In the hall, she paused to reminisce about opening the servants’ ball in 1791 with the late Mr Darcy. She had only recently been promoted to housekeeper from head housemaid, and it was the first time she had ever been called upon to dance with one of her employers. She remembered being thankful for her gloves, for her palms were clammy with fear, but she need not have concerned herself. He was so very genteel—and heavens, could he dance! With a sad smile, she twirled once, slowly, on the spot, recalling the dazzling light of all those candles, then walked on, the huge space falling back into darkness behind her.
She did not hesitate to slip quietly into the library. If it should fall down around her ears now, it would only hasten the inevitable and save her an arduous journey. The space was completely empty, every last book gone. All that remained were the walls—and myriad memories. How right the ‘wise woman’ had been who told the master that Pemberley was more than stones and mortar. With another stabbing spasm to her insides, she comprehended who that woman had probably been. She rested her hand on one of the mantelpieces and added an apology to her whispered goodnight.
Her candle danced about in protest when she passed through the service door to the cold, draughty passages of the servants’ block beyond. There, she completed her usual round of checks, ending in her storeroom, where she laid out the up-to-date inventory on the desk and closed the door. The key, or perhaps her fingers, felt reluctant, but the lock eventually slid closed.
She went, last, to the estate office, where she placed her chatelaine on Mr Ferguson’s desk. She was sorry for the work she would create for him, but it was better this way. She blew out her candle and left that also. Then she picked up her case and felt her way along the shadowy passageway to the tower door. It swung closed heavily behind her. She turned to lay her hand on the thick, weathered oak and whispered her final, heartfelt goodnight. Then she walked away from Pemberley forever.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
OVERDUE CONFESSIONS
Darcy arrived in London on Saturday and called at the Gardiner residence the same day, only to discover that Mrs Gardiner was at home. Resolved to deal exclusively with her husband, he did not leave his name and instead returned home and composed an invitation. Mr Gardiner duly arrived, alone, at Astroite House on Sunday afternoon, and proceeded to demonstrate a far more obstinate sense of honour than Darcy had anticipated, even after having revised his opinion of the man’s sense and worth. They argued back and forth on several points for far longer than either of the two objects of their discussion deserved, finally coming to an agreement that satisfied both and parting ways only twenty minutes before Bingley arrived for dinner.
Darcy began to rue inviting both men on the same day; he had miscalculated how draining so many unpleasant disclosures would prove. Even once dinner was over, and he and Bingley were sitting comfortably with full stomachs and a glass of the finest port each, he found himself reluctant to begin a second round.
It occurred to him that Mrs Reynolds must have felt similarly averse when she knocked on his door earlier that week—and he was instantly provoked into action in an attempt to banish her from his thoughts. He dismissed the servants, which put his friend on guard.
“Is something the matter, Darcy?”
He nodded, slowly. “I have a confession to make, and I do not anticipate that you will like it.”
“Perhaps you had better not confess it then, for I do not like to be at variance with my friends—it gives me indigestion. And I have just eaten a vast amount of food.”
“I dislike it too, very much, but it is overdue that I own this mistake, and if you are angry with me, that will be my punishment for having interfered in the first place.” He paused, though he knew not what for. “I was wrong to convince you that Miss Jane Bennet was indifferent to you last autumn. I believe now that she was not.”
Bingley sighed and scratched at a crumb on the table with a fingernail. “You did not convince me. I knew you were wrong.”
Of all the responses Darcy had foreseen, that had not been one. “Why, then, did you not go back?”
“I cannot altogether account for it. First, Christmas was upon us, and there were balls and parties almost every night for weeks on end, and by the time all that was over, I was not entirely sure how I ought to explain my absence. Then Caroline told me about Miss Bennet’s visit to London in January, and it rather made my mind up for me.”
Shame burned Darcy’s gullet every bit as much as disputes did Bingley’s. “You know about that?”
“I do.”
Blast!“Bingley, I am truly sorry I concealed it from you. I could try and justify it—say I thought I was acting in your best interests—but there is no excuse. It was wrong.”
His friend grimaced ruefully. “I was sufficiently vexed at the time, I shall not deny it, but it served a purpose. It made me comprehend the magnitude of the opposition I would encounter if I married her. Ifyouwere opposed enough to the match to condescend to dishonesty to prevent it, I could only imagine the rest of society’s view. I suppose it made me more clear-headed about your objections to her family.”
“My objections to her family have been exposed as conceited twaddle now that I have met the Gardiners.”
Bingley stroked his jaw pensively. “I rather went the other way on the matter after meeting them.”
“You did not like them?”
“Oh, I thought they were a perfectly charming couple. I just…Well, as Caroline pointed out, they were exactly as you predicted they would be. Mr Gardiner was forever talking about his warehouses. Mrs Gardiner knew none of the women or places my sisters tried to talk to her about.”
Darcy felt no little alarm at hearing Bingley speak so. “Gardiner is a fine gentleman.”
“But he isnota gentleman, is he?” Bingley pressed.
“Neither are you, if we are to be pedantic about it, but you know what I mean.”
“I do. And you know whatImean. You have only convinced yourself there is no impediment here because you do not wish there to be one.”
Darcy caught the glint in his friend’s eye and conceded with a small chuckle and a shake of his head that he had walked directly into a trap. “Perhaps.”
Bingley returned to smiling amiably. “But you know peoplewillobject, Darcy. You warnedmeof that, and you were right.”
