Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Forty

 

Vian wandered through the wooded area, shunning the path and the clearings for the shelter of the trees. That he had to pick his steps carefully through the underbrush and avoid overhanging limbs suited two purposes. First, it was a welcome distraction – and one he did not yet wish to leave – as the effort required to traverse the terrain allowed him the luxury of avoiding his own thoughts. Second, it seemed a fitting self-punishment to force himself to find his way through the tangled undergrowth, for he had lost his patience and now needed to atone for it in this odd way. It made a strange sort of sense to him, and really, there was nothing else he could do at the moment but follow the odd impulse. It seemed to suit, somehow, and so he stuck to it.

He stumbled along that way, stepping over and weaving around obstructions, until the woodland ended and he found himself at the very back of the building he had observed Tidwell conducting his business only a few hours before. With only one goal in mind, he followed the noise, the distant grating sound of happy laughter and inane chatter, and found the crowd who was making it in the same area where the duelling had been held, except that the large stage now doubled as a dance floor.

He laughed involuntarily, thinking these people would have enjoyed seeing the real thing and being privy to the drama that had led to it, for people always loved such sordid stories as long as they themselves were not involved and could laugh at the misfortune of others. It was a sport that most people were very good at.

He had only wanted to talk to her…

It took him only seconds to find the one thing he longed for at that moment – a drink. He went straight for the whisky, avoiding the ale, wishing a quicker numbing of his senses that only hard liquor could bring.

He had only wanted to explain…

Never straying far from the consessions, he indulged his need while he watched the crowd, a mixed bunch to be certain, the fair being one of the few places where such a thing would occur. There were the work-worn local girls, looking years beyond their probable ages, flirting with the calloused handed young men who were their counterparts. A few of those lasses smiled shyly at him, fleetingly testing the waters, but then quickly moved on. The look he gave in return was enough to stop them venturing any further, and even their lofty dreams did not include a man of his position choosing one of them for anything more than a tumble. Besides, they were here for far more serious and lasting pursuits. They would not waste one of the rare and precious opportunities, given to mix so freely with the opposite sex without the constraints of parents or employers watching too closely, on a dalliance that would certainly go nowhere.

There were others present, closer in class to him, but since he had not yet been introduced to very many of them he found it easy to avoid conversation, which was the last thing he wished for. Instead, he sought solace in the amber liquid. Finally procuring a bottle of his own, he stayed in the shadows beyond the crowd, leaning against a fence post with it, filling his glass as needed. He made it his sole occupation.

He had only wanted to explain…

Some time later, he heard a familiar laugh that brought his attention to the dancers. There he saw a sight that felt like a splash of cold water in the face. A certain lady and gentleman had taken to the floor and were calling the figures. Snatching up his almost empty bottle, he turned on his heel, no longer willing to stay there, and made a beeline for the Caledonian Thistle. He needed a place with no reminders of her, so he could wipe the vision of the tender way she looked at her dance partner from his mind.

He had only wanted her…

 

 

After leaving Mr. Darcy at the gate, Elizabeth shut the cottage door soundlessly. Wishing to be alone so she could explore her thoughts and feelings uninterrupted and untainted, she moved quietly past the parlour where she could hear her aunt and Holly talking, and went directly up the stairs, carefully bypassing those she knew would creak. Entering her room, she lit a candle crossed to the window and closed her curtain, then threw herself onto the bed. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. Although it would take some time to sift through it all, there was no denying that elation and hope were the predominant emotions swirling at the top of the storm that was taking place inside of her.

“Lizzy?”

She heard Holly’s call drift up the stairs and cursed at herself and the creaky old bed for having given away her arrival. She had only wanted time to go over it all and she had now spoilt it for herself.

“Lizzy? Lizzy, is that you?”

She heard footsteps, coming up the stairs.

“Yes, it is me, Holly,” she replied reluctantly, but not unkindly.

Her cousin burst through the door and threw herself onto the bed next to her.

“Where have you been for so long?! The fencing should have been over hours ago! Tell me who won. I assume it was not Monsieur Vian, or you both would have burst into the parlour upon your return to announce his triumph – well, he would have at least,” she added hastily, since she rather thought Lizzy would not be so happy that Mr. Darcy did not win. “And why did you both not come there by the way? Instead, you snuck up to your rooms like quiet mice!”

