Teaching Eliza, page 15
Suddenly she sat up in alarm. Her aunt and uncle! They must be worried about her, for if it were this dark, they must have expected her home long since! She must leave, but oh, she could not face Professor Darcy or the colonel. Where was Mrs. Pearce? That lady alone seemed to care for Lizzy’s wellbeing. The colonel was pleasant and amiable, but while he provided some sort of element of civility to the enterprise, he was there to observe his cousin and entertain himself with the progress of the lessons. Under other circumstances, Lizzy thought she and the colonel would be great friends, but his role in the affair was too much delineated by the nature of his bet with Darcy. As for the professor, his manners improved ever so slightly, but he remained gruff and often rude, and rather selfish in all things, and his interest in her seemed as a project to be completed and admired and not as an independent person with her own thoughts and hopes and experiences. But then there were those moments, rare though they may be, when she wondered if perhaps he did care somewhat for her being: those moments when he was polite and gracious for no reason other than to be pleasant; the times when he glared at the piano master whose hands touched and guided her own; the smiles when he thought she was not looking; the way he had approached her and talked to her after their dance lessons.
But no, she must not read anything into these few suggestions of humanity in the man. She was his student and his co-conspirator, his puppet, his creation. Nothing more.
In her anguish, her thoughts strayed back to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s comments about the native communities he encountered in Jamaica, free men and women living in their tribal ways, unlike the African slaves on the plantations. He had seemed so proud of the unbound natives, so scornful of slavery, and yet did he not see that she, Lizzy, was surely as bound up in this scheme as were the slave workers on the plantations? The reasonable part of her mind shouted down these wild notions—she was a free person, enslaved to no one. Had the professor not promised her a dowry, given her the speech of a lady, and the wardrobe to match? But her tears drowned out the tremulous voice of reason, and she despaired anew of ever breaking free of Professor Darcy’s machinations. The impossibility of the situation crushed her.
But now she must find Mrs. Pearce. In the half-light filtering in from the windows, she could see no taper to light, nor a bell pull to summon assistance. She crept to the door, resigned to walking down the stairs in search of assistance. She did not fear encountering the men too much, for they were always ensconced in the study, pouring over some treatise on dialect acquisition or a new technique for notating vocal sounds, or dreaming about the possibility of one day capturing sound on a device as an artist captures visual images on canvas. Her goal was not the study, but the kitchen, for there she might find Mrs. Pearce.
Looking through the spy-hole in the bedroom door, she saw the corridor appeared empty. Quietly she opened the door and slipped through, screwing up her eyes against the brightness of the hallway, a shock after the darkness of her room. She had taken only a step, however, when she tripped over something lying across the floor. She caught herself against a wall, and looking down, she saw in horror that the offending object was nothing other than Professor Darcy’s long legs.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his legs stretched across the width of the corridor. He scrambled to his feet, apologising profusely for tripping her. “I was dozing... I didn’t notice… I thought you had seen me….” She turned her face away from him, afraid of the expression that must be written across it, but he caught her arm and gently turned her around to face him. The softness of his touch stunned her; he had never been so gentle before in all the time she had known him.
“I am sorry, Eliza. I had not thought how trying today must have been. It was inexcusable on my part, and you have every reason to hate me for it. But I do hope you will not hate me; for some reason that would cause me great distress. Forgive me?”
His words stunned her, but his eyes did even more so. She had never seen such sincerity there before, those dark orbs now pleading with her to open her heart just a small amount. Gone was the sardonic glint so often present; gone was the half-smirk of disdain with the world. These eyes, deep brown and really beautiful under their long lashes, were vulnerable and filled with pain. Pain that she could relieve.
For a moment she thought to walk away from him and leave him there in the corridor, but even as her mind commanded her feet to walk away, her heart told her to stay, to forgive him. He had not been deliberately cruel, merely thoughtless. Tea with the countess was as trivial to him as walking into Meryton was to her. It was unfair to condemn him for a sin he had not intended to commit.
Finding strength in the core of her being, she nodded and lowered her eyes. “I forgive you, sir.”
“Thank you.” The words were whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
“I must… I must send word to my aunt and uncle. They surely have worried about my whereabouts since dusk fell. I am never this late—” she started, recalling her mission.
“Be easy, Eliza. They have been made aware of your present whereabouts. We sent a messenger with a note saying you had taken ill with a minor complaint, a headache—so as not to worry them about that—and that you would remain here for the evening, under the careful eye of Mrs. Pearce. They are satisfied with the arrangements and await word of your health in the morning.”
“I thank you.” She was able to look him in the eye now. “I, too, must apologise for my behaviour. I thought I was equal to the occasion, but I was mistaken. I felt, all at once, so overwhelmed, I knew not what to say. I am woefully unprepared for a season, I’m afraid.” She turned away once more and cast her eyes to the floor.
“Nonsense, Eliza!” he put a finger under her chin and raised it again so her eyes met his. “You were caught unaware. We have been spending so much of our efforts on how you say things and how you move and what accomplishments you ought to possess that we have been neglecting the people and places in which these new talents will be exhibited. We must move from the school room to the drawing room, but we shall do so gradually, at your comfort.” He looked intently at her. “At your comfort,” he repeated. “Will you agree?”
