Mr. Darcy's Promise

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  “Elizabeth, look, there it is!” Darcy’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up in surprise as he tapped the carriage roof and they drew to a stop. “It is tradition to stop here and look at my home,” he explained, and then felt brave enough to continue. “And now it is our home!” He stepped out of the carriage and handed her out, but did not release her hand afterwards. He tucked it into his arm and held it close.

  The now-familiar tingling sensation caused by the touch of his arm began, and Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster. Why does he affect me so? Will this ever get any easier? She gazed out in the direction he indicated, delighting in the sight of a large, tranquil lake. A forest sat to its left, but what drew her attention was the grandest house she had ever seen, sitting just beyond the water. The stone building was at least four stories high and one, two . . . she stopped to count, fifteen windows wide! Decorative stone pillars framed the main door and then extended all the way to the roof. She took in the hills and boulders that surrounded the lake, amazed by the naturalness and taste of the landscape. How badly she wanted to explore all of it! It is so large, she thought, I might not ever find the same path twice to explore! Her “walking legs” itched to seek out all that Pemberley’s grounds held for her.

  “Welcome home, Elizabeth.” He turned to look at her face.

  She looked up at him, his face closer that it had ever been, seeing his dark, brooding eyes fixed on her. She had a fleeting thought that for a moment he was going to kiss her. She drew back a little. As much as she might have wanted Darcy’s love, the idea of being kissed by someone who didn’t love her remained painful. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, and then was struck by a realization. Cedar! That is what he smells of, cedar and sage! She smiled widely at her new realization.

  Darcy took both her hands and held them to his chest. “You are smiling,” he said, feeling a sense of wonderment. It was more a statement than a question, but she nodded at him. He felt encouraged enough to continue. “You must tell me what you are thinking.”

  She let out a giggle and pulled her hand away to cover her mouth, as if astonished by the sound. “You sir, do not want to know what I was thinking!”

  His eyes brightened. That is the first laugh I have heard since the Netherfield Ball! “You are mistaken; there is nothing I want more than to know what has made you laugh. I always want to know what you are thinking.” He looked more intensely at her, but then smiled broadly as well.

  She laughed softly for another moment before she shook her head. “No sir, I promise, you do not!” He took her hands again, kissing each one before he held them again to his chest. Her face flushed a bright pink.

  He couldn’t resist; he reached up and brushed her rosy cheek with the back of his fingers. “You are blushing . . .”

  How could she tell him such thoughts? As she looked as his smiling eyes that she adored, she grinned and said, “If you insist . . . but I will not explain myself!” She let out an uninhibited laugh once again and said, “You smell like Pemberley!”

  *****

  “Welcome home, sir. I hope your journey was most pleasant.” Mr. Reynolds walked with him down the hall. “There are two letters from Georgiana in your study. One was sent by way of express two days ago, but you were on the road and we could not forward them.”

  “An express? From Georgiana? Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.” Darcy picked up both the letters with concern. He had left Georgiana at Netherfield with her companion and the Bingleys. Late at night, he had conveyed the whole story of Ramsgate and Wickham’s doings at the ball to Mr. Bingley. It was prudent, Darcy had decided, that Bingley know what had truly happened in order to protect Georgiana. He would have taken Georgiana with him but she had insisted that he take his honeymoon alone. During the two weeks of his engagement he had found out that Wickham had asked for leave and no one would admit to knowing where he went. Colonel Forster had said he asked for five weeks. He counted it out in his head. Between the two weeks of their engagement, and the fifteen days since their marriage, Wickham should still be gone. It still worried him as he opened up her letters.

