She looked at Darcy, who had considerately allowed her to experience these delights without seeking to guide her. ‘It is wonderful, William. I hardly deserve to be mistress of such a place.’
‘Nor I the master. We can only acknowledge our good fortune, and be mindful of the duties that accompany it.’
She smiled at the pomposity of this reply, which would have irked her once, but was now only endearing.
They descended to the valley, crossed the bridge, and halted in the forecourt, where James and Georgiana had already alighted. Servants appeared from all sides in an atmosphere of excitement. The master and his sister were back—and not alone! News of the wedding and betrothal had reached Mrs Reynolds, Darcy’s housekeeper, and the household had been mobilised to welcome Mr Inglis and the future Mrs Darcy.
Refreshments were the first order of the day; then the tour, for James and Elizabeth. Again Darcy preferred to let them discover for themselves, with only Mrs Reynolds as guide. Rooms were lofty and well-proportioned, often overlooking beautiful and varied views, and furnished in unaffected good taste. They were shown portraits of the family, including Darcy and Georgiana as children, and their parents and grandparents.
Overwhelmed, Elizabeth recalled that just over two years before she had spurned the opportunity of becoming mistress of this place. If only she could have held her anger in check, and responded more moderately, allowing Darcy a chance to explain! In all probability her father would still live, Jane would be married to Bingley, the threat from Wickham would have been exposed in time. And yet she could not regret all. Knowing Thomas, and the Mackays, had enriched her. God had opened another door, as Mrs Gibson liked to say.
She sighed, and returned her attention to the tour.
Settling into Pemberley Darcy felt at peace as he recovered a sense of normality. He knew Elizabeth was desperate to see her family again, now just a two-day journey away. But they had spent so much time travelling, and so much also in company. In Strathmaran, the Mackays; at Edinburgh, the Inglises and their Sinclair relatives; and all when what they craved was time alone.
Added to this, he had been absent six months and the estate needed attention: Elizabeth was not the only one with tenants. He renewed his acquaintance with the vicar, caught up with births, marriages and deaths, inspected the school, approved his steward’s experiments with Cheviot sheep and forcing of rhubarb. He rode to visit neighbours, and informed them of his forthcoming nuptials.
A huge volume of post had accumulated. No reply yet from Bingley, of course. But Lady Catherine had written, her last so laden with abuse that after a brief scan he burned it, disdaining even to respond. Lord Matlock took him to task for not restraining Colonel Fitzwilliam, but spared him further abuse over his betrothal to Elizabeth, remarking only that the world had gone mad—recent marriages, it appeared, were harbingers of a general trend.
Interspersed with these tantrums were letters of more serious import. Lord Bathurst sent a proposal, copied to Major Mackay, for additional plots in north-west Glengarry. Darcy’s lawyer in town sent confirmation that the sale of Sundridge was completed, the new owner ready to enter within a day or two. A note from the artist Thomas Lawrence offered a price for a portrait of James and Georgiana. To this Darcy made a counter-offer, on principle: the artist would not take him seriously otherwise. But the reduction was trivial, and accompanied by a further commission, this time a wedding present for Elizabeth. He had other presents in mind, including a horse, but he wanted to surprise her so kept these plans to himself.
Most precious, during these days at Pemberley, were his outings with Elizabeth, who soon came to love the park as he did. With no need of chaperonage they took picnics to secluded spots where they talked, sometimes teasingly, but mostly in a fascinated exploration of each other’s lives. In these idyllic surroundings his betrothed also submitted contentedly to the delights of kissing, an activity that stretched their powers of self-control to the limit, since both kept wishing to go a little further, the (very remote) possibility of discovery adding an extra thrill. It was frustrating, in a way, yet he did not regret the constraint: it meant he would discover her gradually, savouring every new conquest.
Inevitably, when Elizabeth spoke of her life, she mentioned her first marriage, although references to Thomas were rarer now. Slowly rivalry dissolved, and Darcy came to admire her first husband almost as if he were a friend. It was odd to know a man so deeply without any possibility of meeting him. Of course he was flawed, as Elizabeth freely admitted. But he had loved her. He had also supported the Bennets at a moment of desperate need—a task Darcy would happily accept in his turn.
