The day of the ball allowed no tranquility, no peace of mind. What I had hoped would be a time of sweet anticipation turned rapidly into a nightmare, beginning with Kitty’s swoons over likely dance partners and Amanda Ashton’s incessant chatter about gowns, jewelry, wraps, slippers, and everything else one associates with such an occasion.
When I could no longer bear it, I took to my room, pleading a headache. Jane was concerned. “Mary, you must lie down until it is time to prepare. We can’t have your evening spoiled by a megrim.”
“No, of course not. I shall rest until dinner.” Instead, I paced in my room as though it were a prison cell. I wanted to be out of doors and walking. But that would never do for one who’d just complained of a headache. After a long while, I heard a light tapping on my door and dived onto the bed before Jane stepped in.
“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked. Her arms were overflowing with gowns.
I slowly raised my head, as though by great effort. “Better, I think.”
“Good, because we must determine which one of these will best suit you. We should have done this long before now. Let’s hope no extensive alterations prove necessary.”
I groaned inside. Even though I wanted to attend the ball, I hated bothering about gowns and slippers and fans. “I was planning to wear one of my white gowns.”
“No, you must wear something with a little color. You’re not eighteen anymore, and you can dress in something other than white. Come, now, up you go.”
I dragged myself off the bed while Jane began laying the gowns—of silk, crape, and sarcenet—out across its width. “Your white muslins are looking a little faded, in any case. They’re not very becoming. If you wish to make an impression on a certain gentleman . . .”
I conceded the point, smiling. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Which do you like? The green silk is striking and would complement your hair nicely.”
“No. It’s too revealing. Look how low the neckline is.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “The apricot crape, then. That’s also a good match for your hair, and I love the pearl embroidery at the neckline. It is a little more modest than the green.”
“Very well, the apricot crape it is. I do like the pearls.” Never before had I worn anything so grand as this. It had a flounce at the hem, too. I could hardly imagine myself in it.
“Please do try it on, so that we can see if Sara needs to take it in or let it out anywhere.” Jane examined the gown closely for any spots, tears, or loose pearls. Once satisfied, she gathered up the remaining gowns. “I’m off to see if Kitty may wish to wear one of these. I’ll come back to help you after I’ve spoken to her. I cannot wait to see how beautiful you will look tonight, Mary!”
Me, beautiful? Never.
Kitty, I knew, had planned her ball attire weeks ago and would have no need of Jane’s help. I dropped down onto the stool at the dressing table, chin in my hands, and pictured myself in the apricot dress, moving gracefully onto the dance floor to stand up with Henry Walsh. He would send me frankly admiring looks; I would smile mysteriously. As always, we would converse easily on any number of subjects, but there would be an aura of something new between us. A physical attraction. I shivered, but not because I was cold.
I could barely contain my excitement.
The Penningtons lived in an imposing stone house in Clifton, the town nearest High Tor. We arrived in style, in Mr. Ashton’s barouche, which could accommodate all six of us. Since it was a private ball, we did not have long to wait our turn to be let out. The driver set the steps down, and Charles and Mr. Ashton alighted first, afterward assisting all the ladies.
Flambeaux lit the outside of the house. Reflected off the glass-fronted façade, the flames nearly made one believe it was on fire. Two footmen stood at the front doors, flung open to admit the guests. Music, voices, and laughter beckoned to us, and a surge of anticipation raced through me. After giving our wraps to a servant, we moved to the receiving line. I glanced around the room, taking in the grandeur of the great rotunda, the extravagant gowns of the other ladies, and the fashionable black and white evening clothes worn by the gentlemen. The only man I had an interest in seeing was not in view, however.
When we were getting dressed, Jane had stopped by my chamber and pronounced me “astonishing” in the newly altered apricot gown. As soon as she’d left, I summoned Sara and asked her to arrange my hair.
“Can you do something special with it? Perhaps a few ringlets loose at the neck and on my forehead.”
“Oh, yes, miss. And Mrs. Bingley gave me these pearls to weave into your hair. Said they was just the thing to match your dress.”
When Sara was finished, I stood before the glass, transfixed. With both hair and gown, I did look, if not astonishing, rather prettier than usual. My face shone with a mix of elation and anxiety, which lent my cheeks a soft pink blush.
“You’re quite smart, miss, if I may say,” Sara had remarked.
And now, still waiting in the receiving line, I noticed how lovely Kitty looked. To my surprise, she was wearing the green silk, and showing plenty of décolletage. Her coffee-colored hair looked well with the gown. My sister had barely spoken to me since yesterday, and I thought maybe I should make peace with her. “That dress becomes you, Kitty,” I said.
