Mr. Darcy's Secret

by Jane Odiwe

  "Open the others," he urged.

  Long, pear-shaped diamonds for her ears were revealed, followed by a stunning diamond ring to match.

  "Oh, Fitzwilliam, what a heavenly present. It is too much!"

  "Nothing is too much for my wife, Mrs Darcy. Besides, I thought you should have something to wear for the ball tonight."

  "I cannot wait to wear them," she cried, unable to resist picking up the heavy necklace, turning it in the light to watch the myriad of sparkles from the glittering stones catch the light. "Indeed, it is such a long time until seven o'clock." She sighed. "It is no good, Mr Darcy. Do not protest, I beg you, but I have no patience and must wear them now. What do you think? Is it too shocking, or should you like to see Mrs Darcy in diamonds before breakfast, sir?

  With her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders through which diamonds twinkled like stars in a velvet sky emphasising the brilliance of her dark eyes, Mr Darcy sat back to admire the wondrous vision before him. He did not speak a word, but merely watched her with the same forbidding expression she had often witnessed but now knew was a facade of restrained emotion, hiding much that he did not wish to reveal.

  "I think by your expression that you might prefer this attire to any other," Lizzy laughed, as she revelled in her husband's captivated and studied observance as he gave his fullest attention to Mrs Darcy's diamonds and a whole lot more besides. If any man could have loved his wife more at that moment, he did not think it was possible. Could any woman have looked more beautiful, he thought, than the girl sitting before him amongst the bedclothes, her skin lustrous as the diamonds that flashed and dazzled as she moved to lean over him, expressing her love, gratitude, and the desire he had awakened in her once more.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  A breakfast of cold meats, bread rolls and cake, chocolate, wine, and ale was a jolly affair after early morning prayers, sitting in the dining room with all the various factions of family attending, before they all set off for church to hear the sermon and greet friends and neighbours.

  The Darcys and their relatives took their seats in the family pews; Mr and Mrs Darcy sat in front with Mr and Mrs Bennet and Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Mrs Bennet was making the most of the situation, but Lizzy was finding that her behaviour, far from being worrisome, was most amusing to observe. For Mrs Bennet, since appearing at dinner the night before, had taken on the regal airs of a personage no less than a queen. Her spiteful tongue, which often lashed out at home, was not heard once during the whole course of the dinner, and her smiles and nods, compliments and greetings were not only freely given to everyone, including Miss Bingley, but were also quietly effusive meted out at appropriate times and calculated to induce the utmost respect and admiration in the listener. Elizabeth could only hope that her mother would not buckle under the strain, but was hopeful that her great character shift might last as long as the ball's duration at least. It was clear that Mr Bennet was most amused by his wife's transformation. He sat on the other side of Elizabeth and when no one was taking much notice caught hold of her hand, squeezing it hard.

  "Well, Lizzy, this is a turn-up for the books! I could get quite used to this, and I think in future I must send your mother to Pemberley more frequently. She tells me she has never felt better, that her nerves are entirely done away with, and that she has never noticed before this morning that Miss Bingley is an attractive woman. I declare there must be something in the very air of Pemberley, not to mention the waters, to warrant such a change. She has even kissed me on the cheek. What do you say to that?"

  "My mother certainly seems swept away by a sense of the occasion and also of her new importance, I think, as mother-in-law to the 'Great Mr Darcy' as she calls him. For my part, I cannot say which I prefer, the old Mrs Bennet or the new. At least with the old version you felt you knew what was coming. I do not know that I feel quite so comfortable with so many compliments that have been heaped upon my husband, myself, and all of our guests this day, and I cannot rid myself of this dreadful feeling of foreboding that it cannot possibly be sustained."

  "Do not worry, my dear. If I should witness any reversal to her old habits I shall swiftly remove her from the vicinity. But I daresay she will do you right in the end. She may not always show her feelings, but in her heart she is very proud of you, Lizzy, that I do know."

  Elizabeth turned to her father and squeezed his hand back. "Oh, Papa," she said quietly, "I have missed you."

  Two young ladies in the congregation had their thoughts on entirely different objects but were trained along similar lines. Elizabeth's sister Kitty was, against her usual inclination, very much enjoying this morning's sermon. Adam Lloyd, the handsome rector, was a lively orator and delivered his sermon with dash and flair. Even the verger at Longbourn, whom both she and Lydia had formerly considered handsome before the militia arrived, was nothing to the good-looking gentleman who stood at the pulpit to deliver his address. Once or twice she thought she caught his eye, but he looked so serious she could not be sure of anything.

  Georgiana Darcy had spotted Thomas Butler as soon as she walked in and was so overcome with shyness at the sight of him that she could not bring herself to look in his direction immediately. At length, however, curiosity got the better of her and she glanced sideways at him under the cover of her bonnet as soon as she dared. Her heart turned over. Mr Butler dressed in his Sunday best was more handsome than she had ever seen him. Clothed in a dark coat, which showed up the fairness of his curls to perfection, his blue eyes dazzled in contrast. When it was obvious that he was looking at her with the same intent and that he was also smiling, she coloured and turned her eyes instantly to her Bible.

