Tempted by a day of fine weather, they decided to stroll around St James’ Park, and as soon as the ladies were ahead of them, the colonel dropped the mundane conversation they had been having about the impending journey northwards.
‘Word about Town has it you have fixed upon a wife – a certain Miss Latimer.’
Darcy released a frustrated breath. ‘So I believe, though I do not see how such a conclusion can be drawn when I have extended no offer.’
‘Perhaps it is the frequency of your suppers at the Latimers’ table of late.’
Darcy rolled his eyes. ‘If one’s marital prospects are measured by the number of meals one consumes in particular company, I am more likely to wed you, Cousin!’
‘Then you have come to no decision?’ The colonel glanced at Darcy’s impassive countenance. ‘And you are gone from Town as of the morrow with no announcement made.’
Darcy’s gaze rested briefly on his sister where she walked up ahead with Mrs Annesley.
‘A decision – yes. Acting upon it directly – no.’
The colonel snorted. ‘You are not getting any younger, Darce. Thornton will be having you measured for flannel vests before long.’
Darcy turned to face his cousin, who eyed him with amusement. ‘I mean a delay of a few weeks, nothing more. Removing Georgiana to Derbyshire and seeing her settled before the Bingley girls arrive is my priority for now.’
‘And then?’
Darcy glanced towards his sister again. ‘Then I will fulfil my obligation.’ He turned back to the colonel. ‘Latimer may have wished for more when I called upon him yesterday, but as it stands, I have invited a few people to make some stay with us, and he, his wife and daughter are amongst them. I wish to see how the latter rubs along with Georgiana before things are settled, but I do not foresee any difficulty. The matter will be resolved directly.’
‘Excellent decision – safety in numbers, and all that – it will keep the gossip mongers guessing a tad longer.’ The colonel frowned. ‘And what of Georgiana? How does she view such a prospect?’
‘She owned to some apprehension of being in Miss Latimer’s extended company when knowing so little of her, but therein lies my purpose. Pemberley is where she is most at ease, and I am certain it will be the perfect setting for them both to become better acquainted. They have music in common; it will be a beginning. Besides, Georgiana is quite familiar with the Miss Hansens, and I believe the wider party will relieve her somewhat.’
They walked on in silence for a moment, then the colonel squinted at his cousin.
‘So, Miss Latimer it is, then. A lady of impeccable lineage and a generous dowry. An excellent choice. I like to see there is method to your madness.’
Darcy frowned. ‘Madness? Did you not urge me to seek something – or someone else – to fix upon?’
‘Indeed, though I think my advice was directed more towards finding a passion for something. You will forgive me for saying, but you do not seem remotely interested in Miss Latimer, other than to fulfil an obligation.’
‘Is that not the way of the world? It is how I was raised and a path from which I should never have deviated.’
‘It is the way of our world, without doubt.’ Then, the colonel smirked. ‘Is your delay not also partly down to being a little wary?’
‘Of what?’
‘Not being accepted, old chap!’ Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured with his hand. ‘You know, Darce, this offering of one’s hand business. One could hardly say you are proficient.’
‘Trust you to speak as you find, Cousin.’ Darcy drew in a short breath. ‘I remain confident Miss Latimer will accept my hand.’
The colonel shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He turned to walk on, then said over his shoulder, ‘Or perhaps you are not nervous because you care little enough for the outcome. Georgiana!’ He hailed his cousin and walked quickly forward to join her as Darcy bit back on an expletive.
Damn his cousin; he was right. What was he doing?
You are doing what you must, what you committed to do for your sister, for the estate. You owned it yourself – you are doing your duty.
Darcy heeded the voice of reason. Duty was safe, and nothing would persuade him from such a path a second time.
Chapter Nine
The following morning, Bingley called to see them off and, having seen his sister and Mrs Annesley comfortably settled inside the carriage, Darcy turned to bid farewell to his friend.
