The Matters at Mansfield: (Or, the Crawford Affair) (Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (3 page)

“Miss de Bourgh is well attended by her cousin at present,” Elizabeth said. “I will inform her of your whereabouts upon their return.”

“Tell her to come to me. She can take Mrs. Jenkinson’s place at cards.”

Darcy offered his arm to Lady Catherine. As they departed, Elizabeth caught his gaze with a smile.

“Enjoy your game.”

Three

“Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.”

—
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
, Pride and Prejudice

E
lizabeth watched Darcy steer Lady Catherine out of the room. No sooner had the small party crossed the threshold than the musicians struck the opening chord of the next tune. She scanned the arranged couples for Miss de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and discovered them not yet on the floor. They stood behind the gentlemen’s side of the longways set, also waiting for Anne’s mother to disappear from view. Once safe from her ladyship’s surveillance, the couple hastily joined the bottom of the set.

Anne cast a final look over her shoulder toward the doorway. Apparently satisfied that her mother was not about to charge out and promenade her right off the floor, she indulged in a conspiratorial half-smile at her partner. The two made a charming couple. Colonel Fitzwilliam cut a striking figure in his formal dress uniform; the decorated red coat with blue facings, gold lace, and gold buttons created a presence that lent handsomeness to his otherwise unremarkable features. Anne held herself with all her customary dignity, but there was a lightness in her stance not ordinarily displayed. Her face reflected expectation and delight as she watched the top couples complete the dance’s opening figures.

Elizabeth was not the only one to notice Anne’s enjoyment. Lady Winthrop, a longtime friend of the Fitzwilliam family, also observed the cousins.

“I do not think I have ever seen Miss de Bourgh in such high spirits,” Lady Winthrop said.

“Nor I, and the lower couples have not even joined the dance yet.”

Anne watched the top dancers closely, no doubt committing to memory the order of figures and studying their execution. Lady Winthrop’s eldest daughter led the dance, partnered with a gentleman Elizabeth did not recognize. Both were accomplished dancers, performing the figures flawlessly and with contagious enthusiasm.

“I am not acquainted with your daughter’s partner,” Elizabeth said.

“We were introduced only briefly, but my daughter and her friends were all information regarding the gentleman within ten minutes of his entering the room. He is Mr. Henry Crawford, and his catalogue of charms includes an income of four thousand a year and an estate named Everingham. He attends tonight as a friend of Admiral Davidson.”

Elizabeth had met Admiral Davidson, one of Riveton’s neighbors, earlier in the week, and recalled his having mentioned houseguests. “Mr. Crawford does not reside nearby?”

“His house is in Norfolk. He accompanies his uncle, Admiral Crawford, who visits on business with Admiral Davidson. My daughter tells me that Mr. Crawford and his sister were raised by the uncle in London.”

“Is his sister also present tonight?”

“No. Miss Crawford is not part of the admiral’s traveling party.”

Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford cast off and moved to the bottom of the set, taking their new place immediately below Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Their progression afforded Elizabeth a better view of Mr. Crawford. He was shorter than the colonel, perhaps five feet nine or ten, and had dark hair. His features were on the plainer side, but what nature did not provide he made up for with a genial expression that rendered his countenance pleasing to look upon.

As the music continued and the dance incorporated the set’s formerly neutral couples, Elizabeth wondered how Miss de Bourgh would perform. Fortunately, the first three figures were simple ones. Anne completed them charmingly, exhibiting all the grace her mother had boasted. Her step was smooth and light; her expression reflected concentration but not anxiety.

The next figure was longer and more complex, involving Anne with not only her own partner but also their neighboring couple. Now temporarily partnered with Mr. Crawford, Anne moved with less assurance. She faltered, and a flush crept into her cheeks.

Mr. Crawford said something to her and offered a smile of encouragement. His kindness seemed to restore her confidence, and his superior dancing skill strengthened her fledgling efforts. She completed the figure without further error.

