Author's Note: I must apologize again! I am so sorry. I have been bogged down with work, travel and graduate school applications. However, it is a slightly lengthier chapter than usual—perhaps out of some sense of contrition for the delay, but more likely just because, well, balls take up a lot of room. (TWSS?)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Under ordinary circumstances, Kitty would have been delighted to tease Mary about her "rendez-vous" with Robert Hart; indeed, when Mary returned from the arranged walk to Henrietta Park and confessed—grudgingly—to having spent the afternoon in the gentleman's company, Kitty was helpless to suppress a knowing grin, and cried,
"Then he invited you? This was an outing that was planned, and you have been looking forward to it since Tuesday? How sly of you, Mary, never to say anything to me or Mamma!"
That was all the attention she could afford upon the subject, however, for the Finches' ball was in only two days, and her mind was much taken up with her own concerns. She had heard nothing of Mr. Price since his visit to Henry Street a full week previous. She had hoped that he might solicit her hand for the first dance, as he had for the Wolfes' ball, but he seemed to have vanished into thin air, for there was nothing to be seen of him in any of the public places, and none of her friends could give her any news. She worried indeed that he might not even attend the ball, a fear which her affectionate mother was quick to dispel.
"He shall certainly be there, my love!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. "Such a gentleman would scarce miss an opportunity of enjoying himself, particularly when he must know you will attend!"
"But we do not even know whether he is invited," Mary chimed in, with a hint of satisfaction. Kitty, who had not thought of this, gave a little wail of distress, and Mrs. Bennet turned on her elder daughter with a baleful stare.
"Of course he is invited! Do you think the Finches would have a ball and not invite him?" Adopting a soothing tone, she addressed Kitty. "My dear, you said he greeted Mr. Finch by name at the concert—so we know he is acquainted with the family. And he is also acquainted with the Harts, and I daresay with a hundred other families in the same circle, and so it is sure he is invited. It would be terribly impolite of the Finches to exclude him from the assembly; such a good-natured and handsome gentleman! He is a favorite of everybody, and so they could not help but invite him, or they would surely offend a great many people."
"Mamma, I am sure you are overstating the case," Mary said, though her sister looked somewhat appeased.
This matter settled to Mrs. Bennet's satisfaction, she turned her attention more fully upon Mary; for the entire Hart family was known to have accepted the invitation.
"I do hope you will not behave so disagreeably this time, Mary," Mrs. Bennet declared. "You must make yourself very amiable to Mr. Hart and all his friends and family; take care to smile a great deal, and laugh very prettily, and you may try shrugging your shoulders the way I have seen Miss Bingley do, for it is very elegant and will disguise the awkwardness of your figure, as it does hers."
"It does not seem to have done Miss Bingley any good," Kitty interrupted, giggling, "for I begin to think she will never marry."
"My dear child, that is only because she has no prospects," Mrs. Bennet said wisely; "but her air and manners make her very much admired in the finest circles, though she has not the beauty of any of my daughters.—And you must know, Mary, that if I hear the words 'I do not dance' pass your lips, I will be quite furious, for there is nothing less attractive to a gentleman than a young lady who sits down for an entire ball, especially in Bath."
"You needn't tell her so, Mamma, for I am sure she has already promised Robert all her dances," Kitty said pertly. "They have seen each other twice this week, and what else could they have spoken about?"
"Plenty, I assure you," was Mary's lofty response. "It may interest you to know that the subject of the Finches' ball has not arisen once in any of our conversations."
"La! She is only being coy now," Kitty laughed. "But come, Mamma, what am I to wear? I wish I could know for certain if Mr. Price is to attend, for then I could decide whether to wear my blue silk, or save it for another occasion. I should not like to waste it, for I think it is my prettiest gown. If he will not be there then I will wear my yellow muslin; it is so much simpler."
"Wear the silk, my love, indeed; for even if Mr. Price does not attend (though I am sure he will!), it is a private ball, and so everybody shall be dressed very fine."
This was logic which Kitty could not dispute.
Talk of the coming ball filled Henry Street for the entirety of the following day, for it was talk of which Kitty and her mother could never tire, particularly when the event itself was less than twenty-four hours away. Mary wished desperately that she could escape for a time, either to Hart House to practice or to one of the nearby parks to walk, but Mrs. Bennet was insistent that her daughters remain at home.
"How can you think of going somewhere when there are so many things to be done?" she demanded. "There is still your gown to be chosen, and possibly altered; and I would have Kitty show you again one or two of those newer dances, for I daresay you are no very great dancer, and I should not like Mr. Hart to be disappointed. And we must think of something to do with your hair."
"Such vanities are an affront to moral dignity," Mary protested. "I shall not wear my hair any differently than I ever do; and as to my gown, the dark blue I wore to the Wolfes' will be perfectly sufficient."
"Lord, Mary!" Kitty cried, scandalized. "You cannot wear the same gown to two balls in a row; it is quite outré!"
"Indeed, child," Mrs. Bennet agreed, glaring at her, "there is no question. I am sure you have another gown somewhere—something prettier, I hope, for that dark blue is very plain indeed—and if nothing of yours will suit, you must borrow something of your sister's.—No, Kitty," she continued, over her younger daughter's rising protests, "you must be prepared to be generous, for we cannot have Mary looking like a spinster before her time."
Kitty gave over to her mother's orders with rather poor grace, but comforted herself with the knowledge that Mary might at least look almost pretty for an evening, and that if Robert Hart were not already in love with her, he may very well make a proposal immediately upon catching sight of her looking so changed. Though Mary's romantic intrigues were necessarily of less interest to Kitty than her own, she nonetheless looked forward to a Bennet-Hart wedding with a great deal of enthusiasm. Kitty was a merry sort of girl, and had always enjoyed weddings; being excluded from Lydia's had been a great trial to her.
Mary, for her part, was quite unaccustomed to having her mother's attention fixed upon her so firmly. In years past, she had been left to her own devices when preparing for balls and assemblies, though her sisters had occasionally offered pieces of advice which she had largely disregarded. Her preparations had entailed nothing much: selecting a gown that was at least a little different from her day-dresses, perhaps donning a necklace or a pair of earrings if she felt very festive, and—most importantly—choosing a piece of music to perform for the assembly over supper.
With four other daughters to look after in the jungle of the ballroom, Mrs. Bennet had never spared much thought for her middle child, particularly as the others boasted greater beauty and more amiable temperaments than Mary could claim. It had always seemed a great deal more sensible for their mother to focus her substantial matchmaking efforts on the daughters who were most likely to attract the attention of suitable gentlemen, and Mary was not of that number.
