The Adventures of Cassandra--Section III
Beginning, Previous Section, Section III
Jump to new as of January 21, 1999
Jump to new as of January 25, 1999
Chapter 6 H
Instantly the room burst into a flurry of confusion and alarm. Arabella, who was immediately before Mr. Darcy in the reel, instantly turned and gasped, "Cassandra!" while her host admirably kept his composure. Cassie had swooned, and now wondered if she had better appear to revive…but there was something so deliciously appealing about being in Darcy's arms that she resolved to stay there a while longer. From across the room she heard Miss Bingley snidely observe that Miss Beaumaris must have the constitution of an invalid if she could not handle something so trivial as a dance, but then of course, she danced so ill it was just as well. Her mother entreated, "Is she hot? Mr. Darcy…" whereupon she trailed off and was soothed by her husband, who must have come instantly to her side. Cassandra felt a man's palm upon her forehead, and then thrilled as he placed the back of his hand gently against her cheek. It lingered there for an instant-was that absolutely necessary? she thought happily-and then Darcy's steady baritone answered that she was quite warm but she did not appear to be feverish. "She must lie down," her mother insisted. "Or maybe she is just overheated---some water, perhaps-Rachel-" but Colonel Fitzwilliam was already ready with a glass.
Cassandra felt the glass being raised to her lips. The hand cradling her shoulders tightened, and Darcy spoke firmly, "Miss Beaumaris?…Miss Beaumaris…" then, more quietly, "Cassandra…?"
Her lashes fluttered dangerously in her delight to hear him say her first name, though she knew it was scandalously improper for him to do so, even if no one would notice under the circumstances. Still, she did not stir. "She's out," said her father. "May I take her to your study, sir?"
"Please, sir, allow me," was the civil reply. As he spoke Darcy lifted Cassandra with ease and moved towards the door. His grasp was firm and strong, and though she had already had difficulty breathing, her breath came in shallow gasps and provided a convincing effect. Footsteps followed them down the corridor and into a side room, though other than her mother's voice she could distinguish no one's. In an instant she was deposited with infinite gentleness on a large straight-backed sofa. So soon! She managed to just slide one limp hand down the front of his suit as Darcy knelt beside her. He had no time to suspect a thing, however, before Arabella supplanted his place at her side. Cassie's sigh was taken to be part of her overall discomposure.
The next voice she heard caused a flicker of a smile: it was Austen's. "Cassie? Mother, she'll be fine, she's just a little tired." His father agreed. "Let me stay with her, and you two return to the ballroom. If we all disappear at once they'll think it's something serious."
"How do you know it isn't?" his mother exclaimed fearfully, placing her cool hand over her daughter's.
"Look at her! She's not pale, she's just a little flushed, and you heard Darcy say she showed no signs of a fever. Give her a few moments and she'll revive and be just fine."
Mrs. Beaumaris apparently still showed some reluctance, for Mr. Darcy offered politely, "I am inclined to agree with your son. Austen and I will remain here with her until she recovers."
"You, sir?" inserted Robert Beaumaris rather stiffly. Cassie sensed the distrust in his voice. He must suspect Mr. Darcy of more interest in me than he approves of, she speculated. "But why should you leave your guests for so long? No, I will stay, and you may escort my wife back to the ballroom."
"No, indeed. I assure you it will be no trouble. I am partially to blame-I persuaded your daughter to dance, when she would have chosen not to exert herself. I am certain that she did not feel well from the beginning, and that is why she chose to remain seated for the first set."
"But then why did she not tell us?" demanded Austen with a hint of suspicion. "She must have told me if she felt ill."
"Perhaps it came upon her suddenly," his father answered, with a bit of mystery. "But we're probably only making her worse, jabbering about like this. Come, Arabella." Cassandra's mother squeezed her hand once more and rose. Mr. Beaumaris turned on his way out the door and fixed Darcy with a grave look. "Please inform me if she seems unwell. I would not wish to encroach on your hospitality-"
"Say no more, sir," was the direct reply, followed by a dignified bow.
The door shut; the two men were alone in the room with Cassandra, who, for all her very real relief at being isolated from the rest of the company, could not contain her intense curiosity at hearing what the two gentlemen would have to talk about. Even from her prostrate position on the couch, her eyes closed, she sensed her brother's stiffness. He wasted hardly a moment before eyeing his host and summarily declaring, "Forgive my impertinence, sir, but are you aware just how improper your advances toward my sister have been this evening?"
She nearly choked, and her involuntary stirring on the couch momentarily put conversation to an end, which was a fortunate circumstance; Cassandra suspected correctly that her host needed the distraction in order to check his astonishment and temper at being so addressed. Austen went to her and knelt by her side. "Cassandra?" he said gently, probing her features for any stirrings of life. Austen, you idiot! she thought, determinedly maintaining her stillness.
"You will wake her, sir," Darcy said calmly from his position in the center of the room.
"I think not-she seems to be quite asleep," said Austen, but he nonetheless passed his hand over her countenance to see if she stirred. She did not, and turning away he once again addressed Darcy. "I did not mean to sound so rude just now. I only wonder if you realize the significance of your paying so much attention to my sister."
"Indeed, sir, I think your notions of chivalry very strange if you imagine that I have been showing her any more than the attention due to the guest of honor after her homecoming. Did you think I should not honor her by asking her for the first dance, or express concern when she did not accept?" He paused, and seemed to be measuring his words carefully. "In fact, the way she has avoided my approaches throughout the evening must be indicative of a complete disinterest on her part; and I assure you I am far from ready to begin paying a near stranger attentions I do not feel on the first night of our acquaintance."
Austen let out a short, cynical laugh. "You don't know my sister if you think she's been shying off, sir. Why, she's been coming at you all night, just from the opposite direction. Instead of letting you court her with dances and conventionalities, she's chosen to befuddle you till you don't know what to make of her."
Could Cassandra have seen Darcy's face, and the expression of horrified doubt and dismay that overcame it, she would instantly have established exactly how mistaken her brother was about his knowledge of his sister. Austen continued suavely, "Be ware of what you're about, man, or before you know it she'll bewitch you into fancying yourself in love with her."
Darcy's indignation was paramount, and with a great effort at maintaining his composure he replied haughtily, "Rest assured, sir, I have no great interest in falling in love with Miss Beaumaris or anyone else. And I may say I have had far more experience than yourself in such matters, being, as I am, nine years your senior. I am fully aware of the traps a woman uses to attempt to catch me-much more aware than I would like to be. If your sister is indeed setting her cap for me, she is not the first nor the last to do so, and I know well how to handle any assumptions on her part." A bit of his humour surfaced, and he added wryly, "Indeed, she is not the only woman present tonight to be anxious to merit my approval, for whatever reason-and I must say she has done it in a far more agreeable manner than have others of my acquaintance. The Beaumaris appear to be skilled in the art of understatement."
Austen laughed. "Yes, we're the epitome of subtlety-what with my sister collapsing in your arms and my own knack of hiding behind potted plants whenever anyone comes near me whom I find detestable-at least my mother and father are well-behaved!" His good-natured laugh was echoed by Mr. Darcy's slight chuckle, and Cassandra was glad to feel the two gentleman were on equal footing. "But Cassie's behaviour tonight is excusable-she was greatly excited about meeting you and your sister again after so long."
"Yes, Georgianna was anxious as well to see her."
Austen's voice lowered, and he said enigmatically, "I gather Miss Darcy was pleased with the members of our party?"
