He took Elizabeth’s arm, and together they climbed the central staircase. They walked half the length of the corridor on the second floor before Darcy stopped.
“These are your rooms. I chose them for their proximity to mine, but if you are unhappy with their location, there are several more suites you may choose from.”
He opened the door, letting her enter alone at first. After a few minutes, he followed her in. Standing behind her, he clasped his hands behind his back. The temptation to pull her into his arms and sweep her onto the bed coursed through his body, but he was afraid of how she would respond. Instead, he stood proud, taking the time to admire her slender neck.
“You may, of course, change anything you wish; I have purposely not redecorated so you could have the pleasure of making it your own.”
Elizabeth took a few steps forward till she gained the centre of the room. It was so spacious, she could hardly believe it was for one person, let alone her. The main feature was the oversized four-poster bed, placed in the centre of a long wall, opposite the large ornate fireplace. Beautiful curtains hung from the canopy, embroidered with delicate flowers in pink, yellow and blue, with tendrils of green winding up from the hem. There were six plump pillows, encased in bright white cases, and a white embroidered eiderdown over the blankets. The room boasted two sets of tall windows that looked to the rear of the house, with views over the gardens, meadow, and distant wood. She imagined Darcy laying there, his dark hair in stark contrast to the white pillows. Suddenly, she became very aware of his presence behind her, and a rose tinge crept up to stain her cheeks. Elizabeth hastened to put a few steps between them, hoping he had not noticed.
It was a delightful room, light, pretty and feminine. Elizabeth loved it, just as it was.
“It’s perfect,” she said a little breathless, “would you mind very much if I changed nothing?” she asked.
Darcy was enjoying a daydream of his own, but in his vision, it was Elizabeth that was reclining on the bed, her arms open in a welcoming pose. Her words brought him back to reality with a jolt.
“As you wish; remember this is your home now, Elizabeth, and within reason, you may change whatever you wish.”
She nodded her acknowledgement and followed Darcy to another of the three doors in her chamber.
He opened it and said,
“Through here is your dressing room.”
About half the size of the bed chamber, it was equipped with all a lady needed to complete her toilet. Plenty of storage cupboards for her clothes, a dressing table and a comfortable chair. But, for Elizabeth, the beautiful, white roll topped bath was the most important piece of furniture. It was perfect, and also needed no alteration.
Darcy paused before the third door, as if deciding whether to divulge its purpose or not, then in a clipped tone he said,
“And this room is your private nursery, should we ever be blessed with children.”
He opened the door to show her inside but quickly closed it again. Somewhat perplexed that he was giving her no time to examine or explore its contents, she walked over and opened the door again. It was empty. Elizabeth then recalled that Darcy had lost his mother when his sister was born and presumably it was Mr Darcy’s father that had moved Georgiana to the wet nurse’s room. She closed the door quietly and returned to the main chamber. There was still one room that they had yet to explore. Elizabeth guessed it led to her sitting room and walked over and opened the door. It was decorated to please both male and female occupants. Her gaze lingered on the fire surround, and she smiled.
The white marble hearth was adorned with naked nymphs, and to coin a phrase favoured by Mr Bingley, she thought it was charming.
She walked to the opposing door and made to open it, but as she turned the handle, she heard Darcy shout,
“No!”
But it was too late, she had entered. It was obviously a man’s bedroom, decorated in hues of blue, red and gold. There was a large desk situated under one of the windows, and a painting of Pemberley hung on the wall. Elizabeth thought it a pleasant room, for a man. She was about to voice her approval when she felt Darcy’s hand on her arm.
Gently, but firmly, he guided her back from whence she came.
“As you have discovered madam, this door leads to my bed-chamber. You may lock it from your side, should you so wish.”
He indicated the key in her side of the lock.
“I am glad you are pleased with the rooms; they were my mothers. They are attended to every week, but have remained unoccupied since her death.”
Seeing the look of horror cross Elizabeth’s face, he quickly added, “of course, the mattresses and linen have been newly acquired for your arrival. I will leave you now, but will return to escort you downstairs in an hour.”
