‘Who can say? But whatever it was I am glad it happened, because it brought us together, and that is all that matters.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘Who would have thought, when we met at the Meryton assembly, that we would end up here, at Rosings, betrothed to one another?’
‘Who indeed?’
And then he took her in his arms. For no matter how wonderful it was to talk to her, he wanted nothing better to kiss her. And then kiss her again.
The sun smiled down on them. And, on the mantelpiece in Mr Darcy’s bedchamber, two little cupids were laughing.
A Ball at Pemberley
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? #8
JENNIFER LANG
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet breathed in deeply, inhaling the clear Derbyshire air. It carried with it the fresh scent of spring. She turned round, arms outstretched, and revelled in the freedom of the moors. The scenery was spectacular, with views as far as the eye could see. The rough green grass stretched towards the horizon and was interspersed with outcrops of rock. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner were sitting on one of the outcrops. Elizabeth loved the Gardiners dearly and she was travelling with them on their tour of Derbyshire.
It was a welcome break for Elizabeth. Her home was not congenial, for although the house of Longbourn was beautiful, its inhabitants left much to be desired. Mr Bennet was a clever man but he did not make any attempt to guide his family. He felt himself outnumbered by women and so he retreated to his library, where he spent his time with his books, only coming out now and again to laugh at the foibles of his family. His wife and daughters therefore could do as they pleased. With some of them, this meant they could be agreeable and charming. With others, it meant they could be very tiresome.
Jane Bennet, the eldest daughter, was kind, thoughtful, gentle and good. She was Elizabeth’s favourite sister and she never embarrassed anyone. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the other girls. Mary, the middle sister, was self-righteous and always wanting to be better than everyone else, so that she tried everyone’s patience with her moralizing and her lectures. Kitty was silly and easily led. Lydia, the youngest, was a flirt and she was growing increasingly wild, since neither of her parents checked her behaviour. Mr Bennet did not check it because he was lazy and Mrs Bennet did not check it because she was as silly as Lydia. She had a good heart, and she loved her daughters, but she showed it by trying to catch eligible husbands for them instead of giving them any guidance on the best way to behave.
And so Elizabeth was very glad her aunt and uncle had invited her to go away with them. The holiday was particularly interesting for her because Derbyshire was her aunt’s former home county, and so Mrs Gardiner was able to enliven their days with tales of old acquaintances.
‘What do you think of the moors, Lizzy?’ called Mrs Gardiner.
‘I think they are breathtaking!’ said Elizabeth. She joined her aunt and uncle and gazed around her once more. ‘I feel so free here and I could walk for miles.’
Mrs Gardiner smiled, for Elizabeth loved to walk.
Elizabeth’s gaze came to rest on a magnificent estate far below.
‘What is that house down there?’ she asked.
She nodded towards the great house in the distance. It was so large that it was easily seen, even though it was far away. It was set on rising ground and glints of light could be seen now and then as its windows caught the spring sunshine. Behind it lay an area of woodland, with the leaves on the trees rippling in the wind like a green sea.
‘That is Pemberley,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘It is the greatest house hereabouts and a very fine mansion.’
‘Who lives there?’ asked Elizabeth curiously.
‘A family by the name of Darcy,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘Mr Darcy and Lady Anne Darcy live at Pemberley with their two children, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.’
‘Darcy. That is an interesting name. It sounds French in origin. Do you know if the family came over with the Norman conquest? Their name certainly suggests it. Is it spelled D’Arcy or Darcy?’ Elizabeth asked, spelling both names.
‘It was probably D’Arcy at one time, but now it is Darcy. They are a very old family and you are right about them coming over with the Norman conquest. They came to England with William the Conqueror in 1066 and they have been here ever since.’
‘The name Fitzwilliam suggests they are of royal descent,’ said Elizabeth with interest.
‘It is possible,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘Lady Anne Darcy’s brother is an earl and perhaps, somewhere in her family tree, is King William the Conqueror himself.’
‘Mr Darcy is certainly proud enough to be of royal blood,’ said Mr Gardiner.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Mrs Gardiner.
‘I was talking to one of the grooms who works at the inn this morning. He used to work at Pemberley and said the Darcy family are all very proud.’
‘And well they might be, if they live in such a house!’ said Elizabeth.
She tried to imagine what it must be like inside. There would be a grand drawing-room and a dining-room and a ballroom, as well as a sitting-room and a library. There would perhaps be a study, too, and a room in which the lady of the house would speak to the housekeeper and approve the menus and attend to the household duties. There would probably be a flower room and a boot room and many other chambers which were thought necessary in such a fine mansion.
‘I thought we might go and see the house tomorrow,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘The family is away and at such times visitors are allowed to look around.’
‘I would like that,’ said Elizabeth.
They had seen several fine houses on their travels but the house below had caught her imagination and she longed to see inside it.
