Darcy leaned on his spade, watching as the danger slowly ebbed away, exhaustion and relief mingling in his chest. Around him, men cheered, some clasping hands, others sinking to their knees in the sodden grass, too weary for words. The crisis had passed. He looked across the lake that was slowly, ever so slowly, receding. The woman stood at its edge staring across the water. She removed her cap, shook out her long chestnut hair, then quickly secured it in a simple knot once more under the lace-fringed cap. She straightened her shoulders, turned, and walked away back to the village.
* * *
Chapter 24
Pemberley, November 1813
“Darcy! Your timing is impeccable. Please, assist me into the carriage.” Lady Catherine held out her hand, yet there was a warmth in her countenance that Darcy had never seen before. “My apologies,” she continued, speaking from the window where she had taken her seat, “there is not enough room inside—we are all rather cramped, as it holds myself, Georgiana, Elizabeth, Anne, Mrs. Reynolds, and Cook. You must have come by carriage from Liverpool, for we were expecting you today. Can you take your hired carriage? Otherwise, you can sit on top with Hurst and Bingley.”
“I’ll take my carriage—leastways the benches are padded. Hurst, Bingley, will you join me?” Darcy made his way back to the Rutland Arms, where the post-horses had been stabled. Croft, who had been entertaining the village children in the schoolhouse, joined him by the carriage. Darcy raised an eyebrow; he had never suspected his man Croft had a talent for amusing children.
“It is not my place to say it, sir,” said Croft, his tone light. “But I need to keep my hand in, if the day ever comes…”
Before Darcy could respond, Bingley came up and clapped him on the back. “Well, a good day’s work—never worked so hard in my life. A good glass of Madeira will go down very well, once we’ve returned to Pemberley. What say you, Hurst?”
With a groan, Hurst stepped up into the carriage. “Whatever you say, Bingley—is Madeira or brandy best for an aching back and blistered hands?”
The carriage lurched into motion, perhaps a half hour to Pemberley. Darcy relaxed against the squabs, a hot bath calling to him.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Darcy. ‘Tis not the welcome we wished for you. But most of the staff have been away at Lambton, and there is insufficient hot water for baths, nor enough tubs for all the guests.” Mrs. Reynolds wrung her hands in dismay—seldom was it that she failed to satisfy the needs of Pemberley’s guests, let alone the master.
“Mrs. Reynolds, it is I who should apologise,” said Darcy kindly. “You have been working all day at Lambton. A basin of hot water will suffice for my needs—indeed, in Ireland there was not a single bath in the hotel at Thomastown, perhaps in the whole county! I can defer the pleasure for one more day.”
Darcy turned to climb the stairs to his room when Miss Bingley crossed the vestibule, having just exited the blue drawing room. Clearly she had been apprised of his return and was waiting to meet him as if by chance.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she simpered. “We missed you ever so much. Pemberley is in such disarray without your guiding hand. Why, just this very day, there was insufficient water for my afternoon bath. Surely, now that you are returned, Pemberley will be restored to its former gracious hospitality.” She cast Mrs. Reynolds a disparaging look. “I believe, sir, that sweet Georgiana and the household have been too much under the false economies of Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet, who is merely an employee, after all.”
“I do not take your meaning, Miss Bingley. It is Bennet’s place to impose restraint on Pemberley’s expenses.Furthermore, were you not informed that the staff were fully occupied with the flood at Lambton? I believe the whole household was assisting—Lady Catherine, Miss Anne, Georgiana, and your brothers Bingley and Hurst. Indeed, ma’am, if you found entertainment enough with Mrs. Hurst, then you should be well satisfied.” He turned to ascend the stair, then paused, looking back at the lady. “Further, Bennet is not an employee, but a very dear friend.”
“Mrs. Reynolds,” he continued, “soup and a cold collation would suit for dinner admirably—perhaps served at six o’clock?”
