Elizabeth teased, “You sound as if you wish it were us.”
Darcy’s eyes twinkled in mischief. “I would welcome the privacy, but I much prefer the familiarity of our current intimacy to those early days of uncertainty.” He brought her a bit closer. “I find knowing how to please you more intoxicating than learning what pleases you,” he murmured into her hair. “And I will spend my time in Scotland concocting new ways to bring the pink flush to your face.”
Elizabeth blushed profusely, and Darcy chuckled. However, she managed to offer him a challenge. “As you well know, Mr. Darcy, I am not an easy woman to please.”
After Kitty and Mr. Winkler’s departure, the various guests bid Pemberley’s hospitality farewell. Within the hour, the Bingleys’ two coaches rolled toward Cheshire. Sir James and Lady Winkler had retired to their son’s small house. They would leave Derbyshire for Dorset on the morrow. Rose Winkler had rejoined her parents at the ministerial lodgings, a fact which had vexed Ruth Joseph greatly. “I do not see why Miss Winkler could not remain at Pemberley for one more evening,” she had protested to a less than sympathetic Mrs. Joseph. Her husband and Mr. Darcy had ridden out closer to two than to the one of the clock that Pemberley’s master had preferred.
Mary sighed deeply as her husband’s figure disappeared over the rolling ridge leading to the main turnpike road. With a like gesture of resignation, Elizabeth interlocked her arm with Mary’s, and together they turned toward the main entrance. “We have been abandoned, Mary, for the prospect of great riches,” Elizabeth said in that conspiratorial tone they had often shared. “How shall we persevere?”
Mary glanced up at Pemberley’s majestic entrance. “At least, they left us a proper abode in which to while away our time.”
As the tension in Mary’s grip lessened, Elizabeth laughed easily. “There is that advantage to our loneliness,” Pemberley’s mistress declared with an easily recognized false bravado. “Perhaps, Mr. Darcy shall return to find the house decorated in his favorite shade of pink.”
Mary laughed also. They would make a go of their loneliness together. “It would well serve him if it were possible to do so.”
“We shall start with the gentleman’s private chambers.”
It was there. She had searched the room for Darcy’s letter. In her heart, she knew he would leave one for her, but when she had purposely looked for it earlier, disappointment had greeted her efforts. As she retired for the evening, she had sought one of Darcy’s shirts in place of her nightgown. She knew herself foolish, but she would risk the servants’ whispers to keep her husband close in his absence. Hannah shall silence the gossip, she had told herself as she draped Darcy’s fine lawn shirt over her shoulders. Elizabeth had had a delightful afternoon and evening with Mary and Ruth. They had even created a whimsical list of all the pink items she would need if she were to redesign Darcy’s sitting room and bedchamber. Now, it was time to be alone with her fears for him. “I shall never order another new night rail. Only new shirts for my husband,” she had told herself.
When she had passed through Darcy’s dressing room to reach her own, she found the letter propped against the mirror. On the outside, Darcy had written in his familiar scrawl, “Yes, Elizabeth, this is for you!”
“The man is too self-assured,” she grumbled, but she happily snatched up the letter and returned to her bed before reading it. Carelessly, she wondered how this particular letter would rate among Darcy’s previous ones. For a man of few wasted words, her husband was absolutely garrulous when he took pen in hand. She should have recognized that quality in him prior to their marriage. She had witnessed the number of letters he had written to his sister and his cousin and his man of business when they both had stayed at Netherfield.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter.” Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth could easily recall Caroline Bingley’s manipulations to earn Darcy’s attention. The lady, on one particular occasion, had seated herself near Darcy and had watched the progress of his letter to his sister, while Elizabeth had been sufficiently amused by what passed between Darcy and his companion. Later, she had regretted thinking poorly of the man she had come to love, but at the time, she was quite convinced of her own absolute opinions. “I should have listened to my heart. I should have realized that my anger existed because I so deeply wanted his approval,” she whispered to the silent room. That particular evening, Miss Bingley had repeatedly called off his attention with messages to Georgiana. The perpetual commendations of the lady on either Darcy’s handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which Miss Bingley’s praises were received, had formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with Elizabeth’s opinion of each at the time.
