Chance Encounters

by Linda Wells

  They entered the beautiful house, and he introduced her to Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth insisted that he set her down, and she addressed her. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Darcy has spoken very highly of you, as has Mrs. Harris at Darcy House. I am looking forward to spending time with you learning my duties as Mistress. I hope that I can count on your help to make Pemberley the home of which our family will be proud.”

  Mrs. Reynolds regarded the small woman in front of her. She was not what she expected. This seemed to be a very sincere, straightforward woman, who had only the best interests of her family in mind. The letters she received from Mrs. Harris gave her hope that Mr. Darcy had chosen well. She was deeply relieved that he had not chosen a lady of society like that Miss Bingley who was always hanging on to him. When the marriage took place, she was concerned about its sudden nature, and worried that he had been compromised. But the glow in his eyes and the smile that she had not witnessed since he was a child was testament enough. He loved this woman. She made her decision. If Mr. Darcy loved her, she would do everything possible to make her the best Mistress Pemberley ever had. “Yes, Mrs. Darcy. It will be a pleasure to guide you through everything. I am delighted to see the Master finally settled.”

  “As am I, Mrs. Reynolds.” He smiled, then bending down to take his protesting Elizabeth back into his arms, he carried her up the stairs.

  “RICHARD, do you know Darcy’s travel plans?” Lord Matlock asked. He was sitting at his desk, absent-mindedly turning a ribbon-tied bundle in his hands. Richard leaned on the doorframe to his father’s study. “I imagine they are at Pemberley by now. I think that they were to stay there some weeks before going to the cottage, why?” His father shrugged. “It is not important. I simply need to send him a letter, and wish to be sure of his being home when it arrives.”

  “Well, if you were to send it now, it would be fine.”

  “Hmm.” Lord Matlock continued playing with the envelope.

  “Father? Is something wrong?” Richard regarded him with concern.

  Startled, Lord Matlock looked up. “What was that, Son? Something wrong, no, no, not exactly.” He sighed. “I have a duty to perform, that I wish I did not. I do not wish to spoil. . .” He stopped. Shaking his head, he gave Richard a grim smile.

  “Father. . .” Richard came to sit on the edge of a chair in front of the desk. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Something is wrong.” He fixed his piercing gaze on him. “What is it?”

  Lord Matlock drew himself up. “I am sorry; it is an issue between Darcy and his father. I can say no more at this time.” He took the parcel and placed it in a drawer of his desk and decidedly locked it. Then, looking back at his son, he said. “Richard, how did Anne appear to you when you were visiting Rosings?”

  “Anne?” He asked, surprised by the sudden change of topic. “The same as usual, I suppose, although after her confrontation with Aunt Catherine, she seemed very tired.”

  “I received a note from Catherine this morning. It seems that Anne’s health is deteriorating rapidly.” Lord Matlock looked grim. “It is feared that she may not have long to live.” He stared into his son’s eyes, and saw all manner of emotion playing in them. “You now know that you shall inherit Rosings. I think that you should be prepared to leave the army soon.”

  “Father, I do not think that we should presume anything. Anne has had setbacks before and come back from them.” He spoke quickly; thousands of thoughts were flying through his mind.

  “Yes, but you should be prepared. I know that you cannot speak of it, but I have heard the rumours of the army deploying more troops to the continent. If you feel that you are likely to go soon, I would prefer you to resign your commission and stay here.”

  “And wait like a vulture for Anne to die?” He said with disgust.

  “I would not put it that way, Son. But I would prefer that to seeing you sent to possibly your own demise needlessly when your future is soon to be secured, safely, here at home.” Lord Matlock looked at his son beseechingly. “Please keep this in mind over the coming weeks. I will gladly support you in the meantime if it guarantees your safety.”

  Overwhelmed, Richard stood and shook his father’s hand. “I will do that, sir, and thank you.”

