LIZZY FELL ONTO THE BED in the room she had been offered, heedless of damage to her beautiful dress, and wept bitterly. How humiliated she had been, how mortified! She had been unprepared for the immensity of Lady Malton’s house, the momentousness of the entire occasion. It might be nothing more than a spot of tea with the colonel’s mother to Professor Darcy, an event so commonplace that it was all but meaningless, but not so for her. For all her previous bravado, she was an unsophisticated chit from the country. Her visits to the city had always been to her aunt and uncle’s house, a very pleasant and elegant home, to be sure, but nothing like the grand mansions clustered around carefully manicured parks in this part of London.
Mayfair was a very long way from Gracechurch Street, an expanse separated by far more than the three miles of city street. That house… the thought of it sent her shivering once more. She had never before walked up such grand stairs, never before stood before so massive a set of doors, to be admitted by such a formally attired and proper butler. To be sure, Darcy’s house was as large, but she always entered from the mews, and the informal manner of its owner was reflected in the less stiff and proper behaviour of the staff. Oh, Darcy would brook no lip or poor work from his household servants, but Mrs. Pearce was the master-in-fact, if not in name, and exact socially dictated observances were rarely practiced.
And then there was the countess herself. Once, Lizzy recalled as she lay sobbing on the bed beneath the counterpane, she had seen a duke. It was during one of her visits to the Gardiners and her uncle and aunt had taken her to a performance at the theatre. They were waiting to make their way through the thronging crowds to take their seats when a hush had come upon the entire waiting audience, and the elaborately dressed bodies had parted as surely as if Moses himself were holding his staff above their heads. Through the pathway they had cleared strode a small party, consisting of a man of middle years, a woman several years his junior, and two or three others, all garbed like princes and princesses. “The Duke of Somerset,” Uncle Gardiner had whispered in her ear, and she felt at that moment as unimportant and insignificant as an insect under the great expanse of sky. A countess was not as grand as a duke, to be sure, but the image of being nothing before aristocracy remained seared into her soul, and even knowing that the lady was the genial colonel’s mother was not enough to restore to her any equanimity.
When the viscount had seated himself beside her and begun to comment on those silly things she had said, when he had pulled everyone’s eyes to her, and gazed at her so intently, it was as if a barrier had broken and every ounce of the confidence she had amassed behind the dam of her courage had drained immediately away. She could do nothing but run, embarrassment and shame trailing her every step. The viscount had tried to stop her, to offer to see her home, but she thanked him—or, she hoped she had managed to do so through her tears—and had run. He had followed her across the square, this she knew, for hearing footsteps, she had turned briefly and seen him, concern etched on his face. But still she had run. She vaguely recalled hearing his voice as she made for the mews, for even on this panicked flight, she had eschewed the front entrance for the comfort of the carriage gate. Had he followed her there? Perhaps, but such was the pain in her breast that she could hardly turn around to acknowledge him. Mrs. Pearce had opened the door at her frantic knock, and Lizzy had thrown herself into the older lady’s arms, before retreating to this room to weep away her distress.
Eventually weeping turned to weariness, and Lizzy fell into an unsettled sleep. She awakened some hours later to see the sky had turned dark, the gas lights from the street below reflecting off the raindrops on her window in a myriad of small golden lights. As the drops trickled down the pane of glass, so did the tiny glowing specks contained within them, presenting a mesmerising display in the dark room for her reddened eyes. Her uncle’s house, for all its comforts, did not sit on a street with gas lighting, and the effect was new and wondrous to her.
Suddenly she sat up in alarm. Her aunt and uncle! They must be worried about her, for if it were this dark, they must have expected her home long since! She must leave, but oh, she could not face Professor Darcy or the colonel. Where was Mrs. Pearce? That lady alone seemed to care for Lizzy’s wellbeing. The colonel was pleasant and amiable, but while he provided some sort of element of civility to the enterprise, he was there to observe his cousin and entertain himself with the progress of the lessons. Under other circumstances, Lizzy thought she and the colonel would be great friends, but his role in the affair was too much delineated by the nature of his bet with Darcy. As for the professor, his manners improved ever so slightly, but he remained gruff and often rude, and rather selfish in all things, and his interest in her seemed as a project to be completed and admired and not as an independent person with her own thoughts and hopes and experiences. But then there were those moments, rare though they may be, when she wondered if perhaps he did care somewhat for her being: those moments when he was polite and gracious for no reason other than to be pleasant; the times when he glared at the piano master whose hands touched and guided her own; the smiles when he thought she was not looking; the way he had approached her and talked to her after their dance lessons.
