The week passed far too quickly for Anne's liking. Her time, and that of Lady Catherine, was much taken up with visiting acquaintances and entertaining callers—which did nothing to lessen Anne's anxiety, for all any body wanted to talk about was the upcoming ball. Miss Hammond managed to mention three times, within a five-minute conversation, that her hand had already been claimed for the first two dances by young Lord Adlam, and she was certain to imply that he was quite desperately in love with her; the twin Miss Dillinghams intimated that their mother had hired them a private dancing instructor in preparation for the occasion; Miss Godard made it known that she had been practicing her performance upon both the harp and the pianoforte, certain as she was that she would be called upon to exhibit these talents; Miss Hargreve spent nearly twenty minutes, in painstaking detail, her new ball-gown in dark green with embroidered yellow roses and pink satin trim. "I imagine I shall look very becoming indeed, especially with my pearls and white gloves," she declared confidently. Miss de Bourgh did not disagree.
Anne was fortunate indeed that she had thought to order some ball-gowns of her own amidst all her shopping (though she had done so primarily because the fabrics she found were so very charming, rather than out of any desire to ever wear them to a ball), and so her mind was easy on that point. Yet her worry remained. Every day the ball drew closer, she felt more certain that she could not face it, daughter of Sir Lewis and Lady Catherine de Bourgh or no.
As has been mentioned before, Anne's previous experience with the ballroom had been unfortunate; out of all the young ladies present, she had remained sitting down the most, and had only danced with her cousins because her mother, or perhaps their own senses of decency, had insisted that they ask her. She had been too shy (though she would not admit it) to enter into conversation with any body, and had remained ignored for most of the evening, Lady Catherine being occupied with her own eminent friends. What Anne remembered most was the supreme isolation and humiliation she had endured, the feeling that every body was looking at her and knowing her to be alone, and above all the feeling that every body else was very much together. She dreaded feeling that way again.
In addition, the food had been terrible and the musicians had played far too loudly for Anne's liking, and she had not known very many of the songs, although every body else seemed to. The evening had ended with a stern rebuke from her Ladyship for her inability to recommend herself to the room—"For your marriage may already be arranged, Anne, but it is no excuse to sit in the corner and sulk for an entire evening; people will begin to talk." Anne had protested that she had a head-ache. Lady Catherine had responded by banishing her to bed the moment they returned to Rosings, and summoning Dr. Reed the very next morning; that gentleman lost no time in recommending a solid week of bed-rest and plain foods. With these painful remembrances to plague her, it is no wonder Anne de Bourgh seemed to be the only person of consequence in Bath who was not looking forward, with great enjoyment, to the Dalyrmples' ball.
She found some solace in her newly-accustomed activities of walking in the park, sitting in the Pump-room, and browsing the shops; yet even these could not make her much easier, for she always met with some acquaintance who wanted to discuss the approaching event. Colonel Fitzwilliam had assured Lady Catherine that the ball was a private one, but it seemed to Anne that there had been a great many people invited, some of whom (such as Miss Finch and her family) she was not certain deserved their invitation; she had expected the Dalyrmples to be much more selective than they apparently were.
Anne's present discontent was compounded by the fact that she saw nothing of the Harts for the entire week. It seemed that now she had made up her mind to like them, in spite of all the inappropriateness and inequality of such a friendship, they had disappeared from Bath entirely. There were no morning walks with Mr. Hart; Miss Rosamond and Miss Juliet made no further appearances at Mostyn's or any other shops Anne visted. She was quite put out, for she had finished the novel that she and Miss Rosamond had bought, and was quite anxious to discuss it with that young lady. She thought she caught a glimpse of Mr. Robert Hart rounding a street corner as she left the Roman Baths one afternoon, but she could not be certain. The Pump-room was devoid of Harts, and Anne was obliged to sit an entire quarter-hour with the Miss Wentworths (who spent a great deal of time promenading there, being the sort of young ladies who very much enjoy being seen) without once catching a glimpse of any of the family either entering or leaving through the great doors. Even Dr. Hart was absent, though this was accounted for by the fact that her Ladyship had postponed his visit until the following week, believing preparations for the ball to be the more pressing concern. Anne had not attended one in so long that she was obliged to learn many of the dances all over again, which was especially troublesome as neither she nor Lady Catherine could quite delude themselves into thinking her a graceful dancer. At least, Anne thought, Colonel Fitzwilliam had not yet secured her hand for the first dance, for then she would have been thrown into a panic.
"You have no talent for dancing, Anne," Lady Catherine said gravely, after a particularly dreary practice; "but you have an excellent fortune, and an excellent family; and these facts alone will certainly attract plenty of attention."
Anne had been exceedingly worried that no body would pay her any attention at the ball, but was surprised to find that her mother's estimate was even more alarming. She was accustomed to being the outsider; she had only just begun to find herself at ease in society, and could not stand the thought of having a great many eyes upon her. She went to bed that night even more filled with dread than she had been, and awoke with the certainty that she should suffer a nervous collapse.
