Mr. Darcy’s Complex Courtship

9. Chapter 9 An Unexpected Visitor

Chapter 9: An Unexpected Visitor

Friday, 5 June

Gunter’s Tea Shop, Berkeley Square

Elizabeth

I swallowed a mouthful of lavender sorbet and waved to Mr. Talbot, who approached our table. The elderly gentleman did not stop to talk but tipped his hat to us as he passed, directing an impish grin at me. Darn, did he now believe his earlier assumption—that Mr. Miles and I were courting—had been affirmed?

“Who is that gentleman?”

At Miss Darcy’s query, I put on a smile. “He is Mr. Talbot, a kind gentleman we met at Matlock House the other day.” We sat at a table for four; Mr. Miles and Miss Darcy had arrived at my uncle’s home with Miss Darcy’s companion, Mrs. Annesley. Upon meeting the lady, whom I guessed to be in her fifth decade, I took an instant liking to her; she had a gentle, calm demeanour reminiscent of my dear sister Jane.

Thus far, we had encountered just one other of my recent acquaintances, an amicable lady, who stopped for a brief chat. But we received a great many curious stares from the strangers who traipsed by.

“I have a notion that has been on my mind.” A blaze flickered in Mr. Miles’s eyes as he raised his spoon in my direction. “With your cooperation, I should like to paint your portrait as a surprise gift for Fitzwilliam. What do you think?”

Miss Darcy clapped her hands. “What a superb idea! You are such a talented artist that the painting is certain to be a fine likeness. I know Fitzwilliam will be delighted to receive such a unique present.”

“Indeed”—Mrs. Annesley grinned at Mr. Miles—“I cannot imagine a more ideal offering for Mr. Darcy.”

My stomach muscles tensed. “That is a generous suggestion. My only qualm is the time that would be required. If we spend many hours together whilst I am sitting for you, we might fuel the rumours we want to avoid.”

“In reality, I shall need much less of your time than you may imagine. I could call at your uncle’s home and make several sketches of you, which should require no more than two hours. I should use those sketches to complete the majority of the work. Then I should need you to sit for me at Darcy House while I complete the facial details—another two hours of your time ought to suffice.” He canted his head. “How does that sound?”

“That would be ideal. I have no plans for tomorrow. Shall we meet at my uncle’s house at one o’clock?” My sight flitted to Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley. “I hope you both will come as well so we may talk over tea whilst Mr. Miles completes his sketches.”

“Yes, I should like that.” Miss Darcy’s gaze shifted to Mrs. Annesley, who nodded her agreement.

Mr. Miles beamed at me. “We shall see you then.”

Wednesday 10 June

Gracechurch Street

Elizabeth

Barnet entered the sitting room and strode to me. “Miss Bennet, this came for you.” He held out a letter.

“Thank you, Barnet.” I set aside the handkerchief I had been embroidering and accepted the offering. The familiar handwriting identified the sender as Charlotte. A jolt of chagrin caused my smile to ebb, for I still owed my friend a response to her most recent correspondence from May.

Last Saturday, I had spent a delightful two hours with Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley, and Mr. Miles. He had completed his sketches earlier than expected, and Lydia had been invited to join us for a while. Under the supervision of my aunt and Mrs. Perry, my sister had behaved herself, though she posed too many questions to Mr. Miles and paid scant attention to anyone else.

Yesterday, Mr. Miles had taken me to Hyde Park in a phaeton. Whilst on Rotten Row, we had encountered several of our new acquaintances with whom we exchanged pleasantries. Due to the apparent success of this excursion, we planned to return there on Friday; this time, we should enjoy a walk through the park.

I settled back in my seat, tore the seal, and opened my friend’s epistle.

Monday, 8 June

Dear Eliza

How are you enjoying your stay in London? I had expected to hear back from you before now. Of course, I imagine you have been busy with Jane’s wedding and the delights of town. I could not be more pleased for your family and await your full accounting of Jane’s engagement and the wedding!

I had hoped to visit Lucas Lodge and be present for the festivities. However, we learnt the tragic news last month that Miss de Bourgh suffers from a brain tumour and is not expected to live much longer. Despite her fragile health, it is a shock for anyone so young to have been dealt this sad fate. Mr. Collins refused to even consider our leaving Hunsford with Miss de Bourgh at death’s door.

