Unleashing Mr Darcy

“Oh, relax,” Zara groaned. “What difference does it make? It’s not as if Helena will ever actually meet her. You’ll probably never see her again yourself.”

Her words, although true, were an arrow straight to his heart. He felt himself caving in beneath their weight.

He straightened. Why should he care if he ever saw Miss Scott again? There were plenty of beautiful women right here in England, none of whom made a habit of looking at him with obvious disdain in their eyes. Still, it was a struggle to clear his throat and speak with any sort of composure. “True.”

Zara laughed. “And it’s a good thing. Can you imagine if she were here? Helena would eat her alive.”

Donovan shuddered.

Eat her alive indeed.

* * *

Elizabeth’s first impression of London was that it was rather like looking at New York through rose-colored glasses. The people were far more fashionable. There wasn’t a pair of white athletic shoes in sight, and you couldn’t swing a stick without hitting someone with a fashionable Burberry scarf wound around their neck. Everything seemed cleaner, too, as if the city had recently had a good scrubbing. Then again, she was gathering her first impression of London from behind the privacy windows of a fancy black Jaguar.

The driver and his luxurious car had been the Barrows’ doing. A kind gesture, but one that made Elizabeth a tad nervous nonetheless. As she’d slid into the supple leather backseat with Bliss curled in her lap, she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she’d gotten herself into. Jenna had insisted the Barrows were rich. Elizabeth had no argument there. They’d just hired a dog nanny, for crying out loud.

Oh, God, had she lost her mind? She’d just moved halfway across the world to become a dog nanny.

Calm down. It’s only temporary. Four weeks. The duration of the investigation.

Even if things didn’t get straightened out at the Barclay School, it wasn’t as if she could move to England forever.

Could she?

Her mother had reacted with predictable horror to the news. “Elizabeth, you can’t be serious. You’re a teacher, not a babysitter. These people you’ve only just met want you to be their nanny, for goodness’ sake. And not even for children. For dogs. What are they thinking? What are you thinking? You have a perfectly good job waiting for you at Scott Bridal.”

Elizabeth had refrained from pointing out that working at the bridal shop hardly constituted a teaching position, either. There was little point in rocking the boat any more than necessary. She’d made up her mind. “I won’t just be their nanny. I’m going to show the dogs for the Barrows at the autumn shows. I helped them out at the show in New Jersey and did quite well. Better than I’ve ever done with my own dog, actually. This is my chance to see England, all expenses paid. And the timing is perfect, since I’m on hiatus from school.”

It had been almost frightening the way the words on hiatus had fallen right off her tongue. Elizabeth wasn’t about to tell her family about the accusations Grant Markham had leveled against her. With the exception of Jenna, she hadn’t breathed a word about it to another soul. In the meantime, words like hiatus and temporary layoff had a much better ring than extortion and investigation. Her mother had pressed for more information, naturally. But Elizabeth had managed to satisfy her maternal curiosity by blaming the bad economy and skyrocketing unemployment.

At least Jenna had been supportive.

“Of course you’re going,” she’d said. “This is perfect for you.”

Elizabeth had wished, not for the first time, that Jenna was accompanying her. She’d felt awful leaving her behind at Scott Bridal. “You promised to visit. Remember?”

“Of course. As soon as you get settled, I’ll be on the first plane across the pond. Don’t tell me you’re worried about being lonely? Bliss is going with you. And the Barrows seem like sweethearts.” Then Jenna’s eyes had sparkled with mischief. “Hey, I just thought of something. You know someone else over there. Besides the Barrows, I mean.”

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth had asked, but she’d had the uneasy feeling she knew precisely who Jenna meant.

“That hot judge from the dog show. What was his name again? Daniel?”

“Darcy,” Elizabeth had corrected, hating the way her stomach had flipped when she’d said his name.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Daniel?” Jenna had sounded wistful.

“You seriously need to get over your Daniel Craig fixation. I’m sure. It’s Darcy. Donovan Darcy.”

“Well, there you go. Donovan Darcy. Someone to keep you company in jolly old England.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elizabeth had protested, but her cheeks had grown warm all the same.