However, circumstances had changed sufficiently that Mrs. Bennet could not now be content with allowing Mary to fend for herself. She had only two single daughters left, and Kitty, pretty and pleasant, certainly did not require all of her guidance; furthermore, Mary had managed to attract the attention of a gentleman who seemed undeterred by her plainness and her prickly temper. This, rather than reassuring Mrs. Bennet that her daughter had everything in hand, rather convinced her that Mary needed her now more than ever. Robert Hart's appearance in their lives seemed, to her, to be an act of Providence, and his notice of Mary nothing less than a miracle, and Mrs. Bennet feared that Mary, left to her own devices again, would certainly find some way of ruining this rare prospect forever. It was therefore necessary that she devote much of her attention to ensuring the gentleman's continued interest in her daughter.
Mrs. Bennet had not the sense, however, to understand that Mr. Hart's notice of Mary stemmed from the fact that she was Mary, rather than Kitty; that is, he was sufficiently interested and amused by her prickly temper to pay little heed to her plainness, and would not have found her such a worthy friend had she been prettier and pleasanter. To Mrs. Bennet's mind, there were only two things which could attract a gentleman when one had no fortune to speak of: beauty and charm. Mary possessed neither, and Mrs. Bennet, unable to see that Mr. Hart appreciated her most without them, was determined to at least give her daughter the appearance of these virtues.
That three of her daughters were already married played no small part in Mrs. Bennet's thought process. Jane and Lizzie had married remarkably well, and Lydia had married remarkably young—an achievement of a different sort but, in the eyes of her fond mother, an achievement nonetheless—and Mrs. Bennet attributed no small amount of credit for these triumphs to her own machinations. She had succeeded so well there, and was so close to success with Kitty as well, that surely Mary's chances with Robert Hart could only be improved by her mother's kind interference.
These happy thoughts were enough to carry Mrs. Bennet to the morning of the ball, which she spent merrily busying herself with the ensembles of both her children. The worthy lady had always found sartorial matters to her taste, and though she complained about the constant demands upon her time and attention, and declared how selfless she was in spending her day assisting her daughters with their toilettes when she ought to be tending to her own; despite these perfunctory objections, she truly delighted in selecting gowns and accessories for each of her girls, and thrilled to see them dressed finely in the vestibule as they awaited their hired carriage. Indeed, thought Mrs. Bennet with great satisfaction, she should be quite shocked if another month in Bath left either Mary or Kitty still claiming "Bennet" as their surname.
Kitty had donned her blue silk gown, and ornamented it with a cameo on a white ribbon about her throat. Her hair, arranged in loose curls atop her head, was adorned with a new silver comb, of which she was very proud. She hoped desperately that Mr. Price would indeed attend the ball, for she felt she looked more fetching tonight than she had ever looked before in her life. It would be quite a shame, she felt, for all of her charm to go to waste. She fanned herself nervously.
Mary had, against her will, been forced into a pale pink muslin of Kitty's with a neckline that, while hardly scandalous by anybody's standards, plunged far lower than was her own custom. Her mother had draped Kitty's pearls about her neck and, rather than allowing her to pull her hair into her usual simple knot, had pinned it into a chignon and added a satin bandeau.
"There," Mrs. Bennet had declared, thoroughly satisfied. "I daresay you look rather like Lizzy, my dear."
Mary, gazing at herself in the looking-glass, felt she looked more like Kitty than anyone else, though a far plainer and crosser version of Kitty; and after a time, the impression was so strong that she was obliged to look away. She was quite comfortable with her ill-favored features and sartorial simplicity, and to see herself dressed in the clothes of a prettier girl was thoroughly awkward. She felt as if she were play-acting—pretending to be one of her sisters—and though the fabric of the gown was only muslin, it felt as stiff and unyielding as if it were heavy brocade. Her collarbones and shoulders were cold where they were bared to the unfamiliar night air, and she was glad to put on her own plain cotton shawl as they hurried down the steps to the carriage.
The Finch family was a large brood, and prosperous (though Lady Catherine had long ago sniffed that Miss Constance Finch was quite an unsuitable match for Colonel Fitzwilliam, his being the second son of an earl). Mr. and Mrs. Finch were the proud parents of three sons and four daughters, and had raised Mrs. Fitzwilliam as well after the early deaths of her parents; and so their home on St. Stephen's Road, northeast of the Royal Crescent, had been built exceedingly spacious and very comfortable. Though the house was full, it was hardly the crush of the Wolfes' ball. The Bennet ladies were able to navigate the crowd with minimal fuss and effort, though Kitty was careful to hold her hem up high to avoid its being trod upon. The house glowed with the light of hundreds of candles, and a happy buzz of chatter filled the air. The music pouring out of the ballroom was lively, though the dancing had not yet begun, and many of the windows had been left open, allowing a cool evening breeze to filter through the warm rooms. Though summer was beginning to wane, many of the ladies appeared unwilling, as yet, to don darker shades for autumn: light summer silks and pale-colored muslins were still very much in appearance, lending the scene a particularly cheerful atmosphere.
"Is it not a charming assembly?" Mrs. Bennet whispered to her daughters. "I imagine this is all a compliment to Miss Hart."
Kitty gave a sad little sigh at this. It seemed very unfair for such a handsome gentleman as Oliver Finch to have his heart broken.
Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet made no mention of Miss Hart to their hostess as they stood in the receiving line. Instead, she offered her compliments on the beauty of the house and the decorations, and received in turn many warm thanks for their attendance.
"I have been particularly eager to meet the Miss Bennets," Mrs. Finch said kindly, smiling at the sisters. "It seems I have been hearing their names from one source or another for weeks now. We could not be more pleased that you have all come to Bath."
"You are too kind," Mrs. Bennet cried, flattered. "We have enjoyed ourselves immensely! I daresay we could not have been happier even if we were in London—is that not so, girls?"
Kitty agreed eagerly, though she was grown impatient with the Finches and had begun to look around for Mr. Price. Mary merely nodded.
A few more agreeable words were exchanged before Mrs. Bennet left Mrs. Finch to her other guests and guided her daughters toward the ballroom. It was bustling, like the vestibule, and Kitty's spirits lifted ever higher. The dancing had not officially begun, but a few very young ladies and gentlemen were capering lightly about to the music, laughing and cheering, while smiling parents and elder siblings looked on. Several groups had claimed seats along the walls and sat talking, while smaller parties strolled the length of the room, admiring the genial scene. Though there was no sign of Mr. Price, Kitty—who indeed enjoyed a ball above anything else—could not find it within herself to be very disappointed, when so much merriment was apparent.
