12 #2
The Italian girl looked happier than she had done for days and Jane felt a quiver of disquiet.
Why was Celeste behaving in this flirtatious way with Andrew when she was already spoken for by Colonel Fitzwilliam?
It was scandalous and the Colonel would be so upset and hurt by his future wife making such an exhibition of herself.
Why, only that morning she had received a letter from her godfather, stating that he was making a good recovery, as was Susannah, and that they were planning to travel up to London very soon where he would tell the whole family his good news.
How dreadful it would be if he arrived to find Celeste and Andrew involved in a flirtatious fashion.
“It pleases me to see Andrew so happy,” Archer murmured. “He is a good man but sometimes I feel he is lonely and deserves a companion to accompany and care for him through life.”
Jane came to a sudden stop. “A companion? Through life. Marriage? Can you possibly mean Celeste, Sir?”
Archer shot her a sharp glance. “Indeed I do. Surely it is obvious to you that Andrew has strong feelings for your cousin?”
“But that cannot be! It is impossible.”
His face darkened. “I am aware that Signorina Celeste is a member of the Fitzwilliam clan, albeit a distant one, but even if Andrew does not carry a title, surely your family would not treat him with disdain? He is a clever man with prospects to climb to the top of his profession, a man held in great esteem amongst his peers. It is rumoured that one day soon he will receive a knighthood for the work he does. He is to give a lecture at the Royal Society next year when he returns from Greece. That will bring him into even greater prominence.”
Jane did not see his expression as she shook her head impatiently, unaware that her usually pale cheeks were now pink and flushed. “But they cannot marry! Celeste and Andrew? No, he must be dissuaded of such an idea.”
Oh, how could she possibly explain the situation to him without breaking a confidence?
How could she make Archer understand that she was more bothered about Andrew having his heart broken than Celeste.
Once Colonel Fitzwilliam was in London, claiming her as his intended, the Italian girl would stop this silly behaviour.
If she did have certain feelings for Andrew, Jane was quite sure that her cousin would deal quickly and firmly with any emotional upset.
She was not a girl who would let heart ache linger for too long.
“Are you concerned that living in Greece in difficult conditions might prove too much for Celeste?”
“No, no, of course no.” Jane was hardly listening to what he was saying: all she could think of was how upset her godfather was going to be if this turned out to be true.
“Then I can only surmise that you have more than your fair share of the Darcy pride that your sister talks of so eloquently. Andrew Moore might not be as socially acceptable as Archer Maitland but he is far the better man. I must admit I am disappointed in you, Miss Jane.”
“Oh please, you do not understand.”
“No, I don’t. What is there to understand except the spectre of snobbery raising its head, just as it used to do when we were at school.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I used to fight the boys who bullied Andrew because he was from a family they considered to be beneath them. As that is not an option here, I will just say that I fear we have nothing else to say to each other at this time, so I will bid you good day!”
He bowed then walked swiftly along the Arcade, pushing though the crowds to where Andrew and Celeste were standing in a doorway conversing with the owner of a shop selling a variety of leather items.
Jane stood staring after him, realisation dawning as to what he thought she meant.
Oh this was dreadful. That Archer should think she was the type of girl who put wealth and social standing before everything else that was important in life!
For him to be disappointed in her was almost more than she could bear.
She started after him, determined to explain, to beg Celeste to free her from her vow of silence when James spoke her name.
“Miss Jane.” The young red-headed footman was looking anxious.
“James?”
“Miss Jane—look—this girl here—well, Miss, it is Grace Frost, Miss! You remember Grace, surely, Miss. She was a maid up at Pemberley. She begs a moment of your time, if you please.”
Jane cast a despairing glance after Archer, to find that he had obviously made his farewells to the others and was disappearing at a fast stride towards the entrance of the Arcade. There was no way she could reach him now.
She turned her attention to the girl leaning against the pillar between two shops. James was quite right, the dark hair might be hidden under the hood of her red cloak, but Jane recognised the bright blue eyes of their former maid whom she had known for years whilst she was growing up.
Why Grace had left Pemberley so quickly a few months ago was a question that had once intrigued her.
Working for the Darcy family was considered the pinnacle of achievement for most servants in Derbyshire and the surrounding counties.
She had idly inquired once and her mama had told her that Grace had taken a position in the London household of the great artist, Edmund Avery, who had spent a few weeks in Pemberley that spring, painting a portrait of the Darcy children.
“Grace Frost! My goodness, to see you here in London. How are you keeping? I trust I find you well?”
“Miss Jane.” Wrapped in the red cloak, the girl dropped a small curtsey. She looked—Jane frowned—if she hadn’t thought she was being over dramatic, she would have said the girl looked scared. Her face was very pale and the plump rosiness of her cheeks that Jane remembered had quite vanished.
“Are you enjoying working for Mr Avery? Such a clever man. The portrait he painted of us children was remarkable. It is not yet on show at Pemberley—I think Papa is still deciding where it should be hung. But tell me, are you enjoying your life in London? I imagine you must see a lot of interesting and important people coming to his studio?”
“I’m … I’m not working for Mr Avery anymore, Miss Jane.”
“Oh! You didn’t stay there very long, Grace. Is it wise to move around from position to position so quickly? Or perhaps that is what happens here in London? I must admit it is a long way from Pemberley and our quiet country ways.”
“I was hoping … that is … I was hoping …” She cast a glance towards James who was gazing at her with disapproval. People were pushing past and the mid October day was beginning to feel colder as the sun dropped lower in the sky.
Jane suddenly realised that the girl was reluctant to talk in front of James. She could understand that: the footman was not yet eighteen and Grace was probably worried that he would gossip about her once he returned to Pemberley.
“James, there is no need for us all to stand here, blocking the Arcade in such a fashion. I wish to speak to Grace, so take the parcels and accompany Signorina Celeste back to the carriage, then return here. I will wait for you. I know you have strict instructions not to leave me alone on the streets of London, although I am not sure exactly what Mama thinks will happen to me!”
James hesitated, then nodded and hurried away up the Arcade.
He had a very good idea what Grace was going to say to Miss Jane and, if he was honest, he didn’t want to be around to hear it.
He’d never had any time for the arrogant young maid when she worked at Pemberley, but he hated to see how far she had fallen.
“Now Grace, what is it you want to say to me? Do you perhaps have messages for your family and friends back home? I will soon be returning to Derbyshire so when I do—” She stopped, startled into silence for Grace, unable to put her plight into words, had let the cloak fall back from her shoulders and Jane could immediately see the swelling of her stomach.
“Grace! You are married—no!—you wear no ring—oh Grace. Whatever has befallen you?”