Lizzy was suddenly panicked and fought to hide it. She had not given any thought to the fact that she would need to explain her returning to Rosefarm without Mr. Vian. Was he in his room even now, or did Holly just suppose that? And what would he say happened that led to his returning without her?

Lizzy relented immediately, for she knew her cousin’s curiosity would not be detoured and that it would be best to meet it straight on.

“Monsieur Vian won the exhibition duel. I did not stop by the parlour first since I wished to refresh myself before coming down. As to why he did not stop there, I cannot tell you, for I assume he has either still not returned, or he is in his room – quiet as a mouse – as you have suggested.” She could tell by the look on Holly’s face that this was not enough to satisfy, so she added, “Mr. Darcy escorted me home.”

Holly’s mouth hung open in confusion. “Mr. Darcy?! Why would he leave you with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy? That does not seem like something he would do. He promised Maman he would bring you home directly after the last event. What happened?”

“I had an impulse to dance a little, Holly. I think perhaps Mr. Vian had other ideas for the evening, and so it was eventually decided that Mr. Darcy would escort me home.”

Holly seemed to struggle with the explanation, opening and closing her mouth several times as if to say something and then deciding against it. Finally, she uttered, “Well, is that not just like a man?! He promises aid and protection on the one hand and then cannot be counted on for a small courtesy of the same sort later. I wonder can he be trusted to do anything he said he would if he cannot stand by his promise to watch over you for one afternoon… and he really should not have left you alone with Mr. Darcy, of all people…”

Concerned about the direction Holly’s thoughts were taking in relation to her own problem with Mr. Tidwell, Lizzy reached out and put her hand on her cousin’s. “Do not draw such a conclusion from his giving me into Mr. Darcy’s care this evening. I had a choice in the matter after all, and he would not have left me had I but said one word to indicate I wanted him to stay. Of that I am certain. Holly, Monsieur Vian will come through for you in your need. I know he will. He will not renege on that promise.”

Holly looked up at her, her eyes filled with the tears she had not let fall. “I hope you are right, Lizzy.”

“I should have come home with you… I am sorry, Holly. What you must be feeling…”

Holly brightened a bit and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “Nonsense! Maman and I had a nice talk and some time alone together. Something we have not done for some time, what with all of the visitors of late.” Suddenly realising how that might have sounded, she gave Lizzy an embarrassed grin. “Not that I mind the visitors, of course, especially you, but you know how much I value my time with Maman.”

Lizzy gave her a genuine smile. “Yes, I do. Do not give it a second thought, as I did not take any offence, truly. I have always envied your good fortune at having such a close relationship with your mother, as you well know.

“But still, I bet you sometimes wish us all away so that your life might begin to take on a more normal course. I mean you will no longer have to leave the comfort of your mother to return to Hockdown, and yet you have not really had the opportunity to settle in with that idea, having been invaded with long visits by both the English and the French!”

“Yes, well, some English visitors I could certainly do without! But not you, dear Lizzy. I would never wish you away, but…” she did not finish the thought, only lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

Lizzy waited patiently for her to continue, and when she did not her own thoughts began to involuntarily stray. He had said he would be the only one to teach her to waltz. Would she learn that dance some day soon then?

“Tell me about the fair, Lizzy. Did you have the opportunity to dance as you had wanted to?”

“Ummm… Yes, I did indeed,” she almost hummed.

“Did you dance with Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“No one else.” She did not add that Mr. Tidwell had asked her.

“How many dances, Lizzy?”

“Only two sets, Holly, no more.”

“Only two? You danced an hour with Mr. Darcy?” Holly said incredulously. “Was there not anyone else there to dance with? I declare, the men around here will not do their duty and relieve a poor girl of a tiresome partner. Well, at least he could not ask you for a third!”

Lizzy had been laying back and gazing up at the ceiling herself, but now turned on her side and propped her head on her palm and elbow.

“Holly, you make it seem as if I should have minded. One can dance two sets with a friend and quite enjoy themselves, and you know, I would not have minded a third set had it been possible.”

“A third, huh?” Holly almost spit out the response. “So you consider him a friend for certain then, do you?”