"The Beaumaris and the Darcys have always enjoyed each other's company," was the rather terse reply. From her position on the couch Cassie thought in vexation that Austen, for all his unconventional manners, was doing nothing to further his interest in Georgianna, if indeed her suspicions were correct, by driving her brother into a state of perturbation such as this conversation would produce.
"I was referring to Mr. Crawford, sir," replied Austen coolly.
"Your friend from Oxford? I hadn't noticed any distinction on either part. You think I should be warned, then?"
"Against Henry?" said Austen quickly, rather guiltily. "Oh, no, sir, you have my word Mr. Crawford is a man of honor."
Except when he goes to Mansfield, thought his sister in chagrin. Darcy assured her that he had no suspicion to the contrary, and added, "But forgive me, sir. I would not wish to impugn the character of your friend. But where my sister is concerned, I am sometimes overly interested in her welfare."
Austen smiled. "That is a sentiment I can certainly relate to, Mr. Darcy. If anything were to happen to Cassandra…" he trailed off, and she fancied even with her eyes closed that her brother was gazing at her with an expression of the deepest affection.
"I honour you for your concern. I promise Miss Beaumaris will come to no harm at my hands."
"Do you think you will see much of her, then, this summer?" queried Austen, and then added rather hastily, "I mean, apart from the usual get-togethers-I suspect our sisters will be spending no little time together."
Darcy studied the lithe form on the couch. "Your sister is a unique creature, to be sure. I should have no objection to getting to know her better." There was a slight pause, and then he added wryly, "In fact, in comparison to certain women of my acquaintance, I find her quite refreshing."
"You refer to Miss Bingley, I suppose?" Darcy looked up at him sharply, but Austen continued blithely, "Oh, she's a rare find, at that. But her brother's an amiable gentleman. I must say I like him immensely."
"Oh, were you introduced then, after all?" retorted his host with some asperity. "I should have thought you had deserted the ball room at that point. I did not have the favour of making them known to you."
"Crawford introduced me, when he was able to pull himself away from Miss Darcy," was the calm reply. "I think Charles Bingley a rare fellow, too. Such affability as I've yet to see in a creature, except for a charming French poodle I knew once."
"Come now!" was the instantaneous reproach, delivered in a tone of reluctant agreement. From the couch Cassandra stifled her laughter and wondered how long she should be supposed unconscious before coming to. "Charles certainly has a pleasanter disposition than any man of my acquaintance. It is sometimes a fault of his, that he is so easily pleased. At times his acquaintances are hardly suitable for his station in life."
"I suppose, then, you do your best to talk him out of bestowing his favor in such circumstances."
Darcy hesitated, and then admitted, not without some pride, "I confess I often have to exert such influence upon him to keep him from disgracing himself. But it is nothing where friendship is concerned-certainly no trouble to me."
Austen observed him candidly. "No-no, I can't imagine it would be, to you," he replied. Cassandra was confused. Did he like the man or didn't he? His meanings were sometimes so vague-it was as though he saw through Darcy, and wanted to ridicule him…but what could there be to ridicule? "At any rate," he added, "Your loyalty is touching."
"As is yours, sir, to your sister." Cassandra was pleased that he had turned the conversation back to her, but her eagerness to hear what he might next say concerning herself was checked when the door opened and footsteps attested to the entrance of a newcomer. "Hello," said her brother brightly. "What brings you here?"
"I came to keep you company, of course, in your self-imposed isolation," replied the genial voice of Mr. Henry Crawford. "Sir," he addressed Mr. Darcy, "you really must chastise him for his bad manners. He's danced no dances, and has gone out of his way to make himself disagreeable all night. Really, Austen, I thought you liked balls."
"Under certain circumstances, I do," said Austen with a faint smile.
"Tsk, tsk!-what better circumstances could one ask for, than a ball at Pemberley? I have heard, Mr. Darcy, reports of the beauty of your estate, but upon seeing it for myself I really have no phrases adequate enough for its praise. It is a magnificent place." Mr. Darcy made no response, and Cassandra assumed he had bowed his thanks in becoming modesty. "Austen," said his friend with a good-natured insistence, "I must see you stand up once before the night is over. I should so much like to see you dance with Miss Darcy."
"Would you indeed?" was the flat reply.
"She is a charming young lady, Mr. Darcy. Really, I admire you for having raised such a woman of breeding and good manners. She almost reminds me of…" Crawford stopped rather abruptly.
"Of the lady you told me of, at Mansfield Park?" queried Austen. "Miss Price, was that it?"
"Er…yes," replied Mr. Crawford uncertainly. He added effacingly to his host by way of explanation, "A young lady, very much like your sister in manner, only, of vastly inferior birth and connections. Had circumstances been different, I daresay she might have been properly introduced and made much of in society. But-" his tone lightened considerably, and his whole manner appeared to change-"things never work out as they should, eh? I imagine by this time she is properly settled down and wed to her cousin, or some sort of thing."
"You speak rather flippantly, now, to have been so attached to her as you once claimed to be," Mr. Beaumaris remarked casually, but with a certain questioning air about him that Darcy marked with interest. "Surely your attachment did not grow so cold overnight?"
Cassandra, still in repose on the sofa, was in an agony of goosebumps. There was more to interest her in this conversation than in any she had heard all evening. "If…if you could call it attachment," began Crawford, but then, suddenly, his voice lowered, and he added earnestly, "No. I believe-I was very much in love with her, at the time. But she would not have me, you see."
"Really?" interposed his host. "Forgive me for expressing surprise-what on earth could she have had to object to, in such a favorable alliance? She could have only profited from the rise in situation and fortune."
Crawford reddened. "There were certain aspects of my character, sir, which did not suit her own. She-I think she felt I was rather too much of a…a …"
"Coxcomb?" interjected Austen kindly. Crawford cast him a grimace and nodded reluctantly.
"And did you not love her enough to take the trouble of proving her wrong?" Darcy asked, his own tone rather more affected than he realized. But before Mr. Crawford could venture a reply Darcy continued brusquely, "Perhaps it was just as well. You could never have been happy with anyone so far beneath you-especially with a woman who could not recognize your true merit as a gentleman."
A sharp, muffled cry from the couch quickly ended conversation as the men turned in surprise to see Cassandra rise, her vexation making it obvious she had not suddenly revived. "Cassie!" cried her brother in astonishment. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough," she retorted hotly, her eyes coming to rest upon the mortified countenance of her host. "Mr. Darcy, surely you don't think that Miss Price-forgive me, Mr. Crawford, for playing devil's advocate, for obviously I don't know the details of the situation to which you refer-surely, just because Miss Price failed to approve of Mr. Crawford's character, you don't think that makes her any less sensible of true gentleman-like behaviour?"
"Indeed, Miss Beaumaris," stammered Darcy, his shock at being so abruptly reproached severe-never let it be said of Cassandra Beaumaris, he thought, that she was not full of surprises! "Indeed, I do not know the particulars of the circumstances at hand-but I think that any woman who could have willfully turned down such a handsome offer as Mr. Crawford's, must have been suffering under a strong prejudice against him, which inclines me to think her understanding at fault."
"Oh, her understanding, naturally, but never his?-forgive me, Mr. Crawford. And you, Mr. Darcy, would never allow that a large fortune and good connections did not automatically make one the worthiest of gentlemen, even if Mr. Crawford had done something to merit her disfavour?"
"Of course," said her host rather apologetically, wondering what he had done to be so strongly addressed, "Had Mr. Crawford done anything of the kind-" he cast a glance at his guest, and it was at that moment difficult to know which of the two men looked the more uncomfortable-"I should have nothing to say against her discretion. But still you must allow that it can hardly be in her better judgment to refuse a man whose situation in life could so vastly improve her own."