By all accounts, Lady Catherine has undergone a startling alteration. Since her return from London, I have not seen her. According to Mr. Collins, who met with her once at the end of May for a brief discussion, she has become a shadow of her former self. She no longer takes any interest in my husband’s sermons and spends most of her time in Miss de Bourgh’s sickroom. Mr. Collins is beside himself with concern for her. I share his worry, despite the fact she used to drive my husband to distraction, poring over each word he wrote and directing him to change most sentences several times before she would declare his sermon to be acceptable.

Several guests are staying at Rosings House, including Mr. Darcy, Lady Matlock (Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother), Mrs. Finch (the sister of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh), and Miss Rebecca Finch (Mrs. Finch’s daughter). I met them yesterday at the church, and the countess extended an invitation to Mr. Collins and me for tea that afternoon. Since Lady Catherine never made an appearance, Lady Matlock acted as host.

It was thrilling to spend this time with a countess, despite the sad circumstances, which cast a pall over the occasion. Miss Rebecca Finch is a pretty, reserved, and diffident blonde lady who reminds me a little of Maria. But no one fascinated me more than Mr. Darcy. You may remember he showed himself well on that final call he made with his cousin in April. Well, he has transformed further—and I believe Miss Rebecca Finch is the cause! He has become a gallant and attentive suitor to her.

What? I reviewed that last sentence to ensure I had not misread the text. No—that could not be true! I took a deliberate breath and continued with Charlotte’s letter.

You will excuse me, I am certain, for once having imagined Mr. Darcy to have been enamoured of you. It had seemed the most logical explanation for his calls to the parsonage. But based on his conduct with Miss Finch, both during services and at Rosings House, it is clear I was mistaken. I am astounded to witness how caring and gracious he can be in company with his apparent inamorata. He speaks to her in a gentle, soothing tone, unlike his customary diction. The pair make for a charming sight. Mark my words, the London newspapers will print an announcement of their marriage within the next few months.

The paper slipped from my hand and wafted to the floor. For a moment, I lacked the ability to move. If this report had come from anyone else, I should assume they had misunderstood the situation or sought to deceive me. But Charlotte —my calm, reasonable, honest, and intelligent friend—had written this.

With a convulsive inhalation, I jerked forwards and retrieved the letter. I re-read the entire disquieting section, this time lingering upon each word. I tried, in vain, to divine an alternate meaning, but my friend left no room for misinterpretation. Had Fitzwilliam fallen in love with this lady, Miss Rebecca Finch? My heart screamed ‘ No’ . He could not be so fickle. Or had I fooled myself? After all, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ would not have become an idiom if the phrase lacked accuracy.

Of course, I had been jealous and insecure once before without merit: when I had learnt Fitzwilliam had spoken with Miss Browning at a party, and he clarified he had been practising better behaviour. Could this have a similar explanation? Charlotte, who had no knowledge of my attachment to Fitzwilliam, could have drawn a false conclusion from his conduct. I placed my hand over my racing heart. Yes, that must be the case. I should not be so quick to doubt Fitzwilliam. He loved me. I reached under my scarf and fondled the ring suspended from the gold chain. I had managed to wear it each day, taking care to ensure the ring remained out of sight.

Oh, how I ached to see him and receive assurance of his constancy! Thanks to my father, we could not even write to each other. I straightened my spine. Yet Fitzwilliam must be corresponding with his sister. I must call upon Miss Darcy tomorrow. Perhaps he had mentioned Miss Rebecca Finch in his latest missive.

I skimmed the remainder of Charlotte’s letter, which contained nothing notable, then folded the paper. I needed a diversion: I should take a walk, a very long one.

Thursday, 11 June

Darcy House

Elizabeth

Miss Darcy handed me a cup of tea. “You must try a strawberry tart. Our cook’s recipe is superior to any other I have tasted.”

“Thank you, I am fond of strawberries.”

Mrs. Annesley, seated beside her charge, held up a biscuit. “These are delightful as well. They are flavoured with cinnamon and ginger.”

“They look quite appetising.” I set the steaming cup on the table and added a tart and a biscuit to my plate, keeping Miss Darcy in my line of vision. “Have you heard from your brother this week?”

“Yes, I received a letter from him yesterday.” She sustained a stringent attitude, and her mouth constricted. “He is concerned for Lady Catherine. By his description, she is already bereft. Although Anne still lives, she no longer appears to recognise anyone and does not speak. My cousin is not expected to live much longer.”

