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CHAPTER 13
Brussels - Thursday,
June 1, 1815
Three colonels of
cavalry strolled into the palace where expatriate British civilians
were holding the ball. Brandon and Fitzwilliam were in full-dress
uniform, while Sir John wore a suit of black with white stockings
and, of course, his sash. Already the hall was filled with Dutch
Royalty, exiled Frenchmen, traveling members of the London ton,
and officers from many different nations, in and out of uniform.
"Quite a crowd
here tonight, eh, Buford?" offered Richard. Sir John's reply
was non-committal.
"I find it
hard to believe that so many have come here from England,"
observed Brandon.
"Bored, useless
vultures - the lot of them," grumbled Sir John. "The
ton, looking for excitement, journey across the sea to
see a war. What fun!" Bastards.
"Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying yourself, Buford!" cried Richard.
"Quiet, the
two of you! We have to pay our complements…" warned
Brandon as the group walked towards the receiving line.
Having been presented
and received, the three officers entered the main ballroom -
right into the path of one who was very familiar to Sir John.
"Bonsoir,
Sir John! Pray, introduce me to your charming companions,"
purred Countess Roxanne d'Pontchartrain.
London
Lady Caroline Buford,
in Dragoon Blue again, sighed as she entered the London ballroom
that had been decorated in a red-and blue nautical theme. "Are
you well, sister?" asked Rebecca Buford as she walked with
her husband.
"I am very
well, I thank you," Caroline replied. The room was lovely
and the music to her liking, but she was still out of spirits.
For one thing, she was four months with child - there would be
no dancing for her. Not that she would want to without
Sir John. In fact, worry over her husband was the other reason
for her discontent. An express had been sent to Brussels - she
tripled-checked the address - within an hour of her receipt of
that dreadful letter. But it would be weeks before she knew that
he had received it. All she could do was wait and suffer.
Her feelings improved
somewhat upon meeting the Darcy party. The greeting from Kitty
Southerland was particularly affectionate. Within minutes the
two had excused themselves to take a turn about the room, catching
up with each other - they had not seen one another since before
Kitty's wedding.
"So Catherine…"
Mrs. Southerland thought the name 'Kitty' to be too immature
for a vicar's wife, "How do you like Kympton? Is being a
parson's wife all that you expected?"
"Oh, Caroline,
Derbyshire is the loveliest place on earth…and the townsfolk
are so kind. But such responsibilities are upon me now! I…can
I admit something to you?'
"I am all attention,
Catherine."
"I am so afraid
of making a mistake. Lizzy laughs and says it is nothing but
nerves, but the feelings are there in any case. I attempt to
muddle through, keeping my head held high - but I feel such a
hypocrite!"
Caroline laughed.
"May I tell you a secret, dear friend? I felt exactly the
same way in Vienna!"
"No - you are
joking!"
"Yes - my Italian
was so rusty that when I greeted the delegation from Florence
I was not sure if I complemented the lady's dress or disparaged
her mother!" The two broke down into a fit of giggles. "But
I got by, thanks to the support I received from Sir John."
"It is the
same - Franklin…er, Mr. Southerland is very constant in
his praise and encouragements of me." Kitty blushed as she
recalled the ways in which he encouraged her.
"Does Franklin…er,
Mr. Southerland attend tonight?" Caroline teasingly asked.
Kitty blushed again
at her faux pas. "No, he has a wedding to perform…"
"Who is getting
married?" demanded Marianne Brandon. "Lady Caroline
- look who I found!" Walking with her was Lady Anne de Bourgh.
"Mrs. Brandon…Anne…how
wonderful to see you," welcomed Caroline. "Catherine
and I were just discussing some parish business at Kympton."
"Caroline,
I had not the chance to tell you," cried Kitty. "Miss
de Bourgh is Lady Anne now."
"Really? Congratulations,
Lady Anne." How did that happen?
"Caroline…we
have been on first name basis for far too long to change now.
But it seems I am not the only one with a name change - 'Catherine'?"
"A new name
for a new position - I rather like it," Kitty said with
a toss of her head that was ruined by her giggle. "Now we
have two Catherines in the family!" A thought stuck her.
"Unless…you are not affronted, I trust…?"
"Dear me, no!"
Lady Anne assured Mrs. Southerland. "I like it very well
indeed!" At least there is one Catherine I won't be embarrassed
by.
"Ah…"
broke in Marianne, "Let me introduce to you my hosts for
my stay in London." She gestured to a couple approaching
the group. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Churchill of Enscombe."
Introductions were made all around.
Mr. Churchill was
very affable. "What a fine evening - to meet so many excellent
ladies! Would you not say so, my dear?"
Jane Churchill,
gorgeous in a slightly risqué dark grey dress with a black
choker, nodded. "Yes - I am very happy to make your acquaintance,
ladies."
After some unremarkable
conversation, the Churchills excused themselves and Kitty and
Lady Anne returned to the Darcys. When they were alone, Marianne
turned to Caroline. "Caroline, please…I know this is
an extraordinary request…could I trouble you for an invitation
to stay at Buford House for the remainder of my trip to London?
