The Darcy Connection (25 page)

Eliza's mind and spirits were in turmoil. She was not inclined to introspection, preferring to direct her thoughts outward; in this case, she could not avoid a degree of self-examination. She was in no doubt as to her feelings. Those she had had for Anthony had undergone so radical a change as for there to be no question about her continuing with her engagement. And she had told him so, directly and forcefully.

She feared the message had not got through to him. He had left the house in Aubrey Square in high indignation, but not before pressing her hand, and whispering that he understood, that being in London had unsettled her, that Lady Grandpoint was offering her bad guidance, yet it would all come right in the end.

What about Mr. Bruton? There she was on less solid ground. Was she in love with him? Or was it desire, the same drive that had compelled Charlotte to behave so recklessly with Warren? Whatever she felt for him, it was different from her feelings for Anthony, when they had fallen into each other's arms and plighted their troth with such heedless abandon in the Yorkshire wood. That now seemed no more than a distant dream.

Yet she had been so sure of her attachment to Anthony, and here she was, out of love with him, and possibly tumbling into love with another man. Was she no more than a flighty young woman, attracted first by this man and then that? Would what she felt for Mr. Bruton vanish as swiftly as had her passion for Anthony? Perhaps she was a hopeless case, a hardened flirt, unable to take herself or the affections of any man seriously.

No, that was fancy, and self-indulgent fancy, too, she was not to be lashing herself in such a way. If she was to be the object of contempt and disdain, then let it come from others, not from herself. Lady Grandpoint, for instance, so unreasonably angry with her; she seemed to take Anthony's arrival almost as a personal affront.

“The letters must have crossed,” Lady Grandpoint said in an annoyed voice. She had come into the sitting room unnoticed by Eliza, who had tucked herself away at the window in an effort to keep away from her great-aunt and her sister, and was startled by her arrival.

“What letters, ma'am?”

“We—I, that is, have written to the bishop, and I conclude that the letter regarding the Diggorys' change of heart must have been sent off from Yorkshire before your father heard from me. It is too bad, it complicates matters. I should never have thought he would be so fainthearted as to change his mind about your marrying Mr. Diggory.”

Eliza could have pointed out that her father regularly changed his mind. Lady Grandpoint must surely know as well as she did that he would always take care to agree with Sir Roger; he had no opinions of his own to pit against those of any influential person. Although why Lady Grandpoint should be in such a fret about it, she couldn't imagine.

“What a tiresome young man he is, why could he not have stayed in Yorkshire where he belongs?” Lady Grandpoint complained. “I am pleased you have given him his congé, you did right there, my dear, he presumed too much, but I am afraid he did not believe you. That is what comes of encouraging the attentions of a man, you have not been as circumspect as you ought. Still, even Mr. Diggory will have to pay attention when—”

“When what?” said Eliza, who was retreating towards the door to make good her escape. Never had she less enjoyed her great-aunt's bracing company and conversation.

“Never mind. Do not disturb Charlotte, if you are going upstairs. I am anxious for her to have her sleep, for I want her in the best of looks tonight. You yourself rose too early by the look of you, you have dark rings beneath your eyes. I recommend an hour or so lying down on your bed this afternoon.”

“I am not going out this evening, I can retire early.”

“Not going out? Good gracious, do you not know that we give a party here this evening, and you must not look ill, you must be all smiles and on your best behaviour.”

With which cryptic instruction, Lady Grandpoint swept past Eliza and out of the room.

If Eliza had been less caught up in her own predicament, she would have noticed the air of expectancy in the house in Aubrey Square. Servants bustled hither and thither, armfuls of flowers were brought in for the drawing rooms, and Lady Grandpoint and her butler were deep in conference as to the exact arrangement of the rooms, the table, the furniture.

