashingly over his forehead, and I almost obeyed my first instinct, which was to run the opposite direction as fast as I possibly could, but regrettably (or perhaps thankfully) Lord Jeremy passed at that moment between me and the object of my attention, and the moment was lost. When I next had a chance to look in that direction, he had disappeared.

I had not seen him in the past week very often, except for the previous night. There had been a few moments when I had thought I had caught sight of him, there on the edge of the crowd, or there in the shadows of a box at the theatre, or there turning his curricle down a path that led out of the park. But every time I had lost sight of my quarry before I could make a positive identification.

It was almost, and I hesitated to say this, as if he were avoiding me. But that couldn’t be possible, I thought. There was absolutely no reason; he had nothing to fear from me. Especially after another scandal--Miss Octavia Hornsby and Mr. Purvis Mansfeld had been caught in the garden at the Knowlton’s ball on Saturday locked in a rather unmentionable sort of embrace by Lady Beatrice and Lady Horsley, Society’s most inveterate gossip and Society’s highest stickler, together (poor luck for them)--completely threw the unsubstantiated whispers about Lord Peter and I out the window, down a steep embankment, and into a small ditch filled with rainwater.

But the question was, then: was he avoiding me? Or was our timing just a little bit off? Either way, I must say, I was a bit relieved. I didn’t know if I could face him right now.

And on that thought, I entered Hatchard’s on my mission to find a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s rather recent publication. I left Flora and Simon, the footman Althea had insisted I take on my wanderings, to cool their heels at the front of the shop, not really wanting to have them tag along as I browsed the selections, and continued on my journey into the fabulous realms of bookdom. Ah, my favorite place in the world.

I had just passed up the aisle where the books on agricultural management and animal husbandry were kept, and was turning down the row that I knew held the novels where I was sure I could find my goal, when I stopped stock-still in the middle of the aisle. There he was, facing one of the shelves, his attention focused on the book in his hands (wait--was that? No, he couldn’t be holding the very book I was searching for...). Hoping to evade notice, I slowly turned on my heel and made to walk around the edge of the shelves into another aisle. But the sound of his voice caused me to stop in my tracks: “Running away again, Miss Bennet?”

This question, quite naturally, caused me to turn again and face my interrogator. His gaze was still focused on his book, his stance still casually bored, and as I watched he nonchalantly flipped one of the pages. His whole attitude, for some reason, really got my dander up. “I was not running away, Lord Peter.”

He looked up then, closing the book with a snap. “Weren’t you?” he said, more of a doubtful statement, really, than a question. And removing his spectacles and placing them in his waistcoat pocket, he looked squarely at me, his gaze penetrating. “It seems to be your answer for everything; I don’t know why this time should be any different.”

“My answer for everything?” I echoed, sputtering. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Haven’t you been avoiding me all week?”

“So you noticed then,” he said, one eyebrow rising in surprise. He shoved the book back onto the shelf. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t need any favors from you.”

“You needed time, I thought,” he replied calmly, taking one step towards me and then leaning a shoulder against the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest. “I seem to recall you asking me to give you time to think.”

“Time to--“ I broke off abruptly, letting out the rest of my breath on a thin whistle. I was beginning to sound like a blasted parrot. “You know, I didn’t mean you had to avoid me,” I said in a much more reasonable tone of voice.

“Then I apologize,” he said, sweeping me a bow.

I nodded in acknowledgment of his confession of error, feeling a glorious sense of satisfaction. It really was wonderful to be in the right.

“Have you spoken with your family?” he asked now, changing the subject quite abruptly.

The glorious feeling withered and died. “Well, I did talk to them,” I hedged.

“But you didn’t tell them the truth,” he said with quiet assurance.

“Well, I don’t see how you can talk,” I shot back. “Have you spoken with your parents?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, I did not. I have not seen them since they returned from the Grange yesterday. Have you spoken about your deception with your sister, at least?”

“I really don’t see the point…”

“Did you tell them?”

“They didn’t want to know!”

I clapped my hands over my mouth, shocked at what had come out of my mouth, quite loud in the sudden silence of the bookshop--or was that silence caused by my outburst?

