Page 120 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“That won’t be necessary,” Darcy replied as he reached into the pocket of his riding coat for his gloves and, by accident, dislodged a black satin mask.

It fell to the ground. Charles picked it up. “Yours?”

Darcy took the mask and shoved it back into his pocket. “Must have been from an old masquerade.”

“It was in your riding coat?” Charles then surveyed his friend’s greatcoat with stacked shoulder capes. “Will you not be warm in that garrick?”

“This one is cut from linen, not wool,” Darcy eschewed and took his leave before he might be forced into a fib.

Once saddled, he pulled his hat lower. He was not unknown in these parts and preferred to travel as inconspicuously as possible. Luck was with him, and he encountered no one he knew on the road to Meryton.

The Four Horses Posting Inn, situated on the outskirts of the township, was a modest structure with no neighbors. The regiment, while it was stationed in Meryton, had made much use of it, but at present, the place seemed nearly deserted. Darcy looked about for a stablehand but eventually saw to his own horse. Inside, he was met with a heavyset woman he presumed to be the innkeeper or the wife. She had on a surly countenance that improved greatly upon seeing the quality of her guest.

Seeking minimal interaction with her, he explained promptly, “I have an engagement here at noon.”

She grunted. “Last room ta yer left, second floor. I can ’ave some wine sent ta yer room, shall I?”

“Privacy is all that is required at present.”

She grunted again. “That’ll cost ya a shillin’ more.”

He frowned but retrieved his purse and placed the coin in her grubby palm. Then he took himself up the stairs before she thought of something else to charge him for. At the end of the hall, he paused before the door, removed his hat, and pulled the short mask over his eyes. He had no premeditations for what ought to happen and would let her guide the session. Though it might pain him to ascertain her feelings for her mentor, he knew that as his only motive. Softly he rapped on the door.

“Come in,” a voice from within said.

The windows of the room were shuttered but enough light peered through the cracks that he could discern the furniture and her silhouette upon the bed. She wore her mask from the Lilac Cottage and, like him, was clothed in a manner to conceal as much of her person as possible. An awkward silence ensued.

“I was unsure you would come,” she remarked at last, “given your decision to quit your position with Mrs. Trenwith.”

“My commitment to you was made prior to such a determination, and I will not desert my charge,” he replied.

“You are here merely out of duty then?”

He did not quite know how to answer. In his role purely as mentor, the answer would be ‘yes,’ but given that his student was also the love of his life, obligation was not the entire account.

“In part,” he replied truthfully.

She frowned.

“Did you wish for another mentor?” he asked, his groin tightening.

“Not at all.”

He relaxed.

“But,” she continued, “I would not have faulted you if you had resigned all obligations. Your sense of responsibility is admirable, but I absolve you of all concerns. You are free to leave.”

“Do you desire my departure?” he inquired.

She seemed flustered. “I have no wish to compel you to stay if you do not desire it.”

This was a strange exchange. What did she mean by such vagueness?

“The student dictates the direction,” he reminded her.

“If I wished to pursue the lesson, you would oblige?”

He knew not how to answer. Did she want a lesson? He was unsure he could persist in the charade if she did.