Page 16 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
The morning progressed with the steady rhythm of polite social obligation, tea refreshed and conversation maintained with relative ease.
Elizabeth had just begun to wonder whether Anne would join them when Harrison appeared at the door once more, this time to announce the Marquess of Byerly.
The gentleman entered the drawing room with the haughty dignity he seemed to consider his birthright, his attire impeccable if somewhat dated, his expression suggesting he viewed his call as a significant honour bestowed upon the household rather than a common courtesy following an introduction.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he intoned, executing a bow of precise depth and duration. “Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet. Lord Shandly, Mr. Townend.” The subtle diminution in his tone as he acknowledged the younger gentlemen did not escape Elizabeth’s notice.
“Lord Byerly,” Elizabeth returned, rising to greet him. “How kind of you to call. We were just discussing the exhibition at Somerset House. Are you an admirer of the arts?”
“I appreciate quality in all its forms, Mrs. Darcy,” the marquess replied with a thin smile.
“Though I confess my interest lies more in the ancestral collections that grace our great houses than in public exhibitions. Is Miss de Bourgh at home? I had hoped to continue our most illuminating conversation from last evening.”
“Miss de Bourgh has been resting this morning,” Elizabeth explained. “The excitement of her first significant London event proved somewhat taxing, though I expect she will join us shortly.”
As if summoned by this explanation, the door opened once more to admit Anne, accompanied by the ever-vigilant Mrs. Jenkinson.
Anne’s pale blue morning dress enhanced rather than diminished her natural pallor, though Elizabeth noted with approval that there was a touch more colour in her cheeks than usual, perhaps a lingering effect of the previous night’s exertions.
“Miss de Bourgh,” the marquess declared, moving immediately toward her with what appeared to be genuine eagerness, though his glance took in the quality of her dress and jewellery with evident appraisal.
“I trust you are recovered from the exertions of Lady Ashburton’s ball?
Such events can be quite overwhelming for those unaccustomed to London’s pace. ”
“I am quite well, thank you, my lord,” Anne replied, her voice soft but steady. “A quiet morning was all that was required.”
Mrs. Jenkinson guided Anne to a seat positioned, Elizabeth noted with amusement, at a carefully calculated distance from the marquess, close enough for conversation but maintaining propriety.
“Miss de Bourgh must not overtax herself,” the companion announced to the room at large.
“Lady Catherine has impressed upon me the importance of ensuring her daughter’s health remains paramount. ”
The marquess seized upon this opening. “Quite right. The welfare of one’s family and the preservation of one’s estates must always be the first consideration.
Speaking of which, Miss de Bourgh, I recall you mentioning something of Rosings Park’s southern exposure.
I have often found that the orientation of a great house significantly affects both its comfort and its prospects. ”
What followed was a conversation so transparently focused on Rosings Park’s material advantages that Elizabeth marvelled at the marquess’s lack of subtlety.
Every question, every observation, seemed designed to elicit specific information about the extent of the estate, the quality of its farmland, or the yield of its various enterprises.
Even when Anne attempted to speak of the flower gardens she enjoyed, the marquess deftly redirected the conversation to the productive orchards that apparently bordered them.
“And the farms, I understand, produce exceptional yields,” he continued, leaning forward with poorly disguised interest. “A testament to careful management over generations. Stewardship of ancestral land is a sacred trust, one that requires both experience and dedication.”
“Indeed,” Anne replied, her brief response suggesting a waning enthusiasm for the topic. “Though I confess I find more pleasure in the park and woodlands than in the account books.”
“A natural feminine preference,” Byerly declared indulgently. “Though of course, with proper guidance, a lady of your breeding would surely develop a deeper appreciation for the economic foundations that support such aesthetic pleasures.”
Mrs. Jenkinson nodded vigorously. “Miss de Bourgh has been thoroughly educated in all matters pertaining to Rosings. Lady Catherine has ensured her daughter understands the responsibilities that accompany her position, even if Miss de Bourgh’s health has prevented her from taking a more active role in management. ”
Elizabeth, observing Anne’s expression becoming increasingly fixed, was about to intervene when Harrison’s voice rang out once more, announcing Lord Joseph Sturt with the same gravity he would have accorded a visiting dignitary.