‘Then it is settled,’ said Mr Gardiner. ‘Tomorrow we go to Pemberley.’
The route to Pemberley was impressive and Elizabeth gazed out of the carriage window with admiration. They turned in at the gates and drove past the lodge, then passed through a wooded area where bluebells coated the ground like a waving sea. They ascended for half a mile and then saw Pemberley House standing on rising ground, with a stream before it. They crossed the bridge and drove to the front door.
Mr Gardiner pulled the imposing bell pull and the door was opened by a majestic footman. Mr Gardiner asked if they might see over the house and the housekeeper was called.
When she arrived, Mrs Gardiner gave a start of pleasure.
‘Can it be?’ she asked the housekeeper. ‘Is it really you, Janet Baker?’
‘Why, if it is not Margaret Hall,’ said the housekeeper in delight.
‘I am married now. My name is Mrs Gardiner,’ said Mrs Gardiner.
‘I, too, married, and I am Mrs Reynolds,’ said the housekeeper.
Mrs Gardiner explained. The two ladies had been friends as children. Mrs Gardiner’s father had then moved to London on account of business. The two ladies were delighted to see each other again. They renewed their friendship as they walked round the house, talking of people and places they had known in their past and telling each other of everything that had happened to them since.
Elizabeth listened to them to begin with but then she gave her full attention to the house. She turned round often as she walked through the hall behind her aunt and Mrs Reynolds, for there was much to see. There were marble columns in the hall and frescoes on the
ceiling. The bright colours and mythical scenes were most impressive. They went into the dining-parlour, which was a handsome room, and they admired the wonderful view of the grounds from the window. There were colourful flower beds near the house and fine lawns stretched into the distance.
‘The house is not at its best just now. A lot of the paintings and ornaments have been have been removed to the attic so the maids can give the house a thorough spring clean,’ said Mrs Reynolds. ‘It is a pity, for there are some very fine portraits to be seen. But the master is holding a ball at Pemberley soon and everything must be perfect by then.’
‘It must be difficult to keep a place of this size in good order,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘I do not envy you. It is hard enough to spring clean our house in Cheapside, and Pemberley is ten times as big.’
‘It is not easy, I grant you,’ said Mrs Reynolds. ‘But Mr Darcy is a generous employer and there are always plenty of servants to do the work, so we manage.’
They continued round the house.
‘I cannot show you the ballroom,’ said Mrs Reynolds. ‘The chandeliers were taken down for washing last week and they are being rehung. But if you have time I hope you will come back again. It is well worth seeing, for it is a magnificent sight.’
Mrs Gardiner expressed her interest in returning, but added, ‘As long as we will not be in the way. When does your master return?’
‘Not until next week,’ said Mrs Reynolds.
And so it was arranged they would visit Pemberley again in a few days’ time.
Chapter Two
Fitzwilliam Darcy stared moodily at the footman who had just entered the drawing-room of the Darcys’ London home.
The footman was dressed in the Darcy livery and he was a tall, well-built man, but nevertheless he quaked under Mr Darcy’s glance. He cleared his throat nervously and said, ‘Your father asks you to attend him in the library, Sir.’
‘Does he indeed?’ said Mr Darcy with a glower.
‘Yes, Sir,’ gulped the footman.
‘Very well,’ said Mr Darcy curtly.
When he made no move towards the door, the footman said, ‘He requested your presence at once, Sir.’
Mr Darcy’s mouth set in a grim line but he said, ‘Then I had better not keep him waiting,’ and strode out of the door.
He crossed the hall, his footsteps echoing around the noble space, and went into the library. His father was standing over by the window. His father was a tall man with broad shoulders and an elegant carriage. His hair was just starting to turn grey at the temples but his eyes were bright and his attitude was vigorous. He turned round as Mr Darcy entered the room.
‘Fitzwilliam,’ he said with a serious air.
‘Father,’ said Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Fitzwilliam was very like his father in appearance. They both had the same height and broad shoulders and they both had an air of haughtiness about them. They were immaculately dressed, each wearing a black tailcoat and cream breeches, with frilled white shirts, and each wore a diamond tie pin.
But there the resemblance ended. The elder Mr Darcy bore the unmistakeable signs of age upon his face, the younger Mr Darcy was in the prime of life. Hid glossy dark hair fell across his unlined forehead and his smooth, lightly tanned skin was firm across his high cheekbones. His deep brown eyes were alert.
The two men looked at each other coolly, and an observer would have guessed correctly that they were at present out of sympathy with each other. They were both strong willed, and when two strong willed gentlemen had a difference of opinion, then a certain coolness was inevitable.
‘You know why I have called you here?’ asked the elder Mr Darcy.
‘Yes, I believe I do,’ said Fitzwilliam, returning his father’s steady gaze.
‘Then oblige me by telling me the reason,’ said his father.
