He nodded and added, “Perhaps a bath in two hours, Mrs Reynolds.”
“Very good, ma’am, sir.”
Fitzwilliam swept Elizabeth up the stairs, saying, “From what Eagleton says, our trunks and personal servants arrived an hour ago, and therefore our things should be unpacked and our rooms empty, for now, but feel free to summon your abigail or any other sort of service.” He opened a door and said, “This is your bed chamber. Georgiana and I updated it, and we hope you like the colours, but you should know that I encourage you to change anything you wish.”
The room was beautiful: large, with several charming Gothic arch windows, a huge four-poster bed, a desk with exquisiteinlaid-wood details, and a little sitting area before the fireplace. Best of all, to her, was that the colours of the sumptuous bed linens, rugs, and curtains were all complementary colours of green, from dark forest green to a brighter springlike shade. The curtains were edged with soft rose pink and were tied back with cords of the same colour. The plaster walls, beautifully accented with intricate mouldings, and the dado rail and wainscoting were all painted in creamy white, and the entire room was elevated with polished brass curtain rods, mirror frames, and fender guards by the fireplace.
Best of all, to Elizabeth, was that the rose pink colour reappeared in hot-house flowers displayed in multiple cut-glass vases. Each flower arrangement also featured greenery, cream-coloured camellias and orange blossoms, and even golden winter chrysanthemums.
Elizabeth let go her held breath. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, it is so beautiful! When did you and Georgiana have time to—” She turned to him, startled by a notion. “Did you do all of this redecorating before you even arrived in Hertfordshire? After five years, were you so certain of me being worthy?”
“I was certain you were worthy, yes. Remember, I had all the evidence of your letters. And, before you ask, no, I was not certain if I could win your regard, but I did have a lot of hope that you would accept my proposal.”
“And how did you know my taste so well?”
“You do like it?” he asked. He looked a bit like a little boy, his eyes shining in anticipation of praise.
“Of course I do! Did you somehow glean from my letters that I would wish for a green and white room?”
“You said those exact words when you wrote to my sister of your mother redecorating her own bedroom in reds and golds.”
“Ohh…I had forgotten that!” Elizabeth laughed and asked, “How on earth could I ever deserve you?”
“Believe me, I ask myself the same question, in reverse.”
He proceeded to show her the dressing room, which had a large copper tub, the small room with a prized water closet, and the nursery. Next came the sitting room that adjoined her rooms to his. The collation and several beverages were laid out on the central table.
“Do you want to peek at the master’s rooms before we refresh and eat?”
“Yes, please.”
He had as large a bedchamber as hers, and he leant towards her and, despite their privacy, whispered in her ear, “I hope you will sleep with me every night in this bed.”
She nodded. They had slept in the same bed during their stays at the inns, and it was a beautiful experience she would be loath to give up.
He, too, had a beautiful dressing room and a water closet. However, his copper tub was perfectly enormous. It had more than enough room for the two of them to bathe together.
Sure enough, he whispered endearments and the hope that they would sometimes bathe together.
She nodded again.
He led her back to the sitting room, which had grand Palladian-style windows. She could see such a beautiful, sweeping view of the grounds. Given the season, there was quite a bit of grey and brown to be seen, but there were also many evergreen trees and bushes, and a portion of the sky had cleared, so sunshine poured onto the rich buff-coloured stones with which Pemberley and the walls of the gardens were built; the deep blue sky was reflected in the lake, and sunlight glinted off the tumbling streams. There was such a warmth to the view, even now in winter, that she felt as if she could burst with happiness.
The two refreshed themselves and ate. Afterwards, she went into her dressing room to ring for Baker, wondering if she should put on a nightgown to rest before her bath and then dress for dinner. While waiting for Baker, she opened the enormous three-winged wardrobe and stood still, stunned.
Baker arrived and asked what she wished to change into.
“Baker, whose clothes are these?” Elizabeth demanded. Fitzwilliam had said that they had updated the rooms—apparently they had missed his mother’s clothes? Or were these borrowed clothes from Georgiana? She saw a beautiful claret-coloured cloak, what looked to be a heavy wool riding habit, a fur-trimmed pelisse, among many other garments.
Baker seemed to be attempting to douse a smile. She immediately said, “They are yours, ma’am. I understand that most of them are new, but they can be altered or removed if they do not suit.”
“Mine? They are not borrowed from Georgiana?”
“They look new, and I was told that they are new.”
The shelves of the wardrobe were stacked with gowns of jewel tones as well as more delicate colours. She recognised one gown, and she supposed that her old clothes were in there, somewhere, but were these new ones her size? Who had chosen?—”
Turning back to Baker, she asked, “Should I ask you or Mr Darcy where all these clothes came from?”
