by Beth Poppet
“And she has excellent taste and judgement concerning my own preferences, but Georgiana will not be the one to pack my trunks. Sarah is glad for the new cloaks, but she withers before the prospect of having to fit everything into my modest travelling set.”
“If it is larger trunks you require, those are easily obtained,” he said without the slightest trace of irony.
Elizabeth laughed. “Mr Darcy, you will make me the envy of every woman in the household, and more besides, for I know all too well that Kitty has a loose tongue.”
“And why should I not?” The corner of his mouth turned upwards in satisfaction. “I am prepared to do ten times this and much more once we are established at Pemberley. You had best get used to it, dearest woman.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Then I shall do my utmost to bear such extravagance with the cheerful submission required of me.”
This caused him to laugh in turn. “If your delicate feelings are assuaged then, I would speak to you of another matter.”
She tilted her head, imposing a wary look upon him. “I’m not certain I am capable of receiving any more assurances of your affections at present. I should rather let my arms rest from the lifting of gowns from parcel to closet.”
“This is not a matter of material possessions, but pertains to your sister, Mrs Collins.”
Elizabeth’s mood sunk considerably. “I do wish you would call her Jane. We are intimately acquainted enough that it cannot be a breach of decorum, and I know she would prefer it as well.”
“Your sister, Jane, then,” he amended, “Was she at any time… regretful of her engagement to Mr Collins?” He went on cautiously as her frown deepened. “I cast no aspersions against her character. I only ask because I am aware of some very deep and tender feelings a gentleman friend of mine still harbours for her. I know them both to be too upright to allow their affections to lead them astray, but I cannot help but wonder, now that she is widowed…” He hesitated as her brow wrinkled with tight lines of worry. “Forgive me. I do not mean to cause you distress.”
“Mr Darcy, you do not distress me in the least by taking an interest in Jane’s concerns,” she softened. “You must know by now that I only love you more for it. I cannot say that she regretted her marriage, for she is too good a creature to indulge in fretting over what she believes to be the right course to take. However, while she was ill at Netherfield, she did confess to me of sharing certain words with Mr Bingley which evidenced that she longed for her situation to be different, even if she could not wholly regret her decision to marry Mr Collins and the comfort it afforded our mother and father. I confess, my only hesitation in bringing her to Pemberley so soon is taking her further from Netherfield. But she will be in deep mourning for months yet, and could hardly be accepting offers of any kind for quite some time.”
Mr Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “Mr Bingley is precisely who I meant by my query. It will not be too difficult to have him stay with us,” he mused. “The Yuletide will be upon us soon, and though Jane cannot participate in balls or any of the formal social gatherings, there is no regulation to keep her sequestered to her rooms at all times. I am confident we might see them together without any indiscretions. It would be easy enough to re-establish their acquaintance from Pemberley if such is the desire for both parties.”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth teased merrily, “are you trying your hand at playing Cupid?”
“No, I am no matchmaker,” he stated with serious conviction. “I strove against the better feelings of my own heart for too long to be considered adept at these things by any stretch of the imagination. But I wish to do a good turn for my friend who has suffered greatly for your sister’s sake. I did not know him capable of pining so long for any woman, least of all one so seemingly dispassionate as your sister.” At her raised brow he hastened to explain. “I know now that my own suppositions regarding her character were completely wrong, and Bingley’s feelings far worthier and more steadfast than my own had been towards you at the start. No,” he shook his head. “It is too generous to say that I have fully mended my ways, or that I am suddenly possessed of a romantic inclination, but I am determined to no longer be blind to the feelings of others. If helping Mr Bingley pay court to the woman he cares for ingratiates me to my new wife, then all the better.”
“I vow to take the secret of your sensibilities to my grave,” she replied archly. “But take care to whom else you confess such tender feelings. It would not do to have your reputation of being severe and unfeeling dissolved all at once!”