  He read over the letters quickly, but the gist of it was she wanted to return to Pemberley immediately. He reread it, this time more slowly, wondering if there was something he was missing. The only thing that could account for his uneasiness was that her tone was all too familiar, she was self-conscious and anxious all over again. Just like after Ramsgate. He immediately sat down to instruct her to come home. He was a newlywed, but not in any real sense of the word. If it was up to him he would spend every waking hour with Elizabeth, and with a sigh, thought, and every sleeping hour as well. But he knew Elizabeth didn’t feel for him as he did for her. Not yet. Two weeks was a very short time to change someone’s opinion as decided upon as Elizabeth’s was of him. She hadn’t been herself since his proposal and rarely teased him or challenged him anymore. But Pemberley would change that. It was a wonderful place that offered everything he knew Elizabeth loved: a wealth of nature, an extensive library, elegance and warmth. Yes, she would fall in love with Pemberley soon enough. He had already seen its healing powers bring the first sign of laughter from her. He smiled to himself, recalling her lighthearted banter and her laughter as she told him he smelled like Pemberley. Although she had said she wouldn’t explain herself, he had insisted he tell her what Pemberley, and himself smelled like. Cedar and sage? His clothes were hung in cedar closets but the sage? He had never considered before what his person would smell like. He made a note to ask Martin what his shaving soap was made from. His thoughts drifted once again to her bright pink cheeks. He had very nearly taken her in his arms and kissed her right there! He had many moments where impulses to do so were strong, but he refused to let them become overpowering. It took the sound of her laughter to turn his thoughts towards a safer, less impulsive end. And, he reminded himself, she never did say whether or not she liked “Pemberley’s” smell. But upon remembering the depth of the blush, he could hope that she did.

  *****

  Elizabeth’s welcome at Pemberley had been everything and more than the warm greeting she had received in London. The servants were introduced just as before, and she couldn’t help but be in awe at how kind and endearing Mr. Darcy was with them. There were so many new faces, though, that she was grateful that she agreed to bring Serafina to Pemberley. It was surprisingly pleasant, she had to admit, to have her own personal maid. Serafina was so talented in managing her unruly curls, even on the most humid of days when Elizabeth would have given up in despair. Serafina seemed to have the gift of fading away when Elizabeth needed privacy, but was there the moment her opinions were needed. One night, as Serafina took her hair down, Elizabeth had found that Serafina grew up at Pemberley, and was in fact the daughter of the late Mrs. Darcy’s maid. From a young age, she had been taught how to care for a mistress of such an estate, and it only seemed natural that she would assume this position. And yet there was a natural liveliness and humor about her that Elizabeth appreciated. She did not want a maid who never spoke but to mark the bounds of propriety.

  There were a number of things she needed to do as Pemberley’s new mistress, the first of which was a meeting with the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, but upon waking up, Elizabeth stood and walked to the window. A walk was nothing short of necessary. How could she not explore the riches before her at the first possible moment? She rang for Serafina and asked to be readied for a walk. She waited impatiently as Serafina carried in her new pelisse, a fine forest-green wool that seemed to be made for walking in Pemberley’s woods, and fastened her bonnet over her hair. She found her way to the front door easily enough and found the butler, Mr. Reynolds, busy at his work in the entryway.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a bow. It was a surprise to her that the name no longer sounded quite so strange. She remembered that he was the husband of the housekeeper, and nodded to him before he opened the door. Soon enough she found herself faced with the beautiful grounds
of Pemberley.

  She at first thought she would stay close to the building but a certain picturesque cliff to the north begged her to come hence. Once she reached the top, she knew she would have a very good view of the entire estate. As she walked she came across a faint trail that seemed to lead her in the right direction. It wound around trees and led her to a shallow trickling stream. Laughing, she picked up her skirts and jumped. She felt more carefree than she had in a very long time.

  The weather was quite warm for autumn, and she assumed warmer than usual for Pemberley as many trees were already turning crimson and orange in a riot of color. She scrambled over several boulders, but finally made her way to the cliff. A spot on the ground was worn with hoof prints etched deep in the dirt. Someone else seemed to like this view as well. She surrendered to the temptation to sit in a grassy area in the sun. Beneath her she could see the top of the house, the garden maze, and delighted in imagining making her way through its secret passageways. She shed her bonnet to feel the warmth of the sun on her hair.

