Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

by Sharon Lathan

  Darcy silently concurred with the justifying voice in his mind. Then he shook his head and gulped past the lump in his throat. In matters of sexuality and romantic love, Darcy was not what anyone would label experienced. Nevertheless, he was educated on the subject—while surely Elizabeth was not—and as a man, it was his job to lead and set a proper example. Despite her assurances of love and trust, Darcy knew they were new developments harshly won. As such, they were fragile things, to his way of thinking, and he refused to allow any action borne from his weakness cause either her love or trust to shatter.

  “I understand you have affairs to manage, William. I will miss you, of course, but you must not fret over my feelings. I recognize the sacrifice and appreciate why you are making it. How soon, and for how long will you be in London?”

  Her soft voice and tender touch of gloved fingertips to his left cheek broke him out of his trance, Darcy only then realizing how close he had drawn to her lips. He straightened slowly, forcing a serene smile. “I will give Mr. Daniels a week or so to prepare. I cannot say how long, but trust me that it will be as short as possible.”

  Maybe it will be beneficial to separate for a short span. The thought was sensible but painful to contemplate, so he tucked her hand under his arm and resumed their stroll. Bingley and Jane were far ahead but had stopped to wait for them. Or perhaps they had paused for an intimate conversation of their own. Darcy waved casually, and Bingley waved back.

  “We seem to have lagged behind, but at least we are in eyesight, so my promise to Mr. Bennet to remain as a group is not broken. Now, where was I? My letter to Daniels was complete, with assistance from my valet who has neater penmanship than mine. Fortified with coffee, I attended to the personal correspondence. First, naturally, was Georgiana.”

  “Miss Darcy is such a dear! She will be pleased, will she not?”

  “Pleased? Indeed not! She will be overjoyed, Elizabeth. She has longed for a sister all of her life, dreams of the intimate friendship not possible with a brother over a decade older. I have wished for Georgiana to have this as well, and it is doubly gratifying that my tremendous fortune in earning a place in your life also means fulfilling her desires.”

  “If Miss Darcy were anything other than the sweet-natured creature she is, I might be daunted by the charge. As it is, my only apprehension is that my impertinence and quick temper shall frighten—or corrupt her good manners.”

  “The liveliness of your mind and sportive manner will be good for her, I am certain of it.”

  “And when I tease you? Or we argue, as we surely shall? Will her high opinion fade and affection cool in defense of a beloved brother?”

  They had almost caught up to Jane and Bingley, so Darcy did not hesitate to once again stop walking. If not for his concern over the trace of strain amid her humorous tones, Darcy would have been gladdened to realize his improving ability to detect her emotions. At the present, his only thought was to console her.

  “It is in large part because of her love for me that Georgiana’s sentiments toward you spring, Elizabeth. She is one of a handful who knew my love for you and has seen the affect upon me when hope was lost. Rather than despising you as the cause of my…sadness”—agonizing, soul-wrenching pain—“Georgiana welcomed you to Pemberley with jubilation nearly as intense as mine. She supported my decision, that is true, and trusted my resolution that you alone could bring me happiness. Yet, Georgiana drew her own conclusions and grew to care for you because of your interactions with her. It is impossible for me to imagine your heart opening to me without my sister’s influence as a portion of the catalyst. As for the rest”—he brushed the tip of one finger over her nose playfully—“Georgiana will soon learn the relationship between husband and wife is quite different than that of siblings.”

  They walked in silence for a while after that. Lizzy seemed deep in thought, and Darcy was content to quietly dwell on the rosy flush his touch had elicited. Soon their steps brought them to the waiting Jane and Bingley, the duo suggesting a rest beside the creek-fed pond visible behind a cluster of oak and elm trees. In short order, they were settled in moderate comfort on the flat tops of several rocks conveniently located under the shady branches. Slices of cheese, dried fruit, and soft rolls were pulled from the basket Jane carried, and Darcy bravely risked slipping into the pond to fill two pewter mugs with water.

  Casual conversation flowed amongst the foursome, mixed with laughter and the occasional lull.

  It was in one of the latter that Lizzy turned to Darcy and murmured, “We never made it past your letter to Miss Darcy. Is that as far as you got?”

