Chapter Ten #3
She smiled—he was being honest, at least. “No? Not even for the chance to work your way up to a groom? It would take time, of course, and a lot of work. The head groom would have to be very pleased with you, but the pay is steady, and it is more than a shilling.” She hesitated before adding, “A groom can take care of the horses—even ride them out for exercise.”
He reached for another slice of toast and dumped the butter on it. He chewed slower now, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Would I get to eat like this?”
Elizabeth responded gravely. “That is up to Cook, but I believe everyone here is well fed. The staff stays very busy with their duties. I need everyone to be strong enough to do their part.”
He grabbed the second slice of bread. “I guess I could do it,” Billy concluded.
“Good.” Elizabeth stood. “Finish your meal. You shall need it.”
Billy swallowed and reached for the glass of milk to his left. “Thank you, missus.”
“You are welcome, Billy,” she replied.
When Elizabeth arrived in the breakfast room, Richard was already there, discussing something with Fitzwilliam. She squelched her disappointment at finding him occupied.
“Good morning, Richard,” she greeted him. “Fitzwilliam,” she said, feeling a little shy.
They were pouring over a document, but Richard put it away when she approached. “More letters, gentlemen?” she asked, irritated that she was not being included in their conversation. She could tell from the frown on Fitzwilliam’s face that it was not good news.
“Just one that was waiting at Darcy House this morning,” Richard said quickly. Too quickly. It is quite early for the post.
She sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I am too tired to argue with you both. Please tell me what it says.”
Richard glanced at his cousin, who nodded. Richard handed her the letter and moved off to the sideboard, where a cup of coffee was poured for him.
Elizabeth took the page and began to read. It was a short, terse letter. Were she not a lady, she would have given voice to the curses that rose to her lips.
There is a man who loiters on the corner near Aunt and Uncle’s townhouse, Fitzwilliam, who looks a great deal like Mr. Wickham.
My aunt and uncle are sure it is my imagination, but I know I have seen him.
He was waiting when we arrived, and I believe he is waiting still.
Please come, brother. I know Uncle will listen to you.
It was signed in a shaky hand: Georgiana Darcy.
After a quick breakfast, both men took their leave. Elizabeth stood outside to say her farewells. Richard gave her a quick bow and nearly leapt up into his saddle. Fitzwilliam took her hands.
“Be careful, Elizabeth,” he said. “We shall see to Georgiana and then you and I need to have a conversation about the wedding.”
“Shall I see you tonight for dinner, then?” she asked.
He nodded. “That is my intention.” He gave her a searching look. “It was good of you to give that boy a job.”
“He must earn it if he wishes to keep it,” she replied. “But I am hopeful. I think he will work hard if given the chance.”
“There he is now, straight to work,” Fitzwilliam told her softly, indicating the back of the house. “It appears you may be right.”
Elizabeth did not turn to look, but she did nod and squeeze his hands before changing the subject. “Your cousin is invited to dinner as well, provided he can behave himself.”
“Then I should not accept your kind offer,” Richard called. “Come, Darcy.”
She let go of his hands and immediately felt lonely. “Will you be back in time to ride with me?”
“You plan to ride today?” His disapproval rang in the increased volume of his speech.
“I do,” she responded, her voice rising to match his own. “Otherwise I shall grow quite afraid of it.”
“No, Elizabeth,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?“ she asked, incredulous.
“Of course. You took a serious fall yesterday and we still do not know where Wickham is hiding,” he said, patronizing her as though speaking to a child. “Wait but a few days and I shall go with you.”
“I will make no such promise, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she snapped. “I have Mr. Taylor and Mr. Clark, and you shall not stop me.”
“Your guards would no doubt appreciate it if you did not make their job so difficult.”
Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips. “You are not my husband, Mr. Darcy.”
“Yet, Elizabeth,“ he told her tersely. “I am telling you not to ride today.”
She scowled fiercely. “I am not your younger sister, either. See to Georgiana, Fitzwilliam.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “We will speak of this later,” he told her firmly.