“Yes,” she smiled gently, “and it is not a crime you know, so you may wipe that shocked and disapproving look from your face. He is a good man and he has been a friend to me – the very best of friends.”

She sat up then, and therefore missed the deeply wounded look on Holly’s face after her last declaration.

“Well,” Holly sniffed, “I suppose if you think so, I cannot argue with you about it. But certainly such a good and fine friend might have told you he was leaving and if he would be returning again. At least that is what I would have done.”

Lizzy looked more closely at Holly now, unable to avoid sensing that something was not right. “He did leave word for me, Holly, but the message went astray. The omission was not intentional on his part.”

Her cousin seemed to calm down a bit. “I am sure it was not, but…” She only sighed and snapped her lips tightly shut.

Sensing that what Holly did not say was more important than what she did, Lizzy asked quietly, “But what, Holly? Please tell me.”

Holly sighed. “It is just that you seem changed somehow, Lizzy, and you grow away from me. Like there is a distance that cannot be bridged.” She sat up now and turned toward her. “Do not leave me behind. Promise you will not! Can we not have things as they always were between us?”

Lizzy suddenly felt all of the weight of that confession, for her cousin was right in a way. She had changed, and there was no going back to the days when they were children. Still, she did not think that her interactions with Holly had been any different than they ever were. She was puzzled.

“Holly, I will not leave you behind. I am not sure what you mean. How have things between us changed? Other than the fact that we have less time together now that you spend some of your days sorting out the library at Clyne, we do have our time together. We still talk of the things we used to.”

“Yes, I know we do,” Holly sighed, and lay back down again and briefly covered her face with her hands. “Oh, do not mind me! I am not even sure myself what I mean! It is only a feeling inside me that you are going away from me. That we grow in different directions. I cannot explain it! It must be as you say.

“How I wish I had never taken on that librarian’s job, by the way! The man is insufferable when I have to deal with him, which thankfully is not most of the time. It is only the money and the promise that I would do it that takes me back there!”

Holly sat up suddenly again. “It is the men, Lizzy! That is the problem! That stupid, insipid Lord Brougham, his arrogant friend Mr. Darcy, and even Monsieur Vian! That is what is the matter! I wish they would all go away. If they left us we could have things the way they always were, you and I, instead of them always sniffing around and getting in the way.”

Before Lizzy could gather any response to her cousin’s last remarks, and indeed, she was unsure what she might say to them, Holly continued.

“Lizzy, we both know Mr. Darcy does not intend to renew his interest in you and only toys with you now to entertain himself in this provincial little village of ours. I honestly think he may only seek to avenge his wounded pride. He attempts to win you over only to later leave you broken hearted. You have said yourself that he only wishes to be friends! He gives proof enough himself of his lack of real interest. Days go by and he does not come to see you. He does not even bother to tell you he will leave or if he will return, and then suddenly he is all kindness and attention! But he rarely comes here, where it would seem good and honourable. He keeps enough distance to look completely innocent in his games! You must promise to not risk your heart any longer. Things would be well again if you would just learn that lesson! I know they would!”

And now Lizzy knew herself that Holly had been right after all. Things were not the same and they never would be again. But that did not have to be a bad thing. Was it not the way of life? That young girls would grow into young women? Yet Holly could not even begin to finish that transition within herself until she could learn how to leave the past behind her and realise that all men were not evil simply because a few that she had had dealings with had been. It was not Holly’s fault. If her father had not died when she was so young perhaps she might have grown to trust men by example, for her father had been a good man from what Lizzy had been told of him. Instead, not having known him, she had set him high on a pedestal – a standard too lofty for any mortal man to measure up to. Her cousin had had a rather hard knocks life, with only a very strong willed mother to guide her. And dearly as Lizzy loved Mrs. Tournier, she was sure the cynical eyes through which her father’s sister viewed the world had done little to help Holly learn to trust anyone else.

Lizzy took both of Holly’s hands in her own and held on firmly. “You have had a very stressful day. Your feelings are in turmoil and you are afraid – and rightly so. What can I do to help ease it?”

Holly stared earnestly at her and responded, “Lizzy, did you not hear anything I said? Why do you not heed my warnings?”

