Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Five

Lord Robert took his breakfast in the game room. He had not actually named the room thus but, over the years, mistresses, housekeepers and maids alike all seemed to have inadvertently given it the name, so the game room it was. Displayed here was yet another thing for which his Lordship was famous; his chess set collection. He had over 20 boards arranged in the room, purchased from merchants all around the world. Many a man gazed upon them with envy over the years, but no one, save Lord Robert, knew what most of them actually represented. He looked lovingly around him, each perfect square reminding him of times gone by, of women long since passed on. So many boards.

“I am a rake of the first water,” he thought appreciatively.

It was time to come to a decision. He tried to complete an internal dialog he had been having for the past two weeks. Having finally seen her, spoken to her, and had his curiosity sated, he began the final closing arguments to his own case:

“Is this worth the effort? Is she worth it? I know a great deal about her, but is it enough? I know I certainly desire her, but am I up to taking an innocent and teaching her to be all that I would want in my bed? Good Lord, listen to how lazy I have become. A woman such as Elizabeth would never disappoint, I dare say.” He took a bite of his toast, appreciating the comforting aroma of the warm bread, even after it travelled down his throat.

“She is a gentleman’s daughter and her manners bewitching. She would preside admirably over my table and in my salon. But do I want to entertain again? Do I want to attend another Season?” Hot-house orange slices lay neatly arranged on his plate. He bit slowly into one, sucking up the juices where his teeth had opened a wound.

“She would make a glorious ending to my career. The men at White’s would be wagering their daughters’ dowries that I would fall over dead the first night I bedded her. It might be worth it just to walk in the park with her on my arm the next day, a blush upon her cheek, that teasing smile upon her tender lips” He sat ruminating on his silk covered lounge while slowly sipping his morning tea. The small clock on the mantle ticked merrily along, unaware that an important judgment was being contemplated in the room.

At last he smiled and sighed. “Why do I try to deny it? I want the girl. Does anything else really matter?” The decision was made.

“It is time for a new chessboard.” he mused to himself. “This one I think will be different from the rest, for I believe I shall have to commission this set to get it right. Crystal, the finest to be found, set upon that table by the west windows so, when the afternoon light hits it, sparkling lights will be cast from it, reminding me of her eyes. Yes, crystal is perfect for her, and the game will begin anew.” He had his new set before the week was out.

In the business of procuring a mistress, there were many obstacles to overcome. Finding the eligible lady not withstanding, the business, the ability to complete the transaction, was sometimes very difficult. Often times the object of his affections had no idea of his plans. Often Lord Caldhart planned it exactly that way. He saw the process as more than a business; to him it was a strategy, a game. He the player, she his object, and the many decisions, the timing, the seduction, all of the process, which he often referred to as a dance, delighted, excited, and consumed him.

His passion was finding women’s weaknesses. They all had them, and he was a master at exploiting such weaknesses to his advantage. They all had a price as far as he was concerned, the only difference was negotiating what he had to pay. Some had to be convinced, while others had to be convinced to be less mercenary. Some needed no convincing at all. He did not mind if a woman was easily procured. By the time he was in negotiations with a lady, there were no surprises concerning his desire for her - if she came willingly, so much the better.

The seduction of Elizabeth Bennet might well be in his realm of possibilities. He was fairly certain he already knew her weakness. He simply had to see if he could obtain what she wanted; could he find the sister, and make her seducer suffer?

Now he needed time, with his new chess set, to plan his moves. He set up the board; himself as the white queen, Elizabeth as the black king. Across the board sat the black queen, George Wickham and his pawn, Lydia Bennet. Elizabeth might not recognize her sister as one of his enemies, but Lord Caldhart knew better. Lydia, lost Lydia, was an obstacle to overcome. She was keeping him from reaching his goal. She was as much his enemy as was Wickham. The other pieces were yet to be named, though he did decide to name her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner as the black bishops since, at the very least, they probably provided moral support and guidance to Elizabeth’s sensibilities.

He thought long into the afternoon, and finally came up with a beginning. He called Higgins into his house once again.

“Higgins, I have another task for you. I have learned that Miss Bennet may have had a younger sister who eloped with a militia officer last summer, but instead only came here to live with him in London. The news of this seems to have been all over town, so ask in general and see what anyone can tell you. The girl’s name was Lydia Bennet, the man George Wickham. His militia was stationed in Brighton at the time they ran away. See if you can get the name of the commanding officer. I may send you down to Brighton to see if Mr. Wickham left any enemies behind him.”

“Enemies, Sir?

“Yes Higgins. The more we know of Mr. Wickham, his friends and his enemies, the better chance we have of finding him.”

“Do we want to find Mr. Wickham, Sir, or just find out about where he brought the sister to in town?”

His lordship sighed. “Both Higgins, but her family has been searching for the girl all this time and I suspect that we will not do much better. I need names of people he knows, he knew, and those he may have made angry. All information is power Higgins, power to launch an assault against Mr. Wickham when the time comes, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir, information. I’ll see to it today, Sir.”

“Excellent, Higgins.”

Higgins did go to Brighton. After his London contacts told all they knew of the gossip from last summer, his Lordship sent him directly to the seaside. Being a much smaller community, Mr. Wickham’s desertion and elopement were still considered first-rate waggle, and he found many people eager to provide information. He returned only after he had the name of the regiment’s Colonel and his wife, the town where the regiment had been previously encamped, the village near where Wickham grew up, and the very long list of people who no doubt his Lordship would consider to be enemies of Mr. Wickham. There were four shopkeepers, three tavern owners, a blacksmith and a poor laundress, all of whom Wickham had conveniently forgotten to pay before leaving town so abruptly. Unfortunately there were also two tradesmen whose daughters had allegedly had a closer relationship with the lieutenant. Higgins wrote their names down as well, being sure to mark the offence next to each person. If Mr. Wickham had made any friends, however, they certainly no longer acknowledged it.

His Lordship stroked the curling hairs of the beard on his chin as he read.

“A decidedly one-sided list, Higgins,” he observed.

“Yes, your Lordship.”

“Not that I’m surprised. This man knows how to make enemies quite well. However with the lack of friends to call upon, it gives us no clues where he might have gone for help in hiding out here. Well, there’s nothing to be done but continue to follow the trail backwards. It’s off to….. Meryton for you. Is that not in Hertfordshire?”

“It is Sir, I understand it’s the largest town near where the lady, Miss Lydia, was from.”

“The Bennets live there?” His hand stopped mid air, Higgins nodded. “You must proceed with great caution then. From what you have told me of how lively the gossip still raged in Brighton, it is sure to be the same in Meryton. I think you would do well not to ask too many questions, but rather let the locals tell you the story in their own time. I do not want the Bennets to know that strangers were inquiring after them. Take great care there Higgins, this is very important.”

He dismissed the servant, turned to his new board and sighed once again. “Curses, I do not have nearly enough pawns.”

Lord Caldhart sat regarding his precious new chessboard. Higgins had recently returned from Meryton before heading on to Birmingham, where Wickham had lived before joining the military. All the facts of Lydia Bennet’s disgraceful elopement had been the talk of the town. The Bennets lived in virtual seclusion, which many of the plain folk pitied since the daughters, and even Mrs. Bennet, had been so lively before. It was said that the two eldest girls, Miss Bennet, Jane, and Miss Elizabeth, had gone to live in town with their aunt and uncle, and would no doubt find employment now.

Higgins had continued by telling Miss Bennet’s history with a wealthy gentleman, a Mr. Bingley, who had leased a nearby estate and who had shown great promise towards her the year before. Everyone was expecting them to announce an engagement when the man had simply up and left, never to return. Lord Robert wondered where Jane, the eldest, was. He had not heard any word about her before, and of course she was not at the theatre that night. He had some small sympathy for the poor girl. She was rumoured to be the most beautiful of all the Bennet sisters, and, if that were true, to be disappointed in love and then have her reputation tarnished forever by the foolish younger sister was a great cruel waste. Lloyd was right, why was it always the pretty ones?

Higgins had heard that Miss Elizabeth also had a suitor the prior year; her cousin, a Mr. Collins. A bigger fop the town had never seen, yet he had one claim to respect; he would one day inherit Mr. Bennet’s estate - Longbourn. Apparently he had offered for her, and she had flatly refused him. Just days later he engaged himself to Miss Elizabeth’s dearest friend, and they were married shortly thereafter.