The Harts had already arrived, and were seated near the dance-floor with a few friends. They eagerly welcomed the Bennets into their circle, and many happy and pleasant words were exchanged in greeting. Mrs. Bennet, sitting at a far edge of the group with Dr. Hart, was delighted to see Mary claim a chair beside Robert without any prompting, although that gentleman was soon engaged in conversation by his brother and they did not speak for some minutes. Mary was obliged to make conversation with Rosamond, on her other side, though she found this circumstance more agreeable now than she would have some weeks ago.
"That gown is very becoming, Miss Bennet," said Miss Hart, who herself looked exceedingly lovely in a gown of white muslin. "I do not think I have seen you dress in such a bright color before. It suits you."
"This is Kitty's," Mary replied, "and it does not suit me so well as my own clothes. Yet I appreciate your kindness; it is very charitable of you to offer your compliments, however unfounded they may be."
Rosamond laughed. "Very charitable indeed, when the receiver is so unwilling to be complimented! But we shall let the matter rest. How have you spent your days since I have seen you? I hope the rain did not spoil your enjoyment of Bath," she added, rather mischeviously.
"The rain was not unwelcome. It allowed me time to read and to write letters to my sisters."
"Do you write to them often?"
"As often as I can. Since we have come to Bath, the task has fallen to me; Katherine has little patience for correspondence, and my mother is not much better. My father writes to them quite regularly at home—to Elizabeth, at least, for Jane lives within walking-distance."
"Do you think Mr. Bennet will join you here before you leave?"
"Certainly not. Papa has no love of cities, and is more fond of his library than anyplace else. It takes a matter of great urgency to induce him to leave Longbourn, even to go into the village. He does not often like to go even as far as Netherfield, and has only been to Derbyshire once since Elizabeth's marriage, though he misses her dreadfully."
"I should like to meet your father," Rosamond mused, her large eyes thoughtful. "Mrs. Darcy spoke of him so affectionately when we were all at Pemberley in the autumn."
"He is perhaps most fond of Elizabeth out of all of us," Mary admitted, though the admission gave her some pain, "for she is most like him in temperament."
"But Mrs. Darcy is fond of walking and traveling, and has been to London and Bath and many other places; and you, I understand, loathe Bath most terribly, and cannot wait to go home again. Perhaps you are more like your father than you realize."
She was smiling, and Mary, rather surprised by the analysis, could think of nothing to say, besides "I do not loathe Bath so terribly."
This made Miss Hart laugh. "Then your opinion of us has improved since your arrival," she said cheerfully, "and I am glad to hear it. But look now, Miss Bennet, Robert and Theo are finishing their tête-à-tête, and I know you are more anxious to speak to my brother than to me; so I shall leave you now in peace."
The musicians had struck a jubilant chord, signaling that the dancing was to begin, and indeed Theodore Hart had risen to his feet and was leading his wife onto the dance-floor. Miss Hart's exit from the conversation was not so spontaneous as she had made it seem, Mary noted, for even now there was a handsome gentleman in a very fine waistcoat coming toward her with a clear purpose in all his looks, and she was smiling at him. But Mary's thoughts were quickly distracted from Miss Hart by the sudden arrival of Mr. Price into their circle; he approached Kitty, who had been chatting with Anne and Juliet and another young lady, and bowed gallantly. Kitty's face betrayed all her delight, and she eagerly excused herself from her conversation in order to take his arm.
"Miss Hart!" Mary hissed, softly catching the young lady's wrist as she stood. "I pray you have not forgotten our earlier discussion."
Rosamond regarded her with momentary puzzlement, but following the direction of Mary's gaze, she quickly gave a nod of comprehension. "I have not yet had an opportunity," she replied in a low voice, "but I will speak to her when I can. Yet I pray you do not expect a great deal, for you know your sister's will better than I do.—Lord Adlam," she said at a more regular volume, turning and curtsying to the gentleman before her. He offered her a very low bow and a rather adoring smile, and in another moment they were gone.
"We shall tease her about that before the evening is out," Robert Hart said at Mary's side. She did not take her eyes from Kitty, but her frown lifted a little in spite of herself. "But I hope you were not expecting me to seek your hand for the first dance, Miss Bennet," he went on, as the musicians struck the opening chords of the cotillion. "I am afraid the opportunity has been missed."
Mary turned to him in surprise. "You know I have no love of dancing," she objected, but it was clear by his grin that he was teasing.
"Indeed I do, and I am looking forward to this evening very much. There are few young ladies who demand so little from a gentleman: you care nothing for idle pleasantries, you have no desire to dance, and I am sure you would only glare at me if I tried to flirt with you." (Mary blushed a bit at this, but did not argue.) "I may therefore enjoy a comfortable evening, without being held to the standards of an eager miss who is evaluating potential husbands. You have no need of a husband, and I have no need of a wife, and so we may simply talk as friends."
"It is pleasing to form a friendship upon a foundation of honesty," Mary agreed warmly, her concern for her sister fading. "Our self-awareness frees us from the expectations of courtship; in knowing our own minds, we are unrestricted.—Although," she added, as an afterthought, "I imagine we ought to dance at least once, in order to appease my mother."
"Then let me know when you desire some exercise, and I will make a great show of asking for your hand."
"Oh, that is unnecessary," Mary assured him, "for it will only encourage her."
It would have been quite unnecessary for Mr. Price to say anything at all, at least in the first few moments of the cotillion, for Kitty's elation was sealed by the mere fact of his asking her to dance—and not for any dance, but for the first dance of the evening. All her concerns about his attendance; all her frustration at his absence from Henry Street for the past week; these little worries had melted quickly away when she gazed into Mr. Price's very blue eyes, and heard him address himself to her with all the courtesy imaginable.
"I realize I should have solicited your hand earlier, Miss Bennet," he was saying now, "for I am sure it was only by luck that I was able to find you unengaged. I hope you are not too annoyed with me; I hope I was not too forward."
"Not at all," Kitty said breathlessly.
"That is a relief! And now I have the great honor of spending the opening dance in your fair company; and I may plainly say," Mr. Price went on, in a conspiratorial tone, "that the rest of the ball willl be nothing but dull for me. I am entirely certain that this will be the shining highlight of the evening."
"That is flattery, sir," his partner scolded, though she was smiling and there was a happy blush on her cheek.
"Not at all!" he cried. "It is all truth. It is foolish of me to claim this pleasure so early in the evening, knowing as I do that I cannot enjoy myself so well after this. But that is a flaw of mine, you know; I am dreadfully impatient, and cannot stand to have a pleasure delayed."
"That is not such a terrible flaw! I am much the same way."
He smiled at her. "I am glad to hear it. I always like to find that we have things in common."