“Why is it ridiculous? I think it sounds marvelous. He’s gorgeous. And remember his accent? Oh, my God.”

Elizabeth had remembered his accent. All too well.

“Have you forgotten the woman he was with? The one who looked half my age?” Zara of the smooth forehead and designer shoes. “Besides, I’ll never run into him over there. He doesn’t even live in London. He lives in the country somewhere on a giant estate. At least that’s what Sue told me. It even has a name. Can you imagine?”

“A house with a name? Donovan Darcy is sounding better by the minute,” Jenna had teased.

Elizabeth had laughed along, but not once had she mentioned her chance meeting with Mr. Darcy on the street in Manhattan. She’d told herself it was because Jenna didn’t need any more ammunition, but she wasn’t altogether sure that was the whole truth.

In the backseat of the fancy Jaguar, guilt pricked her conscience. She rarely kept secrets from Jenna.

Quit overthinking things. It’s not a secret. It was nothing. Just a coincidence. It didn’t mean anything.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

She fixed her gaze on the scenery out the window and wondered how soon she’d arrive at the Barrows’ townhome in South Kensington. She couldn’t help but notice the neighborhoods had grown exponentially more exclusive the farther the car carried her away from Heathrow.

Sue and Alan had seemed so down-to-earth and genuine at the show in New Jersey. Nothing at all like the proper, stuffy Mr. Darcy. Bowing to her and all. He might be attractive enough to make her weak in the knees, but he was more than a little intimidating.

“Here we are,” the driver called out as he maneuvered the elegant car onto a charming street called Sumner Place.

Elizabeth experienced a moment of relief at the sight of the graceful white row houses, with their low black wrought-iron fencing and meticulously shaped topiaries. Somehow the neighborhood managed to look both affluent and welcoming at the same time. At one end of the street was a quaint stone church with a steeple rising high up to the sky, and at the other, a cupcake bakery with lace curtains fluttering in the windows.

Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze. “We’re going to love it here. I can tell already.”

The driver pulled alongside the curb—the one on the left-hand side of the street, Elizabeth noted—and opened the door for her.

“Elizabeth, you made it, dear.” Sue appeared on the porch and held her arms open wide, putting to rest any stereotypes about the British being reserved.

Elizabeth grinned and led Bliss up the three small steps to the porch. She stepped into Sue’s embrace and was somewhat surprised when a lump lodged in her throat. She supposed it wasn’t until she was standing on British soil, wrapped in a pair of maternal arms, that the full impact of what the Barrows had done for her really hit her full force. In their eyes it might have been a job, but to Elizabeth it felt more like a lifeline.

“Let’s get you inside. Alan’s at work, of course. I’ll show you and Bliss to your room, and then I’ll get you reacquainted with the girls.” Sue’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her “girls,” the pack of Border terriers that would be Elizabeth’s charges.

“That sounds wonderful.” She turned, prepared to go back to the car for her luggage, but the driver had already carried both her big bags in. They sat at the foot of the very narrow staircase, just inside the door.

Sue pressed a few colorful bills into his hand, and he was off. The Jaguar barely made a sound as it pulled away from the curb.

“Thank you for sending the car, by the way. You’re spoiling me. I could have taken a cab.” Elizabeth gathered Bliss into her arms and followed Sue across the threshold. The foyer of the row house was painted with bold black and white stripes. An umbrella stand filled with cherry-red umbrellas stood next to a shiny full-length mirror. Bliss caught a glimpse of her reflection and growled.

Elizabeth could tell at once that the house suited the Barrows. It was casually elegant and welcoming, just like Sue and Alan. She was ashamed of herself for worrying that she would feel uncomfortable here.

“Just leave the bags there. We’ll get to those later. I’m anxious for you to see your room. We’ve just had it redone. I’m afraid it’s on the second floor. That’s the downside.” Sue began climbing the slender staircase.

Elizabeth followed. Bliss planted her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder and kept her eyes trained on her reflection until it was out of view. “We’re accustomed to stairs. My apartment in New York is on the fourth floor.”

