“Welcome to my new establishment, Miss Bennet,” Georgiana was saying, with a trembling smile. “I do hope you will be comfortable with us. I asked Mrs. Morton to prepare the bedchamber closest to mine for you. It has a view of Grosvenor Square. I really hope you like it.”
Elizabeth was touched by Miss Darcy’s shy concern for her well-being. She would have liked to embrace her as she might have done with Lydia, but she had no idea how Miss Darcy would react to such a gesture. The girl might be desperate for a friend, but she also needed to believe in herself. She was the mistress of a household, after all, and needed to be treated in a dignified manner. Consequently, Elizabeth resorted to good manners instead of an embrace. Better to treat Miss Darcy as she would any other hostess, rather than as a child needing reassurance.
“Thank you, Miss Darcy. I trust in your excellent taste. I cannot imagine you would select anything unappealing.”
Miss Darcy blushed. “I hope not.”
The townhouse was bright and spacious, as well as tastefully set up in the Classical style, with marble pillars and beautiful statuary adorning the corners. As they climbed the stairs, Elizabeth expressed her admiration of the delicate swag and bow cornices, as well as the ceiling rose above them that was embellished with leaves.
Miss Darcy looked up. “Now that you mention it, theyarepretty. I never noticed them,” she said. “There are so many new things to discover, and we have been busy preparing the two bedchambers for occupation.”
She led the way to a door which she opened slowly to peep inside. She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I just want to make sure it is the right one.”
Apparently it was, since Miss Darcy threw open the door. “This is your bedchamber. Please tell me what you think. Promise you will be completely honest with me! Mrs. Annesley and I picked out the wallpaper, but if you don’t like it, we can change it.”
Elizabeth marveled that anyone would go to such expense for a guest who was only staying three months.
Elizabeth stepped in and looked around. Miss Darcy had chosen a garden trellis pattern for the walls, with matching upholstery. “What a beautiful room!” exclaimed Elizabeth sincerely as she stepped in. “The colors are so delicate and airy! It is truly lovely!”
The apprehension on Miss Darcy’s face eased. “Really? You like it?”
“Of course I do! Who would not? You should not have gone to so much trouble.”
“I wanted you to have a room you would like so you would stay,” she admitted.
Again, Elizabeth was touched by Miss Darcy’s diffidence. How could she have so little faith in herself? Had the problem with her suitor dented her faith in herself so badly? Elizabeth compared her to Lydia, who was confident to the point of conceit.
Elizabeth was beginning to understand why Miss Darcy wanted her to come to London so badly. She was in urgent need of a female presence to support and guide her. Mrs. Annesley was genteel and goodhearted, but she was rather set in her ways,and did not really know what to do with Georgiana. Elizabeth resolved she would do her best to help her recover from her unfortunate experience and help her restore her confidence.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Elizabeth rose early as usual, only to discover she was the only one awake. She was reading in the parlor when there was a knock at the front door, and Elizabeth soon heard Mr. Darcy’s deep voice as he spoke to the butler. Her heart sank. She hoped it was not going to be a frequent occurrence for him to show up first thing in the morning. She jumped up quickly, hoping to disappear upstairs into her bedchamber with her book before he reached the parlor.
She was not quick enough. As she exited the parlor, she ran straight into a tall pillar of a man. Her book dropped to the ground.
“Oh!” she said, as his arms reached out to steady her. “I was going upstairs.”
As an excuse, it left much to be desired. She shrank back as it occurred to her that someone like Mr. Darcy might suspect her of running into him deliberately. She should have waited until he was announced andthenexcused herself.
“No harm done,” he said, stepping back. “Were you by any chance planning an escape?”
Was thathumorshe saw in eyes? Of course not. She must have imagined it.
“If I were escaping, I would have used the balcony,” she retorted, archly. It was a nonsensical answer, and the twitch of his eyebrow made it clear what he thought of it.
“MoreRomeo and Julietreferences? Is that what you are reading?” he asked.
“Sorry?” She frowned in confusion.
He bent down and picked up her book, then examined the spine. “Preface to the Lyrical Ballads. William Wordsworth. That is a lofty read.”
She shrugged, unable to decide whether he was mocking her or accusing her. “It is one of Papa’s books. I brought it with me,” she said cagily.
“I did not think you had stolen it,” he replied, tightly, “although I do possess a copy of it in my library. My sister, however, does not.”
“It is a trifle too serious for someone her age.”
“And for someone your age?”