“I am very sorry to hear this. Lady Catherine must take comfort in your brother’s company.”

“Yes, I believe so. She has always seemed to favour Fitzwilliam over her other nephews. He visits her every spring to review her estate records because she trusts no one else to do the task—not even Lord Matlock.” Miss Darcy’s eyes opened wide. “Oh yes, my brother asked me to pass on his regards to you.”

I quelled the impulse to be disappointed at the meagre offering—he could hardly be expected to express tender feelings for me through his sister. “Please convey my best wishes for him in your next letter.”

“Yes, I shall do that.”

I sampled a morsel of the tart, and the buttery crust combined with the sweet fruit for a perfect mix of flavours and textures. I met Miss Darcy’s expectant gaze. “You are correct—this is excellent.”

“Ah, I knew you would enjoy it.” She gave me a toothy grin. “How is Miss Lydia doing with her studies?”

“She is making progress, especially in her music lessons, which she seems to enjoy.”

“That is excellent news.”

I lifted my teacup and took a sip. Come now, tell me more: Did Fitzwilliam mention Miss Finch in his letter? Since Miss Darcy could not—thankfully—read my thoughts, I resorted to a leading question. “Is anyone else staying at Rosings House besides Lady Matlock?”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam mentioned Mrs. Finch and her daughter, Miss Rebecca Finch, are there.”

Miss Rebecca Finch . So, he had mentioned her. Could this mean anything?

“Are the Finch ladies relations of Lady Catherine?” asked Mrs. Annesley.

“Yes, Mrs. Finch is the widowed sister of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh. I met her a couple of years ago and remember her as a tall, corpulent, and garrulous lady. I have never met Miss Finch, and Fitzwilliam met her for the first time during this visit.”

For a full minute, I munched upon a biscuit, waiting in vain for Miss Darcy to elaborate; it seemed I should be forced to enquire yet again. “Did Mr. Darcy relate his impression of Miss Finch?” I modulated my voice with the hope of sounding nonchalant.

“Oh yes, he did. Um…let me think.” She paused for several seconds. “He described Miss Finch as attractive, shy, and an accomplished musician with a pleasant singing voice.”

“I see.” He described her in complimentary terms. My stomach soured, and I pushed my plate of desserts farther from me.

Miss Darcy went on to remark upon the music books she had purchased yesterday whilst shopping with Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Miles. She applied to Mrs. Annesley when she could not recall the composer of the new sonata she obtained. I made a show of heeding the ladies’ discourse, but Miss Finch monopolised my thoughts. I itched to prompt Miss Darcy for further insight: Had Fitzwilliam mentioned anything else about her? Did he often relate the relative musical skills or physical appearances of the ladies he had met? But I kept my counsel—heaven forfend I should appear jealous or irrational.

“So, would you like to see them later?”

With a start, my eyes flew to Miss Darcy. See what later? Oh, she referred to the music books. “Yes, by all means.” I took a sip of tea. “Where is Mr. Miles today?”

“He is in his studio. He spends many hours each day working on his paintings, including the one of you.”

“Have you seen the portrait yet?”

“No. He does not like to show anyone his work before he is finished.”

“Well, I suppose we must wait.”

Miss Darcy paused at the edge of her seat. “Would you like me to ask him to join us?” The line of her mouth drew taut; no doubt she preferred to maintain our company of three.

“Oh no, let us not disturb him whilst he is working.”

She resumed a more relaxed pose. “Very well.”

Friday, 12 June

Hyde Park

Elizabeth

“Do you recognise the two ladies coming this way? They appear to be staring at us.”

Mr. Miles’s voice drew my sight from the Serpentine River and the frolicking trio of swans I had been admiring. The indicated pair who strolled in our direction seemed familiar. Of course, the sisters from that day at Vauxhall Gardens; Browning, was it not? Yes, Miss Browning and Miss Miriam. “Mr. Darcy introduced me to them in April, much to their mutual chagrin.” On this occasion, though, I wore a gown of pale cream-coloured silk comparable to the two ladies’ fine attire.

Miss Browning and her sister veered in our direction, forcing us to halt. “What a pleasure it is to see you again, Miss Bennet.”