“I did hear you, Holly. How can I not? For you speak loudly and clearly enough. But I cannot believe Mr. Darcy means me any harm, and I will only say that his welcome at Rosefarm has not been of the warm and accepting kind, so I do not blame him for not coming here very often. But he has done nothing to warrant your undue worries about him.

“Holly, I did hear all you said, and that is why I do not think the thing that troubles you is what you assume it is. If you would only stop and ponder it a little, I think you would see that the problem lies not with the men. If they all left tomorrow it would not stop the changes you fear, for those things happen as surely as time flows on. You cannot halt them.”

Holly pulled her hands from Lizzy’s. “I am sure you miss my meaning, for I have no idea what you speak of and I think you do not either.”

She abruptly got up from the bed and walked briskly to the door.

“Dinner will be very soon, whether Monsieur Vian has arrived or not. I suggest you think of a better reason for why you parted company with him than the fact that you wished to dance and he did not. It sounds most unlikely and Maman will not accept it as readily as I did. And you know she does not look kindly on your being alone with Mr. Darcy. Although she would never tell me why, I am sure I can guess.”

Holly then turned quickly and exited the room.

Lizzy stood up and moved to the window, pulling back the shades and leaning her forehead against the pane, confusion and exhaustion now vying with each other in equal measures in her mind. She felt badly about Holly and what she was currently going through, and she knew she should have said something to stop her at the door, or gone after her at the very least, yet she could not. There was nothing she could say at the moment that would make any difference to her cousin, especially in the state she was in. If anything, her words would only make it worse, for she could no longer entertain any doubts about Mr. Darcy or his intentions, and she now realised Holly’s issue lie not with worry for her heart as she wanted to believe, but instead with concern over losing her place in Lizzy’s heart to another. How could she make her cousin see that her heart had room for the both of them?

The other events of the day called her to them with an inescapable yank and she was not willing to resist the pull any longer. She sat there in deep and contented thought, a smile gracing her face for a majority of that time, until she was called down to dinner all too soon.

 

 

As Holly had predicted, Mrs. Tournier found her niece’s explanation lacking. She knew how her godson felt about Lizzy. He would not have left her side unless she had said or done something to cause it. More than likely, she had shown an obvious and foolish preference for Mr. Darcy. That her niece would reject a man of much consequence, who had honourable intentions, in favour of a rich, pretentious fop who only played with her feelings, was vexing to say the least.

Since she could not explain it to herself, and found her niece’s choices more than slightly unacceptable, she spent the majority of the meal speaking solely to her daughter. Finally though, she could not contain her irritation or her curiosity any longer.

“Lizzy, what plans do you suppose Monsieur Vian had for the evening?”

Her niece pushed the food around on her plate as she answered. “I could not say, Aunt.”

“You cannot say? He did not give you a reason for leaving you in Mr. Darcy’s care or tell you where he was going?”

“He did not tell me where he was off to, Aunt, and I did not think to ask him.”

“I see. Your head was so full of other thoughts that you did not think to enquire?”

“I suppose it was.” She paused, before looking directly at Mrs. Tournier and adding, “I do not think it my business to pry into someone else’s affairs.”

“Humph! Do you now?” Her aunt drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“Maman,” Holly interrupted with a murmur, “I do not think it is Lizzy’s place to question him if he did not volunteer the information. We are not all as inquisitive as you might be in the same situation. How was she to know he would not just come directly here and that you would require an accounting?”

Lizzy gazed dazedly but gratefully at Holly. She was so emotionally on edge after having gone through such a day, it was a hard fought battle within herself to simply keep her temper from getting the better of her and try to remain charitable to her aunt regarding her godson.

“Perhaps so, Holly, if you put it that way, but you know it is not how I meant it. Of course she would not question him like that. I just find it incomprehensible that he would not give some explanation of his own accord before he left her. He is a courteous man after all.

“Well, the least we can do is put some dinner aside for him. Lizzy, please go to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Higgins to keep a plate warm.”

Lizzy instantly complied, not to ensure that Monsieur Vian had a warm meal awaiting, but only wishing to leave the uncomfortable room and questions. She felt that even if she chose to tell all the events of the day to her aunt, she would garner no sympathy or understanding, but would somehow come out with all the blame, and since she already found herself culpable, she thought the confirmation of it completely unnecessary.

