Not Quite Darcy (21 page)

He laughed aloud, looking so happy that it tore at something inside her chest. Self conscious, he stopped and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I suppose I should go and remind him about the meeting or he'll try to slip out of it altogether. If you'll excuse me.”

He sat up and shrugged into his coat. Once he reached the entrance he paused and turned to look at Eliza.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” she asked.

“For your excellent advice. For not leaving. I owe you my sincere gratitude.”

“It's me that owes you, but I suspect you know that.” She lingered, drawing out he moment. “Good luck, William.”

Before he left the room, he gave her a smile, but it was weak and unconvincing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

William and his uncle were away at the club for several long hours. Eliza spent the time being bossed around the kitchen by Mrs. MacLaughlin. The housekeeper was in the midst of preparing an incomprehensibly complex meal. Uncle Thomas's disparaging remarks drove her to increasing heights of culinary extremes.

Eliza was whisking a sauce when she heard the heavy tread of feet in the foyer and the familiar boom of Uncle Thomas's voice echoing down the stair well as he went to his room.

William poked his head around the kitchen door. “Is everything going satisfactorily, Mrs. MacLaughlin?”

“Yes, Mr. Brown. Dinner is to be at eight, as usual. Is anything the matter?”

“Not at all. I just thought to check in.” 

“The menu features consommé olga, asparagus with orange, salmon in mousseline sauce with cucumber, lamb with mint sauce, and rice pudding.” Mrs. MacLaughlin sounded slightly affronted, clearly confused as to why the master of the house was popping into her kitchen at this hour of the day.

“That sounds delicious, but exhausting. I thank you most sincerely. I know that my uncle can be somewhat trying. Your efforts do not go unnoticed.”

“It's my job, sir.” Mrs. MacLaughlin's mouth turned upward slightly and vaguely resembled a smile.

William cast a quick glance at Eliza and shook his head no, answering her unasked question about his meeting with his uncle.

Damn Uncle Thomas.
Eliza returned to stirring the sauce, wondering if the right kind of spices might mask the flavor of arsenic. Mrs. MacLaughlin might know. The old gal would probably offer her enthusiastic assistance.

Serving dinner to the family was an especially onerous chore when Uncle Thomas was about. The nonstop litany of negativity continued to affect Dora more than anyone. Her nervousness nearly crippled her, and her hands shook violently as she served the soup course.

Eliza tried to eavesdrop for details about how the financial meeting had gone, but William gave away no clues. He remained quiet and polite while his uncle blathered on about the decline in the current morality. Modern women who mocked God by flashing their ankles. Oh, Uncle Thomas knew what they were about—filthy Jezebels with their gaudy jewelry and ornate hats. They didn't fool him, not for a minute, though those tarted-up harlots might tempt a less godly man.

Eliza knew her most prudent course was to remain in the kitchen where she could avoid the steady stream of condemnation flowing from the uncle's mouth. As Eliza reentered the dining room with the salmon course, he'd launched into a more specific attack. She couldn't help but linger.

“And these Dollar Princesses now invading our shores. With their crude manners and even cruder fashions. It's appalling. Have you had the occasion to meet any of them, William?” The uncle dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

“A few.” William took a sip of wine, considered his glass for a moment, then took another, longer drink.

“They're quite outspoken, American women. Or so I hear tell. Tell me, nephew, do you find them to be unrefined?”

William looked just past his uncle's shoulder and met Eliza's eyes. He smiled widely at her and she felt her heart catch in her throat. “Not unrefined, no. But yes, they can be quite direct in their speech.” He nodded toward his uncle. “I find it terribly refreshing.”

Uncle Thomas stared at William as though he'd been slapped.

“I declare, Mrs. MacLaughlin's fish is quite lovely this evening,” Beatrix Brown said, in an obvious attempt to steer the conversational boat into smoother waters.

Eliza slipped back into the kitchen before Mrs. MacLaughlin came searching for her.

Sure enough, the housekeeper gave Eliza a very stern look and made a tutting sound. She placed a dish of artfully arranged asparagus spears and diced oranges into Eliza's hands, then marched into the larder on another cuisine-related errand.

As Eliza headed back up the stairs, Dora came scurrying down, so distracted that she spilled the mint sauce onto Eliza's plate of carefully prepared veggies.

“Oh no!” Dora wailed in an overly dramatic fashion, tears forming in her eyes.

