He turned her body gently, hands smoothing over the softness of her cheeks, and eyes soft in the moonlight as he gazed upon her face. “There are many questions to be answered and we will remain cautious. But right now I am in my second favorite abode on this earth, my children and sister are asleep in the rooms above us, and I am holding the woman I love more than my own life in my arms. The stars are sparkling, the moon is glowing, the pure fragrance of lilac and cut grass is deliciously invading my nostrils, and the lulling music of bubbling water falling over rocks fills the air. Furthermore, after kissing you, my lovely, precious Elizabeth, until you are pliant and breathless with desire I know I shall make love with you until we are utterly satiated. How could I not feel peace in such an atmosphere?”
“Now who is the poet, Fitzwilliam?”
“I shall recite the masters for you, darling, if that is your wish, but I prefer to express the poetry of love with my mouth and hands upon your skin.”
“My goodness, both a poet and a wit! How marvelously blessed I am.”
“Indeed,” he growled, pulling her onto his lap, hands searching relentlessly under her raised skirt. “As much as I would like to love you here in the moonlight, alas this place does not afford us the privacy of our balcony at home. Come, Mrs. Darcy, we can discuss poetry on our bed.”
And amid her tinkling laughter he rose with her clutched in his arms, striding purposefully into the candlelit chamber attached and proceeding to fulfill his vow until they were undeniably and utterly satiated.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mrs. Smyth Has a Secret
Have you noticed how prolific and colorful the narcissus this year?”
Lizzy glanced over at her sister-in-law where she stood next to the window facing the broad, cobbled avenue of Grosvenor Square. “In truth I had not peered out the front windows this morning. I did note the buttercups on our bedchamber’s terrace. I adore spring blooms.” She paused, laying her embroidery aside to gaze contemplatively at Georgiana. “Tell me truthfully, dear sister. Are you deeply enthralled with the beauty of the Square or searching the corners for the mail carrier?”
Georgiana turned from the window and returned to her seat across from Lizzy. “Can both be true?” she asked, the hint of a blush touching her cheeks. She settled her secretaire onto her lap, dipping her quill into the embedded inkpot but then pausing above the parchment music sheet spread upon the surface. “Only a week has passed, yet it feels an eternity. This is the negative to love, I suppose?”
“The poets declare the absence shall foster fondness within the heart, as in Mr. Bayly’s Isle of Beauty. True to a degree, as a separation does cause one to dwell upon their lover with longing leading to an increasingly emotional reunion. Nevertheless, I abhor William being away from me for any length and firmly believe our relationship grows stronger with constant communion.”
“How marvelous that will be,” Georgiana said, her eyes dreamy. “I greatly desire to begin our life together.”
“Very soon you will. Did he promise to write you?”
“Yes. Uncle granted permission. Of course, it has not been long since we parted so my expectations are unfair.”
“He knew when Kitty’s wedding was to be and thus your return to London. A man in love marks these dates upon his heart. My guess is a letter at the least, and very soon.”
Georgiana sighed, and then chuckled as she shook her head. Her eyes were sparkling with humor when she met Lizzy’s gaze. “I am rather pathetic, am I not? I was fine while diverted in Hertfordshire, yet here it is a day later and I am moping as a lost puppy. I cannot focus enough to complete this sonata I started on the voyage across the Channel!”
“Missing your collaborator?” Lizzy asked with a lift to her brow.
“I believe it is more that I miss my friend, who also happens to be the man I love and an excellent musical collaborator.”
“Your own personal muse?”
“A male muse?” Georgiana laughed. “Yes, I suppose he is to a degree. Oh, Lizzy! I cannot wait for you and William to know Mr. Butler completely. He is warm and delightfully humorous. A valued friend and companion. I do miss him.”
“I am sure Mr. Butler is of a like mind and will hasten his return to you.”
Georgiana nodded, frowning slightly as she peered at the notes. “Yes, I have faith that this is true. I must be patient. Staffordshire is a distance not easily traversed for a seven-day visit or a letter. Besides, he did propose celebrating Easter with his family before returning, so surely it will be a fortnight at the least. I know how he missed home and his friends. He is undoubtedly immersed in entertainments and familial concourse.”
Lizzy cocked her head, brows knitted. “What are you not telling me, Georgie?”