  Darcy chuckled. “No. I may be a slow writer, but not that pathetic. Next was a letter to Mrs. Reynolds. The staff must be alerted, of course, and there are a number of preparations necessary to conclude before we come home.”

  “Home,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, Pemberley will be home. I suppose I shall have to acclimate to that.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I am not insensitive to how difficult leaving Longbourn for Pemberley will be, Elizabeth. I shall do all in my power to ensure it is a smooth transition. As will Mrs. Reynolds. Most of my letter involved instructions to accommodate your personal comforts.”

  “Oh my! I pray you did not insinuate I require much! I do not wish to impose—”

  “You are to be my wife and the Mistress of Pemberley. Nothing you want or need shall ever be an imposition. But, if it reassures you, I only ordered simple tasks, such as cleaning thoroughly, airing out my mother’s chambers, resupplying the dressing room that shall be yours, and so on. Mrs. Reynolds would have done this whether I asked or not. She is phenomenally capable, and her happiness that I am finally to be wed will rival Georgiana’s.”

  “You speak of her with great affection, as she did you during our tour of Pemberley. I sensed a caring beyond what one typically sees from a servant.”

  “I was four years of age when Mrs. Reynolds secured the position after Pemberley’s previous housekeeper, Mrs. Sutherland, passed on. She never blatantly assumed a parental role, but due to my mother’s illness, often she was the only female adult I could turn to during my formative years. She is warm and compassionate, and severely loyal to Pemberley and the Darcy family. I have learned to rely upon her gentle touch for myself, and especially with Georgiana.”

  “Then I shall try not to worry over Mrs. Reynolds being burdened. Her assistance in helping me adjust to life at Pemberley will be appreciated.”

  Unable to resist, he reached up and twisted an errant curl around his finger. “You will love living at Pemberley, I promise. Do not hesitate to tell me if there are any particular wishes or items you want purchased or, well, any supplies proper for a lady. My knowledge of feminine requirements is woefully inadequate.”

  “I will keep it in mind, thank you. So, were your letters of instruction completed? Or are there others in your employ to be raised to a dither and sent scurrying about?”

  “The rest were family, although I cannot claim none shall soon be scurrying about. I do hope a few might make the journey to meet my bride.”

  “My interest is piqued, William. The only relatives I have heard mentioned are Colonel Fitzwilliam, his parents, and Lady Catherine. Oh, and Miss de Bourgh. I saw the family tree tapestries hanging in the foyer of Pemberley and was overwhelmed by the Darcy lineage. I guess the recent generations were lost to me amid the vastness of your ancestry. Have you so many kinsman close to you?”

  Aside from the occasional comment by Mr. Bingley, who had met a few of Darcy’s relatives, Jane and Lizzy listened in amazed silence as Darcy summarized his immediate family. He began with his father’s four siblings, those whom he had written to first.

  His father’s favorite sister, Darcy’s Aunt Estella, lived with her husband, Mr. Xavier Montrose, and their children and grandchildren, in Devon near Exeter. He was confident that they would attend the wedding, or at least make an attempt.

  Dwelling in Manchester, his Uncle Phillip w
as not awfully far away, yet the likelihood of him or his family coming to the wedding was slim. Born when Darcy’s father, James, was sixteen, the brothers had never been overly intimate. Darcy barely knew him or any of the cousins.

  The eldest of James Darcy’s siblings was Darcy’s Aunt Mary, the Baroness Oeggl. Even though Mary had dwelt in Austria with her husband, Baron Oeggl, and their children and grandchildren for all of Darcy’s life, they had managed to visit each other from time to time. Darcy was quite fond of them. While doubtful they would travel to England so near winter, it was possible a couple of his cousins might, so he had already dispatched the missive via private courier.

  As for the last sibling, and the one who had been dearest to both of his deceased parents’ hearts, his Uncle George was unquestionably the one most willing to move mountains to be at Darcy’s wedding.

  “It is strange that somehow I know this,” he murmured. “The truth is, I am not close to my Uncle George. Nothing amiss or to be guilty of in that assessment, you understand. George has lived in India as a practicing physician with the British East India Company since I was a baby. His return visits to England, only three of them, have been under…unusual circumstances.”