Mrs. Reynolds gave a rare smile. “Mrs. Bennet has already arranged dinner, sir, just as you have suggested. Giblet soup was set simmering early this afternoon.”
“Giblet soup?” queried Miss Bingley. “Why, that is a poor man’s meal—such unseemly economy, as I have said.”
“Perhaps, Miss Bingley. But my tastes are simple, and giblet soup is a Darcy favourite. After eight months of nought but mutton stew and coddle, giblet soup and a slice of Cook’s steak and kidney pie are luxury.” Darcy turned abruptly and hurried up the stairs.
“Miss Bingley,” acknowledged Mrs. Reynolds, parting from the lady and leaving for her own rooms, well satisfied that the master had no inclination to further his acquaintance with the lady. Mayhap, the year before, Miss Bingley had held some appeal for him. Yet his time in Ireland—so sorely missed by the household—seemed to have relieved him of that attraction. Why so? Many letters had been exchanged between Ireland and Pemberley, between Miss Darcy, Mrs. Bennet, and Mr. Darcy. Perhaps those between Mrs. Bennet and the master were not all business, accounts, and the like. Certainly, Mrs. Bennet kept excellent accounts—she had managed Pemberley, dare Mrs. Reynolds acknowledge it, at least equal to the master. What afine lady. A true shame that she would soon return to London, her time at Pemberley coming to an end with Mr. Darcy’s return.
* * *
“William, I have been waiting for you!” Georgiana rushed to him almost immediately after he entered the drawing room. “I’m so glad you came downstairs early, for we didn’t have any time together in Lambton. You’ve been away so long—but you have returned! Oh, it is just so wonderful! Do you not agree, Elizabeth?”
Georgiana took Darcy’s hand and led him further into the room. Darcy was taken aback—sitting on the sofa by the window was the lady from Child’s office on Fleet Street. Elizabeth… he recalled her name, that was all Darcy knew of her, for she had never been introduced. Gracefully, the lady stood. She wore a green jade silk gown, her hair pinned up; there was good humour twinkling in her fine dark eyes.
“Mr. Darcy, we have met, but only briefly in London and in Lambton, just today. Georgiana, you forget your manners.” The lady laughed, a soft tinkling sound that Darcy wished would go on forever. “’Tis only that Mr. Darcy does not know my name; we have never been introduced.”
Georgiana clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, forgive me, Elizabeth. It’s just that… that you have become family and I forget that not everyone knows you.” She pulled Darcy closer, giggling. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy… Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Ma’am, it is my pleasure.” Darcy bowed as Elizabeth curtseyed. “I have read so much about you from Georgiana’s letters,” he continued, “that I feel I am well acquainted with you already.”
“All to the good?” replied Elizabeth lightly. “I fear I have led Miss Darcy astray with too many walks through Pemberley’slovely park, and equally many trips to Mr. Harwood’s bookshop in Lambton. Though I was charged with overseeing Pemberley’s accounts, you may need to secure another loan from the bank to cover the additions to your library.”
“The choices forwarded to me in Ireland were excellent—none of which are in the library. I can scarcely countenance that you have memorised all of the editions, and could select those not already purchased.”
“Not all,” replied Elizabeth. “There is no mystery to it. Many are volumes of dry parliamentary speeches and the like in which I have little interest. Moreover, most of the histories and journals recording trips to the Orient, the Americas, and the countries of Europe are no longer in print; thus, you are safe from my mistakenly ordering duplicates. Entering your library is akin to a gathering of old friends. There is comfort in their gossip about relived times, but also much that is new—overlooked insights and scenes skipped over in the rush to see how the plot unravels, or how the heroine resolves her poor opinion of the protagonist. As one does not forget a friend once introduced, I find I cannot forget a book, even if I have only seen the title on its spine.”
A stray curl escaped Elizabeth’s pins—Tilly had only just returned with the other servants from Lambton, so Elizabeth had put up her hair herself.
