by Jann Rowland
“Pemberley must rival even those venerable estates,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “Even famed Chatsworth, which we shall see anon, is no finer than Pemberley. And the grounds are as lovely as any I have ever seen.” Mrs. Gardiner grinned at Elizabeth and nudged her with an elbow. “I am well acquainted with your ways, Lizzy. The grounds of Pemberley must be an irresistible lure for one of your love of nature. The park is ten miles around, from what I understand!”
“And do you propose to see it all?”
Her uncle and aunt laughed. “I have not your ability, my dear. But perhaps I can content myself with the gardens while you take a longer circuit, though I am afraid we cannot allow the full ten miles.”
“Is it wise to visit the place without an invitation?” asked Elizabeth.
“Was the lack of an invitation a problem when we visited those other estates?” asked her uncle.
“We were not known to the families that live there.”
“Ah, yes,” replied Aunt Gardiner, “your brief acquaintance with Mr. Darcy the younger. It was brief, was it not? And the acquaintance has not been maintained?”
“I have not seen Mr. Darcy since his visit,” replied Elizabeth, striving to maintain her composure.
“Then I see no problem with it.”
When Elizabeth hesitated, it seemed her relations finally grew concerned. “Do you dislike the scheme, Lizzy? Having heard of the place, I might have thought you would be interested to see it.”
“Mr. Darcy spoke little of Pemberley,” replied Elizabeth, feeling defensive.
“That is not a reason to avoid it,” said her uncle.
“I have no true dislike for the proposal,” said Elizabeth. “If you both wish it, we may go to Pemberley. I am sure, given your account, that I shall be delighted by the grounds and will find some way to lose myself within them.”
Though her relations directed a long look at her, in the end it seemed they decided her recalcitrance was not something to cause alarm. Thus, to Pemberley they were to go.
The incident with him was a closely guarded secret. Not only was it shameful to Elizabeth in particular, but she was well aware of how a reputation might be ruined with nothing more than a word. Elizabeth might have preferred to keep it strictly to herself. But one of the disadvantages of having a close sister with whom she shared everything was a distinct difficulty in keeping secrets. Wonderful Jane, who was all that was lovely and good, eager to see the good in others, was nevertheless observant and intelligent and had immediately seen that something was wrong with Elizabeth. Thus, only a few days after the event, Elizabeth had told her, but not without insisting upon the strictest of confidence.
“Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding,” Jane had said, wringing her hands in distress.
Dearest Jane! Had Elizabeth sought to predict her sister’s reaction to her tale, she could have done it with a high degree of accuracy!
“I know not how you can see anything of misunderstanding in what I have told you,” was Elizabeth’s reply. If she was a little short, Elizabeth thought she had more than enough provocation.
“But Mr. Darcy seems to be everything that is good! How could he behave in such an ungentlemanly manner?”
“I know not,” replied Elizabeth. “Nor do I care. He did—that is the salient point.”
“How can Mr. Bingley be so imposed upon?”
“Do not blame Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, patting her sister’s hands to comfort her. “Though I cannot say for certain, I do not think Mr. Darcy is the rake this action paints him as being.”
“Did you fear for your safety?” asked Jane. She leaned in and put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders to provide the comfort of an elder sibling.
“I do not know. The only thought I had was to preserve my reputation, for I doubt he could have been worked on to remedy it should his actions become known. It was nothing more than impulse, I think. But I did not wish to test the theory.”
“Lizzy,” said Jane, her manner as earnest as Elizabeth had ever seen, “you must tell Papa.”
“No!” was Elizabeth’s emphatic reply.
“Papa is responsible for our safety. He cannot remain ignorant of this.”
“What good would it do to inform him?” Elizabeth crossed her arms, the stubbornness for which she was renowned coming to the forefront and settling in her breast. “No one knows what happened and my reputation is intact. Mr. Darcy has already departed from Netherfield, and if we are very lucky, he will not return.”
