“And dangerous. You were in love? But he did nothing to pursue it?” Mrs. Gardiner shared a worried look with Elizabeth.
“Oh, la, it was ages ago!” Lydia grabbed the sleeping pug, waking him and cuddling him violently. “And George Wickham was going to pursue me. In fact, we were going to elope!”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth and her aunt shouted.
“How terribly exciting, darling,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Wouldn’t that have been fun? But it doesn’t matter, because obviously it didn’t happen. Sometimes, when I’m cross with Edward I do wonder whatever happened to my darling Wickham. But though we had planned to run away together, we never got the chance!”
“Thank goodness,” Aunt Gardiner said.
Lydia ignored her, a dreamy look overcoming her once again. “It was the strangest thing. We had been in Meryton together and, just like tonight, a tall figure suddenly appeared. It was late and I could not see him clearly, but he called out Wickham, just like that—‘Wickham!’ And then the two men were fighting. Oh and the tall man simply beat Wickham down!”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Bennet said. “How terribly exciting!”
Lydia nodded vigorously, causing the poor pup to slip and slide on her skirts. “It was, though Wickham was terribly bloody and terribly angry. He wouldn’t speak to me at all afterwards—hard to really, with a split lip and such—but goodness, the beating the tall man delivered! And you know, from that night on, I never saw Wickham again! I was quite cross with him, let me tell you. But then one of his friends informed me Wickham had been sent quite far north. And after that, I’m not sure what happened to him. You know I never was one for writing.”
Elizabeth couldn’t contain her impatience. “And what does this have to do with Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh, yes. Well I swear—I swear on this dog’s life, and mine too!—I hadn’t thought of this in ages. But when I saw Mr. Darcy at Netherfield, and just now—I simply know it was Mr. Darcy who attacked my Wickham. Can you imagine? A great man like that, brawling in the streets?”
“I’m not sure,” Elizabeth said faintly. “When was this?”
Lydia shrugged. “I don’t know. Oh, it was after that awful assembly when the Green brothers both stepped on my toes. You don’t recall? Ah, that’s because you were visiting Charlotte and our horrid cousin in Rosings! Yes, it was when you were gone. Very strange, and not like me at all to forget something so exciting—oh, there’s the maid. Mama, ask her what’s for dessert tonight, will you?”
Elizabeth barely heard what the maid said, but the prospect of food was enough to get Lydia and Mrs. Bennet to their rooms to dress for dinner.
“Elizabeth, darling, are you coming?” Aunt Gardiner said, standing and offering her a hand.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, looking up with a smile. “To dinner—and if you’ll still have me—north to Derbyshire.”
25
Elizabeth
“What did I tell you!” Aunt Gardiner turned and smiled at Lizzy, her face aglow. The quaint streets of Lambton were busy with preparations for Michaelmas. “Isn’t it lovely here?”
Uncle Gardiner laughed and watched his wife practically skip ahead, greeting a shopkeeper with a tinkling laugh. “Just wait until the Goose Festival. She won’t be able to contain herself.”
Elizabeth smiled and linked arms with her uncle, both to steady herself as they crossed the uneven street, and for warmth. Despite it being only the end of September, it was unseasonably cold and a light snow was falling, dusting the entire town with a magical white covering. Mr. Gardiner was able to drag Mrs. Gardiner from the last shop with only a small purchase, and after that it was a short walk back to their inn.
They followed Mrs. Gardiner inside, where she seemed to stop and greet almost every person, delighting in seeing old acquaintances. It was their first full day in Lambton, though they had taken their time and spent almost a week traveling north. Tomorrow they would see Mrs. Graham, and they had been invited to a dinner in Mrs. Gardiner’s honor.
“Are you coming with us this afternoon?” Uncle Gardiner said, as he led the way through the crowded front hall.