She considered asking her mother if she might abstain from the ball, on account of her frail health, but dismissed this idea almost immediately. There were two possible outcomes, neither of them pleasing: on the one hand, her Ladyship might very well refuse to allow Anne to remain at home, determined as she was to make herself and her daughter the most indispensably well-connected family in Bath; and on the other hand, Lady Catherine, already displeased with Anne's constant and generally unlimited movements about town, needed little provocation to forbid her daughter these activities and keep her shut away inside—"for her health", as she would surely declare. Anne, who had enjoyed very much her ability to walk, to shop, to go places, could not bear the idea of being forced into the same sedentary life she knew at Rosings Park, and so she steeled herself as best she could for the impending ball.
The day arrived, and a great many hours were spent on preparations. Both de Bourgh women required the service of several maids throughout the afternoon; there were expensive lotions and perfumes (Lady Catherine allowed only Milk of Roses and Olympian Dew beneath her roof) to be applied, hair to be curled and pinned in place beneath headdresses, jewels to be donned and, most necessarily, petticoats, stays and finally gowns and over-dresses to be put on, adjusted, and adjusted again. As a young lady of the titled class, Anne was quite accustomed to being dressed by her maid; yet dressing for a ball seemed to be an event of its own, requiring a much higher level of care and diligence, and Anne felt rather foolishly nostalgic for her comparatively simple daily toilette.
Miss de Bourgh was declared quite ready with plenty of time to spare, and the maids were ordered to make haste to her Ladyship's dressing chambers. Anne found herself entirely alone in her room, for even Mrs. Jenkinson had been summoned to assist with Lady Catherine's toilette. The hustle and bustle of the preparations had left her feeling strangely serene in the face of the imminent event; she wondered if this was perhaps the "calm before the storm", or if her worry had simply worn itself out. Anne took advantage of the moment to examine herself in her mirror. It was not something she did very often; she knew perfectly well what she looked like, and until recently had worn clothes that she cared very little for, so what cause had she therefore to stare at her own reflection? Yet here she was dressed quite differently than she was accustomed to, and she allowed herself some curiosity, which she knew to be very different from vanity.
Anne was not one of those young ladies who are frequently pleased when they look in the mirror; she recognized the distinction of the de Bourghs in her features, but otherwise thought herself quite plain, with brown hair that veered rather too close to red for the current fashion. She had never been exceedingly bothered by this plainness, for she had always believed her marriage (to Mr. Darcy) to be guaranteed, and anyway she had never been surrounded by great beauties, who would certainly inspire jealousy in her. Anne thought herself plain, but thought Mrs. Collins and all of the other ladies of her Kent acquaintance equally plain, so was therefore not troubled by her appearance.
Now, however, she found herself almost enjoying her own reflection. Her gown was a pale blue silk, trimmed with braided gold satin that matched her gold necklace and earrings. It complemented her white satin gloves and the white satin bandeau in her hair, which had been wound very carefully in place by a maid who had given the impression that she might burst into tears if the arrangement were disturbed. The rest of Anne's hair had been arranged into delicate curls, which framed her face rather charmingly. Her figure had never been remarkable, so slight as she was, but the cut of the gown was entirely flattering and the neckline was low enough to suggest, but backed with delicate lace to adequately protect her modesty. She looked, she thought, quite fashionable—perhaps even pretty. These reflections raised Anne's spirits somewhat, and for a moment she even found herself looking forward to the ball, until the recollection of all the potential humiliations the ball entailed entered her mind again.
Lady Catherine was fastened into her fine silks and adorned with her large jewels before very long, and Miss de Bourgh was summoned to the carriage. "Why, Anne," her Ladyship cried, upon catching sight of her, "I declare you look more charming than you ever have before. That color really is very well-suited to you; it is doing a great deal for your complexion. I suppose there will certainly be several real beauties there, but you shall not be so very overshadowed by them."
This statement was not, perhaps, as encouraging as it could have been, but her Ladyship was the sort of woman who accepts flattery from others but does not generally bestow it, and so it was the best compliment Anne could hope for. The two ladies boarded the carriage and set off for the Dalyrmples' ball.
The street before the Dalyrmples' lodgings was quite full of fine carriages, and Lady Catherine was quite displeased to find that she and her daughter were obliged to disembark in the middle of the road, there being no space along the footway. Nevertheless, her Ladyship made an imposing figure as she was handed down from the carriage and crossed the street with all of the dignity she could muster, Anne trailing apprehensively in her wake.
As heiress of Rosings Park and acquaintance of several fine families, Anne was no stranger to splendor; yet the ball decorations quite exceeded any thing she had seen before. This, it was clear, was no country dance; the Dalyrmples had taken their duty as the first grand hosts of the season very seriously indeed, and had spared no expense. The rooms glittered with candles and baubles, and the fine satin and flower-bouquets gleamed in the golden light. The guests, too, had made every effort at grandeur—the men were all in knee-breeches, of course, with satin waistcoats and expertly-tied cravats, while the women had arranged themselves in sumptuous gowns, opulent jewels, brightly-colored fans and a great many magnificent head-dresses that looked quite complicated indeed. Anne was struck by the concern that her own relatively unadorned ensemble was entirely too plain for this assembly; but she remembered Colonel Fitzwilliam's description of Mr. Darcy's wedding as "simple, but with real elegance", and in looking at all of the very embellished ladies around her, felt that she was rather the superior.