Lord Peter swore under his breath, then slipped a hand under my elbow and steered me out of Hatchard’s, where the patrons and the clerk behind the desk all stared at me in shock. Flora and Simon hurried along behind us. I fairly had to run as Lord Peter’s long stride covered the distance quickly. “Where are we going?” I asked breathlessly as we passed through the crowds that roiled around us.

He didn’t answer, but fairly soon we reached the entrance to a park, into which he led me. As we rushed down several paths, I glanced over my shoulder, relieved to see Flora and Simon still behind us, but after several moments Lord Peter turned to them and barked out an order to remain where they were. He then led me to a small bench that was hidden by several trees and helped me to sit.

“Now, what is this about your family not wanting to know?” he asked in a no-nonsense manner, taking a seat on the bench beside me.

I turned my face away. “I tried to tell them. I went to call on Elizabeth for tea, and they were all there--all but my father and Lydia. I dressed very nicely, and I had my hair done, and I didn’t wear glasses, and they still didn’t see me. They just saw the old Mary, the one they had thought they had known all their lives. They hated me.”

“All of them?”

“Yes--no. It doesn’t really matter. She spoke for all of them.”

Lord Peter laid two fingers under my chin and turned my face towards him, forcing me to look at him. His eyes flickered over my face, reading my expression, and then looked straight into my eyes. “Who, Mary? You said ‘she.’”

I looked downwards, avoiding his gaze. “My mother. As soon as I appeared, she took one look at me and dismissed my finery as fine feathers on a sparrow. She hated it.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he sighed, removing his hand from my cheek. “I’m afraid I’ve never met your mother, and could only suppose why she said such a thing. Even then, it really doesn’t matter, Mary; you are a very beautiful young woman.” He paused. “To be honest, though, from what I saw of your costume that day outside Doncaster house--I assume that was your old wear--“

“I used to paint spots on my face, too,” I said.

That surprised a chuckle out of him, and I found myself, as well, smiling at the absurdity of my interjection. “From what I saw of your costume, even sans spots,” he continued, “you did your best to hide that. And that’s all your family has seen of you for all the time they have known you. You have to give them time to adjust to that. Even then, I cannot believe that all of your family had the same reaction. Mrs. Darcy, at least, seemed like a sensible person.”

I didn’t answer. Granted, it was true that Elizabeth had not seemed to condemn my deception. Indeed, there had been several moments where I had thought…But at the same time, I knew that I still wasn’t acceptable to them. I would never be one of them.

“And your father?” Lord Peter asked, recalling me to my surroundings.

“He was not there; he arrived in town on Monday,” I replied. “He is staying with my mother at the Bingleys’ townhouse. I have not had a chance to talk to him yet.”

Lord Peter didn’t answer at first, but after a moment he said softly, “Perhaps you should. Things are not always as black and white as you may think. In fact, as Pope said, ‘if black and white soften, blend, unite a thousand ways, is there no black or white?’” And then, not giving me a chance to respond, he stood and offered me his hand to help me off the bench. I accepted and he drew me up, remaining where he was so that my face was just inches from his. At first, I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he stepped back, turning away and offering his arm.

As we began walking back to where Flora and Simon were waiting, he said to me, “I apologize for dragging you out of Hatchard’s as I did. It was rather officious of me.”

“But necessary,” I replied, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “I would only have embarrassed us both. You were completely in the right; it was a conversation best done in private, considering the very thin rein I have had on my temper these past few weeks. I think perhaps the Season is beginning to wear on me.”

He looked over at me. “And then you will retire to the country?”

I hesitated, then answered that I would, and we lapsed into silence again. When we reached Flora and Simon, I nodded at them to tell them I was all right, and they fell into step behind us. “I shall see you home,” Lord Peter said, and I accepted his escort.

We walked along the bustling streets, the two of us seemingly the only ones who were not making noise. Horses clomped down the cobbled streets, their drivers yelling at each other in frustration, street sellers hocked their wares, ladies and their mothers and maids drifted in and out of stores, gentlemen walked in groups, laughing and talking together. And there we were among the throng, in our own little bubble of silence. I was extremely aware of him by my side, and for some reason, that stilled my tongue.

At last, he broke the barrier that had unconsciously been under construction between us, asking, “Do you go to the Saunders’ ball on Thursday?”