Georgiana looked up in surprise and then flushed. “Oh, nothing really! I fear I am a silly, imaginative girl at times, Lizzy. Pay me no heed.”
“Nonsense! And I shall pay heed to your moods. You have a concern, clearly, and I am here to commiserate. Do you doubt Mr. Butler in some manner?”
“No, oh no, not in the slightest!” Georgiana put the secretaire aside and scooted to the sofa’s edge to reach Lizzy’s hand. “It is just”—she waved her other hand in the air, biting her lip before continuing in a halting voice—“vague feelings regarding Lord Essenton.”
“Mr. Butler’s father? In what way?”
Georgiana shrugged. “He is a stern man, Lizzy. I sensed this before Sebastian told me of their relationship. He is rather frightening, if you must know, with a disapproving air. You know how Lord Essenton feels about Sebastian’s musical studies and his, in Lord Essenton’s opinion, pointless rambles across Europe. I fear he will see our engagement as another whimsy.”
“Surely not. Taking a bride is a serious commitment. Certainly Lord Essenton will interpret Mr. Butler’s decision as a positive sign for his future settling at Whistlenell Hall?”
“I do hope so. Yet”—she paused, picking absently at her dress—“I do not think Lord Essenton fond of me. He may reject Mr. Butler’s choice.”
Lizzy was truly shocked. “You must be mistaken, my dear! How…” She shook her head, squeezing Georgiana’s hand tightly. “There is no possible way Lord Essenton could deny your excellence, Georgiana. In all ways imaginable you are a perfect choice, even if Mr. Butler was not madly in love with you. Rest your mind, my love. You are allowing your fancies to run amok. I guess your personal sensations of disapproval were merely shadows of Lord Essenton’s annoyance at Mr. Butler’s situation. Besides, Mr. Butler, if he is the caliber of man I judged him to be and you claim, would not be cowed in this matter any more than he was in pursuing his studies abroad. You have nothing to fear, I am sure of it.”
Georgiana rose to kiss Lizzy’s cheek. “Thank you, Lizzy. You always speak wisely and ease my fluttering heart.”
“Pardon the intrusion, Mrs. Darcy. Miss Darcy, this was delivered for you.”
They both started, not hearing the silent entry of the butler. Georgiana recovered and took the sealed envelope from Mr. Travers’s hand, absently thanking him as a vibrant smile spread over her face upon noting the sender. She tore the wax, moving toward the window as she read.
Lizzy grinned happily, turning her attention to Mr. Travers, who waited patiently. “Mrs. Darcy”—he bowed—“a servant from the Matlock townhouse delivered this.”
“Thank you, Mr. Travers. One moment, please.” She rapidly scanned the paper, smiling as she resumed, “Lord and Lady Matlock will be dining here tonight, as well as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone. Could you please send word to Mrs. Smyth that I wish to speak with her and adjust the menu? At her convenience.”
He bowed and left the room, Lizzy returning her attention to Georgiana, who was rereading Mr. Butler’s letter for the third time now.
“From the silly expression on your face I presume your qualms have been allayed? Mr. Butler is in Town, probably has been waiting for days while you tarried and partied in Hertfordshire, and is
aware of our arrival some twenty hours ago? The besotted man must be clairvoyant or have spies! Or have you been redirecting me when in truth you evaded William’s security forces and snuck out for a clandestine engagement last midnight?”
“You know the latter is not true,” Georgiana answered Lizzy’s tease with a giddy laugh, her eyes scanning the words. “Sadly the former is not true as yet. He wrote this two days past from Whistlenell Hall in Staffordshire. He anticipates arriving in the week after Easter. He writes cheerily and expresses nothing remiss.”
“As indeed I asserted! Are his declarations of unending love properly rendered with a wealth of poetic verse? He is a composer so I expect nothing less.”
Georgiana sighed, her cheeks rosy as she reread her beloved’s letter, lingering over every word especially the greeting to “My loveliest fiancée, Georgiana.”
“He manages sufficiently to appease my heart. And, no, I shall not share his affections, so do not ask!”
“Understood,” Lizzy agreed, laughing along with Georgiana. “I am delighted to hear he is to arrive soon. Not only because it will be lovely to meet Mr. Butler again, and under these blessed circumstances, but because I confess it is difficult to secret the news from William.”