“Dora! It's all right! It's quite fixable. It was only in one little corner.” She soothed the girl as she dabbed the bit of sauce from the plate. “You shouldn't let His Jerkiness get to you. He only picks on you because he's so weak himself. Mr. Brown thinks you do a marvelous job or he wouldn't have taken you to that play, would he?”

“Thank you, Eliza.” Dora gave her a watery smile.

The rest of the meal went fairly smoothly, if smooth was defined by the fact that the food was consumed, only criticized mildly—by the uncle—and no one but the uncle spoke.

While Eliza set up for dessert, Uncle Thomas switched gears. His sermon titled “American Women are Corrupting England's Youth” had somehow morphed into “The Society for the Prevention of Vice Deserves All the Money in the World.” The topic clearly made William uncomfortable, and he snuck worried glances toward his mother.

While the uncle droned on, Eliza set up the hefty serving dish of rice pudding, placing the bowl on the sideboard, directly behind him as Dora lined up the dessert plates in a row. Just as Eliza began to dish up the pudding, Uncle Thomas said something that stopped her cold.

“…the President of the Society, Mister Robert Ramsey. I've invited him to spend a few days here next week as your guest. I feel that if William truly understood our mission, this ridiculous impasse over finances could come to an end. Therefore, I shall need to extend my visit with you for another fortnight.”

Eliza's heart fell. Two more weeks?

Everyone had a breaking point, and Eliza had just reached hers. She simply couldn't take one more disappointment. She was, quite simply, tired. Tired of the uncle. Tired of the unknowable mission. Tired of the heartbreaking impasse she and William had come to. Eliza, formerly known as Bessie, was tired, and she wasn't going to take it for another instant.

She grabbed the hefty serving bowl of rice pudding and spun around. She saw the Brown family as if they were suspended in time. William was frozen, his wine glass halfway to his lips. Mrs. Brown looked down at her lap. The uncle's back was to her, his hands clasped in front of him.

In two quick steps, Eliza stood directly behind Uncle Thomas. She raised the bowl of pudding high above his head. William, moving in slow motion, caught her eye with a look of… Amazement? Horror? Pride? She really couldn't say. Her mind was in off-mode. And before it could switch back to on-mode, her very clever hands upended the dish of rice pudding directly over Uncle Asshole's head.

Oh yeah. When it came to assaulting annoying relatives with dessert, Dobby the House Elf had nothing on Bessie the Uncle Buster.

All was silent in the first instant. No movement. Then the world around her snapped out of slow motion and back into normal mode.

Mrs. Brown gasped. William stared. Uncle Thomas remained as still as stone. She wasn't entirely sure he was even breathing.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Waring,” Eliza began, before remembering that she was breaking the cardinal rule of not speaking unless she'd been spoken to. The uncle shot her a look of pure hatred. At least she thought it was pure hatred. It might have only been ninety-five percent hatred. It was difficult to tell through all the pudding.

He really was a spectacular mess. Creamy goo matted his hair and dripped down the side of his face, covering the front of his suit. It was a precision strike too. The surrounding area was fairly free of pudding—enough to make a Navy SEAL proud.

She stole a glance to William who, she couldn't deny it, had a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Dora scooped up some napkins and moved in to help, albeit with trembling hands. “Here, sir. Let me just…” She reached down to wipe away some pudding from the older man's forehead.

“Don't touch me, girl!” Uncle Thomas's hand rose and smacked Dora's cheek so hard it knocked her off balance and she tumbled to the floor.

Once more, the room snapped into a stunned silence.

William was the first to break the spell. He stood and threw down his napkin onto his plate. With long strides, he went to where Dora sat on the floor and crouched down beside her. The girl's cheek had already blossomed a bright pink. He touched her shoulder, gently. “Are you all right, Dora?”

She nodded.

“An apology is owed you.” William assisted Dora to her feet. He looked at his uncle pointedly, but the man remained silent, dabbing at the pudding on his face with a napkin. “And so, on behalf of the family, I apologize to you, Dora. I assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again.”

He turned to his mother. She'd spent the awkward moments staring at her plate and refolding her napkin. “Mother, you're looking very tired. Since our meal here is apparently finished, would you like to retire for the evening?”

“Thank you, William. I believe I should like that very much.” Mrs. Brown smiled weakly at her son.

“Dora, dear, you are excused from any remaining duties for the evening. Would you kindly accompany my mother upstairs?”