Lord Caldhart was impressed; turning down a comfortable situation in life, and keeping her father’s property in the family could not tempt her into a marriage with this cousin. He would have to tread very carefully. A woman who had no desire for wealth or security was not the typical female he was used to dealing with. Elizabeth obviously had standards that most ladies only dreamed they had. A return visit to Johnson’s was in order.

She stood at the desk, waiting upon a gentleman, apparently a new customer, as he effused over the excellence of the short cigar almost completely gone between his fingers. She was patient, quiet, demure; a perfect imitation of a working class shopkeeper. He was very impressed. She had missed her true calling; with her face, figure and abilities, she could have had a long career on the stage. The transaction completed, he now braved her attention.

“Welcome back, Lord Caldhart, I trust your first purchase did not disappoint?”

“Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I take it? She nodded. “I thank you, and they were superb. I also had the pleasure of meeting your owner, Mr. Gardiner, recently. He informed me that the concoctions are all your doing, your genius. I wish to thank you for your excellence of taste; you are quite the find, Mrs. Johnson.”

She blushed prettily under her cap while curtseying. “Thank you Sir, I am most grateful. How may I help you today; another dozen of your blend?”

“Actually no, I’d like to try a new sampling if I may.” He was determined to spend some time with her, and needed an excuse to stay in the shop. She still refused to raise her head, the thick spectacles and cap effectively covering most of her. Luckily, it gave him a chance to study what he could see most intensely. Her skin was lovely, strange how he had not noticed it before. The illusion of elderly matron had automatically closed his eyes off to her in the past, a very effective method to hide herself.

“Something stronger? Or perhaps more mellow? If you like to smoke more than one cigar in a sitting a second, more mellow blend, might please your palate,” she suggested.

“If you believe it to be so, Madam, then I would try the mellow. I leave my delights in your capable hands, I feel I shall be impressed once again.”

“As you wish, Sir. Please be seated, and I will bring your short for you.”

He chose the seat nearest the workroom, on the off chance she might talk to herself again. She remained quiet however, and brought him his cigar not long after he sat. He lit up once again. A unique, mellow, mild sweetness filled him. She was correct again. It was the perfect second smoke or perhaps a smoke on a hot day, after eating a mild dinner.

“You are a treasure Mrs. Johnson,” he sighed. “I’ll take two dozen of these if you please, and another two dozen of my original blend if you would.”

“Thank you Sir, it would be my pleasure.”

“No Madam, the pleasure is mine in the smoking.” He knew he was on the border of outright flirting, but he didn’t care. Before she returned to the workroom, he exhaled and asked, “I cannot fathom why your shop is not busier, Mrs. Johnson.”

“My Lord?”

“Your product is so superior to anything I have ever purchased in this city, it is a small wonder your business is not overrun with every Lord, Earl and Gentleman in town, everyday.”

“I hardly know how to answer that, your Lordship. But I would guess we haven’t been open long enough for word to get round to all those men you suggested.”

“But you would like that? You would like your business to prosper, have your fortune made?”

“I do not believe Mr. Gardiner expected to make a fortune selling my cigars Sir, and I know I did not. There is more to happiness than just money, Sir.” Her voice was no longer friendly, but still civil.

“Indeed Mrs. Johnson, but money can buy us things not always available otherwise. Money can open doors not previously open, and provide for not just ourselves, but our families and loved ones, can it not?” She curtseyed once again, excusing herself to her workroom to make up his order. He did not fail to notice she had not answered.

She returned sometime later with his boxes. He was pleased with the interaction they had had today. He gave her some things to think about, he believed. He now had a very specific purpose for his four-dozen cigars. She would soon understand him to be at least a man of action and power. He wanted to give her a proof of his abilities, before starting a direct attack upon her. He was satisfied that she still thought he did not know who she was. Perhaps she would simply find him a bit whimsical.

“I shall see about introducing these to some of my acquaintances, Mrs. Johnson. I feel that an increase in business might help you, and it would be my pleasure to see it done.” Before she could answer more than a “thank you” he was out the door with his packages.

That evening he strolled into his favourite club, Whites, bearing three boxes.

“My Lords, Gentlemen, I have just had an unexpected windfall, and would like to share my good fortune with you all. Please join me,” he announced as he opened his boxes, bearing the cigars from Johnson’s. Lord Caldhart being generous in his club was not a common occurrence; it garnered much attention, free cigars garnered even more. Gentlemen seemed to creep out of the woodwork. Soon the room was filled with the haze of nearly three-dozen cigars blooming together. Eyebrows were raised at one another in happy surprise, lips were licked, and all was savoured.

“Yes,” thought Lord Robert as he registered the looks upon their faces, “let these treasures weave their spells on their own. I have no need to push.”

Finally, after a few minutes of utter silence ,someone braved to speak what they all had been secretly thinking. “These are quite good Lord Caldhart, where did you say you found them?”

Caldhart turned in the direction of the voice. “Ah but I did not say! I do not mind sharing these with you gentlemen, but you do understand my need to be secretive? If I were to reveal the new jewel of a shop in which I discovered them, why you would all no doubt buy up the entire stock!”

Most nodded appreciatively, but several younger members stealthily eyed the now empty boxes sitting behind his Lordship. One was quick enough to slip in behind him, turn the article over, and reveal the name burned upon the back to those around him; Johnson’s House of Cigars.

“My work here is done,” he thought wryly.

Three days later, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner let themselves into Lizzy’s shop. They had heard her astonishing story of how busy she had been the last two days, and wished to see for themselves what was happening. It was still over an hour until the time to close, but the front door had been locked and the closed sign hung in the window. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

“Mrs. Johnson?” he called out.

“In the workroom Mr. Gardiner,” she responded. They were not prepared for the sight they beheld. There stood Elizabeth and Toby, dishevelled and obviously exhausted, staring at the empty cases. The barrels around them were all without their lids, and every one of them was empty. Her uncle blinked uncomprehendingly.

“What has happened to all our cigars? Even the raw stock is gone!”

She shook her head. “Not gone Sir: sold.”

“Sold? All of it? That was more than a month’s worth of business according to Mr. Merriweather!”

“Every last thing we could make. We finally had to turn them out, and ask them to return at the beginning of next week, when would could be restocked.” She led him to her strong box; they had not emptied it since the beginning of the week.

“There must be over fifty pounds in here!” her uncle cried.

“Eighty three pounds and six shillings,” she announced proudly. “Almost all paid cash. All that money in just four days.” They could only stare at the money and empty shelves.

Johnson’s House of Cigars was made. Elizabeth had no doubt who had done it.

Posted on Sunday, 6 November 2005

Chapter Six

The coach headed slowly back to Gracechurch Street, constantly delayed by the throng of the people and their coaches blocking the streets around the closing shops for many minutes. Elizabeth welcomed the chance to sit in the dark, mulling over the extraordinary phenomenon she had experienced that week.

Her solitude was soon interrupted by her Aunt. “Do you think Mrs. Johnson might know to whom she owes her good fortune Lizzy?”

“Yes, Aunt; Lord Robert Caldhart. He has been a very affable and easy to please customer. I can only assume he was as willing as Mr. Lloyd to share his good fortune with his friends, and help to increase ours.”

“Lord Robert did this?” her astonished aunt replied.

“I believe so.” Despite Mrs. Gardiner’s concern clearly written across her face, Elizabeth continued, “You seem surprised, is something like this so opposite his character? Do you know much about him?”

Mrs. Gardiner peeked at her husband, his face shrugged slightly, and then he nodded his head in assent.

“Lizzy, it would not normally be proper to reveal this to a single young lady but, seeing as you are almost living on your own, it probably would be wise to remind you of all the types of men this world holds.”

Elizabeth stifled a half laughing gasp. “Good heavens, Aunt, you would have me think his Lordship was a highwayman.”

“Elizabeth, please be serious. Lord Robert is, well, mostly respectable. He is from a very good family. His eldest son will inherit and is very respectable. He married a Lady Ravenshaw; they have quite a few children. His youngest son is, I believe, a brigadier general by now; he’s older than your Uncle, after all.”