  The stables were nearer to the gardens, with a barnyard just to the south. She could make out a whole flock; nearly fifteen to twenty chickens, and perhaps more of those that she could not see. She would need to visit them later, she decided. As a child, she had been mesmerized by the constant pecking and scratching whenever they were fed. She had to concede that chickens were the silliest animal she knew, but she took every opportunity at Longbourn to feed them whenever possible, even saving her scraps for them. She had needed to be secretive since her mother did not approve of such behavior. She could hear her now. This is not the sort of thing a gentleman’s daughter does, Lizzy! Whatever will I do with you? The memory made her laugh. She was so content at the moment, more content than she had been in many weeks. She took one last glance at the estate and then stretched out to soak up the rays of sunshine. She hadn’t had a single confusing thought about Mr. Darcy on her entire walk. I knew a walk was what I needed! She closed her eyes— just for a moment, she told herself— and promptly fell asleep.

  *****

  “What do you mean she is missing?” Darcy started to pace in front of Mrs. Reynolds. He had assumed she slept in after yesterday’s long journey and had asked for a tray to be brought up to her. And, he had to admit, he had also assumed that she was avoiding him after the near-kiss yesterday. He should be more careful, he told himself firmly.

  Mrs. Reynolds cleared her throat. “Serafina was rung for several hours ago and readied Mrs. Darcy herself. Serafina said she was especially in good spirits and asked for her pelisse and bonnet.”

  “Well, does Serafina know where she is? Did my wife give any indication where she went?”

  “Mr. Reynolds attended her at the front door but she gave him no indication of where she was going.”

  “Well, search the house; I want every servant looking for her inside and out! She is new to the area and could easily be lost. And tell Roberts to fetch my horse!” He went searching for Mr. Reynolds. He was certain Mrs. Reynolds had reported all that she could, but he was going to ask him himself.

  “Reynolds!” he barked. “What time did my wife leave? Do you know which direction she went? Did she say anything? Did she give any indication at all where she was heading?”

  “Sir, it was just after seven, and she headed north towards the gardens. She gave no indication of where she was going or even why she was leaving, sir,” Mr. Reynolds said.

  “Seven? That was over three hours ago! And you have not seen her since?” Darcy’s heard his voice crack slightly with worry.

  “No, sir.” Reynolds looked at him. “I am sure that we will find her very soon, sir.”

  Darcy ignored his reassuring words. His mind was busy imagining the worst: Elizabeth lying somewhere injured, lost, or even attacked by an animal. He started pacing at the front door, praying that Elizabeth would simply walk through it. For a moment, he could almost see her laughing at all the commotion and then chiding him for his worry. When she did not appear, his hands tightened so much that he could feel his rapid pulse in them. “Where is my horse?”

  Mr. Reynolds did not offer an answer, wisely discerning that it was not truly a question, only Darcy’s method of regaining some control of the situation.

  Darcy stepped out the front door and headed towards the stable. If I have to ready the horse myself, I will! He could see the servants running around the estate calling Mrs. Darcy’s name. His eyes darted every which way for a glimpse of her skirts or a flash of her curls.

  Much to his relief, he could see Calypso being led up the path. He closed the gap and mounted her. He headed north, barking out further orders to the servants he passed. He passed the gardens, scanning the landscape that he knew so well. Where would she go? There were a number of well-marked gravel paths that led around the estate, but knowing Elizabeth, she would take the path least marked. He needed a better view. There was a great cliff that rose high enough to see the entire estate, a favorite of his, and he led Calypso in that direction. To his relief, he saw the delicate impressions of a shoe that must be hers.

  “Elizabeth!” he called. Did she cross the stream? She would have had to jump, but he couldn’t imagine that deterring her. Sure enough, the footprints began on the other side of the water. Of course she would jump! He kicked Calypso on. “Elizabeth!” he called again. The footprints died off as the ground dried, but he pressed on, hoping to find her nearby. He stopped the horse for a moment. Just ahead was a flash of yellow skirt beneath a green pelisse. He recognized the gown immediately and dismounted. “Elizabeth!”

