Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait on this one. I arrived in London a week ago and have been kept exceedingly busy settling in, buying necessities, exploring the city, meeting people and doing study abroad orientation activities. And then classes started this week! I will do my best to keep updating while I'm here, but I don't know if I'll be able to be as frequent as I'd like, given the sheer amount of "stuff" I'm packing into the next six months. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews!


Given the unfortunate events of the previous evening, Anne was very glad indeed to pay her visit to Dr. Hart on Thursday. Lady Catherine had been too distracted with the Darcys' coming to make any objections at all to the new arrangements, and Anne was even so fortunate as to discover that Mrs. Jenkinson had a head-ache, and therefore could not meet the appointment. Thus it was only Anne and her maid who traveled to Hart House that afternoon; the maid, a yawning, uncaring sort of girl who took no personal interest in Miss de Bourgh's health, was easily dispatched to the nearest ribbon-shop with a pocketful of coins, courtesy of her mistress.

Dr. Hart made an assessment of his patient and declared her to be in fine health. For the returning head-aches, he prescribed her a simple tonic and recommended she take plenty of walks—"For it is far too easy, Miss de Bourgh, to underestimate the benefits of fresh air and exercise; yet I have seen the simple activity of walking daily in a pleasant park produce wonderful physical and mental results." Anne, who had always been fond of walking, did not disagree with the doctor's diagnosis.

Following her examination, Dr. Hart walked with her to the sitting room. Anne felt an anxious tightening in her chest as they drew closer; perhaps she had over-stepped her bounds in speaking to Dr. Hart; perhaps his children really had no desire to see her any more often than they already did. However, "My dear Rosamond has been very much looking forward to your visit," the physician assured her, as though he sensed her apprehension. "I believe she has been quite determined to be fond of you since your first meeting in the Pump Room; it would not be unlike her."

The room was sunny and bright, quite unlike the dark heavy drawing-rooms at the Royal Crescent. Miss Hart was seated at the pianoforte: not playing, but leaning forward to study the sheet of music on the stand. Her blonde hair was lit by a shaft of sunlight, and her expression of pure focus suited her features exceedingly well. Anne could not help reflecting on how much less odious a beautiful woman could be when she was a friend, rather than a rival.

Miss Hart greeted her friend with the gladness which was typical of her, and spared no effort in ensuring Miss de Bourgh's comfort as she bid her sit and take some tea. Dr. Hart was called away to another appointment, and the two young ladies were left alone.

Anne had hoped to find Hart House a place of refuge from her troublesome cousins, and in this she was not disappointed. Miss Rosamond asked no questions, made no conjectures; indeed, she only once mentioned the Darcy name, and showed little interest when Anne, asked how she had been occupied since their last meeting, chanced to mention that that family had dined at the Royal Crescent the previous evening. It may have been that Anne's clear reluctance to discuss the subject dissuaded whatever curiosity Miss Rosamond might have had, for she said only,

"Indeed? I had heard that Mr. Darcy was your cousin; how very pleasant it must be to have your family staying here in Bath."

Anne, to her embarrassment, shrugged her shoulders in a very ill-bred manner, and Miss Rosamond immediately moved on: "Miss de Bourgh," she exclaimed excitedly, "I do hope you plan to attend the fancy-ball at the Upper Rooms this evening."

Anne replied that she did indeed, with some relief at Miss Rosamond's easy transition. The two young ladies spent several cheerful minutes discussing the upcoming ball. They decided that the crowd should be very large, that the dances should be very merry, and that every body should be dressed very finely indeed. Anne had never particularly enjoyed discussions of balls, either coming or past, yet Miss Rosamond's good humor was infectious, and she found herself speaking with more openness and enthusiasm than she was accustomed to. How pleasant it was, she thought happily, to enjoy an easy and amusing conversation, after the stilted awkardness of the last night's dinner.

At length, Anne realized that she had been sitting with her friend for a full half-hour, and was obliged to take her leave and meet her maid. Miss Rosamond walked with her to the door, extracting promises that she and Miss de Bourgh should surely meet at the ball.

"For I have not forgotten, Miss de Bourgh, how very much I enjoyed meeting you at the Dalyrmples'; I daresay it is one of my fondest memories of that evening," she pronounced cheerfully. Anne, rather overcome at being part of any body's fondest memory of any thing, stammered a farewell and made her curtsies.

She left Hart House in a much improved temper, content to look forward to the coming ball rather than back to the wretched meeting with the Darcys.


There were, necessarily, preparations to be made for the fancy-ball, and the remainder of Anne's afternoon was much taken up with dressing and undressing, curling hair and applying creams. Though the rules of attire were rather lenient for the evening, Anne could not yet find the courage to dress too boldly, and wore a gown of pale purple silk, which she thought must appease her mother.—Lady Catherine, who had been unpleasantly surprised by her daughter's simple choice of apparel the previous evening, had given specific instructions that Anne should be dressed in such a manner that left no doubt as to her rank and fortune.