Taking her time, she returned to find that both her companions had finished eating and were only politely waiting for her to do the same. Since she had no appetite – or any inclination to force food down herself despite it – she claimed the headache she now did indeed have, and made her excuses to retire early, to which Mrs. Tournier had no objections whatsoever.

The day could not have had more ups and downs to it if it had been intentionally planned, and yet, as she climbed the stairs and envisioned his smiling face before her, she knew she would relive every moment of it in order to keep the moments spent with him. She hugged herself and could almost feel the safety of his arms about herself once more.

 

 

Brougham had returned from the fair in the late afternoon. Riemann emerged from the shadows just as he was heading down the hall and enquired whether there was anything his Lordship desired. He dismissed him, however, and told him he was going to bed, but before the valet slipped out he informed him that Mr. Darcy had not yet arrived.

Brougham retired, and after several hours spent on an extended nap, looked around his dark chamber in confusion. Finally, the dull ache in his arm brought the recollection of the events of the day. He sat up in bed.

Remembering how his friend had abruptly left the fair, Brougham decided it was only right that he should look in on him to see that he was comfortable. And, he reflected, it would be amusing to swap heroic reflections on bravery in the face of injury in battle in front of the fire with – perhaps – some medicinal aid.

He called Riemann in.

“Has Mr. Darcy arrived?”

“Yes, my Lord, some time ago. He has retired to his chamber.”

“Would you be so kind as to bring Dr. Bestian’s ointment and some gauze to my room? I am afraid I will need your assistance in a little while. The important thing, however, is that you insist to Mrs. McLaughlin you have taken care of a mere scratch and - this is most important, man - no agrimony is needed under any circumstance.”

His man obliged him, as he knew he would, and Brougham walked down the hall until he reached his friend’s door. He knocked softly and heard a voice beckoning him to come in.

“Darcy?” he said as he opened the door. “All tucked up in bed, or might I come in?”

“Come in, Brougham. I am reading. That is all. Why, it seems that this room is the last peaceful place in your household, unless I would wish to be so bold a guest as to use your study freely.”

Darcy gestured Brougham toward one of the chairs near the fireplace.

“Would you like some brandy? I dare say it should be all the needed remedy for that scratch of yours.”

Brougham grinned and strode into the room. It was a comfortable room, though since it had been a simple spare room with no pretensions of being an inviting and hospitable guestroom, it had a very odd assortment of furniture and bric-a-brac. Two odd chairs were positioned in front of the fireplace together with one odd footstool and a very curious oriental rug. A stuffed bird sat perched above the mantle piece together with an ancient weapon, which, considering the look of the bird, probably was the very weapon that had been its doom.

Brougham sat down and rested his feet on the grate.

“I would love some brandy. My stomach is so full of tea I am feeling like a dowager. And I would have forgotten about this silly nick if everyone did not go on and on about it. How are you doing? I thought we could compare battle wounds, but that would be even sadder than our pretensions of fencing prowess.” He laughed and accepted the glass from Darcy.

“Well, I am afraid there is nothing to compare. Mine was rather a prick than a scratch. It even refused to bleed enough to assure me of such sufficient ladies’ compassion as yours did.” Darcy winked to Brougham. “No doubt Vian spared me by design.”

“Knowing that gentleman, it would hardly surprise me if he did,” Brougham answered his friend dryly and sipped his brandy. The drink spread through his body like a warm breeze. He shifted in his chair and looked at his friend searchingly.

“You look like you have recovered splendidly from the disappointment. How are you feeling?”

“I feel very well, thank you. It only took a couple of hours to understand that a lost battle does not have to mean a lost war. It seems I still have not really grown up when it comes to rivalry. Good that I did not fence with you, for I would probably have to leave Clyne at once to console my wounded pride. Here, to good fortune that crosses our swords with the proper opponents.” Darcy laughed and raised his glass.

Brougham met it with his own and smiled.

“Well, I am glad to hear it. But I do believe if the match had been between us you would not have run anywhere. I know you well enough and have experience of such cases, and it is my belief you would have been found in the exact same spot – if with a little less humour and a little more air in your glass. But then that is where you always find me as well.”