It would only be for a night or two…"
"Dear Marianne
- do not go on so!" Caroline exclaimed. "I have but
to ask my brother - but that should not be a problem. We would
be most happy to have you."
"Thank you…you
cannot know what a weight has been lifted from my mind."
"Marianne!
Surely Mr. and Mrs. Churchill have not been unkind to you!"
"No…they
have been all attention. It is just…well…" Marianne
dropped her voice, "They are just so very strange!"
Brussels
Captain George Wickham
could hardly believe his luck. Somehow the colonel of his regiment
had not realized that there was a ball tonight. Poor Hewitt was
Officer of the Day. Wickham was finally out from underneath the
colonel's - and by extension Darcy's - thumb. He was under no
illusions that this freedom would last or be repeated. Therefore
the captain was determined to enjoy himself as much as possible.
Helping himself
to the first glass of wine he could secure, Wickham stood in
his Infantry Red best, looking for opportunities for diversion
- if not more. Noticing one of his fellow officers talking to
a couple of ladies, he strolled over. There he was introduced
to Mrs. Annabella Norris and Lady Susan Martin. A gentleman named
Manwaring soon showed up, claiming Lady Susan, so Wickham applied
all his considerable charm on Mrs. Norris.
He seemed to be
making progress when he paled. George Wickham saw one of the
two men he would least like to meet at a ball, or anywhere else,
for that matter - and this one was not Darcy.
After being accosted
by Countess d'Pontchartrain, the three colonels had ended up
going in separate directions. Fitzwilliam was walking about,
taking in the dancing when he spied Major Denny. Turning away
abruptly, cutting the man, he saw George Wickham not twenty feet
away.
Fitzwilliam stood
rooted to the spot, staring a hole through his nemesis. His eyes
narrowed and his fists clenched as he observed the creature (he
could never call Wickham a man, much less a gentleman), who had
labored to ruin his cousin and ward, chat up someone else's wife.
He unconsciously reached for the saber that was safely in his
trunk back at the boardinghouse.
The corners of Richard's
mouth twitched as he saw Wickham's face go white when he saw
him. Fitzwilliam was not sure what he was going to do as he began
to move in the blackguard's direction when he felt a hand restrain
him.
"Don't do it,
Colonel - he's not worth it," advised Major Denny.
Richard turned upon
the interloper, his face red with anger. "I should have
known you would defend him! Release me, sir!" he
said through his teeth.
"With all due
respect - no sir."
"Major…"
Richard's voice rose.
"Colonel!"
Denny said in a sharp whisper. "Remember who you are - and
where you are…sir!"
With eyes blazing
with rage, Richard looked about the room. He then went still,
his arms stopped twitching, and his gaze returned to Denny. "Yes…you
are correct…"
Denny looked around
Richard. "He's gone now, sir. You'd better come with me."
"For what reason?"
Denny looked back
at him. "For a drink, sir - what else?"
"An excellent
idea," said Colonel Brandon from behind Richard.
Five minutes later,
they were sipping brandy in the game room. "Well, here's
to Denny," offered Brandon.
Richard snorted.
"Rescuer of Wickham."
Brandon gave him
a withering look. "Actually he's the rescuer of Richard
Fitzwilliam's career."
"Ha! As if
anyone would do anything to me if I rid the world of that useless
piece of garbage other than decorating me."
"Damn it, Fitz!"
Brandon shouted as he slammed down his glass - by some miracle
it didn't break. "The Duke has made it quite clear - NO
DUELS! We need every last mother's son out there, whither their
name is Wickham or not! You would be lucky if the only thing
they did was cashier you!"
"Put me in
prison for facing Wickham on a field of honor? I cannot believe
it!"
"I would listen
to him, sir," said Denny. "The Duke is serious."
"We are to
fight a war, Fitz - against the greatest threat to face
England since the Armada. Get that through your thick skull -
we are not here to satisfy your personal notions of honor."
Brandon was merciless. "Save it for the French, Colonel."
Fitzwilliam stared
hard at Brandon, but the older man did not waver. Finally, Richard
looked down. "I'm sorry, Brandon - you're right…I let
that bastard get to me…"
Brandon let out
a breath. "It's all right, old boy…I understand…"
"Forgive me,
but I don't think so…" Richard took a swig of his brandy.
Brandon simply said:
"Ramsgate."
It was amazing that
neither he nor Denny were hit by Richard's spit take. "H…(cough)…how…?"
"Marianne is
very good friends with Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley - and…others."
Marianne and Georgiana had compared cads some time ago.
Richard whirred
upon an unsurprised Denny. "You too?"
Denny looked down.
"George…boasts when he's in his cups…"
Richard raged. I
should have called him out years ago!
"Colonel Brandon,
I would like to discuss something with Colonel Fitzwilliam,"
requested Denny.
Brandon gave each
of them a look. "As you wish. I will see you gentlemen later."
He left the room. The two remaining officers eyed each other
warily.
Richard was the
first to speak. "What do you want, Major?"
At least he's
using my rank. "Permission
to speak frankly, sir?"
