Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(30)
Public assemblies sold subscriptions at the start of each season, and you had to either have one or be a guest of a subscription holder in order to enter. Lizzie felt her frustration well up—she loathed when her work was impeded by trifling social norms.
“You look lovely, Miss Bennet,” he said so earnestly that Lizzie felt her face grow warm, even though her day gown of brown-and-blue muslin was not at all appropriate for an evening dance. “Leave the matter of our admission to me.”
He disappeared down the street, and Lizzie lost sight of him in the arrival of two new carriages. She loitered nervously on the corner for five and then ten minutes. She received a few curious looks and moved closer to the venue in the hope that she could pass for a young lady who’d simply stepped out for some fresh air. Just when she began to worry that Wickham had abandoned her, he approached her in the opposite direction from where he’d disappeared. He was, inexplicably, wearing a finer coat than the one he’d been wearing just twenty minutes earlier, and his cravat was freshly tied. “Miss Bennet, would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”
“Where did you get that?” she demanded. “And how will they let us in?”
“I can be very convincing when I need to be,” he said, but refused to say any more.
Lizzie was afraid they would be turned away at the door, but it was just a dress ball, not a fancy ball. She passed through the doors with only a slight raise of eyebrows at her plainer clothing. Once inside the crowded hall, Lizzie saw her initial judgment of the event confirmed. This particular public assembly was one of the cheaper ones, with quite a variation in dress. The ladies in attendance were likely lower middle class, like her. She relaxed slightly, even though the atmosphere was more raucous than polite society usually allowed. How intriguing that Caroline would end up here.
“Let’s walk about, but slowly,” Lizzie said. “I don’t want Caroline to spot us, but we need to learn why she’s here.”
The room itself was plainer than the assembly halls that Mrs. Bennet insisted on attending, but spacious enough. The walls weren’t papered, but large wall hangings that had seen better days helped to absorb the swell of music and chatter. Crude benches and chairs were scattered about along the edges of the room, and they were already occupied with pink-faced, gossiping matrons.
Mrs. Bennet would be right at home here, although Lizzie knew that her mother would deem the company not highborn enough for her daughters. The one saving grace to the hall was that the main room was tall, with a line of windows near the ceiling that let in the evening air but not the curious gazes of outsiders. The dancing had already begun, and a good number of couples were engaged in a Scotch reel. Lizzie scanned the crowd but didn’t see Caroline anywhere.
They navigated the room, and Lizzie’s pulse raced the entire time, nervous that the crowd would part and Caroline’s gaze would land on them and the ruse would be up. But the room was packed and noisy, and Lizzie realized that even if Caroline spotted them, she’d have to fight through the crowds to get to Lizzie. . . .
“There,” Lizzie said suddenly, and stepped behind a cluster of older women, mothers and chaperones most likely. Wickham stumbled after her, causing one woman to cast a reprimanding look in their direction.
“My apologies,” Lizzie said, trying not to seem as if she were craning for a look at Caroline. “I feel quite faint.”
The women turned from disapproving to concerned in an instant. “Fetch her a chair,” a silver-haired matron instructed Wickham, and he released her arm to do as he was told. Lizzie did an admirable job of playing at being overwhelmed and distracted as she fended off the women’s inquiries while trying to keep an eye on Caroline.
“Where’s your chaperone?” one woman asked, and Lizzie pretended she was so overcome that she hadn’t heard the question.
Wickham arrived with a chair, and Lizzie was promptly guided into it, but she lost her vantage point on Caroline. Bollocks. Even worse, the women shooed Wickham away. “Plenty of young ladies to dance with here,” the silver-haired one chided. “Let her have a rest.”
Well, this was inconvenient! Watch her, Lizzie mouthed to Wickham over the woman’s shoulder, and then submitted to the attentions of the older ladies. “Thank you for your concern,” she said. “I only need a moment to recover.”
“Some of the young men here can be rather persistent,” the silver-haired woman observed, and Lizzie caught a whiff of disapproval in her tone.
“My companion is the utmost gentleman,” Lizzie rushed to assure her.
The woman made a tiny sound of doubt but did not press Lizzie. Instead, a cup of tea was ordered, and Lizzie and the woman made each other’s acquaintance. Her savior was Mrs. Matthews, and she insisted that Lizzie sit until her tea was gone and her nerves settled. Lizzie knew that there would be no dissuading her otherwise, so she sipped at the weak tea and surveyed the room.
But then the master of ceremonies called a cotillion, and Lizzie saw Caroline step to the dance floor, a red-haired young man as her partner. Who was this? An accomplice? Lizzie tried to become as unobtrusive as possible in her seat, but all it would take was for Caroline’s gaze to sweep in her direction . . .
Except, she realized rather quickly, Caroline was far too focused on her partner to pay the onlookers any attention. They came together, stepped apart, and passed each other, but their eyes sought each other out on every turn. And it wasn’t simply the young man who was infatuated with Caroline—their attentions were equally intense and full of longing.