Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions

by Maria Grace

  ∞∞∞

  The revelry had extended late into the night, with toasts and song and even a bit of dancing, which Miss Garland enjoyed on Richard’s arm rather than Darcy’s. Now the room was dark, quiet, and empty, with only slivers of moonlight slipping in around the edges of the heavy gold drapes. On such a night, should he feel the same—dark, quiet, and empty?

  Perhaps he was simply too rational to be passionate.

  He stirred against the fainting couch and grumbled. Tomorrow he would ask Miss Elizabeth to bind his ankle. Then, he would try the walking sticks Richard had procured for him. With any luck, he would see the outside of the parlor soon. Very soon. Even just making it to the morning parlor or the dining room would be a welcome release.

  But would she come?

  A dull ache crept across his limbs, settling into his chest. She had not yet brought him tea, and she had left dinner early. Was she avoiding him now?

  Blast and botheration! He slapped the arm of the fainting couch. Thoughtless, inconsiderate girl! Of all the times when he needed her, why did she prove so flighty now?

  He had just taken the biggest step of his life. Richard and Georgiana’s reassurances were pleasing to be sure, and Bingley’s effusions agreeable, but the affection and encouragement he most desired were distressingly absent. He raked his hair and struggled to find a comfortable position on the too-hard, and now lumpy, cushions.

  Why should her opinion matter so much? It was not as though she was in any way connected to him. Yet, she was such a part of Pemberley. A part he must now learn how to do without. Miss Garland—Blanche—would now take that role.

  He pressed his forearms hard into his stomach. Who would have thought Blanche would cost him his friend?

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth slept fitfully and rose just before the first rays of dawn touched her windowsill. The fine bed linens itched and stung as though she had been scoured by nettles. Even her soft nightgown chafed.

  Enough. She pulled on a simple morning dress and pinned her hair into a plain bun. If she left quickly, no one would see her, and she could return before Miss Bingley or Miss de Bourgh arose to cast their judgment upon the simplicity of her toilette.

  She crept downstairs and waited by the garden doors for first light. Mrs. Reynolds tried to offer comforts—tea, coffee, warm bread with cheese. Elizabeth declined the hospitality with a mumbled excuse that made no sense even to her and rushed outside. Cool, damp air wrapped her like a shawl. She ran for the path into the woods, the one through the bluebells.

  Gentle perfume and sheltering tree limbs embraced her. Here she was safe, safe from Pemberley.

  How could she return to face the jealous Valkyrie hovering around Mr. Darcy? How could she avoid him when he demanded her ministrations and advice? How many would judge her as petulant and ungrateful for her reluctance, validating Miss Darcy’s accusations? How had it gone all out of kilter? She increased her pace.

  Rounding a shadowy bend in the path, she collided with a huge dark form.

  “Oh, my knee!” she screamed and fell.

  Sir Alexander staggered back and clutched a nearby tree. “Who goes—Oh! Miss Elizabeth?”

  She rolled to her side, amidst the dirt and deadfall, and pushed up on her hands. Sharp dried twigs and underbrush bit at her palms and against her hip; the cool, green scent of loam filled her lungs.

  He appeared beside her on his knees, peering into her face. “Forgive me. I had no idea that was you. Pray, allow me to help you.”

  She waved him off.

  Strong hands under her arms pulled her to her feet. “You are injured.”

  Merciful heavens, that hurt! “It is nothing.”

  She gasped as he released his grasp on her elbow. “The way you stand conveys a very different story.”

  “Do not be so concerned. Pray excuse me.” She turned on her uninjured leg and limped several steps.

  “You are a terrible actress. Perhaps it is well you are not participating in our theatrical.” Miserable sot, first pushing her and causing her to fall, now laughing at her.

  “I am so pleased to know.” She dragged herself several more steps.

  “You are hurt.”

  “And when have I been a fitting concern for you?”

  “Since I first saw you in London.” Heavy, crunching footfalls approached.

  “I do not want your concern.”

  “You know he is engaged to my sister now.”

  “What has that to do with me? Pray, leave me alone.” She leaned on a nearby tree, panting. Exertion and pain were not a pretty combination.

  “You told Georgiana that you had no interest in me, and your father would not approve of me besides.” He blocked her way, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

  “That was a private conversation, not meant for your ears.”

  “Much like the one you overheard in London those years ago.”

  She drew herself up straight. Heavens, that was a bad idea! “No. What Miss Darcy told you, I have already said to you directly. Moreover, I did not insult you. Had I said you were the last man in the world I would ever marry—”

  “So, you have considered marrying me.” He wagged a finger at her, chuckling.

  “I have not.”

  “You are lying again. It is good you do not play cards. You have little signs that always give you away.”

  “You did not offer marriage, so why would I have considered it?” She hobbled around him and several steps farther to lean on a tall, ragged tree stump—a large oak tree struck by lightning. Anything to take the pressure off her twisted knee.

  He turned to face her and leaned back on the tree. “Too true, too true. Do you know I have regretted that conversation?”

  “It was mortifying. I would rather never have heard any such comments directed at my person.”

