These Three Remain

by Pamela Aidan

  Darcy stretched and then took a deep breath of Derbyshire air, happy to be out of the soot-laden grime of Town, happy to be within an hour of home. He returned the empty flask to his saddlebag, pausing to stroke Seneca’s thick mane. The animal stopped in his pull at a clump of grass just long enough to nudge him roughly, whether in affection or to move him away from the clump he now attacked, Darcy was not certain. He laughed, scratching the horse vigorously along his withers as he considered the intense anger, the indignation he had nurtured that first dark week back in London. It seemed the experience of another man. How different Elizabeth’s refusal appeared to him now.

  A sharp bark recalled him to his errant hound. Trafalgar’s luminous brown eyes and twitching tail communicated his impatient anticipation of home. “It will not be long.” Darcy bent and ruffled the animal’s ears. “We are almost home.” The hound was a bit battered from his forays into the brush, but likely better for the experience. Not at all unlike himself, Darcy mused. Yes, he indeed owed Miss Elizabeth Bennet a debt. In her principled refusal of him, she had done him no harm; rather, she had done him incalculable good. What an incredible young woman! The wretched letter had been, in part, a bid for some little of her respect.

  He gave Monster a final pat before hoisting himself back atop Seneca. “Only a few more miles and we shall cross into the home wood,” he informed the hound. “The lake is just beyond, and I strongly advise that you avail yourself ! You do not look or smell like a gentleman in the least, and if you do not take care of it, a stable lad will!”

  Refreshed, he gathered the reins and pressed on, the nearness of his own lands increasing the longing in his heart to be home. With new energy, his horse pounded through the home wood. The path, hard and dusty from a dry summer, wound its way up and down the rugged Derbyshire hills before it emptied into the broad valley through which the Ere wound until it reached the dam that formed it into a perfect reflection of Pemberley House. In his anticipation, Darcy had left Trafalgar scrambling far behind and so pulled Seneca to a halt just as they broke through the trees above the valley. The both of them breathing hard, he let the reins go slack and leaned over Seneca’s neck to stretch out the muscles in his back while they waited for the third of their party. As he returned upright, his eyes were drawn immediately down the expanse of valley.

  How many times had he seen his home from afar, whether from this vantage point or some other? Yet he could no more stop his eyes from traveling over every aspect of the majestic structure than he could prevent himself from rejoicing in the beauty of the gardens or the natural loveliness of the river and wood. Pemberley. Home. This time, however, there resided something new in that part of him which swelled at the sight. He looked down on Pemberley House, questioning every exquisite line until that something found a name. Gratitude. Gratitude for what he had been given filled his breast. And for the first time in his life, Darcy felt that he might possibly be worthy to hold the great gift that had been entrusted to him.

  A scrabbling sound in the brush behind him alerted Darcy to his companion’s arrival, and looking down from Seneca’s height, he noted it with a sympathetic laugh. Trafalgar was, if it were possible, in an even more disreputable state, his sides heaving and tongue lolling as he threw himself at the horse’s feet. “Do not blame me!” Darcy addressed the weary animal. “Perhaps next time you will not indulge your curiosity quite so often and attend to business.” The flash of a canine grin at his tone put the possibility of such a lesson learned firmly outside the realm. “Very well, then, Monster.” He laughed. “Shall we see who reaches home first?” At the word home, a miracle of sorts occurred, followed by a blur of movement, and the next he knew, Trafalgar was no more than a streak moving down the valley. “Ho!” Darcy yelled to Seneca and, putting heels to his sides, gave the horse his head in pursuit. That they both clattered into the stable yard within feet of each other he charged to the loss of his hat. Forced to stop and retrieve it, he could do no more than recover the ground between them, which was not enough to decently call it a tie. When he dismounted, he almost landed upon his preening competitor, who danced about Seneca’s legs. “Yes, you win!” he conceded and, suffering Trafalgar’s triumphant bark with good grace, was rewarded with a consoling but wet tribute to his sportsmanship.