Whatever the gentleman had said, he apparently knew how to set a woman at ease. Perhaps it was his sister’s influence. “Does Miss Crawford keep house for her brother now that he is of age?” Elizabeth asked.

“She lives with another relation,” Lady Winthrop replied. “A half sister.”

The colonel and Anne took right hands across with Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford. When her hand entered Mr. Crawford’s grasp, Anne raised her eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes danced as merrily as he.

At the song’s conclusion, he smiled at her once more before bowing to Miss Winthrop. Anne looked away quickly and honored her own partner with a curtsy. Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed the set and spoke to her, apparently encouraging her to remain with him on the floor for a second dance. She glanced toward the doorway through which her mother had disappeared, and shook her head.

Poor Miss de Bourgh. The risk of being caught enjoying herself was too great. The colonel escorted her back to Elizabeth.

“You dance beautifully, Miss de Bourgh,” Lady Winthrop said. “I hope I have another opportunity to observe you this evening.”

“I thank you for the compliment, but I fear I must disappoint your hopes. I rarely dance, and doubt even my cousin can persuade me to do so a second time tonight.” She looked back at the dance floor, where Miss Winthrop and Mr. Crawford were among a dozen couples beginning a reel. Anne’s expression suggested it was her own desire, rather than Lady Winthrop’s, being thwarted by her abstinence.

“Perhaps some refreshment would revive your interest,” Elizabeth suggested. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I have it on good authority that Riveton serves exceptional lemonade. Is that so?”

“The finest. Would all of you ladies care to determine its quality for yourselves?”

Lady Winthrop declined, citing the need for a word with her daughter when the current dance concluded, but Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh accompanied the colonel to the next room, where a table offered lemonade and rout cakes. The beverage was soon pronounced by all three to be without equal. Lady Catherine would have approved.

But her ladyship remained at cards, anticipating Anne’s imminent participation. Elizabeth wondered how much longer she would play before sending Darcy to fetch her daughter.

The cessation of music in the ballroom heralded a break for the instrumentalists. Parched dancers took advantage of the lull and crowded the refreshment room. Anne having finished her lemonade, Colonel Fitzwilliam offered to refill her glass. When he returned, Mr. Crawford accompanied him.

“Mrs. Darcy, Miss de Bourgh, this gentleman has begged an introduction to my fair cousins. May I present Mr. Henry Crawford?”

“Indeed you may,” Elizabeth said. “I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Crawford, particularly after witnessing your performance in the ballroom.”

“I do like a good ball. Have you danced yet this evening?”

“I have not.”

“By inclination or happenstance?”

“My husband is in the card room, and most of the other gentlemen present have engaged unattached ladies for their partners, as they should. A married woman such as myself has no business dancing when there are single ladies wishing to do so.”

“You are noble to your sex, but even the most altruistic person cannot be expected to deny herself the pleasure of dancing for the entire length of a ball. You must stand up with me for the next set. Surely Mr. Darcy will not object to your enjoying a dance while he amuses himself at cards.”

Elizabeth suspected “amusement” hardly described what Darcy experienced just now, but she kept that thought to herself. “He would not frown upon my dancing, though he would likely prefer that my partner be someone with whom he is acquainted, and the young ladies present might take exception to my monopolizing one of the most eligible bachelors in the room.”

“Again, this concern for your unwed counterparts! What is it about marriage that makes people so eager for others to enter that state as soon as they cross the threshold themselves? Very well. I withdraw my invitation, but only if Colonel Fitzwilliam will take it up, for your husband can have no opposition to your dancing with his cousin. What say you, Colonel?”

“I would be honored to dance with Mrs. Darcy.”

“There,” Mr. Crawford declared. “I, meanwhile, will satisfy your anxiety for the plight of single ladies in attendance by beseeching Miss de Bourgh to stand up with me. Will you, Miss de Bourgh?”

Anne flushed. “I—I had not intended to dance again this evening.”

