“Ma’am,” he said, addressing Elizabeth, “there is a caller here to see Miss Darcy.”
The look of confusion on Elizabeth’s face was almostcertainly also present on mine. I had never once received a caller at Pemberley by virtue of never going anywhere to meet someone who might want to come calling. No doubt plenty of visits were made to other houses in the days following a ball, but there was no reason for anyone to call on me.
“A male caller?” Elizabeth asked.
The footman nodded, handing over a calling card. “A Mr. Honeyfield, ma’am.”
That only strengthened my confusion. The name rang a faint bell in the recesses of my memory, but I could not put it to a face. I wasn’t convinced I had ever met this man personally before, which meant his call was entirely unconventional. I was within my rights to turn him away, but there was a chance it wasn’t a call from a suitor. It could be news from someone I’d known in London, something too important to put in a letter.
“Have him shown in,” I said to the footman. “Thank you.”
As soon as he left, Kitty spoke up.
“Who is Mr. Honeyfield? A suitor?” she asked, fidgeting with her embroidery in her lap.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Sticking her needle into the fabric stretched across her embroidery hoop, she climbed to her feet and placed her project down on the side table.
“I think I’ll go and ensure my things are unpacked” was the only explanation she gave before she hurried out of the room.
I couldn’t blame her for leaving when it was what I mostwanted to do, too. At least Elizabeth could be trusted upon to stay. Young ladies did not take callers, particularly male callers, without a chaperone.
“Georgiana—” she began, but before she could get anything meaningful out, the footman ushered in a man who, just as suspected, was entirely unfamiliar to me.
“Miss Darcy,” he greeted me with lacquered enthusiasm. “How kind of you to take the time to receive my call. I had been hoping to see you at the recent Pemberley ball, but when you made no appearance, I felt I should call upon you to ensure you were in good health.”
I rose to my feet and offered a curtsey, as was the polite thing to do. He was a tall, slender man, every limb an inch too long. When he bowed back to me it seemed perfectly measured as to not topple over his stretched frame.
“I do not believe we have been introduced,” I said, making certain he could hear the insinuation that he was breaking social conventions. Men ought not to call upon ladies until a proper introduction was made.
Mr. Honeyfield’s smile was wolfish, baring his teeth.
“I can only express my offence that you do not remember me. Why, we have known each other for over a decade now. Our fathers did business together. James Honeyfield.” He introduced himself with smooth and polished words.
With the additional context, I could tease out a memory of running around the lawn of Pemberley with a gangly young boy, thrilled for the company while Darcy was away. We had met before. Technically he was within his right tovisit, and he knew it, a self-satisfied smile betraying him at the corner of his lips. It was an unfortunate loophole.
“Of course.” I forced a smile in return. “Thank you for the reminder. What brings you to my home?”
“As I said, I was most keen to ensure your good health. Shall we sit? Perhaps reminisce on happy childhood memories?” he asked. “If Mrs. Darcy does not mind?” He looked to Elizabeth.
I wished I could beg her to refuse him. If this was purely a social call, I had no interest in it. Mr. Honeyfield was wasting his time if he thought showing up unprompted would be endearing to me. Even with written notice a week in advance, I still had no desire to be courted.
When I looked at him, I felt fear. He had not personally done anything to frighten me, but he represented the kind of life that would stifle me. It would be unfeeling and shackled, and every second of it would be a lie. The intentions of his visit were clear: He wished to court me, propose to me, and make me his wife. All it did was remind me that I would never want that from any man. Instead, I could only compare how I felt about him to how Kitty had made me feel in the little time she’d been at Pemberley. It made that attraction all the harder to ignore.
Be that as it may, turning him away immediately after his arrival would be unthinkably rude. I had been backed into a corner, and I wasn’t quite as good with loopholes as he appeared to be. Gritting my teeth, I was ready to resign myself to at least half an hour of talking about theweather, making polite enquiries after his family, and peppering him with suggestions that he should be thinking about leaving.
I had only just retaken my seat when Elizabeth spoke up.
“If only you had given us some notice, Mr. Honeyfield,” she said. “I’m afraid we can spare only five minutes this morning before we must be on our way. We have promised to make calls of our own.”
We had promised absolutely no such thing, but I was not about to disagree with her. I could endure this for five minutes, after which I would be spending another ten thanking Elizabeth profusely for having the mind-reading powers of a clairvoyant. If I was to be forced into social situations where men viewed me as a prize to be won, I wanted her there beside me to redirect them with undeniable politeness but irrefutable cunning.
Chapter Three
Despite how many years had passed, my mother’s touch lingered on Pemberley. My father had preserved much of her influence after her death, and Darcy had been just as reticent to make any changes that diminished her memory, so many of the rooms rarely seen by visitors were almost two decades out of style. It was a welcome thought to know she’d picked the fabrics and the wallpapers, even if their comforting warmth could easily be mistaken as dark and cold by someone with no understanding of their significance.
My favourite place on the entire estate, however, was wholly of her creation, and it was to there that I absconded the moment Mr. Honeyfield took his leave. Between his unexpected visit and Kitty’s enduring presence, I needed the solitude.