I shook my head. “I have been asked to an amateur musicale that evening. I do not believe I shall have time for another ball afterwards.”

“The Woodbridge musicale?” he asked with a grin. When I nodded, he laughed. “Yes, I received an invitation to that, as well. Did she rope you into playing?”

“She did,” I replied with a grimace. “She came at tea yesterday afternoon, while Anne was playing for us, and managed to trap us both into promising to perform.”

“Anne de Bourgh?” he asked, and when I nodded, he said: “I noticed what you have done for her. It was a great kindness; I have never seen her smile before, in the five years I have seen her in London. The transformation you wrought was amazing.”

I kept my silence, disturbed by the slithering sensation of jealousy that slipped into my heart once again. What was wrong with me?”

“But if you are going to perform at Lady Woodbridge’s musicale, perhaps I might come, after all,” he continued. “You don’t object, do you?” he asked when my arm, hooked through his, stiffened.

“No, not at all,” I said as casually as I could, relaxing myself through sheer force of will. I couldn’t say what had caused me to tense as I had--it was just a strange sense of foreboding that had swept through me. Completely unreasonable, I was sure, but at the same time, I couldn’t quite dismiss it.

When we reached Woodbridge House, I invited him in for tea, but he refused, saying that he had an appointment to attend, and so I continued into the house.

The following day, after morning calls, I set off on an errand I had devised shortly after Lord Peter had left me. I entered the offices of Goodwell, Holley and Linster, solicitors, to find the same clerk that had been there before, looking perhaps more harried than the last time I had seen him. He greeted me upon my entrance and told me that I was expected. He then led the way to Mr. Goodwell’s office and let me inside.

“Well, Miss Bennet!” Mr. Goodwell greeted me with a smile. “When I got your note yesterday, I was quite surprised. I had, in fact, just been about to send you a letter I received for you, but then decided to simply deliver it in person. Much safer that way. It’s from your publisher.”

He held out a letter, and I took it, sitting in the seat before his desk. Then slitting the seal, I read it, my dismay increasing with every word. “He wants to publish a folio of my sonatas and other piano works. He must have heard…”

“Recall that it is still ultimately your choice,” my solicitor said soberly. “If you choose not to publish, there is nothing Mr. Weberly can do to force the issue. And your identity will remain safe. But I will say that it will no doubt be a very good sale, considering the success of the past few editions of Miss Hutchinson’s books. And if you are still considering giving away your estate, that money might come in handy.”

I slipped the letter into my reticule. “I shall think on it for a while, Mr. Goodwell. But your statement reminds me of my purpose--I wish to complete the transfer of the deed for Landrey Manor.”

He sighed with resignation, but went to fetch the papers from his file. We filled out the pertinent information, borrowed the frazzled clerk to witness the signing of the transfer, and then filed one copy. I took the other and put it in my reticule with the letter from my publisher.

“Thank you again, Mr Goodwell,” I said, shaking his hand. “I know your feelings on the issue, but I appreciated your advice, as always. I shall contact you later with my decision on the other matter.”

And with that, I left his office and returned in the carriage with Flora to Woodbridge House, where, after leaving my bonnet and reticule in my room, I sought out Maggie. I found her eventually in the music room, where she was playing a gentle sonata by Haydn, and she stopped when I entered and, with a smile, asked what she could do for me.

We talked for some time on the matter for which I sought her, and then when that business had been completed I asked her, “Do you really wish to travel abroad?”

She smiled. “It has been my dream for some time. I have not decided whether I shall simply take a Grand Tour, like so many of our young gentlemen, or if I shall go beyond, perhaps to the West Indies or South America, of which I have heard so much, or perhaps India itself or the Orient. Wherever the wind takes me, I imagine.”

“I never realized that you were wealthy enough to undertake such an expedition,” I said in some surprise.

Maggie shook her head. “Oh, I am not wealthy, by any means. But I have a comfortable income, thanks to my grandmother on my mother’s side, who left me an inheritance when she passed away. Otherwise, after Arthur died, I can imagine I should have had to live with my brother at his vicarage, if he could have spared the room. And, even then, it would not have been comfortable in the least.”

“Then why do you act as Alceste’s companion?” I asked.

