“I see, well, while you are here, I would be honored if you would come shopping with me. I simply must have a new gown, and I do so loathe to look at fashion plates alone. Would you be available next week?”
“I must check with Georgiana; I am here at her pleasure, but I do not anticipate any hindrance.”
Darcy leapt from the carriage, not bothering for the footman to lower the steps. He had not seen Elizabeth since she played for him, and he was pulsating to be near her. He had slept fitfully all night, dreams of Elizabeth singing, Elizabeth playing, Elizabeth laughing, Elizabeth loving him had thrilled his imagination and heated his blood. He had awakened and reached for her only to groan into the darkness, his arms cold and empty.
“Good day, Mr. Darcy.”
“Good day, Johns.” Darcy handed the butler his outerwear.
“Do you know the location of Miss Darcy?” Darcy asked, hoping that he would find Elizabeth there as well.
Johns cleared his throat. “Miss Darcy may be in the music room as I believe Miss Elizabeth is in the drawing room – entertaining a guest.”
“Oh?” Darcy turned swiftly, concerned that Saye may have braved the opposition and shown up. “Anyone I know?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Francesca Waters.”
Darcy froze. His heart threatened to stop beating, and Darcy felt as if icy cold liquid had been poured into his veins. Inhaling sharply, he swiveled and took off at a near run, his breathing elevated and his heart pounding within his chest. At the drawing room door, Darcy skidded to a halt, his eyes wide and sweat beading on his brow as he watched Elizabeth and Francesca speak.
“Wonderful,” Francesca reached forward and touched Elizabeth’s arm. “I shall look forward to dragging you to all the modistes in town!”
“Mrs. Waters...”
“Call me, Francesca,” Francesca interrupted.
“Thank you, please call me Elizabeth.”
“As I was saying, Francesca, you may not find me the most agreeable shopper. I am known to spend much more time on literature than lace,” Elizabeth smiled.
“Well, what say we recite an act from Shakespeare between each appointment, something for you and me,” Elizabeth joined Francesca in laughter.
Darcy coughed, and Elizabeth looked around, “Mr. Darcy!” Darcy glanced at Francesca before turning a searching gaze upon Elizabeth. Elizabeth stood, “As you can see, Mrs. Waters has come to call. Would you care to join us for tea?”
Darcy paused and looked quickly between the women. Stepping into the room, he bowed, “Miss Bennet, a pleasure to see you this morning. If I would not be intruding, tea sounds wonderful.”
“No intrusion at all, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy turned to Francesca, “Mrs. Waters, an unexpected surprise.”
“Surely not very unexpected. We are old friends, are we not, Fitzwilliam?” Francesca smiled, and under the guise of accepting his tea, Darcy was rescued from answering.
“Mrs. Waters has just invited me to accompany her to Bond Street. Though I dare say, I may not be the superior choice for such an outing,” Elizabeth laughed.
“Elizabeth is too modest. I am sure I shall enjoy her ideas tremendously. As I told Elizabeth, since returning, I have not reconnected with many of my old friends and find myself quite lonely. And I must thank you, Fitzwilliam, for the introduction. I find Elizabeth’s amiable disposition much to my likening,” Francesca smiled.
Darcy looked at Francesca with narrowed eyes. He felt almost as if he were in a dream, watching his future incinerate into so much ash. He had never thought Francesca underhanded – misguided and desperate maybe, but this, this sidling up to Elizabeth could be nothing but her attempt to taint his character in Elizabeth’s eyes. Darcy clenched his fist, his chest rising and falling rapidly. If he had not spent so much time scorning Elizabeth’s wealth and connections, she would likely be his wife now, and they would face this revelation together. He cherished Elizabeth. Surely his adoration would have smoothed whatever unpleasant feelings that would have arisen from Francesca’s revelation. Now, however, he had no such history with Elizabeth, and the damage Francesca could cause could be catastrophic. Darcy squeezed the arm of the chair and shifted slightly in his seat.
“Why such a scowl, Mr. Darcy? Surely my suggestion cannot be so unpleasant?”
“I apologize, Mrs. Waters; I was not attending.”
