Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 1

by Jennifer Lang

  As they walked across the wonderful black and white floor, threading their way between marble columns, she saw that he was very much the master of the house. He walked with arrogance and assurance, the lord of all he surveyed. His servants treated him deferentially and he accepted their homage.

  This was exactly as she had expected.

  But when they entered the dining parlour she had a surprise.

  She had expected to see a room full of showy furniture, existing to display his wealth and power. Instead, although the furniture was expensive, it was not gaudy or unnecessarily fine. There were several sofas upholstered in duck-egg blue damask, with an Aubusson carpet on the floor. There were elegant side tables set between the tall windows, and vases of freshly cut flowers arranged on top of them, providing a touch of bright summer colour. Long curtains framed the windows and hung almost from ceiling to floor. They were arranged with elaborate folds but they were elegant rather than ostentatious, and they were held back by simple plaited ties.

  There was a dining-table and chairs, and she imagined Jane sitting at the foot of the table, with Mr Darcy at its head. She thought again that Jane would be a lucky woman. Or lucky, at least, where her surroundings were concerned. Whether she would be lucky as to her future husband – Elizabeth stole a look at his noble profile, which yet revealed very little of his inner self – that remained to be seen.

  Beyond the window she could see the hill and the wood through which she had travelled, with trees scattered on the river bank and a winding valley. It was an idyllic scene, and showed the English countryside in all its verdant beauty.

  ‘It is a very fine estate,’ she said, wandering over to the window and looking out.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  She heard the pride in his voice, but honesty compelled her to admit that it was only a natural pride. There was nothing vainglorious about it.

  ‘How extensive is it?’ she asked.

  ‘The park is ten miles round,’ he said, joining her by the window. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet set apart, looking out at his domain. He was a picture of strength and confidence. Then he turned to face her and said, ‘You are welcome to ride here whenever you want. I have given instructions in the stables to that effect, and the grooms will help you find a suitable horse. One of them will always ride with you, so you need not be afraid of becoming lost.’

  ‘That is very kind of you’ – kind, she caught herself thinking; so Jane, after all, was right - but I do not enjoy riding,’ Elizabeth admitted.

  He looked surprised. ‘But surely you must ride, even if you do not enjoy it? It is impossible to live in the country without a horse.’

  ‘Not at all,’ returned Elizabeth. ‘I love to walk, and my own two feet serve me well. In fact, by the time a horse has been saddled and brought round to the front of the house I can be half way to Meryton.’

  Her eyes lingered on the interesting paths leading across the lawns and into the shrubbery, or into the woodland, or down to the lake. She longed to follow them and see what new vistas they revealed.

  ‘You must be a very good walker indeed if you are prepared to walk for several miles whenever you want to pay a visit to one of your neighbours,’ he said.

  ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘I think nothing of walking two or three miles in the summer. And even in the winter, if it is not positively pouring with rain or snowing a blizzard, I love to walk. It is good exercise. I enjoy it.’

  She turned to him with a smile that was pure and full of genuine pleasure, and to her surprise he gave her an answering smile in return. She was even more surprised that his smile was warm and reached his eyes. It made her think that perhaps, after all, she had misjudged him. He might yet turn out to be a man she could like. Perhaps they could even be friends.

  That would certainly make life easier if she was to live at Pemberley following Jane’s marriage.

  ‘Then, as you enjoy walking so much, you must feel free to walk in the park whenever you please. One of the footmen will accompany you to make sure you do not lose your way. But perhaps, when you come to know the estate, you will prefer to go by yourself?’

  ‘Mr Darcy,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye, ‘you already seem to know me very well!’

  He shook his head, and fixed considering eyes on her. Whether they were full of disapproval or just curiosity she could not tell.

  ‘No, Miss Elizabeth, I do not know you at all. However, it is clear to me that you have an independent nature and I think you would find it confining to have someone always with you. Sometimes I . . . ’

  He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Yes?’ prompted Elizabeth.

  But his manner grew more formal and the ease which had started to grow up between them vanished. It was as if he felt he had given too much of himself away, and Elizabeth found herself wondering, not for the first time, what lay beneath his proud and haughty exterior.

  He went on to talk about the park, but Elizabeth was sure he had been going to say something quite different. What was it? Sometimes I . . . . Did he, perhaps, sometimes long to escape notice? Did he sometimes wish he could not be Mr Darcy of Pemberley, but simply a man enjoying the fine weather and invigorating exercise, without having to always be on show?

  She began to realise that life must be difficult for a man in Mr Darcy’s position. He had to always behave with the gravity befitting his status and so she began to see why he preserved such a formal exterior. She wondered if it was like a suit of clothes he slipped on when he was with other people – or a suit of armour, perhaps – or whether his reserve was a part of his character And she wondered if he was different with people he knew well.

  She gave her attention back to what he was saying. He was pointing out some of the landmarks in the grounds so that she would not become lost if she chose to wander there alone.

