Chapter 11
Relief, mixed confusingly with disappointment, coursed through Elizabeth at Lord Saye’s intrusion into her turbulent tête-à-tête. She turned away from Mr Darcy and his candour and walked towards his cousin.
“I fear the fault is mine, my lord,” she said quickly.
“I learnt yesterday of a situation that might prove ideal for you, and given that my house is not ready to be inhabited, I wished to bring it before you at the earliest possible hour. I would be more than glad to return the funds you have put forth should you wish to move.”
The peevishness on Lord Saye’s countenance did not abate in the least. “I smell coffee,” he said. “Where is it? I need some at once.”
“You smell my coffee,” Mr Darcy replied. “Your cook has somehow managed to make some in the rudimentary scullery that passes as this house’s kitchen.”
“How am I meant to procure some?” his lordship spoke in a whinge. “What do I do, just wander down there myself? Like a footman?”
At this most auspicious of moments, Mr Tucker and Mr Gardiner reappeared. It was clear both men were finding a kindred spirit in one another, but more importantly, they had found coffee and brought with them a large ewer on a tray with cups and a bowl of sugar.
Lord Saye cried out with delight. “Tucker, you blessed soul, I fear I might actually kiss you.”
Mr Tucker was setting his tray on the sideboard and said, calmly, “No need, my lord. I believe you like it without cream?”
“Black as the night,” said Lord Saye, sounding more cheerful by the moment. “Miss Bennet, do go on and tell me about this home you have located.”
“A very splendid home, with twelve bedchambers,” she said as Mr Tucker handed Lord Saye his coffee. “And ceilings that have remained intact for above a century.”
Lord Saye took a deep, appreciative inhalation of his coffee before drinking deeply.
“Where did you learn of it?” Mr Darcy asked.
Elizabeth could not look at him and answered as though Lord Saye had asked the question. “I heard of it at a ball last night. Alas I cannot boast first-hand knowledge of the place, but by all reports, it is a house very well-suited for a man of your station. It only very lately became vacant.”
Lord Saye nodded thoughtfully, his free hand resting on his hip. “How is the view?”
“Lovely, I understand. Verdant and lush, surrounded by…beech trees…on three sides…” Elizabeth trailed off, having observed an expression of increasing horror on his lordship’s countenance.
“Trees?” His lip curled up on one side. “Surrounded by trees on three sides?”
Elizabeth shot her uncle a quick glance. He appeared as mystified as she felt. “A charming wood.”
Lord Saye closed his eyes, seeming pained. “And where might this verdant paradise be located?”
“Um, well, Patcham.”
“Patcham?” Lord Saye’s eyes flew open, and he allowed his mouth to fall comically agape. “Where on earth is Patcham?”
“Not three miles from here,” Mr Darcy offered. “Directly along the London Road.”
“Three miles!” It might have been thirty for the way he exclaimed it. He looked to Mr Darcy, then returned his gaze to Elizabeth, incredulity plain on his countenance. “Miss Bennet, would you have us stay in some village halfway to London?”
“Calm down, Saye.” Mr Darcy gave his cousin a look. “Three miles off is hardly halfway to London.”
“Well it might as well be. My dear girl, delightful as you are, you must have run mad. How is one to properly enjoy the sea views from three miles off? The air! How can I enjoy the sea air from such a distance?”
“Pray do not berate her, Saye,” Mr Darcy said, sounding stern. “It is hardly a preposterous notion, particularly with the house in such a state.”
“It is a preposterous notion,” Lord Saye insisted.
“I have not dragged myself down from London to stay at Patcham and look at trees. This house will do, and if Darcy grows missish about a little loose plaster, then he may go to Patcham himself. With any luck, they have a cream ice shop there. I mean to enjoy the view, even if the entire ceiling rains down upon me as I do so.”
“Let us hope that does not happen,” Mr Gardiner said heartily.
“I assure you it will not,” said Mr Tucker. “We have already found the problem in the roof, and it will be dealt with today. There will be no more ceilings collapsed, upon my word.”
“Good man!” Lord Saye saluted Mr Tucker with his coffee cup. “Now I must be about arranging my picnic—”
“Picnic?” Mr Darcy exclaimed.
“Yes,” Lord Saye replied. “Tucker has a housekeeper coming later today. Sounds the capable sort, but we ought to give her until Thursday to plan the picnic, allow her to settle in first. Miss Bennet, you will join us, will you not?”
All eyes were suddenly upon Elizabeth. The invitation surprised her into silence.
“Georgie will be there, too,” his lordship pressed. “You will like her very well. A seaside picnic! Could there be anything more delightful?”
When Elizabeth had gone, so too did Darcy’s mettle. He sat on the bottom stair—thankful that did not give way beneath him—and dropped his head into his hands.
“Well this is all absolutely delicious.”
He opened his eyes to find Saye smirking at him. “Delicious?”
“Somehow, I have managed to let a house owned by the woman who broke your heart. Affording you a second chance, by the bye!”
Darcy paused, unsure whether he would do best to disclaim his affection for Elizabeth or allow Saye his victory.
“Is she engaged to that fellow she was sneaking about with last night?” Saye enquired. “I might have thought him a man of a different stamp, to be perfectly frank with you, but perhaps Miss Bennet is so enticing that men of all varieties fall in love with her.”
“No, she is not engaged to him,” Darcy replied.
At least, he did not believe she was. Though she had not precisely said as much—only that she was neither his mistress nor in love with him.
He hardly dared imagine what manner of arrangement Elizabeth was involved in if the man were inclined as Saye implied.
“If she is not engaged, then why have you been stuffing sweets down your gob all these weeks?”
“It does not signify whom she might or might not be engaged to, does it?” Darcy said despondently. “All that matters is that she declined to become engaged to me, and she is not likely to rethink her decision after that performance.”
“I shall admit you did not begin strongly, suggesting she was Hartham’s mistress.” Saye chuckled again and moved to pour himself more coffee. “Good lord, man, you cannot say such things of a woman you purport to love! What were you thinking?”
“So you were eavesdropping?”
“Obviously.” Saye gave a little sniff. “Would that I had interrupted sooner! At least I stopped you before you proclaimed your reform before a woman you had only just insulted.”
“Insulted again is more like it. And now she despises me even more than she did before.”
“Perhaps wet your shirt again,” Saye suggested. “She was in no haste to look away when she saw you last night.”
“My wet shirt did no more than to show to her the paunch you are so adamant I have gained,” Darcy replied glumly.
Saye came and sat next to him on the stairs. “She did not appear to me to be noticing any paunch. I have certainly never seen a woman gaze so dreamily at a pot belly before.”
“Does nothing escape your notice?”
“Nothing at all,” Saye remarked cheerily. “I would strongly suggest you repeat the exercise at my picnic. Perhaps we might play cricket, and you can trip into the sea?”
“There will be no cricket on this beach—it is all pebbles and steeply inclined to boot.”
“Well then maybe her parasol will fly away, and you will be forced into the waves to retrieve it. Do not be defeatist.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Mrs Wiggins has not even arrived, and you already have a picnic for her to plan.”
“It will be splendid, I assure you,” Saye said. “Just do your best to abstain from accusing Miss Bennet of prostitution, and I daresay you may end up on improved terms.”