“Why, Brougham, under usual circumstances, yes. But, you know not, and I must confess that even I had not known well enough myself, what it would mean to lose before the very woman in whose eyes I would wish to never fail. I would readily grant you all the other winnings for the sake of that one. When I think about it, it is even worse than when I had to bear with any losses during our school days.”

Darcy smiled at his friend’s dubious look. “Well, what can I say? Wait for your turn and you will understand my meaning. It is really quite unsettling when your emotions overtake your reason.”

“I shall have to remember that vow, Darcy,” Brougham said smiling, “and rue my inability to test it myself today due to my clumsiness.”

Brougham settled back and glanced at his friend curiously.

“Somehow I thought you might move on in your choice of the object of your courtly love.”

“Why should I?” Darcy seemed as surprised as he was disturbed by his friend’s admission.

“Well, in light of what I told you yesterday…”

“Brougham, are you certain it is not a subsequent conclusion of yours made on very little evidence?”

“What was there to conclude? I know what I saw.”

Darcy was silent and Brougham sighed heavily.

“Oh well, as much as I am convinced of the legion of passionate counterarguments washing over me from Rosefarm cottage, I will dare their disapproval and declare reason and women are rarely easy bedfellows. Lord knows I have been guilty of trying to combine the two in my day. But lately that combination has rarely been tested, and if it has, the lady has always lost out.”

He glanced at Darcy and gave a laugh.

“Ah, I know what you will say! Very well! Go ahead and say it!”

“Why should I say something you already know. Better you tell me something I do not know yet. That Ned McMahon did not seem to be such a skilful fencer, did he?”

“No, he was not. Although of course, since he beat me, I should say he had his moments. But he was dependable and dull, and if anyone should ask you about my deplorable performance you are to tell them he put me to sleep.”

Brougham took off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He felt his shoulder and noted the ache had subside somewhat as a result of the brandy, and that he could, in all good conscience, stay a little longer before he should keep his appointment with Riemann and Dr. Bestian’s ointment.

“Oh, he was a good sort of fellow, I do not doubt. Quite the local hero, it seems. He fought two campaigns on the Continent and rose to his rank through hard service. It is true he was dull but not at all useless. To tell the truth he deserved a better match from me, but perhaps another time. Actually, it was a damned silly way to spend the day, and I would beg you to never coax me into another one of them again.”

A hint of a smile played on Darcy’s lips. “I do not think I would. It seems that with the possibility of only one of us coming out a winner at best, the other would always call it a damned silly way to spend a day.”

Brougham suddenly looked up at Darcy with a frown forming on his brow. “This cheerfulness of yours is quite disconcerting, you know. Either your cousin Fitzwilliam has more to answer for during your visit home than I gave him credit for before, or something happened between the fencing field and Clyne.”

“Why, I only enjoy watching the spectacle of Brougham the brave hero and Brougham the little poor boy at the same time, as always. It is good to know there is someone who can best me in being pitiable at the end of a day. Now go and have the wound tended to. I can see you can hardly sit here with me.”

“Well,” Brougham grinned, stood up, and drained the last of the brandy, “all in the name of being a good host, I dare say. However, in order to avoid any mention of agrimony about my person, I am going to submit myself to Riemann now. I had rather not since he will fall into a fit of apoplexy just seeing my shirt, but I had rather have that than Mrs. McLaughlin’s quack potions any day.

“Good night, Darcy. Sleep well. I know I shall.”

Darcy watched dully as the door closed behind his friend.

 

 

Vian found the inn to his liking. There was only one old man and a barmaid in attendance, everyone else opting for the amusements offered further down the road.

He called out his order as he took his seat in a dark corner, as far from the other customer as he could get. He did not want company. However, after he had finished his first two in quick succession – and could still not wipe from his mind’s eye her look of revulsion at himself mixed with an alternate flash of the tender look she reserved for Darcy – he moved to the bar, seeking a distraction to aid him. Very drunk now, his mood, which was a mixture of self recrimination and disappointment, was hard to hide. The other gentleman, well into the drink himself, took it as a personal challenge to discover what troubled the newcomer and to share his own wisdom if he could.

“It would be a woman if I were to make a guess.” He directed his remarks to the barmaid, his gap-toothed grin showing his evident confidence in this assessment. “What say you, dear?”

