“Oh, what a splendid idea!” cried Anne, clapping her hands. “And then you, Mrs. Elizabeth, must entertain us, for Georgiana tells me you play and sing delightfully, but I have never heard you perform, in all the weeks we have been here at Pemberley.”
* * *
Chapter 27
Pemberley, December 1813
Lady Catherine never imagined she would be the one trying to lift the heavy mood that had settled over Pemberley. There was work aplenty for all. Darcy and his steward, Baxter, rode out every day to visit the farms and the cottagers, identifying repairs to be made to the barns, houses, bridges, and lanes. The Great Storm, as it was known, had cut a swathe through the estate, and not all the damage could be attended to straight away. Baxter drew up a schedule of works, and Darcy fell naturally into his role as superintendent, just as he had done in Ireland building the canal. Her ladyship supervised the cleanup of Lambton. Where once she had been arrogant, interfering, and dictatorial, she found that gentle persuasion—occasionally enforcing her rank with the truly obstinate—accomplished far more than merely ordering the villagers to bend to her will.
Yet, of an evening, after Anne and Georgiana returned from their visits to the wives of the farmers and cottagers—Anne driving the market cart, for she had much experience with her phaeton at Rosings—Lady Catherine felt a sadness dampen the erstwhile cheerful evenings in the drawing room after dinner. Naturally, during the day, Elizabeth was everywhere; there was a compulsion which drove her—soon the coach from Child & Co. would come to return her to London, to Lady Jersey’s world of assemblies and soirées, balls and meetings in the Oak Room at Number One Fleet Street.
“Mrs. Elizabeth.” Lady Catherine took Elizabeth’s arm. “Please, sit with me in the parlour for a while.”
“But, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “I am to speak with Mrs. Reynolds about replacing the drapes in the guest bedrooms—they are terribly faded.”
“Surely Georgiana can attend to that.”
“Oh, but I must account for the expense—printed linens, striped cottons, possibly wool moreen. Naturally, Georgiana should choose the patterns, but I thought…”
“Elizabeth, stop! Whatever are you doing? Darcy has returned from Ireland—he is perfectly capable of managing the accounts, just as Georgiana is, for I’ve seen how every day you sit with her, Mrs. Reynolds, and Winthrop. The estate has never been better managed, more so than even when my sister, Lady Anne, was mistress.”
Elizabeth stared at the lady in confusion. Suddenly, she burst into tears. “Oh, I’ve turned into a watering-pot!”
“There now, child,” said Lady Catherine, her voice softening with something like affection. “You have been running yourself ragged, and for what? The house stands, the family thrives, and Pemberley endures, as it always has.”
Elizabeth dabbed her eyes, managing a watery laugh. “It is only—there is so much to do, and I cannot help but feel I must do it all before I leave.”
“Would you stay?” Lady Catherine gave her a piercing look.
“But of course! Who could not love this place? Oh, to live at Pemberley would be something indeed!”
At that moment, Winthrop knocked on the door, hesitantly approaching Elizabeth. “My apologies, Mrs. Bennet, but an express has arrived from Child & Co., addressed by Lady Jersey’s hand herself. I thought it may be a matter of some urgency…”
“Thank you, Winthrop, you have caught me a littledéshabillé.” Elizabeth straightened her shoulders, took the letter from the salver. She quickly scanned the message.
“Lady Jersey says the coach is delayed, Harry Smith has taken it off to Bath. She will not have me travel by post, and requests that I remain at Pemberley until suitable transport for a partner of Child’s can be arranged.”
Gently, Lady Catherine took the letter from Elizabeth, clasping her hand in her own. “Well, Elizabeth, you are to remain among us for a little longer. I trust you to use your time wisely. Lady Jersey sets all manner of traps and snares but she has a caring heart, as you have said. Please, my dear, think carefully as to whether you wish to be seduced by the prospect of being a partner of Child & Co.—a very high honour for a woman, one that Lady Jersey herself only gained upon her inheritance. You are held in very great esteem—but there are more than her ladyship who hold the same view.”
She stood, not relinquishing Elizabeth’s hand. “Georgiana has ordered a light nuncheon, and I see Darcy has just come in from the estate. He, like yourself, takes too much upon himself. Would you do me a favour, Elizabeth, and walk out with him after the meal? For he dearly needs a little time away from the cares of Pemberley. Talk of books, of poetry, perchance natural philosophy, though I do not understand how Davy’s arc lamp can hold anyone’s interest—merely a toy of no consequence whatsoever.”
* * *
More than once did Darcy return early from riding the estate with Baxter, taking nuncheon with the ladies of the house. Afterwards, he and Elizabeth would walk out, most often around the lake. They would talk of everything and nothing. Elizabethwas conscious that Mr. Darcy, as Lady Catherine had said, required time away from the concerns of Pemberley and, more recently, the poor relief in Lambton and Kympton, for the Great Flood had destroyed many homes that surely needed replacing before the rigours of a Derbyshire winter set in. These walks became the very best part of Elizabeth’s day: her hand on Mr. Darcy’s arm, his strong, comforting presence beside her.
Several weeks passed, measured by the turning of the leaves. Elizabeth could not help but admire the splendour of the autumnal colours of Pemberley’s woods—as vivid as any painting by Turner. As they walked, Elizabeth pondered Lady Catherine’s words. Certainly, to be a partner at Child & Co. would be quite remarkable. Yet her mind wandered elsewhere. Until now, she had never thought of marriage, of sharing her life with a man who loved her, whom she cherished in return; to have children, raised with affection and care.
She glanced up at the man walking beside her. Her first impression, when she had met him at Fleet Street, had been of a proud and arrogant man. But through his letters, she had come to know a man of deep feelings, sharing with her his innermost thoughts—raised to a world of consequence, of connections, of wealth and high society, but truly a man of strong and generous principles—proud of his heritage, but oftentimes uncertain, certainly human. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. The staff at Pemberley admired him; all on the estate benefited from his care and generosity; he loved his sister Georgiana so strongly that Elizabeth felt a pang of jealousy.
Jealousy! Oh, she certainlyenviedGeorgiana, for who could not desire what she possessed—the love of the finest of brothers? Butjealousy? Did she really worry that Georgiana’sclaim would prevent him from ever forming an attachment to herself? The realisation that she loved him, that she wished for his love, not as a brother but as a companion, as mentor, as lover, as wife, struck her as bright and thunderous as lightning. She was stunned. She, who prided herself on her understanding and perspicacity, only now recognised that she wished, with all her heart, to stay forever at Pemberley. Yet every day brought Child’s coach closer to returning her to London—there would be no happy marriage to teach the world what love truly was. She found she could not bear the thought of so much delight. Hah! How could the thought of such felicity lead to so much unhappiness?
“Mrs. Elizabeth,” cried Darcy, looking down at her, “you appear unwell. Should we return to the house—perhaps a glass of wine will restore your spirits?”
Unconsciously, she leant into his arm, clutching at it for security lest she stumble. Before they had gone five paces further, Darcy stopped. “Mrs. Elizabeth, I must ask you a question which has been tearing at me for some time. I find I am unable to express myself—‘tis strange, is it not, that we shared such companionable and familiar dialogues in our letters, yet I now find myself bereft of words.”
Elizabeth could only mumble her reply, for she was too overcome by her previous thoughts to comprehend his words.
“Is it certain that you must return to London?—to be a partner of Child & Co. would be of great consequence. Yet—I must say it. Please, if I speak out of turn, you must tell me so—you are far too generous to trifle with me.”