  DARCY AND ELIZABETH reluctantly agreed that they must delay their honeymoon trip to the Lake District due to the timing of Jane and Bingley’s wedding. They had no desire to rush their journey. Instead, he told his steward, Mr. Regar, that he was to be considered not at home for one week, and then he would return to his duties, supervising the planting and the shearing of the sheep. He steadfastly refused to enter his study and forced himself to ignore the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. Likewise, Elizabeth was not to begin the lessons on her duties as Mistress until he returned to work. This time was to be their own.

  They spent their week in glorious solitude. Taking long walks, Darcy showed her his favourite path by the lake, and the flower gardens designed by the past Mistresses of Pemberley. He took great delight in presenting her with a gentle mare, and enhanced her rather poor equestrian education. He was excited to see that other than some wariness, she took to riding like a duck to water. He thought with anticipation of all the remote parts of the estate where they could go and enjoy each other’s particular company once she was a little more proficient.

  There simply were not enough hours in the day to do everything. And he did want to do everything. He was like an excited boy dragging her everywhere to show her parts of the house he loved, trees he had fallen from, views he admired, and the locations of special memories. All the while, Elizabeth held his hand and laughed at him with her sparkling eyes and made him feel, oh, so very alive. He loved Pemberley, but for so many years it had also been a place of such loneliness. Now next to him was his best friend, the companion, the confidant he had always wished for. He began to see Elizabeth in a different light, now more than simply the bewitching, challenging, fascinating woman who so instantly captivated him. Here at his, their, home, with her by his side, he saw his future and the partner he needed.

  Throughout the week, Elizabeth carefully observed everything around her. William took her on a ride in a curricle one day, and showed her a portion of the pastures and farmland, and some of the tenants’ homes. She was impressed with the obvious pride the residents had in their homes, and the obvious care that William took in assuring their comfort. She asked, jokingly, if he was a good landlord, and he met her smiling eyes very seriously, and told her that if his tenants give him their hard work and rent for Pemberley’s benefit, was it not right that he should ensure that they lived in comfortable circumstances?

  He went on to describe how his mother used to visit the homes of the tenants, and that while he could not personally spare the time, he always made sure that if they were in need during an illness or some other crisis, his steward would provide what was required to help them. Elizabeth smiled, admiring him. He told her that without these people, Pemberley would not be the great estate it was. She told him that she would like to take up his mother’s work again and was overwhelmed with the pride she saw in his eyes for her. Being at Pemberley, she was now seeing where his life truly was, and was gaining a sense of him she could not have known until she saw him there. She already loved him dearly, but it was growing beyond the giddiness and joy of their first few months and into a feeling of steadfastness and respect. She wished to be by his side in everything.

  On their last day of their self-imposed solitude, they packed a picnic and mounted their horses. Darcy led the way to a meadow, already colourful with the wildflowers of spring. There they lay barefoot on a blanket overlooking a breathtaking view of the valley. Elizabeth sat with her legs stretched in front of her and Darcy lay with his head on her lap, clad only in his shirt and breeches and looking up to her smiling face.

  Elizabeth idly ran her fingers through his hair. “Are you happy, William?”

  He reached up and pulled the single pi
nk ribbon from her hair, and watched as the wind began to blow her loosened locks gently around her “Oh yes, Lizzy. I am so very happy.” His smile was warm and relaxed. “Are you happy, my love?”

  She moved so that she lay alongside him and touched her nose to his. “Not even in my most optimistic imaginings could I have created the dream of you or this magical place.” She kissed him gently. “Not so long before we met, I had almost resigned myself to a life of loneliness and disappointment. I cannot express to you what your love has done to and for me.”

  “Lizzy, I feel the same way about you. I had nearly given up the hope of marrying anyone at all, until you smiled at me.” He twisted his fingers in a long curl. “Come here.” He whispered and drew her close. With his right hand gently stroking her face, he began kissing her mouth with soft caresses; tenderly tracing her lips with his tongue.

