by Alix James
“Miss Elizabeth,” he bit out, “your uncle wishes to speak with you. He has just returned to the inn.”
I arched a brow, but Mr. Darcy was no longer looking at me. His eyes—those melting chocolate eyes that had so unnerved me at meals—were now flinty and hard as he glared at Mr. Wickham. “At once,” he added.
“Not until after I have made my purchases,” I informed him. He shifted an incredulous look to me, but I only turned away and walked over to Jane.
A quarter of an hour later, when we came out, both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham were long gone.
9
“Miss Elizabeth, a word, if you please.”
Mr. Darcy must have sought me out, for I could not fancy another reason for encountering him in the shipping yard behind the button factory. A few workers milled about, but none close enough to hear our conversation, and no doubt he preferred it that way.
I whirled around and crossed my arms. “My uncle was not at the inn when I returned, and you said that his request for my presence was urgent. Is yours more so?”
“Indeed, it is.” He glanced to the side and gestured for me to step nearer to the wall enclosure, out of the path of a passing cart. I obliged, but only out of my own good sense, and no wish to please him.
“I must urge you to employ discretion in your associations. Not all men are as they appear.” His jaw was tight as he spoke, and he stared down as if compelling me to agree with him.
“You speak of Mr. Wickham, I presume?”
“The very same. I have been acquainted with him since my youth, and I can attest that he is not a man to be trusted.”
“Odd, for he said precisely the same about you.”
Heat flared in Mr. Darcy’s countenance and he ground his teeth before replying. “And you believed the words of a profligate and a cheat?”
“These are harsh accusations, sir!” I protested. “Are you not the man who denied him a bequest that would have secured his future?”
Mr. Darcy jerked his face to the side, visibly biting his tongue. “He said that of me, did he? Did he also tell you he had not met the conditions of the bequest? That he declared himself unfit to take orders and then proved it to the world by accepting three thousand pounds in lieu of the living? After this, he descended into debauchery these five years and is now an impoverished wastrel. You would put your faith in such a man after only one or two conversations?”
“Not my faith,” I snapped, “but he is at least more amiable than others. Do you expect me to count you the trustworthy gentleman—you, a man who accost me with the single purpose of ruining another man’s reputation?”
“His reputation! Ask any who know him, and you will learn his reputation—and a good deal more than you bargained for. Another young lady of my acquaintance was nearly ruined by his attentions—attentions which, mind you, were directed more toward her dowry than her person. As it was, he kept in his possession letters with which he meant to compromise her unless sufficient monies were paid to satisfy him. Why, this very day, I—”
He broke off with a snort and turned away. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth. I will leave you now.” He began to march away, but I followed, my curiosity piqued.
“This very day you what?” I demanded.
He stopped and gaped at me. “How very impertinent of you to believe that I owe you an explanation!”
“Do you not think so? That is how the system works, is it not? You provided the coal and stoked the fire. Is there not to be some steam after all? Come now, sir, for I would see what you have worked to build up to.”
He shook his head slowly in bafflement. “Do you always think in the language of machinery?”
I straightened, somewhat abashed. Mama had accused me of that very thing often enough. “Machines make sense,” I said. “They are all made to task and they always perform the same way.”
“Except when they do not. Did you understand nothing of what I was trying to tell you?”
“About Mr. Wickham?” I lifted my shoulders and gestured in confusion with my hands. “I understood you well enough. I will be on my guard against him.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that all you heard?”
I cast my gaze up to the right as I tried to recall. “Yes. Was there more? The young lady you spoke of… was she a relation?”
He sighed in exasperation. “She is not the one I was concerned with, but you.”
“Me? But why? I have your warning, and my uncle and—”
“I was offering my own protection!” he interrupted.
I blinked. “Your… but that makes no sense. How could you offer such a thing unless you—” I sucked in my breath with an audible gasp and stared at him with round eyes and my hand over my mouth. “No, no, surely you would not.”
