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Lizzy returned home to find the drawing room crowded with bouquets and visitors. Bingley ambled amongst the vases of flowers, reading the cards. Each one seemed to increase his consternation. Jane was in a tête-à-tête with Dr. Peter Fitzwilliam. His brother Joshua chatted with Lady Cressida and Lord Greymore. The other gentlemen callers seemed rather bored. They sat with their coffee or walked about the room.
“Lizzy,” aunt Gardiner said, “I am pleased you are back. Mr. Witherspoon was about to despair of seeing you before his next appointment.”
She curtseyed to him, and he approached. He was about thirty with blond hair and a kind face. His fortune had come from trade, but like Bingley, he had been raised up by the education of a gentleman.
A month ago, she would have thought him an excellent match. Now, however, she had become accustomed to mixing with noble families. Her initial reaction was to dismiss him as a suitor.
She scolded herself inwardly. He was a perfectly nice man as far as she could tell. His blue eyes and pleasing features were complemented by a quick mind. She could not afford to take a cavalier attitude about one so eligible until she was safely engaged.
Her heart gave a little lurch at that. Lately, the thought of marriage brought only one face to her mind. Darcy. And now they were at odds with one another.
She should not have let herself voice the pique she had felt towards him the night before. Her feelings had been hurt. She had been hoping for his attentions—expecting them, even. Instead, he had given her every reason to believe he had no romantic interest in her.
Still, she should encourage him, not reproach him. If the man had not yet been won, perhaps he still could be.
She put that thought out of her mind for the moment and listened attentively to Mr. Witherspoon. She decided she liked the man enough to learn more about him. An Oxford graduate, he had an estate in Surrey. He developed new strains of wheat for improved yields in England’s damp climate.
Though she could not meet his passion for the subject, she had a passing interest in agriculture. In particular, she admired his dedication to improving the lot of his tenants. However, after only ten minutes, a previous engagement required him to take his leave. She was disappointed.
Her mind quickly returned to its previous occupation. She rose to speak with Bingley. “I saw Mr. Darcy at Matlock House this morning,” she began.
“Yes, I believe he was out all night, occupied with a family matter.” Bingley’s attention was only half turned to her. His eyes kept darting to Jane. “I say, Peter Fitzwilliam has been monopolizing your sister since I arrived. That is not very sporting of him.”
“I get the impression he is not a very sporting fellow. He follows his own rules.”
“Indeed.” Bingley narrowed his brow and said. “Will you excuse me? I wish to speak with your aunt on a particular matter.”
She wondered what he was about. He approached Mrs. Gardiner and spoke in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Ma’am, might I have a word with Miss Bennet alone?”
Lizzy’s heart pounded. She met Jane’s eyes. Her sister flushed, then beamed, then schooled her features. A thrill went through Lizzy, but she forced herself not to smile.
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I believe the library is empty. Jane can lead you there. Sally, do go with them and wait outside the door.”
Jane rose and Bingley offered his arm. He led her out of the room.
Lizzy’s head grew light, and her stomach tensed with apprehension. She warned herself to assume nothing, to maintain a calm demeanour. But really, to ask for a private audience in such a public setting, what other intention could he have?
She looked over and saw the scowl on Peter Fitzwilliam’s face. Lizzy took the seat beside him that Jane had vacated, assuming her sister’s place by the coffee service.
“You must not take it personally,” Lizzy murmured to Peter. “He had a four-month head start on you.”
Peter’s brow grew heavy. “It is not a foregone conclusion,” he replied with a sulk in his tone.
“Perhaps not,” she encouraged with feigned brightness. If Bingley was proposing, Jane would say yes.
Then, it occurred to her that Peter’s glum demeanour might have more to do with his sister than with Jane. His next words seemed to confirm that suspicion.
“I hope you are well,” he asked, “after the shock last night.”
Before she could answer, Joshua Fitzwilliam came and sat on Peter’s other side. “I understand,” Joshua said to her, “that you did my family a great service.”
A squeezing sensation gripped Lizzy’s solar plexus. In the Greymore’s garden the previous evening, everything had happened in a rush of panic. Looking back on it now, some moments were remarkably clear, others a blur.
“I suspect I behaved foolishly,” she said. “I have never brandished any sort of weapon before. The man might have overpowered me.”
“But he did not.” Joshua smiled gravely. “You laid him low, from what I heard.”
She gave a nod of acknowledgment, then said, “It was your brother’s sword that kept him on the ground.”
“Your action delayed the man,” Joshua insisted, “while Richard got his sword from the cloak room. You are as much a hero as anyone.”
She did not argue further. Instead, she accepted the compliment with grace. Then, she said, “I have just come from Matlock House. Have you seen Lady Arabella this morning?”
“Briefly, at breakfast,” Joshua said. “She seemed herself.”
“I found her more sensitive than usual,” Lizzy said. “As if she fears what thoughts might come if she were alone and silent.”
“Perhaps,” Peter said, contemplative, his eyes unfocused. “She had a scare. If she suffers any nervous complaints, I can prescribe a draft to help. I hope it will not come to that.”
Lizzy nodded. “She is lucky to have older brothers to look out for her welfare.”
