Finally, she came to a beautiful red velvet box. Carefully laid inside were five small silhouettes. Each was attached to a piece of thick white card, with a border of gold leaf. The ensemble was completed with a red, velvet ribbon to hang them by. Elizabeth quickly recognised one as the likeness of a younger, Mr Darcy. The second one, a chubby-cheeked child, must, she deduced, be Georgiana. Retrieving two more, one each of a man and a woman, she thought must be Darcy parents. Elizabeth picked up the final one and studied its features. It was also of a young man, and she quickly realised it was the likeness of George Wickham. A wave of sadness washed over her. He must have been well loved by the family once. And, although she no longer had any feelings for him, she could not help but think of a life wasted. How different his life could have been had he followed her husband’s example. He might have been a respected clergyman with a parish of his own, a family and a future to look forward to. Instead, he lay in the cold dark earth of the cemetery. Ironically, the one that he might have called his own.
“These are what we use every year, ma’am. We space them as evenly as possible around the tree. I will start hanging them, and maybe you would like to follow?”
Elizabeth watched as Mrs Reynolds hung a few of the ornaments on the tree and then tried to follow her example. Tentatively at first, but her confidence quickly grew as the housekeeper praised her efforts. Lastly, she placed the silhouettes at the front of the tree in a pleasing group. Elizabeth hesitated as she considered whether to including Wickham’s one or not. After the events of last year with Georgiana, and then Lydia, she decided to just hang the family ones. She looked to Mrs Reynolds, who nodded her approval as she returned Wickham’s image to the box.
Within the space of two hours, the tree had been transformed from a single block of green to an array of colour and light, with small candles of bee’s wax being added lastly to the sturdier branches. With the candles alight, the air seemed to be filled with a warm feeling of celebration and happiness.
Elizabeth stood back with Mrs Reynolds, and the two ladies admired their efforts with pleasure. It was wonderful, and she could certainly understand why Darcy had instigated the tradition.
“Now madam, you take yourself off to the master’s library. There’s a good fire burning in there, and I will bring you some luncheon. You need to keep warm now the snow’s falling. I’ll just get Tuppence to clear these boxes away so when the master returns, he will get the full effect of our efforts.”
“’That’s an unusual name Mrs Reynolds, Tuppence, is it a family name?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, no madam, no-one knows his real name, nor his age for that matter. He says no one cared enough about him to give him a name, poor mite.”
“How did he come to be here at Pemberley then?”
“Now, that I do know. It was the masters doing. He rescued him from London two years ago.”
“I know so little of my husband’s past Mrs Reynolds,” Elizabeth said, inviting the housekeeper to continue.
Mrs Reynolds studied Elizabeth’s face for a moment. She knew her master and the staff at Pemberley better than any other, and it had not escaped her notice that the master and his new wife had yet to share a bed. She understood that his demeanour was sometimes mistaken as proud and taciturn, but it was not a true statement of his character. Although she strictly forbade gossip of any kind, she knew Elizabeth needed some help understanding her new husband.
So she smiled and said,
“Would you like to hear the story of how Mr Darcy brought Tuppence to live at Pemberley?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Master William was enjoying a riding in Hyde Park when he saw a fellow gentleman beating a bundle of rags, or so he thought. It was not until he drew closer he realised it was a child, a young beggar boy. His clothes were filthy and hung from his skinny body in tatters. Wrapped in his arms was a small dog, a puppy. He was trying to shield it from the gentleman’s whip; instead, taking the brunt of the beating on his own back. Well, Mr Darcy jumped from his horse and took hold of the man’s arm, forcing him to drop his whip. Apparently, he had only bought the dog to do tricks to amuse his friends, but it would not perform. His savage brutality over something so trivial saw Mr Darcy’s anger complete. He demanded the man relinquish his ownership of the animal immediately, and then duly recompensed him with a guinea. The master thought to make the pup a present for his sister. Imagine his surprise when the boy refused to part with him. He stood up and very politely thanked Mr Darcy for rescuing them both, then said he could not give the animal up, citing that he had no notion of the master’s character. Then, as calm as you like, he offered to buy the pup from Mr Darcy. He said he could not match the guinea, but was willing to part with everything he had, which was Tuppence. The master was impressed by the boy’s integrity and bravery. He asked where he had learnt such traits. Father Dominic, he replied. Well, Master William went and spoke to the good father, who told him the boy had no family or friends of worth, but he was honest, hardworking and a fast learner. So Master William offered him a home at Pemberley. There were conditions, of course; he has to attend school, work on the estate to learn a trade and be a good Christian. He is an apprentice to Mr Watkins, the head gardener.”