“Would not try to win the most captivating woman I have ever seen? Would not do all in my power to prevent Wickham from deceiving and harming yet another who is dear to me? How little you think of me!”
I was slowly backing away, and if the factory workers stared at the odd picture we presented, I never saw them. “But you think little of me. I am sure you do! I am eccentric and unladylike and… and my mother’s family are from trade. Surely, you must object to that!”
“I never claimed that I did not,” he answered stiffly. “Bingley tells me your sisters are most unruly and your parents are no credit. I am certain the truth of it is even more glaring than he will say, but it cannot be helped. From the moment I first saw you, I was drawn in, and when I recognized in you a similar spirit, a kindred mind, I was bewitched. I would not have declared myself so soon, but it is done, and I cannot say that I regret it. We fit, you and I, as if we were designed for one another. Please, Miss Elizabeth—” He had reached for my hand, claimed it for his own, and was even now coaxing me to step toward him.
I jerked my hand away. “Mr. Darcy, you speak of your earliest impression of me, but shall I tell you mine of you? From the moment you entered the inn, I considered you disdainful, above your company, and unreasonably taciturn. You think more of that book of schematics of yours than of conversing with people, and you lord your great education and intelligence over poor, earnest fellows like Mr. Bingley and my uncle. I had not known you an hour before I had settled with myself that you were the last man in the world I wished to have for a partner of any kind, and least of all in marriage. Good day, sir!”
I stormed away, but a twinge of something—probably my accursed conscience—caused me to glance back as I was entering the door of the factory in search of Uncle Gardiner. Mr. Darcy’s face was cast down, his arms hanging limply at his sides, and he had turned his back. Slowly, he was inching his way from the yard, unaware of the fact that a cart nearly ran him over.
I lingered another moment, watching, and then I closed the door behind myself.
10
“Lizzy! Wherever have you been all afternoon? Mildred and I had begun to think you were carried off.” Jane made a place for me at the board and summoned the innkeeper to bring me a fresh cup as I sagged into the seat beside her.
“Not carried off, Jane,” I sighed, “but very nearly carried away.”
“What can you mean by that? You speak in riddles sometimes.” Jane saw to it that my cup was poured and then fell to gazing at the door. I supposed she was expecting her Mr. Bingley at any moment.
I savored the hot drink with no sugar or cream, depending on the earthy bitterness to drag my feet back to earth. I, the girl my mother had despaired of ever marrying off, had just received my first marriage proposal! Well, my second, if one counted my cousin, but one could hardly call that a proposal so much as the errant mutterings of a man with a terrible hangover.
This one had been real. A marriage proposal from the most unlikely of men! Outrageously wealthy. Ridiculously good-looking. And preposterously intelligent! What could have possessed him to fall for me?
Perhaps he was mad. Yes… bound for Bedlam, in all likelihood. A lucky escape that I had the presence of
mind to refuse him before being overcome by the thrill of such a man finding me desirable. But really, he was more insulting than romantic, so I supposed the chances of me accidentally swooning into his arms were mercifully low.
“Ah, good afternoon, my dear Jane. And to you as well, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley added as an afterthought. He had arrived during my musings and settled himself beside my sister. I wondered vaguely when he had begun using only her Christian name, but it probably had something to do with the way they had both been blushing when we all left the factory the night before.
“Has anyone seen Darcy this afternoon?” he asked. “He was to meet my foreman and me in the engine room, but he never arrived. I do hope it is not serious.”
“What is not serious, Charles?” Jane was seated a little too near her betrothed for strict propriety, and she was leaning forward and gazing at him as if he held the sun, moon, and stars in his hand.
“Why, the business he was attending to this morning. I do not suppose I have told you much of Georgiana, have I, my dear? She is his sister, and he was writing an urgent message to her. Or, at least, I saw her name on the letterhead. Perhaps there was more than just the missive to her, but seldom have I seen Darcy so agitated. Perhaps she was ill, the poor girl. He takes great care of her.”