The week passed, restoring his energies. It was time to undertake one more journey: to Hertfordshire.
43
Half asleep, Elizabeth looked out of the window as they passed a picturesque village. At her side Darcy was studying a map.
‘Where are we, William?’
‘Watton-at-Stone. We should arrive in an hour.’
She closed her eyes again. Soon she would be reunited with her mother and sisters, yet she felt an odd sense of unreality. It had been so long: could this be happening?
The reason was probably tiredness. She had slept badly at an inn near Rugby, disturbed by a scratching that might have been branches rubbing against the eaves, or mice in the attic. Promptly at six they had set off again in pouring rain, breakfasting on the road. As well as Burgess, Darcy had brought a footman and a maid; Georgiana and her husband were still at Pemberley. The skies had cleared after lunch; now, in mid-afternoon, the leaves glistened in the sunshine.
Would Jane be in Meryton?
Perhaps. Letters had passed: the family knew she was coming. Mary and Kitty had written to her at Pemberley, reporting only that they were in good health. Jane’s letter from Gracechurch Street spoke mostly of the Gardiners; she did not say whether she would be travelling up. In the past, Mr Gardiner would have met Mr Bennet at the half-way point, but now the Bennets had no carriage …
Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes.
She was dreaming. They were at Strathmaran. Herself, Darcy, her father too. He was smoking a clay pipe and warning her of danger. She was running desperately over the moor in bare feet. It was unseemly. What if someone saw her? She had to find a person in danger. But who …
She awoke sweating and rubbed her eyes. How long had she been sleeping? Her curtain was drawn; she looked across at Darcy’s window, and flinched.
She knew this view. She had known it all her life.
She tore her curtain back and gasped.
‘This is Longbourn!’
He smiled. ‘Relax, Elizabeth. My little surprise.’
‘Why are we here? I don’t want to see Mr Collins! Stop the carriage. I’m going to walk back.’
‘Let me explain …’
‘Stop the carriage!’
Burgess must have heard her, for the horses eased to a halt, fifty paces from the forecourt. Elizabeth tore open the door, jumped down, then froze.
Approaching from the familiar border of lavender and wild roses was a woman she recognised, wearing a dress she recognised. Beside her was a gentleman Elizabeth had also met, if only for a few days. She stared in disbelief. It was impossible. She must still be in the dream.
Darcy was at her side. ‘My love, please let me explain. Mr Collins is no longer here. He has moved to the estate I was telling you about. Sundridge, in Kent …’
Elizabeth hardly heard him. She edged forward, staring at the woman, who opened her arms.
‘Weel, Lizzy, there’s a surprise for ye!’
Elizabeth ran and took both her hands.
‘Etta, dearest Etta! What can you be doing here?’ She recalled the echo of Darcy’s words. Longbourn had been sold. Could Lieutenant Shawcross have returned to buy a small estate?
Darcy caught up with her, and she span round to confront him.
‘Why did you not tell me …’
‘Please accept my apolog
ies. I intended only a pleasant surprise. I see you have met neighbours whom you obviously know well. Will you introduce us?’
‘Neighbours?’ She turned back to the couple. ‘May I present Mrs Henrietta Shawcross, formerly Mackay, Isobel’s sister. And Lieutenant Shawcross of St Vincent. Etta, this gentleman is my fiancé Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, who is obviously as shocked to find you here as I am. You are supposed to be thousands of miles away in the Caribbean.’
Lieutenant Shawcross smiled. ‘Business brought us to London; a friend and compagnon de voyage brought us here, to Hertfordshire.’
‘Dear Lizzy.’ Henrietta touched her arm. ‘Come inside and all will be clear.’
Elizabeth looked back to Darcy, and suddenly, at the same moment, they saw what must have happened.
She whooped, forgetting all decorum, and ran for the main door, just as Mary and Kitty appeared on the steps. She embraced them, then followed to the parlour, where the rest of the family were assembled. Her mother, sitting next to a subdued-looking Lydia. Jane, her face lit up with joy …
And at her side, Mr Bingley.
