by Lynn Messina
But she’s not. There isn’t a speck of sincerity in her apology, and, unrepentant, she walks over to the fireplace to examine a cluster of photographs. She picks one up to inspect it more closely.
Aghast, Bennet runs over and orders her to put it down. “Fingerprints!”
Aunt Emily laughs lightly, kisses her nephew on the cheek and calls him a darling boy. But she doesn’t put down the photo. Bennet, torn between fear and frustration, takes the picture from her grasp and returns it to the mantel. Only then does he realize the subject is Darcy. It’s a snapshot of her as a teenager standing beside—can it be?—Georgia. Fascinated, he stares at the much-younger Darcy, already beautiful at sixteen or so, with a mischievous grin on her face. He knows that look. He saw it months ago at the Longbourn gala. Something Carl said had provoked it.
He replaces the photo and picks up another—Darcy with a gangly boy, all arms and legs, in front of a piano. That must be her brother George.
Transfixed by the images of Darcy, by the unexpected glimpse into her life, he loses track of time and space, and it’s only when his aunt taps him on the shoulder that he remembers where he is.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she says, tempting him like the devil.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to insist they sneak out with the same stealth with which they’d snuck in, but he can’t muster the words. Instead, he follows his aunt and uncle up the sleek staircase to the second floor.
He’s horrified and mortified by his weakness, but make no mistake: He wants this as much as his aunt does. Probably more.
The stairs lead them to the dining room, a large, well-proportioned room, beautifully decorated. Bennet peruses it thoughtfully while his aunt recalls facts from the documentary she saw. She cites names, dates and manufacturers. His uncle gleefully responds, admiring everything and marveling at his wife’s memory. Bennet wanders over to the window and takes in the view of the sea lion pool in the central courtyard of the zoo.
They pass into other rooms, and Bennet is surprised to discover how much he likes Darcy’s taste—it’s neither fussy nor gaudy. The furniture is elegant, with none of the self-conscious splendor of the furnishings at Rosings.
As he tours the house, Bennet finds it impossible to remained unmoved. He can’t look at the beautiful living room and not picture himself comfortably ensconced in the armchair by the window with a book on his lap. He imagines his aunt’s uncontained giddiness at being invited to Pemberley as a guest—his guest.
And that, he realizes, is the dash of cold water he needs to return to his senses. He can fantasize about playing gracious host all he wants, but in reality, he would never have been able to invite his family to Pemberley: Darcy’s detailed account of his inferiority made it clear she’d never let him forget the disparity of their situations. He’d have always been the supplicant, asking permission and seeking approval and never feeling quite as comfortable in that armchair as he’d like.
Although he wants to linger, he follows the Gardiners up the grand staircase and enters a large game room with comfortable couches, several large screens and a variety of game consoles. He tries to imagine Darcy playing Call of Duty, which, he notes, is among the games piled neatly on the shelves, and decides this room must be used primarily by her brother. Since George just finished studying music at a conservatory in London, he imagines the room, which seems recently redone, must be a welcome home gift.
Next, they visit the picture gallery, a sweeping hallway lined with ancestral paintings, and Bennet, standing before the portrait of Darcy, is arrested by the striking resemblance, especially in the smile, which he recalls sometimes seeing on her face when she looks at him. At this moment, as Bennet stares at her picture, he feels an unprecedented friendliness toward Darcy, an unexpected sense of camaraderie, and he wonders if her declaration could have been quite as offensive as he remembers.
Bennet is reluctant to delve deeply into this strange sensation and is saved from unwelcome contemplation by a stern voice demanding, “Veranda or dwell?”
At once, he looks up to see Ms. Reynolds standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He has no glib explanation prepared.
Luckily for him, his aunt is undaunted and she immediately rushes over to the woman to beg her pardon. She’s apologizing for their brazen intrusion, but Ms. Reynolds thinks she’s asking for clarification.
“Which magazine are you from: Veranda or Dwell?” she explains impatiently, her eyebrows drawn in a fierce scowl. “Both are scheduled for a site visit to see the renovations.”