“Good day, Miss…um…” I slanted my head with a slight frown, as though at a loss.

“Miss Browning”—she raised a hand to her chest, then gestured to her sister—“and Miss Miriam. We met at Vauxhall Gardens.”

“Ah yes, I remember.”

Miss Browning’s fulsome smile drifted towards Mr. Miles, and she moved her scarf aside, ensuring an unobstructed view of the sizeable amethyst solitaire in her necklace. I introduced Mr. Miles to the two Browning ladies.

With a gleam in her eyes, Miss Browning fixed upon me again. “I understand you are acquainted with Lady Matlock.”

“Yes, she has been exceedingly kind to me.”

“So I have heard.” Miss Browning glanced at her sister. “Miriam and I should love to have you for tea. Where may I send an invitation?”

“I stay with my aunt and uncle Gardiner on Gracechurch Street near Cheapside.”

The corners of her mouth tugged downwards for a moment. “Ah, I see.” She took Miss Miriam’s arm. “Well, I am sure we shall meet again soon. Enjoy the rest of your walk.” The two ladies sauntered away.

Once the Miss Brownings reached a safe distance from us, I related the gist of my previous encounter with them to Mr. Miles.

“Do you suppose Miss Browning will send you an invitation?”

“I care not, but I fancy that depends on how much value she places on my association with Lady Matlock.”

He shook his head. “Although I am grateful to have been reunited with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana and appreciate his generosity to me, the customs of London society can be exasperating, especially the importance people put on rank.”

“I could not agree more, and I should much prefer to walk here in the morning when we are least apt to encounter other people.”

“Hear, hear.”

An affable grey-haired gentleman stopped to greet Mr. Miles, who introduced the man to me, indicating the two had met at White’s.

On this and our previous visit to the park, I found amusement in the more outrageous fashions on display by the men as well as the women. I patted Mr. Miles’s arm and tipped my head to indicate the dandy who had just passed us. “Would you ever wear a cut-velvet coat like that one?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the two-toned garment. “No, never. And I can imagine what Fitzwilliam would say if I wore anything similar.”

“Miss Eliza!”

I stiffened. Miss Bingley. She and Mrs. Hurst strode our way from a perpendicular path. Both ladies wore satin dresses with matching feathered turbans. Earlier today, I had fulfilled my duty by calling at the Hursts’ house, and to my delight, the butler had declared the ladies to be away.

“It is fortuitous to see you here.” Miss Bingley tugged her sister in our direction. “I was disappointed to find I had missed your call.”

“Good day, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst.”

The ladies made their greetings between glances at Mr. Miles. I made the necessary introductions, and the Bingley sisters ogled him as one might a circus performer.

Miss Bingley posed questions to Mr. Miles designed to elicit specifics of his kinship with Mr. Darcy, but he demonstrated a masterful talent for providing gallant commentary while evading the issue.

After failing in her third attempt to cajole the information she sought from Mr. Miles, Miss Bingley directed her focus to me. “Louisa and I were puzzled to hear of your friendship with Lady Matlock, for we cannot imagine how you would ever cross paths with the exalted lady.” She removed an errant pheasant feather the breeze had thrown in her face. “But then I recalled an enigmatic statement Charles had made the day before his wedding. He had alluded to a future connexion between Mr. Darcy and your family. Well, now I know what he meant—he anticipated a union between you and Mr. Miles Darcy!”

For heaven’s sake! “No, you are mistaken. We are friends, nothing more.”

Mr. Miles nodded. “Yes, that is true. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bingley, but perhaps he had in mind Miss Bennet’s close friendship with Miss Darcy.”

With her lips pursed in a suppressed simper, Miss Bingley’s gaze hovered between me and Mr. Miles. “Well, I suppose that is a possibility.” She took Mrs. Hurst’s arm. “We must be on our way. Please excuse us.” Miss Bingley steered her sister away, and the pair strode off.

Mr. Miles turned to me. “Based on your familiarity with Miss Bingley, is there any hope she will not share her suspicion with everyone who will listen?”

“No, no hope whatsoever.” Gloom tinged my every syllable. Soon, the whole of London would be gossiping of my ‘romance’ with Mr. Miles.

Monday, 15 June

Gracechurch Street

Elizabeth

Lydia filled her plate from the sideboard and took a seat beside me at the breakfast table. “Good morning, everyone.”

