New Release: Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions

Would you believe I started this as a handwritten draft in 2014? I’m not sure which shiny project made me put it down, but I’m sure glad I finally returned to it!

 

Now available on Amazon and all major booksellers! 

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Chapter 1

Most days, Elizabeth could keep herself occupied and remind herself of the blessings she and her family yet enjoyed. But days like today reminded her far too much of what had been lost—and almost lost—since autumn cast its bony grip upon the vicarage. Best not dwell upon those grey thoughts. They were too quick to make themselves at home in one’s mind, only to overstay their welcome.

 She made her way along the dirty village street, the skirts of her dusky pink walking dress picking up a coating of dust as they swished around her legs. Spring, with its fresh smells and gently warm breezes, had finally come to the little village of Lambton, driving away the vestiges of a long dark winter. Bits of new green—a very particular shade, very different from the old established green of hardy plants—dotted the edges of the road. Birds chirped and twittered from unseen perches, their songs dappling the fresh afternoon air with musical notes unique to the season. Reminders that life continued on were a good thing.

Finished with her morning calls, she left the cobblestone street in favor of the dirt footpath that led into Pemberley’s woods. The deep shade of arching hardwoods embraced her, the perfume of the loam, and the chirp of the insects soon screening out all traces of Lambton. Yes, this was what she needed.

The ladies she had called upon had been kind when they remembered Mama—and well they should be for she had been a gentle, kind and gracious soul—but the pain of loss was still so fresh. Today was the start of the seventh month since her passing, a time to set mourning aside.

 So many memories floated too close to the surface, though. The day would be better spent keeping to herself to quietly remember, and grieve.

But Mama would not have approved, insisting it was more important to celebrate with the living than to consider the dead. What better way to honor her memory than to do just that? At least that was what Papa had said.

If only her feelings would cooperate with those directions. Would it be so bad to take a respite here in the woods that always soothed her soul?

Perhaps she should try to appear active. Some moments to practice her archery might suit. If questioned she could explain that she was honoring Uncle and Aunt Gardiner’s gift of a membership to the Derbyshire Archery Club by preparing for their next meeting.  That might be just the thing.

The footpath forked; the right side led to Pemberley, the left toward the vicarage. A familiar dark form approached from the right. Long purposeful strides, brow furrowed, mouth drawn into something most mistook as a frown. Something troubled Mr. Darcy.

“Good day, Miss Elizabeth.” He tipped his hat and bowed from his shoulders—an odd mix of formal and familiar.

He had been calling her Miss Elizabeth from the moment they had met—what was it, ten years ago now, when father had taken the living at Kympton? He would hardly call her anything else now.

She curtsied. “Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

“Am I intruding? You are walking alone, I know sometimes …”

“It is six months to the day of my mother’s passing.”

“Forgive me, I should have recalled. I must be intruding, so I will go. You cannot want company now.” He was always so polite, so proper, but he seemed crestfallen.

“Pray, do not. I think perhaps—perhaps too much solitude might not be a good thing for me today. I am walking to the vicarage—”

“Might I walk with you then?” They set off together down the left-hand path, their steps falling into harmony with one another as they often did when they walked together.

“It seems you have something on your mind. Pray tell, would you like to talk about it?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the path they walked. She was right, something weighed on him.

“It has been a long time since you have called upon Georgiana,” he said.

“I am sorry for that, but we have been in mourning—”

“I meant no criticism. You have had other concerns. It is just in that time, she has quarreled with Mrs. Younge. The situation escalated to the point where I was forced to dismiss her. She is without a companion at present. This is the third, no the fourth companion who has quit or had to be dismissed in eighteen months.”

Actually, it was the fifth, but Mrs. Allen had only remained  for a week and a day. It had probably slipped his mind.

“She needs another companion, but I am at a loss how to find one suitable. I had hoped to ask your assistance.”

“I should think that one of your aunts might be a far more suitable source of help. Their connections in good society might be very useful.”

“They supplied the last three companions.”

She gripped her hands behind her back. That should help conceal her true thoughts. “So you want to seek help from another quarter?”

“Do not toy with me, I know that tone of your voice. You do not approve.”

He did know that tone, and it usually frustrated him no end. That he would call attention to what it meant—he was in great agitation of mind. “If you do not want to help me, I will find other means. You need only say so.”

“Do you really want to hear another one of my pert opinions, as you called them the last time that I offered a sentiment you did not like.”

“It was not that I did not like it. I thought—and still do think—you were in error.”

Stubborn, arrogant man. Just because he had attended university did not mean he knew everything! “If you take the time to do some reading on the matter, you will find I am correct. Those creatures we  saw in the garden last summer were indeed moths—hawk-moths to be precise—not humming birds.”

“You are quite mistaken. I am entirely certain—”

“You are an expert in all the natural sciences?”