Dora bobbed a curtsy toward William and assisted Mrs. Brown to her feet. As the two women fled the dining room, they reminded Eliza of freed prisoners.

Uncle Thomas stood up and spoke to Eliza. “I'll be needing some water and towels brought to my room, girl, and…”

But this time the uncle was interrupted by William. “You will stay, Thomas. Take a seat.”

Uncle Thomas blinked.

“Sit down. Now.” William's voice was firm and carefully controlled.

Uncle Thomas sat.

William swept aside the dishes, folded the tablecloth over the pudding and sat on the edge of the dining table directly in front of his uncle. It was a strikingly improper thing to do. He looked less like a Victorian gentleman and more like a police detective grilling a primary suspect.

He looked down at his uncle with an expression of thinly veiled rage. His jaw clenched and his cheek tightened with a muscle tic just below the surface. Tipping his head to the side, he cracked his neck, like a boxer before a fight and then, resting his clenched fists on his knees, he began.

“Uncle Thomas, you are upsetting my household, and this is not acceptable to me. Despite my staff's earnest efforts to see to your comfort, you have made it clear to that you remain unsatisfied. Therefore, you need to return to your home immediately, where your staff is better able to suit your needs. I will arrange your ticket, and Davy will take you to the station tomorrow.”

“Oh no, son. I assure you, that's quite unnecessary.”

“On the contrary. Your immediate departure is most necessary. During our meeting at the club, you reminded me that I am master of little in this world. But I am master of this house. You will leave on the morrow.”

Uncle Thomas did not respond.

“Do I make myself clear?” William insisted.

“Yes, I understand.” Uncle Thomas began to rise, but William stopped him with a well-placed hand in the center of his chest.

“I have not finished. Not quite.”

The pudding-coated man remained seated and eyed William with a look of shocked suspicion.

“This evening you have physically assaulted one of my staff. I will not tolerate this. At the club, you heard tales of my forays into the sport of boxing. They were not idle boasts. I tell you most sincerely that if you ever, ever, assault anyone in my household again, I will cheerfully beat you to a bloody pulp. You have my word on that.”

Eliza could see just beneath the veil of pudding that Uncle Thomas's face was turning an unusual shade. It was petty to admit it, she knew, but “humiliated red” was a color that looked very good on the big bully.

Uncle Thomas said nothing. After a moment, he gathered up as much dignity as a dessert-covered man could muster and left the room.

William's gaze remained on the carpet, staring down as he clenched, then unclenched his fists.

Eliza didn't quite know what to do. She walked up beside him and placed her hand over his fist, terrified he might pull away from her. He did not.

“Please don't take water and towels up to the old monster,” he said, still staring at the carpet. He was clearly willing his voice to keep calm, despite the undercurrent of fury.

“I wasn't planning on taking a thing to him,” she replied. “I guess the meeting at the club didn't go well?”

“It was a draw. Neither of us won. He isn't able to invest without my consent, but neither does he agree to place the money elsewhere. The funds will go into a low-interest account until one of us gives way.”

She squeezed his hand. “William, you were magnificent.”

He gave her a lop-sided grin. “You were pretty impressive yourself. To take my uncle out with rice pudding was a stroke of genius. In addition, you spared me the indignity of my most hated dessert. I rather think you're ahead of me, two-to-one.”

He absently began scooping some of the clumped pudding off the upholstered chair and onto a dessert plate. “I would be surprised if we heard any more out of Uncle Thomas tonight.”

Eliza grinned. “I'm not so sure. While you were at the club, I taught Dora how to short-sheet his bed.”

“I'm not certain what that entails, but I believe the score is now three-to-one. Touché.” A shy smile touched his lips as he gazed into her eyes.

Their brief moment was interrupted when the dining room door banged open. Mrs. MacLaughlin stood frozen in the doorway, wearing a horrified expression.

“I…does…oh dear Lord. What did Bessie do?” she stammered.

“I fear my uncle had an unfortunate accident, Mrs. MacLaughlin.”

“Where's Dora?”

“I instructed Dora to retire for the evening and sent her upstairs with Mother. I hope you don't mind.”

The look on the housekeeper's face indicated that she minded and more than a little, but was too good a servant to say so. “As you wish, sir. Bess, you bring these dishes downstairs before you set to work on the table. I'll fetch the mop.”