“I have several younger sisters, and one of them is always having a cry about something,” she said to make Miss Darcy smile. “It is an almost daily occurrence at Longbourn, so you have made me feel very much at home at Pemberley.”
After a silence, Miss Darcy said, “You will not tell Fitzwilliam, or Mrs Annesley, or Carew, will you? I could not bear it if they assumed I still cared for him.”
Elizabeth shook her head. Miss Darcy had only been fifteen, and mourned the loss of her first attachment more than the actual man. “Certainly not. In fact, we shall stay here a little while until you are certain you can dress for dinner without Carew noticing that your eyes were red.”
She gave her some privacy and walked around the room. There was a study table, bookcases, and a sofa. There was a rosewood inkstand on the table next to two silver tapersticks. Although it was not as lofty as some of Pemberley’s other rooms, it was cosy with a fine view of the gardens. “I was taking a walk around the house—I could walk without fatigue and still not see every room—but I do not think I have done more than walk past this one.”
Miss Darcy finished drying her eyes and rose. “I think Reynolds shows it to visitors, but other than that it is rarely used.”
Elizabeth approached Wickham’s likeness. Next to it was a miniature of Darcy, done around the same age, and she recognised one ofMiss Darcy when still a child. There were other portraits, likely of intimate family, but only Darcy’s could hold any interest to her. She heard Miss Darcy come alongside her.
“Why is his picture here?” Elizabeth asked softly whilst looking at Wickham. Why had Darcy not put it to the fire years ago, if not after what happened at Ramsgate?
“This was my father’s favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. Reynolds says he was very fond of them being all together on the mantelpiece.”
“What does your brother say?”
She shrugged. “He is not often in this room. He uses a desk in a room nearer to his bedchamber, and keeps his favourite books there.” Elizabeth noticed how Miss Darcy did her best not to look at Wickham’s picture. Although she was shy, Elizabeth thought Miss Darcy might say more, and in time her patience was rewarded.
“Fitzwilliam is conscious of Pemberley’s legacy, his responsibility to the house, the servants, the tenants, and what he owes to those who came before him. Whilst he might redecorate or make improvements, on the whole he does not want to disrespect my father’s memory, and he wants to preserve Pemberley in such a way that, when it is passed to his children and grandchildren, it would be just as recognisable to them as it was to my father and grandfather.”
Elizabeth said, “I do not think your father would be so fond of that miniature if he knew the harm that his godson caused his daughter.”
Miss Darcy sighed, and Elizabeth wondered if she doubted that she meant as much to her father as had Wickham. “And your brother,” she added, “is dedicated to Pemberley, and it is to his credit that he knows what is due to his family as well as to everyone who depends on Pemberley...”
Elizabeth picked up Wickham’s miniature. “But from what I know of him and what I have seen of his attachment to you, Mr Darcy is equally devoted toyouand to your happiness.” She set the miniature facedown on the mantelpiece, and moved the other family pictures nearer to fill in the space.
Miss Darcy looked at the mantelpiece a long moment, and then nodded in agreement.
“Are you composed now, Miss Darcy?”
“As for tears and regret, I have done with that, as far asheis concerned.”
“I am very glad, because he is not worth your time or your?—”
“Ladies!” They turned to see Mr Balfour enter. “I thought everyone would be dressing for dinner by now.”
“Did you return from a ride or a walk? And in this weather?” Elizabeth cried. He must have worn a greatcoat whilst he had been out, and was carrying his hat and gloves, but he still appeared wet through.
“Aye, I had to get out of this house for a wee bit. I rode to Lambton, but there is nothing there. There are only so many times I can beat Bingley at billiards before it becomes dull and, as lofty as Pemberley is, I could not walk it again.” Mr Balfour stepped nearer. “Although I do not think I have been in here before. I usually only take a short cut through it to get to the stairs by the picture gallery.”
Elizabeth waited for Miss Darcy to reply, but her reticence had returned in the face of Mr Balfour’s cheerful temper. He was rather tall, not handsome, but not so plain with his fine figure and pleasing manner. She could see how Miss Darcy’s shyness might prevent her from speaking at length with a tall, older man who was so animated.
“I understand this room was a favourite of Mr Darcy’s father, and has scarcely been touched since he died.”
“Indeed? That makes sense. I met Darcy not long before his father’s death; he took it very hard.” He came farther into the room and looked around. “’Tis a well-appointed room to be so neglected.”
“Miss Darcy was showing me a view of the gardens.” At this, Mr Balfour went to the window. Whilst his attention was elsewhere, Elizabeth gave Miss Darcy a look to ask if she was well. She nodded, ducking her head as she did. Miss Darcy was composed enough now to be in company. “I think we shall dress for dinner.”
Mr Balfour bowed, and made some compliments about neither of them needing a single alteration to appear before company before allowing them to leave.
CHAPTER SIX
On Sunday morning the wind softened, the clouds were carried off, and the sun appeared. Elizabeth thought that it almost felt like summer, but Carew had still dressed her in her purple pelisse from Kent for the curricle ride. She stood on the sweep with those who were to drive to Bakewell. She took in the house, on its elevated ground with the woods behind it, and turned to see the view of the valley.
The dales of Derbyshire possess true picturesque beauty.
The others were readying themselves to leave and were not as taken by the scenery as Elizabeth. Mr Balfour was assisting his sister onto her saddle, talking about where to place her pencils. Mrs Lanyon intended to find a place to draw near to Bakewell, and her brother simply wished for a diversion whether it was the ride, or the festival, or whatever he found to amuse himself. Jane and Bingley were already in his carriage and smiling at each other; whether they were curious about the excursion or simply happy to be near to one another was impossible to determine.