Mrs. Perry, Aunt Gardiner, and I returned her greeting. My uncle had already gone to his warehouse. Lydia took one of the London papers and placed the periodical beside her plate.

My aunt passed me the basket of rolls. “If you do not have other plans this morning, Lizzy, I thought you might wish to accompany the children to the park. They would love to have you with them.”

“Yes, I should like to go.” I set the bread down in front of my sister’s plate.

Without raising her sight from the newspaper, my sister grasped a roll and absently took a bite.

“Perhaps we shall play hide-and-seek or—”

Lydia’s piercing screech assaulted my ears, and I cringed. She jounced from her chair and loomed over me. “How could you? You are a sneak and…and a liar!” She threw the publication at me; it bounced from my forearm to the floor. “I hate you!” With a high-pitched shriek, she fled the room.

Mrs. Perry rose to her feet. “What in the world…? I have never seen Miss Lydia so upset.”

My aunt stood and came to me. “Lizzy, what has happened between the two of you?”

“I have no idea what prompted her outburst.” I retrieved the newspaper from the floor and gave each page a cursory glance until I reached the People and Fashion section, and the second paragraph drew my attention:

Many in town have been charmed by the handsome and amiable distant cousin of a prominent bachelor from Derbyshire. According to a close family friend, this gentleman, who is a gifted artist, will not remain single for long; he is smitten with a country lass from a modest estate in Hertfordshire, one who has earned the favour of an esteemed countess. Well, at least his much wealthier cousin is not yet taken! Oh no! Everyone in town would read this dross. Would they accept this as verity?

“Lizzy, what did you find?”

I handed the paper to Aunt Gardiner. She scoured the article with Mrs. Perry reading over her shoulder. My aunt shook her head. “This is unfortunate. I wonder who provided this…information.”

“It must have been Miss Bingley. She and Mrs. Hurst came upon Mr. Miles and me in Hyde Park on Friday. She suggested we were courting. We both denied the notion, but it was obvious she did not believe us.”

Mrs. Perry approached me and patted my shoulder. “Do not fret, Miss Bennet. I shall speak to Miss Lydia.”

“Thank you.”

My aunt urged me back to my seat and refilled my teacup. I took a tiny sip of the steaming liquid, but my appetite had disappeared. She moved to the chair next to me. “Are you concerned Mr. Darcy will read the paper and suspect it might be true?”

I attempted to disregard the disconcerting rumble in my belly. “No. Lady Matlock promised to inform him that we are appearing together in public at her direction. And although Papa has forbidden us from corresponding, I believe Mr. Miles is writing to Mr. Darcy, so if he has not already related our encounter with Miss Bingley, I am certain he will do so now.”

“Ah, that is well.”

Later that day, Lydia came to my room and stood before me with a droopy bearing. “I am sorry, Lizzy. I should not have assumed what I read was true. Will you forgive me?”

“Very well, I accept your apology.” I approached my sister and tweaked her nose, as I used to do years ago. She giggled and gave me a brief hug. “Will you be punished for your outburst?”

“Yes, I am to dine in the nursery for the next two days.” Lydia shrugged. “It is not so bad though—our cousins are diverting.” She flashed a crooked smile and quit my room.

I picked up the novel I had been reading, but visions of my dearest Fitzwilliam filled my head, and I set the book down again. What was he doing at this moment? It must be arduous for him to cope with an anguished Lady Catherine whilst his poor cousin lay dying. And what, if anything, had transpired between him and Miss Finch? He could not have fallen in love with her; I should not entertain anything so ridiculous. Yet…did he admire her? I held my head in my hands. Oh, I missed him so much! Please, Fitzwilliam, come back soon.

Friday, 19 June

Darcy House

Elizabeth

Upon my arrival, Slade led me to the large sitting room serving as an artist’s workshop and occupied solely by Mr. Miles.

Upon my enquiry, Mr. Miles related Miss Darcy had been delayed and would soon join us.

I came today so he could complete the portrait, which he had been labouring upon these past two weeks. I had travelled from Gracechurch Street with a maid and a footman. Before I could raise the subject of the slanderous drivel in the newspaper, Mr. Miles assured me that he had written to Fitzwilliam and explained the likely origin of the rumour. A burst of esprit energised me at this welcome assertion.

