CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I am told you will not be taking dinner here?” asked Lady Catherine as she observed her nephew putting on his cloak in the vestibule.
“Regretfully, no,” Darcy replied. Upon receiving the note from Abby, he had brooked no hesitation in replying in the affirmative.
“Anne herself contributed to the menu for the evening. With my guidance, she has recommended an exceptional repast.”
“I will convey my apologies to her in person and ensure my stay is of a duration that I may sample many other menus of hers in the days to come.”
Never satisfied when her plans were upset, Catherine frowned. “And what matter of business calls you away at this hour?”
As she was his aunt and hostess, Darcy stymied his objection at her prying. “My assistance is required.”
“By whom?”
Darcy paused, knowing full well his aunt’s regard, or lack thereof, rather, for Abby. “By Mrs. Trenwith.”
The shock in Catherine’s face was as he had expected, but he continued to put on his gloves and hat.
“Mrs. Trenwith! Abby Trenwith?”
“Yes.”
He was spared from further discussion by the announcement that his horse was ready. Still in the haze of disbelief, she ambled behind him, but stopped at the threshold. She stomped her cane. “This will not do. Have you any idea what that woman is about?”
“Your pardon, but a quick departure will hasten my return,” he said as he mounted his bay.
Unable to refute him, and perhaps sensing his determination, she said nothing, but the look of consternation upon her face needed no words.
Darcy urged his horse into a gallop. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to be truthful, though Catherine was unlikely to reveal to anyone his acquaintance with Abby.
Under no circumstances would he admit the full truth of what occurred at Trenwith House, but he had no tolerance for prevarication if it could be avoided.
He knew he had opened a Pandora’s box with Catherine and was sure to hear more from her on the matter.
At Trenwith House, he was shown to his usual chambers and learned that Nicholas had went into town with a friend.
To his knowledge, Nicholas had never been indiscreet, but he would have preferred to trust Nicholas with as little as possible.
If it was Miss Elizabeth, she would do well to be cautious around him.
“I have the same assessment of my stepson,” Abby informed Darcy when he expressed his concerns, “and endeavour my best to restrict his access to my students.”
“But my pupil—she has already met Nicholas,” Darcy said as he donned a powdered wig.
“By happenstance. I cannot guard against all circumstances of chance, but the young woman is aware of the risks she takes in coming here.”
Abby stood before him and adjusted his cravat. “Your pupil is ready for her second lesson.”
He reviewed himself in the mirror and remarked of the improvement she had made, “You have not lost your skill.”
“Having undone many a cravat, I am quite intimate with the tying of linen.”
Dressed once more in silk breeches and a satin waistcoat, he looked fully prepared for an evening at Almack’s.
After fitting a black velvet mask over his eyes, he took a deep breath to quiet his nerves but to no avail.
His heart continued to pound. Abby opened her mouth, but decided against what she had intended to say.
“I always did like the look of a man in breeches,” she remarked instead, sweeping her gaze over his tight clothing. “If I were years younger, I should be madly in love with you.”
“And I thought you to disdain artifice as much as I,” he replied.
She shook her head. “My dear Fitzwilliam, you are far too solemn. You require, I think, a woman of lighter spirit, who enjoys humor and can laugh at herself. After all, do we not engage in a most covert undertaking?”
He had long seen the irony of his disposition against deception and the pretense required of Trenwith House but was convinced the balance of good tilted toward the latter.
He stood, surveying himself in the mirror. All the eagerness that had driven him to Trenwith House stalled with the possibility that his apprehensions might be confirmed.
“She awaits in the Red Chamber,” Abby prodded.
With a nod, he took his leave, the careful gaze of his hostess upon him till he disappeared from her view.
Before entering the Red Chamber, he required a moment to steel his nerves.
He had spent the better part of the night pondering the ways he might subtly ascertain her identity without revealing his own, and preparing himself if his suspicions should prove themselves.
What he would do upon discovery, however, he knew not.
She sat before the fireplace, this time in full dress from the same period, a plumed mask upon her, reading from Fanny Hill.
As she had not heard his entry, he had the opportunity to observe her unnoticed.
Her neck was of no remarkable length, but her shoulders had a nice contour.
The arms were of similar thickness to those of Miss Elizabeth.
