“Pardon me?” Elizabeth’s mouth gaped as wide as her eyes. “Is this what the servants are saying?”
“Oh, no, they would never dare speak so freely.” Georgiana glanced over her shoulder at the stern-faced portraits. “But my brother George wrote me.”
“Brother George?” Elizabeth’s heart gave an unexpected lurch. This was the very name Darcy had deliberately withheld from her, though she knew she was being absurd—George was one of the most common names in England, shared even by the reigning monarch.
Darcy’s sister misunderstood her silence and giggled. “Yes, it is quite silly that he is named George and I am Georgiana. But George has his own father… oh my, pray do not imagine my mother was involved in any impropriety. What I mean is that my father claimed George as his godson, but… I should not have spoken of it. Fitzwilliam does not speak about him, as it is a big shame. You will not tell anyone, will you?”
“As I know nothing about him, what is there to tell?”
“Good, because George has journeyed all the way to India. In his letters, he describes the most marvelous adventures. He is going to be a rajah, whatever those are, and he has ridden on an elephant. The heat is wicked, and everything is much more colorful than in our rather dull English landscape. I miss him terribly, as he is the only one who ever told me things.”
“And what else did he tell you?” Elizabeth encouraged, curious about this brother who had apparently fathered a child out of wedlock.
“He wrote about you, Mrs. Darcy. That our brother had gone to the countryside to bring back his secret love, a lady none of us would expect. The family wished him to marry his cousin, but since Fitzwilliam has no interest in dancing or speaking to ladies, it was quite a shock to find you existed. And now you are here, a proper Mrs. Darcy, and we are all delighted. You must love my brother immensely to wish to be Little Tom’s mamma. This is the most romantic thing that has happened to our family in years.”
Elizabeth wondered if this was the story the family had agreed upon—a tale designed to preserve their social standing, an act of charity combined with romance. It was certainly more acceptable than a man marching into a roofless house and offering to buy a bride.
“A secret love,” she said dryly. “Indeed, we are so very secret, Miss Darcy, that your brother scarcely speaks of it even to me. You must not be disappointed if you observe us to be a quiet sort of lovers. We are saving the great romance for when no one is watching.”
“Oh, but then, I shall catch you at your most unguarded,” Georgiana responded with delighted laughter. “Brother thinks he is so stern and reserved. Did you know he practices his scowls in front of a mirror?”
“Perish the thought, then perhaps I shall stick a feather in his nose while he perfects his technique.”
This led to a volley of giggles that echoed through the gallery, and Elizabeth decided she would manage well enough so long as she had this one warm, talking, undefended creature to delight herself with.
At last, the girl delivered her to the mistress’s chamber—a suite larger than the whole ground floor of Longbourn, hung in pale blue, the windows giving on the park and the silver thread of the river beyond. Clarice was already there, unpackingElizabeth’s meager wardrobe, and Georgiana left reluctantly, only after extracting promises for Elizabeth to sit next to her at dinner and talk about her many sisters.
Elizabeth let out a deep breath and allowed her maid to remove her traveling dress and don her best gown—a simple muslin garment entirely suitable for Longbourn but certainly falling short of the standards of Pemberley.
Once she was alone, she did not lie down, as Darcy had suggested. She crossed instead to the little writing desk that Clarice had already unpacked and set upon the table by the window. She opened the journal, wrote the date at the top, and began to record the observations she had been accumulating during the journey.
He adores his sister and displays considerable patience with her impetuous nature. Having lacked a mother’s guidance since the age of six, Georgiana has clearly grown up under the sole influence of her brothers.
He maintains a reserve for the household, apparently practicing his most stern expressions before his mirror. He specifically instructed me to maintain a reserved demeanor during my introduction to Mrs. Reynolds.
His half-brother’s name is George—a fact clearly not to be discussed. Yet Georgiana proves talkative, and with time, I shall undoubtedly learn more.
The family appears to be circulating the story that I am Darcy’s secret love, making his courtship of me appear as a matter of romantic inclination rather than financial necessity. I suppose I must take some small pride in the fact that Mr. Darcy has asked me to dance on at least two occasions—surely more than any other lady can claim.
Buoyed by Georgiana’s warmth and the amusing revelations of her supposed great romance, Elizabeth read over her list, nearly striking out the final observation, but leaving it. She thencapped the inkwell, carefully placed the journal in its drawer, and turned the small key, grateful that her husband had gifted her a writing desk with a lock.
CHAPTER FIVE
A NEW WIFE EXPLORES
Not beingone to lie down with vapors or nerves, having neither the constitution for the first nor the patience for the second, Elizabeth explored as much of the mistress’s chambers as interested her, which proved, upon honest consideration, encompassed nearly every corner. A wife was entitled to know the rooms she had been given, and so, she did not trouble to ask whether the late Lady Anne Darcy would have agreed to having her newly-purchased daughter-in-law rummage her dressing-table drawers.
A regiment of cut-glass perfume bottles stood on the surface. Elizabeth, unstopping one, was met with a breath of lily-of-the-valley so sudden and alive that the woman herself seemed to stand at her shoulder. Nearby sat a small enameled snuff jar, its contents long since dried to dust, yet unmistakable in its purpose. Elizabeth found herself rather warming to the memory of Lady Anne upon this discovery—a grand lady of Derbyshire who enjoyed her private pinches while allowing the rest of the county to believe whatever pleased them. It was the first thing she had encountered at Pemberley that felt less like a monument and more like a person.
Above the dressing-table stood a shelf lined with books, most of them practical volumes befitting the mistress of such an establishment: a receipt book written in a careful, capable hand that detailed the preparation of black-currant cordial and offered remedies for common ailments like chilblains, alongside stern instructions to the housekeeper regarding the proper airing of the principal bedchambers; a detailed household account book; and a commonplace book filled with copied-out verses and religious sermons that Elizabeth judged, perhaps uncharitably, to have been kept for show. Set apart from these practical works was a row of leather-bound volumes, their spines and edges worn with age and handling, and yet, none of them locked.
Strange how Darcy had seen fit to gift her a lock on the writing desk, yet Lady Anne had locked nothing. These journals were private history, perhaps filled with intimate thoughts. Her fingers reached for one volume, then fell back to her side. The idea of an unknown daughter-in-law bent on prying was perhaps repugnant.
However, she was also lost in the vast and orderly wilderness of Pemberley with no guide other than an exuberant sixteen-year-old, and she was expected to be a mother to a grieving boy.
And so, with a mixture of trepidation and determination, Elizabeth removed the first three journals from their shelf, deciding she might as well seek the advice of one who had navigated these waters before her.
After all, the only instruction she had of motherhood was Mrs. Bennet’s loud and noisy urging of her daughters to stand up straight, smile at gentlemen, and measure their wealth. Mrs. Bennet had no sons, and since men were an altogether different kind of challenge, Elizabeth would require instruction on raising the reserved and scowling boys from a woman who had obviously noted Darcy’s earliest moments.