Over the past three years, her opinion of Caroline had not altered. In fact, try as she might to feel otherwise, she disliked the woman completely. “The Americans do not deserve such an abomination,” she declared. Then she thought of the man with whom Miss Bingley had eloped, and Elizabeth knew her censure unjust. The man they had known as Beaufort Manneville had proven himself quite false. “The lady should have aligned herself with someone who would curtail her wickedness, not encourage it,” she decided. Elizabeth’s thoughts returned to how foolishly she had misjudged Darcy. “Of course, I did not always love the man so well as I do now,” she thought with a self-chastising snort of laughter. “But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.”
The image of Darcy ignoring Caroline Bingley hung in Elizabeth’s mind. “He was quite crotchety now that I consider his words,” she mused. “Oh, my,” she laughed openly. “I wonder if my dear husband realizes in hindsight how often he defended me with his every rebuff of Miss Bingley’s regard. It is quite delicious now that I dwell on it.”
“You write uncommonly fast,” Miss Bingley had said to capture Darcy’s attention.
Without looking up, Darcy had countered. “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!”
Darcy had responded in that same voice Elizabeth now recognized as the one he used when someone annoyed him. “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”
Miss Bingley had ignored his tone. “Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.” In retrospect, Elizabeth should have recognized his censure. Instead, she had thought they spoke intimately.
“How can you contrive to write so evenly?”
He remained silent.
“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present, I have not room to do them justice.”
“Oh, foolish, foolish me,” Elizabeth moaned. “Why did I not see Mr. Darcy’s worth prior to that volatile encounter at Hunsford? I should have acknowledged our compatibility, at least to myself, when we shared the time at Netherfield, and I should have seen how little Fitzwilliam liked Miss Bingley’s flattery. Was I jealous of the woman? Even then? How humiliating is this discovery! I could not have been more wretchedly blind.”
Accepting her foolish pride as her weakness, Elizabeth shrugged away her self-censure. It cannot be undone. Upset with herself for being so naïve, she snuggled lower into the bed linens for comfort. Turning on her side where she might lay the pages on the wool pane covering the bed, she traced Darcy’s script with her fingertip. Then she sniffed the shirt’s sleeve and closed her eyes to bring Darcy near. “I am humbled by your love, Mr. Darcy,” she said before unfolding the page.
24 July
My dearest, darling Eliz
abeth,
Our separation lies heavy on my soul as I prepare for my departure to Scotland. Once our lives took divergent paths, with each of us ignoring the obvious; yet, you soon became the secret place where I no longer had to hide the true me. Now, we are two heartbeats which have become one. There is nothing to compare with the power of you and me together.
In my absence, my love, I charge you not to neglect your health in your haste to be both mother and father to our son. Bennet requires a mother who does not neglect her own needs. I also charge you to seek out the invaluable staff, which adores you, our child, and Pemberley, if you find yourself overwhelmed by the everyday pressures of managing this estate.
Elizabeth chuckled. The Master of Pemberley often gave orders when he slept. Yet, she could not find fault with the man’s air of superiority. He had taken on his shoulders the responsibility for all their lives, and Fitzwilliam Darcy performed his duty well. Nothing escaped his notice.
I wish to thank you for accepting even my weakest efforts to bring you happiness. It is my wish that you know your brightest days in our combined life. Whether it is a hope or a dream or a promise, together we can change it into a reality—born from a love that is sweeter than all time.
Please know, my dearest Elizabeth, that each night I will dream of you—the woman I adore. My love for you is more than true, and my feelings are deeper than those three words so easily bandied about among those caught up in passion’s first flush. When you came into my life my world tilted, but it also opened for me for the first time. My life began. You are the music of my soul. Until we are once more in one another’s embrace, I remain your loving husband.
