“Now then, ladies”—Graham’s arms moved to emphasise his speech—“My name is Mr. Graham, and I have come from Calabria to visit my dear friends the Darcys. I should be obliged if everyone around the table would be kind enough to introduce themselves.” He indicated the woman on his left to begin the process.
In a beguiling exhibition of his personal charm, Graham spoke in turn to each lady gathered around us, exemplifying attentiveness, sympathy, and approval for every one of them. Each of the women responded to him with enthusiasm and gaiety. Even the most staid and reserved members of the group appeared captivated by Graham. Unless I mistook the situation, he left every lady present convinced of his genuine interest in her.
What a rare gift he possessed! He managed to delight a diverse group of women, ranging in age from sixteen to about seventy. The ladies engaged him with the sort of familiarity that marked a treasured and significant connexion.
A trembling overtook me as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s poem “Pied Piper,” based on the old German legend, came to mind. How much evil could be done by a man with Graham’s ability if he used the talent for an unsavoury purpose?
After a while, Graham paid the bill, gave the three inn workers generous gratuities, and walked around the expanded table, kissing each lady’s hand as he bade them farewell. One by one,the ladies, upon receiving their moment with him, stared into his eyes and conveyed their pleasure in the new acquaintance. Several of them placed their hands over their hearts or held handkerchiefs to their faces as he left them, as though overcome with emotion. As Graham and I walked away, a hubbub of chatter could be heard from the table as the ladies effused over his gallant manner, fascinating conversation, and striking appearance.
When we returned to the carriage, Graham sat with his gaze upon me. “Well, this excursion has been a pleasant amusement. I hope you found it to be enjoyable.”
“This has been a peculiar day, and I found what occurred at the inn to be extraordinary! It seemed you had every woman in the dining room ready to fall at your feet.”
“All but one.” He maintained a cheerful inflexion, but his brows shot up in a pointed way.
What?I stared at him. As my husband’s friend, what could he mean to imply?
He leaned back, his forehead contracting. “Pray, do not misunderstand me. As someone who receives more than my share of attention, I am pleased to find you so immune to my attractiveness. It bodes well for Darcy’s future happiness. My old friend is indeed a fortunate man.”
With a heavy exhalation, I recovered my smile. “Fitzwilliam and I are both lucky.”
Pemberley
Darcy
My interview with Mr. Boyle eliminated any doubt that the man possessed the knowledge, skills, and experience I had been seeking in a steward. After I led him on an abbreviated tour of Pemberley’s grounds, including the steward’s living quarters, I offered him the position. At his acceptance, we agreed he would report for duty in a se’nnight.
Once Mr. Boyle had departed, I walked back towards the house. Along the way, I raised and rounded my shoulders a couple of times to ease them into a more relaxed position. Now that I had found a suitable steward, I should soon have more time to devote to my wife and son.
When I drew near the side entrance to the house, several female voices caught my ear from the other side of a tall hedge. On mild days such as today, the servants often used the table and chairs there for their repast.
“Sally, ’ave you seen the master’s friend Mr. Graham yet? I ain’t seen a man so ’andsome and charming afore. I ’eard ’e’s to be ’ere a week.”
“I’ve only seen ’im from afar, and I’m right keen to see ’im again!”
“The gent passed by me once today, and I thought I’d faint. I swear ’e winked at me!”
“No, I don’t believe you, Milly. ’E wouldn’t do such a thing!”
“’Tis true, I tell you! The man ’as the most beautiful golden ’air I’ve ever seen and…”
Gritting my teeth, I increased my pace to escape the maids’ prattle.Upon my life, had everyone in the house becomespellbound by Graham? Earlier that day, I caught even Mrs. Reynolds stealing glances at him.
For the rest of the afternoon, I worked in my study. To my good fortune, Graham did not return before I left the room to change for dinner. On a whim, I took a detour to the nursery and found Bennet seated upon the floor with an open book before him. Miss Hunter spotted me, and at my nod, she left the room. At the sound of my footfalls on the wooden floor, Bennet turned in my direction.
“Papa!” He toddled to me and placed the book in my hand. “Papa, read.”
I glanced at the volume, a collection of folk stories. “Very well, Bennet.” Gathering him in my arms, I took him to the rocking chair and sat with him upon my lap. Each time I turned a page, my son pointed at the illustrations and called out the objects pictured, but he fell silent and ceased his movements as I recited the stories. I spent twenty minutes in that gratifying occupation and completed two of the tales before I left my son with a parting kiss upon his forehead.
Upon my return downstairs, the sound of a merry tune drew me to the music room. My steps halted at the doorway, my entire being absorbed by the sight before me: my wife played the pianoforte and sang in concert with Graham. So, the angel with the golden hair and perfect features also boasted an impressive baritone singing voice. They performed together with such harmony that an observer might assume they had practiced together for years. Furthermore, they gazed at each other with evident affinity and could easily be mistaken for paramours. A biting discomfort rent my insides, choking off my air.
At the conclusion of the song, I forced myself forwards and clapped. They both turned in my direction.
“Fitzwilliam, there you are.” Elizabeth sauntered towards me. “Did you know Graham had such a marvellous singing voice?”
I managed something akin to a smile. “I did not…or perchance I forgot.”
She angled her head to the side. “I am sure I have never heard a better one.”