“Oh, that,” she said with a laugh. “Out of friendship, my dear. Arthur died only a few months after Roger, and when, on my tour of England, I visited Ceste here in London, I found her practically at her companion’s throat. And since I was at loose ends at the time, I agreed to stay with her here. We are really companions to each other, if anything.”

“And if she marries, you will leave?”

“Not if. When,” she corrected. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Lord Thornfield has been more persuasive than usual. I think he’s becoming a little impatient.” I nodded and told her about the ride home after the Hampton’s ball, and she laughed. “Oh, dear. Poor Michael; Ceste can be quite stubborn, sometimes. He’s had quite a time trying to court her, I assure you--especially when David came onto the scene. I nearly died every time the two faced off. I still am not sure if David knows why Michael was so antipathetic towards him. But Ceste absolutely refused to explain everything to Michael; she was having too much fun having the two fight over her attention, despite the fact that David was doing it merely to get news of her sister.”

We laughed together for a bit, and then I asked her, “With whom will you be traveling?”

Maggie grimaced. “As to that, I am not sure. I had been planning on traveling with a cousin of mine, who lives in the North, but I just received word on Friday that she just received a proposal of marriage and will not be able to go abroad with me, after all. So perhaps I may have to see about hiring a companion.” She sighed. “Isn’t that always the way with plans?”

I heartily agreed. That, indeed, was always the way with the best of our plans. They never seemed to come off right.

Chapter 25

I dressed carefully for the musicale on Friday, choosing a gown of a brilliant gold color, with a cross-over bodice lined with fine French lace and short slitted sleeves that revealed a deep red satin that was echoed in the ribbon that tied under the bodice and the flounces at the hem. I wore gold satin slippers and several red feathers in the upsweep of hair that Flora had arranged, and my jewelry consisted of a ruby encrusted with diamonds set in a long gold chain that came around my neck and then dropped deep into my décolletage, and gold, dangling earrings that brushed my cheeks as I turned my head. And around my wrist dangled a fan of exquisite gold silk on fragile ivory sticks to complete the ensemble.

Of course, I ignored the voice in my head that said that I was dressing to compete with Anne. After all, it was the same voice that had told me that I was in love with Lord Peter and the same voice that told me to try to jump that small gorge when I was six. I really should just try to get a new voice.

I arrived downstairs for dinner in due time to find everyone else also present. Lord Thornfield and Lord Farrington were dining with us again that evening, as well as John, who had arrived earlier in the day.

“So, are you ready for the musicale?” Althea asked me as Lord Farrington handed me a glass of sherry.

I nodded. “I have selected a new Beethoven sonata to play.”

“Oh, that should be nice,” said Alceste. “But I have the feeling Lucille will be disappointed that it’s not a Hutchinson piece.”

“Well, then, let her be disappointed,” I said. “Anne is already going to be playing the first movement of Atalanta, as I had suggested to her. She’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

“And you’re sure that none of your sisters will be there?” asked Maggie.

I shook my head. “According to Elizabeth’s housekeeper, who sent me a note the day before yesterday, the Darcys are promised to a soiree and a rout tonight. And Kitty’s maid said that the Halliwells are going to be at the Rufton ball.”

“Good,” Althea said with a smile. “Then you’re safe.”

We all went into the dining hall then as dinner was announced and seated ourselves at table. Lord Thornfield, I noticed, took the seat at the opposite end as Alceste. I looked in surprise at John, who merely raised one brow in sympathetic confusion and shook his head. But we were not left very long to wonder, for as the footmen were setting out the soup course, Lord Thornfield rose, tapping his fork against his glass to get our attention.

“Now, some of you may have already guessed,” he began with a smile, “but I feel that the announcement should be made, before everyone else has a chance to discover it tomorrow when they read the morning Times. I have the very great pleasure of telling you all that, at long last, Alceste has consented to be my bride.”

We all clapped and said our congratulations and said how happy we were, and then Lord Thornfield tapped his glass once again. “We have not yet set a date, but when we do, we hope for all of you to be there, to wish us well in our new life. If we can have the first of the banns read this Sunday, perhaps we may be wed before the end of the Season.”

Alceste laughed. “If it were my choice,” she assured us all, “I would go for a special license, but Michael here is all stodgy and set in his ways, so the banns it will be.”