"Don't dawdle, Anne," Lady Catherine snapped, but in a low voice, for it would not do for a lady of rank to be seen scolding her daughter in public. She took Anne's arm and pulled her through the assembly towards Lady Dalyrmple, who stood on the second stair of the grand staircase surrounded by attendants, so that they might deliver their compliments to the hostess. Moving so quickly, Anne had very little time to notice any body; but she did see Miss Hargreve, and the gown which that young lady had described so thoroughly, and had the satisfaction of thinking it hideous indeed.
Lady Dalyrmple received the de Bourghs' compliments with inestimable grace, and waved them into the ballroom. There, Lady Catherine immediately noticed several distinguished friends to whom she very much wanted to speak, and claimed a seat between Lady Bathurst and the Marchioness of Skaffington. (Anne noticed that one or two of these great ladies did not look quite so pleased to see Lady Catherine, as she might have expected; yet she supposed that they must not like a ball any more than she did, and were therefore in poor spirits.)
Lady Catherine joined the conversation without any hesitation, leaving Anne, after her introduction, to sit quite silently at her side. She took this opportunity to survey the room more completely. The elder Miss Wentworth was dancing, and the younger was sitting down and looking rather out-of-sorts. The Miss Dillinghams were dressed alike in matching yellow gowns that did not at all suit their yellow hair, and were talking quite energetically with a pair of young men whom Anne did not recognize. Miss Godard was walking arm-in-arm with a tall soldier who looked quite splendid in his uniform, while Miss Hammond was making a great show of dancing her much-mentioned dances with Lord Adlam. And then there were all of the people Anne did not recognize; a great many plain men, and a few handsome ones; a great many plain women, and a few beauties. The young people moved swiftly through the crowd, laughing and talking very fast to one another, and looking at every body else, while the older and married people sat and held what were apparently captivating discussions with one another, while fanning themselves elegantly and observing the scene very keenly. Above all of this commotion rose the music—a song Anne did not recognize, played by a great many instruments. Through the doors they had come through, Anne could just barely see into the vestibule and, through there, card-room, which was populated almost entirely by men who all looked very serious. At the far end of the ballroom were grand doors that led to a terrace, left open to allow the fine night breeze to cool the room. The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow upon every thing.
Yet Anne was discontented. Every body she knew seemed to be entirely occupied with friends and acquaintances of their own, and the rest of the room was people she did not know at all. Again she had the feeling of being an outsider, an observer of the world, without any connexion to it at all. Even her mother was now entirely engaged in the conversation of the ladies around her. Anne shook her head, attempting to dispel her unhappiness, and tried to pay attention to the discussion, so that she might eventually join in; but all she could hear, over the music and the many voices in the room, were snatches of gossip:
"…but did you hear? Apparently she asked the woman right out…"
"…a very common sort of girl; I never trusted her…"
"…I daresay their mother is very ashamed; she scarce shows her face anymore, and the father won't speak of it…"
"…and such a sham of a marriage! She will never be happy…"
"…indeed, every body knows it was all for his fortune…"
"…a dreadfully coarse world we live in…"
"…we shall never know the truth, I suppose, but naturally every body has his suspicions…"
"…I understand he knew the entire time, and never said a word…"
"…what could she have been thinking?"
The subject of the conversation was entirely lost on Anne; whether all of these women were even holding forth upon the same item, was not clear. Her attention waned and she looked out over the room again.
"Anne," her mother said sharply, quite suddenly, and Anne jumped. Lady Catherine leaned closer and spoke quietly, though no less sharply: "Anne, I insist that you not spend the entire evening moping in that horrid way of yours."
"I was not moping, mother—"
"If no body has asked you to dance, then you must not look so very available," Lady Catherine went on, ignoring her. "Stand up and walk about; look as though you know where you are going; find some body to talk to, or you will seem very sad indeed, and I will be most seriously displeased."
Anne's instinct was to protest that she was too tired to walk about; but she remembered the probable result of such an action, and held her tongue. Instead she stood, curtsied to the assembled ladies (none of whom noticed), and walked away.
She tried to look as though she knew where she was going, but of course she did not. The ball may have been private, but it was quite full, and Anne had to move slowly and carefully in order to avoid colliding with any body or accidentally knocking some lady's head-dress from her head. She walked around the ballroom once without seeing any body she could easily talk to, and, thwarted in that regard, made her way into the vestibule.
There were a few parties coming in late, but Lady Dalyrmple and her followers had gone into the ballroom already. The card-room was quite full, but the only women in there were particularly devoted wives and shy younger sisters who had not wanted to let go of their husbands' or brothers' arms, and Anne had no such claim. She continued down the hall. The supper-room was empty aside from one or two small groups, who looked to be having serious discussions. The tea-room, father down the hall, was completely empty; beyond that were only the private rooms. Anne turned about and went back to the vestibule, then back to the ballroom.
It was even fuller now than before, and the moving throng of people carried her towards the great double-doors that led to the terrace. Having no desire for her mother to see her still wandering about lonely, Anne allowed herself to be carried. It was cooler out here than inside, and she pulled her shawl about her shoulders; but the night was very pleasant, and the stars very bright. The music was quieter from here, and while there were many people enjoying the lovely night, it was far from the crush of the ballroom. Anne took a deep breath and surveyed the scene and, to her surprise, her eyes fell upon Miss Hart and Miss Cates, walking arm-in-arm towards her. Miss Rosamond's eyes met Anne's at nearly that moment, and her face was lit by a very sweet smile of greeting.
