Unforgiving Temper (24 page)

“Is that so? I wonder how he came to be so
generous on an officer's pay?”

“That I do not know. After the girl told me
that much, she looked to think the better of it and had nothing
more to offer – even when I hinted at a larger tip. I am sorry,
sir, but I couldn't get another word out of her.” Denham produced
the remainder of the coins Darcy had given him that morning for his
foray into town and placed them on the table.

“You have done well enough, Denham. I thank
you. At least I have a few more pieces to this infernal
puzzle.”

“Very good, sir,” Denham replied just as
another knock sounded on the door. He opened it to find one of the
inn's menservants holding an express letter addressed to
Mr. Darcy. Taking it from him with a “thank you” and closing
the door, the valet silently placed it on the table next to the
coins.

Seeing Georgiana's graceful hand flowing
across the face of the letter, Darcy took it up with great
curiosity. Why would she be writing him now when she knew he had
planned to return within the week? And it was sent express – it
could not be anything good. Breaking the Darcy seal made by a
smaller version of his own signet, he read the contents with
growing concern:

My Dear Fitzwilliam,

I trust this letter finds you well and that
you have finished your business in Brighton. I am hopeful that you
have accomplished your purpose as I must implore that you return to
Netherfield Park at once. A report of a most alarming nature, which
I dare not commit to paper, has reached my ears. Mr. Bingley
is doing all he can to aid Miss Bennet and her family, yet I
cannot help but think you must investigate and so I urge you to
return with all haste.

Affectionately Yours, etc.

Georgiana

Darcy stared hard at the letter. An alarming
report? Involving the Bennets? His worst fears began to grip him,
tying his stomach in knots. Did that idiot Collins say something
before he left? Whatever it was, there was no time to lose.

“Denham, please make preparations for our
return to Hertfordshire at once,” he commanded.

“Sir?” Denham was puzzled. “What of
Mr. Wickham? He will be back in two days.”

“Wickham will have to wait. Miss Georgiana
has need of me and there are other matters that need my immediate
attention. Please have us ready to leave within the hour.”

“I'll see to it right away, sir.”

With Denham's prompt withdrawal, Darcy began
his own preparations. Gathering up the stack of letters he had been
reviewing the past four days, he placed Georgiana's note on top and
tucked them all into his writing desk. He then took out some fresh
sheets of paper and quickly penned a note to Colonel Forster
requesting an interview as soon as the commander was returned from
the field. Sealing the note, he set it aside for Denham to have
delivered. After a moment's hesitation, he took another sheet and
wrote a much shorter message. When he was done, he took a
half-crown from the table and folded the coin into the letter
before setting his seal to it. Turning it over, he wrote “Millie,
in care of the Scarlet Feather” across the front and then placed it
to be delivered as well.

Surreptitiously lowering the pages of
The
Times
, Robert Grissholm quietly observed the activity at the
other end of the breakfast table. Newcomb was standing next to
Elizabeth, holding out a silver tray which contained a single
letter. Grissholm noted the spark of anticipation in Elizabeth's
eyes as she eagerly took it up, looking at the directions with
elated anticipation. A fleeting look of disappointment and the
barely visible droop of her shoulders told him that she had
realized it was not what she had been waiting for. Quickly setting
the letter aside without opening it, she turned back to her
breakfast, poking at the food on her plate, without ever actually
raising any of it to her lips.

Grissholm continued to watch her for some
minutes. The letter now sitting on the table in front of her was
from Wickham. It had come the day before, addressed to Elizabeth in
Wickham's careless scrawl, and Grissholm had given Newcomb
instructions to deliver it to her this morning. Her disappointment
was not unexpected. Grissholm was fully aware of the arrangement
that kept Elizabeth at Everton Manor. Without having to read it, he
knew, just as she did, exactly what the letter contained – another
of her sister's passionate letters.

While Elizabeth Bennet could be irritatingly
obstinate at times, he knew the necessary tempering of her spirited
nature to conform to the rigid requirements of her position was not
an easy task for her, in spite of Wickham's ever-present threat.
Even more commendable was that she would attempt to do so for the
sake of a sister. It showed an extraordinary sense of duty and
loyalty which told him there was more to her than the already
pleasing aspects of her person. Retreating back behind his paper,
Grissholm's lips quirked in silent approval.