Kitty could only agree to this, and they danced a few steps in happy silence.
"But tell me, Miss Bennet," the gentleman said after a moment. "When do you leave Bath?"
"Oh, Papa would have us home by Michaelmas, or soon after," she said casually.
"Michaelmas! That is very soon indeed—little more than a month." She was thrilled by the honest distress upon his brow.
"Yes, but I am sure it shall not be so; Mama will write to him and he will let us stay longer. He likes to have the house to himself, for he says we are all too noisy and silly, and distract him from his reading."
Mr. Price laughed. "I am surprised, then, that he wants you home so soon."
"It is only because he worries," Kitty said carelessly. "Ever since Lydia ran away with her Mr. Wickham, he thinks I shall follow in her footsteps. But Mama will convince Papa that I am being very good, and of course he never minds about Mary; she certainly will not run away."
She bit her tongue then, for she knew she should not have mentioned Lydia. But the damage, if there was any, was done already; and to his credit, Mr. Price did not ask any more about her unfortunate sister.
"You are being very good, Miss Bennet," he said instead, smiling. "All of the connections you have formed in Bath have been formed in respectable places: ballrooms and tea-rooms and friends' houses. I have heard no ill rumors about you, nor are you involved in any scandals, and you do not seem to have become particularly intimate with any single gentleman—save one—and he, I can assure you, is quite honorable."
Kitty went pink at this, her heart fluttering in delight. His use of the term intimate pleased her immensely.
"I certainly hope so," she said demurely, "for I should hate for my confidence to be thrown away upon a gentleman of poor principles."
"You may rest safe in the knowledge that his principles are utterly decent and moral, and he has the utmost concern for good manners."
"But I remember him being very forward once," Kitty laughed, her eyes sparkling, "and offering me a great many pretty compliments, though to be sure he was only flattering me."
"Unaccountable of him! I must take care then that my compliments are perfectly honest, in order to make amends for this gentleman's faults. So I will say that you look extremely pretty this evening, Miss Bennet, and are in a particularly charming humor. I hope you do not take it as flattery."
Kitty blushed again, but the steps of the dance separated them and she could make no reply for a moment. When she returned to him, he was regarding her more seriously.
"My dear Miss Bennet," he said, "I hope I am not being too forward if I express a wish that I may see more of you in the days to come. I have greatly enjoyed our meetings, and it pains me to hear that you will be leaving Bath—whether at Michaelmas or later. I should hate for us to part ways without becoming much better acquainted."
"But surely you will also be leaving Bath soon," Kitty said; "for you live in London, and you must have business to attend to there."
"For now, I am content to stay where I am," the gentleman replied. "What business arises can be handled with short trips to and from Town. But I must leave Bath eventually; you are quite right; and once you have gone away, I doubt there will be anything else to hold me here."
Kitty glowed with pleasure; however optimistic she had been of Mr. Price, she had not expected such a blatant and early expression of preference. To know that she was his reason for remaining in Bath—! But she tried to hide her eagerness, in the fashion of an elegant young lady, and answered only,
"You have told me before that you wished to see more of me; and then a week went by with only a single glimpse of you. I am not sure I believe you now."
"But you must believe me; I would have spent every afternoon at Henry Street if I could. I was only wary of provoking your displeasure, for I should never like to be in the way—and further, I would not have the gossips of Bath discussing my constant presence in your drawing-room—not when we are so little acquainted, at least in their eyes."
Kitty waved a dismissive hand. She could not see the harm in being talked about so—not when she had every intention of marrying the gentleman in question, at a grand wedding with many guests, and so putting paid to any malicious rumors. "What does that matter, when we like each other?" she demanded, gazing up at him. "It isn't as though there is anything wrong with seeing one's friends—and we are friends, aren't we, Mr. Price?"
His reply was delayed by the end of the dance. They stood facing each other, applauding the musicians, before he stepped forward and offered her an arm. She took it, and he leaned close to her to say,
"We are friends indeed; good friends. I am glad to hear your opinion; I am glad it is so like my own. In this, as in all things, we are well-matched! I shall be less afraid, now, of coming to see you, and walk with you in the parks and the Pump-room. Should you like to walk out tomorrow?"
She beamed at him. "I should like that very much!"
They had reached her group of friends, but as he made to hand her into her seat, Kitty found she had no wish to let him go. "Will you sit?" she asked, but to her dismay, he shook his head gently.
"I have promised to visit a friend in the card-room. But if I may, I should be honored to find you again later, and enjoy your company for a second dance."
"You may indeed," was her reply, and he gave her a very low bow before taking his leave. She watched him go, her heart beating rapidly in her breast, and for a moment she had a desire to run after him and insist on staying by his side. But she dismissed this as ridiculous, and turned with a bright smile to Juliet, who immediately offered her a kind compliment on her dancing.
Mr. Price's concern for her reputation pleased Kitty very much; not only because it proved that he had feelings for her (else why should he worry so about appearances?) but because it disproved her darkest, most secret fear: that he was a man like Mr. Wickham, who might induce her to do something dishonorable. A gentleman who concerned himself with the reputation of his lady friend could have no untoward intentions, she reasoned, and he was certainly not the type of man to coax a young lady from the safety of her friends and family. She glanced again in the direction he had gone; she could see the strong line of his back as he made his way across the increasingly crowded ball room and disappeared into the vestibule.
The other dancers in their circle had also returned to their seats. Rosamond's handsome partner lingered for some minutes, speaking earnestly with Theodore Hart, until at last he bowed to them all and took his leave. Kitty was pleased to see him go, for Oliver Finch and two of his sisters had joined their circle. But her relief was short-lived, for as the gentleman departed, Theo Hart remarked with amusement,
"Never have I met a gentleman so eager to like me—or, I should say, to have me like him. I wonder why he should be so. Do you know, Rose? Has his Lordship mentioned the matter to you?"
"What matter is that?" Rose asked. "I am afraid I have not been listening."
"The matter of his enthusiasm for our family. He seems quite enamored of us—laughing at all of my jests, and feigning keen interest in all my conversation, and dancing with you when there are dozens of other ladies he could choose instead. I have even seen him speak agreeably with Robert, a thing quite unheard of. Do you not find it puzzling?"
"I pity the gentleman," Anne Hart interjected, smiling, "for whatever it is which drives Lord Adlam to seek your favor, Theo, has not allowed him an easy road."
"Which makes the case all the more mysterious," Theo agreed. "None of us Harts are very likable, and yet his Lordship is quite determined to like us. Perhaps you should ask him about it, Rosie, when next you dance together."
"Theodore," Rosamond said coolly, "if you call me that again, you shall be very sorry."