“Oh, Lizzy! I apologize for placing you in an awkward situation! Perhaps I should speak to William myself and not wait for Mr. Butler.”
“No, dearest. I should not have spoken of it. And I do not necessarily mean that it is awkward as in feeling I am deceiving as much as I am bursting with happiness for you. I know William will be overjoyed and thus cannot wait to share with him; that is all I meant. I only pray he arrives prior to our departure to Kent.”
A worried frown creased Georgiana’s brow. “I had not thought of that. I shall inform him of your plans when I write tonight. Hopefully he can adjust his schedule to coincide as I would hate to postpone matters until later in April when you and William return.”
“I am positive all shall be well, even if we must delay our departure and enlighten William as to your engagement.”
“And not arrive on the precise day Lady Catherine expects you?” Georgiana asked with feigned horror. “Perish the thought!”
The echo of childish laughter interrupted any further discussion. Laughter was followed by a high-pitched shriek and a deep voice declaring in exaggerated ominous tones, “Run fast, tasty boy, or you shall be my breakfast!”
“Can no catch me, Uncle Goj!”
A loud roar mimicking a lion followed that bold declaration with the pounding of small and large feet growing louder by the second. Suddenly a triumphant roar and shrill yell burst forth simultaneously, two bodies barreling through the open parlor door. George rose to his full height, a red-faced and giggling Alexander dangling upside down across his shoulder.
“Greetings, ladies! I rescued this imp from the boredom of tracing the alphabet”—he shivered dramatically—“and now we are here to enliven the stuffiness of sewing. I believe a walk to the Park is the prescribed remedy. Michael is asleep, Mrs. Darcy, so I am here to rescue you.”
“I was not aware I needed rescuing, but a walk does sound lovely. I want to inspect the narcissus I hear are especially colorful this spring.”
George lowered Alexander to the floor head first, tickling as he rolled him onto his back. The toddler giggled breathlessly, squirming and wiggling until free from his uncle’s clutches whereupon he dashed to his mother.
“Nanny Lisa says I go with Uncle Goj and do letters later. We go see ducks, Mama, please?”
“I think feeding the poor starving ducks of Hyde Park a marvelous idea, sweetling.”
“Mrs. Darcy, you wished to see me?”
George turned, grinning broadly at Mrs. Smyth, who avoided his eyes and visibly winced when he boomed, “Good day, Mrs. Smyth! How are you this fine morning?”
“Quite well, Dr. Darcy. Thank you. Mrs. Dar…”
“Have you done something different to your hair, Mrs. Smyth?”
“Not at all, sir,” she answered primly.
“Hmm… I do not recall curls escaping your cap. Most lovely, I daresay. It becomes you. Ah! Look at how she blushes so delightfully! Do I detect the look of a woman in love? Is my heart to be devastated at your affection turned toward a secret amour?”
“George, do not tease Mrs. Smyth so shamelessly,” Lizzy said with a laugh, George bowing contritely with a hand over his heart.
“I do apologize, Mrs. Smyth. I fear my wits and good manners have escaped me in the overwhelming awe of so much beauty in one room.”
“Indeed,” the housekeeper coldly intoned, her face neutral except for a glimmer of supreme dislike directed toward George’s back when he turned away.
“What causes the rosiness to your cheeks, Georgie? Are all the women surrounding me falling in love?”
“Do not be ridiculous, Uncle. I may be forced to conclude that it is not beauty that scatters your wits but rather senility weakening your diagnostic skills! What a pity if we are required to hire a nurse to keep the drool away from your brilliant green and gold tunic.”
“If she is exceptionally comely I welcome the idea.” He wiggled his brows, a crooked grin flashing. “And is this suit not astounding? A package from India was awaiting me. Nimesh and Sasi, Jharna’s sons, keep me properly garbed, thank the Maker, as I would never wish to draw undue attention from outdated attire.” He winked, grabbed an apple off the tea tray, and tossed it into the air. It was caught deftly with one hand followed by a huge bite.