“I beg you. Or at least, I beg your mercy. Will you not spare me the humiliation of being refused by two ladies in the space of two minutes?”

Anne glanced toward the doorway. “I do not think it a good idea.”

Elizabeth resented Lady Catherine anew. Even from another room, she managed to stifle all gaiety in her daughter. Anne deserved a few more minutes of happiness at the ball before Lady Catherine turned her coach into a pumpkin.

Elizabeth touched Anne’s arm. “Your mother is occupied,” she said quietly. “Seize opportunity while you can.”

Anne searched Elizabeth’s face, her own eyes reflecting confusion. “I am not certain I understand your meaning.”

“An amiable gentleman has made you an offer. If it will make you happy, accept him.”

“I—” She looked at Mr. Crawford a long moment. “I must beg you to excuse me, sir. When you approached, I had just been considering retiring to my chamber, which I now believe I will do.”

“I hope naught is amiss. Have I offended you? If so—”

“You have given no offense. I feel a trifle unwell. A headache. I think perhaps from the exertion of dancing earlier.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?” Elizabeth asked. “Or to summon Mrs. Jenkinson?”

“No, I simply need to rest, and that is better done in solitude.”

“Is there nothing we can do for your comfort?” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

“Please inform my mother and Mrs. Jenkinson that I have retired and wish not to be disturbed. But postpone the announcement if you can—my mother might insist on sending Mrs. Jenkinson to me, and I would rather be alone.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth could well understand Anne’s desire for respite without—and from—Mrs. Jenkinson and her hovering. She herself would have found the constant presence of a companion intrusive and intolerable.

Anne turned back to Mr. Crawford. “Perhaps we will have an opportunity to dance together in the future, sir.”

He bowed. “I look forward to it.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam offered her his arm. “At least allow me to escort you out of this crowd and see you safely to your room.”

As Anne scurried off, the clock struck midnight.

“Cinderella has left the ball,” Mr. Crawford said. His gaze followed Anne and the colonel until the crowd swallowed them from view, then turned to Elizabeth. “At least she had a chance to dance with one prince.”

“I believe she would have accepted your invitation, were it not for her headache. Perhaps, as she said, another opportunity will arise. How long do you remain in the neighborhood?”

“My uncle and I depart in the morning—he for London, I for Norfolk. Indeed, I intend to leave so early that we shall exchange farewells tonight.”

“Do you return to Everingham?”

Her question appeared to amuse him. “I do, but as neither I nor Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned Everingham, I must now puzzle out how you came to know of it. I presume myself the subject of a conversation that occurred before we met, but with whom? Hold! Allow me to guess. Are you acquainted with Admiral Davidson?”

“Only slightly. It was not he who revealed the name of your home.”

“My uncle, then?”

She shook her head. “A much newer acquaintance of yours.”

“Lady Winthrop? Yes—I see from your expression that I am correct.”

“Indeed, you are. But how did you know?”

“I observed your earlier tête-à-tête. And why would I perceive such a thing while occupied on the dance floor? Either I could not help noticing a pretty woman, or I deliberately kept one eye on the mother of my partner. I shall leave it to your vanity to determine which.”

“My vanity can have no influence on your motives, only on my perception of them.”

Mr. Crawford had a charming manner, and after a few minutes’ further conversation with him she found herself regretting for Anne’s sake that her headache had forced her to retreat from his company. Conversation with him was easy, and Miss de Bourgh could benefit from greater confidence when interacting with those outside her most intimate circle.

They parted, and soon after, Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to the ballroom. He reported that by the time Anne had reached her room, she had already seemed improved.

Elizabeth was glad to hear it. “Perhaps Anne will yet return to the ball tonight.”

“I hope she does,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “I found her a surprisingly delightful partner, and should like to dance with her again. But in the meantime, I believe you agreed to stand up with me.” He extended his hand. “Unless you think we should go rescue your husband from the card room?”

“We ought to.” She imagined to herself the conversation at Darcy’s table, and could not quite suppress a smile. “After this dance.”