‘I will be bringing the twins to Town directly. I do not intend to prolong their stay in Grosvenor Street, but Julia is anxious to spend a little time with her sisters before we journey northwards. We should be with you within a fortnight.’
‘Will you make some stay with us?’
‘I hope to. I wish to satisfy myself Olivia and Viola are not causing too much of a disruption to your orderly life!’
Darcy smiled. ‘Do not concern yourself. A little disorder is good for one now and again, and Georgiana is anticipating their stay with pleasure. Send word once you have left Town, and we shall look forward to receiving you directly.’
Bingley smiled and bade his friend farewell for the present. Then, with a final glance up at the house, Darcy turned to take his place in the carriage. He felt no regret in leaving London; on the contrary, he welcomed the release. Pemberley was the only place where he truly could be himself, where he felt he belonged, and the wheels of the carriage could not turn fast enough to restore him to its calming and uneventful presence.
~o0o~
The first day’s journey went without mishap, and the second dawned fair and warm. When they were but an hour from Pemberley, Darcy excused himself from the ladies’ company and took to the saddle, relishing the chance to be in the open air and taking some exercise after two days of confinement in the carriage.
At first, he rode fast, galloping past familiar fields, outcrops of rock, streams and lakes, but as he by-passed Baslow and approached Pemberley’s grounds, he slowed to a canter and, reining in his mount as he reached the bridge over the River Derwent, Darcy stared across the water at the vast expanse of stone forming the house.
He was proud of the estate, of his home and all he had done to ensure it would be passed on to yet another generation in good stead. Yet as he surveyed the familiar sight, he knew he saw it with new eyes. Something had changed within him since last he was in Derbyshire and, loath though he was to allow Elizabeth Bennet any purchase, he cautiously admitted her presence as he absorbed the scene before him.
She had changed him; or rather, he was altered because of her. Elizabeth had stripped him of all pretence, shown him his faults in all their awful splendour. By her, he had been truly humbled.
Darcy’s gaze roamed over the property before him—his home. How he had missed it! This was where he belonged, and at last he felt worthy of it.
Urging his steed onwards, he crossed the bridge and rode up the hill towards the stable block, leaving his mount with a young hand who appeared at the sound of hooves upon the cobbles, but as he turned to take the gate into the grounds, a voice hailed him.
Turning about, he observed his steward emerging from the stables, and he walked to meet him.
‘Good afternoon, Rivers. Is all well?’
‘Indeed it is, sir. Forgive me for accosting you so soon upon your arrival, but I received an Express this morning, which I believe was delivered here in error. I thought you may wish to collect it as you are close by.’
‘Lead the way.’ Darcy fell into step beside his steward as they walked towards the estate office.
‘How is the harvest progressing? This fine weather is to our advantage, is it not?’
Rivers nodded enthusiastically. ‘Indeed, sir. All goes according to plan. Here we are,’ he opened the door and stood back to allow his master to walk ahead of him.
Darcy eyed with appreciation the neat order of the office and, as Rivers rifled through a small pile of paper on his desk, he strolled over to the far wall to study the detailed plan
of the estate spread across it. Before he could stop himself, his eye was drawn to a fair-sized building on the road to Curbar, to the west of Pemberley’s grounds, marked neatly by a long-ago hand: The Grange.
A sudden desire to go there gripped him, to prove to himself he had nothing to fear from whomsoever the new tenants were; what if…
‘Sir?’
Darcy started as Rivers appeared at his side, offering him the aforementioned letter, and he tore his gaze from the plan and took it, silencing the foolish notion by focusing upon the direction. The hand confirmed it to be from Bingley, and he could see why the misdirection had happened, for his own name was nothing more than a large smudge.
Darcy took his leave of his steward and, as he strode purposefully through the gate and into the grounds, he broke the seal and began to read.
~o0o~
They dined early, a concession to their long day of travelling, and soon after repairing to the drawing room, Georgiana and Mrs Annesley bade him goodnight and retired.
