Darcy Meets Elizabeth In Kentucky

by Glenna Mason

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  At dinner the night of their wedding, Elizabeth and Darcy were the center of attention at the country club. Since the club was a favorite of the horse set, Elizabeth recognized as many diners there as the member Darcy. They took turns introducing each other to acquaintances, whereas many also overlapped. The congratulations abounded. Everyone was elated that the handsome pair of horse enthusiasts had found each other.

  After a delightful dinner, Darcy suggested they try out some dancing at Lexington's newest hot spot, a local supper club, named Jump On Over Here, whose logo featured a horse and rider flying over a rail.

  Elizabeth soon found that dancing was another one of Darcy's many accomplishments. The club specialized in dancing for all ages, so the music was eclectic, ranging from waltzes to bump and grind to rumba. The disparate mix obviously worked because the dance floor was packed with participants from several generations.

  Elizabeth, who had always loved to dance, but was exceedingly rusty from the neglect of five or so years, learned that she was perfectly adept again when she was in the arms of such an excellent partner. “What other doors will I open in your house of wonders?” she wondered, as they glided about the floor. “You sing, you love opera and you dance like a dream.”

  “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth, deciding to talk a little while they danced to a blues melody, said, “I think mid-July for our formal wedding and reception.”

  He glanced down at her and answered, “Whatever you wish, my love.”

  “Here is my thinking. See if you agree. We have all the Keeneland and Derby festivities that I am obligated to—”

  “The kind of obligation I can get my head around,” Fitz said, smiling.

  “And there are my EKU final exams and papers. Then in June, you like to race at the Red Mile, so I think I will offer to teach a couple of early summer classes, if they need me. That way I can negotiate from strength for my schedule in the fall and spring semesters.

  “I want you to tell me your honest opinions always,” Elizabeth said. “I have been alone for so long that I can be headstrong and even dictatorial.”

  “On our wedding, my darling, I am amenable to whatever your heart desires. By all means let the wedding be mid-July. We shall have both of our ministers, in the garden of one of our houses, with a reception immediately following in the same garden.”

  “Perfect, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, aware once again of the agility of his mind and the clarity of his thinking.

  “Now which garden?”

  “I say we flip for it—say after Derby. A little anticipation and suspense never hurt anyone.”

  “That's it then, heads Claysmount, tails Lancaster. And perhaps a month abroad? Summer isn't opera season, and so I suggest the British Isles: plays, racing, museums, old editions, check in with our friends and relatives, and maybe a week of riding in Ireland?”

  “How divine, Fitzwilliam!”

  “I want you to meet Richard’s parents, the earl and countess, and my cousin Anne. I want to show you off,” Darcy answered.

  “I'll have plenty of time to train Charlie and the new assistant manager before then, and we'll be back for your fall racing at Red Mile and my fall semester at EKU.”

  They decided to sit out a dance or two and have a glass of wine. Darcy, swilling the wine in his glass, queried, “What do you think of a coed polo team for Claysmount?”

  “What a sensational idea.”

  “With all the riders on Pope Road, involved in different types of riding, I thought that a community polo club would be—well, communal. It would give all of us a chance to periodically ride together. We could divide into teams and compete against each other, and eventually even challenge Lexington and Prospect. When, or if, we are ready.”

  Elizabeth applauded the idea, understanding Darcy's need to connect his love of riding with his desire to fit into his new community.

  Elizabeth snuggled close to Darcy, twirling the curls on the back of his head, as he drove them the twenty-five miles back to her—their—home. The night had matched the day for its spontaneous success, a special finale to their joyous union.

  “Perfect day, Mrs. Darcy,” Elizabeth decided, as she dozed off that night into a dreamy sleep for the first time in nine or ten days. All too perfect to remain carefree as Elizabeth found out Wednesday evening when she finally commenced Claire's manuscript.

  ******

  Wednesday morning began with April rain showers and so a wet start for the two lovers on horseback, but nothing could dampen their spirits. They galloped side by side, blowing kisses and proffering high fives.