Half an hour had passed. Darcy walked in the park with Bingley, glad to escape the emotional reunion still in progress indoors. He had survived a private encounter with Elizabeth in which she had warned of dire consequences should he even contemplate such a trick again. But they had parted on a positive note: once he had promised, she dealt him a lingering kiss and told him he was the most wonderful man who ever lived. Hyperbole, but a step up from being the last man in the world that she would consider marrying.
‘So Charles, am I forgiven?’
Bingley shrugged. ‘If you believe forgiveness is due, by all means. But I have realised that the blame lay primarily with myself.’
‘I wrote to you in St Vincent, but I suppose you must have left before the note arrived.’
‘I received no letters except one from Caroline, with news that she intended to marry. She sent it to our cousins in Liverpool, who forwarded it on.’
‘Then what provoked your change of heart?’
‘Meeting Henrietta, and learning of your renewed interest in Elizabeth. At first I was merely bitter, at what I saw as your hypocrisy. Then I thought, what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. If you could disregard the opprobrium visited on the Bennets, so could I. Really only one thing mattered: what did I want? And so, on learning that the Shawcrosses were returning on a sugar boat, I joined them.’
‘Where did you dock?’
‘London, last week. After making peace with Caroline and Louisa I called at Gracechurch Street, and was fortunate to find Jane in residence. My lawyer informed me Netherfield was vacant. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Shawcross met investors, purchased a property in Portman Square, and was about to leave for Scotland to visit Henrietta’s family. I offered Netherfield as a staging post, and we set off this morning, picking up Jane on the way.’
‘Miss Bennet’s affections survived the long wait?’
‘She was deeply hurt that I quitted Netherfield with no explanation or farewell. But Jane has the most angelic nature. By our second meeting she had forgiven me.’
‘You are engaged?’
‘We are. I gather you find yourself similarly blessed.’
Darcy nodded. ‘Congratulations, Charles. I can hardly express my pleasure and relief. Despite all meddling and deceit, you have found the right path, the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end.’
‘Thank you, Darce. Will you need accommodation for your stay in Meryton? I’ve only a skeleton staff at present, but we’ll soon have it shipshape.’
‘I assume the Shawcrosses are staying with you?’
‘For a day or two. We can arrange a soirée, just like old times!’ He frowned. ‘How the devil did you pry Collins loose from Longbourn?’
‘I had a small estate vacant near Rosings, and wrote to Collins on the off-chance that he would consider a swap. By return came an enthusiastic reply. Hertfordshire did not agree with him. The proximity of his disgraced cousins was a torment. Above all he missed the companionship and guidance of my aunt Lady Catherine. For a small financial incentive he was willing to move immediately.’ Darcy sighed. ‘But I erred in not informing Elizabeth. I intended a surprise gift in celebration of our wedding, and asked her family to keep the secret.’
‘Surely she is delighted that the Bennets have their old home back.’
‘Yes. She was fatigued, and for a moment disoriented.’ Darcy looked at his friend. ‘I was perplexed myself when we encountered the Shawcrosses, who could have no link to Longbourn whatever. Except …’
‘Through me,’ Bingley said.
‘It was a miracle. I had been trying to regain what was lost; with a wave of the wand, the hardest part of the jigsaw dropped into place.’
They walked on, catching up on their two-year rift.
‘Oh Lizzy.’ Jane brushed out her hair—they had not yet a full complement of maids. ‘Such a week. How shall I bear so much happiness?’
Elizabeth laughed, joy bubbling over. After so much anxiety, so much striving, all had been restored to them. Or almost all: there was an eerie sadness living in their old home with Mr Bennet’s study empty. She had been upset, as well, to witness Lydia’s continuing apathy. But Mary and Kitty had coped, and even matured as they took over management of the household: Mary had more liveliness, Kitty more common sense. Mrs Bennet had deteriorated, so disabled by shame and envy that she hated going out lest she should encounter the Collinses, or be snubbed by Lady Lucas. The sudden advent of two rich husbands for her daughters had naturally raised her spirits, but she was subdued, as if fearing another fiendish trick of fate.
