Death Takes a Holiday at Pemberley

by Kelly Miller

  The sounds of the others approaching impelled her to school her features before the door opened. Fitzwilliam, with Lady Rebecca attached to his arm, and Graham entered the room and took seats. Fitzwilliam opted for the seat nearest to Elizabeth. Noting her husband’s questioning look, she forced a weak smile.

  Lady Rebecca raved about the delight she took in the orangery and library, declaring both to be among the best she had ever seen.

  Graham questioned Fitzwilliam about his plans for the following day. Her husband related the need to visit several of his tenants, including the two whose dispute had required his involvement today, to ensure the matter was settled. Lady Rebecca expressed her desire to accompany him. He attempted to dissuade her, explaining he expected it to be a long and dull excursion, but upon the lady’s insistence, he relented.

  Lady Catherine flashed a sneering grin at Elizabeth. She lowered her gaze. Lady Catherine wishes to see me upset, but I shall not give her the satisfaction. She tapped her foot and adjusted her position in her chair. Remaining in one spot was a trial. The more consideration she gave to her conversation with the woman, the more agitated she became. Fitzwilliam was sure to question her later about the time spent with his aunt. What would she tell him?

  Graham said, “I feel foolish for not thinking of this yesterday, but I find I am in need of a few things. Elizabeth, perhaps you and Lady Catherine shall accompany me to Lambton tomorrow to do some shopping?”

  Elizabeth voiced her agreement to accompany him.

  Lady Catherine demurred, stating she preferred to stay and rest at the house after the long journey from London.

  ***

  By the end of the evening, Elizabeth managed to recover some bit of tranquillity. However, it disappeared upon Fitzwilliam’s entrance into her room. In this instance, when her heart raged as he took a seat beside her on the sofa, it was a manifestation of her uneasiness, not passion. This conversation was certain to be unsettling.

  “When we joined you and my aunt in the drawing room earlier, you appeared pale and quiet. I thought we had settled the issue of Lady Rebecca. Are you still perturbed about her? Or did my aunt say something to disturb you?”

  His question, though not unexpected, sent a wave of discomfort to her stomach. Although her conversation with Lady Catherine had plagued her mind all evening, she had not formulated a conclusion for how to discuss it with Fitzwilliam. Did she dare ask him the questions that had been haunting her? She rose and paced about the room as she spoke, with a vague cognizance that in doing so she had impelled her husband to stand. She needed the activity as much as she needed distance from him. “I cannot be comfortable at the sight of another woman clinging to you like a vine of ivy, but that is not what aggrieves me at the moment. I know not whether you realize this, but ever since our engagement, it has distressed me that I was, at least in part, the cause of estrangement between you and your aunt and cousin, and I—”

  “I have told you more than once that the fault lies entirely with my aunt.”

  Clasping her wrist behind her back, she took a measured breath and masked her irritation at his interruption. “Nevertheless, you have precious little family as it is, and it has bothered me that our marriage caused you to lose two of your relations. Like you, I blamed Lady Catherine for being too stubborn, haughty, and bad-tempered to accept our marriage. But after talking to her this evening, it occurred to me that perhaps all of us have been wrong. I believe a portion of the blame should go to you.”

  His carriage stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  It was his “master of Pemberley” voice—damn! It seems I have already provoked him, and I have much more to say. She emitted a rough sigh and halted, facing her husband with her hands clenched in front of her. “Have you ever considered why it is your cousin Anne has led such a sheltered and dreary existence?”

  “It is because she has always been weak and sickly, and her mother is overprotective.”

  She could no longer hold back her thoughts now. They dashed from her mouth like a bolting horse. “No, I do not think that is the entire answer. Her infirmity may be part of the explanation, but I suspect it is also because her mother clung to the assumption that Anne had no reason to ever be educated, become accomplished, or come out among superior society. Lady Catherine believed Anne had no need to make herself attractive to a prospective suitor because Anne was assured of a husband—you.”

  Fitzwilliam opened his mouth but did not speak.

  “You are too intelligent never to have considered this before. It seems you stood by and allowed your aunt to raise Anne under this expectation. You never disavowed Lady Catherine of the notion, not even when she started spreading the news abroad of your impending betrothal.”

  “What do you mean? How was it spread abroad?”

  “I was told by both my cousin Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham that you were to marry your cousin Anne.”

  “Nothing Mr. Wickham says can be taken for truth, and your cousin is always spouting nonsense.”

  Throwing her hands in the air, she raised her voice. “That is beside the point! You allowed your cousin Anne to live under the misconception that you would one day wed her. Am I mistaken? Did you ever tell your aunt you would not marry her daughter?”

  He pushed both hands through his hair. “Elizabeth, it was not my fault that my aunt insisted on perpetuating this fantasy that she and my mother wished for my cousin and me to marry. My mother never spoke of it to me. I do not believe it was even true.”

  She groaned under her breath. Why was he being so imperceptive as to not see his ownership of the situation? “It may have been an idle thought once voiced by your mother that Lady Catherine took as a wish. Even so, you should have told your aunt that you would not abide by it. But mayhap you had a good reason not to deny it to your aunt.”

