She had already decided that she was going to flirt in Mr. Gresham’s presence with every man who caught her eye, but she had not yet even laid eyes upon her haughty host when she had started flirting with that handsome ostler who had so abruptly flung open the coach door and started shouting before he even knew who was within. Obviously, it had been a case of mistaken identity. But even so, that still said something about him, in that he did not hesitate to assert himself, and rather strongly, in the face of someone of superior social standing. It was, after all, clearly a gentleman’s coach. For that matter, there was every possibility that he had not been mistaken, and that it was Anthony Gresham against whom he held a grudge. How could he have known that it was not Gresham in the coach? There had been such fire in his eyes! In all honesty, she had to admit to herself that her exchange with him had not been part of her original plan.
Drummond had witnessed it, of course, and he would surely report it to his master, for that was no more than his duty, and so it was just as well. It had worked out exactly as if that was the way she’d planned it. Save that she hadn’t planned it and she hadn’t known that Drummond would be there to see it. She would not make excuses to herself. There was no denying that the young man had an effect upon her. She had flirted with him because she wanted to.
What was his name? Smythe-something. No, Something-Smythe. Symington Smythe. That was it! It sound so euphonious. He certainly was handsome. And those shoulders! He seemed well-spoken, too, not at all thick, coarse, and rough-mannered, like so many of these common louts who worked around the Theatre, with their incomprehensible burrs and brogues and slurring speech and nose-wiping and forelock-tugging gruntings. She had, of course, been to the Theatre many times before, since her father was one of the investors whose money had helped build it, but this was the first time she had ever seen this rather striking young man. He must have been newly employed. Pity he was just an ostler. There could be no question, really, of her becoming more intimately acquainted with anyone like that. Her parents would both throw fits. Which, it occurred to her, was a tantalizing idea in itself.
The ensign hoisted in the turret an hour before the start of each performance was fluttering in the cool, late afternoon breeze as they went through the gate, past all the groundlings who had already arrived long since to jostle for the best positions in the rush-strewn yard. The hawkers were selling their refreshments and the trumpets were blowing the three blasts of the fanfare, signaling that the play was about to start as they mounted the stairs up to the expensive private boxes in the upper gallery, which were all screened off on the sides, blocking off all views except the one directly to the front. And therein, the much-lauded Mr. Anthony Gresham awaited her.
Having already formed a rather low opinion of him, Elizabeth had somehow expected his appearance to live down to it. She had imagined that he would be fat and unattractive, and probably with pockmarked skin. Instead, she was surprised to find that he was quite good looking, in a roguish sort of way, with well-formed, strongly defined features, a good complexion, a neatly trimmed black beard, and a full head of dark hair that he took some trouble to keep well groomed. He was also younger than she had expected, in his early to mid-twenties, and appeared to be quite fit.
“Miss Darcie,” he said, rising to greet her. He bowed over her hand and brushed it with his lips. “How good of you to come on such short notice. ‘Twas dreadfully rude of me, I know, to present the invitation in such a fashion, but under the circumstances, quite unavoidable, I fear. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Taken aback a bit by his unexpected remarks and apparently sincere, apologetic tone, Elizabeth could think of nothing else to say or do but nod. He led her to her seat, which he had thoughtfully provided with several pillows, and offered to pour her some red wine. She accepted.
The play, in the meantime, had begun. As the first actor stepped out on stage to recite the prologue, Elizabeth recognized the play as one she’d seen before, The Honorable Gentleman, a rather tepid comedy of manners written by Greene or one of his many imitators, she could no longer remember which. The way these poets would often take older works and then adapt them to the stage, changing them around and frequently borrowing from other sources, as well as one another, it was sometimes difficult to tell who the original author was. And in the case of this play, it really didn’t matter. The intent of the production was to lampoon the so-called, rising “middle class,” the new merchant gentry who were often painted with a broad brush, in strokes that were anything but flattering, as bumbling, greedy, selfish, and duplicitous, often cuckolded fools. In other words, men just like her father. It was certainly a peculiar choice for Gresham to select.
However, as Will Kemp, the speaker of the prologue, delivered his lines with his usual leering and grimacing posturings to the audience, it became apparent that Anthony Gresham was not in the least bit interested in the play. He made a pretence of watching the stage, but spoke to her, instead.
“You are aware, of course, that our families intend that we should marry,” he said, without preamble. It sounded more like a statement than a question, so Elizabeth made no attempt to answer. He glanced over at her briefly, saw that she was watching him silently, and raised an eyebrow in expectation.
“I have recently been made aware of it,” she replied, in an unemotional tone.
He nodded and returned his attention to the stage, though it was clear that he had no real interest in the play. “Indeed, I was rather recently made aware of it myself. It was not, regrettably, a matter upon which I had ever been consulted. In fact, until only a short while ago, your name was not even known to me.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And I would, perhaps, not be amiss in thinking that the prospect of marriage to a man whom you had never even met did not quite fill you with… eager anticipation?”
Elizabeth realized that things were not quite going the way she’d planned. What she had hoped for was an opportunity to create a bad impression and thereby discourage Mr. Gresham’s interest. Instead, it was beginning to appear as if he had no interest. And she found that very interesting, indeed.
“I had always hoped,” she said, “to fall in love with the man whom I would marry.”
He glanced at her appraisingly and smiled faintly. “Ah. Love. Indeed. I quite understand. And as unfashionable as it may seem, I believe that there is a great deal to be said for love. Would you not agree?”
“I would.”
“Good. Then in this one respect, at least, we are of like mind. You would prefer to love the man you were to marry, and I…”
He turned to look directly at her. “I would prefer to marry a woman that I loved.”
Elizabeth abruptly realized what the purpose of this meeting was, and she caught her breath, scarcely able to believe in her good fortune. “And… is there such a woman?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
He nodded once again. “There is.” When she did not respond immediately, he added, “And is there such a man in your life?”
She shook her head. “No. At least, not yet.”
“Ah. Pity. Doubtless, there shall be before long.”
“Let us understand one another, Mr. Gresham, and speak plainly,” she said. “You do not want this marriage. Anymore than I do.”
“No, Miss Darcie,” he said. “I do not. And ‘twas my hope that you would feel the same way. As, it would appear, you do.”