“So, brother, did you successfully complete your errands?”
Darcy grudgingly tore his eyes away from Elizabeth and replied, “Yes, Georgie. I first stopped at Fletcher & Byrd, the new plumassier, and am embarrassed to admit I became quite adrift. The fledgling business is located in a-loft; and one must follow the arrows up several flights of stairs and down a long corridor to the building’s oldest wing. I took several wrong terns before entering the correct doorway, which was so low I had to duck. I feathered their nest with a swift purchase of a large clutch of ostrich and peacock plumage but was in a hurry and may have been gulled by their soaring prices. I managed to swallow my spleen and sign my name with an ornate goose quill, and then the owlish Mr. Fletcher perched himself on the counter and had the pluck to say our patronage would be a feather in his cap. Mr. Byrd, the pompous coxcomb, agreed and crowed that customers would soon flock to their shop. To be honest, Georgie, I found both men to be quite flighty; and they may, in fact, have been robin me.
Fortunately, I was also able to obtain the desired cake just one block away. The package is being dispatched tout de sweet, my errands were completed more rapidly than expected, and I was able to meet, at the appointed hour, four very lovely ladies.”
His gaze naturally settled upon one particular lovely lady again; and her cheeks grew rosy as he performed a head to foot, and back again, appreciative appraisal of her person. Lizzy was not affronted and thought he was quite justified in his scrutiny in return for the way she had overtly ogled him at Pemberley.
With a glint in her eye, Anna explained, “My brother went shopping today because we are often asked to forward certain items from Town to Rosings Park in order to appease, er, satisfy the rather eccentric demands … I mean, the discriminating tastes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh … a nutty fruitcake … and large bird feathers. You see, our aunt really takes the cake for being plume crazy.”
The five entered the Royal Academy building. Lizzy, being a painter, was eager to view J.M.W. Turner’s recent Mercury and Herse plus several other of his newest works. She and Darcy stood in front of the masterpiece while the others went in the opposite direction to view portraits.
“Are you familiar with the depicted mythology, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Somewhat, Mr. Darcy; I admit I much prefer Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’ over alternative versions of the story, as it is less tragic.”
“Indeed, madam, for in Ovid’s version Mercury, or Hermes, falls in love with Herse upon first seeing her in Athens and asks for her hand, which I agree is highly preferable over an insane Herse leaping to her death from the Acropolis.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I always enjoy a tale in which the hero and heroine live happily ever after, sir, even if they do have to suffer some misunderstanding, separation, and angst along the way.”
“Ah, but the misunderstanding, separation, and angst are what make the ‘happily ever after’ more worth the earning, Miss Elizabeth; and a romance story would be quite lacking without it. Shall we move on?”
“Yes, I am rather curious to see why so many people are gathered in front of a canvas in the alcove over there. It is obvious the artist can certainly draw a crowd.”
“Is that an intended pun, Miss Elizabeth? If so, I am surprised you would stoop to, as Dr. Samuel Johnson called it, ‘the lowest form of humour.’”
“Shamefully, I must confess it was intentional, Mr. Darcy. Please forgive my flippant folly; for I fear I am fated to foolishly follow in the fallible footsteps of my fantastic but formidably farcical father, who is a fancier of the foible and fatuously fond of tomfoolery. Oh, fie! I feel you are fully fed up. I will finally finish with a flourish and thank you for your forbearance. I forthwith promise to forgo and forsake further frustrating frivolity for now but, unfortunately, not forever.”
Darcy stared incredulously at Elizabeth, cleared his throat, and said, “Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to allay and also alleviate any alarm about an altercation over your alacrity for aloud alliteration. Although allegedly always appearing aloof, I actually ardently admire and approve alert and amusing allegorical allusions. All along, it has been apparent our minds are alike and I, alone, am already an ally and offer my allegiance and alliance. I alternatively allude to your altogether alive, altruistic, and appealing allure. Alas, my allocated allotment of allowable alliterations is almost accomplished. All right, shall we amble along to another alcove of artwork?”
They grinned at one another and strolled over to the depiction that had been so admired by the crowd. Darcy contemplated the lavish banquet on canvas and said, “Now, this painting has taste, and the artist obviously used his palette wisely.”
“Mr. Darcy! Upun my word, sir! How very unrepentantly unsophisticated and laughingly lowbrow of you, sir.”
The gentleman attempted a straight face as he asked, “Whatever do you mean, madam?”
As Lizzy Bennet and her companion turned toward one another and smiled, the room, the Royal Academy building, and then the entire world around them, vanished. Darcy longingly stared at her mouth and thought, Yes, smile, Elizabeth. It is the second best thing you could do with those luscious lips. He raised his gaze, dark eyes locked with dark eyes, and he slowly moved in closer, breathed in her enticing scent, leaned slightly forward and said in a low, husky voice, “Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to … ”
“Mr. Darcy! Yoo-hoo, Mr. Darrrceeey.” A woman’s shrill voice pierced their bubble of sensuous solitude.
He groaned and muttered, “Oh, God. Please, no.”
A tall woman of questionable fashion approached with another young lady in tow. The gentleman gritted his teeth, bowed, and greeted the newcomers. “Miss Bingley, Miss Dalrymple, what an unexpected … pleasure. Ladies, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire. Miss Elizabeth, allow me to introduce to you Miss Caroline Bingley. You met her brother, Charles, at Pemberley. And this is her friend, Miss Sarah Dalrymple.”
All the ladies curtsied. The orange-clad Caroline Bingley snootily said, “Oh, have you had the privilege of visiting the magnificent Darcy home, Miss Elizabeth? Is it not the most beautiful and noble place you have ever seen? I keep telling Charles he must make a purchase in that neighbourhood and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire, I have often remarked. Were you on a tour of the grand estate, Miss Elizabeth?”
Caroline looked down her hawk-like nose at the young woman’s simple ensemble of an ivory dress of good-quality linen trimmed with ecru ribbon. Over it she wore a pretty fringed beige shawl of fine wool embroidered in metallic threads with tiny flowers in shades of gold, bronze, copper, and green. Fortunately, the soft coppery cloth bonnet Elizabeth had hurriedly grabbed, almost without looking, matched her outfit quite well.
“No. Initially I was visiting Mrs. Reynolds with … ”
“Mrs. Reynolds? Why, is she not the estate’s housekeeper? You were at Pemberley to visit a servant?”
“Why, yes. The amiable Mrs. Reynolds is a dear friend of my aunt, with whom my sister and I were traveling … ”