  “Of what do you speak?” His tone was guarded.

  She drew in a deep breath. “I suspect you saw advantage in the concept of having Anne available as someone you could marry if you did not find anyone else you liked better.” Her breath caught as his face became a hard, cold, mask of indignation. He had not appeared that way since that disastrous evening at Hunsford years before when she had rejected him so cruelly. But despite her enormous regret for her behaviour back then, in her current disposition, his expression only fuelled her anger.

  “This is what you think of me?”

  She stood motionless, her breath suspended and her eyes downcast. When he replied, it was in a harsh tone that chilled her like an icy wind.

  “I suppose your lack of reply is answer enough. You seem all too determined to think the worst of me. I believe I shall spend the night in my own room.” He spun around and stalked out, closing the connecting door to their rooms with a thump.

  Wincing at the sound, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself as a gloom descended upon her in the dismal silence of her chamber. She could not bring herself to regret anything she said although her tone may have been harsh. Should she go after him? After several minutes of internal debate, she rejected the idea. Maybe, after they both had time to think on the situation in a rational manner, they could speak of this with composure.

  ***

  Saturday, September 16

  With only Rory for company, Elizabeth ventured out the next morning on one of her favourite paths as the sun crept over the horizon. Her hope that her husband would return to her room to talk the night before had ended in disappointment, so her slumber had been fitful; she was never at ease sleeping without him.

  Aside from one overnight trip that he had undertaken without her, they had slept apart only one other time throughout the course of their marriage—when an argument had arisen over the subject of her taking walks alone around Pemberley. Fitzwilliam had insisted she always take a servant with her when he was unavailable. Her objection had been voiced in
a loud and strenuous fashion. They had reconciled the next morning, reaching a compromise when she agreed to always inform one of the servants of her destination and to have Rory accompany her.

  She had risen and dressed for her walk with no sign of her husband. He was either still in bed, which was not likely, or had risen before her and left—possibly to go to his study or out riding. She stopped to visit Bennet before leaving the house without encountering her husband, and resisted the temptation to inquire after him.

  Striding down the rocky, steep path from the headland—reminiscent of her favourite walking destination near her father’s estate in Hertfordshire, Oakham Mount—she was occupied in the review of the argument she had had with her husband the night before. Had she been unfair in her accusations? Could he be ignorant of the effect on Anne of his aunt’s conviction that he would one day marry her? It was hard to believe. Whether or not he thought he would one day marry Anne, Elizabeth could not conceive of an unselfish reason for him not to tell his aunt and cousin, yet he had not felt bound to do so.

  Nevertheless, this family matter had been in existence long before she had met her husband. Was it unfair and inappropriate for her to criticise his behaviour before they met? Perhaps. However, the events of the past affected them yet today—and according to his aunt, still plagued his poor cousin Anne.

  No doubt, Lady Catherine had misrepresented her late sister’s wishes and deserved most of the blame for her daughter’s unhappiness. But did Fitzwilliam not share some culpability? Since he had not stated otherwise, it seemed his aunt had spoken the truth in saying he had never once corrected her in her presumption. Why had he persisted in denying any responsibility in the matter? As much as she loved her husband, at the moment she found it difficult to respect his views on this topic.

  The realization that she had not told her husband of his aunt’s object in coming to Pemberley added to her vexation.

  As these thoughts plagued her, Elizabeth’s foot lost its hold on the loose gravel covering the ground, propelling her to a fall. As she cried out, her knee struck the ground with force. Rising on trembling legs, she brushed off the dirt and tiny rocks that stuck to her dress and hands. A jagged tear defaced her dress from the impact of her knee hitting the craggy path. A stinging pain raged from her knee, and a lesser one from the side of her hand; a small abrasion was the result of having thrust out the hand to break her fall.

  She took quick, shallow breaths during the few minutes it took for her legs to cease shaking and her equanimity to return. When she had regained some semblance of calm, she lifted her skirt and bent forward to inspect the damage to her right knee. It had a larger scrape than the one on her hand, but nothing serious.

  She flinched; a shadow had fallen over her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Her head lurched up. Graham stood before her, his brow fraught with folds. She floundered, pushed down her skirt with haste, and straightened her spine. How had he arrived there without so much as making a sound?

  He grasped her forearm to steady her. “Elizabeth, I saw you fall. Are you injured?”

  “I am well. I am afraid I was careless and slipped on the loose rocks. I have a couple of scratches—nothing of great concern, I assure you.” She viewed the landscape around them. “Where did you come from?”

  Releasing her arm, he pointed towards the road. “I was on my way back from Lambton and saw you on the path, so I turned off the road to meet you.”

  Whilst tilting her head to the side, she narrowed her eyes to reduce the glare from the morning sun. “But I did not see you coming.”

  With a disarming smile, he nodded. “I believe you. It seemed as though your mind was occupied.”

  For a brief moment, she had forgotten about her argument with Fitzwilliam. “I cannot deny that.”

  Graham held his arm out. “Please, let me walk you back.”