“You shall receive no demonstrable signs of public emotion from me, Miss Elizabeth, excepting one liberty which I intend on taking in the sight of all the witnesses who gather at the church on our wedding day.”
Doing her utmost to ignore the blush spreading across her cheeks, Elizabeth hastily turned the subject. “Mama is very displeased that you have foregone the special license. She asks, ‘What good is all his wealth if he is not willing to show it off?’”
“A regular license will do just as well,” Mr Darcy contended, “and eliminates a need to travel to London and away from you.”
“Perhaps I wish for you to leave me so that I might have the chance to miss you a little before we are wed,” she quipped. “Or perhaps I am more avaricious than you realise and am not content to be married by anything less than a special license.”
“If I believed you at all, I might consider it,” he returned glibly, “but I know you to be in the habit of professing opinions which are not your own.”
Elizabeth pressed a saucy kiss upon his cheek before removing herself from the room, and their knowing smiles were the end of the conversation.
The liberty which Mr Darcy spoke of was collected most expertly at the church doors, just before their departure through them post-ceremony. Though it was swiftly and tastefully done, it was a stirring enough kiss to shock one or two of their nearest kin and make Kitty wild with glee and envy to have no beau with which to imagine such tantalising displays.
Mr Darcy was true to his word and made no more public displays of his profound fondness for his new wife, upholding his gentlemanly breeding to the extent that the greater host of their relations and friends did not believe the account of his wedding day exhibition, regardless of how often it was repeated and tittered over by Mrs Bennet and her gossip-mongering sister, Mrs Phillips.
The newly joined couple journeyed straight away to Derbyshire, not of a mind to take leisurely tours when the new Mrs Darcy had yet to behold her husband’s estate. Mr Darcy took care to make their route convenient for coming through the country lanes and passing all the delights their land had to offer in broad daylight. And though even his inestimable will could not be imposed upon the weather, it nonetheless was obliging, and Elizabeth was able to view each prospect with neither fog nor gloom to overshadow.
They came upon the view of the lake just as the sun made its rays dance atop the gentle ripples with the beginning of dusk, and the grand house itself rose above the exquisite landscape in stately splendour. Mr Darcy had proposed they drive the last few miles with the top of the coach rolled down so that Elizabeth might see her new acquisition with no impediments. She did not realise she had begun to stand as they approached the house until her husband asked how she liked the prospect of being mistress to such an estate. Then, “Oh!” was all she could exclaim, sitting back down hard in her seat, but still straining to sit tall as she might, and lean nearer the glorious view. Mr Darcy, who was never one to insist on further conversation, accepted her singular response as more than satisfactory.
As soon as she was helped out of the carriage, Elizabeth’s real introduction to Pemberley began. The servants were all assembled, the housekeeper introduced, and the new Mrs Darcy felt strangely at ease despite the grand responsibility that now lay before her. There was a comforting way about the servants; each knew their role and the standard required of them, but none behaved in quavering fear before the master of the estate, n
or in begrudging deference. On the contrary, in private moments with the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, Elizabeth was told that there was none so kind nor fair as Mr Darcy, save perhaps the Miss Darcy who was equally kind and handsome, and such was the conviction of the entire household. She confirmed Mr Darcy’s account of Wickham, not by way of vulgarity or the love of gossip, but in earnest disappointment when asked outright. Elizabeth pressed her for particulars regarding their boyhood together and at once Mrs Reynolds’s glad expression turned solemn as she recounted their history, lamenting that Mr Wickham had grown up so “wild and undisciplined,” as her genteel ways put it.
Once she had some measure of confidence in running the domestic affairs of Pemberley, Elizabeth took up the pleasant task of making herself more intimately acquainted with the estate and its master before the inevitable throng of family and friends were expected to arrive. She anticipated Jane’s coming with the most excitement, but even the prospect of her dearest sister’s coming to Pemberley could not quell the pleasure she took in wandering the extensive grounds with her husband or pretending not to be overcome by the expanse of literature in one of several libraries available to her.