"Yes, yes," cried Cassandra hotly. "But-what about equal understanding of mind and temperament, equal tastes and feeling? If Mr. Crawford can so blithely dismiss any affection he had for the woman he supposedly loved, then I do not doubt that he was probably most unworthy of her attentions, forgive me for speaking so plainly, sir. And you, Mr. Darcy-for all your practicality and rationality where love is concerned, you cannot convince me you would actually be so level-headed yourself-if things were done your way, you would have had Lizzy married off to Mr. Collins!" and in a burst of frustration she refused the supplications of the three astounded gentlemen, and left the room, wondering how in the world she had ever thought Fitzwilliam Darcy as wonderful as all that...
Chapter 7 A
The three men stood absolutely silent from surprise. After a long moment Henry Crawford declared with a faint laugh, "Well! Austen, I was beginning to like your sister, even after all you told me about her spirit-but I had no idea she was so high in the instep!"
Austen did not reply, for he was staring after the trail of Cassandra in something like a stupor of disbelief. Darcy, though the most unnerved, was the first to recover his poise, and he wasted no time in assuring his young guest that his sister must not embarrass him. "I assure you, sir, Miss Beaumaris has not injured herself with me-therefore I wish it would not trouble you."
"And why the devil hasn't she injured herself?" Austen responded rather roughly. "You must allow me to be outraged on her behalf. You would never permit your sister to carry on so, and hang it, neither will I allow Cassandra to make a fool of herself in front of you-though she seems determined to do it!" He recollected himself and turned to Crawford with a slight smile. "She hasn't injured you, has she?"
Crawford looked slightly pale from the interview, but he swallowed and replied, "Not at all. She has given me a rather unpleasant portrait of myself-but I would not be a gentleman if I did not admit it to be accurate." His gaze wavered; he glanced past his friend and continued more softly, "She is right-I did not deserve Fanny Price."
Austen studied him for a moment in serene sympathy, his mouth quivering as though he would have ventured a word of comfort but for Darcy's presence. A third party forbade such intimacy, however, and straightening, he said tonelessly, "Forgive me, gentlemen-I must excuse myself to go and seek my wayward relation. Rest assured, she will restore amends to you both very shortly." With a quick, dignified bow, he left the room.
Darcy studied his retreating form in faint amusement. Crawford managed a short laugh. "Come, Mr. Darcy," he said genially, easily recovering his composure, "admit that whatever they may be, the Beaumaris certainly enliven the company!"
Darcy glanced down at him and said after a moment, "Yes. That is undeniable."
"But you like them in spite of everything, don't you?" grinned Henry.
Darcy allowed the most fleeting of smiles to play across his features. "I do. I like Austen Beaumaris immensely. I wish my friend Bingley had half his abilities." Then, after a moment-"Indeed, I wish I possessed half his abilities!"
"He's a fine sort of fellow," said Crawford enthusiastically. "A better friend I've never met anywhere. But what about his sister? I know you are not really irritated with Cassandra!"
"Miss Beaumaris?" Darcy was thoughtful for a moment. "I-cannot say that she has offended me-yet. She has just the sort of manners I might despise in any other young lady. But for one of her breeding and intelligence-she is on the contrary, rather refreshing."
"Odious, insufferable man!" muttered Miss Beaumaris as she made her way down the hallway towards the ballroom. She paused before entering it, for she did not yet want to face the many who would be eager to laugh at her for her disgraceful comedy routine earlier. Oh, it was too much! To hear Fitzwilliam Darcy deride a lady for refusing to marry for convenience-there was no woman in the world who would have held her tongue! What an injustice! Not only to Miss Price, but to himself! She knew his pride was still the controlling factor in all of his reasonings, but still! She pressed a hand against her cheek and knew from its warmth that her face was as red as her dress.
She began to move away from the ballroom in the opposite direction, but suddenly bright, tinkling laughter hemmed her in, and before she could escape Miss DuBarry and the Colonel emerged from a side room, the former's face radiant with glee, the latter's twisted into a rather unsuccessful attempt to hide a smile. Upon spotting Cassandra Rachel started and said in surprise, "Oh, ma cousine! You are better, no?"
Cassandra was prevented from replying by Colonel Fitzwilliam inserting with great civility, "Why, Miss Beaumaris, can I get you a glass of wine? You look as though you could use one."
"Why, I-thank you, yes," she faltered.
"Cassie, you are blushing!" declared Rachel, coming to her as the colonel re-entered the room from which he had just come to procure the refreshment. "What has happened?"
"I-I had a run-in with Mr. Darcy."
"Ooh! And did he attempt to-mais non-he could not be so ungallant!"
"What? Oh, no, nothing like that!" Cassandra exclaimed in near horror. "It's just that he was speaking of a lady-of her refusal to marry a certain gentleman-in rather disparaging terms."
Rachel waited for more, and then ventured, "Eh bien?" blankly.
"Eh bien! What right does Mr. Darcy have to pass judgment on someone he doesn't know, simply because she chose not to marry for propriety?"
"Je ne sais pas, mais quel raisson as-tu-" Rachel remembered her speech, and returned to English-"What right have you to judge Mr. Darcy?"
"Well-none. But he was obviously more interested in the insult to the gentleman and his station in life than in any particular reason the lady might have had due to character. I daresay Mr. Darcy never considered a woman might be drawn to more than a man's fortune!"
"What are these uncharitable words I hear about my cousin?" The colonel returned smiling, but with a countenance rather distressed. "Darcy hasn't done anything to offend you, Miss Beaumaris, I would hope?"
She smiled up at him as he offered her the wine, a strong draught of claret, thanked him, and rejoined, "No-in fact, I'm afraid it is I who have done the offending. But would you mind telling me, sir, why your cousin thinks so highly of his own position as a gentleman that he has no qualms in defending another man solely because of his rank, regardless of the character of the person in question?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam was rather at a loss for words for a moment; at length he mustered, "This is a severe charge! You will have to take it up with him if you want the best answer, but for my part, though I will vouch for my cousin's loyalty being unequivocal, I assure you, he is not usually influenced by a person's connections or fortune, into bestowing his favor on an unworthy recipient." Miss Beaumaris bit her lip, unsatisfied. "Darcy," continued the colonel gingerly, "is a man of great personal pride, and he would never betray his own better judgment to give consequence to someone who did not meet his standards of character or understanding."
His only reply to this was an irate, "Hmph!" which left him nothing to do but to venture to hope her anger would not be long in passing, and to remove with his puzzled escort into the ballroom, where they both proceeded to forget about their cousins in the enjoyment of noting how well the eyes of the other sparkled as they went down the dance together.
Cassandra's musings over the exact notions Mr. Darcy had of character and understanding were shattered when her arm was roughly jerked, her glass of claret nearly sloshing onto her lovely gown, so that she unwillingly faced her elder brother. His features were the grimmest she had seen all night, and she reflected that her brother's aspect was quite a formidable one when he frowned thus, stern and imposing, and very liable to have sent her, as a child, to her room in terror. "Cassandra Elizabeth Beaumaris!" he hissed none too discreetly, his voice presenting the same idea as his countenance. "What in the name of all that's holy are you doing?" He continued, before she could even form a reply, "First you faint in your host's arms and act like you're going to stage an all-out assault on the man, then you eavesdrop on a conversation-and I'm not going to ask when you first 'revived,' if you ever revived at all!-believe me, I'm not interested in your protestations of innocence-but how in the world could you consciously have the audacity to insult your host in such a manner?-not to mention a gentleman who is a personal friend of mine, and a guest in your own home!" She winced. "Cassandra- Cass, believe me, it was-" he was too angry to find the words to complete his sentence.