‘You want me to choose a bride at the Pemberley ball,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘No. I do not want you to choose a bride, I expect it,’ said his father. ‘You are seven-and-twenty now. It is high time you were married. I want to see you settled, with a son to carry on the Darcy name, before you are thirty.’
‘There is plenty of time for that yet,’ said Mr Darcy obstinately.
‘Not as much time as you think. There will need to be a formal betrothal, after which a suitable time must elapse before the wedding can take place. Then you will want to establish yourself in your own home before you start filling your nurseries. And they must be filled, Fitzwilliam. Pemberley depends upon it.’
‘And what if I do not find a woman I love at the ball?’ asked Mr Darcy.
‘Love will come after marriage,’ said his father.
‘But —’
‘But me no buts, Sir,’ said his father brusquely. ‘You must do your duty, as every Darcy has done before you. You will choose a bride at the Pemberley ball or I will choose one for you. Now away with you, and think on what you owe to your family name and your family pride.’
He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned back to the window.
Fitzwilliam Darcy fought back the angry words hovering on his lips. He made a curt bow, which he knew his father would see reflected in the window, and then he left the room. He strode angrily across the hall and went upstairs, taking them two at a time.
On the half landing he met his mother.
She was a noble woman who carried herself with pride but her eyes were filled with a light that softened her pride into something virtuous. Her dark hair had a few silver threads enlivening it and there was a touch of grey at her temples. She was dressed in a splendid gown of blue silk which rustled as she walked, and she carried an ostrich feather fan.
‘You have been to see your father, then?’ she asked.
‘How did you know?’
‘Because only your father can put you in such a temper.’
‘He is unreasonable!’ burst out FItzwilliam. ‘He expects me to find a bride at the ball, but I have no interest in any of the women who court me for my name and my expectations.’
She looked at him with affection. Lifting her hand, she stroked his cheek and said, ‘I understand. But I, too, would like you to find a bride.’
He was taken aback.
‘I thought you would be on my side,’ he said.
‘I am. I want you to marry, but not for the reasons your father has given you. I would like you to marry because I want you to find the love and happiness your father and I have found. He can be a hard man sometimes, and he can be impatient, I know, but he has your best interests at heart, even if he does not always express himself well. As for the ball, do not be so sure you will not find anyone you can love. There will be some new young ladies there —’
He groaned.
‘Debutantes,’ he said.
‘And what is wrong with debutantes?’ she asked.
‘They blush if I look at them and they cannot answer a simple question, let alone say anything interesting. They have no conversation except for a few phrases they have learned by rote and they bore me to tears.’
‘Some of them are great beauties.’
‘I require more than beauty in a wife,’ he said.
‘Then you must try to break through their shyness. There are one or two who are worth knowing, if you persevere. And you must persevere Fitzwilliam,’ she said more seriously. ‘I will not command you to find a bride, as your father has done, but I will ask you, at least, to try. He is right, Fitzwilliam. You are a Darcy, my son, and I would like you to marry for love if you can, but we must both remember that you have a duty to your family and your estate, and you cannot wait for ever. You must marry and you must provide an heir, and so I beg you to make an effort to find a bride before your father finds one for you.’
‘You mean my cousin Anne,’ said Fitzwilliam sourly.
‘He is certainly thinking of it. Your cousin Anne would be a good match. The family would be in favour of it, and if you do not find anyone else then you cannot refuse her fo
r ever. I myself once hoped you would like her well enough to marry her. When you and Anne were in your cradles, my sister and I used to think how happy it would make everyone if the two of you grew up, fell in love and married. Then the property and money from both sides of the match would remain in the family. But you do not love Anne, and I have long since given up thinking of a marriage between you. Your father, however, has not, and if you do not find your own bride he will force you to marry her. So, for your own sake, my son, make an effort at the ball. Talk to the young ladies. Dance with them. There might be someone there you can love. Your father is determined to see you settled before —’
‘Before?’ he asked.
‘Before you are thirty,’ she said.
There was just the slightest hesitation before she said it, but he did not notice. He was too angry with his father’s edict to think of anything else.
‘Will you try? For me?’ his mother asked.
His anger began to subside.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will try. But I make no promises.’
‘Then that is all I ask.’ She patted him on the cheek in a loving maternal gesture and then she said, ‘Why not go to Pemberley, then you can remind yourself what it is all for. You have always loved it there, particularly in the fine weather.’
‘It will disturb Mrs Reynolds if I go now,’ he said. ‘She and the rest of the staff will be busy getting everything ready for the ball and I will be in the way.’
‘You are the master and they are your servants,’ she reminded him haughtily. The loving mother gave way to the highly-born lady. ‘It is up to them to organise their time around you, not the other way around.’
Mr Darcy knew it was useless to argue, for Lady Anne was the daughter of an earl and she was fully aware of her exalted position in life. She had passed much of her haughtiness on to her son, but he was always considerate of the staff at Pemberley and he would make a good master when the time came.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 Page 10