lapacifidora | Someone to Dance With (Reply)

Title: Someone to Dance With

Author: lapacifidora

Spoilers: Nothing. This is so completely AU, it doesn’t even register for spoilers.

Rating/ Warnings: PG-13

Word Count: 2,658

Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her… The title is based on a line from Michael Penn’s No Myth

Author’s note: Caro, I blame you entirely and without reserve. It’s all your fault. I hope you’re happy.

***

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that people can and will, however unwittingly, invariably act in opposition to his or her own best interests.

***

“Girls! Girls!” Mrs. Shirley Bennett, widow and mistress of Bennett’s Boarding House, called out to her two long-term guests as she bustled into the back parlor, a maid following behind with a loaded tea tray. “Such news, such news I have to tell you!”

“Hmmm?” A lithe blonde, lounging on a striped settee, looked up from the pages of a volume of Fordyce’s Sermons she was idly paging through. “What news have to you share, Mrs. Bennett?”

“Anthroton Hall is let at last!” Mrs. Bennett clasped her hands together over her sizable bosom, a beatific smile blossoming across her face as she spun in a circle before the fireplace.

“How wonderful.” A petite brunette looked up from her embroidery, shifting as the mid-morning sun shifted higher in the sky and shone in on her at her seat by the window overlooking the back garden and the lawn beyond. She lifted her nose in the air, sniffing delicately. “Are those treacle tarts I smell?”

“Miss Perry! How many times have I asked you to remove your slippers if you’re going to insist on putting your feet on my third-best settee?” Mrs. Bennett raised a single eyebrow at the blonde, who smiled guiltily and swung her feet to the floor, brushing at nonexistent marks on the striped brocade .

“More times than I can count, Mrs. Bennett.” said Miss Britta Perry, a gentleman cleric’s daughter staying with Mrs. Bennett in the village of Greendale---, in the county of Denver, while her father and brothers were doing missionary work in the Far East. She brushed at a strand of her wavy blonde hair, twisting it as she tucked it back into the bun secured at the nape of her neck. “My apologies.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Mrs. Bennett shook her head as she settled into a chair by the hearth, drawing her massive carpetbag, in which she kept her mending, toward her. “Miss Edison, set down your work for a moment and come refresh yourself.”

“Coming, Mrs. Bennett.” Miss Ann Edison stuck her needle through the linen and set down her embroidery hoop, straightening her skirt as she stood and crossed the room to take a seat next to Miss Perry.

“Come now, Annie.” Miss Perry swept her book from the seat, setting it on a nearby table, and accepting a cup of tea handed to her by the maid. “If I must listen to Mrs. Bennett’s gossip on our new neighbor, so must you.”

“Miss Perry!” Mrs. Bennett looked affronted as she set down her tea and nibbled at a finger sandwich. “May I remind you that I am a good Christian woman, and that all gossip is beneath my notice.” She held up a finger, firmly in lecture mode. “‘Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings.’ One can imagine that idle tongues are no different.”

“I see.” Miss Perry exchanged a skeptical look with Miss Edison. “So you can tell us nothing more about the new tenants of Anthroton Hall?”

“Well.” Mrs. Bennett finished her finger sandwich and settled back into her chair, picking up her darning egg and glancing in both directions before pinning the young women opposite with a conspiratorial look. “Anthroton Hall has been taken by a young man of good fortune, gentle breeding and – if the observations of my dear sister, who lives on the main square, are to be believed – charming manners.”

“Ah, and does this paragon of manhood have a name?” The Rev. Pierce Hawthorne asked as he swept into the room, despite the best efforts of a scullery maid. The retired minister shrugged off his cloak, tossing it over the maid’s head, and folded himself into a chair matching the one Mrs. Bennett sat in. The maid tore the cloak off her head and glared at the Reverend before giving Mrs. Bennett an apologetic gesture, who nodded and waved her away.

“He does, indeed, Mr. Hawthorne.” Mrs. Bennett nodded and stared down intently at the stocking she was darning.

“And that name is?” Mr. Hawthorne asked as he stared pointedly at the slightly steaming pot sitting on the tea tray. Miss Edison rolled her eyes and finally stood, pouring the Reverend a cuppa and crossing to hand it to him. “Ta, my dear.” He sipped at the tea and returned his attention to Mrs. Bennett. “Well? His name, madam?”

“The Lord is testing me.” Mrs. Bennett murmured to herself. “Well, Mr. Hawthorne, while I know he has a name, I haven’t heard it yet.” She frowned as she glanced up at Misses Perry and Edison. “At least, not in any way that would do my girls any good.”