“Aye. Thank you.”
“Nonsense!” The sensitive soul that had briefly appeared in his likeness was gone, and he was back to his usual gruff self. “Now, come and play a hand or two at loo. The colonel awaits and Mrs. Pearce is holding your supper. Don’t make her wait any longer than necessary.”
~
The following morning, after another note was sent to the Gardiners by Lizzy herself assuring them of her health, and after a very pleasant breakfast, which only Mrs. Pearce and the colonel attended, Lizzy found herself being summoned into Professor Darcy’s private study, a small room off the main library-cum-study area in which most of her lessons had taken place. Walking into the room, she stared astounded at the sheer number of books that lined every inch of spare wall from floor to ceiling, and which were stacked in high piles on tables, chairs, desks and even on the floor.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Darcy sat at his desk, staring at a newspaper, while sipping a steaming black drink that smelled of coffee and distractedly eating from a plate of pastries, whilst crumbs fell unheeded onto his papers. Not looking up, the professor gestured to a chair and mumbled, “Sit, sit,” through a mouth full of scone.
There was one chair available that was not stacked with books, a delicate-looking Elizabethan construction opposite the desk to the professor, and Lizzy seated herself gracefully. She sat in silence, waiting for Darcy to complete whatever it was he was doing. After a moment, he looked up and blinked, as if surprised to see her in his private space. Wiping the crumbs from the corner of his mouth with a bare hand, he hmmmed , then said, “Oh, yes, Eliza.”
“You wished to see me, Professor?” Her accent, by now, was lovely. Every trace of the country was gone, her vowels perfect, her consonants clear and precise, her phrasing lilting and melodious.
He stared a moment longer, then said, “I felt I ought to inform you. The colonel’s mother is coming for tea this morning. She wishes to talk with you.”
Lizzy felt her face flush red, then drain of all colour. If her heart had stopped beating, it would not have surprised her. What could the countess want, but to scold and chastise, belittle and admonish her for her deplorable behaviour the previous day? She had lost all her composure and had embarrassed herself terribly, dragging Darcy and the colonel with her.
“I… I cannot face her. My shame is too great. She can have nothing good to say, for I comported myself most appallingly yesterday. Please send her my compliments, but I must be gone. I must return to my uncle’s house. This will never do.” She began to rise to her feet, but Darcy stopped her.
“Oh, Eliza. I have failed you again with my thoughtless words. Let me explain, please.” She reluctantly settled back into the chair, although tension reigned in every blink of her eye, every twitch of a hand. “After you departed yesterday, my aunt was most displeased, but,” he hastened to add, “not with you. Not at all with you! Rather, her displeasure settled most definitely and uncomfortably upon me and, to a lesser extent, upon Richard. She gave us both a rather severe dressing down, scolding us as if we were both still children. It galls me to admit it, but there’s a possibility she may have been right about one or two things.”
The arrogance was still there, but the veneer of it thinner now, allowing once more a glimmer of compassion to leak through. For the first time, Lizzy found herself wondering whether the haughty, uncivil curmudgeon was, indeed, the real Professor Darcy, or if a kinder man lurked deep inside the shell he had created around himself.
“Her Ladyship wishes to speak to you not to condemn you,” he continued, “but to befriend you. She has suggested that, perhaps, our… my approach has some minor faults.” The confession stuck in his throat, but he forced it out. “Will you agree to take tea with her? She truly wishes you no ill.”
Lizzy’s instinct to run was kept at bay only by the unaccustomed sincerity in his words and in his voice. She had heard that voice once or twice before; she had heard it last night, in the corridor outside her room. It had stopped her flight then, and it stopped it now. She felt some of the tension release itself from her spine and her forehead, and her head nodded slightly of its own accord. “I do not know how I can face her. I am most ashamed.”
“She does not see matters that way, Eliza. Believe me. She saw nothing amiss in your actions yesterday other than alarm and being ill-advised by… well, by me. There, I have said it. Now, will you do it or not?”
The screen of rude arrogance slid over the gentle eyes of a moment before, and the gruff professor was making himself heard again, overshadowing the kind man who may have been lurking below the surface. Oddly, Lizzy felt herself rise to his bait. This, she knew, she could confront with her usual headstrong impertinence, and she did so.
“Do you order me around as a servant, sir?” she demanded. “For while your last comment was phrased as a question, it held the import of a command. And I shall not be commanded by the likes of you!”
He threw his head back and laughed, “There’s my Eliza! Good girl! Now go and find Mrs. Pearce. She will help you dress.”
“I had not agreed, Professor Darcy.”
“No, but you will. Run along now. There’s a good girl.”
She stood and glared at him. “Goodbye, Professor Darcy. I shall send for my belongings.” She turned for the door.
Leaping after her, he almost knocked over a pile of books in his attempt to reach the door before her. “You can’t just leave!” He edged between her and the door and stood with his back against it, barring her exit.
“And you, sir, can’t just order me around. Once more, you have made my decision for me and informed me after the fact of what it should be.”
