“I live there, too,” added Jasper cheerfully. “Mrs. MacLean rents me a room.”
Darcy turned and stared at his cousin. Jasper had been living in the same house as Elizabeth? If anything had happened between them, Darcy would not be answerable for the consequences.
“I am sorry it shocks you,” said Jasper resentfully. “It is not an unusual arrangement among actors. Mrs. MacLean does not need the income, but she likes having a man in the house.”
“It surprises me, I admit, because once you would never have agreed to live in a house with a woman of a certain age. Clearly I do not know Jasper Fitzpatrick as well as I think I do.” Darcy could not afford to offend Jasper, especially not now. “But I would like to know him better.”
“HERE YOU ARE, SIR.” Elizabeth handed a cup of Christmas punch to Mr. Siddons. “Happy Christmas.”
“And to you as well.” The theatre manager raised his glass to her. “I look forward to this dinner every year. It is almost like being back in England.”
“But with a much smaller Yule log.” Elizabeth nodded to the elegant fireplace which barely held a moderate-sized log.
He chuckled. “Indeed so.”
Elizabeth ladled out a new glass of punch, turned to the next guest, and almost dropped the glass. It would have slid through her fingers had not a hand reached out and steadied it.
It was Mr. Darcy’s hand. What in God’s name was he doing here?
“How clumsy of me!” she said hastily. “You saved me from spilling punch everywhere. Let me see – are you not Mr. Fitzpatrick’s friend?”
His dark gaze enveloped her. In a low, intense voice, he said, “It is Christmas, Miss Elizabeth. I will say nothing to anyone, but I beg of you not to pretend. Not today.” His fingers brushed hers as he accepted a glass of punch.
A week ago he had practically ignored her at the theatre, and now this! Should she admit it? He had already guessed it, and her reaction to discovering his presence would have given her away in any case. So much was at stake, but there could be no one at her aunt’s Christmas dinner who would report on her. And it seemed to mean something to him, given the way he was studying her.
Elizabeth forced her shoulders to relax. “For Christmas. As long as you tell no one.”
A light leapt in his dark eyes. “I thank you.” He raised his glass. “To your very good health and happiness.” He touched the glass to his lips.
She ducked her head in acknowledgment. With trembling hands, she filled another glass with punch and held it out to the next guest.
Mr. Darcy took the hint and moved away. Elizabeth deliberately did not watch where he went. Not that there would be much doubt about it since he had only one friend there and everyone else in the room was far beneath his notice. It would doubtless be a repeat of the Meryton assembly where he had spoken only to members of his own party. Her lips twitched. That would not serve him well in this crowd of theatricals.
When she finally dared to look across the drawing room, she was astonished to find Mr. Darcy in close conversation with her aunt and Mr. Siddons. Not only that, but he appeared amused by something she had said.
What astonishing behavior! Surely her words of reproof at Hunsford could not have worked such a miraculous change! Perhaps it was not a change, though. Mr. Darcy might feel obliged to be polite to his hostess, no matter how much he disdained her.
At least it was safer that way. Nothing Mr. Darcy could reveal about Elizabeth would be a surprise to her aunt. She was not over-worried that he would disclose her past, though. He had said he would not. He might be proud, resentful, and ill-tempered, but she had never known him to be dishonest. No, Jasper had said he was not ill-tempered. What a puzzle Mr. Darcy was!
Soon there were no more guests to serve. Two actresses remained by the punch bowl to converse with her. She usually enjoyed their company, but today she could not forget the gentleman sitting across the room.
Then he was no longer sitting across the room, but beside her and offering his arm. “Miss Merton, would you do me the honor of going in to dinner with me?” He stumbled slightly over her new name.
“Of course.” She could not refuse him without being utterly rude. Even though the last thing she wished for was to spend time with him, she would have to tolerate it. Perhaps it would give her the opportunity to discover what he wanted from her and to convince him to stay away. She placed her hand on his arm. Somehow even that small contact felt intimate.