  “I thought you might have reconsidered.”

  Ghastly brute. She dragged herself several steps, stopping at a cluster of saplings. Foolish things offered little support.

  “You should know, I have reconsidered.”

  “Reconsidered what? I gave you my answer. There was nothing unclear about it.”

  “Not your answer, my offer to you.” Several long strides brought him her side. “I should never have offered you my protection.”

  “I forgive you. Pray excuse me now.”

  “I should have offered you marriage.”

  “What?”

  “I have your attention now? That is gratifying.” He took her hand. “I was a boor and a cad, offering as I did to make you my mistress. You were right to refuse me. So very right. I have been forced to consider my ways and realize that I have been selfish and short-sighted, wanting the pleasures of today at the cost of a far better future.”

  “You sound like one of your characters making a speech.” A light breeze raised prickles along the back of her neck.

  “I suppose I do. But only because I am as a man walking in a dream, suddenly seeing a path before him, no longer obscured by a veil. I too easily dismissed the possibility of being married to you, my dear Elizabeth.”

  “Do not speak in such familiarities and endearments. I do not welcome them.”

  “Of course, you would say such a thing. You will always be the voice of my conscience.”

  “I have not agreed to be anything to you.” She pulled her hand away.

  “Of course not, for I have not asked. I have become so accustomed to the unstable life of an artist that I had momentarily forgotten. I am a baronet and able to enjoy the rights and privileges of that rank.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “Perhaps, but it is true.” He slowly circled the saplings, shoving aside the ones that dared block his way. “And what is more, I have no need for a rich or connected wife. I have all that I need with my estate and inheritance.”

  “I hardly think you are prepared to give up the theater in order to manage your assets.”

  “Is that the price of your hand?
It is one I think I could gladly pay.”

  She shifted more weight off her knee. “You are not more suited to a sedentary life than Miss Darcy is to the schoolroom.”

  “That is a cruel cut.”

  “You willfully misunderstand me. She is ill-suited as a student, you are ill-suited—”

  “To be a gentleman?” He sneered, towering over her.

  “For a conventional life. Surely you must see, we are not at all suited for one another. We are complete opposites.”

  “Precisely why I need you so much. You are my balance, my anchor.”

  “Who will become a millstone around your neck.” As he strangled the life from her.

  “You are so fast to your principles; you inspire me. I must be near my inspiration.”

  “My father would never agree.”

  “Let us seek him now then.” He swept her up into his arms.

  She shrieked. “No! You are hurting me again! Put me down!”

  “Coming to your aid will only endear me to your father. Besides, you clearly cannot walk the half mile to the parsonage. You would have deserted me by now if you could.”

  Unfortunately, he was right. Fighting him would be useless and would only leave her further disheveled with all the implications that might come out of that.

  Half a mile had never hurt so much.

  Papa met them on the gravel walk up to the parsonage. “Great heavens! What happened?”

  She reached her hand toward him. “I am fine Papa, merely my knee.”

  “She could hardly walk, sir.” Sir Alexander headed resolutely for the vicarage door.

  Papa let them in and directed Sir Alexander to the cluttered parlor where he laid Elizabeth down on the faded floral couch.

  “Her sisters—where are they? They should tend her.”

  “Perhaps you have forgotten, but this is my house, not a stage under your direction.” Papa tapped the floor sharply with his cane.

  “I am fine, Papa. Pray, do not disturb my sisters. I thank you for your assistance, Sir Alexander.” She cleared her throat. “Although, I could have managed on my own.”

  “I think that very unlikely. You could hardly stand.” The lift of Sir Alexander’s eyebrow suggested more amusement than ire.

  “You embellish the tale for your own purposes. Even so, I am quite safe and well in my father’s care. You need trouble yourself no longer.”

  Papa regarded her carefully. “Thank you for the service you have rendered my daughter. I am bewildered how it is you came upon her in such a state. One might even wonder if you had something to do with it.”

  “Are you accusing me of deliberately injuring her?” Sir Alexander puffed out his chest and pulled his shoulders back.

  “A guilty conscience is one that hears accusations where none exist.”

  “He did not hurt me. It seems we both favor early morning walks and chose, unbeknownst to one another, to walk the same path. In the dim light, we ran into one another and not surprisingly, I bore the brunt of the mishap.”

  Papa’s lips wrinkled up in that thoughtful expression he wore when searching for the truth. One might never lie to him. He always knew.

  “My intentions are entirely noble, sir.” Sir Alexander bowed dramatically. “I am at your and her service. Though, perhaps, I might request a favor of you.”

  Elizabeth snuffed a sharp breath. Papa raise an eyebrow, and she bit her lower lip.

  Papa laid his hand on her shoulder. “While I am pleased to be of service to my fellow man, I do feel it incumbent upon me to see to my daughter’s needs first. Now is not the time for a favor.”

  “But now is the ideal time. If you will only hear me out.”

  “As I said, now is not a good time. I must insist you allow me to attend to Elizabeth.”

  “Allow me to summon the apothecary or the surgeon.”