One relative who would not be part of the group of well-wishers was Lady Catherine. Her letter to Mr Darcy was fraught with regret; not over her absence, but the marriage that had taken place without her approval and the inevitable ruin it would bring to Pemberley.
This, Mr Darcy took very badly at the first. As a man who strove to uphold his duty, and with pride enough still to become angry when suggested he had not done so, it was impossible for him to accept his aunt’s reproaches without taking offense. Elizabeth tempted him out of his dark mood as best she was able, and to a degree she had success, but she knew the best cure was to allow him time to glower and brood so long as he did not take his wounded pride out on her. Still, she did not turn a blind eye to his troubles and was rewarded with her husband’s gratitude on the morning of their guests’ expected arrival.
“I must apologise to you, Elizabeth,” he said with a deep frown while they took their tea in her boudoir. It had become a favourite ritual of hers; beginning the morning with her husband’s attentions and a tray full of bounty.
“Must you?” she replied, one eye raised over the top of her teacup. “You look as if it might give you a great deal of pain. Perhaps you had better eat something, first. I am no tyrant to draw apologies out of a famished husband.”
“Thank you, no. I have already had my breakfast,” he retorted suggestively, and though his eyes still narrowed as he said it, Elizabeth knew that his mood was already improving.
“I do not find it so difficult to apologise to you, Elizabeth,” he said, “though I am ashamed of my behaviour. I fear I’ve been a boar of late, and that is not the kind of welcome to our new life that you deserve.”
“Perhaps not, and perhaps you have been boorish, but I did not marry you with the expectation of perfection and bliss being always our theme. Have we not always been honest with one another? We recognise each other’s faults perhaps more than anyone else in our lives, and those faults will only become more evident the longer we live together as husband and wife. Our love for one another cannot be expected to overwhelm our more pragmatic relations into raptures at our good fortune in having such a bond. My family will continue to be unsuitable, and yours disapproving. We may hope to reform them all a little but let us not place our faith in such aspirations. Rather let us stay united in our attempts to improve ourselves.”
She laughed at her own sermonising. “Now you must forgive me for sounding much too much like Mary spouting from a booklet of womanly virtues!”
“You could never sound like Mary,” he disagreed. “Neither in voice, nor delivery. Will you stop speaking a while, though, and come accept my apology from a more reasonable distance?” he directed.
“And what, pray tell, is reasonable to you?”
“Perhaps I misspoke. I should have said, ‘a more desirous distance,’ which is to say none at all. Come and sit close to me so that I know we are at peace.”
The request was much to Elizabeth’s liking, and the next hours were passed in silent caresses and warm embraces.
∞∞∞
Jane was a picture of divinity, even in her mourning dress and travel-weary pallor, and despite her two companions in the carriage being a fussy, stifling mother and a fretful infant. She bore both with generosity and longsuffering, knowing that her father must be glad of having two much quieter companions with him in the second carriage sent for them by the Darcys. She knew that Kitty would still be sullen and morose since not being allowed to ride with Jane and their mother. Jane would have gladly had Kitty accompany them, but Mrs Bennet insisted that Jane required all the extra room for stretching her legs, and she herself was only riding with her to help with the baby.
“I can help with Henry, too! For Jane has taught me how to hold and soothe him, and I hardly take up any room!” Kitty proclaimed.
“That might be true if you did not lollop about so,” Mrs Bennet retorted with a shake of her head. “But I know you to be guilty of such inconsiderate postures for Lydia was forever complaining about having to share a seat with you.”
“Lydia was the one always lolloping,” Kitty declared, turning red at the unjust accusations levied against her, “And she would bring ever so many gloves and extra bonnets that there wasn’t room for either of us to sit properly, even if we were like to before!”