"Miss de Bourgh!" she exclaimed, curtsying. Miss Cates seemed to take far less delight in Anne's presence, but made a short curtsy as well. "I seem to find you in the least expected places; how are you this night?"
Anne was surprised that Miss Rosamond should think the Dalyrmples' ball an unexpected place to find her, for she was after all a young lady of rank, and Miss Rosamond was not but she could not help her relief; here she had been despairing of finding any acquaintance at all to speak to, and whom she should she meet with but some body she actually found agreeable! "I am very well, Miss Hart," she said, with real pleasure, "and I hope you and Miss Cates are the same."
Miss Hart and Miss Cates both professed their perfect wellness and happiness. They both looked quite lovely, Miss Rosamond in a white muslin gown and Miss Cates in a pink one, but Anne decided that, of the two of them, Miss Rosamond was the true beauty, for her features possessed more real kindness. Anne was comforted by the knowledge that she herself, at the present moment, looked pretty indeed, and was therefore (as her mother had predicted) not so very overshadowed by her company.
"Your dress is beautiful, Miss de Bourgh; it becomes you very well," Miss Rosamond said, as though she had read Anne's thoughts.
"I had not thought blue was as fashionable now, as it was last season," Miss Cates said pleasantly. "But I suppose you wear it well enough."
Anne was saved the necessity of having to reply by Miss Rosamond swiftly asking, "Are you well acquainted with the Dalyrmples, Miss de Bourgh?"
"I am indeed," Anne said immediately; but then she amended, "Not very well; Lady Dalyrmple is a friend of my mother's, but I myself have only spoken to her on a few occasions."
"I think her a very gracious lady," Miss Rosamond said warmly. "My father has been treating Lord Dalyrmple for his gout—oh, I suppose I ought not say that, but it is only us listening, anyway—and Lady Dalyrmple was kind enough to invite us all to tonight's ball as a way of saying thank-you! Is that not the most generous thing you could imagine?"
"I do hope she did not offer the invitation as her sole payment," Miss Cates said drily, but Anne paid her no attention, for she was already asking "All of you?"
"Well, not all of us," Miss Rosamond conceded. "Juliet is not out yet, you know, and of course Helena is in Paris; but Robert and Theo and I all came, and dear Adele as well, for Lady Dalrymple insisted I bring a guest." She smiled at Miss Cates.
"And where are your brothers?"
"Oh, in the card-room, to be sure. Papa forbid Robert actually playing, but I imagine he is encouraging Theo something dreadful."
Anne could not help but smile at this.
"But tell me, Miss de Bourgh," Miss Rosamond exclaimed, as though she had just thought of something important, "have you finished Carlotta?"
"I have!" Anne answered, excitedly in spite of herself. "You must tell me first what you thought of the ending."
"Lord," Miss Cates said loudly, "if you two are going to be discussing books, I must excuse myself.—I shall find one of your brothers, Rose, and make him dance with me."
"Do, do," Miss Rosamond laughed, "but I warn you neither of them is any good; Robert looks too much at his feet, and Theo is too fond of his own voice to pay any attention to the steps." Yet Miss Cates was undeterred, and, stepping through the grand doors, disappeared into the crowded ballroom.
Anne found herself rather relieved to be alone with Miss Rosamond; she thought Miss Cates had seemed rather out of spirits, and in her absence Miss Rosamond grew even more amiable. They walked along the terrace, conversing very easily, and their conversation soon moved from Carlotta to other subjects. Anne found that Miss Rosamond was as fond of music as she was of reading, and could identify the songs the orchestra had played throughout the evening with no effort. She was also able to recommend Anne some very good milliners' and drapers' shops that, she promised, no body else who was there for the season would think to visit—"for I do live here all the time, you know," she said. "I know a great deal about Bath."
She said it with good humor, yet there was a curious plaintive note in her voice. "Do you wish you lived some other place?" Anne asked, then immediately wished she hadn't, for the question sounded impertinent even to her. Miss Rosamond, however, appeared to consider the question seriously.
"I don't think I wish to live somewhere else, really," she said after a moment. "I suppose I wish to see somewhere else.—Our parents used to travel a great deal when Helena and Theo were small, but my mother had a particularly difficult confinement with Robert and I—twins, naturally, are always more trouble." She laughed. "After we were born, she was not as strong as she had been, and then she was expecting again. Of course my father's business was growing very rapidly as well, and he was so busy; we went to London a few times, and once we went abroad, but we have scarce left Bath since my mother died. My father's time is very much taken up with his practice, which is indeed wonderful, and I am quite proud of him, but—" She paused. "I wish very much to go visit Helena in France, but of course I cannot go alone, and neither of my brothers can go with me, for their studies are most important." Miss Rosamond stopped suddenly. "I am exceedingly sorry, Miss de Bourgh; I know I am being quite dull indeed. And this is a ball, so we must talk about—about dancing, I suppose. How many dances have you had tonight?"
"None," Anne admitted.
"I have had the same number; how very provoking! We must go inside this moment, and sit very near the dance, and look as charming as we can, or I am sure we will be forced to declare the entire evening a disappointment." Laughing, she began making her way towards the grand doors; Anne, not wishing to be left alone and lonely, had no choice but to follow.
