They had reached a large, low-gated patio attached to Evan’s Hotel, located at the northwest corner of the piazza. Dozens of tables with matching chairs dotted the sizable space edged with potted bushes and trees displaying varying stages of autumn leaves. Situated roughly catercorner from Saint Paul’s Church, the patio afforded an excellent view. It was here they rested for a spell, revivified with pots of coffee and tea, and a light repast of fresh fruit and baked pastries served by the hotel. For a while, they drank and ate in silence as they watched the endlessly fascinating sea of people out in the market.
Jane, her eyes scanning the many storied buildings bordering the marketplace, reinitiated the conversation with a question. “I imagined the Theatre Royal would have an elaborate entrance in keeping with its prestigious reputation. Yet I cannot discern which of these it is.”
“None of them, Miss Bennet,” Bingley replied. “The theatre entrance is on Bow Street, one block to the east. The rear abuts the houses along the eastern piazza, so it is quite close, hence the more common name of Covent Garden Theatre, though it’s not technically accurate.”
“The theatre was not built until 1731, Miss Bennet,” Darcy added when Bingley said no more. “By then, the square was established with no room for a grand theatre. Plus—and this is my personal conclusion based on what I have read—I believe John Rich, the celebrated harlequin who established the theatre for his company and obtained the financing, mainly wanted to compete with Drury Lane’s Theatre Royal. In his estimation, it was a bonus being a block separated rather than two or more.”
“Ah, well that explains my confusion. Thank you. It also explains why the buildings are all so uniform. Excepting the church, of course.”
“Precisely, Miss Bennet.” Darcy leaned to pour more coffee into his cup, doing the same for Bingley, followed by topping off the cups of tea fir each lady, continuing his narrative as he served. “As I said earlier, the Earl of Bedford, that being the fourth to bear the title, was a man with modern sensibilities and foresight. He, with the help of Jones, was the first to create the concept of a town square with symmetry and similar architectural style as a hallmark feature. It is an ideal we now enjoy all over London. Originally, the buildings fronted by the piazza and those located on the secondary streets were residences of persons of title and high rank, as well as of men esteemed in the world of art and literature. Newer, fashionable areas arose to supplant Covent Garden, and by the middle of the previous century, all but a handful of the homes transformed into shops, hotels, coffee and oyster houses, and so on. As you can see.”
Speaking with a tone of nostalgia common when remembering the past, Mr. Bingley divulged a personal perspective of the area. “I remember my grandfather’s house on Maiden Lane, just one street to the south. We lived there for a short time, while my father and mother were renovating our townhouse. I was young, and the memories are dim images of our nurse walking to the market. She always bought us a piece of fruit, once even a banana, quite a rarity then, and a single flower for Louisa.”
“Miss Caroline did not earn a flower?”
Mr. Bingley smiled at Georgiana’s innocent question. “She was but a babe in a wheeled miniature carriage, Miss Darcy. Although, now that you mention it, I never recall nurse being as generous with flowers for my younger sister. Of the three of us, Caroline has always been the most…troublesome to love.”
“Does your family still own the house on Maiden Lane?” Jane’s sweetly voiced question diverted from further unpleasant comments about Caroline, a relief to everyone.
“Not too many years later he sold the house and moved in with us. In part, this was due to his failing health, but he often spoke of the changes to Covent Garden. His father had built the house, and my grandfather lived his entire life here. He watched unsavory ilk infiltrating. It was a distressing development which pained him greatly.”
“Sadly, this is true.” Darcy added, a hint of sadness in his voice. “The area has tremendously changed. For several decades, it became nigh impossible to enter the market without risking thievery or worse. Improvements are happening, slowly, and I believe the time will come for a complete revamping. Covent Garden is too important and too centrally located to ignore. Even now, it is not wise to stay past dark or stray off the main paths and open areas. When the crowds are thick, even in the broad light of day, one has to be particularly diligent guarding the pocket where their purse resides.”
