in, miss,” Beck replied stubbornly.
Battle royal might have been joined between the two of them, had not Darcy chosen that moment to enter, wondering anxiously why it was taking Sarah so long to write a simple letter. Beck explained the matter with what Sarah could only view as righteous indignation beyond his station, but to her great relief, Darcy took her side of it.
“Don’t be daft, man,” he said with an oddly jollifying note in his voice. “Chit can’t write that rubbish. She’d never write anything so improper off her own bat, so don’t go making a mull of things by forcing her to say such stuff. Her uncle would be bound to suspect it had been written under duress. Here, Sarah,” he went on in a more natural tone, “I’ll tell you what to write. Let me look at what you’ve got.” He scooped up the sheet from the table and perused it rapidly. “That’s good,” he said, laying it down in front of her again. “Now, you just add this bit. Put it in your own words, but tell his lordship that, matters being what they are, you are certain he will agree you cannot marry anyone but me and that you would prefer marriage by special license to an elopement to Gretna. Use that phrase, ‘matters being what they are,’ but put the rest any way you like. We’ll let the old gentleman use his imagination. Can always hint him in the right direction if he don’t look to be getting there by himself, can’t I?” He paused, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at the valet while gesturing for Sarah to begin writing.
She didn’t like his wording much better than Beck’s, but with the two men both standing over her as they were, she simply couldn’t find the courage to protest further. Beck’s expression was even a trifle alarming. He had shrugged non-committally in response to his master’s glance, but when his gaze shifted to herself, she noted a glitter in his eyes that certainly didn’t encourage her to trust the man. Servant or no servant, he was a villainous piece of work and no mistake. He seemed to exert some sort of influence over his master, too, and she wondered how Darcy could abide having the man around him all the time. But she certainly couldn’t ask him about it now. Cheeks flushed red at the thought of how even such vague phrasing might be construed, she turned back to her task, and having written what was wanted, she added a brief apology for disappointing her aunt and uncle and signed it. She did not look up again when Darcy took the letter and patted her approvingly on the shoulder. He went out immediately, followed by Beck. Once again, the key turned in the lock.
Relieved that they had gone at last, Sarah went back to the window seat, and less than an hour had passed before she heard noises from the drive. Looking out, she saw the shabby coach draw up before the front entrance. Beck was driving. Soon Darcy appeared, hurried down the steps, and jumped up into the coach, slamming the door shut as Beck whipped up the horses.
They were gone two full days, during which time Sarah made the acquaintance of both Matty and her husband, Tom. Matty appeared a short time after Darcy’s departure bearing Sarah’s luncheon on a tray. It was the only time she saw Matty during Darcy’s absence and she was just as glad, for the woman reeked of spirits. Her gray hair was tangled, her dress was dirty, and her skin looked unhealthy. She looked a perfect slattern, Sarah thought.
She saw more of Tom, for it was he who brought her other meals, saying that Matty had declined to tramp up two flights of stairs every time Sarah had the urge to eat. Sarah kindly suggested that she would be happy to come downstairs to take her meals properly in the dining parlor, but the offer was declined, Tom explaining briefly that Beck, supposedly relaying his lordship’s orders, had threatened to murder them both if they led Sarah out of her bedchamber for any reason whatever. As though she would attempt to escape again, she
Battle royal might have been joined between the two of them, had not Darcy chosen that moment to enter, wondering anxiously why it was taking Sarah so long to write a simple letter. Beck explained the matter with what Sarah could only view as righteous indignation beyond his station, but to her great relief, Darcy took her side of it.
“Don’t be daft, man,” he said with an oddly jollifying note in his voice. “Chit can’t write that rubbish. She’d never write anything so improper off her own bat, so don’t go making a mull of things by forcing her to say such stuff. Her uncle would be bound to suspect it had been written under duress. Here, Sarah,” he went on in a more natural tone, “I’ll tell you what to write. Let me look at what you’ve got.” He scooped up the sheet from the table and perused it rapidly. “That’s good,” he said, laying it down in front of her again. “Now, you just add this bit. Put it in your own words, but tell his lordship that, matters being what they are, you are certain he will agree you cannot marry anyone but me and that you would prefer marriage by special license to an elopement to Gretna. Use that phrase, ‘matters being what they are,’ but put the rest any way you like. We’ll let the old gentleman use his imagination. Can always hint him in the right direction if he don’t look to be getting there by himself, can’t I?” He paused, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at the valet while gesturing for Sarah to begin writing.
She didn’t like his wording much better than Beck’s, but with the two men both standing over her as they were, she simply couldn’t find the courage to protest further. Beck’s expression was even a trifle alarming. He had shrugged non-committally in response to his master’s glance, but when his gaze shifted to herself, she noted a glitter in his eyes that certainly didn’t encourage her to trust the man. Servant or no servant, he was a villainous piece of work and no mistake. He seemed to exert some sort of influence over his master, too, and she wondered how Darcy could abide having the man around him all the time. But she certainly couldn’t ask him about it now. Cheeks flushed red at the thought of how even such vague phrasing might be construed, she turned back to her task, and having written what was wanted, she added a brief apology for disappointing her aunt and uncle and signed it. She did not look up again when Darcy took the letter and patted her approvingly on the shoulder. He went out immediately, followed by Beck. Once again, the key turned in the lock.
Relieved that they had gone at last, Sarah went back to the window seat, and less than an hour had passed before she heard noises from the drive. Looking out, she saw the shabby coach draw up before the front entrance. Beck was driving. Soon Darcy appeared, hurried down the steps, and jumped up into the coach, slamming the door shut as Beck whipped up the horses.
They were gone two full days, during which time Sarah made the acquaintance of both Matty and her husband, Tom. Matty appeared a short time after Darcy’s departure bearing Sarah’s luncheon on a tray. It was the only time she saw Matty during Darcy’s absence and she was just as glad, for the woman reeked of spirits. Her gray hair was tangled, her dress was dirty, and her skin looked unhealthy. She looked a perfect slattern, Sarah thought.
She saw more of Tom, for it was he who brought her other meals, saying that Matty had declined to tramp up two flights of stairs every time Sarah had the urge to eat. Sarah kindly suggested that she would be happy to come downstairs to take her meals properly in the dining parlor, but the offer was declined, Tom explaining briefly that Beck, supposedly relaying his lordship’s orders, had threatened to murder them both if they led Sarah out of her bedchamber for any reason whatever. As though she would attempt to escape again, she
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