Dressed, as usual, at least half an hour before her Ladyship, Anne sat alone in her dressing-chamber, examining her reflection in the looking-glass. She was at first almost pleased with her image; yet she could not help comparing it to that of Elizabeth Darcy, and felt suddenly as though she came up quite short indeed. Her eyes and skin seemed duller, her hair-style plain and unattractive. Was the gown she was wearing truly the most flattering or fashionable? Would not she be immediately outshone by every other woman there? She lacked the wit and conversation of Mr. Darcy's wife; should she not make some attempt, however fruitless, to match the lady's beauty?

These thoughts were so dire, and yet so convincing, that Anne had quite resolved to select another gown, and dress again in an entirely new ensemble, when her maid hurried into the room with the news that Lady Catherine had been waiting these five minutes at least, and was grown very impatient.

The drive to the Assembly-Room was silent. Lady Catherine, who had been in a very ill humor for most of the day, was not at all disposed to conversation; Anne, who was too well acquainted with her mother's temper to make any effort, was obliged to sit silently, idly regarding the passing city. There were a great many carriages on the road, most of them travelling in the same direction, and Anne amused herself by identifying whichever family crests she could, and guessing the inhabitants of the others by the colors of the livery. It seemed as though every family in Bath was on their way to the ball, and Anne felt a familiar nervous fluttering in her chest.

Her apprehension was not relieved by their arrival at the Assembly-Room.—If the roads had been crowded with traffic, then the press of ladies and gentlemen at the building's doors was positively a crush. It was quite clear that the first fancy-ball of the Season was not an event to be missed, for it seemed as though no body had dared to miss it. Anne allowed herself to be handed down from the carriage, drawing her wrap close about her uncertainly.

"What a horrid scene," Lady Catherine declared, stepping distastefully onto the stones of the street. "How disgusting it is, to see so many people in one place. And how vulgar every body looks! I suppose these people consider a fancy-ball an excuse to wear any thing; I am quite ashamed to be seen here."

Yet she took hold of Anne's arm and led her firmly towards the doors of the building.

Alone, Anne might have waited outside for some time before at last seeing an opportunity to make her way in; yet Lady Catherine was not the sort of woman who was easily detained, and pressed resolutely through the crowd, stopping every now and then to give her notice to those she deemed worthy. Her Ladyship jogged a great many shoulders and stepped on, or very near, several hems, but of course she did not wait to apologize or excuse herself. Their tickets were presented and accepted, and thus Anne found herself within the Octagon Room in a matter of minutes, her mother still gripping her arm.

Anne had passed by the Assembly Rooms several times during her stay in Bath, and had always thought the building rather plain, without a great deal of charm or grace in its architecture. Yet she had heard many acquaintances speak of the Upper Rooms' beauty, and was rather pleased to find that they had spoken quite correctly. The Octagon Room, which acted as a passageway between all the other rooms, was large and elegant, trimmed with fine white moldings. Through the doorway, Anne could see the ballroom, where—despite the early hour—there were already several couples dancing beneath the enormous chandeliers. The rooms were hardly as stylishly or expensively furnished as those at the Dalyrmples'; yet the building was pleasant, beautiful, and offered a cool breeze through the open upper windows.

Whilst Anne had been admiring her surroundings, Lady Catherine had espied Mrs. Hammond and her daughter seated in the ballroom; and so Anne found herself propelled through the swelling crowd, towards Miss Louisa, who looked very pretty, and very bored, in a yellow silk gown with a daring neckline.

"Why, dear Anne!" Louisa exclaimed, standing to make her curtsy. "How very delighted I am that you have come; how very desolate I have been without you. There is no body here worth speaking to, and Mamma and I are grown quite sick of each other, are we not, Mamma?"

Mrs. Hammond opened her mouth to reply, but of course Miss Hammond paid her no mind, and continued. "I have seen Lord Adlam, and have resolved to refuse him when he asks me to dance, which of course he will; for you remember how terribly he treated me at the Dalyrmples'. I shall not give him the satisfaction again, and I do hope his heart breaks for it."

At this point, she took hold of Anne's left arm just as Lady Catherine released the right; Anne, who had hoped to sit, instead found herself pulled along as Louisa determined to take a turn about the room. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw Lady Catherine sit in Louisa's place, and gave in to being pulled this way and that for the remainder of the evening.

Anne and Miss Hammond toured the ballroom, where the latter was much taken up with admiring the men's coats and disparaging the ladies' gowns.—Every lady she saw was dressed awfully scandalously, or terribly plainly, for it seemed no body had dressed to meet her own standards. They went through the Octagon Room and peered into the card-room and the vestibule, where Louisa provided a running commentary on every person who was admitted into the ball and declared her great surprise when some were not turned away at the door. "I suppose that is the price one pays when one attends a public assembly, however," she sighed. Anne was beginning to see, quite clearly, why her mother so thoroughly approved of Louisa Hammond.

