Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) by Anna Elliott Read Free Book Online

Mark would wake and remember the details of his visit here.  And I knew from past experience that he would be penitent and filled with self-loathing—and that that would drive him into drink all over again.
    I gave Mr. Dalton Mark’s address, or at least the most recent one I knew of for him; for the past year, Mark has been descending through an increasingly squalid series of lodging houses in the East End.  And Mr. Dalton took Mark’s arm and said, as though resuming their conversation, “Now that is most interesting, what you say.  Most interesting indeed.”
    Mark appeared to have forgotten, if not Mr. Dalton’s presence altogether, at least the thread of what they had been saying.  “I don’t believe I’ve had the honour of making your—” he started to say again.
    Mr. Dalton clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.  All trace of the look of pain, if pain it had been, was gone as though I had only imagined it.  “Lance Dalton, at your service.  And you are the man who is going to put me straight as to the attitudes of the Belgian peasantry.”
    Mark still looked dazed, but he gave a dubious nod and Mr. Dalton bowed to me.  “Miss Bennet, I wish you good day.  And you as well, Miss Gardiner.”  And then he sketched another bow at Susanna, who waved her chubby fist at him and gurgled.
    Mr. Dalton smiled—a real smile, this time.  It was only at that moment, when he took baby Susanna’s fist in his, that I realised how fully his earlier smile had been an assumed one—even if very convincing—put on for Mark’s sake.
    He bowed over Susanna’s small hand and said, “And my apologies, Miss Gardiner, for having interrupted your private entertainment.”  He did not look at me, but I could see the amusement still in his gaze.  “I hope your Mr. Pig there enjoys his dinner appointment with his rather alarmingly Continental friend Duck.”
     

Tuesday 9 January 1816
    There are only four days now until Georgiana’s party, so this morning I dragged Mary into the morning room, rolled back the carpets, and forced her to attend to a lesson in dancing.
    Being Mary, she of course protested that she knew perfectly well how to dance, that she had no need of my assistance, that in fact she had found a book of instruction written by a French dancing master, and moreover had read the book in the original language, which was more than I could do … 
    I said—rather unkindly, I admit, but I was short on patience even before all her objections began—that unless she wanted to give an encore of her performance at Aunt Gardiner’s dinner party, she would be quiet and let me give her some practical instruction.
    Mary did quite well, really.  In that she only tripped over her own feet twice.  And only interrupted me seven or eight times to say that she was sure I was teaching her the steps all wrong, and that she thought I ought to at least study a textbook or two before I could be declared competent to instruct anyone in the figures of the quadrille.
    I was taking a short rest—to count slowly and silently to fifty so that I might with any luck avoid strangling my sister—when the morning room door opened.  It was Rose—for once and of course when it did not matter in the least—actually remembering her duty of announcing callers.
    She said, “Mrs. Bingley to see you, Miss Bennet and Miss Kitty.”
    And Jane came into the room afterwards.
    I would have been glad of any interruption just then—I might even have welcomed Mr. Dalton.  But I really was glad to see Jane.  It is not quite so hard to face her as it is Lizzy.  And I have not seen her in months.
    Jane hugged me tightly.  And then turned to kiss Mary’s cheek.  Mary does not do anything so undignified as embrace anyone, even a sister.
    When all our greetings and exclamations of surprise had been exchanged, I said, “It is wonderful to see you.  But what on earth are you doing travelling in your condition, Jane?  I thought you would