Faced with two unfamiliar publications, his aunt does the only logical thing—invents a third option. In a matter of minutes, she introduces herself as the senior lifestyle editor at Real Simple, promotes herself to creative director and establishes the gallery as the must-have venue for their December fashion story on faux-fur coats.
Consulting her clipboard, Ms. Reynolds insists she has no appointment scheduled with Real Simple.
Bennet’s aunt affects amazement at this news—“No appointment? But that’s impossible!”—and throws him under the bus, recruiting him as her administrative assistant one moment and firing him the next.
Ms. Reynolds nods approvingly, Uncle Edward guffaws, and Bennet decides to come clean before his aunt hires a film crew for a fake photo shoot. “We’re trespassers,” he announces without hedging. “We came to drop off an envelope for Ms. Fitzwilliam and found ourselves unable to resist looking around. It was most definitely wrong, quite possibly illegal and wholly insane. I have no excuse except to say we were overcome by the magnificence of the house. We’re very sorry for invading your privacy and apologize for the intrusion.”
Bennet expects to be led away in handcuffs. He can’t imagine this impatient woman, this curt creature who doesn’t have time for full sentences, calmly accepting the inefficiency of intruders. Having to eject random strangers from the premises—what a galling waste of time!
Waiting for her to respond, he swears he can hear the sound of approaching police sirens.
But Ms. Reynolds doesn’t call the 19th precinct. Instead, she shrugs.
Shrugs—as if it’s no big deal.
“It happens all the time,” she says. “Not a week goes by where I don’t find a tradesman wandering around the halls supposedly looking for the bathroom. I once discovered the attorney general in the conservatory watering the gardenias. She said they looked thirsty.”
“The conservatory,” Aunt Emily says thoughtfully. “I don’t recall seeing a conservatory.”
Before his shameless relation can request a rectification of that oversight, Bennet jumps in with another apology. “We appreciate your understanding, but I’m sure your employer isn’t as nonchalant about uninvited guests in her home.”
Ms. Reynolds blinks at him in momentary confusion. “You mean Darcy? She’d never get worked up over something so minor. She’s remarkably easygoing. That’s one of the things that makes her such a pleasure to work for.”
Bennet is so astonished by this statement, he feels like a character in a cartoon doing an elaborate double take. At the very least, he wants to comically clean out his ear with an oversize Q-tip and say, “What’s that again?”
His aunts smiles. “I’m happy to hear it. We’d hate to get you in trouble.”
“There’s no reason to worry on that score,” Ms. Reynolds assures them. “I’ve known Darcy for years—I worked with her mom before her death—and have never had a cross word from her. She’s a delight.”
Bennet’s sense of unreality deepens, and he grows convinced he’s entered an alternative universe. Somehow, by stepping into the house, they stepped into another dimension, one in which the bad-tempered and rude Darcy Fitzwilliam is considered a delight.
Honestly, no other explanation makes sense.
“That’s nice,” Uncle Edward says. “You never know what to think about the people you read about in the tabloids. They seem so friendly and kin
d and then they throw their cell phone at the bellhop.”
“Darcy is the real deal,” Ms. Reynolds says, “a genuinely kind person. She’s a wonderful employer, so even-keeled and good-natured. I genuinely don’t think anyone who works for her would say a word against her. And she’s a great landlord. Very responsive and reliable. She has a reputation for being proud, but I don’t see it. I suspect it’s because she doesn’t rattle on like other young women.”
The conversation turns to Darcy’s mother, with Aunt Emily spouting vaguely remembered facts about her from the Pemberley documentary, and Ms. Reynolds, clearly pleased by the compliment, chats happily about her old employer. For ten precious minutes, minutes during which she can be crossing items off her check list, she talks about Ms. Fitzwilliam’s work with the poor—work, she insists, her daughter is carrying on.