They spent the first forty-five minutes of the ball in this fashion, somehow acquiring the companionship of several other young ladies as they strolled through the Assembly Rooms. None of these ladies was particularly interested in conversation, but occupied themselves with agreeing with Louisa's every word, and giving her (and, more rarely, each other) compliments on her hair and dress in the mean-time. Anne, who had yet seen no sign of her own acquaintances—nor, thankfully, of the Darcys—resigned herself to a very dull evening indeed.

Yet she was that moment cheered to see Miss Hart and her brothers pass into the vestibule, laughing amongst themselves. Anne, who had not laughed once since arriving at the ball, felt rather jealous of their happiness; they all looked to be in excellent spirits, and were almost immediately greeted by some other ladies and gentlemen, who met them with the familiarity and warmth of old friendship.

Miss Hart had not yet seen Anne, yet Theodore Hart half-turned to speak to his brother, and his eyes met Anne's across the room. He nodded; Anne, quite certain that no body was watching, dared to smile. Mr. Hart's eyes fell onto Miss Hammond and her followers, and he returned Anne's smile with a rather knowing, sympathetic one of his own. Anne blushed, feeling rather pleased at his noticeable good humor.

"My dear Anne," Louisa said suddenly, quite loudly, "do you know that gentleman?"

Anne felt her blush darken, and replied hurriedly, "We have met; he is the eldest son of my regular physician here in Bath, and I have seen him sometimes in town."

"How very insolent of him, to smirk at you in that fashion," Louisa exclaimed indignantly. "Though we must not be surprised, for of course you remember whose family he belongs to."

"Yes," Anne answered, quite confused, "he belongs to the family of my physician; did I not say so?"

"They are a very ill-bred family," Louisa said impatiently. "That gentleman is the brother of that lady"—here she indicated Miss Rosamond—"who made such a vulgar spectacle herself at the Dalyrmples', dancing with Lord Adlam and flirting for all the world. Do you not recall it?"

Anne did recall it, and admitted as much.

"I wonder, then, that you can suffer that gentleman's smiles so tolerantly," Louisa declared.

"I daresay he means no harm," Anne ventured, but Louisa cast her with such a black look that she hurriedly endeavored to change the subject by pointing out the arrival of Lord Adlam himself, and all his sisters. This was a sufficient distraction to Miss Hammond, who, turning half away from his Lordship, immediately arranged her features into an attitude of severe, uncaring happiness, and ordered all of her companions to look as though they were highly diverted by her cleverness and charm. The young ladies all gave obedient silvery laughs, doing their best to look at Lord Adlam without seeming as though they were looking at him. The young lord, to Anne's satisfaction and Louisa's vexation, indeed appeared not to notice the small gaggle of young ladies surreptitiously studying him over their fans, and he and his sisters passed into the ballroom without a glance in their direction. Naturally, Miss Hammond and her companions followed only a moment after.

Anne took this opportunity to separate herself from Louisa and her friends, and sat for a moment near her Ladyship, whose circle had grown. The ballroom had filled considerably whilst she had been walking from room to room, and Anne was now at leisure to find some small pleasure in watching the dance. The dancers were generally skilfull and clearly enjoying themselves; the music was lively, and the entire room shimmered with a warm and colorful light. Cheerful voices rose in a hum above the notes of the song, and every now and then a chorus of laughter would burst forth from one or another of the parties seated near Anne's own. The entire atmosphere of the room was one of obvious delight and energy, and Anne, escaped from the company of Louisa Hammond, her spirit soothed by the general ambiance, and still feeling the agreeable lightness in her chest produced by Mr. Hart's smile, found herself rather enjoying the ball for the first time that evening.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be Anne's lot to take moments of contentment with moments of pain; for at that moment, the Pemberley party came through the wide doorway into the ballroom. Mrs. Darcy, her head held high and her face lit by a smile of pure enjoyment, held her husband's arm with an air of comfortable belonging, and he, his head bent towards hers as he spoke into her ear, looked a good deal more cheerful than Anne had ever seen him. Behind them came Colonel Fitzwilliam, finely turned out in his dress uniform, and on his arm pretty Georgiana, who looked half-afraid and half-eager as she regarded the assembly.

The Darcys did not go unnoticed by Lady Catherine, whose angry rumblings Anne could hear, at least in pieces, even above the music and voices of the ballroom. "Very ill-bred… and what of poor Georgiana? With such an influence…perfectly shameful…most seriously displeased." The ladies sitting with Lady Catherine all seemed to share her mind; yet Anne noticed that several of them aimed rather longing glances in the Darcys' direction, clearly wishing to be meeting the famous Mrs. Darcy themselves.

This arrival similarly did not fail to attract notice from other parties, and several ladies and gentlemen—many of them friends or acquaintances of the de Bourghs—swept forward to greet the newcomers. Anne, watching, could not help the swell of jealousy in her chest as Elizabeth Darcy received greetings and compliments with attractove poise and brightness, her hand never leaving her husband's arm. They made a very fine couple, indeed, Anne realized glumly. She herself could never have made such a fitting Mrs. Darcy.