The bust, constrained by a corset and covered by a fichu, could not be assessed.
But his heartbeat quickened as his gaze moved up to study her lips. The shape, the suppleness—
She must have felt his scrutiny, for she looked up and in his direction.
“A favourite book of yours?” he inquired, almost forgetting to mask his own voice.
“Hardly, but it is significant in that it is the first bawdy novel I have ever read.”
Her cold, though improved, lingered. To encourage her continued speech, he asked, “And how do you esteem the work?”
“I found myself caring enough for the heroine and what was to become of her. And I cannot help but be amused by Cleland’s prose. His reference of, well, that anatomy as a ‘machine’ or ‘weapon’ is too droll.”
“Is it not?”
“I suppose it may appear imposing to one unaccustomed to its nature.”
It was his turn to be taken aback. He had not considered—did not want to consider what lovers Miss Elizabeth might have had. He still held hope that the woman before him was not whom he feared her to be.
“If Cleland is to be believed, all manner of women are drawn to the wondrous implement like moths to a flame,” she continued. “They cannot remark enough upon the look and size of it.”
“Our sex is prone to paying that part of ourselves great attention.”
“I thank you for your admittance, for I had suspected as much, and that the devotion Fanny and her peers pay to that ‘instrument’ is more a reflection of the author than of womankind.”
“You do not admire cock?”
“I appreciate the purpose it serves.”
“I think you are as like to mock it as extol. Perhaps you need to learn to regard it properly”
One corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. “And will you learn me to respect the ‘weapon?’ Is yours as awesome as Cleland would describe it?”
He started. Never had he been asked such a bold question.
She was more impertinent than Miss Elizabeth, but perhaps, protected by her guise and the security of anonymity, she allowed herself more freedom.
It would not surprise him to discover in Miss Elizabeth an irreverence to all which others would pay excessive worship.
In that, he and Miss Elizabeth might be kindred spirits, for he, too, distrusted exaggeration and sycophants.
He answered, “That would be in the eye of the beholder, mademoiselle.”
She pursed her lips in thought. With the glow of the fire upon her, she presented a lovely vision. It had been but days since he had undressed her and felt the softness of her skin beneath his hands. The blood coursed stronger through his veins.
Straightening, he took a serious tone. “You are new to Trenwith House. I know Mrs. Trenwith to have advised you on the need for discretion. You ought trust no one but the mistress of the house.”
“I have no intention of bringing suspicion upon myself or anyone here.”
“Who knows of your presence here?”
She tilted her head at the tension in his voice. “Mrs. Trenwith, naturally. Mr. Singh showed me in. Sally assisted with my toilette. You.”
“Anyone else? Members of your family? Friends?”
“No.”
Her answer relieved him only a little. “What of your prior visits here?”
“It might be known that I have called upon Trenwith House by others beyond whom I have named, but it is not known what I do here. I was assured the confidentiality of our activities will not be breached.”
“The past is an imperfect predictor of the future.”
He sensed her eyes narrowing at him from behind her mask. “Is this all part of your seduction?”
He stiffened. “Even the most diligent can overlook innocent details. If you should be discovered, you would be ruined.”
“I am aware of the consequences,” she replied grimly. “The effect upon my family and my sisters weighs upon me more than what I should suffer.”
His ears perked. He could not resist asking, “Have you many sisters?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is unfair of me to risk their standing to indulge my own selfish desire for knowledge…and pleasure.”
“It is a very dangerous risk. If your sisters are unmarried, their futures might be forever impaired.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands and was silent for a moment. “And you? Do you have family?”
“I do.”
“Do you not risk your own reputation and theirs?”
“The consequences are graver upon the fair sex, but I am cognizant of how exposure might harm my family.”
She looked at him. “Then why do you do it?”
He wanted to ask her the same, but she had beaten him to the query. “I felt fortunate to have, myself, received an ‘education.’ My instructor did much to ease the anguish and shame I felt of the lust within me. I am indebted to Ab—to Trenwith House.”
“And you are fulfilling your obligation as an instructor?”
“Not only did my experience vanquish my torment, I have become privileged to a whole new understanding of humankind.”
“That is what I seek, though my sentiments are not as noble as yours.”