Free Mr. Darcy's Daughters by Elizabeth Aston Page B

that,” cried Fanny, “it was all long ago, quite three years and more. Nothing more tedious than old stories, don’t you agree? Pray, have you seen these new shawls in from Paris? I declare, I shall be positively mopish if my dear Fitzwilliam does not let me have one, although they are a shocking price. Camilla, my dear, ring the bell and ask Fell if Alethea and Miss Griffin are coming down.”
    “Why, here they are, Fanny,” said her husband, as Miss Griffin stalked into the room behind Alethea, a picture of maidenly virtue in frothy white muslin and a pink sash. “My nieces, you must know, are notable musicians, and since we are only a family party, only family and friends here tonight, Alethea has ventured out of the schoolroom to join us.”
    “So have Belle and Georgina, sir,” Alethea pointed out, as she sat on the chair Mr. Portal had courteously put forward for her. “Are they going to play?”
    Georgina gave her younger sister a scornful look and announced that she and Belle were happy to play. They charmed their way through two or three duets; both of them musical, they played well, and looked enchanting. The men watched with great complaisance, and Camilla could breathe again, as good manners prevented even a Lady Warren from carrying on with her spiteful conversation during their performance.
    Letitia declined to sing, declaring that she had a slight sore throat, it was always so in town on foggy days. This was true enough, although Camilla knew quite well that her spring sore throats were an annual source of considerable misery in Derbyshire, far from the dirt and bad air of the capital.
    Lady Warren was ready with remarks about how depression of the spirits could make a girl ill, how affairs of the heart rendered young women peculiarly susceptible to infections of the lungs and throat, how—
    Alethea gave her a look of contempt and brushed past her chair on the way to take her place at the pianoforte. “Camilla, will you play for me?”
    The company put on an approving face. Modestly dressed, pretty-behaved young ladies who were soon to emerge from the schoolroom showing off their expensively acquired accomplishments gave a sense of order and decorum in an alarming world. The youngest Miss Darcy would sing two or three sweet airs, they would applaud and congratulate, tea would be drunk, the familiar rituals of society would once again have been observed.
    Camilla looked at the music Alethea had placed on the stand and shot Miss Griffin a swift look of enquiry. Miss Griffin gave a tiny shrug of her bony shoulders, as if to say, It is nothing to do with me, and fixed her gaze on the fireplace. Well, if Alethea wanted to sing Mozart, so be it.
    The effect of her singing was electric.
    Lady Warren gave an exaggerated jolt of surprise and then fixed her features into a look of prim disapproval. Lord Warren cleared his throat and looked uneasy. He was unfamiliar with the works of Mozart and was not at all sure that he liked what he was hearing.
    “By Jove,” whispered Captain Allington, who had an ear. “Ain’t that the thing?”
    Pagoda Portal sat back in frank enjoyment, his foot moving and his fingers waving in time to the music.
    The twins had moved across to the window. They twitched the heavy drapes aside and surveyed the street. Alethea’s music held no novelty for them, and a handsome buck might be passing in the street below, a more pleasing object of their interest.
    Letitia sat with her eyes closed for a moment, affected against her will by the power of the music. She considered Mozart wholly unsuitable for Alethea to sing; indeed, unsuitable for performance anywhere.
    Camilla, looking up from the instrument, saw Sir Sidney’s attention fixed on Alethea. There was nothing of the satyr in his regard; rather, he had the air of a connoisseur, of a collector who had found some new and exquisite item. His eyes met Camilla’s, and he smiled, shook his head slightly and was lost once more in the