Was on the fourth floor. She had to keep reminding herself that she was no longer a New Yorker. All of her things were currently stashed away in a storage unit in Queens. Even with a temporary job, she couldn’t afford to pay rent on a Manhattan apartment when she wasn’t even there.

Perhaps she could call herself a Londoner for the time being. That had an awfully nice ring to it.

The climb was longer than she expected, but still not as strenuous as the trek up to her New York apartment. Sue explained that in Europe, what Americans referred to as the first floor was called the ground floor. What Elizabeth knew as the second floor was subsequently the first floor in England, and so on. So her bedroom was situated on the top floor of the home, up three flights of stairs.

Sue led her through a set of white double doors at the top of the staircase.

“What do you think?” Sue waved her hand with a little flourish. “I do hope you like blue.”

Elizabeth was at a loss for words. It was the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever laid eyes on. The walls were covered in pale blue toile wallpaper that featured scenes of French women in ball gowns and large powdered wigs. Tiny dogs danced around their feet. The duvet cover on the four-poster bed was fashioned from matching fabric, as were a pile of overstuffed throw pillows.

Elizabeth ran her fingertips along the smooth white wood of one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Oh, Sue. This can’t possibly be your guest room. It’s gorgeous.”

“It is most definitely the guest room. I could never convince Alan to sleep anywhere so girlie. Or froufrou, as he calls it.” She shrugged.

Elizabeth shook her head, struggling to take it all in. “This room is fit for a princess. Not a dog nanny.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s the use of having such a pretty room if no one’s enjoying it?” Sue grinned. “So, you like it, then?”

“Are you kidding? I love it.” Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze and released her to explore their new home. Much to Sue’s delight, she shuffled straight to a sweet little dog bed with a toile cushion that matched the duvet cover. “Correction—we love it.”

Elizabeth gave Bliss a little pat and noticed the large window on the far wall, framed with a generously proportioned window seat. More throw pillows, toile and pale blue crushed velvet, made the bench a cozy-looking refuge. She felt drawn to the area at once, captivated by the view of Sue’s charming neighborhood.

“This is fantastic. Look, I can see everything from up here.”

“Yes, it’s an excellent spot for spying on the neighbors.” Sue clapped her hands. “Success, then. I want you to feel at home here. There’s a tiny kitchenette at the end of the hall, right next to the water closet.”

“Water closet?” Elizabeth turned away from the window and searched Sue’s face for a clue. All she saw was a hint of amusement.

“The powder room, dear.” She laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll make a Brit of you before you know it.”

Elizabeth had known she coddled Bliss, but she hadn’t realized to what extent until she’d been introduced once again to Sue’s Border terriers. They were the most perfectly trained dogs she’d ever seen. It was remarkable. They moved in flawless unison. If Elizabeth told one of them to sit, they all planted their rumps on the ground at the same exact moment. A down command elicited a similar uniform response. After only an hour of looking after them, Elizabeth had begun thinking of them not as a pack of dogs but rather a military unit. A scruffy, wirehaired infantry.

The jet lag hit Elizabeth full force, and by nine o’clock she could barely keep her eyes open. She slipped into her nightgown and situated herself on the window seat. As she gazed out at the darkened London street and reflected on her first day in the Barrows’ household, Elizabeth wondered why they’d hired her. Other than to help out at the shows, of course.

Those dogs—Violet, Hyacinth, Daisy and Rose—could run the house themselves. They hardly needed a nanny. Although she supposed they were smart enough to get in serious trouble if left to their own devices. They had a television in their room. Or the telly, as Sue had called it. When the house was empty, Sue left it on to keep them company. Elizabeth wouldn’t have been surprised if the Border terriers tuned in to the home-shopping channel, dialed the phone with their little paws and ran up thousands of dollars in credit-card bills for crazy things like the ShamWow or a blanket with sleeves. That was the kind of intelligence they possessed. These were not normal dogs she was dealing with.

Bliss danced around on her hind legs, peeking over the edge of the seat until Elizabeth scooped her up. Not that the Cavalier wasn’t fully capable of jumping up there on her own. She was spoiled, plain and simple.

“Yep, you’re spoiled,” Elizabeth murmured as she surrendered and ran her fingers over the Cavalier’s silky chestnut ears. “But I love you just the way you are.”