But no, she must not read anything into these few suggestions of humanity in the man. She was his student and his co-conspirator, his puppet, his creation. Nothing more.
In her anguish, her thoughts strayed back to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s comments about the native communities he encountered in Jamaica, free men and women living in their tribal ways, unlike the African slaves on the plantations. He had seemed so proud of the unbound natives, so scornful of slavery, and yet did he not see that she, Lizzy, was surely as bound up in this scheme as were the slave workers on the plantations? The reasonable part of her mind shouted down these wild notions—she was a free person, enslaved to no one. Had the professor not promised her a dowry, given her the speech of a lady, and the wardrobe to match? But her tears drowned out the tremulous voice of reason, and she despaired anew of ever breaking free of Professor Darcy’s machinations. The impossibility of the situation crushed her.
But now she must find Mrs. Pearce. In the half-light filtering in from the windows, she could see no taper to light, nor a bell pull to summon assistance. She crept to the door, resigned to walking down the stairs in search of assistance. She did not fear encountering the men too much, for they were always ensconced in the study, pouring over some treatise on dialect acquisition or a new technique for notating vocal sounds, or dreaming about the possibility of one day capturing sound on a device as an artist captures visual images on canvas. Her goal was not the study, but the kitchen, for there she might find Mrs. Pearce.
Looking through the spy-hole in the bedroom door, she saw the corridor appeared empty. Quietly she opened the door and slipped through, screwing up her eyes against the brightness of the hallway, a shock after the darkness of her room. She had taken only a step, however, when she tripped over something lying across the floor. She caught herself against a wall, and looking down, she saw in horror that the offending object was nothing other than Professor Darcy’s long legs.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his legs stretched across the width of the corridor. He scrambled to his feet, apologising profusely for tripping her. “I was dozing... I didn’t notice… I thought you had seen me….” She turned her face away from him, afraid of the expression that must be written across it, but he caught her arm and gently turned her around to face him. The softness of his touch stunned her; he had never been so gentle before in all the time she had known him.
“I am sorry, Eliza. I had not thought how trying today must have been. It was inexcusable on my part, and you have every reason to hate me for it. But I do hope you will not hate me; for some reason that would cause me great distress. Forgive me?”
His words stunned her, but his eyes did even more so. She had never seen such sincerity there before, those dark orbs now pleading with her to open her heart just a small amount. Gone was the sardonic glint so often present; gone was the half-smirk of disdain with the world. These eyes, deep brown and really beautiful under their long lashes, were vulnerable and filled with pain. Pain that she could relieve.
For a moment she thought to walk away from him and leave him there in the corridor, but even as her mind commanded her feet to walk away, her heart told her to stay, to forgive him. He had not been deliberately cruel, merely thoughtless. Tea with the countess was as trivial to him as walking into Meryton was to her. It was unfair to condemn him for a sin he had not intended to commit.
Finding strength in the core of her being, she nodded and lowered her eyes. “I forgive you, sir.”
“Thank you.” The words were whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
“I must… I must send word to my aunt and uncle. They surely have worried about my whereabouts since dusk fell. I am never this late—” she started, recalling her mission.
“Be easy, Eliza. They have been made aware of your present whereabouts. We sent a messenger with a note saying you had taken ill with a minor complaint, a headache—so as not to worry them about that—and that you would remain here for the evening, under the careful eye of Mrs. Pearce. They are satisfied with the arrangements and await word of your health in the morning.”
“I thank you.” She was able to look him in the eye now. “I, too, must apologise for my behaviour. I thought I was equal to the occasion, but I was mistaken. I felt, all at once, so overwhelmed, I knew not what to say. I am woefully unprepared for a season, I’m afraid.” She turned away once more and cast her eyes to the floor.
“Nonsense, Eliza!” he put a finger under her chin and raised it again so her eyes met his. “You were caught unaware. We have been spending so much of our efforts on how you say things and how you move and what accomplishments you ought to possess that we have been neglecting the people and places in which these new talents will be exhibited. We must move from the school room to the drawing room, but we shall do so gradually, at your comfort.” He looked intently at her. “At your comfort,” he repeated. “Will you agree?”
“Aye. Thank you.”
