Graham
I ambled along the road, taking care not to jostle the wicker basket in my hand. Upon my departure from Sarah’s home that morning, I had utilised my enhanced perception for a particular item I sought, prompting my meeting with the local blacksmith, from whom I made my purchase.
Upon my farewell to Sarah, she had been fighting tears, her voice faltering. Although we should cross paths that afternoon at the Darcys’ party, henceforth, we should meet as cordial acquaintances—not as paramours.
An elusive yet persistent impression assailed my quietude. What could explain my unease? Had I not been truthful with Sarah from the start? Despite the temptation to exert a subtle influence upon her to ensure her agreement to my overture, I had refrained from doing so. Of course, most mortal women I encountered had evinced a strong attraction to my person. Perhaps Clive had been correct: maybe I had erred in choosing so beautiful a body to inhabit. If I had been more prudent—if I had chosen a more moderate appearance—would Sarah have had an easier time parting from me? Or would she have never agreed to my proposition?
A sudden consideration prompted an ache to coil in my stomach. Could Sarah have fallen in love with me? A review of our time together over the previous evenings brought me reassurance. No, she could not have done so. From our first meeting, I had divined that her heart belonged to one man, Mr. Nicholas Mead.
During the course of my visits, I had received a fair amount of Nicholas Mead’s thoughts and memories; they lingered in the rooms he once inhabited, which still contained several of his possessions. Mr. Mead had been an admirable gentleman who had adored his wife. My company had, for a short time, assuaged Sarah’s loneliness and diverted her longing for another.
Soon after I reached this satisfactory determination, though, Darcy’s plight burst to the forefront of my thoughts. After giving the matter much contemplation, the stark truth had become clear: I should not take another’s life in order to save Darcy, for to sacrifice anyone in his or her prime of life so he could live would go against his principles. He would be the first to decry such a suggestion.
During the outdoor party this afternoon, Darcy’s seven-day postponement would elapse. Due to my frustrating inability to see the Darcys’ futures, what would transpire remained amystery to me. An illness like apoplexy or internal bleeding could befall him or perhaps an accident.
When the time came, I should be there to assist Elizabeth. Afterwards, I should remain at Pemberley and provide support to her for as long as she needed me. Mayhap she would one day desire to be my wife. It might be a long while before this occurred, but I should be patient. After all, she would be in mourning for a year, and because of Darcy’s standing in the area, strict adherence to the custom would be expected.
Henceforth, I should spend my daysand nightsat the estate and console Elizabeth as best I could.
Chapter 12: Time Runs Out
Pemberley
Graham
The servants bustled to and fro, arranging food and decorations for the celebration. In their haste, the maids who scampered by spared me nary more than the flash of a smile.
I stopped at the entrance to the morning room, wherein Mrs. Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Bingley worked on sewing projects while Elizabeth demonstrated a complicated embroidery stitch for Miss de Bourgh. “Good day, ladies. Pray pardon me for the intrusion.”
With an endearing protestation for my suggestion that I could be anything other than welcome, Elizabeth bade me to join them, and I obliged her.
I selected the chair nearest to Miss de Bourgh and set the basket on the floor. “I find myself in need of a favour.” I took a theatrical pause to ensure I received the ladies’ full attention; after all, I had contrived a superb story, and they ought not to miss it. “On my walk back to Pemberley this morning, I stopped to assist a family bound for Falmouth, where they will sail to America. They became stranded on the road after a wheel on their coach had worked itself loose. Yesterday, the father had purchased a four-month-old puppy for his young daughter. Unfortunately, the child suffered from a runny nose, sneezing, and red, irritated eyes whenever she came near the animal. So, I volunteered to find the puppy a new home.” I lifted the lid off the basket, and a reddish-blond head with long, pendulous ears popped up.
“Dear me, what a perfect creature!” Miss de Bourgh sprang from her chair and crouched next to the puppy, stroking his head. Elizabeth, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and Mrs. Bingley voiced their praises for the little dog as well.
Rising from my chair, I stepped away—without the cover of the basket, the young dog could be alarmed at my proximity. “Miss de Bourgh, is there any chance you would do me the great service of taking on the responsibility for this beast?”
She lifted the puppy into her arms with the utmost care and stood before me, her eyes glistening. “You cannot doubt that I should be delighted to give this…um…female?”
“Oh…ah…male.”
“…male puppy a home.” She turned the creature to examine his face. “He is the exact sort of dog I have longed to have.”
Elizabeth approached the animal and caressed his head. “Do you see how the puppy leans into you, Anne, and away from Graham? It is clear he already favours you.”
My lips curved up. That could beoneexplanation for the animal’s actions.
Miss de Bourgh grinned at Elizabeth. “The feeling is mutual.” Her gaze shifted to me. “Do you suppose he needs to go out of doors?”
“Oh yes, I should say so. He has been cooped in the basket for over half an hour.”
She touched Elizabeth’s arm. “I should love to learn more stitches from you another time. I shall take the puppy out into the garden.”
“Yes, of course.”
Miss de Bourgh’s sight lowered to the puppy. “If you approve, I should like to stop by the nursery and show him to Bennet upon my return.”
“That is a marvellous idea. Bennet loves dogs, and who could resist such an adorable one as this?” Elizabeth gave the creature another pat.
