Page 18 of London Holiday (Sweet Escapes Collection #2)

Chapter eighteen

M iss Bennet baulked at the door. “Are you certain this is a good plan? I have never even heard of such a scheme!”

“I assure you, it would not be the first time I have seen such arts employed. You might well be astonished and scandalised by some of the means essayed by the more creative among your sex. At least this time, it is done with the best intentions.”

“But I am not certain I have it in me!”

“That is why I know you will succeed,” he informed her warmly. “You have an honest face; therefore, none could suspect you of malice. The additional incentive of which we spoke will no doubt be of assistance as well.”

“It is not that, nor my appearance of honesty that I doubt, but my ability to behave the convincing flirt. My sister is the expert in that art.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes, once more thinking of poor, simple Bingley. “The elder sister you praised so highly?”

“Heavens, no! Jane is far too modest. Why, if she liked a man, he would be the last to know of it, for she is so reserved. Sadly, it is my youngest sister who leads in this way.” She sighed, shaking her head in seeming regret. “I suppose if I recall her example and try to behave as she, perhaps I could be persuasive enough.”

“It would be better if you do not act the coquettish naif. You have a sophisticated manner, and I would invite you to employ it. Most who would consider this sort of scheme do not think of themselves as girls just out of the schoolroom.”

“Are you truly in earnest? You have seen such a trick? ”

“More than once, and sometimes far more desperate measures than what I propose. If you wish to know whether it has ever produced the desired result, you would have to apply to another, but it has not stopped many from making an attempt. If you truly dislike the notion so much, let us think of another way, but I doubt that I, dressed as I am….”

She nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Darcy held the door for her and stood aside, just as he had seen his own male servants do on so many occasions. How natural it seemed already, to attend this woman who met every gesture of service with a graciousness that displayed appreciation, rather than expectation. And how easy he felt when the eyes of the room were not upon him, but on her! He could breathe in her company, and even enjoy all he saw as if through eyes not jaded by years of careful observance of all Society’s pointless mores. How she had, in the course of one frenetic, turbid morning, somehow taught him the simple pleasure of being , was a mystery certain to baffle him for a long while.

She cast him one last nervous glance, fumbled slightly with the tips of her gloves, then arched her shoulders and stepped forward into the shop. The proprietor of the boot shop met her with a discreet bow of humility. “How might I be of service, madam?”

Darcy stood stock still behind her, his profile turned so that he appeared ready to reach for the door, but his eyes were following her every movement… a little sliver of tongue which nervously touched her lips, the maidenly flutter of lashes as she withdrew the slip of paper he had given her from her reticule. She seemed to draw herself up then, and with cheerful, serene confidence, made her request.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I understand you have a parcel to be delivered to this address.” She gently touched the paper to the counter and slid it to the cobbler.

He accepted it, and his forehead wrinkled when he read the street number. “To this address? Madam, I often deliver to this address, for the gentleman is one of my finer customers.” He dropped his voice significantly, then handed the paper back to her. “I would not like to displease the man in any way,”

“Nothing of the kind, I assure you. I simply desire to send a message to the servant who will receive the parcel.”

The proprietor began to shake his head in denial, lifting his hands, but when Miss Bennet drew out the second paper and laid it down with two silver coins, he began to show more interest. “I understand the parcel is to be delivered today?”

“The boots are ready, madam, and the delivery only wants my boy’s return from his last errand so that he can carry it.”

“I thank you most kindly for the information,” she tipped her head grandly, as if she were any fine lady in a ballroom accepting champagne from her partner.

The bootmaker cleared his throat, and the silver coins disappeared. “Anything to please a lady,” he returned gruffly.

She turned with casual elegance and strode to the door without so much as a glance at his face, just as any lady out with her servant would have done. Darcy almost chuckled at the sight of her, so assured and composed, but the moment her feet touched the pavement and the door jingled closed behind them, she released a great sigh and then an astonished little laugh.

“I cannot believe I just did that! Do you not think it was wrong, to do something in deceit?”

“Whom have you deceived? You told the man nothing about yourself, real or imagined, nor anything of the message you conveyed. The person receiving the message, which was written in my hand, not yours, will benefit from the intelligence gained. You were not attempting to form an assignation or to injure anyone, and I myself hope to be the beneficiary of the communication once it is received properly.”