  After class, Elizabeth met with Charlie to offer him the new position of Co-Manager and to coordinate their respective future schedules. After their conference, the two called an impromptu meeting of the lads. Elizabeth, on the spot, promoted each one up a grade level in authority and pay scale.

  “I will be hiring additional staff to fill the positions left vacant by your new job descriptions, as soon as I find the right gals or guys to supplement our team,” Elizabeth assured them, realizing there was little advantage to getting a better title, if you were stuck doing the same lower grade work.

  After the announcement, Elizabeth and Charlie retired to the small barn office, next to the tack room.

  “Charlie, if it acceptable with you every Thursday evening after barn rounds, Mr. Darcy and I will want to be free to leave for the week-end in Lancaster. I will return for Monday evening, and for all day on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I do need you here for a brief time each Thursday, late afternoon so that we can co-ordinate, plan and discuss, but you will have no other responsibilities Monday evening through Thursday. I will do the ride out on Thursday. You will be totally in charge Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning. One week-end a month—you can choose a particular week-end as a standard or you can switch the week-end with our mutual agreement—Mr. Darcy and I will take your shift. You need a week-end off occasionally.

  “You, Charlie, are the boss when I am away. You are in charge on your days, even if I come to the barn. Charlie, you know more than I do about this business. I have complete confidence in you. Any questions or comments, so far?”

  “I am ready and honored to be chosen. I know you could have brought someone in from the outside!”

  “Now, Charlie, that is not the Bennet Farm way. You and each of the others have earned your new status by hard work, expertise and loyalty.

  “Also, Charlie, Mr. Darcy and I are not racing off to Lancaster for four nights this week. Actually we will all need to meld into our new responsibilities, so we will be leaving Friday after the ride around and returning for Sunday evening. That will give you the chance to be totally in charge all day Saturday and Sunday morning. We will keep a similar program until you are totally comfortable. You have spelled me often before so it should not take long.”

  “Yes, that is a very sensible agenda,” Charlie stated with evident calm.

  “Now as to deciding which week-end you want off in April, I will as usual be tied up with the boxes at Keeneland and Churchill, so it will have to be the first or second.”

  “Let's not worry about that at all until after Derby. I knew I'd be busy this month and have planned for it, Miss Elizabeth. Oops, I mean Mrs. Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, Charlie. I'll spell you twice in May.”

  “Well, ma'am, that is not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is, Charlie. This is business.”

  “Now to mid-July to mid-August. Mr. Darcy and I will be out of the country on our honeymoon. So, Charlie, choose one of your lads to train as our new assistant manager. We will promote him temporarily on June first. By then you will be comfortable in your new duties and can train him by mid-July to spell you on the same rotating basis, you and I are using. Then, if you recommend, when I return, we will make the position permanent. At that time he can take over one fourth of the duty.”

  “Wonderful! I have someone in mind, but
I would like to think on it.”

  “Please do, Charlie. Choose someone we can promote permanently. It will help us both. I may be going on trips more often now that I am married.”

  “Yes, Miss Elizabeth—uh, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Miss Elizabeth, if you do not mind, Charlie?”

  “Yes, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “You can actually drop the Miss, if you've a mind. We are co-captains now.”

  “No, ma'am. I'd rather not.”

  “Fine, Charlie, do what you are comfortable with,” Elizabeth agreed with a smile and headed off to find Fitzwilliam.

  *****

  When Elizabeth returned from the conference at the barn, she found Darcy settled in on the veranda, a bourbon on the rocks in his hand, and Nanny Lulu seated beside him, holding her own bourbon and chatting ebulliently. Elizabeth popped two cubes in a tumbler, poured a large splash of bourbon over it and joined the two.

  “I am glad you all are getting better acquainted,” Elizabeth said. She then asked Darcy, “Has Peter mentioned dinner or should I go in and check?”

  “Now, Elizabeth Francine,” Nanny Lulu said, “do not be foolish. You know Peter and Amelie are planning a dinner extravaganza for the new bride and groom. I'd almost be willing to bet my bedroom suite on it—for one night of course!” She laughed jovially. Elizabeth laughed so hard tears came to her eyes.