He gave a curt bow, and then Elizabeth found herself alone. Considering their past encounters, Elizabeth was surprised that Darcy had not wanted her to enter his bed-chamber; indeed, he had often professed a desire to never let her leave it. She could not fathom what had changed, to make him act so cold and unfeeling?
As Darcy left, Mrs Reynolds entered and immediately started to lay out fresh clothes for Elizabeth. As she undressed, Elizabeth thought how puzzling Darcy’s words seemed, ‘Should we ever be blessed with children,’ and then the strange remark about locking the door. Why would she refuse him entry?
Darcy arrived to collect Elizabeth promptly one hour later, and although she gave him a shy smile, they proceeded downstairs in silence. Entering a small salon, Elizabeth looked around in admiration. Beautifully decorated in lemon and gold, it seemed light and airy, with large double doors leading to an impressive veranda. Only now did the true size of her new home dawn on her, and she felt more than a little daunted at the prospect of running such a grand house. There were so many servants to get to know, their names and their duties. Of course, her mother had trained her well, and she knew all that a mistress needed to know, but Pemberley was no Longbourn.
Casting her a sidelong glance, Darcy noticed the frown upon her brow. Wisely, he understood the change in her circumstances must be a worry to her. Hoping to reassure her, he said,
“Elizabeth, I realise you must be concerned about managing a house as large as Pemberley, but Mrs Reynolds has been doing it for years, quite successfully. She will guide and assist you until you feel ready to take on the mantle for yourself.”
Elizabeth gave a slow and thoughtful nod, but still, her brow was furrowed.
“In truth, Pemberley is such a well-oiled machine, there will be little for you to actually do, but the level of your involvement is for you to decide.” Darcy continued.
Elizabeth slowed her steps then turned to him. His countenance was unreadable, yet somehow Elizabeth now felt easier. His intuition had served him well, yet his words soothed her and dispelled most of her worries. This was the Darcy she had come to love, thoughtful and sensitive to her needs.
“I will give you a tour of the main parts of the house before dinner. I expect it will take you a while to become accustomed to living in such a large dwelling. Do not be afraid to ask the servants if you need assistance. Also, Mrs Reynolds has detailed floor plans in the hall leading to her parlour. I understand she uses them to familiarise new staff. I am sure she will welcome you making use of them.”
This time, there was a smile to accompany his words, albeit only briefly. Elizabeth thanked him for addressing her concerns so perfectly.
Happy to have allayed some of her fears, he called for tea to be served. For the next thirty minutes, they conversed on the house and grounds, punctuated with awkward silences. How did we come to this, she thought sadly?
As soon as tea was finished, Darcy offered his excuses and made his way to the library, leaving Elizabeth on her own. After spending the best part of two days cooped up in the carriage, she decided some fresh air was what she needed. What better place to start her exploration than the lovely gardens? She slipped out the doors and looked around. The beautiful
ly carved stone veranda ran the entire length of the house, only interrupted by three sets of steps leading to the formal gardens. Although the sun was giving off little warmth, Elizabeth was so eager to be outside she ventured out in only her shawl.
As she wound her way around the immaculate lawn paths, a movement caught her eye. Eager to know the staff as well as Darcy, she went to seek them out. She must take every opportunity to acquaint herself with all the members of the household, it was expected of her. As she drew near, she saw it was an old man. He was dressed in several layers of clothes, topped off with a thick padded jacket. He was bent over a mass of spindly sticks, inspecting the pruned shrubs.
“Good afternoon sir, do you work the gardens here Mr …?” she asked.
“Watkins madam and that I do, with the help of fifteen youngsters,” he chuckled as he tugged at his cap before pulling it back over his brow.
“Goodness, it takes that many people to tend one property?”