For not the first time in her life, Lizzy wished she had a brother or two. The events of the previous night reminded her how vulnerable a woman could be.
Lord Greymore and Lady Cressida came and greeted Lizzy. Their kind words cheered her. Greymore cut a fine figure as he always did. His dark coat and buckskin breeches were perfectly tailored to his form. His presence did not knock the breath from her body, however, as seeing Darcy that morning had.
The Fitzwilliam brothers gave up their seats as she served coffee to the newcomers. Dropping two lumps of sugar into Cressida’s cup, Lizzy asked them, “Is your mother having a good rest? Such a gracious hostess she was last night.”
“That is her speciality,” Greymore said. “She loves to entertain. I am sorry I could not avoid telling her about Lady Arabella.” A dark look fell across his features.
Lizzy’s eyes darted to Cressida, wondering how much she knew.
“Arabelle is my dearest friend,” Lady Cressida said. “She told me everything.”
Greymore let out a resigned sigh. “And what she did not hear from her, she overheard when we questioned the servants.”
Lizzy drew in a quick inhale of breath, but then forced a placid look onto her features. Those conversations could not have been appropriate for the ears of a gently bred young lady. But then, Lizzy suspected the lady in question would have been difficult to deter.
“Are you suggesting I was eavesdropping?” Cressida teased her brother.
“Are you denying it?”
Lizzy smiled at the easy banter between them. She liked them more than was fitting upon so short an acquaintance.
Cressida touched her brother’s arm. “At any rate, I had no choice but to stand up for poor Martin. As angry as you were, the man worried you would dismiss him without a reference.”
Lizzy soon surmised that Martin was the footman watching Peabody. As brother and sister chatted, Lizzy pieced together the events of the night before.
Some extra servants had been hired for the ball. Peabody had sought help from two of them in luring Martin from his post. First, a footman had offered to stand watch for a few minutes so Martin could use the necessary. The dancing was still underway, so Martin could see no harm in it.
But then a maid asked his help in carrying some heavy trays from the kitchen. Though he returned to the ballroom as soon as the music ended, it was already too late.
Lizzy said in low tones, “I understand Mr. Peabody is now an ensign in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment.”
“A fitting fate, that,” Greymore said. “I imagine he will be sent to the Continent once the weather permits.”
“No doubt,” Cressida said. “I predict a Forlorn Hope in his future.”
Lizzy had heard the term before. She understood it as a desperate mission which no one was expected to survive.
Greymore looked at his sister askance. “One must volunteer for a Forlorn Hope.”
Cressida fluttered her fan. “So they say.”
Lizzy caught the implication. Despite what Peabody had done, she doubted Colonel Fitzwilliam would behave dishonourably.
A murmur rippled through the room as Bingley and Jane re-entered. All other thoughts receded. Jane’s expression was radiant, and Bingley was all smiles.
Lizzy’s heartbeat sped up. What a relief it would be, if her speculation was correct! Indeed, what else could account for those happy faces?
Though tempted to run to Jane’s side, Lizzy kept her composure. Cressida leaned towards her and said in low tones, “So he has come to the point at last.”
“One hopes.” Lizzy gave her a sly smile.
It was not long until the drawing room emptied. Cressida kissed Lizzy’s cheek in parting. The brother and sister were on their way to call on Arabelle, to offer what comfort they could.
When they were gone, Lizzy turned and looked around the near-deserted room. She took a deep breath. Only four of them remained in the drawing room, which was large enough to serve as a ballroom. They looked at each other in anticipation before Bingley approached Mrs. Gardiner. Jane, for her part, came and took her sister’s hands.
“Oh, Lizzy!” she cried, but could say no more before emotion overwhelmed her. Tears fell onto her cheeks. Lizzy hugged her, and Jane managed to say, “Surely I must be the happiest of women.”
It was all the confirmation Lizzy needed. The relief was so strong, her legs might have given out if Jane had not been there to support her. All the worry for the future was gone. Jane would soon be irrevocably united with the man she loved.
Lizzy stepped back and gazed into her sister’s eyes. “If you are the happiest, then I am the second happiest.”
“Thank you. Oh, Lizzy!” She hugged her again, then pulled back and said, “Bingley will ride to speak to my father today. When I think of the pleasure and peace of mind this will bring my mother and sisters, I feel so very blessed. Could any woman deserve such joy?”
“If any woman does, it is you, dearest Jane.”
Stroking her sister’s shoulders, Lizzy felt the satisfaction of a mission completed. This, after all, had been her purpose in coming to London—to see Jane and Bingley engaged. But the hollow in her chest reminded her that she had unfinished business.
She had made a grave misstep the night before. She told herself that it had been the distress of the moment—that Darcy would understand. But could any man understand? Must he not think her pronouncement held some hint of truth? That he meant nothing to her?
Darcy had been all kindness to her since the thoughtless words had left her mouth. Somehow, she had to make amends. What could she do? A simple apology was not enough.
She determined to take Sally and walk to Piccadilly. A walk always cleared Lizzy’s head. It was not their at-home day, after all. So before they received more callers, she donned her pelisse and went on her way.
Somehow, she would fix this.