Pride and Proposals

“You can return to Lady de Bourgh and explain how you helped me devise this admirable solution to my dilemma. I am certain she will be vastly pleased with your interference.”

Behind Collins, Grayson retrieved the spoon, a small smile replacing his look of utter shock.

“D-do you n-not feel it is a rather extreme solution?” Mr. Collins stammered.

Elizabeth tipped her head to one side, as if in consideration. “Well, I suppose I could wait; the scandal may abate on its own. Perhaps it would not be necessary for me to marry anyone immediately.”

Mr. Collins removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “That might be for the best.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth shrugged as if it meant little to her. She then stood, prompting Collins to stand automatically. “I will leave it to you to explain that to Lady de Bourgh.”

She led Mr. Collins to the door before the man was aware he planned to depart. “I thank you for your concern for my wellbeing, and please extend my gratitude to Lady Catherine as well.”

Grayson hastened to open the front door to the townhouse. Idly, Elizabeth wondered what he had done with the spoon—one of those eternal mysteries about the operations of servants.

Collins bowed his way out with expressions of delight and promises to convey her regards to Charlotte. Finally, Grayson could close the door behind the man. He regarded his employer with a raised eyebrow. She returned an ironic smile. “Do not be concerned, Grayson. You are safe from my matrimonial ambitions.”

“So I concluded, ma’am.”

“My cousin is a fool.”

“It would not be my place to draw that conclusion,” Grayson said drily.

Elizabeth laughed. “Richard knew what he was about when he took you into his employ.”

The butler’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pivoted and strode back to the breakfast room. “Perhaps now I may eat my breakfast in peace.”

“Cook was able to obtain some of the ham you particularly fancy, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

However, Elizabeth had only eaten a few bites of ham when she heard another knock on the door. Heavens! Another early morning visitor. Who could it be this time? God forbid Mr. Collins had returned!

She heard Grayson open the door and then Mr. Darcy’s unmistakable deep voice. Why would he visit so early? Her first fear was that it was an emergency involving Georgiana, but no, he would have sent a messenger.

Then a panicked thought gripped her. Was he angry about the item in the newspaper? Georgiana had been linked with Elizabeth’s name in the article, perhaps damaging her reputation by association. Maybe Mr. Darcy intended to discontinue the acquaintance between their households, at least for the present. She would hardly blame him and had even considered offering to do so.

However, the thought of being separated from Georgiana and Mr. Darcy cut through her with a sharpness she did not expect. She realized she would miss their acquaintance dreadfully without frequent visits. But when had this occurred? When had she come to depend on friendship with the inhabitants of Darcy House?

Grayson ushered Mr. Darcy into the room. “Miss Bennet, forgive the early hour of my arrival.” Mr. Darcy’s words were rushed, and his agitation caused her to reconsider the fear that some ill had befallen Georgiana.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she assured him. “I enjoy company with my breakfast.” She gestured to the sideboard. “Please, help yourself.”

Mr. Darcy eyed the food as if the very thought made him ill. “Thank you; I have already breakfasted.”

“Would you care for some coffee? Tea?”

“I thank you, no.” He put his hand on a chair as if preparing to sit, but abruptly turned and began making a circuit around the room. It was not a large room, and he soon had completed a full tour without voicing the reason for his unexpected visit. Perhaps he had more to say about the attack on her house and ensuring her safety? But why was he having such difficulty raising the subject? Every line of his body suggested anxiety and tension.

“Are you quite all right? Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

He viewed her distractedly. “No, thank you. There is nothing. That is—I—You—”

Elizabeth watched him with a growing sense of alarm. She could not understand the source of his present state of agitation. Was Wickham responsible for another egregious action?

“Is Georgiana well?” she asked.