Darcy & Elizabeth: Hope of the Future: Darcy Saga Prequel Duo Book 2 by Sharon Lathan
In a flash, his mindset shifted. He no longer wondered why inclusive shopping malls existed. In one afternoon, he could acquire an abundance of women’s accouterments certain to please Elizabeth, and surely one would speak to him as the ideal wedding present. Also in his favor were the dozens of knowledgeable salesmen and milling women, any of whom could remedy his pathetic lack of education, provided he bravely risked embarrassment or being branded a fool for asking imbecilic questions. For Elizabeth, he would gamble his reputation.
Based on a fair amount of experience buying furs for himself, he started with the ermine ensemble. No sooner had his hands touched the muff before the clerk swooped in, as expected. Bartering with salesmen was familiar territory, his success in obtaining the pair at a fair price establishing the firm footing necessary to bolster his confidence. Breathing easier, he was about to move on when a musical voice stayed his steps.
“Excellent choice on the muff and stole. I can guarantee she will adore both of them.”
Darcy swung his gaze toward the beautiful, elegantly dressed woman in her early forties standing by a rack draped with assorted fur tippets. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Halleck”—she bobbed her head toward the merchant who had taken the muff to be boxed—“is aggressive and annoying, but he is the finest furrier in Harding and Howell. His prices reflect this, of course, and in his case are acceptable. Now, if you are in the market for gloves for your wife—”
“Fiancée.”
“Ah, I see. Congratulations are in order then. Your impeccable taste in fur bodes well for marital felicity, trust me. For gloves, you want those sewn by Mrs. Viceroy. Some will direct you to Mr. Dicey, and his work is stellar to be sure. The prices, however, are outrageous compared to Mrs. Viceroy’s. Clearly this is not an issue for you, as it is not for me either, but I despise being overcharged if it is merely a blatant gouging. Do you not agree? Mrs. Viceroy’s gloves are extraordinary and a third the price.”
“Thank you, madam. The information is tremendously appreciated.” From the moment he had laid eyes upon her, Darcy felt a jolt of recognition yet doubted his good fortune. Attempting to verify what he hopefully suspected, he bowed gallantly and inquired, “May I have the honor of your name, to express my gratefulness specifically?”
She inclined her head, smiling as she extended her gloved hand. “Mrs. Kemble. Maria Theresa Kemble.”
“Mrs. Kemble.” Darcy respectfully bestowed a glancing kiss to her hand. “Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, at your service. Indeed, this is a singular honor. I’ve had the privilege of watching you perform several times at Covent Garden. In fact, the first play I attended in London was Tom Thumb at Drury Lane. You were phenomenal.”
“It is a pleasure to meet anyone who attributes ‘phenomenal’ to one of my performances, Mr. Darcy. I appreciate the praise, as all egocentric artists do no matter how humble they profess to be. However, I was not searching for a complimentary theater habitué. I must confess I have a soft spot for rescuing lost gentlemen in shopping malls.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Gaping while blocking the doorway was the first clue. What truly gave it away, Mr. Darcy, was not knowing what a tippet is.”
“And here I was congratulating myself on bluffing convincingly when Mr. Halleck mentioned them.”
“Take my advice—do not play cards for serious money.”
Despite his embarrassment, he had to chuckle at that. “I have heard the warning before. Numerous times.”
“While we cannot improve upon acting skills when none exist,” she jested, “we can impart our vast knowledge of what women desire.”
Mrs. Kemble’s shift into the plural was a mystery for mere seconds. Circling from behind him were two women as lushly beautiful as Mrs. Kemble. They walked with a graceful poise wholly unique and captivating to behold. Darcy recognized them instantly, awestruck as he bowed reverentially to each in turn as Mrs. Kemble formally introduced her companions.
Maria Theresa de Camp had made a name for herself as a dancer and actress years before her marriage to acclaimed actor Charles Kemble. As Darcy had said, she was the first starring actress he had seen perform, and while he would never confess it, his impressionable sixteen-year-old heart had fallen madly in love with the glamorous starlet. Long over those youthful passions, he still admired her talent, seen most recently the past December in Smiles and Tears, or the Widow's Stratagem, a comedy play she wrote.