  She wrapped her arm around his, taking a firm hold. “I thank you.” In actuality, having his arm to steady her proved to be of assistance. She was yet unnerved, both from her fall and from her unsettled speculation about her husband and his hostile aunt. Of course, there was also the coquette, Lady Rebecca, to add to her anxiety. With a raised brow, she said, “So you went to Lambton again. I take it you and Mrs. Mead are good…friends.”

  “Yes, we are. Do you disapprove of my alliance with Mrs. Mead?” His stare penetrated her.

  Her pulse quickened under his scrutiny, and she averted her eyes as she struggled for a response. Was he even now attempting to see into her mind? How was she to answer such a question in any case? Was it her imagination, or had the query been posed in a peculiar tone—almost as if he wished her to voice an objection? “I do not know. That is, it not my place to judge.”

  “I dare say many people would disapprove; she and I are not married. I am cognizant that it is vital for Mrs. Mead’s reputation that others do not learn the nature of our friendship. I assure you, I have taken steps to ensure that will not happen.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips into a flat line. Graham’s certainty in his ability to safeguard Sarah’s reputation seemed unjustified, but that was not her only fear. “In truth, since you asked, Sarah is a friend, someone I care about, and you brought up a valid consideration. I am concerned about any possible harm to her character. How can you ensure that others will not spread gossip?”

  “I assure you; I have the situation under control. Please trust me on this.”

  Is this all the answer I am to receive? He was less than informative, but his bearing evinced an assuredness that silenced any protest she might have put forth. She took in a long breath. “While you are both adults and I cannot condemn you for finding comfort in each other’s company, I do wonder—”

  “You wonder what shall happen if she becomes with child?” Graham raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I—I confess I was thinking that.” A searing heat rose from her neck.

  “It is a logical concern, but in my case, I happen to be unable to father any children.”

  Her line of sight dipped towards the ground ahead of her. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to pry. I should not have said anything.”

  He patted her hand. “There is no need to apologize. You could not have known, and I volunteered the information. I should not want you to fear for Sarah’s life or her reputation being put in jeopardy by such an occurrence.”

  “I thank you for putting my mind at ease.” How could Graham be so certain he could not have children? Though the question hovered on the tip of her tongue, she did not dare to pose it.

  He gave her a warm smile. “You are a gentle and caring soul. Sarah has only good things to say about you. I know I have said this before, but Darcy is truly a fortunate man.”

  Elizabeth lowered her head at his statement. “I suspect he does not feel lucky at this moment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated; it would not do to reveal details of their argument, but to relate the reason for her current distress to a compassionate friend held immense appeal. “I am afraid I started an argument with him last night—one that is yet unresolved.”

  “Hmm, interesting timing.”

  Her posture tensed. “Why is it interesting?”

  “At a time when Darcy’s aunt is throwing a beautiful and, by appearances, all too willing, lady at him, you chose to start a fight.” After a moment, he added, “Oh—unless, of course, the disagreement was because of the beautiful lady.”

  “No, but I have no wish to talk about it.”

  He softened his tone. “I understand. However, should you ever wish to talk about anything, I should be happy to listen.”

  It was kind of him to offer. She produced a smile that conveyed more cheer than she possessed. “I thank you. I appreciate your offer.”

  When they entered the front door,
Fitzwilliam strode towards them. Ignoring Graham, he stopped in front of her, his eyes fixing on the tear in her dress. “Elizabeth, what happened? Are you injured?”

  Her posture became stiff and unnatural at his sudden appearance. A brief glance at the dark eyes probing her features revealed an earnestness she was not prepared to acknowledge, so she maintained her gaze no higher than his chest. “I had a fall, but most of the damage was to my dress. I received a couple of scratches; that is all.”

  “I am relieved to hear it. Still, make sure Gibbs puts a salve on them.”

  Her nod was brusque. “I shall.” She took quick steps to leave his presence.

  ***

  Darcy vacillated on his feet. Elizabeth favoured her right leg as she moved towards the stairs. Several slow breaths facilitated the suppression of his impulse to run after her. It was apparent she did not wish for his company, and he was yet unsure how to resolve their argument. He turned at the sound of Graham clearing his throat.

  “Good morning, Darcy.”

  He resisted the inclination to frown. “Good morning, Graham. Were you with Elizabeth when she fell?”

  “Not exactly. I saw her fall from a distance. I wish I had come upon her sooner so I could have prevented it. She admitted she was not paying attention to her footing; as a result, she slipped on some loose rocks.” He spoke with a leisurely air. “Apparently, she had a great deal on her mind.”

  “I see.” He twisted his signet ring. Dash it! This was my fault. I should have been with her. Wait—what did Graham mean to insinuate by his remark? Did she speak to him of our argument? She would not do that, would she? He directed a glare towards Graham’s infuriatingly complacent visage.

  The men entered the breakfast room to find Lady Catherine partaking of a hearty breakfast. The men were in the midst of their own meals when Lady Rebecca arrived wearing a gown more suited to a formal dinner party than the morning and lacking a fichu. The lady greeted the others and selected a sparse helping of food before sitting in one of the open chairs next to Darcy. Lady Rebecca leaned close to him and inquired when he planned to visit his tenant.