"Granted."
"I was hoping
you could tell me what you have against me, sir."
"I don't like
your friends, Major Denny."
"All of my
friends, or just one?"
Richard put down
his glass. "Any man who could be friends with the likes
of George Wickham…"
"Forgive me,
but there might be some that say the same about you, sir,"
Denny returned softy.
"Just what
do you mean by that?...No…go on Major…"
Denny paused. "I
have the greatest respect for Sir John…"
"Wait a minute…!"
"Sir, can you
deny what he was?"
Richard looked down,
stymied. "There is all the difference in the world…While
questionable; Buf…the gentleman in question never harmed
anyone. And he has…ended the questionable behavior…"
"There are
gentlemen in London that would disagree with your opinion of…the
gentleman in question's 'harmless' behavior - husbands; brothers;
fathers."
"I see."
"Yet you stood
by him. Why? Because you saw goodness in him; you saw what he
had the potential to be. And he has proven that your faith in
him was not misplaced."
Richard looked at
Denny unbelievably. "And you see the same in George Wickham?"
Denny looked pained.
"I can hope…I changed; might he, someday?" Richard
shook his head in wonderment. Denny sighed. "Yes sir; I
might be a fool, but I do hope for my friend. Meanwhile I try
to see that no one is harmed." He smiled without mirth.
"I know what George has done. I am not an idiot."
Fitzwilliam looked
at the younger man for a long time. "So, you were protecting
more than Wickham, eh?"
Denny looked him
straight in the eye. "Yes, sir."
"One last question
- what did you know about the events in Ramsgate and Brighton?"
Denny sighed. "I
only met George when he joined the ___shire militia, so I only
know what he told me about Ramsgate. Subsequent events have led
me to believe that George was not truthful there. As to Brighton,
I…knew of Miss Lydia's…partiality for George…but
I thought nothing of it at the time, she being quite…attentive
to many there…" Including me… "George
showed no particular interest, though, and he did not acquaint
me with his plans; so I was as surprised as anyone when they…departed…"
He looked at Richard. "I have the greatest respect for Mrs.
Wickham and wish them both long life and happiness."
Richard gave him
a lopsided grin. "Well, I guess I can shake the hand of
the man who kept me out of the guardhouse." He offered the
other his hand, who took it readily. "Every last mother's
son, is that it, Major?"
"Of course
sir - why else?"
Richard laughed.
"Come on, Denny, let's rejoin the party."
"Sir, don't
you want the rest of your brandy?"
"That stuff?
No…that'll kill you, son. Now, if I can find some really
good claret…"
London
Marianne had just
finished a set with Edward Buford and was walking to the refreshment
table with Georgiana when she heard a voice from behind her call
out, "Marianne - would you care for a set?"
She froze, praying
that she had not heard that voice. Georgiana was looking
at Marianne with a confused expression. The voice spoke again:
"Will you not introduce me to your friend, Marianne?"
Slowly she turned
to see what she feared - John Willoughby, just as handsome and
cocky as ever. "Marianne, surely you have not forgotten
me?"
In an instant all
of her past history with Willoughby flashed through her head.
How he had led her on and then abandoned her. How in her despair
she had almost killed herself. How Christopher gave her the gift
of love and faith - not just in others, but in herself. A calming
sensation flowed over her - she knew herself - she was no longer
anyone's victim.
"Marianne?"
he asked again, the grin never leaving his lips.
"I would answer
you, sir, should you choose to call me by my name: Mrs. Brandon."
She answered in a cold voice.
Willoughby flinched
as if she had struck him. "What do you mean? We have been
such good friends, Mari.."
"SIR,"
she said sharply, "you do NOT have the right to use my Christian
name. Come, Georgiana…"
"Wait…Mrs.
Brandon, forgive me…" Willoughby called out. "I
forgot…we are in public…"
The slap cracked
across the room. "How dare you!" Marianne cried. Georgiana
stood in mute shock. Willoughby rubbed his cheek, a strange expression
on his face. Marianne saw many emotions fly across his features:
shock, anger, pain, disappointment, rage. Marianne thought she
knew Willoughby; now she was not so sure. Fighting a prickling
of fear she spoke again. "You presume much sir, knowing
my husband is out of the country. But know this - I have my protectors.
You shall withdraw this instant." She thought she did not
tremble too much.
At that moment she
felt the presence of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Churchill at her side.
She could see Mr. Buford walking quickly towards them, followed
closely by Mr. Bingley. Darcy took his sister by the hand, his
eyes never leaving Willoughby's. "Do you require any assistance,
Mrs. Brandon?"
"I do not think
so…do I, sir?" This last comment was directed at Willoughby.
The cornered man
looked about him and reddened. "Forgive the intrusion, Mrs.
Brandon - I assure you no disrespect was intended…"
"Your apology
is not accepted, sir. Leave my presence at once."
With a final look
at the other gentlemen, Willoughby gave her a curt bow and departed.
"Mrs. Brandon,
how dreadful," cried Bingley. "I am a peaceful man;
but that gentleman deserves a good thrashing!"