  ‘ . . . and at the top of that path you will reach a clearing in the wood, with a folly. There is a seat there, so that you can rest if you need,’ he was saying. Then he added, ‘Your sister does not share your dislike of riding, I hope?’

  ‘Do you not know?’ asked Elizabeth in surprise. ‘You are shortly to marry her, after all.’

  Her surprise was genuine because Mr Darcy had known her sister for months. But he took it as a criticism. She felt him withdraw into himself and his friendly manner retreated, to be replaced by his customary haughty demeanour.

  His suit of armour was once more put on.

  ‘I cannot know everything all at once,’ he said.

  Elizabeth did not know whether to be offended at the coldness of his manner or sorry that she had perhaps, unwittingly, hurt him, or perturbed about his lack of basic knowledge about Jane. As it was, she felt an unsettling mixture of all three.

  She almost made a teasing reply but she remembered that he did not understand her teasing. And so she said simply, ‘Jane rides, but she does not like it overmuch. But neither is she a great walker. As the park is so extensive, I think she would prefer a phaeton.’

  He bowed and said, ‘That can easily be arranged.’

  Elizabeth wandered away from the window and walked around the room. It was a good size and it faced east, so it would catch the morning sun. There was a desk beneath one of the windows which looked out over the park. A delicate chair was set in front of it. It would be a pleasant room in which Jane could write letters and deal with the housekeeper in the mornings, deciding on the menus and other household matters.

  Mr Darcy did not hurry her. He gave her time to look around the room and take in the atmosphere before he escorted her through to the sitting room. It was smaller than the dining parlour, but its proportions were good and its decorations were refined. There was a striped wallpaper, with green silk curtains and a handsome white Adam fireplace. The furniture was light and elegant.

  But it was not the decorations, nor the furniture that attracted Elizabeth’s attention, it was the set of miniature portraits hanging over the mantelpiece.r />
  Elizabeth went closer and saw that one of them was of Mr Darcy. Although it had been painted when he was considerably younger, he was still recognisable. Next to his portrait was a miniature of a young girl, who was probably about eight or nine years old when the picture was painted. She had fair hair and green eyes, and there was a sweet smile on her lips. She was wearing a pretty muslin gown and her hair was done up in a ribbon.

  ‘Is this your sister?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Elizabeth was surprised to hear genuine affection in Mr Darcy’s voice. He was so reserved generally that she had gained the impression he was a man who did not have any affectionate feelings, but she had been wrong. He clearly loved his sister, and was thus capable of strong affections.

  ‘When will we meet her?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘She is staying with our aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, at present. I thought Jane might be overwhelmed if she had too many new experiences all at once. But Georgiana will be here next week.’

  Elizabeth was pleased. It was thoughtful of him - if rather arrogant of him to arrange everyone else in the way he thought best!

  She looked at the third miniature portrait. It showed a young man of about Mr Darcy’s age – or, at least, Mr Darcy’s age when the miniatures had been painted – and charm radiated from the portrait. Laughter danced in the blue eyes and a smile played readily around the full lips.

  ‘And is this your brother?’ she asked.

  She was surprised that she had never heard a brother spoken of, but there was surely no one else it could be.

  His voice, when it came, was so cold it could have had icicles dripping off it. His whole posture had changed, becoming more forbidding than she had ever seen it.

  ‘I do not have a brother. That is the son of my father’s steward,’ he said.

  There was obviously some mystery here, but she did not feel she could ask him about it. His face was closed and his expression was not encouraging.

  Even so, she could not help wondering why there was a portrait of the son of a steward hanging next to the Darcy children. And she could also not help wondering why Mr Darcy kept the miniature hanging there when he so clearly despised the subject.

  Mr Darcy walked over to the door and stood aside so that Elizabeth could precede him out of the room. It was obvious that the tour of Pemberley was over, at least for now. All their earlier camaraderie had vanished; so much so, that Elizabeth found herself wondering if she had imagined it.

  She went over to the window and looked out, lingering a little to show him that she was not at his beck and call, and that she would leave the room when she was ready to, not when he commanded it. Then, when she had taken another turn around the room, she went out of the beautifully-panelled door.

  As she did so, she heard the sound of a gong and saw a liveried footman just replacing the beater next to the impressive bronze instrument.

  The ringing of the gong provided them with a polite way out of an uncomfortable situation. It was time to dress for dinner.

  Elizabeth curtseyed and thanked him for the tour of the house.

  Mr Darcy bowed and said, ‘Not at all.’

  Then Elizabeth went lightly up the stairs.

  But her curiosity about Pemberley had not been assuaged. Rather, it had been deepened. She would learn no more about the steward’s son from Mr Darcy but she meant to ask the housekeeper at the first opportunity. For, as Jane was to marry into the family, Elizabeth wanted to know as much as possible about it.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth opened the door of her bedroom and let out a gasp of delight. It was the first time she had seen the room, for she had refreshed herself after her journey in a small downstairs cloakroom which had been set aside for the visitors’ convenience. But now that she saw it, her eyes opened wide. It was like fairyland! A four poster bed was set in the centre of the room and it was hung with delicate gauzy drapes which fluttered in the breeze. The window was open, showing the beauty of the park, and the scent of roses was carried on the breeze.

