Page 149 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“Sir,” he said, bowing to Darcy.

“Elliot, come around to this side of the table.” The valet obediently circled the table to stand next to Darcy. “This is Mrs. Inwood.”

“Madam,” Elliot said, bowing again.

Mrs. Inwood nodded to him.

“Elliot is my valet. He will accompany you and Georgiana whenever you leave the house,” Darcy explained. “Including if you are just walking in the gardens.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Inwood said, accepting a cup of tea.

“May we go and see Flora tomorrow, Fitz?” his sister asked.

“You may take the chaise,” Darcy said. “Elliot will ride with Simon Coachman.”

Georgiana began to tell Mrs. Inwood about how they discovered the litter of puppies. Darcy drank his tea, ate a slice of date cake, and observed their potential governess-companion. He met Douglas’ gaze and nodded slightly to him. Though it was early days yet, the lady seemed promising.

The door opened and Brewster entered, carrying a silver salver upon which a note rested. Elliot went to him, listened to the butler’s low murmuring, took the salver from him, and presented it to Darcy. Picking up the letter, he rose and moved to the window, apart from the others. He turned the missive over, broke the seal, spread the paper open, and read the words written there.

Damn and blast.

Chapter Twenty-four

Mary walked slowly, some distance behind her sisters, watching over them. She had fallen behind so she did not have to listen to their complaints and insults. Lydia and Kitty had ruined her visit with Georgiana, who would be returning to London in only a week. She wanted to box their ears.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the beauty of the autumn day. A peacock butterfly flew across her path, and she paused to admire its red glory. When it disappeared into the hedgerow, Mary continued on, skirting the sweet chestnuts littering the ground as best she could.

I am so looking forward to spending tomorrow evening and night at Netherfield with my new friend. I pray she has recovered from the upset caused by being forced into Mr. Wickham’s company. I am so proud of the way she faced down her tormenter.

“Mary?” a man called from behind her.

Oscar. My own sweet man—if only that sentiment could be true.

She stopped walking and turned around, her heart beating at an astonishing rate. “Hello, Oscar. How is your patient?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “The typhus symptoms are running their course. May I join you? I will keep myself an arm’s length to your side.”

Smiling, Mary gestured to her left. “Please do.”

After moving a little into the lane, he chuckled. “I should have brought a rake to clear away the chestnuts from our path.” He walked at ease, his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting, black, unfashionable jacket.

“That would have looked odd.” Her remark caused him to grin at her. She frowned back. “You look tired. Have you not been sleeping?”

“Well enough. Your concern is touching, Mary. Thank you. Oh, and thank you for the book. I cannot wait to meet and talk the ideas over with you.”

“You are most welcome.” Mary caught her breath and gathered her courage. Surely, I can be as fearless as Georgiana? Particularly with a man I have known most of my life? I cannot go on as we are. I must know if he cares for me beyond friendship. She tightened her stomach muscles, put earnestness into her voice, and said, “I care about you, Oscar. I…I always have.”

He stopped walking, so Mary did as well. He turned to look closely at her. She dauntlessly met his scrutiny.

“I always have,” she repeated softly.

Oscar made a move as though wishing to close the distance between them, but then he stopped himself. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Mary…oh, Mary, I feel the same.”

Mary’s insides melted with relief. She pressed one hand to her cheek. “Goodness. I hoped you would say that.”

His beautiful azure-blue eyes gleamed. Her beloved took off his bicorn hat—his preferred hat choice since it could be flattened and put under his arm when he needed it out of the way but did not wish to put it down somewhere—and ran the fingers of one hand through his golden-brown hair.

“I wish I could embrace you,” he confessed, smiling in a lopsided way. “But the typhus and the…” He waved at their environs.