Page 67

Now, how to take advantage of it? Elizabeth preferred to leave the town landscaping to the gardeners, focusing her energies on her flowerbeds and roses at Pemberley where gossipy neighbors were less likely to peek across the hedge and observe Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy happily digging in the dirt, petticoats and sleeves six inches deep in mud.

She considered a walk in the park, but she knew better than to take the sort of solitary ramble that was her habit in the country—she had faithfully promised her husband never to walk in a London alone, which meant she would have to take a footman with her and that quite defeated the point of a solitary ramble.

Besides, she felt rather in need of a goal.

Chewing her lip, Elizabeth turned and surveyed the room, looking for inspiration.

Her eye fell upon a cushion handsomely embroidered by her sister-in-law.

Grinning to herself, Lizzy re-latched the window and headed down the hall to the music room.

Opening that door quietly, she smirked at the sight before her.

The normally proper Miss Darcy was currently slumped over the pianoforte, leaning her chin on one hand, staring unseeingly out of the window while the other hand doodled upon the keys.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that melody, Georgiana!” Elizabeth called brightly, and then grinned when her sister started.

Reflexively sitting up straight (what would her aunt say at such posture?), a series of easily readable emotions flickered across the younger lady’s face.

“Oh! Oh… I… I was just… err…” Fortunately, her sister’s easy, mischievous smile allowed Georgiana to let go of the fear of being imperfect and admit, “Oh Elizabeth, I can’t concentrate on anything today!

I want to be able to play this concerto at the Staffords’ dinner party next week, but I just can’t focus long enough to get through the first page, let alone the first movement… ”

“Hmmm... I fear that I’ve been infected by the same restlessness. After considering the situation carefully, I’ve concluded that the winds of change are blowing. Clearly, the only solution is to leave this house and fill our lungs with the fresh autumn air!”

Georgiana giggled. “Where are you planning to go? The park will be very muddy after all the rain last night.”

“Actually, a more urban excursion occurred to me. What say you to walking over to Piccadilly and perusing Mr. Hatchard’s shelves?

And, of course, we could not be there without visiting next door to see if Signor Romano has any new music sheets—it would not do to arrive at the Staffords’ without being aware of Herr Beethoven’s latest! ”

Miss Darcy sprang to her feet and clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes and looking about twelve years old. “Oh yes, please! That would be wonderful!”

“Excellent!” said Elizabeth decisively. “Well then—I suppose we need to change and gather those feminine accouterments that are necessary. Shall I meet you in the front hall in a half hour to begin our expedition?”

Giggling happily, both ladies left for their rooms to be aided by maids in exchanging their comfortable day dresses for gowns smart enough to be seen by the ever watchful eyes of Society but still appropriate for an outing on London’s dirty streets.

The maids were efficient and the ladies eager, so it was perhaps not surprising when the two met at the top of the stairs, ready to depart ten minutes early.

Checking their watches, they smiled conspiratorially and descended the stairs with more enthusiasm than the stately mansion had been accustomed to before the arrival of its newest mistress.

Reaching the front hall, the ladies donned their wraps and greeted the manservant who was to accompany them. “Ah John—good. Shall we be on our way?” Elizabeth pulled on her gloves and smiled her thanks to the butler for opening the door.

Reaching the front walk, both ladies drew deep breaths simultaneously, and, grinning at each other, started with eager steps in the direction of Mayfair.

“Georgiana—that color does lovely things for your complexion,” noted Mrs. Darcy.

“Oh! Thank you. I’ve always loved this shade of peach. Well, almost always—I went through a lavender phase when I was thirteen, but fortunately it didn’t last long.”

“Hmmm... It takes a rare complexion to wear lavender well. I’ve always thought it unfortunate that we must dress in black and lavender during times of mourning. Really—when does one need the comfort of cheerful colors more?”

“Richard once told me that in China they wear white for mourning, and yellow in India. Oh—and red is the color traditionally worn by brides!”