“Nonsense!” The sensitive soul that had briefly appeared in his likeness was gone, and he was back to his usual gruff self. “Now, come and play a hand or two at loo. The colonel awaits and Mrs. Pearce is holding your supper. Don’t make her wait any longer than necessary.”
The following morning, after another note was sent to the Gardiners by Lizzy herself assuring them of her health, and after a very pleasant breakfast, which only Mrs. Pearce and the colonel attended, Lizzy found herself being summoned into Professor Darcy’s private study, a small room off the main library-cum-study area in which most of her lessons had taken place. Walking into the room, she stared astounded at the sheer number of books that lined every inch of spare wall from floor to ceiling, and which were stacked in high piles on tables, chairs, desks and even on the floor.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Darcy sat at his desk, staring at a newspaper, while sipping a steaming black drink that smelled of coffee and distractedly eating from a plate of pastries, whilst crumbs fell unheeded onto his papers. Not looking up, the professor gestured to a chair and mumbled, “Sit, sit,” through a mouth full of scone.
There was one chair available that was not stacked with books, a delicate-looking Elizabethan construction opposite the desk to the professor, and Lizzy seated herself gracefully. She sat in silence, waiting for Darcy to complete whatever it was he was doing. After a moment, he looked up and blinked, as if surprised to see her in his private space. Wiping the crumbs from the corner of his mouth with a bare hand, he hmmmed , then said, “Oh, yes, Eliza.”
“You wished to see me, Professor?” Her accent, by now, was lovely. Every trace of the country was gone, her vowels perfect, her consonants clear and precise, her phrasing lilting and melodious.
He stared a moment longer, then said, “I felt I ought to inform you. The colonel’s mother is coming for tea this morning. She wishes to talk with you.”
Lizzy felt her face flush red, then drain of all colour. If her heart had stopped beating, it would not have surprised her. What could the countess want, but to scold and chastise, belittle and admonish her for her deplorable behaviour the previous day? She had lost all her composure and had embarrassed herself terribly, dragging Darcy and the colonel with her.
“I… I cannot face her. My shame is too great. She can have nothing good to say, for I comported myself most appallingly yesterday. Please send her my compliments, but I must be gone. I must return to my uncle’s house. This will never do.” She began to rise to her feet, but Darcy stopped her.
“Oh, Eliza. I have failed you again with my thoughtless words. Let me explain, please.” She reluctantly settled back into the chair, although tension reigned in every blink of her eye, every twitch of a hand. “After you departed yesterday, my aunt was most displeased, but,” he hastened to add, “not with you. Not at all with you! Rather, her displeasure settled most definitely and uncomfortably upon me and, to a lesser extent, upon Richard. She gave us both a rather severe dressing down, scolding us as if we were both still children. It galls me to admit it, but there’s a possibility she may have been right about one or two things.”
The arrogance was still there, but the veneer of it thinner now, allowing once more a glimmer of compassion to leak through. For the first time, Lizzy found herself wondering whether the haughty, uncivil curmudgeon was, indeed, the real Professor Darcy, or if a kinder man lurked deep inside the shell he had created around himself.
“Her Ladyship wishes to speak to you not to condemn you,” he continued, “but to befriend you. She has suggested that, perhaps, our… my approach has some minor faults.” The confession stuck in his throat, but he forced it out. “Will you agree to take tea with her? She truly wishes you no ill.”
Lizzy’s instinct to run was kept at bay only by the unaccustomed sincerity in his words and in his voice. She had heard that voice once or twice before; she had heard it last night, in the corridor outside her room. It had stopped her flight then, and it stopped it now. She felt some of the tension release itself from her spine and her forehead, and her head nodded slightly of its own accord. “I do not know how I can face her. I am most ashamed.”
“She does not see matters that way, Eliza. Believe me. She saw nothing amiss in your actions yesterday other than alarm and being ill-advised by… well, by me. There, I have said it. Now, will you do it or not?”
The screen of rude arrogance slid over the gentle eyes of a moment before, and the gruff professor was making himself heard again, overshadowing the kind man who may have been lurking below the surface. Oddly, Lizzy felt herself rise to his bait. This, she knew, she could confront with her usual headstrong impertinence, and she did so.
“Do you order me around as a servant, sir?” she demanded. “For while your last comment was phrased as a question, it held the import of a command. And I shall not be commanded by the likes of you!”