“Ah, Mr. Peppers, I am thinking you are correct, or he would be at the fair with all the others,” she replied as she filled Vian’s glass to the brim. “Care to unload your burden, Sir? We are good listeners.” She gave him a wink.

Vian grunted. “And why are you two not with the rest of them?”

“Oh,” she smiled broadly, “I would be if I could, but someone has to mind the store. The inn is all booked up and they will expect someone to be here when they begin returning for the night, would they not? I just happened to pull the short straw.” She eyed him closely. “I was thinking myself unlucky, but maybe t’aint so after all.”

He shrugged, considering her possible meaning.

“Mr. Peppers piped in, “He is looking for the light in the liquor, my dear, and the shine of the empty bottle. He is thinking five more shillings worth of drink and he will be fine. I say he will not be any good to you then, for even though the mind is all the more willing with drink, the body is another matter.” Staring at Vian now with a sly look in his eye, he finished with, “But you shall only be numb to it for a wee bit that way lad.”

Vian sent him a look. “And what do you know about it, old man?”

“Plenty.”

“You can read my mind and situation so well then? You have the sight, do you?” He laughed.

“It does not take having the sight, only a glimpse of that strand of yellow ribbon hanging half way out of your pocket,” he replied, laughing in his turn.

Vian quickly stuffed it deep down inside, although whether it was to hide the evidence of his rejection or to ensure its safe keeping he could not immediately have said.

“I saw you at the duel today, Sir. Did the girl reject you even though you were the victor?” Mr. Peppers asked, his tone not an unkind one.

Vian picked up his glass, noting how the light did indeed play upon the liquid, making the world seem warm when viewed through it. Mesmerised by it, he almost whispered his answer.

“You are mistaken. I did not win at anything today.”

He upended the glass and emptied its contents in one fell swoop.

Mr. Peppers seemed about to say something else but was quickly shushed by the girl, who now came slowly around from the back of the bar. Vian swayed a bit as he set his glass down and taped his finger on the rim to indicate she should refill it.

“Sir, Mr. Peppers may not be polite in his choice of conversation with a stranger, especially when he has been drinking himself, but he is right that you do not need anymore. Let me show you where you might have a lie down for a little and then you may have whatever you like.”

Without waiting for a yea or a nay, she took him by the hand and headed for the stairway, calling back over her shoulder to her remaining customer.

“You mind the bar, Mr. Peppers, and you may have exactly two drinks for your trouble, four if it buys your discretion as well. But no more!”

“Oh, I am nothing if not discreet, my dear,” he chuckled as they disappeared up the stairs.

Vian followed her without protest, he still had his bottle in his coat pocket after all, and he thought this was just the thing he needed now. He was sure of it. And he would have nothing to explain. Not this time.

She took him to a tiny attic room, which had space enough for a small bed and a crate turned on its side that doubled as both a table that held the candle she now lit, and a shelf for her meagre belongings. The bed was tucked up under the eve of the roof so that he had to duck upon entering or he would knock his head into the bare rafters.

She turned him around, gently pushed him down onto it and stood before him in the remaining floor space, short enough herself to only have to bend slightly at the shoulders so her own head would not bump the ceiling.

“I can help you forget,” she whispered as she slowly began undressing for him.

Help me forget, he thought. What will you help me forget? The feel of her lips against mine? The way her laughter sends a pleasant shiver through my entire body? The happiness that one smile from her could bestow?

He tried to focus on the rather large breasts peeking out of her bodice as she slipped out of her dress, but he could only wonder if she thought she might also help him forget his own foolish impatience to have what he most wanted, and that had made him mistake his timing so rashly.

She had stepped out of her shift before he had realised it. Naked, she came forward then, and kneeling, helped him to shrug out of his own clothing, working her tongue and lips along his neck and chest as she did it, her breath coming fast and hot against his skin. Pushing him flat onto the lumpy mattress, she tugged at his kilt, first undoing it and then standing to give it a yank, pulling it completely off.

He did nothing to encourage or to discourage her. Finally feeling the numbness he had been seeking, he remained a passive observer. She then climbed in beside him, pressing her body against his, her lips seeking some return of the hunger she felt from his own, and so he complied, going through motions so easily remembered.