“And Lady Caldhart?”

“Oh dear me, Lady Caldhart died, shortly after the youngest son was born. She was one of the richest young ladies in England. They say her dowry was well over a hundred thousand pounds!”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Lizzy. “Such a sum!”

“Quite,” replied her aunt. “You can imagine the envy he raised, being so young, having his duty to his family fulfilled. He was richer than most people ever dreamt about, and then had no more obligations.”

“This hardly paints a picture of someone of whom you should warn me, though.” Elizabeth objected.

“Perhaps at the beginning of his life it would be true, my dear. But give a man a large fortune with no future responsibilities and you have put together a perfect recipe - for a rake.” Elizabeth’s brows raised in wonder. “Oh yes my dear, he is quite famous for it. Your uncle will concur.” Indeed Uncle Edward’s head was bobbing in agreement as she spoke.

“He has spent his entire life living with one mistress after another. A veritable parade of women over the years, they even joined him at his house. When his sons were younger, he had a lovely house in the north end of town, set up for his ladies but, when the sons moved out, his mistress was moved in, and each in their turn has served as his hostess. They never entertained for his family, of course. But anyone who attended a non-family party there always had his mistress as their hostess.”

“How absolutely deliciously shocking Aunt!” Lizzy exclaimed. “That many women? And none of them ever married to him? He makes Henry the Eighth look like a priest!”

“Elizabeth!” her shocked aunt admonished. “Do remember you are a lady, sometimes you make me doubt it.” Though she could not help but laugh, too. After the laughter receded, Lizzy’s curiosity got the better of her.

“How do you suppose he found them?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon niece? her uncle replied, with a bit of a choke.

She blushed. “I meant where did he find them, who were these women? I would assume these were not ordinary, lower class, girls if they had the ability to run his house, preside over his table and so forth; how would he find such a woman?”

Her aunt and uncle looked at one another uncomfortably, then conspicuously down at the floor of the coach. Her aunt finally responded quietly. “Most were women not unlike you, Elizabeth. Most were ladies, whose families had both once been wealthy and lost all their money, or respectability, or their place in society. There are also families, I am sorry to say, who would sacrifice a daughter to the likes of men like Robert Caldhart, for a chance to regain their social standing, or improve their fortunes. And some ladies choose such a life of their own free will. Better to be pampered by many men, than spend their lives as old maids, I suppose. All of them are still immoral, Lizzy, which is the most important part to remember. It is sad to think a man may make such choices with little repercussions to his social standing, but a woman will always be ruined. We always have a choice in this world. Some choices are more respectable than others. I hope that you will always make honourable, moral, choices in your life, my dear.”

A large lump formed in Elizabeth’s throat as she smiled and nodded reassuringly to her Aunt. She felt ashamed - thinking of the path she had set herself upon many months earlier. She knew that, in seeking revenge against Wickham, she was not making a moral choice, though she did believe it to be honourable.

She tried to lighten things. “I do not believe that we would have to worry about Lord Caldhart making an indecent suggestion to Mrs. Johnson, Aunt, do you? He has never indicated that he knows I am her, and she is so very plain after all.”

“Not Mrs. Johnson, Lizzy, but do you now understand better why Miss Bennet must always be accompanied by her aunt and uncle in town? Your family’s reputation leaves you vulnerable to the rakes of the ton who are always on the prowl for a new conquest. We do not want to see you fall prey to them. You are a very desirable woman Elizabeth, and, when a man is not looking for a wife, desirability is the most important attribute a woman can offer to him. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth swallowed hard again, and nodded. She understood a little too well, that night at the theatre playing in her mind.

She had noticed him.

It was a special night for her. Her aunt and uncle wanted to treat her to a play of her choosing after spending her two weeks successfully convalescing. It was lovely to be at a theatre for pleasure’s sake and not for the purpose of looking for Lydia.

The Gardiners had at first been reluctant to agree to this particular show, but she had convinced them. “Anyone who might be offended at a single young lady attending such a production would undoubtedly not go, therefore we should be able to attend with impunity.” This statement earned her a genial laugh, and an agreement.

Within a short time after the play had begun, she had felt a prickling of the hairs upon her neck. She tried to dismiss it but it persisted, and soon she realized that someone must be watching her, staring at her. Without turning her head, or allowing her eyes to leave the stage, she began a slow perusal of the outer perimeter of her line of focus. Soon she detected an anomaly. Whenever a particularly amusing line was uttered by one of the actors, the audience, as a whole, reacted; heads bobbed back, fans waved, shoulders bounced. In a box slightly to her left, the person sitting in a chair at the very back had reactions that were always delayed by just a few seconds. He (and she could determine it was a man) was reacting to the audience, not the actors. The longer this went on, the more she was convinced that whoever it may be was, in fact, reacting to her. It was not until the house lights went up, at the first intermission, that she was bold enough to look over to the box, just in time to see a tall, silver and black peppered head, in a midnight blue evening jacket, exit his box.

Later, when she returned to her seat, she noticed the box was empty. She had no doubt now who her admirer was. She was quite surprised at his boldness, along with his ingenuity, at getting his friend to make the introduction. He had not been forward to her in front of her aunt and uncle but, combined with his behaviour inside the theatre, his interest in her was obviously very strong. She could not be comfortable with his intentions. She was sure he had to be considerably older than her own father. What would a man so high in society want with the likes of her? Mr. Lloyd apparently had not heard of her family’s misfortunes, else he would never have made the introduction. She wondered if the gossip about them had already died down and, as old news, no longer interested anyone. She dearly hoped so. She wondered if Lord Robert Caldhart was going to continue his game inside the theatre. Would he try to seek her out at other places, as well? And for what purpose? She had no time to reflect upon how she felt about any of these ideas, as the second act soon began.

Knowing Lord Robert was spying upon her had at first been exhilarating. Now realizing how much of her person he had no doubt been leering at, and learning of his reputation with women, made her queasy. At least she could take comfort in knowing while he might admired Miss Bennet, he could not have intentions towards Mrs. Johnson. She felt certain that he did not know they were one and the same. Still, his fascination that night puzzled her. She never considered herself beautiful. Jane was the beauty. She was the clever one who sometimes received compliments about her eyes, but that was the extent of what she perceived to be her attributes. She had never considered desirability before.

“What would be the difference?” she wondered to herself later in her room. She gazed at her image, still clad in her modest matronly gown. Her body had recovered from the previous torture she had inflicted upon it, while walking about half of London in the winter. Her figure was no longer underweight and her health was fully restored, giving her the sparkle her countenance had always displayed.

She began to examine herself. Her hair was well enough. Her curls were a source of frustration to her most of the time, but it was pleasant to never have to curl the wisps around her face. Still the colour was ordinary, if not a bit strong for her tastes. Sometimes she wished she had Jane’s lovely blonde hair, but such was not to be. Her skin was something she was proud of; it was once again bright, clear and creamy, she never saw a hint of a freckle, for which she was grateful. And its bloom had returned, now that she had been taxing herself less for nearly a month.

Then she took in her figure. She removed her gown, and the bindings she wrapped around her upper body to hide herself. She once had wished that she were taller, but did not really mind her height now. Her chest however, was a different point altogether. She had never been happy with it; it was much too large. She had developed at such an early age, and garnered so much attention from the boys in the neighbourhood, that she considered it something of a curse. Fashions of the day favoured the lithe physique, not her own saftig one. She constantly battled with the bodices of her dresses, as they had a decided tendency to inch downwards while she would pull them up. Luckily, since coming to London, she had been able to purchase two new gowns, including the one she was wearing that evening at the theatre. She was delighted to have the neckline cut to a level she considered more reasonable. Her mother always ordered her gowns too low cut in her opinion, and she was relieved to return to a more modest look. Of course Mrs. Johnson’s gowns were completely modest; she bound herself before dressing each morning. But Lizzy actually enjoyed the look of being somewhat flat-chested.

Now she observed herself from a different point of view. From a decidedly male point of view. She knew from reading certain books in her father’s library, as well as being acquainted with her young male cousins when they were babies, that men and women were physically different. Most obviously in two places though only one of those places was easily observable. It stood to reason that, if the difference was more pronounced in one woman over another, the difference could receive quite a lot of attention. Not any good, wholesome attention, but there it was. Or rather there they were.

