Suspense and Sensibility: Or, First Impressions Revisited Page 3

  They moved on. Mr. Dashwood greeted numerous acquaintances, appearing to know nearly everyone. As they passed two fastidiously dressed dandies, he nodded in acknowledgment. “Albertson. Leopold.” They bowed in response.

  “Those jeweled buckles on their shoes look absurd,” he said when they had passed out of earshot. “But I shall have to ask them who designed their waistcoats.”

  Kitty turned round to get a second look at the shoes, but another party had closed in behind them, blocking the view. One could still glimpse Albertson’s chest, however. “Your own waistcoat is more flattering,” she said.

  He stopped to look her full in the face, assessing her sincerity. “Truly?”

  “At least—well, I think so anyway.” A flush crept into her cheeks. “But what do I know about gentlemen’s clothes?”

  “Enough to know your own mind. That puts you ahead of half the ladies in this room.” He took her arm once more and continued leading them toward the dining room. “I’d be careful about expressing it, though. You wouldn’t want to let on that you can think for yourself.”

  “Is that a liability in a woman?” Elizabeth asked.

  “In some corners of the Polite World, that is a liability in anyone. We are a frivolous, mindless lot.”

  Kitty continued to gaze at Mr. Dashwood as if he were the first gentleman she’d ever encountered. Indeed, she seemed to be concentrating harder on making conversation with him than Elizabeth had ever seen her focus on anything else in her life.

  “Are you in London for the whole season?” Kitty asked.

  “I live here most of the year. I have a house in Sussex, but I haven’t spent much time at Norland since I was a boy. First I was at Eton, then Oxford, and now I prefer the entertainments of town to country living.”

  Unlike so many other women in the room, whose eyes roamed while in conversation with one partner to see whether anyone better happened nearby, Kitty bestowed her full attention on Mr. Dashwood—a fact not lost upon him. When the press of people attempting to squeeze through a too-narrow doorway required their party to pause, he observed that they stood mere feet from the Marquess of Avonbury, one of society’s most eligible young gentlemen.

  “Have you met the marquess?” Mr. Dashwood asked.

  Kitty, who just hours earlier would have swooned at finding herself in such proximity to any unattached peer, barely spared him a glance. “No.”

  “Would you like me to introduce you?”

  Mr. Dashwood extended his offer in a nonchalant manner, but Elizabeth sensed a larger question lay beneath the surface. His eye held a subtle look of appraisal.

  “Perhaps later. You were speaking to me of Sussex,” Kitty replied. “Is your mother still at Norland?”

  His expression bespoke approval. The marquess was left behind as Mr. Dashwood guided them through the doorway. “She divides her time between Norland and London, though she’s been in town since my father died.”

  “Is that when Norland fell to you?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, although it was entailed to me when I was a child by the will of a great-great-uncle I can’t even remember.”

  “I’m sure it’s a lovely house,” Kitty said.

  He shrugged. “As I said, I don’t spend much time there.” He led them around a cluster of ladies who eyed them with particular interest. He ignored their curiosity. “I understand Pemberley is quite grand?” he asked Kitty.

  “It is! Lizzy calls it the most beautiful house in all England. I look forward to visiting there this summer.”

  He regarded her as if she’d said something odd. “You don’t live there, then?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  He cast her another approving glance. “I see we are of like mind.”

  Kitty drew her brows together in puzzlement, not knowing how to interpret his reply. For that matter, neither did Elizabeth.

  “In preferring town over the country,” he clarified.

  “Oh! Yes—town has so much more to offer, doesn’t it?”

  Mr. Dashwood acknowledged three more friends, one of whom bestowed a rakish grin on Kitty.

  “You are keeping fine company tonight, Dashwood,” he said.

  “Save the charm for your wife, Cavanaugh.” After they passed, he leaned toward Kitty and spoke in a conspiratorial voice Elizabeth heard only with difficulty. “Only one week wed, and already the baron is back on the prowl.”

