Hugh remembered a young woman called Joyce who used to work there when he was at Cambridge, she had been funny, battling him with her sharp wit and disregard for his position, treating him as a regular chap off the street. He had found it immensely refreshing and enjoyed their brief interludes, until the summer after graduation he had come home, and she wasn’t there anymore, gotten married and popped out some sprogs probably.
“It’s not Joyce Hutchinson, is it?”
“Yeah, I think that’s it,” she nodded with a curious expression on her face. “Do you know her?”
“Name rings a bell,” he said, knowing full well who Joyce Hutchinson was.
They walked back to the party the long way around, chatting softly as they walked down the steps and ventured up familiar paths. On the lawn a few visitors, pointed and waved at the Duke, who they recognised from his portrait in the hallway, and he took his time to acknowledge them and welcome them to Pemberley.
From her vantage point in the library, Joyce Hutchinson saw Hugh Darcy for the first time in too long and she was disappointed to note that her heart still skipped a beat.
1816
The morning had been quiet. There had not been the sound of running up and down the halls, nor the frustrated shouts of the nursemaid, nor the general uproar that usually accompanied sunrise in the Darcy household. In fact, Elizabeth had been surprised when she had been able to rise at her own leisure, enjoy a bath before beginning her toilette, and enjoy a somewhat still and restful breakfast. It was a rare thing indeed, and something that she had enjoyed very much. Now as she finished her book and enjoyed tea with lemon biscuits, she gazed down onto the front lawn from her position in the library and could see Fitzwilliam and his younger, more adventurous brother, James, playing croquet with their father.
The older boy was more reserved, much more like his namesake – observing and calculating every outcome before committing to any action, whereas the younger threw himself all in and damned the consequences. Her husband was laughing, the loud deep sound falling out of him as he picked the boys up and swinging them around, until all hope of completing their game was abandoned and all three of her Darcys were racing each other up and down the grass in the early April sunshine, looking like a herd of deer being chased down from the hills.
The past few years has gone by in a whirlwind and before they had even settled into a daily routine of family life, the family had found themselves as the parents of two boys. Fitzwilliam had been not quite two when James was born, a wonderfully easy birth which she had rejoiced in, and they were the best of friends and partners in crime. Now five and three, they were about to welcome a new Darcy into the world and although she would have never said out loud, Elizabeth hoped that this new babe would be a girl, so she would, at last, have an ally in the household. That said, she was so large and unwieldy that Darcy was convinced there were about five babies in there.
“Is normal for your body to be so different with each babe, Jane?”
Mrs Bingley had been over visiting from her Cheshire estate, she had borne four children in quick succession and was the paragon of motherhood to all of the former Bennets.
“Very much so, I would think, Lizzy. After Peter was born, I decided that Charles was to be banished to his own chambers until I recovered from it all.”
“There is a lot to be said for separate chambers, Jane.” She took a plate of cake, “and how are my nieces and nephews?”
“Charlotte and Abigail are delightful, of course,” she gestured to the maid for more tea, “Charles is a boisterous little tyke, I fear for his master’s when he gets sent to school. I do worry about the smallest.”
“Peter is still sickly?”
Jane nodded sadly, “four babies in five years is enough to take its toll on anyone, it seems unfair however that the child should suffer.”
“I am sure all will be well, Jane,” she took her sisters hand and squeezed it gently. “How does Mrs Hurst?”
“Spending her inheritance,” the older lady laughed. “Although when she does, she spoils her nieces and nephews most heartily. Caroline… sorry, Lady Dalhousie, is very much in good health too.”
“Any children yet?”
“Not yet,” there was a small sigh, “rumour has it that her husband believes her bloom to be quite gone.”
Elizabeth pulled a face at this, “Caroline is but five-and-twenty, there is plenty of time for her to provide him with an heir.”
“Hopefully it will happen before the season, as I would prefer not to have her company in town, having her at Dunmarleigh for Christmas is more than adequate.”