“You look nice too, I suppose,” she answered, her gaze settling somewhere over my left shoulder.
I smiled to myself, refusing to allow her to spoil my exuberant mood. At last we reached our host and hostess and, after greeting them, made our way upstairs to the ballroom. In all the bustle, we’d become separated from the Ashtons. Almost immediately, we spied Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. She had written to say they planned to spend the night with us at High Tor and travel to Pemberley in the morning.
“Lizzy!” Jane said.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. She had a new, cropped hairstyle, which suited her very well. The curls bounced around her face, making her look like a young girl again. “How elegant you all are,” she said.
Charles and Mr. Darcy had moved off to one side and were now in close conversation. One could only assume they were discussing the quest for Wickham. Elizabeth looked at us and said, “I shall give you the news later. Let’s go to the ballroom. We should enjoy ourselves tonight.”
No sooner had I entered the room than I glimpsed Mr. Walsh. He was standing with a group of men, only one of whom I recognized—his cousin, Mr. Carstairs. Upon seeing us, both men approached.
After we greeted them, Elizabeth asked if she might be introduced to our friends. Mr. Walsh, looking uncommonly handsome in black and white evening clothes, bowed to Lizzy. “Mrs. Darcy, at last I make your acquaintance. This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir. I have heard a great deal about you from my sisters.”
“Nothing too damaging to my reputation, I hope, ma’am.”
Lizzy laughed. “No, indeed. I think they can find no fault in you at all.”
The music for the first set was striking up, and I expected Henry to claim me for the dance. But before he could act, Kitty stepped forward and said, “I’ve saved the first dance for you, sir.”
Although he appeared a bit flummoxed, he smiled down at her and said, “I’m honored, Miss Kitty.” And then, to rub salt in the raw wound, I heard him tell her how pretty she looked. She planted her hand on his sleeve, and off they went to the dance floor. Henry hadn’t even glanced my way, nor given any indication that he was sorry about having to dance with Kitty rather than me.
Suddenly the room seemed to draw closer; the voices became more strident, the crush of people nearly unbearable. I took a step back, closer to the wall, desperate for somewhere to hide. I had been accustomed to doing this at balls in the past, but fancied tonight would be different. Both Jane and Lizzy were casting sympathetic looks my way, but even they couldn’t summon any comforting words. As if it wasn’t enough that the man I was trying so hard to impress with my borrowed gown and more fashionable hairstyle had completely ignored me, I also had to bear the pity of my kind and well-meaning family.
It was only the first set, I reminded myself. Perhaps he would find me for the second one. After all, it wasn’t his fault Kitty had tricked him into dancing with her. The set ended, and they began walking toward us, Kitty chattering away. Abruptly their progress was halted by an onslaught of matrons wearing plumed headdresses. It was obvious that they sought introductions to Mr. Walsh for their daughters, all gowned in white, who were hovering at the sides of their mothers and appeared barely old enough to be out in society. Charles, who saw what was happening, rescued Kitty and escorted her back to us, where she stood fuming and fussing over her ill luck.
“The nerve of those women, thrusting their daughters upon Mr. Walsh when he was still with me.”
She was right; it was rude of them. But you, dear sister, thought nothing of thrusting yourself upon him.
Meanwhile, I watched while Henry danced the next set with a lively young lady, possibly as old as eighteen. When that set had finished, his next partner awaited him. The mothers eyed each other triumphantly, if somewhat warily.
I felt tears glazing my eyes and drew in a long breath to steady myself. This would never do. Somehow I had to survive what was sure to be a very long evening. Charles, no doubt at Jane’s prodding, asked me to dance. I partnered with Mr. Darcy as well, and Mr. Carstairs. Not once did I allow my stilted smile to droop or my mock-carefree manner to slip. I spotted Henry Walsh several times dancing with various ladies. Did he not even remember asking me to stand up with him? What had I done to deserve such ill treatment? Maybe he was not the gentleman I thought him to be.
Jane and Elizabeth came over to stand beside me during a break for the musicians. When Lizzy started to speak, I cut her off. “Don’t say anything, please, Lizzy. I warn you, I’m dangerously close to either weeping or screaming.”
Jane’s lips were tightly compressed, and she looked as if she were about to cry. Elizabeth linked arms with me. “No, dear. Of course not.”
I realized I hadn’t asked about Mr. Darcy’s trip to Newcastle. That seemed a safe subject. “Can you give me any news? Did Mr. Darcy learn anything more?”
The man in question appeared, bearing glasses of lemonade for us. Charles was right behind him with a glass for Jane. “I shall let him tell you,” Elizabeth said.
“What did you discover about our errant brother, Mr. Darcy?” I asked, accepting the lemonade from him.
