Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

by Sharon Lathan

  Lizzy did her best to maintain a neutral expression when what she wanted to do was scream. Not out of anger, however. She could hardly be angry with Charlotte for talking to her husband. That is what married couples were supposed to do. Nor could she honestly be mad at Mr. Collins’s role in spreading rumors from the Lucases to Lady Catherine. Her temper prompted the confrontation with Lizzy and then Darcy, which eventually brought them together.

  No, she wanted to scream from frustration. Continually being placed on the defensive in regards to her engagement with Mr. Darcy was maddening. Too many people, from Lady Catherine to Mr. Collins to Caroline Bingley, were hell-bent on darkening their happiness or destroying it completely.

  Somehow she mustered a smile convincingly gay and amused. “Really, Charlotte, it no longer matters. Mr. Darcy and I have hashed over the past misconceptions, and are deliriously happy. Lady Catherine would be furious no matter how she heard of our engagement, and trust me when I say that Mr. Darcy can handle his aunt. I do regret that her attitude has filtered down to you, but it brought you to Hertfordshire for a spell, so I cannot be sorry even for that.”

  They talked then of pleasanter topics, catching up on local gossip mainly, as well as some female tittering about the wedding. Lizzy relaxed, she and her oldest friend gradually settling into their familiar companionship. She forgot Mr. Collins was still in the house until he appeared on the back porch calling for Charlotte.

  “No, stay here, Lizzy.” Charlotte waved at the garden as she stood. “Mr. Collins and I will be staying at Lucas Lodge for a time, so I shall have plenty of opportunities to visit.” She bent to plant a soft kiss on Lizzy’s cheek, whispering, “Preferably alone or with Maria,” which made them both laugh. Turning away, Charlotte walked several feet before abruptly stopping and pivoting about. “Oh! I nearly forgot! I have something for you.” She withdrew a folded paper from her reticule and handed it to Lizzy.

  “A letter from Miss de Bourgh! But…why?”

  “Mrs. Jenkinson brought it to me three days ago. Miss de Bourgh was unsure of your residence and asking Lady Catherine was out of the question. In fact, according to Mrs. Jenkinson, Miss de Bourgh feared for the letter if Lady Catherine knew of it, so trusted me to deliver. Since by then we had decided to leave Hunsford, I carried it rather than mailing. I do not know what she wrote, Lizzy, but based on what I know of Miss de Bourgh, it is unlikely to be unpleasant. Quite the opposite, I think.”

  Lizzy stared at the sealed paper for a long while after Charlotte left. Considering Charlotte’s words and William’s deep affection for his cousin, Lizzy had no reason to fear the contents of Miss de Bourgh’s letter. Yet, in light of the harsh sentiments that persistently came, she hesitated.

  “Oh bother!” Lizzy muttered and ripped the wax angrily.

  Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

  Undoubtedly this direct dispatch from me will be met with trepidation, so please allow me to immediately ease your mind. My only purpose in penning these words is to convey my rapture at your engagement to my cousin. Aware as I am of his compulsory demand for honesty, surely you are now privy to our special relationship, and that our affection, while true, has never been of the romantic nature. Long have we humored Lady Catherine, certain that in time she would surrender the designs for us to marry. Alas, we erred in estimating the strength of her resolve. I must not speak as an unfaithful daughter, so cannot write extensively of my anguish over mother’s reaction to this most blessed news. I pray you believe how deep my regret at being the center, however unwillingly, of any clouds obscuring the happiness of this precious time for you and Fitzwilliam.

  We spoke only briefly during the spring, Miss Bennet, yet it was enough for me to hold you in the highest regard. To me it was apparent that Fitzwilliam cared for you, and I sensed that you were perfect for him. He is a complex man but has a tender soul and the kindest heart. With every breath and beat of my heart, I thank the fates for bringing you to each other, and wish for eternal joy in your lives together. I have faith that somehow, someday, we will overcome the troubles causing this tragic rift and will become friends. Until then, trust in your love to sustain, and know that my thoughts are of nothing but delight.