Lord Thornfield smiled indulgently and lifted his glass. “And so I wish to offer a toast. First, to my dearest Ceste, for her willingness to take on an old codger like me, as set in my ways as I am. May she always remember that my love for her is as eternal and inalterable as the stars. To Alceste!” And with some here, heres, we all lifted our glasses in salute and drank with him. He then lifted his glass again and said, “And secondly, I would like to offer a toast to all of us--to David and Althea, who are also going to begin a new life together…and I do apologize, David, for the bear I’ve been these past few years. I had truly thought you were trying to win out Ceste’s attention from me.”

“No harm done,” Lord Farrington replied with a grin. “Although for a while I did wonder.”

The two shared a moment of shared amusement, then Lord Thornfield continued: “So to David and Althea, that they have a long and happy life together; to John, who is starting his new life as a farmer after having made an incredible name for himself in service to his country, that his harvests are always plentiful and his sheep always healthy and wool-laden; to Maggie, who will be off and running, no doubt, from the very door of the church after Ceste and I are finally hitched--that she finds excitement and adventure in foreign lands and comes back safe and sound to us at the end of her travels; and finally, to Mary, who has become very dear to all of us in the short time that we have known her, that she finds happiness and success in everything she does. A toast!”

We all raised our glasses in salute, clinking them together, laughing and crying at the same time. The feeling in the room as we all regained our seats to eat was bittersweet. It was truly the beginning of the end, I reflected; the moment when you know that soon enough everything will pass away, and the friends that you have made will go their separate ways. We would all be parting to the ends of the earth, and who knew when we would all be together again.

But we still had some time yet. Two or three weeks were left to the end of the Season, though they, too, would no doubt pass by too quickly. I looked around the table at the faces of my friends, laughing and talking together, and wondered how they had become so dear to me so quickly. I had only met them--Althea discluded--a little over a month ago, and yet I felt as if I had known them my whole life. I was more honest and open with them than I was with my own family.

We left for the musical at nine and arrived a quarter hour later--the townhouse was nearly seven blocks away. Most of the guests were still mingling, waiting for the first performance. Anne rushed up to me when I entered the room on John’s arm, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

“I am so nervous, Mary!” she whispered agitatedly. “I thought I would be prepared, but I don’t know if I can do this!”

“Anne, this is John Ryder, the dowager Lady Woodbridge’s second son and the current Lord Woodbridge’s brother. He used to be a colonel in the army before he recently sold out,” I said, performing the introductions. “John, this is Miss Anne de Bourgh, the daughter of Sir Lewis de Bourgh and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and the cousin to my brother-in-law Fitzwilliam Darcy. Anne is to perform for us today.”

John was looking at Anne with a bemused sort of air, and when she nervously dropped a curtsey after merely staring at him for a moment, he barely had the presence of mind to bow over her hand. I sighed and, excusing us from John, slipped my arm through Anne’s and led her into the hall and away from the receiving line.

“Now, what is this about being nervous?” I asked as we found an empty antechamber.

She threw her hands in the air in distress. “Well, I’ve been practicing the piece you gave me, but I just don’t know if I can perform in front of so many people. What if I play a wrong note, or lose my place in the music?”

I took her hands in mine and gazed steadily into her eyes. “You will be fine, Anne. I know how talented you are, and I know that you can do anything to which you put your mind. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”

Anne managed a tremulous smile in response to my own, and I squeezed her hands. “Now, are there any other fears I can handily defeat with one fell swoop?”

She laughed, the tension flowing out of her fingers as she relaxed visibly. “No, no other fears. Mary, you are truly an amazing friend. I don’t know what happy wind blew you into my life, but I thank my lucky stars for it.” And then she hugged me rather impulsively. I was taken a bit aback at first, but managed to return the embrace.

“By the way,” she said as we left the antechamber to return to the room where the music would start shortly, “I was having some trouble with a passage near the end of the first movement, and so I tried playing the second movement. I can’t believe how much easier that came to me! So, while I know that you had said I would probably like to play the first movement, I actually find I like the second better, and I decided that’s the piece I would perform tonight. Do you think that’ll be all right? Do you think they’ll like it?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. But what was I supposed to say? “Of course they’ll enjoy it. It’s by Miss Hutchinson, after all,” I said with a bright, encouraging smile that did not match at all the feeling of horror that was spreading through my veins at the thought of that part of the piece being performed to all and sundry--the sundry being Lord Peter, who would now be aware of who I was. “And when you perform it, I’m sure it’ll be like angels singing.”