"It's not too
late…" offered Churchill as he cracked his knuckles.
"I'm frightfully good with a bullwhip…"
Marianne turned
to her protectors. "Gentlemen please, the incident is over.
Please…we are distressing Miss Darcy…"
"Oh, no…it
was rather exciting…that was the Willoughby, Marianne?"
Georgiana asked with a gleam in her eye. At the other woman's
nod, she added, "Oh - if only I had done that to Wickham!"
After everyone had
relaxed and began to wander off, Marianne realized she had one
last task to perform. As she expected, she soon found her quarry.
"Mrs. Willoughby,
I am Mrs. Brandon. May I have a word with you?"
Sophia Willoughby
turned her blond head slowly to gaze at Marianne - the very last
person she had expected to converse with that evening. "To
what do I owe the honor, Mrs. Brandon?" Her voice dripped
with ice.
Marianne took a
breath. "Some time ago you saw fit to communicate with me
through your then fiancée. I now wish to return the favor.
Pray inform your husband that his attentions are neither sought
for nor desired. Should he presume to accost me again, whether
in public or private, know that my husband, Colonel Brandon,
will be calling upon him. For your sake I tell you that the colonel
is an excellent shot and swordsman. Do you understand my meaning,
madam?"
Mrs. Willoughby
looked her adversary up and down. "Perfectly, Mrs. Brandon."
"Thank you…I
will take up no more of your time…goodbye."
"Good night
Mrs. Brandon, and…well struck," Mrs. Willoughby said
with no emotion.
Marianne nodded
with the briefest of smiles and returned to her friends.
Brussels
Roxanne - of
all the people to see here tonight! Sir John sipped his brandy - he had demanded
a snifter - and wandered around. He thought of Roxanne's beauty
and allurements - but his thoughts kept coming back to Caroline.
Why is it I cannot have what I want? I should have never sent
Caroline away. How was I to know she was so fickle - out of sight
and out of mind?
Hold - is that
Annabella Norris? Perhaps she has news of Caroline? "Mrs. Norris - good evening."
"Sir John!
What an unexpected pleasure," Annabella said. "Allow
me to introduce Lady Susan Martin and Mr. Manwaring. This is
Colonel Sir John Buford."
"Your servant."
Typical of the fashionable set - Manwaring and his paramour
the former Lady Susan Vernon; and Sir James Martin nowhere to
be seen. "Are you enjoying Brussels?"
"It has pleasures
enough - a change of scenery ain't bad," replied Manwaring
carelessly. He could not like the tall strapping officer.
Sir John heard the
challenge in the man's voice and carriage. Does the fool see
me as a threat? As if I would sully myself with something like
the notorious Lady Susan. "We army types are always
hungry for news from home; no matter how many letters one receives,
it is never enough. How are things in London?"
"The same;
blasted hot this year," said Manwaring.
"Yes,"
simpered Annabella, "Town is so boring! I'm so glad we took
this opportunity to come to the Continent - it is so exciting!"
Well, this is
a waste of time, thought
Buford.
"Come, Susan
- the music's started," said Manwaring, tugging at her arm.
The lady in question
shook her head. "It is Annabella's set, Manwaring."
"Oh, yes…of
course…" he held out his arm to Mrs. Norris. "Another
time, Colonel." Lady Susan and Sir John watched them depart.
Sir John was temporarily stuck - he couldn't abandon the lady
before another of her acquaintances arrived.
Lady Susan's eyes
gleamed. "Are you not dancing, Colonel?"
Sir John looked
nonplused at her. Finding no reason that could use to politely
excuse himself, he held out his hand. "As you wish, my lady."
Try what you will, woman - you shall not succeed!
But Sir John did
not know Lady Susan had already achieved her goal - nothing spurred
Manwaring's libido like jealousy.
London
"Anne de Bourgh,
I would speak to you!"
Lady Anne looked
about her to see Mrs. Ferrars, Edward Ferrars' mother and Lady
Catherine's good friend, approaching. She pursed her lips - Mrs.
Ferrars could be the most unpleasant person. "Mrs. Ferrars,
good evening. Do you know Mrs. Bingley?"
"Yes, yes…pray
excuse us, Mrs. Bingley," she ordered. Jane colored; then
believing that the conversation was private, excused herself.
Lady Anne was not
happy. "Mrs. Ferrars, how could you speak so to Mrs. Bingley?"
"Tish! She
is no one of importance! Besides, we have business." She
grew closer to the shocked heiress and, to Anne's disgust, leered.
"I have brought him! He is here!"
Anne, while shocked,
could not help blurting, "Who is here?"
The old lady turned
and pointed with her walking stick. "Him - General Tilney's
son!"
Lady Anne followed
the stick to see a Captain of Hussars standing across the room.
Lady Anne could not help but think, Handsome enough devil…but
I believe I prefer Dragoon Blue…
"Captain!"
Mrs. Ferrars hissed as loudly as she could. "Here!"
She gestured at Anne, who would have been amused at the older
woman's foolish behavior had she not been completely mortified
by being the object of much curious observation. It seemed everyone
in the room turned to look at them. The officer seemed not to
notice the scrutiny as he sauntered over.