The contrast between this formal announcement and the figure who burst through the doorway was startling.
Lord Joseph entered as though carried by a sudden gust of wind, his coat a startling shade of plum, his cravat adorned with an oversized pin in the shape of a lyre.
“Mrs. Darcy! Ladies! Gentlemen!” he exclaimed, executing a bow so deep it threatened his balance. “Forgive my tardiness. I was seized by inspiration while dressing this morning and could not tear myself away until the muse had been properly honoured.”
“Lord Joseph,” Elizabeth acknowledged, hiding her amusement behind a polite smile. “We are delighted you could join us.”
The newcomer’s gaze swept the room, brightening considerably when it fell upon Anne.
“Miss de Bourgh! How fortunate. I have composed something that I believe will particularly resonate with your sensitive nature. A trifle, really, the merest sketch of feeling, but perhaps not without some small merit.”
Before anyone could respond, he pulled a folded paper from his pocket with a flourish, cleared his throat dramatically, and began to recite in ringing tones:
“Pale lily of the shadowed grove,
Whose beauty shuns the common light!
Thy fragile petals speak of love
That blooms beyond mere mortal sight!”
The silence that followed this opening stanza was profound, broken only by the marquess’s barely audible sigh of contempt and Mrs. Jenkinson’s soft gasp of dismay. Lord Joseph, interpreting this stunned silence as rapt attention, continued with increasing fervour:
“Like moonbeams caught in crystal dew,
Thy gentle presence fills the air!
While common blossoms seek the view,
Thy sweetness blooms without a care!”
Elizabeth glanced around the room, observing the varied reactions to this unexpected performance.
Viscount Shandly appeared torn between professional jealousy over Lord Joseph so easily seizing the company’s attention and artistic dismay at his poetry, while Mr. Townend studied the carpet with intense concentration.
Kitty pressed her lips together tightly, clearly struggling to suppress inappropriate laughter, and Georgiana’s eyes widened in a mixture of embarrassment and fascination.
“Though fate may place thee far away,
In gardens grand and ancient halls!
Remember one who, come what may,
Shall hear whene’er thy spirit calls!”
As Lord Joseph concluded with an extravagant gesture, Mrs. Jenkinson spoke abruptly. “Miss de Bourgh finds prolonged recitations fatiguing,” she announced, though Anne herself had made no such indication. “Perhaps we might return to more conventional conversation?”
“I found it most interesting,” Anne said quietly, surprising everyone. “Your use of natural imagery is quite... evocative, Lord Joseph.”
The poet’s face lit up with delight. “You perceive my intention exactly, Miss de Bourgh! Nature in all its forms provides the perfect metaphor for human emotion. I have composed several more verses, if you would care to hear them?”
“Miss de Bourgh has expressed interest in Lord Byerly’s description of his ancestral home,” Mrs. Jenkinson interjected swiftly. “Perhaps you might continue that discussion, my lord? Miss de Bourgh was most impressed by your knowledge of estate management.”
Byerly, recognising an ally in his pursuit, inclined his head graciously toward Mrs. Jenkinson before turning back to Anne.
“You are most kind to say so, Miss de Bourgh. As I was explaining, the stewardship of ancient lands requires a particular understanding that few in our modern age truly comprehend.”
Lord Joseph, temporarily rebuffed but not deterred, settled himself nearby, clutching his poem with evident hope of finding another opportunity to resume his recitation.
Elizabeth, watching Anne’s face, noted with interest the way her gaze kept returning to the flamboyant poet despite Mrs. Jenkinson’s determined efforts to focus her attention on the marquess.
There was something in Anne’s expression when she looked at Lord Joseph that Elizabeth had not observed before, a spark of genuine curiosity, perhaps even amusement.
The dreadful poetry, with its overwrought metaphors and tortured rhymes, had nonetheless elicited a more authentic response from Anne than all the marquess’s calculated inquiries about Rosings Park.
Elizabeth considered this reaction thoughtfully.
Could it be that Anne, raised in an environment where practicality and consequence were valued above all else, found something refreshing in Lord Joseph’s unapologetic artistic passion, however poorly executed?
Or was it simply that his ridiculous verses, clearly directed at her specifically, represented the first time a gentleman had addressed her as a woman rather than as the heiress to Rosings Park?