He threw his head back and laughed, “There’s my Eliza! Good girl! Now go and find Mrs. Pearce. She will help you dress.”
“I had not agreed, Professor Darcy.”
“No, but you will. Run along now. There’s a good girl.”
She stood and glared at him. “Goodbye, Professor Darcy. I shall send for my belongings.” She turned for the door.
Leaping after her, he almost knocked over a pile of books in his attempt to reach the door before her. “You can’t just leave!” He edged between her and the door and stood with his back against it, barring her exit.
“And you, sir, can’t just order me around. Once more, you have made my decision for me and informed me after the fact of what it should be.”
She stood facing him, her breath coming hard and her eyes sparking fire with her sudden determination. She glared at her nemesis as he flung his arms out to block the doorway completely and prevent her escape. His nostrils flared as he leaned back against the egress, a living barricade, his mouth a firm line of determination.
She did not fear him. He might rant and rave, but he had never intentionally done her ill and she somehow knew he would not. He also would not make her escape easy. “You cannot just leave.” The words were torn from his chest. “We have… we have our pact, our scheme. You will not abandon me so, will you Eliza?”
She met his gaze and did not back down. As she stared at him, his eyes darkened and his lips parted slightly as his eyes flickered to her mouth. He began to lean forward, then backed away as if burned and squeezed his eyelids closed for a moment as he regulated his breath and his temper.
Then the tension suddenly departed his body, and he collapsed back against the door, his eyes closed in defeat. “Once again, you remind me of my manners, Eliza. Never let it be said that I am a vindictive man. I have offered you every kindness, but I shall not demand recompense. I have no desire to harm you or to force you to act against your will, and if you truly wish to leave, I shall ask Mrs. Pearce to help make the appropriate arrangements. But I will, one last time, beg you to remain. For the colonel. For me.”
These words extinguished the flame that fueled Lizzy’s ire, and she felt a wave of indecision rush over her. “I do not know…”
“For my aunt?” His voice was smooth, but tinged with desperation. “You may call her Aunt Patricia if you wish. She will not mind, and it will make you easier. I would recommend, however, against calling her Aunty Patsy. That, she will not appreciate.”
A smile, small though it was, began to form on Lizzy’s face at the thought of the imposing Countess of Malton as Aunty Patsy. She sighed in resignation and stepped back, widening the space between the two. Darcy straightened and returned to his desk as Lizzy took a moment to collect herself. “I shall take tea with her. After that, I cannot say what I will do. But I will not disappoint the countess.”
“Thank you, Eliza,” he breathed. “Let her be your friend. She is a fine woman, even if she is responsible for Richard.” With a curtsey, Lizzy opened the door to finally escape the study, but not before seeing, from the corner of her eye, Darcy fling his head back on his chair, cursing quietly under his breath, and muttering something that sounded like ‘What on earth just happened?’
Back upstairs in her room, Lizzy stared blankly at the wardrobe full of lovely gowns as she tried to make sense of the scene in Darcy’s private study. He had laughed when she thought he would shout, had been rude and domineering, and just when she thought he would throw her out onto the street, a look had come over him that had shaken her to the core. The intensity in his eyes, as he stood blocking the door, had been terrifying and powerful, but rather than feeling afraid, she had been mesmerised by what she had seen. She had never been afraid of him at all, she realised. Not in his blackest, angriest moods, had he made the first gesture or sound that would cause one to fear. He yelled, he cursed, he insulted, and he ignored, but he never occasioned alarm.
What, then, was that look in his eye? She did not believe him angry. Frightened, desperate, perhaps, but not angry. And if not angry, then what? She relived the moment in her mind. At the moment, she had thought he might reach out and kiss her, but surely that could not be his intention. And, just as before, when he had never given her a moment of apprehension, he had stepped back and let her go. Did he not, then, wish to kiss her after all? No, don’t be silly , she chided herself. He never desired it in the first place .
More disturbing was the realisation that she would not have objected if he had kissed her! This was most perplexing, for she was certain that she did not like him. He might have grown on her over the many weeks they had worked together, but surely that was merely because of their enforced proximity, was it not? He could be amusing, to be certain, but he was rude and condescending and really rather handsome. Scolding herself for that last thought, she determined to think no more of the not-a-kiss.