Mrs. Ferrars grasped
the young man's arm. "Miss de Bourgh, this is Captain Frederick
Tilney of Northanger Abbey. Captain, this is Miss Anne de Bourgh
of Rosings Park."
"Miss de Bourgh,"
Captain Tilney bowed, which was not easy, as Mrs. Ferrars had
yet to release her hold upon the gentleman.
"Captain,"
Anne was forced to reply before turning to her erstwhile matchmaker.
"Mrs. Ferrars, I must tell you…"
"Of course,
of course…you want a bit of privacy." To Lady Anne's
horror she actually winked. "Say no more! I know when to
make myself scarce!" With that she turned and left them.
The two looked at
each other with embarrassment. Finally, Captain Tilney thought
to break the silence with, "It is such a lovely evening.
I trust you are enjoying yourself?"
Lady Anne cleared
her throat. "Captain Tilney, I am afraid you have been brought
here under mistaken circumstances. Forgive me for speaking so
bluntly, but I must tell you that I am lately engaged. I am heartily
sorry if this causes you and pain or embarrassment."
Captain Tilney was
taken aback by this announcement, but he recovered quickly. "Yes,
the information relayed to me was…I suppose…out of
date. May I wish you joy? Who is your fortunate intended, may
I ask?"
"He is Colonel
Richard Fitzwilliam."
"Ah. Is he
here tonight?"
"No. Colonel
Fitzwilliam is with his regiment in Belgium." Anne gave
the officer a cold look that could only be read as saying: Why
are you here in England instead of on the Continent?
Captain Tilney was
neither blind nor stupid. He turned away, embarrassed. "I
see." He looked down. "I suppose you are wondering
why I am still here?"
"I am sure
it is not my concern."
He looked up. "I
am no coward…you must understand…my father is rather…demanding
of me. Being a general he controls my career. I cannot go against
his wishes."
Lady Anne was merciless.
"You could if advancement was not your goal."
Tilney flinched
as the blow stuck home. "There is justice in your words…"
Lady Anne reached
out to take the officer's arm. "Forgive me…that was
unwarranted…" She remembered her own domineering parent.
He smiled at her.
"Perhaps, but it was something I needed to hear, I think.
Forgive me for taking up your time, Miss de Bourgh."
"Captain, please…"
she smiled at him. "Can we not begin again, now that we
are under no illusions?"
He looked at her
and gave a slight grin. "Very well…Good evening, Miss
de Bourgh."
"Good evening,
Captain Tilney." She felt no need to correct him of her
title - the poor man had been through enough.
"Do you dance
tonight? Are you available for the next set? It would be an honor
to dance with the fiancée of a brother-at-arms."
She smiled. "I
would be happy to dance with you, sir."
Brussels
Sir John Buford
was nursing his second brandy after disengaging himself from
Lady Susan and Mrs. Norris.
"Come, chéri;
things aren't all that bad," said Countess d'Ponchartrain
from behind his left shoulder.
Sir John was expecting
her. "Enjoying yourself, Roxanne?"
"Tremendously.
I did not know you could dance the waltz so well."
"You do not
know all my secrets, Roxanne."
She laughed lightly.
"I know enough. Are you still angry with me?"
He turned to her.
"Why did you introduce Lady Caroline to Baron von
Odbart, of all people? What game were you playing? Surely you
could not expect an assignation on my honeymoon."
She chuckled. "Oh,
Jean, you are as clever as I remember…"
"I knew it
- you were trying to entrap Caroline! But why?" She surely
didn't think I would divorce her, did she?
"Jean, Jean,
I was not trying to entrap your wife…" She let
the sentence linger as she eyed him closely.
Sir John drew breath.
"Me - you were after me…you knew how
I would respond…"
"Almost - you
showed amazing restraint - we thought surely you would challenge
the Baron."
I almost did. "What purpose would that serve?
I would have either lived or died - what difference would that
make? I am not that important to…to who, Roxanne?"
"You are not
important…but the Congress was…"
Of course - such
a scandal would disrupt the Congress - hurt negotiations… "Who are you working for, Comtesse?"
"You think
only those who wear a uniform are patriots, Colonel? I serve
France!"
Talleyrand -
that's why he helped me!
"Was this…operation your idea or the Ambassador's?"
"Actually,
it was the Comte who came up with it - he has a delightfully
wicked turn of mind, don't you think? Besides, I knew you would
win…"
"And you just
do what you are told…"
Countess d'Pontchartrain
stroked his face. "Jean, you are a dear friend, but
not so dear as you think…I see the need to protect France
from your so-called Big Four, as surely as His Excellency does."
Her eyes grew hard. "We are alone - we cannot allow you
English to divide up Europe with the Austrians, Prussians and
Russians. France will be great again!"
"Whither under
a King or Emperor?"
"Bonaparte
- that upstart?" she snorted. "No Colonel, too many
of my countrymen have died under that monster. So let the Grand
Seventh Coalition crush him for us - my kind will reclaim what
is ours again when you are through."