A look passed between him and Elizabeth, from which I gathered the news was not good. “When I found out all I could in Newcastle, I traveled to London and located Wickham not far from the area he’d frequented before. He swears he will never go back to Lydia.”
“Oh no,” I said, momentarily forgetting my own troubles. “Did you offer an . . . inducement?”
“I did, and when he turned it down, I concluded his lady friend must be wealthy. He has no money of his own and no connections except for myself.”
“Is there anything else to be done?” I asked.
“Not by me, I’m afraid.” Mr. Darcy smiled ruefully at Elizabeth. “It was a fool’s errand, I think.”
Elizabeth grasped his arm. “You did all you could, Fitzwilliam. More than we had any right to ask of you.”
“Yes, I agree,” I said. “We are again in your debt, Mr. Darcy.” What was to become of poor Lydia? And what damage would her husband’s desertion inflict upon our family’s reputation?
Mr. Darcy was shrugging off our thanks when the supper dance was called. I felt pathetically grateful that Andrew Carstairs asked me to stand up with him. The dance was a quadrille, and I noticed Kitty partnered with Henry Walsh. How had she contrived that? They were not in our group of eight, thank heaven. Had he asked her this time, or had she trapped him into it again?
At Linden Hall, he’d said he admired me very much, and even before that, he’d requested the dances. I began to believe he was trifling with me. Kitty was right. I had no looks or fashion. Despite my efforts to look well tonight, even pretty, I’d failed to gain Henry’s attention. I could never be an Elizabeth or a Jane. I might as well revert to the old Mary. I may have been loathsome to others, but, naïve and unaware, at least I wasn’t miserable. The hurt I’d been feeling now turned into anger. At Henry Walsh, at the world, at myself. Chiefly at myself. I was a fool to have thought I could compete with Kitty, or, indeed, the flock of young beauties trailing after Henry.
Still simmering inside, I dragged my attention back to the intricate steps of the quadrille. Afterward, Mr. Carstairs escorted me into the adjacent hall, where tables had been readied for supper. “May I fill a plate for you, Miss Bennet?” he asked.
I nodded my acceptance of his offer, although I didn’t think I’d be able to swallow a single bite. While I waited, a footman filled my wineglass, and Kitty and Mr. Walsh claimed the chairs across from me. Although I sensed him watching me, I didn’t meet his gaze. I couldn’t bear for him to see the misery in my eyes. He went off directly to find refreshment for himself and my sister. The Bingleys, Darcys, and Ashtons joined us.
The minute Jane and Lizzy were seated, Kitty leaned across the table and said, “I think it must mean something, that he asked me for the supper dance, don’t you?” Her face was flushed with pleasure. She must have known I would hear too, but obviously didn’t care.
“Perhaps it means the same as Mr. Carstairs asking Mary,” Lizzy said, eyebrows raised. Kitty huffed with irritation. I ducked my head. I couldn’t help smiling at that.
The gentlemen returned with plates of delectable-looking crab puffs, miniature cakes, and dried fruits. Having no appetite, I pushed the food around my plate. While I sipped my wine, I listened intently for openings in the conversation. Opportunities to do my worst. If Mr. Walsh didn’t like the new Mary, let him have a taste of the old.
“Did you see Lucinda Bright, Jane?” Lizzy asked. The Brights were close friends of Mr. Darcy and his sister, Georgiana; I had met them on occasion at Pemberley. Lucinda had always struck me as somewhat vain of her appearance.
“We spoke briefly. She looks beautiful in her rose gown,” Jane said.
“Vanity corrupts her, I fear. She does not choose to attain true excellence nor the favor of our Lord,” I said. Oh God. Loathsome Mary rises from the ashes, reborn like the phoenix.
“Mary, please,” Elizabeth said softly, managing to look simultaneously alarmed and astonished. Kitty and Mrs. Ashton both giggled. I held myself stiffly, waiting for another opportunity.
“Is your mother in good health, Mr. Walsh?” asked Mrs. Ashton.
“Yes, indeed. She’s kept busy visiting tenants, many of whom have been ill with colds and fevers of one kind or another. These things spread like fire among hayricks.”
“She is an unselfish sort of lady, who will always take pains to help others,” Amanda Ashton said. Was she vying with me for stupidest remark?
Again I broke in. “One is naturally benevolent when no selfish interest interferes. It speaks well of one’s own superiority.”
At last I had Henry’s attention. I glanced his way briefly and saw the confusion in his eyes.
Jane shoved her chair back so forcefully, Charles had to grab hold of it to prevent its falling over. “Mary, do play for us, dear. I think we would all enjoy a bit of soothing music,” she bit out.