“Yes, I can see where a man, especially one who had no concerns with my fortune or connections, might find them admirable,” she thought and then covered her face with her hands and groaned. ”Good heavens, I am appraising myself like a cow at auction!” She quickly removed her corset, and then her stockings and garters. Standing once again in front of her cheval mirror, she lifted her chemise and stared at her legs. She considered them finely shaped. She knew she had the nicest calves of all her sisters. They had often told her so; a benefit of all her walking.

She lifted her chemise even higher, and turned slightly. Her bottom curved nicely up to her back and below to the upper parts of her thighs. It was well formed enough she thought, but really could not see any sign of better or best in such a thing. She was sure gentlemen did not consider it either. She dropped the silky cloth again and, crossing her arms in front of her, her head cocked to one side, she shook it violently. No, there really was nothing very desirable here she thought. Just a nice looking girl, with a pair of fine eyes.

“I do not think I shall ever have to worry about being propositioned by a rake, much less the likes of the connoisseur of mistresses, Lord Robert Caldhart,” she mused to herself.

Across town, Lord Robert was sitting at the table by the west windows. His board in front of him, he confirmed the move; white king’s pawn ahead two. Satisfied he began staring at the drawing he held. He had a very good eye and a deft hand, he had to admit. His portrait of her was well done. The eyes still needed more work, but at least he now had her lovely face to gaze upon. He grasped it carefully with tender fingers as he softly whispered “Elizabeth,” to her image.

Chapter Seven

She thought she would see him again. After the shop re-opened, fully stocked and ready the next week, she was sure he would come in and strut like a peacock over his handiwork. But he did not. Nor did he send a note, or have one of his acquaintances send his regards. Strangely, none of the new customers who steadily came in acknowledged Lord Robert’s recommendation of the place either. It was as if there was a silent conspiracy among the gentlemen of London to shop at, but not speak of, her shop. She often noticed customers determinedly avoiding the gaze of anyone else in her shop whilst waiting for her to attend them.

Elizabeth could not help but be amused at her secret success. Perhaps she would purchase some paintings for the walls so the gentlemen would have a more practical excuse to stare blankly at them. She was pleased to be able to tell her aunt and uncle that Lord Caldhart had not encroached upon her again.

About a week later however, after Toby had returned from his midday meal, she found a branch in a plain glass jar sitting on the end of the workroom table. She picked up the ordinary vase and inhaled deeply the fragrance given off by the stem’s flowering blooms: peach blossoms.

Her head floated in a beautiful cloud of olfactory delight when suddenly she remembered the language of flowers; peach blossom: - I am your captive.

“What cheek!” she thought, tossing it into the waste bin, embarrassed to have been caught up in the flower’s seductive odour. It was no small feat to have a peach blossom at the beginning of March. Anyone sending such a prize would no doubt either have a great deal of wealth, or run his own hothouse. She had a strong suspicion who would qualify, but she preferred not to think about it.

A few days later, a small package, plainly wrapped, appeared on her table. She opened it hesitatingly, eventually revealing a plain, though fine, linen handkerchief. As she turned it over in her palm feeling the softness of the delicate fabric, trying to detect why this, of all things, would be sent to her, her senses were suddenly overwhelmed. A fragrance never before known filled her. Suddenly she was rendered helpless to any other thought but that of drifting once again along a sensory trip of pleasure. Perfume: light, flowering, pink, spring - all there in its scent. It was several moments before the waking world was once again apparent to her. She was not pleased.

The next day another plain jar, this one holding a perfect white camellia, sat upon her table before the day was through. It gave no fragrance; this message was simply one of visual pleasure and hidden meaning: perfected loveliness. Now she was angry.

She turned to her helper. “Toby, can you explain where this flower, along with the other bloom I saw here last week, came from?” she demanded harshly.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, unused to seeing Mrs. Johnson with her ire raised. “Both times, I mean three times now, if you count that little flat package that was given to me, some lad, no one I know, came up to me as I was heading back here, and gave them to me. I didn’t think you’d be angry; they were so pretty after all. Did I do wrong, Mistress?”

“No, Toby.” She did not want the youth to worry. “I merely wished to know how they came to make their way to our workroom. Is it always the same lad who gives you the things?”

“No, Ma’am. The first one - I’ve seen him hanging around at the tavern door most days. But the other two; I’ve never seen them before.”

“And who do they say sent them?”

“No one Ma’am. They say a man gave them to deliver to Mrs. Johnson, but left no name. I’m sorry.” She dismissed Toby reassuring him she was not disturbed by his actions, much to the young man’s relief.

Elizabeth hoped her interested party would cease his unwanted attentions. She had to be impressed with his finesse in inconspicuous dalliances. However, why he would think that she, of all people, would be interested in him or his possible offers, escaped her. She only wished she had the opportunity to ask him to stop sending his discomposing presents, but her wishes were not to be heeded.

The following Monday the tiniest box, again plainly wrapped, was given to Toby. She left it in her workroom all day, pointedly ignoring it. When she finally felt driven to open it, she found a single small morsel of chocolate under the tissue. It was perfectly round, and the finish so fine, it shone like a perfectly polished piece of shadowy mahogany. Her masterful skills instinctively took over as she carefully picked it up and, carrying it to her face, filled herself with its heady scent; cocoa, cream, sugar, vanilla, a liqueur of some kind…. brandy, and raspberry.

Her tongue could not help but obey her desire and tentatively licked the outer layer of the confection. She allowed the substance to sit upon her tongue, while the aroma it gave up wafted into her ducts. She swallowed the now liquid darkness, relishing in its taste. After repeating this process three times more, she eventually gave in to temptation and popped the entire treat into her mouth. She let it lie inside her while it slowly turned into molten decadence. Swallowing for the final time, she breathed a deep satisfied sigh. Her eyes still closed, she would have continued in her semi-dream state, as she licked the tips of her chocolate marred fingers, had she not heard the strangled exhale of her adolescent helper at the door. His eyes, combined with the innocent lack of subtlety in his face, revealed to her the sensuous scene she had unintentionally displayed in front of him.

Gathering all her wits about her, and drawing upon the countless hours of practice perfecting herself as Mrs. Johnson, she calmly turned and demurely asked, “Is there a customer waiting for me, Toby?”

Opening night critics at Drury Lane would have been impressed.

Her shop had been doing a consistently brisk business since reopening. She and Toby were run ragged for the first few weeks until their bodies were used to the pace. If she had not had the chance earlier in the winter to re-establish her strength and vigour, she would have been in serious trouble maintaining the amount of work now required of her. Her aunt and uncle still insisted that she not walk out before the workdays in the week and she agreed that it was for the best. She continued her searches at the weekends, stopping midday for her rest and meal at Gracechurch Street, as her uncle had commanded. Though she could not be pleased with her lack of success, at least she was contributing to the effort he and Mr. Brooks were once again undertaking. She wondered how they were faring now.

She had panicked when Wickham had walked into her shop two months earlier; she scarcely knew what she was doing. It had happened so quickly that she had completely lost her equanimity. She could only stand frozen with uncertainty and trepidation. Once they had left she had cursed him, and then herself, for not taking action. She had a shop full of customers and Toby was out on an errand. The timing could not have been worse.

After her last customer had finally left, Lizzy had written a note to her uncle. When Toby returned, she had him deliver it immediately. Her uncle had come early that day to fetch her, and together they hurried to Mr. Brooks’ office. Elizabeth described carefully what she had seen. She tried to remember as many things as she could; Wickham’s clothing, which direction the couple headed when they had left; anything that might provide a clue to his whereabouts. She also described the woman, Sally, to the best of her recollection. Unfortunately, because of her spectacles and having had two customers to wait upon, she had seen her for only a moment.

Mr. Brooks agreed to go out that very night with Mr. Gardiner accompanying him. They searched the inns and taverns around Johnson’s for the couple, but failed to find any hint of them. Mr. Brooks then spent the next two weeks searching furtively, while Elizabeth was recovering her health. He covered vast parts of the neighbourhood starting at Johnson’s and continued in an ever-growing circle outwards. Despite it being early February, he worked tirelessly, until Elizabeth and Mr. Gardiner intervened and insisted he be more reasonable in the time he was spending out of doors. Elizabeth’s own history had taught them all how dangerous it could be to overexert in the middle of winter. For the last six weeks, Mr. Brooks had been working steadily for them without risking his health, but Wickham had disappeared once again and none of them could find a trace of him.

