by Maria Grace
She shut the door very softly and clicked the lock. The warm rays of sunshine pouring through the windowpane failed to penetrate the cold ache lodged in her chest.
Why?
The key dug painfully into her palm. When had she begun clutching it so hard?
He said he trusted her skills, that she would be sufficient as Mistress of Pemberley. But those were just words, empty words.
She staggered to the window seat and collapsed into its embrace. One of her old shawls, one not fine enough to be worn by the Mistress of Pemberley lay crumpled in the seat. She pulled it around her.
Fitting, it was just as unsuitable as she.
Why had he not told her? He could easily have discussed it with her, told her the required changes and allowed her to save face among the staff. But now they knew she was not to be trusted. Any order she issued would be scrutinized and questioned.
At least at Longbourn there had been respect. Papa never questioned Mama’s orders within the house just as she never interfered with his management of the farms and estate.
It was probably too much to expect she would enjoy such respect here as well. She had married outside her own sphere. Now she was paying the price for her aspirations.
She would recover. She would study and learn and prove she was a worthy Mistress of Pemberley. Even if he did not believe she could do it.
She drew the shawl over her head like a hood and hid her face in her hands. A little humiliation would not kill her.
But it cut deeply enough to make her wonder.
Chapter 3
Darcy paced the parlor. The carriages were nearly at the front door.
Where was Elizabeth? She knew how to receive guests and make people feel welcome. What was taking her so long to return?
Sampson opened the door. “The Earl and Countess of Matlock, and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Fitzwilliam was among them? At least he would have an ally in this campaign.
Aunt Matlock swept past Sampson and into the parlor. “How nice to see you have not redecorated. Your mother had such fine taste. It would be a shame to change that in any way.”
How odd, Mother’s simple tastes were something that she usually complained about. Aunt Matlock excelled in her ability to pack criticism into every compliment?
“It is lovely to see you, too, Aunt.”
“I, for one, am happy to be enjoying Pemberley’s hospitality again, redecorated or not.” Fitzwilliam shouldered his way past Sampson and his mother and extended his hand.
Darcy shook it firmly. “I am pleased you are with us. How were your travels?”
“Horrid, simply horrid.” Uncle hobbled in and fell into the nearest seat. “Traveling with gout is a terrible thing. Push a stool over here, must get this leg up.”
Fitzwilliam retrieved a small stool from the opposite side of the room.
Matlock carefully lowered his foot upon it. “Could not bear the thought of traveling all the way to town like this.”
“So naturally we thought of you … and your new wife.” Aunt glanced at the door, her smiled strained.
“I only received your letter this morning. Do you not suppose it appropriate to offer a bit more notice of your coming?”
“It is St. Nicholas Day, nephew.” Aunt Matlock tossed her head and strode to the window, her back to them.
“What significance is that?”
“Gentlemen!” She sniffed. “I should not have expected you to be attentive to such a thing. Surely your wife is aware.”
“Aware of what?” Darcy stared at Fitzwilliam who dropped down on the couch and shrugged.
“Really, Darcy, you should ask her. I am certain she would be glad to tell you.”
“I pray you do me the kindness of an answer.”
“St. Nicholas day is the customary day for Christmastide house parties to begin. What other day would Mrs. Darcy expect to begin receiving guests?”
Elizabeth had never mentioned such a thing? Did she know?
Surely, she did. She had certainly been planning for guests.
And her relations offered the courtesy of announcing their plans to her in a timely fashion.
“So what are Pemberley’s plans for entertaining this season?” She trailed her fingers along the window’s mullions and glanced at her fingertips. With another sniff, she withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her fingers. “Coal dust.”
“Invitations to the Christmastide ball are to be delivered today.”
“Today? For a ball on December twenty-eighth? What are you thinking? That is not nearly enough time.”
“It is three weeks in advance.”
“A month, at least, is customary.”
“I am certain it will not be an issue. We have not held one in so long—”
“That is not my fault.” She swiped at a spot on the window glass with her handkerchief.
“No one said it was your fault.”
No one said the ball had anything to do with her at all.
“There is a proper way to manage these things.”
“I am sure they are being well managed. Georgiana is planning a children’s picnic—”
“Picnic? In December? For the children? Are they not to be invited to the ball?”
“My wife thought it best to hold a separate event for them.”
“Pemberley does not do it that way.”
“This is my estate, and we can do exactly what we choose. If you wish to invite children to Matlock, then by all means, do so. I wish you well. Here, we shall do as the mistress sees fit.”
Aunt Matlock turned slowly, very slowly, just as Mother had done when vexed. “This is not an auspicious beginning, Fitzwilliam, not at all.”
Why must she say his name like that? The way she did when he was a small boy who fell into the stream playing with his older cousins. He resisted the urge to drop his gaze to the floor and scuff his toes on the carpet.
“Traditions exist for a reason. They bring order to life. They are foundation; they inform people of what to expect and how things will be. You bring uncertainty and doubt when you attempt to change them. Only an upstart would undermine the foundations of an honorable family thus.”
