“And I will not suffer the loss of Anne as a friend.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Anne de Bourgh? Your former betrothed? Whom you refused? We speak of the same person, correct?”
“Correct. That does not mean she is nothing to me. In fact, our refusal of my aunt’s intentions was mutual, and she has been a great friend to Georgiana. I would be honoured if you would take some time to write to her. We could send it with my sister’s letter, as we did for the wedding.”
She looked at him as if she could not believe it, but his face was perfectly amiable, and he was never known to lie. “Very well, I shall happily write to her, and perhaps she can find an excuse to be in Derbyshire in the spring.”
“The weather here is known to be quite relieving to the body,” he said. And the matter was settled.
Their first guest arrived a week early, to their great surprise but also to their great delight.
***
Mr. Bennet had weathered over a year without visiting his favourite daughter. He did delight in her company when they came to see the Bingleys at Netherfield, but with all of the commotion and the brevity of the visit, Mr. Bennet felt that he rarely had a proper moment with Elizabeth. He resolved that he must visit Pemberley but put it off.
At first it was merely to give the newlyweds their proper privacy, though the rumours were that the estate was so vast that they would have no problem avoiding anything if they so chose, while he had at Longbourn only his study as a sanctuary. Then the weather chilled, and his wife protested for his health. At first he found this odd, as with their financial situation secure, his death would no longer be the disastrous event that had so long been her worry. At the fourth or fifth protest at his suggestion of visiting Derbyshire, he looked more carefully at his wife of nearly five and twenty years and, after much consideration, decided that there was a slim chance that she was actually concerned for his person—as a person. He did not mention this to her, for as much as she talked about herself, she did not care much to be talked of.
He did, however, smile.
This bizarre state held him in Longbourn until he at last gave in and gave his wife and daughters permission to go to Brighton, with the explicit understanding that Mrs. Bennet would be the most diligent chaperone. “I have learned that lesson, Mr. Bennet,” she said. He even convinced Mary to go, taking great pains to tell her of the spectacular scenery that might be observed in the area, so that he might be at his leave to appear at Pemberley before the official arrival date. He had a great desire to see the place in some privacy first, but this involved getting his remaining daughters out of the house so that he might secretly vacate it, and the task took him nearly a month to arrange.
It was late in the first week of December that he finally got in a carriage and took the long trip to Derbyshire, farther north than he had travelled in a great number of years. He was very sick of trees and fields—that was, until he reached Derbyshire. “Quite a lovely place,” he admitted to himself when they stopped for lunch.
That was until he saw Pemberley.
“My goodness,” he said as it came into view, with its reflecting pool and great columns. Even far away from the entrance, he took off his hat as if he were entering church. He had yet to see the new Bingley estate at Chatton Hall, but he had a notion that nothing would compare to this. “Well, well, Lizzy, you have done well for yourself.”
If Mr. Bennet were a man to be cowed, the great halls of Pemberley would have rendered him speechless. He was not, however, that sort of man, though there was a significant hesitation to his step as he entered and had his walking stick and hat taken by the servants. He was approached by a servant. “May I help you, sir?”
“I am here to see Mrs. Darcy, though I prefer to be unannounced, if she is in the mood to be interrupted from whatever business she has as mistress of Pemberley”—as it was midafternoon as he’d planned it, and she was well with child. “That is, if she would see her father.”
The servant blanched and then said he would make haste to find her, and would he mind sitting in the drawing room until she was located? Of course he wouldn’t, because the “drawing room” was probably, by his rough estimation, larger than half of Longbourn and its shelves filled with so many books that he could hardly imagine the actual library’s collection. “I definitely should have intruded earlier,” he muttered, glancing at the titles.
He did not have to wait very long. The doors opened, and before she could be announced, Mrs. Darcy scampered into the room like a little girl—even though she was certainly no longer dressed like one—and immediately embraced her father. “Oh, Papa!”
“Lizzy,” he said, though having some difficulty, partially because of his emotions at seeing her and partially because there was much more of her to hold. She was, to everyone’s estimate, in her sixth month, and while not yet overburdened, she was undeniably pregnant when she removed her shawl. He kissed her and then withdrew from the embrace, but not from holding her hands. “You look splendid.” In fact, she looked positively astounding, considering her particular burden. All of his fears—however irrational—about her interest in her marriage to the aloof Mr. Darcy were quickly dissolved entirely in his mind. He could have chalked up her visit to Netherfield as just excitement about seeing her family, but here at Pemberley she was still more radiant than on her wedding day, the look of a woman most happy in her present situation. “I am very sorry to intrude—”
“You do not look very sorry,” she chided. “I see you came alone.”
“Your mother and sisters are in Brighton, admiring all the officers from a very respectable distance. At least a foot, I told them, though I have no idea if they will abide by it. I would have said at least thirty feet and bought your mother a pair of looking glasses, but she would not have it. They will arrive closer to the holiday, though I challenge even Mrs. Bennet and Kitty to fill these immense hallways with their squalling.”
