Baffled, Jane followed him to the Viscountess’s side and awaited her pleasure. Smiling, as if already in anticipation of Jane’s response, Lady FitzCameron said, “Your tableau vivant with Mr. Vincent gave us so much pleasure that, considering our cause for celebration, I wonder if we might prevail on you to amuse us again this evening.”

If the performance on the hill had been something to be avoided, how much more so was this, where her own small skills would be put into contrast with the genius beside her? Add to that the anxiety she felt from the overheard “plain Jane” comment and the knowledge of Beth’s secret engagement, and it is no wonder that she at once began making her excuses.

But Lady FitzCameron would have none of it. “Nonsense. Let us not hear of your false modesty; we all know how talented you are.” She turned to the assembly, which had crowded close to hear the conversation. “My friends, do tell Miss Ellsworth that she has the talent to more than adequately fulfill such a small plea.”

The gentlemen and ladies, thus entreated, could do nought but praise her talents, but as her distress and confusion continued, Mr. Dunkirk said, “My lady, as Miss Ellsworth has not had time to prepare, it is understandable that she doubts her abilities, great though they be. Perhaps if she and Mr. Vincent might retire to a room to practice, her mind would rest easier?”

Jane saw this press of misplaced compliments as her best chance. “An opportunity to plan would ease my mind considerably. But if we are not both perfectly satisfied with what emerges, may we then offer our apologies to you, Lady FitzCameron? I would rather disappoint you in this manner than disappoint you with a lackluster performance.”

Lady FitzCameron agreed to this plan with very little protestation, though—and Jane surely must have imagined this—her manner suggested that she was in fact somewhat eager for one of them to fail. But which one, Jane was uncertain.

They were shewn to the library, with Jane’s mother accompanying them as chaperon, and considered their scheme. After discussing several choices as being uninteresting, too cliché, or too low for the company, Mr. Vincent said, “Would you consider Beauty and the Beast?”

Jane understood why he recommended this story, but her pride twisted at the ways in which this would open her to the mockery of Mr. Buffington and his friends. She could already imagine them saying that it was a pity that she had to release the glamour which created Beauty, but then a delightful thought occurred to her, one which she was sure would amuse their companions. “Certainly, but may I suggest that we switch roles? That I portray the Beast, if your honour will permit you to be Beauty?”

Jane’s mother gaped and said, “Jane! What will our neighbours think? You, a Beast? It will never do. You must suggest sweetness and good temper if you are to find a husband.” She continued on in this manner, but was unheeded as Mr. Vincent slowly nodded.