Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Eight

“Honestly, you two. This isn’t some idle amusement for your afternoon’s entertainment.” Lizzy sank into a chair. The sunlight

streaming through the window did little to warm the chill that seeped through her damp dress and into her bones. “I came to

you seeking genuine guidance, not jokes.”

“No one is questioning your sincerity here.” Jane’s words conveyed conviction, her tone and posture reflecting such. “And

that’s precisely why my plan holds merit.”

“I’ve already had to explain to Mr.Taylor that if anyone caught a glimpse of us while he was in a state of undress, we’d

be dragged to the altar.” Lizzy stood abruptly, rubbing her arms as she resumed her agitated pacing. The need to keep moving,

to outrun the absurdity of the situation, drove her on. “And now you want me to parade him across all of England, leaving

a trail of scandal in our wake?”

“Earlier, you said that simply changing my shirt in your presence could ruin your reputation. Think about it.” Mr.Taylor

spoke slowly. “This world... I can’t navigate it alone. It’s too foreign. And I can’t stay here, trapped. I need to find

a way back—back to my family, my life. I have too much to lose. This arrangement could help us both.”

“As fortune would have it, I’m dealing with the subject of elopement in my current book,” Jane said. “I have two characters—one a reckless younger sister, who is the definition of silly, and the other a cad who gives her a false promise of marriage. She sends a note to her family announcing she will be going to Gretna Green. When the gentleman’s true nature as a scoundrel is exposed, and they are discovered in London, the family is thrown into turmoil. However, a hasty marriage is arranged to salvage some semblance of honor from the wreckage of her disgrace.”

Lizzy dug her teeth into the soft flesh inside her cheek, struggling to hold in the sudden sharp sting of tears.

How was she on the verge of crying?

It all felt so absurd.

Marriage was crafted to ensnare a woman. Once she said “I do,” nothing in her life was hers anymore. The institution was a

relinquishment of power in exchange for an illusion of safety, a trade-off where freedom was sacrificed for the semblance

of a home and the illusion of authority in running it, while the husband remained the ultimate decision-maker. And to make

the bitter pill more palatable, it was wrapped in the sweet, pretty lie of love.

She knew this. So why was the idea of a false marriage jarring? Did she harbor some undercurrent of romantic sensibilities?

“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but it cannot have escaped anyone’s notice that Mr.Taylor does not have means. And being

a poor widow is not—”

“Forget the need for a rich man.” Georgie waved her hand dismissively. “I have the resources to provide you a substantial

dowry. This keeps you captain of your own ship.”

To have financial security and the means to pursue her own interests was tempting indeed. And yet, entering into a false union, even for practical convenience, left her unsettled.

“Enough plotting.” Georgie seemed to sense Lizzy reaching a breaking point and stood up briskly. “Before we can think of elopement,

we need to get our guest changed and have an early dinner.”

“That would be advisable.” Jane gave a delicate cough. “In his current attire, Mr.Taylor looks as though he resides under

a mushroom.”

Tuck glanced down. “I feel like an overgrown leprechaun.”

“Very well, then,” Georgie declared, striding purposefully toward the hall. “Let us investigate the contents of Edward’s wardrobe.”

The trio flanked Mr.Taylor as they went up the stairs and entered Georgie’s late husband’s bedchamber.

The walls exhibited soft hues of light blue and cream, providing a serene backdrop to the robust furniture. The central focus

was a majestic four-poster bed. The room remained free of dust, suggesting the occupant had only momentarily stepped away

rather than embarked on a permanent journey. Delicate porcelain figurines on a writing desk and a dressing table adorned with

a toiletry set, cologne, and hair tonics contributed to the room’s ambiance. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floor, infusing

warmth into the space.

“It’s as if he could enter at any moment,” Jane remarked, trailing a finger over the damask bedspread. “Poor Neddy. He was

a good man.”

“Indeed,” Georgie said as she approached the wardrobe. “Mr.Taylor, I daresay if the ghost of my ex-husband still haunts these

walls, he will be most delighted to see you in his bed.”

Jane let out a choked noise as Tuck cleared his throat.

“That’s him, Edward, or cousin Neddy,” Lizzy announced, stepping forward to touch Tuck’s arm lightly, her gaze drawn to the gilded portrait of a kindly faced man with thinning hair and a sharp chin, his expression tinged with amusement. She felt the hard muscles beneath her palm as she cleared her throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction, and gestured toward another portrait of Goliath. “He adored his dogs. Do you have any back at home?” Incredible to think somewhere he had a life, a home, a family.

“Nah, not me.” Tuck passed a hand over his jaw, the hair there faintly visible against his bronze skin. “Someday, maybe. But

my life is too busy now. I travel a lot. Or I did.”