Mrs Reynolds looked at Elizabeth. She knew her master would not brag of his good deeds, but she could. She was as proud of him as any mother could be.
“Several estate workers have come to Pemberley in a similar fashion. People rarely leave Pemberley. Mr Darcy is the kindest, fairest master there is, and all the staff and villagers are completely loyal to him.”
Elizabeth was spellbound by the story, and when Mrs Reynolds had finished, she asked,
“And the dog, what became of the dog, Mrs Reynolds?”
“Oh, that little pup is now the Beast Master William calls Trafalgar, and he is the most loyal of us all,” she chuckled.
Elizabeth had listened in silence, in awe of her husband’s actions. There were few men who would have bothered to stop a street urchin receiving a beating, let alone offer him a home. She hoped Mrs Reynolds would share other stories from Darcy’s past with her. She suspected he would be reluctant to boast of his kind deeds to anyone, especially her.
Elizabeth recognised she had sorely misjudged him, and on so many levels too. Thinking him proud and aloof, when he was shy and reserved. Accusing him of having a selfish disdain for the feelings of others, when clearly he was quite the opposite. The more Elizabeth discovered about Darcy, the stronger her love became. He truly was the best man she had ever known.
“Mr Darcy is reluctant to speak of past events, so I am most grateful to you for sharing this with me, Mrs Reynolds. I understanding him a little better now.”
“Every servant has a history madam.”
“I understand, and thank you, Mrs Reynolds.”
Elizabeth entered the library and returned to the seat by the fire.
A young maid brought in a tray and set down a bowl of warm vegetable soup, and a plate of thick, crusty bread. It was delicious, and after she had finished it all, she sipped at the hot chocolate.
With a full stomach and a warm room, she quickly succumbed to her body’s desire to sleep. As the maid left with the tray, Elizabeth was roused by the click of the door shutting. Although groggy, she could hear their voices through the door.
The maid spoke first.
“She must be plumb worn out, Mrs Reynolds, fast asleep in the chair she is. Probably all the night-time activities catching up with her,” followed by a girlish giggle.
“That is quite enough of that Molly Weaver; the mistress has had a tiring journey and no time to restore herself. Now get below stairs with that tray and make sure no one disturbs her,” the housekeeper scolded.
“I’ll give her an hour or so before I offer her some tea,” said Mrs Reynolds.
She added in a motherly tone,
“Go on girl, and get about your work.”
Elizabeth, who was now wide awake, decided sh
e had an hour to explore the room Darcy loved without interruption. She wandered along the rows of books, taking in some of the titles. Only now did she appreciate just how diverse a collection it was. She found books on farming and architecture, poetry and plays, religion and theology as well as all the classics. Shakespeare, Homer, Galileo, Dante, Plato and much more. Each category had its own section of the library. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never be able to read half of them. Then her eyes moved to a large shelf where the family Bible rested. Elizabeth was astonished to see it was a rare King James I original edition, dating to the fifteenth century.
At the end of the room stood a rolling staircase to reach the uppermost shelves, and nestled in a corner stood a tall set of drawers. Each drawer was filled with cards, and each card held the details of one book. Never had she seen such an organised library, but then this was Darcy.
