Elizabeth worked steadily through the morning, often with Mrs. Reynolds at her side, hardly noticing as the hours flew past. She was determined to learn the requirements of her new role and to do so quickly.
She almost could not believe that she was where she was, seated just outside the office of one of the most successful businessmen in the city, stepping into a role that was only slowly beginning to admit women into its ranks.
Time for amazement at your good fortune later, she thought to herself, suppressing the urge to glance towards the closed door of her new boss' office. He had been closeted in there all morning and she knew, from glancing at his diary, that the time was dedicated to something notated as "Focus Time." From Mrs. Reynolds, Elizabeth had learned that Mr. Darcy viewed the first hours of his workweek as something almost sacred.
"I've always thought he must spend the entire weekend thinking about all he wishes to accomplish in the coming week," the older lady had confided, her words holding a slight note of fond disapproval. "So, the first part of his week is always dedicated to time without interruptions, and it seems he is often working to more fully capture an idea he may have been germinating at home. You may often be called in to take dictation during these hours, so it is important that you try to keep within easy call as much as possible."
And so it went, with Mrs. Reynolds sharing details about Mr. Darcy's preferences and giving glimmers of insight into what would be expected of Elizabeth. While Mrs. Reynolds had served in a sort of unofficial capacity as a backup secretary for many years, she was more truly a receptionist and was responsible for directing the flows of communication and office traffic. From what Elizabeth had seen, she was well-suited to this role, for she was warm and kind with an impartial mothering air, but she also brooked no nonsense and was able to inject a note of steel into her voice while remaining all that was polite.
During the whole of the morning, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy only twice: once when he had arrived and once when he briefly stepped out of his office to walk in the direction of the employee break room. He returned with a mug of something that was gently steaming, smiled politely to acknowledge her, but was quickly back in his office without pausing for any chat.
It was at that juncture that Elizabeth stood for the first time, walking towards the open doorway between her desk so she could speak to Mrs. Reynolds without raising her voice, but still be on hand should Mr. Darcy make a sudden reappearance.
Mrs. Reynolds was bent over a ledger of some kind, writing an entry out in neat penmanship, but was evidently attuned to her surroundings well enough that she glanced up immediately when Elizabeth came into range of her peripheral vision. "Do you have a question?" the older woman inquired, kindly.
"I've just realized that I don't seem to have any notes on how Mr. Darcy prefers his tea or coffee," Elizabeth admitted. "Do you happen to know?"
Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "I do, and I am happy to tell you that he generally prefers strong, black coffee with just a small amount of sugar. If he is drinking tea, he will take an herbal or green tea without any additions. I didn't think to cover that earlier, though, as he generally will serve himself. I do apologize, however, as it is information you may need to know if he is ever in a long meeting and he and his guest ask for anything."
Nodding, Elizabeth added the information to the notepad she was carrying with her, using the action to hide some of the surprise she felt must be showing on her face. While her training course had covered skills such as shorthand and typing, it had also spent what felt like an inordinate amount of time on topics such as fetching or preparing beverages and how to read a diary properly to avoid creating scheduling conflicts. The tasks that were more menial or even obvious had been the ones that Elizabeth had guessed would be taking up the majority of her days, but it seemed that Mr. Darcy was at least somewhat self-sufficient and didn't require a toady to fetch and carry drinks.
Looking up from her notepad, Elizabeth thanked Mrs. Reynolds for the information and almost made to return to her desk but hesitated briefly.
Mrs. Reynolds saw the arrested movement and grinned. "Oh, I think you'll find that our Mr. Darcy will have a greater need for your other skills. Mr. Owens, who was here before you, was also surprised to learn how little he was required to do such tasks. He'll likely inform you himself, but Mr. Darcy has great respect for how someone in your position can ease the burdens of documentation and keeping things on track!"
"I see," Elizabeth replied, feeling suddenly even more cheerful. While she had no particular animus for performing more menial tasks, it did seem rather as though those activities would pall very quickly. But she enjoyed being organized and feeling useful, more like a contributor who filled a special need as opposed to an interchangeable part who could supply a basic function. "Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I'll just keep working on those notes you gave me this morning until he should need something else."
"Which he likely will this afternoon, after lunch," the older lady advised. "I'll try to pop in around then in case I am needed to help locate anything."
"Wonderful, thank you again," Elizabeth beamed at Mrs. Reynolds before turning to return to her desk where she promptly buried herself in typing up a backlog of notes that had been piling up since the prior secretary had moved on to another opportunity.