“You are being ungenerous,” she said, her voice thoroughly mocking. “Oh, but I did not think to have someone call for my husband because I rushed to you.”
“I imagine there is someone around here who has thought of it, what with the massive retinue of Mr. Darcy. If His Majesty has any desire to invade the Continent and has need of stout men, he has only to call on Pemberley.” He tugged her hand. “But seriously, Lizzy, unless you are better at trickery than I know you to be, I assume Darcy has made you quite a happy woman.”
“Indeed, he has,” was all she could say before the subject of discussion entered the room. “I’m so glad someone found you.”
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy said, bowing to his father-in-law.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet returned the gesture but could not help but recall, without an inward chuckle, about the night before his wedding when he had been in such an intimate setting with Mr. Darcy; the poor man was drunkenly ill. Now his son-in-law was all smiles—and not just the quiet, subtle smiles he would sneak across the table at Elizabeth when he was sure no one else was watching during their engagement. Marriage had obviously been very good to him. “I apologise for my intrusion into your privacy.”
“Not at all. In fact, we were wondering when you might be venturing north for several months now. I hope you find Pemberley to your liking.”
“I find nothing that anyone could ever dislike.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Where was the proud Darcy who cared nothing for the approval of those decidedly below his station? Perhaps Elizabeth had merely married a different man with the same name. “If you will excuse me, I have a most pressing matter with my steward, and I assume that you wish more time with your daughter. I will see you at dinner, Mr. Bennet.” He turned to his wife. “Remember about the gardens, if you would.”
“If my father wishes to see the gardens of Pemberley on this mild afternoon, I would be a most discourteous daughter not to guide him.”
“Lizzy, I would rather have you a discourteous daughter than a discourteous moth
er, and you know it,” Darcy said in a whisper, perhaps imagining Mr. Bennet was hard of hearing.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, having no intention of being left out of the fun, “I must confess to you right now that the only time a Bennet ever intentionally sabotaged another Bennet’s health was in not providing Jane with a carriage when it was raining and she was invited to some great estate in Hertfordshire, and the outcome was most advantageous to us all. Still, I will not try the master of Pemberley’s patience.”
“That is my job, Papa,” Elizabeth chimed in, but she did lean in and kiss her husband on the cheek before he bowed and took his leave.
They were alone again, and Mr. Bennet did not hesitate to venture, “You were absolutely correct, Lizzy. You are both so ridiculously stubborn that somehow you are a perfect match. I assume this garden business was he being overprotective of your condition.”
“To his credit, it is winter, but we have had many mild days.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “But I think you have had enough scenery for a while and would prefer to remain indoors. And there is so much to discuss. Come, let us repair to the parlour.”
“I’m not sure how far away this parlour is and if I am well enough to make it to it,” he said. “Please tell me it is under two miles.”
“Papa!”
“You know I am only poking fun at how well a sworn spinster who considered herself too stubborn ever to attract a man has done so well for herself. Quite the reverse of conventional wisdom, but then again, when have you ever been conventional?”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
They did make it to the parlour, despite Mr. Bennet’s jokes, where they were practically assaulted by servants ready with tea for the esteemed father of Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Bennet found himself in a state of perpetual self-amusement at the whole proceeding.
“How is the family? I have not written enough, I know.”
“I must confess, I am somewhat surprised by the changes at Longbourn,” he said. “Though I do miss you and Jane every day, your mother’s countenance has . . . almost returned to normal.”
She looked legitimately confused. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You do not mean to imply that I married a fluttering imbecile with a chronic nerve condition? No, I confess I had almost forgotten it myself that she underwent a particular transformation when Jane came out, and suddenly she had the daunting prospect of five marriageable daughters who were in desperate need of prospects. And seeing as how I was only a very reluctant aid in the matter, so attached to you all as I was, it is amazing that she accomplished so much in so little time.” He did not give her time to comment before continuing. “Kitty is doing well, though still quite silly, but in that endearing way that some officer will no doubt find amusing. And having learned that lesson, we will make sure to check his gambling debts before agreeing to see her have a moment alone with him.”
“And Mary?”
“Yes, Mary, who is usually complacent with her books, has asked of me that she be sent to study on the Continent. I feel almost compelled to oblige her in the fall. Surely then she will fall for some scholar who is as good at giving unrequested sermons as she is, and they will spend a happy life amusing themselves at the dinner table by talking about proper manners and the severity of life.” He sipped his tea. “I find myself oddly at ease with my existence now, minus the absence of my favourite daughter. Fortunately, I believe she is with child, and that will give me a tremendous excuse to dally by her side for her confinement, if her stubborn husband would permit it.”
She smiled slyly at him, “But Bingley is not stubborn at all!”
“Now you intend to mock me, though I say I do enjoy it more than when any other relation does it. So I will let it pass. I have no idea how you will settle the matter of the confinement. Mr. Bingley could have hardly moved all the way up here just to separate his wife from her sister for three months.”
“My husband and Mr. Bingley are in an argument about it.”
“An argument, you say?”