Mr. Miles showed me his most recent creation—a stunning depiction of Kensington Gardens commissioned by a neighbour—and I praised him for the gorgeous painting. When I declined his offer of tea, he settled me upon a lone Hepplewhite-style chair placed in the centre of the room. “Please move your head a touch to the right.” He tilted his hands to illustrate the change he sought.

I attempted to follow his instruction. “How is this?”

He took a few steps back and scrutinised me. “Yes, that is perfect. Pray, hold that position.”

“Very well, I shall do my best.”

I began the enterprise of serving as an artist’s model with enthusiasm, but within twenty minutes or so, ennui set in for the forced immobility. Whilst the minutes dragged on, my arm muscles ached, and I tried to disregard the inclination to fidget. With Mr. Miles occupied in his work, I remained silent rather than engage him and hinder his progress.

Crisp footfalls preceded Slade’s entrance, and he strode to Mr. Miles. “Pardon me, sir. Mrs. and Miss Hawkins are here to see you.”

Mr. Miles jerked his paint-brush from the small, greenish clump on his palette, creating a fresh stain on the fabric that protected the wood floor. He made a slow turn towards Slade. “Did you say Hawkins ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah…show them…um…” He coughed. “Bring them here, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Miles’s hand betrayed a quiver as he set his brush on the ledge of his easel. After a pause, he sent me an absent-minded glance. “You may relax now, Miss Bennet.”

How odd. I had never observed him to be so flustered before, not even in company with his titled relations. I stood from the chair. “Are you well?”

“Yes, perfectly so, thank you.” Yet a slight tremor beset his lower lip.

Rather than press him further with the arrival of guests imminent, I retreated to the far table, poured a cup of tea, and took a sip; the brew had grown lukewarm.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Mr. Miles tottered towards the doorway.

Slade entered with two handsome and well-dressed ladies. “Mrs. and Miss Hawkins.” I guessed the dark-haired Miss Hawkins to be near my age, while the sandy-haired Mrs. Hawkins appeared to be in her fifth decade.

In a halting, wooden gait, Mr. Miles went to the newcomers, stopping before the younger one. For a long moment, he goggled as though confronted with an apparition. “Did the butler misspeak, or are you truly still Miss Hawkins?”

Lines formed between her brows as she held her hand out to him. “I am unmarried. And I understand you are now Mr. Darcy. The name suits you.”

His hand lifted in a faltering motion to grip hers. “But I…I heard of your betrothment to your father’s friend Mr. Lovell.”

Miss Hawkins’s free hand rose to her throat. “You believed I had married him? That must mean…you could not have received my… letter .” Her last utterance, though whispered, fell within my hearing.

Every element of this fascinating scene consumed me. Upon my word, Mr. Miles and this lady must have been in a star-crossed romance—the impassioned looks between the pair left no room for doubt!

“No, I did not.” He pushed back a wayward lock of hair at his temple. “When did you write to me?”

“A month after we returned to Somersetshire—the same day I broke my engagement.” Miss Hawkins gasped. “My father must have intercepted the letter! I ought to have considered that possibility. He had pressured me to accept Mr. Lovell’s offer, and in a weak moment I agreed.”

“Did you…care for this man?”

“No, not at all. But I felt defeated and hopeless. For a short time, I lost my will to fight my father. But I soon realised I could not go through with the marriage. Papa never forgave me for jilting Mr. Lovell. In effect, he disowned me. Although he did not go so far as to eject me from the house, life at home became unbearable. Thankfully, my dear aunt offered to take me in.” She smiled at the older lady. “I have resided with her in Canterbury ever since.” Miss Hawkins took the other lady’s arm. “Aunt Hawkins, I should like to introduce Mr. Miles Darcy.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Mrs. Hawkins.” Mr. Miles released Miss Hawkins’s hand and bowed.

Mrs. Hawkins curtsied and held him in a penetrating gaze. “Likewise, Mr. Darcy. My niece has told me much about you.” Her sight wandered to me, and she started.

A moment later, Miss Hawkins marked her acknowledgement of my presence with a sharp intake of breath, and her complexion blanched.

Mrs. Hawkins made an unobtrusive movement closer to her niece and placed a supportive hand upon Miss Hawkins’s back. “Mr. Darcy, will you not introduce your friend to Amelia and me?”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Miles motioned me closer. “I should like you to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet of…um…”—his fingers dug into his forehead—“Longbourn estate in Hertfordshire. She is…um…” His mouth tarried in an open position.