“It makes one think, does it not? I always imagine our ambassadors traveling to distant lands and dealing with the intricacies of language and politics, negotiating diplomatic treaties and trade agreements. But imagine all the little details that could sour the relationship. I wouldn’t think twice about wearing a yellow gown to a ball, but I imagine that in India it would be as inappropriate as wearing black to an English assembly. ”

Miss Darcy’s thoughts continued along more familial lines. “I hope the Fitzwilliams’ trip is going well. I know Richard is there on assignment for the War Office, but I do hope he and Charlotte have some time to see the sights.”

“Ah… in fact I received a letter from her just this morning—you may read it when we return home, if you wish. Although your cousin has been very busy during the day, they have enjoyed the theatre and any number of entertainments during the evenings. Not to mention a ball at the Royal Palace!”

“But what does she do during the day when Richard is at the negotiations? Surely she doesn’t have to stay in their rooms at the hotel?” worried Georgiana. She quite liked Charlotte Fitzwilliam’s calm, practical outlook and was exceedingly pleased with her guardian’s recent marriage.

“Oh, not at all. Charlotte has befriended several of the other diplomats’ wives and together they have visited all sorts of museums, exhibits, and whatnot.

They even drove out to an old Moorish castle in the countryside for a picnic!

You must read her letter—she wrote it sitting at a café one afternoon, watching people strolling along the canal.

It sounded most agreeable, and I believe she is very happy. ”

Georgiana thanked her and the ladies continued their amiable chat until they neared their goal. Pausing outside the bookshop, Miss Darcy hesitated. “Elizabeth, would you mind terribly if I went to Romano’s first? I fear I’m quite impatient to see what new music is in.”

Lizzy could only approve of such eagerness.

“Of course, my dear. You see to your precious music, I will commune with my beloved books, and whoever is done first shall join the other, agreed?” Her sister agreed brightly and moved quickly to the renowned purveyor of all things musical, the door tinkling its bell as she entered.

Mrs. Darcy turned to the faithful footman.

“John? I would say that we will be an hour, but I know myself well enough to warn you that it may be longer. I believe that Mr. Hatchard keeps a room with a fire and tea where you might wait, or perhaps you would prefer to enjoy the autumn air?”

The man’s face showed his appreciation for her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, ma’am. I believe I’ll stay right ‘ere by the doors and watch the world go by, as it were.”

Mrs. Darcy smiled in understanding and turned to enter the bookstore.

John Potter had been chosen out by Mr. Darcy as the appointed guardian for the ladies’ excursions in London.

Tall and broad-shouldered, the man had a face that might have looked more at home at a bare-knuckled boxing match than as a footman for the highly respectable Darcys, but his brawn was merely camouflage for a gentle giant.

The man was well known in the kitchens for nursing a bedraggled kitten back to health after finding it starving in the mews.

The kitten had grown into a superlative mouser but still sought out John’s bed for its naps.

Born the same year as Fitzwilliam Darcy, John was eight when his parents died in a fire and his aunt (the Darcys’ cook) brought him into the house as a boot boy.

As a result, John was deeply loyal to the Darcy family and took his job as bodyguard seriously.

Once the ladies were safely inside, he took a position by the wall where he might keep an eye on both doors.

John’s secret passion was horses, and an hour of watching the fine horseflesh moving along Piccadilly was a joy.

More than an hour later, the doors of both shops opened almost simultaneously and the two ladies burst into laughter at their unlikely timing. With John following faithfully, they turned their steps toward home and began comparing purchases.

Inspired by their discussion of the Fitzwilliams’ recent travels, Elizabeth had discovered James Silk Buckingham’s newly published memoire, Travels among the Arab Tribes . She was particularly pleased with herself because she knew for a fact that her husband had not yet been able to locate a copy.

Georgiana was bubbling over her own purchase of a new Haydn composition.

She always enjoyed the lightness and humor of his works and her fingers itched to attempt the melody.

As they turned onto the graveled path to cross Grosvenor Park, she gave into temptation and loosened the string binding the folio for another peek.