  There was no opportunity for Georgiana to talk to Tom, but she was able to acknowledge him with a smile out in the cold churchyard as Mr and Mrs Darcy exchanged greetings with other parishioners. Kitty was introduced to Mr Lloyd to her delight and determined on writing to her sister Lydia in Newcastle at the earliest opportunity to tell her all about him.

  Lizzy was soon waylaid by Mrs Eaton, who made it clear that she was not to be fobbed off by a mere polite "good morning." Mr Darcy rapidly made his escape, becoming quickly lost among the throng, for which Elizabeth could not blame him. She forced herself to look as interested as she could, though it was difficult to concentrate when faced with a barrage of dull information and scurrilous gossip, but she did the best she could. When the subject arose of old Mrs Darcy's maid being in attendance and Mrs Eaton's questioning her about whether or not she had been introduced to the lady, Elizabeth could bear her company no longer. On suddenly remembering that she had left her Bible in the church, a perfect excuse was instantly formed and executed in order to make her release possible. Elizabeth made her way back into the deserted building, hurrying along before she was missed. As she entered the church through the porch door the sound of hushed voices caught her attention. In the vestry opposite, the door was slightly ajar. She could just see Mr Lloyd returned from his duties to his parishioners outside and hear him engaged in conversation. Trying not to disturb him she found her seat and the forgotten Bible and was just returning to the door when her attention was caught by the sound of her husband's voice. A glance through the vestry door revealed that it was indeed Mr Darcy in conversation with the rector, a well-dressed lady, and a young boy. The boy she noticed for his striking and handsome features with wavy, dark hair, curling back from his forehead. He had a distinctive mien for a boy of his age and Elizabeth was quite fascinated by him, not only by his manner but also by his countenance, which seemed familiar. Yet she knew she had never set eyes on him before. The lady was now curtseying before Mr Darcy and it was evident that their conversation was at an end. Elizabeth did not know what to do. She felt caught, almost as if she had been spying. It was too late to rush outside. Elizabeth observed Fitzwilliam turn to leave and then he saw her. His face was grave, but he smiled as he approached and taking her arm reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips before tenderly planting a kiss.


  "Shall we go home, Mrs Darcy?" he asked.

  Elizabeth looked up at him and nodded her assent. "Who were you talking to, Fitzwilliam? I neither recognised the lady nor the child."

  "No, they do not live in Lambton," he replied, squeezing her arm affectionately. "The lady was my mother's maid, a very long time ago. I had to pay my respects as she always attends the service on Christmas morning. Mama was very fond of her and would be pleased, I think, that I still bestow a token in memory of her affection. Her son is growing into a fine boy; my mother would have been most delighted." Mr Darcy paused on the step outside to take a lungful of air, his breath exhaling in puffs of cloudy vapour on the freezing air. "What's next, Mrs Darcy? Present giving, revels, and Christmas dinner; I can hardly wait!"

  Elizabeth was sure that the lady must be the Rachel Tissington that Mrs Eaton had told her about, but there was no more time to ask any questions, surrounded as they were by well-wishers as they emerged.

  The Darcys and their guests left the church first, hastening back to Pemberley in their carriages to prepare for the arrival of their tenants who would be gathering in the hall waiting for their Christmas tokens: a pouch of money and a Christmas pheasant. Elizabeth met and greeted every farmer and worker with a handshake and a gift. Her audience instantly warmed to her, so unaffected was she in her manner and so obviously interested was she in their lives, listening to their tales about the Pemberley Estate from their childhood days of yore. Mrs Reynolds and her maids plied them all with porter, ale, and mulled wine, so it was a happy band that soon left to make merry with their own families.

  Fortunately, Elizabeth was kept so busy that she did not have time to think about the imminent ball. One of the tasks set for their guests on Christmas Eve had been to invent a charade for an after dinner amusement the next day, a game which was traditionally played sitting around the table, according to Georgiana. Miss Bingley too had been in raptures about the game and spoke constantly on the past wit and intelligence displayed by former guests who had graced the Pemberley dining room. Elizabeth knew that Miss Bingley was probably trying to discompose her, but she must admit she was rather concerned that one or two members of her family might not be capable of rising to the challenge. When her mother confessed that she was ill prepared for such frivolity Elizabeth knew she would have to take steps to help her.

  "Oh, stuff and nonsense, Lizzy," said Mrs Bennet, in a tone that her daughter recognised too well, "I shall make it up as I go along. If we must have such childish pastimes I do not know what anyone can expect. All I want to do after dinner is put my feet up for half an hour. As it is, the dancing will play havoc with my digestion and, coming on so soon after we have eaten, will be a certain recipe for the worst kind of agitation to my nerves. The last thing I need is to give serious contemplation to juvenile jokiness. Besides, I did not have time to spend last evening thinking up conundrums and enigmas for the light-headed; I had more important matters on my mind, such as which gown I am to wear this evening and whether the feathers on my hairband are tall enough. What do you think, Elizabeth? I would hate Mr Darcy to feel let down by the insignificance of my headdress."