I advanced to a place opposite the ladies and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. I am a friend of the Darcys. My sister has lately married a close friend of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s. I am here today to sit for a painting. Miss Darcy has been delayed upstairs, but I expect her to join us soon.” By the end of my explanation, Miss Hawkins had recovered her poise. She bore a superficial resemblance to me since we shared the same hair colour and had similar frames. Otherwise, though, we differed; in particular, her long, narrow countenance, very dark, almost black, eyes, ivory complexion, and prominent Roman nose set her apart.

“Ah, I see.” Miss Hawkins shared a quick look with her aunt. “I am glad to meet you, Miss Bennet.”

“Indeed, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Mrs. Hawkins.

We all took seats. Since Mr. Miles had not yet recovered his usual composure, I took the liberty of ordering a fresh pot of tea and refreshments; when the food and drink arrived, I acted as host. At Mrs. Hawkins’s enquiry, I described Longbourn and Meryton. In turn, she provided a depiction of her small estate near Canterbury; she had inherited the property from her husband, who had perished from influenza five years earlier. Mr. Miles and Miss Hawkins—perhaps overwhelmed with emotion from their happy reunion—remained mute and exchanged longing gazes.

“I wonder, Miss Bennet…” Mrs. Hawkins shifted closer to me. “Would you be kind enough to indulge me in a whim? I fancy my niece and Mr. Darcy have matters of import to discuss. I suggest the two of us remove to the other end of the room so we may preserve decorum whilst providing them a modicum of privacy.”

Mr. Miles stirred to the edge of his chair. “That is a splendid and generous suggestion.” He turned to me. “As long as Miss Bennet does not mind.”

“Not at all.” I took my cup of tea and stood. Mrs. Hawkins followed me to a pair of chairs on the other side of the room.

“I appreciate your indulgence.” Mrs. Hawkins placed her tea on the table between us. “My niece and Mr. Wood formed an attachment two years ago, but my brother-in-law denied Mr. Wood’s suit. Even worse, the brute coerced my niece into accepting the hand of a man she did not love. I am glad Amelia ended the engagement, for she deserves better. She has been despondent for too long. I dearly hope it is not too late for her to find happiness.”

“She is fortunate to have your support.”

“No matter what the future brings, she will always have that.” Mrs. Hawkins glanced towards the couple, now seated together on a settee with their heads mere inches apart. “I did not understand why Amelia insisted her chance for a union with Mr. Wood had passed until she confided in me a few weeks ago. She believed that, since he never replied to her letter, he either no longer loved her or could not forgive her betrothment to Mr. Lovell. I convinced her to seek him out and obtain a definitive answer. We met with Mr. Wood’s benefactress, Mrs. Dodge, in Bath. She related Mr. Wood had discovered his connexion to the Darcy family and had moved to town.” Her lips pressed together. “I brought her here with a degree of trepidation.”

“Why is that?”

“My niece had decided she would be content married to Mr. Wood, the tradesman. Yet it occurred to me that, in his new status as a gentleman and part of a prominent family he might have set his sights higher than a gentlewoman whose father has disowned her. Whereas Amelia once had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds, Mr. Hawkins has redistributed the funds to her brothers. In addition, he made a new will with no mention of Amelia.”

“Although I have not known Mr. Miles Darcy for long, I do not imagine he would marry for money or rank.”

“I am relieved to hear that.”

When I ventured to direct my vision at the couple, Mr. Miles knelt before Miss Hawkins and held her hands. I moved closer to Mrs. Hawkins. “It seems a blissful resolution for your niece may be close at hand.”

She craned her neck, and her sight riveted upon the couple. “Oh my!”

Despite my initial instinct to give them privacy, I soon yielded to temptation and espied the pair just as Mr. Miles took Miss Hawkins in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

Heat suffused my body, and the inside of my mouth tingled. I closed my eyes, rapt in remembrances of Fitzwilliam’s kisses. How long must I wait to see him—talk to him—touch him again? My eyes opened as the pair walked towards us, arm in arm and wearing matching grins.

Miss Hawkins released Mr. Miles’s arm and crouched before Mrs. Hawkins, taking her hand. “We shall be married, Aunt. I am elated. This is too wonderful to be believed!”