"Badly done?" she suggested meekly.
"Exactly! Badly done, Cass! Badly done. Explain yourself. Do you want Darcy's attentions or don't you?" She gasped and cast him a look of wonder. "Don't pretend to misunderstand me, dear! I know you've been on the hook for him all night-though why you should set your sights on somebody the moment you walk in the door is beyond me!"
"Well, you certainly don't mind putting your two cents' worth in my business!" Cassie burst out.
"My what?"
"Telling Mr. Darcy I was trying to bewitch him!" she continued, heedless of his momentary puzzlement. "I've done nothing of the sort!"
"Confound it, Cass, I was only trying to make him aware of what he was getting himself into. But I'm dashed if I know myself, now! Do you like him or not? First you play the coquette and now you act as though you can't stand the sight of him." Cassandra balked and looked obstinately away. "Well, you'd best decide now," her brother continued dryly. "He's quite taken with you, Miss Beaumaris." He emphasized the 'miss' with a quiet sarcasm, but his tone was gentle.
She looked up with a sudden eagerness. "Do you think he-really?"
"Cassandra, I think my powers of observation are experienced enough to allow me to recognize the symptoms of a man on the threshold of infatuation," said Austen. Her eyes met his; he returned her gaze squarely, but his naturally pallid countenance took on a slight tinge of colour. You mean you've experienced it yourself, she thought, but decided to remain silent on the subject which had raised so much ilk earlier. "But if you expect you can increase his admiration by abusing him so abominably to his face, you quite mistake the matter. In fact, if I have to march you back to the hall myself, you're going to go to him now and make him the most flattering apology conceivable."
"What? But-"
"And then you will do the same thing to Henry Crawford. You will not wheedle your way out of this, Cassandra-no lady would have behaved as you did just now! It was utterly uncalled for, and you will be as penitent as the circumstance requires." Seeing how crestfallen his sister looked he ventured a bit more cheerfully, "Come, this is only for your benefit. After you become Mrs. Darcy, I daresay you can beleaguer the man all you want-but not before, and I promise you'll never endear yourself to him by attacking what was a very rational and well-spoken judgment on a conversation in which you were not a part."
"I daresay if I had been a part of it his sentiments would still have been the same," she said irritably.
"And why shouldn't they be? Is Darcy not allowed to speak what must be the general consensus regarding Crawford's situation?"
"You could not speak so poorly of Fanny Price just because she rejected your friend!"
Austen blanched, and then said with asperity, "It would not be in my nature to sympathize with anyone who could not see Henry Crawford's worth as a gentleman-and so I would state for any friend of mine."
"But I suppose you would feel more strongly in the opposite side if the lady in question were Georgianna Darcy?" retorted Cassandra.
"Do you take delight in vexing me?" was the scathing response. "Were Georgianna Darcy to contemplate such a marriage she would be wedding far beneath her eligibility, and would be doing her family no service. I should not scruple to side with her for rejecting the match."
"But what if she loved him?" cried his sister in great distress. "Can you men only think about money and family and property? What if Georgianna truly loved Henry? Would you then disparage the match?"
"I would-" Austen paled, gulped, averted his gaze, and replied feebly, "I would."
Cassandra studied him. "I see."
"But not," he continued emphatically, "Not for the reason you suspect. Solely and purely on the basis of what she owes to her family, such a match would be a debasement to her and an embarrassment to him."
"Well, thank your fortune you will never view that fatal day," sighed Cassandra. "Her brother would be ten times more opposed to it than you are-it could never happen while he is so obscenely proud!"
"Ah, so we are having second thoughts, are we?" said her brother mockingly. "Perhaps your feathers are ruffled because he didn't swoon over you the moment you entered the room."
"How dare you!" she cried. "I never expected anything of the sort. I like Mr. Darcy-I like him highly. I think his character is impeccable in all respects except for the one which I just related. I would never dream of him swooning over anybody, for any reason, and certainly not over me!"
Austen laughed outright. "At least you're correct in that assumption-though I'll warrant you started thinking of a proposal the moment you learned he was back from London. A Darcy and a Beaumaris-that's the kind of match that'd make the morning papers."
"Austen, don't be absurd! If I wanted Mr. Darcy to marry me, it would be because I loved him, and hopefully, because he loved me."
"Oh, so now you're hinting you're about to fall in love with him?"
"Stop-being so difficult!" Cassie cried in vexation. "You're confusing everything."
"You're confused! Cassandra, you have the least right to be confused of any person in this house. Darcy ought to be furious for the way you've manhandled him tonight-he doesn't know whether you're making a mockery of him or trying to win his attention. Cassie, this is one of the oldest estates in Derbyshire, not the Folies-Bergère!"
"I know that! But it wouldn't matter if Mr. Darcy were one of the poorest men in England, I would still-" Austen's eyes widened, and he shot her a warning look that instantly stilled her speech and caused her to spin round to find the host himself advancing from the direction of the study. He gave no indication that he had heard her save a slight twitching of his upper lip as their eyes met; in everything else his countenance was the epitome of gravity.
Austen greeted him with a smile, but with a cool glance for his sister that intimated what would be the consequences if she did not do a thorough job of apologizing to their host. "I was just on my way inside, sir. I believe my sister would like to speak to you for a moment."
Darcy bowed, but did not return Austen's wary gaze, for his own was locked on the wide eyes of Cassandra, who was staring up at him with an expression akin to wonder. It was a very peculiar look to receive from someone he had just met, and he could not help being fascinated. His own countenance held some of his thoughts; and Austen Beaumaris, as he left them in the hallway, he could not hold back a sigh at the obvious: his sister was well on her way to falling in love. And with such a man…
He felt nothing could bode well from the connection, and this, combined with certain reasons of his own, made him regret, as he entered the ballroom to seek out the lovely Miss Darcy, that this night was taking place…
Chapter 7 B
Cassandra gulped and lifted her eyes to Darcy's. His expression was one of humorous expectation. Well, Miss Beaumaris, she scolded herself, what can you possibly say to get out of this one? In a feeble attempt to sound nonchalant she began, "Do forgive me, sir, for my words to you just now-you must understand I was quite…I was hardly myself." He seemed to expect her to say more, and after a tense pause she blurted in a rush, "I must seem to you a very badly-behaved sort of female, but I really am quite--quite--quite decorous--most of the time! It's just that I…well, I heard you saying that you…you felt Crawford…" She trailed off. What kind of practical excuse could she give under the circumstances? His eyes, though gentle, were not sympathetic, and Cassie squirmed inwardly beneath his steady gaze. There was only one way out: stark penitence. She straightened, forced herself to meet his level stare, and continued sincerely, "Really, Mr. Darcy, I have no explanation to give. I was carried away, I spoke most unbecomingly, and I do entreat your forgiveness."
Darcy chose his words carefully. "Miss Beaumaris, you have very decided opinions for one so young."
"Thank you, sir," she responded instantly, before realizing by the look of uncertainty which then passed through his features, that Darcy had not necessarily meant his declaration as a compliment. She blushed to the edges of her cheeks and held her tongue.
"May I ask," he continued, "why you seem to think me an ogre when it comes to matters of the heart?"
Cassandra took a deep breath. Do you want the truth, sir, or shall I flatter you as so many others have done? "Indeed sir," she replied coolly, "we have already discussed our different opinions on the subject."
"To your satisfaction, perhaps, but not to mine," came the calm reply.
