Chapter 2
A LADY’S IMAGINATION
“Pardon me, Miss—” The tall, striking gentleman immediately knelt before Elizabeth, and one by one, he handed her the toppled parcels and books scattered about on the ground.
Amazed at finding herself in such a position even though she saw it coming but had been unable to avoid it, she accepted the packages in silence.
He stood and cleared his throat. “I understand it is the established mode for a young gentlewoman not to speak with unknown gentlemen, but a proper ‘thank you’ surely is in order,” said he, still holding one of the books she had dropped.
Elizabeth had been in a sour mood all morning, what with her aunt’s insistence she wear that ridiculous pink garb with the flouncy bottom.
It was definitely not one that Elizabeth would have chosen for herself, for she much preferred muslin over silk for such an occasion.
Then, too, her aunt had insisted that Elizabeth take the carriage to the village when it was a perfectly fine day for a walk.
The gentleman’s superior attitude only increased her ire.
“Sir, if you had been paying attention to where you were going, then our near collision would have been avoided in its entirety.”
He bowed ever so slightly. “Your point is well taken.” He turned over the book in his hand and silently read the title. It was but one of several books she had procured to familiarise herself with horse racing. He arched his brow. “My, what interesting taste in books you have, young lady.”
His tone dripping with sarcasm did nothing to recommend him. Before she could fashion a retort, Betsy bounced from around the corner. “Miss Eliza—” As if remembering her place, she coloured and corrected her manner of speaking. “Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon for not coming to your aid sooner.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” An amused look played across his face. “Your burden is heavy. May I assist you and see you to your carriage?”
Elizabeth handed her armload over to Betsy. She extended her gloved hand to the stranger, silently beckoning him to surrender her book. “No, sir, it is entirely unnecessary.” He still did not relinquish the book—the last relic between them. She arched her brow.
Eventually he looked down, and he must have recalled that he was indeed holding something that belonged to her. He handed it over. “Enjoy your reading, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“I have every intention of doing just that, sir, and I would ask you to pay attention to where you are walking.”
Elizabeth and her companion walked away, and she had the satisfaction of believing that she had prickled the haughty stranger’s swollen pride if only a little.
By his manner of dress, his manner of speech, and his proud mien, he was a nobleman—perhaps even a Duke.
I wager he is not accustomed to women who do not bow at his feet.
“Arrogant, pompous man,” Elizabeth said in a low voice intended for her own gratification.
Betsy gaped. “Miss Elizabeth, are you not aware with whom you were speaking just then?”
Elizabeth shrugged. Whomever he was made no difference to her. “No—I have no idea.”
“Why, that was Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire.”
There was no hiding the curiosity in Lady Vanessa’s eyes when Elizabeth returned from her solitary ramble. “Elizabeth, my dear, Betsy tells me that you had the privilege of making Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance earlier today.”
Taking a seat opposite her ladyship, Elizabeth furrowed her brow. I do not know that I would deem it a privilege.
“You must tell me all about him, for I have yet to make his acquaintance. Mr. Darcy, you see, is a recent addition to our society. He is renowned as being the proud owner of some of the finest thoroughbreds in all of England. You must tell me what you think of him.” Her ladyship paused a moment but not nearly long enough for Elizabeth to fashion a response.
“I am somewhat acquainted with his Fitzwilliam relatives, Lord and Lady Matlock, and I met his parents, the late Mr. Darcy and the late Lady Anne Darcy as well. He hails from Derbyshire, and he is the young master of Pemberley, one of the finest estates in the county. I know little else of him. Pray, is he amiable? Is he a handsome man?”
“Though our meeting was by happenstance, as Betsy likely told you, I do not know that I would describe him as amiable.” In fact, I found him arrogant and a bit condescending.
“As for your second question on whether he is handsome, I would say he is tolerable.” Yes—tolerable is the word I would choose.
“Tolerable? Your description of the gentleman is in striking contrast to how Betsy described him. She spoke of his tall person and handsome mien and his eyes. She said if one were not careful, one might risk drowning in his eyes.”
Clenching her hands, Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “Your ladyship, you asked me for my opinion. If you find Betsy’s opinion more to your liking, then you need not have bothered soliciting mine.”
“In such a case as this, I shall rely on my own opinion. He has been a bit of a recluse since his arrival, but that will change soon enough. I suspect we shall both see the gentleman tomorrow. He is staying at Avondale with his friend Lord Andrew Holland, the future Earl of Bosley. Lord Holland shall make the introductions, and then I will know what to think.” With a gleam in her eyes, Lady Vanessa leaned closer to her niece.
“You shall appreciate Lord Holland. Indeed, he is handsome and amiable, and there can be no differing opinions on the matter. What is more, he has yet to choose a bride. I fear none of the simpering young ladies of the ton suit him. I am most anxious for you to make the viscount’s acquaintance. ”
“You speak of the viscount with such fondness, Lady Vanessa.”
“Indeed, and there is a good reason. His mother is Lady Clarissa Holland. She and my late husband were siblings. I adore her. She is my closest friend, and we rely upon each other.”
Lady Vanessa expounded upon their history: how Lady Clarissa had secured her future by marrying the rich and powerful Lord Lawrence Holland, thus making it possible for Sir Frederick Barrett to bequeath his entire fortune to Lady Vanessa.
In their thirty years of marriage, Lord and Lady Holland had only one child, Lord Andrew.
For Lady Clarissa’s part, she doted on her son exceedingly.
Her ladyship’s voice filled with longing.
“Since my dear Frederick departed this earth, I feel the pain of our having no children—someone to carry on his legacy. I suppose the reason I am so very fond of young Holland is because he is the last male of the Barrett lineage. Oh, but his fortune shall be great once he ascends to the earldom—which cannot be soon enough, if you ask me. However, none of that is any of my concern. Although he will not benefit from the Barrett family fortune directly, perhaps his children and their children will benefit from it yet.”