‘Well Jane, what say you to a double wedding?’ Elizabeth said. ‘The gentlemen are planning a trip to Lambeth for the licenses.’
‘It would do very well,’ Jane said. ‘Mr Bingley will host a reception at Netherfield, and invite all the local gentry.’
‘Capital!’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘How I shall love observing their turnaround now that we are respectable! So sorry, dear Mrs Bingley, of course I never thought ill of YOU.’
‘Oh Lizzy!’ Jane covered her mouth. ‘But it is true, we have been treated most unfairly.’
‘Will you live at Netherfield?’
‘Mr Bingley is in funds, having prospered in the sugar trade, and has a mind to buy it. I hope so, since we will be near the others. But I’m relieved they will have a separate house at Longbourn.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘One can have too much proximity, especially if mother recovers her energy. Pemberley is two days away, of course.’ She breathed deeply. ‘And so beautiful, Jane. You must visit, and soon.’
‘We have a chance now, Lizzy. A chance to lead wonderful lives.’
Elizabeth lay back, thinking of Darcy, to whom they owed their present fortune. How furiously she had berated him for keeping her in the dark! He was at Netherfield now, perhaps taking a nightcap with Bingley and Lieutenant Shawcross. She closed her eyes, too exhausted to talk any more.
44
Happy for her self-assurance was the day on which Mrs Bennet got rid of her two eldest (and in Darcy’s opinion, most deserving) daughters. At the wedding feast, Elizabeth drew his attention to a long-faced Lady Lucas, now deprived of her daughter Charlotte Collins as well as the gratification of being one up on the Bennets. Mr Philips, who had been embarrassed by his wife’s relatives, looked sheepish, as did the Longs and the Kings. The downside was that Mrs Bennet had begun to talk freely. Mr Darcy was so wealthy; Mr Bingley so amiable. Surely they would throw Mary, Kitty and Lydia in the way of other rich gentlemen.
As for his own friends and relations, Darcy was disappointed. Of course James and Georgiana had come: they were staying at Netherfield en route to London. A university friend had also made the effort. But no-one from Rosings or Matlock, which upset him, if only for what it symbolised. Congratulations from Anne de Bourgh and one of the Fitzes; that was all. He wondered how Anne had contrived to send a note wi
thout it being intercepted by her mother.
None of this could mar the most joyous day of his life. Most rewarding of all was Elizabeth’s air of relaxed contentment. Others might perceive only Pemberley and his £10,000 a year: she saw his human qualities, and loved him for these alone. What was more, she knew him, really knew him: this was no superficial affinity that might fade on further acquaintance.
After the breakfast there was to be an hour’s rest before a ball, ending in supper. As guests drifted away, he noticed Georgiana joining Elizabeth’s sisters and quietly drawing Lydia aside. Darcy pointed this out to Elizabeth, and they watched as the two young women left the hall.
Elizabeth frowned. ‘Were you expecting this?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Might your sister feel sympathetic to Lydia, as fellow victim of—a certain blackguard?’
Darcy tried to relax—why should Georgiana not befriend her new in-law?—and they took a turn in the park with the Bingleys.
For the first set, there could only be one pairing: Elizabeth was claimed by her husband, Jane by hers. But they would switch for the next, then honour the other guests. She saw James Inglis, gallantly dancing with Mary; no sign yet of Georgiana or Lydia.
After the second set the fugitives returned. Georgiana joined her husband; Lydia sat next to Kitty. A Boulanger was called, and Elizabeth submitted to the ponderous attentions of Sir William Lucas. She was pleased to see Lydia partner James who, it seemed, was striving for the full complement of Bennet daughters.
Feeling overwhelmed, Elizabeth sat out the next. She took a glass of wine to a corner table, seeking solitude, but as the dance got under way she was joined by a hesitant Lydia.
‘Lizzy, may I …’
‘Of course. Let us have a glass of wine together.’ She waved to a servant. ‘Mr Inglis is a keen dancer.’
‘I have been talking with Mrs Inglis, in her room.’ Lydia blinked. ‘She is a very kind person.’
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