“Of course,” Elizabeth said absently. She had just begun to say, “Wait, where are we going again?” when one of the inn’s maids ran into Elizabeth, causing her to drop her packages and reticule.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Excuse my rush!” The maid cried, bending down quickly to help Elizabeth gather her things. All Elizabeth could see of her was the back of her head, full of bobbing blonde curls. Elizabeth knelt to gather her gloves and reticule, but when she and the maid stood at the same time, they bumped into each other and there was another flurry of packages falling to the floor.
“Oh, gracious!” Elizabeth said. “Please, help no further—I’ll tend to them!”
“I couldn’t let ye, miss!” The maid was curtsying and apologizing and thrusting packages back into Elizabeth’s arms. “I’m so sorry, ma’am!” Elizabeth just had time to nod once at the girl with the bouncing curls and her light brown eyes, before the maid looked as if she might start to cry and ran off into the kitchens in embarrassment.
And Elizabeth missed her uncle’s reply.
Lizzy wound her way through the crowded first floor and caught up to the Gardiners, just as they were entering their chambers upstairs. “Gracious, it’s a crush down there.”
“I’m so glad you’re coming with us this afternoon!” Aunt Gardiner said, still so happy to be in her childhood hometown that she appeared to be floating. “I was worried you wouldn’t, as Jane said you and Mr. Darcy did not exactly get on well at Netherfield.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth froze on the landing, then forced herself to walk at a normal pace—breathe, walk, smile, breathe—into their rooms. She knew, of course, that they were close to Pemberley. Annoyingly, she had not been able to get that fact out of her mind since they left London a week ago.
“Oh, not that he’ll be there,” said her uncle. “These great men never are at home. But your Aunt has such fond memories of Pemberley, we thought we would give it a tour.”
“Just for an hour or so,” Aunt Gardiner said, removing her hat and gloves. “I believe the sculpture rooms are open to the public. I wonder if Anna Reynolds is still housekeeper there?”
Aunt Gardiner turned to find Elizabeth, standing still in the middle of the room. “Lizzy, your boots are dripping—are you ill, darling?”
Elizabeth looked up and tried to smile. “I am well. But oh! What a mess I’ve made. Quite the puddle.”
Her aunt gave her an appraising look, but said nothing further except to send for the maid to help dry the mess. And so they ate a quick lunch in their rooms, while Elizabeth tried to calm herself.
He won’t be there.
And: It would do no harm to see where he grew up. He will never know.
And: You foolish liar, you are dying of curiosity and don’t pretend otherwise!
She was so very quiet and ate so very little that even her uncle asked if she was quite well. Elizabeth insisted she was fine and was grateful that both her aunt and uncle were distracted by a letter from their children so that Elizabeth could have a moment to herself.
She arranged her packages near her trunk, and refused to study herself in the looking glass.
She would not comb her hair for a visit to Pemberley. She knew none of the staff, and they would not know her. Thank goodness it was only for an hour or two. She could satisfy her curiosity, and then return to Lambton and put Mr. Darcy firmly out of her mind.
“Isn’t it divine, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth was accustomed by now to her Aunt’s loving adulations for anything and everything they saw in Derbyshire.
But here. This.
Pemberley!
“Yes,” Elizabeth breathed, staring out the carriage window in awe. “It is divine.”
And to think—once upon a time Mr. Darcy had offered to make you mistress of it all.
A slightly manic laugh bubbled up, enou
gh to make her aunt and uncle appraise her with worry.
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth assured them. “I’ve just—it’s quite large.”
“And yet so graceful, do you not think?” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I sometimes find these country estates to be out of tune with their surroundings—”
“But not Pemberley,” Elizabeth murmured. Outside, a rushing river flowed beneath a wide bridge. The sweeping views showed beautiful, cultivated gardens near the house, but in the distance Elizabeth could see the beginnings of a deep forest.
The clouds parted and a ray of sun shone down, directly onto the house.
“Of course,” Elizabeth muttered. Apparently God had a sense of humor.
The interior was just as awe-inspiring. It turned out that Mrs. Reynolds was indeed still the housekeeper, and she remembered Aunt Gardiner well. Elizabeth was not sure what she had expected of Pemberley, or its staff—but whatever it had been, she would have been wrong. For all of Mr. Darcy’s pomp and arrogance—or what she had always thought of as arrogance—his housekeeper was a respectable-looking elderly woman, much less fine and much more civil than Lizzy had had any notion of finding her.