They did sit near the dance, but for only a moment, before Miss Rosamond's hand was shyly requested by the same Lord Adlam whose affections Miss Hammond had boasted were hers. Miss Rosamond took very cordial leave of Anne before allowing herself to be led away, and Anne was left alone, until suddenly Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and sat beside her. Anne did not at all mind his company, for he looked quite dashing in his uniform, and she was glad to be seen sitting with him by all the other eyes in the room.
"I am happy to see you, dear cousin," he said cheerfully, "for I had thought you might not come; Lady Catherine, I know, has no particular fondness for these sorts of assemblies."
"But in Bath, one must always make an appearance," Anne responded, smiling.
"Indeed, and I am glad you have. Was that Miss Hart I saw spirited from your side a moment ago?"
Anne turned to him, eyes narrowed; she may have thought Rosamond Hart exceedingly likable, but that did not mean she would approve of a connexion between that young lady and Colonel Fitzwilliam. But the gentleman's countenance showed no sign of particular fondness or warmth, and when she replied "It was indeed," he made no response other than a polite nod.
"I met her brothers earlier," he said, by way of explanation. "An excellent family, I think, and I am glad the Dalyrmples invited them, for I confess I find them more agreeable than many of the people here!"
Anne refrained from agreeing, for she was not certain it was altogether proper for a lady of her status. They fell into a companionable silence, watching the dancers. Miss Rosamond and Lord Adlam made an attractive couple and, Anne noticed, it seemed Miss Hammond, seated a short distance away with a group of friends, had perceived this as well, for she was looking quite put out.
"Well, Miss Anne," Colonel Fitzwilliam said briefly, "I am sorry to confess I am engaged for the next set, or I suppose I ought to say I have engaged some body else; but may I be permitted to claim your hand for the set after that, and then accompany you and your mother in to supper?"
"You may indeed," Anne replied, with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension, for she was still not entirely confident of her dancing skills. "I am sure you shall find me sitting with Lady Catherine, for even now she is beckoning me." And indeed, her Ladyship had caught Anne's eye across the ballroom, and was gesturing at her with great dignity.
They rose and parted, and Anne made her way to her mother. Lady Catherine, having seen Anne's short conference with Cousin Fitzwilliam, separated from her circle of great ladies for a moment to congratulate Anne on a job well done.
"It is not the first dance, but it is a dance all the same," she declared. "And now that you have secured a dance with your cousin, Anne, I desire you will sit here by me, for it is not becoming for a lady of your rank to be always on her feet and wandering about." She returned to her friends, and Anne took the only seat that was available, which was in fact a few chairs away from her Ladyship's side. She did not mind.
The set drawing near its close, Anne was surprised again by the arrival of another gentleman: this time, the elder Mr. Hart. It seemed Miss Cates had not succeeded in convincing him to dance, for he appeared at Anne's elbow and bowed very politely. Anne could not help the spark of delight his arrival provoked in her, though she did her best to quell it.
"We seem to meet in very diverse settings indeed, Miss de Bourgh," he exclaimed, taking the seat she offered him. "My front-hall—the Pump-room—the park—and now, the first and grandest ball of the season. None of the circumstances are ever the same, except that I am always glad to see you, and I hope against hope that you are always glad to see me."
Anne smiled, despite her determination not encourage him in his impertinence. "I am glad indeed, sir, but there is one circumstance different now; our meeting here is not a surprise to me, for I have already spent some twenty minutes in your sister's company, and she told me you were here."
"I am very sorry to hear it, Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart said solemnly. "I shall endeavor now to lift you from the dull fog which Rosamond's company must surely have caused."
"You are very hard on your sister, Mr. Hart."
"I must be, for she is always unduly happy in everything else she does. Why, look at her now! That gentleman she is dancing with—he has a title, has he not? Fortune smiles upon Rosamond, Miss de Bourgh, which is most unjust to the rest of us, so it falls to me to keep her in check. It is a matter of balance."
"I hope you are not serious."
"I am hardly ever serious, Miss de Bourgh." He smiled at her.
"That is a strange trait for one who is studying the law."
"Here we have another matter of balance: the law is a serious subject indeed, and when I am studying it I can only ever be grave. Therefore, the rest of my hours must be spent entirely without seriousness in order to make up for it."
Anne smiled, but could think of nothing witty to say and so changed the subject. "Where is your brother?"
"I left him in the card-room, with the understanding that I would spare him no mercy should he stray any closer to the tables."
"Are you afraid of his playing?"
"Of his losing, Miss de Bourgh."
"I suppose you are right in that," Anne said slowly. "I suppose it is another matter of balance; for if Fortune smiles upon Miss Rosamond, it must surely frown upon her twin—if your theory holds correct. And that would not be at all conducive to winning at cards."
Mr. Hart stared at her for a moment, then laughed out loud. Anne was unreasonably pleased with herself for having made him do so—she did not think she had ever made any body laugh so well before—and blushed.
"Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart said, regaining his voice, "you will not believe me, after I have talked nonsense at you these past five minutes, but I did indeed come here with the intention of asking you to dance the next set with me. May I have the honor?"