  God’s richest blessings, now and forever, Anne de Bourgh

  Lizzy was unaware tears were slipping down her cheeks until one fell onto the paper. The balm, today of all days, in hearing delight expressed over their engagement was worthy of tears. Anne de Bourgh had perceived their rightness for each other at a time when no one else could, not even Lizzy. They were hopeful tears. Miss de Bourgh’s endorsement, along with the delight of Miss Darcy, instilled a measure of hope that their union would not be universally snubbed by Mr. Darcy’s family.

  The tears were also the result of relinquishing traces of fear that by marrying Mr. Darcy she was hurting his cousin. Indeed he had explained their relationship, and Lizzy did not doubt his honesty, but he would not be the first man to misread a woman’s feelings. What if Miss de Bourgh had loved him and wanted to be his wife? The fact that William never would have married her—and that it was in one respect no different than Caroline Bingley wanting to marry him—did not erase the vague pinch of remorse over dashing a decent, kind lady’s dreams. Miss de Bourgh’s reassurance was surprisingly liberating.

  Sighing, Lizzy refolded the letter and wiped the wetness from her face. “What a ninny,” she muttered and then chuckled. More than anything, she acknowledged that she missed William.

  No, I actually ache for him…for William.

  Her heart felt weighted, as if each beat struggled to pump the blood. An odd stupor invaded her muscles—not exactly paralyzing her limbs, but as if they required an external force to excite the nerves into motion. Or rather that her entire body was impatiently waiting for the impetus of a specific entity to move toward.

  Of all the times in her life when parted from members of her family, missing them greatly while being entertained, Lizzy had never experienced this degree of gloominess. She suddenly suspected that if Mr. Darcy were to walk around the corner this second, she might literally dance and sing. Loving a man to this degree was disconcerting—but also wondrous. Either extremity would take more than one night to adjust to, Lizzy logically understood, so she shrugged off the unnerving melancholy and lassitude.

  Stepping briskly toward the house, Lizzy vowed not to mope or brood stupidly during the remaining days until Mr. Darcy returned. So why did she pause on the threshold, peer into the dimming sky, sigh wistfully, and inquire of the moon, “Does William ache for me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Sun Shines on London

  Darcy sat at the large mahogany table in the conference room of his London solicitor’s offices, a single paper in his hand. He silently read the final paragraph, added the paper to the stack by his elbow, and neatly aligned the pile. “Precisely as stipulated, Mr. Daniels. As I wrote, it is imperative the settlement be generous and Mrs. Darcy’s security firmly established no matter what the future holds. Thank you for the experienced suggestions. I can think of nothing further to add.”

  “You have been far more generous than most gentlemen, sir. I am sure Miss Bennet will be pleased and Mr. Bennet confident that his daughter has chosen wisely. Fathers can be demanding in their paternal concerns.”

  Darcy smiled at the dry statement. “Indeed, as I suspect you would know. How is your daughter faring?”

  “As one expects from a young lady newly married and in love. Mrs. Daniels and I are content in her choice.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Darcy handed the sheaf of documents to his solicitor. “Notify me when those are ready for my signature.”

  “I will have my clerks compile today. Would tomorrow morning at eleven fit into your schedule?”

  “My schedule is loose, so I shall be here at eleven. I appreciate your expeditiousness, Mr. Daniels. I do wish to return to Hertfordshire as soon as possible.”

  The solicitor merely nodded.

  Once outside, Darc
y entered his carriage and sat back into the padded bench. It was a fair distance to the Royal Exchange on Cornhill, and with traffic in London inevitably heavy during the daylight hours, he might be in for a lengthy drive. Rather than daydream of Elizabeth, which would be pleasant but also increase his urgency to quit Town, he passed the time by shuffling through the papers sent by Mrs. Reynolds and his sister. He had memorized them, but it did not hurt to check again, just in case he missed something.

  Armed with the papers, Darcy entered the recessed door on the west side of the massive building housing the Royal Exchange. This entrance led to private offices on the upper floor, bypassing the main areas where the merchants dealt with customers, so was less congested and noisy but far from vacant or silent. Instantly greeted by acquaintances, Darcy avoided extensive conversation by claiming an appointment, which was true. Nevertheless, making his way to the plush offices of Mr. Kennedy and his associates took some time. Luckily, the rotund, jolly Mr. Kennedy was used to the ways of the Exchange, so he laughingly brushed aside Darcy’s apologies and extended his hand to the empty chair across from his desk.

