Page 99 of The Briar Bargain
Harrison began carefully retrieving scattered studs and reorganising the displaced bottles of cologne. He had learned through experience that leaving even the smallest item out of place would result in disaster, a lesson learned when Master Charles had once discovered an unattended pomade pot and decided to "improve" the nursery wallpaper.
"I seem to recall," Mrs. Darcy continued, her tone deceptively innocent, "that when we were first wed and Harrison began his efforts to lift your cravat to prominence, you attempted to dismiss him."
Mr. Darcy's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That is a gross exaggeration, Elizabeth."
"Is it?" She tilted her head, eyes dancing with mischief. "Harrison, pray tell us how many times my husband attempted to send you away in those first months?"
Harrison paused in his careful arrangement of cravat pins, weighing his loyalty to his employer against his affection for the lady of the house. Mrs. Darcy had a way of drawing confessions from stone statues, and Harrison was considerably less stalwart than marble.
"Well, madam," he said carefully, "I believe therewereseveral suggestions that my services might be better suited to a gentleman with more appreciation for the finer points of the cravat."
"Three times," Mrs. Darcy announced gleefully as her husband frowned. "I counted. Poor Harrison, you were packed and unpacked more frequently than we change the drawing room flowers."
"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, his voice carrying a warning that might have intimidated anyone who had not spent years perfecting the art of teasing him. "You are enjoying this far too much."
"Am I?" she asked, moving closer to her husband and reaching up to adjust his perfectly arranged cravat with unnecessary precision. "I think I am enjoying it precisely the right amount. After all, look what Harrison has accomplished. You are positively gleaming."
Harrison caught the inflection Mrs. Darcy placed on that last word and busied himself with examining the carpet for any overlooked pearl studs. The lady had a talent for making the most innocuous observations to her husband sound rather less than innocent.
"I gleam because you will have me gleam," Mr. Darcy replied, though when Harrison peeked up at him, there was softening around his master’s eyes. "Harrison merely facilitates your tyranny."
"Tyranny!" Mrs. Darcy laughed gaily. "And here I thought I was being a devoted wife."
"Devoted," Mr. Darcy repeated. "Is that what we are calling it?"
Harrison cleared his throat delicately. "Perhaps, sir, madam, you might continue this discussion in a location where there are fewer . . . breakable items within reach?"
Both Darcys turned to look at him with matching expressions of surprise that would fool no one, least of all a man who had spent more than a decade observing their particular brand of marital warfare.
"Whatever do you mean, Harrison?" Mrs. Darcy asked sweetly. "We are having a perfectly civilised conversation about fashion."
"Indeed," Mr. Darcy agreed gravely. "Instigated by your insatiable need for fame, I might add."
Harrison surveyed the dressing room, every item now in its proper place, and permitted himself a small smile while looking at no one in particular. It was not fame he sought, but excellence, and Mr. Darcy knew it. "Of course, sir, madam. My mistake entirely."
He made his way to the door, as he had learned to recognise when retreat was the wisest course. Behind him, he could hear Mrs. Darcy's voice, lower now and tinged with a heat that suggested the conversation was veering into territory that no valet, however dedicated, should witness.
"You know, Mr. Darcy," she was saying, her fingers still toying with her husband’s cravat, "I do believe Harrison has made you quite irresistible this morning."
"Irresistible to whom?" came Mr. Darcy's dry reply.
"Oh, to everyone, naturally. Your cousins will be jealous. The colonel will once again bemoan that he ever sent Harrison to you, and Lady Poinsby will positively swoon when she sees this cravat."
"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, and Harrison caught the warning mixed with amusement in his voice, "you are being deliberately provoking."
"Am I? I merely wish to ensure you understand the full scope of Harrison's achievement. Why, I daresay every unmarried lady in London will be casting longing glances in your direction."
Harrison paused at the threshold, unable to suppress a slight smile as Mr. Darcy's response came, swift and decisive. "Then they shall be sadly disappointed, as I am quite thoroughly spoken for."
"Are you indeed?" Mrs. Darcy inquired with mock surprise. "By whom, pray tell?"
Harrison stepped firmly into the passage and closed the door behind him before he could hear Mr. Darcy's response, though he suspected it would be delivered in a manner that had little to do with words.
He had barely taken three steps when he encountered Miss Hartwell, the children's governess, who was hurrying down the hall with a distinctly harried expression and what appeared to be grass stains on her usually pristine apron.
"Good morning, Miss Hartwell," Harrison said, offering a slight bow. "I trust the young masters and Miss Anne are not causing you undue distress?"
Miss Hartwell paused, pushing a stray lock of brown hair back under her cap. She was a sensible woman of perhaps thirty years, possessed of infinite patience and the reflexes of a cavalry officer, both essential qualifications for managing the Darcy offspring.