“I am not accustomed to arguing such matters with young ladies.”

“Because most are too stupid or insipid to hold on to a controversial point of view.” Her fists clenched—now was not the time to reiterate her arguments.

“Another of your pert opinions.” He glanced at her, just a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell me your views on acquiring another companion for my sister.”

Why did he have to ask that? “Miss Darcy has had a long history of difficulty with governesses and companions.”

“And school masters, do not forget those.”

“Indeed, those as well. To have so many unfortunate experiences at just sixteen, that is very difficult for a girl.”

“It is not easy on those around her, either.” He harrumphed. “To have her tutors call her stupid and willful was no easy thing. Had my Father been alive—”

She lifted an open hand. There was no need to discuss what Old Mr. Darcy’s reaction might have been. “It is a mercy for all of you that he did not live to see it happen. I am certain Miss Darcy is acutely aware of how he would have been disappointed in her and how disappointed you are in her.”

“Do I not have a right?”

He did not want to hear her thoughts on that matter. “Knowing one has let down her family is—” Did she really want to reveal so much? She worked her tongue along the roof of her mouth. “It is a difficult burden to bear. I cannot blame her for not wanting to bring in yet another person to remind her of her failures.”

“Then what do you suggest?” He kicked a rock aside with more force than necessary.

“Go without a companion for a little while. Invite some of your cousins to visit. Give her a little taste of what society might be like when she comes out. Provide an environment where she might succeed and look forward to more successes.”

He stopped short and gaped at her. “It sounds like you want me to reward her bad behavior.”

“Think carefully, I did not say that.”

“What you suggest is ludicrous.”

“You are entitled to that opinion, as I am to mine. I remind you, though, you asked me what I thought.”

“Yes, I did ask.”  His brow knotted and he got that dark look that usually presaged him saying something regrettable. “But I assumed you would offer me your usual sound advice, not another one of your brash opinions.”

Not today, absolutely not today. “Then I strongly suggest you seek out someone whose advice will please you more. Good day.” She curtsied and marched off.

***

A fortnight later, Darcy leaned back into the leather wingchair that had been Father’s and scrubbed his face with his hands. The first rays of sunset cast a golden glow on his study. Was he doing the right thing?

He stared at the bookshelves that lined the wall behind his desk. Row upon neat row of books in matching black leather bindings, an enviable collection of wisdom, none of which held the answers he needed.

Everything in his neatly ordered office pointed to doing the same thing he had before: find a new companion and put Georgiana in her care. But after four—no it was five—failures, trying something else made sense. But such a thing to try.

It grated against everything he had been taught, everything that Father demanded of him.

“You must protect your sister.” Father gripped Darcy’s forearm hard, drawing him close, the stench of infection and decaying flesh almost overwhelming.

“I will. You can trust me,” Darcy whispered in his ear, only barely managing not to gag over the foul air.

“That remains to be seen; you have never cared for another person, only yourself. I know you are a selfish being, though I suppose your mother and I are to blame. But you cannot be so now. Richard will help you—”

“You do not need to appoint a second guardian.” Wounded pride stung as much as father’s cane.

“I do, trust me I do.”

Father had been right. Though he disagreed with Richard more frequently than they agreed, having someone to share the responsibility with had proven welcome.

 Richard’s agreement with Miss Elizabeth’s suggestion came as a surprise, but having asked his opinion, Darcy was all but committed to following through on her notion.

Her ridiculous, preposterous, absurd idea.

But she had proven herself so flawless in her judgements—there was a reason he turned to her time after time for advice. He would be a fool to ignore her now.

A soft knock at his door and Georgiana peeked in. “You wished to see me?”

He beckoned her in. “We need to discuss the matter of your companion.”

“What do you mean? She is gone, what more need be said.” She stopped an arm’s length from him, fury rolling off of her in waves.

She looked so much like their mother when she was angry: green eyes flashing, color high on her porcelain cheeks, her shoulders pulled back in her white sprigged muslin as straight and elegant as a marble statue. None could fault her beauty nor mistake her displeasure.

Darcy drew a deep breath and counted to sixteen—one for each year of her life. Hopefully he would not have to do this much longer or the pauses could grow extremely awkward. “You should have a companion.”

“I suppose you have hired another—without even telling me? Why would you care what I think?” She stamped, but the rich carpet muffled the sound.

He stood and gripped the back of the chair—control, he must remain in control. “You will not take that tone with me.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and glowered. “Fine then. Just tell me what I must next endure, and send me away.”

One, two, three, four, five long steps took him behind his desk. He riffled through the tidy stack of papers on his desk. “I have a surprise that may please you.”

She lifted her head and stared at him with innocent eyes that reminded him so much of their mother’s. Jaw dropping, defiance fell away like a forgotten shawl. “I am not going to have a new companion?”