"The First
Estate again the first among equals?"
"Do not mock
so - you English with your class structure are not so very different!
Or are you a Republican now?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
Sir John turned away from her. "But you should not have
used my wife…"
The Countess sighed.
"Un mariage d'amour…I never would have thought
it of you, Jean…"
Buford took another
swig of his brandy. "Looks can be deceiving." He could
not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Roxanne's eyebrows
went up. "Really? Des troubles au paradis? It happens
to the best of us." She looked around. "Ah, my escort
to supper is awaiting me, chéri. A plus tard."
Sir John watched
her depart feeling very ill-used.
London
Lady Caroline found
herself temporarily unaccompanied, but she did not regret it.
She was a bit tired (though she would never admit it) and was
in search of an unoccupied chair. So far, her search was in vain,
and she was about to give a rather gouty Viscount a hint when
another chair became available.
She looked about
the room, mentally critiquing the various dresses that were worn.
Yes, she recalled, Vienna does makes London look like…Meryton!
Even though she had made her peace with the Bennet sisters, she
could not help chuckling at her own joke. She then noticed that
Lady Victoria Uppercross, one of Sir John's former paramours,
was watching her from nearby. Though she knew the lady by name,
they had not been formally introduced, so Caroline felt no apprehension.
That is, until the lady was joined by Mrs. Alicia Johnson, someone
she was acquainted with. As she feared, the two women started
moving towards her.
"Lady Caroline
- I have not seen you since your return," said Mrs. Johnson.
A pleasure I
would have forgone for the rest of my life. Alicia Johnson belonged to the Caroline of
the past, along with those like Annabella Norris - members of
that notorious set that neither she nor Buford would ever suffer
to have in their home. "How fortunate to meet tonight, then.
Is your husband here?" she asked, placing the blade.
She dodged, however.
"No, he is seeing to business in Birmingham. And Sir John?"
A small smile. "Serving
the King in Brussels."
"Oh, how boring
- to be separated on your honeymoon. I do feel for you, my dear."
Caroline groaned inwardly - she had forgotten just how truly
stupid Mrs. Johnson was. Anyone who is friends with Lady Susan
Martin - I wonder how they can walk and breathe at the same time.
"I must introduce this lady to you - Lady Victoria Uppercross."
"How do you
do, Lady Caroline? I am friends with your husband, Sir John."
I know what kind
of friend you were, my lady.
"Charming. Are you enjoying the ball?"
"There is a
sad lack of gentlemen here, do you not think?" Lady Uppercross
observed.
"I believe
we must blame Bonaparte for that, my lady," answered Caroline.
Lady Uppercross
frowned. "I blame the Government - or the Duke of Wellington.
Emperor Napoleon only wishes to be left alone. Why can we not
leave foreign places to their own devices?"
If you had been
at Vienna you would not say such foolish things, you silly Whig, Caroline raged internally. Many of
the Prince Regent's supporters actually admired the French tyrant.
"We can only hope that General Bonaparte abdicates soon
and forestalls any troubles."
Having no retort,
Lady Uppercross scanned the room. "Ah, here is a gentleman
that is worthy to meet." She waved over a handsome brown-haired
man. Caroline stiffened as he approached. "Lady Caroline,
do you know Mr. Henry Crawford?"
Caroline was too
shocked to speak as Crawford bowed. "Lady Caroline."
Mrs. Buford closed
her eyes, seeking her control. When she opened them, she only
looked at Victoria Uppercross. "Lady Uppercross, I do not
understand. How can you introduce me to that…person?"
She would not use Crawford's name. "What are you about,
madam?"
"Lady Caroline
- this gentleman is my good friend, and you insult him?"
she asked.
"I insult no
gentleman," Her voice dripped with venom. "Is
that person still here?" Henry Crawford had scandalized
society when Mrs. Maria Bertram Rushworth abandoned her husband
for him several seasons ago. Crawford had her under his protection
for only a short while; it was said Sir Thomas Bertram had set
up a household for his wayward daughter up north with her aunt
after Mr. James Rushworth obtained his divorce and Mr. Crawford
had left her.
Crawford's nostrils
flared as his face colored. He turned to leave. "Henry!
Do not depart - I beg you," cried Lady Uppercross. Crawford
said nothing; only glared in Caroline's direction and walked
away. The lady whirred on her. "Is this the latest fashion
- to insult my friends? But what can one expect from a tradesman's
daughter?"
Lady Caroline gave
her a withering look. "Yes, my father came from trade, and
he certainly had his faults - but he died an honest man, faithful
to his spouse. When your time comes will you be able to say the
same?" She bored on, overriding the lady's gasp. "I
am surprised you do not have the former Mrs. Rushworth here as
well - you could have a matched set!" She knew that was
impossible - while some in society would still claim acquaintance
with Crawford, the same courtesy could never be offered to Maria
Bertram.
Lady Uppercross
raged. "You cannot talk to me in such a manner! I will have
you tossed out!"