Anne felt quite pleased at the prospect, and opened her mouth to reply; but Lady Catherine's attention had been caught by Mr. Hart's laugh and, though she had missed the rest of the conversation, she had managed to hear his question to her. Before Anne could say a word, her mother declared, quite stridently, "My daughter is not dancing this evening, sir. You are the fourth gentleman she has had to refuse; but it is inescapable. Miss de Bourgh has hurt her ankle and is quite unable to dance at all; indeed, she can hardly walk."
"I am most sorry to hear it," Mr. Hart replied, and he did indeed sound sorry. "I was not aware."
"Anne," Lady Catherine said, still at the top of her voice, "I desire you will move your chair closer to me; I really think you ought to hear this story that Mrs. Hammond is telling so well. It is most diverting."
Mr. Hart understood the hint, and took his leave from Anne with a most courteous bow and his best wishes for her swift recovery. Lady Catherine rose from her own chair to speak directly to her daughter.
"You are far too polite, Anne," she said sharply. "When such a gentleman pesters you in that way, you must insist that he remove himself; otherwise he may very well compromise your reputation. A man such as that one is not worthy of your notice, and it was quite insolent of him to ask you for your hand. You are not obliged to dance with every man who asks you; you must choose wisely."
Everything had happened so quickly that Anne was rather confused, and only half-attending to her Ladyship's words; but she could not help thinking that she had had very few men to choose from, and that the two who had chosen her had been the only ones she would have considered, in any case.
The next set began, and Anne saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam was dancing it with Miss Finch, who looked quite handsome in a pale green silk. Miss Rosamond was sitting with Lord Adlam at her side, and Mr. Hart and Miss Cates joined them before long. Lord Adlam seemed to speaking quite earnestly to Miss Rosamond, and Mr. Hart's attention was quickly claimed by Miss Cates; Anne, half-ashamed of herself and even of her mother, was glad of this, for it meant that Miss Rosamond would have no opportunity to mention to her brother that she and Anne had walked and talked together on the terrace. She wished that the whirling bodies of the dancers hid her from their view rather better, but settled instead for attempting to look as though she were paying close attention to Mrs. Hammond's narrative.
Mrs. Hammond's narrative took up most of the set. Anne had no idea what the lady was describing—something to do with a dress she had ordered, and one pattern mistaken for another, and a humorous misunderstanding at an evening card-party—and could only hear, over and over in her mind, Mr. Hart's question, and her Ladyship's rejection of him. She felt as though she could have cried from frustration; for who else would she dance with? She was not acquainted with any of the other gentleman in the room. She would be sitting down for the rest of the evening. Only the prospect of the dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam consoled her, and she began repeating the steps of the upcoming cotillion in her mind, in an attempt to drown out the endlessly recurring exchange between her mother and Mr. Hart.
"…Hart, isn't it? Lady Bathurst, did he not treat your little boy when he had the colic?"
Anne, who had been gazing rather dully at the folds of her gown, looked up, the cotillion forgotten.
"Indeed he did," Lady Bathurst said pleasantly, "and I thought him more than satisfactory; very professional, and certainly more knowledgeable than any of the physicians we've used in Hampshire."
"A fine physician he may be," Lady Derring put in, "but I confess I cannot understand why Lady Dalrymple invited his family this evening; I daresay it seems rather like over-mingling to me."
"A simple gesture of politeness," Lady Catherine decided. "I suspect she did not expect him to accept. It should never have occurred to me, that a physician's family would think themselves eligible to socialize with the peerage."
One or two of the ladies in the circle, who were in fact members of the peerage, looked askance at Lady Catherine, who was not; yet Miss Hammond, who was seated by her mother, was quick to agree.
"Did you see that silly girl of his, dancing with Lord Adlam?" she demanded. "I suppose she thinks that because she is rather pretty, she can dance with whomever she pleases."
"She is only pretty if one has a taste for that sort of thing, my love," Mrs. Hammond assured her. "I think your beauty much more universal; there is only a certain type of man who prefers fair hair, whereas no body can dislike a brunette."
"I imagine she sees herself as a sort of Cinder-ella," Miss Hammond went on scornfully, paying her mother no attention. "A scheming chit of a girl if ever I saw one—fancies herself Lady Adlam already, I don't doubt."
"Indeed, I simply do not understand why they were invited," Lady Derring said again. "It makes me quite uneasy, if I am honest."
"I daresay there is no real harm in it," Lady Bathurst disagreed politely. "They seem perfectly well-mannered, and Dr. Hart is certainly very respected."
"But they are not our equals, Cecilia," Lady Derring argued. "And I wonder the Dalyrmples do not fear for their own reputations; I know I could not bear to be thought of as intimate with the family of a doctor."
"I wonder that they cannot see that no body wants them here," Miss Hammond said spitefully.
Anne kept silent; she could not agree with the ladies of the circle, but she had not the advantage of Lady Bathurst's elevated position, and could not be seen to disagree, particularly before Lady Catherine. It was fortunate indeed that Lady Catherine did not choose to mention Mr. Hart's impertinence in asking her daughter to dance—perhaps she did not realize he was Dr. Hart's son, or perhaps Anne's near miss was too embarrassing to her—but the damage was done already, as Anne raised her eyes to see the younger Hart brother standing quite close by, clearly within earshot and clearly having heard every word, looking as though he were frozen to the spot. The mortification on Robert Hart's face was unmistakable, and as Anne watched him, he turned his head slightly and saw her sitting there. Anne, though she herself had said nothing injurious, blushed a deep red; but then the current set ended, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, after escorting Miss Finch to her seat, arrived to claim Anne's hand for the cotillion.