Mrs. Pearce interrupted these roiling and confusing thoughts with a knock at the door. The lady entered and cast her eyes over Lizzy before announcing, “Let us get you ready.” Ceding to the inevitable, Lizzy let the older lady guide her focus to the array of gowns before her before summoning the maid to help her dress and do her hair. All the while she worked, the young maid chatted happily about her younger brothers and sisters, about the small village in which she had grown up in Derbyshire, about her new beau who worked in the stables at the duke’s house across the square, and a hundred other pleasant and amusing things. “And did ye know, milady,” the girl chirped, “that Professor Darcy allows us each an extra half-day off each week, from what’s regular? He’s a strange one, to be sure, but he is a kind master.”
“Really, Millie, Miss Bennet is not interested in that,” Mrs. Pearce chided, but from her expression, she was proud of her master’s unconventional treatment of his servants. Reluctantly, she added, “I believe this is what brought the professor to the attention of that strange group of reformers in Wales. We were stopped for the day and one of his attendants had the time off to enjoy the local scenery, and there he met with someone or another from the cooperative. Most interested, were they, and poor James nearly had them following him back to the inn. How that would have vexed the professor!” she chuckled.
This, too, was an unexpected side to the professor. At once, so domineering and inconsiderate, while at the same time being a most generous and kind employer. “Has he always been thus?” Lizzy asked.
Mrs. Pearce thought for a moment. “I did not know him as a very young child, but he has always been an unusual person, never one to act according to the dictates of others, but insistent upon making his own rules, according to his own sense of right and wrong, and behaving accordingly.
“Aye, ‘tis true,” Millie replied. “For ‘tis not well known, even amongst the servants here in the house, but Professor Darcy gave Annie Wilkins a whole month off her duties when she married last year, and as a wedding gift, let her and her new man take the cottage he has near Bedford for that time. And for the servants that has childer, he takes on a minder so they can work and not fret about their young’uns. A most unusual master, is he!” And on she spoke, until Lizzy’s hair looked as perfect as it ever might. It was uncommon for a servant to talk so freely with her superiors, even in Darcy’s very unconventional household, and Lizzy wondered if Mrs. Pearce had allowed the girl to do so in order to provide some pleasant distraction from what must be a rather intimidating morning ahead.
Whether or not the ploy was deliberate, it was successful, and when Lizzy descended the stairs some time later she was much happier and more at ease than she had been when she had gone up to dress. Darcy must have heard her tread on the stairs, for he stood waiting for her at the foot of the grand staircase. He bowed exceedingly politely and offered his arm to walk her into the drawing room. This room was rarely visited, being used only for the social necessities Darcy despised. Lizzy had been in it only once before. It was somewhat old-fashioned in its decor, although it must have been very elegant in its time. The ornamentation was a little too rococo, the decoration a little too Louis-XVI for Lizzy’s liking, but the good taste that had gone into its design was apparent. Lizzy gazed up at the cherubs floating on the ceiling in a masterpiece of trompe-l’oeil , above walls of feminine pastels and chairs with delicately carved and very thin legs, seemingly unable to take the weight of a normal sized person. As if answering her unasked question, Darcy stated as he threw himself onto one of those chairs, “It was my own mother’s favourite room.” She understood immediately. He had not touched the space, for it reminded him of his mother. The unexpected sentimentality of this gesture touched her deeply, and she looked at him with fresh eyes.
The room had been aired and the curtains opened to let bright sunlight stream inside. The rains from the day before had abated, and the cheerful light lifted Lizzy’s spirits. She hoped, desperately, that she would not be called upon to discuss the weather. Tentatively, she asked, “Professor Darcy, under what restrictions am I this morning?”
“Begging your pardon?” he sounded surprised at the question.
“What might I talk about, and what must I avoid?”
He shook his head sadly. “That was my mistake. One of my mistakes,” he corrected. “You are an intelligent woman with excellent understanding. I should never have tried to limit you. This is not a formal call; you are merely having a quiet morning with Richard’s mother. You may discuss whatsoever you desire. You will also discover, I believe, that once the artificial dictates of polite society are stripped away, Aunt Patricia is as much a bluestocking as are you. Ask her about her inquiries into steam engines.” He winked.
At that moment, the doorbell could be heard, and he excused himself to greet his aunt at the door. “Wait here, Eliza. We shan’t be long.” A few moments later, Darcy opened the door and led the countess into the room. “I shall go and find Mrs. Pearce to ask for tea. Back in a moment!” He dashed out, closing the door behind him.