“I see,” she murmured, though she didn’t really, but even while Jane and Georgie were occupied, ferrying armloads of Edward’s

clothes to arrange on the bed, they both strained to catch every word exchanged between them, and it made her self-conscious.

“I prefer cats. They make me sneeze, but I adore them.”

He gave a stiff nod while averting his gaze. On the surface, it seemed as if he wasn’t paying much attention, but his inward

expression hinted at a deeper focus, as if he were meticulously cataloging every word she uttered, placing “adores cats” on

a mental shelf that he’d consider at length in some later private time. It might have been foolish, but a small thrill surged

through her chest at the notion.

“I’ll call in my best manservant,” Georgie was saying. “He’s discreet, loyal to the house, and will see you dressed for dinner.

You’re welcome to anything in this room that feels useful. Lizzy? Jane? Let’s go downstairs. Dinner will be served within

the hour.”

“Will you manage all right?” Lizzy whispered as he stared at the pile of clothing with open puzzlement, as if seeing some

articles for the first time.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice, do I?” he muttered.

She wasn’t sure if he meant the clothing or everything. Despite her hollow stomach, she wished she could skip dinner and retreat

to bed. Either today would turn out to be a dream, despite all evidence to the contrary, or she would at least gather the

strength to face tomorrow and all the strange questions it would bring.

She inclined her head in what hopefully passed for sympathetic agreement and turned to follow the two older women.

She noticed Jane’s sideways looks as they advanced along the corridor.

“Oh, what is it?” She didn’t mean to sound quite so sharp.

“You like him.” Jane’s answer was perfectly bland, but an ocean of subtext lingered beneath the polite tone.

“I don’t even know him.” And that was the truth.

“Is that a requirement?” Jane’s forthrightness, though it might seem bordering on blunt, served her well. Perhaps it was because

she spoke without judgment, relying solely on her wry observations. “Nevertheless, his presence proves beneficial.”

Jane was someone who spoke the truth, with insight that could pierce through obstructions or deflections. It was why having

her here was so vital. Her cousin and her friend were honest with her in a way that made her trust herself as she never did

in London.

As they waited in the dining room, Lizzy accepted the offer of a drink, swirling the Madeira in the crystal glass like she

could read her fortune inside.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Mr. Taylor appeared, filling the doorway—and her mind. The clothing hugged his large frame, the navy wool jacket with its fitted silhouette emphasizing his stature. Beneath it, a gray herringbone waistcoat adorned a crisp white shirt topped with a loosely tied cravat. His trousers clung to his muscular thighs, further emphasized by a pair of polished Hessian boots.

The sight left her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Darling, close your mouth before you catch a fly.” Georgie beckoned to Mr.Taylor. “Right here, we’ve prepared a place setting

for you. Don’t be timid.”

Seizing the opportunity provided by Georgie’s assertiveness, Lizzy surreptitiously dabbed at her chin with a deft flick of

her wrist, checking for any sign of drool. To her relief, there was no mortifying moisture leaking from her mouth.

It wasn’t as though Mr.Taylor had been entirely without appeal in his previous appearance, be it squelching in the swamp

or navigating the woods. On the contrary, he possessed a certain charm. However, seeing him now, attired like a country gentleman,

odd haircut notwithstanding, sent a shot through her, as precise as an arrow. It was as if he were suddenly more within reach.

He sat in the chair beside her. “A man dressed me upstairs,” he murmured, leaning close. “Like I was a little child.”

Overhearing his comment, Jane responded, “It was merely a bit of guidance to ensure you get it all right.”

“I say, you look marvelous,” Georgie chimed in. “Don’t you agree, Jane?”

“The effect is tidy and refined, and no one could cast a shadow of impropriety on you.” Jane poked at the slice of beef. She

never ate enough. Georgie insisted she take some berries, bread, and butter. While they good-naturedly squabbled, Lizzy noticed

that Mr.Taylor kept fidgeting.

“Is everything all right?” she murmured, helping herself to a pasty and a little salad.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“You wish to take a bath?” she whispered. “At this precise moment?”

“No. The guy upstairs told me to go in a porcelain bucket in the corner of the room.”

“I see. You mean to relieve yourself,” Lizzy remarked, edging slightly closer. She caught his scent. Despite her writerly

ambitions, she found herself unable to conjure an adjective better than “good.” He smelled good. Such a feeble word for a

scent that was so much more than that.

She froze.

Here he was discussing chamber pots, and she was tempted to bury her nose in his neck and inhale. This was a fine form of

madness.

What she should have said was that this wasn’t a suitable conversation for a lady and a man to have anywhere, let alone at

a dining table. But she didn’t know what they had in the future—apparently not chamber pots.

“Yes, and I used it, but it’s weird. I don’t want to leave it sitting there.”

“A servant will come. It’s probably already dealt with.”