She made her way to the beautifully carved desk that sat before the window; Darcy’s desk. Pausing, she ran her fingers along the edge of the well-loved surface while imagining him sitting there attending to matters of business. She felt quite mischievous as she gently lowered herself into his chair. She admired his choice; practical, yet comfortable. It’s high cushioned back had a slight curve to fit the contours of the spine, and the seat was covered with soft brown leather, with extra padding for comfort. Where each leg met the carpet stood a carved lion’s foot. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, just like its owner, strong, welcoming and a pleasure to look upon.
Sitting on the desktop were two silver trays. A circular one that held a number of cards left by callers, and a square one, that contained a variety of envelopes to social events. Apparently, Darcy was a little behind with his correspondence. The silver inkwell and goose quills were sitting on the middle edge, leaving the centre space clear for use. To either side of the desktop was a tier of four, small drawers, each with a brass lion’s head as a handle.
Elizabeth was curious as to what a man like Darcy would keep in them and innocently opened the top drawer to observe its contents. There, she saw a few spare quills, a knife for sharpening them, a small glass bottle containing ink and a little box of sand for blotting. Moving to the next drawer, she found the Darcy seal, sealing wax, some small candles, wax and tallow, and a few tapers to take a flame from the fire. The next had sheets of cream writing paper in a variety of sizes. Moving down, she found a copy of the new Samuel Johnson dictionary, which amused Elizabeth immensely. She could not imagine Darcy having to search for the right word; they seemed to flow with ease when addressing her... The next drawer held a box of expensive cigars from London’s finest tobacconist, along with an ornate wooden box containing Darcy’s personal blend of snuff, although he rarely partook of either.
Having worked her way down, Elizabeth came to the final drawer. When she opened it, she was surprised to find it contained, nothing. Bending down, she felt right at the back. As she did so, her finger caught on something. A button! With just a little pressure, the front of the base sprung open. A secret compartment! How exciting, she thought. Inside, she found a book, bound in leather and thick with pages. Her curiosity was certainly piqued now.
Glancing around to make sure she was truly alone, she carefully lifted it out. The outer cover was devoid of adornment, giving no clue as to its contents. Imagining it to be in a similar vein as the book she selected last evening, she opened it. Elizabeth stared in disbelief at the words before her. On the first page, in bold script, it read Fitzwilliam Darcy, 1811.
A Diary! It was Darcy’s diary! Elizabeth closed it and held it to her breast. She could not possibly read his diary, his innermost personal thoughts. Could she? It was beneath her, contemptible to even think such a thing. But then again, it might give her some clue as to his understanding of the events that occurred at Lucas Lodge, in which case it would be beneficial to them both.
Having rationalised her actions with her conscience, she lowered it onto her lap, let it fall open randomly, and began to read.
CHAPTER 30
Thursday 24th October, Rosings
My aunt has remarked that she cannot understand me paying her a second visit in one year. I can hardly tell her I only planned my return, after learning Miss Elizabeth was going to be visiting her friend, the recently married Mrs Collins. She married my aunt’s parson, a fellow I cannot like for he is a practised sycophant. Elizabeth has not changed since I saw her last; a little more tanned perhaps, probably from enjoying her morning walks, but it does not detract from her looks. How refreshing to find a woman who is not afraid of exercise, indeed her figure is slender and supple for it. I have no doubt Caroline Bingley would not agree with me. Richard has again accompanied me to Rosings, but I find I resent every smile Elizabeth bestows upon him. Would that I found it so easy to converse with my heart’s desire…
Elizabeth realised she was reading the entries from just eight weeks ago when she arrived for her visit with Charlotte. Knowing she would not have time to read every entry in full, she skimmed over the mundane items and read only what pertained to her.