“He is Mr. Bingley’s close friend,” argued Jane. “He may very well visit frequently.”
“That is a possibility,” replied Elizabeth. “But I shall not be taken unaware again. I have learned my lesson.”
“Lizzy—”
“No, Jane. You promised to keep my confidence. I wish to forget this incident and act as if it never happened.”
But to forget proved impossible. Jane had not liked Elizabeth’s strictures, but she had, in the end, kept her word, allowing the matter to rest. It was fortunate, Elizabeth decided, that Jane had not seen fit to raise the subject again, and as Elizabeth had acted as if she was not affected, Jane had seemed content to watch and wait. Mr. Darcy had not returned, not the next year or the one after, and after a time, Elizabeth suspected her sister, while she did not forget, considered the matter closed.
The matter was not closed, however, at least in the confines of Elizabeth’s heart. In time, the memory grew distorted, as all memories must with the passage of time, and she found less evidence to suggest that Mr. Darcy was impulsive and more fear to justify his being a rake. As the months passed, Elizabeth grew more fearful that he would return to finish what he started, to compromise her irrevocably. To ruin her in society.
But then, as she left the awkward teenage years and became a young woman, endured the loss of her mother and attained the age of twenty, that fear gradually lessened and ceased altogether. If Mr. Darcy meant her any harm, surely, he would not wait years before taking action. That did not mean Elizabeth lost her sense of caution—far from it. She took great care in her dealings with men in general, endeavoring to avoid being alone with any of them. But the fear, which had lodged itself in her breast at the age of sixteen, had dissipated by the time she reached twenty.
Which brought her to the present. While Elizabeth had not anticipated the visit to Pemberley, she found the estate to be everything her aunt had said, and more. The small prominence from which she first caught sight of the manor in the distance was breathtaking, and the house and gardens were enough to inspire awe.
The Gardiner party applied to the housekeeper to see inside, to which the woman agreed with cheerful alacrity. Mrs. Reynolds was clearly a retainer of longstanding, for she possessed intimate knowledge of the estate, guiding them from room to room, sharing anecdotes and bits of family history. With interest, they toured the principle rooms, noted the room where Mrs. Darcy wrote her letters, the pianoforte where the young Miss Darcy practiced all day long, the long gallery filled with centuries of family history. And her words of the family themselves were even more interesting to Elizabeth, for it painted at least one of them in stark contrast to her long-held opinion.
“They are a wonderful family,” said Mrs. Reynolds, eager to share what she knew of them. “Lady Anne is, as you must know, the daughter and sister of an earl. And while the Darcy family has no title, theirs is arguably the more illustrious of the two, for it extends back centuries to the time of William the Conqueror.”
“You have been with them long, I take it?” said Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could detect no amusement in his manner. Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth knew, would have taken the housekeeper’s assertions for conceit.
“I was a junior maid in this house,” replied the housekeeper with more than a hint of pride. “It is the current Mrs. Darcy who raised me to my present position more than ten years ago.”
“I have long heard nothing but good of the family,” sa
id Aunt Gardiner. Her own connection to the area had been made known to the housekeeper within minutes of their arrival. “Whenever they came to Lambton, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were always kind and considerate. But I have less news of the younger generation.”
“They are just like their parents,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Miss Darcy is a little shy, but she is generous and affable to those who know her. And as for the young master, he is as good a man as was ever seen and shall be an excellent master of the estate when his time comes.”
“That must be a relief,” replied Mr. Gardiner. “So many young men these days care only for their own pleasure and nothing for that which gives them their benefits in life.”
A shadow crossed the housekeeper’s face. “I cannot say you are mistaken, Mr. Gardiner. There is a young man who has been attached to this household for most of his life who is of that ilk. But young Mr. Darcy is nothing of the sort. No one among the tenants or servants will give him a bad name. He is one of the best young men I have ever met.”
