‘You are fretting here,’ Lady Anne continued. ‘I can see the signs. You need to be out of doors. Go to Pemberley. Ride off your frustrations. And then be ready to greet your guests at the ball with a view to finding a wife.’
He made her a bow and withdrew.
He had no wish to find a wife but he was filled with a sudden longing to be back at Pemberley. He would have open spaces around him instead of the walls of a town house or the limited avenues of the park. At Pemberley he would be able to ride for miles with total freedom, and freedom was suddenly very important to him; for, if he was forced into marriage, then, all too soon, his freedom would come to an end.
Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to Pemberley in a bad humour. But when he found himself once more on Darcy land he began to feel calmer. The beautiful Derbyshire landscape was familiar and he loved it. The grounds of Pemberley were such as to delight the eye, and from the woodland to the lake, the garden to the river, he loved every inch of it.
As his carriage bowled down the long drive he saw a horseman coming towards him. He recognised the man at once. It was Stuart Fielding. Mr Fielding was a distant cousin of the Darcys and he had taken over the running of the estate on the retirement of the previous steward, Mr Wickham.
Mr Fielding was glad to have the job. He was only remotely related to the Darcy family and he was not wealthy. The position of steward was a responsible one. He carried it out efficiently and the income gave him a good living.. He made sure the home farms were being well managed and he took care of the timber, planting enough trees to ensure the estate had sufficient wood for building and fires and other sundry things in the future. In short, he saw to the efficient running of the estate.
He and Mr Darcy had become friends in their childhoods, for Stuart’s family had often visited, and the two boys had played together. They had fished in the river and climbed trees and swum in the lake. They had not seen each other then for some time, but when Stuart had taken up the position of steward they had furthered their friendship, since Stuart was working and living at Pemberley.
‘Darcy!’ said Stuart, as Mr Darcy’s carriage stopped beside him. ‘What brings you here? I thought you were to stay in London until the ball?’
‘Yes, that was the arrangement, but I decided to return early. My father has commanded me to find a bride at the ball and I want to make the most of my freedom whilst it lasts.’
Stuart gave a sympathetic nod.
‘Why not come round the estate with me?’ he said. ‘Things always look better on horseback.’
‘You are right. I will join you at the south spinney in an hour.’
Stuart nodded and then set off again.
The carriage rolled on and Mr Darcy was soon at Pemberley. He had mixed feelings as he opened the door without waiting for the footmen to perform the task for him. He jumped out without bothering to lower the carriage step and then he strode across the gravel drive, with his booted footsteps making a crunching sound. His coat tails flew out with the rapidity of his motion as he crossed to the front door. His brow was furrowed, showing his state of mind, and his conflicting feelings intensified as he went inside.
Everything about Pemberley was grand and imposing. The hall was floored with marble and there were marble columns at regular intervals. The ceiling was painted and the banisters were gilded. He paused for a moment, looking round at the familiar hallway. He loved the house but it sometimes felt like a prison. He could not be himself because he was the heir to Pemberley and he must marry accordingly. He must behave like a gentleman at all times and never show his true feelings. Indeed, he was not expected to have any.
He continued on his way. He went up to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. His clothes were so tight they pulled against him uncomfortably as he mounted the stairs. They felt as if they were squeezing the life out of him. As he went into his bedroom he wrenched his cravat aside because he thought it would choke him. Then he fully untied it and threw it on the bed. He pulled off his tailcoat, which was moulded to him with such precision it seemed to be suffocating him. Then he stepped out of his breeches.
At last he could breathe again.
Dressed only in his white shirt, he went over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of brown leather trousers and a brown wool jacket. It was the outfit he kept for riding round the estate with the steward because in such an outfit he could brave the muddiest parts of the property. He could ford streams and ride through the woods without worrying about ruining his expensive clothes, and he could breathe freely. He could be a man on horseback instead of Mr Darcy of Pemberley. He felt a huge burden lifting from his shoulders as he thought of it.
His valet entered the room and looked at his outfit disapprovingly but Mr Darcy dismissed him with a wave of the hand, then he went downstairs. He was just crossing the hall and heading towards the side door, which was the most convenient way to the stables, when he happened to glance into the ballroom, and the sight which met his eyes stopped him in his tracks.
A young lady was dancing there on her own. She was lost in her own world and her grace was mesmerising. He stood and watched her, unable to take his eyes away. Her dark hair was arranged in an elaborate bun, with braids across the crown. He could not see her face as she was facing away from him but her figure was light and pleasing. She held one arm in the air, while the other held up her skirt so that it cleared the highly polished floor. She was a picture of grace and elegance as she performed the steps of the dance. Her long white dress floated around her elegant figure and the sun behind her cast her in a halo of light.
She turned round gradually as she danced, and he heard her humming a melody under her breath as she performed her elegant steps.
In another minute she would turn round and see him, but he could not tear himself away.
Who is she? he thought. What is she doing here?
