“Then why did you offer him employment?” charged Kitty.
“Oh, Lizzy, you did not!”
“No,” Elizabeth glared at her sister. “I merely asked… oh, never mind. It does not matter, for he scoffed at the very notion of work. As if he were some son of nobility! Perhaps a footman of his impressive height and features can afford to be more selective, but I declare, Aunt, I would not recommend taking him on if he were the last footman in Town.”
“He just might be the mosthandsomefootman in Town,” giggled Kitty. “Admit it, Lizzy, you are not blind. I saw how you admired his figure.”
“You mistake frustration for fascination. I assure you, it was the former I felt for him. Anyway, he ought to be well on his way by now, wherever he means to go—I am sure I don’t care where. We have wasted enough breath on him, so let us speak of pleasanter things. Aunt, did our uncle agree to a tour of one of the gardens?”
“I believe so, yes. He has some work to finish first, and of course, the best sights are to be had later in the day. He recommended Vauxhall if his business today goes smoothly and he can return home soon. It is a bit of a drive, but I think you will find it worth the journey. Shall we depart after tea time?”
Elizabeth barely restrained a squeal of delight. A long-time fantasy was to be realised for her, and it was a cheerful diversion from her disappointment in the recipient of her goodwill. Such a waste of a handsome face and perfectly good livery! But she was determined to think of him no more.
She hurried from the room to change into a fresh gown and take her own breakfast. It would be some hours before they were to go, and a brisk walk in the park might revive her spirits while she waited. She prepared herself, therefore, to go out, perfectlyuntroubled by any suspicions that she might, upon quitting the house, accidentally encounter that wayward domestic.
Chapter four
“Where is that manservant? I will see him immediately!” Lady Catherine rapped on the door of Darcy’s dressing room with the silver knob of her cane—less out of a servile tendency to request admission to a room than impatience at finding the way blocked. The lady had already made an inspection of the master’s chambers, most particularly the rumpled bed. She had been informed that Darcy was not in residence at the moment, but that did not prevent her from again demanding entry to his quarters.
“Yes, My Lady, right away!” Dawson, the head butler, was a man of six and fifty and would never dream of defying her ladyship’s wishes. She had spoken of generous pensions, and she was the mother of the future mistress of the house, he had naturally tendered her his loyalties—divided equally, of course, with his fidelity to the master. It might have been reasonable to object to her request, had his master been present, but that was not the case, and he could find no plausible excuse to deny her ladyship’s demand. That it was irregular was a matter of course, but then, irregularity was often the order of the day when her ladyship was a guest at Darcy House.
The butler produced the key, held the door for the great lady to pass through, then preceded her into the recesses of the chamber, so that he might serve his office. Undoubtedly, he was also motivated by a desire to shield the lady’s feminine sensibilities, for a lady entering a man’s sleeping quarters unexpectedly might encounter something she would not wish to see.
In this case, it was Wilson, groggily stretched out on his typical pallet in Mr Darcy’s dressing room. The butler stuttered in horror upon beholding the untucked shirt, the slovenly hair, the half-unbuttoned fall of the man’s breeches. He looked to have arisen from his drunken stupor only long enough to relieve himself, then stumble back to his bed.
“Sir! Have a care for your presentation!” the butler admonished the drowsing man.
Wilson lifted his head, his features slack and his eyes hazy. “Dawson, ish that you, old chap? Closhe that dratted shutter, the light ish burning a hole in the back of my shkull.”
“Mr Wilson! There is a lady present!”
Wilson rubbed his eyes and squinted. “Perhaps she can eashe my headache. Shend her in, man, and be quick about it!”
If the staid and proper valet of Fitzwilliam Darcy were intentionally irreverent and facetious to better serve his master’s interests, it would have been difficult to determine. It was clear that the butler merely considered him still intoxicated; an opinion that was reinforced when Wilson made an attempt to rise, then stumbled to his backside again. In truth, he had faltered more out of astonishment than lingering dizziness, for at that moment the “lady” commenced a diatribe which, in any other circle but London’ston,would have proved her to be less a lady and more a harridan.
“Mr Wilson! I am ashamed of you; a gentleman’s valet, comporting himself as a slovenly drunkard while in the very chambers of his master? I shall have you turned out at once! What has Pemberley come to, that a sluggard could have risen to such a rank within its halls?”
Wilson staggered to his feet and swept the lady a respectful bow—a motion which discomposed him to such a degree that he found it necessary to grasp a nearby table for stability. “I meant no dishreshpect, My Lady,” he slurred. “I’m afraid I’m not quite myshelf thish morning. My mashter offered me a drink lasht evening that he had not intended to take, after ordering it. I amafraid the mashter’s vintage is finer than I am accustomed to. My humblesht apologies if I have caushed offenshe.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “He offered a drink to his manservant? Which drink, and why?”
“Yesh, My Lady,” Wilson answered promptly. “The brandy Mr Dawshon shent up. Mr Darshy shaid he would have a drink at hish club, and that he might ash well wait.”
“His club! Why was I not informed that he had gone out last evening?” She turned to the butler in an outrage. “I was to be told of all my nephew’s activities! It is only my due, as his nearest relation and his future mother-in-law, to be given the respect of foreknowledge!”
“I am sorry, My Lady,” the butler bowed in abject submission. “This is the first I have heard of it myself. It is not Mr Darcy’s habit to attend his club of an evening, particularly with no notice given for his carriage.”
Wilson was standing—somewhat crookedly—as his head tilted to follow the conversation. The dazed look in his eyes cleared in some measure when he perceived himself the object of scrutiny again, and he seemed to come to his senses. His speech, this time, had improved marginally, though he still dragged his ‘r’s. “Mr Darcy received word from a friend just before he retired, asking for his company, My Lady.”
“At night! What can you mean, did this man drive to the house and carry off my nephew in a curricle, with no one to witness? Impossible!”
Wilson caught himself as his body was beginning to list in the other direction. “He… he walked, My Lady.”
“Walked! Now I am certain of it. Dawson, you must have this man set out of the house at once, for he is neither fit to be seen nor suitable for service. His tongue drips lies, and his person is offensive!”
Wilson had busied himself tucking the tail of his shirt into his breeches, but he dared do nothing about the two loosened buttonsof his fall. He left that part of his shirt hanging to provide for some degree of modesty, glancing down with conscious discomfort at his shameful appearance.
“It shall be done, My Lady,” Dawson bowed, then levelled a stern look toward Wilson. “Your ladyship may rest assured that intoxication while on duty is never tolerated in this house.”
