“How could Mrs. Fairfax be telling the truth? Forgive me if I misconstrued,” C.J. began under her breath, conscious of her use of understatement, “but I was under every apprehension that it was Lord Darlington and I who had entered into an understanding.”
Good God! She had made love with the man, and were word to get out, she would be cast out of society, inasmuch as she was a part of it to begin with. The swift downfall of Lady Rose was a testament to the narrow view taken of such behavior. In any event, the repercussions would severely affect her benefactress. Lady Dalrymple had taken enormous risks with her own reputation by restyling a former lady’s companion—as far as she knew—as a titled relation and member of the aristocracy.
A familiar presence, sporting a new bonnet of white muslin, came into view. “Bath is getting so very empty that I am not afraid of doing too little.”
“Ah, Miss Austen.” The countess greeted their visitor with a warm cordiality that showed nothing of the effects of Mrs. Fairfax’s news. “Always a wit.”
Jane bestowed a kiss on Lady Dalrymple’s cheek. “Every neighborhood should have a great lady,” she advised C.J. with a wink.
“My aunt so cleverly got the advantage over Mrs. Fairfax just now. Perhaps you saw her departing in haste with her two daughters bringing up the rear like ducklings,” C.J. told Jane.
Lady Dalrymple crooked a plump finger at Miss Austen, beckoning her closer. “Apart from her usual vociferous display of her own ignorance as regards the education of women, the matron has just boldly imparted a piece of gossip that concerns your cousin, Lord Darlington. I daresay, it was news to my ears.”
Jane screwed up her face in disgust as she regarded the retreating figure of the vulgar Mrs. Fairfax. “She will never be easy ’til she has exposed herself in some public place,” she remarked dryly, sending C.J. into a fit of much-needed laughter under the circumstances.
“How remarkably perceptive you are, Miss Austen,” C.J. gasped, swallowing hard to avoid the hiccups.
“I must say I challenged the veracity of her tale, following which she left, much insulted, in high dudgeon. I hope the foolish woman’s intelligence is false as a mock turtle soup. Oh, my heart,” Lady Dalrymple said, placing her hand upon her bosom. C.J. was concerned that Mrs. Fairfax’s unwelcome news might cause an undue setback in her “aunt’s” condition. She gave her protectress a look of concern, but the countess dismissed her anxiety with a forced smile and a wave of her hand. “Perhaps if we had flattered her ability to acquire such gossip with acuity, rather than doubted her perspicaciousness, she would have departed a happier woman, though I daresay she did not deserve any encomium.”
“That woman is fool indeed, who while insulted by accusation, can be worked on by compliments,” Miss Austen observed.
“My legs grow heavy,” Lady Dalrymple announced. “I had promised Cassandra a stroll along Milsom Street this morning, but I fear I am too fatigued to honor it.” C.J. immediately arranged for a chair and saw to it that her “aunt” would be brought home right away.
Jane allowed that she possessed an hour or two of leisure, although her family had learned from an advertisement in the Bath Chronicle that a suitable house just opposite Sydney Gardens might be available, and she was eager to inspect it. She was quite pleased at the prospect of having such a restful and verdant spot so close to their rooms.
C.J. pressed her hand into Jane’s. “Your company gives me such pleasure,” she beamed. Then, drawing her friend closer, she whispered, “Please spare me a moment or two of your time. I have something very particular to discuss with you, and it cannot wait.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Miss Austen dispenses advice to our heartsick heroine, and a shopping expedition leads to a nearly fatal disaster.
THE YOUNG WOMEN locked arms and exited the Pump Room, halting just under the arcade, where the shade afforded them a degree of privacy. “Mrs. Fairfax has quite undone us,” C.J. began, referring to herself and the countess. “I am quite aware that the woman is a rumor mill, yet she seems to be thoroughly convinced of the sincerity of the news that there will soon be an alliance made between your noble cousin and Lady Charlotte Digby.”
Jane was very quiet. She carefully chose her words. “I have not seen it in the papers. And one may as well be single, if the wedding is not to be in print.”
“You know as well as I, Miss Austen, that when we last were in company together, in Sydney Gardens, there was an understanding between his lordship and me. You surmised as much. You saw as much.” With a delicate cambric handkerchief she blotted away the tears that had begun their slow trickling journey down her cheeks.
Miss Austen emitted a commiserating sigh. “Ohhh . . . women fancy admiration means more than it does. And men take care that they should.” Her tone bore a trace of bitterness. Jane gently placed a gloved hand on C.J.’s arm. “It must be terrible for you to hear it talked of. I think the less that is said about such things, the better; the sooner ’tis blown over and forgot.”
“Forgot? I don’t understand you. Surely you are aware that this transcends the confines of mere admiration.” C.J. changed arguments. “His lordship does not even know Charlotte Digby. How can he possibly love her? I would hazard that he has never spent an unchaperoned moment in the girl’s presence. How can he know her mind? Her likes and dislikes? Her taste in all manner of things?” Her poor square of cambric was by now reduced to a wet rag.
Jane sighed. “Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. In many respects, it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with