“What precisely did you tell this Wilson person? ”

“Where I expect to be found throughout the remainder of the day. If he does have anything of interest to report, he will need to know how to send word to me.”

She paused, tilting up her head and narrowing a single brilliant eye. “You are a mystery to me, sir.”

“I imagine I must be. Shall we have a formal introduction, Miss Bennet?”

She cocked her head the other way, white teeth just catching her bottom lip in thought. “I am of a curious nature, sir, which you have no doubt discerned. Moreover, I enjoy watching people and discovering their foibles and peculiarities. You are among the more unique individuals I have encountered. You walk about town dressed in clothes that I know very well are not your own, you seem to wish to avoid anyone of your own circle, yet in all other respects, you behave as someone with… abundant resources at his disposal.”

“It is true, Miss Bennet,” he answered slowly. “I will tell you anything about myself you wish to know, for I believe you deserve honesty.”

“And what of you? Do you not risk exposure, if I were to learn of your name and consequence? Do you not fear that I might bring harm to your sister or attempt to compromise you as someone else has done?”

He smiled, enjoying the answering twinkle in her eyes. “I am not afraid of you.”

“Are you not? For though I may not be of noble blood, I do have a reputation to lose, after all. Have you no fear of reprisal for spending the day with me?”

“Have you?”

She seemed to pause. “I fear having no choice in my fate.”

“In that,” he answered gently, “you are not alone. Since we have both agreed that at present, we do have some choice in remaining away from our residences, where certain unpleasantness awaits us both, let us content ourselves. We shall be discrete and protect each other from those who would speak slanderously of either of us. Do you wish to know my name, Miss Bennet?”

She looked down to the pavement, toying slightly with her reticule. “I expect,” she answered in a low voice, “that you do not mingle with many tradesmen’s families.”

He shifted on his feet, aware once again of the poorly fitting shoes. “No.”

“And you do know this about me for a certainty. Whatever else I might claim for a pedigree, my people are not of your circle, whatever that is. Can any good come from knowing you as other than a footman?”

He felt his chest tightening strangely. “It is not likely,” he confessed, but even as he agreed with her, he felt a ripping through his core. She was right, and he knew it… but what he would have given at that moment to hear her reveal that she was, indeed, the daughter of one of his equals! Were her last name Cavendish or Fitzherbert or Ashby, he would at least be able to speak with her again after this dreadful day had ended.

She gave a short nod, blinking for just a moment. “Then do not tell me more. I would only ask your Christian name, for I cannot continue calling you ‘sir.’ Any lady would know her footman’s first name.”

He smiled again… could not help it. In fact, he could hardly look at her without smiling, but he did not like to think on that, considering their agreement. “My sister calls me William. Will that suit, Miss Bennet?”

“If you will call me ‘Miss Elizabeth,’ for I keep looking about to see where my sister is when you call me ‘Miss Bennet,’” she laughed.

He bowed from the waist, right there on the pavement outside a boot shop. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth. ”

“I as well, William.” She dipped a modest curtsy. “Well, now, that is settled,” she brightened at once, “where are we expected to spend the afternoon?”

“I thought you would never ask,” he grinned and put his hand out to summon a hack coach.

Elizabeth could not remain sedately in her seat. She leaned forward, touching eager fingers to the window as each famous sight rolled by; The Strand once again, with that hotel which had refused them service; Charing Cross with its awe-inspiring statue of the troubled King Charles I; the humble Scotland Yard, followed by the pristine buildings of White Hall. This was a part of Town she rarely saw… and might seldom, if ever, see again. She blinked away an unwelcome bit of emotion from her eyes, determined to wring every bit of enjoyment from this day that it had to offer.

There was a thumping from the back wall of her coach, and she leaned back to press her ear to the panel. “Look to your right,” came a muffled voice.

Chuckling, Elizabeth did.

“Behind the Horse Guards buildings,” he urged when she did not respond at once. “Do you see it?”

Elizabeth craned her neck, trying to see better from the moving carriage. She knew well that St James’ Park, in all its dashing splendour, lay just there to delight the eyes and stir her deepest yearnings. There, beautifully dressed ladies walked on the arms of their sensible-looking husbands, military fanfare dazzled the young and swelled the hearts of the aged, and classical architecture and verdant bowers melded into one gracious Walk. She sighed, her chest squeezing just a little. What she would give to admire it at leisure, knowing that at any time she could return to indulge her senses just a little more. But it was no good to long for that which could only make the choices before her seem more miserable than they already were.

