Page 40 of London Holiday (Sweet Escapes Collection #2)

November 1812

London

E lizabeth Bennet shifted nervously in her chair. The gentleman behind the desk had little enough to say, but the weight of his pensive glances and oddly punctuated sighs was making her hands sweat. He frowned and tapped his quill on the page before him.

She cleared her throat. “Mr Darcy, I can provide another reference if you wish. Perhaps my former neighbours, Sir William and Lady Lucas, who have known me since my infancy?”

He raised a brow. “You need this position badly.” It was not a question.

A small part of Elizabeth’s heart died. She lowered her eyes and confessed, “I do. There were five of us sisters, and only one other has found work as a governess since my father’s death. I—I know I do not have the formal education typically required, and my connections are not—”

“You are perfect,” he declared, slapping his pen down on top of her references with finality. “You begin at once.” He pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the desk and passing by without a second glance. He stopped near the door, however, and looked back to her. “Are you coming?”

She rose less gracefully than she would have liked, still a bit dazed. “Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but are we not to discuss… ah… details?”

“Do you mean your pay? Naturally.” He opened the door and spoke to the footman just outside. “Parker, will you have Mrs Dobbs prepare Miss Bennet’s room? And send Martha in with tea.”

The footman left, and Mr Darcy walked out into the hall without another word to her. Elizabeth looked hesitantly about, wondering if she ought to follow.

“Miss Bennet, you really must keep up. You will be wishing to send word of your employment to your mother, and you may use the writing desk in the blue drawing room for your purpose while your room is prepared. Have you a change of attire?”

Elizabeth looked helplessly down at her best day gown. “Most of my other clothes have been sold. If these are not suitable, I do know how to make more.”

Mr Darcy waved dismissively. “They will do for now, but I had rather wished you had something else to change into, so these would not become soiled.”

She blinked. “Soiled?”

“Indeed, for the Marshalsea is not known for cleanliness. Ah, here we are. The writing desk is just there. Pens, notepaper, all in the drawer.”

“The Marshalsea! Forgive me, sir, but I thought I was to meet Miss Darcy and discover if I suited her.”

“Naturally. My sister is in Derbyshire, and we shall journey there on the morrow.”

“Then, I fail to understand…”

He bit back a sigh, as if explaining to a child. “First, your letter. Then tea, then we depart for the Marshalsea. After the ceremonials, I will have a seamstress come measure you for some new garments. ”

“Sir, for what sort of post have I just been hired?” she demanded. “I answered an advertisement for a lady’s companion.”

“Indeed.”

She spread her hands. “Why am I to accompany you to a debtor’s prison?”

“Why, that is where you are to be married, of course.”

Elizabeth’s knees nearly buckled. “Married!”

“Naturally, for you cannot pass as a suitably respectable companion for a young lady unless you are married or widowed or something of that nature. I certainly cannot have a single gentlewoman living under my roof without—”

“Married!”

He rolled his eyes. “Did no one explain the conditions of the position to you?”

“Only what was in the advertisement. ‘A single young lady of gentle upbringing sought as a companion.’ That is what the advert said.”

“Why, yes, that is what it said. But did no one tell you what it meant? I shall have to speak to Mrs Dobbs about this. Come, Miss Bennet, your letter. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth’s temper flared, and she set down her foot. “I do not mean to put a single drop of ink on paper until I have had a clear explanation of matters. I begin to think this position cannot suit.”

He pursed his lips. “Have you a long list of other options?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I could work as a seamstress.”

Mr Darcy snorted. “With fine hands such as yours? You would be turned out within a week for working too slowly. I offer you a perfectly agreeable situation suited to a lady of gentle birth, and a better you will find nowhere.”

“In marrying a man I do not know this very afternoon?”

“No one ever said you had to live with him. You needn’t even touch him if you do not wish. In fact, I would advise you to discourage any displays of affection—that sore on his lip has become rather ghastly.”

“Who is this person to whom you would so blithely wed a complete stranger?”

He stared and crossed his arms. “You really heard nothing of this?”

“No, and I am not certain I wish to.”

“But you just asked me. Come, Miss Bennet, you must speak more plainly.”