The children had been taken to the nursery for the afternoon and Darcy had convinced her to take a turn with him around the grounds, he knew that light exercise was always good in the later stages of pregnancy, and he knew how much his wife loved to walk. Darcy held his wife’s hand tightly in his own, who would have known seven years ago on his first visit to Hertfordshire that he would eventually return to Pemberley and Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be its mistress. He observed her closely, she had changed a great deal in those seven years, but all for the better.
They journeyed out of the south front of the house and walked up past the newly-built Orangery. It was the route that they had taken on Elizabeth’s first visit to Derbyshire when Darcy, filled with hope, longing and anxiety, had taken it upon himself to show her how much of a gentleman he could be after her rebuke and rejection of his first proposal. She had not realised how much hurt that had caused him, throwing the words out, as she did, like arrows and not caring where they landed. But he had been grateful.
She had highlighted to him the error of his ways and had allowed him a second chance to prove to her that he was worthy of joining his life with hers. They trod their well-worn path up to the rose garden where once, newlywed and enamoured, they had foregone propriety and kissed fervently under the tiled roof of the pergola, before returning to their rooms quickly before all modicum of respectability was lost.
“Darcy, this life of ours makes me happier than I ever hoped I would be.”
Elizabeth was leaning back on the wooden bench looking down onto the newly budding roses and the lake beyond. Darcy reached for her gloved hand and raising it to his lips, gently kissed it.
“Me too, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
She laughed at him before kissing his hand in return and holding it tightly. Elizabeth felt as if she could conquer the whole world with one hand if Darcy was holding the other.
“I never thought that I would ever be the mistress of somewhere like Pemberley, I never wished it for myself, my only wish was for the deepest love and maybe a small household somewhere far enough from my mother that she would think twice about visiting every day.”
“I hope, Mrs Darcy, that you did eventually marry for love.”
“Mainly for love, partly for the big house.”
“And my ten thousand a year!”
Even though he laughed, she could sense his fleeting but underlying insecurity that it was his wealth and not himself that had attracted her, it was something that not even nearly eight years of marriage and two children could fully abate. She gently cupped his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the nose.
“You know I would love you even if you were penniless,” she reassured, “all of this means nothing to me.”
He took a short moment to recover himself, gazing out into the distance at the grand south front façade of the hall, with its Palladian columns and ornate statues. He knew his self-doubt was a failing and he was constantly trying to resolve it; he gave his wife an appreciative look, which she returned, her eyes sparkling in the afternoon haze. Elizabeth was fully aware of the inner workings of his mind and the constant battle he had within himself to be both Mr Darcy of Derbyshire, and Fitzwilliam, the husband and father.
“But,” he stated, “ten thousand a year always makes a man appear more attractive in the eyes of a woman.”
“This is true, I me
an if you had not a great estate in Derbyshire then I would not have been able to overlook your pointy chin.”
“My chin is not pointy.”
“It is, husband, something you cannot deny, but hopefully beards will be the fashion again in the not too distant future and you will be able to disguise it somewhat.”
“Mrs Darcy, you take great pleasure in offending me I feel!”
He enjoyed the teasing and easy repartee that had become a fixture of their everyday lives.
“Why, of course! A wife must always tantalise their husband with wit and humour! Now Mr Darcy, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the top lawn then I will be happy to oblige you with more offence than you are used to.”
Darcy took his wife’s hand as requested and tucked it under his own; every day she confirmed to him that he was, without doubt, the happiest and luckiest man in England.
