Chapter 9 #2
“I do not give a fig where you have put your trunks. You can stick them down your trousers for all I care. I found this house, and I shall be the one to choose where I sleep.”
“What on earth? That sounds like Lord Saye!” Elizabeth said indignantly.
“Who?”
“Viscount Saye. He means to lease the house, but he was not supposed to take it yet! We had at least another fortnight to work!”
Someone else in the room had said something in a quieter, deeper voice, but it had not appeased his lordship, who was now shouting. “No, that will not do. This is my room, and I beg you would get out.”
“I beg they would both get out!” Elizabeth said in a strained voice.
“I am sure,” Mr Hartham said, “but might I suggest that you come back in the morning to take the matter up with him? In my experience—which is not inconsiderable—viscounts do not like to be surprised in their night robes.”
Elizabeth nodded, but her desire to escape the house before she was detected was foiled when her hasty turn resulted in her knocking over a pedestal, which had definitely not been on the landing the day before, sending the potted plant atop it bouncing down the stairs.
It thudded loudly as far as the third step, whereupon it smashed into a thousand pieces and sent soil spraying across the carpet.
She froze. Mr Hartham froze. For a few seconds there was no sound at all, and she dared to hope they might have escaped notice.
Then came the sound of a dog barking wildly within, and shortly thereafter the bedroom door was wrenched open, and Lord Saye thrust his head out of it.
The dog came careering out of the door, still barking wildly, and began to sniff and paw at them.
“What the devil? Mrs Basset! I thought for a moment the house might actually be haunted! What are you doing here? And who is he?”
Elizabeth supposed she ought to be thankful that he was at least not in his night robe, as Mr Hartham had predicted.
If one was to be caught creeping about someone’s house in the middle of the night, it was preferable that all parties should be fully clothed, for the situation was already irredeemably embarrassing without inappropriately attired bodies to consider.
Lord Saye was wearing trousers and a shirt, with a banyan over the top, though that was untied and his shirt collar wide open.
Much the same as his companion’s, who appeared in the doorway behind him, only he was sans the banyan—and he was…
Her stomach dropped. Mr Darcy!
“Oh my—” She stopped just shy of blasphemy, though only the Lord Himself knew how. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Mr Darcy replied heatedly. “What are you doing here? In our house, and at such an hour!”
“This is my house, and I am entitled to be in it at whatever hour I so choose.”
“It might be your house in name, Mrs Basset, but it is my house while I am paying to stay in it,” Lord Saye objected.
“That is not Mrs Basset,” Mr Darcy said.
“Yes, it is,” Lord Saye replied.
“No, it is not!” Elizabeth insisted.
His lordship cocked his head at her. “Mrs Baggett? Barnett?”
“This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Mr Hartham said. “And this most certainly is her house.”
“And for the second time, who might you be?” Lord Saye demanded.
“Mr Hartham. Your next-door neighbour.”
“Then you are in the wrong house, sir.” Lord Saye leant one shoulder against the doorframe. “Why is everybody insisting on being in the wrong place tonight?”
“Pray forgive the intrusion, my lord,” Elizabeth said. “I did not know you had taken possession. You sent no word.”
“Had I known I might find you creeping about with a lover in the middle of the night, I would have,” said Lord Saye with a smirk. “As it was, I meant to speak to you in the morning.”
Before Elizabeth could protest his use of the word ‘lover’, Mr Darcy, his distaste plain, said, “Do you mean to tell me that you are our landlady, Miss Bennet?”
Lord Saye gave a little snort and replied for her. “Obviously. Do keep up, Darcy.” He seemed to have found some humour in the situation, although Mr Darcy clearly recognised it for the disaster it was. Without saying anything more, he turned and disappeared into the bedchamber.
“The Mr Darcy?” Mr Hartham asked quietly, looking questioningly at Elizabeth.
She grimaced ruefully and nodded once, drawing a pitying look from him that only worsened her discomfiture. “Let us go,” she said quietly and prepared to utter some manner of remark to excuse them. Before she could, another voice rang out along the landing.
“Is this an exclusive party or can anyone join in?” Colonel Fitzwilliam came sauntering out of the darkness towards them. He made a sudden stop when he recognised her. “Miss Bennet? Is that really you? What are you—”
He did not get any further with his enquiry.
They were all interrupted by a cascading sound, followed by a whoosh of water, the crash of falling materials, and a very loud imprecation.
Lord Saye whipped around to look behind him, and the dog resumed his furious barking, dashing past his master into the room.
“Good grief, Darcy, what have you done to the ceiling?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shoved his lordship out of the way to look. “Well now that is unfortunate.”
Dreading what new disaster had befallen her house, Elizabeth dared to step forwards and peer into the room.
The patched-up area of ceiling where the leak had been was no more; in its place was a gaping hole, with a new stream of rainwater pouring through it.
Beneath it stood Mr Darcy, his shirt soaked through and plastered to his chest in a most revealing manner that made her draw in a sharp breath.
Mr Hartham, who had entered the room beside her, made a small appreciative noise that perfectly articulated what was going through her own head.
Mr Darcy stepped out of the deluge and wiped the water from his hair and eyes. He did not look at Elizabeth, which felt to her like an accusation. She stepped back out of the room, as did Mr Hartham, who whispered under his breath, “Refused him, you say?”
She sent him a desperate look, pleading him to say no more.
“Have someone run and fetch Tucker, would you, Richard?” said Lord Saye calmly to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “And send my man up if you see him. I need him to move my trunks to another room. I have decided to let Darcy have this one.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam left the room and hastened down the stairs with only the briefest nod to Elizabeth.
Mr Hartham gestured after him. “I think we had better go.”
Elizabeth nodded, too mortified to draw attention to herself by bidding anyone farewell, and together they snuck silently out of the house.