"Forgive me; I shall leave that nickname for Lord Adlam's personal use."
"Theodore!" Anne cried, batting her husband on the arm, as Rosamond went very red—redder than Kitty had ever seen her, if indeed she had ever seen the young lady blush—and Kitty, glancing at Oliver Finch, cried "Oh, don't! You mustn't!"
They all turned to her, and it was her turn to redden, as she stammered, "I only meant—you mustn't tease poor Rose so much; she is blushing."
But she was not anymore, for she had gone quite pale, and her large gray eyes were narrowed at her brother in unmistakable displeasure. Kitty had never seen her friend so vexed, and it seemed her family was scarcely more familiar with the sight, for Theodore was looking at her now with some surprise.
"Rosamond—" he tried, remorse in all his looks, but his sister turned away angrily.
"Kitty," she said, with forced pleasantness, "shall we take a turn about the room?"
Kitty could not refuse, and the two young ladies rose, Rosamond linking their arms closely as they walked away.
Mrs. Bennet, seated at the edge of the grouping with Dr. Hart and a few other older ladies and gentlemen, heard nothing of the upset between brother and sister; but she watched happily as Rosamond and Kitty walked together. "Is it not very agreeable, Dr. Hart, that your daughter and mine are such very particular friends?" she exclaimed.
"It is agreeable indeed. I am always glad to see my children making new friends, particularly when the relationship is one which brings such an amiable family into our circle of acquaintance."
"Oh, to be sure! I am always pleased when one of my girls meets somebody with brothers and sisters, for then all of them may find somebody new to talk with. The Lucases, now, are a large family in our neighborhood, and their eldest daughter, who is married now, has been a great friend to my two eldest, and their younger daughter has always been very close with Kitty and Lydia. I speak of Sir William and Lady Lucas, of course, who are such excellent neighbors, and so humble and well-mannered that you would never know him to be a man of rank. Unfortunately all of their sons are younger than my girls, or perhaps there might have been something…but it has all turned out well anyway. Very well indeed," she added, catching sight of Robert and Mary sitting together. She turned again to Dr. Hart, whose attention had wandered somewhat during her description of the Lucases, and said slyly, "And are you not pleased that Mr. Robert and my Mary have gotten along so well together? I am sure I have never seen Mary so amiable with a gentleman before!"
"I believe Robert thinks very highly of Miss Bennet," Dr. Hart agreed, smiling.
"And I know she is quite fond of him," Mrs. Bennet answered, beaming. "You must tell Robert that he is always very welcome at Henry Street, for I always think it is best when young people see a great deal of one another."
"That is very kind of you, Mrs Bennet. I know Robert will greatly appreciate the invitation."
"Or if he should like to walk with her to the Pump-room, or any of the other public places, you must tell him that he is very welcome to do so. I should be happy to have her out of the house more often, and she will be glad to see him."
"Indeed, and I am sure he will be glad to spend time with her."
This last was said agreeably, but casually; yet Mrs. Bennet saw in it a confirmation, on the part of the gentleman's father, of her dearest wish. She sat in a jubilant silence for a minute or two, before Mrs. Wolfe turned to her and asked pleasantly whether she had yet visited the Roman Baths. This brought about a discourse upon the state of Mrs. Bennet's nerves, and the solicitation of Dr. Hart's medical opinion, and for the moment Robert and Mary were quite forgotten.
"Should you like to go after her?" Mary was asking quietly, as Rosamond left with Kitty. She felt quite sorry for Miss Hart, having herself been embarrassed more than once by a thoughtless sibling. Robert shook his head.
"She does not want me to go after her."
"How do you know?"
He gave her a small smile. "We are twins, Miss Bennet. I always know."
They sat quietly, watching Rosamond and Kitty weave carefully around the dancers toward the door onto the terrace. "I must confess, Mr. Hart," Mary said after a moment, "I cannot help but envy the confidence you share with your brother and sisters—particularly Miss Hart. It seems to me an admirable example of familial affection."
"Do you not share such 'familial affection' with your own sisters?"
Mary hesitated. "I am not like any of my sisters," she replied finally. "My concerns and interests differ from theirs, and I often find it difficult to converse with any of them. Either they do not take my meaning, or I do not take theirs. I often feel," she went on, more softly, "that I do not understand the world as it is presented to me. I cannot see the appeal in balls and parties; and whenever I attempt to make conversation, I cannot seem to do it so pleasantly or easily as everybody else. I do not laugh at the right things or make the right observations. My sisters all have their various charms, and they talk together of neighbors and balls and gentlemen and other such things, and I want to talk about—about music, or books, or ideas, and they look at me strangely." She was suddenly quite aware that Robert was regarding her with sympathy in his clear gray eyes. "But then," she added, in a hasty attempt to dispel the gloom, "we are five, and so I suppose someone must always be left out. I may attribute my misfortune to Fate, who saw fit to place me in the middle."
"I am sorry to hear you speak so unhappily," Robert answered. "But are not you and Miss Katherine the only sisters still at home? Has this improved relations between the two of you?"
"Hardly at all; for though she is not so silly and foolish as she was under Lydia's influence, Kitty remains Kitty. She is younger than I am—I do not mean in age, for there is only a year between us, but in her cares and concerns. She looks forward only to being married."
"There are some who would argue that that points to a certain maturity."
"Yes, but not the way Kitty sees it. You have heard my views on marriage; she dismisses them utterly. She would believe the version of marriage presented in The Italian—for her it is only the joining of two attractive people, with one or two interests in common, so that the young lady in question may flaunt her ring and her married name to all her friends." She spoke bitterly, the concerns she had discussed with Miss Hart uppermost in her mind. "Kitty never listens to me—and being in Bath makes it worse altogether. There is too much temptation here, and too many opportunities for her to enjoy herself."
"You fear she will forgo more serious pursuits in favor of the most pleasant ones."
"Indeed, for she always does. She cares little for reading, except silly novels, and she devotes none of her time to reflection or sensible thought. She lives too much in the world beyond her head."
"The world you do not understand, you mean."
"Yes," Mary answered, though she did not entirely take his meaning.
"Then you and your sister shoulder opposite burdens; she lives too much in the world, and you live in it too little. Perhaps you might influence one another, and thus produce two more happily-situated people."
"But I do not want to live in the world," Mary protested. "I am dissatisfied with it. It is a shallow, empty place, and I do not fit in."
She bit her tongue; this last was more than she had meant to admit. Robert was gazing at her seriously.
"You are ill-at-ease tonight; I can see it. Is it the gown you are wearing? I heard you tell Rosamond that it was not yours."