“You will sit down twenty to dinner tonight,” Annie informed Eliza, as she brushed out her hair that evening. She gave her mistress a sly glance. “They say his lordship, Lord Montblaine, that is, has proposed to Miss Collins, and it's to be announced tonight. I tell them it's no such thing, for wouldn't you know if your own sister had accepted a proposal of marriage?”

Eliza came out of her reverie. “Engagement? What nonsense. I hope you put a stop to that rumour, Annie.”

“I said as how you hadn't mentioned it, but of course there's no reason why you should.”

“No reason, because there's no truth in it. Is the marquis to be among the company tonight? I was not aware of it.”

“Yes, he is, indeed, and your cousins Mr. and Mrs. Wytton and several other lord-and ladyships. Oh, and that Mr. Pyke.”

“Good Lord, I hope not.”

“Don't you like him, Miss?”

“Like him! Like that odious man? I do not.”

“They say he's quite particular in his attentions.”

“Who says so? Attentions to whom?”

“Why, to you, Miss.”

“More nonsense. I wish you will not listen to this gossip, Annie.”

“I think Mr. Pyke is a nasty piece of work,” said Annie, bending down to retrieve the brooch that Eliza had let slip from her fingers. “Let me pin that on.”

“Nasty? Annie, you hardly know him by sight.”

“No, I don't know him, and I don't wish to, but I do know that he's the sort to brush up against one as he goes past, and he's rather too free with his hands.”

“Annie, don't tell me so! I knew him for a disagreeable man, but I had not imagined him loose in his ways as that.”

“He has a lickerish nature, for all he's a reverend. Sometimes they're the worst, with their pious faces and preachy ways, while all the time they're stuffed full of what they call sin in anyone else.”

Eliza looked out of the window, where the late-afternoon light was beginning to cast shadows across the green of the square's garden. A man had been cutting the grass, and the sweet scent of it brought memories of country summer days, back in her other life. Engagement? Charlotte and Lord Montblaine? Surely, if he had proposed, and Charlotte had accepted him, her sister would have told her. Although things had been strained between them ever since they'd come back from the visit to Montblaine House. Charlotte had been even more reserved and imperturbable. It was as though the whole incident with Warren had never happened.

It would have been kind in Charlotte, given how Eliza had rallied round during that night at Montblaine, to have given Eliza back her letters and articles, but she had not done so. Thinking about it, Eliza realised that Charlotte had deliberately been avoiding her, taking care not to give her any opportunity for private conversation.

No, she could not possibly be engaged. Not after showing how she felt about Warren. Naturally, any connection with Warren was now out of the question, but the passionate nature of her encounters with the man couldn't so easily be forgotten. Eliza might chide herself for falling out of love with Anthony, but that had been gradual, whereas Charlotte would be going almost straight from the arms of a man for whom she had the most ardent feelings into matrimony with that cold fish of a man, the marquis. Not even Charlotte could behave like that.

Eliza was wrong. Summoned downstairs half an hour before the guests were due to arrive, she found Charlotte, with Lord and Lady Grandpoint, standing in the drawing room. Charlotte was wearing a new gown of silver gauze, with a bodice that sparkled as she moved. An ice queen, extraordinarily pale and beautiful and absolutely remote.

“Ah, there you are, Eliza,” said Lady Grandpoint. “My dear, you must be among the first to know. Lord Montblaine has today done Charlotte the honour of asking her to become his wife, and she has accepted him.”

“Charlotte, you can't!” The words burst from Eliza's lips before she could stop herself. Lord Grandpoint frowned, and Lady Grandpoint made a clicking noise with her tongue.

“Control yourself, Eliza,” said Charlotte, still completely calm. “It isn't for you to say whom I can and cannot marry.”

“Lord Montblaine has behaved just as he ought,” said Lady Grandpoint. “He wrote to your father, to obtain his permission, although, of course, Charlotte is of age. However, it was right for him to do so.”

