A Private Performance by Helen Halstead Read Free Book Online Page B

sister-in-law went out. Only too soon she would be launched upon society; that was where her terrors lay.
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    As Mrs. Foxwell entered her house, her husband emerged from the library.
    â€œMy dear, you are returned at last! Come in here for a moment. I have news for you.”
    â€œHave you, indeed, Foxwell?”
    â€œMy brother must be prevailed upon to take orders as soon as may be.”
    â€œThis is no news; it has been our constant lament these three years.”
    â€œThis I know, however, I have it on the best authority that the living promised him may fall vacant soon.”
    â€œAh! That is news indeed. Might we postpone our exploration of the matter until after our guests leave?” She moved to the door. “I barely have time to dress. First, I must arrange for more places to be set at table.”
    â€œOnly one, my dear Mrs. Foxwell. How is it that I can never surprise you?”
    Mrs. Foxwell turned.
    â€œWhat can you mean?”
    â€œLady Catherine comes alone.”
    â€œLady Catherine?”
    â€œLady Catherine de Bourgh, of course. From whom, think you, had I my news? She called out to me from her carriage and I trotted over as obediently as any dog. What a lucky chance it was to invite her to dine before the Darcys come to London. It will be monstrous tricky at times, while they are all in town.”
    â€œIt will be monstrous tricky tonight!” she exclaimed in exasperation. Her freckles stood out in contrast to her pallor. “Why do you persist in interfering with my arrangements?”
    â€œAh.” He flushed. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are in London and are dining with us tonight?”
    â€œYes.” She turned angrily to the door.
    He jumped up.
    â€œAll will be well, my dear. I shall write Darcy a note, putting them off. Better still, I will hurry to Brougham Place myself.”
    â€œIt is too late, don’t you see? We cannot put off Mrs. Darcy from her first invitation of the season and it is equally impossible to deny Lady Catherine on their account. We must make the best of it.”
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    Ever fearless in society, Elizabeth felt a pleasurable anticipation as she and Darcy followed the footman up the wide oak stairs. She squeezed her husband’s arm, where her hand lay inside his elbow and he gave her the slightest nod of reassurance. The door was opened and the footman’s voice rang out: “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”
    Twenty-four pairs of eyes had but one object and that was Elizabeth Darcy. Everyone in the drawing room turned towards the door and conversation all but ceased. Their hostess swept towards them, followed by a gentleman. Darcy introduced his friend, Mr. Foxwell.
    â€œMrs. Darcy,” he cried. “I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance. I most earnestly wish you both joy, if you have not enough of the commodity without my assistance.”
    In all his features Elizabeth was reminded of someone: a cynical humour in the warm brown eyes, an unfortunate complexion and mousy brown hair. Of course, he was like his wife!
    Darcy glanced about the room and encountered the wintry face of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. With frigid correctness, he made his bow. She did not deign to return it.
    Foxwell said: “Ah, here is my father approaching.” As they turned towards the older gentleman crossing the room, Darcy said quietly to Elizabeth: “Lady Catherine is here, by the fire.”
    â€œSurely not!”
    â€œI’m afraid so. She has just cut me.”
    â€œOh, my dear!” She touched his arm. He covered her hand with his.
    â€œDo not present her with further opportunities to cause you pain, and embarrassment for Mrs. Foxwell.”
    Elizabeth turned from the shock of this, to meet the elder Mr. Foxwell, while the son said quietly: “Darcy, my dear friend. I cannot apologise enough.”
    Darcy shrugged. “Do not trouble yourself, Foxwell. This undesirable convergence was