To Forget:Darcy's London Christmas: Pride and Prejudice continuation; Sweet Tea Short Story (6 page)

But to do so without seeing Miss Elizabeth? That was hardly more acceptable.

He had several more social engagements demanding his presence. Leaving before those would cause more problems than it would solve. Surely he could find out whether Miss Elizabeth was in town during that time.

He would; and then he would leave and be done with the intrigues of the
ton
.

December 24, 1812

“I do not know what surprises me more, that purple-hat-and-feathers—I do love that appellation, though—would stalk you like a poacher or that you purposed to discover if I were in town.” She laid her hand over his heart.

“I am astonished that you are not furious with me—”

“Since you have made a full confession and amends for your wrongs to my sister and your friend, I have forgiven you, but let us not belabor that point.”

They chuckled together.

Truly, there was nothing better than sharing laughter with her. May that sound always fill the rooms of Pemberley.

“How did you intend to determine if I were town for Christmastide?”

“Ah, but I am a clever man. I think you will approve ...”

D
ecember 31, 1811

The next day he arose, more settled and at peace in himself than he had been in weeks. Today he had a purpose, a plan, an intention, a question that must be answered. Why that should be so soothing escaped him, it was enough that it was.

After a cursory check of the previous day’s post and a bite to eat, he set out. The long walk would be a welcome opportunity for contemplation and avoid the notice that the use of his carriage always drew.

Why risk a visit to Cheapside drawing unnecessary attention?

Perhaps, he was being overly cautious. Perhaps, as Mother said, he was far too concerned with what others said about him. Perhaps, it was just his pride grown out of control.

All those things were possible, but none were compelling reasons to act any differently.

There was something pleasant about the brisk morning air and getting lost in the growing crowds traversing the streets, a strange sense of being an unremarkable part of something larger than himself. Simply not being gawked at was pleasing.

The crowd grew denser as he approached Cheapside. It moved at its own pace, entirely oblivious to the desires of the individual, ebbing and flowing like the waters of the ocean, to its own primal tempo. Trickles ran through the alleys. Groups of shoppers, like sea foam, caught temporarily against the splendidly bedecked shop windows, then splashed away.

A wave held him lingering at a confectioner’s window, displaying Twelfth Night Cakes topped with fantastical sugar structures. He might have chosen to loiter there a moment himself.

Mother always featured cakes like those at her spectacular Twelfth Night Balls. Though he had been too young to attend those balls, she had always permitted him to view the cake whilst it sat in the kitchen, waiting to be served. She and Mrs. Reynolds always secreted away a piece for him, to be served with his breakfast the next day, with a dainty sugar-work figure to accompany it.

A little sugar-woman on the front-most cake, holding her skirt as if to dance, caught his attention. Something in the figure’s posture, perhaps it was the turn of its head, spoke of Miss Elizabeth. Chin held high, almost impertinent, it seemed to beckon others to join in the dance, just as she did at the Netherfield ball.

He shook his head sharply, and his heart beat a little faster.

Forcing himself away from the confectioner’s window, he allowed himself to be caught in the tide of shoppers, pulled back into the main flow.

From the corner of his eye, he saw it.
Gardiner’s Fine Fabrics
painted in elegant letters on the second story brick face. A white sign hung above the door bearing the same moniker in gold letters. Beside the name, a skillfully drawn silhouette of a wigged man held a length of fabric.

The flow of the crowd tossed him onto the shop’s front steps. He edged back slightly to peer into the shop windows. Lengths of fine silks, linens and even some printed muslins hung in flowing swirls and puddles, intertwined with all manner of trims and even feathers.

Even the linen drapers Georgiana favored would be hard-pressed to match the artistry of this display. Here was a shopkeeper who attended every detail of his business, the kind of man he most respected.

He inched toward the door, but could not move further until the current caught him up again and swept him inside with several society matrons.