  “Welcome home, sir!” The head of Pemberley’s stables motioned to the lad with him to take Seneca’s reins.

  “Thank you, Morley. It is good to be home.” Darcy nodded and handed over Seneca. “See he is well cooled,” he called after them as the lad led him away.

  “Hard ride, sir?” Morley watched his young charge as he led the horse to a paddock.

  “Not bad. How are things here?” Darcy stripped off his gloves and, taking off the troublesome hat, threw the gloves into its depths and, with a quick smile, handed the lot to another lad who had run up. Morley waved the boy off to the servants’ entrance to Pemberley House and then fell into step with his master.

  “Vera good, sir. Everythin’ is right and tight. All the young uns are comin’ fine, sir, comin’ fine. Not a weak or sickly one in the lot this year. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Excellent! No problems, then?” Darcy looked past his stable master as a team that he did not recognize was led away from the traces of an unknown carriage. “Visitors?” His gaze returned to Morley.

  “Day trippers, sir, come to view the house an’ grounds. We just got notice from the house that they intend to walk the gardens when they’re done and maybe the park and we were to unhitch the horses.”

  Darcy grimaced. “Visitors! Well, I shall take the long way around then. I meant to send Trafalgar into the lake anyway. The beast is in sad want of a bath.” He looked about, but the hound was nowhere to be seen. “Now where did he go!” He sounded a sharp whistle and then shouted, “Trafalgar! Monster!” A bark from the direction of the lake answered him back.

  “Sounds like he’s afore you, Mr. Darcy.” Morley laughed.

  “He usually is! Good day to you, Morley.” Morley’s “An’ to you, sir,” followed him as he strode purposefully after the hound, as much to stretch out the cramped muscles in his legs as to make sure the animal became intimately acquainted with the benefits of Pemberley’s lake. As he walked, Darcy breathed in the flower-freshened breezes wafting from the gardens and smiled to himself. He had made good time; it was still early in the afternoon, and he was home. He looked toward the house. No sign of the visitors whose intrusions were part and parcel of the obligations of a great house. Good! Hurrying on to the lake, he found the hound nervously pacing its edge, looking over his shoulder in anxiety for Darcy’s appearance.

  “Here I am, Monster, but you need not have waited. Get on with it!” he urged him. Trafalgar sat down and whined. “Swim!” Darcy commanded. The hound looked at him, dumbfounded. “Swim!” He motioned toward the water, but the animal seemed unable to comprehend his meaning. “Humph!” Darcy looked narrowly down into his dog’s face, studying whether he was truly confused or merely being recalcitrant. Too canny for him, Trafalgar avoided his gaze, looking away across the lake and up to the gardens. “So that is the way of it.” Darcy searched about him and, breaking a dry branch in two across his knee, he returned to the lake’s edge to find he was now in possession of the hound’s undivided attention. They regarded each other in silence, each watching for any movement, any drop in the other’s resolve. Suddenly, with a swift jerk of his arm, Darcy threw the branch far into the lake. “Fetch!” Without the slightest hesitation, the hound sprang into the water and paddled determinedly after the prize.

  Darcy skirted the edge of the lake, laughing and shouting encouragement to the hound as he swam, and met him on the other side, taking care to arrive only after Trafalgar had emerged and shaken off the worst of the water that clung to his coat. “Good man!” Darcy accepted the branch from the dog’s jaws. “Now, up to the house with you!” With a last, soulful glance at his prize, the animal loped off toward one of the gardens, leaving Darcy to fol
low. He tossed the branch away and turned his face toward his home. Home! The pleasant, grateful elation of earlier returned, warming his heart. Rejoining the road from the stable, he determined to make his way through the lower garden and thus avoid the hall, for he was in no proper state to greet strangers after this morning’s ride, and although the elation remained, he was not long on his way before he began to feel the morning’s exertions. He tugged at his cravat until it hung in loose, sweat-stained loops about his neck. His coat he had already unbuttoned, nor did he have the will to rebutton it. He was both hatless and gloveless, having sent these items ahead with a stable boy, and he could feel the dust and grit of the road being rubbed against his skin by the weight of his clothing. His face…He paused to rub at his eyes and chin. No, in no state at all!