Elizabeth clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, counting to three before she lost her temper with her prospective employer. “What I meant, sir, is that these details you take for granted are vital to my decision about accepting the position. They ought to have been disclosed before, and I am suspicious about why they were not.”

“Yes, yes, very well. The man you are to marry was my father’s ward. He has a substantial inheritance that will pass to his brother upon his death, which, I daresay, is imminent. For numerous reasons, I prefer that some other will receive his endowment, which is why I took it upon myself to secure for him a bride.”

“But I could not inherit! Surely you do not mean for me to bear this man an heir!”

“Did I not explain you needn’t touch him? Be easy on that score, for there is no entail to prohibit the widow inheriting. It is a modest estate—Corbett Lodge—worth a little more than one thousand per annum in its present state. It is large enough for five or six ladies and a few servants, I should say, but do not set your hopes on carriages and finery. I am afraid he spent the coffers dry before I had him thrown into debtor’s prison, but the land itself should begin to restore—”

“Forgive me, Mr Darcy,” she interrupted, “but did you say that you had this man thrown into prison?”

“Who else would have done it?” he asked reasonably. “I assure you, it was a kindness to everyone concerned. ”

“I do not…” Elizabeth shook her head and started again. “I expect he must have no fond feelings for you.”

“Bernard? He despises the very air I breathe. Miss Bennet, do you mean to write your letter to your family or not?”

“I have not decided! Answer me this, sir. Why would this… this Bernard person permit you to choose a bride for him for the sole purpose of diverting his inheritance, if he hates you so much?”

Mr Darcy smiled. “Because the one person in this world Bernard Wickham detests more than myself is his younger brother George.”

She had spirit, that much was obvious. And enough dignity to baulk at the notion of wedding a stranger for his inheritance, which spoke well of her character. Moreover, he was quite taken with her looks—that was to say, she would present well in Society, once she had a new wardrobe and a few good meals. Judging by the way her gown fitted about the bodice, it had been some while since she had enjoyed a proper board.

She was silent and grim now, avoiding his gaze across the carriage. She seemed as if she wished to speak with Martha, sitting beside her, but each time she drew a breath, her eyes flicked toward him and then she subsided. Darcy mentally added another virtue to her account: she did not talk overmuch.

What she did say, however, tended to be rather bold and contrary.

“I still do not understand,” she spoke abruptly after some silence.

“What do you not understand, Miss Bennet?” he asked with affected weariness.

“Why not simply let the brother inherit?”

“You will meet him at length, I should guess. I will permit you to answer that question yourself. ”

“But, then—” she gestured in exasperation. “Why me?”

He frowned, cast his eyes up to the roof of the carriage, and then lifted his shoulders. “Why not?”

“You know nothing of me, my character, my experience.”

“I thought you a suitable companion for my sister. Be assured that I am more selective of her company than Bernard’s.”

“But how do you know I will not find some way to take advantage of the situation?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Pray, when you do find a way, be my guest. I have tried to turn my hand to a better circumstance and failed. The ‘inheritance’ you are to receive is no gift, madam. The house and property are in complete disrepair. It is sufficient for you to shelter your mother and sisters, and as we discussed, your ‘pay’ as Georgiana’s companion is to be the upkeep on the house until the property can support itself again.”

“But it makes no sense—that is outrageously extravagant!” she cried.

“I know it is, but I have my reasons. I can see that you are practiced in the art of economy.” At this, she reddened and glanced self-consciously down at her apparel.

He continued. “Your family will have a modest allowance, and I trust you will exhort them not to spend through it too quickly. Three hundred pounds between them ought to be sufficient for their expenses, I should think.”

“Three—” She coughed. “Three hundred is more than we have seen in better than two years, and many times what a lady’s companion makes.”

“I cannot very well expect four women to go about without respectable attire or manage a house without a sturdy maid and a reliable man of all work. My own steward has long overseen Corbett’s rents and income, so there is no need to concern yourself with those affairs. And I will cover the necessary repairs to the roof. It ought to have been done when Bernard first inherited the land, but it was not. Ah, here we are, and I see the parson is already arrived. Welcome to the Marshalsea, Miss Bennet. What do you think of the new building?”