“I see.” Mr. Hawthorne nodded to himself. “Then I suppose the young ladies will have to rely on someone else to see they have a proper introduction to young Mr. Barnes.”

Silence descended on the room as the Reverend’s words – and his meaning – sunk in: Misses Perry and Edison exchanged shocked looks (the Rev. Hawthorne’s distaste for society and disinterest in making new acquaintances was well known) while Mrs. Bennett’s eyes grew wide and round. Finally, the latter let out a sound of combined surprise and frustration.

“Mr. Hawthorne! You mean to tell me you have already called upon our new neighbor and were content to sit there, letting myself and these sad young ladies – who are so much in dire straits for proper company, here as we are in the country and so very far from town – ” She glanced across at the young ladies in question, who obediently batted their eyelashes and made moues of disappointment, “You would let us go on, not knowing the slightest detail of someone come but lately into our little village and not allowing for even the slightest chance of these lovely young ladies to, by some chance, know at least his name should they happen to make his acquaintance? You, sir, who were once charged with shepherding your flock, would take such a reassurance away from these two young ladies who, if I may remind you, have always been most amiable neighbors to you –”

“My dear madam, they have been your guests since Michaelmas but two years hence.” Mr. Hawthorne’s brow crinkled as he fished his pince-nez from a waistcoat pocket and placed them on his face, peering across at his next-door neighbor who was hurling such vitriol at him. “That hardly qualifies as always.”

“That is hardly the point, Mr. Hawthorne! Hardly the point!” Mrs. Bennet pounded the arm of her chair with her darning egg, leaning forward and shaking the newly mended stocking at him like a limp switch. “You would deny these young ladies, who have been so good as to pick up items for you from the shops and who have always been most patient in listening to your stories,” She shot a glare at the two girls, who were coughing violently to cover their unladylike snorts of disbelief before continuing. “You would deny them the reassurance of at least knowing the name of a young person to whom they might be introduced at some future date? How cruel you are, Mr. Hawthorne. I had not thought you had such malice in your character.” She sat back, shaking her head and muttering about the tests the Good Lord saw fit to lay at her feet.

“Madam, you have cut me to the quick.” Mr. Hawthorne put a hand to his heart, inclining his head in the direction of his hostess. “I had not realized how great a crime I was in danger of committing by not sharing with you three the latest gossip from town. Now –” He held up a hand to stem what was surely to be a repeat of Mrs. Bennett’s lecture on the evils of gossip and turned to face the Misses Perry and Edison. “Now, if you young ladies would attend me for but a minute, I should be happy to share with you what I learned when I called on the young gentleman earlier this morning.”

Anthroton Hall is let to one Mr. Troy Barnes, lately of Riverside---, to the east of this county. He is the only son of a gentleman merchant of some not inconsiderable means – it being rumored that Mr. Barnes has somewhere between 10 and 12 thousand per annum – with the majority of the family’s assets being held mainly in sporting concerns – the construction and importing of various gaming halls and their accoutremont.”

Young Mr. Barnes has but lately concluded his education, taking a degree in languages from the Greendale--- College, and has chosen to take a residence in the county so as to pursue such trade concerns as his father assigns him. It is also suspected that the, ah, beautiful and bountiful natural resources of County Denver have inspired him to try his luck here, in hopes that he might find and take a wife.” The Reverend sat back and sipped at his tea, swirling it carefully to dissolve a little more of the honey which Miss Edison has added to it for him. He glanced across at Mrs. Bennett. “How does that whet your appetite for gossip, madam?”

“I am sure I do not know to what you refer, Reverend Hawthorne,” Mrs. Bennett said with a dismissive sniff. She turned her attention to the young ladies opposite, both of whom looked lost in thought. “Now, how do you like that, my girls? A young man of gentle breeding, charming manners and more than 10 thousand a year.” She gave them an exaggerated wink and chuckled. “I am certain that he must marry one of you.” She laughed outright when both the blonde and the brunette started and gave her startled looks.

“And why must he marry one of them, madam?”

“Why, because they are certainly the loveliest and most accomplished young ladies in the whole of the village and perhaps even the whole of the western half of the county.”

“You speak truthfully, madam, yet I would remind you that neither offers any exceptional fortune with which to tempt a man to do more than dally with either of them.”