Lizzy smiled again. “Not an argument, proper—more of a gentlemanly game of theirs. We have yet to inform them that they have no say in the matter, and Jane and I will decide at New Year’s, and that will be that.”
“So you have completely and utterly conquered your husbands. I see your mother has trained you well.”
“Are you joking? Every correspondence I have had with her since the wedding has told me of my wifely duties and that I must be entirely obliging to my husband’s every whim and desire. Does she expect me to be only a combination of a maidservant and breeder?”
He set his teacup down with some ceremony. “I have given some thought to the matter, and considering that Darcy has five times my income, you are required to produce no less than five and twenty children—all daughters, of course.”
“Now you are deliberately trying to tease me!”
“I have always said,” he laughed, “that of all my daughters, you had the quickest wit and perception, and you have never proven me wrong.”
***
Dinner was a peaceful but splendid affair, and though in front of the servants Darcy was more reserved, he was still the welcoming gentleman that he had been in the parlour earlier. To Elizabeth he was expressive enough, and that was Mr. Bennet’s chief concern, which was much abated now. It was only when he briefly disappeared to attend to something that Mr. Bennet remarked, “I must say that my son is a rather puzzling sort of man in the way he presents himself. It is not at all consistent.”
“It is not a matter of pride at all,” she said. “I have come to the conclusion that he is extremely shy.”
“A man is never shy, Lizzy—certainly not one of his standing.”
She giggled but tried to stifle it. “I was trying to be polite. I think he is merely . . . I do not know the term. I will have to stand on shy.” She lowered her voice further. “He does not find company easy to bear if he does not have a keen interest in them. I do think this is a failing on his part as much as it is something instinctive.”
“Well, that he has a keen interest in you is, I suppose, all that matters,” he said with a smile.
To this, she could only blush in reply.
Chapter 13
Christmas at Pemberley
As Christmas arrived, so did the Darcys’ guests. Georgiana returned from Town first, followed quickly by the three Bennets from Brighton. “Oh! Oh my dear Mr. Bennet!” his wife said, and Mr. Darcy instantly insisted that the very qualified Mrs. Reynolds give his mother-in-law a grand tour of all nine and fifty rooms of Pemberley, and that Mrs. Bennet be given ample time in each room to say whatever she pleased and inquire after the expense of every single piece of furniture to her heart’s content. Fortunately, he had already given Mrs. Reynolds a sizeable Christmas bonus, so all was well, and Mrs. Bennet was gone into the deep lairs of Pemberley for almost an entire day.
Colonel Fitzwilliam returned from his business in the north and was happily greeted by both his cousins and Elizabeth. The Gardiners were delayed in Lambton by the weather only for a day before making their appearance. It was, in fact, the Bingleys who appeared last, having the least distance to travel and so weather and delays were no concern, but as usual, Mr. Bingley was all concerns for his wife’s health to such an extent in his various posts that it came as a surprise to everyone when she appeared at the door looking well and full of colour. With him came his sisters and brother, happy as always to be at Pemberley no matter who was on the guest list—or if they had any objection, they hid it well.
Diversions were many in the vast halls of Pemberley, and it was actually a while after the first dinner that Colonel Fitzwilliam finally caught Bingley and Darcy in the billiards room, temporarily escaping their guests. They were happy to let him join their game. “So,” he said casually, “I have heard some speculation concerning the delicate matter—if I may be so bold—of the location of confinement.”
“The matter remains . .
. unsettled,” Bingley said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Bingley,” Darcy said. “Fitzwilliam, we’ve already decided to settle the matter in the most gentlemanly way possible.”
“So, you mean, some sort of contest,” he surmised.
“Precisely,” said Darcy. “By duelling. Rapiers, shall it be?”
Bingley gave his friend and brother a horrified look. “I agreed to no such thing! You know I would lose horribly. You are not making the slightest attempt to be fair.” Straightening his waistcoat, he added, “It shall be shooting.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows. “Red eight in the side pocket. You know, Darcy is very good at shooting. It would be a close match.”
“I have been practising,” Darcy said confidently.
“Very well then—dancing!”
“Surely not!” Darcy replied. “Chess.”
“Sewing.”
“Riding.”
“First proposal.”
“First attempted proposal.”
“Drinking contest,” Bingley said keenly.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Height.”
“I do believe Jane is taller than Elizabeth.”
“Only if she stands on her toes!”
“Good God,” Fitzwilliam said. “You’re like children! Why don’t you just flip a coin like decent men? Or better yet, let your wives decide?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darcy replied. “We will decide as men and then return to our wives, who will promptly ignore us and announce their own decision, which was probably made months ago—but still, propriety must be maintained.”
“You mean your egos must be maintained,” his cousin replied. “Despite your obvious respective marital bliss, I fear I must endeavour to find a more complying wife.”
“My sister is out of the question, then,” Bingley said, to everyone’s surprise. “What? I was merely stating the obvious.”
“It seems marriage has given you a spine,” Darcy said.
“And destroyed yours.”
The Darcys and the Bingleys Page 13