Four

“I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship . . .”

Mr. Collins
, Pride and Prejudice

D
arcy shifted in his chair and stole what he hoped was a discreet glimpse at his pocketwatch. Midnight—a mere six minutes since his last covert glance. His suspicions were confirmed.

He would die at this card table.

Before evening’s end, his hair would prematurely grey, his muscles would atrophy in his chair, and his mind would utterly collapse under the exertion of attending Lord Sennex’s play as closely as his own. Quadrille had been the worst possible choice of game; the viscount was incapable of remembering not only the current trump suit for each hand, but also the resulting changes in card rankings. Indeed, his lordship, apparently unable to retain so much as which game they played, repeatedly attempted to capture tricks as if they competed at whist.

Darcy wished they
were
playing whist—at the next table, with the viscount’s son. Not only was it a more straightforward game, but Mr. Sennex could have shared the responsibility of keeping his father focused. A son might more easily correct a member of the peerage without constant apprehension over inadvertently giving offense. However, their party had entered the card room while Mr. Sennex was in the middle of a rubber, and Lady Catherine had seized the opportunity to form the only table devoted to the outmoded game of her youth.

A self-satisfied smile crossed her ladyship’s countenance as she led the final trick of the hand. Everyone waited for Lord Sennex, who sat on her right, to set down his sole remaining card. Play in quadrille, unlike whist, moved counterclockwise.

When it moved at all.

After eight hands, one would think Lord Sennex could retain at least that simple fact, but like most subjects, his grasp of it seemed to surface only at irregular intervals.

“My lord?” Darcy finally prompted.

“Oh—it is my turn! Of course.” He dropped his card onto the table. “Remind me again—which tour is this?”

“We are just ending the second.”

“Of how many?”

“Ten.”

Ten tours. Forty hands. Though the players could have agreed upon a shorter game, Lady Catherine had insisted upon the customary number. By the time they finished this contest, Darcy would be hosting Lily-Anne’s betrothal ball.

Miss Jenkinson played her own remaining card and Darcy quickly followed. He hoped his impatience did not show.

To compound the ordeal, it seemed Darcy’s lot to repeatedly draw Lord Sennex as his partner. Darcy had been dealt fair hands, but none strong enough to take the minimum six tricks solo. So each time he won the bid, he called a king to form a temporary alliance with whoever held the named card. The unknown ally’s identity was supposed to be revealed through play that supported the caller, but the instances in which the viscount helped Darcy capture tricks were entirely accidental. Lord Sennex’s inattention had caused Darcy to lose three hands—and considerable additional stakes in penalty.

Lady Catherine and Miss Jenkinson, in contrast, somehow managed to call each other’s kings each time either of them won the bid. Not only were the two ladies more practiced players of quadrille than the gentlemen, but their countless evenings thus spent at Rosings attuned them so precisely to each other’s particular style of play that when partnered they formed an unstoppable alliance. They had declared and won the vole—taken all ten tricks—each time, collecting bonus winnings in addition to the hands’ original pools.

While the secrecy and changing allegiances of quadrille utterly confused the viscount, Lady Catherine thrived on them.

Darcy understood why it was her favorite game.

Her ladyship collected the trick, adding it to the nine in front of her.

“We won another vole!” Lord Sennex exclaimed. “You may call my king again anytime.”

“My lord, I named a king I held myself—the king of clubs.”

“Did you now? I thought you called the king of diamonds.”

“That was the previous hand, my lord.”

“Oh, dear. Well, nothing to do about it now. So you called a king to make us think you had an ally, when in fact you secretly played solo? Very clever, I daresay. You are a formidable opponent, Lady Anne.”

An awkward silence followed. Darcy was unsure whether Lord Sennex had confused Lady Catherine with her sister, the late Lady Anne, or with Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.

His aunt’s expression indicated similar uncertainty.

No one ventured to correct the viscount outright.