He straightened up to get a better look at the new mistress, then took the clay pipe from between his uneven teeth, and said,
“Yes, ma’am, not counting the tenant farms, the parkland rangers, the gamekeepers and the villages of Kympton and Lambton to name but a few. There be over thirty thousand acres of Pemberley grounds, miss. We use double that number in the spring and summer, for planting. Then come harvest time, and it’s all hands to the fields.” He paused to puff on the empty pipe.
“Did you make use of the rosebuds miss?” he asked.
“Oh yes, they were very beautiful and greatly admired. Did you grow them?” Elizabeth asked, a little embarrassed in case her assumption was wrong.
The old man puffed up his chest with pride at her kind words. Ay, she’ll do very nicely for the young master, he thought.
“That I did miss, they are the masters favourites. He asked for only the most perfect of buds to be sent. Well, you best make your way back now; those clouds look heavy with snow. Besides, I can see young Molly Weaver approaching. Mrs Reynolds probably sent her to guide you back to the house.”
And he put the pipe back between his teeth and returned to his work. Elizabeth smiled. She liked his directness, even though he had completely dismissed her to return to his work.
As Elizabeth set off to meet the approaching maid, she glanced up at the sky. The clouds did indeed look black and menacing, and she quickened her step.
The house was aglow with light, and smoke was curling from the chimneys. Hopefully, a warm welcome was waiting inside.
Then a movement at one of the windows caught her eye. The lone figure of a man, his arm resting on the window rail. He appeared to be watching her.
Realising he had been detected; he stepped back and was gone.
The maid’s hail of ‘Mrs Darcy’ pushed it from her mind, and she hurried to meet her as the first flakes of snow began to fall.
Darcy quickly stepped back into the shadows, but too late, Elizabeth had already seen him. He cursed at having been caught watching her, but he was like a moth to the flame. He could not resist the light, even though he knew it would burn him.
Throwing himself down in his desk chair, he surveyed the pile of correspondence and invitations that he should be beavering his way through. Yet he was in no mood to work; he preferred to wallow in self-pity at his own misfortune.
Newly married, he should be basking in contentment and happiness, his desires, sated and his future set. Instead, he had never been so miserable in his life. How did we come to this, he thought?
CHAPTER 26
Elizabeth went down to dinner a little early so that she might have time to locate the dining room unaided. She had spent some time with Mrs Reynolds after her walk. They had scanned the plans of Pemberley, with Mrs Reynolds pointing out some routes Elizabeth might find useful as she learnt to navigate her way around Pemberley. Whilst doing so, they talking about the history of the house and family.
Elizabeth found it fascinating and quite enlightening. It also gave her a clearer insight into Darcy’s character, one she was certain he would never have revealed himself.
Apparently, Mrs Reynolds had cared for Mr Darcy since he was four years old. Then, when his mother had died in childbirth with Georgiana, it was to Mrs Reynolds he turned. Darcy was twelve; she revealed her sorrow as she witnessed first-hand, how Darcy had been forced to take over the running of the estate. His father had become withdrawn, taking no interest in the estate or his children.
She also revealed how George Wickham had wreaked havoc on the Darcy family and many of the villagers. Young Mr Darcy had made sacrifices to confine and repair the damage, often at great expense. Each time ensuring the image of Wickham his father believed in, was not tarnished.
Then his own good father had died five years ago, and she again stepped in to help him, especially with Georgiana. This enabled him to devote himself to rebuilding the estate. In regard to Georgiana, he had borne all the responsibility for raising her, cloaked in the mantle of both father and brother. Yes, Darcy’s burden of responsibility had been heavy indeed, and Elizabeth felt she understood him better for knowing it.
After only one wrong turn, Elizabeth managed to find the dining room, and she took a seat by the fire to await her husband’s arrival.
As she soaked in her bath, she had done a lot of thinking. Her conclusion was she was weary of suppressing her natural spirit and good humour; all this sobriety and aloofness was most taxing and unpleasant. Besides, it was almost Christmas, a time for joy and to celebrate. She no longer wished to be an opponent in a game she did not understand. Hopefully, Darcy would follow suit. Elizabeth cast a glance at the mantel clock; ten minutes before the hour. It was preferable to be early rather than late, she knew how much Darcy disliked tardiness, especially at meal times.