“Upstart?” Darcy’s jaw fell open.
Had she really just said those words, in his home?
The door swung open, and Elizabeth slipped inside.
Her dress bore no road dust, and she wore slippers, not her half-boots. She must have changed since she arrived. Probably for the best.
Still, he would rather have had her at his side sooner.
He went to her, hand extended, but she pulled back as he approached. He started. Perhaps she did not wish to appear so familiar before his family.
Of course. She was right.
“Mrs. Darcy, I am glad you are come.”
“I am sorry I was not here to greet you myself.” She curtsied deeply enough to please the king.
The motion though was stiff and utterly unlike her. Was she as unsettled as he?
Fitzwilliam rose. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Elizabeth. Out walking the grounds? Pemberley is a lovely place for a ramble.”
“I was calling upon the cottages on the east side of the estate and discovered a rash of sore throats. I must call for the apothecary.”
Aunt’s eyebrows climbed high on her forehead. “How good of you to be so concerned when you have so very much to do.”
“I do not find it too much to manage.”
“No doubt you are so eager because you called on your father’s tenants regularly.” Aunt turned up her nose and sniffed. “You may find the population of Pemberley a mite more challenging to oversee.”
“Thank you for your concern, Lady Matlock.”
If Elizabeth’s voice became any more brittle, her words would surely shatter upon the floor.
“With all your new duties, do you still walk in the mornings?” Fitzwilliam stood between his mother and Elizabeth.
“Whenever I can.�
��
“Perhaps some morning I might show you the spot where, in his boyhood, your dignified husband fell into the stream.”
Aunt Matlock rounded on him. “My dear boy, you cannot monopolize her time that way. Her mornings are no doubt taken up with meeting with the housekeeper and attending her correspondence. I heard you were sending out invitations today.”
Elizabeth’s neck tensed. How tightly was she clenching her teeth?
“I will have yours delivered to your rooms.” She glanced at Darcy with an expression he had never seen before.
One he would rather not see again.
“That would be most appreciated. How are your plans for the ball progressing?”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “Very well, thank you. With Mrs. Reynolds’ excellent assistance, I am quite comfortable with our progress.”
“Have you ever planned an event like this one?”
“My father was the principle land owner in our area. I am familiar with what is expected.”
“Pray do not be offended, my dear. I am well aware your father is a gentleman. It is, though, a matter of scale. As I understand his estate was rather … smaller … than Pemberley.”
“I am quite familiar with what is expected for an event of this magnitude.”
“I should be very happy to help you in any way I can. Perhaps I should go over the menus—”
Elizabeth shot him another one of those expressions, more pointed than the last.
He ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
“—just to help ensure they will match the expectations of this region. Perhaps you do not know, but I was responsible for the last Pemberley Ball held on the estate.”
“Georgiana had mentioned it. You do not need to trouble yourself, Lady Matlock.”
“It will be no trouble at all. I should be very glad to lend my expertise.”
All eyes turned to Darcy.
Uncle Matlock and Fitzwilliam seemed vaguely amused, but Aunt Matlock and Elizabeth were serious as death itself.
“What do you think nephew?”
“I believe the purview of planning social affairs is on the mistress of the house.”
“And you would be entirely right. But a wise person, a wise woman, knows when it is appropriate to seek assistance.” Aunt Matlock drew herself up very straight.
“I have sought assistance. Mrs. Reynolds has served the household through many such events.”
“And I am certain she is a master of what must go on below stairs and behind the servants’ door. I do not by any means belittle her expertise. She is truly a gem and has kept Pemberley running since the passing of my dear sister. But how would she know of the newest fashions in food or decoration?”
Darcy took a half-step forward. “Did you not just lecture me that tradition was more important than fashion?”
“As I understand, you are changing tradition by not having children at the Christmas Family Ball.”
“I gather you do not approve.” Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly before her.
“It is not for me to approve or disapprove, Mrs. Darcy. I was merely noting that traditions do not seem so significant to either of you after all. So again, I ask, shall I help you with your menus?”
“Since I am the newcomer here, perhaps I should leave that decision to my husband who apprehends so much of what is required to manage the estate. Pray inform me when you choose. Excuse me now, Mrs. Reynolds requires my attention.” She curtsied and darted out before anyone could comment.
“She is a sensitive flighty little thing. So proud. I dare say she is most easily offended. She will not do well among the ton.” Aunt tossed her head and turned back to the window.
Mrs. Reynolds entered, with a maid following close behind, bearing a tray of sandwiches and other dainties.
“Pray, refresh yourselves. Your normal rooms are prepared for you, and your things have been sent there. Pray excuse me.” Darcy bowed his head and followed Mrs. Reynolds out.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth had told a falsehood. She had no intention of going to Mrs. Reynolds. The poor woman was already at her wits’ end with all the changes and needed no further disruptions. Elizabeth stormed up to the small sitting room near her chambers and shut her door.