As Mrs. Reynolds eagerly lead them through the dining parlor and a long hall filled with art, Elizabeth could not help but be impressed. While her aunt and uncle conversed with Mrs. Reynolds, Elizabeth wandered dreamily over to a large window that overlooked the back of the house. She felt her heart swell with the entire scene: the river, the trees scattered on its banks, the winding of the valley.
And as their group passed into other rooms, every window revealed the beauty of nature. The rooms themselves were lofty and handsome, their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor—but Elizabeth noted that his taste was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine.
Pemberley was a place of real elegance.
It was beautiful to witness, and yet made her heart ache.
I miss him.
The words leapt unbidden into being, and then she could not erase them.
She missed Mr. Darcy. And more than that—ever so much more—she wondered if she might have the chance of talking with him again, of renewing a real friendship—
Liar.
She wanted more than friendship, but she feared she had lost that chance, forever, due to her fears and her past.
But if I had agreed to marry him, once upon a time, then he would have found it acceptable to have separated Jane and Charles. She could never have found happiness at the expense of her sister’s! It was a lucky recollection. It saved her from something like regret.
Of course, as they passed the extensive library—Mrs. Reynolds did not invite them in—on their way to a hall full of family portraits and busts. As Elizabeth slowly walked through high-ceilinged and handsome room, she could not help but think of the books Mr. Darcy had given her. Such a thoughtful gift. It filled her with something like hope. And perhaps, determination, that if she ever did have another chance to meet with Mr. Darcy, she would speak honestly and from the heart.
And then she came face to face with a sculpture of the man himself. Perhaps it had been carved a few years ago. His hair was slightly shorter, but there it was—the strong jaw, the full lips, the patrician nose.
It was her Mr. Darcy, and her heart ached and hoped and fell, all at once.
And then, almost as if she had conjured him from thin air, she heard a deep, masculine voice, from right behind her shoulder.
“Mrs. Allerton!”
He cleared his throat and she turned and could not stop the expectant smile from spreading across her face—
And found Mr. Gladwell standing directly behind her.
The Gardiners and Mrs. Reynolds were in the far corner, and so did not see Mr. Gladwell bowing low before her.
“What a pleasant surprise!” he said, standing and looking down on her. Mr. Gladwell appeared much the same as he had at Netherfield, though his thick yellow curls were shorn shorter and his cheeks were a bit gaunt. Now that she studied him, Elizabeth noted dark circles under his eyes and a subtle smudge of dirt on the back of his hand that held a worn hat.
“Mr. Gladwell! You are far from London!” Elizabeth said, curtsying.
“As are you, Mrs. Allerton. As are you.” His familiar smile hung on his face like so many of the paintings on the wall behind him: she could tell it had been placed there on purpose. It did not meet his eyes. “And now you are at Pemberley? Visiting the great Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth felt herself blush. “No. My aunt is from Lambton and she has fond memories of Pemberley. She is just over there, with my uncle and Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Reynolds.” Mr. Gladwell leaned forward conspiratorially. “She’s a sharp one, always watching you, you know.”
“I suppose?” Elizabeth shrugged, slightly confused. Mr. Gladwell seemed distracted himself, glancing back at the Gardiners and Mrs. Reynolds, and at the sets of doors on either side of the great hall. “Er, are you staying at the Rose and Crown?”
“No, no.” Mr. Gladwell almost seemed to forget to finish his response as he scanned the room, but then he turned back to her and met Elizabeth’s eyes. “Right, no—with an old friend.”
“And is this old friend what drew you to Derbyshire?” Elizabeth said.
“How very curious you are, Mrs. Allerton.” He gave her that same, sharp-edged smile, the one that didn’t quite seem to fit well on his face. “I did not take you for a mettlesome gossip.”
Elizabeth shook her head in shock. “Sir, have I offended you somehow?”