Every Picture Tells A Story
The Darcy family, made globally famous by Jane Austen in her novel ‘Pride and Prejudice’, have overseen the sale of over thirty family portraits to Austenation, who purchased them on behalf of the Historical House Society, the current custodians of Pemberley. Sally Quince, head curator at Austenation, said “the portraits, including those of Fitzwilliam Darcy, his wife Elizabeth Bennet-Darcy, and Lady Sophia Darcy, the mistress of James II, are of national importance historically and should belong to the nation.” The paintings, including two by Sir Peter Lely, and one by American society painter John Singer Sargent of Cecily Darcy, the Duchess who perished on the Lusitania, will remain at the country house in Derbyshire. Entrance is free for Society Members. Open Tuesday – Sunday 11 – 5 NB: please check website before visiting, due to location filming taking place, some areas of the house and garden may be closed to the public
Nine
Harriet slumped into the large couch which dominated the flat. She had been on set since 5am, trussed up in her maid’s costume and performing the same action a hundred times. Her dad had been a complete idiot all day – she knew that it was what he did for a job, and he was really good at it, but he was so bossy and demanding that she had wished she had just gone to work at the souvenir shop in Lambton, where she could sell Mr Darcy magnets and Lady Catherine’s Lemon Curd to foreign tourists. It would have been much easier. At least she could tell him to bog off, no-one else could.
“How did it go?”
Her mum’s voice echoed from down the stairs, followed by the clomping of her footsteps on the wooden staircase.
Harriet grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a long swig.
“Dad lost his shit with Jenny Graves and she ended up crying.”
Lizzy fumbled about distractedly at the mirror with mascara, “he made her cry?”
“Yeah,” she threw herself on the couch. “It wasn’t even her fault, it was Benn bloody Williams.”
“Really?”
“Kept messing up his lines and everything, it was really bad. Like he couldn’t remember.”
“What did your dad say?”
“He started shouting and screaming about unprofessionalism and demanded that everyone left the set apart from Benn and Jenny, but she was too upset and so she stormed off. I think she went home.”
Lizzy peered down onto the courtyard below from the tall windows. Crew members were busy resetting for the ‘Return to Pemberley’ scene that Matthew was so excited about, she guessed that they would be having another go at it tomorrow.
“So, is Jenny okay now? Your dad shouldn’t be making her cry.”
“God knows,” she sighed. “You look nice…where are you going?”
“Just out.”
“With Aunty Mags?”
“No, just with a friend.”
“Which friend?”
“Bloody hell, Harriet, nobody expects the Spanish inquisition!”
“Okay, well, have a nice time…and don’t forget the code for the gate has changed.”
“I will, and thank you, and be good!”
“Yeah, yeah… No prosecco, Mum, I’m warning you!!”
Lizzy slipped on her blue sparkly heels and disappeared out of the door, her laugh still loitering in the hallway.
Harriet wasn’t sure what was going on, but she did know that her mum was smiling a lot more than usual; and laughing a whole lot more too. She had also noticed that her dad was spending much less time at the flat. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that they had been at it for ages, she just wished that they could decide what they both wanted and get on with it.
She wasn’t sure what was happening with her dad either, she hadn’t been able to get in touch with Cara, and the iMessages that she sent to Oleander remained unread. Her brother had been messaging her a lot before their dad arrived at Pemberley, he had been tired of the arguing, but now it had stopped and there remained an unnerving silence that he hated even more. She hasn’t spoken to him for three weeks now, and it was a concern.
But for now, she had a glorious and unexpected night home alone; she had the big television all to herself and a spicy pizza in the freezer for later.
Harriet Sophia Darcy was truly living her best life.
“You look lovely,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Thank you. What’s this?” she said, noticing the smooth black Jaguar and be-suited driver.
“Movie Star Perks,” he said proudly. “And my driver, Robert.”
The black-suited gentleman nodded his head and opened the door for her.
“This is much more impressive than the Volvo. I feel I must warn you that I could really get used to this.”
She clambered into the back seat, he climbed in after her and wondered what the hell he had let himself in for.
