Suspense & Sensibility

Grafton House, and could not yet define it, but it was there.

To Kitty, she merely said, 'I am sure his devotion to you is constant. Rest easy in that.' But the statement rang hollow in her ears, echoing her own uneasiness.

Mr. Dashwood and Darcy soon entered. One look at Darcy revealed to her that they had argued — she could read it in the tense line of his jaw. What an unpleasant evening this was turning into all around.

'Miss Bennet, I’m afraid I must take my leave.'

Mr. Dashwood’s announcement disconcerted Kitty, who glanced uncertainly from him to Darcy and back.

'So soon?'

'Unfortunately so.' Harry raised Kitty’s hand to his lips. He then turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist, lingering over it long enough to make everyone in the room fidget. 'Bon-soir, ma cherie.'

Kitty turned deep scarlet. 'Good — good night, Mr. Dash-wood.'

Harry next turned to Elizabeth. 'Mrs. Darcy, I thank you for your hospitality.' He reached for her hand.

Elizabeth hesitated, sincerely hoping her wrist wouldn’t follow the same path as Kitty’s, but Mr. Dashwood merely grasped her fingers in his palm. Nevertheless, she experienced a sense of revulsion at his touch — a reaction, she presumed, to his unconscionable conduct all evening.

She masked her discomfort, but he regarded her curiously. There passed between them something unspoken. Again, she had the sense that a shift had taken place within him. He was at once more and less the Mr. Dashwood who had entertained them at Norland — more intense in his address, more bold in his actions, more hungry in his pursuit of desires. Yet less disarming, less moderate, less kind. Where before his manner put one at ease, it now set one on edge. It was as if he’d lost his balance, and those around him shared that endless moment of anxiety before it is known whether one will fall.

'Take care of yourself, Mr. Dashwood,' she said.

He stepped back, and the moment was broken. His expression became brash once more. 'I always do.'

Her husband’s displeasure at the exchange was evident, and lingered longer than Mr. Dashwood. After their guest departed, Darcy’s continued glower induced Kitty and Georgiana to seek the refuge of their own chambers for the night.

'You have been in ill temper since your private conversation with Mr. Dashwood,' Elizabeth observed when they were alone. 'What took place?'

'More of what you witnessed at dinner.'

'Mr. Dashwood attempted to seduce you, too? I hope you told him I would object.'

His scowl indicated that he was in no humor for humor. 'I informed him that there were numerous elements of his behavior to which I object.'

'And he said…?'

'Essentially, that the devil may care, but he does not.'

'Well!' She sank against the sofa, taken aback by this latest evolution — or, more accurately, devolution — in Mr. Dash-wood’s character. 'Was it the wine talking?'

'I wish it were. Then we could hope he would awaken tomorrow embarrassed by this whole evening. But no, I think he knew exactly what he was saying to me, and the effect it would have. He knows everything, you see. At least, more than I do, or so he told me. He is one-and-twenty, after all — practically a sage.'

'Careful — I am one-and-twenty.'

'You possess common sense. I am in serious doubt as to whether Mr. Dashwood does.'

'He had sense enough to fall in love with Kitty.'

'And that is the last sensible act he performed. Since we left Norland, he has demonstrated nothing but poor judgment, self-absorption, and flagrant disrespect for the rules and conventions of society. He has brazenly told falsehoods right here in this house. He displays an irresponsible attitude toward money, a childish indulgence in the pursuit of pleasure, and an adolescent obsession with lewd innuendo. He has discarded his friends for the company of aging roues and blackguards — and all of this, on the eve of his marriage to a young woman of good family who cannot possibly countenance his conduct.'

Elizabeth could not argue. Darcy had, in fact, articulated many of her own thoughts. 'He was so affable when we first met him,' she said. 'Yet in the span of a fortnight, he has managed to offend nearly all his acquaintance — from his own family to William Middleton to us. At his current pace, the only persons still speaking to him by week’s end will be the elderly gentlemen who gathered at his townhouse, and they, only because they cannot hear half of what he says and fall asleep through the rest.' She shivered and crossed her arms in front of her. It had grown chilly in the room. 'Did you learn yet who those men were?'

Darcy lifted the fire poker from its stand. 'I learned more than I wanted to know.'

'Well — who were they?'

'They were — are — former associates of Sir Francis Dash-wood.'

'That distant relation of Harry’s? The man in the painting from Norland?'

'The same.'

'You never told me what he was so infamous for — I assumed it was because Kitty was with us in the gallery that day. But we are alone now.'

He turned his back to her while he stirred the embers. He took an overly long time about it; she’d never seen someone lavish half so much attention on a blaze.

'Darcy?'

He returned the poker to its place but continued to avoid her gaze as he crossed to the sherry decanter and busied himself in pouring a glass. 'Sir Francis Dashwood founded a secret society that came to be known as the Hell-Fire Club.'

'If it was a secret, how do people know about it?'

'Many of its suspected members were men of significant political and social standing. You have been in London long enough to know that nothing can remain a secret among the ton forever. Eventually tales of the organization and its activities created an enormous scandal.'

'Of what were the club’s members accused?'

'Shocking acts of blasphemy and debauchery.'

'Such as?'

'Deeds, Elizabeth, that a gentleman does not speak of to a lady.' He replaced the stopper, but his hand remained atop the decanter.

'Not even to his wife?'

'Especially his wife.'

He finally met her gaze. She’d expected his expression to be shuttered, for him to withhold himself from her along with the information he so obviously wished to keep back. But she instead found in his eyes a certain sadness that comes from knowing more than one wishes about the depths of human wickedness, and a desire to protect her from that. She let the matter drop.

'So, Mr. Dashwood brought the portrait of Sir Francis back to London with him, and now he’s behaving like a rakehell himself and entertaining the old fellow’s friends,' she said. 'One wonders what prompted this sudden interest in his family tree.'

'It defies reason. Of all his ancestors, Sir Francis is the one Mr. Dashwood should least admire — especially now that he is engaged to a respectable young lady.'

'Maybe that is his motive. By demonstrating to his mother what a truly wayward son he could be, he hopes to reconcile her to a marriage with Kitty as the lesser of two evils.'

'If so, his method is shortsighted. He risks ruining himself in the process, and his behavior jeopardizes the likelihood of the marriage ever taking place.'

'True. And were his plan indeed that of extorting his mother’s approval, one might expect him to take Kitty into his confidence, which he has not. Instead, he left her bewildered by avoiding her for over a se’nnight.'

Darcy studied his sherry glass, then set it down untouched. 'Perhaps rather than bringing his mother around to his way of thinking, he has come round to hers.'

'He regrets the proposal?' She contemplated that scenario. 'His ardor has cooled, and now he wishes himself