Mrs. Smyth stood ramrod straight, her pinched lips the only outward indication of her disgust as she listened to Mrs. Darcy’s dinner requests. Her responses were clipped but correctly rendered, her curtsy a bit stiff but adequate, and she left the parlor with her disdain well concealed. She did not look back and walked at a stately pace down the long corridor toward the kitchen. Each step took her further and further away from the voices and laughter pervading the parlor. Then, just as she reached the door to the housekeeper’s pantry located near the kitchen and the nervous twitch behind her left eye began to slacken as the noises fell to a dim murmur, another shrill, childish laugh pierced the relative hush followed by a loud, braying whoop. Her teeth clenched and the tic restarted at full force. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her chatelaine to find the correct key and she barely managed to retain her dignity as she ducked into the insulated closet.
She fell onto the stool, head dropping against a pile of precision folded table napkins as her eyes closed in relief. Silence. Blessed silence. She inhaled vigorously, willing her heart to slow. The darkness in the closet with familiar scents of silver polish and laundered linens was calming. Her fingers played over the hard metal of her chatelaine and the grooves of the keys attached. It was a ready reminder of who she was.
Only two weeks, she said to herself, then they shall leave for Kent. After that hiatus, several more weeks of misery before the long, glorious months when the house is all mine.
It was a litany she repeated frequently and had done so ever since that horrid day over three years ago when Mr. Darcy brought his new bride to Darcy House. Mrs. Smyth shuddered at the memory. Her comfortable, regulated, proper life had been radically changed from that day forward. How could it have happened? It was a question she repeatedly asked herself, but no answer was forthcoming.
Up until that day, Prudence Garrett Smyth considered her life charmed. At the age of fifteen she had joined the staff of Lord and Lady Cheltham in their luxurious London Townhouse. As the daughter of a tradesman father and milliner mother, Prudence Garrett was modestly educated, reasonably accomplished, accustomed to hard work, and considered herself a class above the average maid. It was an attitude that appealed to Lady Cheltham. By the time she was twenty, Prudence was ladies’ maid to the teenage daughter of Lord and Lady Cheltham, and by twenty-three was the highest ranking upstairs maid and setting her sights on the housekeeper position.
Soon after, her stellar performance and indispensability t
o Lady Cheltham allowed her to marry the head groomsman, Mr. Smyth.
It was not a love match, the far older Mr. Smyth more interested in Miss Garrett’s physical attributes than her sentiments. But then she was in no particular way interested in his thoughts either. It was a union logical and business-like and they rarely conversed beyond what was essential between man and wife. Never one to dwell on the physical activities between males and females, the new Mrs. Smyth was rather startled to discover they were compatible in that realm. It was a marriage that suited them both adequately, fulfilling the only need they had from the other on those nights when they chose to come together, and making no demands for anything greater. Thankfully they had no children, a shrewd brothel madam providing Mr. Smyth with the herbs and strange devices viable to prevent an accident of that nature, and all was perfect for five years.
Then her foolish husband did the unthinkable and died. One minute he was shoveling soiled hay from a stall and the next he was lying in that very pile of straw, slain instantly from some internal seizure. At nine and twenty she was a widow whose only concern was who would warm her bed and service her body when the desires rose. Far angrier than grieved, Mrs. Smyth attended the funeral with stoic calm and then immediately returned to her duties. Lady Cheltham observed the odd behavior of her maid and falsely interpreted it as profound grief. Deciding that the best medicine for a wounded heart was change, Lady Cheltham arranged a meeting with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The young Master of Pemberley was seeking a housekeeper for Darcy House as his current housekeeper, Miss Hughes, was ill with a wasting sickness and none of the current household maids were up to the task. He was extremely dubious due to Mrs. Smyth’s young age, but the assurances and high recommendations of Lord and Lady Cheltham, friends he trusted and valued, swayed him enough to agree to an interview. Mrs. Smyth was furious and highly insulted, but then better sense prevailed. The housekeeper of Cheltham House was only in her forties and in prime health, meaning that Mrs. Smyth was years if not decades away from gaining the prestige she craved. Furthermore, the Darcy reputation for honesty, excellent pay, virtue, propriety, discretion, isolation, and stability was too well known to ignore. Mr. Darcy, although young, was the epitome of the rigid, controlled English gentility that she admired. Finely dressed, cultured, sober, taciturn, and excessively prim, he was the classic gentleman. Moreover, it was only him and his sister, a shy creature who barely spoke, so the gossip ran.
The Trouble with Mr. Darcy Page 24
