Chapter 4 #2
Darcy exhaled. His legs still shook. His body was warm, sated, unbearably comfortable. He needed a drink. Crossing to his brandy decanter, he poured a glass with slightly unsteady hands and downed it in one swallow.
The pillow was gone. His body was spent. His conscience, well, that was a problem for tomorrow. He crawled back into bed, sank into the mattress, still naked.
Sleep took him instantly.
* * *
The scent of bergamot hung in the air, sharp against the lingering sweetness of Mrs Gardiner’s violet pastilles.
A faint scorch of over-steeped tea bit at Elizabeth’s tongue as she swallowed.
The fire snapped softly in the grate, and a draft from beneath the door stirred a loose sheet of the shipping ledger on the side table.
She set her cup down, fingers steady despite the restless flicker in her chest.
“I have been considering a move,” Elizabeth said at last. “To France. Lyon, if Mr Bevier finds a suitable situation.”
Mrs Gardiner blinked. “France?” She exclaimed, “You would leave London?”
“Why not?” Elizabeth set her cup down. “What is there for me here, beyond what I have already built? I cannot take on apprentices. I cannot petition for a license. I cannot enter a society of apothecaries or scholars. I can trade perfumes and consult with housemaids about their lady’s bowels, but there is no future in it. Not for a woman alone.”
Mr Gardiner frowned. “And yet you’ve made a fine business of it.”
“Yes. I have. And now, I could sell it or lease it perhaps and start fresh, somewhere I may own my own establishment, practice apothecary, create my own formulas… Instead of just perfumes and powders for the rich.” She shrugged.
“In France, women can own businesses and study. They file contracts. They practise medicine. It is not a paradise, but it is freer than here.”
Mrs Gardiner’s brow creased. “But to be so far away, alone…”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I have been alone for years, Aunt. England simply makes it polite.”
A pause.
“I do not say I shall go immediately,” she added. “Only that I intend to keep the offer in hand.”
Mr Gardiner leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You would be missed, Lizzy.”
“And I should miss you,” she said, her voice softening. “But it may be time to stop chasing scraps in a country that leaves women no place at the table.”
Mrs Gardiner covered her hand with hers. “Whatever you choose, my dear… we will be proud of you.”
The teacup clank as Mrs Gardiner set it on its saucer.
She gave a look to her husband who became engrossed in conversation with Elizabeth about the next shipments.
Mrs Gardiner grew suspicious of the pensive moods her niece displayed lately.
She dearly wished to find the root of her worries - but maybe the upcoming trip, the countryside, the walks and merriment would sooth Elizabeth’s apparent melancholy.
She let out a little sigh of impatience.
When her husband paused to take a sip of his tea, she quickly took the opportunity to change the subject.
“What I am excited about is, that once this shipment is dealt with, we set off to Derbyshire. I can scarcely wait! I wrote to all my friends there - some of whom I have not seen in years - of our extended stay in the county. We were considering renting a larger cottage for those weeks, but Mr Gardiner is still unsure of the length of our stay…” Mrs Gardiner trailed off.
“We have rented rooms in Lambton Inn - as we always do. For two weeks at least.”
“I think that is a prudent choice, it might not be that easy to find servants this time of the year. Most people will be busy in the fields.” Elizabeth said, seeing this might be a source of friction between her aunt and uncle. “Besides, we do not have a definite date to set off, do we?”
“The ship should arrive within the week at the docks, God willing, so I expect us to set off within three or four weeks.”
Mrs Gardiner smiled, tapping her teaspoon against the rim of her cup.
“Three or four weeks is a comfortable window. And truly, Elizabeth, I think this excursion will do you good. After all, It might be diverting, perhaps, to see all you could have been a mistress of.” she said teasingly, making Elizabeth blanch and blush at the same time.
Mr Gardiner leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach with a satisfied sigh. “Well, that settles it then. I shall send a note to the docks this afternoon to enquire after the ship’s progress. If all goes well, we will be on our way to Derbyshire before the month is out.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “For now, I must check on the warehouse before the afternoon’s business. I leave you ladies to your tea and your Derbyshire daydreams.”
Mrs Gardiner smiled indulgently as her husband took his leave, shutting the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, she turned a knowing gaze onto Elizabeth.