That woman! She might be the wife of an earl and her husband’s aunt, but the audacity! How dare Lady Matlock come in and cast such aspersions on her!
Elizabeth paced the length of the room like an unbroken filly anxious for release from her paddock.
She paused at the window and gulped breaths of cooler air.
Perhaps though, just perhaps, Lady Matlock was right. What did Elizabeth know of high society and its expectations?
Still though, this was the country, not London. The guests for the Christmas ball did not mingle with the height of London society, Almack's Patronesses or the nobility. Except, of course, for the Earl and his family. The rest were comfortable country gentry, with a few knights and a baronet as well. No one would expect the heights of London fashion.
Would they?
She pressed her temples and sought the chair near the fireplace, a worn blue velvet chair Darcy’s mother preferred. The chair’s arms cradled her. At least something in this place welcomed her.
The door creaked open and Mrs. Reynolds appeared with her favorite tea cup, brought from Longbourn, and two tiny tea sandwiches.
“Do you fancy some refreshment, madam?”
No, she did not, not at all. Food sounded decidedly unappealing. But Mrs. Reynolds looked so hopeful.
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Reynolds placed the tray on the nearby table. “Are you well, Mistress?”
Elizabeth shook her head. It probably was untoward to make such an admission to a servant. Somehow Mrs. Reynolds’ dark eyes required truth.
“How might I help?”
“I do not know. It seems we have guests among us now whom I have no idea how to satisfy.”
“May I speak frankly, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth peered into Mrs. Reynolds’ face. “I rely upon you to always be frank with me.”
“It is unlikely you will be able to please them, no matter what you do.”
Elizabeth started.
“Do not take offense, madam. It is their nature. Nothing and no one gives them pleasure. Their visits unsettled Lady Anne as well. She dreaded their coming with a fire hard to describe. She and Lady Matlock did not get on very well, you see.”
“I had no idea.”
“Few did. They kept their peace in company, but in private, well that was another thing altogether. I walked in on a few of their conversations and would be happy never to have done so.”
“I had no idea.”
“I do not believe the Master does either. Just know, nothing pleases Lady Matlock save having her own way. Even when she gets it, she is still likely to complain.”
“How encouraging.”
“Perhaps, but there is little point in fighting a battle you cannot win.”
She pressed her knuckle to her lips.
So there it was. No matter what she did, she would fail.
“You may wish to look in on Miss Georgiana this morning. She is in her room. Mrs. Annesley says no one but you is to see her.”
“Has she taken ill?”
“You might say she is taken with Matlock fever.”
Elizabeth snickered. Oh, how she needed that levity, irreverent as it was.
“I will see to her after my tea.”
Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and left.
She cradled her teacup in her hands and stared into the amber liquid.
How was she to comfort Georgiana when she had no idea of how to comfort herself?
The tea was barely warm, but sweet. Mrs. Reynolds had made her favorite blend and sweetened it just right. So efficient despite her mistress’s failures.
The bite of sandwich was hard to swallow for the lump in her throat.
She set the tea things aside and steeled herself for another disappointment.
Georgiana’s door was closed and doubtless locked as well. Lady Matlock was probably not one to respect a closed door. Elizabeth rapped softly.
A maid opened the door a sliver and peeked out. She nodded, a little relief in her eyes, and admitted Elizabeth.
Georgiana watched from the window seat, peeking from under a drab wool shawl; a dormouse hiding from a cat.
Mrs. Annesley sat nearby, sewing in the bright morning sun. Her mouth was drawn up, tight as her stitches, puckered a little at the sides.
“Have you seen her yet?” Georgiana waved at the maid to close the door.
The lock clicked softly.
“I just left them in the parlor downstairs.”
“Why are they here?”
Mrs. Annesley’s cheek twitched.
“The Earl’s gout keeps them from London.”
“So they come here to torment us instead? Oh it is not fair, not at all.” Georgiana hid her face in the shawl’s generous folds.
“What would you have us to do? We cannot simply turn them out.”
“Why not?”
Mrs. Annesley’s eyes bulged as she flashed a glare at Georgiana.
Elizabeth sat beside her. “It is an entertaining thought.”
“Yes it is. I should insist my brother consider it.”
Mrs. Annesley squeezed her temples.
Gracious, Georgiana looked very serious about the notion. Had she no understanding of humor?
Elizabeth would have to be very careful how she spoke to her.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam—Richard—is with them as well.”
“He may stay. He is nothing like his mother.”
“I am sure he will appreciate your verdict.”
“The Christmas picnic cannot go on, can it?” Georgiana peeked over the edge of the shawl. “She does not approve, I am sure.”
“All our plans are suspect to her. She demands the right to examine the menus for the ball.”
“I cannot do it.” Georgiana huddled in the corner of the window seat, as far away from Elizabeth as possible.
Was this how Georgiana usually responded to distress? The display bordered on Lydia’s artifice.