  Dropping his hand, Darcy turned into a parting in the tall hedge that marked the boundary of the lower garden’s lawn only to be brought up short. The visitors! He hesitated at the sight of the three strangers whose backs were, fortunately, turned to him as they inspected the exterior of his home under the care of Old Simon. He had mistaken the time, Darcy groaned to himself, and they were already arrived in the gardens. Perhaps he could retreat quietly the way he had come. As he took a step backward, one of the ladies turned, her eyes coming to rest full upon him. The light in them struck him like a bolt. Elizabeth! My God, Elizabeth? Every nerve in his body came alive, yet he seemed unable to command them to any purposeful action. Elizabeth — here! The truth of it raced through him, yet his mind reeled into denial. How could it be? But it must be; for there she stood not twenty yards away, her lovely eyes wide in surprise and then turned from him as a blush suffused her cheeks. An answering heat flushed his face as he searched for a sign, an indication of how he should approach her. None came, and she remained a picture of beautiful confusion. That he must relieve her anxiety was his only thought; he must be the one to make a beginning. Willing his limbs forward, he went to her.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He offered her a slow, honoring bow. He could barely hear her answering acknowledgment and found, upon rising, that her blush had deepened further and that her eyes looked almost everywhere but at him. “Please allow me to welcome you to Pemberley, Miss Elizabeth.” Her “thank you” was soft as a breath and no more substantial. She was clearly uncomfortable. Somehow he must set her at ease. “I was not aware that you planned to visit Derbyshire,” Darcy ventured. She made no reply. “Have you and your companions been long on the road?”

  “We left Longbourn a little more than two weeks ago, sir.” Her answer to this was stronger-voiced but still quavered in the summer air.

  “Ah…and your family is well? Or was well?” he amended. “Your sisters? Have you received any communication?” He grimaced inwardly at his jumbled, awkward sentences.

  “Yes and no, Mr. Darcy.” She bit her lower lip. “Yes, they were well when I left, but no, I have not received any communication as yet.”

  “Oh, I see…Your trip, it has been pleasant?” he persisted. “The weather, it seems, has been in your favor. Have you found it so?” She smiled slightly at that and agreed that the weather had, indeed, been fine. “Yes, so I have found,” he affirmed, ‘’although I have been on the road only three days. You have been traveling how long?”

  “Two weeks, sir.”

  “Yes, you did say that. Two weeks. Do you stay in Derbyshire long? Where are you staying?” Good Lord, that was blunt of him!

  “The inn, the Green Man, in Lambton, sir.”

  “Ah, yes, the Green Man. Garston, he is the proprietor, keeps a fine inn. But watch for all his grandchildren,” he responded, “especially when he discovers you have been a guest at Pemberley. There will be no end to their courtesies. Did you say how long you would remain in the vicinity?”

  “No, I did not.” She glanced away nervously in the direction of the others. “I remain at my companions’ pleasure. It has not been decided as yet when we shall leave.”

  “I see.” He paused. What else to say? “And your parents, they are well?”

  She did smile fully at that and even looked him directly in the face. A breeze played with the curls about her temple, and the color or style of her bonnet, he knew not which, did lovely things to her eyes and enhanced the radiance of her face. Good Lord, it was a wonderful sight! “To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Darcy,” came her reply. He smiled back. She looked away. Was it distress that wrinkled her brow? Had he said something wrong? Perhaps it was himself, his present unkempt appearance. Did she doubt her welcome? She must never think that! If he said nothing more, he must assure her at least of that.

  “You are very welcome to Pemberley, Miss Elizabeth, you and your companions.” He bowed. “Please, take all the time you desire to walk the park and grounds. Simon knows all the best views and the most pleasant walks. You are in excellent hands with him. If you will excuse me, I have just arrived and must attend to some business.” He bowed again, receiving this time her soft leave of his departure.