“He didn't set off hotfoot for Yorkshire then?” Eliza wasn't able to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“That would have been an unnecessary journey,” Charlotte said. “Unfortunately, Papa cannot be spared from his duties just at present, so Lady Grandpoint is holding this dinner tonight to make the announcement. It will be in the
Gazette
in the morning.”

Eliza was too stunned to say another word. She could not believe it of Charlotte. No, she was not going to let it rest. There were the sounds of a carriage drawing up outside, people were arriving, and as Lord and Lady Grandpoint made themselves ready to receive their guests, Eliza took the opportunity to seize Charlotte by the wrist and force her to listen.

“Why are you doing this? Are you so mad to be married? Do you think because it all went so wrong with Warren, it doesn't matter whom you marry? Charlotte, only consider, you will meet a man about whom you will feel what you did for Warren, only he will be a better man. Take Rosely, he will be a thousand times a better husband and lover than Montblaine.”

“Let me go, if you please, you are hurting me. You are absurd. Marry Lord Rosely, indeed! I turned him down flat, we should not suit, which you would know if you had half the perception you pride yourself on. Lord Rosely is a frivolous man, volatile in his affections. His protestations of undying love are mere affectation. Montblaine and I will deal very well together.”

“You are not in love with him.”

“It is not for you to decide what I feel or don't feel towards any man.”

The moment had passed, the door was open, and the butler was announcing names in a sonorous voice that drowned conversation.

And, to make Eliza's misery worse, among the first arrivals was Mr. Pyke, gleaming and spruce in his black evening clothes. Smirking at Charlotte, bowing to his cousin Montblaine, and then making his way over to Eliza, to greet her with unnecessary familiarity, presuming upon a connection that did not yet exist. “For I am soon to call you cousin,” he said with satisfaction. “And, may I hope, perhaps…” He paused and gave her a meaningful look.

“Hope for whatever you want, Mr. Pyke. The connection between us is remote and will remain so.”

Eliza turned a cold shoulder on him, but to no avail, he remained beside her, rubbing his hands together and praising Charlotte's beauty in terms that Eliza found altogether too warm. Thank goodness, here were Camilla and Mr. Wytton; they came across to where she was standing as soon as they had done the pretty to their host and hostess and had greeted Charlotte and the marquis, who was standing at Charlotte's side. Eliza forced herself to smile, to congratulate the marquis and to wish them both joy.

“My dear Eliza, you look as though you had been bitten by a snake,” said Camilla, unusually serious. “You must not show a Friday face here, you know, however unhappy you are about Charlotte.”

“Do I have a Friday face?” Eliza laughed. “I suppose I do. It is nothing to do with Charlotte, I cannot even begin to understand what she is doing, and what is the point of my being unhappy about it? Once Charlotte has made up her mind to do a thing, she will do it. There is nothing I nor anyone else can do that will cause her to change her mind, it is not in her nature. No, if I look severe, it is because I have been talking to Mr. Pyke, and that always puts me in a bad humour.”

“I'm not surprised,” said Camilla, frowning at the clergyman, who stood a little way apart from them, bowing as she looked at him.

“Why is he leering at Eliza like that?” said Mr. Wytton, flaring up in one of his sudden tempers. “I won't have the man looking at my cousin like that.”

Camilla put a hand out to restrain him as he started towards Mr. Pyke, and Eliza begged him to pay no attention. “It is his way, it is his natural expression.”

“Then it's a most inappropriate expression for any clergyman. Good God, does he lean out of the pulpit and smirk and grimace at his congregation like that? It's insupportable.”

“I expect he does,” said Camilla. “And his parishioners, his female parishioners, love it.”

“Bunch of foolish women, why is it that churchgoers leave their common sense at the porch of the church, why can't they smell out a hypocrite as they would in their ordinary, day-to-day affairs?”

Eliza had no time to reply. Dinner was announced, the doors to the dining room were thrown open, and she was obliged by her great-aunt to go in yet again on the arm of Mr. Pyke.