Left to his own devices, Darcy prowled from room to room. He knew full well whence his agitation stemmed. Now restored to Pemberley, it was nigh on impossible not to dwell upon whom the new occupant of The Grange might be.
He tried to immerse himself in a book. When it failed to hold his attention, he fetched a glass of brandy from the drinks table and picked up Bingley’s letter again. It was short and to the point: the twins had managed to upset Caroline Bingley within hours of their arrival; something to do with a frog mysteriously making its way into the house and then into her bedroom.
Bingley felt his only recourse was to remove Olivia and Viola as expeditiously as possible, and he begged his friend’s tolerance, as he was obliged to bring their departure from London forward and would arrive within a few days.
Darcy put the letter aside. It made little difference, other than the twins spending an additional week at Pemberley before heading to school. He picked up a newspaper and tried to immerse himself in its pages. Five minutes later, he tossed it aside in frustration. If he was to achieve any peace this night – and any tolerable amount of sleep – he had to prove his ludicrous suspicions for what they were.
But how to achieve it? It was too late to pay a call, even on one of one’s own tenants. It was so unlikely to be the Bennets of Longbourn... but what if it was?
‘Enough!’ Darcy exclaimed aloud. He drained his glass, placed it on a side table and got to his feet. He would take a short stroll before retiring; he needed some air after being confined to the carriage for two days.
Five minutes later, he was shrugging into his great coat and letting himself out of the boot room into the grounds. Though only a little after nine o’clock dusk was falling, but thankfully the skies were clear which foretold a bright moon to combat the encroaching darkness, and he made his way easily onto the road leading away from Pemberley towards Curbar.
He saw no living person, though twice a fox crossed his path, staring at him with bright, beady eyes, and he could hear sheep bleating in the nearby fold.
He passed through a hamlet with a small mill, a smithy and several farm labourers’ cottages and out onto open road again and then, after a further ten minutes of walking, he saw lights in the distance and knew he was approaching The Grange.
Darcy walked on with a purposeful stride, but as he neared the driveway to the house he moved into the shadows of the overhanging trees, anxious not to be detected. What would any tenant think should they come across their landlord skulking around at this time of night? It would hardly create a favourable first impression… he tried to deflect the thought, but it rushed upon him. If this was the Bennets of Longbourn, he had already made a lasting first impression – he doubted anything he did thereafter could supersede it.
He was unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed to find the shutters closed on any window with light behind it, but then again, perhaps it was for the best. Being caught peering in through the window would lead to uncomfortable questions.
He walked round the side of the house to the rear. Faint strands of music drifted out into the night air, but beyond that there was no sound other than the clucking of some hens over to his right.
He peered into the growing darkness for any indication of the house’s inhabitants. There was a discarded pair of boots by the door, but no indication who their owner might be. A wicker basket containing some drying herbs lay on a wooden table – no surprise if there were ladies in the house, and this much he knew.
He crept a little closer. There was a chink of light shining through a small gap in the shutters of a large window facing the gardens, and oblivious to the increased squawking of the hens as he passed their run, he walked over to the window and tried to peer in. The music ceased; he heard a chair scrape and a door bang but he could see nothing, for the gap was too narrow.
With a resigned sigh, he turned away. There was little for it but to return in daylight and pay a formal call... but suddenly, two things happened in quick succession: a door was flung open and before he could move, he was showered from head to foot in cold water.
‘What the devil—!’
‘Who are you?’
Shaking his head to rid his hair of water, Darcy wiped a hand across his dripping face and stared into the indignant face of a young woman wielding a large tin bucket.
‘Mr Darcy!'
‘Miss Bennet!’
Chapter Ten
Darcy put the rapid pounding of his heart down to the shock of the cold water. Indeed, if he had not felt quite so awkward at being discovered, and equally discomfited at being soaking wet, he would have found the realisation dawning on the lady’s countenance amusing.