Francesca smiled, “I simply suggested that perhaps we might all attend the theater together before Elizabeth returns to her brother’s home. It has been such a long time since we have spent time together, Fitzwilliam. What has it been,” Francesca paused, “five years now?” she said softly and looked at Darcy over the rim of her teacup.
Darcy inhaled and glanced at Elizabeth who looked away, then Darcy directed a pointed look at Francesca that communicated his displeasure and his promise to speak with her later. However, now, he must answer civilly, “I must consult with my schedule, Mrs. Waters, but thank you for the suggestion.”
“Of course, Fitzwilliam. I will understand if you are too busy.” Francesca leaned forward, her neckline low and revealing and placed a hand on Darcy’s arm. Darcy tensed and fought the urge to yank his arm away. Francesca smiled into his face, “It will, however, be quite delightful if you can go,” Francesca leaned back in her seat at Darcy’s glare. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who watched with a frozen expression, then flushed and lowered her eyes.
“Well, Elizabeth, I am sure I have overstayed my welcome,” Francesca said as she rose. The three were seated in a cozy cluster, and Darcy closed his eyes and turned his head slightly as Francesca’s perfume wafted up, reviving memories he would forget. Francesca linked arms with Elizabeth, and they walked before him. She sauntered; her hips swaying seductively. Darcy looked away. It was Elizabeth he wanted. It was to Elizabeth that his heart was irrevocably bound. He looked at Elizabeth and found her self-possession and authenticity far more alluring. Elizabeth’s beauty, in all its facets, was near irresistible to him, and he was eager to secure her.
“I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to get to know you better,” Francesca spoke. “You are as beautiful within as you are without. I am surprised that someone has not snapped you up already!” Francesca leaned over in a pretend whisper, “But I am sure I can be of assistance to you there. I know many honorable men who would be delighted with your acquaintance,” she smiled and winked.
“Thank you, Mrs. Waters, but I am content at present.”
“Come now, Elizabeth, every girl wants a beau,” Francesca squeezed Elizabeth’s arm. “But no matter, we will speak more on it later.”
Darcy clenched his fist and tried to control his breathing. Elizabeth did not need another ‘beau!’ He already had to contend with Saye and Lance; the last thing he needed was for Francesca to enter the matchmaking game.
The footman appeared with Francesca’s outerwear. “Walking me to the door, Fitzwilliam? How gallant.”
I want to make certain you leave, Darcy thought but bowed slightly instead.
“Well, it was a pleasure to see you again, Fitzwilliam.”
“Mrs. Waters.”
“Until we meet again, Elizabeth. Oh,” Francesca turned back to face Elizabeth, “rather than the stuffy old rules that say you must now visit me, why do we not just consider our outing your return call? I think that would be much more enjoyable than drinking tea in a stuffy old drawing room.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That sounds like a fine suggestion. I will do just that. Goodbye, Mrs. Waters.”
“Francesca,” Francesca corrected her.
“I beg your pardon, Francesca,” Elizabeth said as Francesca exited.
The footman closed the door, and Darcy stood there, transfixed. For him, the whole world centered on the small space that Elizabeth occupied before him. Everything he wanted was in front of him. Within her resided an entire future of love and laughter and little ones and legacy. Darcy did not know what to say; he had so many
things he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her more than life. He wanted to tell her that no other woman could compare to her, that he would care for her, be her friend, and her lover. He wanted to ask her how many children she wanted, and which side of the bed she preferred, and if she liked chocolate in the mornings, little things, big things, anything, everything. His desire to know her, to love her was so great, he was paralyzed by the magnitude.
Elizabeth also stood still, trapped in those incredibly beautiful, incredibly blue, incredibly intense eyes. Trapped thus in his gaze, she was temporarily incapable of escaping the entanglement between them. Guard your heart, Elizabeth, she thought, her breath coming rapidly. Mr. Darcy’s intense look seemed to want to send and receive a message and give and take of essence. Unable to maintain the significance of that look a moment longer, Elizabeth looked away. Too overcome, confused, and uncertain to speak, she curtsied and fled. Darcy remained. Rooted. Searching. Only when he could no longer see her did he turn and walk to his study.
