Page 11 of Secrets Across the Sea

Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 1

“Darcy,” his cousin sighed from his place beside him, another rut bouncing them and Bingley upon the cushioned carriage benches, “Why must we sit in this infernal contraption?”

Brow raising, Darcy turned toward his cousin. “You rode yesterday if you recall; it is not as if you have spent days confined to this coach. One afternoon shall not see your demise. Besides which, it would not do for us to meet Lady Charmane covered in mud… we are but an hour or two from her estate.”

“Why would a grand lady, such as she, allow herself to be covered in mud?” the Colonel quipped, his lips curling at the sour expression Darcy’s face bore.

“True,” Bingley laughed lightly, “she is far too refined I imagine, to permit mud. Much less upon her person.”

Gaze drifting heavenward, Darcy shook his head. The pair of them! Unrefined. Bordering on reprobates. And good company; even if their humour proved, in many ways, to be lacking. Were it not for them and his sisters, he would either be sulking or, more likely, working himself into the ground. His sisters had rid him of the latter tendency, his friends the former.

“An hour you say?” Fitz questioned as the carriage chanced upon another rut.

“Or two,” Darcy smirked, turnabout fair play.

Leaning his head back, Fitz’s eyes flitted to the landscape outside, a light flurry of snow falling. “I hope this house party is not too often confined; a ride or a brisk walk would do me well about now.”

“The agony you endure,” Bingley teased as he closed his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how a man as soft as yourself managed to become a colonel.”

Chuckling, Darcy nudged his now muttering cousin, the exact words hidden by the noise of the coach but either a firm rejection of Bingley’s opinion or a profanity best left unheard. Either way, an amused smirk followed the muttering as some private amusement replaced Fitz’s light ire, and soon enough he, like Bingley, settled in for an hour’s rest; Darcy resigned against such rest, if not from stubbornness than from the unsettled feel of his stomach as he contemplated the many unknowns ahead.

He would consider every possibility he could before they arrived. He would rehearse the initial pleasantries and thanks he would be expected to provide. And he would wonder how soon after arriving he might contrive an excuse to leave.

The final miles of travel would be busy indeed.

∞∞∞

Straightening as his driver gave their agreed signal of two firm thumps upon the coach’s roof, Darcy turned his gaze toward the long drive, well-lined with large oak trees, their trunks and branches twisting wildly. Beside him, Fitz opened his window, a sharp, snow-filled wind pouring in as the man dipped his head outside.

“It is akin to something out of a gothic novel,” Fitz mused as he returned fully inside, Bingley shutting the window as he frowned.

“What in the blazes, are you trying to freeze us?” Bingley began, the fire in his eyes dying as he fixed a wicked smile on Fitz. “Since when do you read gothic novels?”

“I read that new one, saint something or another, to appease Cathy and Georgie… do not give me that look, it is hardly a shameful thing. Still, I do not know if it is something they ought to be reading; dark musings, a crazed alchemist, passions, death… a dainty, prudish man I am not, but it was not to my tastes.”

“No. Cathy may yet be a little young for stories such as those,” Darcy agreed as he took in the dark stone of the gothic mansion through the snow. “Still. It is awkward for me to determine their reading materials; already I select their masters, hire their governess, and tell them, in their governesses’ absence, when they can visit friends or explore the shops in Lambton. I desire to leave them with some bit of freedom.”

“Brother and father in one;” Bingley said, “as much as my sisters are older–one married at that–I understand the precariousness of balancing those roles too well. My sisters have too much freedom I fear… even now, I shudder to think of what my negligence might bring.” Wringing his hands he let his head drop, “I must warn you two, I told Caroline where I would be staying and… let slip that our host is titled. Though I reminded her that the invitation did not extend to my family, there was a glint in her eyes I did not much like. I would not put it past her to arrive without an invitation!”

“She would not risk it, surely?” Darcy remarked; the sullen faces of Bingley and

Fitz causing the rolling of Darcy’s stomach to increase.

Staring at the intimidating spires above them as the carriage slowed in front of the mansion, Darcy frowned. He would get through this. Miss Bingley may make an unwanted appearance. His connections to America might make him an unpopular guest. And he in no way desired to attend this house party. But he would. For his sisters. His cousin. And anyone else who may be relying on him.

He could do this.

He could.

Yes?

“Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley,” a grand lady, wearing a surprising number of jewels for the time of day, said as they exited the coach one by one, the ground growing white at a surprising rate. “I fear I have not had the pleasure of meeting you all, and dearly hope I am correct in my assumption of what name belongs to each of you. Things are bound to be rather informal during your stay.”

Informal in manners, perhaps, Darcy considered as he noted the lady’s burgundy gown covered with lace of the same hue, certainly not in attire.

“Correct on all accounts,” Fitz said gaily as he bowed. “May I assume you are Lady Charmane?”

“I am.” Motioning toward the door she added, “It is rather chilly, would you care to come in?”

Following her through the massive doorway, its iron hinges twice the size of any Darcy could recall seeing at a private residence, they came upon a drafty entry, the walls and floors covered predominantly in textiles in a vain attempt to warm the space up.