Cognizant of the day’s ongoing agenda and the time rapidly ticking away, they finished their midafternoon meal. The men led the ladies down the Piazza arcade, leisurely strolling to Russell Street where the carriage waited. Encumbered with several bouquets of aromatic flowers and four baskets of assorted fruits and vegetables for the coachman to safely stow in the landau’s luggage rack, they once again climbed into the carriage. With an improved grip on her directional bearings and the hint of passing through Charing Cross and then south on Whitehall, Lizzy was ready to guess the next destination.
“Is Saint James’s Park next to be explored, then? Or are you two jesters leading us on another wild ride which will end on the opposite bank of the Thames or the East India Docks or Hampstead Heath?”
Gravely nodding, his face serious, Darcy proclaimed, “We considered the latter three, at great length, and the debate was intense. Alas, in the end, we settled on the more logical, and closer, Westminster Abbey. Thus, tragically, your guess is incorrect, Miss Elizabeth. Another win for the men.”
“Darcy! You are a rascal!” Bingley exclaimed in between laughs. “Miss Elizabeth, I can assure that the docks were never a consideration, although Darcy did suggest Newgate, which I deem unpalatable. To be fair, as much as I would like to keep the prize tally in our favor, we do plan to walk in Saint James’s Park as a twilight end to our day, so Miss Elizabeth’s guess is correct.”
Georgiana was shaking her head. “As the official arbiter, I call a technicality. Miss Elizabeth did say ‘next’ when guessing the park, after all. Hence, the score should, by rights, belong to the gentlemen.”
Darcy’s left brow lifted and his eyes widened in feigned perplexity. “I don’t recall granting you the office of arbiter, Georgie. Although, you are the designated chaperone, so it makes sense. Moreover, being the only neutral person in the challenge gives you a clearer view. Hence, your conclusion to award the point to us is logical. However”—Darcy furrowed his brows and sighed dramatically—“Miss Elizabeth’s guess is also correct, the sequence qualifier a minor detail. How shall we solve such a severe dilemma?”
Lizzy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, points of argument running through her brain, while Jane shook with silent laughter. Eventually, after further banter, they agreed to award each team a point. The tally tied at three each, the group exited the parked carriage eager to begin the late afternoon portion of the day. A church was not the place for encounters of a romantic nature, so the collection of kisses remained a pleasure to anticipate, the sensual sensations bubbling below the surface of the lovers’ skin all day.
As with most of the significant places in London, Lizzy had seen dozens of paintings and drawings of the Abbey of Saint Peter at Westminster. None of them prepared her for the breathtaking reality. Standing on the Tothill Street walkway across from the enormous paved, circular concourse fronting the western facade to the church, the impression of holiness was already palpable. Lizzy gazed in awe at the incredible beauty of the structure, stunned by the magnificence of the twin towers flanking the main entrance rising two-hundred twenty-five feet into the heavens. In silence, Lizzy absorbed the majestic vision, spellbound as were the others, into a sort of paralysis.
Darcy’s resonant voice gently broke the stasis, his subdued delivery of the expected historical background given as the group drifted toward the doors.
“The original church built on this site in honor of the Apostle Peter was ordered by King Edward I in the eleventh century. Tragically, the king died days after the consecration ceremony, which
he was too ill to attend. The following year, in 1066, William the Conqueror was the first monarch to be crowned here. That tradition has continued without fail ever since.”
Pausing a few feet away from the arched entrance, he continued, “After two centuries, Henry III decided to rebuild the church in the Gothic style sweeping Europe. As the location for royal coronations and the burial of monarchs, the king believed Westminster Abbey should be grander and comparable to a cathedral. The new church was consecrated in 1269 and is unchanged, other than some reconstruction as necessary over long centuries. There have been a handful of additions made to the church, primarily the stunning, Tudor-influenced Lady Chapel by Henry VII in the first decade of 1500, and the towers of Portland stone we see before us, completed in 1745. Truly a marvel to behold.”
At that point, Darcy resumed the journey to the doors, and for the whole of their time inside the massive church, he offered no further history. In fact, he reverted to his typical taciturn manner. The reasons for his abrupt change became immediately obvious.