She was thus agreeably engaged when the door to Mr. Darcy's office opened for only the second time and the man himself emerged, looking around in interested anticipation. "Ah, Miss Bennet," he greeted her, "I see you have not yet left for your lunch. How are you getting on so far?"
The greeting and the question were both perfectly innocuous, but Elizabeth found herself keeping a small frown from actually forming on her lips. Was it her imagination, or was there something about Mr. Darcy's attitude which seemed almost surprised to have found her there? Dismissing the odd notion - for why should he be surprised at her presence? - Elizabeth produced a polite smile.
"Thank you, yes, I am just finishing up some typing and I believe I am becoming familiar with at least the basics of your filing system. I had planned on heading out for my lunch when you did, just to ensure I don't miss anything important."
He smiled down at her. "The filing system isn't mine, actually," he corrected. "So please feel free to arrange things in whatever manner suits you best. I will rely on you to be able to retrieve anything I might need, so it's important that the organizational standard be one you feel comfortable with."
She nodded her understanding. "Thank you," she responded again, feeling oddly overly formal. "I will give that some thought as I settle in."
"Perfect."
For a moment, it seemed as though he were on the point of leaving, but then he hesitated, seeming almost to be about to speak again. Then, just as he seemed to do in the morning when he had arrived and had met her for the first time, he appeared to collect himself. "Right, well, I'll be headed out for my own lunch. Perhaps this afternoon we can get together for several minutes, and I can give you a bit more of the lay of the land, always assuming that the inestimable Mrs. Reynolds hasn't already done so."
He raised his voice slightly on the last part and a moment later, Mrs. Reynolds was there, smiling at him fondly but shaking her head as though to gently scold him. "Such foolishness!" she exclaimed, not breaking stride but talking over her shoulder as she moved down the hallway towards the break room. "The front doors are locked, so I'll just be seeing to my own lunch. Don't forget your keys if you go out."
And with that admonishment, she was gone, leaving Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to smile after her.
Their eyes met and for some reason that Elizabeth could not define, a quiet awkwardness settled over them. He seemed to feel it too, for he glanced away quickly, cleared his throat and muttered, "Right," to no one in particular.
"Enjoy your lunch," Elizabeth offered, feeling as though he somehow needed to be released. "I'll plan on meeting with you around two o'clock, if that suits. You have an opening in your diary."
"Perfect," he said again, seeming relieved. "Enjoy your lunch as well."
And with that, he was gone, leaving a bemused Elizabeth to finish working through the note she had just been about to finish before she stood to collect her own things and leave the confines of the office to step out into the beautifully sunny afternoon.
On her way into the office this morning, she had scouted the nearby shops for a likely place to obtain a quick lunch, deciding that on her first day in a new job she would prefer to splurge a little and to not have the added stress of trying to pack a lunch when she was unsure of what amenities might be included in the employee break room.
There had been a cute little cafe on the corner nearby - Elizabeth had particularly noted the outdoor dining option available on a charming patio area. On a day like today, it almost seemed to be a sin to be indoors, so she walked in that direction, hoping that the menu would be agreeable both in terms of options and budget.
As she approached, she could not help but look in the direction of the patio again, hoping it wouldn't be too crowded. It was rather full, but with an hour for lunch, Elizabeth was determined to enjoy it if she could. Tall trees threw dappled shade over the flagstones and the perimeter of the space was filled with a variety of plants from ornamental grasses to vines with heady blooms in every color imaginable. A smallish fountain burbled to itself in the center of the space, its conversational tones intermingling with those of the diners around it.
Heading into the cafe, Elizabeth presented herself to the hostess on duty, asking for a table for one and on the patio if possible.
"I can get you seated inside immediately," the hostess responded, looking down at her seating chart. "But if you would prefer to be outside it may be a ten to fifteen minute wait."
Rapidly calculating how much time she had left before she would need to be back in the office, Elizabeth frowned slightly in disappointment. "I suppose it will have to be indoors then," she responded.
The hostess nodded and made a mark on her chart before gathering up a menu and inviting Elizabeth to follow her. As though either wishing to make up for Elizabeth not being able to secure a seat on the patio or to call attention to what she was missing out on, the hostess led Elizabeth to a table situated next to the doors leading out to the patio itself. A large window gave a view out to the space.
"Will this suit?" the hostess inquired.
Nodding, Elizabeth smiled and thanked the woman before settling herself into a chair to face towards the window and the view. "Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess advised and then was off.
