Dear Miss Darcy

by Briggs, Laura

  He drew back after a moment. “Are you free this evening, Miss Darcy?” he asked, softly. “Or may I call you Olivia now?”

  “Olivia,” she answered, although her eyes dropped to the table's surface. “But regardless of my acceptance, I think you should know that I cannot call you Chris.”

  From the corner of her gaze, she could see the brooding scowl forming on his face, a disappointment driven by her solemn tones.

  "You would say that–" he began, bitterly, before she laid a finger against his lips.

  “I’m afraid," she continued, softly, "only Christopher will do from now on.” A playful smile crept across her lips in response to the relief on his face, her fingers winding in his hair as she drew him close again.

  Excerpt from Rules for Engagements:

  Lord Roger Easton was not long in paying his respects to his father’s oldest friend. During the afternoon hours of the following Tuesday, Madge the housekeeper presented Sir Edward with a card bearing the Easton name and a request to see Sir Edward and to call upon the lady of the house as well.

  “Show him in,” said Sir Edward. He rose from his papers to greet the young man who entered at the request of the housekeeper.

  “Well, sir, home at last I see,” Sir Edward declared, clasping the hand of young Lord Easton in his own. “What good news this is for us all. Especially for your mother and sister, I trust.”

  “None could know better than yourself,” replied Easton. “It is to you that I am indebted for their care these past few years and no amount of gratitude could express my thanks for your kindness.”

  Lord Easton and his host were visible from the landing at the top of the stairs, where Marianne was crouched behind the banisters in order to study him. Beside her knelt Flora, whose curiosity was no less than her sister’s.

  “He’s quite handsome,” whispered Marianne, jostling her sister’s arm.

  “I should not have known him had we passed each other on the street,” Flora murmured. She leaned forward in an attempt to see better without being seen.

  The flaxen-haired boy had grown tall, with close-cropped blond hair that bore the appearance of playful tousling by his sister’s hand. His dark coat outlined a lean and muscular frame that indicated the athleticism of youth.

  “He looks too grown-up,” Marianne observed. “Are you sure he was the boy who used to chase geese? He doesn’t look like he would have at all.”

  “Well, he is,” Flora hissed. “Now go and change your apron; yours is covered with grass stains on the front.” With that, she rose and straightened her dress before proceeding to the stairs.

  “I am sure you remember my eldest daughter, Miss Stuart?” said Sir Edward, once she appeared in his sight. Easton turned to survey her as she smiled and gave a stiff bow in reply to his own.

  “Of course I do,” he replied. “It has been a great many years, Miss Stuart. I hope that you are well?”

  His voice was warm, the gaze from his dark eyes friendly. A blush spread across her cheeks in spite of her best efforts to control it. For while he reminded her of the boy from long ago, this was an entirely different person before her.

  “I am well, sir,” she answered. “Are your mother and sister in good health?” Her hands were clasped before her like a schoolgirl reciting a lesson.

  “In good health and good spirits, now that I am home,” he answered. “I bring you their compliments and the entreaty that you will join our party and dine with us next Wednesday.”

  “You are very kind, sir,” Flora answered. “I am sure that my father has no other engagement which would interfere.” She glanced at Sir Edward, who nodded.

  “Will you sit down?” Sir Edward asked. “Unless we would deprive another of your company by the invitation.”

  Roger shook his head. “None whose companionship I value more than you, sir,” he answered.

  Sir Edward did not proceed to the drawing room immediately with his guest, since a half-finished letter commanded his attention for a moment's time. So Flora found herself alone with him in the room, feeling much the same as if she were alone with a stranger.

  She sank upon the sofa and folded her hands demurely. He strolled about the room with a casual tread, his eyes carefully avoiding hers. The silence between them seemed painful; to Flora's ears it seemed contrived, as a way to avoid conversation with a young lady who had not been in his acquaintance in so many years.

  "Will you sit down, sir?" she said. Her glance fell upon a chair near the fireplace, its cushions worked with a faded needlepoint. During the lifetime of Flora’s mother, when expense was yet necessary to spare, the family’s drawing room had been arranged with simple furnishings and decorations contrived by the hand of Lady Gladys and her daughter. Even now it was unchanged, a thought which pained Flora. Would he notice how shabby his surroundings were, compared to his own luxury?

  “This room is truly charming,” he remarked as he took a seat upon the nearest chair. “I remember very little of Evering from my childhood, but I recall sitting here once or twice.” His gaze roamed the surroundings with a careful glance that took in the bright atmosphere and sparse ornaments.

  “It is but small and plain compared to your own, I fear,” Flora answered.