Mr. Gladwell seemed to return to his senses. He bowed low, then put his hat on. “I beg your forgiveness, Mrs. Allerton. You have been nothing but kindness to me. I am used to more malicious company. I forget that I am in the presence of a true lady.”
He glanced against behind her, distracted. And before Elizabeth could say more, he bowed and had already said his goodbyes and when Elizabeth heard a deep voice behind her, saying her name.
And this time, she was certain who it was.
26
Darcy
She was here. In Pemberley.
Or maybe he was finally losing his mind. He’d come here to forget her—at least for a time—and had only ended up seeing her everywhere. The Shakespeare collection in his library. The memory of her laughter, when he raced his horse through the woods.
And her fall.
It could not truly be here, and yet he could not keep himself from speaking.
“Elizabeth?”
The woman at the end of the hall turned and now he could not stop staring—or stop the wide grin from spreading across his face. Here, in this hall full of cold stone and marble and images of his long-past relatives—she was so alive. So very alive.
“Mr. Darcy!” she whispered, her cheeks flushing the very prettiest pink in all the world.
“I am astounded,” he said, walking towards her.
“As am I,” she said faintly. Her dark brown eyes burned as she watched him approach, and she placed a gloved hand against her face, then her hat, then the tendrils of dark hair that had escaped from her chignon.
She was nervous, he realized. Which made him selfishly happy. Perhaps it meant…she cared.
“I am so sorry—”
“I am so glad—”
They both spoke at once, then fell silent. Then he heard what she’d said.
“You are sorry? But why?”
She laughed, looking about the room for a moment before her gaze came back to rest on his face. “Well, at present I was apologizing for being here. At Pemberley. I did not think you would be home and my aunt is from Lambton and she wanted to see the busts, but I certainly did not mean to—to intrude.” Her wide brown eyes stared up at him, and all he wanted to do was cradle her face in his hands.
“Mrs. Allerton.” He stepped close, closer than he should, but he no longer cared. “Elizabeth, please stop apologizing for visiting Pemberley. There is no place on Earth I’d rather have you.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, staring up at him with eyes full of emotion—and questions. How he wanted to answer all of them, and divine her every thought, but then her eyes strayed behind him. He turned to find Mrs. Reynolds and the two others approaching. They seemed to know Elizabeth, judging from their smiles—and Mrs. Reynolds must have informed them of his identity, judging from their wide smiles.
“Mr. Darcy, Sir!” Mrs. Reynolds cried, opening her arms. “I expected you on the morrow!”
“Mrs. Reynolds.” He saw the others’ shock as he leaned down and hugged his housekeeper, whom he’d known since he was a boy. “I apologize, though if I know you, I’m sure everything is in order.”
“Certainly it is!” she said, laughing. “But I would have had a tray of food ready for you.”
“Georgiana, Fitzwilliam and the rest of their retinue will arrive tomorrow. I rode ahead—I could not wait to see you, after all.”
Mrs. Reynolds laughed and shook her head.
Elizabeth was also shaking her head—in wonder? But she did not look displeased. He would take her curiosity over her animosity, gladly.
“Mrs. Allerton, would you do me the honor of introducing me?” Darcy bowed before the newcomers, whom he guessed were the aunt and uncle she had mentioned.
Introductions were made and Darcy was delighted to meet the Gardiners. If it gave him the chance of having Elizabeth in his life—and his home—he would profess to love and adore her mother, Mrs. Bennet. But what sweet relief to find that Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle were refined yet humble, with kind manners, intelligence, and most agreeable smiles.
“Are you staying in Lambton?” Darcy asked Mr. Gardiner.
“Yes, at the Rose and Crown,” Mr. Gardiner replied. “Mrs. Gardiner grew up not far from here, and she is keeping us quite busy.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Why, we are having dinner with Mrs. Millicent Graham. Her husband was Henry Graham.”
“I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Graham at Netherfield,” Mr. Darcy said. “She is a lovely woman.”
Darcy and Diamonds Page 18