In the whole of Lizzy’s life, she had only attended religious services in modest, country churches constructed with average-height ceilings, one or two small stained-glass windows, maybe a single carved arch or elaborate statue, and housing a basic organ at best. Nothing she had ever seen, whether a place of worship or other fine structure, remotely came close to the interior of Westminster Abbey.
In fact, the entryway leading to the ornately carved double doors was a cause of awed amazement. Wide and almost tunnellike, the gap between the pillars was recessed and arched to a high pinnacle. Engraved panels, small buttresses, and niched cornices adorned the walls.
Moving past the doors and into the nave wrest the remaining air from Lizzy's lungs, her mind instantly filled with profound wonderment and reverence. She felt her mouth drop open yet was powerless to stop the gawking action. It was the feathery touch of William’s hand against the small of her back which restored her senses, heat rising to her cheeks.
How long have I stood stupefied, blocking the aisle? Was I, heaven forbid, emitting odd sounds or some other mortifying gesture in my abstraction?
Ripping her eyes from the spectacular vaulted ceiling, she rapidly scanned the people close to her, relieved to note no one was paying her any heed. Then she swung her gaze to Darcy’s face, her mouth opening to whisper her apologies. Instead, her lips curved into a smile as misty tears coated her eyes.
Mr. Darcy was staring into the nave, his blue eyes gliding slowly over the interior from wall to wall, and the expression he wore was indescribable. His countenance was awash with transcendent joy and peace, amongst other unnamable emotions.
“Beautiful, is it not?” he asked in a hushed whisper. “One can feel God’s Holy Spirit alive within these walls.”
A host of emotions inundated his voice. Then he turned to her, smiling in a way she had never seen before. Suddenly, she understood.
Religion was a part of her life, as it was for most, but admittedly in a peripheral way. Lizzy believed in God and accepted His presence in her life as a matter of course. Beyond the obligatory Sunday attendance and other liturgical ceremonies, and her firm commitment to follow the commandments and rules written in Scripture to the best of her ability, Lizzy went no further. Biblical instruction had never interested her as it had Mary.
Based on offhand comments and almost-forgotten memories of his solemn attitude while attending church services during their stay in Kent, Lizzy suspected his devotion to the church was deeper than most, including herself. The depth of his piety was another matter, and one not broached by him or contemplated by her. Until now.
Lizzy observed the spiritual euphoria visible upon his face and the full impact struck her. For Fitzwilliam Darcy, faith was a wholly unique experience that was personal, intense, and absolute. At this epiphany, her heart was uplifted yet oddly, simultaneously dismayed. Knowing that her beliefs, while in line with his, were not as extreme was disconcerting. Would she ever be as religious as he? Would this disparity lead to his disappointment or displeasure? Would it affect their unity?
“Do not be concerned, Elizabeth,” he whispered, somehow reading her thoughts. “Faith is personal and varies, but I know you are a believer. More importantly, I know that God’s Hand rests upon our relationship. The miracle of bringing us together, through all the odds against us, is the only proof I need. Trust in that, as I do.”
He said no more, steering her with gentle pressure to her back, where his hand rested, to commence a thorough exploration of the church. His words soothed her overactive mind in a way she could not explain. Considering where they were, it was sensible to give the credit where due, her silent prayers of thankfulness offered in a continual litany as she walked closely beside the man she loved more with each passing hour.
For over two hours they drifted from one awe-inspiring view to another, separately and sometimes together. The wealth of beauty, history, and spiritual imagery overwhelmed. Lizzy knew she would never sort through all the mental pictures or remember the poetic writings, inscriptions, and famous persons entombed. In fact, after a while, she stopped trying to maintain order in her mind or read the monument engravings. Instead, she opted to bask in the glorious atmosphere and delightful impressions.
Eventually, they wandered outside via the great north door, the need for fresh air and space winning over the desire to investigate every inch of the interior, which was impossible to do in one visit anyway.
Immediately beyond the door stretched a grassy expanse in the shape of a rough triangle, with the stone street called Broad Sanctuary to the left, and Saint Margaret’s Church to the right. Darcy identified the avenues after one massive inhale and cleansing exhale. leaving his solemnity behind.