If only she had seen the woman more clearly. If only she had caught her last name, or could have followed them out the door. She would have found out where they were lodged, and brought her uncle there. However, she had missed the opportunity. While her uncle tried to reassure her that she had done well, she knew better. She realised sadly then that she had not helped much at all. She was severely disappointed in herself. As far as she was concerned, it had been her first chance to truly make a difference, and she had failed significantly.

Why had she been so frightened? Why did she not say something or do something? What difference would it have made if she had exposed herself to him right in front of her customers? The shop meant nothing, Wickham was everything. She chided herself harshly for not being braver.

That had been over eight weeks ago, and still they could not find a trace of Wickham or Sally. Now it seemed she did indeed have one of the rakes of the ton preying upon her. More like a full-scale invasion of her senses.

He was good. Very good. He knew exactly what would be acceptable to send and not cause outrage. He would have been pleased to see the ravenous look Toby fixed upon the fruits when they began to arrive, compelling Elizabeth to share them rather than throwing them away. He would have happily paid the lad a salary had he known the unwitting accomplice he had in him.

The gifts were always plainly wrapped; a discreet accoutrement to anyone carrying them. The flowers were always a single bud or stem and arrived either tied by a simple ribbon, or in a plain glass jar. They were chosen for their ability to engage her senses without overwhelming, and to send messages. They feasted on peach, orange, pear, apricot and even a pineapple all flawlessly timed to arrive at peak flavour. Her nose and taste buds were in a near constant state of rapture. He had an innate ability to choose exactly what would best please her physically, if not emotionally.

The following weeks found the deliveries to Johnson’s House of Cigars as copious as they were varied. Chocolates, creams, pastries, flowers and the most perfectly ripe fruits, had all made their way to Elizabeth. She had shared the generosity of her admirer with a very grateful Toby when she could. Unfortunately, the chocolates arrived only one at a time, and she was unable to part with a single one of them.

No more handkerchiefs had been sent, for which she was thankful. It would not do to keep anything sent by a gentleman to a single young lady; she had not kept the first one. He obviously knew that - everything else he had sent was consumable or perishable, and completely untraceable. By the end of the month, deliveries were being made daily. She wondered when the man had time to attend his personal affairs. He had never used the same delivery boy twice, and they came from many parts of town.

She was convinced of one thing; whoever it was, he must know she who she was. Mrs. Johnson would never turn a man’s head, much less gain his affections, therefore he must know Elizabeth was Mrs. Johnson. All rational deliberation pointed to it. There were only two men to have seen her as both persons, but only one had been spying upon her at the theatre. Logic led to the conclusion that Lord Robert Caldhart was her unwelcome suitor.

She wanted to end this. She wanted the chance to confront him and ask him to cease his anonymous flirting or seduction or whatever it was he was doing. This was an all out offensive against her, yet her foe still failed to show his face. It had been over a month, why did he not come forth?

What could he mean having designs upon her? While she might not have an impeccable reputation anymore, it was hardly equivalent to being a kept woman. She was flattered that he had so obviously taken a detailed interest in her preferences; his taste was exquisite and she could not fault him that. Had she been the type of woman to whom worldly comforts were paramount, she would be an excellent candidate for his machinations. However, none of those things mattered to her. She supposed his dissolute life would only understand a mercenary soul; he had, after all, expected her to be wishing to make her fortune. Obviously, he did not know her well enough to realise she was not of like mind or ideals.

She snorted to herself. “If wealth and position had meant anything to me, I would be Mistress of Pemberley right now.”

That exclamation turned her mind to another painful subject. She knew that no respectable man would ever want her now. She had only ever had her charms and possibly a bit more sense than some women to attract a husband. Now those accomplishments were effectively put away in a drawer and locked up. Wickham had sealed that fate for her and her sisters. There would be no marriages for them, and especially not for Elizabeth to one particular man.

She tried not to dwell upon futile wishes, but sometimes she could not help herself. Late at night in her bed, when the cruelty of her situation was not forefront in her mind, she would daydream that all their problems were solved, the past forgotten, the future bright and promising. Only then, in an imagined world of tranquillity, would she allow herself to think of him. She would daydream of a blissful life married to Mr. Darcy, smiling contentedly as sleep overcame her.

Posted on Sunday, 13 November 2005

Chapter Eight

Darcy woke feeling better than he had in months. The freshly mowed grass under the rising sun scented the air sweetly around his house. Memories flooded his senses: lazy childhood mornings, happy carefree play days of summer, and the scent of many past years of mowed grass - peace. As he lay in bed, he could hear faint stirrings in the hallways; far off someone was whistling a tune, perhaps by the stables. He looked across at the empty pillow beside him. He closed his eyes and imagined her sweet smiling face, sleep still in her drowsy blinking eyes, as she yawned, demanding herself to wake, and take him into her arms. He hugged the pillow to himself, happily sighing, a satisfied smile crooked on his mouth as he closed his eyes once again to enjoy his daydream.

After dressing and breaking his fast, he summoned Mrs. Reynolds to apprise her of his plans for the day. As soon as Georgiana arrived he wished to go to Lambton to call upon the Gardiners and their niece. Later he would entertain the Bingleys and the Hursts in the east drawing room. The dinner menu had been approved the day before; it only needed Georgiana to give it a final look.

As he related his wishes to the housekeeper, her usual calm mien became rather flustered.

“Is something troubling you, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Sir, I normally do not concern myself with the gossip that I hear around the kitchen, but when you mentioned going to Lambton, and more specifically seeing the people who visited here yesterday, I could not help but recall some rather upsetting things I heard about them this morning.”

“What have you heard?” He counselled himself to remain calm, but was dreading his affections for Elizabeth had already been guessed, and were now being bandied about.

“Samuel was in the village early this morning and said that the party had left last night, and in no small amount of agitation.”

“They are no longer at the Inn, or in Lambton?” He was starting to panic.

“I’m afraid they have left the county entirely, Sir. I believe they are thought to have returned home. I do hope you had not planned on them calling here today, it would have been a pity for them to have missed that. I’m quite surprised, as I believe Mrs. Gardiner was to call on many childhood acquaintances over the next few days. I can not imagine what would have happened to make them cancel their holiday.”

Darcy was now feeling thoroughly ill. “Does Sam have any other information about this? What did the Gardiners say? Were they upset?”

“I think a trip into Lambton before your guests arrive could be arranged, and highly informative, do you not?” Her voice was heartening.

He looked up at her, real concern and feeling obvious in his face. “Directly, Mrs. Reynolds. See that my horse is saddled, I will be ready in 5 minutes.”

When he arrived at the Inn in Lambton, a part of his mind refused to believe that young Samuel Reynolds had heard correctly. He desperately hoped she would be there, partaking of her breakfast perhaps. He would apologise for his early call, and invite them to dine that day. Unfortunately, Sam was not wrong.

He spoke with the innkeeper, who suggested Darcy speak with Hannah, the maid who had waited upon the family, and helped them pack their belongings the night before. Hannah supplied all the knowledge he could have ever hope to have, unhappy though it was.

“Aye, Sir,” she said. “They were headed back to Hertfordshire.”

“Can you tell me what happened when they arrived here yesterday afternoon?”

“Well Sir, they came in, seemed well enough. Then, not 10 minutes after, I hears Miss Elizabeth crying. Very loud I’d say. Mr. And Mrs. Gardiner were trying to calm her, but there was little use.” He cringed inwardly, wondering what might have made her cry. Was it him?

“Miss Bennet was crying?”

“Oh yes, Sir, I could figure that well enough.”

“Could you hear what she was saying?”

“Only bits, Sir. Once she said, ‘I could have prevented this, I who knew what he was.’ And another time she said ‘It is in every way horrible.’ Those were the only things I heard besides her cries. Her aunt and uncle seemed calm enough, though they could not do the same for her, poor thing. I helped her pack. The dear girl often stopped and sobbed again. I think she couldn’t leave fast enough. They must have been in their coach and on the road in not much more than an hour. She was kind to me; thanked me for all my help, and the meals I had served, even left me a tip. More than some ladies do.”