She sat watching for a moment longer, her good spirits slowly ebbing. The Darcys were too well-suited, too graceful, too attractive, and above all too happy, she thought crossly, though she knew it was absurd. Quite suddenly, the ballroom seemed very full and very warm—uncomfortably so. Mrs. Darcy met every person with the same easy grace, the same kindness; even Mr. Darcy appeared almost affable, and Anne unexpectedly found the entire scene intolerable. She rose from her chair, her legs rather unsteady beneath her and her eyes rather blurred, and hurried out of the ballroom, with no clear direction or purpose in mind.

Hastening into the Octagon Room, her head bowed, she collided quite suddenly with another person, and would have been knocked off her feet if not for the firm hand that caught her about the arm and held her steady. Anne raised her eyes to meet those of Mr. Hart and Miss Adele Cates, the former looking rather more concerned than the latter.

"Good heavens, Miss de Bourgh," Miss Cates drawled, "are you ill?"

"No, no," Anne responded hastily, daring to brush at her eyes. "I apologize; I was thinking of—something else, and was distracted. Excuse me."

"No apology is necessary," Mr. Hart assured her, though he still did not look entirely convinced of her wellbeing.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, Miss Cates looking very bored and Mr. Hart watching Anne anxiously. Anne, who did not at that moment feel entirely capable of making pleasant conversation, at last curtsied and attempted to move past them; yet Mr. Hart's hand, still absently curled around her arm, tightened. The gentleman appeared to realize this quite when Anne did, and immediately removed his hand, looking rather embarrassed.

"Excuse me," he said. "But I do wish you would not rush off, Miss de Bourgh, for I have it on good authority that Rosamond is looking for you, and she will be quite cross with me if I do not at least attempt to detain you."

"I am sure I will see Miss Hart later," Anne replied, for she could feel her eyes welling up again. Miss Cates took Mr. Hart's arm, her eyes fixed on Anne, and Anne again had the urge to be absolutely any place but here.

"Rose is just in the ballroom," Mr. Hart urged, smiling. "I beg you to join us, Miss de Bourgh, for she will surely be upset when she finds that I have seen you and she has not.'"

"You must excuse me, sir," Anne said firmly, and hurried away again before Mr. Hart could say any thing else.


She did not go very far—merely to the vestibule, which was quite deserted now, for it seemed as though every body who planned to arrive had already done so. Anne was glad of the relative quiet, broken only by the echoes of voices and music, and leaned against the stone wall, only half-conscious of the fact that she must be crushing her carefully arranged curls.

She was not jealous of Elizabeth Darcy because she wanted Mr. Darcy for herself; as has been mentioned before, Anne had come to see very clearly that she and Mr. Darcy should have made a miserable couple, neither of them being at all suited to the other. She should have been afraid of his stony gaze, and he should have been irritated by her meekness. What a silent, wretched prison would Pemberley have been! Indeed, Anne thought, she was really quite fortunate that Mr. Darcy had married some body else, or she should have spent the rest of her days with even less amusement and affection than had filled her life at Rosings Park.

Yet there was the image of them: a striking couple, plainly devoted to one another, addressing each other with all of the simple warmth and familiarity which love can bring. They had only been married for three months, or so, and yet it was clear to any body who saw them that they were comfortable, accustomed to one another, and very well-matched. Anne had never seen a gentleman look at her in the way Mr. Darcy regarded his wife, nor had she ever met a gentleman who was likely to do so. That degree of intimacy, of mutual admiration and respect, was quite lost to Anne, who knew very well that she was plain, and dull, and unaccomplished, and indeed had nothing to recommend her but her money and her land, which would not be hers until she was an orphan—and until then, she thought bitterly, what husband could be expected to live with such a mother-in-law as Lady Catherine?

Anne wallowed in her loneliness and resentment for several minutes, taking deep breaths of the cool air that drifted in from the outside. At length, however, she heard footsteps approaching her hiding-place, and attempted to school herself into the look of a young lady who was very much enjoying a ball, rather than a young lady who was feeling thoroughly sorry for herself.

She was surprised, upon turning back towards the Octagon Room, to find that the footsteps were those of Robert Hart, who was moving towards her purposefully. He stopped when he saw her emerge from the vestibule, inclining his head politely, and to Anne's surprise, did not continue walking as she passed him, but instead turned back and fell into step beside her.

"I am on a mission of mercy, Miss de Bourgh," he confided, smiling at her. "My brother is convinced that you are ill, and has sent me to see whether you require any assistance. He would have come himself, but he has been pressed into service."

At Anne's questioning look, the young man elaborated: "Dancing, I mean. With Miss Cates, who was most insistent. But Miss de Bourgh," he continued, "are you ill? Forgive me, but you look rather pale."

Anne thought wryly that it appeared to be her fate to forever receive sympathy and concern from the Hart family, but was quick to reassure him. "I am very well, Mr. Hart, only I was a little overcome by the heat of the ballroom, and needed some fresh air. I feel much better now."