“Of course.” I rose and, on wobbling legs, made my way to the pianoforte. I felt feverish, my face hot but my body chilled. I perused the music, trying to find just the right piece. One I could play and sing. I glanced up for a moment and caught Mr. Walsh staring at me.
His intense gaze rattled me, so I chose a couple of sonatinas I knew well to begin. I needed a brief respite from my self-imposed humiliation. I played softly and noticed the group at our table had resumed talking, and even found something to laugh at. It would not have surprised me if I were the object of their laughter.
Now for the coup de grâce. I chose an old tune called “Oh, Nancy.” Perfect for my purposes, it had numerous high notes I had not the smallest hope of reaching. I cleared my throat, set the music on the rack, and began. As soon as Jane and Lizzy heard the opening notes, their heads swiveled toward me. Conversation ceased.
When I missed the first high note, a few titters broke out among the guests. I plowed on, breathing deeply and pushing to reach the top of my vocal range, but missing every time. During one particularly difficult passage, I lost my voice altogether and emitted a few squeaks. Risking a glance toward my table, I studied the reactions. Some people, like Kitty and the Ashtons, obviously were trying not to laugh. Charles and Mr. Darcy had twisted their faces into pained expressions. Lizzy and Jane sat quietly, Jane with her eyes cast down and Lizzy staring fiercely at everyone, as though daring them to make sport of her sister. Oddly, I didn’t see Mr. Walsh, and in a moment, I understood why.
“Miss Bennet.” A calm voice, a kind one, spoke at my side.
I stopped singing abruptly. “Mr. Walsh.” My heart raced, and I looked not at him, but at the floor.
“Do you recall the day by the river, when you heard me singing ‘Annie Laurie’? I shall sing it now, if you’ll accompany me.”
“I-I don’t . . . you vowed you would never sing in company.”
“No,” he said gently. “That was you.”
I gulped, feeling my mouth form an ironic grin.
“I’ll help you look for the music.”
As he reached for the stack of sheet music, I put my hand on his wrist. “I know it. I don’t need the music.”
“Very well, then. Shall we begin?”
I played the opening notes, and his baritone voice joined in. I was glad I knew the music so well, because his singing lifted me, took me to a place where I could forget everything except him.
Like dew on th’ gowan lying
Is th’ fa’ o’ her fairy feet
And like the winds in summer sighing
Her voice is low and sweet.
And she’s a’ the world to me
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me doon and dee.
The guests begged for another song, and then a third, after which they demanded a bow from the singer. I seized on the opportunity to quietly disappear. Tears had begun to trickle down my cheeks, and it would never do to lose my composure in public. I could make myself look foolish in every other way, but I would not be caught crying.
My feet carried me back to the ballroom. I found a chair against the wall and sank down on it, thinking over what had just transpired. Henry Walsh had rescued me from complete humiliation. Since he had avoided me all evening, I could not account for it. Especially after I’d insulted his mother and, on the whole, made myself look ridiculous in his eyes—as well as those of everybody else. Not only had he possessed the presence of mind to come to my aid, he had chosen the most inconspicuous and natural way of doing so, providing a partial redemption for me. It was too good of him, and made my decision to behave in such a way seem shameful.
Before long, the orchestra was tuning their instruments and guests were drifting back in from supper. I was considering whether or not to find a more secluded spot when the gentleman occupying my thoughts appeared before me.
“Will you dance with me, Miss Bennet? You promised to stand up with me twice, you know.”
Had I heard correctly? After taking no notice of me all evening, he was finally claiming his dances? I could find no explanation for it, except that he felt sorry for me. “Sir, I have a headache. I am sorry to disappoint you,” I said, rushing the words.
Immediately, he sat down beside me. Taking my hand, he said, “Forgive me. I didn’t know you were feeling ill. Shall I find Jane?”
“No! No, I need only to rest here a while.”
“Are you certain? It would be no trouble to carry you back to High Tor.”
“Quite certain, thank you. I don’t wish to leave.” I couldn’t let the moment pass without acknowledging what he’d done for me. “I am in your debt, sir. You came to my rescue in a most gentlemanly way, and I thank you for it.”
He studied me so intently I had to look away. “Miss Bennet—”
Kitty, who had been hovering nearby, now sat down on my other side. Dancers were gathering for the next set. “Mr. Walsh, I’m sure my sister would enjoy another dance with you.”
“Oh, yes!” Kitty said.
“Of course.” Before rising, he leaned in and whispered to me. “I hope you will forgive me for . . . for my—”
“Please, sir,” I said, my cheeks warming. “No apologies are necessary.”
After a quick nod, he walked away with my sister, and I was glad I hadn’t let him say what he wished to be forgiven for.