Hearing Elizabeth’s words devastated him. He felt he was not worthy to listen to the tale of her personal life, but could not help himself.

“She left nothing - no note? No letters from Mrs. Gardiner to any of her friends?”

“No Sir, but I don’t think there would have been any time for such things, it all happened right quick.”

“No of course not, there would not have been any time.”

“I think she was feeling better once they got in the coach. She seemed to cheer up a bit, at least her spirits lifted a bit once she was on the road.” The anguish these simple words caused him could not be measured.

“Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate you telling me,” he said, handing her a coin while he turned his back and stared out the window as she left.

“Yes,” he thought, “Miss Bennet was probably very relieved to be on the road and finally getting away from me.”

When he returned home he informed Mrs. Reynolds that the Gardiners and Miss Bennet had indeed left the county, and quietly asked her not to mention it again. He greeted his sister and his guests, then spent the rest of the day trying to hide from them as often as possible.

When he had been refused in April, he had felt angry, insulted, and unfairly treated. Now he only felt sorrow. He had seen her with a lover’s eye yesterday; she had been lovely, gentle, sweet. He had never detected reproach or anger from her. He had asked of her, and she had agreed to meet his sister. She gave every indication that she no longer hated him, that she could meet him without disdain or hold the unfortunate words they had exchanged in Hunsford against him. He thought he had a chance. He thought he could show her he was attending those reproofs with which she had so wisely had admonished him. He thought he could make her love him.

“I do not deserve her. She treated me with the utmost civility, even though she was repulsed by me. What creature on earth would have ever been able to conduct herself with such good manners and such superior breeding, while feeling so dreadful? To think I once thought her beneath me; what a fool I was.

“What did Hannah tell me she said? ‘I could have prevented this?’ I suppose she should have insisted her aunt and uncle not come to Pemberley. What else? I who knew what he was.’Yes you did know what I was Elizabeth, only too well. I only wish I had had a chance to prove how different I am trying to be, how I wish to be better; just for you. Then perhaps is would not have been ‘in every way horrible.’ to be in my presence again.”

He sat at his desk, staring into nothing. He could not help the tears he shed. Minutes, hours passed by. The butler interrupted him, reminding him the hour for dressing for dinner was upon him. He stood, determined to do right.

“I have lost her forever, but at least I can give her a final gift; I can behave in a gentlemanlike manner and cause her no more distress by leaving her alone, in peace.”

Late that evening, Darcy and Bingley sat in his library, sipping their brandies. The ladies had long since retired, Hurst having to be carried up to his room.

“You seem even more taciturn than normal, Darcy. Is there something weighing on your mind you might wish to discuss?” He turned to regard Bingley. There was nothing he would like better than to confide in his closest friend. If only it hadn’t been her. If only this were not about the Bennets. He dismissed that possibility, however his mind had also been turning to an entirely different line of thought.

“Bingley, I am contemplating a rather large undertaking, and I think it would be wise to consult you on it.” Bingley’s smile snapped shut.

“You wish to consult me?”

“Yes, Charles, try not to sound quite so surprised. I know I tend towards having my way in everything, sometimes even where you are concerned, but it is high time I use that excellent brain of yours for my own advantage. I consider you quite clever you know.”

Bingley swallowed and unsuccessfully tried not to look like a boy beaming at his father. “That is quite a compliment Fitzwilliam. I thank you. Perhaps you would like to tell me your proposal?”

“I think we should all go to Europe,” he stated simply.

Two days later two coaches were heading to London from Pemberley. Bingley was sceptical at first, but Darcy was able to overcome any objections. Bingley worried about the coming harvest, but admitted his overseer at Netherfield had just written to him, satisfied with the progress. Darcy offered his own capable steward, Mr Grant, and his son Jacob, who was studying with his father, to take over the correspondence with Netherfield. He would forward any pertinent information or questions requiring Bingley’s input, just as he did with Darcy. Bingley finally agreed, and Darcy only had to hint once to Charles that an extra remuneration to the steward would be appropriate.

The rest fell into place; Georgiana had never been, it had been 4 years since Darcy and Bingley had been, and Louisa and Caroline had only been to Italy, for just three weeks, so felt they had never had the full experience or advantage of a real grand tour. The decision was easily settled, and, within a week after arriving in London, they were on their way.

Bingley watched his friend staring intently over the rail of their ship as it crossed over the channel. Darcy had been right, Charles did have an excellent brain, and he could see that a change had come over his dear friend.

“He is mournful,” thought Bingley. “There is a deep wound he is nursing. I haven‘t seen him look so since his father died.” He watched on.

“What are you running from, Fitzwilliam? Could it be heartache, such as the one I still bear? Do you hope to erase a woman from your heart with this grand scheme?” He sighed; a momentary reflection on a face that lit his soul afire and of times so happy he thought he would burst.

“It will not happen; that I can guarantee. Only time will help to lessen such an ache. But you will never rid yourself of the mark she left upon you.”

Months later he would confess as much to his friend. They would stand in front of a portrait of a Madonna and Child in a museum in Florence, the air thick with history, the future, the immortality in perfection of art, both absorbed in the purity of the piece in front of them. Then he would speak his truth. “She will never leave you. You will always feel her in your heart, though it will get easier. You know that, do you not?”

Darcy turned to his friend, amazed once again at the astuteness of a man so often considered to be simple.

“I know Charles, God help me, I do know.”

Chapter Nine

If Mr. Higgins enjoyed travelling, he most certainly would have been pleased with the work he was assigned over the next weeks. His lordship did an admirable job of leaving no stone unturned when it came to discovering George Wickham’s past. Most stones hid a treasure trove of enemies happy to bad-mouth the disreputable Mr. Wickham, as well as eager to have a new ear to bend. If Higgins were required to down a few tankards of ale at each new town, while gathering information on behalf of his master’s wishes, surely no one would deny him that minute pleasure either.

Soon the towns, the taverns and tankards began looking the same. Mr. Wickham’s profligate ways were unfortunately almost inexhaustible as well. There seemed to be no limit to how many tradesmen he was willing to short, no standards or morals by which he consulted when satisfying his lust, and no person he was not willing to befriend, and then betray.

After Higgins had been subjected to essentially a “grand tour” of England, he returned for the final time at the end of the month. Lord Robert sat with piles of notes surrounding him. Names, offences, debts, fairly jumbled his mind. None led to a clue where Wickham might be now. Only one town was absent from the list. Wickham had only inhabited the place for a short while, and none of his acquaintances had been aware he had made the slight side stop. Unbeknownst to Lord Caldhart, Ramsgate was sadly missing. With that deletion, the lack of a key contact: Mrs. Younge.

He carefully noted the offended in the notebook he had begun. One name stood out amongst the commoners; Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire. Wickham’s boyhood friend, and later, patron, had felt the sting of malice from his tongue. Caldhart was surprised at how often Wickham had told the tale in his travels. He could not help but find absurdity at the thought of someone thinking Wickham would have made a good clergyman. Wickham taking orders? Responsible for the moral standards of an entire community? Thank God Mr. Darcy did refuse him the living. He suspected there was more to the story. He toyed with the idea of bringing Darcy into his confidence, but he knew him, by reputation, to be staid and impeccable. Unquestionably, seduction, or even revenge, would be unacceptable to Darcy. No; better not to involve him.

He started to concentrate on the patterns of Wickham’s ways. They were simple enough: arrive, cheat, leave, and then travel far enough away to the next unsuspecting town. His inconsistency was the constant. They could be assured he would not return to the scene of one of his past crimes. Given enough years, it was conceivable that every town within 20 miles of London would have felt his unwelcome attentions, and one could pinpoint where his next move would be out of lack of any other options. But Caldhart did not have years.

He was beginning to doubt whether his plan could succeed. Wickham was proving too wily, and his patience was wearing thin. He was not worried about the expenses he had incurred so far. Higgin’s travels were hardly a trifle, and the gifts he had been sending to Johnsons amounted to little more than pocket change to him. It was his pride that was suffering. He wanted to see Elizabeth. He wanted to begin the dance in person, and here he was barely into the ballroom. He could not approach her without an advantage. She would knock him down, and he might not recover from the blow.