“That was not very subtle, was it my dear?” the countess quipped as she lowered herself onto a fragile-looking sofa. “Now, now, do not fret. I can imagine every anguish you put yourself through last night, and likely a few that you did not, and you deserved to suffer through none of them. Eliza… May I call you Eliza? Good. Here is something you ought to know about me. I observe people carefully and make quick decisions about them. I am usually correct in my first assessments, and my first impression of you was to like you very much. So you have no need to fear that I shall see you cut or otherwise disparaged in society. I also wish to know you better. May I take the extreme liberty of asking to be your friend?”
Her handsome face was unstrained, her expression entirely sincere.
“Yes, I would be most honoured, Your Ladyship.” Lizzy dipped into a curtsey.
The countess shook her head good-naturedly. “The first rule is that you are not to call me ‘Your Ladyship’ or ‘Lady Malton’ or anything so stuffy whilst we are together in private. I insist on the recognition of rank in the appropriate circumstances, but we are to be friends. Can you manage Aunt Patricia? I would like that.”
Lizzy looked at the countess closely for the first time. Her eyes were a duplicate of the colonel’s in shape and expression, although a lighter colour. They held nothing but kindness, and Lizzy allowed herself to answer, “I would be honoured, Aunt Patricia.”
The countess smiled radiantly and settled into her seat. “Good! Now that we have resolved that, our friendship is sure to be a raving success. Please sit.” She gestured and waited until Lizzy was perched upon a spindly chair, then continued. “Tell me now, Eliza, more about the cloud formations you started discussing yesterday. It is not, perhaps, a topic most ladies would wish to talk about, but I am fascinated. I grew up in a country estate, for my father did not like Town, and I spent much time observing and trying to predict the weather. Freddy shares my interests. Please, tell me more!”
Tentatively at first, Lizzy began to speak of her studies into the research of John Dalton, and Aunt Patricia responded enthusiastically. By the time Darcy returned with Mrs. Pearce some time later, the two ladies were deep in a spirited discussion about cloud formation and the trade winds. “If I understand correctly,” Lizzy was saying as they entered, “the sun constantly heats the earth and the air successively from east to west. The air being heated then expands in different directions to restore an equilibrium of pressure. Because this expansion has a lateral and perpendicular motion, it has a concurrent effect on the barometer, as well as influencing wind strength and direction.”
“How fascinating!” Aunt Patricia supplied.
“How charming!” came a voice from behind Darcy and Mrs. Pearce, and Alfred, Viscount Eynshill, strode into the room. “Miss Bennet, a delight to see you again. Once more, I am enthralled by your knowledge and abilities. I must chastise my cousin yet again for hiding you from us for so very long. Really, Darcy, she is a treasure!”
“Freddy,” his mother greeted him, “You did not tell me you planned to come by.” Her tone was not approving.
“You would only have forbidden me, Mother,” he replied with a smile. “And how could I be denied another opportunity to converse with the enchanting Miss Bennet?” He executed an elaborate bow and threw another wicked smile in Lizzy’s direction. “I brought these for Miss Bennet.” From behind his back he withdrew a bouquet of flowers that perfectly matched the dress she had worn the previous day and presented them to her with a flourish. Lizzy accepted them gracefully and requested a vase be brought. A glance at Darcy’s stony face informed her that he was unimpressed.
Watching, as if from a distance, Lizzy took further stock of the viscount. Tall, as were the entire family, with the same light hair as the colonel, he was slightly more handsome and entirely charming. He moved with the ease and grace of long practice, and caught the eye with his elegant demeanour, and Lizzy suppressed a chuckle as he paused before the mirror above the mantelpiece to assess his striking appearance.
The viscount had his brother’s amiability and easy nature, but where Richard’s pleasant demeanour was overlaid atop the sober and responsible core that comes with the demands of military leadership, Alfred’s was pleasantry atop frivolity. It was clear that he loved his clothing, for he wore his finely tailored garb like a model for the clothes-makers’ magazines. As with the flowers, he had chosen a waistcoat that matched the yellow of the previous day’s frock, and he picked carelessly at the ample lace that extended from his cuffs. If he was a man, like Narcissus, who admired himself too much, he was redeemed because he liked others nearly as much, and sought to befriend where another man might seek to disparage.
