“I did relate that the Garden is not what it was in its glory days.”
“I ought to have listened!”
“Only think, Miss Elizabeth, how it appears at night. That arch there,” he pointed to the right, “will be adorned with blazing torches, as will the Pavilion there,” he gestured to the distance on the left. “Everything will be cast with mystery and intrigue, and the music will be gay, the entertainment lively. What matter a bit of dead grass and peeling paint? Are they vital to your enjoyment?”
She chuckled. “You begin to sound like me.”
“That is well, for you frightened me when your words sounded a little too much like my own.”
“A travesty, indeed!” she laughed more heartily. “Very well, I shall look beyond superficial appearances and appreciate the venue for what it is; a chance to set my cares aside for a while and to mingle among those I might never meet otherwise. Shall we, William?”
Too late, he caught himself. He looked down into her face, felt the unbridled pleasure beaming from his own and the lump which seemed to swell in his throat.Devil take it. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to please her. An hour. Two, perhaps. Three, at the outside; he would be hers for a short while, and then he would be rational again.
He gestured before him, down the length of the Grand Walk, and adjusted the white parasol so that it offered her the appropriate shade in the afternoon sun. “I am at your service, Miss Elizabeth.”
Chapter twenty
Elizabeth had not long to suffer in dismay over the dandelions or the drooping elms, for within a very few steps, their promenade had carried them to the heart of the Gardens. To her right was a square, planted all round with towering giants and dominated in the centre by an orchestra stand, which was, at present, still vacant. She marvelled for a moment at the detail and splendour in the construction, even if the paint was somewhat faded. She could easily close her eyes and imagine the classical frontage ablaze with the glow of coloured glass lanterns and candles, and made ethereal by the music it hosted. If only they could stay long enough for her to hear just one melody!
As if he had read her mind, William spoke at her elbow, “The orchestra tends to start a little earlier than the supper. Within an hour or so, the musicians will arrive.”
“Are you suggesting that we might stay so long?”
“At what time of the day does your uncle typically return from his warehouse?”
She frowned. “That is just the trouble. He is not usually there all day, nor even half of it. Today must have been a very bad one for him, so I cannot tell you what we ought to expect. I should not think him much later than six or seven in the evening, for he will wish to eat his supper with my aunt.”
“Then if we have no word sooner, we should time our arrival to coincide with his. Any earlier would seem nonsensical, for you would be entering the house again without protection from your….” He cleared his throat and stopped.
“He isnotmy betrothed, nor, I hope, shall he ever be,” she clarified firmly.
“I am relieved to hear it. He did seem an audacious sort of fellow to make such a proclamation when the lady’s intentions are not similarly engaged.”
Elizabeth dipped her face down and away from him, but some outspoken nerve tasked her not to keep silent as her good sense would have allowed. “He has reason to think that he has a chance of success.” Then she stopped herself, turned and tilted her head, so that shade of the parasol fell over her eyes. “Let us talk no more of Mr Collins, please.”
He inclined his head, and there was a stately serenity to his countenance when he suggested, “Perhaps you would like to view the supper boxes or the Temple of Comus?”
She looked in half-interest over his shoulder at the larger of the two dished colonnades, this one graced with a Rococo spired pavilion, then smilingly shook her head. “If our time is to be limited, I think I should like to see the arches I have heard of. Are they not there?”
“Indeed, the southerly walk parallels this one. Some parts of it are also called the Italian Walk, for the architecture. We may cross over here and walk the length of the Grove, then we should have an ideal prospect of the arches.”
Elizabeth’s eyes feasted on every facet as they slowly wandered the few steps in that direction. At the edge of the Grove, a few acrobats cavorted about, plying the late afternoon revellers for a few pence in appreciation for their efforts. She laughed outright as one flipped directly into her path and tumbled into what appeared to be a clumsy bow. He then snapped upright again, only to snatch the hat worn by her tall, sombre companion and cartwheel away with it in his teeth. William’s exclamations of dismay in the face of such effrontery were lost in the general approval of the sparse audience. The tomfool landed several paces away, twirling the plain chapeau about his finger and grinning daringly at Elizabeth.
“Allow me to redeem your lost item, my good fellow,” she chuckled, gesturing for her escort to remain at peace. She felt the rather fine lady, paying to recover the dignity of her “servant,” and laughed merrily when the acrobat accepted her penny with a flourish and a gallant kiss to the tip of her glove. The hat was returned in much the same manner that it had been pilfered, and the colourfully dressed fellow whirled away in search of more good-humoured guests.
“Are you quite recovered?” she asked of him.
“It seems the heavens have today determined that I possessed a bit more pride than was good for me,” he grumbled, but not without something of a twinkle in his eye as he took in her own amusement. “It is doubtful that I will ever be recovered, but I believe I shall survive the ordeal.”
Elizabeth laughed and drew a little closer, the better to share in the benefit of her own parasol. “I expect that few take such liberties with your person under normal circumstances.”
He was silent for a moment, and when she turned up to look at him, his face appeared deeply thoughtful. “That is true…” he hesitated. “At least somewhat. Those liberties which are presumed on occasion are never so innocent.”
He said no more, and Elizabeth was left to ponder yet again what singular occurrence had sent such a man into hiding from his own household. In an apparent attempt to change the subject, he gestured to a particularly handsome rose hedge lining the rows of supper boxes. She gave it due appreciation as they passed, and out of respect for his privacy, she left the question alone.
Together they turned left and proceeded a little way up the gravel path. From this angle, they could look down the arrayed arches for what seemed a greater distance than the thousand feet she had been told it was. The illusion was so convincing, the placement and antiquated style so evocative, that even during the prosaic light of day she could fancy that she had been transported to an ancient world.
“The ruins at Palmyra,” William indicated the far extremity of the Walk, and indeed a decidedly realistic painting formed the background of the final arch.