“My dear Amelia, I could not be happier for you.” Mrs. Hawkins embraced her niece.

I stood before Mr. Miles and extended my hand. “Congratulations. I wish you and Miss Hawkins a blissful union.”

He gave my hand a vigorous shake. “Thank you very much.”

When the Hawkins ladies took their leave, Mr. Miles accompanied them to the door. Upon his return, he glanced at his pocket watch. “I apologise for having kept you for so long today.”

“Nay, I am delighted to have met Mrs. and Miss Hawkins and witnessed your felicitous reunion.”

He raised a hand to his chest. “It has been a wondrous afternoon. I shall call upon Miss Hawkins and her aunt tomorrow. They are staying in town at the home of a friend.” He tugged upon his sleeve. “I want to ask a favour of you.”

“Yes?”

“I should like you to keep my engagement to yourself for now. I believe Fitzwilliam ought to hear the news before Georgiana does, and I wish to tell him in person.”

“Very well.” My sight lingered upon the knot on his forehead. “Are you concerned he will not approve of the match?”

He brushed a hand over his jaw. “As I have assured Miss Hawkins, I shall marry her with or without his blessing. The income from my painting could support us. Nevertheless, Fitzwilliam’s opinion matters a great deal to me—I respect him more than any other living man.”

“I am certain he will be happy for you.”

“Your assurance is most welcome.”

A maid appeared at the doorway. “Excuse me, sir, Miss Darcy wished to convey her regrets to you and Miss Bennet. She has the headache and is resting in her chamber. Mrs. Annesley is seeing to her comfort.”

“Oh, that is a shame.” Mr. Miles sobered.

Poor Miss Darcy . With all the earlier bustle, I had not spared her a thought. I met the maid’s gaze. “I am sorry to hear Miss Darcy is unwell. Please tell her that I hope she will feel better soon, and I shall call on her tomorrow.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Has the surgeon or the apothecary been summoned?” asked Mr. Miles.

“No, sir. Miss Darcy assured me there is no need. She took a draught and believes that is sufficient.”

“I see.”

With a nod, the maid left the room.

Mr. Miles glanced back at the canvas. “If you would be good enough to resume your former position on the chair, I should complete the portrait in less than thirty minutes.”

“Yes, of course.” I stowed my plate on the table and returned to my former seat. Mr. Miles raised his palm to halt me when I attained his desired pose. He strode to the easel and began to work.

At least fifteen minutes passed before Mr. Miles stepped back and glanced my way with his paint-brush held aloft. “You may be at your leisure now. I can finish this last bit on my own.”

“That is welcome news.” I stood from the chair and approached the refreshment table. I poured a new cup of tea and munched on a biscuit.

Five minutes later, Mr. Miles set down his paint-brush and wiped his hands with a towel. He beckoned to me, wearing a broad smile. “Would you like to see the painting now?”

“Indeed, yes.” I sprang from the chair and strode forth. He backed away to allow me room before the easel.

I stared at the portrait and froze. My stars, he had captured me so well; the image conveyed the illusion of standing before a mirror. For no justifiable reason, I had anticipated he would idealise my appearance to present me in the best possible light. Instead, he had included my flaws along with my finer attributes.

“What do you think?” Mr. Miles stepped to my side.

“You did an exceptional job. The likeness to me is amazing. If anything, it is too exact.”

“How could that be?” A lop-sided frown distorted his lips.

“For a more universal attractiveness, you might have made my nose straighter and my eyebrows a touch more symmetrical.” I maintained a light tone.

His expression softened. “No, I never considered any such alterations. To my mind, they are aspects of your unique charm and singular beauty, and I have no doubt Fitzwilliam agrees with me.”

Does he? I dearly hoped so. “Well, there is no question of your remarkable talent, and I am honoured to have been your subject.”

“You are most kind, Miss Bennet, and I am in your debt. I could not have created this portrait without your help, and I cannot imagine a better gift for Fitzwilliam.” His palms slapped together. “And now, we must return you to Gracechurch Street before your aunt and uncle fret over your absence. Please apologise to them on my behalf for having kept you so long today.” He rang the servants’ bell.

“It has been my pleasure.” I caught a glimpse of the bracket clock, which showed the time as half past three. I should return before causing my aunt Gardiner any apprehension.