Darcy had done little work and much thinking while sitting in his library. He knew things could not continue in this vein, and had decided to savour what remaining time he had with Elizabeth. Wallowing in self-pity in this morose manner was unproductive and reminded him of how he was before Elizabeth came into his life. For the harmony of the household, he would be civil, attentive and entertaining. It was only his heart that needed guarding. Nostalgically, he thought of the night in the glasshouse at Longbourn. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the back of the chair and recalled how it felt to wrap his arms around her. He could almost taste those soft lips, feel the sensation of her body as it moulded to his own. Her slender waist and the inviting curve of her hips. Abruptly he sat up and opened his eyes. He felt the unmistakable stirring of arousal and cursed that he had allowed his thoughts to wander in that direction. Picking up a previously discarded letter, he again tried to distract his thought away from Elizabeth.
Eventually, he realised he was wasting his time and made his way to his chambers. He hoped a long soak in the tub would clear his head. He rang for Fletcher and began to disrobe while he waited for Tuppence to bring up the water. A few strides past that door and he would be in Elizabeth’s room. Was she in her bath, or perhaps changing for dinner? He walked to the shared sitting room door and placed his forehead against it. Everything he ever desired in a wife lay beyond this portal. She was his wife, in his house, and he had the right to take her as he willed. Yet he could not. He must resist; he would not have the willpower to drink only once of her sweet nectar. Frustration broke free, and he banged his fist on the door. Damn Fitzwilliam and damn Elizabeth too.
When Darcy entered the dining room some time later, there was no sign of the angry, frustrated man who had sat in his bath until the water turned cold. Surprised to find Elizabeth already waiting for him, he said,
“Good evening, Elizabeth, did you manage to find your way unaided?”
“I did, thank you. I took your advice and spent the afternoon with Mrs Reynolds. I found our conversation both enlightening and instructive. We went over some of the house plans, ones that would afford me the most benefit.”
“How did you find Mrs Reynolds?” Darcy as
ked.
“I like her very much,” Elizabeth replied warmly.
“I am pleased you have had a pleasant, and productive afternoon. Are you hungry, shall we call for dinner?”
He gave her no time to ask how he had spent his afternoon, and so Elizabeth nodded and placed her hand on Darcy’s proffered arm. He escorted her to her seat then took the chair opposite.
Darcy had earlier instructed the servants to remove several of the central panels from the usually vast dining table. He hoped the less imposing setting would encourage their conversation. His direction had been proved correct, and they enjoyed a pleasant meal of soup, followed by venison, and a delicious lemon sorbet. The deer was from the estate herd, while the wine came from his vineyard in Italy. To round the meal off, they were served with some tasty homemade cheese and biscuits. The conversation had flowed easily to start with and on a variety of subjects. The possibility of a white Christmas? How did Elizabeth like Derbyshire? And finally, their smooth, but speedy journey north. During the latter topic, Elizabeth had decided it was not prudent to reveal that she was aware of his escapades while at the Inn.
Finally, they seemed to run out of safe pleasantries to converse on, and a stony silence resumed. Then as Elizabeth toyed with her cheese, Darcy divulged some news that took her completely by surprise.
“When I called on your father, the day after the Lucas ball, he informed me that he has arranged for your two younger sisters to return to the school room.”
“He what?” were Elizabeth’s first instinctive words before quickly composing herself to continue in a more ladylike manner.
“Do I understand you correctly sir, my father is withdrawing Lydia and Kitty from society?”
“Yes, that is my understanding, perhaps for a year, maybe two. He concluded that after recent events surrounding Lydia, she was in need of further instruction on how to act in, society, before being out in it. Catherine is to go too. Although I understand she is a full two years older than Lydia, she has a tendency to mimic her in both words and deeds. I agreed with his decision wholeheartedly. I believe he has also made arrangements for her future when she finishes her schooling.”
Mr Darcy's Struggle Page 19