The warmth of many bodies filled the space. The scents of linen and silk hung on the air, mingled with fresh flowers and expensive perfumes.

“Now, you must promise me not to breathe a word of this place back at Mayfair,” a woman with a large matching muff and tippet whispered loudly.

“You have my word, dear, you have my word,” her companion wearing an over-large military hat replied.

“Not a week goes by without someone asking me where I have come by this muslin or that silk, but I never tell them.” Muff-and-tippets tittered into her hand.

Good thing for Gardiner that not all his customers avowed the need for such secrecy. To the contrary, the press in the shop suggested word had spread quite well.

At least four young men—no, six—all neat and smartly dressed, dashed back and forth behind the counters attending to clients. Another younger boy appeared, breathless, from the back room. He pulled open a drawer behind the counter, removed several bundles of ribbon and sprinted away.

Was that the sound of someone running up a staircase? How many more customers were upstairs?

“Mr. Gardiner!” Muff-and-tippets extended her hands and cut a swath through the crowd, approaching a well-dressed, well-looking man.

Darcy studied him from the corner of his eye. His smile, his eyes, the line of his jaw, all bore a strong resemblance to Mrs. Bennet, but an even stronger one to Miss Elizabeth.

No doubt he was in the right place. He steeled himself for the vulgarity that must surely come next from any relation to Mrs. Bennet.

“Good day, madam. It is so lovely to see you here.” He bowed.

“My I present my favorite linen draper, Mr. Gardiner,” she gestured to Large-hat.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

She was introducing a tradesman to her friend as if he were a gentleman. Darcy’s eyes widened, and he forced himself not to stare.

Gardiner’s manners were impeccable and his style as gracious as any man welcoming a guest into his home. Nothing like the smooth, slippery air of most shopkeepers and sellers of goods. If it were possible for a gentleman to keep shop, that was exactly what he was seeing.

So, Miss Elizabeth had relations who were quite tolerable and even respectable. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. That was a very good thing indeed.

He tugged his coat and found his way into the flow trickling out the door.

Outside, he pressed himself against the building’s front wall to avoid being swept up into the current once more.

No doubt the Gardiners did not live above the shop as most shopkeepers did. Where might he find them?

He slipped into the alleyway next to the shop and stood just beyond the pull of the throng. He could not ask directly, but there must be some way.

A side door swung open and the young, running boy from the shop tumbled out.

“I’ll get this to missus and bring back her answer directly.” He shut the door and pulled his cap a little tighter down over his ears.

The boy dashed passed Darcy. He waited just a heartbeat and followed. The dense multitudes proved his allies, slowing the boy’s progress and allowing him to follow without being obvious.

There was every chance the boy was not going to the Gardiner’s house. Following him might end up on some unsavory street ... No, he would not follow so blindly.

He had some modicum of sense and dignity left to him.

The boy led him just a few streets away, to a rank of second rate townhouses, neat and well-kept. He scampered up to the door of the central house, the largest of the set, and knocked sharply. The housekeeper admitted him immediately.

Was this the Gardiner’s home? The paint was fresh and it looked like the elegant, scrolling ironwork was a new addition. It was certainly an acceptable abode, a bit lesser than the town house Bingley occupied, but only a bit.

A flash of movement caught his eye. A woman with several children and their nursery maid approached. Could it be Miss Elizabeth?

He crossed the street and turned his back. She could not recognize him, not now.

A hack chaise waiting in front of one of the townhouses offered cover. He ducked behind it, peeking out to watch the parade.

The woman was familiar, very familiar, but it was as Miss Bingley had declared, Miss Jane Bennet, not her sister. She led the children and the maid into the house.

He huffed loudly and the horse chuffed in response. Darcy strode back across the street. He reached into his pocket, found a tuppence and rubbed it between his fingers until it warmed to body temperature.

The front door opened again, and the boy reappeared. He bowed once, mumbled something and scurried down the front steps.

As he passed, Darcy matched his pace and walked with him.

