“I believe you should ask the master about your trousseau.”
“Can you help me change into a nightgown and dressing gown? I would like to rest before my bath and the bell to dress for dinner.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows when she saw the nightgown. She quite hoped that it had been Fitzwilliam, not Georgiana, who had ordered this particular garment.
She felt beautiful in it, though, and she tied the dressing gown at the waist as she walked through the sitting room and knocked at Fitzwilliam’s door.
“Come in, Mrs Darcy.” It was Jameson’s voice, and as she opened the door, she saw that Fitzwilliam was in the middle of a shave.
Her husband waited until Jameson was wiping the blade, and then he asked, “Do you like your new nightgown?”
She nervously pulled at the dressing gown, which thankfully did not need adjustment to adequately cover her. “It is beautiful, but I have questions.”
“You would not be you if you did not,” he said. He grinned, and Jameson hesitated, but then Fitzwilliam cooperated with the need to stop smiling and remain still for the shave.
Elizabeth glanced at Jameson—but he had on his face the impassive expression of a very good servant. She remembered that he had once rushed off to discover her name and probable future location, more than five years ago, in Ramsgate. Suddenly it occurred to her that she owed him this marriage. Fitzwilliam might have been able to track her down then or later—but he very well might not have been successful at such an endeavour. She felt a gush of gratitude for the valet, who obviously took a lot of initiative in his efforts to aid his gentleman.
She asked her questions: “How did you know my measurements to order new garments? Did someone help you choose the fabrics and styles? And when did you place the orders?”
Waiting less than a minute until the shave was complete, Fitzwilliam answered with composure, “Your aunt, Mrs Gardiner, is the answer to your first two questions. She had your measurements and knew your taste in colours and styles…. Such as ‘minimise the lace,’” he said with a smile. “As to whenshe placed the orders, before I went to Hertfordshire, I let Mrs Gardiner know that, if I was successful, you would need many warm clothes. I asked her if she would be able to help with that, and she answered that she would love to. I sent her an express when you accepted my hand, and I am not positive how quickly she placed the various orders. I do know that I was pleased that your mother made such a wonderful beginning to your trousseau from Meryton.”
Elizabeth felt as if her mouth should probably close in the next moment or two, but it was an effort to do so with all the astonishment she felt from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
“Well,” she said, stalling, hoping her knowledge of the English language was not almost entirely vanished… “well, thank you. I suppose I need to write a thank-you letter to Aunt Maddy as well. And, actually, letters in general, to let everyone know that we arrived safely.”
“Yes,” he said, “but….” He turned to Jameson and made some subtle, unspoken command, and his valet whisked out of the dressing room. “Let us go to the bed chamber. We only have an hour before we have that bath scheduled.”
“An hour with which to lie down and rest?” she asked.
Fitzwilliam was busy locking all the doors. “You may lie down. You may even attempt to lie still and silent. But, as for me, I feel a bit more…active.”
Unsurprisingly, Elizabeth found herself wishing to be active as well. The interval passed with unquestionable success; the bath in the enormous tub was everything pleasing, especially since someone had tossed bundles of dried lavender into the water; and it was quite delightful to have Baker to help dry her hair and dress for dinner. Fitzwilliam led her to a small dining room that overlooked a terrace and the orangery for a cosy and delectable dinner, and after they ate, he showedher the bookshelves he had installed in her bed chamber, located between two of the windows. They were hidden behind the forest green curtains, but when the curtains were pulled away, her eyes sparkled as she saw the poetry and comedies of Shakespeare, some recently published non-fiction books she had not even realised existed, an assortment of novels she adored, plus two recent novels, and collections of poems by Wordsworth, Scott, Shelley, Byron, Barbauld…. She felt momentarily dismayed that there was no Cowper—but then she spotted a volume of that poet’s works, as well.
Her thank yous to Fitzwilliam for stocking such a wealth of wonderful books in her room turned into more vigorous displays of mutual appreciation. All in all, other than the fact that Elizabeth had no idea how to get on her own from her rooms to any other spot in Pemberley, other than Fitzwilliam’s rooms, she felt that her first partial day in Pemberley had gone perfectly.
She assumed that, eventually, she would learn to navigate through the mansion and even the grounds on her own. After all, not everything had to be learnt or accomplished in a single day. She could play a long game, and she was hopeful that she could develop patience to rival her beloved Fitzwilliam’s…someday.
Epilogue 1
30 November 1811 - 12 February 1812
Elizabeth made many discoveries as she took on the role of being Mistress of Pemberley.
One thing that startled her on her very first walk, delayed by rain until three days after she had arrived, was that the mature hedge near her second-floor bedroom was lavender. She was delighted, and she happily removed some leaves to burn for the clean scent.
“What luck that my favourite herb grows right outside my chambers!” she said to Fitzwilliam, who was accompanying her on her exploratory tramp.
He bobbed his head and grinned.
She narrowed her eyes. “It could not be planted here for me!”
“Could it not?” was all he asked.
“Fitzwilliam! These plants are at least three or four years old. How could you have known, years ago, how much I like lavender?”
“You wrote about your love for the scent in your first letter to Georgiana, five years ago.”