“Do forgive the state of things, I beg you. I am in the process of renovating my dear home; some rooms, such as the drawing room, library, and your own rooms, have been completed in full, however, you may find other rooms rather less hospitable. Not to mention drafty. No amount of renovation can lend true coziness to such an old building, in spite of how hard one might try. Save in feeling alone, of course… Here we are. A warm cup of tea, then I shall have you shown to your rooms,” Lady Charmane said as a fine wood paneled room opened before them. “Ah, here are Miss Bennet and Miss Mary… but where is your sister?”

Miss Mary, opening her mouth to answer, cut her eyes toward the door, a squeal and distant thud emanating from down the hall capturing the attention of all. “Elizabeth,” she whispered, Darcy moving toward the hall even as Lady Charmane bade all to let the servants see to the matter.

The sound may not have been dire, but it certainly warranted investigation.

Peering in room after room, Darcy frowned at their emptiness; some merely devoid of people, others, of all furnishing as the very walls appeared ready to crumble at the smallest breath.

A muffled voice catching his ears, Darcy followed it toward the stairs, his steps stilling outside of one of the final rooms along the main hall.

“Foolish… What a mess…” the quiet voice of a woman growled behind a massive, half open door.

Pushing the door, Darcy’s lips curled as he caught sight of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she gathered a large number of books scattered on the floor.

“Here,” he said laughingly as he reached for the nearest tome, “allow me.”

Her head ripping upward to meet him, the title she held fell from her fingers, the quiet thump of the book the only sound other than the pounding of his heart.

She? At Hyde Park? With her young cousins? Yes. Cousin Lizzy they had called her. Three years little altered her, save for the better.

There, he hoped as she held his gaze, she must recall it too?

“You?” she questioned softly; books forgotten as she came to stand.

“And you?” he grinned as he tapped the title he held, “It seems I am forever retrieving something you have dropped.”

Chuckling she moved to accept the volume, the space between them diminished. “It would seem. Twice in two meetings show rather poorly in my favour. Though I trust you will not hold this one against me, for there was a great stack of books on a rather small table, and a mouse scurrying across a thin slipper is, however fond one may or may not be of mice, rather startling. I fear I backed into the pile and sent a shower of books in mine and that mouse’s wake.”

“A mouse?” he chuckled as he recalled their first conversation. “You spoke of mice before. What did you say, ‘that family can leave one feeling as a mouse in a maze?’ Not word for word perhaps, though certainly close.”

“I did. How odd,” she remarked, her head shaking as she turned her gaze downward. “Hopefully, in this instance, we find no more mice.”

“Are you not fond of them?”

“I do enjoy them, outside . They have their home, I have mine, and apart from meeting in the middle, I prefer no close relationship.”

“Would you prefer to vacate the room whilst I gather the remaining books?”

“No,” she smiled as she knelt on the floor. “We are already acquainted now. Should I see her again I will do my best to maintain that acquaintance without insulting her. No sounds of dismay or throwing of books.”

Joining her on the floor Darcy sought to keep his eyes on his task rather than her face, the steeper pitch of her right brow and the brightness of her eyes which displayed a million thoughts within unduly distracting.

“It is a she then?” he questioned as his gaze cut toward her, a smile forming as she nodded.

“Indeed. Only a female would be so bold. We are, after all, a rather daring lot.”

Placing the stack he had gathered on a nearby table, Darcy searched for any which may have bounced under a piece of furniture, one burgundy tome having done just that.

“I quite agree,” Darcy’s muffled voice answered as he lay with his face pressed to the base of the wood, arm stretched underneath as he felt for the elusive tome. “My mother did not hide from any challenge, and I know many men who did not dare cross her. Ah, there you are,” he triumphed as his fingers clasped around the rogue title.

“May I be of assistance?” the staid, deep tone of a man asked behind him.

Peering over his shoulder from his place on the floor, Darcy met the butler’s eyes. “I believe I have it well in hand.”

“It is merely that Miss Elizabeth’s sisters were concerned; peculiar noises you see. However, I suppose since you claim all is well, I shall inform them of such, if Miss Elizabeth agrees?”

“I do, Mr. Lombart,” Elizabeth smiled, the butler’s bright, crinkled eyes betraying his own amusement. “And assure them I shall be in momentarily.”

“Very well, Miss,” he answered before departing with a spring in his step, the room silent as they observed the empty doorway.

“I suppose I ought to reassure my sisters with my presence,” she chuckled as she set another book on a nearby stack. “Will you be missed as well?”

Laughing as he stood, Darcy set down the book he had retrieved before brushing his clothes. “Most likely. Lady Charmane did not wish me to go, you see, so I may well have begun our stay here in her bad graces. Returning to the drawing room may yet ease her ire. What do you think?”

Coming to his side, she lifted a brow, “From the little I have learnt of her since arriving, I fear returning may only be the beginning of your recompense. Still, the company of my sisters is lively, and you may find solace in such amusements.”

“If you are there, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said as he held out his arm, “that will be solace enough.”