D.
Elizabeth brushed aside the tear crawling down her cheek. “The man always manages to reduce every emotion to its unique core. I shall never understand how he does it.” Elizabeth read the letter twice more before blowing out her candle. She slid the message under her pillow. Eventually, it would join the others in the beribboned stack in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe, but not before she had committed it to memory, just as she had done with all the others. “Good night, my love,” she whispered to Darcy’s empty pillow. “Hurry home. Bennet and I shall not sleep soundly until we feel your strong arms holding us again.”
The Granges departed for Hertfordshire shortly before eight. “Return the coach to Pemberley,” Mr. Bennet instructed his middle daughter. “I have no knowledge of when I must send for your mother. Mrs. Bennet will likely remain a sennight or more with the Wickhams, but I may need the coach sooner.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And you will check on Longbourn and send word if you find something inappropriate.”
“Mary knows what to do, Papa,” Elizabeth said softly from behind him. “Mama may not have seen to our education when it came to studying the masters, but she taught each of us about account books and menus and running a household. We learned first hand every facet of tending to Longbourn personally. Mary shall not fail you.”
“Of course she will not fail, Lizzy. Mary is as talented as all her sisters.” He squeezed Mary’s hand in assurance. “I am blessed to have four daughters of good sense.” He assisted Mary into the coach. “Be safe. I will see you at Longbourn soon.”
As the coach pulled away, Elizabeth laced her arm through her father’s. “With Mama not returning to Longbourn, Mary and Mr. Grange shall have the place to themselves. Maybe by spring, she and Kitty shall each be presenting you with additional grandchildren.”
“Mayhap, you, too, Lizzy.” He walked slowly toward Pemberley’s entrance.
Elizabeth leaned heavily against his shoulder. “I cannot say for certain, but Mr. Darcy and I are looking at the possibility.”
“Is your husband aware of this grand event?” Mr. Bennet slid his arm around his favorite daughter’s waist.
Elizabeth’s features glowed with happiness. “If I had told Fitzwilliam, he would never have departed for Scotland, and the opportunity for securing Bennet’s future and those of any other children we may have depends on this venture. Besides, I am not absolutely certain.”
“And it is important to be certain of such specifics where Mr. Darcy is concerned,” Mr. Bennet said wryly.
“Oh, Papa, one does not need to spend more than a few minutes with my husband to know that your words are an understatement of gargantuan proportions.”
“The morning post, Mrs. Darcy.” The Pemberley butler presented a stack of letters on a silver salver.
Elizabeth accepted the items. “I assume you placed the estate mail on Mr. Darcy’s desk for Mr. Marlowe’s attention.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The butler bowed from the room.
Elizabeth began sifting through the stack.
“Anything interesting?” Mrs. Joseph asked from her seat on Elizabeth’s left.
Her friend’s voice rooted Elizabeth to the present. All morning she had daydreamed of Darcy’s return. “Several thank-yous for the picnic and dinner. A few invitations, which I shall ignore until Mr. Darcy’s return. That is, unless you have a desire for an afternoon of visits.”
“Maybe in a week or so I shall tire of your company,” Mrs. Joseph teased, but for now, I find myself quite content to prevail upon your good graces.”
Heart quickening, Elizabeth scanned the last two missives. Her face twisted in deep regret.
“Is something muddled headed?” Mary Joseph asked.
“Not exactly,” Elizabeth murmured as she turned the posts over in her hand. “Two letters from Mr. Darcy’s cousin. It is a shame that Fitzwilliam departed before they arrived. My husband has longed for news of the Major General’s return.”
Mary placed jam on her dry toast. “The cousin who married Mr. Darcy’s sister?”