He considered his next move carefully. Perhaps the lack of having the advantage need not cripple him. She did not need to know. She would still think he was merely offering her the usual trappings of mistress-hood. His gifts only hinted at the finer things in life he had to offer, not the prize with which he hoped to entrap her. Could he bluff?

In the month since he had been at Johnson’s, business had increased considerably. The shop now had a constant stream of customers coming to and fro. Lord Robert stood across the street observing carefully for nearly half an hour, until convinced the opportunity to call upon her while she would be completely engaged by her customers was nigh.

He entered, satisfied his convictions were correct. The shop was full. He patiently waited his turn and, when he finally approached Mrs. Johnson, the fall in her half-hidden face, and the blush upon her cheek, was all he needed to confirm; each knew the game was up.

“Lord Caldhart,” she said, icicles dropping from her grinded teeth.

“Mrs. Johnson, what a pleasure to see you again,” was his silky reply. “Your shop seems to be profiting handsomely, Madam. I cannot say I am surprised; such a superior product must be greatly sought after. You must be very grateful for your success.” She chose to ignore his self-congratulations.

“I hope the service and product we supply speak for themselves. Their merit, your Lordship, should be obvious and above reproach.”

“How true! The quality Johnson’s displays is so far above the norm, that only a simpleton would fail to see it for the jewel that it is; a “diamond in the rough” if you will.”

“Your Lordship is too kind. We only strive to provide a cigar our customers will enjoy,” she replied, and then thoughtfully added, “We have no other aspirations.”

“Touché,” he thought. “Try to warn me off - it will not work.”

“So you should not Mrs. Johnson, your abilities at your chosen work are incomparable. Any gentleman who has been privileged to the sampling of your wares would no doubt agree.” She stifled a gasp at his outrageous innuendo, and quickly changed the subject.

“How can we help you today Lord Caldhart; another dozen of your favourite blend?” she carefully directed.

“No, I think I would prefer to try another new blend, Madam. I have been so enraptured with all you have offered in the past, I simply cannot resist the chance to savour another of your delightful goods.”

If it were possible for a person to be struck dead from the thoughts of a mere mortal, Lord Robert Caldhart would have found himself skewered with a pike, lanced against the far wall of Johnson’s House of Cigars, and choked to death from the simultaneous ingestion of three-dozen specially blended cigars.

As it was, he was simply invited to rest his unworthy laurels upon a chair in the rear of the establishment while the proprietress made up a short of a new concoction she henceforth labelled ‘Rake’s Fate’.

She came back with the short for him. He lit up. It was very good, though he detected an unusual odour hinting at its edges.

“An unusual flavour, Madam,” he commented, taking another deep drag.

His face, which had previously been serene, suddenly turned a bright shade of pink. His throat began to burn. He felt himself perspiring heavily from his flush face to his tingling toes.

She did not react to his distress whilst she calmly explained, “I thought someone with such discriminating tastes as yours, my Lord, would appreciate a rare blend. It is only available once a year, in the spring, when the Lilies of the Valley are in bloom.”

He choked down a large swallow- surely she would not, she did not! Lilies of the Valley happened to be the flowers he had sent her that morning, and were notoriously poisonous They spoke of sweetness, happiness, humility. He was very sure that homicide was not one of their messages.

“Thank you,” he managed to whisper. As soon as her back was turned, he put out the cigar. Later, when he had recovered his voice, he approached her.

“Would you like a dozen of the new blend then, Lord Caldhart?” she innocently asked.

“Yes, please,” he answered, refusing to play the game her way. “And a dozen each of my regular and mild cigars. I cannot seem to keep them in stock. My acquaintances are always inquiring about them and I am happy to oblige them.”

“It will take a moment, Sir. Please be seated.”

She made him wait over half an hour. He did not stew, but instead relished in the chance to observe her for so long. She steadfastly ignored him, while he admired her more every moment. She handled her customers with expertly crafted gentleness. Those who were unschooled, she lightly guided towards a good product. Those with more discernment she pressed towards her more superior cigars. He marvelled at her natural abilities, and realised, had situations been different, she would have been a great hostess in the world of society.

When the time came to finally pay for his purchase, he handed her a pound note, taking great care to let it drop off the side of the desk unto the floor. They both stooped to retrieve it and, in the act, their hands made contact. She drew her own back quickly.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and then added in a whisper, “Miss Bennet.” Their eyes met; his challenging, hers infuriated.

“ ’Tis nothing, Lord Caldhart, I assure you,” she answered. “I thank you for your custom, Sir. Please do not let us delay you any further.”

“It is always a pleasure to do business with you Mrs. Johnson, I am sure you will see me again very soon,” he answered, determined to get in the last word.

“Your three-dozen cigars should last you quite a while, your Lordship, I am sure it should be some time before you are here again,” she countered.

“I believe you will be surprised at how fast my supply is depleted.”

“Then you should feel free to send a servant in the future with any request you might have. We have your preferences noted, and can make up any order and send it with your man. There is no need for you to come here personally.”

“On the contrary, Madam, I would never entrust a servant to do something as important choosing what I desire here. Good day.” And with that he nodded and quickly departed.

The music began, the partners lined up; the dance had finally begun.

In his room that night, Lord Caldhart sat nursing his brandy. It had been years since he had felt so alive. His body was thrumming, despite his incapacitation. Matching wits with Elizabeth Bennet was one of the most overpowering aphrodisiacs he had ever experienced in his life. What he would have given to have her in the room with him now. He felt he had never desired a woman so much before. If he could light the fire she displayed when angry and redirect it to her passion, he would be in paradise. He licked the memories of their tête-à-têtes in his mind.

He was grateful to have had the foresight to bring his walking stick with him. When their hands had met on the shop floor, he had instantly reacted to the touch. As he stood up, he deftly ground the tip of the stick into the top of his left foot. His body was then forced to attune to the pain he was experiencing, ignore the pleasure his mind was dwelling upon, and relieve his indiscreet affliction. It was only when he feared permanently crippling himself that he begrudgingly bade her farewell. He strode purposefully out the door, yet as soon as he turned the corner, winced audibly and limped back to his waiting carriage. Higgins helped him in and wisely made no mention of his master’s injury.

Now, as he thought back on the afternoon, he spied the boxes. He hobbled over to them and picked up the “unusual blend” box, placing it directly on the top of his fire. As the flames eventually engulfed it, he strove to smell the hateful odour he had detected in his short sample. Finding none, his scowling gaze then inspected the other two boxes with no small amount of prejudice. Giving up all pretence of bravery he sighed, and threw them upon the fire as well.

“Yes, my supply was depleted surprisingly fast indeed,” he told the cheery mantle clock before he was forced to avail himself of the chamber pot his butler had placed near the sofa.

“Curses, I really thought I would be able to keep at least some of the brandy down,” he thought as his stomach wrenched once more.

He felt much better the next morning. He was able to take some mild tea and toast and not see it again. The fact that she had made him ill did not perturb him in the least. She had only planned to teach him a lesson, not actually harm him (he told himself). There was a fine line between hate and love, after all. Moreover, her strong reaction to him gave him more hope than he had had in weeks. He had needed the boost of confidence, especially considering the paltry results he had achieved during the search for Miss Lydia and Wickham.

Now he regarded his board once more. She had the upper hand right now, and it did not sit well with him. He did not like the idea that she would think he was chastised and chased away. Bluffing turned out to be easier than he thought. He could do it again, but to what advantage? Thinking long and hard, he finally resolved to bring a bit of turmoil to Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s life. He decided to show her he was not dismissed. He would make sure her mind was full of him and his abilities before he left her next time. Another white pawn was moved forward.

“Time to play another card”

Higgins had left the detailed schedule by which Mrs. Johnson lived. While he was travelling, his helpers had kept a close eye on her and the shop. Lord Robert now knew her comings and goings and those of her employee, Toby. His Lordship could be assured that at least part of every day she would be without Toby, as he always took a small amount of time for an afternoon meal in the nearby park. He wished to replenish his cigar supply and have a short, private, conversation with her. Now he simply had to wait for a slow business day, when no customers would interrupt him. His wait was not long.