"I am glad of it," Mr. Robert said kindly. Anne looked up at him gratefully. He truly did look a great deal like his twin, she reflected. They shared the same large eyes and fair hair, and their smiles were exceedingly similar. She had no doubt that the younger Mr. Hart, once he had come of age, would be very handsome indeed.

Upon re-entering the ballroom, Anne found herself rather disinclined to return to her Ladyship and her friends, and instead opted to follow Mr. Robert. The young gentleman did not seem at all surprised when she remained by his side, and led her to a large circle of chairs occupied by several ladies and gentleman whom Anne had not met before, though she recognized some of them. Her companion introduced her, but the noise of the ballroom was such that Anne could not be entirely certain of their names; nonetheless, they welcomed her merrily, and one of the gentleman immediately stood to assist her with her chair.

The party was in excellent spirits, every body chattering to one another, laughing and occasionally clapping their hands to the dance. Mr. Robert informed Anne that his brother and sister were both dancing, and indeed Anne could see them: Miss Rosamond with a young Army captain, Mr. Hart with Miss Cates. The dance was an animated one, and the spin of skirts and coat-tails was mesmerizing. Anne felt some of her earlier happiness slowly returning to her, though she suffered a sharp stap of melancholy when she caught sight of Mr. Darcy and his wife dancing deftly, laughing together at some private joke (or rather, she laughed, and he smiled).

Perhaps Mr. Robert noticed her sudden distress, or perhaps he was merely in a gregarious frame of mind; at any rate, he managed to distract Anne from her envy by asking her if she and her mother possessed subscriptions to the Assembly-Rooms, and whether Miss de Bourgh thought they would be attending often. Anne was quite ready to turn away from the dance, and responded readily. Their conversation lasted until the dance had ended, and the two couples from their own party returned, breathing hard but vibrant with energy.

Miss Rosamond was overjoyed to see her friend, and greeted her affectionately; Mr. Hart was similarly glad to find Anne well. The two of them, and their partners, took the only free chairs in the grouping, which happened to be those nearest Anne. She was rather pleased, in spite of herself, to be thus the center of attention.

"Miss de Bourgh, I was very uneasy when you left us in the Octagon-Room," Mr. Hart declared. "More for my own sake, I must confess, than for yours; for I was greatly afraid of how Rose would abuse me when she heard that I had met you. She had already instructed me to claim you if I saw you, and threatened me with violence if I did not."

"Nonsense," Miss Rosamond laughed. "You must ignore my brother, Miss de Bourgh, for he is full of these odd notions; I very much hoped to see you, of course, but mine was not a violent request!"

"That is nonsense," Mr. Hart exclaimed. "I am sure Robert will support me, Miss de Bourgh, if I profess to you now that our Rosamond, despite all outward appearance, has quite a terrible temper. She rules our household with an iron fist. We live in terror."

"Indeed," Mr. Robert avowed, looking very grave. "I very much fear my sister's wrath. 'Though she be but little, she is fierce.'"

"Is that not the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard?" Miss Rosamond demanded, turning to Anne with bright eyes.

"I can scarcely credit such an account," Anne admitted, smiling.

"Then you are taken in, Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart declared solemnly, "and my brother and I can have no hope of rescue from you. Perhaps our next listener will be more sympathetic to our cause."

"It is highly doubtful, for you are both fools," Miss Rosamond replied lightly. "And don't you dare call me 'little' ever again, Robert. I know it is Shakespeare, but it is unkind!"

Her brothers thought this highly amusing, and laughed freely at their sister's expense. If they had been another family, Anne should have wondered at Miss Rosamond's tolerating their teasing so patiently; yet the fondness between brothers and sister was plain to see, even as they ridiculed one another—perhaps especially then—and she instead felt something of the now-familiar ache of jealousy, for she had never had a brother, or sister, or any body laugh at her, certainly not with such affection.

Yet the jovial company of the Harts and their friends was not conducive to such gloomy reflections, and Anne swiftly found herself cheered by the company's general vivacity.

She was even more cheered when the first cotillion was announced, the end of which would signal tea-time. Mr. Hart, apologizing for his remissiveness in not having done so sooner, promptly asked for Miss de Bourgh's hand in the dance. A rapid scan of the ballroom assured Anne that her Ladyship and her friends were nowhere to be seen—Lady Catherine was likely holding court in one of the other rooms—and that of her family, only Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were within immediate view of the dance-floor, seated as they were with Miss Finch and a gentleman in uniform, whom Anne presumed was the lady's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam's friend. Thus, the room seemed quite safe, and Anne, almost free from anxiety, was able to accept Mr. Hart's offer with pleasure. (She could not help noticing Miss Cates pursing her lips slightly as the gentleman led her onto the dance-floor.)

"I have always enjoyed the cotillion," Mr. Hart said grandly as they took their places, "for it is an active dance, yet allows plenty of opportunity for conversation."

