Read Online Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) by Anna Elliott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Elliott
Ads: Link
from his head at nearly right angles. None of which of course is the poor man’s fault. But he also can talk of absolutely nothing but hunting.
Literally nothing. All the while we were dancing, he told me in exhaustive detail exactly how many grouse he succeeded in shooting this past November, how many rabbits and hare and pheasants, and what guns he had used to shoot them all with.
At one point during our dance he said to me—in a daring flight of poetic fancy; and no, I promise I am not fabricating one single part of this account—”Do you know, Miss Bennet, I believe your eyes are the exact colour of those of the stag I shot on my estate in Hampshire last year? A very handsome creature. I had his antlers preserved and mounted on my wall.”
I suppose it served me right for breaking my self-imposed rule against dancing.
Then, as Mr. Fredericks and I danced our way down the line, I suddenly caught sight of Jane.
I had not seen my eldest sister yet that night, though I had looked for her among the crowds. When I spotted her at last from the dance floor, she was sitting down on a gold-brocade upholstered chaise in the corner of the room, looking frighteningly pale, her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her middle.
I cut Mr. Fredericks off in the middle of another description of some small animal’s gory demise with a murmured excuse and crossed swiftly to her.
“Jane!” I sat down on the bench beside her and touched her hand. “Are you ill? Is something wrong?”
Jane opened her eyes and looked at me, blinking. Her gaze was unfocused, and it seemed to take her a half-second to recognise me. “Oh—Kitty. Yes—I mean, no, nothing is wrong. It is just—” She stopped and gasped sharply, bending forward over the swollen curve of her abdomen and breathing hard. “It is just that I seem to be having a stray pain or two. It happens, as the … as the time of confinement draws near. There is no cause for alarm.”
I did not believe her. Jane never wishes to cause a fuss. But she spoke between pauses for breath, and her face was still ashy-pale and sticky with perspiration. The hand I held felt cold and clammy.
“Regardless,” I said, “You ought not to be here. Come, let me help you to your room. Can you stand, do you think? Walk, with my help?”
I gave Jane my arm and helped her to her feet. But she had barely taken a step forward when she let out another sharp breath, swayed dizzily, and collapsed backwards onto the bench again. “I am sorry,” she managed to gasp out. “I seem to be … feeling a little faint.”
“Just lean back; I will find someone to help,” I told her. I looked quickly around the ballroom. Mary was—to my astonishment—dancing.
I admit that I was torn between satisfaction that she had not yet sprawled headlong across the dance floor and annoyance that she had chosen now to apply my lessons, just when I had need of her. I would have been happy even of Georgiana’s or Edward’s help just then—even if it meant facing the two of them.
But I could not see them at all. More guests had arrived, and the room was growing hot and very loud and crowded. Couples were dancing, society matrons were gossiping on benches, girls were giggling behind their fans.
And then I saw a familiar head of wheat-blond hair and a pair of broad shoulders in a black coat and clergyman’s collar. Mr. Dalton, standing nearby, with his back turned to me.
It seemed a particularly unpleasant joke on the part of Fate that there should be no one else I could turn to for help. Especially after what I learned about him yesterday, I was hard pressed to think of anyone I wanted to accost less . But I patted Jane’s hand, told her that I would be back with help in a moment, and crossed to where Mr. Dalton stood.
“Mr. Dalton?” His brows drew together at the sight of me—probably wondering what fresh insults I had dreamed up to
Literally nothing. All the while we were dancing, he told me in exhaustive detail exactly how many grouse he succeeded in shooting this past November, how many rabbits and hare and pheasants, and what guns he had used to shoot them all with.
At one point during our dance he said to me—in a daring flight of poetic fancy; and no, I promise I am not fabricating one single part of this account—”Do you know, Miss Bennet, I believe your eyes are the exact colour of those of the stag I shot on my estate in Hampshire last year? A very handsome creature. I had his antlers preserved and mounted on my wall.”
I suppose it served me right for breaking my self-imposed rule against dancing.
Then, as Mr. Fredericks and I danced our way down the line, I suddenly caught sight of Jane.
I had not seen my eldest sister yet that night, though I had looked for her among the crowds. When I spotted her at last from the dance floor, she was sitting down on a gold-brocade upholstered chaise in the corner of the room, looking frighteningly pale, her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her middle.
I cut Mr. Fredericks off in the middle of another description of some small animal’s gory demise with a murmured excuse and crossed swiftly to her.
“Jane!” I sat down on the bench beside her and touched her hand. “Are you ill? Is something wrong?”
Jane opened her eyes and looked at me, blinking. Her gaze was unfocused, and it seemed to take her a half-second to recognise me. “Oh—Kitty. Yes—I mean, no, nothing is wrong. It is just—” She stopped and gasped sharply, bending forward over the swollen curve of her abdomen and breathing hard. “It is just that I seem to be having a stray pain or two. It happens, as the … as the time of confinement draws near. There is no cause for alarm.”
I did not believe her. Jane never wishes to cause a fuss. But she spoke between pauses for breath, and her face was still ashy-pale and sticky with perspiration. The hand I held felt cold and clammy.
“Regardless,” I said, “You ought not to be here. Come, let me help you to your room. Can you stand, do you think? Walk, with my help?”
I gave Jane my arm and helped her to her feet. But she had barely taken a step forward when she let out another sharp breath, swayed dizzily, and collapsed backwards onto the bench again. “I am sorry,” she managed to gasp out. “I seem to be … feeling a little faint.”
“Just lean back; I will find someone to help,” I told her. I looked quickly around the ballroom. Mary was—to my astonishment—dancing.
I admit that I was torn between satisfaction that she had not yet sprawled headlong across the dance floor and annoyance that she had chosen now to apply my lessons, just when I had need of her. I would have been happy even of Georgiana’s or Edward’s help just then—even if it meant facing the two of them.
But I could not see them at all. More guests had arrived, and the room was growing hot and very loud and crowded. Couples were dancing, society matrons were gossiping on benches, girls were giggling behind their fans.
And then I saw a familiar head of wheat-blond hair and a pair of broad shoulders in a black coat and clergyman’s collar. Mr. Dalton, standing nearby, with his back turned to me.
It seemed a particularly unpleasant joke on the part of Fate that there should be no one else I could turn to for help. Especially after what I learned about him yesterday, I was hard pressed to think of anyone I wanted to accost less . But I patted Jane’s hand, told her that I would be back with help in a moment, and crossed to where Mr. Dalton stood.
“Mr. Dalton?” His brows drew together at the sight of me—probably wondering what fresh insults I had dreamed up to
Similar Books