“Reverend! Nonsense, utter nonsense.” Mrs. Bennett gestured to Miss Perry. “Why there is no one to match our Miss Perry’s grace, her good intentions or her figure.” She moved on to Miss Edison. “And our Miss Edison is the best educated young lady for miles around. I’ll grant you, she is, on occasion, more head strong than is generally considered appropriate, but she has such fine eyes and skin.”

“Mrs. Bennett, please.” Miss Edison colored at her hostess’ comments, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You speak as though this Mr. Barnes’ marrying either of us is a certainty, when we have neither met him nor do we know that there would even be any element of character on his part to tempt either of us.”

“Oh, Miss Edison, you do love to jest.” Mrs. Bennett chuckled and shook her head. “Many a young lady needs little more than 10 thousand a year to tempt her. Further to the point, it is only fitting that whichever of you he is closer in age to will be the one he chooses.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Bennett, I dare say neither Annie nor I care to be talked about like brood mares at the horse auction!” Miss Perry’s cheeks flushed and an unruly curl sprung from her bun, quivering and bouncing as though independently outraged on her behalf.

“My dear Miss Perry, I meant no disrespect to either of you.” Mrs. Bennett clucked reprovingly and set aside her darning for her tea. “I merely meant that, while neither of you are of means, you both have far more to recommend yourselves than, say, a young lady such as Miss Whitman.”

“Victoriana Whitman is a lovely person and an aficionado of the arts and theatre.” Miss Edison’s chin jutted out stubbornly as she defended her friend.

“No one is saying she is not, dear,” Mrs. Bennett looked at Miss Edison patronizingly. “But even the eight thousand a year Sir Whitman is prepared to settle on her when she marries will make any but the rarest of young men blind to Miss Whitman’s, er, Rubenesque figure.” She sighed. “But I suppose it is too much to hope that my girls should have an opportunity to make an impression on Mr. Barnes before his head is turned by some visiting young lady.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Bennett.” Reverend Hawthorne set aside his cup and settled back into his chair, helping himself to a second treacle tart and scratching the head of a tabby cat that settled itself on the arm of his chair. “Mr. Barnes is, I discovered, quite fond of dancing, and when he discovered that there was to be a gathering this evening at the Assembly Rooms, he could not hide his excitement.”

“No! This evening?” Mrs. Bennett tossed her mending in her carpet bag and levered herself to her feet. “So little time! I must have baths drawn for us all. Oh dear. Oh dear!” She turned to cross to the bell pull, but halted and turned back to her revered guest. “Really, Mr. Hawthorne, how you test my patience! Could you not have started with this latest piece of intelligence?”

“I should have been happy to start with it, madam, had I not suspected you would drive your charges from the room upon hearing it, making them miss hearing the particulars of Mr. Barnes character and that of the party he will be bringing to tonight’s assemblage.”

The three women, each in the middle of preparing to start on a long afternoon of preparation, halted and turned to look at the Reverend.

“Wha-what part-” Mrs. Bennett stumbled over her words before shaking of her surprise and returning to stand next to the chair in which Mr. Hawthorne lounged. “Mr. Barnes will be bringing a party with him this evening?”

“Why, yes. Did I fail to mention that earlier?” Mr. Hawthorne looked around at his captive audience with a smug expression. “Hmm. Mea culpa. In any case, Mr. Barnes brings with him his house party, consisting of female cousins from each side of his family, one of whom is a most elegant and accomplished lady, and the other who is reputed quite a beauty and brings along her husband.”

“Well, that is not so very bad.” Mrs. Bennett. “One imagines he would not be so eager to join this evening’s festivities had he already settled on his unmarried cousin.”

“Quite. One also may imagine that, as she is several years his senior, it would be a less than advantageous marriage.” Mr. Hawthorne began scratching the chin of the cat at his elbow. “I believe he also brings with him his particular friend from the north, a gentleman of some means and property.”

“And this last gentleman.” Mrs. Bennett paused, searching for a more politic way of phrasing her question but sighing when none came to mind. “He is also the son of a gentleman merchant? Or perhaps a successful man of trade himself?”

“Not likely.” Mr. Hawthorne smirked as he watched the face of his hostess fall and the shoulders of both young ladies slump. “I believe his uncle, the sixth Earl of Connor, and his aunt, Lady Pelton, would take some issue with him having gainful employment. I gathered he is responsible for the management of his family’s estate.”

“And this gentleman, this…” Mrs. Bennett trailed off.

“Yes, madam.” Mr. Hawthorne nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head against one side of the chair back, as he settled in for a quiet nap before the fire. “Mr. Winger will be in attendance this evening. Of that you may be assured.”