  He drew back and gazed down at her flushed face. She reached up and affectionately touched his cheek. “I have seen now how you love this place William; surely if you had not met me you would have married another. You would wish your own child to someday continue what you and your forefathers began.”

  He turned his face to kiss her palm and sighed. “I would hope that somehow, someway, we would have met, my love. I truly believe we were destined for each other.” She smiled at his confidence, stroking back the hair that fell across his face as he bent towards her. His eyes closed. “I set myself a deadline. I gave myself until thirty to fall in love, and then . . .” He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers, then unable to continue, he pulled her up into his embrace and began kissing her with the fervency that his intense emotion demanded.

  She returned his kisses, and held him to her. She realized that he would have sacrificed his happiness for Pemberley, and it made her proud and sad at the same time. “Your uncle would not have let you give up, William.” She whispered.

  He laughed softly. “I hope not, but I am overjoyed that I never will have to find out.” He began pulling the pins from her hair, and she watched his face as he concentrated on his work.

  “What are you doing, sir?” She raised her brow and smiled. He kissed her and smiled back, saying nothing. Finally her long curls were free, and he ran his fingers through her hair, watching the play of sunlight make it glow and shine.

  Elizabeth ran her hands over his back and began tugging his shirt from his breeches. He was soon awash with the sensation of her small sweet hands moving over his chest. “I love when you touch me like that.” He moaned.

  “I know.” She whispered back.

  He rolled her onto her back and bent over her, lifting her skirt and petticoat, while she worked to unbutton his breeches. Their kisses rapidly escalated from gentle caresses to a frantic exchange, and soon their bodies joined in a frenzied expression of their love.

  Darcy rolled to his side, bringing Elizabeth with him. Neither was capable of speaking, breathing at a normal rate was the goal. After some time to recover, Darcy opened his eyes to see Elizabeth nose to nose with him and smiling.

  He drew back a little. “I realize that I could lay here thinking that the satisfied grin on your face is entirely due to me, but I think that I know better.” He brushed her hair from her face and rested his head on his hand. “So tell me, Mrs. Darcy, what precisely is on your mind?”

  Elizabeth laughed, loving how good it felt to make him happy. “I was just thinking, Mr. Darcy, for such a serious and taciturn man, when you decide to relax, you are quite invigorating.”

  He chuckled. “Do you mean that I excite you, my dear?”

  “Most definitely.” She nodded her head enthusiastically.

  “And you enjoy the exercise?” He asked, grinning.

  She lifted her chin. “I find it exceedingly pleasurable.”

  Darcy combed his fingers through her hair and spoke softly, “I am so very pleased.”

  Enjoying his touch, she murmured, “Mmmm. William?”

  “Yes, my love?” He said, watching the flow of the tresses through his fingers and swearing to himself that he would never tolerate his wife wearing a white cap.

  “Would you care to be pleased again?” His fingers ceased their ministrations and his eyes lit up. His dazzling smile as he reached for her answered the question.

  THE NEXT MORNING, the newlyweds reluctantly rose from their bed, and resigned themselves to returning to reality. They enjoyed breakfast together and unhappily separated. Darcy went to his study, and Elizabeth went to the capable hands of Mrs. Reynolds. They sadly knew that they would be apart for hours.

  The enormous pile of correspondence awaiting his attention forced a loud groan from Darcy. He picked up a letter and let it drop back onto his desk. “I suppose the honeymoon is truly over now.”

  Never one to shirk responsibility, he resolutely sat down, determined to at least sort through everything. Nothing caught his eye until he saw a parcel from Uncle Henry. Curious, he set everything else aside. Breaking it open, he found a single sheet enveloping another letter.

  May 15, 1811

  Matlock House

  London

  Dear Darcy,

  I hope that your honeymoon was everything you hoped for. Elizabeth is an exceptional woman and we are delighted that you found each other.

  Your father left this letter to be delivered to you upon your marriage. I know its contents, and will be happy to discuss it with you if you wish.