  “You have braved the streets and then the aisles of the Exchange, Mr. Darcy, so I have tea and coffee on the way. Or perhaps you prefer a nip of something stronger?”

  “Coffee will be fine, thank you, Mr. Kennedy. And thank you for arranging time to meet with me on short notice.”

  “My pleasure. And I mean that literally, Darcy. A man on the hunt for refurbishing and provisioning for a new wife is my bread and butter!”

  “I imagine so. And then yearly thereafter, when redecorating occurs, am I right?”

  Kennedy laughed heartily, smacking his fleshy hand onto his desk. “For a man newly entering the married state, you are wise in the ways of it.”

  “I am learning, yes, but open for advice.” Darcy unfolded the papers, explaining as he pushed them toward Kennedy, “My betrothed, Miss Bennet, is the daughter of a gentleman landowner in Hertfordshire. She is a lady, but not of London Society. If left to her own devices, she would ask for nothing to be done for her at Pemberley.”

  “But you have other ideas.”

  “I do.” Darcy leaned forward, explaining each point, room by room, as Kennedy added his notes to the ones Darcy had jotted.

  “The main focus is your wife’s suite. I see you want the lavatory, bathing room, and dressing area modernized and refurnished completely. This you will find interesting, Darcy, being a man fond of modern inventions.” Mr. Kennedy launched into an extensive lecture on the latest advancements in bathing tubs and other personal hygiene hardware, which Darcy was fascinated by. Sketches to revamp Elizabeth’s toilette, floor to ceiling and wall to wall, with nothing overlooked and everything new, occupied a generous portion of the appointment. Once satisfied, Darcy tapped the next page sent by Mrs. Reynolds.

  “The bedchamber once belonging to Lady Anne is in dire need of a transformation, but the decor must be as Miss Bennet desires. She has never seen the rooms, unfortunately, and has reservations regarding my…spending money on her at this juncture.” Kennedy’s brows rose at that, but he said nothing. “So, I am at a loss as to the best way to solve this dilemma.”

  “I can arrange for a designer to travel to Pemberley at a date after the new Mrs. Darcy has settled in. Or, I can recommend Mr. Price in Derby. He does brilliant work and has an exceptional staff. We have worked together a few times, including a job some three years ago at Rivallain for Lady Matlock.”

  “Oh yes, I do remember when Lady Matlock redesigned several of the lower level rooms, mainly from my uncle complaining at the cost! The interior was marvelously done, however, as his lordship grudgingly agreed.” Darcy smiled in recollection. “Considering the time of year and weather concerns, and in light of your trusted recommendation, let’s arrange for Mr. Price to come to Pemberley in early December.”

  “For the immediate, I can ensure the bedchamber is properly outfitted right away with the essentials. A new mattress, for example, with pillows, blankets, and bed linens. Mrs. Darcy must at least have a comfortable place to sleep.”

  Discussing mattresses and bed linens was mildly uncomfortable for Darcy, even though he anticipated skirting the edges of intimate subjects as an unavoidable consequence. It was vital to ensure Elizabeth’s private chambers were cozy and to her taste, so despite his unease, he joined Mr. Kennedy in serious contemplation of the colorful drawings in the latest trade catalogs. Frankly, as he most definitely could not say to the merchant, his fervent hope was that his wife never slept there.

  Darcy could only guess the nightly sleeping arrangement between his parents, but based on the intense love they had shared, and many clues not comprehended until he matured, in all likelihood they had slept together in the master bedchamber for the bulk of their marriage. Indeed, his greatest wish was to attain the same level of intimacy with Elizabeth. He dared not presume she would choose to stay with him in his room, or even visit him there in the first place. Where or how they would love each other was not a topic they could discuss beforehand.

