It was then that Mrs. Reynolds entered—a genteel, respectable-looking, older woman. “Good morning, ladies and sir. I am pleased to welcome you to Pemberley. Mr. Darcy is from home at present, but visitors are always welcome to view the house and grounds.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught at the mention of his name, and in that instant she felt the oddest twinge—a memory, perhaps, or a wish resolved.
“Mrs. Reynolds… my pardon, but you were unaware I have just this moment returned.” His voice was as she always knew it—refined, educated, deep, beautiful. Yet, there was a vulnerability she had never noticed before.
Mr. Darcy?
She turned to her aunt and uncle with what she hoped was composure. “We should go,” she said quietly. “We should not impose.”
“Miss Bennet.”
His voice came from the doorway. She had no memories of this. She turned, slowly.
He did not look displeased. That was the first thing she noticed. He looked—she searched for the words—the same as in London, taking pleasure in their company.
He crossed the room toward her aunt and uncle, spoke quietly, chuckling at some comment that Mr. Gardiner had made. And then he turned to her.
“I had hoped,” he said, “that you would come.”
She stared at him.
“I asked your uncle to bring you,” he said, simply. “I wrote to him. I should have—I ought to have told you myself, but I wasnot certain you would agree to come if you knew.” A pause. “I was not certain I had any right to ask it.”
Elizabeth looked at her uncle, who had the expression of a man who had kept a secret rather longer than was comfortable and was glad to be relieved of it.
They took tea in the drawing-room. Georgiana was already there when they entered, seated near the window with Mrs. Annesley beside her, and she rose the moment she saw Elizabeth, a broad smile on her face. In London they had spent so many hours together—walking in the park, talking about music and books, visiting galleries and museums. Georgiana was not easy with strangers. With Elizabeth, she never had been a stranger.
“You came,” Georgiana said, and took both of Elizabeth’s hands in hers.
“I did not know it was Pemberley.” It was then that Elizabeth’s composure fled her. She burst into tears, burying her head on Georgiana’s shoulder.
“No! You shouldn’t comfort me! My shame is spread across the London tabloids! Oh, Georgiana, whatever have I done to you? It is so unfair, that you should also suffer for my recklessness.”
“Reckless? Have you not read the rebuttal to the Post’s villainy?” Darcy stepped forward. “Both Matlock and Wellington state unequivocally that the paper promotes a gross falsehood—that they hold you in the highest esteem; that you did Britain a great service, and have always acted with the greatest propriety.”
“Oh, but you, Mr. Darcy, know the truth.” Elizabeth’s sobs increased. “It is not only thetonwhose good opinion I solicit. Cannot you see? Above all else, it is your and Georgiana’s good reputation that matters. I have disgraced you—certainly that is believed by half of England, notwithstanding their lordships’ approbation.”
Elizabeth abruptly turned towards the door. “Please, uncle, you were well meaning, but I cannot stay.”
Pemberley! Everything that she could have wanted. She could have loved Darcy all the more for his beautiful house!
“Miss Bennet—I will not let you leave. Please, walk with me.” Darcy took her arm.
Was it weakness to allow him to escort her outside? To walk together along a beautiful walk by the side of the water? Every step bringing forward a grander vista, a finer reach of the woods? It was some time before Elizabeth was sensible to any of it.
“Elizabeth.” He stopped walking. The use of her Christian name stopped her. She turned, though she had not meant to.
“I think you know what I wish to say to you.”
“I think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “that I must ask you not to say it.”
Something moved in his expression—hurt. “You would deny me even the words?”
“I would spare you the necessity of them.”
“Spare me?” He repeated it quietly. “You think it a kindness, then, to spare me.”
“I think it the only kindness left to me.” She made herself look at him. “Mr. Darcy, you are not ignorant of what is being said. We are at war, and any hint of treason, of collusion with the French is stain enough—but it is alleged I also used my charms to betray our country. Some have said that I am a beautiful woman: that is enough, of itself, to condemn me. Did not Shakespeare say “O, the world hath not a sweeter creature! She might lie by an emperor’s side and command him tasks.” An emperor? Surely I must also have lain with Napoleon himself! I will not have your name whispered alongside mine.”