She determined to have done with the subject before he angered her further. "Really, Mr. Darcy, since my disapproval stemmed only from a hypothetical argument, I do not see what use it can be to you to take me at my word. You forget that you, being as you are, in a highly advantageous situation with regard to fortune, et cetera, are very unlikely to ever enter into a marriage of the kind we spoke of earlier. And also, that the particulars we spoke of regarding Mr. Crawford and Miss Price were hypothetical as well. Please do not trouble yourself about the matter."
Darcy appeared on the verge of speaking only to abruptly halt and alter his speech. "Miss Beaumaris," he said at last, with great dignity, "I would never dream of vexing you. But it is not in my nature to avoid an argument which might rankle in the minds of the opponents if left unfinished. I am sorry to have offended you in any way, but I would much rather you state your opinion of me, however scathing it might be, at once, rather than hide behind politeness."
This statement took her considerably by surprise. She half-suspected he had meant to astonish her, for Cassandra was learning that Mr. Darcy could reciprocate manner for manner the deference-or lack thereof-afforded to him by his guests. Very well, Mr. Darcy. I will give you more than what you ask for. She fought back. "Your words surprise me sir, for you are so good at hiding behind politeness yourself."
"You would rather I abandon all attempt at civility, as you seem to have done?" he retorted with thinly disguised hauteur.
"You forget, sir," Cassandra shot back, barely remembering to lower her voice in the middle of Darcy's long, reverberating hallway, "that that very lack of civility you seem to deplore is what you just requested in asking me to give my real opinion of you. You would not dream of asking me to stoop to insulting you merely so that you might have the pleasure of despising me?"
"But why, Miss Beaumaris, should I stoop to your level of despising someone I have just met, without cause or provocation other than his having expressed his own natural opinion?"
Cassandra was impressed. He was really quite good at this sort of battle! Darcy's eyes were intense, but not harsh, and she felt instinctively that he was enjoying himself. Certainly he never had conversation this animated with Caroline! She allowed a smile to break through her indignant features in spite of herself, and replied saucily, "Why do you suppose me to despise you, Mr. Darcy? Isn't it possible that I merely take pleasure in laughing at you?"
"I do not pretend to think that you were only laughing at me just now, in front of your brother and Mr. Crawford. I cannot hold your dislike of me against you, but I can wonder what I have done to warrant it."
She laughed outright. "Of course, you would much prefer that I simply disliked you, rather than took amusement in laughing at you--for everyone knows that you are a man without fault, and whose strong understanding is completely closed to those who would ridicule it."
Darcy gazed at her earnestly. "Those who would seek to ridicule a strong understanding will of course succeed in their aim, for no man is without his share of faults--but their choosing to do so does not reflect happily on either their judgment or that of the subject in question."
"You are far too intelligent, sir, to allow anyone like myself to make you a subject of ridicule."
"And you, Miss Beaumaris, are far too intelligent to willfully misunderstand me in order that you might find something in my character to laugh at."
This declaration stopped her from replying, and for a moment she gazed intently into Darcy's countenance, wondering what was behind those dark, luminous eyes. She suddenly felt that she could spend a lifetime in the company of Fitzwilliam Darcy and never understand that calm, austere expression. They were such beautiful eyes. Cassie was aware the intensity of their mutual gaze was far too marked to be mistaken for anything but attraction; Darcy was studying her as though she fascinated him, his countenance locked on hers with an expression of deep interest. Subconsciously he moved a step closer, and a shiver ran through her. To be so close in proximity, yet centuries apart in understanding...
The doors to the ballroom suddenly opened behind them, and a high-pitched voice with a very distinctive whine called out airily, "There you are, Mr. Darcy! I wondered where you had--oh." Caroline Bingley's features registered her disappointment as she discovered her rival and Mr. Darcy in what looked like a moment of deep intimacy. Cassandra did not scruple to let her distaste for Caroline show, and the two women eyed each other in frank disapproval. As Caroline came toward the object of her affection Cassie moved another step closer to her host, who none too subtly took her arm and placed it through his. Score one for the country, she thought gleefully, remembering how earlier Miss Bingley had snubbed her family because they did not live in London. Darcy seemed to have no objection now!
"I beg your pardon," Caroline said with the barest touch of civility, coming to stand opposite Cassandra on Darcy's other side. "I didn't mean to interrupt a tete-a-tete. Pray tell, Darcy, what fascinating topic were you discussing? You looked as though you were rapt in conversation."
"Miss Beaumaris and I were merely discussing our differences of opinion," was the indifferent reply. "She thinks I am too polite, and I think she is too outspoken."
"'Tis a hopeless case, as you see," smiled Cassandra, casting her host a glance full of amusement. "We are quite mutual in our disagreement."
"Really, Miss Beaumaris," came Miss Bingley's snide reply, "I must reproach you for chastising Mr. Darcy. Even if you are unaccustomed to his good manners you can hardly censure him for their use. I assure you, in the eyes of the rest of the world, he is a man without fault."
Cassandra looked demurely at her petticoats, swallowed the most scathing retorts which came to mind, and managed a conspiratorial smile for her host before replying smoothly, "Oh. When you say the world, which is it that you refer to? Oh--London, of course. Well then, we are on equal footing, for in the eyes of the rest of the world, as you put it, I am the daughter of one of the richest gentlemen in England--and therefore above reproach."
Caroline's eyes flashed in sullen resentment, and, but for the laughter in Cassandra's eyes as she turned them to Darcy the latter gentleman might have been taken aback. He instantly realized Cassandra spoke in jest, however, and swallowed his indignation--indeed, he was beginning to discover that it was impossible to find himself really angry at her--but not before determining to end the brewing contention before the two women lost all trace of civility. "Miss Beaumaris," he inserted quickly, much to the chagrin of both, "I have not yet asked you if you will favor the company by playing for us. I am told you are an excellent musician. Might I entreat you to try our pianoforte?"
Cassandra's eyes lit with excitement, for she was a masterful pianist. She had not had the courage to venture too near the magnificent specimen gracing the far end of Darcy's ballroom, but she had ascertained easily that it was an instrument of the finest quality and richest sound. Will Dowland's father had a fetish for antique and early musical instruments, and the family possessed an heirloom pianoforte which she had on rare occasions been privileged to play. She could tell the one in use this evening was ten times its better--after all, it was, by comparison, brand new; and like all good musicians her fingers itched to explore the keys of the instrument even though it was a far cry from the modern grand she was used to playing. She turned her gaze to Darcy's and smiled broadly, pointedly ignoring Caroline's frown.
"It would be my very great privilege, sir. Will you take me to it?"
"Of course, Cassandra," Darcy replied, taking a vindictive pleasure in watching the pallour of Caroline's face take on a rather ashen hue at the use of her rival's first name. The smile of the young lady beside him grew even wider, though she feigned indifference, and she calmly brushed past Caroline on his arm. Darcy found himself struggling to maintain his grave countenance. He knew he was taking things a bit too hastily, but it was all in good spirit. Cassandra Beaumaris was an unexpected surprise, a cloudburst in the midst of a desert of a season. He ought to be appalled by her impertinence, by her audacity--but he could not be: she was too...innocent. He thought back to her brother's words earlier that night. Could this charming vixen really bewitch him into fancying himself in love? Of course not--it would take far more than one night of flirtation to capture a heart such as his. Still, he had to admit, as he glanced fleetingly down at her sparkling green eyes, luminous in a round face framed by auburn curls-there was something about Cassandra that one could only describe as enchanting...
