One
November 1812
London
ElizabethBennetshiftednervouslyin her chair. The gentleman behind the desk had little enough to say, but the weight of his pensive glances and oddly punctuated sighs was making her hands sweat. He frowned and tapped his quill on the page before him.
She cleared her throat. “Mr Darcy, I can provide another reference if you wish. Perhaps my former neighbours, Sir William and Lady Lucas, who have known me since my infancy?”
He raised a brow. “You need this position badly.” It was not a question.
A small part of Elizabeth’s heart died. She lowered her eyes and confessed, “I do. There were five of us sisters, and only one other has found work as a governess since my father’s death. I—I know I do not have the formal education typically required, and my connections are not—”
“You are perfect,” he declared, slapping his pen down on top of her references with finality. “You begin at once.” He pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the desk and passing by without a second glance. He stopped near the door, however, and looked back to her. “Are you coming?”
She rose less gracefully than she would have liked, still a bit dazed. “Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but are we not to discuss… ah… details?”
“Do you mean your pay? Naturally.” He opened the door and spoke to the footman just outside. “Parker, will you have Mrs Dobbs prepare Miss Bennet’s room? And send Martha in with tea.”
The footman left, and Mr Darcy walked out into the hall without another word to her. Elizabeth looked hesitantly about, wondering if she ought to follow.
“Miss Bennet, you really must keep up. You will be wishing to send word of your employment to your mother, and you may use the writing desk in the blue drawing room for your purpose while your room is prepared. Have you a change of attire?”
Elizabeth looked helplessly down at her best day gown. “Most of my other clothes have been sold. If these are not suitable, I do know how to make more.”
Mr Darcy waved dismissively. “They will do for now, but I had rather wished you had something else to change into, so these would not become soiled.”
She blinked. “Soiled?”
“Indeed, for the Marshalsea is not known for cleanliness. Ah, here we are. The writing desk is just there. Pens, notepaper, all in the drawer.”
“The Marshalsea! Forgive me, sir, but I thought I was to meet Miss Darcy and discover if I suited her.”
“Naturally. My sister is in Derbyshire, and we shall journey there on the morrow.”
“Then, I fail to understand…”
He bit back a sigh, as if explaining to a child. “First, your letter. Then tea, then we depart for the Marshalsea. After the ceremonials, I will have a seamstress come measure you for some new garments.”
“Sir, for what sort of post have I just been hired?” she demanded. “I answered an advertisement for a lady’s companion.”
“Indeed.”
She spread her hands. “Why am I to accompany you to a debtor’s prison?”
“Why, that is where you are to be married, of course.”
Elizabeth’s knees nearly buckled. “Married!”
“Naturally, for you cannot pass as a suitably respectable companion for a young lady unless you are married or widowed or something of that nature. I certainly cannot have a single gentlewoman living under my roof without—”
“Married!”
He rolled his eyes. “Did no one explain the conditions of the position to you?”
“Only what was in the advertisement. ‘A single young lady of gentle upbringing sought as a companion.’ That is what the advert said.”
“Why, yes, that is what it said. But did no one tell you what it meant? I shall have to speak to Mrs Dobbs about this. Come, Miss Bennet, your letter. We have an appointment to keep.”