Repressing a small sigh, Elizabeth turned her attention to the menu, delighted to find that the price range was slightly high but still within her budget and the variety of dishes - although not overwhelmingly large - was excellent and seemed to revolve around a theme of fresh produce. She quickly became engrossed in reading through the descriptions, wondering first how she could possibly narrow it down to a single choice, and then remembering that this would be only her first visit and, given the nearness of the cafe to her workplace, she would doubtless be able to return often enough to satisfy herself on trying every dish that appealed.
After a few moments, she sensed a presence approaching her table and, assuming it to be the waiter, glanced in that direction, feeling her mouth go inexplicably dry as she realized it was not a member of the wait staff but was, instead, Mr. Darcy.
"Miss Bennet," he greeted her, smiling in a way that conveyed surprise and pleasure. "Had I realized we would be heading in the same direction, I should have waited for you."
It was a polite thing to say, and Elizabeth found herself smiling back up at him, her head tilted far back in order to meet his gaze. He was so very tall and, in the confines of the restaurant, standing much closer than he had at the office. "I thought I would treat myself on my first day," she admitted.
"Do you -" he started to ask, hesitated briefly, and then began anew. "That is, I am meeting a friend here for lunch and you are certainly under no obligation to say yes, but he is running late and the table I have is large enough to accommodate all three of us. Would you care at all to join us?"
"Oh!" Surprised by the offer, Elizabeth hesitated, fumbling for words. "That's very kind! I wouldn't want to intrude on your lunch with your friend."
"It wouldn't be an intrusion, I assure you. Charles - Charles Bingley is my friend's name. He loves nothing so much as meeting new people." A smile played briefly in the corners of his mouth, as though he were anticipating some new delight. "And knowing him as I do, he will arrive too late for me to be able to spend even the majority of the hour with him. So, when I saw you sitting here, I thought perhaps it might be nice to spend a little time getting to know you in a less formal setting than the office." Again, a moment of hesitation. "But I would not want for you to feel pressured in any way, despite that it may seem right now as though I am pressuring you. I only wish to convey that your presence would not in any way be an imposition."
The offer was indeed so kindly made and while Elizabeth rather sensed that he did wish very much for her to join him, he also seemed perfectly sincere that he did not wish to make her feel obligated to join him. Still, the decision was not an easy one.
If Elizabeth were being honest, she desperately wanted to take Mr. Darcy up on his offer. He seemed very kind and interesting so far, but she also felt an interest in him simply because of his physical beauty. The very thought of sharing a table with him, of having anyone look at them and think they might be together as a couple, gave her an unmistakable frisson of delight.
Of course, he was her boss and therefore, there was no possible way that Elizabeth could entertain such fancies. She must remain professional with Mr. Darcy, no matter how appealing he was to her basic feminine sensibilities.
Mentally giving herself a shake, Elizabeth decided on the spur of a moment that she would accept his invitation. After all, at some point there would be the buffer of this third person at the table and she must do something to get past the attraction she felt. Perhaps he would be rude to the wait staff or commit some other social faux pas that would allow her to see him more objectively. Perhaps he would be a dull conversationalist.
"If you're certain," she responded, still not fully sure of her decision.
At her tentative acceptance, Mr. Darcy's polite smile broke into a full grin. "Oh, but I am," he assured her, holding out a hand towards her in order to assist her to her feet.
She accepted almost without thought and at once felt an indefinable something ricochet through her bones before coming to rest somewhere low in her belly. Wondering just what on earth she had gotten herself into, she swallowed hard, once, and then followed Mr. Darcy out of the door and onto the patio, pausing only briefly when he flagged down a waiter and informed the man that Elizabeth's table indoors had been given up.
As discombobulated as she was by her reaction to Mr. Darcy's touch, it wasn't until they were seated at Mr. Darcy's table and Elizabeth was looking around at her surroundings in an effort to keep from meeting her boss' grey eyes, that she realized she had inadvertently achieved her earlier aim of being seated on the patio.
"This is so lovely," she enthused, beaming across the table, her confusion not at all forgotten but able to be suppressed in the moment. "Do you come here often?"
Mr. Darcy's answering smile held a touch of chagrin. "More often than I really ought to, considering my staff at home are more than willing, not to mention capable, of making me a lunch to bring along. But there is something very appealing about getting away from the office, or so I justify it."