He half wondered if he had imagined her, for she looked so ethereal against the bright sunlight. But when she turned one more half step and saw him, he knew she was really there.
Her mouth formed a round ‘o’ of surprise and her eyes widened. She stopped dancing and dropped the hem of her gown. Then her face took on an adorable expression, which was half apologetic and half mischievous, and he found himself smiling in response.
On a sudden impulse he said, ‘Dance with me.’
He moved forward to take her hand but her eyes sparkled and she said, ‘I do not think Mr Darcy would like it. I hear he is a verty proud man. I doubt if he would approve of his groom dancing with a young lady in his very splendid ballroom.’
‘His groom?’ asked Mr Darcy in surprise.
Then he caught sight of himself in the long line of mirrors that ran down one side of the room and he saw why she had made such a mistake. In his rough clothes, he no longer looked like the master’s son, and the heir to Pemberley. He looked like someone of a much lower rank.
He was about to tell her who he was when she said guiltily, ‘Oh, dear, I have offended you. I took you for a groom because of your clothes but I think I have made a mistake. You must be the steward. I had better apologise for demoting you. Even so, I do not think Mr Darcy would take kindly to his steward dancing in his ballroom – especially as his steward is wearing boots!’
She glanced pointedly at his footwear, which had been designed for hard riding and not for dancing.
‘You would be surprised at what Mr Darcy likes,’ he said significantly.
‘Would I?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Then he is not as proud as everyone says? But do not answer me if you do not wish it. As you work for the Darcys, it would perhaps be incautious of you to offer an opinion on your master, or his son.’
He opened his mouth to tell her who he was but then he closed it again. He decided that he would not reveal his identity because there was something very refreshing about talking to a young lady who did not know who he was. Instead of simpering and flirting with him, she was treating him with an honesty he admired. In fact, he c
ould not imagine her simpering and flirting with anyone. There was something too poised about her for that. Besides, she had no need to flirt. She was enchanting without such artifice. One flash from her eyes was enough to awaken his interest and hold it.
They really were remarkable fine eyes. They were dark brown in colour, but when the sunlight caught them there were gold flecks in their depths. Their shape was a delicate oval and they were surrounded by thick dark lashes. He felt he could stand there and look at her for ever. But the sound of footsteps crossing the hall made her glance towards the door.
‘I should not be here,’ she said. Adding, ‘And neither should you.’
And so saying she dropped him a curtsey and, as soon as the footsteps receded, she walked with a light step from the room.
He watched her until she was out of sight and then still stood there, watching the spot where she had vanished. He found himself wanting to see her again and carry on their conversation. There was something very appealing about the idea of getting to know a young lady without his position intruding, for then he would find out if she really liked him. Under such circumstances, it was possible that a genuine attachment could develop, instead of the kind of attachment his father had commanded him to form.
Who is she? he wondered.
He decided she must be one of the young ladies who was to attend the ball. She had probably called at Pemberley with her parents. No doubt they wanted to check some detail of the arrangements. All the local families had been invited and if they were passing the house they might have decided it was easier to call rather than make their enquiry by letter. He did not recognise her, but that meant nothing. She could be a niece or granddaughter of one of his neighbours, and she could just be visiting. She had probably escaped for a few minutes as her guardians took refreshment before setting out again.
As if in confirmation of this theory, he heard the sound of hoofbeats and saw a carriage rolling down the drive. It was only a speck in the distance as the drive curved round to the road. He went over to the window. He was sure that the carriage held the most interesting woman he had met in years.
He was seized with a desire to know who she was. He strode out of the ballroom and went across to his mother’s study. There, on her desk, he found the guest book for the ball. He opened it and ran his finger down the guest list. He knew most of the names in the book and he dismissed them, for he had never met his mystery woman before.
He turned the page and ran his finger down the next list. He stopped when he came to a name he did not recognise. Miss Barrowdale. Was she his mystery woman?
He continued his search. There were three other possible names. Miss Sinclair, Miss Bent and Miss Hargreaves.
He closed the book thoughtfully.
One of those names fit his mystery woman and soon he would know which one.
In the meantime, he thought, as he heard the clock chiming, he must hurry, for he was already late for his meeting with Stuart Fielding in the spinney.
He smiled as he headed towards the side door and thence to the stables. He no longer needed to ride round the estate to get rid of his frustrations.
A pair of fine eyes had banished them very effectively.
Chapter Three
‘You are very quiet, Lizzy,’ said Mrs Gardiner as the Gardiners’ carriage drove back to the inn at Lambton. ‘Is anything wrong?’
Elizabeth roused herself.
‘No, aunt. Nothing,’ she said.
In truth, she had been thinking about the steward, whose unexpected appearance in the ballroom had been an intriguing and not unwelcome addition to the day.
‘Good, because we have been invited to return to Pemberley tomorrow. Mrs Reynolds has offered to arrange a tour of the grounds for us. We are to meet the steward at the boat house at eleven o’clock in the morning. I only hope the weather holds. It has been so good recently that I hardly dare hope it will be another fine day.’
