Page 74 of Sweet on Mr Darcy

Anne hesitated. “I hoped to improve before tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Mr Bingley asked in confusion.

“Lady Clifford’s ball is tomorrow,” she explained. “It is stupid of me to think I might be ready to dance before others so soon. I ought to grow stronger, more competent first. It was silly of me.”

“You are stronger already.” Mr Bingley was gentle. “Stronger than you know.”

Anne looked up at him. But no one had ever spoken to her as though she were capable before. She seemed almost startled by the mere idea of it.

At the pianoforte, Priscilla suddenly became very interested in the sheet music.

Anne missed a step. Just enough to lose her balance.

Mr Bingley caught her at once. His hand steadied her waist. The other still held her own.

Anne was lost to his gaze. They had stopped moving entirely.

Priscilla continued playing as if nothing at all had happened out of the ordinary.

“You are safe,” he said gently. “I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

Priscilla turned a page with theatrical concentration. She saw absolutely nothing. Certainly not her cousin being gazed at as if she were the most enchanting female on earth. Certainly not Charles Bingley appearing entirely confused and mystified.

“Shall we continue, or would you prefer to rest?” he asked. “We can stop for a cup of tea and then continue later if you like.

“I think I am well enough to try it again.”

“Excellent.” Bingley smiled in delight.

If Anne’s steps for the rest of the afternoon were sprightlier than before, and Mr Bingley’s encouragement a great deal more excessive, Priscilla was much too occupied with the instrument to notice.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Thursday 6 August 1812

Lady Clifford’s ball was the grandest entertainment Ramsgate had yet produced that season.

The rooms glittered with warm candlelight reflected from crystal chandeliers. Music flowed from the musicians’ gallery, and the guests were dressed in their finest evening attire.

Lady Barry had installed herself in a commanding chair with the air of a judge presiding over an important trial. Mrs Charlotte Bennet, seated nearby with a lovely painted fan in hand and an expression of innocent civility, observed the room with interest.

A small cluster of visiting families from Bath and London entered. Perfectly respectable people; elegantly dressed; entirely doomed.

They had, in the last week, accepted calls from and issued invitations to dine to Sir Rupert Barry and his dreadful sister despite very clear local warnings. Worse…they had continued to do so after being warned of Lady Barry’s opinion. These families were now to experience regret.

Mrs Heyer of Bath entered with three marriageable daughters. No one acknowledged them. There was no incivility or rudeness. That was the beauty of their isolation. They were merely…overlooked. Greetings were deferred. Eye contact was avoided.

The Heyer ladies smiled pleasantly, then bravely for several increasingly painful minutes. No gentlemen approached them. Not one.

“Oh dear,” Charlotte murmured.

“Poor judgment should have edifying ramifications,” Lady Barry replied. “Do you not agree, Mrs Bennet?”

The genteel Quinton family from London fared little better. Their eldest daughter was a pretty girl who obviously expected a successful evening. Miss Quinton took up a position beside the dance floor with admirable optimism. She remained through the first set without a single greeting. By the third, the girl began to droop. By the fourth set of watching almost every lady either in conversation or dancing, with a number of single gentlemen available, her mother began to look feverish.

Mr Bennet was amused, but also intrigued. “Lady Barry, by what merit do you hold such power over Ramsgate? This is almost impossible, madam.”

Lady Barry did not hide her satisfied smile. “It is possible my wealth may be rather greater than is widely known. There are a few important families hereabouts who are aware of just how many lease holds I own in Ramsgate…as well as other places. The income was controlled by my husband when he lived, but my properties and fortunes were held for me in trust and reverted to my control upon his death. I could have half of the tourists in Ramsgate turned out, if I chose, but that is not for you to repeat, Bennet.”