The footman, standing guard at the door, released a breath he had not known he held, caught unknowingly in the strange tension.
Back in his study, Darcy stood in the window, his hands stoically clasped behind him but within, vibrating with need. Darcy was raw – raw and frustrated. He needed Elizabeth, needed to confess this terrible, beautiful fire that threatened to consume him. He needed to answer the question in Elizabeth’s eyes, and he was frustrated that his past had collided with his future. He had to find out quickly if what Francesca claimed was true, and if so, he prayed that Elizabeth would understand because the alternative was unthinkable.
Later that day, Francesca sat in the parlor, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. Something must be done about Elizabeth. But what and how? She did not want Hayden’s involvement, that would mean force and no finesse. She sighed, whatever she did, Darcy could never know it was she who had exposed Elizabeth, or her future would be bleak. No, Elizabeth’s knowledge would need to seem coincidental, and with Matlock returning in a month, time was running out. If she failed, she would lose Darcy and be adrift again, and desperate, and afraid, and alone, like when she was a child, locked in darkened rooms. She shivered, and it felt as if the coldness of the deep had invaded her soul. She launched herself from the chair and nearly ran for the door, as if to escape the abyss that haunted her, only to collide with a tall, broad body.
“Whoa, whoa, easy girl,” Hayden smirked. “Where are we headed in such a hurry? Coming to see me?”
Francesca silently and slowly counted down from five, forcing her breathing to match the descending pace. She looked up at Hayden with the ghost of a smile. “Good day, Hayden. Have you only just risen?”
“Risen? Do not concern yourself with my rising,” Hayden hmphed and pulled her back into the parlor. Pouring a drink, Hayden flopped in a chair. “By the way, I pay for the lease on this place, and using the servant’s entrance is becoming quite tiresome.”
Francesca sighed, her eyes blinking rapidly to keep from rolling them. They had had this conversation many times before. “Hayden, darling, you must stay hidden, for you know that Darcy might recognize you, and then our plans will be for naught.”
“I am running out of patience and begin to think you are going soft on Darcy as you did before. When are you going to deliver on your promises? Hmm?” Hayden demanded.
While Hayden and Francesca talked in the drawing room, Darcy walked up the steps of Francesca’s townhouse and rapped on the door. It was opened by a harried looking maid, rather than the sensible housekeeper from his first visit.
“Sir?” she asked, annoyed that she had to do what she considered to be the housekeeper’s job.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy for Mrs. Waters,” Darcy handed her his card as she let him in and absently took his hat.
“I will see if she is in, sir.”
Darcy looked around the narrow foyer, still stately, though worn now from neglect, and wondered again how Francesca was keeping herself and the boy.
Back in the drawing room, Francesca sighed, “Hayden, darling, as I told you, Darcy must be finessed. I know what I am about. You must trust me. The plan will succeed. We have encountered an obstacle with Miss Bennet, but I have met with her, and she is unsophisticated and will be no problem.”
Hayden stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You convinced me that your plan would work better than mine. Matlock may return soon, and the year we thought we had has now dwindled to weeks. I will not risk losing after coming so close to revenging our family’s honor.” Hayden looked at her pointedly, “If you do not deliver soon, I will.”
Francesca returned Hayden’s gaze. “I will deliver, and you and I will both have exactly what we desire before Matlock’s return. Now tell me, what have you learned?”
As Hayden spoke, the maid reached the parlor door, stopped, smoothed her hair with a trembling hand into her cap and breathed. She opened the door, “A Mr. um, um, Fillborow Dalby, ma’am.”
Hayden looked at Francesca, “Who is that?”
Francesca looked away, her eyes blinking rapidly. Suddenly her eyes grew large, and she leapt from her seat, rushed toward the maid, and snatched the card. She read the name, inhaled sharply, and turned to Hayden. “You must leave! You must leave now!” Francesca hissed.
“Who is Fillborow Dalby?” Hayden snatched the card, read it, and looked at Francesca.
“Yes,” she nodded. “You must leave. Hurry!” Hayden headed toward the door. “No, no! He may see you. You must leave through the servant’s entrance.”
