Not Quite Darcy Read Online Free PDF Page A

quiet voice replied. “Thank you, Mrs. MacLaughlin.”
    The housekeeper stepped aside, allowing Eliza entrance. Upon seeing the room, she had to stifle a little squeal of joy. It was a Victorian parlor, exactly as she’d always imagined it would be. Thick draperies covered the windows. Misty scenes of the English countryside graced the walls. As a finishing touch, plushly upholstered furniture filled the room to the point of bursting.
    The only thing missing was a tall, brooding Englishman. Eliza scanned the parlor hopefully.
    The only man in the room was a disappointment. Though his features were pleasant—if anything a little too fine—he was distinctly un-Darcy-esque with his tweed suit and an unruly tumble of brown hair. His eyes were blue, but hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles. He walked toward them, stopping directly in front of Eliza.
    She felt two pairs of eyes boring into her before she realized that she was expected to curtsy. She bent both knees outward, giving her a bow-legged appearance and frantically executed what was, by her estimation, one of the more awkward curtsies in the history of manners.
    Regardless, it seemed to have passed muster, because Mrs. MacLaughlin stopped giving Eliza the stink eye. “Mr. William Brown, this is Bessie Pepper.”
    Eliza winced. She supposed she’d have to blend in with the time, but Bessie? Really? Since they were still looking at her, she bobbed another curtsy for good measure. This time she coordinated her knees so they didn’t pop out at odd angles.
    â€œAh, yes,” Mr. Brown said.
    â€œI shall just leave you then, sir.” Mrs. MacLaughlin gave Eliza a final skeptical glance before exiting the room.
    William Brown gestured toward the small settee before returning to his chair by the fire.
    â€œHave a seat, please.”
    Eliza settled herself, placing her hands primly on her lap. Interview, was it? So she wasn’t to be a debutante, introduced to the London Ton. Apparently, she was some sort of governess. A Jane Eyre kind of thing. Perhaps he was interviewing her for his brooding, widowed brother who lived on a windswept moor. A disappointment, but she could roll with it.
    She flashed Mr. Brown a broad smile, and he looked away with discomfort. Eliza bit her lip, remembering to rein herself in a bit more. Olde-tyme Englishmen were less about smiling and more about stiff upper lips. She schooled her mouth into a firm line and tried to look as severe as possible.
    â€œDo you have paperwork with you, Miss Pepper? Mr. Lancaster wrote that you would bring it with you. However, I can certainly arrange to see him regarding the matter.”
    â€œNo, I’ve got it here.” She opened her satchel and retrieved the slightly damp stack of papers. She handed them to Mr. Brown, who accepted them with a nod. He took his time, thoroughly reading each sheet before returning the tidy pile.
    â€œWell, you come most highly recommended, but I suspect you knew that.”
    She nodded, reminding her upper lip to remain immovable.
    â€œAnd born in England, yet you’ve spent the last twelve years in America?”
    â€œJust as it says in the papers, sir.” She gave herself a mental pat on the back for remembering the sir bit. She was pretty sure that governesses did a bit of sirring and ma’aming .
    â€œAnd I assume that Mr. Lancaster has filled you in on the details of your position here?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œNo? He thought you rather ideally suited to it. I understand your previous employer’s situation was very similar to my mother’s.”
    â€œSituation?”
    â€œMy mother has the consumption.” He dragged his words out and his eyes remained trained on the carpet.
    Romance novels were full of characters ill with consumption, or as they called it in the twenty-first century, tuberculosis. As she remembered, it was also fatal.
    â€œI’m sorry.” Her tone was so genuine