He grunted. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“You could use the privy. It’s located outside, near the stables. As much as I wish to claim curiosity about such private

matters, I’d rather not be a liar.”

The fact that she could draw laughter from him, coupled with the way his shoulders shook, as if the noise traveled through

his whole body, pleased her more than she liked to admit. She took a small, deliberate sip of wine, recognizing the need for

caution. There was something about being in this man’s space that lit her up like a candelabra. She’d barely had more than

a few mouthfuls of Madeira, so the giddiness couldn’t be attributed to that.

Blotting the side of her mouth with the cloth napkin, she caught him in a stare, his focus lingering on her lips. “Oh dear.” She brushed her fingers over them. “I don’t have food on my face, do I?” He shifted his gaze to his own plate, suddenly engrossed in chasing peas around in a shallow pool of gravy.

“These are excellent boiled potatoes. Compliments to whoever among you is the chef.”

“We didn’t cook this meal.” Jane turned toward him sharply. “Georgie can afford staff.”

She didn’t tack on the phrase “you idiot,” but it hung in the air. Something seemed to amuse her because she repeated, “Excellent

boiled potatoes” under her breath to no one in particular.

“Is the clothing to your liking, Mr.Taylor?” Georgie held court across the table. “I must say, you clean up nicely. Doesn’t

he, Jane?”

“He has a pleasant countenance,” Jane said, covering her glass when Georgie attempted to pour in more wine. “And I will not

let you coax me into another night of drinking, as we have more than enough diversions to occupy our minds. For example, if

Mr.Taylor is going to be successful, he shall require proper education. For starters, when is it acceptable for a gentleman

to rest his elbows on the dining room table?”

Tucker glanced down at his relaxed posture. “Between courses?”

“Never.” Jane’s reply hit the mark, and he jolted back in his seat. “And in which direction do you pass a dish?” she continued.

“To whoever asks politely?”

“Left to right,” she said simply.

Lizzy bristled. “You can’t expect him to—”

“He must know enough to not cause offense. Of course, being American helps. You can explain away much ignorance on that point

alone.”

“At least he unfolded his napkin on his lap.” It wasn’t until the words left her lips, hanging there over the table, that she realized she was riding to his defense. Any hope she had of feigning indifference or of projecting an attitude of resigned obligation dimmed considerably.

The knowing glance between Jane and Georgie grated on her nerves.

“Let’s review topics fit for discussion in social settings.” Jane resumed a businesslike demeanor, all efficiency and seriousness.

“The weather. Blue skies. Stormy skies. Dry spells. Fog. Discussing the weather is always safe.” The corner of her lip curled. “You may die from boredom, but better to be too dull than daring.”

“Makes sense.” He gave a slow nod. “How’s this? ‘Hey, look out the window at this masterpiece we’ve got on display today.

A perfect blend of gray and, uh, grayer. It’s like Mother Nature took her palette and went, Let’s keep it simple, but make it fashionable .’”

“There is a fine line between mockery and wit,” Jane said dryly.

“And best not to discuss the American War at all,” Georgie said. “If anyone asks, change the subject to—”

He turned to Lizzy. “What’s the American War?”

“My mother’s husband fought in it, and now he has a limp.” Lizzy wrinkled her brow, bemused. “Certainly you know. It’s when

the colonies had their rebellion.”

“Ah. The Revolutionary War.” He nodded. “Got it.”

“For the next few days, I propose that Tucker receive an education in being a gentleman of our time,” Jane mused. “We’ll all

help, and I daresay we’ll have our work cut out.”

“You talk about me like I’m a barbarian.”

“Not quite,” Jane shot back. “You’re more brawn than brute.”

“Here, here,” Georgie chimed in.

“And you’re both incorrigible,” Lizzy scolded. “Mr. Taylor... I’ll help you.”

The room went silent.

Her palms grew clammy, and she curled her fingers into her skirts, the fabric bunching beneath her grip. “I’ll help you get

home, even if it means we go to Gretna Green. This is for our mutual benefit. Your lessons will start tomorrow promptly after

breakfast. We’ll cover the broad strokes from history to current topics of interest to manners to literature.”

“On one condition,” he said.

“I don’t believe you are in a position to negotiate.”

“I’m serious. I can’t tell you much about the future, okay? I don’t want to be rude, but it’s better that way. There’s a theory

known as the butterfly effect that says that even small actions, say, a butterfly flapping its wings, could lead to a big

consequence, like causing a storm on the other side of the world. I don’t know how history and time are connected, and I really

don’t want to be responsible for messing with the future or anyone’s destiny in this room.”

“How charming.” Jane laughed. “Imagine any of us living lives that could be of lasting consequence.”

Mr.Taylor nudged Lizzy’s shoe with his boot. A signal. Careful.

“Yes.” Lizzy gave a weak grin. “Imagine that.”