“Miss Bennet, are you ill?” Rebecca
ventured quietly. “Is anything wrong?”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth forced a reassuring
smile. “It is nothing of any consequence, really.”

“You do look a little pale. Perhaps a walk
would do you some good. Shall we venture to the pond after
breakfast? The rain has stopped and it would be lovely to be
outdoors, even for a little while. If we go right after breakfast,
we shall still have time for some painting before lunch.”

“An excellent suggestion, Rebecca. As a
matter of fact, I believe I will join you,” Grissholm announced,
startling the two women with a snap of his paper.

“I thank you, Miss Ballard, but I must ask
you to excuse me this morning. I feel a little tired and would like
to rest in my room; but I shall join you for some painting a little
later.”

“Nonsense,” Grissholm insisted. “A brisk
morning walk would do you more good than sulking in your rooms. You
must join us.”

“Your lordship, I think it would be better if
you and Miss Ballard went without me. At the moment, I am very poor
company.”

“I insist, Miss Bennet. Please be so
good as to fetch your bonnets, ladies.”

Dismayed and a little nervous at the
viscount's unexpected interest in their outing, Rebecca hurried out
of the room. Elizabeth, bristling at his commanding tone, snatched
up her letter and followed the girl out, but not before throwing
him a look that conveyed exactly what her feelings were on the
matter. She did not know if he saw it, nor did she care.

Within a few minutes, the two ladies were
making their way down the cobbled path, Rebecca casting an
occasional furtive glance to Lord Grissholm who was following
a few paces behind them. Elizabeth kept her eyes resolutely ahead.
All three were silent, leaving only the sound of their steps on the
stones to break the stillness.

Nearing their destination, the path gave way
to a rather steep incline which in dry weather did not pose a
problem; but now the stones, wet from the recent rain, looked to be
quite treacherous. Rebecca paused, uncertain if she wanted to
descend. Stepping forward, Lord Grissholm offered his arm,
which she timidly took, and escorted her safely to the bottom.
Turning to render the same service for Elizabeth, he found she had
already started down and was nearly half way to the bottom when he
reached her.

“Miss Bennet, allow me to assist
you.”

“No, thank you, my lord. I can manage on my
own,” she replied coolly just as her foot slipped out from under
her, throwing her off balance. Instinctively, she reached out to
grab his extended arm.

“Pride goeth before the fall,
Miss Bennet,” he chided gently. “I happen to know this
particular stretch can be very hazardous after a heavy rain. It
would defeat the purpose of the exercise if you were to take a
fall, would it not?”

Elizabeth caught her breath but said nothing
as his hand came down over hers and secured it tightly to his arm
for the duration of their descent. As they reached the bottom of
the hill, Elizabeth tried unsuccessfully to reclaim her hand.

“I believe I can manage now,” she said
lightly. “I should catch up to Miss Ballard.”

Grissholm smiled pleasantly, but did not
release her. “Please allow me to take you as far as the bench. It
is still rather wet here and I would not want my efforts to be in
vain.”

“I wonder that you do not take as much care
of your ward, Lord Grissholm.”

“I would have most happily had she remained
where I left her, but as you see, she has scampered ahead, heedless
of the danger.”

Grissholm steered her forward in spite of her
obvious reluctance. Their encounter in the east wing had been
sudden and awkward for them both, but now that the initial contact
had been made, it was time to move forward with his plans. She
would have to become accustomed to a certain degree of intimacy if
he was to have any success, and Rebecca's suggestion for a walk had
been an excellent opportunity.

During the past few weeks, he had found many
opportunities to close the distance she tried to keep between them.
A brush in the library as he reached around her to retrieve a book
from the shelf; the nearness caused by his leaning in to examine a
particular passage as she sat at the piano forte; all were
calculated to unbalance her. They had not affected him in the
least; but actually touching her again was another matter.
Just
move slowly and stick to the plan
, he reminded himself as he
felt the warmth of her hand beneath his own. Resolutely, he held on
to her until they reached the small, stone bench that sat in a spot
offering the best prospect of the pond.