"Miss Rosamond tells me you are very fond of conversation," Anne said, feeling rather bold. Mr. Hart laughed as the dance began.

"I am indeed; that is why I shall be a fine lawyer—it is a profession that allows me to speak on some thing or other all the day long."

"You will surely grow very tired," Anne observed.

"But to grow tired doing some thing one loves, I find, is eternally satisfying, and can only ever produce happiness. When we finish this dance, Miss de Bourgh, you will certainly be tired; yet will you not also be happy, because you have been enjoying yourself? I hope you enjoy yourself, at any rate," he added.

"I will be very happy," Anne replied, smiling. "I do like the cotillion. I have not performed it since my cousin and I were dancing together, at the Dalyrmples'." She stopped quite suddenly, recalling the circumstances of that dance—particularly those involving Mr. Hart himself—and blushed very red. Mr. Hart noticed, and smiled.

"Ah, yes; what would no doubt be called the 'fateful night,' if we were to find ourselves the characters of a novel. Do not distress yourself, Miss de Bourgh," he went on, seeing that Anne looked no less discomfited. "I have quite forgiven you for the misunderstanding, and have even devised a way in which you may completely redeem yourself."

"I was not aware I was required to do so," Anne said stiffly, still thoroughly embarrassed. They were separated just then by the steps of the dance, but rejoined within a moment.

"It will be no great difficulty, I hope," Mr. Hart said. "Indeed, it may even prove somewhat enjoyable. I was cheated out of a dance with you, Miss de Bourgh—not by your own devices, of course," he added quickly, as Anne flushed darker. "Fear not, I hold you blameless; but the fact remains that I have now, in the course of our acquaintance, asked you for two dances, and I have only received one. That, I believe, is what any decent man of business would term a 'rotten deal.' I demand reimbursement."

"And how are you to be reimbursed?" Anne asked nervously.

"It is quite simple, Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart said genially. "If you will promise to dance the second cotillion with me this evening, I will declare us completely even on all accounts."

Anne could not help the smile that crossed her face, and agreed. Mr. Hart returned her smile, and they passed the rest of the dance with lively conversation, which Anne found easier than ever to engage in. When the first cotillion finally ended and tea-time was announced, she was delighted to find herself truly enjoying a ball, the way she imagined most young ladies usually did.


Anne was of course obliged to sit with her mother at tea; but the certain dullness of this refreshment was, to her surprise, lifted by Colonel Fitzwilliam's sitting down with them, having seen Georgiana safely to the side of her brother. Lady Catherine appeared no less surprised, and, understanding her nephew's allegiances to lie with the Darcys, greeted him with coldness, and suffered him to sit beside Anne, rather than herself.

Yet the Colonel was undeterred, and addressed himself to his cousin with customary affability. Anne, still happily looking forward to her second dance with Mr. Hart and pleased by Colonel Fitzwilliam's unsolicited company, responded readily to his questions, and the two of them enjoyed quite an agreeable conversation over tea and cakes.

"Is Georgiana enjoying the ball?" Anne asked, hoping to keep the subject on relatively neutral ground.

"Very much, I think; she has not yet danced, but she has been greatly enjoying the spectacle. I have introduced her to Miss Finch—you know Miss Finch, cousin Anne" (cousin Anne agreed that she did indeed) "and they have been getting along very well. I thought it should be good for Georgiana to meet some body new, for she is rather timid."

"She is lucky to have a guardian with her interests so much in mind," Anne said, smiling.

"You are very kind, cousin. But where have you been?" he asked, laughing. "I have hardly seen you, except for this last dance.—You are a first-rate dancer, Anne, and looked to be enjoying yourself very much."

Anne widened her eyes warningly, attempting to indicate Lady Catherine. It was a clumsy signal, but Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared to understand, for when her Ladyship snapped "Anne, dancing? I did not see her; I did not see you, Anne. Who on earth did you dance with?" he replied only:

"Miss Anne danced with a friend of mine, Lady Catherine; a gentleman of excellent family and manners."

Under ordinary circumstances, her Ladyship might not have allowed the topic to pass so easily; yet she was much distracted by the clear view her table offered of the Darcys', and only sniffed irritably.

Anne came away from the tea-table having promised a dance to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and felt far more the fashionable young lady than she ever had before. Her happiness was so great that even the company of Louisa Hammond, who attached herself to Anne's arm the moment she returned to the ballroom, was no great trial; for when Louisa asked, quite smugly, "And how many dances have you had, my dearest Anne?", her dearest Anne was able to answer nonchalantly:

"I have had one, and am engaged for two more. Have you declined Lord Adlam's invitation yet, as you intended?"

Miss Hammond's face grew rather red, and she said, irritably, "He has not yet asked me, if you must know; but he will, and I will refuse him soundly."

She seemed rather less interested in Anne's company after this interaction, and excused herself within a moment, to join her mother.