  Kitty’s jaw dropped. “Does his wife know?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s been too busy this evening making eyes at his closest friend.”

  Mr. Dashwood delivered the gossip as dispassionately as if reading a Times item about wholesale tea prices. The beau monde, with its endless intrigues and scandals, was a world away from the small Hertfordshire village where the Bennet sisters had grown up. It remained an utterly foreign culture to Kitty and a place Elizabeth would much rather visit than inhabit. But Mr. Dashwood was clearly in his element, moving through the intricacies of this society as easily as he navigated the busy rooms.

  At last, they reached the tea table. Mr. Dashwood saw that they were served, but did not partake of anything himself.

  “Are you not thirsty?” Kitty asked.

  “Perhaps I’ll want refreshment after dancing the next set.”

  Kitty’s smile faded. “I didn’t realize you had engaged a partner.” She glanced round at several of the ladies nearest them and seemed disconcerted to discover many of them already regarding her.

  “I haven’t. I hope to dance with you.”

  Joy lit her face. “I would like that very much.” She glanced again at a cluster of ladies nearby who spoke in whispers and avoided her gaze. “Mr. Dashwood, perhaps you can explain something to me?”

  “I shall do my best.”

  “We seem to be drawing quite a bit of notice.”

  “Correction, my dear miss. You are the one drawing notice. I merit attention this evening only because I am talking to you.”

  Kitty shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “Of what interest am I to any of these people?”

  He paused, his gaze once more probing. “Do you play at modesty, or do you truly not know?”

  She shook her head.

  “You are a new face at the Middletons’. Everyone is assessing your prospects in the marriage market. Within three minutes of your arrival, there was a report in general circulation that Miss Darcy has thirty thousand pounds, and within four, rampant speculation about which gentlemen would be leaving their cards at your house tomorrow.”

  Kitty simply stared at him in confusion. “But what have those thirty thousand pounds to do with me?”

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Of course, any lady wants to be courted for herself, not her dowry. But Miss Darcy, surely you realize how attractive your fortune makes you in the eyes of the ton?”

  Kitty’s whole posture deflated as she absorbed the import of his words. “I am not Miss Darcy,” she said in a small voice.

  Now it was Mr. Dashwood’s turn to look confused. “But when Lady Middleton introduced us—”

  “Nor do I have thirty thousand pounds.”

  Mr. Dashwood stared at Kitty. “Then who—”

  Kitty swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

  Elizabeth interceded. “It was not the clearest introduction. We were all distracted by Marguerite,” she said. “Mr. Dashwood, may I present to you Miss Catherine Bennet? She is not Mr. Darcy’s sister, but mine.”

  Mr. Dashwood continued to regard her in stupefaction. Kitty looked away, struggling to contain deep disappointment and retain her composure with so many eyes upon her.

  Elizabeth’s heart broke for her sister. To learn that the attention she’d been enjoying was intended for another! And to know that her own meager dowry was so paltry in comparison to Georgiana’s that she couldn’t possibly hold the fashionable Mr. Dashwood’s interest. It was all so mortifying that Kitty would probably want to leave as soon as Mr. Dashwo
od stammered out whatever excuse he could quickly invent to flee her company.

  In the ballroom, the music drew to a conclusion. Kitty met Mr. Dashwood’s gaze once more. “Georgiana’s set with Mr. Middleton is ended,” she said. “I believe you wanted to dance the next with Miss Darcy.”

  Mr. Dashwood at last recovered himself. “No, I wanted to stand up with you.”

  “But I’m not the person you thought you were conversing with. Doesn’t that change things?”

  “It certainly does.”

  Kitty drew a shaky breath. Elizabeth could tell she fought back tears.

  “I shall now enjoy the distinction of being the first gentleman here to dance with Miss Catherine Bennet.” He held out his hand to her. “If she will so honor me.”

  Three

  To wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.