What could Mr. Darcy mean by this particular attention to her? After she refused his proposal so bitterly, she would have expected him to avoid her company, as he had that day at the theatre. Perhaps he knew so few people in Scotland that even her acquaintance was tolerable, but he would have to be terribly lonely before he would choose to spend his time with the woman who had summarily rejected his hand and heart!
She risked a glance at his face. He did not appear particularly pleased with her company, but his features showed no extraordinary resentment either. Perhaps there was no other woman present whom he felt comfortable enough to sit with at dinner. In this gathering, he would likely wish to avoid revealing too much about his background. A wealthy gentleman would be too much of a target.
It was impossible that he could still care for her, but on the slight chance he did, it behooved her to behave kindly towards him. She had no regrets about having refused him, but she had long rued how bitterly and hurtfully she had done so. Even though she did not want his attentions now, she had no desire to hurt him more than she already had.
Darcy steered her toward seats in the middle of the dining room table, far from her aunt at one end and Mr. Siddons at the other. On Elizabeth’s other side was Mr. Crocker, an actor of middle years and middling fame. As usual, he was foxed. She could smell the alcohol on his breath when he greeted her. He would provide no conversational escape for Elizabeth, but, on the other hand, if she slipped and said something about her past, he would be unlikely to notice it or to remember.
Darcy said, “I hope your family is in good health.”
“My aunt is well, as you can see. As for the others, I have not heard anything to indicate they are not,” It was an uncomfortable admission, but it gave her a chance to ask an important question. “And your family? Is your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam in India now?” She would breathe easier if she knew his cousin could not cause trouble.
“No, the War Office sent him to Spain instead.”
Spain was probably far enough away. “Did you travel here alone, then?”
“Yes, I am staying with an old friend from my university days.”
“He must be a good friend for you to take such a long journey.”
“He has been asking me to visit for many years, and I am glad to do so,” Darcy said gravely.
“You have chosen a difficult season for your visit. I cannot get used to how quickly it grows dark here.” Elizabeth gestured at the windows. “These winter days are short enough in England, and I cannot accustom myself to them being even shorter here.” Weather was always the safest thing to discuss.
“I will be glad to see longer days return,” said Darcy.
“I suppose I should not complain, since I enjoyed the long days of summer. The sun did not set until nearly eleven at night, if you can imagine that! It allowed me to take longer rambles than I might have at home.”
His lips turned up in a slight smile, as if at a pleasing memory. “Have you found some pleasant walks here, then?”
“Oh, yes. In the winter I have restricted myself to Queen Street Gardens, but in warmer weather I often climbed Calton Hill. I could spend weeks exploring Holyrood Park if I had the opportunity. Have you seen any of the environs during your visit?”
His smile faded. “Very little. I have spent my time here in Edinburgh.”
Elizabeth persevered, since travel was a safe topic. “It is not the best season for sightseeing. Have you traveled elsewhere recently?” She had almost said ‘since Rosings Park,’ but caught herself at the last moment.
She had no wish to remind him of the last meeting.
“A little. I spent part of the summer at Pemberley with my sister, and at Michaelmas I accompanied Bingley to Netherfield again.”
She blinked in surprise. Bingley had returned to Netherfield? Had he approached Jane again? But she could not ask, not after having accused him months ago of separating Jane and Bingley. An unexpected rush of homesickness clenched her heart. “I hope you enjoyed your stay there.”
“I stayed less than a fortnight. Bingley made it clear I was not welcome to remain.”
What? That made no sense. “Good heavens! I cannot imagine Mr. Bingley ever saying such a thing. He is always so amiable.”
He dropped his voice. “I would have said the same thing once, but that was before your eldest sister told him why you had left.”
Mortification flooded through her. Of course. Her father must have told Jane the truth when he returned home without her. “Did you not tell him you had done nothing improper?”
“He chose not to believe me.” Darcy’s words were clipped. “You had been condemned by public opinion, and therefore I must be guilty as well. I had not known of the gossip until then. I am sorry for what you suffered through no fault of your own.”