"Do not be absurd," Mary answered, blushing. "My attire has no effect on my mental state; I am perfectly able to lift my mind above sartorial concerns." But she glanced down, and saw the unfamiliar pink fabric swathing her unusually exposed bosom, and she frowned.
"You look rather pretty, Miss Bennet, if that helps at all."
She looked up sharply and met his eyes. He grinned at her.
"I know it does not help overmuch, for you can never be easy in a ballroom—or, for that matter, in Bath. But I thought I should tell you, just in case. Most young ladies like to hear such things."
"I am not 'most young ladies,' sir."
"No, and I have already expressed my happiness at that fact. If you were, I should be obliged to pay a far greater compliment in order to induce satisfaction. Few women would be satisfied with 'rather pretty'; they should insist upon 'exceedingly lovely' or at least 'extremely pretty.' But you should turn up your nose at such offerings."
"They are ill-worded compliments, without a great deal of sense behind them. I am perfectly aware that I am no beauty, and to be told otherwise is flattery at best, or mockery at worst." But she allowed him a very small smile, and did breathe a little easier in Kitty's gown.
"There! You see? How I prize such honesty. And now, Miss Bennet," he added, "I think we may go find my sister and yours."
"You said Miss Rosamond would not want you to follow her."
"She would not, when you asked; but her mood will have changed by now, and she may be glad to have me by. But first let us walk about the ballroom."
Mary agreed, and he rose, offering her an arm. Mrs. Bennet, seeing this, was pleased beyond reckoning, and could not help telling Mrs. Wolfe and Mrs. Carpenter beside her how very much she looked forward to a favorable match for her elder daughter.
"My Mary has never looked twice at any of the gentlemen at home," she whispered with great significance, "but I believe she has found something here in Bath to keep her attention."
The ladies, following Mrs. Bennet's gaze, took her meaning immediately.
Rosamond did not speak as they walked through the ballroom, arm-in-arm, like so many other merrier pairs of young ladies. Kitty, out of her depth, kept her own silence; Lydia's surges of temper had always been shrill, but short, and required no more soothing than a few vaguely sympathetic noises and agreements. Rosamond's anger seemed somehow more complex—certainly it lacked the shrieks of outrage that habitually accompanied Lydia's outbursts.
It was not until they had slipped by the full dance-floor and gained the terrace that Rosamond, breaking away from Kitty to lean her back against the wall of the house, at last broke her silence with a deep breath.
"It is much cooler out here," she said softly.
The terrace was largely empty; only a few small groups stood about, speaking quietly and breaking into laughter every-so-often. The night air was a welcome cold after the heat of the ballroom, and the muted strains of the music lent a pleasant tranquility to the scene. Rosamond rested her head briefly against the wall, before meeting Kitty's eyes again.
"Forgive me, Kitty, for pulling you away from the ballroom," she said. "You did not have to walk with me, but it was good of you to do so."
"It is all right," Kitty replied, "for I like it out here; it is nice to be away from the noise for awhile." She hesitated, then, "Are you very angry with Mr. Hart?"
Rosamond gave a little smile. "I fear my pride is pricked more than my temper. I expected my brother to tease me—he always does—but I wish he had not been quite so cutting. Theo often speaks rather thoughtlessly; it is only unfortunate that he did so tonight in front of all our friends."
"Yes," Kitty agreed readily, "for I saw Mr. Finch was there."
"Mr. Finch, and the Miss Finches, and Mr. Carpenter, and you and your sister, and a few other ladies and gentlemen before whom I wish my brother could have held his tongue. Everyone understood his meaning from the first; he should not have made the joke so explicit." For a moment the vexation was back upon her face, and her eyes flared. "It was ill-mannered and callous, and it was unfair to me and to Lord Adlam."
"Indeed," Kitty said, seeing a sudden glimmer of hope for Mr. Finch, "Mr. Hart should not tease so plainly about an attachment where none has been confirmed. It would not do to have everybody think you are in love with one gentleman, when you may prefer another."
Rosamond did not reply; she seemed to be thinking of something else, her fair brow furrowed. Tireless, Kitty made another sally on behalf of her favorite.
"It is not as though you are engaged to his Lordship; really you only danced with him. Anybody may dance with a gentleman. Perhaps next you shall dance with Mr. Finch."
Rosamond turned her gaze suddenly upon her friend and gave another little smile. "You danced with a gentleman tonight, Kitty; did you enjoy your dance with Mr. Price?"
Kitty sensed that Rose did not wish to discuss Lord Adlam and Mr. Finch any longer; furthermore, she was eager to talk of the happy quarter-hour she had spent in the arms of her suitor. "Very much," she said, glancing about to ensure their privacy. She leaned closer to her friend, speaking in a lower voice. "He has told me that he prefers me above anybody else. I am going to dance with him later, and go to the Pump-room with him tomorrow, and he will call again the day after; I am sure of it. And then it is only a little time until we are engaged and married forever. Won't Mamma be pleased!"
"You have truly settled your hopes upon him, then?"
Kitty frowned at the look of concern on Rosamond's face. "Indeed I have; he is the only gentleman I have ever loved, or ever shall," she replied defiantly. "You needn't look so disapproving. I cannot tell why you dislike him, Rose, for he is the most amiable gentleman there has ever been, and he is in love with me."
"It is not that I dislike him," Rosamond protested gently. "I only worry that you have made a hasty choice. Marriage, you know, is not something to take lightly; and you have only known Mr. Price for a matter of days. How many times have you met—four? Five? And those have been brief meetings, in ballrooms and concert-halls. There are plenty of other gentlemen for you to meet, Kitty, and plenty of time for you to meet them; indeed, you may even find that you are not ready to marry at all. I should hate to see you devote yourself to Mr. Price so rashly."
"You are unfortunate, then, for I have already devoted myself to him," was Kitty's heated reply. All of the elation she had felt upon the dance-floor, all of her sympathy for mortified Rosamond, was draining away, and she was left annoyed and angry. Rosamond's interference was unaccountable, and she wished very much that her friend would leave her alone.
"I know you have not asked for my counsel, Kitty," Rosamond replied, patiently. "And I am sorry to give advice where it is not wanted. But if you were to ask, I would advise you very strongly as a friend to allow your head, rather than your heart, to guide you in this matter. To attach yourself, even in thought, to a gentleman, before you are sure of his character, his situation, even his regard for you—it is unwise."
"You sound like Mary," Kitty snapped, "and you know no more of love than she does. I am sure of his character and of his regard for me; it is only his situation which remains a mystery, and by that I suppose you mean his income. I confess I do not know how much he has a year, for we have never discussed it, but I may tell you that I don't care a fig for his income; I am not like some young ladies who are attracted to wealth and titles only, and will flirt with a lord only because he is a lord."