“You work for Mr. Gardiner?”

“Aye, sir.”

“And that is his home?”

“Why do you want to know that? I ... I ain’t gonna tell you nothing that might hurt him. Mr. Gardiner is a good master and I won’t be letting—”

“You concern is very admirable and speaks well of both you and of him. I have no desire to harm him or his family. I became acquainted with some of his family whilst in the country.”

“One of his nieces stays with him now. You are wanting to call upon her, sir?” The boy stopped and looked up at him.

Darcy started. “Ah, no, nothing so forward. I ... I had thought to leave my card perhaps, but wanted to ensure I had the correct direction first.”

“And have you the direction correct, sir?”

“I ... I do not think so. The man you describe is far different to the one I expected to find. Here, for your trouble.” He pressed the coin into the boy’s hand and strode away.

He avoided Cheapside on the long walk back to his townhouse.

She was not here.

Elizabeth was not here.

Any sensible man would be relieved. The complication had been avoided, and he was safe.

But perhaps he was no longer sensible. Perhaps he had not been since he had met her.

A little sliver of cold slid along his ribs, toward the center of his chest, a bit like the one that had been lodged there since his mother’s passing.

He swallowed hard. No, this was for the best.

––––––––

T
he housekeeper anticipated his arrival with hot water ready for tea. She brought a tray into his office and made a hasty retreat. She had worked for him long enough to recognize the expression he wore without him saying a word to confirm his mood.

He fell into his leather wingback and threw his head back into the familiar worn depression in the stuffing. Father had worn it into the chair before him. Mother had often laughed at how similar he and his father were.

But had father ever chased a woman, who was not even there, to an unfamiliar house? Had he spied upon a shopkeeper, followed his boy, not even knowing where he went?

Surely not!

Certainly not!

Father would be appalled at Darcy’s behavior, with very good reason.

Darcy sprang to his feet and stalked across the room and back again. What had become of him? Even Bingley would be hard-pressed to rival the foolishness Darcy had just displayed.

This could not continue; it must not!

He fell back into his chair and snatched up the paper that the housekeeper had left tidily folded on the tea tray.

The newspaper made a satisfying snap as he flipped it open. News of parliament and the war, prices, taxes, trade goods. None of it caught his attention. But his gaze locked upon the society pages.

He grumbled under his breath. Only fools read the drivel contained on those pages.

Fools and himself.

Scanning the columns for familiar names, he held his breath and clenched his teeth.

Dash it all! Bloody damnation!

Purple-hat had indeed taken her pen in hand after the panto. There in black and white, she speculated on the company he kept and confusing behaviors he exhibited toward a certain young lady he sat near at the theater, but neither arrived nor left with. What could it mean? Perhaps that he was still declaring himself free and available, or perhaps there was a secret
amour
covered by such casual contact.

Snarling, he crushed the paper into a ball. He stomped to the fireplace and shoved it in, taking up the poker to ensure the flames consumed it.

The spleen, the audacity! How dare she speculate about his private intentions!

Exactly as he had warned Bingley, no movement of Darcy’s was safe from the gossips.

What great good fortune Elizabeth was not in town. What disaster might have arisen from even a casual conversation with her?

How close had even today’s ill-considered actions brought him to an untoward exposure to a poisoned pen? He braced his shoulder on the mantel and panted.

This was not to be borne.

No, more! All thoughts of Elizabeth, all musings and pleasant considerations had to stop now. It was far too dangerous.

The resolution should have brought him peace. Indeed, what other possible outcome could it have? But somehow, the determination not to think of her only fueled the tormenting thoughts further. At last his port decanter proved the only means by which he might silence them.

He drank and paced and paced and drank. Near midnight, his feet dragged heavily against the marble, and he leaned against the wall for support.

The case clock chimed twelve times. The end of the old year.

Darcy staggered to the front door and opened it to usher in the new year. A cold breeze blasted his face, rousing his muzzy faculties.