  “When I have ascertained what is necessary, you can be certain I will procure the help she needs.”

  “I insist you permit me just a few moments.” Sir Alexander drew himself up, tall and formidable.

  “And I insist you treat me with the courtesy due your elders.” Papa poked him in the chest with his walking stick. “Need I remind you, young man, you wish to approach me for a favor? This is not a good way to receive a positive response.”

  Sir Alexander stepped back. “Of course, sir, please forgive me. You are correct. Please attribute my incivility to my deepest concern for Miss Elizabeth’s welfare.”

  “Very well, very well. Then you will bring word to Pemberley of her injury and her safe establishment here. I do not wish Jane or the Darcys to experience undue concern.”

  “A service I shall be pleased to render.” Mr. Alexander bowed and removed himself from the parlor.

  They stared at each other until the front door opened and closed again. Elizabeth sagged against the back of the couch, grimacing as she shifted. Papa called for the housekeeper who examined her knee and pronounced it sound enough, but twisted something fierce. She trundled off to fix a poultice and a soothing tea.

  Papa closed the parlor door and pulled a lyre-back chair up beside the couch.

  Quiet and safe, nothing could harm her here in their humble little parlor with him at her side.

  He set aside his walking stick and took her hand. “I imagine there is a great deal you wish to tell me, and I am not averse to hearing.”

  She giggled. Papa was quite the best listener in the county, perhaps in all of England. “I do not know where to begin.”

  “Ordinarily I would say at the beginning, but perhaps in this case, you should tell me more about Sir Alexander. It seems there is a great deal of story to be told.” He lifted his brows and tucked his chin, his special warning that he wanted the entire truth immediately and would not brook disappointment well.

  “It is complicated, Papa.”

  “I am a clever man. I dare say I shall be able to follow your tale.”

  “I do not think you shall be very pleased with me.” She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her chin to her chest. Though he was never unkind, few things were worse than Papa’s disappointment.

  His calloused finger tipped her chin up. She peeked into his rich, warm, worried eyes.

  “Lizzy, you know you can tell me anything, and it will be well. Has he imposed himself upon you?”

  “Yes … no … after a fashion … I do not know.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Do you remember the Season I spent in London four years ago?”

  “How could I forget? I have never seen you so utterly despondent.”

  “That was because I met him there.”

  “What happened? Why did you not tell me?”

  She peeked at him through her fingers. “We were introduced at a ball. His friend wanted him to dance with me. He was only Mr. Garland then, and hardly amenable.”

  “Is that all? Even at sixteen you were made of sterner stuff than that.”

  “He did not simply ignore me. He declared to the entire room that my fine eyes were hardly sufficient to offset my pert opinions, which were more fitting to a courtesan than a lady. Moreover, he had no need to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men. Whispers began about my reputation …”

  “No doubt your aunt and uncle put an effective stop to those. Their connections—”

  “They did, I am sure. But whenever I went out, there were whispers—at least I was certain that there were. I could not …” She covered her face with her hands.

  Papa crossed his arms and drummed his fingers along his upper arms. “That is why your aunt said you declined all invitations, keeping yourself at home with your young cousins?”

  It would have been nice to give him a fully formed answer, but all she could manage was a sad little squeak and a nod.

  “Dare I ask, or do I already know? He has continued his boorish behavior here?”

  “Yes and no. I encountered him walking once, and he declared his wish to kiss me.”

  Pap
a growled deep in his throat. Had he ever made such a sound before?

  “Be sure, he did not. He used the opportunity to apologize for his cruelty in London.” She studied her fingernails.

  “What else?”

  Of course, he knew there was more—and he would persist until she told him. “He made me an offer.”

  “Of what?” The words were tight and clipped.

  “First he ….” She huddled into the couch and whispered, “He offered to bring me under his protection.”

  Papa sprang to his feet and stalked across the room, waving his walking stick. “The ruddy blackguard.” He continued muttering for some time, using language he had never before used.

  “But then … this morning … he made me an offer of marriage.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I told him no—that you would never approve.”

  “And you? Do you ….”

  “Heavens, no! He is not at all the kind of man I wish to find myself associated with. His principles are too … vague. He is far too changeable for my liking.”

  He harrumphed and returned to her side.

  “I fear he desires to make you believe that I have been compromised somehow so that you might compel me to marry him.”

  “I would not have you marry such a man under any circumstances.” He gripped her hand hard, reassuring and constant. “But you must be honest with me now. Have you been compromised?”

  “I … I do not know.” Her hand trembled in his.

  He gripped her fingers harder. “What do you mean? What did he do?”

  “Not him.”

  “Someone else? What has been going on at Pemberley? I trusted Mr. Darcy to look after you and Jane.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Darcy? I cannot believe that of him.”

  “No, not like that. He was injured, and I helped care for him.” The entire story of his injuries, the night in the parlor, and his betrothal to Miss Garland tumbled out in a breathless rush. “I cannot go back, Papa, not ever. How can I show my face there again?”

  “You have done nothing wrong, my dear.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Except for falling in love with Mr. Darcy.”