Bennet is as grateful for the information as he is agitated by it. This portrayal of Darcy as a lovely person, as a generous employer and a decent landlord, unsettles him in a way he can hardly understand. That these revelations come from an underling makes them twice as meaningful, for he knows how difficult it is to earn the respect of one’s employees. Keeping their goodwill is nearly impossible. If Ms. Reynolds’s assessment of Darcy is correct, then his own estimation of her is wildly off base.
It’s a disconcerting discovery, for he’d been so sure—so very sure—he had her all figured out.
Now he’s sure of nothing.
He recalls the scene at the Parsonage, the harsh way he rejected her, and feels a fresh bout of shame. He’d had no concept at the time of the compliment she’d paid him with her interest and affection.
Lost in these thoughts, Bennet’s startled to hear Ms. Reynolds announce that she’s kicking them out. It’s late, she’s tired and the insurance adjuster never showed. “I’m going to leave him a strongly worded message and head home.”
They return to the entry hall and thank Ms. Reynolds again and again for her patience and understanding. Bennet can still scarcely believe they’re walking away without rap sheets. By rights, they should be heading down to the police station to be charged with trespassing.
On the stone path in front of the house, Bennet turns back to look at Pemberley again. His uncle and aunt also stop, and while the former is conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it herself suddenly comes forward from the street, where a livery driver is just then pulling away.
Darcy is so close, only a few feet away, there’s nowhere to hide, and yet Bennet looks around quickly for a hedge to dive behind. Knowing such a plan is unfeasible—even if there were foliage to offer cover—he looks at her and their eyes meet instantly, the cheeks of each spreading with the deepest blush. She starts, and for a moment seems immovable with surprise, but quickly recovering, speaks to Bennet. If she’s not perfectly composed at finding him at her home, she is, at least, perfectly polite.
Mortified to be there, on her doorstep, after so coldly rebuffing her offer of affection, Bennet answers her courteous enquiries after his family. Amazed at how different her manner is from their last meeting, he finds his discomfort growing with each sentence. The few minutes in which they stand there talking are some of the most awkward of his life. Darcy doesn’t seem much more at ease. Her tone has none of its usual calm, and she asks about John and Lydon so often and in such a rush, it’s clear she’s very distracted.
At length, she runs out of conversation—it does not even occur to her to ask about Bennet’s companions—and after standing a few moments without saying a word, suddenly recollects herself, says good-bye and disappears into her house.
The Gardiners, who watch the entire exchange in silent amazement, immediately launch into questions, but Bennet is too engrossed in his own feelings to hear them. Instead, he strides silently to the sidewalk, chastising himself for behaving so stupidly. How could he have agreed to come there? To show up on Darcy’s doorstep—it was madness! Did she think he’d arranged the meeting on purpose? Did she believe he had intentionally thrown himself in her path? The idea is unbearable!
If only they’d taken their leave of Ms. Reynolds a little more quickly. Sixty seconds fewer and they would have been clear of the walk by the time Darcy’s car pulled up. But no, they had to express their gratitude one more time. As if six thank-yous weren’t enough! They had to linger over the seventh. He cringes again and again over the perverseness of the meeting. And her behavior, so strikingly different—what could it mean? That she talked to him at all is amazing but to talk so kindly, to ask about his brothers! Bennet has never known Darcy to be so pleasant or to speak so nicely. What a contrast to her last address at the Parsonage, when she’d pulled the door coldly behind her. Bennet has no idea what to think or how to account for it.
He wants to leave the area as quickly as possible—run to the corner and down Fifth Avenue and all the way to the restaurant in Soho—but the Gardiners are too fascinated by what they’ve just witnessed to hurry. They meander in astonishment, wondering how their nephew could have failed to mention he knows Darcy Fitzwilliam personally. They walk so slowly that they’re barely at the corner of Sixty-fifth Street when Darcy catches up to them. Bennet, however surprised, is at least more prepared for a conversation than before and resolves to speak calmly. He begins by admiring the beauty of Pemberley, but he hasn’t gotten beyond the words elegant and charming before it occurs to him that maybe Darcy wasn’t trying to catch up to them and he abruptly stops talking.
