CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE #2
Doubtless he never suspected it to find its way into the hands of someone who actually knew him.
And here, she panicked that perhaps he knew her identity as much as she knew his?
She ransacked her memory, confirming the sketch of her mentor and scrutinizing every chance in which her person might have been known to him.
Her instructor had a similar build and similar height, but these coincidences were not extraordinary, for many men could fit the bill.
Only the lower half of his physiognomy had ever been exposed to her, and in the dimness of the rooms, she could not discern enough of its aspects to be certain of a match, but neither was there an obvious element to contradict a possible likeness.
But in the Temple of Bastet, he had not worn a wig.
She could not recall his hair in detail, but the colour—brown, certainly—and general shape could fit Mr. Darcy.
The act of reminiscing made her pace the room and pull at her fingers, but she must review all that she could.
The supposition she faced was far too alarming not to require the most thorough dissection, no matter how appalling.
Her instructor had always spoken in a whisper.
Thus, she could not draw any conclusions from the sound of his voice.
But what of the mannerisms? Both men had moments of similar terseness and aloofness, but her mentor spoke more easily and seemed capable of a playfulness that she would never have considered in Mr. Darcy till she had seen the extent of his recent transformation.
Their postures were comparable. She would describe both as proud and serious.
But how could someone of his stature, his background, his upstanding qualities, take on the mantle of instructor at Trenwith House?
“The same might be asked of me,” Lizzy groaned as she sat down once more. Had not his alteration from cold and arrogant to agreeable and kind not proven to her that he had many facets? Had her experience not shown how she could misunderstand him?
Last but not least, there was his touch. Her legs had quaked when he had handed her into the carriage. The firm but not overpowering grasp…the perfect amount of support and pressure, the warmth, the size.
“It could all be the work of fancy,” Lizzy insisted to herself. “I have not been myself. And as strange a coincidence as this may all seem, there could be a simple explanation for how my handkerchief should come to be the twin of Miss Darcy’s.”
Only Abby could put her mind at ease and solve the mystery once and for all.
And how providential that Abby was to come to Derbyshire and they should have the opportunity to speak in person!
Lizzy immediately began to consider how she would broach the subject, but as she rehearsed the options, she began to question her friend.
The latter was familiar with Mr. Darcy but had never elucidated the extent of her acquaintance.
If Mr. Darcy was an instructor of hers, with knowledge of how Lizzy felt of the man at that time, how could she have paired the two of them?
This thought made Lizzy cross at Abby. Even if Lizzy had not expressed dislike for the man, why would Abby have taken the chance to mix oil and vinegar?
Abby was no fool. This thought calmed Lizzy.
But when was she to see Abby? Abby had not specified a day.
She only knew the inn that Lizzy had written to her of.
Would they have the occasion to speak alone?
What if Abby came to call at the inn and the Gardiners should be present?
Lizzy could not beg to stay at the inn by herself all day, not knowing when she might hear from Abby. Lizzy began to pace anew.
A knock at the door startled her. “Lizzy?
“I thought I heard you up and about,” her aunt said after Lizzy had opened the door. She handed her a letter. “I thought this might be from Jane and you would wish to read it immediately.”
Lizzy looked at the letter. The address was not in her sister’s hand. If not from Jane, then it must be from Abby!
“It is not from Jane but a friend of mine who was to be in Derbyshire sometime this week,” Lizzy explained. “We had hopes that a meeting might be possible. I have not seen her in some months.”
As Lizzy did not open the letter before her, Mrs. Gardiner withdrew to allow her niece to read the letter in privacy.
Lizzy barely heard the door close before tearing open the seal. What she read made her chest constrict. Abby was not to come to Derbyshire! That news was heartily disappointing. But the next part was horrendous. In her place, Abby had prepared a fourth and final lesson.
“Your mentor, should you consent to the arrangement,” Abby had written, “is the same gentleman you learned from at Trenwith House. I have enclosed further instructions, but I shall not be in the least insulted or put out if you elect not to proceed with a fourth lesson at this time. Rather, I should be greatly distressed if you felt obligated to accept this invitation and, when we do meet, upbraid you for not holding true to your own wishes and preferences.”
Lizzy had to put the letter down and circle the room a good ten times before rereading it.
This she did thrice. It was too much to digest in one day!
She wanted air, but in her current state, she might call too much attention upon herself.
Her aunt and uncle already seemed too interested.
She fanned herself with the letter. She opened the windows and felt a little better.
How could she possibly proceed with a fourth lesson knowing that her instructor might be Mr. Darcy?
Such a thought could not be entertained.
She would be courting disaster of some kind, surely.
Her head swam to think that he, Mr. Darcy, might have had his hands upon her body already, that his lips had claimed hers, and that… her dream…of Mr. Darcy…
“I will not think it,” she insisted, and covered her ears as if that might blot out the thoughts. “I will not think it. I will not think it.”
She had prepared herself for many different scenarios concerning Trenwith House, mostly pertaining to the event of discovery and how she would respond if such a thing occurred.
Never had she considered the possibility that she would know her instructor, and that he should be, of all people, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.