There was gossip about her? Elizabeth swallowed hard, trying to keep back tears. She could not lose her composure at her aunt’s Christmas dinner. With false brightness, she said, “In some ways it has worked out for the best. My father had refused my aunt’s request to send one of us to live with her until now. He may not have realized she intended to make one of us her heir, or perhaps he thought her estate of little value. Now I am in line for an inheritance which is generous by Scottish standards, and I can marry or choose to have a comfortable independence. I like living here, perhaps better than at Longbourn, so I have no reason to complain.”
“Apart from leaving your family and home behind.” His dark eyes were intent.
“That is a high cost, but I prefer to dwell on the benefits of my current situation, especially on Christmas Day.” There was no reason for him to know that she had cried half the morning at the prospect of her first Christmas without her family. “Have you any other acquaintances here today, or just Mr. Fitzpatrick and me?”
“Just the two of you, but I had an enjoyable discussion with your aunt earlier, and I had the pleasure of meeting Walter Scott and discussing his poetry. My sister is a great admirer of his, and will be thrilled to hear I spoke to him. And Jasper introduced me to one of his actor friends, Mr. Sampson.”
Elizabeth nodded. “They have very different personalities, but both of them live for the theatre. The rest of the world could disappear, and I doubt either of them would notice apart from the lack of an audience.”
He took a sip of wine. “Your aunt is a remarkable actress.”
“She is, even though she only returned to the stage in the last few years. I should probably warn you that no one in Meryton is aware she is alive or that she had anything to do with the theatre. My father told everyone his sister had died.” She watched Darcy carefully to see how he would react to this shocking news.
He seemed uncomfortable. “I never heard anything about her there. You seem very fond of her.”
“Oh, she is a delight! I wish I had known her my whole life. She has been very kind to me, and I enjoy her company very much.” It occurred to her that anecdotes about her aunt would also make for safe conversation, and she could make those last for a very long time.
AT LEAST ELIZABETH seemed relatively comfortable chatting with him at Christmas dinner, even if she had neatly avoided any discussion of her departure from England. But after the second remove, as they awaited the desserts, she stiffened suddenly. Darcy followed her gaze to where Jasper strode in carrying a young boy pickaback.
Mrs. MacLean had apparently also noticed him, for Jasper said to her, “I promised Timothy to wake him in time to see the plum pudding. He has agreed to sit quietly on my lap.”
The boy whispered something in Jasper’s ear.
“Spurned!” cried Jasper plaintively. He walked around the table to stand beside Elizabeth.
With a bewitching look of amused resignation, Elizabeth pushed her chair back and held out her arms to the boy. Jasper bent down so the boy did not have to scramble far to reach Elizabeth’s lap. He snuggled in quickly and rested his head against her shoulder as if it were too much effort to hold it upright.
“Mr. Darcy, may I present Timothy, my aunt’s ward? He is a particular favorite of mine. Timmy, Mr. Darcy is a friend from England.”
Her friend. It was so much less than what he wanted, but it was a start.
The candlelight was bright enough to show the hectic blush on Timothy’s pale cheeks. His fragile skin glowed like fine porcelain. Consumptive, most likely. “Happy Christmas, Timothy.”
“Happy Christmas,” repeated the boy.
Elizabeth asked, “Timmy, how did you convince Jasper to bring you down?”
“He said he would not want to miss seeing the plum pudding, either.” The boy sounded apologetic.
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled up at Darcy. “Mr. Fitzpatrick and Timothy are great friends. He makes up for a serious deficiency in my upbringing. Growing up with four sisters, I never learned to play with toy soldiers, but Jasper is an expert at the art.”
“Did you play with toy soldiers when you were a boy, sir?” Timothy asked.
Thank heavens! One of the few subjects he could manage to discuss with a young boy. “I certainly did. I still have my toy soldiers standing in two rows in the nursery ready for battle. My housekeeper says they should be put in a box so they do not become dusty, but I do not think they would like being shut in a box.”