“Is she of marriageable age?” Jane asked.
“Not yet. She is nearly sixteen, I believe. Darcy only took her out of school last summer and sent her to Ramsgate with her companion. I fancy she must have had some trouble with her health—her mother was of a delicate constitution as well, you know. Darcy left off his summer plans to escort her back to Pemberley and has remained there with her all through the autumn. A good fellow, Darcy, for not many gentlemen would relinquish his other obligations as he did for Georgiana.”
“How very kind of him,” Jane echoed. “And yet he still came away to offer his help here? A generous friend, indeed.”
“Quite so.” Mr. Bingley welcomed the innkeeper, who came with refreshment for him, and we all fell silent.
Outwardly silent. My heart and mind were a storm of confusion.
What sort of man had I just refused? The cogs were falling into place and beginning to spin for me. It was Mr. Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister Mr. Wickham had attempted to compromise, that much I understood with convicting clarity. And the man to whose face I had issued a verbal slap was the very same who had put his own life aside to coddle and protect her; who was likely paying whatever cost to safeguard her. My stomach began to twist, and I felt a cold sweat streak across my brow. What had I done?
We were beginning to think of adjourning upstairs when the man himself nearly staggered in the door of the inn. My uncle came close behind him, speaking as if Mr. Darcy were listening, and declaring himself in need of refreshment.
“Darcy, you cannot go up without some tea,” Mr. Bingley beckoned when that gentleman appeared reluctant.
“I am not hungry,” Mr. Darcy pardoned himself, but he hesitated.
I had been looking away, but I risked one glance. And then a second.
He was doing the same, looking at everyone but myself save for a stolen peek now and again. His countenance was red and somewhat blotched, and his hands seemed out of place at the ends of his arms.
I was the only one who could make reparations. I swallowed and heard my voice quaver. “The tea is exceptionally fortifying today. Perhaps you might pay your compliments to our host by sampling it.”
He met my gaze, and the oddest sensation clicked inside me. Something… locked. Odd pieces and parts fell together to make one functioning whole. His eyes lit, and in the empty pause, we finally spoke the same language.
Cautiously, he lowered himself opposite me, and there we sat, trying not to look too long at one another.
“I thought we would return to London on the morrow,” my uncle announced.
“Agreed,” said Mr. Bingley. “I think Darcy is correct, and the main fault is somehow in the steam engine. I shall have to bring in Murdoch. He is just here in Birmingham and knows the system better than any man alive, if I can get him. He is hard to draw away from his workshop, but he can do better than we.”
“I am afraid I have business that will require me to stay a few more days,” Mr. Darcy said without looking up.
“Really?” Mr. Bingley chuckled. “I thought you could not wait to return to Pemberley. What can be so pressing here?”
I knew. Mr. Darcy raised his eyes and held mine, and I knew all his trouble in a moment.
“Ah, what Mr. Darcy is saying,” I broke in, “is that we discovered an oddity with the gearing on the lathe that requires further investigation.”
“You did not tell me of this, Lizzy,” my uncle interjected. He glanced curiously at Mr. Darcy. “I hope, sir, that you do not object to a lady with an eye for such matters.”
“Far from it, Mr. Gardiner.” Mr. Darcy sounded as if he had drawn his first easy breath in a long while. “Miss Elizabeth is a rare woman, and it is a pleasure to… partner with her.”
“Well, then,” Mr. Bingley decided, “another few days. You will hear no objection from me.”
Jane blushed.
Mr. Darcy and I only stared at each other.
11
“That will never work.” Mr. Darcy stood back and shook his head.
“Of course, it will,” I insisted. “Do you have a better idea? At least let us try it.” I peered up at him from the chair he had set for me and cocked my head in mock challenge.
“I do not fault the idea itself, but how do you mean to bring it about? It is impractical, and even if you manage to build such a contrivance, it is likely to fail.”