Bliss let out a little snuffling sound and wedged her way between one of Elizabeth’s legs and the neat row of velvet pillows. Behind her, the window glowed with the soft yellow light of the streetlamps that lined the sidewalk below. Elizabeth smiled at the bright red telephone booth she could make out, even in the dark, right next to the cupcake bakery on the corner.

London was charming.

Elizabeth had been in the country for all of fifteen hours, and she was smitten with the place. The street was quiet now. The cupcake bakery’s windows were darkened. Some of the quaint row houses had lights on, but only in one or two windows. Even the church down the street had stopped ringing its bells every hour, on the hour. South Kensington was packing it in for the night.

But as Elizabeth scooped all sixteen pounds of Bliss’s dead weight into her arms, ready to head for bed, she spotted something out the window that gave her pause.

Another Cavalier!

She planted Bliss back among the pillows and leaned toward the windowpane for a closer look.

Her bedroom was three floors up, but she could spot a fluffy, wagging Cavalier tail from any distance. The dog prancing around on the threshold of the house across the street was most definitely a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. She squinted and tried to make out the dog’s owner.

It was a man. But from so high up, and in the dark, she couldn’t tell much else. He appeared to be wearing jeans and a sweater, but there was something about the way he moved that carried an air of formality.

They meandered down the street and, once they’d reached the church, turned back toward home. The man kept a watchful eye on his Cavalier until they’d made it about halfway down the block. Then he suddenly turned his face toward her window.

Elizabeth couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, or his features, for that matter. But her face flushed with heat as she watched him watching her. He stood on the sidewalk with moonlight caressing his broad shoulders for a long while. Longer than seemed appropriate. Not that anything about spying on the neighbors was necessarily appropriate.

Elizabeth knew she should back away from the window and head for bed. She couldn’t seem to make herself do it. For some inexplicable reason, she felt drawn toward the pair outside. She told herself it was because of the dog, of course. Another Cavalier. Why wouldn’t she be curious? But the way her heart pounded told her there was a bit more to it than that.

He waved. It was just a slight movement of his free hand, but the stir it caused inside Elizabeth was sizable. She returned the gesture.

The man tilted his head, as though studying her. She was struck with the sudden worry that he could see her face. Could he tell who she was?

Surely not.

What did it matter, anyway? She didn’t know a soul here, besides the Barrows. She was anonymous. Invisible.

She swallowed, but a flutter rose up from her belly and settled in her chest. Sitting there, in silent communion with this stranger on a London street, she didn’t feel invisible at all. In fact, she felt anything but. She felt alive.

Disappointment tugged at her consciousness when he looked back down at his dog. They headed toward home. Elizabeth kept watching as he opened the door and the pair slipped inside.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured to Bliss. “Time for bed.”

She crawled under the covers of the impressive four-poster bed, with Bliss curled by her side. Even though she’d traveled clear across the Atlantic Ocean that day and was exhausted beyond comprehension, Elizabeth lay awake for quite a while before she fell asleep. She tingled all over, from head to toe.

At last her eyes fluttered shut. And for the first time in a week, she wasn’t awakened by nightmares of Grant Markham.

6

Donovan stared into his tea and wondered if there was enough caffeine in the world to get him going the next morning.

“Lawrence, I won’t be going to work today,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir.” Lawrence just stood there, gaping at him in stunned silence until he vanished back down the hall.

Donovan never missed work. Not that “work” was an actual location. It was more of a metaphorical place. At Chadwicke, he conducted business in the library, surrounded by books that had been on the shelves for generations but were hardly ever touched. Sometimes he stared at the spine of the first-edition Dickens as he listened to Aunt Constance ramble on and on about some minute detail of the family trust while silently wishing he could tune her out and flip through its pages instead.

In London, he worked from the drawing room. But the only thing in the pale green room that interested him now was the whelping pen and its contents—Figgy’s tiny, wriggling pups.

He decided to give in and spend the day looking after his dogs. He wouldn’t be of any use to the Darcy Family Trust today anyhow. After his sleepless night, he’d probably give away half the family fortune without even realizing what he’d done.