“You have been very pensive of late, my dear.”
Elizabeth let out a small laugh, reaching for the teapot.
“Business talk is one thing. But I know you, Lizzy.” Mrs Gardiner’s voice was gentle. “There is something else on your mind.”
Elizabeth sighed begrudgingly. “It is just… Aunt, ever since Tommy died I knew I would never marry again. There is no point in that, if I cannot be a mother. I like my work, I found purpose in it…”
Mrs Gardiner watched her niece patiently as she struggled to find her words. She tried to encourage her with a smile and a knowing nod. She was proud of her niece, she was proud of what she had built. She did not like Mr Morley and his way of subtly but surely demeaning his wife, even in company.
“What is it my dear?” she patted her hand, getting a little worried her niece would change her mind and not share what was bothering her.
“I am lonely.” Elizabeth sipped her tea to gain time. “I am particularly lonely at night. It has been a while… It has been a while even before Tommy became ill.”
The older woman’s lips formed a tight line. She put her cup aside and braced herself for an uncomfortable conversation. She nodded in encouragement for Elizabeth to continue as she held her hand.
“Would you think it wicked of me, if I sought a male companion without the ties of marriage?” Her face was red, but her demeanor was resolute.
Mrs Gardiner sighed, “That is a cold way to look at it, my dear.”
Elizabeth gave a small, wry smile. “A practical way.”
Her aunt studied her carefully, concern flickering in her eyes. “You speak as if feelings are a danger rather than a blessing.”
Elizabeth shrugged, though her fingers tensed slightly against her saucer. “They are, if misplaced.”
Mrs Gardiner hesitated. She had seen this armour before, this carefully constructed shield of reason and self-sufficiency. But beneath it…
She reached across the table, covering Elizabeth’s hand with her own. “I only hope, Lizzy, that when the time comes, you will recognise the difference.”
Elizabeth did not pull away, but she also did not reply.
* * *
Mr Cranston turned the small wooden box in his hands, the polished surface cool beneath his fingers. He had served the Darcys for the better part of thirty years, and had seen the young master grow into the formidable man he was today. But this… this troubled him.
The instructions had been peculiar, the delivery discreet, an apothecary box, handed over by a lad barely out of childhood, no seal, no note.
If his master sought to keep it hidden, it was not Cranston’s place to pry, but he was no fool.
He had heard the whispers among the staff, the restless pacing at night, the burned pillow discarded by the maid tending the fire. Something was amiss.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to the last time the house had harboured such unease.
The late Mr Darcy had been only slightly older than his son was now when illness took hold of him.
He had been a proud man, reluctant to let his household see his decline.
First, there had been sleepless nights, then mysterious tinctures from town, bitter-smelling drafts that did little to ease his suffering.
By the time a physician had been called in earnest, it had been too late.
Cranston had stood by, helpless, as the master he had loyally served wasted away.
He had seen the way young Mr Darcy, just a lad, really, had carried the weight of it, and steeled himself against grief as he stepped into his father’s place.
And now, years later, Cranston could not shake the feeling that history was repeating itself.
Could it be some secret illness? Something his master refused to name? The thought gnawed at him.
His gaze flickered to the door. He would need to choose one of the footmen to dispose of the box, someone discreet, someone who would not pry. But whom could he trust?
* * *
The shop bell chimed as a footman in well-cut but unremarkable livery stepped inside, glancing around the shelves stacked with neatly labeled jars and vials. The young apprentice rushed forward, eager to assist.
“I have a delivery,” the footman announced, setting a wooden box onto the counter.
Elizabeth, who had been reviewing stock at the back, glanced up at the sound of the voice. She wiped her hands on a cloth and came forward, arching a brow when she recognised the box.
“From Darcy House, madam,” the footman continued with a polite bow. “With the master’s thanks. He has no need of the contents.”
For a moment, Elizabeth simply stared at the box. Then, she pressed her lips together and nodded. “Very well.”
The footman hesitated as if expecting a further response, but Elizabeth had already turned her attention back to her work. With another brief bow, he took his leave.
Only when the door shut behind him did Elizabeth sigh and lift the lid. The items were untouched. She had not expected Darcy to keep them, of course, but something about the way he had dismissed the matter, without even a note, stirred an uneasy feeling in her chest.