  Deciding it was far too complicated and personal to dive into at the present, Darcy left it at that. “Suffice to say, our personal relationship has never flourished into true intimacy. He is brilliant and a good man, but eccentric and reckless. Over the years we have corresponded regularly, and as much as possible within letters, my fondness for my uncle has grown. George cares for me as well, although how much of that is based on my own merits or due to being the son of his favorite brother, I cannot say.”

  Darcy pointed out that no matter how swiftly dispatched, an invitation would reach India long after November the twenty-eighth. Dr. George Darcy would want to be at his nephew’s wedding, Darcy was sure of this, and therefore would be the most heartbroken at missing it.

  “All I can do is pray my lengthy letter rich with details will soften the blow.” Darcy did not elaborate that the pages had been filled with gushing enumerations of his joy, praise for his betrothed, and rapturous assurances of how her excellence would, in countless ways, positively affect George’s namesake, Georgiana, and Pemberley.

  “Once finished with those, it was after noon. My desire to be here, on this path with you and enjoying the fine autumn weather, overruled the desire to inform my mother’s side of the family of our engagement. Time enough for that tomorrow.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam will be top on that list, eh, Darcy?”

  “Do you know the colonel, Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked before Darcy could affirm his friend’s query.

  “We have met on several occasions, yes. Capitol chap. Dissimilar to Darcy in temperament, but the two are thick as thieves.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam is my cousin,” Darcy clarified to a confused Jane. “He is nearly three years my senior, but our families live less than ten miles apart in Derbyshire, so we grew up together. His father, the Earl of Matlock, was my father’s oldest and dearest friend. His lordship’s sister, Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, and my father, James, fell in love when quite young. They married a few years after my Uncle Malcolm, that is Lord Matlock, married Lady Madeline Hamilton, one of my mother’s dearest friends. Rather cemented the relationships, I suppose, but as Bingley said, Richard is a capitol chap, so my affection for him is based on more than shared blood—when he is not driving me insane, that is.”

  “Yes, I seem to recall an undertone of familiar sparring between you two.” Lizzy laughed at Darcy’s long-suffering sigh. Turning to Jane, she said, “I met Colonel Fitzwilliam while in Kent this past spring. A most amiable gentleman with a delightful humor.” Darcy frowned, but Lizzy did not appear to notice. “We conversed a great deal, although he never mentioned his kinship to Mr. Darcy. It was a surprise to me when I learned of it.”

  She did not ask aloud if his cousin knew of their history, but Darcy could see the unspoken question in her eyes. He inclined his head slightly. “As Bingley intimated, I will write to my cousin later. He is currently away from London, on some sort of secret military assignment, and not expected to return for another week or more. I may wait until I am in Town to share my news. He will be pleased to see me settled, if for no other reason than to have something new to harass me about. He praised your amiability and humor as well, Elizabeth, and appreciated your company at Rosings more than you probably realize.” He smiled at the blushing surprise crossing her face. “Our Aunt Catherine annoys him far more than she ever has me, and he hates it when I drag him along for my visits there. Your presence was…beneficial for both of us.”

  Darcy said no more. Best not to dig too deeply into all that had happened while at Rosings Park in Kent. And there was no reason for her to know that Richard’s continual innocent effusions about Miss Elizabeth Bennet had brought Darcy closer to strangling his cousin than the worst of their youthful skirmishes ever had! Luckily, Richard was a confirmed bachelor, so his harmless flirtations had not been too worrisome.

  Another topic he had no intention of discussing with Elizabeth now, or ever if possible, was how his Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Madeline might react to Darcy’s choice of bride. Possible objections to the match mirrored the regrettable words he had spoken when he proposed at Hunsford in April. Richard’s acquaintance with Elizabeth, and resulting excellent opinion of her, could prove beneficial in persuading his parents.

  His Aunt Catherine’s opinion on what constituted a marriage was absolute and forever had been. There was no question how she would take the news of his engagement to Elizabeth Bennet, and after her unforgivable offense in barging into Longbourn, Darcy had no intention of wasting his time with more than the briefest of letters.