This account of Mr. Darcy stayed with Elizabeth throughout the rest of the tour. When they were consigned to the care of the gardener and left to view the gardens, Elizabeth continued to think on the matter to the exclusion of all else. When Mrs. Reynolds had made her claim, Elizabeth had been curious, then understanding. He would not wish for his actions to be made public, after all, especially since his father did not sound like the kind of man to tolerate such failings in the son.
Do his virtues include stealing from young maidens that which they can most ill afford to give? thought she in the confines of her own mind.
And then Mr. Darcy himself arrived. Situated as she was, away from the main path and behind some foliage, Elizabeth determined at once that she would not call attention to herself. Why would she once again put herself into the position of vulnerability to the man’s schemes? Elizabeth was, however, close enough that she could hear the conversation. Curious as to what she would hear, she edged closer.
“I am just returned myself,” Mr. Darcy was saying to her aunt and uncle. “My family is staying at my uncle’s house in the south, but a problem arose, and my father dispatched me to meet with our steward.”
“Then we apologize for trespassing, sir,” replied Mr. Gardiner. “We were assured the family is not in residence.”
“It is no trouble, sir. We were to remain absent all summer, and only the matter of which I spoke drew me back. Mrs. Reynolds knows when the house might be shown—she would have turned you away, had the timing been poor.”
“We are happy to hear it, sir,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “It has been many years since I toured Pemberley. It would have been sad had we been unable to visit.”
“You have seen Pemberley before?” asked Mr. Darcy, the interest evident in his tone.
“Lambton was my home for many years. My father was the rector there.”
“Then you must be the daughter of Mr. Plumber,” said Mr. Darcy.
“Indeed, I am, sir.”
“Then I welcome you back, Mrs. Gardiner,” said Mr. Darcy with a bow. “His sudden passing was a tragedy. He has been missed very much.”
They continued speaking in this vein for some moments, the conversation largely carried by Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner, centering about some common acquaintances or their shared understanding of the town. As he spoke with them, Elizabeth noted he seemed more animated than she remembered seeing him during their short acquaintance in Hertfordshire. Did he realize they were of the trade class? Elizabeth could not be certain, but she suspected not—Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were quite fashionable and easily able to pass themselves off as gentlefolk when they wished. In truth, Elizabeth was forced to conclude it might not make a difference even if Mr. Darcy knew. Mr. Bingley was his friend, and his father had been a tradesman before he purchased Netherfield, after all.
“But we are keeping you from your tasks,” said Mrs. Gardiner after they had been speaking for some minutes.
“It is no trouble. I believe the situation will be resolved without difficulty.”
“I am happy to hear it, sir. For the present, however, I believe it would be best if we found our niece and departed.”
“You are traveling with another?” asked Mr. Darcy, looking about with some interest.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought he must see her, even though she thought she was well concealed. But his eyes passed her location without any hint of recognition, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Shall I have the gardeners look for her? The grounds are quite extensive. I would not wish for her to become lost.”
A laugh was Mrs. Gardiner’s response. “Our Lizzy is well able to retain her bearings, regardless of where she walks. She is quite renowned for being a great walker of the paths near her father’s home. I dare say she could find her way back to Lambton in the darkest night, should the situation demand it.”
A flash of recognition passed Mr. Darcy’s countenance, and for a moment Elizabeth entertained the wild thought that he knew it was she. But then reason reasserted itself—he could not know the connection, and Elizabeth was a common enough name that it could not point to her. With a short pause and a long look, he bowed to her relations.
“Should you have any difficulty in locating her, please to not hesitate to ask Mr. Stevenson for assistance. He knows these paths like the back of his hand.”
The Gardiners assented, and with a few last words, the man departed, allowing her uncle and aunt to continue walking along the avenue. Elizabeth stayed in her place of concealment, watching as his long strides took him away toward the house. Then, taking thought to her situation and unwilling to allow her aunt and uncle to know she had been watching the exchange, Elizabeth set off away from the house, taking a long way around the strand of trees, and then found her way to the path. In a few minutes, she had come upon her aunt and uncle.