  “Mr. Darcy!” She turned in astonishment. He was rushing towards her, his face tight with anxiety. His long strides quickly closed the distance between them.

  He reached out for her and embraced her tightly. She looked to be in good health; no limp or blood, no dishevelment besides a hint of windblown curls. He held her so tightly that her bonnet slipped to the ground. She was safe! A moment later, however, he realized that not only was she safe, but she was pushing against him quite forcibly.

  “What is the meaning of all this?” she demanded. She reached for her bonnet and fastened it securely back on her head.

  “We could not find you and we feared for your safety!”

  “We? Who is ‘we’?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “The whole household! Everyone is looking for you! Where have you been? You left over three hours ago!” He heard her groan loudly and saw her grimace. Her hands went to her hips, and he found his relief at finding her had settled back into anxiety as he suspected he was about to be privy to a very strong reaction from her.

  “Mr. Darcy, I simply went on a walk! You sent the whole household looking for me because I did not show up for breakfast? Must I be at your side at all times? Is that what a good wife should do?” In spite of her vows to obey and be a good wife, she found she was furious at his presumption.

  He felt heat rising in his own chest. If she knew even the slightest amount of fear he had experienced in the last half hour she would not be so belligerent and flippant about what had happened!

  “A good wife? A good wife?” What was this she was saying about being a good wife? All he cared about was her safety! “Is leaving and not telling anyone where you are going, and taking unescorted adventures to areas unknown to you what you call being a good wife? Try starting with a little consideration for what others are feeling before you give your opinions about what a good wife should be!” He watched her eyes widen at his heated words and he regretted them immediately. He wanted to explain that he was only speaking out of the sheer worry he had felt since he could not find her. He took a deep calming breath before gently grasping her shoulders. He leaned into her, lowered his voice, and whispered, “Dearest Elizabeth, I only feared for your safety. You worried me.”

  His voice was soft and she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear. It sent shivers up and down her spine, and she felt her anger dissipate with the sensation. His hands release
d her shoulders and she let out her breath. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t imagine it slowing anytime soon. She looked up to see his eyes were looking cautiously at her. She remained silent; she couldn’t say anything for fear that her voice would tremble.

  “Please Elizabeth, let me escort you until you know your way around the area.” Then seeing her bite her lip, most likely because she did not want to be escorted by him, added, “At least tell someone so we can have an escort, anyone, to ensure your safety.”

  She could see the plea in his eyes and whispered her meager excuse, “I simply fell asleep. I am sorry. I have not been sleeping well lately.” Concern etched deeper lines into Mr. Darcy’s brow.

  “May I ask why you have not been sleeping? Is the bed not to your liking?” Mr. Darcy had never thought to ask her if she had slept well. The topic felt somewhat inappropriate, to say the least, when speaking to a wife whom he promised not to take to his bed.

  How could she tell him that thoughts of him kept her awake each night? How could she tell him that she couldn’t stop recalling each and every encounter between them, and every time, her body would react as if it were happening at this very moment? How could she tell him that he seemed a totally different man than what she expected to marry? How could she tell him of the repeated dreams in which he appeared, some of them more intimate than others? She couldn’t. Not when she did not know why he offered his hand in the first place. “Mr. Darcy . . .”

  “William . . .” he corrected her.

  She felt a prickle of embarrassment at having causing all this trouble by falling asleep, so she partly appeased him. “Fitzwilliam . . .” His eyes started to smile.

  “That is the first time you have used my Christian name.” He smiled gently at her. “I am sorry that I interrupted you. Please continue.” A shiver ran down his neck and shoulders at the beautiful way she said his name. He felt as if, having been deaf all his life, he was now hearing music for the first time. The only thing that would make it better was if he didn’t have to remind her to use it. Time, he told himself, it will come in time.