Her fingers traced the spines as she walked along his collection and she spoke to select tomes as she passed. “Well, Beowulf, son of Edgetho. As intriguing as your adventures may be, they will not do today for a quiet visit in the garden. I am searching for something lessdaring—more fanciful. And you, Lord Byron” —she giggled touching a collection of poems— “you I most assuredly will not take with me to the gardenalone.”
Darcy silently watched her from the doorway. Her teasing tone and curious banter was enchanting, and he wanted nothing more than to sit in the nearest easy chair and partake of this world she was creating. However, with her next sentence, he almost lost control of his senses.
“And you, my sweet William, you undo me whenever you are near.” She seemed to purr, caressing a worn copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. “No, it is best that I stay far away from you while I am at Pemberley, because your words seem to control me at times, and I am so unlike myself, I hardly know what to do.”
His mouth went dry and he clamped it closed, waiting to hear what would fall next from her sweet lips.
“And yet still another William to woo my affections,” she said with a smile in her voice as she picked up another small copy of poems. “You, Mr. Wordsworth, might possibly be the winner. You will be the William who will join me on my ramble through the woods today. You see,” she said lowering her voice with a conspiratorial tone, “Mr. Shakespeare causes me great consternation with the outcomes for many of his heroes, and Mr. Blake” —she continued tapping another book on the table— “is too fanciful speaking of lambs and tigers, but then too morose with young chimney sweeps. Yes, sir, it is you.” She picked up the book and walked to the window, staring out at the November day. “You are the William I choose. For there is no other William…save one, who I wish to sit with by the lake and share my thoughts.” She spoke so softly he might have imagined it all.
She walked out of the library and a few minutes later, he watched her through the window skip along the well-worn path. His heart soared at the thought she held him in such esteem. Yet, he knew his dreams were hollow.No matter where our futures lead us, I will always think on her as nonpareil. The most amiable but also the handsomest woman of my acquaintance. There can be nothing more.
* * *
The day passedwith the same serenity which seemed to consume all her days at Pemberley. Hours after leaving the library with her book, her hunger for the written word satiated, she now sought her friends to continue her pleasure.
Approaching the house, she was a surprised to see a carriage pull up to the entry. She was aware that travelers often requested tours of Pemberley during the spring and summer months but infrequently during autumn and winter. However, it was none of her concern and she walked up the stairs to the veranda and into the music room where Georgiana was attempting to master a difficult movement and Kitty was embroidering a cushion.
“Lizzy, how was the lake today? It looked entirely too cold for my liking, but I knew you would still enjoy the sunshine.”
“You are right, Kitty. Wordsworth and I had a lovely time,” she said, handing her cloak and gloves to a footman. “I came in hungry for your companionship and am rewarded also with my favorites.” She smiled as she sat next to her sister, set her book aside, and reached for a lemon biscuit from the tray.
The three girls were chatting amiably when the door opened and the butler came in the room. “Pardon me, Miss Darcy, but the master wishes for you and the Miss Bennets to join him in his study.”
With no little curiosity, they followed the butler. When they entered the study, Mr. Darcy stood and they were greeted by three guests.
“Why, Mrs. Worth, what a pleasure to see you again!” Lizzy took the woman’s outstretched hands in her own.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. The pleasure is ours. Might I introduce my husband to you?” she asked, nodding to a tall man about her uncle Gardiner’s age with a kindly mien. When all the introductions were made, Lizzy approached the old woman seated by the chair at the window. “And Mrs. Smith. How lovely to see you! I hope your trip was pleasant?” When there was no response from the old woman, Lizzy asked Mrs. Worth, “What brings you to Pemberley?”
Mr. Darcy interpolated, “Doctor’s orders.”
“Yes. We have been encouraged to take her to locations which gave her pleasure, where she spent most of her years. Lambton and Pemberley were our first thoughts. We arrived yesterday morning and after going through the village, we decided to appeal to Mrs. Reynolds for a tour in hopes of stimulating any repressed memories.”
Mr. Darcy said, “Might I suggest a general tour? And also the family suites? She would have spent many hours with my mother in that wing.”
“Truly, sir?”
“Yes. And may I suggest we first attempt my mother’s room.” He stood and called to a footman. “Please have Mrs. Reynolds remove the holland covers in the mistress’s apartment and prepare the room as it would have been in my mother’s day.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy.”
“Also, please inform Cook we will take some refreshment in the front parlor. If I remember correctly, Mrs. Smith loved strawberry tarts.”
“And still does,” Mrs. Worth replied gratefully.
“If everyone would join me in the parlor while the rooms are prepared.” The guests followed a footman out of the study, and Mr. Darcy said quietly, “Georgie, I would also like you and the Miss Bennets to join us. You might be disquieted by Mrs. Smith’s maladies, but I believe if she does remember anything of our mother, you would welcome the opportunity to hear her.”
After half an hour of pleasantries, Mrs. Reynolds informed Mr. Darcy the apartment was ready. Everyone made their way above stairs to enter a room which very few had entered in years.
Lizzy’s eyesroamed around the most intimate, tangible representation of the woman Fitzwilliam Darcy loved above all others, save his sister: the lavender walls, the plum canopy on the large mahogany bed, the paintings of Pemberley’s woods and gardens, and a portrait of a small boy with precocious eyes, a dimple in his chubby cheek, and brown curls with that tell-tale lock across his forehead. She could not help but smile at the child who would grow into the man who stood mere feet from her.
As she was studying the picture a low voice behind her spoke, “Do not let that starched collar and velvet coat fool you, Miss Bennet. That little boy waited only moments when he was dismissed from the artist to tear off his formal attire and go down to the pond to dig for worms with his older cousin Richard.”
“I do not know if I can believe you, sir. The future master of Pemberley was born with a propensity to do only what is expected of him. I do not believe that he would disobey his nanny, could he?”
Smiling, he said, “It was not disobedience if his mother encouraged it.”
“Mother allowed you to dig for worms?” Georgiana asked, laughing at the idea and sitting on the edge of the great bed. “Lady Catherine has always left me with the impression that you were very proper as a child—that mother made sure you were always buttoned up and polished.”