“Of course not!” The boy added confidingly, “I make hills and valleys in my counterpane for a battlefield for my soldiers.”
“That is a clever idea,” said Darcy, conscious of Elizabeth’s eyes on him. “I usually played with them on a table, which is a dull landscape.”
“Will it be much longer before the plum pudding comes?” asked the boy.
“Not long now, but if you are too tired, Jasper can bring you upstairs again,” said Elizabeth.
“Not too tired,” the boy insisted stoutly, although his eyelids were drooping.
Darcy surreptitiously checked his pocket. “Do you like sugarplums?”
The boy’s pale face brightened. “Very much, sir.”
Darcy produced the small package he had purchased for Matilda. “Here is a Christmas gift for you, then.” He placed it in the boy’s hand.
“Thank you, sir!” Timothy clutched it to his chest as if afraid he might drop the precious bundle.
“Look!” cried Elizabeth, nodding towards the door where a maid had entered holding the flaming plum pudding aloft.
Applause and exclamations of pleasure sounded as she carried it full-circle around the table before setting it down carefully in the middle. The boy watched eagerly as the blue flames slowly died down.
Elizabeth asked him quietly, “Do you wish to have some plum pudding here, or should I bring it up to you upstairs later?”
He rested his head on her shoulder again. “Upstairs, if you please.”
Elizabeth gestured to a footman. “Kindly inform Mr. Fitzpatrick that Timothy is ready for his trusty steed.”
The footman bowed, expressionless, and headed towards Jasper who was hidden behind the elaborate elephant-shaped Indian epergne in the center of the table. A minute later Jasper appeared and scooped the boy up. “Off we go!” They disappeared into the front hall.
Elizabeth said, “Jasper is very good to Timothy. As were you; giving him sugarplums will have won his heart. Did Jasper tell you to bring them?”
Darcy flushed at her praise. “In truth, I bought them for Matilda Ramsay. Her family does not celebrate Christmas, but somehow it seemed wrong for a child not to have sugarplums at Christmas.”
“A bleak prospect indeed, although I suppose a child who has never cel
ebrated Christmas would not feel the lack. But it meant a great deal to Timothy.”
“He is ill?”
She nodded sadly. “The doctor insists he must have complete rest, which is not an easy proposition for an eight-year-old boy, even one with a clubfoot.”
Eight? Darcy would have guessed he was six. The boy was barely larger than Matilda Ramsay. “Has he always lived with your aunt?”
“Since his mother died when he was two. He only became ill last year, but I never knew him before that, of course. He is a sweet boy.”
“He seems very attached to you, despite your sad lack of experience with toy soldiers.”
“He is lonely, and he likes my stories. It is very strange for me, coming from a family of all girls, to be living with Timothy and Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Devil take it. Darcy was unaccustomed to being jealous of Jasper, of all people, but if Elizabeth put his cousin in the same category with little Timothy, perhaps he had nothing to worry about. Perhaps. But Elizabeth was only acknowledging Darcy because he had forced her to do so, and she was living in the same house with Jasper.
A horse’s whinny came from outside the room. No, not a horse. That was Jasper pretending to be a horse, if he was not mistaken.
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Mr. Fitzpatrick makes an excellent elder brother for Timothy. He seems to enjoy the role.”
He almost slipped and said it must be a novel one for him, but then he remembered that he did not know Jasper Fitzpatrick’s history. For all he knew, Jasper might have told everyone he was an only child, and if Darcy mentioned he was the youngest of four, it might only make trouble. “I imagine he is good at it.”
WHEN THE GENTLEMEN rejoined the ladies, Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. Darcy, wondering if it was because of him, stayed by Jasper’s side, but her absence sucked away any enjoyment he might have felt. It was another painful reminder of her dislike for him. He should have remembered Mrs. Ramsay’s advice and not shown so much interest in her.
A few minutes later Elizabeth walked in carrying a large reticule. For a happy moment he thought she was approaching him, but instead she stopped beside Jasper.
A Matter of Honor Page 8