  Moving past her, he continued on, the exultation in his heart at her presence at his home vying with embarrassment with his miserable performance and, he looked down in dismay, his disheveled appearance. What must she think of him? With a groan, he hurried on. If only Fletcher had accompanied him! Under his valet’s care, he could have been presentable in a quarter hour. It could not be helped. He ran up the steps and into the hall, surprising Mrs. Reynolds as she was locking up one of the public rooms.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir!”

  “Mrs. Reynolds! Yes, I arrived not long ago.” He flashed her the smile that had served him well with her for twenty-four years. “How long would it take for hot water to be sent up?”

  “Fifteen minutes, sir, unless you desire a bath.” She looked at him curiously.

  “No, that will not be necessary. Make it warm and in ten minutes and send up one of the footmen to help me dress, if you please!” he said as he made for the staircase. He stopped halfway to the top and looked back down the hall. “Oh, and Mrs. Reynolds, Trafalgar is with me or, rather, somewhere. Perhaps a boy should be sent to the garden?”

  “Yes, sir. We shall attend to Master Trafalgar.” Mrs. Reynolds looked up wonderingly at him.

  “Excellent! Ten minutes, Mrs. Reynolds!” He continued up the stairs and all but ran to his dressing room. He shed the dusty clothes of his morning while at the same time searching through the neatly hung and ordered garments. Good Heavens, what should he wear? Nothing too imposing. Would hunting attire be too casual? Would she regard it an insult? His gaze ranged over the choices before him. “Fletcher!” he groaned aloud. “What in blazes should I —” A knock at the door interrupted his plea. “Enter!”

  “Mr. Darcy, sir! Is there aught amiss?” Mr. Reynolds poked his head in first and then, seeing his master’s distraction, entered. “You required a footman, sir. Is Mr. Fletcher not with you or shortly to arrive?”

  “No, Sherrill’s note brought me ahead on horseback, but it is very urgent now that I attend to my guests.”

  “Guests, sir?” Reynolds was confused. “None of your guests have — Oh, the visitors! But they are out in the park, sir; you need not trouble yourself.” Another knock sounded.

  “The water!” Darcy jumped to the door, much to Reynolds’s surprise. “Come in; pour some in the basin and set the rest over there,” he directed the brawny youth. “Very good; that will be all.” He turned his attention back to his astonished butler. “It is of incalculable importance that I trouble myself for these particular visitors. If I can prevail upon them to return to the house, they should be treated with the utmost courtesy.” A sudden anxiety seized him. “They were well cared for earlier, I trust?”

  “Yes, sir. Mrs. Reynolds conducted them personally. The young lady claimed some little acquaintance,” he offered.

  “Yes, that is true…” Darcy turned back to his wardrobe and stared at its contents.

  “May I help you, sir?” Reynolds briskly stepped forward. “I believe I may
be of equal or better service than a footman.”

  Surprised at such condescension, Darcy turned to his butler, a man he had known most of his life, to behold one still possessed of all the dignity of his office but with an understanding twinkle in his eye. “Yes, you may.” He nodded toward the wardrobe. “The doeskin breeches, I think, the tan waistcoat and dark brown coat. A plain neckcloth, mind you, and shirt. The brown-topped boots…and a clean set of all else.”

  “Very good, sir. All shall be ready.” The old man straightened his shoulders before this new duty.

  “Thank you, Reynolds.” Darcy’s lips twitched against an incipient grin. “I will not be long.”

  Despite his impatient speed and Reynolds’s surprising alacrity with his clothes, it was almost a half hour before Darcy clattered down the courtyard’s steps and onto the drive. Where Elizabeth was now in the vast expanse of the park had occupied his thoughts as he had finished dressing. Old Simon would keep them to the usual paths shown to visitors, but where exactly might they be? He scanned the perimeter of the wood that girdled the near park. Knowing her stamina, they might be anywhere, but he doubted the endurance of her older companions. He narrowed his search. There! A flash of color among the trees that overhung the path meandering by the river gave him his course. He set off, judging that even at such a pace he had a quarter hour in which to prepare to meet her.