The Toby Carvery in Kympton was packed full of parties and people; they ended up queuing for a table in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say. He could see a girl of about ten, with wide eyes and a large pink bow in her hair, looking over at him shyly, watching as she turned back quickly and pulled on her dad’s arm. The man turned around, he was a large man with a tattoo of a dragon on his bare arm, the hint of musky aftershave and hard work surrounding him.
“Lady Liz?” He grunted in gruff, Derbyshire tones.
Lizzy squinted up at him. She knew that face.
“Martin!” She screeched and pulled him into an embrace.
Benn stood there awkwardly, wondering who this guy was.
“Oh, this is Benn,” she explained. “Martin used to work in the café at Pemberley with me when we were at school.”
Martin offered his hand, “nice to meet you, mate.”
Benn offered his own, “same, y’alright?”
“It’s me gran’s birthday, so we’re out celebrating,” Martin told them, as the girl pulled on his t-shirt.
“It’s Grandma Vi’s birthday? How old is she?”
“She’s eighty,” said the little girl, who had been listening in.
“Eighty? That’s amazing!” Lizzy kneeled down to the girl’s height; she had on sparkly shoes and her hair was tightly pulled into braids.
“And what is your name, my new sparkly shoed friend?”
“Scarlett, your ladyship,” she said with a little curtsey.
“She’s a little nosey parker!” Martin laughed, as Scarlett stuck out her tongue at him, before smiling shyly at Lizzy.
“You must let me pick up your bar tab, Mart.”
“Don’t be daft, Liz, there’s no need for that. We’re over in the corner near the loos, pop over when you have your drinks – she would love to see you.”
“We definitely will,” she said, looking at Benn, who nodded his agreement.
“Y’know, I hope you don’t mind me asking, Benn…” Martin began. Benn prepared himself for the questions and the obligatory autograph request. “Were you in Coronation Street?”
Lizzy guffawed, as Martin fumbled awkwardly.
“Was it Emmerdale? Sorry mate, I only watch them when the missus makes me, you just look familiar,�
�� and then to Lizzy, “come over for cake, yeah?” Swinging Scarlett up on his shoulders, he walked towards the table decorated with balloons as she waved happily.
Benn enjoyed watching his date for the evening being suitably feted. He hadn’t realised how well-known she was, and as he watched her talk to the birthday girl and her friends, asking them about themselves, greeting them all like old friends, and paying for their drinks, he found he was mesmerised by her assumed aristocratic persona.
“Does that happen a lot?” He asked as they queued for Mega Plates with extra meat.
“Not really,” she admitted. “Usually only with the card-carrying members of the HHS – the local ones. It’s the Lady Darcy show they love, not me.”
“They seemed to like you quite a lot!”
“That’s not me though,” she nudged him forward in the line as the chef gestured to Yorkshire Puddings and she filled her plate with a vast array of vegetables. “You must know that. It’s a character”
“I know what you mean, I suppose I’m just a bit put out though.”
“That nobody recognised you, you mean?”
“Yeah,” he said, a little niggled. “I know I look different with dark hair, but not that different, surely? Those women in Manchester recognised me.”
“People don’t expect Benn Williams to be queuing up for roast potatoes at the Toby Carvery.” She sat down at the table and started tucking into the cauliflower cheese, “you must enjoy that though, you must get recognised everywhere.”
“I do, but never intentionally,” he shook his head. “I suppose that’s why this feels odd.”
“I’d enjoy it if I were you, Violet keeps looking over and I bet she was a big fan of Wuthering Heights. She’ll recognise you if you take your top off.”
“Funny.”
“Perhaps,” she laughed. “Maybe I just want you to take your top off.”
They were halfway through their sticky toffee puddings when Violet and her guests walked past waving goodbye, Scarlett bouncing happily being carried by her dad, brandishing a massive confetti filled balloon. There was a loud rush of noise and clamour as they exited, and then silence. The door suddenly opened, and Martin rushed back in looking agitated, he came straight over to their table.
Becoming Lady Darcy Page 15
