Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [101]
I had retired to the pianoforte, in an effort to improve my mastery of Mr. Haydn's airs, and reflect upon all that has occurred, when I was surprised by Miss Delahoussaye's appearance at my side. A band of jet beads was drawn across her brow, with a plume behind, and she was resplendent in a dinner gown of black sarcenet. I knew that she looked forward eagerly to her visit on the morrow to Madame Henri's, that breathlessly fashionable modiste of Bond Street, and assumed that she wished to bend my ear, the better to glory in her good fortune.
“Miss Austen,” said she, in a far warmer accent than has distinguished our acquaintance thus far, “may I persuade you to take a turn about the Orangerie? I do not believe you have yet viewed its delights. In such a season as this, when the streets are impassable, a greenhouse must be preferred above all other amusement. I am sure you should like it of all things.”
I saw no reason to hold myself aloof, and gladly consented. The Orangerie was a folly of the sixth Earl, the late Lord Scargrave's father, whose wife was French; he is said to have drawn the structure from the likeness of one on the grounds of Versailles, before that noble palace's destruction at the hands of the French rabble. A quantity and variety of plants are grown in its hothouse atmosphere, such as are rarely met with. The late Earl shared in his father's interest, botany being yet another of his passions; no plant was too costly or too rare for his procuring.
“Mr. Cranley seems a respectable sort of fellow, for a barrister,” Fanny began, as we strolled the moist aisles, smelling of green; “you might almost set your cap at him, had you sufficient time, Miss Austen. His profession is not abhorrent to you, and his prospects must be declared quite good—at least, for one of your—that is, quite good, indeed.”
“I think Mr. Cranley would prefer that you secure him, Miss Delahoussaye. He was all admiration while you retained the room.”
“You are a sly creature, Miss Austen! But do call me Fanny,” she said, slipping her arm through mine. I had not the slightest inclination to proceed to further intimacy in such a manner, and so did not offer her my Christian name. “I have been longing for the chance to walk with you alone, for I am in a sad turmoil of mind, and the wisdom of such an one as yourself—so much my senior in age and experience—must be a source of comfort.”
So much her senior, indeed! The eight years’ difference in our ages is hardly the stuff of a generation; but I could not expect Miss Delahoussaye to refrain from malice, when an opportunity for abuse presented itself.
“Such advice as I can give, I will gladly offer; although I must consider our acquaintance as so slight, as to recommend some other party to your interest.”
“Our acquaintance slight! I declare! It was not five minutes after your arrival at Scargrave that I felt assured you would be the salvation of my visit to that dreary place, and perhaps the means of securing that felicity—but I am too precipitate. I impose upon your kindness. I had better explain the nature of my distress.”
“To be sure,” I said, somewhat bewildered.
“You cannot have been long in the company of Lieutenant Hearst without remarking his extraordinary ability to please,” she began, with a sidelong glance. “I am sure you cannot.”
“He is a charming fellow.” And so this is how she intended to broach my indiscretion of New Year's Eve. I had almost succeeded in forgetting it.
“Charming! He is all that is attentive and engaging. And such modesty! Such diffidence! He never comprehends the effect his openness and amiability have on the ladies of his acquaintance. I know that many an one has been persuaded to think too much of his notice, his conversation, his little habits of attention, before this.” She stopped to caress a blooming plant with one finger. “I am very much afraid that it has caused many to regret their having hoped for so much, upon discovering he intended too little. La, an orchid in January! I declare,