He shrugged and began to turn away. “Leave it on the counter and come back in two days.”
I started to follow him. “You see, that is just the trouble. I haven’t another pair with me, and I was hoping…”
He sighed heavily and turned around. “Let us see it, then.”
I lifted my skirts just enough to show him the flopping heel from my damaged boot. “Is it a very difficult repair?”
He gestured with his hand, as if expecting me to just hand him my foot. I grimaced and leaned on Jane’s shoulder to untie the laces, then hopped on my good boot to pull it off and give it to him.
He examined the boot, then glanced at me, his brows knitting slightly. “You said your name was Smith?”
“Yes, it was.”
He harrumphed. “Never heard of you.”
“I suppose it does not matter. Can you fix my boot today?”
He turned the boot in his hands, inspecting the damage. “Will take a while. You’ll need to wait. Don’t have a retiring room for ladies here.”
“That bench by the window will do well enough, I imagine.”
Jane leaned close to my ear. “Are you sure we should impose on him, Lizzy? We could always send for another pair from Mrs. Westing for now. I think her feet and yours are close to the same size.”
“Nonsense, Jane. We are here now, and I’m sure Mr. Watson will do a splendid job. Besides, this gives us a chance to reminisce about old…” I sighed. The cobbler had gone back to his workbench, taking my boot and any hope of conversation with him. “Well, I suppose we may as well amuse ourselves by looking out the window. I will tell you all I remember about the people passing.”
Jane chuckled and gave me her arm so I could hop to the bench. “Nothing like a good bit of gossip, is there, Lizzy?”
Six
Darcy
ThebustleofLambton’smarket day surrounded me as I made my way down the high street. Vendors cried their wares, housewives examined vegetables, and farmers led their livestock through the throng. I nodded in acknowledgment to the familiar faces I passed while keeping a vigilant watch for any signs of the visitors I awaited.
The impending arrival of Lord Belmont and his family at the Lion’s Head Inn necessitated a level of preparation befitting their status. Ensuring their accommodations were up to standard was not typically within my purview, but the importance of this visit to Pemberley—and, by extension, to George—could not be overstated.
I stepped into the Lion’s Head Inn, where I was greeted by the innkeeper with a deferential nod. “Mr. Darcy, sir! What an honor. Will you be requiring rooms today?”
“Not today. I’ve come to inquire about a party arriving shortly—the Marquess of Belmont and his family. I understand they are to lodge here during their stay.”
“Why, yes, sir!” His chest puffed up importantly. “The Marchioness herself wrote last week engaging my very best rooms. They are expected by this very afternoon.”
“So soon? That is excellent. Lord and Lady Belmont must want for nothing during their stay. I have given orders for some of the best from my cellars to be delivered for their comfort. Please place any… additional expenses to secure their convenience on my account.” Belmont might boast ten times my wealth, but I would gladly bear the expense to pave the way for George’s courtship.
“That is exceedingly generous, Mr. Darcy. Thank you.”
“Not at all. I imagine Lord Matlock will invite Lord Belmont to stay at Matlock Estate once they have been introduced. Should he accept the invitation, I will be sure your establishment loses nothing by it. Am I understood?”
“Quite, sir.”
“Very good. Give my respects to your wife, and will you send a message to Pemberley the moment Belmont arrives?”
The innkeeper agreed, profusely thanking me as I took my leave. One task complete. Now, on to Watson’s shop—my boots ought to be ready for collection. Most of my acquaintances had their boots made in London, but my father had discovered Watson’s talent some twenty years ago and even paid for him to refine his skills under a master in Town. Since then, he had crafted every pair of boots I had ever owned. It lent him distinction, and it pleased me to keep my custom close to home.
Ordinarily, I would have sent Daniels or Huxley to collect them, but I was a mere two doors away, and I preferred to look sharp when the formidable introduction to Lord Belmont took place. My present boots, though polished to a shine, were looking somewhat the worse for wear.
The merry jingle of the doorbell announced my entry. Ah, there was old Watson, emerging from the back workroom. But before I could greet him, a whisper from the corner caught my attention.
Two young ladies sat on the bench beneath the window, heads together, casting the occasional furtive glance in my direction. One I could not see clearly, but the other...