"That is unkind," Rosamond declared with unexpected force, her good nature perhaps already tried by the events of the evening. She fixed Kitty with a glare, cold and level and foreign upon her usually tranquil features, and Kitty nearly took a step back despite her indignation. "You are being spiteful, and I will speak no more of this with you. But I will ask you one question: would you be so angry with me now if you were not yourself uncertain of Mr. Price's intentions?"
Kitty opened her mouth to respond, but they were at that moment interrupted; Robert and Mary had come out onto the terrace.
"Here you are, sister," Robert greeted them, "and you, Miss Katherine," with a small bow, but his gaze returned quickly to his twin. "Shall we return to the ballroom, or have you not yet had your fill of fresh air?"
It was quite plain that the question he had asked aloud was not the question he truly intended. There was concern in all his looks.
"In fact I am grown rather chilled," Rosamond replied quietly after a moment. "I should like to go inside again."
Robert nodded, and Mary released his arm as he moved forward to walk with Rosamond. She herself fell into step beside Kitty, who was silent; the twins, walking ahead, were speaking in low voices inaudible to the young ladies behind them. Mary watched with a sudden soft tightening in her chest as Robert reached an arm across his sister's pale slender shoulders, pulled her gently toward him in a fond half-embrace, and let her go.
A wave of heat and light met them as they opened the doors, and the ballroom seemed raucous after the quiet of the terrace. Kitty was glad to be back in this land of laughter and chatter and lively music; the happy noises were comforting, and she allowed her crossness with Rosamond to fade gently to the back of her mind. She felt as if her dance with Mr. Price had only just ended, and none of the unpleasant moments of the evening had ever taken place.
'And, after all,' she thought with returning cheerfulness, 'I have another dance with him to look forward to.'
But he was not there when they reached their seats, and instead it was Mr. Carpenter who asked her to dance. She accepted, and they whirled away into the crowd upon the dance-floor. Mary was left alone with Robert; for as they had rejoined their friends, Theodore had asked Rosamond very contritely if he might speak with her, and they had gone out into the vestibule.
"He will be very kind to her for a week or so," Robert said confidentially to Mary, "and exceedingly solicitous; and he may buy her a new novel or a new set of paints. And she will forgive him, of course. And then within a month or two he will say some other careless thing, to her or to Juliet or—worst of all, for him—to Anne. Theo can sometimes be rather clumsy."
"Does he never say such careless things to you?"
"Not very often; or at least I don't mind so much. And there is little for him to tease me about—I have no Lord Adlam trailing me about like a puppy on a leash."
Mary wondered, for a moment, if Theodore Hart had ever teased his brother about her; but the thought was too mortifying to contemplate, and she said instead, "Do you think, then, that his Lordship is in love with your sister?"
"Oh, to be sure. For some time now, I imagine."
Mary was somewhat surprised at this nonchalant response. "And she—does she love him?"
Robert looked at her with amusement. "That is her concern and hers alone, at least for the present time. But do I detect a note of curiosity in your tone? May it be said that Miss Mary Bennet of Longbourn is pressing for a piece of gossip?"
"No indeed," Mary exclaimed, drawing back. "I object to gossip on strong moral grounds: too much concern in the affairs of others detracts from the more serious matters of self-reflection and self-understanding. Such scrutiny should only be given to our own affairs, that we may better ourselves."
"But," she added, with a very small smile, "it may be said that Miss Mary Bennet of Longbourn, like anybody else, does not object to knowing a bit of news."
He stared at her a moment longer, and then gave a little laugh. "I am glad to hear you speak so honestly," he said with mock seriousness.
"It is a very good match," Mrs. Bennet was saying merrily. She had left her seat to fetch a cup of wine, and was walking now with Mrs. Seabrook and Mrs. Hardwick, surveying the lively scene. "Of course my two eldest have married best—Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley, you know, of Pemberley and Netherfield—but I confess I could not wish better for Mary. Dr. Hart's family is so very respected here, and I understand his son intends to carry on his practice. And he pays Mary such attention; he is scarce to be parted from her at a ball or a concert, and they are always talking so earnestly together. I am sure there is already a very strong attachment between them."
Her friends offered mild agreements and vague congratulations, and changed the topic to something more generally interesting, as they took their seats again.
The ball carried on. Kitty, dancing with Mr. Carpenter, could think only of Mr. Price; she scanned the room for a sign of him, and thought she saw him once or twice with a group of gentlemen, but could not be certain. Mary and Robert, appealed to by Mrs. Hart, joined the general conversation regarding Mr. Warner's recent book on the Roman antiquities found in Bath, and Mary, to her surprise, found the discussion remarkably interesting. Theodore and Rosamond rejoined the party, and Theo reported that they had seen some of the preparations for supper while they had stood in the vestibule, and the meal looked thoroughly promising. This news was greeted with general approval, for indeed there had already been four dances, and many bellies were beginning to feel rather empty.
"I confess, the prospect of a good supper is often my sole reason for attending a ball," Rosamond laughed; and Mr. Finch, seated beside her, said rather shyly,
"Then I suppose I must dance with you now, Miss Hart, in case you decide to take your leave after eating your fill."
"Upon my word, Finch," Robert exclaimed, "did you just contrive to tease my sister? You are grown bolder by the day."
"It seems I am an easy target this evening," Rosamond sighed, but there was no ill humor in it, and she took the arm which Mr. Finch offered her as they made their way to the dance-floor. Kitty, passing by with Mr. Carpenter on her way back to her seat, would have been gladder to see her friend upon the clergyman's arm, if she were not still rather vexed with Rosamond.
The supper indeed lived up to Theodore's promises, and their table was a merry island in a sea of similarly merry islands. The dining-room echoed with laughter and chatter just as the ballroom had earlier, though Mary, with a wince, was able to discern her mother's voice over the cheerful din, exclaiming upon the great advantages of a match between the Bennets and the Harts.
"For then Mr. Bennet will never complain about our coming to Bath," Mrs. Bennet was explaining happily to Mrs. Cooke, "and I shall be able to come and take the waters whenever I please! I have found, you know, that they do wonders for my poor nerves. And of course my nerves may well be soothed by the mere fact of having a physician in the family! Then I may always depend upon receiving the best care."
Mary glanced warily at Robert, but he was speaking with Miss Wolfe and seemed not to have heard.