  "If I were to procure a charade for you complete with the answer, do you think that might suit you best? And then you will not have to worry," urged Elizabeth.

  "Oh, do whatever makes you easy. I suppose if I must join in, then I have little choice. And it would save me time. But I cannot stand here any longer. I must dress for dinner and I do so want Mr Darcy to admire me. Your father always said I was the most beautiful girl he ever knew in his youth, and though I say it myself, I fancy little has really changed. Despite the passing years, I still have my bloom and your father is not the only gentleman to notice. Mr Wickham says Lydia and I could be taken for sisters!"

  Elizabeth hastened to the library for inspiration as soon as she could. There were a couple of hours before dinner and everyone had retired to their rooms to get ready. She sat down at a table where a sheaf of paper and ink were set out ready to accomplish such a task. Making up her own charade had been fun, but trying to think of one suitable for Mrs Bennet was a little more difficult and the constraint on time was having the very worst effect. Her mind seemed blank and she was increasingly unable to concentrate. Lizzy got up to peruse the books on the shelves. Hundreds of leather bound titles lined the room, each one proclaiming its title in gilt letters. She would have loved to spend the time with a selection of books indulging her passion for reading, but she quickly selected an old Shakespearean volume, thinking that here she might be rewarded with the stimulation that was immediately required. However, she was disappointed; no matter how hard she tried, nothing would come despite a promising array of characters, situations, and plots. The book went back on the shelf, but realising straight away that it would not fit back comfortably into the space and that something behind was preventing its return, she took it out again to investigate. Whatever was proving to be an obstruction was out of her line of vision on the high shelf and it was necessary to stand on tiptoe so that she could explore the space with her fingers. What felt like another book had fallen down and wedged itself at the back of the shelf. Elizabeth could only just grasp the volume with her thumb and forefinger, and she pulled hard knowing that if this attempt failed she would have to fetch out the library steps. Her efforts were only partly successful, for after refusing to budge for what seemed like an age, the book came out all of a sudden with such a force that she dropped it, scattering pages from the loosely bound book.

  On bending to pick it up, however, she could see that the papers lying on the floor were not in fact part of the book, but letters, one of which had come undone. The book itself was a very dry tome, a Treatise on the History and Chemistry of Mineral Waters and other Aqueous mixtures, that at first held little interest for Lizzy until flicking through the pages to determine where the letters might have been inserted, she came across a flower pressed and dried within its pages. Such an unexpected article raised her curiosity, and though she determined on instantly putting back the letters to their original placing, she found herself turning the opened one over in her hand. There was no date, the hand was clearly feminine, and the words seemed to leap from the page, willing her to take note of them. It was read before she knew what she had done.

  Darling Orsini,

  I know we promised that there would be no communication between us, but I am compelled to write after seeing you this afternoon. When you declared your love in that place which has become the dearest spot in the whole world to me, I can only tell you that a cherished dream came true. I adore you and to know that finally you feel as I do fills me with such pleasure as is impossible to describe. I love you more than you can ever know and you have made me the happiest girl alive.

  We may be young but we know our hearts to be true. What does it matter that we have only known one another for a short while--how are love and constancy to be measured by time alone? I need no approval from those who would not understand. It is our secret, indeed, I have not yet told the person we best love, who is dearest to both our hearts for fear of something dire happening to prevent us from being together. I know you may not always talk to me in company, but a sign, anything, will suffice to remind me of your love. Till I see you again (please let it be this evening),

  I am yours,

  Viola

  Elizabeth wished straight away that she had not read it. The letter was so heartfelt, so personal. A love letter, without a doubt, and one that was clearly shrouded in secrets written by a lady whose name and that of her lover were clearly assumed. Orsini and Viola, Shakespeare's lovers from Twelfth Night, Elizabeth recalled. It was all rather mysterious, but no doubt guests of the Darcys staying at Pemberley some time ago had penned it. Well, whatever the letter was doing hidden away in the book, Lizzy thought she should replace it, folding the worn paper along the lines so that it looked much as it had done before it was disturbed. She picked up the other letter and placed it over the top of the fir
st, closing the book with the intent of putting it back on the shelf. The temptation to open the second letter was great, but she reminded herself that neither letter was addressed to her nor were they on public display. Whoever had hidden them had intended them to remain that way, though she felt that something so private as a love letter should have been better concealed or burned if the lovers were worried about their missive falling into the wrong hands. On reflection, she thought she might ask Mr Darcy about it to see if he could shed any light on its composer but then thought better of it. It might seem to him as if she had been snooping around and ferreting amongst what, after all, were his belongings. It was a pity, she thought, for she was sure he would be extremely diverted.

  Chapter 11

  To say that Elizabeth was relieved when Christmas dinner was over is something of an understatement. But she was satisfied that the meal had been an excellent one and, when washed down by the majority with several glasses of wine, found everyone in congenial spirits for the game of charades. Mr and Mrs Darcy started, followed by other willing volunteers, and soon the assembled guests relaxed and started to have fun. There were some excellent puzzles and even Mrs Bennet began to enjoy herself when it came to her time, delivering hers with what she imagined was an erudite air.