Walking briskly toward the intersection of Broad Sanctuary and King's Street, the others skipping to keep up with his long-legged gait. As they crossed, Darcy gestured at the visible spires of Westminster Hall, the Parliament buildings, and Saint Stephen’s Chapel in the near distance.
“I wish we had time to tour the plethora of buildings in the area or to view the cloisters, monastery, Jewel Tower, and Chapter House located on the south side of the abbey. Another time, I suppose.”
“Another appointment, Mr. Darcy? Should we try guessing?”
Darcy grinned and pressed the hand resting on his forearm. “You already have guessed, Miss Elizabeth, and scored the point. A leisurely sojourn in Saint James’s Park as the sun sets will be our final destination for today. Then back to Darcy House for dinner and whatever entertainments we desire to engage in.”
Lizzy peered upward, trying to decipher if a hidden meaning lay behind his last words. He was smiling softly, a definite glint in his eye, but he turned his head to check for traffic before leading across the street. A minute later they reached the carriage, which was waiting on the corner as close to the abbey as possible. Still wondering over his words, she did not immediately notice his subtle shift to the right and shortened steps until Bingley pulled into the lead, with Jane and Georgiana at his side. The purposeful maneuver became clearer when Darcy took advantage of the distraction of Bingley assisting Jane and Georgiana into their seats.
Leaning until his lips touched her right ear, he whispered huskily, “I have not forgotten the kisses to deliver and receive, my sweet Elizabeth. I will find a way to collect. Tonight. So be prepared.”
Lizzy gasped, her heartbeat instantly accelerating, and if not for his arm slipping around her waist and hand holding hers, she surely would have stumbled on the carriage steps!
The guessing game had been ongoing all day, with kisses the stated prize. Still, amid the endless wonders and lighthearted teasing, the reality of collecting six kisses all in one sitting hadn’t fully penetrated her brain. She wondered if it had occurred to Jane, or if Mr. Bingley had found a way to whisper a similar promise into her sister’s ear. If either were true, they were doing a fabulous job at pretending to be unmoved.
Lizzy w
as the complete opposite of unmoved. All she could think about was William’s whispered promise. She found it exceedingly difficult to focus on the natural beauty and fascinating history of Saint James’s Park, a distraction Miss Darcy noticed and questioned. Cheeks flaming, Lizzy stammered something lame about being tired, unsure whether Georgiana bought the excuse or not.
It didn’t help that Darcy spent most of the time at the park shooting her suggestive glances and touching her covertly. Strolling down the tree-lined avenue next to the Canal, he intermittently offered details of the park’s stages of development and use by the successive monarchs.
Speaking did not stop him from sneakily using the spreading shadows created by the sun creeping closer and closer to the horizon. Few pedestrians were on the trail, and it was quite easy to lag behind or fabricate an excuse to pause next to a fortuitously placed tree or statue. He was, of course, always the gentleman, and Lizzy suspected he wasn’t seriously trying to isolate her to deliver his kisses. Rather, the mild liberties taken were to heighten the anticipation.
Oh! How well it worked! The skin he managed to caress with brushing fingertips tingled and burned. The delirious three minutes he drew her back against his chest and spanned her waist with his hands left her lightheaded for a good fifteen minutes. The kiss he pressed onto her inner wrist—after murmuring, “This does not count. I shall claim my kisses on your lips.”—left her knees so weak she thought sure she would be unable to make it back to the carriage.
It was a relief to once again settle into the cushioned carriage bench and no longer worry about tripping over her own feet. The landau’s hood was unfolded and secured to protect from the fast cooling air of twilight, so she could hide her flushed face in the dim shadows. Plus, she could no longer see his penetrating gaze. Not that this prevented her feeling the intensity of his stare—or maybe this was merely her overactive imagination, because when they entered the brightly lit foyer of the townhouse, Mr. Darcy appeared perfectly serene.
Darcy & Elizabeth: Hope of the Future: Darcy Saga Prequel Duo Book 2 Page 15