They ate and drank well. Mrs. Finch, in her duty as hostess, invited several young ladies to the pianoforte; Rosamond Hart was the first she called, and Mary was able to admit somewhat less grudgingly than before how skillfully the young lady played. Miss Hart was followed by Miss Carpenter, and then Miss Wolfe (Mrs. Bennet was pleased to see this young lady torn from her conversation with Robert Hart), and a few other young ladies, who played well but not as fluently as Miss Hart—nor, Mary was inclined to think, as ably as she herself might have performed. She wished it were more generally known that she played, so that she might be invited to exhibit; though she did worry privately that an audience of Bath strangers might prove more daunting than an audience of Meryton neighbors.
Upon returning to the ballroom, Kitty found herself approached by Mr. Finch, who quietly asked if he might claim his promised dance with her. She sighed, feeling somewhat less charitable now than she had when he had blushingly made the request in the drawing room at Henry Street; but upon glancing around, she could see no sign of Mr. Price, and obligingly took his arm.
It was a slower dance, more suitable for the late hour than the reels and country dances that had been played before, but to Kitty's mind it was an unfortunate choice, for it offered a great deal of opportunity for conversation. She liked Mr. Finch very well indeed as a tragic hero in danger of losing his true love to a wealthy villain; she thought him rather sweet, with his gentle eyes and his quiet voice; but as a conversational partner, she could not help finding him the dullest man in the world. There was not a word spoken between them for a full minute into the dance, until at last she turned to him and gave a small compliment on the beauty of the ballroom, for which he thanked her.
"You have a very beautiful home here," she went on, scanning the seated crowd for Mr. Price. She could not see him. "I imagine you will be sorry to leave it for Larkhall."
"Indeed, but I find Larkhall very pleasant."
"And of course you will be near enough that you may always visit," Kitty added, after a moment, "so you will not miss your brothers and sisters very much."
"Yes, it is very convenient."
Silence prevailed.
"Have you lived always in Bath, Mr. Finch?" Kitty asked desperately.
"Oh, yes. That is, I was born in Wellow, but we moved to Bath soon after, and I grew up here."
There was another long stretch of silence. Mr. Finch appeared to be blushing.
"I have been enjoying Bath very much," Kitty volunteered. "I have hardly left Hertfordshire, you know, except to visit Lizzie—my elder sister—at Pemberley. I find Bath far more exciting than Meryton."
"Oh, indeed?" Mr. Finch replied. There was an expression approaching despair upon his face. He hesitated for a moment, and then: "How have you been spending your time here?"
"Oh, as anybody does," Kitty answered, pleased to have at last been asked a question. "I have been to two balls already, as you know for I have seen you at both of them; and I attended a concert with the Harts, but of course you know that as well, for you were there; and during the day I call on people, and shop, and go to the Pump-room—but that you know as well, for I see you quite often. Indeed, Mr. Finch," she laughed, "there is no reason for us to be as poorly acquainted as we are, for I believe I have seen you almost every time I have gone out. I suppose that is because we both spend so much time with Rosamond."
She regretted the words as soon as she said them. The mention of Rosamond must not only be painful to her spurned lover, but Kitty herself was still displeased with that young lady, and did not wish to think about her.
"Miss Hart is very amiable," Mr. Finch said. "Indeed, I think her more amiable—almost more amiable—than any young lady of my acquaintance." He was blushing again.
This was proof enough for Kitty of his hopeless love, and she hastened to change the subject, feeling remorse for all of her unkind thoughts regarding poor Mr. Finch.
"Well," she said, "I hope we may come to know one another better, Mr. Finch, whether Miss Hart is with us or no. Will you call on us at Henry Street some time? I am sure Mary would like to speak with you, for she is very interested in religion and reads a great many sermons."
"I would like that exceedingly," he answered, very red now indeed. Kitty, regarding him, wondered idly if Mr. Price ever blushed; certainly he must look nearly as handsome as Mr. Finch did with a red face, and it was not every gentleman who could make such a claim.
They ended the dance rather less awkwardly than they had begun it, for Mr. Finch was somewhat more disposed now to talk, and Kitty, feeling sorry for him, was willing to talk over the empty silences.
The remainder of the ball did not offer many more events worthy of note. Kitty and Mr. Finch returned to their seats, where Kitty found Mr. Price waiting for her and Mr. Finch was greeted with a very bright, and rather significant, smile from Rosamond. Mary, seeing Kitty stand up with Mr. Price, informed Robert Hart that she would like him to ask her to dance now, and he obliged.
"How exciting it always is," Mrs. Bennet remarked to Mrs. Williams, "to see two of my girls standing up at once—and with such fine partners, of whom they are each so fond. I cannot decide whether to watch my Kitty with Mr. Price, or my Mary with Mr. Hart!"
Indeed the choice was not so difficult as she made it seem, for while Kitty and Mr. Price danced with all the ease of long experience, Mary and Robert danced rather clumsily; but Mary's object in dancing was only to watch her sister, and she cared less than ever for keeping to the proper steps of the dance. Mr. Price, meanwhile, offered Kitty several more of those charming compliments of which she was quickly growing so fond; but it is indelicate to pry too much into the conversations of young lovers, and so they need not be recorded here. Besides which, they were hardly any different from the compliments he had offered her before—not, of course, that Kitty minded overmuch.
The Bennets left the ball very late, though Mary complained of exhaustion long before they actually took their leave.
The ladies' spirits were high indeed as they bid farewell to their kind hosts. Mrs. Bennet was confident that each of her daughters had secured their respective suitors, and furthermore had all the satisfaction of knowing that she had boasted about at least one of these matches to nearly everybody she knew. Indeed, she felt certain that, by the morrow, the whole of Bath would be discussing the upcoming wedding between Mary Bennet and Robert Hart; and she wanted only a little more time before she spoke as explicitly of her hopes for Kitty and Mr. Price (for their acquaintance had come somewhat later and, she decided, there was no use in being hasty).
Kitty, upset over her argument with Rosamond, had nonetheless been delighted by all the time she had spent with Mr. Price, who had been more charming and agreeable tonight than he had ever been before. Furthermore, she had danced seven dances, an almost unheard of number in Meryton, and had had the glory of hearing one young lady demand of another, in a tone of sincere jealousy, the name of "that pretty girl in the blue silk, who has danced more dances tonight than I have all season." As the carriage sped home, she dreamt idly of making her appearance in London as the lovely Mrs. Price, and having everyone there be envious of her.
Mary, despite her general loathing for ballrooms and assemblies, and despite the growing concern she felt over Kitty's affection for Mr. Price, could not be entirely dissatisfied with the evening. As the Harts had taken their leave, Robert had very kindly invited her to join his family at the Assembly Rooms on the following Wednesday, for a much-anticipated concert of Boccherini.
