CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The flutter of a bird outside made Darcy tense, for it might herald the arrival of Miss Elizabeth.
He had been waiting two hours and knew she might not come at all, but if she did, it would have been worth the wait.
He had identified a small cottage recently occupied by a young family, tenants of his, whom he had assisted into a larger dwelling after the birth of their second set of twins.
Much of the furnishings had remained, including the bed.
He had reviewed all the finishing touches himself, ensuring the bedclothes had been freshly laundered, a fire glowed in the hearth, and a table of wine and cheese set.
Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
He was attired in his customary regalia from Trenwith House, but with the warmer weather, the wig, and even his mask, was proving exceedingly uncomfortable.
The wheels of a carriage drew his attention to the window. Through the small slit in the curtains, he observed a woman alight from the vehicle. A veil shrouded most of her countenance, but he recognized her form. His heart pounded. It was Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy poured himself a glass of sherry. Some months had passed since their last lesson.
Much could have happened to her views and sentiments since.
He could not simply resume from where they had left off.
He could have no expectations and would have to discern her mindset for himself and in only the most careful manner so as not to agitate or frighten her.
He did not dare hope she wanted a resumption of her education.
The chance to kiss her was too much to be wished for.
Nonetheless, now that she had arrived, the prospect was there, and the blood churned in his loins.
After waiting some twenty minutes, he heard a knock at the door and had to restrain himself from leaping across the room to open it.
She was dressed in a simple muslin, one that he had not seen her in before.
She had not donned a wig, but most of her hair had been pinned and covered by a bonnet.
His heart throbbed. She looked positively charming.
Was there nothing she could wear that would diminish her loveliness?
A cloth mask covered the upper half of her face. The lips, uncovered, became the focus.
Stepping back to allow her entry, he asked if she had eaten or desired a glass of wine?
“A glass of wine,” she answered.
He pulled a chair at the table for her. She sat down, but in her movements and her air, he felt her nervousness.
That was to be expected. He was not immune from nerves himself, but it was necessary for him, as the mentor, to put her at ease by foremost demonstrating his.
Knowing this to be his responsibility, he was able to calm himself.
As he poured the wine, he felt her scrutiny upon him.
He handed her a glass. She continued to stare at him as if she meant to pierce his mask with her gaze.
Did she suspect him of being someone else?
Had Abby not confirmed her mentor was the same?
“This is a quaint abode,” she noted.
“It is dubbed the Lilac Cottage, for the garden in back abounds with lilac bushes.”
“I thought I caught its scent.”
She took the glass of wine from him but did not drink it.
“It has been some time since our last lesson at Trenwith House,” he reassured her. “I pray you have been in good health and spirit.”
“I cannot complain,” she replied.
This was not the affirmation he had expected. He asked after her family.
“Had I mentioned my family to you before?” she asked, startling him.
He combed his memory but could not recall if she had ever referenced her family at Trenwith House.
“It was a general question,” he said. “I assumed—but forgive me if I touch upon a sensitive matter. What brings you to Derbyshire?”
“How do you know I am but visiting?”
What the deuce was her purpose in such questions? he wondered.
“I understood from Mrs. Trenwith that you are touring the area with family.”
“Ah, yes, Abby. You must be well acquainted with her?”
He recalled her loquaciousness during the first lesson.
“You are under no obligation,” he told her. “As always, the pupil must approve any progression and dictates the pace of the lesson.”
She nodded. “Have you known Abby long?”
Perhaps she desired conversation to return to her former level of ease and trust. He sat down and filled his own glass.
“Nearly ten years.”
His answer seemed to surprise her.
“That long? You must be…good friends?”
“I consider her a dear friend.” He would have stopped there but found himself seeking a deeper rapport. “She was my mentor.”
He saw this bit of information stunned her.
“I was a young and na?ve fellow at the time,” he explained, “and thought myself deeply in love with a Duchess, a beautiful widow of noble birth.
In hindsight, it was more an infatuation than true devotion.
She entertained my attentions at first, but at my first attempt to kiss her, she laughed at my awkwardness.
She told me that only gentlemen of certain predilections and capabilities could satisfy her.
Her remarks devastated me. She recommended me to her friend, Abigail Trenwith.
I had every wish to prove myself as skilled a lover as any to be had.
I was an eager student, and Abby a brilliant teacher, though I suspect any novice would have been in awe of her.
My efforts made no difference to the Duchess, however. She had moved on to her next admirer.
“Do not feel sorrowful,” he added at seeing her lips formed in sympathy. “My heart healed soon enough.”
“Did you become an instructor after that?”
“I felt greatly indebted to Abby. When first she applied to me to serve in the capacity of a mentor, I balked, for surely there were any number of men who would leap at the opportunity. And that was precisely the problem, she pointed out to me. She had no wish for those men, but only those whom she could trust not to take advantage of the situation and those who would honour the education as the benefit of the student, not the teacher. As you can imagine, Abby can be quite persuasive.”
She agreed. “It did not take me long to adopt her philosophy.”
“Have you?”
“I have my reservations still. After all, what moral, upstanding citizen would not consider what we do a sin?”
“’There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so,’” he quoted of Hamlet.
“Then we would, each of us, define our own morality.”
“And some of the worst sins have been perpetrated by a majority of individuals believing the same. What is the injury we do compared to what society has done—in the name of all that is good, moral, and Christian? Our preachers might do more good to turn their tongues against an institution such as slavery than condemn what man and woman were meant to do by nature.”
“Take care, sir! Your speech might be considered blasphemous.” But there was a quirk in her mouth that showed she did not condemn what he said.
“‘For as he thinks within himself, so he is.’ Book of Proverbs. I hope you do not consider yourself less worthy, less decent for what you have done.”
He sensed his words, or perhaps the tone of his voice, struck a chord within her.
“I am almost fully reconciled myself as a sinner,” she said with that light humor of hers. “But if it became known what I had done, innocent parties—my family—should be injured by my actions.”
“Does your unc—family—know you to be here?”
“My aunt and uncle are having dinner with friends in Lambton. I had mentioned the possibility meeting with Mrs. Trenwith. I spoke true when I said I was to meet with an old acquaintance who happened to be passing through Derbyshire, but the inference they would draw from my statement would be erroneous.”
A new thought came to her. “What brings you to Derbyshire?”
He coloured. “I had business to attend.”
“Are you spending the night here at this cottage?”
“No.”
“Will you be here to-morrow?”
He paused. “Only if you desire it.”
Her earlier agitation seemed to return, for she finished her wine rather hastily and rose to her feet. She looked about the room.
“Have you mentored a great many students before?”
“What do you consider ‘a great many’?”
“Have you ever…known any of them—beforehand or perhaps by accident you discovered their true identity?”
His pulse quickened. “Abby would take the identity of her students to the grave.”
His response seemed to give her some comfort.
“The odds of any one teacher and student being acquainted are extremely small,” he added.
“But the whimsy of Fate is not unheard of.”
“No,” he murmured. “But even if a pair were acquainted, they would not themselves know it. We have taken every precaution to ensure our anonymity, which is in the interest of both student and mentor. Are you worried of discovery?”
“Yes, of course. Are you not?”
“I accepted the risks when I agreed to become an instructor for Abby. As with you, discovery would lead to unsavoury consequences for myself and my family. I have responsibility for one member in particular. And in that light, I have been considering an end to my tenure as an instructor at Trenwith House.”
He rose from his chair and went to stand opposite her. “I am convinced this will be my last and final lesson.”
*****
“Indeed?” she replied after clearing her throat.
“A change in circumstances have led me to the appropriateness of ending my involvement in this profession.”