Chapter 7 C
Austen had entered the ballroom reluctantly. If there was anything he detested, it was making a spectacle of himself, and he always felt on display at parties. This one especially he would have particularly liked to avoid; but it could not be helped. His eyes instinctively sought out the willowy figure of Georgiana Darcy. The sets had just ended, and Henry Crawford was leading her from the floor. Austen cringed involuntarily at the sight. The slim, straight figure and light features of his friend were the perfect complement for the lithe, pale Miss Darcy; they almost looked like brother and sister. She wore an exuberant smile upon her face, and Austen reflected, as he had so often done of late, that she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman in the short time since he had seen her last in London.
He had called on her then, early in the season, out of duty, knowing the connection between the families made it necessary; had he known how much she had progressed he never would have thought it necessary to bring his friend. Henry Crawford would, he had reasoned, lighten the atmosphere for all, and provide ease and friendliness in what would be an otherwise boring encounter. And then he had arrived and found Georgiana enchanting and his friend's interest piqued. Though they had met only twice, Austen had instantly sensed Georgiana's admiration of Henry, and though his best friend's memory for names and faces was notoriously faulty, Austen had noted in secret dismay how keenly Crawford recalled that they would be meeting Georgiana Darcy on this trip to Derbyshire.
He stood observing them from across the long, narrow room. He knew he cut a very striking appearance himself, and was mildly aware, as he idly sipped a glass of claret, that his elegantly cut brown velvet suit put his lean figure to best advantage among the older, paunchier gentlemen present. He felt the stares of some of Cassandra's female friends-Alice in particular was admiring him openly. He let his gaze linger on her figure for a moment without a smile, before she turned away in embarrassment. He hid his amusement. Yes, it had been a while since he had been seen in Derbyshire. Yes, he had changed.
He lifted his glass and downed the contents in one smooth gulp. Let them stare, he thought with the tiniest of wry smiles.
"Mon cousin? He turned and barely had time to replace the glass on the punch table before Miss Du Barry and Colonel Fitzwilliam accosted him with a barrage of rustling muslin and good will. "There you are! I have been wondering when you would show up again. How is our Cassandra, eh--has she still la mal a tete?"
"She has le mal a something," was the acerbic reply. "But no, she's off and running again."
"And how about you, my friend?" inquired the Colonel, casting Austen a glance of interest. "How do you feel this evening?" Before Austen could make a reply he immediately continued brightly, "I know what you need--a good dance. Come." And he took the young Mr. Beaumaris by the elbow, leading him to the opposite side of the room-straight toward Henry Crawford and Georgiana Darcy.
"Sir," said Austen firmly when he realized where he was being taken, "Many thanks, but I--"
"Now, now, none of that," replied the colonel briskly, ignoring Austen's extreme discomfiture. He led his captive to the pair, where they conversed most agreeably to themselves. Austen's stomach plummeted when he saw the momentary dismay which passed over Georgiana's countenance upon being forced to turn away from Henry's engaging conversation. However, when her pale blue eyes met Austen's own, dark, and flashing with irritation, something very like surprise entered her features, and she gazed at him uncertainly.
"My dear Georgiana," began Fitzwilliam gallantly, "You're not going to sit out a dance, are you? How terribly unfitting of a hostess."
"Oh," Georgiana said quickly, her complexion heightening in colour, "No, I-I hadn't--"
"Come now, Miss Darcy," Henry smiled at her charmingly. "Your cousin is only reminding you to be aware of your friends. You haven't favored poor Austen with a dance all evening."
Austen's eyes flew to his friend's in bewildered anxiety and held them for a long moment. Henry Crawford was all self-assurance; if he read his friend's unease in his expression he was cruelly oblivious. Before he could swallow the lump rising in his throat and produce a cold retort, Henry had continued amiably, "My, aren't you shy tonight, Austen! It looks as though I must set the example for you." He turned to where Rachel stood next to the Colonel. "Miss Du Barry, will you favor me with your company for the next set?"
Rachel blushed charmingly. "Shall I pretend to be my cousin and ask if you mean to dance with me?"
Crawford took her hand and raised it suavely to his lips. "Although I would be satisfied merely to sit on the side with you, as Darcy did Cassandra, I would much rather dance. Will you be so kind as to oblige me?"
A tremor of delight ran through Rachel, and her lovely curls bobbed alluringly as she giggled. She dropped Colonel Fitzwilliam's arm subconsciously and gave Crawford a broad smile. "Mais ouis, I would be delighted, monsieur!"
For one moment Miss Du Barry had eyes only for Austen's friend, and Austen did not miss the slight, momentary start that passed through the colonel as he recognized his young friend's interest in Henry. Georgiana had not missed the flirtation either, and she cast Crawford a rather naïve, questioning glance. His irritation mounting moment by moment, Austen forced himself to be debonair. He turned to his hostess and offered her his arm, saying lightly, "Well, we can't allow ourselves to be outdone by them, can we, Miss Darcy?"
Miss Darcy looked at him with a rather startled expression, as though she had forgotten his presence, and responded softly, "No. I don't suppose so."
"Will you allow me the honor of dancing with you?" he continued through gritted teeth, as though the words were being yanked from his throat.
"Of course, Mr. Beaumaris," Georgiana smiled, casting him one penetrating, questioning glance that caught him off guard and reminded him not to underestimate her powers of perception. He led her to the floor and noted the way her eyes remained fixed on Crawford's figure as they took their place beside the other couple. He noticed the furtive grin Crawford shot her before turning his attention wholly to Rachel. He sighed. He had always known Crawford was a flirt. But somehow seeing him in action tonight, with Georgiana present, made his friend's ill conduct that much harder to stomach.
The music began. He tore his stony gaze away from Henry back to Georgiana, and found her eyes meeting his with a level gaze. Once again he was taken by surprise, and in his admiration for the intelligence, the beauty of those eyes allowed himself a faint smile as they began the dance.
"You must forgive me, Miss Darcy," he said to her, his deep voice taking on a slightly more pleasant note. "I have hardly been myself this evening, and I apologize."
Miss Darcy swallowed and began her half of the conversation--he knew she was still very shy, though she had made great improvements, and it gratified him to watch her make the effort on his account. "Please," Georgiana managed to falter before being swept away by the next movement of the dance. "Please don't apologize. It is not always necessary to be gay and--and talkative at a ball. My brother and I, you know, are not the liveliest of people. I sometimes wish I might be more--more like your cousin."
"Rachel?" Austen watched her fleeting glance over to where Henry and Rachel stood, conversing as though they had known each other a lifetime. He guessed the direction of her thoughts, and continued brusquely, "I advise you not to be jealous of Miss Du Barry, Miss Darcy--she has many charms, but yours are no less plentiful because they are less...less overt."
Georgiana turned her gaze back to him as he spoke this and cast him a radiant smile. "Thank you."
He bowed his head in acknowledgment, wondering why he couldn't have come up with a more fitting compliment than 'overt.' "I hope never to be jealous of anyone--but your family is so...so sparkling, really. Your mother and your sister both are enchanting. I've missed Cassandra so much since she went away to Paris."
"And she has talked of her desire to meet you again quite often since she returned, so I'm told," Austen replied smoothly, seizing upon this topic to avoid further reference to Henry and Rachel. "Do you think she has changed much since you last saw her?"
"Oh, yes--I think you both have!" Georgiana replied a bit too eagerly, her eyes lighting as they met his, then filling with uncertainty as she realized he was looking at her in something like alarm. "Oh--only for the better, of course," she added reassuringly. "You've gotten so tall--I remember when Cassandra used to tease you about being her height. And she's become so...so..."
"Feminine," he ended curtly. "Tell me, Georgiana, how do you think your brother likes my sister?"