“We will take some time to consider options, and perhaps give you some new opportunities, new experiences in the meantime.”

“What kind of new experiences? You have already sent me to school once, and I will not go again.” Her jaw trembled.

Pray, no tears, not now.

“I have received the final letters confirming it all just this afternoon.” He tapped the pages in his hand. “We shall be hosting a house party next month. I have invited Bingley and his sister and cousins Anne and Fitzwilliam. He invited his friend Sir Alexander—”

“The new baronet?”

“Yes, as well as his sister. I expect them to stay the month complete.”

“Pemberley is hosting a house party?” She bounced slightly on her toes. “Pray, say that I will be included, too, even though I am not yet out.” She bit her lower lip and stared at him pleadingly.

“On Miss Elizabeth’s recommendation, you will be part of the party. You will have a small taste of polite society and see what it requires. Provided of course that you conduct yourself accordingly, you will be included in all our activities.” 

“Oh, I will, I will. I am so excited! Perhaps we might introduce Mr. Bingley to Miss Elizabeth. He might do very well—”

He dragged his hand down his face, in part to cover the tiny smile trying to make its way across his lips. What was it about introducing men and women that was so fascinating to young ladies? “No matchmaking; do not cross me or you will be excluded from all company. I shall make introductions if they desire them, but I will not interfere with the life of my friends in such a way.”

“Yes sir.” She clasped her hands before her and looked down, a mite deflated.

“I would like you to plan a small affair for our guests. It will be good practice for you. What say you about a picnic? Just after they arrive might be an excellent time, and you may invite the Bennets to attend if you like.”

“I can plan it?” Wide eyes and an even wider smile barely contained her excitement.

“Yes, every detail. Work with Mrs. Reynolds and heed her advice throughout.”

“I will, I will.” Her eyes sparkled.

“Now off with you, go to your planning. There is work I must yet finish.”

“Yes, sir and thank you.” She dashed off, as though he might change his mind if she lingered.

Her enthusiasm should please him, but it was a mite disconcerting. He had never seen her respond that way. But it was better than the vapors and near hysteria that had preceded Mrs. Younge’s arrival, so perhaps it was an improvement.

***

Cool, late afternoon breezes blew across Elizabeth’s shoulders, rustling knee high stalks of pale violet-pink lady’s smock into her pale green skirt. She tucked several stalks of lady’s smock and a few of yellow cowslip into her basket. They would be pretty on the dinner table tonight. The afternoon warmth would only be with her an hour or two more before sunset laid its golden glow across the garden. So restful and calm—but she really should not remain here while there were still tasks undone in the house.

“Miss Elizabeth! Miss Elizabeth!” That shout could only belong to Miss Darcy, and her disposition had been so unpredictable recently.

Elizabeth arranged her features into what was hopefully a pleasant order.

A flurry of white muslin and ribbons ran toward her. A young maid hurried to keep up—not Miss Darcy’s companion. Interesting, no companion. Could that be the very point of the call?

Had Mr. Darcy listened to her advice after all? She covered her mouth with hand—that probably should not be as pleasing as it was. But it was a great compliment, especially when he had initially thought it ridiculous.

Miss Darcy reached her side, panting and gasping for breath. “I am so very glad to have found you.”

“You will forgive me if I hardly consider that a noteworthy achievement. You do it so regularly, I would think it something taken for granted.” Elizabeth cocked her head and lifted her eyebrow.

“How can you be a wit at a time like this? I am in such a state and you see fit to make jokes?” Miss Darcy’s eyes bulged and her cheeks puffed out just a bit. If she had any idea of how like a pug that expression made her look, the poor girl would be certain never to do it again.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together hard, now was not the time to laugh—it would certainly be misunderstood. She looped her arm in Miss Darcy’s and looked at the young maid. “Go to the kitchen and take a rest there. The cook will give you something to eat.”

“Thank you, madam.” The girl scurried off, head down, as quick as she could without earning an admonition not to run. Miss Darcy must have been in high dudgeon, taking it out on the unfortunate servant all the way to the vicarage.

“Come now, you know I always improve your spirits. Let us stroll in the woods. One can hardly hold on to an ill-temper there.” She led Miss Darcy along a graveled path that circled the kitchen and flower gardens and led to a small bench under the shade of a cluster of oaks. Mr. Darcy had added the gravel just a few months ago when it became so muddy it was difficult for Papa to walk it.

“I am not ill-tempered, I am at sixes and sevens.”  Pebbles crunched and crackled as they gave way under Miss Darcy’s heavy footfalls. “I know I shall remain so if you do not help me.”

 Elizabeth pointed to a white painted bench with rough roses carved in the back and beckoned Miss Darcy to sit with her.

