Free B006O3T9DG EBOK by Linda Berdoll Page B

discrete tongue, and a total want of character could earn a substantial stipend.
    For Smeads, procuring female companionship for members of the esteemed class took only the smallest adjustment to his already compromised ethics. He should have paid far greater attention to the patrons within his purlieu. There were those who would have paid him handsomely for the information.
 
    Chapter 14
    The Breeching
 
 
    The hours before their guests began to arrive for the ball were full of bustling activity and, especially for Pemberley’s mistress, rife with angst.
    Although the household was as well-prepared as any seasoned military battalion, Elizabeth was a bit out of sorts. They had not entertained so vast a number of guests for longer than she could recall. Fortunately, Mr. Howard was a master at dousing last minute fires of all sorts. One round through the ballroom and dining hall soothed her nerves. The frills and folderol were well in hand. Fresh flowers were in place and the floors gleamed as if glass. A pyramid of grapes, nectarines and peaches were excellently presented and the partridges were ready for roasting.
    Whatever the gossips might have been whispering apropos the doings of certain members of their family, when they wanted to, the Darcys knew how to present a united front.
    The only thing not quite ready for scrutiny was Mrs. Darcy herself.
    In not yet ten years of marriage, they had held many galas, soirees, and parties. Such was their position in the county, it was their duty to host all manner of events, be it religious observations or harvest fests. As Mistress of Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy saw them not only a duty, but an honour. Although her husband was not, she was sociable by nature. Upon such occasions, it was she who clasped his arm to quiet his discomfort. Their upcoming ball, however, burdened her nerves. She felt unbecoming and lacked her usual self-possession. This state of disorder was of her own making. After all, it had been her husband’s wish that the ball be delayed.
    Feeling bloated and tired, she wished that she had allowed him have his way.
    Whilst sitting at her dressing table, she could feel the bulge in her belly. She stood and turned sideways for glance in her cheval mirror. What she observed was not promising. It had been necessary for the seamstress to let her gown out another inch. Had she not, The Mistress of Pemberley might have looked as if she was lately stuffed into a sausage casing. Just returned from a last minute pressing, her gown hung on a hook next to the window. Elizabeth prayed it still fit.
    She slumped to her stool and looked glumly at her reflection. Wearing nothing but her chemise, she felt quite vulnerable. Hannah twitted about arranging her hair, but that made her even more fretful. Looking at the clock with apprehension, she knew she must prepare herself. It was a ridiculous vanity to be in low spirits. She attributed it to womanly melancholia. She was the owner of far too many blessings to be anything less than compleatly content.
    Her thoughts were overtaken by what she observed in the corner of her looking-glass. She saw Hannah duck her head deferentially and withdraw. Elizabeth’s eyes followed her maid quizzically as she scurried through the door. Only then did she spy what sent the maid on her way.
    It was Mr. Darcy.
    He was still in his shirtsleeves and wearing knee breeches. It was a rare occasion for him to be seen without his coat when others were about. If he appeared thusly, he was in want his wife—and all that implied. It was not Hannah’s to question. It was Hannah’s to beat a hasty retreat.
    Once the maid was gone, her husband’s frame filled the doorway. Beyond him, Elizabeth could hear doors opening and closing as servants scuttered from one dressing room to another with pressing cloths and hairpins. The house was full of guests and their many wants taxed maids and the corridors. Instinctively, she held a handkerchief to her bosom lest she be