Elizabeth felt her eyebrows flicker up in astonishment, both at his level of privilege and the casual way in which he acknowledged it. There was nothing wrong in it, precisely, but it seemed an odd detail to share with a new employee who, while having a very decent starting wage, was a long way off from even being able to dream of a life that included staff.
The reality of who her new boss was broke over her anew and she felt her cheeks warm slightly at her earlier reactions to his physical appearance. He was rich and he was handsome and he was her employer - the three things combined were more than enough to remind her of where his sphere was in comparison to her own.
Unsure how to respond and feeling that she had paused too long in any case, she pretended to busy herself with the menu, picking it up and opening it, being sure to flip it to the back page. But she looked without comprehending and the silence between them grew, stretching to what felt like an uncomfortable degree.
Recalling the question she had asked to elicit such a remark, Elizabeth cleared her throat and attempted to recover both her self-possession and the threads of the conversation. "If you have any recommendations, I'd love to hear them," she said, pleased with the overall neutral tone of her voice. "I admit I was a bit overwhelmed before, wanting to try nearly everything!"
If he had noticed her awkwardness or the silence, he didn't comment, but instead responded in what seemed like a natural manner. "Of course, I'd be happy to point out a few of my own favorites. But before I do, are there any strong preferences or aversions you have? I'd hate to steer you wrong and give you the impression I have deplorable taste."
The words were light, almost teasing, and they restored more of Elizabeth's balance to herself.
"No real aversions, no allergies," she responded lightly. "I suppose I don't care for pork, particularly, but neither am I opposed to it."
"What?" Mr. Darcy sounded outraged, but even despite their relatively new acquaintance, she could tell it was manufactured. "Do you mean to tell me you don't like bacon?" He asked the question seriously, as though it would be an unpardonable sin if she were to respond in the negative.
"Ah, but bacon is the exception that proves the rule," she assured him, mock gravely.
"Very well," he conceded. "That shall do for now. You have saved yourself some censure."
The levity helped to gloss over some of the remains of what couldn't help but be at least a somewhat awkward interaction, and Mr. Darcy was soon pointing out several of his favorites from the menu, appearing to take some care to highlight something from each of the menu's headings.
When he had concluded, she wrinkled her nose as she regarded him. "I am not at all sure you have made my task any easier," she admitted. "It all sounds amazing."
"If you want my honest opinion, I'd have to go with the burger and the garlic fries," he responded. "It's probably what I'm going to do, despite being fully aware that my sister would tell me to have a salad."
That gambit segued them nearly effortlessly into a brief discussion of their siblings, which was almost immediately interrupted by the arrival of their waiter, who seemed somewhat rushed as he took their orders and departed rapidly, apologizing both at the beginning and ending of his interaction with them about the wait time and promising to get their drinks out to them directly.
Once the waiter had departed, another brief silence fell between them, their conversation having been disrupted in the interlude with the waiter.
It was Mr. Darcy who broke the silence this time, asking an innocuous question about Elizabeth's hobbies or interests outside of work.
"I enjoy reading a great deal," Elizabeth responded, feeling now perfectly at ease with the situation. "And I entertain myself rather often by combining my penchant for walking with visits to a nearby park to people watch. When one has so many neighbors who follow their own routines, it can make for such interesting dramas."
He seemed entertained. "Are you saying that you are a studier of character? It must be an amusing study."
She laughed back at him. "Naturally! But intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage."
"A neighborhood park," said Darcy, "can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a small park you move in a very confined and unvarying society."
"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever."
Whatever his response might have been was interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman that Elizabeth deduced must be his friend - Charles? - by the warm greeting the two men shared, with Mr. Darcy standing to return the exuberant embrace that the other man offered.
The newcomer noticed Elizabeth as he took his seat, displaying no pretensions of formality with the stranger he found at his friend's table, but seeming rather more inclined to view her instantly as a newfound boon companion.
"And who do we have here?" he inquired, glancing between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, who was still standing and who suddenly seemed rather more formal than before. "Charles, this is my new secretary, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, this is my dear friend, Mr. Bingley."
"Only friend you mean," Mr. Bingley teased, before smiling happily at Elizabeth. "How do you find working for this veritable stick-in-the-mud so far?"
Startled, Elizabeth shifted her attention from Mr. Bingley's freckled face and open, happy features to see how Mr. Darcy responded to this ribbing. He rolled his eyes in an obliging fashion when he noticed her glance but didn't seem to be in any way offended by his friend's derisive remarks.