“You will no doubt find my daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, an able cardplayer. I cannot imagine what prevents her from joining us. I begin to suspect that Mrs. Darcy forgot to inform her that we await her here.”

“Mrs. Darcy may be relied upon to deliver the message,” Darcy said. Whether she delivered it in a fashion Lady Catherine would consider timely was another matter entirely.

“Anne is very fond of quadrille. We play at Rosings whenever we can make up a table.”

“I cannot say that I care for it,” said the viscount. “Never knowing who is one’s ally and who is one’s foe, the rules changing with each hand, and one’s strength dependent upon the random collection of cards one is dealt. Now chess—chess is my game: a clear contest between two equally matched foes, facing each other across a defined battlefield where each man has his role and the challenge ends when one of the primaries falls. My favorite piece is the rook—the only one that can castle with the king. I do not suppose Miss de Bourgh plays chess?”

“No. But had she learned, I am sure she would be a skillful player.”

His lordship sighed. “She knows only cards, I suppose. Does she play whist? Neville favors whist.”

“She does. Mr. Sennex will find her a worthy partner in all respects.”

Precisely
when
Mr. Sennex might have occasion to engage in a game of whist with Miss de Bourgh or anyone else in their party, Darcy could not speculate. A match certainly would not occur this evening. He was firmly entrenched at his own table and had not so much as glanced in his father’s direction since they sat down.

Lady Catherine collected her winnings. While they had agreed to low stakes, bonuses for the vole and solo win had made this a relatively expensive hand. Miss Jenkinson’s previous successes kept her well in the black, but the viscount remitted his fish wistfully, the sting of loss all the sharper for not collecting a partner’s share of the win to which he thought he had contributed.

Darcy eyed his own dwindling stack of counters. His pocketbook could certainly afford the losses; for that matter, so could his self-respect. This was his aunt’s game, and she had bested him many an evening in her own drawing room. Whatever he might think of Lady Catherine herself, her command of quadrille was without question, and in any contest there was no shame in losing to a superior opponent. He knew he should simply resign himself to an unsatisfying game, execute the motions of play without thoughts of victory. But for Darcy, playing at all meant playing to win. It was not in his character to perform at less than full measure in any endeavor, and he could no more underplay a hand and decline the challenge posed by each fresh round of cards than neglect any other test of intellect that presented itself.

His aunt placed a counter and fish into the basket and shuffled the cards for a new deal. Darcy and Miss Jenkinson also anted. Lord Sennex nodded and smiled.

“The opening stake, my lord?” Darcy prompted.

“What? Oh! Yes, yes.” The viscount dropped his counter into the basket with the others and chuckled. “Cannot have anyone accuse me of being light.”

Darcy collected his cards. It was a strong hand; if he took the bid he could probably win without a partner. Strategically, the other three players would form a tacit alliance, working together to prevent his success so that they could split the pool if he failed, but that was part of the challenge.

He waited for Lord Sennex to open the bidding.

And waited.

“Your lordship possesses the eldest hand,” Darcy finally prompted.

Lord Sennex regarded him oddly, then glanced at his own wrinkled fingers. “I suppose I do.”

“Do you care to bid?”

“Oh! No, I pass.”

Darcy won the right to declare trump, and play proceeded to the accompaniment of Lady Catherine’s unremitting discourse.

“Have you ever visited Kent, my lord?”

“I do not believe I have.”

“You will find it beautiful country. I confess that I missed the northern landscapes when I first wed Sir Lewis and moved to Rosings, but now I feel equally at home in both settings. Anne will be the same, when she has been mistress of her own home for a while. A woman adjusts rapidly to new surroundings, provided she marries within her sphere.”

Darcy heard this last statement as a deliberate slight to Elizabeth, whom Lady Catherine yet resented for her perceived usurpation of Anne’s rightful place as his wife, but he ignored the remark rather than dignify it with the response she sought to provoke. He instead would exact reprisal in the form of a more direct blow to his aunt’s overweening pride. A sound defeat in this hand, delivered while she rattled on about a hypothetical future home of which Anne was in no way of becoming mistress anytime soon, would constitute a fair requital.