Two songbirds began a conversation in the treetops overhead. They scanned the branches for the songsters, but the musical parties remained hidden in the leaves.

“Fitzwilliam has done it again.” Miss Darcy slumped and let her head hang, chin to chest.

“He has hired another companion?”

“No, no. It is much worse than that.”

“You will have to explain.”  

Miss Darcy’s penchant for finding something to be unhappy about—well it was not her most endearing trait. “He has planned a house party. I am not only to attend, but to help entertain our guests. He wants me to plan a picnic. A picnic!”

“That sounds like a very good thing? I am surprise you are not more pleased.” Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. Had she been so mistaken?

“I do not know how to do such a thing. You of all people should know that. Fitzwilliam wants me to be an accomplished young lady so he can marry me off and be rid of me. But I am … am … just a disappointment to him.” Miss Darcy jumped up and stalked along the length of the bench. “Look at me, I am nearly sixteen years old, and I can hardly read. I have had teachers and masters. Not one of them has made the letters stay on the page any better than the next.”

“You play beautifully on the pianoforte and you sing—”

“It is not good enough—not for my brother.”

“Your French is so good, everyone who has heard you believes you a native speaker.”

Miss Darcy extended open hands, silently demanding answers no one had. “Only until they write something for me to translate for them or ask me to read them some French poetry. Then they call me willful and stubborn—”

“I am sure that cannot happen often.”

“Then you are surely wrong. Only this morning Fitzwilliam demanded I read to him in French—in the morning room no less! He wanted me to practice reading for our guests—according to him my voice is  so pretty it will surely entertain them. It was only by a stroke of great luck that he turned to a piece I memorized long ago. I recited it to him—I thought he would have been pleased. You would have expected that, no?”

Elizabeth nodded, though her gut knotted. Knowing Mr. Darcy, there was only one way this would end.

“Can you imagine—it only made him angry. Angry! He thinks I am headstrong or stupid—I do not know which—simply because I cannot always render so flawless a performance. You see, even when I do something correctly, it is not enough for him. It never will be.”

“I am so sorry.”  Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it into Miss Darcy’s hand. “Your memory is so good; I can hardly think of a time you have had to work to commit something to memory. Surely that must count for something.”

“Nothing pleases my brother.”

“I know this is difficult to believe, but this house party may turn into something very good indeed.”

“And how do you see my brother’s high-handedness being so very good?” Tears trickled down Miss Darcy’s cheeks.

“I have every faith that you can do what he has asked of you and do it very well. And when you see that you can indeed succeed—I am sure it will make a great deal of difference in so many things.”

“How can I possibly plan anything? I cannot write, and I know lists will need to be made. I cannot even read receipts to select the food for the picnic.” Her words trailed off in a sob.

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Reynolds?”

“So that she can know how stupid I am? Of course not.”

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. She was only sixteen, allowances must be made. “Her role as housekeeper is to assist you and make certain you succeed. She was a great help to your mother, especially when her … eyes were too tired to read or write. I recall Mrs. Reynolds often writing what you mother dictated, even reading to her at times. I have no doubt she will be ready to help you as well.”

Miss Darcy peeked up over the handkerchief. “I had no idea she did those things for my mother.”

“You are not nearly as alone as you like to believe yourself to be.”

“I am afraid I might do this wrong. What will happen if it is a disaster?” She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking down her cheeks.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It was only a picnic. Just how much could go wrong with a picnic? “I am certain—”

“I know it will be well if you help me. Will you help me? Pray, say you will. I know I can do it if you are there with me, advising me like you do with Fitzwilliam.” She caught Elizabeth’s hand and tugged at it.

“I do not advise your brother.”

“He trusts your judgement more than anyone else’s. And so do I. Pray help me as you help him, and I know all will be well.”

“I cannot neglect my duties at home, but—” Hopefully she would not regret this. “—but I will help you as much as I can.”

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His family faces ruin without help from a woman below his notice.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, guardian to his younger sister, Georgiana, is at his wits end. Despite every possible effort, Georgiana steadfastly refuses to become a properly accomplished woman in anticipation of her come out. Elizabeth Bennet, the vicar’s daughter who has grown up in the shades of Pemberley, suggests hosting a small house party to encourage Georgiana’s improvement with a taste of society.

While the notion is utterly ludicrous, Darcy has no better ideas. Soon cousins Richard and Anne, and friends, the Bingleys, are on their way to Pemberley. Richard makes his own additions to the party: the glamorous baronet playwright Sir Alexander and his stunning sister Miss Garland.

Over Darcy’s objections, the party sets upon performing a home theatrical written by Sir Alexander. But the Garlands are not as they seem. Soon everything at Pemberley is upended and in disarray. 

Will Darcy’s pride and prejudice cause him to forever ruin the Darcys’ good name by overlooking the one person who has the keys to making it all right again?

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