Hayden paused and scowled into Francesca’s unyielding gaze. “Fine! I will comply this time, but my days of being subservient to the Master of Pemberley are limited, my dear!”
“Yes, yes. Just hurry!” Francesca watched as Hayden stomped away, then she smoothed her hair and dress, and turned to the wide-eyed maid, “Send him in.”
“Fitzwilliam, how lovely to see you,” Francesca extended her hand.
Darcy bowed, “Mrs. Waters.”
Francesca smiled sweetly, “Formal as ever; do be seated.”
Francesca sat on the sofa for two and busied herself with tea while Darcy chose the armchair adjacent to it. “I still remember how you take your tea, a bit of milk and a little honey, and you prefer apple tarts, correct?” At Darcy’s nod, she continued. “It is as I always thought, a man with such excellent taste has no need to adjust his preferences,” she smiled. “Alexander is like you in this. Besides his striking physical resemblance, he is also very discriminating. Once he has decided, his mind can hardly be changed,” she laughed. “It is delightful to watch him. He is very dutiful, always trying to do what is correct. Also, like you, I think,” she said softly as she sipped her tea.
Darcy shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the Darcys are a dutiful lot.” Darcy took a sip of the tea he hardly wanted, sat it down, leaned forward, and looked intensely at her. “Mrs. Waters, we have much to discuss concerning Alexander, but first, I must ask why you called upon Miss Bennet?” Darcy’s eyes were hard as they bore into hers.
Francesca creased her brow, looked at him, and shrugged. “When we met, Miss Bennet seemed amiable and intelligent. I have only recently returned, and never having been enamored with most of the ton, I found myself to be very lonely. I wanted a friend. Miss Bennet being a friend of yours certainly was a great recommendation. That is all, Fitzwilliam,” she shrugged.
Darcy stared at her for an intense moment. “Let me be clear,” he said, “Miss Bennet is a dear friend of Georgiana’s as well as sister to one of my closest friends, as such, she has the benefit of the Darcy protection. I will not tolerate any harm to her person nor reputation,” his voice was harsh and his gaze unrelenting.
“Fitzwilliam! What are you saying?” Francesca placed her hand on her chest. “I would never harm Elizabeth; I found her delightful, and I only want to be her friend. You have my word!”
“She w
ill also not be informed about our circumstances. I will brook no opposition on this. Do I make myself clear?” He looked at her with a hard stare.
Francesca searched his face briefly before lowering her eyes, “Of course, Fitzwilliam,” she agreed as she looked into his eyes once more. Darcy held her gaze a moment longer before giving a crisp nod and sitting back into his chair.
Francesca sighed, and her shoulders relaxed. “Well,” she said cheerily, “now that we have that bit of nastiness out of the way, we really have not had time to catch up. Tell me what you have been doing, Fitzwilliam.”
“Perhaps another time,” Darcy answered with a tight-lipped smile. “We must speak of Alexander.” Though he would have preferred to speak in the privacy of his study, he was not about to bring her deliberately into proximity with Elizabeth before he had answers.
“Of course, shall you like to see him? I am certain he is awake, and Nurse can bring him down,” she looked at him eagerly.
“Perhaps later. Tell me again the name of the cousin who cared for you. I am uncertain if I have remembered it correctly.”
Francesca cleared her throat and smiled, “Agatha Smith.”
“Interesting. We did not find anyone matching that description in that area.”
“Are you investigating me, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy stared at her, “Did you think I would simply take your word for it after you have reappeared with so much time having elapsed? What you are alleging,” Darcy continued in his deep baritone, “has major consequences and will require wise decisions. Did you think I was a man to take such a thing lightly?”
“No, of course not, Fitzwilliam. However, I, I care for you.” She looked at him with vulnerable eyes. “I would not do anything to harm you.” She glanced away and continued, “At first, I hovered between life and death, and then, well, after I recovered, I thought to keep this from you to protect your reputation. However, as time went on, and Alexander looked so much like you,” she glanced up and smoothed the hair behind her ear, “I, I thought perhaps I may have been depriving you and Alexander of something important. Tell me I did right, Fitzwilliam?” She leaned forward with large, watery eyes.
Men of Consequence Page 23