  He cleared his throat. "I do not suppose it is always the furnishings that make a room comfortable; but the taste and care with which they are chosen and arranged." He hesitated, before adding, "I believe your mother possessed an extraordinary talent for such matters."

  "Thank you," she replied. Her manner was stiff. Why was she so uncomfortable at this moment?

  His eye had fallen upon the harp standing in the corner. “Still neglecting your music as much as ever, Miss Stuart?” he inquired. “I remember when we were children you were always escaping your lessons and hiding somewhere in the orchard.”

  Flora bristled. In spite of his good-natured tone, this was an affront to her personality which she could not bear.

  “I have much improved in my talents since we last met, sir,” she answered. “There are no more attractions in the outdoors for me, as you can plainly see.”

  Roger opened his mouth to reply, but Sir Edward joined them, seating himself in the chair nearest his guest.

  "We were talking of music, sir," said Roger. "And all its charms to the artist." This, with a look directed at Flora.

  “You were a fine musician in your youth, as I recall,” Sir Edward replied to the young man. “An excellent voice as a child, although I fear it was mostly used for comic songs. No doubt it’s improved since then.”

  “It has improved in taste,” Roger admitted, “although I’m afraid my baritone has often proved unsuitable for duets.”

  “I am sure that you have no doubt practiced to remedy it,” suggested Flora. There was a hint of mischief in her tone as she spoke. Easton caught her eye and for a moment, colored in realization of her meaning.

  “The comic song was very much a part of the school atmosphere, as you no doubt know,” he answered, his face grown sheepish in an instant.

  “Will you sing one now?” Marianne, made presentable by a clean dress, appeared suddenly in the doorway. “I so love comic songs, although Papa is always telling me they are not meant for young girls.”

  Flora turned towards her with a warning look. Must her sister always enter the room so dramatically? Marianne's hands were clasped eagerly as she surveyed Roger with a friendly grin.

  A smile spread across Roger’s face in response. “This must be Miss Marianne, of whom my mother has told no end of stories,” he declared.

  “It is, sir,” Flora answered. The lack of Marianne’s propriety seemed lost on young Lord Easton, who shook hands with her as frankly as he would an old companion.

  “Tell me about the goose whose feathers you plucked for your sister’s bonnet,” she requested, skirts flouncing as she seated herself next to Flora on the sofa. Who glanced aside quickly as her sister made her eager request.

  “I see someone has been
telling the transgressions of our youth,” he answered. “I can only hope that you have been merciful in your description of me.”

  “It was not I,” Flora protested, “but another who revisited our past. The goose would hardly bear mentioning at this point for myself. Not as an example for a younger sister, by any means.”

  She wished heartily that Marianne had chosen another subject. She did not wish the awkward exchange between herself and now-Lord Easton to be compounded by memories of their mishaps.

  Sir Edward cleared his throat. “I will remind my youngest daughter that children are meant to be silent,” he said.

  Marianne grew quiet, dropping her gaze meekly to the floor. Sympathy crossed Roger’s face, hidden beneath a gentle smile that also met Flora’s gaze. It was a touch of comradeship between them that resembled old times, making her feel more herself momentarily.

  “Shall you be among us for long, Easton?” her father asked.

  Roger released a long sigh. “I would heartily wish so; but I’m afraid much depends upon my father’s affairs overseas. His property interests from my late uncle in France have kept me occupied for some months since university. I confess I have scarcely time for pleasures of any kind.”

  “But you have returned to England for good, yes?” asked Flora. “You have settled your father’s affairs in Europe?” Her voice betrayed an eagerness for response that she was sure her heart did not feel. In her embarrassment, she sought refuge in studying the carpet, any object but the young man seated across from her.

  “Some of them,” he answered. “I only hope that his connections will not call me away again to any part of the world except home.” There was a thread of melancholy woven in his tone.

  “But let us not think of foreign interests but of our current good fortune in being together,” said Sir Edward. “We look forward to a pleasant evening in the company of you and your mother, sir.”

  “As do I,” said Roger. He rose, along with his hosts. “A servant will call with a formal invitation for you shortly.” With a polite bow, he excused himself from their company.

  “What a pleasant young man,” her father said. “A credit to his father in every respect. What good fortune for Lady Easton and her daughter, that he should be their guide and protector from now on.”

  “Indeed,” answered Flora. Her gaze was drawn to the parted shades of the drawing room, where Lord Easton was visible strolling away.

  At The Paper Doll, you’ll find info

  on upcoming novels, indie projects,

  release dates, and a glimpse into

  the process behind the stories…

  And

  Be sure to visit

  Author Laura Briggs on Goodreads too!