She had been that since the trip in the carriage, of course, for which he had not bothered to secure a chaperone. Because it didn’t matter, not if they were to be married. It might not have been strictly proper, but there would be no consequences for it, he knew. And, he thought grimly, she had no father to take him to task over it, did she?
So, he had behaved as if she was his, and he knew that she was.
But he was still utterly terrified at what he had done. What kind of wife was she going to make him?
He was sorry for her pain, but he had to admit that he felt a shameful relief that her horrid mother would not be someone he would have to put up with. He had understood Mrs. Bennet’s position. Surely, it must be frightening to have so many daughters and to be unsure of what would become of them. Surely, she would want to secure their marriages.
No, it was not what she wanted that made her awful, it was simply the way she comported herself. She was so… loud. And the things she said? Those sorts of things shouldn’t be said. At any rate, she was gone, and it was wrong to think ill of the dead. He would not concern himself with that anymore.
But there were other considerations to be taken into account. Elizabeth would need to be the mistress of his estate, to plan balls and meals and keep servants in hand, and he was not sure she had any experience with such things. Not to mention the fact that the society he kept might not be so welcoming of her. They would not think her worthy of him.
When he had succumbed to the madness of the proposal, he had argued with himself that Elizabeth was more than capable of holding her own. She was bright and intelligent, and she could wield a sharper wit than many he knew. But her wit seemed to carry no barbs, not like some of the scheming women he knew. Underneath it all, she had a good nature. She was different from any woman he had met.
He tried to convince himself of all of this again, but he had to admit that she was a shell of herself now.
That bright, witty girl who laughed easily and turned everything into a joke, he didn’t see her when he saw Elizabeth now. He saw someone sad and bitter and broken.
It was to be expected, of course, in the wake of her loss.
And perhaps she would regain her former disposition in time.
However, the deaths of his parents had left him permanently altered. He thought it likely it would do the same to her. It would alter anyone, truly. Anyone who came through it unscathed would not be human.
He knew this, and yet… well, it was the most shameful thing of all, but he was worried that his love for her had been shallow, that he had only loved her brightness, her laughter. Now, when he looked at her, he was not sure if he felt anything toward her at all.
And he could not get out of the engagement. He was bound to her now.
In truth, it was quite a good thing that she had asked for the marriage to be delayed for six months. It would give him time to get to know her better, for them to become close. He was sure that he could fall back in love with her in that time. If not the same kind of love that he had felt before, some other kind of love, one that bespoke duty and connection and all the things a wife was meant to be.
He would bring her back to Pemberley with him, and they would be close. Six months from now, he would be eager for his marriage.
He hoped he would be, anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
Pemberley loomed on the horizon. Elizabeth was horrified at its size. She had known that Mr. Darcy had a great deal of income, and that he was a grand, important man, but she had not truly imagined the scope of his importance. Pemberley was a grand estate. It dwarfed Netherfield, and that was many times the size of Longbourn. This was to be her new home? She was to be mistress of this?
For the first time, she began to wonder if Mr. Darcy was not right. The gap between the two of them was practically insurmountable. She would not belong here. She could never belong in such a place. It was all pillars and stone and narrow windows. The grounds were all fountains and man-made lakes and sculpted gardens.
She was intimidated.
When Mr. Darcy had proposed that she come to stay with him for the period of her mourning, her first inclination had been to refuse. She did not want to be parted from her sisters, Jane especially. She had been gone to Kent before the death of her parents, and had missed those last months in the company of her departed family members. To leave her family now seemed monstrous.
But when Mr. Darcy heard of this, he simply proposed that Jane come along with them. Elizabeth thought this would do and agreed.
However, Lydia was not at all pleased with the arrangement. She wanted to go to London, but the Gardiners let it be known they were a bit concerned about having Lydia in London all on her lonesome. They had explained to her that she was in mourning, and that she could not be out and about in town. Furthermore, there was no money for her to go gallivanting to balls.
But Lydia had no sense, and she seemed somehow even wilder than she had been before the death of their family, as if the horror of it all had brought out a fierceness in her, or even a self-destructive streak. Perhaps that streak had always been there, and now it was only in sharper relief.
At any rate, Lydia would not hear of coming to Pemberley, not that Mr. Darcy had offered, nor would she hear of staying in the Philips household, not when London was an option. Jane decided it was best that she go with Lydia. When Elizabeth tried to say that she would not go with Mr. Darcy, Jane gently reminded her that she would be spending the rest of her life with him.
To Elizabeth, this was all the more reason to have six months to herself.
She even tried to tell Mr. Darcy that she would not go with him.
The conversation was frightfully one sided, however, and she got the impression he was not even listening to her. He was staring at her intently, as if she was a problem he needed to solve, as if there was something about her that he could not quite make heads or tails of. When she said she had been thinking about her promise to go to Pemberley, he began talking of all the things they could do together there in the summer. How they could walk and ride horseback and how much he should like her to meet his sister.
She tried again, saying that she was not sure she would go.