“The very same.” Elizabeth eyed the letter. “Do you suppose it inappropriate for me to read Mr. Darcy’s mail? The second letter is for Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Before I forward it on to Scotland, should I not read what the Major General has conveyed to my husband? Perhaps there is important information that I should send on to Mr. Darcy. If so, it would be foolish to let the unread letter lie about and wait for Fitzwilliam’s return.”
“You do not have to convince me, but if you require another excuse for your own conscience, I see no reason for a man to write to his wife in Derbyshire if she awaits him in Scotland. It is your responsibility to solve this mystery.”
Chapter 7
ELIZABETH BROKE THE SEAL and quickly read Edward Fitzwilliam’s message. “Oh, my,” she mumbled as her eyes scanned the words. “Poor Georgiana missed Kitty’s wedding for nothing,” Elizabeth said aloud. “The Major General only arrived in England four days ago; yet, my sister anticipated his appearance some three weeks past. Georgiana must be distraught with worry.”
“What delayed Mr. Darcy’s cousin?” Mary asked with concern.
Elizabeth’s eyes never left the page. She scanned for details. “Major General Fitzwilliam remained in Belgium because his aide Captain Southland was injured.” She paused as she continued to search the words for more information. “Oh, no.” Tears misted her eyes.
“What brings you anguish, Elizabeth?”
With trembling lips, Elizabeth reported, “The captain stepped before the Major General to save Edward’s life. As a result, Captain Southland lost part of his arm. That is the reason Mr. Darcy’s cousin remained on the Continent. Concern for his friend. It is the second time Captain Southland has given Edward such a gift.”
Mary spoke from true interest. “Is this the same gentleman from Kent who married Lady Catherine De Bourgh’s daughter?”
“The very same,” Elizabeth said as she returned her attention to the letter. “Evidently, as the Major General waits for his release from active duty, he has gone to see Mrs. Southland to prepare her for the shock of her husband’s return. He planned to start his journey to Scotland today.”
“Then all shall be well,” Mary observed. “It may take the gentleman another week to reach Scotland, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam sha
ll be thrilled with his appearance.”
Elizabeth’s frown lines met. “Perhaps I should send Georgiana a note. Surely a letter from Derbyshire would reach the Fitzwilliam estate before the Major General does. Even if I prevent Mrs. Fitzwilliam only four and twenty hours of worry, it would be worth the postage.”
“I would imagine that Mr. Darcy’s cousin has sent a like letter to his new bride in both Derbyshire and Scotland. That would explain why his post for Mr. Darcy’s sister came with the one for your husband. But if your uneasiness compels you to write, I suspect Mrs. Fitzwilliam would welcome news of Mrs. Winkler’s nuptials, along with your reassurance of the Major General’s safe return.”
Elizabeth refolded the letter. “That is sound advice. I shall follow it immediately.”
“Mrs. Darcy.” Hannah had found Elizabeth and Mary playing with the children in the lower garden. Having completed her letter to her satisfaction, Elizabeth had joined her friend for some quiet time. “Mr. Nathan sent me to find you. Lord Lindale has arrived unexpectedly. He asked to speak to Mr. Darcy, but Mr. Nathan informed the gentleman of the master’s absence. Therefore, Viscount Lindale has asked to meet with you. Mr. Nathan has placed His Lordship in the green drawing room.”
Elizabeth rose immediately. She stroked the wrinkles from her skirt. “Certainly. Would you assist Mrs. Joseph with the children?”
“With pleasure.” Hannah reached for the child Elizabeth held. “Come, Master Bennet.” Elizabeth’s maid playfully swung the boy through the air. It touched her how much Mr. Darcy’s staff cared for their son. Silently, she congratulated herself for marrying so well.
Elizabeth touched the child’s dark curls. So like his father’s, she thought as she caressed Bennet’s head. “No spoiling him, Hannah.”
“I shall leave that dubious task to you, Ma’am.” Hannah cuddled the boy in her arms. “Only a mother spoils her children. The rest of us simply dote on them for a short while.”
The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery Page 11