  He could dream, however, and the thought of sleeping with her body in his arms, or close enough to touch, sent sharp pangs of longing through his heart. With this hope in mind, he planned to redecorate his bedchamber as well. The masculine style and furnishings were fine for a single male inhabitant, and he could not bear to sleep in a room garish with pink ruffles and lace, but a compromise appealing to a female aesthetic was doable—and, perhaps, enticing.

  Another two hours sped by. Darcy looked at samples of fabrics until his eyes were crossed, and settled on three new rugs from the rows of hanging carpets in one warehouse. A plethora of fine bed linens, towels, washing cloths, pillows, and cases, all per Mrs. Reynolds’s knowledgeable specifications—which Mr. Kennedy concurred with—were purchased. A few select pieces of furniture were commissioned, Darcy examining a thick book of drawings until satisfied with his choices.

  Darcy was pleased with the accomplishments and content that every single item purchased or ordered would be delivered to Pemberley well before his wedding date.

  Out on the street, Darcy paused before seeking his carriage. He was done with his appointments, so considered visiting White’s before returning to Darcy House. Between being out of Town for over a week and living as a relative recluse for weeks before that, he was quite behind in current events. Granted the city was in a lull, with most of the aristocracy and gentry retired to their country manors, but there were always people who stayed in London, and the men’s clubs were never deserted.

  There was also the call of Angelo’s. Drawing his pocket watch, he flipped the cover up, his mind quickly figuring the drive to the fencing academy versus White’s and whether he would have adequate time for a couple rounds. He was debating the issue when a voice called his name.

  Glancing up, Darcy instantly doffed his hat and conducted a smooth bow. “Lady Buckleigh. Delighted to see you, although I confess to surprise that you are in Town rather than Suffolk.”

  “Only temporarily, Mr. Darcy. Lord Buckleigh and I are soon leaving for Yorkshire. We will pass the winter months and Christmastide with our daughter. You heard that Lady Celia wed Viscount Wyllis this past spring?”

  “I did. Congratulations. I pray she is well in her marriage and new life up north?”

  “It has been an adjustment, as you can imagine, living in a region to the north as well. Poor Celia was not thrilled with the idea of snow and cold, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of domestic peace and social prosperity. You shall discover this in due time, I daresay.”

  “I am sure I shall,” Darcy nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Then my guess is you came to London for early Christmas shopping?”

  “Quite so. Blythe Gallery is holding an auction, and has a new exhibit of Gainsborough and Richard Wilson, to name only two. I hope to find a summer landscape to cheer Celia. If I recall, you are fond of Gainsborough, Mr. Darcy.”

  Indeed he was, and suddenly the pro
spect of browsing through a gallery replete with beautiful art pieces displayed for hushed observation sounded better than White’s or Angelo’s. Best of all, Blythe was two blocks away, so easy to walk to.

  Sitting beside Lady Buckleigh, the witty baroness a distant cousin of his Aunt Madeline, the Countess of Matlock, and thus a longtime acquaintance of his, enhanced the enjoyment of the auction. Within half an hour, a brightly painted landscape was obtained for the homesick Viscountess Wyllis, and Darcy bid successfully on a Gainsborough and two of William Blake’s relief etchings. Darcy and Lady Buckleigh joined a group of Society friends for a glass of wine, the talk casual and centered on art, before the two fondly parted ways. Darcy was weary, but the hushed atmosphere of the gallery with marvelous paintings thick on the walls called to him.

  Strolling leisurely around the spacious rooms and nearly empty corridors for some twenty minutes, Darcy was about to head for the exit when he saw it.

  Hanging in a line of seascape paintings with an unmistakably nautical theme was an enormous, ornately framed canvas depicting a pastoral landscape. The artist was unfamiliar to him, and the title was simply Tranquility without any indication of where in England the real meadow was located, yet it stunningly resembled the scenery surrounding Longbourn—specifically the grassy moor where Elizabeth had accepted his marriage proposal.

  Exquisitely painted in oil, the field of knee-high green grasses almost appeared to wave in the sun-kissed air. A small stream cut crookedly through the middle with a narrow, stone bridge spanning one edge. In the distance stood a house of red brick obscured by clusters of trees and the faint wisps of English mist hugging the ground. He could easily envision their figures inserted in the scene, hands clasped as they declared their love for each other.