Suspense & Sensibility

'Mr. Dashwood, I hardly know you anymore.' Kitty repeated the words she’d rehearsed with Elizabeth this morning. 'You are not the man I consented to wed. Ever since we returned from Norland, you have treated me and my family with disrespect.'

'How so?'

'Through your conduct toward me and your falsehoods to me. You lied about being indisposed these past three days — '

'I said I could not rise from bed. What you inferred from that is your own misconstruction.'

'You lied about not seeing me at Grafton House.'

'I acknowledged you as soon as you spoke to me.'

'You lied about having gone to Devonshire — '

'Devonshire? Why the devil would I go to Devonshire?'

'That is the very thing I wondered as you stood before us insisting that you had.' Her voice wavered. 'Mr. Dashwood, I don’t understand what has come over you. My affection for you would have enabled me to bear a great deal, but I cannot, and will not, tolerate a mistress.'

'Then I hope you enjoy leading the apes.'

Kitty looked as if she’d been slapped. Indeed, indignation stained her cheeks red. 'I do not intend to die a spinster.'

'Oh, Kitty, you are so green! That’s what I found charming in you. Your husband, whoever he is, will have a lover — perhaps a dozen of them. And if you think he does not dally, that only means he is less honest about it than I.'

Kitty’s face contorted at the bleak portrait Mr. Dashwood painted of men’s fidelity Even Elizabeth cringed at his cynicism.

'Not all men share your dishonorable nature,' Darcy said.

'Of course you would say that, Mr. Darcy. You must — your wife is present.'

'I think we have all said quite enough,' Elizabeth declared. She took her sister’s hand. 'Come, Kitty. Mr. Dashwood can add nothing worth your hearing.'

Kitty stood motionless, seemingly unable to wrest her gaze from Mr. Dashwood’s face. It held complete indifference. Her own exhibited an expression so full of sorrow and incomprehension and hurt and grief that Elizabeth suffered to witness it.

'Come,' Elizabeth repeated gently.

They went downstairs, where Mr. Dashwood’s footmen were covering the mirror in preparation for its transport to Norland. Kitty paused to cast a final look of regret toward the drawing room above.

Elizabeth put her arm around her sister’s waist and directed her toward the door. 'You are better off without him, Kitty,' she said. 'Though the broken engagement pains you today, you shall be relieved by it tomorrow.'

Kitty nodded and allowed herself to be led away Elizabeth’s own gaze rose one final time to the drawing room door. Her mind’s eye compared again the Dashwood on the sofa to the Dashwood above the fireplace. Their uncanny resemblance struck her. Which one of them would time prove the greater miscreant?

Her money said the one swallowing brimstone.

Eighteen

'As he required the promise, I could not do less than give it.'

— John Dashwood to Fanny Dashwood,

Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 2

'You returned home early.' Darcy, having himself just en-tered the townhouse, helped his wife remove her wrap.

'Mr. Dashwood was there.'

'I see.'

He had expected to arrive home to an empty townhouse but had found the ladies returning at the same time. Elizabeth had escorted Georgiana and Kitty to a ball, where all hoped the amusement would elevate Kitty’s spirits. In the fortnight since she broke her engagement, Kitty had done her best to project an air of cheerfulness to those around her, but she was a poor actress. Anyone could see that Mr. Dashwood’s mistreatment had left wounds that would not soon heal.

Kitty said little as she and Georgiana removed their own wraps. He’d never known a young lady to return home from a ball in such subdued spirits. Out of deference to Kitty’s feelings, Darcy withheld further comment on the owner of Norland in her presence. But he gave free rein to his own thoughts. A plague take Mr. Dashwood! The scoundrel had also been the reason Darcy cut short his evening at White’s.

In a span of mere weeks, Mr. Dashwood had risen to prominence as the Bacchus of the beau monde and had attracted to himself an entourage of like-minded new friends bent on testing the limits of how far decent society would excuse dishonor in men of fortune and rank. The Polite World was at once repulsed and fascinated by the new Pied Piper of London, scandalized by the spectacle but unable to tear away its attention. Drawing rooms and coffeehouses reverberated with tales of his exploits — speculation as to the identity of his mistress, lurid accounts of parties he’d hosted, amazed descriptions of his capacity for drink and boldness at games of chance. It was said his appetites, for everything from wine to women, were insatiable.

The Darcys were no longer the only ones drawing comparisons between Harry Dashwood and his notorious ancestor. Sir Francis enjoyed fresh renown in the discourse of the ton, and it was speculated that Harry would achieve even greater heights — or depths — of infamy. The Hell-Fire Club was openly discussed in gentlemen’s clubs, and even ladies became acquainted with its name, if not its more salacious details. It was even said that Harry was Sir Francis reborn, his new band of merry men the former Monks of Medmenham, all reincarnated from the ashes of the underworld to fan the flames of Hell-Fire on earth once more.

That last, of course, was fiction surpassing anything Mrs. Radcliffe could write, but the gentlemen at White’s Club tonight had talked of little else. Darcy had quickly become weary of the subject and departed.

Kitty and Georgiana bade them good night almost immediately and went to their own chambers. When Elizabeth’s sister was out of auditory range, he turned to his wife.

'How was Mr. Dashwood this evening?'

'About the same. No — worse. Poor Kitty couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him. Fortunately, he spent most of his time at the card tables.'

'He gambles so much at the clubs that I wonder he troubled himself to attend a private ball to hazard his fortune.'

'He seemed to be there with his Ferrars relations. Lucy Fer-rars dragged him away from vingt- et-un long enough to dance a set with Regina, and another with herself. Now that he is a free man once more, I think Mrs. Ferrars works harder than ever to orchestrate a match between Mr. Dashwood and her daughter. They had their heads quite close together several times.'

'She is not bothered by his licentiousness? Or his mistress?' The identity of Harry’s paramour remained secret, but her existence was by now generally known.

'So long as he has money, matters of character would constitute secondary considerations — if, indeed, considerations at all — regarding any gentleman who paid court to Regina. Lucy intends a profitable match for her daughter, and suitors are not exactly circling.'

'They probably fear being devoured if they get too close.'

'Darcy!' Despite the admonishment, she laughed. 'Indeed, Miss Ferrars needs to catch a wealthy husband, for it may require a fortune to feed and clothe her. But your remark applies as much to Mrs. Ferrars as to her daughter. In many ways, she is as hungry as Regina. I almost feel pity for Miss Ferrars — she’s a simple girl at the mercy of an avaricious mother to determine her future happiness.'

'She is a willing participant in her own auction. Like most of society’s debutantes.'

'If they aspire to no better than Mr. Dashwood, they can have him.'