Anne thought it unwise to rejoin her Ladyship, who had scarcely noticed her presence—or lack thereof—in any event; for she did not wish to risk Lady Catherine's interference a second time, when Mr. Hart should come to collect her for the second cotillion. She therefore made her way back towards the Harts' party, where she took a seat between Miss Rosamond and Miss Cates. The former welcomed her warmly.

"Did you enjoy your dance with my brother?" she asked, looking rather amused. "I have told you, have I not, that he talks far too much; I do hope you were not very bored."

"Not at all," Anne assured her. "I must confess," she said, rather quietly, for such a thing seemed perhaps improper to her, "I think him rather amusing."

"Oh, Theodore is a fine conversationalist," Miss Cates broke in quite suddenly. "We have had a great many excellent talks; I always look forward to seeing him. I am fortunate in that we meet quite often," she went on, "for Rosamond and I have been friends for many years, and I spend a great deal of time at Hart House." She gave Miss Rosamond a brilliant smile, which her friend returned after a moment. Anne, rather shocked at the familiar way in which Miss Cates had Christian-named Mr. Hart, could think of no response.

"Adele's family are regular patients of my father," Miss Rosamond explained to Anne.

"You seem to meet a great many people that way," Anne observed. She realized as she said it that it sounded rather impolite; but Miss Rosamond appeared to take no offense, and merely laughed.

"But she does not always form such lasting friendships with those she meets—do you, Rose?" Miss Cates pressed, leaning forward. "I daresay we knew from the moment we met that we would be particular friends; and so we are. And I have been very fortunate that my particular friend has brothers and sisters whom I simply adore, for such is not always the case."

"No, indeed," Miss Rosamond agreed, wrinkling her brow somewhat as though puzzled; but the expression passed within a moment. "And we are very fond of you as well, Adele," she added, regaining her habitual smile.

Anne, who felt as though Miss Cates' words were somehow for her benefit, was rather confused, and sat in silence. She was startled to feel rather hurt when Mr. Hart arrived to collect Miss Cates, the two being engaged for the Scotch reel which would precede the cotillion. Miss Cates, she noticed crossly, took Mr. Hart's proferred arm with distinct alacrity. Miss Rosamond was also engaged for the Scotch reel, and bid Anne farewell as she was led onto the dance-floor by a tall gentleman.

With both her companions gone, Anne had nothing to do but watch the dance; an occupation which formerly would have been quite acceptable to her, but now left her unusually anxious. She could not help noting that Miss Cates, undoubtedly a very pretty girl, looked quite handsome in a gown of dark blue silk, and seemed perfectly comfortable dancing with Mr. Hart. She tossed her head, laughed charmingly, and smiled a good deal more than Anne had ever seen her; the display, Anne thought, was quite insufferable, and a true show of ill taste and poor breeding. Mr. Hart looked to be enjoying the Scotch reel quite as much as he had enjoyed the cotillion—a sight which left a curious sinking sensation in Anne's chest.

The Scotch reel ended, though Anne thought it must go on for-ever, and the dancers returned to their seats, looking thoroughly exhilarated. Mr. Hart gallantly assisted Miss Cates to her chair, then offered his arm to Anne, who took it, though with hardly the pleasure and satisfaction she had expected.

"We are grown near the end of the evening now, Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart remarked, as they again took their places to begin the cotillion. "How did you find your first fancy-ball in Bath?"

"Very diverting," Anne replied.

"Were you truly shocked by any of the ensembles you saw? Miss Cates has pointed out to me several ladies whom she claims are appallingly attired, though I confess I have little understanding of ladies' dress, and have seen nothing very appalling."

"Neither have I," Anne answered tersely. "Miss Cates and I must have different opinions on the subject."

"I am glad to hear it! What would the world be, if we all thought alike?"

"It would be very tedious," was Anne's response, and she said nothing more. They concentrated on the dance for some moments, Anne feeling the same disinclination to friendliness that she had felt at the beginning of their acquaintance, before Mr. Hart spoke again.

"I saw that your cousin Fitzwilliam was sitting with you at tea.—He is a fine gentleman, and an excellent friend. I hope his family are all well?"

"Very well."

"Did not your cousins the Darcys recently arrive here in Bath? I am not acquainted with them myself," he added, at Anne's sharp look, "but I have heard that they are a charming couple, very well-matched. You must be glad to have your family so near."

"My mother and I are not particularly intimate with the Darcys," Anne said curtly. Mr. Hart wisely chose not to pursue the subject.

"Miss de Bourgh," he began, after another few minutes of silence, "I see we are faced with a conundrum, which must be resolved before the dance is over, or we shall certainly suffer."

"I do not follow you."

"Something has occurred, between the first cotillion and the second, which has caused you some great distress. My evidence is this: before tea-time, you were in excellent spirits, and a thoroughly captivating dance-partner. Since tea-time, you have become no less adept at the steps of the dance, but are no longer so delightfully sociable as you were before. What has upset you?"