To Mrs. Kemble’s right stood Maria Davison, celebrated for creating the role of Julianna in The Honeymoon at the beginning of her career. Currently a principal actress at Drury Lane, Darcy had delighted in several of her fine portrayals over the past ten years.
Standing beside Mrs. Davison was none other than Sarah Siddons, preeminent tragedienne of the eighteen-century stage. Born into the Kemble acting family—Charles Kemble was her brother—Mrs. Siddons had acting in her blood and entered the profession during the 1770s when female actresses were on the cusp of attaining respectability. Her brilliance on the stage escalated her to a celebrity status of mythical proportions and had elevated the prestige of actors and actresses as a whole.
Born during Sarah Siddon’s reign as queen of Drury Lane, Darcy had missed the acclaimed performances at the height of her career. Fortunately, he had attended every Covent Garden appearance of Mrs. Siddons in her later years, before retiring, including her extraordinary farewell performance as Lady Macbeth in 1812. On that night the applause had been thunderous, Darcy vigorously contributing, and she delivered the most incredible farewell speech in theatre history.
Meeting dignitaries was not unusual for a man of Darcy’s station in society, but being introduced to luminaries of the London stage in the middle of a shopping mall was an entirely new experience. He was quite overwhelmed!
“Mrs. Siddons,” he greeted the eldest of the three before turning to the youngest of the renowned actress trio. “Mrs. Davison. Indeed, my great fortune has multiplied exponentially. I am overwhelmed.”
“We view it as a service to humanity, Mr. Darcy,” Sarah Siddons assured in her famed voice. “Teach a gentleman the critical importance of costly trinkets to spoil his lovers, sisters, aunts, etcetera—of which he shall profit in unmentionable ways—and he will pass the information to his male friends. Rumors spread and our sex reaps the bounty for generations.”
Mrs. Davison bobbed her head in agreement, and verily before Darcy blinked his eyes the three prima donnas of the London stage had “taken him under their wings” as they put it. For the better part of an hour they personally escorted him to the best merchandise in Harding and Howell and, with such illustrious women at his side, attention was inevitable.
Darcy intensely despised being stared at and fawned over, yet there was no denying the benefits in this instance. The news rippled through the mall with male and female customers flocking to meet the famed actresses. This didn’t surprise Darcy. What did surprise him was the plethora of ladies who joined the noble cause of educating him. Universally, they delighted in imparting their perspectives on the products for sale and gushed endlessly about ways to “make his beloved happy.”
The assistance continued long after Mrs. Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, and Mrs. Davison reluctantly departed. At the milliner and draper department every woman present—customer and sales assistant, young and old—held up gowns and donned hats to model for him. Never in his life had Darcy been surrounded by a surfeit of females parading and posing as they invited him to ogle brazenly. Only the humor in the situation inhibited his utter humiliation.
After three exhausting hours and more purchases than he had ever made in a single day, Darcy was desperate for freedom. The crowds had thinned, and fewer helpers were dogging his steps, so when an extradition route presented itself, he grabbed onto a minute of distraction among his followers.
Ducking into a partitioned area selling perfumery and toilette articles, he hid behind a series of display cases taller than he. While used as an
Lying on a cushion of dark-blue velvet inside a lacquered cherrywood box was an exquisite vanity set consisting of a brush, comb, and mirror. Stupendously crafted of silver with inlaid mother-of-pearl bordered by a raised ridge of emerald-green enamel, he had never seen another as superlative. Unfamiliar he may have been with the components of a lady’s toilette, but Darcy knew silver artistry and masterful construction when he saw it, no matter the object.
Envisioning Elizabeth opening this priceless gift once they were alone on their wedding night was a superb vision. Picturing himself standing or sitting behind her while brushing her lush, long, wavy hair as the aroma of lavender rose into the air sent tingles of extreme pleasure flittering through his body. The reality was sure to surpass his imagination.
Shoving thoughts of Elizabeth and intimacy aside—a wise move if he wanted to keep his dignity intact—he motioned to the shop owner.