She pursed her lips and found his eyes were drawn to them. “We shall. After I ride.”
“Darce!” yelled Richard from near the road. “Are you coming?”
Elizabeth stormed back inside before Darcy had even turned to mount his horse. He watched her all the way inside, breaking away only when Mr. Perry closed the door. Finally, he swung up into his saddle and rode away.
Elizabeth spent the morning indoors, taking care of all the details one must when a house is newly opened.
When she had seen to everything she could and had inquired as to the satisfactory progress of dinner, she dressed in a clean riding habit and a warm fur muff.
She passed Mr. Perry on the way. Her eyes sought the clock.
The butler gave her a single silent nod as he held the door open and she strolled out to the stables.
When she arrived at the stable-yard, one groom was brushing down the carriage horses and the other was instructing Billy on something. Billy tipped his hat to her and the grooms called out their well-wishes. The head groom, whose name was Isaac, doffed his hat and offered a quick, stiff bow.
He gestured to the stable. “You are here to see Kensington?”
“I am,” she replied.
He replaced his hat and led her in. Kensington stamped one hoof on the ground when she heard her mistress’s voice.
Elizabeth reached over the gate to rub the mare’s neck and received a snort in reply.
Elizabeth unfurled a fist to reveal two small pieces of sugar, and Kensington took them from her hand immediately.
Isaac shifted from one foot to another, his posture uneasy, his words halting. “Now that I have you here, miss, I was meaning to ask whether we might be expectin’ more horses to arrive.” He motioned to the empty stalls and raised his eyebrows. “I fear I am not earning my pay.”
She gave him a small smile. “I believe we will, Isaac, but when or how many I cannot say. I will send word as soon as I know.”
“Very good, miss. Shall I lead Kensington out and saddle her up for you?”
Elizabeth patted the horse a few more times, pensive, and then nodded. She watched as Isaac led Kensington away, then closed the gate on the stall before turning to follow them.
And found herself face-to-face with the man in her drawing.
“Mr. Wickham,” she said quietly. The man was leaning on the post of a stall between her and the door through which she had entered, his weight all on his left leg. “Did you sleep here?”
He smiled at her, a lascivious expression that only made her angry.
“No,” he said, and took a halting step towards her. “Your greenhouses are much warmer.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding and stepping back. I ought to have thought of that. “It is cold today, is it not?“ She held up her muff. “I understand why the greenhouses were more comfortable last evening.”
Mr. Wickham gave her a curious look and took another step. “You wish to speak of the weather?”
“I have many things I wish to discuss with you,” she replied, matching his step forward with another back. There are six sets of stalls behind me to the rear door. “Beginning with why you sent my aunt that letter and then shot at my cousin’s carriage.”
He chortled, a hollow sound that sent cold chills up and down her spine. “I wanted that sickly old bat terrified. I seem to have succeeded, judging by her looks yesterday.” He smiled again, a nauseous, pained grimace.
A hot fury flared in her chest and she stopped moving.
“Besides, judging from your very descriptive and hopelessly na?ve letters to your beloved aunt, Darcy is in love with you, as much as he is capable of it. Stupid prig. I have you all dancing to my tune, now—and it is all funded by the sale of Darcy heirlooms.” Wickham leaned forward and hissed, “Will he save Georgiana or the woman he says he loves?” He sneered.
“Does he love you more than his sister?” He waved his hand around the empty stable.
“It appears not.” He reached into his waistband, under his coat. “Shall we go, Miss Russell?”
Elizabeth pulled the muff up her arm to reveal a small pistol in her hand aimed at his chest. “I think not,” she replied.
He put his hands up, palms out, but kept talking. “Do you even know how that toy works?” he scoffed, taking another limping step forward.
“Come any closer and you shall have your answer,” Elizabeth assured him. She took two large steps back.
“I presume that means that you do not,” he replied, as he continued to move towards her.
Five stalls.
“You question my skill?“ she goaded him as she darted back. Quick, now. “I cannot possibly be a worse shot than you.”
Four stalls.
Wickham lunged.