Tuesday 29th October, Rosings
I have resisted the pull of the parsonage for as long as I can. On seeing Miss Elizabeth here last night, when they came to dine with my aunt, I knew, despite my struggles, she held my heart still. The months spent in town trying to convince myself I could put her from my mind have been a futile waste of time. I now realise how Charles felt about Miss Jane Bennet and wonder where they might be now but for my interference, however kindly meant. Does he dream of her as I do Elizabeth? I dreamt of her again last night; she came to me and declared her love. I embraced her and unpinned her hair, then I let myself caress its silky tendrils…
Blushing at the words describing his dream she moved on.
Friday 1st November, Rosings
My aunt was typically rude to her guests tonight; I care not what she utters to the imbecile Collins, or indeed his wife, which is most ungallant of me I know, but to treat Miss Elizabeth, in the same manner, is untenable. Yet what could I do but hold my tongue? If I defended her, would not my affections have been revealed? I am not yet ready for all to know. I am decided; the parsonage party are to join us for tea on Sunday after church. I will then seek some time alone with Elizabeth that I may declare myself. These past weeks we have enjoyed intimate walks and fluid conversations. No doubt she is anticipating my proposal, and I feel assured of a positive reply. When she looks at me with those expressive eyes and the corners of her mouth turn up in playful jest, I want to fold her in my arms and take possession of those oh so tempting lips...
p/s I have warned Richard to steer his thoughts away from Miss Elizabeth. I know he was on the verge of making her an offer. He has returned to Town, but I will make my peace with him after Elizabeth and I are betrothed.
Sunday 3rd November, Rosings
It is done and done badly. I have compromised my beloved. Elizabeth was unwell and did not join us for tea, so I went to the parsonage. Knowing her to be alone, I sought her out. I asked Miss Elizabeth to do me the honour of becoming my wife, and to my surprise, she refused me. I fear she holds me in contempt for my misguided intervention with Jane and Bingley. We exchanged some excessively harsh words in the heat of the argument. She told me I am arrogant and conceited, that I am not a gentleman, and that I am, in fact, the last man on earth she would consent to marry. Yet, as I looked into her eyes, filled with fire and indignation, I thought she had never looked more beautiful. I could not help myself; I was blind to her words of rejection and drew her into my embrace and kissed her. Not once but several times. It was at this point that the toad Collins came upon us. To prevent her reputation being ruined, I told him Elizabeth had accepted my proposal. A falsehood I know, yet I feel she is not so set against me as she protests, for the tentative response I felt was willingly given. I would have preferred her to come to me with love in her heart, but l hope in time she will find some regard for my affection.
Monday 4th November, Netherfield
I have ridden on ahead of Elizabeth to seek Mr Bennet’s consent before a letter from the imbecile Collins is despatched, and completely damages my chance of a positive reception. I will seek an interview with him tomorrow. I am heartily ashamed of myself. My loss of control yesterday was inexcusable. I have put my beloved Elizabeth in the position where she has to accept me. However, I do not regret tasting her soft cherry lips, and her naive response promises there is much more to be discovered. I am determined it will be only six weeks until we are wed and have set a date for the 18th December in my mind. Then we can spend Christmas at Pemberley before we set off on our honeymoon, Italy I think. Besides, I have already waited too long to have Elizabeth at my side.
Charles has kindly agreed my use of Netherfield for as long as I need it. I have not confided in him as to the nature of my business in Hertfordshire, and wonder if he knew my purpose, would he be so generous?
Tuesday 5th November, Netherfield
I rode to Longbourn early this morning and sought out Mr Bennet. His shock and surprise at my request were nothing compared to his disbelief that Elizabeth has accepted me. Their disdain for my presence was barely masked, yet who can blame them. I have done little to ingratiate myself with my future in-laws, something I must work on and rectify with alacrity. Elizabeth is due to return tomorrow, but I will have to forgo being here to meet her. I have pressing business in town that cannot wait. I will, however, see her in the evening as I have accepted Mrs Bennet’s invitation to dinner.
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