And what was more, he couldn’t have cared less. How could anyone expect him to get any sleep after what he’d seen? That vision, for lack of a better term.

He’d taken Finneus out for a final walk up and down the block when he’d looked up and spotted her.

It wasn’t really Elizabeth Scott, of course. He still possessed enough sanity to know he’d only been imagining things. Or the dim light had been playing tricks on him. Whichever, it didn’t really matter. He’d seen her again, if only in his imagination. And she was as lovely as ever.

He’d debated leaving for Chadwicke in an attempt to get his wits about him. He couldn’t go on like this forever. His behavior was beginning to worry him, to some extent.

Why her? Of all the women in the world, why was he so preoccupied with thoughts of Elizabeth Scott? She may have had a naturally beautiful, captivating quality about her, but that sharp tongue of hers was less than wholesome. In the improbable event he ever did see her again, she’d be more likely to use that sensual mouth to hurl a string of insults at him than what he had in mind.

That prospect brought with it a surge of arousal that confounded him even further. What he needed was rest. Some relaxation, time with the dogs, a good night’s sleep. Then he’d be good as new.

He nodded to no one but himself. Donovan Darcy was going to skive off, and he intended to do a right good job of it.

He took a final spot of tea, pushed himself out of his leather chair and stepped over the wire walls of Figgy’s whelping pen. She scrambled into his lap when he sank down cross-legged on the floor, leaving her pups confused and searching for their mum as best they could with their eyes not yet open. They stood on wobbly legs, stumbling here and there until they began mewing like kittens.

“Your babies are looking for you,” Donovan whispered in Figgy’s ear.

Her eyes grew wide, even wider than usual, which was significant considering Cavaliers had such big, round eyes to begin with. Her furry brow creased with worry as she eyed her pups.

“Go tend to them. I’ll be here all day.” He picked her up and set her back down on the fresh, clean bed in the center of the pen.

She kept her gaze fixed on him as all the puppies, save one, found their way back to her. The wayward pup squealed her displeasure as she nudged her little pink nose against the bumper of the dog bed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you a hand, love.” With great care, Donovan plucked the puppy off the ground and gathered her into his palms.

He turned her so she faced him. Her muzzle and nose were bald and pink as bubble gum. It would take a week or so for her nose to begin the transition to black. She had a perfectly proportioned white blaze down the center of her face, framed on either side by rich chestnut. Best of all, she had a much-coveted Blenheim spot square in the center of her little head. Donovan ran his thumb gently over the spot and, as he did so, noticed something unusual.

He narrowed his gaze at the pup’s face and turned her toward the light, just to be sure. “Well, would you look at that?”

Beneath her right eye, halfway to her nose, there they were...a tiny cluster of peach-colored specks. He wiped at them to make sure they wouldn’t disappear. They didn’t, naturally.

“Would you look at that?” Donovan repeated and laughed in wonder. “I’ve bred a puppy with freckles.”

It was a rarity, both in his breeding lines as well as in puppies of such a young age. That he could see the spots at all when she was only a few days old guaranteed they would be most visible later on.

Oh, the irony.

If this had happened weeks ago, he would have made arrangements to place the puppy in a pet home as soon as she was old enough to leave her mum. Chadwicke Cavaliers were in high demand, whether pet or show quality. Donovan had a waiting list of pet homes as long as his arm.

Things were somehow different now. He couldn’t say why, but this was the puppy he would keep even though the rest of them were picture-perfect. All he saw when he looked at those faint hints of freckles were Miss Scott and the little dog she loved so much. For some nonsensical reason, Donovan wanted to hold on to that memory. What was it he had compared her complexion to?

A pastry dusted with sugar and spice.

A dessert.

He brought the pup closer and tucked her against his cheek. “I think I’ll call you Pudding.”

Pudding squirmed against his face, her coat soft as down feathers. Donovan set her back down beside her mum, and the worry lines on Figgy’s brow instantly smoothed away.

Donovan took in a deep breath as he watched the dogs. He felt better already. He climbed out of the whelping pen and went off in search of Finneus. A walk was in order.