“I wish to have each of these pieces engraved in the finest script.” Darcy paused, deliberating. Formally, his wife would be addressed as “Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.” These items, however, were personal, an intimate gift for their eyes only and mutual enjoyment. Coming to a decision, he smiled at the patiently waiting merchant. “Along each handle engrave Elizabeth Darcy.”
His mission having been accomplished and exceeded his wildest expectations, Darcy was more than ready to call it a day. After checking with the porter’s desk to ensure his purchases were accounted for and prepared for delivery to Darcy House—they were—a famished and weary Darcy hastened toward the exit with the securely wrapped vanity set inside the lone bag he carried.
The prospect of a restorative brandy had never sounded more appealing. So much so that he barely stifled a curse when his name was shouted from some distance away.
“Mr. Darcy, is that you?”
He instantly sifted through a dozen excuses to avoid conversation, not even caring if his abruptness came across as rude. A rapid assessment of the distance to the door revealed that he could make a run for it. Between preoccupation and overall irritation, no attempt was made to identify the voice. Then, in the split second before settling on a plausible evasion, the woman—that fact had unconsciously registered—answered her own question.
“Oh! It is Mr. Darcy! See, Lizzy, I told you I glimpsed him from afar while we were in the haberdashery.”
For several seconds, Darcy froze in place. Shaking off his astonishingly bad luck, he forced a pleasant smile and turned around. Mrs. Gardiner, wearing a beaming grin, was bearing down on him fast. Flanking her, a step or two behind, were Elizabeth and Jane.
As instant as his annoyance over being waylaid it disappeared, to be replaced by happiness flooding his soul. Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with delight as she focused on him to the exclusion of everything surrounding, a radiant smile curving her luscious mouth. The crystalline image of her visage never faded from his mind, yet when he saw her in the flesh, especially after nearly a full day apart, he was struck anew by her breathtaking beauty and the effect her very presence had upon him.
“What a delightful surprise, is it not?” Mrs. Gardiner’s question was a vague hum. Darcy could not tear his eyes away from Elizabeth. “In a city the size of London, the odds of encountering a friend or acquaintance are remote. Yet here we are! And not merely anyone, but your betrothed. Quite fortuitous and extraordinary, would you not agree, Lizzy?”
“Indeed, I do agree. It is immeasurably fortuitous and supremely extraordinary. How are you, Mr. Darcy?”
“I am improving by the moment, Miss Elizabeth.” Pausing to clear his bone-dry throat, and belatedly remembering his manners, he shifted his gaze to Jane and Mrs. Gardiner. “I pray the three of you are equally as well and enjoying your afternoon?”
Mrs. Gardiner and Jane responded in the affirmative, as did Lizzy, after which she inquired, “What brings you to Harding, Howell, and Company on this fine day, sir? I never conceived of this being an establishment you frequent.”
The tease was not lost on Darcy, nor was the hint of acrimony. Honestly perplexed by what would cause the latter, and therefore concluding he must be mistaken, he shrugged nonchalantly and replied in a lighthearted tone, “I endeavor to retain a bit of mystery, Miss Bennet, but shall enlighten since you have caught me in the act. I have discovered the supreme benefit in enlisting the aid of other women when acquiring objects explicitly created for the fairer sex. Far more efficient and wise, as it turns out, than trying to judge for myself what is best for a lady. The women at Harding and Howell are surprisingly willing to assist.”
“I see,” she stressed, the teasing tone disappearing in favor of the acrimonious. “The error is in my assumptions, obviously. Are you intimately familiar with the mall then? Perhaps your superior knowledge of where to obtain feminine products will benefit us as well, Mr. Darcy, if it isn’t too much trouble to share your accumulated wealth of information?”
Elizabeth’s smile remained but with a stiffness to her lips that corresponded with the sharp undertone of her outwardly cordial words. Her eyes, Darcy noted with increasing mystification, had taken on a hard glint. Confused, he looked to Jane and Mrs. Gardiner for a clue. Each woman wore an expression of suppressed amusement. Mrs. Gardiner shook her head slightly and swiveled her eyes pointedly toward a cluster of attractive young women standing not too far away who were quite blatantly admiring his figure. Darcy frowned, then looked back at a pursed-lipped Elizabeth. Abruptly the pieces fell into place.