"Well," she demurred, "I could hardly say. I've just been settling in and getting acquainted with how things work. Mrs. Reynolds has been really lovely and helpful, so that's been nice."
"She is quite the inestimable lady," Mr. Bingley agreed with alacrity. "I personally have no doubts she could run the place single-handedly and do as well as Darce, here."
"As if the same could not be said about your Mr. Wight," Mr. Darcy scoffed in return. "Moreover, he would manage to be on time more often than not!"
The friendly jocularity that existed between the two men was amusing to Elizabeth and she settled back in her chair, glad she had agreed to join them and finding that Mr. Darcy's assessment of his friend's reaction to her presence was, on the whole, entirely correct.
"I'll have you know that I am happier than I have ever been before," Mr. Bingley retorted, "all because I was late the other day."
A smirk played over Mr. Darcy's lips, and he seemed, for a moment, to catch her eye, although he addressed his friend rather than her. "Who is she this time?"
Not seeming embarrassed in the slightest, Mr. Bingley's smile grew positively blinding. "She's an angel, Darce! And we wouldn't have met had we not both been running late and ended up fighting over a cab."
"You? Fighting?" Mr. Darcy seemed incredulous.
"Over who should take the cab," Mr. Bingley clarified, his blue eyes gone soft and dreamy. "But as it turned out, we were both headed in the same direction and ended up sharing it. She was so easy to talk to. She wants to be a writer."
"I suppose you offered to help her with that." Turning his gaze towards Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy included her in the conversation once more. "Bingley here owns Avery Printing Press; have you heard of them?"
"Of course," Elizabeth nodded, easily recognizing the name of a larger publisher who mainly dealt in genre fiction. "I must compliment your editors, Mr. Bingley. I've rarely been disappointed in anything I've read from your publishing house."
Mr. Bingley nodded affably in reply but did not immediately speak to her, as a member of the wait staff chose that moment to arrive with a tray bearing the drinks that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth had ordered. "Could I possibly have the same as him?" Mr. Bingley inquired, pointing to Mr. Darcy's iced tea.
"Certainly," the waiter responded, smoothly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Have you ordered?" Mr. Bingley inquired. At the positive nods he received in response to this question, he turned back to the waiter. "Could I also ask for the hamburger and garlic fries? No pickles."
The waiter nodded and jotted the request down on his pad before departing.
"This may be an impertinent question," Elizabeth prefaced what she was to say next, oddly fascinated by the interaction that had just played out.
"Do I always order the exact same thing as Darce, you mean?" Bingley interjected, laughing. "No, unless we're here, and then we both tend to gravitate towards the same thing more often than not."
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy. "So, you really do have a strong preference."
"But everything I pointed out has also been excellent."
"Hmm, and I suppose you did at last recommend that most strongly," she conceded.
"But unlike Bingley here, you went your own way."
She laughed, casting her eyes down in affected modesty. "I was compelled by the advice of your sister."
"Oh, do you know Georgiana?" Mr. Bingley asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. "No. It was just something Mr. Darcy said earlier, that she would want him to have a salad. I could all but hear my own older, absolutely perfect sister saying the same thing, so I opted for the beet salad."
"We were speaking of our siblings earlier, weren't we?" Darcy pursued. "You said you have two sisters?"
"Yes, my older sister is named Jane and my younger sister is Lydia."
"I have two sisters as well," Mr. Bingley joined in happily on the sibling talk. "They're both older than I am, Louisa and Caroline. Though Louisa is married, so she is a Hurst, not a Bingley."
"And Jane is not a Bennet, though she's not married. We're actually not truly sisters at all, as my father and her mother married after their first spouses passed away, but I can't remember a time when I haven't had Jane in my life."
As she spoke, Elizabeth noticed Mr. Bingley's gaze growing somehow very keen. "And what is her surname then?"
"Marchrend."
Bingley sat back, looking stunned. "What a small world," he observed. "At least, I don't suppose there can be many Miss Jane Marchrend's in the world."
Confused at his reaction, Elizabeth divided a glance between Mr. Darcy and his friend, seeing that Mr. Darcy's face was alight with anticipation as he, too, looked to Mr. Bingley to explain further.
"I don't suppose there are," Elizabeth agreed slowly. "Are you saying you know my sister?"
"I believe so!" Mr. Bingley was smiling again, his countenance sunny as the day. "For Miss Jane Marchrend was the lady of whom I was speaking earlier, who I met and shared a cab with."