She stood facing him, her breath coming hard and her eyes sparking fire with her sudden determination. She glared at her nemesis as he flung his arms out to block the doorway completely and prevent her escape. His nostrils flared as he leaned back against the egress, a living barricade, his mouth a firm line of determination.
She did not fear him. He might rant and rave, but he had never intentionally done her ill and she somehow knew he would not. He also would not make her escape easy. “You cannot just leave.” The words were torn from his chest. “We have… we have our pact, our scheme. You will not abandon me so, will you Eliza?”
She met his gaze and did not back down. As she stared at him, his eyes darkened and his lips parted slightly as his eyes flickered to her mouth. He began to lean forward, then backed away as if burned and squeezed his eyelids closed for a moment as he regulated his breath and his temper.
Then the tension suddenly departed his body, and he collapsed back against the door, his eyes closed in defeat. “Once again, you remind me of my manners, Eliza. Never let it be said that I am a vindictive man. I have offered you every kindness, but I shall not demand recompense. I have no desire to harm you or to force you to act against your will, and if you truly wish to leave, I shall ask Mrs. Pearce to help make the appropriate arrangements. But I will, one last time, beg you to remain. For the colonel. For me.”
These words extinguished the flame that fueled Lizzy’s ire, and she felt a wave of indecision rush over her. “I do not know…”
“For my aunt?” His voice was smooth, but tinged with desperation. “You may call her Aunt Patricia if you wish. She will not mind, and it will make you easier. I would recommend, however, against calling her Aunty Patsy. That, she will not appreciate.”
A smile, small though it was, began to form on Lizzy’s face at the thought of the imposing Countess of Malton as Aunty Patsy. She sighed in resignation and stepped back, widening the space between the two. Darcy straightened and returned to his desk as Lizzy took a moment to collect herself. “I shall take tea with her. After that, I cannot say what I will do. But I will not disappoint the countess.”
“Thank you, Eliza,” he breathed. “Let her be your friend. She is a fine woman, even if she is responsible for Richard.” With a curtsey, Lizzy opened the door to finally escape the study, but not before seeing, from the corner of her eye, Darcy fling his head back on his chair, cursing quietly under his breath, and muttering something that sounded like ‘What on earth just happened?’
Back upstairs in her room, Lizzy stared blankly at the wardrobe full of lovely gowns as she tried to make sense of the scene in Darcy’s private study. He had laughed when she thought he would shout, had been rude and domineering, and just when she thought he would throw her out onto the street, a look had come over him that had shaken her to the core. The intensity in his eyes, as he stood blocking the door, had been terrifying and powerful, but rather than feeling afraid, she had been mesmerised by what she had seen. She had never been afraid of him at all, she realised. Not in his blackest, angriest moods, had he made the first gesture or sound that would cause one to fear. He yelled, he cursed, he insulted, and he ignored, but he never occasioned alarm.
What, then, was that look in his eye? She did not believe him angry. Frightened, desperate, perhaps, but not angry. And if not angry, then what? She relived the moment in her mind. At the moment, she had thought he might reach out and kiss her, but surely that could not be his intention. And, just as before, when he had never given her a moment of apprehension, he had stepped back and let her go. Did he not, then, wish to kiss her after all? No, don’t be silly , she chided herself. He never desired it in the first place .
More disturbing was the realisation that she would not have objected if he had kissed her! This was most perplexing, for she was certain that she did not like him. He might have grown on her over the many weeks they had worked together, but surely that was merely because of their enforced proximity, was it not? He could be amusing, to be certain, but he was rude and condescending and really rather handsome. Scolding herself for that last thought, she determined to think no more of the not-a-kiss.
Mrs. Pearce interrupted these roiling and confusing thoughts with a knock at the door. The lady entered and cast her eyes over Lizzy before announcing, “Let us get you ready.” Ceding to the inevitable, Lizzy let the older lady guide her focus to the array of gowns before her before summoning the maid to help her dress and do her hair. All the while she worked, the young maid chatted happily about her younger brothers and sisters, about the small village in which she had grown up in Derbyshire, about her new beau who worked in the stables at the duke’s house across the square, and a hundred other pleasant and amusing things. “And did ye know, milady,” the girl chirped, “that Professor Darcy allows us each an extra half-day off each week, from what’s regular? He’s a strange one, to be sure, but he is a kind master.”
“Really, Millie, Miss Bennet is not interested in that,” Mrs. Pearce chided, but from her expression, she was proud of her master’s unconventional treatment of his servants. Reluctantly, she added, “I believe this is what brought the professor to the attention of that strange group of reformers in Wales. We were stopped for the day and one of his attendants had the time off to enjoy the local scenery, and there he met with someone or another from the cooperative. Most interested, were they, and poor James nearly had them following him back to the inn. How that would have vexed the professor!” she chuckled.
This, too, was an unexpected side to the professor. At once, so domineering and inconsiderate, while at the same time being a most generous and kind employer. “Has he always been thus?” Lizzy asked.
Mrs. Pearce thought for a moment. “I did not know him as a very young child, but he has always been an unusual person, never one to act according to the dictates of others, but insistent upon making his own rules, according to his own sense of right and wrong, and behaving accordingly.