Lizzy knew he was a man who could afford to indulge his whims. She knew he need never account for his actions, for his life’s work was merely to be the earl and eventually provide an heir. With those two requirements easily managed, he had the luxury to do and act as he pleased. If he did not waste away the family’s income, he would be considered a fine example of an English nobleman; if he did fritter it away, he would be thought no worse than most of his breed. It was a career well suited to his temperament.
Despite his foppishness, Lizzy could not help but like him. He was nothing like the serious, deep-thinking men she often found the best company, but his genuine friendliness and lack of condescension endeared him to her almost immediately. That he clearly liked her very much also did not impede her affinity to him. He lowered himself to sit beside her, careful not to disarrange his apparel, and when seated on the long sofa with its old-fashioned and elaborate upholstery, turned his body to face her and offered a friendly comment, then another, and another, until she began to answer in like fashion.
“My brother tells me you are from the country, Miss Bennet, and have not had much experience with society in Town. Yes, yes, Darcy, I know of your little scheme, so you can put that shocked expression back into its box. I forced Richard to tell me all, for I had no other way to decipher the whole situation. Miss Bennet, you are beyond impressive! To have come, green and untried, from a small village in Hertfordshire, to convince us all with your exceptional manners and beautiful speech, is astounding. I would take off my hat to you, but I left it with Mrs. Pearce at the front door. What a smart girl you are! Now, as I was asking…”
He asked about her experiences in the country and how they compared to those in Town; he asked after her aunt and uncle, and far from being shocked at her low connections, proclaimed, “Gardiner! Yes, of Gardiner Mercantile! Fine, upright man he is. He never overcharges, never steers you wrong. You must be proud of the connection! He, himself, guided me to this fine cravat!” He gestured to his embroidered neckcloth, which too matched the yellow of yesterday’s gown.
She told him of her four sisters, including flirtatious Lydia, silly Kitty, serious Mary—soon to be the wife of a clergyman in Kent—and Jane, recently wed to Darcy’s good friend Bingley. Alfred was amazed that Mary’s future husband was none other than his aunt’s rector at Hunsford. “Oh, dear Aunt Catherine,” he rolled his eyes. “She does like a puppy to pant and pine after her. Is he a puppy, Miss Bennet, always simpering after his master for affection and, if he is most lucky, a treat of some scrap from the table? Oh, do tell more.”
And as she spoke, he stared at her with a half-smile and an ever-growing look of besottedness on his aristocratic face. Aunt Patricia started looking concerned. Darcy became most agitated. By the time tea arrived, with Richard trailing after the cart, the professor was most distressed and was hiding it poorly. He paced up and down behind the sofa and wrung his hands, while interrupting the conversation as often as he could.
“Really, Darcy, do settle yourself,” his aunt admonished. “We are having a lovely chat, and you are prowling like a tiger in its cage. Now be a dear and pour the tea for us. Eliza is your guest and must not be made to play hostess, and Richard would spill every drop. There’s a good lad. Your mother would be proud.”
By the time Darcy convinced Richard to drag his brother back to his own home across the square, the viscount had invited Lizzy to walk with him the following afternoon before her lessons, and she had accepted his invitation. Darcy put up a series of objections, all of which Freddy dismissed. “Really, Fitz, you can’t be worried about Miss Bennet’s reputation. I am hardly the most sensible fellow in town, but neither am I acknowledged as a rake. The lady’s name will scarcely be damaged by being seen in the company of Viscount Eynshill in a public park on a sunny day. It would, rather, raise her in the estimation of the ton .” After some heated argument, Darcy had to agree; nevertheless, he looked quite happy when Freddy and Richard finally bid their farewells and left the room.
Lizzy watched this entire silent discourse with interest. She was in the middle of a most pleasant conversation with the countess, and was even sufficiently comfortable to laugh at Aunt Patricia’s description of some awful gown she had seen at the opera the previous week, and for a moment her attention was diverted to the strange interaction between the cousins. What on earth had that been about, she wondered, and only with difficulty returned her focus to the discussion about lace and ribbon.
“Come, Fitz, sit down and join us,” his aunt cried, seeing him at the doorway. “We are having a lovely gab. I have offered to guide Eliza for her first several social functions. Instead of your crusty morning lessons, she shall come to me, or I to her, and we shall continue as we are now, woman to woman, as we learn to negotiate the morass that is London society. No, dear, this is not a request. Lovely girl.” She patted Lizzy’s arm and turned a most pleased expression towards her. “You could not have chosen better.”
She left ambiguous the exact meaning of her comment.