She smiled back. “I hope it will. It would be much better than a cat dying.” And we both laughed and entered the room where the rest of the guests were located. We joined one group located just inside the doorway, but after only a moment I excused myself and found Maggie, who was standing with a small cluster of ladies, chatting about something or other. I raised an eyebrow in question, and she nodded. She had begun the campaign.

“So I hear, Miss Bennet,” said one of the ladies, a Lady Charlotte Dorian, as I entered the circle, “that you have given away your estate. That is quite a surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that being done before.”

“Well,” I said, “it was quite a beautiful estate, and I had been blessed to have had it, but after visiting it, I realized that Landrey Manor was simply too large for a single lady like myself.”

“Landrey Manor!” cried another lady I recognized as Mrs. Helmstead. “Why, isn’t that one of the Symington estates?”

I nodded. “Or rather, it was. I purchased it a few months ago from Lord Peter Trelawny.”

The ladies all looked at each other in surprise, exchanging significant glances. “I’m surprised,” said Miss Redfelt, “that we have heard nothing until now. I cannot believe that such a sale went completely unnoticed.”

“Well, that is the way sometimes,” I said. “It is amazing how much delectable gossip goes completely unnoticed by all until something brings it to their notice. But if you would excuse me, I believe I see someone to whom I absolutely must speak.” And with a brief curtsey, I left that group and went across the room to another. In but a few moments, the news of Lord Peter’s sale of Landrey Manor had spread across the room like a wildfire.

It really was bad of me to force his hand like this, but there was a time, I believed, when it became necessary. If he wouldn’t confess it himself, it became the duty of others to make sure the truth came out. I was doing him a favor. Except that he wasn’t here to appreciate it.

Which, in a way, was a good thing. Or perhaps he had decided not to come at all, which would be an even better thing. I could do without him knowing my biggest deception of all. The moment he heard that second movement of Atalanta, he would know who I was. After all, he had heard it before it was changed, before I had finished the ending.

When it was time for the first performance, I joined Anne and John, who had taken seats near the front of the room, near where Alceste, Althea, and the others were seated. One performance followed another, and Lord Peter did not appear. By the time it was time for Anne to perform, the tension in my shoulders had grown immeasurably. I kept one eye on the door, fearing that Lord Peter would enter, as he had said he might; it was as if the sword of Damocles were hanging over my head.

I don’t know why the thought of him knowing that particular secret was so terrifying, really. After all, he knew so many of my other secrets. And it wasn’t as if I feared he would tell anyone else. No, I thought, he would only pressure you to reveal it yourself.

Not like you were doing to him, said that annoying little voice that I had vowed to rid myself of.

And, well, while I supposed that was true, it was different. After all, what I had revealed was not something about him specifically, really. It was more a common knowledge sort of thing, like if some gentleman didn’t pay his gambling debts or some lady was caught out in an affair. I had every right to reveal it. Especially as he had never asked me to reveal it. His loss.

I looked up to the front of the room, to where Anne was seating herself at the piano, and gave her a brief smile of support, which she responded shakily. But then, with a relaxing of her shoulders, she laid her hands on the keys and became a completely different person. She began playing softly, as the music had intended, drawing the listener into Atalanta’s story. I closed my eyes, listening to the notes that swirled through the room, weaving a tapestry, a beautifully wrought picture of the race between Atalanta and Hippomenes, a story of their shared love and admiration despite the pride and stubbornness that still held them apart. But through the race, the barriers that Atalanta, especially, had built were broken down, and she realized the truth within herself--that she, indeed, wanted to lose this race. It wasn’t the apples that had distracted her--it was her own desires.

And when the piece ended with the glowing strains of love and hope, I opened my eyes to see Anne smiling and blushing at the sudden applause that swept the room. John, beside me, rose to give a standing ovation, and the rest of the room followed suit. I glanced around the room, my heart swelling in pride at my protégé’s accomplishment, seeing the smiling faces of the audience, many whispering in impressed eagerness to each other. And as my eyes swept across the back of the room, they were suddenly arrested by the sight of a pair of green eyes focused squarely on me.