  Lord and Lady Matlock were altogether a different matter. For one, other than an occasional vague comment and the habitual introduction to unattached young ladies at any function Darcy happened to be at, neither of them had overtly seemed concerned about his marital status. Unlike Lady Catherine, the suggestion that Darcy marry their daughter, his cousin Annabella, had never been broached. Affection between them was genuine, so he knew they would desire his happiness. And, as he had told Elizabeth yesterday, he truly believed they would adore her once they spent time with her. How could they not?

  On the other hand, Darcy knew his uncle to be, like most English aristocrats, exceedingly proud of his title and heritage. In essence, Darcy did not dispute this. He too was a man of ancient lineage, with roots firmly bound to his family’s land and wealth. It was no secret that the obligation and expectation, even if never loudly vocalized by Lord Matlock, was for Darcy to marry well.

  In Darcy’s mind, he was marrying well, better than he deserved or could have found amid the polished veneer that comprised the vast majority of women in Society. Yet it had taken him a long while, and the indictment passing the lips of Elizabeth when he first proposed, to fully comprehend this meant more than a title or generous dowry. Hopefully his uncle and aunt would understand, but he honestly did not know.

  “So now you know all there is to learn of my family—”

  “All there is to learn? I can think of several dozen more tidbits to pick from your brain. For instance, you never mentioned your other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother. The colonel is a second son, so I presume there is another?”

  “Indeed,” Darcy agreed while standing and extending his hand to help her rise, “there is. I recommend saving your dozen tidbits for another time or we shall have nothing to talk about on our next walk, thus left with scant to do but stare at the passing grass.”

  * * *

  On Monday and Thursday, in the minutes between three and four o’clock in the afternoon, a postal carrier crossed the bridge over the River Derwent and passed under the massive stone arch emblazoned with the name PEMBERLEY. He then veered toward the narrower avenue to the north, until reaching the gigantic graveled courtyard between the stable complex and the domestic wing of the
great house. His presence was expected, and without fail, he was greeted near the kitchen entrance by Mrs. Reynolds, who exchanged the sack of incoming mail for an identical sack of outgoing mail. She also routinely handed him a flagon of cold water and a tin plate heaped with food. While the thankful young man enjoyed the nourishment, he and his mount resting in the shade for a spell, Mrs. Reynolds immediately retired to her office to sort through the mail.

  The twice-weekly Royal Mail shipment primarily consisted of personal correspondences from friends and family members of the extensive Pemberley staff, as did the shipment leaving with the postal carrier. However, it was not unusual for letters to arrive via the general mail service for Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, or the Pemberley steward, Mr. Keith. Of utmost importance was ensuring these three individuals be given their mail before anyone else in the household.

  This long-ago established post routine for Pemberley was rarely deviated from. Conversely, the arrival of dispatches sent by special courier was impossible to predict.

  If able to afford private delivery, as Mr. Darcy of Pemberley certainly was, that avenue was preferred due to the frequent delays and mishaps plaguing the Royal Mail system. Pemberley’s butler, Mr. Taylor, and the footmen who were under his jurisdiction never knew when a rider may gallop up to the front entrance of the manor, so there was always someone standing at attention in the vaulted, massive foyer just in case.

  On the day Darcy’s letters to Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds arrived at Pemberley, the footman Rothchilde was on duty as sentry. Diligent to the serious task of delivering any missive from Mr. Darcy, Rothchilde enlisted the aid of fellow footman Phillips to hand carry the envelope addressed to Mrs. Reynolds. Neither footman knew precisely where she might be at that exact minute, but Phillips hunted her down to the main linen closet on the second story.

  She and three maids were conducting the yearly inventory, literally knee deep in stacks of neatly folded towels, sheets, tablecloths, and assorted other linens. With a nod, Mrs. Reynolds took the letter from Phillips and tucked it into her pocket for careful reading in the privacy of her office later. While receiving messages from Mr. Darcy directly to her was not a daily occurrence, it was common enough not to warrant undue concern. How was she to know it was arguably the most critical and thrilling letter she had ever gotten from the man she loved almost as if her own son?