Chapter Ninety-Two
Elizabeth did her best not to seem over-awed by Darcy House. She had spent some time in London with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and had seen townhouses such as this one from the outside, but never had she the opportunity to actually be inside one of these splendid homes.
To do so know, and to know it to be her own home, might have been overwhelming for a less self-assured soul, but Elizabeth held her head high, greeting the butler and the housekeeper as if it were perfectly normal for her to be standing in a luxurious townhouse in Mayfair.
Inside, she was already planning the letter she would write to her mother, who would use it as ammunition in her endless war with Lady Lucas!
She agreed to meet with the housekeeper the next day, to go over menus and the like, but any idea of entertaining was promptly forgotten when Mr. Darcy announced that the knocker should not go up on the front door. “Not for several days, in any case,” he said.
Everyone nodded, without the slightest hint of embarrassment or surprise. Certainly the master would wish to be alone with his new bride, would he not?
Mrs. Layton offered refreshments, which Elizabeth was happy to accept. “And then a tour of the house, I think?” she said, turning to Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy, who had entertained a vision of Elizabeth in his bed the moment they arrived at Darcy House, smiled ruefully, understanding that this fantasy could never have actually occurred.
The formalities must be observed, no matter what; and in any case, certainly he did not wish his servants to observe him behaving in such a manner.
“Of course,” he replied to Elizabeth.
She smiled at him, a twinkle in her expressive eyes.
Once the refreshments had been enjoyed, Mr. Darcy rose and offered Elizabeth his arm. “It is time for our tour, I believe?”
She rose and took his arm. “I know what you were thinking,” she whispered.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Of course. It is absurd that we should have to wait until nightfall, but we do not want to give the servants food for gossip.”
“My servants would never gossip about me,” Mr. Darcy said at once.
“Perhaps not; but there would be a good deal of discussion downstairs about how the master could not even wait until a decent hour,” she said, pretending to frown.
“Do you care?” he asked.
“A bit, yes; I do not want them to think me any less of a lady simply because I have no title and come from the country,” she confessed.
“Fair enough,” he nodded. “I shall contain my beastly self until after dinner.”
But when he threw open the door to the mistress’ room, she pulled him inside and closed the door. It was a full thirty minutes before the tour was resumed.
“You are to make any changes you desire,” he told her, rather hoarsely. “The house has not been redecorated for some time.”
“I would not dream of it!” she said.
“Well, you might, you know. Is not the Egyptian influence still in fashion?”
Elizabeth made a face.
“Thank heaven,” Mr. Darcy sighed. “I do not understand the appeal, myself.”
“I think we will strive for good taste, rather than fashion,” his practical wife replied. “In any case, Fitzwilliam, as it is still daylight, what are we to do about Georgiana?”