“Here we are then!” Elizabeth declared a
little too lively as she finally pulled her hand free and stepped
away. For a moment, it was clear the close proximity had flustered
her. In the next breath, however, she rallied herself and called
after Rebecca. “It is lovely this morning, I must admit. And it
presents a very pretty picture, does it not, Miss Ballard?”

“One of my very favorite places,
Miss Bennet. I spent many happy hours here with Mrs.
Holiby.”

“It looks very old. Has it been here a long
time?”

“That I cannot say. I only know it has been
here as long as I can remember.”

“It was here when I was a boy,” Grissholm
informed them. “It has been a part of Everton for four generations
now. My grandfather's father had it made as a gift to his first
wife.”

“Oh, look!” Rebecca cried, pointing to the
far side of the pond “there are violets. Imagine that! Did you know
they represent faithfulness and affection? I read it just last week
in
La Belle
.”

“You put too much stock in your London
magazines, my dear,” Elizabeth smiled.

“All the same, I should like to get a better
look. Will you come?”

“Thank you, no; but do be careful. The banks
are still wet and I would not want you to fall in,” Elizabeth
cautioned.

“Very well, but you will be sorry you missed
it,” declared Rebecca with a knowing grin.

“I shall have to live with my misery, then,”
Elizabeth retorted as the girl scurried away. She followed
Rebecca's progress around the small pond to a striking display of
deep purple violets tinged with brilliant yellow and set against
the soft green grass. “Is it not unusual, my lord, to find violets
so late in the summer?” she asked with a slight frown.

“Not at all, Miss Bennet. Our climate
here in the north allows for a much longer season. My
great-grandmother was very fond of violets and they were planted
for her benefit. The original design died out long ago, but there
is an occasional showing of wild violets, particularly if the
summer is very rainy.”

“A bit of paradox, is it not?
Wild
violets and faithfulness – that is, if La Belle Assemblée can be
believed.”

“Flowers and someone's notion of their
meaning are of little interest to me,” replied Grissholm
flatly.

“Miss Bennet,” Rebecca cried excitedly,
“here is the stony shelf, just like in the painting!”.

“So it is!” Elizabeth called back before
turning to Lord Grissholm in surprise. “The picture in the
east wing was painted here?”

“Yes, I believe it was.”

“I never would have guessed. Was it your
great-grandmother who painted the picture?”

“No, it was not.”

His unexpectedly dismissive manner brought a
blush to Elizabeth's cheeks, provoking her to respond in kind.

“I beg your pardon if I have said anything
amiss.”

For a few minutes, the two watched in awkward
silence as Rebecca explored the far side of the pond. Taking a deep
breath, Grissholm came to a decision.

“It is I who must beg your pardon for my
rudeness, Miss Bennet. You could not know what discomfort the
subject brings.”

“Whatever the disappointment, it must have
been very great if it is the cause of so much pain even after three
generations. I wonder that you would keep the painting on your
wall.”

“And I wonder that you would express your
opinion so frankly.”

“You are right. I should not have said
that.”

Digging at the gravel with his walking stick,
he waiting a long time before speaking. “Again, I apologize. I do
not speak of it easily. It was not my great-grandmother that
painted the picture. It was someone else – a woman, I knew a long
time ago.”

“I see,” was all Elizabeth could say in
response to the obvious ache in his voice.

“Well,” Grissholm said, banishing all signs
of emotion. “The clouds are gathering once again. We should get
back.”

The trio reached the steps of Everton just as
the rain began in earnest. Lord Grissholm went directly to his
study without saying another word. Elizabeth and Rebecca made their
way to the library for another painting lesson. Rebecca was excited
to recreate a landscape from the pond. Elizabeth sat with brush in
hand, staring at a blank paper as she wondered about the woman
Lord Grissholm had spoken of and the anguish her memory had
elicited from the normally dispassionate viscount.