Elizabeth gave a pale smile when she answered, “I know. I have felt your feelings, everybody’s, in fact, from the firstmoment we were married. But be sure this room will be soon filled with the smiles and voices of Miss Darcy’s children.”
∞∞∞
After a brief supper, Elizabeth withdrew to her apartment, eager for peace in which to read the two letters that had already arrived from Darcy and to reply with a full account of her journey, particularly the delight with which she was discovering Pemberley. The best thing about Mary was that she required no arrangements to be made for her. Before settling at her writing desk, Elizabeth called for Anna and granted her leave for the evening.
“Nevertheless, I have a request,” said Elizabeth. “Please speak to Emma and see to Miss Bennet. The two of us are known in our family to be entirely indifferent to fashion. Yet we may evolve… You have seen it in me,” she added with a smile.
“Oh, madam!” exclaimed the girl, thrilled by such confidence. “In your case, all that was needed was the wish itself—everything else followed naturally, for elegance is either within someone or it is not… And when it is not, one cannot hope to evolve.”
Elizabeth regarded her curiously. “You read, do you not?” she asked.
“Yes, madam, many of us do, but there is never quite enough time.”
“Then let us make time, Anna. While we are here, and as long as Miss Mary is with us, you will spend an hour reading under her guidance each day. And in return, you will transform that rather stubborn and careless girl into a handsome young lady.”
Then, to her husband, she wrote one of the longest letters she had ever penned, in which almost every step of her journey was recounted—from their arrival at Longbourn to that very moment, as she admired her chamber, especially two exquisite portraits: Darcy and Georgiana, likely at the same age of three or four, nestled in their mother’s arms.
And before she drifted into sleep, she reflected that she had invited Mary on a mere impulse, yet now she was convinced it had been the right decision.
Chapter 29
Mary’s presence proved to be a benefit for the Pemberley estate and a blessing for Elizabeth. It was as though she had her family by her side, without the sometimes-exasperating presence of her mother, Lydia, or even Jane, whose suffering seemed trivial in the face of Darcy’s tragedy. Instead, she had the sister she barely knew, one whom she had never entirely known how to place—whom she might once have described as quiet at home and at times tiresome in society—but who now revealed herself to be precisely what she needed. She was a companion who knew when to leave her alone yet who accompanied her on all her wanderings through the estate alongside Mr Balfour. In a remarkably short time, Mary became an invaluable support, for after Elizabeth had once asked her to write down a conversation with a tenant, she soon began composing complete accounts of their visits. Elizabeth decided to send these reports directly to Darcy, written in Mary’s precise hand.
She remembers everything we discuss, understands everything she sees, and asks questions that never occurred to me.
Elizabeth wrote this to Darcy, not to explain why her sister was now providing the reports he had initially requested from her but to share her genuine admiration. As dull as she might be in conversation, Mary was clear and faithful to reality in her writing. Darcy, who sent replies to her letters more than once a day, confirmed his appreciation for the precision of her accounts. It was yet another small victory for Elizabeth in her efforts to prove that, beyond the faults he had so quickly perceived, her family possessed virtues he had once refused to acknowledge. Mary was the best evidence of this.
The first courtesy visit they made at Darcy’s request was to the rector of Lambton a few days after their arrival. The Parsonage was on their estate, separated from Lambton by the river, and the bridge that crossed it was but a few steps from the house.
Elizabeth had heard that the vicar had lost his wife some years before, and thus, she expected to find a rather austere dwelling. To their surprise, however, they discovered a charming home nestled within a well-tended garden, blooming with roses. They were received warmly by the reverend, yet also with the sorrowful sincerity displayed by all who, in one way or another, were connected to Pemberley and Darcy and knew his tragic story.
He invited them inside, and once again, Elizabeth admired the beauty of the Parsonage. It brought to mind Hunsford and Charlotte, yet Mr Buxton’s house was a reflection of a cultured and spiritual man with an appreciation for beauty. His parlour was filled with books, lying open in every corner, as the room appeared to also serve as his place of work.
“Forgive the disarray,” he said. “My study is undergoing repairs, and I have been preparing my Sunday sermon here.”
“On the contrary, Mr Buxton, we are pleased that you have received us in the very place where you work,” said Mary. He looked at her with curiosity before turning back to Elizabeth.
“I recently wrote to Mr Darcy, hoping for his healing,” the vicar said, taking Elizabeth’s hand in his with such a profound gesture of friendship that it brought tears to her eyes.
She was about to tell him the truth—that the chances were exceedingly slim—but Mr Buxton did not allow her to speak.
“Madam, I served for three years on the frontlines in Europe. I stood beside the wounded every day. Some died from the smallest injury, while others, despite being shot straight through, walked home on their own two feet. And believe me, in those extreme circumstances, even the physicians often could not explain why something happened one way or another. Has he been seen by good doctors?”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. Several physicians had come and gone, yet none had offered any prognosis different from that of the first man who had attended to him on the night of the incident and had continued his care ever since.
“It is difficult to say how skilled the physician who looks after him is. Such tragedies are not common in London,” she admitted at last.
“Only physicians who have served on the battlefield have experience with wounds of this nature,” Mr Buxton remarked before turning his attention to Mary. She quickly captivated him, for books were her domain, and before long, she began noting down titles he mentioned.
“If you do not find them at Pemberley, I shall gladly lend them to you,” said the vicar. Mary, ever earnest, accepted the offer with a solemn nod.
That evident understanding between the two gave Elizabeth space to reflect, for some of the vicar’s words had stirred her thoughts in earnest. Yet, she could not yet plainly see where they might lead her.
∞∞∞
“What an interesting visit to the Parsonage,” Elizabeth said, though, in truth, she wished to tell Mary how beautifully and naturally she had conducted herself—how changed she found her, in fact.
“The world respects me because I am with you and wearing an elegant gown,” said Mary, walking towards the house. They had come by carriage, yet both had felt the need to walk back, for there had been little time for movement since their arrival at Pemberley.