“But it solves the skipping problem. That way, even if the main belt is sending irregular power and speed from the steam engine, a secondary gearing system with loosely fitted teeth, installed between the two, will compensate.”
“How? As a necessity, the system you speak of introduces gapping and imprecision.”
“Look,” I reasoned, “it will still drive forward at the same speed as before. I imagine it would require regular maintenance, as a loose fit will create more wear, but once it is moving, it will continue so unless there is an irregularity in the main drive belt. In that case, these gapped gears would allow the lathe to roll with less interruption. It is not as if we are changing directions.”
He offered a half-smile and stepped closer again, tilting his head and looking hesitantly at me from the corner of his eye. “Speaking of changing directions…”
I fiddled with the tool in my hand. “You are wondering why I spoke for you?”
“Not an hour before, you would have cheerfully thrown that wrench at my head.”
“Probably. I do not react well when someone insults me or my family.”
He thinned his lips. “That was badly done of me. My own family is not without its oddities, and you have won my respect. Pray, forgive my callous words.”
“I will consider it.” I smiled as I inspected the gears more closely. I was not really looking at them, and neither, I suspect, was Mr. Darcy, but it was easier to feign busy-ness than to look at one another. “Mr. Bingley tells me you have a sister for whom you care most diligently.”
He was silent, and I glanced up to his face to find it awash in a mixture of emotions. “I have been her sole comfort for better than five years. My cousin shares her legal guardianship, but he is most often with his regiment and can offer little in the way of companionship. I am afraid she has sorely lacked familial care of the sort most young ladies would find reassuring.”
“So, you have done your best to mend the breach for her?”
“And my efforts have been woefully inadequate,” he confessed with a weary-looking smile. “It was the knowledge that I possessed a sister that caused you to reconsider your opinions of me?”
“It was rather the recognition that you were exceedingly good to this sister that forced me to understand your urgency in warning me of Mr. Wickham. Her misf
ortune must have been a terrible burden to you, and it may not be impossible…” I looked down and toyed with the tool in my hand again. “I might have misjudged you.”
Gentle fingers touched my hand until I opened it. He took the wrench and laid it silently on the saddle of the lathe, then, hesitantly, he extended his hand. I watched him curiously but allowed my fingers to rest atop his as he gathered his words.
“I have never conversed easily with people I do not know well. I think in stark images, absolutes, and I have little patience with formality and empty words. I spoke ill before—not that my intentions were in any way faulty, but that my phrasing and my delivery were astonishingly deficient. Upon reflection, I realized I gave you no indication that my words were anything but the angry insistence of an overbearing half-stranger. Had you any notion of my regard for you?”
I laughed. “Not in the least! I thought you were seeking fault each time you looked at me. Particularly after I knew that you had discovered my little secret, I expected you thought me the most absurd excuse for a gentleman’s daughter ever to cross your path.”
His lips curved faintly, and he gave a soft tug at my hand, raising me to my feet. “Would you like to know my true thoughts?”
“The truth is always preferable to a misconception.”
He lowered his voice and dropped his forehead close to my own. “I thought I had never seen a factory lad with finer eyes.”
I snorted, disappointed that he would turn a serious conversation into a jest. “You did not.”
The flesh round his eyes crinkled in merriment. “You are correct on the grounds of a technicality; I discovered that you were no lad when I heard you gasp, but it was when I saw your eyes that I knew.”
“Knew who I was?” I sighed. “I ought to have guessed. I hoped you would not, but—”
“That is not quite what I meant. I knew who you were… to me.” He backed a half-step, still lightly holding my hand, and his gaze swept me in from head to toe. “I have been sought as a marital prize since before I attained my majority. I have been petted and complimented by the most accomplished coquettes, danced with half the female population of London, and smoked imported cigars and drunk smuggled spirits with all their fathers. But do you know what was always lacking?”