  Affectionately yours,

  Uncle Henry

  He picked up the thick letter, and regarded it with knit brows. He examined his father’s old seal, and taking a breath, broke it.

  April 24, 1803

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  Dear Fitzwilliam,

  I must begin this letter by telling you how very proud I am of you and how very much I love you. I have watched you grow, learning with such intensity your duties as the future Master of Pemberley. Your dedication to your duty and family is more than any father could hope for.

  If you are reading this letter, you have recently married, and I have finally, thankfully, joined my dear Anne in peace. I hope with all of my heart that you have married for love, and that your wife returns it to you. Your uncle has promised me to look after you, and guide you away from a marriage of convenience. You were born with your mother’s loving heart and I wish you a wife who will give you the joy that your dear mother gave me for fourteen wonderful years.

  I have recently learned from my doctor that I am dying. That is no surprise because in truth, I have been dying since Anne left us. You have borne the brunt of my despair, Son, and for this I sincerely apologize. Where your mother gave you the ability to love deeply, I gave you your devotion to duty, family, and honour. Son, believe me, I saw how you threw yourself into your studies, and how you mastered all of the requirements to oversee Pemberley and its dependents. I saw it all. I know that you sought my approval and appreciation, but that I rarely showed it to you. Believe me when I say you always had it. I was proud of every accomplishment, and loved you dearly. Now I shall finally tell you why I could not bring myself to express my feelings to you. I am ashamed that I do not have the courage to say this to you now, when I am alive and you could question me, but I just do not have the strength to bear your pain and anger. I cannot stand to hurt you again, my only son.

  Two and twenty years ago, before I met your mother, I was a typical young man of the first circles. My father was alive, and I had no responsibility. I enjoyed the society and the favours of women. I thought nothing of it. I can see you now Son, staring at this letter in disbelief, thinking me a hypocrite after my charge that you remain celibate until marriage.

  After the harvest that year, at the annual celebration, I was well in my cups and a pretty young girl offered herself to me. It is not an excuse, it is simply what happened. I make no excuses. I later learned that the young lady was to be married to my father’s steward, Mr. Wickham. I was stunned to learn soon after the wedding that she was with child. I believed that child, G
eorge Wickham, to be mine.

  I watched the boy grow, thinking that but for the circumstances of his birth, he would be my heir. I became his godfather so that I could watch over him. I married your mother, and soon you were born. I was so proud the day that your mother gave me the gift of you.

  I harboured the hope that he was not my son and looked for differences between the two of you. You were both tall and dark, like me, like Wickham, so I could determine nothing from that. Where you had your mother’s sweetness and the Darcy mannerisms, he showed no resemblance. He was wild and uncontrollable; his behaviour was always cruel and selfish. I saw what he did to you, Son, and did nothing to correct him. I saw that you were a lonely boy seeking a friend, and he was jealous. I tried to make up for the presumed loss of his birthright by giving him my attention, a gentleman’s education, and you now know that I provided for his future in my will. The one thing I never gave him was my love, I could not. My guilt, his behaviour, and my hope that he was not mine prevented it.

  I was so happy that I had you as my heir. You proved consistently that you were the better man, and I felt guilty for feeling that way when the man I thought was my first son, the one who I thought was deprived of his birthright by my failure to acknowledge him, was proving to be so unworthy.

  Then, a month ago, Wickham and I were reminiscing about our courtships. Wickham revealed to me that he had to marry his wife, that they had indulged in a tryst, and that she was with child. I learned that she was already with child the night of the harvest ball. I realized that I was not George Wickham’s father. Thank God I never moved to acknowledge him. For twenty years, I have deprived you of the father you deserved while wallowing in self-pity. I hope that you will forgive me, Son. Now you may understand why I begged you to remain celibate until marriage. I did not want you to live the torture that I have. I vow to spend the rest of my days giving you my undivided attention and love. It may be too late, but I will try. I want you to know that I have always loved you, and you were the only one I ever called Son.