“Lord Caldhart. What an unexpected…. thing for you to come so soon.” She recovered her composure quickly. “Surely your cigars are not used up already?”

“Mrs. Johnson,” he said bowing deeply. “Indeed they are gone Madam; they met with a most unfortunate accident in my fireplace the very night I brought them home.” She hid the hint of a smirk.

“Then shall I prepare you another set of your three favourites, my Lord?”

“I think not, Ma‘am; I will take a dozen of my original blend instead. That will satisfy me for now.”

She regarded him for a moment and then seemed to come to some sort of decision. She stood a bit straighter and spoke defiantly. “I hope it will satisfy you, Sir, for it the only thing you may have here,” she remarked pointedly. They studied one another for several moments. Her glasses were perched far down on her nose and, in looking over them, she could stare at him unencumbered. Neither backed down. The air was tight and static

At last she spoke. “You have an excellent palate your Lordship. I commend your fine taste in foods and flowers. Now cease your attentions, Sir, they are not welcome.”

“Ah, the frank approach, I do not disapprove.”

“Are we for truths now, your Lordship? Then let me be rightly understood. I do not like you.”

He laughed. “Is that all? It matters not. I am not so horrible, Madam. I believe you would come to like me. I think you would find my mind could engage yours as well as any man. I certainly would not want you to stifle your own.”

“I have no desire to engage in anything with you, Sir.”

“Yes, but I do. Moreover, you know that. Now I shall be frank. There are two objectives to be considered here. I will want to get all that I can, while spending as little money, effort, or resources that I can. You should be trying to get as much as you can, while sacrificing as little of yourself as possible. It’s really quite simple, my dear.”

“You assume I want you, your money, or your status. You have nothing to tempt me with, your Lordship; material things mean nothing to me. We have no basis for negotiation.”

“Yes, I have seen the evidence of your lack of mercenary ways. However, I am surprised at how limited your thinking is Mrs. Johnson, I had thought you much more clever than that.”

She ignored his insult. “Limited, my Lord?”

“Yes, limited; you must think beyond material objects. Can you really think of nothing in the world that I could acquire for you? No quest I might pursue to win your affections? Think of me as a knight, if you will. I have come on my noble steed, asking of my lady if there might not be some deed I might perform and win you.”

She snorted. “If there is one thing in the world of men I have learned, it is that there is no chivalry. No one does anything for free; no act is completely virtuous. There are no knights; no one wants to save me, except those who want something from me. I refuse to pay the price, or play the game, and refuse to give myself up. I am not for sale. Now oblige me, Sir, and leave me alone!”

“There might be something I could tempt you with.”

“Nothing.”

“Even Salome did not ask for money.”

She frowned sternly at him. “Come to the point Caldhart, your games tire me, and I have better things to do with my time than play cat and mouse with you.”

“Your time- what a fortunate subject to bring up. You spend your leisure time in a most unusual way, do you not?”

She held her breath. They suddenly heard Toby coming into the back room, increasing the tension. She was afraid he would hear their conversation.

Caldhart was afraid the youth might come after him thinking he was assaulting his mistress. Standing directly in front of her, blocking the view to the workroom, he dropped his head near her ear and quickly whispered, “All those days, walking, searching, wearing yourself out, and you never can find her, can you Elizabeth? They both elude you, your uncle and Mr. Brooks too.”

He quickly exited while her mouth stood gaping. She later looked down upon her desk and saw a five-pound note lying there. She had never given him his cigars.

That night he stared at the board, willing it to speak to him; send him messages of wisdom and insight into the situation. He was desperate for a windfall, something to break this standoff. He could continue taunting Elizabeth but without real success at finding his quarry, he would never win her.

“Where are you, Wickham? How are you evading me so well? Who keeps you hidden?” he demanded.

He stared at each black piece, naming them silently in his head; Elizabeth, Wickham, Lydia, Aunt, Uncle, merchant and tradesmen pawns.

“Who are your knights, Wickham? Or are they yours, Elizabeth? Do they secretly protect you, and I know not who they are? Do they help Wickham, cleverly, overtly, and out of my sight?” He had no answer.

Then he stared at the rook. No surprises there. The plain rook; simple moves, straightforward, ordinary, common.

Common!

“Oh God,” he moaned.

And no lady, smacking his hands upon his forehead.

“Common you are, and sometimes all the way across the board sitting imperceptibly while I failed to remember you and realise what a threat you are.” He picked up the rook and moved it directly in the line of fire.

“What an idiot I am.” He reproached as he reached for his drawing pad and pens.

Three hours later Higgins strode out of his master’s library. He had to admit his Lordship had a keen eye and a deft hand; the portrait was very well done. It would be a pleasure to gaze upon the buxom blonde as he showed it around town. He folded it carefully and slowly placed it in his pocket.

“Sally,” he mused to himself.

Meet me at St. James’ Park at ten thirty. It was a simple enough request. There would be large crowds on a Saturday, no reason for her to worry about her safety. He wished to talk, unencumbered by the possibility of interruption. He reasoned if her safety were not threatened, she would agree to this meeting.

He arrived early, placing himself upon an inconspicuous bench with a fine view of the strolling visitors. He saw her first, making her way cautiously as she discreetly looked for him. She was disappointingly dressed as Mrs. Johnson. He had hoped to see her as herself. Finally, she espied him and slowly approached his bench. He made no move to rise and bow. She sat upon the far end of the large bench, refusing to look him in the face. They sat quietly for a few moments.

“Miss Bennet.”

“Lord Caldhart.”

“Thank you for meeting with me.”

“I hardly had a choice, Sir. You knew the last thing you said to me would compel me to speak with you again.”

“Astute as always, Madam.”

She had had enough. “Stop this ridiculous flattery, Lord Caldhart; I have no stomach for it. I shall be blunt; have you found them? Do you know where they are?”

“Ah, an important point of negotiation, is it not? If I answer you, I might lose my advantage in this skirmish, and that would be very foolish of me indeed. I must always be on the high ground if I wish to succeed, can you not see that?”

“This is no fencing match Sir; we are speaking of peoples lives!”

“Just as one risks their lives in a duel, there is no difference here.”

“You seek to distract me from my point, but I will not be waylaid. Do you know where my sister is?”

He considered carefully. “No, I do not.”

She was visibly angry.

“But I could. I have the means to find them. I am the one person you need to accomplish it. I alone could do it.”

“I do not believe you. You have no better methods than the ones we already employ. You have no magic spell to weave over a cauldron and magic my sister to my side. You toy with me and expect me to surrender, when the truth is there is no reason for this conversation, my Lord.”

“Ah but there you are wrong, my Dear. I am not lying. I do have something you do not have. I can employ a method you are unable to.” With that, he brought forth a leather folder bound with a strap and opened it carefully.

“This is my portfolio Miss Bennet, I have spent a good amount of time developing it. Observe the pictures I have drawn over the years. My wealth and the availability of time have been my masters and allowed me to become quite proficient, would you not say?”

She stared at the pastoral scenes his papers held; scenes of the country, perhaps his estate, and then, as he quickly flipped through the pages, he came upon his final drawings, his first trump cards. He played them expertly.

“And lastly, the one thing my hands excel at most; my ability to capture a face, even one I have seen but briefly. I can draw in great detail, and with stark reality, would you not agree?”

There before her was her own face, sometimes smiling, sometimes sad, and then the face of Mrs. Johnson at her store. Finally, he turned slowly to the last page in the his case; a scene of herself as Mrs. Johnson at her desk, and standing in front of her, with their backs tauntingly facing the viewer, were the unmistakable images of George Wickham and Sally.

“Yes Madam, I was there that day. But I had no customers to wait upon; I had all the opportunity to sit and observe the show in front of me. And, unlike you, I did see - and I remember.”

She raised her head from the drawing, staring at him wide-eyed like a child. All ability to speak seemed to have left her whilst in her state of shock. He seized the moment to attack,

“One word from you, one whisper. Just say Stop, don’t do it. Do not try to find them, and I will not persist.”

She only stared, apparently dumbfounded by his boast, his offer, and his insight into her secret wishes. He waited several moments.

“Excellent,” he whispered with a triumphant smile. He bowed his adieu and began walking away until her heard her exclaim, “Wait!”

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