She is jealous—positively green with it!
The possessive fire within her lovely eyes loudly proclaimed the degree of her sentiments toward him, and perhaps it was an unattractive reaction, but his spirit soared. As pleasing as her jealousy, in one respect, decency demanded to disabuse her of the notion that he was a seasoned expert who frequently bought trinkets for women.
Then again, what harm was there in a brief bit of fun?
Darcy stepped closer and spoke softly. “My knowledge is not overly vast, but one does overhear conversations that often prove valuable. Harding and Howell has a well-earned reputation. However, you are correct, Miss Elizabeth, in believing I avoid such places unless forced by necessity to enter them.”
“Is that so? And what necessity was it that forced you this time, Mr. Darcy?”
Mrs. Gardiner and Jane were still struggling not to laugh and had taken several steps backward to stay out of Lizzy’s vision. The latter was too intent on boring a hole of shame through her fiancé to notice. Darcy bent until inches away from her irritated face and whispered, “This is my first time at Harding and Howell, my dearest love, and the purpose was a wedding present.”
“For me?” she gasped, her eyes popped open wider and body relaxing. A flush spread across her cheeks, and Darcy had to exert all his control not to kiss her.
Instead, he arched one brow and grinned. “I believe it is customary. Besides, I did warn you that gifts from me would be a common occurrence once we were married, and I intend to begin as soon as possible. But for now”—he captured her hand and pressed a fleeting kiss onto her knuckles—“you are forced by necessity to wait in anticipation for another month.”
* * *
The unplanned encounter at Harding and Howell was not the disaster he had feared after all. Following his tease regarding the gift in his hand, Elizabeth dropped the subject entirely, to Darcy’s surprise. Georgiana was worse than a buzzing pest when it came to presents, and he thought this was the natural female attitude. Other than two or three glances at the bag, Elizabeth expressed no interest whatsoever. Darcy fervently prayed it was a ploy of indifference, particularly in light of the massive quantity of merchandise soon to be on its way to Pemberley, as well as gift giving being one portion o
He invited the ladies to join him for a light refreshment at the coffeehouse across the street from Harding and Howell. Their company, particularly Elizabeth’s, had revitalized his lagging energy and suddenly coffee sounded better than brandy. They did not tarry overlong, as it was late in the day and everyone needed time to clean up and dress for dinner. Departing from his beloved on this occasion was a painless ordeal, knowing he would soon again be in her presence.
As he had for the past two nights since their arrival in London, Darcy and his sister welcomed the Bennets, Gardiners, and Mr. Bingley to Darcy House for dinner. While the first night had contained extremely pleasurable moments—Darcy did not think he would ever look at the rear terrace without feeling the bliss of Elizabeth in his arms—it had also been a trial and strain.
Last night—in the wake of Elizabeth forcefully setting him straight while in his mother’s bedchamber that afternoon—the awkward tension had thoroughly disappeared. One and all had enjoyed a delicious meal and delightful fellowship. What he had not managed was a second alone with Elizabeth, not even to press a light kiss on to her cheek or brush his fingertips over her creamy skin.
Tonight, their third night in Town and after more than twenty-four hours of nothing beyond one kiss to her hand, Darcy determined to arrange matters to suit his desires. Besides, he did have a legitimate reason to sequester his fiancée, one that did not directly have to do with his ardency.
With this foremost in his mind, Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy greeted their guests as they arrived with the standard pomp and circumstance. Retiring to the parlor while the servants finished preparations for dinner, Darcy drew Mr. Bennet to the side as soon as the opportunity arose without attracting undue attention.
“Mr. Bennet, sir. If I may request it of you, I would appreciate a private audience with Miss Elizabeth at some point this evening. After dinner, of course. I have a gift for her, something quite special that belonged to my mother, which I am anxious for her to have but prefer not to reveal in public. We would only be in the foyer area, so not too far away from oversight.”