  Gilded rococo furniture was tastefully arranged around the room. It consisted of wardrobes, elegant chests of drawers, a chaise longue, a pretty writing table – in fact, everything anyone could desire.

  The carpet was woven with the pattern of an urn, from which spilled flowers in delicate shades of pink, lemon and blue.

  But it was her clothes that attracted her attention: not because they were new to her – they were not – but because they were laid out on the bed in the most delectable way.

  At home, the Bennets had managed without a full complement of servants as they had not been wealthy. Elizabeth had never had a lady’s maid, nor had Jane. Nor, even, had Mrs Bennet. Hill, the housekeeper, had attended to the ladies and laced their corsets, and if she had not been available they had helped each other. They had chosen their own clothes for special occasions and taken them out of the wardrobe as they dressed.

  But here, her clothes were laid out artistically, almost as if they had been in a painting. Her muslin gown was laid at the foot of the bed and next to it was set her petticoat and light corset. Her long, white evening gloves were arranged next to the petticoat and her feathered headdress completed the grouping.

  Elizabeth herself had felt that a feathered headdress was too ostentatious, but her aunt had advised it, saying that it would not look ostentatious in the splendid setting of Pemberley. And Mrs Gardiner was right. Here it looked natural.

  From the adjoining room next to the bedroom came the sound of water being poured into a bath. Elizabeth went in and saw two maids pouring jugs of water into a hip bath. They were being overseen by a lady’s maid, whose position was shown by her different mode of dress. She wore no apron and her dress was closer to the style of dress worn by a lady than a housemaid.

  The lady’s maid clapped her hands and the maids poured the last of the water into the bath before dropping respectful curtseys and departing.

  The delicious scent of roses wafted from the steam, and Elizabeth saw that rose petals floated on the water. Feeling like a princess in a fairy tale, she set about the pleasurable task of bathing and dressing for dinner.

  Mr Darcy, dressing for dinner in his own room, was far less satisfied with life. As his valet helped him into his white shirt he wished he had never invited Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Pemberley. She had a personality that was entirely new to him. She was sometimes impertinent, sometimes challenging, sometimes teasing . . . and always unpredictable and interesting.

  He had never met anyone like her before. Just as he thought he had discerned her character, and had decided how best to deal with her, she changed, and he had to work her out all over again.

  Or try to. Because Miss Elizabeth Bennet was someone he could not understand.

  Did she approve of his engagement to her sister, or did she not? Did she think Jane was lucky, or did she not? Did she like Pemberley or did she not? Did she like him, or did she not?

  His valet handed him his cravat and Mr Darcy wrapped the white cloth around his neck. He arranged it into an intricate set of folds with practised hands. Then he pinned it with a diamond tie pin.

  It did not matter, of course, whether Miss Elizabeth liked Pemberley or not. And it certainly did not matter if she liked him or not. She was of an age to be married and he meant to make it his duty to see to it that she was quickly wed. He did not want her living at Pemberley for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Her presence unsettled him, and that was not what he wanted for his future. He wanted a calm and well ordered life with his sister and his wife.

  The kind of life he would have with Jane.

  Jane was not unpredictable. He did not have any difficulty in understanding her. She was marrying him because she respected him; because she was tired of the burdens she carried and because it was a good match. She did not love him, but then neither did he love her. They could each provide the other with something they needed, and the marriage would be happy because of
it. And in time, who could say? Perhaps love would grow.

  But the idea of living at Pemberley with Jane and starting his well-ordered married life with Miss Elizabeth there . . . He shook his head. He could not do it.

  So he decided that, when they returned to Hertfordshire, he would introduce Miss Elizabeth to Bingley at once. If he left it any longer, he feared he would not have the strength to do it, for the thought of Elizabeth married to another man filled him with despair.

  Unaware of Mr Darcy’s plans for her, Elizabeth stepped out of her bath and wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel. She dried herself thoroughly and then went through into the bedroom, where she put on her underwear and then slipped on her white muslin gown.

  At home, the gown had seemed pretty. Here, it seemed shabby. She was conscious of the fact that it was mended round the hem, where Lydia had stepped on it, and that there was a small mark on the skirt, where candle wax had dropped on it. She had tried to remove the stain, but to no avail.

  Both imperfections were very small, but here they seemed magnified.

  Sadly, there was nothing she could do about it. She was only glad that she had taken her aunt’s advice and brought a feathered headdress, for it would draw attention away from her gown.

  The lady’s maid was very attentive. She knew exactly how tight to lace Elizabeth’s corset and she arranged Elizabeth’s hair in a new and becoming fashion. She parted it several times going across the crown of Elizabeth’s head, and then smoothed each section before creating a low bun at the nape of Elizabeth’s neck. She then attached the feathered headdress with hair pins and the overall result was extremely elegant.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth.

  The maid curtseyed respectfully, then handed Elizabeth her gloves.