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“Good grief! Then his reputation is not as bad as we all thought! Thank heaven for that,” joked the colonel.
“I have, until recently, lived very retired in the country, sir.”
“That would explain it,” nodded Richard with a smile.
As the carriage turned into Grosvenor Street, Elizabeth’s attention was caught by her external surroundings. Having left the commercial district, she viewed with interest the impressive townhouses that lined the street as they passed along it. She wondered which of the townhouses might belong to Mr Hurst. But not wishing to claim an acquaintance with the Bingleys, she did not ask. It briefly occurred to her that Mr Darcy, with his ten thousand a year, might also own such a townhouse.
When the hackney swept into Grosvenor Square, she felt the tiniest stab of intimidation upon finding herself in such a grand open space bordered by buildings that seemed to rival Greek temples, if not in their elegance, then at least in their size and solidity. Quickly regaining her composure, she reminded herself she was no impostor here—she was a gentleman’s daughter.
Consulting his watch with a frown, the colonel restarted the conversation: “I should explain that you have been hired to read to my cousin, who has lost his sight after a recent illness and is currently bedridden. He is very erudite and does not suffer fools gladly, although you will find him fair. He is generally an amiable man, but his temper has been tested by his illness. I hope he will be in a better frame of mind shortly and that you can make some allowances in the meantime.”
Soon after, the hackney stopped in front of an entrance in the square. The colonel handed Elizabeth down from the carriage and offered his arm to escort her up the stairs, confiding: “Please forgive me, Miss Gardiner, but I must return to the barracks before I am accused of desertion, so I will leave you in the capable hands of the head footman, Farley.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
When the door opened to reveal a soberly dressed servant, the colonel addressed him directly: “Farley, this is Miss Frances Gardiner, who has agreed to try out as the new reader. I’m afraid I’m going to have to run straight off to the barracks, and I do not know when I will be able to return. Will you see that she is safely installed in a hackney for her journey to Cheapside when she is ready to depart?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” said Farley, bowing and gesturing Elizabeth and her footman inside. He was more than a little perturbed that the colonel had arrived with a female when he had been expecting a university student, but he was far too professional to even bat an eyelid.
Elizabeth found herself in an enormous vestibule furnished with a group of fauteuils and a console surmounted by a large mirror. After gesturing that Mick should be seated, Mr Farley helped Elizabeth out of her pelisse and, with the help of the mirror, she divested herself of her bonnet. As she turned to relinquish it, another footman knelt to place a small footstool at her feet and, realising he wished to clean her boots, she dutifully placed her feet in turn on the stool to allow them to be wiped down.
“I’ll take you up myself, ma’am,” said Farley after disposing of her outerwear in a closet hidden in the wainscoting. Leading the way, he crossed the chequered tiles of the vestibule to ascend a large staircase that led to a landing, brightly lit by an opaque mullioned window.
As soon as her boots sunk into the deep pile of the carpeted steps, Elizabeth appreciated the restrained luxury of her surroundings. Intent on not tumbling down the stairs, she could only glance sideways to determine the large oil paintings that graced the walls were landscapes; but as they reached the landing, she was able to appreciate a very realistic painting depicting a moonlit scene, hung on the wall by the next flight of stairs.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, overcome by its beauty.
Farley, thinking Elizabeth might have tripped, turned quickly. Ascertaining that she was all right and seeing the direction of her gaze, he commented: “Ah! That is one of the master’s favourites. I’m London-bred myself, but the housekeeper, who is from Derbyshire, says it is very like.”
“I have never seen such realistic landscapes,” replied Elizabeth, glancing around at the others. “That one could almost be a view through a window!”
As they ascended more stairs to the second floor and then the third, Elizabeth continued to appreciate the luxuriously restrained furniture, all of it attesting to the good taste of its owner. Finally, they proceeded down a hall papered in textured celadon green wallpaper, treading upon a thick patterned rug. The footman gestured graciously to a roman campaign stool against the wall before knocking on the door. Entering, he closed the door behind him, leaving Elizabeth to sit alone in the hall. Elizabeth looked up and down the corridor before fixing her gaze on the patterned Persian rug with a rust-coloured background that lined the hallway. If she was not mistaken, it was a Bokkhara. A bass voice rumbled indistinctly from behind the door as she leaned down to touch the pile near the tips of her shoes and then straightened quickly when she heard the doorknob turn.
“Here, she is, sir—Miss Frances Gardiner.”
Elizabeth walked slowly into a room, impeccably decorated in a modern style, that contained a large four poster bed. Her heart stopped momentarily when she thought she recognised the dressing gown its occupant was wearing. Telling herself she was being silly, she continued advancing towards the pale face of the bed’s occupant, propped up on pillows. She first noted his unusually short hair, cropped as if his head had been shaved, before observing his sallow skin and the sunken orbits of his eyes that clearly marked him as an invalid. Reaching the bedside, she occluded the light from the window and the face turned towards her. Recognition could no longer be denied. She found herself staring into the unfocused eyes of Mr Darcy.
Chapter 29: A reason to arise
Elizabeth was never sure if a gasp had escaped her—the shock had been too great. Certainly, she heard it in her head, but whether it issued from her lips was another question. A thousand thoughts jostled for her attention, pulling her mind in different directions. She wondered what had happened to Mr Darcy, remembered their last interaction—her mother’s letter, blushed deeply, realised he could not see her embarrassment, and quickly pulled herself together. Immediately, she appreciated the enormity of what she had done, gaining admittance to his house under a false name, which was particularly bad in the light of her mother’s mercenary tactics. If Mr Darcy discovered who she was, he would almost certainly assume she was making another attempt to entrap him. Her pride insisted that he must never know. Elizabeth could not just walk out, but she resolved then and there to do whatever she could to disguise herself in her immediate situation before removing herself from Mr Darcy’s orbit forever. She lowered the pitch of her voice.
“Hello, sir. I understand you are in need of... wished someone to read to you.”
Having been propped up on pillows in preparation for his visitor, Darcy frowned and stared at Elizabeth with unfocused eyes. There was something familiar about Miss Frances Gardiner, but he was having difficulty placing her.
Elizabeth froze like a mouse, disturbed by the light of a candle. Could he see her after all? Did he recognise her voice despite its alteration?
“Well, sir,” said Farley, a little surprised that Darcy had been so uncivil as to not welcome the newcomer, ascribing it to the fits of ill-temper the master had been suffering since arriving home in his stricken state. “I’ll just leave you then. Ring the bell if you need me, sir.”
“Wait!” said Elizabeth.
Farley stopped and turned.
“Should there not be a maid?” she asked. “Or perhaps you could send up my own footman?”
Darcy fell back on the pillows with a shout of laughter.
As Elizabeth regarded him in astonishment, a well-dressed man emerged from another door. He glanced at Darcy with concern.
