Page 10 of Lord Lonbourn's Daughter
#
At Celeste’s, even Lady Matlock began to doubt the wisdom of having three ladies fitted at once. The appointment was dragging on, but the seamstress looked more than pleased to continue. It was not done, though, to be seen on Bond Street too late in the afternoon. Lady Matlock was much aware of these things that separated the upper classes from the supplicants. To linger after four o’clock was regarded as unfashionable. After five was unheard of because it would seem like you did not need to dress for dinner, and that was afaux pasof magnitude amongst thebeau monde.
Her son arrived, but they had still not finished. The rest of their attire had to wait for another day.
“I must beg your pardon, Montgomery, but we are not finished yet. Make yourself comfortable, and we shall be with you soon. Lady Mary has had trouble finding the right fabric for her skin tone. I wish she would wear richer colours, but alas…”
“Do not worry about me, Mother, I have a newspaper to read and a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, Montgomery.”
The countess flitted away to look after her apprentices while the viscount made himself comfortable. It was not the first time he had waited at the dressmaker’s; he was, after all, married.
Viscount Crawford was a quiet man, not apt to draw any notice to himself despite being the heir apparent to the earldom of Matlock. He was interested in the business of Parliament and relished the day he would sit in the House of Lords. Not that he wanted to get rid of his father prematurely, but he harboured a genuine interest in politics, bless his soul.
He had married Lady Annabella Cavendish when his father recommended her as an excellent match. Her dowry and connections were, of course, outstanding, her accomplishments adequate, and her beauty sufficient. She was what you would call a sweet girl, well-mannered but not much to look at. She had delivered him the required heir and a daughter to dote upon. All in all, he had no cause to repine.
“We are finally finished, Montgomery. I am so sorry we kept you waiting so long.”
“Think nothing of it, Mother, I was well entertained. You have no idea what the Secretary of War, Viscount Palmerston, is up to now. His enthusiasm and vigour will be his downfall.”
“You are right, I do not know, and I am certain I do not need to, dear Montgomery.”
“Of course not, Mother.”
The Bennet ladies curtsied prettily to the viscount, who was to escort them home. He guided them effortlessly to the waiting carriage and handed them in in chronological order, the eldest before the youngest. He sat on the opposite bench with hismother until the beauties were safely ensconced at the Earl of Longbourn’s townhouse.
Chapter 5 The Ball is in Your Court
It was the morning when weeks of preparation would come to fruition—The Earl of Longbourn’s first ball. A lot was resting on this significant moment. Their reputation and standing in society would be fixed if the event were a success and non-existent if it were a disaster. The latter not being a choice, of course.
Lady Matlock came early, way too early for some of the residents of Bennet House. His lordship was still in his robe, but it was not him she had come to see but his daughters. They had managed to dress in morning gowns, desirous to make the final changes to the flowers and the like—perfection being the ultimate goal.
“I have some bad news—” Lady Matlock began.
“Oh no! Has the wine exploded in the cellar? Have all the footmen caught the plague? Is the meat off?” Mary was the family’s prophet of disastrous possibilities.
“Dear Mary, it is bad news, not doomsday. My son, the viscount, and his wife are unable to attend. I was so counting on their support.
“The weather has prohibited them from coming home in time for the ball. The spring showers have flooded the Tricket Brook and washed away the bridge that led from the estate they are currently visiting. Montgomery and Annabella are at the Duke of Chesterfield’s estate, Wingerworth, in Derbyshire. He is a distant cousin of my husband’s, and an elderly man who has grown lonely in his dotage.
“He was not blessed with children, and his wife died three decades ago. He never thought to remarry. He should have, as now the dukedom will go to a distant relative instead of his own blood. His wife never conceived, poor dear.”
“That is sad news indeed. They would have been a pleasure to host and an asset to our ball.”
Elizabeth meant every word. She liked the viscountess in particular, as she reminded her of her friend Charlotte Lucas back home in Meryton. She was wise and unaffected, if not a little quiet and reserved. However, when she did speak, it was sensible.
#
The Earl of Longbourn opened the ball with his eldest daughter. Lady Matlock had secured her younger son, the colonel, for Elizabeth and her nephew for Lady Mary—a clever move, as Lady Matlock relatedsotto voceto Elizabeth. To fulfil a previous promise to his aunt, Mr Darcy must engage Elizabeth during the course of the evening—a detail he appeared to realise when he overheard the countess’s not-so-subtle whisper.
The gentleman promptly engaged Elizabeth for the second set and Jane for the third.
Elizabeth was not in the mood to taunt Mr Darcy on this occasion; her stomach was in too many knots to be witty. They danced the entire half-hour together with nary a word spoken between them. It was a stark contrast to the charming colonel’s repartee that Elizabeth had had a hard time keeping up with. Instead of engaging the taciturn gentleman in conversation, she let her thoughts wander…
This was by no means the first ball the Longbourn daughters had attended, but it differed vastly from their usual assemblies in Meryton. Country dances were much less formal. Elizabeth found that a trait she could not fault.
To host a ball had not been as easy as she had imagined. There were a lot of responsibilities she had not foreseen. It was exhausting, yet they were expected to rise fresh as a rosebud to accept gentleman callers the next morning. She worried about Jane, not herself. She would not mind if there were no suitors vying for her affection on the morrow, but Jane was more tender-hearted. This train of thought led to her infamous words when their set ended. On their way to her father, where Mr Darcy would trade the second eldest for the eldest daughter, she implored him, “Perhaps, Mr Darcy, you plan to call on my sister Lady Jane on the morrow. May I offer you some advice? Jane favours roses above every other flower.”