“Ah, Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner. “You will never guess whom we met!”
“Given your tone of voice and the suggestion in your words, I might suppose it was Mr. Darcy or Lady Anne herself.”
It seemed Elizabeth was successful in her obfuscation, for her relations laughed at her sally. “You are far too quick, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Indeed, you are correct in general, though not in particular. We met the younger Mr. Darcy, who had just returned from his uncle’s estate.”
“Did you?” asked Elizabeth. “And what did you think of him?”
“Very civil,” said Mr. Gardiner. “He asked after us and spoke to your aunt of Lambton for some minutes.”
“In looks, he is much like his father,” added Mrs. Gardiner. “Though in temperament, I would suggest he is friendlier, more like his mother. Mr. Darcy the elder is a good man, but his countenance is more severe, his manners, more reticent.”
“Had you been with him, he might have recognized you,” said Mr. Gardiner.
“Perhaps,” replied Elizabeth. “But it has been four years. I was much different as a girl of sixteen.”
“Change is a part of life.” Mr. Gardiner paused, looking at Elizabeth closely. “If your acquaintance had been a more substantial one, I might have mentioned it to him. As it was, it would have sounded like an impertinence, and very likely it would have been.”
“I agree,” said Elizabeth.
“Well, Lizzy,” said her uncle, “what do you think of the place?”
The warmth in Elizabeth’s breast was all for the estate and had nothing to do with her feelings for the heir. “It is very beautiful, indeed. I thank you for insisting we come, for to leave the area without viewing it would have been a tragedy.”
“I am glad you think so,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “For my part, however, I believe I should like to find our carriage and return to Lambton, for all this walking has tired me.”
“Then that is what we shall do,” replied Elizabeth, thankful she had not been forced to insist on their departure.
“I might have thought you would protest,”
teased Uncle Gardiner.
“No, sir,” replied Elizabeth with a grin. “The woods are beautiful, and I am glad to have seen them. But there are so many beautiful places we have seen that I am sure there are more delights just around the corner.”
“That is the spirit, Lizzy!” exclaimed Aunt Gardiner. “Soon we shall see Dovedale and visit Chatsworth. While I will still assert they are no better than Pemberley, they are very fine themselves. And then we will go on to the lakes, which I am certain you will find no less than charming.”
“That much is assured. I anticipate them keenly.”
And with much laughter, the trio departed to seek their coach. But in Elizabeth’s heart, she could not help but be relieved she had managed to encroach on the man’s very doorstep, and even into the halls of his hallowed home, and escape unscathed.
Chapter II
Lulled as he was by the staccato rapping of the horse’s hooves against the hard gravel road, Darcy allowed himself to drift back into the thoughts which had plagued him since the previous day. There was something familiar about the couple he had met—or at least about the man. The woman, Mrs. Gardiner, was familiar, indeed, and Darcy was certain he had seen her in Lambton at times when he had been a child. No, it was the man that particularly confounded Darcy at present.
Unsure what it was, Darcy considered the matter. It might have been nothing more than fancy, but he thought he recognized a hint of something about the man’s jaw and nose which jarred his memory. Something in his eyes spoke to good humor and intelligence. And then there was the mention of their niece. Lizzy.
The mention of that name jarred other memories loose though they had never truly left him in the years since he had last seen her. Was Mr. Gardiner related to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He had never heard tell of any relations, but that did not mean anything either. He was not on so intimate a footing with the family that he would know the state of their connections in any great detail. It seemed unlikely—Lizzy was not an uncommon nickname. The connection to Lambton was another point in opposition to the possibility. While the couple had seemed fashionable, that she was the daughter of a parson suggested that they were not, in fact, of the gentry themselves. Would the Bennets’ relations not inhabit the same level of society they themselves claimed? No, the coincidence seemed too fantastical. Darcy put it from his mind.