Her eyes widened. "I hadn't...I know he thinks very highly of her--he always has. Even when she was younger he remarked upon her intelligence." She sent him a curious glance. "Do you think he--admires her?"
"If he doesn't now, he will before he knows what's happened," Austen replied with a wry chuckle.
"Oh, I--I'd love to have Cassandra for a sister!" she burst out a bit too loudly, her exuberance drawing a look of alarm from him and an instant blush of embarrassment. "Of course, it's much too early to think..." she stammered awkwardly. "I wouldn't dream of--"
"Please," Austen inserted gently, casting her a smile that lit his features with warmth, "Don't trouble yourself, Georgiana." She took his hand as they went down the line of partners and looked at him intently, her preoccupation with Henry Crawford momentarily vanished.
"I'm so glad you're returned to Derbyshire," she said, venturing a tiny, encouraging smile. "I've missed you and Cassandra very much."
Austen raised his eyebrows, his countenance unreadable. "The pleasure is all mine," he said softly.
Chapter 7 D
The dance ended, and as Austen bowed elegantly over Georgiana's hand he wondered fleetingly what had become of his sister and Mr. Darcy. He can't have kicked her out of the party for behaviour unbecoming a guest, he thought through gritted teeth. I don't have that good fortune. Upon turning around, however, he saw the villainess in question entering the room, proudly escorted by Mr. Darcy. He glanced over his sister's lovely figure, comparing her lively form to the dignified stature of the gentleman next to her. Matching his somberness to her gaiety would be setting a spark to a powder keg. Oh, Cassandra, he mused, do you know what you're getting yourself into?
Cassandra allowed Darcy to lead her to the corner of the room where sat the illustrious pianoforte. The couples had dispersed upon their entrance, and the musicians had taken a brief respite from their instruments. Her eyes met those of her mother upon her entrance; Arabella was studying her with interest, and Cassie fancied that Mrs. Beaumaris was sizing her daughter up as the companion to the formidable Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She unsuccessfully hid a smile of glee at the progress she was making. Look out, Elizabeth Bennet! she thought. She had already vanquished Caroline--and she had managed to do so even with the disastrous spectacle of the fainting scene. Well, thankfully, she reassured herself, there would be no more such calamities this evening.
"Miss Beaumaris has consented to play for us, sir." Cassandra looked up and found Darcy addressing her father. "I am told she is quite talented."
Robert Beaumaris smiled down affectionately at his daughter. "I cannot vouch for her talent, my dear sir. If she still practices as little as she did before she went to Paris, I fear you may regret that you asked."
"What?" Cassie retorted in indignation. "I beg you, do not pay attention to my father, sir," she smiled at Darcy. "He would never joke about my ability were he not certain I would do him credit."
"I would not be so certain of that, Cassandra," Mr. Beaumaris replied pointedly. "Are you quite sure you feel up to playing? You aren't prone to any more fainting spells?" Cassandra blushed in embarrassment and quietly replied that she felt much better; she must have been overcome by the heat. "Well then, in that case," her father continued, his eyes dancing with mirth, "please entertain us. Play us something you learned in Paris."
Cassandra blushed even harder. "I do not think the Parisian concert halls have produced anything suitable for Mr. Darcy's tastes," she replied awkwardly. Mr. Beaumaris frowned in mock indignation.
"I am sure Mr. Darcy can have no objection to hearing what you learned there. I assure you, he is familiar with all of the famous halls of Paris, concert or otherwise, and I dare say he has no musical expectation you may not gratify."
Cassandra pursed her lips in momentary confusion, unsure what to make of this loaded remark; Darcy rather hastily cleared his throat and politely entreated, "Please sit down, Miss Beaumaris-the piano is at your disposal."
Cassie did so. The instrument was exquisite, long and polished, and made of the finest, smoothest wood she had ever seen. It was a beautiful, deep red, too intense to be mahogany and too light to be oak. As she impulsively ran her hand over the varnished surface her host explained that the wood had come from Africa. "Africa?" she exclaimed in admiration.
"Yes-it's called cardinal wood. I believe the natives call it bloodwood."
"It's beautiful," she breathed, and then looked up at Darcy with luminous eyes. "But then there are few things at Pemberley which are not," she smiled.
"Thank you for your gracious opinion," he replied calmly, though the intensity of his gaze seemed to reflect her pleasure, and more.
Abruptly Robert Beaumaris cleared his throat behind them. "Cassie, dearest-a song?" he said blandly.
"Oh!…yes, of course," she murmured, quickly turning and facing the keyboard. Tentatively she reached out to play a soft note. The key was easy to the touch, with none of the resistance to which she was used in modern pianos. The tone was very bright, the sound clear and resonant, much harsher than that to which her ears were accustomed, but still very much removed from the earlier brittleness of the harpsichord and the clavichord. She smiled instinctively, pleased with herself, and reflected that Will, who had a fetish for early music, would love to hear this performance-live and up close.
But what to play? She felt the noises around her die and settle away as the guests gave her their attention. On an instrument like this, many things were possible. She stifled a laugh: if Will were here-which, thankfully, he wasn't!-he would probably compel her to join him in "Heart and Soul." She took a deep breath to steady her hands, and tried to forget that she was about to perform for Fitzwilliam Darcy, not to mention the others! Something safe, she thought. Brahms-he would do nicely, and he was her favorite composer.
She began one of her showcase pieces, a slow, rhythmically steady Intermezzo, full of rich sonorities and luscious melodic moments. In a moment she was lost in the beauty of the sound, even though it was hardly what she was familiar with on such an instrument. The harmonies lulled her away even from Pemberley, and soon she was lost in the beauty of the music floating gently from the keys. She was not an exceptional musician, but she was a very good one, and her artistic talent always shone to good effect on such deliciously slow, tender songs. For the duration of the piece, which though only two minutes seemed much longer, she played on, oblivious to her audience. When at last she was through, and the last note had sighed away, she slowly sat back, exhaled deeply, and looked up in dreamy satisfaction.
Instinctively she knew something was wrong. The room wore, collectively, a rather bewildered, if somewhat misty, expression. In the corner she saw her cousin crying unashamedly while the colonel seemed determined to blink away his response; her mother had gone to her father and slipped her hand in his, his arm was around her in a tight embrace, and both looked as though they were completely at a loss for words, so great was their emotional reaction to the song they had just heard; Austen stood turned away from Georgiana, but his intense countenance showed him to be deeply affected, as was she. In the other corner of the room Bingley leaned reflectively against the wall, his eyes shining in satisfaction, while next to him, Caroline, though wearing a perturbed half-frown, sat still in begrudging acquiescence to the beauty of the music.
No one spoke, no one applauded: the room was absolutely still. Uncertainly Cassandra brought her eyes to her host's face as he stood near, and found a lump in her throat as she met Darcy's eyes; never had she seen a man look so vulnerable, as though his whole life had been embodied in the few feeble notes he had just heard. He spoke after a moment, with some difficulty, and was forced to swallow before he could continue. "Please, Miss Beaumaris," he entreated quietly. "Pray, continue. You play delightfully-please finish the piece."
"I am," she said, rather feebly, "I am finished."
"Will you not complete the other movements?"
"There is only one movement, sir. It's an intermezzo."
"A what?"
"An intermezzo, a Brahms Intermezzo."
"Who?"
"Brahms," Cassandra replied informatively, "the German com-composer…" and suddenly her face became pallid as death.