  Chuckling, Darcy hollered through the doorway for Peter.

  Peter arrived at the front porch with a countenance full of alarm.

  “Peter, stop whatever it is you are doing, find the lovely Amelie and join us on the front porch this very minute for a wedding drink and toast.”

  Peter, used to Elizabeth and her eccentricities, bowed. Two drinks later the five were rollicking with glee; camaraderie buzzed on the porch.

  Finally, however, after an hour of cocktails, Peter rose, resuming his butler pose, throwing off his jocularity, and requested that Amelie and Nanny Lulu assist him in the completion of dinner.

  Elizabeth and Darcy were left alone on the porch; the evening shadows deepened. They reached across the small divide between their two chairs and entwined their fingers, Elizabeth's emerald ring sparkling in the porch light. They stared at each other with the slightest, most infinitesimal longing.

  “I love you, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I love you, Dr. Bennet-Darcy.”

  *****

  Peter had indeed outdone himself as a table adorned with Irish linen, candlelight and bone china welcomed the couple for their first dinner at home as husband and wife. Peter had set the plates across from each other this time at the back veranda end of the table. Its French doors were open and a fire was blazing in the fireplace. The dinner was buffet style, the food on warmers on the burl walnut side board, the wine in coolers.

  “No one will serve tonight, Mrs. Elizabeth, if that is satisfactory” was Peter's special gift to the couple to allow them maximum privacy and intimacy. “We will, of course, be in the kitchen, awaiting your ring for coffee and dessert.”

  “Thank you, Peter.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth sat quietly, holding hands between courses, sipping a fine red wine, dining leisurely, extending as long as reasonable this first Claysmount dinner as a married couple.

  “We have one to go—Lancaster,” Darcy reminded Elizabeth.

  “So we do. Having two houses is very special, isn't it?”

  Finally they rose, snuffed out the candles and wandered, arms linked, into the library, to sit in front of a welcoming fire. They sank into the luxury of the soft leather arm chairs.

  Peter knocked.

  “Coffee and dessert in the library please, Peter.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Elizabeth.” Peter loved calling her missus.

  Coffee and dessert finished and a nice after dinner drink in her hand, Elizabeth decided she really must start on Claire's first chapter. She didn’t think she could do two at one time. Maybe one tonight and one tomorrow night was her conclusion.

  Darcy volunteered to go to their bedroom and retrieve the chapters for Elizabeth. He then strolled over to the wall of books and picked out an early edition. He stretched out on the leather couch, his head toward the flames. Elizabeth, still lolling in her chair, sipped the cognac and began to read Chapter One.

  Soon her mouth tightened noticeably. A few more paragraphs and her breaths became labored. At first Darcy, entranced by the early edition of the Bronte he had selected from the library shelves, did not notice. But eventually Elizabeth emitted an “Oh, no!” and a loud gasp. Darcy looked up, but Elizabeth did not even notice, as her eyes were riveted to the page. Darcy concluded that it must be quite a thriller and returned his attention to Mr. Rochester's flamboyance.

  Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth, a deep frown creasing her forehead, fumed, “Fitzwilliam, this is no ordinary mystery. It is pure Edgar Allan Poe macabre. Please, darling, read this chapter and let me know what you think.”

  Elizabeth handed Darcy the pages and remained quiet, becoming captivated by the dancing points of the flame frolicking in the fireplace, her hands locked tightly and her thoughts in limbo. When he finished twenty minutes later, Darcy said, “Brilliant.”

  Seeing the distaste on Elizabeth's countenance, he corrected his interpretation. “It is very reminiscent of Poe. They, Poe and Evans, are both poets, after all. It is the ravings of a very unhinged wife. I expect to see the husband's heart beating under the floorboards by Chapter Two. The narrator is one scary lady.”

  Elizabeth smiled at Darcy's intrepid attempt to wrest her from a daunting interpretation; she was a little relieved. Her own analysis had begun to take a disturbing direction, such as, “Does the allegedly saccharine Claire have diabolical edge to her? Did she in reality hate and despise Jimmy Joyce? Did she plot to eliminate him?”

