Unforgiving Temper by Gail Head Page B

he replied with a smile of his
own.
    Mrs. Younge glared at the prolonged
efforts to remove the imaginary pebble. After some frustrated
minutes, she smiled slyly and addressed Elizabeth in a voice loud
enough to be heard by those close by.
    “Miss Bennet, please do hurry along. We
would not want to begin your employment with a late
arrival.”
    Elizabeth colored slightly, but still waited
another minute before standing. “Of course, Mrs. Younge. I
would not want to keep someone of importance waiting.”
    “Quite right,” sniffed her companion
triumphantly, missing the slur altogether.
    Smiling to herself, Elizabeth accepted the
hand of the footman and entered the carriage behind
Mrs. Younge. Surveying the well-appointed interior and noting
the blue and yellow crest embroidered on the cushions, she could
not help wondering exactly what sort of employer she would find at
the end of her journey.
    * * * *
    After the tortuous, rough and tumble journey
of the past few days, Elizabeth was grateful for the luxuriously
smooth ride that took them along a narrow coastal road. Their
southward course followed a rugged shore line, giving her brief
glances of the rock-strewn beaches below. Looking away from the
turbulent sea, she saw only sparsely covered hills that had been
ravaged by unrelenting winds over centuries of time and were now
pocked with gaping patches of sand and limestone.
    They travelled through the cheerless terrain
for some time before Elizabeth caught sight of a patch of green in
the distance. As they drew closer, she could see the green spread
over the hill and merge with a myriad of tree-covered hills beyond.
The grandeur of the great house that appeared to be their
destination and its surrounding park stood out in stark contrast to
the bleak landscape they had just passed through. Somberly,
Elizabeth took in every detail. There was nothing familiar, nothing
even remotely like her beloved Hertfordshire.
    The carriage soon came to a stop. With quiet
determination, she pushed aside the painful thoughts of home and
family as she emerged into the late afternoon sun to face her
unsettled future. With genuine interest she examined the
architecture looming before her and was surprised to see the form
of a man watching their arrival from a window above. He made no
gesture of acknowledgment nor did he attempt to conceal himself as
she studied his tall, dark figure.
    Looking out from the window of his study,
Robert Grissholm took another sip of wine from the glass in his
hand. He could not help a small smile at the frank examination he
had received from the woman he concluded to be Elizabeth Bennet.
Though not a classic beauty, she was handsome enough; and if her
arrival was any indication, the plan to add his own contribution to
Fitzwilliam Darcy's misery would prove to be an interesting
affair.
    It was another few minutes before Grissholm
slowly drained the remaining wine in his glass and set it aside.
With a quick shrug to adjust the cut of his coat against his broad
shoulders, he headed for the drawing room and the task that awaited
him there.
    “Good afternoon, ladies. I trust I have not
kept you long.” Looking to the older of the two women, he added,
“You are Mrs. Younge, I presume.”
    “Yes, Lord Grissholm, I am,” Younge
answered, somewhat awed by the grandeur of the house and its
imposing master.
    “I hope your journey was pleasant?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. You are so good to inquire.
Our journey was uneventful and we made good time, although the
roads were a bit rough - the post, you know - but we are happy to
have arrived safely.” Realizing from the stern expression on his
face that she was on the verge of babbling, Mrs. Younge turned
and gestured toward Elizabeth. “Your Lordship, may I introduce
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
    “Miss Bennet.” He gave a small bow in
her direction, and she made her curtsey.
    “Your Lordship. I am pleased to make your
acquaintance.”
    A shock of surprise crossed her