Elizabeth Bennet dropped the bucket, which fell with a clang as it hit the stone paving, a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. ‘Forgive me, sir! I – I know not what can be done to atone.’
A formal gesture seemed ludicrous in the circumstances, though he had no desire to appear even less of a gentleman than she had implied in Kent last year. He shook his head, causing more droplets to trickle into his sodden neck cloth.
‘Do not concern yourself, madam. I am perfectly well, merely… wet.’
‘We have been troubled by a fox; he has been harassing our birds. It has been effective in driving him off before now.’
‘I can understand why.’
Elizabeth bit her lip. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’ She seemed to realise all of a sudden her situation, and dropped him a curtsey before raising troubled eyes to his. ‘You must be wishing me on the other side of the earth.’
Before he could respond, a figure appeared in the doorway holding aloft a lamp.
‘Lizzy! What is all this commotion?’ Mr Bennet’s eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. ‘Good heavens! Is that you, Mr Darcy?’
‘I believe so,’ Darcy said drily. ‘Though Miss Elizabeth Bennet mistook me for a fox.’ Would the incident distract them from asking the obvious question: what was he doing outside their home at such an hour?
‘Come, sir. You must take a moment to dry yourself.’
Darcy shook his head and immediately wished he had not. He tugged his handkerchief out and blotted the rivulets running anew down his cheeks, his gaze narrowing as he caught a slight movement from Elizabeth. She was not as chagrined as she pretended, struggling to conceal her amusement at his plight.
‘I urge you to go back inside, Mr Bennet. It is a mild night, and I shall soon dry off on the walk back to Pemberley.’
Mr Bennet walked up to him and looked him firmly in the eye. ‘You may be our landlord, Mr Darcy, but I trust you will bow to an older man’s judgment on this occasion. At least come in and take a warming cup of tea before you walk back. Indeed, you are welcome to use our pony and trap to get you home more quickly.’
Elizabeth let out a short laugh. ‘Papa, I hardly think Mr Darcy will wish to avail himself of the donkey cart!’
Mr Bennet turned to her and said sternly, ‘I hardly think th
e gentleman would expect the carriage to be readied either. Now, the less said by you the better, young lady. Go inside and ask Alice to put the kettle to warm.’
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed in the light of the lamp still held aloft by her father. Then, she took a step backwards, threw a quick glance in Darcy’s direction and turned to re-enter the house.
‘Come, sir. Let us sit you by a warm fire for a while. It is the least we can do in the circumstances.’
~o0o~
A servant disappeared with Darcy’s greatcoat, and he was shown into a small room off the kitchen where he was offered a towel for his hair. He did his best to remove the worst of the wetness, though without the aid of a mirror, heaven only knew what his hair looked like. He was not a vain man but encountering the woman who had soundly rejected him the last time he had seen her, and in such a state, was not much aid to his confidence.
What on earth had he been thinking? His heart continued to pound fiercely in his ears, and he could feel the stirrings of a long-forgotten ache in his breast. Though the light had been dim and Elizabeth’s presence fleeting, he felt an echo of his former danger whisper through him.
Desperate for distraction, Darcy inspected the rest of his clothing, most of which had been relatively well protected, save for his neck cloth which seemed to have soaked up a goodly portion of the water as it ran down his face and neck. He unwound it and squeezed it out into the bowl the servant had put out, but before he could attempt to replace it, a woman came into the room, tutted loudly at him and whipped the cloth from his grasp.
‘T’will need to dry, sir. You cannot be wearing it in this condition.’
Before he could protest, she left the room as quickly as she had come, and he retraced his steps into the stone flagged hallway in search of his host.
A door to the right creaked, and Mr Bennet’s head appeared. ‘Come, come, Mr Darcy. There is a chair by the fire with your name upon it, and some hot tea waiting for you. Alice will work her magic on drying your things.’
A Quest for Mr Darcy Page 6