  Now Elizabeth chuckled at her own concern. “Claire is obviously on her way to fame as a novelist too,” Elizabeth said. “It is an absolutely classic beginning. Now I can better understand why I could never get my novel together. It takes a writer!” she said.

  “No, my beautiful bride, it takes time, which Claire has in abundance and you have not at all.

  “Also,” he added, “Claire, being an accomplished poet and a quite good one, is going to write differently than the average mystery novelist. Hers will be more literary, as evidenced by Chapter One.”

  Then quite purposely, Darcy commandeered both chapters and placed them out of sight under the couch. “Let's not read Chapter Two tonight. Chapter One has upset you.”

  Darcy reached across the coffee table; Elizabeth unfolded her legs and leaned across to meet him halfway. He then rose and taking her other hand, pulled her up to him, kissing her warmly and sweetly. Darcy tossed a couple of pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace and said, “Shall we?”

  Elizabeth relaxed on one of the pillows. Darcy poured them some more brandy and lowered himself beside her. They rested comfortably in front of the faltering fire. He lifted Elizabeth onto his lap, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. When even the small blaze got to be too hot, they simply scooted back against the couch.

  Still Elizabeth could not get the officious, offending chapter out of her mind, despite her reliance on Darcy for solace. Elizabeth could not let it go and could not help commenting, “I just cannot wrap my mind around the hatred exposed in Claire's work, despite the brilliance of its expression. I hope she names the novel, The Diary of a Madwoman.”

  “Elizabeth, I do not know Claire. You do, so I am not the best one to give advice. However, judging by your initial reaction to Chapter One, I hope that you will consider returning Chapter Two unread.”

  For some inexplicable reason, Elizabeth understood down deep that she would be driven to continue to read Claire's chapters, despite her animosity toward the author and her repulsion of the theme. The bottom line was that the reader of mysteries suspected the writer of this mystery of some heinous crime, despite her own determined efforts to squelch that suspicion. Eliz
abeth could not comprehend anyone creating in her imagination such intense dislike of another human being. But then Claire had always been an enigma to Elizabeth, who was the epitome of unfettered straightforwardness. Claire with her cool, calculating personae had never appealed to her.

  Elizabeth had a sudden flash of awareness. “I have never liked Claire.” Since she had adored Jimmy Joyce, and Claire was supposedly his beloved wife, she had never admitted, even to herself, her total disinterest in Claire as an individual. It had been better for Elizabeth that way, since there would be no mental wedge created in her relation with Jimmy Joyce, if she did not ever acknowledge that she did not like his wife. And Claire, with her sensitive poetic nature, had probably intuited Elizabeth's disregard.

  Now Elizabeth wondered at the reasoning behind Claire's bizarre request she investigate Jimmy Joyce's death. “What could she have meant by it? I know she despises me as much as I her.” Elizabeth blushed at the remembrance of Claire summarily firing her so pointedly from the inquiry. “It was almost as if she enlisted me, so she could later shunt me aside,” Elizabeth perceived silently, as she rested in Darcy's arms. “It was abrupt and blatantly vindictive.”

  Then Elizabeth remembered the insult. “Why did she take offense at an offhand remark about my offering her my novel? It was clearly mentioned in jest? Stranger and stranger.

  “Am I some pawn in her novel creating chess game? And to what end? Why has Claire really brought me these two chapters? Certainly not for my professional advice. Claire knows how good they are. Does she just want to show me her ability to accomplish something I could not? Or is it something much more sinister?” A premonition of some unnamed horror flowed across Elizabeth's psyche.

  “I know I must keep reading the chapters despite my abhorrence of them. Perhaps not the theft of the race horses, but the death of my dear friend, Jimmy Joyce, is the mystery I am destined to solve—or die trying,” Elizabeth told herself. A shiver raced involuntarily through her whole body.

  Darcy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth once more. “Are you chilly, my love? Shall I stir the fire? Shall we move back closer to it?”