Anne was grateful to be removed from the present situation, and could not help looking on Colonel Fitzwilliam as an unwitting savior. That gentleman seemed to have no idea of Anne's gratitude, and made light, pleasant conversation as they faced one another for the start of the dance. "I know it is a French dance," Colonel Fitzwilliam said genially, "but I confess I always enjoy the cotillion more than any other dance; it is so very merry."
Merry was not how Anne felt at that moment, but she smiled and nodded her agreement, then took a deep breath as the dance began. The first minute or so was a trial; then she was glad to discover that her extra practice served her well, for she remembered all of the steps and was even able to dance them with something approaching ease. Anne was by no means the most graceful dancer on the floor, but neither was she the clumsiest, and her perfect adequacy pleased her very much indeed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam discussed the places he had been in Bath, tidbits of news he had heard from his mother and brother, and his own pleasure at finding Miss Anne such a capable dancer, without requiring from her anything more than politely vague responses. Anne was even more grateful to him for this small mercy, for her mind was so occupied—with the dance, and with all of the various events of the evening—that she did not think herself at all equal to conversation. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not seem to mind her reticence; surely he was accustomed to it, for she had scarcely spoke ten words to him together in all the years they had known one another. Anne concentrated on the dance and did her best to allow Colonel Fitzwilliam's pleasant voice to wash over her. She would make more of an effort at good humor when they were sitting down to supper, she promised herself.
They had danced nearly a quarter of the set, and Anne had grown sufficiently confident of her ability to remember all the steps and changes, when she at last allowed herself the luxury of looking about the room. It was a large room, and there were several couples dancing, and a great many admirers watching. Clearly, Colonel Fitzwilliam was not alone in his appreciation for the cotillion. There was also beginning a subtle movement towards the doors, in anticipation of the coming supper; watching them, Anne realized that she was rather hungry as well, and hoped that the Dalyrmples had provided a better supper than had been offered at the last ball she had attended.
She turned to express this hope to Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom she was sure would agree, but as she did so her eyes fell onto Mr. Hart, who was dancing with Miss Cates (and, as Miss Rosamond had predicted, talking vigorously). His eyes met hers in the same moment, and he paused in the midst of whatever he had been saying, registering no small amount of surprise. Anne felt as though her stomach had dropped to the soles of her feet. She had quite forgotten, when Lady Catherine had made her false excuses for her, that Mr. Hart would surely see her dancing with Colonel Fitzwilliam. She was seized by a sudden foolish urge to run to him and explain—what? That her Ladyship had lied on her behalf, and Anne had done nothing to stop or correct her? The narrowing of Mr. Hart's eyes, visible even from this distance, nearly sealed her fate; yet Anne's breeding prevailed, and she swallowed hard as she made the next partner change. She supposed she could only be grateful that she and Mr. Hart were not dancing in the same group, for then she would have been forced to dance with him.
Fate seemed determine to add insult to Anne's injury, for as she changed partners, she was brought within an excellent view of every body sitting down on that side of the room. Miss Rosamond was still seated close to the dancers, and even gave Anne a bright smile as she danced past her, apparently unaware of Anne's slight towards her brother. Anne could only manage a rather weak nod in return. Lord Adlam had departed, and as Anne watched, Mr. Robert Hart emerged from the crowd and took the chair which that gentleman had vacated at Miss Rosamond's side. He caught Anne's eye, and did not smile; indeed, his hard expression quite matched that which Anne had just witnessed on the face of the elder Mr. Hart. Robert leaned close to his twin and said something to her—Anne was quite certain she knew what it was, and could not have been more thankful when she was obliged to change partners again, and dance towards the other side of the room, so that she would not have to see the pain that was sure to mar Miss Rosamond's pleasant features.
The dance ended. Anne bowed to Colonel Fitzwilliam and was pleased when he immediately took her arm and escorted her to her seat at Lady Catherine's side, rather than remaining on the dance-floor to chat with some of the other dancers, as several couples were doing. She did not think she could bear to meet with Mr. Hart at the present moment, and clung rather tightly to Colonel Fitzwilliam's arm as though he could protect her from Mr. Hart's anger and embarrassment—which she had caused, she thought guiltily, even if she had not intended to do so. Guilt was quite a new emotion for Anne, and she detested it.
"You are not at all a poor dancer, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine observed, the moment Anne and her partner were within earshot. "I daresay you and Anne make a very fine couple; you were the only ones worth watching."
"You are too kind, madam," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied jovially, offering her his other arm. "It is all due to Miss de Bourgh, I assure you." The three of them took their places to proceed into supper.
"I saw you dancing with that other girl earlier," Lady Catherine went on as they walked. "A Miss Constance Finch, was it? I did not think her at all your equal; quite clumsy on her feet, not at all like Anne. It was very good of you to dance with her, for such a plain girl as that can never have very many gentlemen asking for her hand."
"On the contrary, while I would never compare Miss Finch to my dear cousin, I think her a fine dancer," Colonel Fitzwilliam said politely. Lady Catherine pursed her lips in displeasure.
"And how are you acquainted with Miss Finch, sir?" she asked acidly.