"Are you always this frank, sir?" Anne demanded, bristling. She had realized, of course, that her feelings at the moment must be obvious; yet she had hardly expected Mr. Hart to comment upon them. To her further astonishment, her partner merely laughed.

"I am afraid so, Miss de Bourgh. It is a family characteristic, as you may realize; as children, my brother and sisters and I were always taught to speak with forthrightness. I am sorry if I have offended you."

"I am not offended," Anne replied, her annoyance ebbing.

"Nonetheless," Mr. Hart maintained, "you are not happy, and I would make you so, if it is within my power."

These words had the effect of removing Anne's remaining indignation, and her displeasure suddenly seemed to her quite petulant and ridiculous. Of course Mr. Hart had done her no wrong; he was perfectly within his rights to dance with whomever he pleased, and at any rate, Anne herself had no claim on him—nor, she thought resolutely, had she any wish to. It was merely the experience of having gained a gentleman's notice, only to see it then bestowed with equal agreeableness on another woman, which had upset her; for Anne was unused to having any body's attention at all, and was loath to give it up once she had it.

"I am happy," she assured Mr. Hart, smiling sheepishly up at him. "I suppose I am merely tired; I am not yet accustomed to these long evenings."

"Should you prefer to sit?" he asked her, gazing at her with honest concern.

"I am quite able to dance," Anne insisted. "After all, I must fulfill my promise."

"Not at the risk of your well-being, I assure you. Although," he added pensively, "I suppose it might be for the good of my family, if you were to fall ill; for my father is your physician, and your poor health would ensure a brisk trade for him."

"Mr. Hart!" Anne exclaimed, rather scandalized. The gentleman laughed.

"Fear not, Miss de Bourgh, for despite my unruly tongue, I could never wish you any harm. You are quite safe in my company."

"I am glad to hear it," Anne said, rather shyly, "for I do not believe I could wish you any harm, either."

Mr. Hart thanked her solemnly, but with a teasing twinkle in his eye, and they ended the dance in far happier accord than they had begun.


The ball similarly ended much more auspiciously than its beginnings had suggested possible. Anne passed much of the evening sitting with the Harts and their friends, though she did at times hasten back to her Ladyship, in order to avert suspicion as to her whereabouts. Thankfully, Lady Catherine was occupied with her friends, and was largely unconcerned with Anne's comings and goings; she was satisfied to learn of her daughter's dancing with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and of her having walked a little with Louisa Hammond, in whom she still hoped Anne might find a useful particular friend. Beyond these requirements, Lady Catherine deemed herself quite fortunate that Anne managed to keep herself occupied, this time, with her own connexions, which she considered a sign of Anne's social success. There was nothing less attractive, she maintained, than a young lady who had no body to speak to at a ball; and that Anne could no longer be counted among this sad number, she thought very promising indeed. She never chanced to inquire as to the names of Anne's new friends, for she had introduced her daughter to so many ladies and gentlemen of excellent family and fortune, that she thought it only natural that Anne had earned herself a place among them. Having essentially put out of her mind the distressing incident of the undesirable gentleman's asking Anne to dance at the Dalyrmples', she was quite confident that Miss de Bourgh, with her instruction, had learned to avoid such persons, and was settled firmly among her equals.

Anne's dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam was as pleasing as she had expected. Her cousin, as usual, spoke freely and cheerfully, and Anne found herself rather sorry when the dance ended. Colonel Fitzwilliam, too, seemed almost regretful as he returned her to her chair, and even went so far as to remark,

"What prodigious fine spirits you are in this evening, cousin. Forgive my saying so, but you hardly seem the same quiet Anne de Bourgh whom I knew so long at Rosings Park. I take it your health has improved?"

"Very much," Anne replied confidently, quite thrilled at her cousin's compliment—for she did choose to consider it a compliment. "And there is much more to do in Bath, than at Rosings; I declare I am most charmed by the city. I imagine I shall never wish to leave."

Colonel Fitzwilliam was quite amused by his cousin's uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and bid Anne a very fond farewell as he returned to Georgiana, though he promised to visit later in the week.

The de Bourghs left the ball shortly after midnight, as Lady Catherine insisted she could not stand very late nights. Anne was sorry to go, yet utterly exhilarated. She felt, sitting in the carriage, as though she could not bear to sit still; so much had happened, so many things had been said, that she was able to reflect on the finest moments of the ball with something approaching bliss, lending an air of enchantment to her journey home and to her night-time toilette. Rosamond Hart had been so kind; her brothers, so amiable; Colonel Fitzwilliam, so good-humored; she had danced three dances, and with separate gentlemen; she had met new acquaintances, had eaten some excellent cake, had averted any potential social or familial disasters, and, in contrast to her earlier thoughts, was now quite confident that her gown and her hair-style were most becoming, and that she had looked rather pretty all the evening. The less favorable moments of the ball were, for the time being, discarded, and Anne—despite the shadows of Miss Hammond, Miss Cates, and the bothersome Darcys, looming over every thing—was at last finally, truly, thoroughly happy.