She looked dubiously out the window, her complexion picking up a faint hint of yellow. “Are you certain of this, Mr Darcy?”

“You will suit my needs perfectly, Miss Bennet.”

The young lady shot him a look that could have scalded ice. “And I have your word as a gentleman that you will treat me with dignity?”

“Miss Bennet! What do you take me for, your future husband? I assure you, we are not cut from the same cloth. Disguise is my abhorrence; my offer is genuine.”

She looked only somewhat mollified and heaved a shaken breath. “Then let us get on with it.”

Bernard Wickham did not enjoy the favour of the guards. While some of the prison’s inhabitants possessed charm or agreeable visitors, Bernard regularly incurred the disdain of all by his filth, his vulgar ways, or his incessant snivelling. Thus, when they all filed into Bernard’s cell, they found the dying man with no attendant to minister to his wants. Only the provisions supplied by Darcy himself lent him comfort, and half of those looked to have been bartered away for drink.

“Darcy,” Bernard rasped. “Is that you?”

Miss Elizabeth stirred beside him. “Bernard has lost his sight,” he muttered quietly. “The final stages of his disease.”

“But not my hearing. Have you brought me a woman?”

“I have brought a lady.”

Bernard tried to sit up on his stained mattress. “Is she blonde? You know I will only have the blondes. Does she have wide hips? A man likes a handful— ”

Miss Bennet gasped beside him, her hand to her mouth. Darcy turned to her with a placating expression and a soothing gesture, then spoke again to Bernard.

“I daresay you had a few too many handfuls in your day. Miss Bennet is trim with dark hair, and far too good for you in any case.”

“Come, Darcy, if I am to marry the wench, she can at least keep me warm.”

“That was not our agreement. Are you ready? I will call for the parson.”

Bernard coughed into a bloody cloth and then spat on the floor. “Curse you, Darcy. Call him and be quick about it lest I die before it is done.”

Darcy opened the door and invited the parson in. The man of God looked doubtfully about the chamber, glancing between bride and groom with raised brows. “A word, please, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy walked with the man to the corner. “Is something amiss?”

“Sir, the license is in order and I see that you have even drawn up the proper settlement papers, but this ceremony you ask me to perform is a mockery to the holy institution of—”

“Does not your scripture command us to look after widows and orphans in their distress?”

The parson narrowed his eyes. “It does.”

“And that is no less than my friend wishes to do in his last days. Would you begrudge him the chance to carry out one redeeming act at the end of his life?”

“Mr Darcy, a marriage requires consummation to be recognised as complete, in the hopes that there be symbolic union and some issue.”

“And how do you know there will be no such thing?” Darcy asked in a low voice that Miss Bennet would not overhear. “It is not for me to interfere in the affairs between a man and his wife.”

The parson scowled for a full minute, glancing back and forth between Darcy and Bernard. “Very well.” To the couple, he spoke next. “Mr Wickham and Miss Bennet, are you prepared? ”

Darcy looked to the lady and saw her countenance was now a nauseated shade of green. She was curling her lip in distaste as Bernard sat up and made some crude reference to her chastity.

“They are both ready,” Darcy answered for them. The look in Miss Bennet’s eyes spelled murder, but she held her tongue.

“Miss Bennet, will you stand here? And you must take your betrothed’s hand. I absolutely insist upon this much.” The parson turned a stern look on Darcy as Miss Bennet shrank from Bernard’s diseased flesh.

“Here.” Darcy produced a handkerchief and wrapped it over her fingers as she stared open-mouthed back at him. “I am a man of my word, Miss Bennet.”

She took it with a last scathing glare, and a few moments later, Mrs Bernard Wickham tossed the handkerchief back in his face with a vengeance.

Spirited, indeed.

What had she just done?

Elizabeth fought down another wild surge of panic as the truth of the last four days shook her breath once more. Was she truly…? She closed her eyes and extended her left hand, then cautiously peeked at that fourth finger. That was still a ring.

Was not the husband supposed to provide such a token himself? Yet, she was somehow bound to such a poor excuse for a spouse that his friend—if that was what Mr Darcy was—had produced the gold band. And the license. And a trousseau, of sorts, if the five new gowns and the trunk full of personal apparel that had appeared in her room were truly hers.