  —Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 4

  The expectation of one thousand pounds was all Elizabeth had brought to her marriage, all Jane had brought to hers, and all Mr. Bennet could afford to dower upon each of his remaining two unwed daughters. Elizabeth and Jane had made such advantageous matches that they had been willing to give up their shares to improve their sisters’ chances, but their father had checked their generosity. “You are marrying good men whom I trust to take proper care of you,” he had said. “But I want you to have something of your own.” Lydia’s scandalous elopement had required a larger settlement—to which Darcy had contributed considerably—to buy back her respectability. Fortunately, Kitty and Mary were not inclined to increase their dowries at such cost to themselves. Unfortunately, that left Kitty with a settlement one-thirtieth the size of Georgiana’s.

  As gentlemen’s calling cards piled up in the silver tray on the hall table the day after the Middletons’ ball, Elizabeth couldn’t help but wish that at least one of them had been left for Kitty.

  “There are some here for you,” Elizabeth told Darcy as she fanned the cards out to examine the names. “Including one from Lord Hartford.”

  Darcy grimaced. “An hour proved insufficient for him to complete his foxhunting saga. He promised to call upon me to share the remainder.”

  “What a pity you were out. Now you shall have to hear it during the shooting party.”

  “I have no doubt of the full version being repeated then, too.”

  Elizabeth set his cards aside and glanced at the others. The one she most sought was not among them.

  Mr. Dashwood had promised to call that afternoon. After the revelation of Kitty’s true identity, he had spent the remainder of the evening proving himself as attentive a gentleman as propriety allowed. He danced two sets with Kitty and had no other partners save his cousin Regina, with whom a promise to his aunt had obliged him to dance one set. Elizabeth had no idea what Kitty and Mr. Dashwood talked of while on the dance floor, but she could see that he drew many smiles and occasional laughter from her sister. When he was not dancing, his conduct toward both Kitty and Elizabeth had been utterly charming.

  For her part, Kitty had spoken of nothing but Mr. Dashwood for the entire carriage ride home, and she seemed to have risen from her bed with his name on her lips. Breakfast had been spent recalling his every look and gesture. That Kitty had danced with two other gentlemen, she seemed to have forgotten, though she did pause often enough in her adulation of Mr. Dashwood to compliment Georgiana on the handsome looks and manners of Miss Darcy’s many partners. Miss Darcy, however, had not been taken with any one of them to the extent that Mr. Dashwood had captivated Kitty.

  Yet Georgiana’s entourage had found their way to the townhouse this afternoon, while Mr. Dashwood had not. And Elizabeth could not help but reflect on why.

  She sighed. “The rest of the cards are for Georgiana.”

  Darcy, who waited for a servant to bring his greatcoat, picked up the stack of cards left for Georgiana and shuffled through them.

  “Do any of those names meet your approval?” Elizabeth asked.

  He frowned at two cards. “Mr. Sutton and Sir Harvey are ridiculous coxcombs.” He tossed their cards aside and looked at the next. “St. Germain is a hothead—he has been in two duels this year alone.” The next card also fell to the pile. “Wybourn drinks too much.”

  Darcy’s man appeared with his coat. She took the remaining cards from her husband while he slipped his arms into its sleeves. “Sir Reginald Perringdale. Who is he?”

  “A widower with seven children looking for a third wife.”

  “So much for him.” She moved to the next. “Lord Tyndale seemed nice.”

  “He is indeed quite pleasant. He is also up to his neckcloth in debt.”

  “Lord Highcroft?”

  “A notorious rake.”

  “Lord Ashton?”

  “A worse rake.”

  “What about Mr. Fillmore?”

  “Too old.”

  “Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Too young.”

  “The Marquess of Avonbury?”

  “I am told he snores.”

  “Darcy! Can any gentleman who wants to court your sister possibly win your approbation?”

  “No.”

  Although she detected a flash of humor in his eye as he made the declaration, she knew he only half jested. Any suitor of Georgiana’s would have to prove himself a man of flawless character, spotless reputation, and substantial fortune just to win permission to cross their threshold.