He waved this away, saying it was utterly natural she should be a bit nervous of leaving home, but that she would love Pemberley, that it was impossible not to adore the estate.
The man was infuriating. He made up his mind about things, and he did not seem to think that anyone else could even have an opinion.
But in the end, she didn’t have the strength to fight with him. Perhaps she might have before all this. In fact, she thought if her father hadn’t died, she might well have refused Mr. Darcy’s proposal. Now, though, there was no point in summoning such passion. She simply told him Jane would not be accompanying them, and he said that he was pleased to have her all to himself. But he didn’t smile when he said it, and she didn’t quite believe him.
Truthfully, he had been somewhat cold to her as of late. He had always been cold to her, though, with the exception of the proposal, when he had paced and spoken with great heat about how she haunted him. Perhaps now that he had her, he had lost interest in her.
When she had been a small girl, she had once gotten it into her head that she must have a doll with dark yarn hair to match her own. Her own doll had yellow hair, and it looked like Jane. Elizabeth had made such a fuss about it that her father had seen to it himself that she got the doll. Not only had the doll had hair to match hers, but it was dressed in a dress that was a copy of one of her own dresses. For nearly a month, she had been enchanted with the doll, and had thought she would never want anything again. But after time, she began to lose much interest in it and wished for other things to play with.
She wondered if a man like Mr. Darcy, as wealthy as he was, thought of the world much the same way, as if all the pieces in it were his toys, and that once he possessed them, he grew bored. Perhaps she was little more than a possession to him now, pursued,
won, and now to be set aside.
She was not pleased at the prospect. She hoped it would not be so. She could not make a clear picture of Darcy’s character. There were the careless things he had done to Jane and Mr. Wickham, and there was the haughty way he had proposed to her and assumed she would never dream of refusing. But he had also been so kind and helpful to her family, and Mrs. Gardiner was right. He was generous.
She hoped she could be happy with this man. As it was, she had no home to return to, so she had no choice but to make her home with him.
It was only that she could not dream of making a home in this massive building that loomed over top of them. She craned her neck up as they approached, unable to take her eyes off of it.
“Does it please you?” said Mr. Darcy, and it must have been the first thing he had said in hours. Their carriage ride had been silent and long and uncomfortable. He was not much of a conversationalist, it was true. She had noted as much when she had been forced to dance with him at the Netherfield Ball.
She away from the window to look at him, and she found him looking at her with an eager, concerned look, as if he truly cared for her opinion.
“It is very grand,” she said, and she was frightened that her voice sounded small and thin.
He smiled. “Yes, it is quite a place. You will love it here, I am sure of it.”
She had not told him what she really thought of it, not really, but perhaps that was just as well. Though he had made it out to be actually interested, it was the same as everything. He had made up his mind and expected her to fall in line.
The carriage came to a stop, and they disembarked.
They were greeted by all the servants in the household, all lined up meet the carriage. There was also a thin girl with a nose like Mr. Darcy’s. She stood next to a woman in a sensible morning dress. They must be Miss Darcy and her governess.
Indeed, upon seeing Mr. Darcy, the girl ran forward to leap at him and hug him around the neck, laughing.
He embraced her tightly, and swung her in circles.
Miss Darcy let out a peal of girlish laughter.
Elizabeth was a bit surprised to see Mr. Darcy thus. She noted that he seemed to rarely engage in any mirth at all. He was frightfully serious.
Eventually, Mr. Darcy put his sister down.
She, breathless, smoothed her skirts and grinned up at him with adoration.
Mr. Darcy, also a bit winded, beamed at Elizabeth. “I would like you to meet my sister.”
Miss Darcy looked at Elizabeth, eyes wide, and then looked directly down at the ground, her face growing red.
“This is Miss Bennet, Georgiana. My fiancee,” said Mr. Darcy softly. He looked up at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, my sister Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana. “Nice to meet you.”
Georgiana whispered something to the ground that Elizabeth couldn’t understand.
Elizabeth moved a bit closer, still smiling. “Yes?”
Georgiana turned and buried her face against her brother’s chest.
Mr. Darcy tried to pry her free a bit. “Georgiana, you must say hello.”
But Georgiana would not look up.
Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth an apologetic look. “She is very shy. She does not often meet new people.”
“It is all right,” said Elizabeth. “We shall have time to grow accustomed to each other.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth thought of the way that Mr. Wickham had described Georgiana. She supposed she could understand why he might think that she was proud or arrogant due to her shyness. But that wasn’t what he had said, was it? He said that Georgiana had been very affectionate towards him as a child, but had then turned cold. That did not fit with Georgiana’s seeming character at all. Unless she was only putting on a show of shyness because she did not approve of Elizabeth herself.
“Well,” said Mr. Darcy, “you will be tired from your journey. You will wish to rest before dinner.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” said Elizabeth.
They were all led inside the house, and the room they emerged into was so massive and ornate that Elizabeth could hardly breathe. The ceiling rose high overhead, covered in elaborate designs and with dripping chandeliers hanging down from it. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stairwell, which jutted up in the center of the room, ascending to the higher levels.