And now, during the time in which many couples took wedding tours, she was in a carriage bound for work in Derbyshire, with a man whose expectations were a mystery and whose very presence was bewildering. She hoped desperately that his sister did not resemble him.

“Halt,” Mr Darcy ordered the driver. The carriage stopped, and he dismounted and walked away with no word of explanation. Elizabeth watched him curiously and waited.

“Mrs Wickham, the house will not improve in appearance for your delay,” he summoned.

Elizabeth leaned over the maid, a little farther towards the open door and beheld the prospect she had not seen through the window. Slowly she uncurled her stiff legs and made her careful way down from the coach. A gentleman would have stepped back to help her, but Mr Darcy only watched from several feet away as a footman performed the task.

Perhaps it was because she was no longer Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, daughter of a man of leisure, whose name and person commanded the respect of any who would call himself a gentleman. No, she was now Mrs Wickham, a woman of reduced circumstances in the employ of others. She had thought herself prepared for all that accompanied her change in status, but it seemed she was not.

Still, her circumstances were not all bleak. Mr Darcy stood with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his coat, as if impatient for her to catch up. When she did, he pointed disinterestedly at the stone house just below the rise on which they stood. “Corbett Lodge, such as it is.”

Elizabeth felt the warmth rising in her breast. A house—a real house, large enough for all her family! This made everything worthwhile.

“The stonemasons come next week, and the roof is to be re-tiled as soon as the rains hold off. I will have the cow shed re-thatched, as well. Bernard promised to pay me back for the expense of all the repairs.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes up to the gentleman. “With what? ”

“He said I could take it out of his whiskey allowance.” Mr Darcy’s voice was perfectly flat, but Elizabeth thought she detected a curve to the left side of his mouth. He had not made a jest, had he?

“I expect the house will be habitable again in just over a month, weather permitting,” he continued. “But it may take longer to rid it of the rats.”

“Rats!”

“And pigeons. But Bernard says they are fine company, and juicy to eat.”

Elizabeth shuddered. “I hope you are in jest again, sir.”

He turned with a half smile. “Speaking of victuals, let us go.”

Georgiana Darcy did not resemble her brother, either in looks or in personality.

The young lady was of better-than-average height and a sturdy, long-limbed build, with fair hair and the lightest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen. She felt keenly the contrast to her own less fashionable appearance—darker and more shapely—but Georgiana Darcy was such an unaffected character as to make Elizabeth forget her discomfort nearly as soon as it had been conceived.

Mr Darcy had, much to Elizabeth's surprise, exerted himself to three or four sentences together when he introduced them. After so doing, however, he promptly called for tea in his study and left them.

“Do not trouble about my brother, Mrs Wickham,” Miss Darcy apologised. “He is always a trifle weary when he comes home, having seen and spoken to far more people than he wishes. Fear not, he will be his usual personable self by tomorrow.”

“Do you mean I have been treated only to half his good humour?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps the other half is the one that knows how to smile. I dearly hope he has not mislaid it! ”

Miss Darcy giggled. “He found you, did he not? And he must have been in one of his odd humours when he did so. Why, you do not look or sound at all like a proper lady’s companion!”

“My goodness! If you mean to begin our acquaintance by doubting my credentials, I shall have to answer you very tartly indeed, Miss Darcy.”

The girl laughed in earnest, hiding her wide grin behind her hands. “I think we shall get on famously, Mrs Wickham.”

“Please—” Elizabeth winced. “Would it be improper for you to call me Elizabeth?”

“Well, I should think it would be for you to determine what was proper,” Miss Darcy said. “But if you prefer it…”

“Very much. I do not quite feel like a ‘Mrs Wickham.’”

“Then Elizabeth it is. I am ever so glad, for I like your own name better anyway. Come, I will introduce you to Mrs Reynolds and we will get you settled.”

Elizabeth permitted Miss Darcy to take her arm, and they fell into step together. And for the first time in better than two years, she was no longer afraid of the morrow.