"Her cousin served as lieutenant colonel in my regiment, a year or two past; an excellent man and a superb officer. We grew to be very good friends. Miss Finch is an orphan, and was brought up in that family."
"How unfortunate," Lady Catherine said, not sounding as though she meant it.
"Indeed, but I understand she looks on her cousins as her own brothers and sisters, and her aunt and uncle as her parents. I doubt she could have asked for a more affectionate family."
They sat down to supper. Lady Catherine was bored by the present conversation, not knowing enough of Miss Finch or her affectionate family to denounce her any further, and so immediately set forth on a monologue of the news she had heard from Kent; she had requested Mr. Collins to write her a brief letter once per week, informing her of any and all events that took place in her parish, so that she might hold the reins even from such a great distance as Bath.
Anne took the opportunity to examine the room. The decorations were magnificent, the servants well-dressed, and the food, thankfully, smelled delicious; yet she paid little attention, for she only wanted to know where the Harts were sitting, so that she might avoid them. She was not seated so well as Lady Catherine might have wished, but of course there were more eminent ladies and gentlemen present, who must be given preference, and she blamed her poor seat for the fact that she could find no trace at all of the Harts or Miss Cates. Once or twice her eye was caught by a flash of yellow hair—but it inevitably proved to be some body else. Disappointed, yet somehow relieved, Anne set about to eating.
Supper passed with no further embarrassments. The food was excellent, and Anne ate so well that Lady Catherine rebuked her for her un-ladylike appetite: "It does not do for a well-brought up young woman to be seen bolting her food like some starved urchin!" Colonel Fitzwilliam courteously ignored this, and made such pleasant conversation that Anne, freed from the burden of a dance to demand her attention, felt quite comfortable. She was hardly vivacious, but she fulfilled the promise of good humor which she had made to herself.
And how shall the remainder of the evening be summarized? Anne danced twice more with Colonel Fitzwilliam, but was not asked by any other gentleman, for which she was rather grateful; she did not think herself equal to making spirited conversation with a man she did not know, particularly while dancing. She sat a long time with Lady Catherine in her friends, without hearing any thing interesting said. When Lady Catherine scolded her for sulking, she took a turn about the room, then escaped onto the terrace. The air had grown colder as the hour had grown later, and there were far fewer people enjoying the night; Anne was glad of her shawl, but returned to the warm ballroom after only a few minutes.
She went through the vestibule and peered into the card-room, then into the supper-room, where a few parties lingered. She realized, after a moment, that she was still looking for the Harts; but they were nowhere to be found, and at last Anne was forced to concede that they had surely left.
The de Bourghs took their leave shortly before one o' clock in the morning, Lady Catherine not being fond of very late nights. Her Ladyship indeed fell asleep in the carriage as they made their way back to the Royal Crescent; but Anne, though she was tired, was kept awake by the motion and therefore had plenty of time to think. Perhaps, she thought, the Harts had not been invited to stay for supper; or perhaps they had been so distressed by the conversation Robert had overheard, and by Anne's insult to Mr. Hart, that they had taken their leave early. She was not certain which excuse was more likely, but she knew which one she preferred.
It seemed the ball had been very balanced, if she were to use Mr. Hart's word—but of course, she would rather not use his word, for thinking of her very pleasant moments with Mr. Hart was quite painful when she dared to imagine hurt glare he had worn when he had seen her dancing. Yet she could not deny that his theory seemed quite applicable; if indeed one must always achieve balance, then the mixture of happiness and calamity she had experienced in one evening must surely have achieved it. She supposed it had been superior to her last ball, for at least things had happened—but too much had happened, for all of the friendliness she had found with the Harts had been immediately undone not twenty minutes later. She supposed this was the exciting life of a fashionable young lady; yet she could not help feeling as though everything might have been so much easier if she could have kept the life she'd had a year ago, if she could have simply remained in Kent and taken her daily exercise in the Rosings gardens and waited for Mr. Darcy to propose. Anne sighed heavily, and was quite startled to find her throat rather thick and her eyes oddly wet.
The carriage stopped, and the lack of motion immediately roused Lady Catherine. "Have we arrived?" she demanded blearily, blinking several times. The footman opened the door and handed the two ladies down, and they proceeded into the house. "Well, Anne," Lady Catherine said decisively, "I declare this evening has been quite a success for you; three dances, and the opportunity to grow quite intimate with several important ladies of rank. I do wish you had made more of an effort to speak with Miss Hammond, for it is said that her grandmother is a distant cousin of the Plantagenets, and the two of you are quite well suited to one another. I daresay you will surely become very close friends."
It may have been the late hour, mingling with the frustrations of the evening, that caused Anne, already halfway up the stairs, to turn and say wearily, "I daresay we will not, mother, for I have no fondness for Louisa Hammond. She is a silly gossip, and ought to hold her tongue."
"Anne!" Lady Catherine exclaimed, horrified. "I will not hear you speak so resentfully; it is not your place to criticize others."
"But it is yours," Anne replied—very quietly, for she was quite shocked at her own insolence; in the past, she might have thought such a thing, but she would never have given voice to it. She added, audibly, "Good night, mother. I will see you at breakfast."
She went into her room, and shut the door. Within half an hour she was undressed, and within half an hour more she was fast asleep.