Elizabeth hoped the weather would hold, too. It would be interesting to tour the Pemberley grounds, and even more interesting to tour them with the steward. There was something about him that had attracted her and intrigued her. He was very handsome and he had a fine physique but it was his expression and the way he carried himself that had drawn her interest. There had been something compelling about him and despite his rough dress he had carried himself like a gentleman.
She had been tempted to accept his offer when he had said, ‘Dance with me.’ It had opened up the possibility of partnering an intriguing and handsome man, instead of the men she usually danced with in Meryton. Most of them were old, and the few who were young were too foolish to understand her wit or appreciate her lively mind. They talked of their horses and their dogs until she thought she would faint through sheer boredom, and they danced with clumsy steps and trod on her toes.
But perhaps the steward would be the same. She must not let her imagination run away with her. She had only spoken to him for a few minutes and perhaps he would be as boring as all the young men in Meryton. Perhaps he, too, thought only of his horses and his dogs.
Even so, she could not prevent herself from daydreaming as the carriage bowled through the dramatic countryside, back to the inn. She pictured herself dancing with him in the splendid ballroom, with a thousand candles shedding their light on the gilded furniture, and his eyes looking into her own.
The following morning, Fitzwilliam Darcy once again joined Stuart Fielding. They had visited the woods the previous day and Mr Darcy had revelled in the freedom. He had therefore arranged to meet Stuart again so they could continue their examination of the estate. But when he arrived at the steward’s house he found that Stuart was barely able to stand.
‘It was the stupidest thing,’ said Stuart. ‘I slipped on the stairs and I fell awkwardly. When I got up, I could not straighten my back. It is nothing serious, but I will not be able to get on a horse for some time.’
‘I will send for the physician,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘There is no need for that. I have doctored enough horses to know that this is nothing to worry about. Time will heal it well enough.’
‘You are not a horse and I would feel better if Peterson took a look at you. I will send one of the grooms with a message and you should have Peterson here within the hour.’
‘Very well. I say, Darcy, could you send someone with a message to the boat house, too? I agreed to show some visitors round the grounds this morning and I was meant to meet them at the boat house at eleven o’clock, but I will not be able to keep the appointment.’
‘Visitors?’ asked Mr Darcy.
‘Yes, a Mr and Mrs Gardiner and their niece.’
‘I will make sure they are informed.’
He took his leave of Stuart and it was not long before he came across one of the stable boys, who was out exercising Georgiana’s horse. He gave the boy a message to take to the physician and the boy set off at a gallop.
Mr Darcy continued on his way. He had to pass close by the boathouse and so he decided to take a message to the Gardiners himself as it would be quicker that way.
He took the winding path down to the lake but hardly had he reached it when he saw a young lady ahead of him. To his surprise and delight, he recognised the young lady from the previous day.
Here was his chance to find out who she was.
‘Miss Barrowdale!’ he called.
She did not look round.
‘Miss Bent!’ he called.
Ah! That was better. She turned towards him, So now he knew her name. She was Miss Bent, a very eligible young lady.
If his interest did not diminish once he came to know her better, then his parents would be pleased, for there had been a note next to her name in the guest list saying that she came from a very old and well respected family. It had also noted that she was an heiress. He began to feel that he might be able to satisfy his father, after all.
She looked at him enquiringly as he rode up to her. She was looking every bit as charming as
he remembered. Her voluptuous figure was clad in a sprigged walking gown with a green cloak and a feathered bonnet. There were dark curls apparent beneath her bonnet and her eyes were sparkling with life.
‘We meet again!’ she said.
The words, from anyone else, would have sounded commonplace., But there was a mischievous lift to the corner of her lips and a lilting tone in her voice that made the words sound enticing.
‘We do,’ he said with a smile.
He dismounted and stood beside her, overtopping her by some six inches.
She patted his horse and said, ‘A fine animal.’
‘One of the best in the county,’ he said. ‘Do you ride?’
‘No. Or, at least, not very often. I can ride, of course. It would be impossible to live in the country without such a skill. But I do not like it. I prefer to walk.’
‘So you live in the country?’ he asked.
He was interested to know more about her.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And do you like living in the country?’ he asked.
‘When I am in the country, I like the country, and when I am in town, I like the town,’ she said.
He laughed.
‘So I cannot call you either a country mouse or a town mouse, but I must be content to see you as both. Do you spend much time in town?’
‘I visit there every year. I stay with my aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Gardiner.’
‘Gardiner!’ He clapped his hand to his forehead. He had completely forgotten about the Gardiners in his pleasure at seeing his mystery lady again. It had never occurred to him that their niece would be Miss Bent. He had assumed she would be Miss Gardiner. But of course, if she was related to them on her mother’s side, that would account for the different name.
He could not recall ever having heard of the Gardiners, but they must be a respectable and well established couple if they had been invited to the Pemberley ball.
‘I have a message for your aunt and uncle. I believe they are at the boat house?’ he said.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 Page 11