Darcy heard her enter his study, just as he had requested. Heard the footman step back unobtrusively from the open door, heard her halting steps as she approached, and even her uneven breaths when she stood before his desk. He had known many a man of power who ignored his guests as a means of asserting dominance, but that was not what made him slow to greet Mrs Wickham. With a flourish, he signed the bottom of the document before him, glanced once more over it to ensure all was as it should be, and then pushed it to the front of his desk.

“I imagine you will wish to approve this.” He rose from the chair and walked to the window, permitting her to read it without his scrutiny. He crossed his arms and pretended interest in a winter bird nesting in a tree, but all the while he was listening carefully to her—the way she cleared her throat as silently as possible, the faint gasp as she read the particulars, and the light rustling of the document as she adjusted her fingers.

“Sir… this is not what we had agreed,” she said at last.

He turned back. “Is something unsatisfactory?”

“Do you not feel you are being unjust? See, here—” She held aloft the page, her finger indicating the place. “I am to govern my associations to suit you?”

“That is not what it says. As the new residents of Corbett Lodge, the responsibility of overseeing its tenants will naturally fall to you and your family. This document declares your understanding of a landlord’s usual duties.”

She bristled and held the paper closer to him. “I know perfectly well what those duties are, sir. My father was a gentleman, lest you forget. I speak of the passage just below that.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes to read the sentence again. “Why, that is nothing more nor less than the expected. My sister is not to be distressed by undesirable company.”

She arched a brow—an expression that never failed to make him pause in reluctant admiration whenever she employed it. “Would you please define ‘undesirable’ for me, sir?”

“Anyone she does not care to receive, or anyone I would deem an unseemly influence for an impressionable girl of sixteen. I should think that you, as a gentlewoman yourself, would not require me to name specific individuals.”

“I see.” She quirked her mouth to the side as she read the document to herself once more. A line appeared between her brows. “You mean to send your own carriage for my mother when the house is ready?”

“Would they prefer to ride in a post-chaise?”

She drew breath and shook her head. “No, sir. I… that is very kind. ”

“It is my duty, Mrs Wickham. As you are employed at Pemberley now, not to mention a neighbour whose husband is not at hand to perform the task, I could countenance nothing less.”

A shadow crossed her features at the word “husband,” but cleared quickly. “Your terms are acceptable, but what is this ‘termination’ you speak of in the last paragraph?”

“Merely a clause stating that either of us has the right to dissolve the contract if the other fails to uphold the terms.”

She read it carefully, and Darcy could not help but notice how fine and dark her lashes were as they shaded her lowered eyes. “I believe this is the sort of contract one agrees upon before engaging for the position, not after. It is rather too late now for either of us to retract—at least for myself.”

“In that case, Mrs Wickham, we would both do well to uphold our own ends of the agreement. I pledged myself to honesty and diligence, and I believe you did as well.”

She laid the contract on the desk and took up the pen. “I will not fail, Mr Darcy.”

Failure was the last thing she was worried about.

Miss Darcy was as easy a creature as any Elizabeth had ever met. Enchanting and biddable, talented and kind, the only fault Elizabeth could find with her charge was that Georgiana Darcy seemed insecure around people, particularly men. Elizabeth began gently encouraging the young heiress in conversation and in her duties as the mistress of the manor, and saw some little improvement in only a fortnight.

Pemberley itself was also nothing to complain of. The house was everything splendid—grandeur tastefully married to simplicity—and the grounds were far more than her adventurous and poetic heart could have longed for. Even better, Mrs Reynolds seemed to have taken a special liking to Elizabeth. She could not stir from her room but that the housekeeper appeared to know of it and managed to put some kindness in her way. In fact, every person she met at the estate was a comfort and a delight to her world-weary spirits…

And then, there was the master.

Elizabeth’s encounters with Mr Darcy began to follow a pattern which was only predictable in the man’s very capriciousness. He would arrive in a room as a great storming gale, an overwhelming presence that instantly drew all eyes and ears under his sway. He never seemed in a temper or even mildly put out, but even if everyone in the room did not answer to him already, they would have found themselves doing so simply because he expected it and gave them no alternative.

It was not that he was rude. Not quite. He spared not a second thought for general niceties of conversation or banal observations about the weather or the day’s events. It was as if those means of putting others at ease and diverting the conversation to one’s liking were beneath his dignity and beyond his patience. Rather, he would leap into one subject after another with all the grace and tact of an axe felling a giant oak. Once satisfied, he often quit the room as abruptly as he had entered it, with no indication of when the remaining parties therein would see him next.