Darcy had never heard of Brahms because Brahms had not been born yet! She impulsively gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. She was sure-was certain-that Brahms had lived when Austen had! Beethoven was alive, and-and Mendelssohn, weren't they? And Brahms was no wilder than they were, was he? Certainly she had known better than to play Listz or Schumann or Chopin-those would be Romanticists, and her audience wanted the Classical composers. It was a known fact that Brahms was more conservative than any of the other musicians--more classical, even, then Beethoven in style. She had known this much, even though she had never exactly known when he lived...yet in her choice she must have been deceived! Their bewilderment was clear: they had never before heard music like that she had just performed; no such variety of sweet chords, no such formless structure, had ever been presented them. Beethoven, she knew, would not be writing his most progressive works for many years, and they had no other composer with which to compare the music she had played. Alack! Brahms was obviously as extraordinary to them as he was conservative to her. Without doubt, she realized, she had just given her audience a taste of a style thirty years before its time.
She was absolutely undone. Again. Mr. Darcy looked as confused as she, and no wonder; she struggled for any lie to give, anything which might ease the awkwardness of her situation. She found none, and she was within an inch of despairing when Miss Darcy timidly approached the piano. "Please, Miss Beaumaris," she said hesitantly. "Won't you give us another? I have never heard anything which gave me so much pleasure. Where did you learn such beautiful music?"
Miss Beaumaris wrung her hands, cast her hostess a helpless smile, and responded helplessly:
"In Paris?"
Chapter 7 E
"Mozart," Cassie was still muttering hours later. "I should have played Mozart."
"Really, Cassandra, it was not so horrible as that," Arabella Beaumaris protested gently. Her husband cast her a speaking glance and raised his eyebrows.
Cassandra sighed dolefully and turned her head to gaze out the window. Beside her Henry Crawford remarked cheerfully, "After all, it wasn't as if she made such a bad choice. Even if no one had ever heard of this Brahms fellow, he seems to have been quite the thing among our Paris friends. And we can hardly admit to being outdone by the French in matters of taste! Miss Beaumaris, I applaud you. What a piece of luck that you should happen to make his acquaintance at a musical concert given by one of your aunt's friends."
Cassandra emitted a woeful moan and let her head fall against the window with a 'thump.'
Rachel, who had been sitting on the other side of Crawford in silence for a good part of the drive home, now turned and said reflectively, "Ma cousine? Je ne puis pas me rappeler quelle nuit dont tu parles quand tu parles de le concert de musique."
"Rachel…what?" said her cousin wearily.
"She can't remember what night you're talking about when you mention the music concert," inserted Crawford helpfully.
"Oh! Oh…surely you remember, Rachel? It was-oh, but that's right, you weren't there! You had stayed home that evening, for some reason, remember?"
"Not…really," replied Miss DuBarry in some confusion.
"Oh, it was a wonderful evening," continued Cassandra, growing more and more elaborate as she wondered just how many more lies she would be obliged to construct. "My aunt and I were so enraptured by his music, that he gave me a few pieces to learn at home, out of…the goodness of his heart. You see, they haven't been published…yet."
"But when did you learn them? I never heard you mention him, or play-"
"Rachel," hissed Miss Beamaris fiercely, "If you spent half as much time listening to music as you do mooning over-" she almost said 'young men in fine suits,' but the presence of Henry Crawford stopped her-"Parisian fashions, you might have a better memory." Indignantly, Rachel began to let out a stream of French, fast and furious, but Austen leaned forward and stopped her by placing his hand firmly on her arm and shaking his head. She bit her lip and sulked, and he smiled.
"After all, Rachel, it seems as though Aunt Patrice did many things you weren't aware of." He winked at Cassandra. "Such as play billiards and drink claret."
Miss Beaumaris nearly choked. Miss DuBarry eyed him and said in amazement, "Qu'est-ce que tu parles? My mother would never…she doesn't even have a billiard room!"
Austen glanced again at Cassie, stifled a laugh, and replied, "You see? It seems as though you haven't been paying attention after all."
Rachel's consternation at this remark was paramount, but it quickly faded upon Henry Crawford's leaning over and whispering something in her ear. Her eyes lighted; she let out a giggle and cast him a broad smile, which he returned. Austen rolled his eyes and looked out the window.
They continued in silence until the carriage arrived in the front of Ballyshear. Once inside the crestfallen Rachel swept past her cousins in supreme indignation. Henry Crawford most obligingly followed to cheer her up, missing as he did so the darts of suspicion they cast him. The others went into the large grand parlour of the house. Cassie collapsed most wearily onto the sofa, which proved to be a mistake upon her recalling very painfully that stays and rivets were hardly adapted to such movements.
"Well, Cassie, dearest," her mother remarked with an affectionate smile "The Darcys weren't at all displeased, and you certainly seem to have made a favorable impression."
Yes, but at what price? thought her daughter, who felt she had been blushing constantly for the last hour.
"Even though she insulted the host, fainted, was caught playing billiards, and shocked everyone with her choice of music," replied Mr. Beaumaris with a wry chuckle. "It's good to have you back, Cassandra."
"Do you think-was it so very bad?" she inquired meekly.
"Not at all," came the Nonpareil's genial response.
"Indeed, judging by your intent, which was apparently to make Mr. Darcy utterly infatuated with you, you seem to have done very nicely for yourself."
"But I never intended to-"
"Oh, didn't you?" replied Austen austerely. "You've been on the prowl for him all evening."
"Well, at least I made an attempt to attract his interest, which is more than you can say for Georgiana."
"Cassandra Beaumaris, if you don't hold your tongue about Miss Darcy, I will-"
"Austen," snapped his father warningly. Austen sighed in exasperation and turned away from Cassandra, who rolled her eyes and surreptitiously stuck out her tongue at his back. "Heavens! Are all my children gone mad!" Mr. Beaumaris continued. "I have heard nothing but quarreling since we left, and not much more spoken-or done-of sense from either of you since we arrived there. If this is to be the affect of Pemberley upon this household from now on we shall be forced to write the Darcys off our acquaintance-and I don't care how much you may wish Fitzwilliam to fall in love with you, my dear-nor how greatly you wish to know Georgiana, sir." Austen scoffed. "It would teach you both a fine lesson if you never saw either again. Austen, is this all that your education has prepared you for-to do battle with your sister and pine away for the neighbors?"
Cassie giggled, only to find herself addressed just as sternly. "And you, Cassandra? Two years in Paris and you have learnt nothing but flirtation and the art of acting silly? It would seem you have been following your cousin's lead, rather than the reverse. Much as it satisfies you to be the center of attention, you must remember that you are widely looked up to-you both are-as the leaders among your set. Your example will be followed, and all the inhabitants of Ballyshear held liable for your conduct." He paused and cast an amused, appraising gaze over his two children. "So kindly remember your mother and myself the next time either of you begins to make an ass of yourself, and reflect that your whole family must partake of your disgrace." He smiled. "Am I rightly understood?"
"Yes, sir," came the prompt, dry response from his son.
"And Miss Beaumaris? Are there to be any more spectacles from you like the ones you have entertained us with tonight?"
Cassie met the Nonpareil's eyes half in defiance, half in insecurity. My, but he was handsome! she thought, and tried to remember that she must think of him as her father, and her father only. "You can hardly expect me to make promises regarding the future, sir," she replied warily. "But I give you my word, that I will do my best to avoid making an ass of myself."
She waited for the stern retort; instead Mr. Beaumaris cast her a smile full of affection and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "That is all anyone can ask of his children," he replied warmly. "I've missed you, Cassie."
She beamed. To be surrounded by such love was enough to put one at ease even in such a situation as hers; and so she shook hands quite cheerfully with her brother and kissed her mother and father goodnight, all in the best of spirits, before departing upstairs to her room, there to find Ewa waiting to hear all about the evening at Pemberley.