But he only thought her simple if she thought this would help. She could have no power to make him forget. He felt nothing when she ran her hands over his body and nibbled hungrily on his nipple, running her tongue roughly over it, manipulating it for all she was worth. Yet such an action could not erase the mistake that had been made tonight. Not his own behaviour, for it was nothing in comparison to Elizabeth’s. She had rejected a good opportunity with a man who loved her. And for what? For nothing! She had chosen nothing over substance. Stupid, indeed!

He groaned as the girl ran her hand down his stomach and fondled his member. Not because he wanted her to continue, but because he suddenly found he did not want this at all. He pushed her away as she was about to mount him and rolled toward the wall, his arms wrapped around his chest in self defence. It was all he could do.

He woke up some time later, alone, an old quilt thrown over him. He found his clothing folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The moonlight reflecting through the window was sufficient to dress by. He thought his sporran was somewhat lighter in coin than he remembered it, but as he polished off the bottle he had pulled from his coat, he thought whatever she had taken a just price to pay. He had not wanted to explain anything to this girl, and now there was definitely no need.

 

 

Much later, tucked into bed next to a dozing Holly, but unable to sleep herself, Lizzy was pulled from it by the sound of the gate creaking open on its rusty hinges. She crept to the window. The moon had risen and she could see Monsieur Vian weaving his way to the house. He appeared to be moving oddly and she soon realised he was very drunk. He looked up at her window and she gasped and stepped back from it, almost running to the bed in her effort to find comfort in the nearness of her cousin. She was frightened that in his current state he might try to come to her, for whatever reason, to talk or not to talk. She laid there, ears straining to pick up any sound. At first she heard only her own heart beat ticking away the time, until she finally heard his footsteps on the stairs, for although he might try to be silent he could not for all the drink affecting him.

His steps seemed to pause outside her door, and she held her breath until she also heard her aunt’s voice.

“Do you need assistance, Maurice? You seem somewhat worse for wear. You celebrated your win to the utmost, I see.”

“Ah,” he tried to whisper, “I have indeed! I apologise for missing dinner and coming back so late. It was not my intention, I assure you, but I have had quite a day.”

“Never mind about that, just get yourself to bed before you wake the whole household.”

Lizzy could hear the laughter in her aunt’s voice and shivered as she heard him move along the hall. She did not relax until she heard his own door shut and then her aunt’s after she had seen to it that her godson had made it to his own bed safely without passing out in the hall.

 

 

The day had turned out so well that Darcy had almost forgotten about the intelligence Brougham conveyed yesterday. Everything that had happened since the afternoon contradicted Brougham’s tale, yet he had known his friend all his adult life. Brougham never lied to him, and indeed, it was difficult to deny what one witnessed.

He began to take off his clothes slowly. The methodical movements were helpful in ordering his thoughts. He walked to the window. The night was soothing in its chill, the moon full and bright.

Elizabeth. He wanted to believe her. He promised her his trust. How often he used the word, and how little meaning did it carry in comparison to today? Would he be a fool trusting her against reason?

Brougham’s words painted a picture of an artful woman. Deceitful. A woman accepting the familiar touch of another man… The mere thought was insupportable.

The very woman whom he had held in his arms today. The woman whose sweet and open manners lured him so. The woman whose frankness he had experienced himself.

Yet, if Brougham saw that, it must be true. How was he to contradict a fact?

He sat on the window sill and hugged his knees below his chin. If he were to learn how to trust he would have to do it now. The thought seemed foreign. Paralyzing. Never before he had trusted anyone so much. He was never one to ask for advice. His own judgment always served him better. But Elizabeth…

He trusted her, utterly and unquestionably, with all of his heart. He had an unspoken faith in her. Faith defies reason, does not exist without doubts. But he would hold on to his belief.

His thoughts soon drifted away, away to what he had witnessed, experienced himself, to what he shared with her. He reached out to a nearby table for his drawing book and a pencil. His hand hesitated at first, as if afraid to touch the innocent whiteness of the paper. He narrowed his eyes, once more reviving her responsive smiles, and soon confident, decided strokes outlined her features. Her eyes. Her eyes were his first object now, before the sparkling smile lighting them would evade him. He needed them. He needed to bask in their warmth.

 

 

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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