But of course she’d been seeking them out—she’s hardly likely to be running to the corner store for milk—and she breaks the silence that follows by introducing herself to his aunt and uncle. Bennet doesn’t know what to make of such unprecedented friendliness, but he expects Darcy to be somewhat horrified when she realizes she’s meeting the relatives to whom she had objected so stridently. That she’s surprised by the connection is evident, for Edward Gardiner has neither the look nor the manner of the usual used-car salesman, which perhaps says more about the popular perception of used-car salesmen than about him. Regardless, Darcy’s smile remains firmly in place and, far from running away from the disgraceful pair, she enters into conversation with them.
The conversation soon turns to Pemberley and their impromptu and unsanctioned tour of the mansion, which, true to Ms. Reynolds’s prediction, Darcy doesn’t seem to mind in the least. Indeed, she doesn’t mind so much that she actually invites them back to see the conservatory when his aunt reveals that they somehow missed that room. Both Gardiners are excited by the gracious offer and express their gratitude with much sincerity. Bennet says nothing. He’s too astonished and confused by the change in Darcy to do anything but wonder at its cause. It can’t be for his sake that she’s so friendly and outgoing. His criticisms in the Hamptons can’t have led to such a radical change. It’s not possible, is it, that she still has feelings for him?
Unsettled by these thoughts, Bennet remains silent as Darcy chats with his aunt and uncle on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Sixty-fifth Street. But when Aunt Em agrees to go back to Pemberley—back, as if the first visit weren’t extraordinary enough!—Bennet’s forced to mention their dinner reservation at eight in Soho.
At once, Darcy suggests they dine at Pemberley. “It’s already 7:45, so it’s unlikely you would make it all the way downtown in time.”
It’s a rather flimsy excuse—and not only because one typically has a fifteen-minute window in which to make a reservation—but Bennet takes its slightness as more evidence Darcy has changed. After a pause, he agrees, although his relatives have already voiced their enthusiastic approval of the plan, and they all walk the short block back to the house, his aunt threading her arm through her nephew’s as she gives him a look of wonder.
After a comprehensive tour of the conservatory and the kitchen, as well, for Emily Gardiner has never been able to resist a well-laid-out island, the small party settles in the front parlor. Somehow Bennet finds himself sitting in an armchair by the window. It is, in fact
, the exact same chair he’d imagined himself sitting in earlier, and as Darcy converses with the Gardiners, he’s disconcerted to realize he doesn’t feel like a supplicant at all.
Darcy hands him a glass of red wine—a Syrah, which indicates she has remembered his preference from months before—and sits down on the ottoman adjacent to his chair. After a moment’s hesitation, Bennet leans forward to make it very clear that their intention had been only to deliver an envelope. “We didn’t mean to intrude and I never imagined my aunt would insist on giving herself a self-guided tour. We were just dropping off a packet from Meryton,” he adds with an apologetic smile.
But at the mention of his boss’s name, Bennet’s thoughts are instantly driven back to the time when it had last been mentioned between them, and judging by Darcy’s complexion, her mind is similarly engaged.
Finding the silence excessively awkward, Bennet tries to think of a subject that offers no potential embarrassment to either and comes up blank. At last, he recalls the room with all the game consoles and asks if it’s her brother’s. She concedes that she had it designed with him in mind but has a weak spot for Minecraft.
“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I’ll come down at three in the morning and play for a few hours. I like to build things I’ve seen,” she says. “Right now I’m working on a scale replica of Mount Rushmore.”
Bennet laughs and says he re-created Citi Field down to the benches in the dugout. “But my phone crashed and I lost everything and didn’t have the heart to rebuild. So I gave up.”
Darcy smiles at him and Bennet feels a strange sense of connection. It’s not merely that they’re having their first relaxed and comfortable conversation; it’s also the discovery that they have something in common. Despite all their differences, here’s a shared experience.