  Darcy took his hat from the valet, who then disappeared as discreetly as he’d arrived. She handed the cards back to her husband, who pocketed them.

  “Are you even going to show those cards to Georgiana?” she asked.

  “Yes. She will want something to read after I lock her in the tower you seem to think I am building.”

  “So that is why you agreed to a London season for Kitty—so that you could dispatch masons to Pemberley in our absence.”

  “You have found me out. They are constructing a turret with a winding, rickety stair as we speak.”

  The repartee softened her mood, and she allowed a smile to reach her lips. “Will the moat be finished by the time we return?”

  “It is under way. I am having difficulty, however, locating a troll to guard the entrance.”

  “I thought you would entrust that duty to no one but yourself.”

  “They must pass by me to reach the troll.”

  “Then he will soon become a very lazy troll, for he shall have nothing to do.”

  The sound of a carriage pulling up indicated that Darcy’s driver waited. Darcy bade her farewell and started to go, but turned round before he reached the door.

  “Do you truly believe I am unreasonable concerning Georgiana?”

  She paused a moment before replying. “I believe you will not allow her to settle for anything less than a man whose conduct and sense of honor equal your own, and I admire your determination to protect your sister from choosing poorly” She walked to him, to better hold his gaze. “I hope, however, that when the time comes, you will allow her to have a voice in the matter of her own marriage.”

  “Of course I shall.”

  She heard restless footsteps above—no doubt Kitty, crossing to the front window yet again only to discover that the carriage below belonged to the Darcys, not to Mr. Dashwood. In a way, Kitty kept watch from her own tower.

  “Will you hold Kitty’s suitors to the same standards?” she asked.

  “Your father’s authority supersedes mine in that matter, but I hope you know I will guard her interests as vigilantly as if she were my own sister.”

  “I do know.” She looked toward the door, wishing a caller for Kitty would suddenly materialize on the opposite side of it. “I only hope she will have someone for you to be vigilant about.”

  “I thought you expected Mr. Dashwood to call?”

  “Last night I was certain of it. He seemed so sincere in his attentions, even after he found out Kitty was not Georgiana. But each hour’s delay makes me fear that either his intentions we
re never as serious as he led Kitty to hope, or—”

  “Or that in the bright light of morning, he more fully considered the implications of marrying a young lady with no fortune.”

  “Any sensible man would. You did.”

  She knew Darcy had weighed his love for her against the financial and social benefits of marrying more advantageously. She had no fortune, no title, no connections; in fact, in wedding her he had allied himself with a family of compromised reputation following her sister’s elopement. The very notion of an engagement between them had brought the wrath of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, down upon them both.

  “Yet despite worldly considerations, I chose you.”

  That he, whose every action was dictated by reason, had done so remained a source of wonder to Elizabeth. “Not every man has the ability or the willingness to disregard all that you did.”

  “If Mr. Dashwood cannot, then his absence today is for the best. Better he lets reason cool his romantic impulses now than rue them later.”

  Had Darcy ever regretted his decision? She was not a vain, insecure girl, but neither was she insensible of the sacrifices he’d made on her behalf. She busied herself in straightening his lapels. “Marry in haste, repent in leisure?” She attempted to adopt a light tone, but her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears.

  “Mrs. Darcy, what I feel for you in my leisure hours strays far indeed from repentance.”

  After a parting kiss, Darcy left for his appointment. Elizabeth went to the drawing room, where she found Kitty hovering by the window. In constant anticipation of Mr. Dashwood’s arrival, she had turned down the opportunity to join Georgiana shopping in Bond Street, or do anything else that would take her out of the house. She had instead spent the day fluttering aimlessly from one room to the next, unable to focus on a single occupation for more than a few minutes. If Mr. Dashwood did not call soon, she would surely drive Elizabeth to distraction.

  “Kitty, do sit down. Watching the street will not make him come.”

  Kitty reluctantly perched on the edge of the sofa, where she twisted a button on her skirt until Elizabeth thought it would fall off. “He said he would call. What can be keeping him?”