"I doubt it,
my lady," said Lady Caroline easily. "I know Viscountess
___; she would never issue an invitation to…you friend.
Did you have him give a false name to the butler, I wonder, or
did you just sneak him in through the back door? I am sure the
Viscountess would love to know." She turned to Mrs. Johnson.
"Are you certain you wish to hear this conversation?"
Mrs. Johnson gave
a sick grin. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Caroline looked
at her. Sailors have told me that sharks will turn on their
wounded brethren. Those creatures have nothing on the London
ton.
"So Lady Caroline
is too high and mighty for Henry Crawford, is that it?"
Lady Uppercross sneered. "It wasn't too long ago your husband
would have acknowledged the acquaintance of myself and my friends!"
Lady Caroline threw
her head back and laughed. Lady Barbara was right! The London
ton does play the most foolish games! "Lady Uppercross,
I have just returned from the Congress of Vienna. My husband
and I have the acquaintance of kings and queens! What are you
and your kind to us? Shall I tell you something? Late at night,
to amuse ourselves, Sir John and I tell tales of our former acquaintances!"
At the ladies' shocked expressions she continued. "Yes I
know all. There is nothing you can do or say that can
hurt me. Have your tea with the Regent, while you can - the Prime
Minister calls upon me!" Caroline then stepped close to
Lady Uppercross. "Sir John is mine, now and forever,"
she whispered. "I have his affections as well as his child
- two things that are lost to you for all time."
As she pulled back
she saw that her ladyship was about to strike her when they were
interrupted. "Hello, Caroline…who are your companions?"
asked Lady Anne.
"Two very old
acquaintances. And you, sir?" Anne was escorted by an officer.
"Captain Tilney,
at your service. Do you require any assistance?" As he and
Anne finished the set, they noticed Caroline in a heated discussion
with two ladies and decided to intervene.
"No,"
said Lady Caroline coldly. "These ladies were just leaving."
Lady Uppercross gave a snort and left, Mrs. Johnson trailing
behind. Caroline took a deep breath and settled back into her
chair. She had forgotten how draining verbal swordplay could
be.
Captain Tilney inquired
about her health. Assured that her ladyship was only resting,
he turned to Lady Anne. "Good-bye Miss de Bourgh. I have
enjoyed our conversation. Pray give my best regards to Colonel
Fitzwilliam. Your fiancée is a fortunate man."
Anne smiled. "Good-bye
and good luck, Captain." As he left she noticed Caroline
gaping at her. "What?"
"Fiancée?...Richard?...WHEN?"
Caroline was able to utter. "You sly thing!"
Anne grasped her
outstretched hands. "A long story, Caroline…perhaps
after supper?"
"Very well,"
Caroline allowed, "but I shall insist that you will be very
thorough…I must know all!"
"Whatever Anne
leaves out, I will be able to provide," interjected Marianne,
who was just joining them. Close behind were the Darcys and Bufords.
"Marianne,
you promised!" Anne cried.
"Lady Anne,
I only said I would not broadcast your happy news. I promised
nothing else."
"And that is
another thing - 'Lady Anne'?" Caroline looked at her friend.
"How did that happen?"
Anne sighed. "I
will satisfy your curiosity, but after I eat - please!"
Caroline turned
to Mrs. Darcy. "Is it a good story, Eliza?"
Elizabeth only smiled
with a raised eyebrow (it was evidence of her improved relations
with Lady Caroline that she hardly flinched at the woman's repeated
use of the well-meaning but hated nickname of "Eliza"),
while Georgiana exclaimed, "Good? - Oh Caroline, wait until
Anne gets to the part when…"
"Georgie, please!"
cried Anne while Kitty Southerland giggled.
Rebecca Buford turned
to her husband. "Apparently we have walked into the middle
of something, dear."
"Yes…well,
off to supper!" said Edward Buford cheerfully. "May
I escort one of you ladies in? Caroline?"
Darcy looked around.
"I…I have but one free arm…forgive me…"
You plan on growing
another, Darcy? "Oh…it
is no bother," cried Caroline as she got to her feet and
took Anne's and Marianne's arms in hers, in true Buford fashion.
"You bring in Eliza and Georgie, Darcy; while you Edward
- take in Rebecca and Catherine." She smiled at her companions.
"We three colonel's ladies will be able to manage on our
own very well, thank you!" The three friends made their
way into the dining room, chatting happily the entire time.
Brussels
Captain George Wickham
finally poked his head out of the kitchen, where he had fled
after the encounter with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Wickham did not
like Darcy, but he feared Fitzwilliam - both were better than
George with the sword, but Richard was more likely to use it.
Not that Wickham
had missed much of the ball - he ate his fill in the kitchen
and dallied a bit with a comely housemaid. His mission now was
to "liberate" a bottle of cognac. Looking around, he
saw only people preparing for the final dances of the evening
- and no Fitzwilliam. Luck was with him, he was sure, and he
strode directly towards the library, where he was certain the
liquid treasure was stored. He was reaching for the doorknob
when…
"Boo."