My heart leapt into my throat, and my hand crept up to my chest as I read the expression in that penetrating gaze. He knew.

But my biggest shock was yet to come, as the audience began to sit down again. For there, beside him in the doorway, stood two of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, one with blond curls and gentle brown eyes, the other with dark curls like mine and sharp, dark blue eyes. Behind them stood two gentlemen, one tall and pale-haired with a long visage and proud bearing, the other with ash blonde hair and a broad, smiling expression.

“Mary. Mary! It’s your turn.”

I turned to find Anne next to me, whispering to me. It was then that I looked around and realized that I was the only one left standing. I felt a flush rising to my cheeks, and I quickly nodded and hurried up to the front of the room, seating myself at the piano and readying myself to play. It was only after I had gained my seat, though, that I realized that I had left my music on the seat beside John. But by this point I was too embarrassed and too distressed to return to get it. So Herr Beethoven’s sonata must wait.

What, then, would I play? I laid my fingers lightly on the keys and closed my eyes, blocking out the presence of the others in the room. And then, with a certainty, I knew what I must do.

I played the first few notes with some hesitation, learning the feel of the ivories beneath my fingers, but after only a moment I began to play with more strength, and I played what was in my heart. Everything came pouring out through my fingers, into the keys, and out from the strings to fly through the room. This was my story; this was who I was.

I don’t know where the music came from. My fingers simply knew what to play. It was all there, the addolorato of my failure to be someone my family could love, the grave of my regret in not revealing to them my lies and deceptions, the allegro of finding my friends in London, the ironico of my plans all having fallen apart quite spectacularly. Everything that I was feeling came out in the notes and chords until at last there was nothing more to play, and I ended the song with a slow decrescendo, fading away slowly until at last, it stopped. I let the last note fall into the silence, and then opened my eyes.

It felt as though the earth had suddenly stood still. There was not a sound in the room--not even the usual uncomfortable cough or rustle of someone’s skirts. I looked around and met Lord Peter’s eyes. They were shadowed, haunted, but they looked at me with an understanding that went beyond the music I had just played. But they also told me something else.

“That was…incredible Miss Bennet,” Lady Woodbridge said, her usual inflections completely shocked out of her voice. “Was this, too, written by Miss Hutchinson, then?”

I paused, then squared my shoulders, lifted my chin and said, “Yes and no. It was, indeed, a piece by Miss Imelda Hutchinson, but no, it was never written.” I paused and took a deep breath, drawing together the scraps of courage that were buried somewhere inside me. “You see, I am Miss Imelda Hutchinson.”

There was a collective gasp, and then the room began to buzz with an excited murmuring. I stood and faced the crowd, but my eyes were locked on the figure that still stood at the back of the room. “My name is Mary Bennet, and I am from Hertfordshire, the daughter of a gentleman and a tradesman’s daughter. I wrote several books, and now this music, under a false name, so that I could live a dream that was never mine in the first place. I apologize for any lies I might have told.”

And then, my head still held high, I walked straight down the aisle, past all of the people who turned in their seats to watch me pass, to stop in front of Lord Peter, who had not moved a muscle during my speech. “Are you happy?” I asked, one brow lifted in question.

He didn’t answer, and after a moment, I gave up. I turned on my heel and walked through the door into the hallway where I called for the carriage and my wrap. He caught up with me there. “Mary, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, laying one hand on my arm and turning me towards him.

I looked him in the eye. “Perhaps I did it for my own good, my lord. As it says in the Bible, ‘The truth will set you free.’”

“You lie,” he said baldly.

“I’m a liar, my lord,” I retorted, throwing up my hands. “Has it taken you this long to figure that out?”

“Why?”

“Why?” I echoed. “Why do you think? Because I didn’t like who I was. Because I liked being mysterious, being someone no one could figure out. Well, you figured me out. Congratulations, my lord. You can go home and sleep well tonight.”

“You had to face them sometime, you know,” he said.

“And I did,” I replied. “I just faced them sooner than I had expected. If you will excuse me--“

Continued In Next Section