Elizabeth was meant to be following a servant up those steps now, to her room, but she was too stunned by her surroundings.
She felt Mr. Darcy’s hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear. “I told you that you would love it here.”
She smiled at him helplessly. Because it was not love that she was feeling but terror. The echoing largeness seemed cold and unwelcoming. This seemed the very opposite of a home.
And when she got to her room, it was even worse. The room was large, full of empty space used for nothing at all. She had all the things she might desire in a room—a bed, a desk, a wardrobe—but the room felt as though it was so big it would swallow her whole.
“You must be Miss Bennet,” said a voice.
Elizabeth turned.
A girl in a maid’s uniform curtsied to her. “I am Martha, miss. I am to serve as your ladies’ maid if it’s agreeable to you.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, so very nice to meet you.” A maid all to herself? Well, she had to admit she was pleased by the prospect of such luxury.
“Shall I unpack your clothing, then?” said Martha. “Help you pick out something to wear for dinner?”
Elizabeth was seized by the fear that she would have nothing appropriate to wear in such a house as this. She only nodded her head, however.
She sat down at her desk and contemplated writing a letter to Jane, describing the house. Oh, how she wished her sister could have been here with her. But that was not to be.
Martha laid out a white dress for Elizabeth and then left.
But a short time later she was back and said that there would not be a dinner that night. The master, as she called Mr. Darcy, had requested suppers be sent up to their rooms as they were all tired. Martha inquired if Elizabeth would like a bath.
That did sound rather lovely.
Elizabeth thought of all the servants carrying tubs of hot water up all those steps in the main hall for her. But no, they must have servant steps they would use. They would not go through the main entrance with water for a bath. It seemed an awful lot of trouble.
But she was to be mistress of this place, was she not? If she could not command the servants to draw her a bath, how did she expect to run the household? “Yes, thank you, Martha. I should like a bath very much.”
“Very good, mum.” She bobbed her head and left the room.
Elizabeth looked out her window into the growing darkness outside, and the grounds of Pemberley seemed to stretch on forever and ever.
* * *
The next morning, Elizabeth rose with the sun, feeling refreshed. She had gone to sleep early the night before, after a relaxing soak in a bath and eating the supper that had been brought up for her. She called for Martha, who was surprised to see her.
“Well, miss, it is early for a fine lady like yourself to be awake.”
“Truly?” said Elizabeth. “Ought I stay in bed?”
“No, of course not. I am here to assist you in any way you’d like, and I know that breakfast is already laid out. Sometimes the master dines early, after all. If he is going out to see to his tenants, he will take a very early breakfast.”
“Will he do that today?”
“Couldn’t say,” said Martha. “He is not always predictable. But he is a good master. We all like him very much here.”
Well, it was good to hear that, Elizabeth supposed. She had not thought Darcy might be well-liked by servants. He seemed like the type to be demanding and unforgiving. Perhaps he was more relaxed out here in his own house.
She felt a bit embarrassed at waking so early. Truly
, it was a bit earlier than she usually woke, but she did not see why it might be a problem. She knew that in London, amongst the gentry, the schedule of the day was tilted towards evening events. People stayed up late at balls and operas and they slept late as well. But here in the country, she had not thought to have to ascribe to a fashionable schedule. She wondered if she had already done things wrong on her first day.
She was also nervous at the prospect of seeing Mr. Darcy at breakfast, of dining with him alone.
But she resolved to herself that it would not be a problem. It would probably be just like the carriage ride. He would not say a word.
So, after dressing, she went resolutely to the dining room where she found a veritable feast laid out on the sideboard. She had never seen such a breakfast spread. Breads and sweetmeats and sausages and eggs and apples. She helped herself to some meat and fruit and a bit of chocolate, which was warm and thick when she drank it.
Mr. Darcy was not there. Indeed no one was.
She was not the least bit saddened by this occasion, however.
The breakfast was very lovely, in all its extravagance. If this was the way she would dine every day, she could not help but be pleased by it. It was only that it did seem a bit of a waste. What would happen to all of the food that wasn’t eaten, for it would be quite impossible for her, Mr. Darcy, Georgiana, and Georgiana’s governess to eat all of it.
After breakfast, she thought she might do some exploring. She ventured down one of the wings, but she was shooed out (kindly) by the servants who were cleaning there and asked to come back in a few hours when all would be ready.
Elizabeth decided to go back to her room and compose a letter to Jane after all. She would tell her all that had occurred and explain the size and scope of the estate to her. Soon, she might have a letter back from Jane.
She and her sister had not been parted long, but she already missed her.
* * *
Jane had finished reading the letter from Elizabeth, and she was not sure what to make of what her sister had said. Though the letter was full of gushing descriptions of the lavishness of Pemberley, there seemed to be a hollow sadness behind all of it. Jane knew that the sadness of losing their family could be at the root of it. Perhaps that was all. But she hoped that Elizabeth would be happy with Mr. Darcy.
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