Wickham's mind flashed
back to an incident when he was but a mere lad. He had challenged
Darcy to enter a dark cave near Pemberley, claiming that there
was pirate treasure within. Darcy did so, and a few minutes later
he cried out for Wickham to come and see the treasure. Wickham
dashed in - to find near total darkness. Feeling his way around,
he was startled by the selfsame noise - uttered by…
"Hello, George,"
said Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. "Looking for something?"
Wickham gasped and
leapt back in self-preservation. Fitzwilliam did not look as
if he possessed a sword, but there was no reason to take chances.
Richard grinned.
"I have been looking forward to this, George."
"You…you
would not dare…here?" stuttered the captain, back against
the wall.
Richard approached
him, hands behind his back; Wickham's eyes growing larger with
every step he took. When he was but inches from his trembling
quarry, he leaned in and said, "Go."
Wickham was not
one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without a sound, he squeezed
past his tormentor and ran unsteadily down the hall. Not completely
trusting his old childhood companion, he kept looking over his
shoulder for the expected pursuit. A mistake - for the next moment
he collided with someone.
"Watch it,
you damn fool…" snarled Wickham as he picked himself
off the floor.
"Wickham?"
cried his commanding colonel as he sat upright on the floor.
"What are you doing here?"
"Sir!"
Wickham was able to cry before his mouth went completely dry.
"I…I…excuse me, sir…I regret…."
"WHAT ARE YOU
DOING HERE?"
"I…I was
free…Hewitt has the post tonight…let me help you up,
sir…"
After being assisted
to his feet, the colonel rudely showed no sense of appreciation.
"An oversight, I assure you…get back to camp - NOW!"
Wickham blinked twice and ran out the door.
Richard was leaning
against the door of the library, laughing his fool head off.
That was almost as much fun as running Wickham through…almost…
London
"I hope that
Lady Caroline's invitation has not offended you," Marianne
was saying in the Churchill carriage as it left the ball. "You
have been so kind…I cannot thank you enough…"
"Think nothing
of it, Mrs. Brandon!" said Churchill. "It is certainly
understandable that your friend may wish to spend some time with
you before you return to Dorsetshire. While we shall certainly
miss your company, we shall bear it with happy hearts, knowing
you will be so well attended to. Is that not so, my dear?"
Mrs. Churchill looked
serenely at Mrs. Brandon. "You are correct as always, Mr.
Churchill."
"The Buford
carriage arrives on the morrow?" asked the Lord and Master.
"Yes; just
after breakfast."
"Well, Mrs.
Churchill will make sure that the staff attends to you at whatever
time you wish to arise, no matter how early the hour."
Marianne smiled.
"Mr. Churchill, Mrs. Churchill, thank you very much indeed.
Colonel Brandon will be pleased at the attention you have shown
me, I am sure."
"It is no trouble,
Mrs. Brandon," Jane Churchill said, the darkness of the
carriage masking the gleam in her eye. Truth be told she was
not sad to lose her guest. While it was pleasant to have another
lady in the house, it was also restrictive. There was no time
for play. "Mr. Churchill, I must talk to you tomorrow about
the game room. I believe it requires some attention."
Churchill looked
at his wife out of the corner of his eye. "Indeed madam?
And do you have any ideas?"
"I do, sir.
I think you will find them of interest," she replied as
a shiver of delight and anticipation coursed through her. Oh,
if it were only tomorrow!
There was that
strangeness again,
thought Marianne. Mrs. Churchill must really enjoy decorating.
Brussels
The library was
dark at the midnight hour, lit only by a solitary candle and
the occasional flash of lighting from the thunderstorm raging
outside. A lone figure that had remained behind after the ball
ended sat in a chair and watched the light show, sipping a cognac.
His host had suggested that due to the inclement weather Colonel
Buford take refuge at the castle, and had ordered a room prepared
for him. Sir John was waiting for his accommodations. The storm
did not bother him; rather he thought the weather mirrored his
own feelings.
When he married
Caroline Bingley he knew her reputation, as she knew his. He
had labored to make himself a better man, and he was led to the
conclusion that his wife had done the same. They were kindred
souls, so he thought. During the time of their courtship and
their marriage he had grown to admire and finally love her. A
mistake. He feared it could be, and he was right. There was a
reason that fashionable society frowned on love matches - it
was because love matches rarely last. He knew the risk, but he
never dreamed that her affections would not last a trip across
the Channel.
Sir John put down
his glass and shook his head - he had felt tears coming on. No!
I shall not weep for her, or for what might had been! I have
made my bed - now I must lie in it.
"Sir John,"
said the butler in French as he opened the door, "your room
is ready."
"Merci beaucoup,"
he replied as he got to his feet. With steps only slightly impaired
from the alcohol he had consumed he made his way to the bedroom.
There, with no valet to attend him, he stripped off his clothes
and threw himself onto the bed. As he pulled the covers over
him he hoped that he would not again dream of Caroline, as he
did most every night.
An hour later he
felt a soft warm body slip under the covers with him. Moist lips
caressed his cheek and neck as practiced hands touched his person.
Groaning, half asleep, he responded to the attentions, returning
the kisses and caresses. He moaned out loud, "Caro…"
"Whatever pleases
you, chéri," Roxanne chuckled softly.
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