“Would you like to stop?” she heard through the carriage wall.

The smile returned to Elizabeth’s face. Her escort was attentive, whatever else might be said of him. And this time, he had not permitted so much as a facial twitch or a cough of ill humour when one of the oldest carriages in all London had answered his hail. It was clean and safe, that much he had assured them both, but his voice from without could hardly be heard over the squeaking of worn leather and wood.

“No, thank you,” she called back to him, pressing her cheek to the panel so that he would be certain to hear her. “I would prefer to go on.”

He did not answer directly, so she rapped her knuckles against the wall, just as he had done to attract her attention. He replied in a quick, staccato beat just behind her ear.

The carriage slowed briefly, and Elizabeth tried speech once again. “Are you quite safe back there?”

“I have made a bargain with Fate,” his muted words filtered through the panel.

“And that is?”

“If this foot peg breaks under my weight and I am trampled by that fine pair of chestnuts behind us, I shall never again have to wear such uncomfortable shoes.”

Elizabeth giggled, and could nearly see that faint twitching round his mouth, the mock gravity crinkling his eyes as he spoke. “Let us only hope the carriage behind us belongs to no one you know.”

“It does. I do not think they would drive to the curb simply to avoid my body.”

“Then I dearly hope your hands are strong!” she laughed, then playfully knocked again near the place she had heard his last thumps. To her childish delight, he replied in kind .

The carriage rocked forward again, and for several minutes the traffic moved ahead at a moderate pace. She could not have heard him then if he had tried to speak, but there sounded another knock on the left side of her head as they approached Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth looked on, breathless in admiration for yet another building she would dearly love to explore.

Their driver chose a meandering route through the back streets—or perhaps he had received the direction from her escort—and Elizabeth was treated to several more quaint views. Then, as if by magic, London fell away, and they began to pass fields of wheat and fruit orchards. The cobblestones still rang loudly beneath the horse’s feet, but there were fewer of them, and the carriage seemed to roll more freely. A lad of perhaps eight or nine, standing amid a golden wheat field with a sickle in his hand, waved energetically as they passed. Elizabeth waved back but realised belatedly that the boy had not been offering his civility to her , but to the tall man clinging to the back of the carriage. Elizabeth leaned a little farther to the right, searching the ground, and could see the shadow of his hand lifted in greeting to the young farmer.

She drew back again to the seat, her cheeks almost weary from the constant smile they bore. Such a peculiar man, this William! When he had uttered those first, disdainful slurs in her presence that very morning, she would have sworn that he was conceited, arrogant, and cared nothing for the feelings of others. How wrong had been that first impression! She could not help but wonder what his usual manner was when among his equals in society. She would have wagered the last of her pin money that he did not mingle and cavort freely, as did those gentlemen who were usually deemed “amiable.” Yet, there was a gentleness in him, and a deep feeling akin to sincerity and kindness, if one took the time for a second look. Was that not, to her tastes, more amiable than the sort of man her mother had taught her to admire ?

She felt herself sighing again and shook her head. “You must stop,” she muttered aloud. There, she had spoken it, and must now heed. She could not afford to think of him, even if he would ever look at her. She had been given one day to peer beyond the veil of her own destiny, one day in the presence of the very sort of man who could teach her that they were not all fools. She must content herself with that. She must continue to treat him as a kind stranger, one whom she would never see again after this day had ended.

Within minutes of this resolution forming, it was tried. The carriage drew up to a queue, and she felt the ageing springs give way as William bounced down from the back. His steps crunched on the gravelled earth, and she heard him paying the driver. He opened her door and greeted her with an expression that threatened to rob her of breath. There was a boyish delight there, a flickering of the youth he must have suppressed long ago, but kindling beneath it was something fuller, richer, and simmering with flavours of the forbidden.

Elizabeth paused, her lips parted as she surveyed him with eyes opened to a new depth of awareness, and the back of her neck prickled. His chest swelled proudly, and with one hand he gestured toward the Thames River, while the other crossed over his abdomen in a stately bow.

“Miss Elizabeth, Vauxhall Gardens await.”