For the first two weeks, Elizabeth had found his manners terribly unnerving. She never could decide what precisely he expected or thought of her, and that was a novel sensation. In all her prior experience, she had prided herself on her perception of persons, but with Mr Darcy, she was constantly on edge. As a tactic to combat this uncomfortable wariness he inspired in her, she developed a regrettable habit of delivering saucy retorts to his blunter statements. Rather than object, he would sally with something doubly vexing, until Elizabeth could not decide whether they were arguing or teasing one another. Either way, it was all fearfully improper behaviour for a lady’s companion and her employer .

One afternoon, a few weeks after Elizabeth had come to Pemberley, Miss Darcy retired earlier than usual to dress for dinner. Elizabeth, restless from far less walking than she had been accustomed to, took the opportunity to venture out into the dormant garden for a bit of fresh air. The exercise proved a balm to her rumpled thoughts, and before she quite understood herself, she had walked over an hour round the paths that were manicured even in late winter.

Just as she was feeling chilled and wishing to return to the house, she saw Mr Darcy cross the path ahead of her. He was on a tall bay horse and glanced almost nonchalantly in her direction as he slowed to a trot, then a walk. After a brief hesitation, he dismounted and approached, leading his horse.

“I trust you approve of the walking paths around the lake, Mrs Wickham.”

She clasped her hands together and tried to conceal a shiver. “There are few who could not approve, even at this time of year.”

“But you have a discerning eye and a critical tongue, therefore your opinion is more worth the having.”

She tilted her head to peer at him under her winter bonnet. “You think me critical, sir?”

“Are you not? But it was not an insult, Mrs Wickham. I value the opinions of those who will give me the unvarnished truth, far more than the silver words of those who mean only to tickle the vanity. What do you think, do the trees hang too low over the path? Should the bank be reinforced around the shallow parts?”

“I found nothing wanting. Moreover, I do not know why you would apply to my expertise, for it is minimal. The only thing I could possibly find lacking is that it was altogether too quiet for my taste.”

He surveyed her with a raised brow. “You prefer a large company on your constitutionals, Mrs Wickham?”

“You mistake me. I was longing to hear birds singing, and perhaps a squirrel or two rustling in the trees to break the monotony of the wood, but that is a vain fancy for it is the wrong time of year. But since you ask about my social preferences, I should say that one agreeable companion is far superior to a dozen less agreeable persons.”

“And what, in your estimation, constitutes an ‘agreeable’ companion?”

She pursed her lips and looked up to the trees in thought. “A like mind and good conversation.”

He walked several paces before answering. “A like mind, I believe we could produce for you, but what do you call good conversation? A skilled and artful painting of the world by the spoken word? An exudate of feeling, poured out and picked apart by many eager voices?”

“No, indeed. Despise my taste if you will, but I delight in wit and absurdity. You speak of paintings and tapestries, but I liken good conversation more to a chess board. And sometimes, to nothing at all.”

“Nothing?”

She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes and relishing the smell of pine in chilled air. “Sometimes, words only interrupt the harmony. Have you never known anyone with whom you could converse without saying a single word?”

He focused his gaze on the ground before them. “One.”

Elizabeth watched him in curiosity. His jaw flexed once or twice, and something flickered about his expression, but he seemed to will it away. They were nearing the house and stables now, and she was glad of the prospect of a warm fire as the afternoon waned.

“Have you been to Lambton yet?” he asked suddenly.

She looked up at him. “Lambton? No, but I suggested to Miss Darcy that we might venture there one day.”

He nodded grimly. “Be prepared to be treated differently there.”

“Differently? How so, Mr Darcy?”

He stopped, glanced up at the stables ahead, then turned to her. “Bernard Wickham was not loved in Derbyshire any more than he was in London. It may take a few encounters for the townsfolk to understand you were not of his stamp.” He lifted his hat without another word, mounted his horse, and jogged towards the stables.

What happens when Elizabeth falls in love with her quirky, mysterious employer? Keep reading to find out!