Why his aunt had embarked upon the present subject eluded him. To Darcy’s knowledge, Miss de Bourgh had no current marriage prospects, and at the age of eight-and-twenty stood in considerable danger of entering permanent spinsterhood. But he could devote no more thought to the matter if he wanted to win the hand, which he fully intended to do.

“My late wife never appreciated Hawthorn Manor,” said Lord Sennex. “She was too attached to the home of her birth.”

“Anne will not have that problem.”

That, Darcy believed. He had always found Rosings to reflect the character of its mistress—all pomp and grandeur, with little warmth to solicit nostalgia or any other tender sentiment.

Darcy evaluated his remaining cards. He had taken the first six tricks and now faced a decision: whether to end the hand at this point and collect only the original pool, or attempt to take them all. If he continued the hand and succeeded, he would win a substantial bonus pool, but if he failed, his opponents would split the side stake.

He mentally reviewed the cards that had been used and who had played them. His opponents were out of trump, but two high cards remained unaccounted for. He believed Lady Catherine held them, though heaven only knew whether the viscount had been following suit throughout the hand. Continuing would require Darcy’s full concentration.

He led a seventh card.

A noisy discussion erupted at Neville’s table. Darcy did his best to bar it from his mind, but it soon reached a level that made it impossible to ignore. Neville addressed Sir John Trauth, one of his whist opponents, in a hot tone.

“You scratched your chin!” Neville’s small eyes narrowed still more as his flaccid countenance distorted in resentment.

“It itches.”

Neville rose to his feet. Short of stature, he gained the intimidation of height only when confronting a seated adversary, as Sir John remained. “You have scratched it twice whilst holding an ace.”

Sir John, for fifty years known throughout the neighborhood as a forthright man, remained calm under Neville’s ire. “Have I done so, I assure you the reflex was entirely coincidental. If losing the rubber disappoints you, examine your own play.”

“At least I played an honest hand.”

“Do you accuse me of cheating, Sennex?”

Silence claimed the room as all waited to hear Neville’s response. To accuse a gentleman of dishonesty at cards was a grave matter: Settling the issue via pistols at dawn was not unheard of. Dueling might be illegal, but that did not prevent its practice.

“Eh, what was that?” Although the question had been directed to Mr. Sennex, it caught the attention of his father. The viscount, seated with his back to Neville’s table, turned round in his chair. “Is that Neville? What is this commotion?”

No one, including Neville, ventured to answer him. Though his mind might have begun to fail him, the viscount still commanded the respect due a peer of the realm, and nobody wanted to disillusion a father about the poor sportsmanship of his son.

Lord Sennex gripped the table’s edge and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “It sounds as if there is some sort of dispute. Neville, what is transpiring?”

“A minor disagreement, that is all.”

“With Sir John? Why, he has been our friend since—since I do not know when. What can you possibly be arguing about with Sir John?”

Neville stared at Sir John a long time, his pique still evident. Finally, he said, “Nothing. It is over.”

“Is it, Sir John?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well, I am glad it is settled, whatever it was. What is everybody looking at? Have you not your own games to attend to?”

The silence was broken by the riffle of cards and clacking of fish as all returned to their games. All the players, that is, except those at two tables.

Sir John rose from his seat. “I believe I have done with cards for the night. I am returning to the ballroom.” His partner made a similarly quick exit.

In the wake of their departure, Neville addressed his own partner, who was also leaving. “Surely you observed the same behavior as I?”

“Regrettably, I cannot say that I did.”

Lord Sennex and his son both remained standing. Elder regarded younger with resignation; son regarded father with indignation.

“How dare Sir John humiliate me? He a mere knight? And you—you abetted him with your interference.”

“A gentleman’s honor is his most sacred possession. It should not be challenged lightly.”