Page 14 of The Scarred Duchess
Roark nodded, and the boy ran off.Good lad, appears he’s done this before.
Soon, a dark, lean man sporting an eye patch appeared in the entrance doorway. Melville hurried over to him; a few words were exchanged and Reeves walked towards the inn’s stairs. The landlord approached Roark.
“Your party has arrived, sir,” Melville offered. “A private room is at your disposal, under the stairs.”
“We won’t make much of a stir.”
Melville surprised him. “Colonel Bennet’s exact words, sir.”
Roark walked towards a ghost from his past. Meryton was suiting him quite well.
Lord Matlock,
The Meryton vicar has read the first of the banns for Colonel Bennet and Miss Francine Agnes Gardiner.
Her father is Andrew Gardiner, a solicitor at Gardiner & Philips. He has a superior reputation with the Chancery Courts. Her twin brother is in his final year at university. He has done very well despite obstacles—his family’s inferior connexions and his tradesman roots. I have learnt he haslittle regard for the sons of the peerage and their prejudices. The young lad seems promising.
As for Bennet, he is a wise and cautious man. His valet is his former batman, who manages the manor house with his wife as housekeeper. His man of all things is Sergeant Reeves, a former Horse Guard armourer—a man who has earned my trust as much as Bennet has yours.
Roark
The three weeks prior to his wedding day had been the most pleasant in Bennet’s life. He and Miss Gardiner were of the same mind. There were no drives in an open gig. Neither took long walks in the countryside amongst the low woods or the path up to Oakham Mount. No one would gossip of the couple picnicking about Longbourn Pond. Not that he ignored her. No, they spent excessive time together, as an exhausted group of chaperons would attest. The couple was very singular in their courtship ritual.
Bennet and Miss Gardiner instead shared hours walking Longbourn village. They trod every acre of the estate—the future mistress of Longbourn pencilling drawing after drawing of every arable asset of the home farm and tenantry, the current master sporting dirt-filled gloves and a six-foot walking stick. Bennet felt as if he smiled like a mooncalf unendingly, whether down on his knees, arm inserted into a clogged drainage sluice, or up to his boot tops in the water, having waded far out into the pond.
One afternoon, as if of the same mind, the couple outpaced their chaperonage. Stealing behind a large tree, Bennet pulled Miss Gardiner into a much-needed embrace.She smelled of roses and honeysuckle, of soggy moss and wet leaves. She was Gaia, earthy and rich. He fought to keep himself in check. “My love, I require a foray to town. I shall be gone less than a se’nnight.”
“As our wedding is in eight days, I would hope to have you make an appearance,” she replied with a charming giggle.
He placed his forefinger on her lips. She boldly kissed it, then swayed as she stepped back. He righted her and smiled his understanding.
“Catch me,” she cried as she ran back towards the trail. Bennet captured her hand moments later; they shared a stress-releasing laugh as they became visible to the Hills, who did nothing to hide their smiles.
The following morning, Bennet called to Reeves. “I shall hie to town for a few days to purchase fripperies for my bride. During my absence, see to the future Mrs Bennet as if she already holds that honour.”
A day later, Franny walked to Longbourn. Hill opened the door before her arrival. “Good afternoon, mistress.”
“Thank you, Mr Hill. Dare I accuse you of being presumptuous?”
“You may refer to me as Hill, madam. May I call Mrs Hill to assist you?”
Franny enjoyed Hill’s stoicism. “Thank you, no. I have a wedding gift for your master.”
He led her to the study and allowed Franny her privacy. She took in the room’s atmosphere that most defined her future husband and lay his gift upon the desktop.
“Soon, my dear man. Soon.”
A few hours later, prompted by a note delivered by a servant boy, she walked out to visit the seamstress. Upon entering Mrs Taylor’s shop, Franny was in raptures over several bolts of silk in a cascade of blues—aqua, indigo, and periwinkle—ordered for her by her betrothed.
“Such a thoughtful man, your Mr Bennet.” Mrs Taylor handed Franny a card. “I do apologise for having invaded your privacy, but, oh… so romantic a message, my dear.”
Franny waved off the apology as she read the note.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Her heart overflowed as she recognised the Shakespearean quote. “Yes, I daresay Mr Bennet is quite the romantic.”
Hill met Bennet at the door when he arrived home that evening. “Our future mistress honoured us with a short visit,” Hill informed him.