But Mrs Bennet was resolute, and Kitty was made to bear the intolerable silence of two people who cared more for their dreary books and the long-deceased figures within than engaging with their living flesh and blood beside them. When the estate at last came into view, Kitty could not help her excited exclamation, and Mr Bennet was finally roused from his reading enough to make satisfied observations regarding his favourite daughter’s new position and wealth. He also poked fun at Mary and Kitty and their exalted prospects which Lizzy had procured for them through her own alliance. This was as much of a loving gesture as Kitty could hope for and she was in remarkably good spirits by the time they came ‘round the drive.
The two carriages bearing Elizabeth’s family to Pemberley happily coincided with the arrival of Mr Bingley’s own coach with his two sisters, Mr Hurst, and Georgiana Darcy within. This was not mere coincidence as the travel plans between the two families were very often communicated to both Mr Bingley and Mrs Bennet by the design of Elizabeth and the support of her Mr Darcy.
So it was that everything was arranged exactly to Mrs Darcy’s wishes, and she was most grateful to her husband for issuing such welcoming directions to each arriving member that Elizabeth was able to fall back with Jane, take her nephew up into her arms, and walk a little way unhurried by obligations of hosting.
Mr Bingley too was the last of his party to enter the house, and he did his utmost not to appear either too eager or overly clumsy when he approached the two sisters, but it was a difficult thing with his cane and uneven step making every movement distinctly heard across the foyer.
Elizabeth deliberately turned to welcome him to Pemberley, laughing at the absurdity of it when he undoubtedly had stayed there many more nights than she ever had.
“It is true,” he smiled brightly, “I have had the happy privilege of being Darcy’s guest on more than one occasion, but never have I been so glad to come here, nor so pleased by the rest of the company around me.
“Mrs Collins,” he addressed Jane, sincerity showing in every line of his face, “I am deeply sorry for your loss. I hope you and your son are well.”
“We are very well, I thank you,” she murmured delicately, just as expected of her. Mr Bingley’s passing frown betrayed his disbelief at this statement, but as no more could be said at the moment without a breach of propriety, he let his smile settle back into place and they all passed into the drawing room together.
Chapter Four
The season of merriment passed in such a whirl of new experiences a
nd lively parties that Elizabeth began to feel that life at Pemberley was but one long holiday from which there was no reprieve. Though she was glad to be mistress of such grand and pleasing gatherings, she did long for a quieter season wherein the indistinct drum of multiple conversations carrying on at once, the setting up of card tables, the requests for impromptu dances, and piano performances, and dinners that must be spectacles rather than mere repasts were not a constant.
She sought sympathy and assistance from Georgiana, expecting her to be similarly overwhelmed and in a position to advise her. As their party gathered for entertainment after supper, Elizabeth made haste to take the seat by Georgiana, seeing too she was in dire need of a distraction due to one of her favourite pieces being played rather inexpertly by Mary. Georgiana nobly strove to hide her despair over the desecration that was all too evident to her trained ears, but Elizabeth knew her husband’s sister well enough to be sure the pained expression she bore was not from jealousy or selfishness in another taking the piano bench before her.
“I am sorry you are made to suffer through Mary’s ill attempts to delight us musically,” Elizabeth apologised, quietly enough not to embarrass Mary by being overheard. “She insists on playing, though she has been told time and again how lacking her performances are.”
Too kind to affirm that she found it nearly torturous to listen to, Georgiana pinkened at having her thoughts discovered so easily. “She is very brave to play for so many strangers,” she deflected gently.
“Bold, perhaps. Presumptuous, even, but I am not sure I would ascribe the word ‘brave’ to my sister.” Elizabeth shook her head as if to put the topic aside. “Never mind that. I did not come sit by you in order to critique Mary’s playing. I should be judged a hypocrite, considering my own lack of musical skill. No, what I mean to ask is of a far more practical nature.”
Intrigued by her elder sister-in-law coming to her with a question of any sort, Georgiana’s eyes and ears were sufficiently distracted away from the awful performance. “Of course, I will help however I can,” she said brightly.