Becoming Lady Darcy

by Sara Smallman

  “Thank you, Lady Darcy,” he enunciated as he helped her drag the film star to his feet.

  Disturbed by being moved, Benn roused enough to vomit all over Nigel’s highly polished shoes. Lizzy gave him a handful of notes and an apologetic smile.

  The orange tinge of streetlights crept through the chinks in the heavy jacquard curtains, as he woke up, he instantly forgot where he was or how he got there. She was on the bed next to him, on top of the covers, a blanket draped over her. Even in sleep he could still see the gentle jut of her chin, the frown in her brow and he leaned over tracing it with his fingertip just to make sure that it was her. She stirred a little in her sleep; quickly, gently, he clambered out of bed in search of a bathroom.

  The shower was hot and powerful as he washed the night before off his skin, an inexplicable hint of chilli sauce dancing around his cuticles. There were clean towels and posh soaps, and he wondered what his mother would say about this bathroom with its sparkling ceramics and glistening chrome. Dry and warm, he climbed back under the cover. She stretched long and hard, her pyjama top pulling up tantalisingly high, opening her eyes she smiled warmly at him.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning, you should go back to sleep.”

  “I’m awake now. How is your head?”

  She leaned over to pick up her phone, checked the time. It was really early.

  He grimaced, “probably not as bad as it would have been.”

  She sat up in front of him. Even half asleep, she was still beautiful to him. It wasn’t simply the way she looked, it was the way she was.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re in Chelsea. This is my mum’s house, I inherited it from her, I guess. They rent it out usually, but it’s been empty for a while.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He reached over and placed his hand on hers.

  “I didn’t know where else to bring you, there were too many people at The Dorchester and this seemed like a good idea, but maybe it looks like I’ve kidnapped you.”

  “You rescued me.”

  “Sounds better than kidnap, I suppose. I should have rescued you before,” she murmured. “I wish you had told me that you were drinking again. I was just so cross that I read about it in the paper, but after I rang you, I was just furious with myself for not giving you a chance to explain. I should have flown to LA, I should have helped you.”

  “I thought I was okay when I got out there, being with you made me think I was okay. I thought it would be okay to have a drink. One drink.”

  “It’s never just one drink.”

  “I know that. Seeing you last night made me realise what a fucking mess I made of everything, I –”

  “I asked too much of you. I should have helped you rather than ignoring it, rather than walking away.”

  “I should have told you, but I was embarrassed,” he said firmly.

  “I would have stopped you.”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

  “I would have tried,” she said. “I should have tried.” There was a pause as she thought carefully what she wanted to say, how she wanted to phrase it. “It’s not about me, it’s not even about you. It’s about Esther and Anya.”

  “The girls?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want his pity, but she needed him to know her truth.

  “My mum took an overdose, they think,” she swallowed hard. “They didn’t tell me that for a long time, didn’t want me to know, because she didn’t leave a note, so we never knew why she did it, or even if she meant to. I like to think that she didn’t, and she just…”

  She held her breath for moment, summoned up the courage to carry on.

  “When you told me about the Tube, I knew you wouldn’t have thought about writing a note or giving a reason,” the words rattled out of her like machine gunfire “and Esther and Anya, they are older, they would remember you. They would always want to know why you did it, they would always want to know if it was something they did, or if there was something they could have done to stop you.”

  Silence.

  An awkward vacuum of nothingness.

  “Fuck.”

  He had never even considered the brutal truth of it; that he would leave his children confused, his family devastated and uncertain.

  “I didn’t want you to drink, because I knew it would make you feel that way again, and I didn’t want you to feel that way ever again. All I could think of was that I didn’t want them to not know you. I didn’t want them to always wonder why you weren’t around.”

  He pulled her close into him, felt the shudder as her well-rehearsed façade crumbled.

  “Please don’t cry, please don’t cry because of me,” he pleaded. “I’m such a useless, selfish bastard.”

  She held him as tight as she possibly could, thinking about what she needed to say to him, all the words that she hadn’t said to him when she should have.

  “After what you told me, I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t.” This was the ugliest of cries. “I knew something wasn’t right when you were in LA, I could tell.”

  “You couldn’t have known. Lizzy, this is not your fault. You are not to blame for this.”

  “I am,” she was nodding her head, her eyes puffy and red, her usual tone taking on a little whine.

  “No,” he was resolute in this statement, she could see his jaw clench. “This is something I have to fix, and I will. I promise you.”

  He placed his palm flat against hers, interlinking their fingers.

  “Palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss,” he whispered, a remembrance of the night when they saw the stars. “I’ll make this right, Lizzy.”

  “But it’s too late now, for us, isn’t it?”

  She was clean-faced, wearing pyjamas, her hair everywhere, her eyes sad, because she thought that all hope of them had gone, and he felt an overpowering rush of love for her.

  “Lizzy – my lovely Lizzy - it would never, ever be too late for us.”

  He watched her process the information, uncertain if she believed him or not; but then, as if she had gotten caught up in a moment that she couldn’t get out of, he felt her lips on his. It was tentative, unsure, and she opened her eyes wide and all at once, as if she had forgotten what she was doing, pulling back.

  “I’m so sorry, you have a girlfriend.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But what about—"

  Without thinking about it, he kissed her. It was deep and dreamy, and he could feel himself get lost in the magical wondrousness of all of this. He wasn’t entirely sure that he even awake, feeling as if he was at home in his lonely bed, fitfully dreaming about her. But it was real because here she was, running her fingers through his hair and making him feel as if he had never been kissed before. He needed to stop thinking about it, he needed to just enjoy it.

  Lizzy was aware that her face was still hot from tears, but she wasn’t even thinking about that. She was thinking about how Benn’s hands were moving onto her waist, pulling her towards him. She could feel the gentle warmth of him against her, the gentle urgency, and all she was aware of was that she did not want this to end.

  Under the sheets his hands moved tenderly, hesitantly, under the thin t-shirt; he felt the smoothness of her skin, the soft arc of her body. He touched every fragment of her until finally, slowly, he was moving inside her, and he felt her push against him as they held each other tightly, before falling to the sheets, sated and alive.

  She curled up against him, her head on his chest, her hair in his face; as he drifted off to sleep, he swore to himself that he would always remember the image of her glistening up at him, the way her curls surrounded her face like a halo, the way she had bit her lip to stop from crying out.

  A few hours later he awoke suddenly and dressed quickly, knowing full well that the scent of her was still lin
gering on his skin. In his jacket pocket, he felt the reassuring shape of the pineapple necklace. He curled the chain around his finger, placing the copper pendant on the pillow next to her. It had always been hers really, he just hoped that one day she would forgive him for what he was about to do.

  When she woke up a short while later, Benn was gone, and his phone was going straight to voicemail.

  1945

  Thomas Bingley had been looking through some old atlases that he had found whilst rummaging about in the tower, where he was trying to keep out of Lady Millicent’s way. A man from the War Office had come to visit and so Pemberley was stood to attention. The gold bull on the spine that he recognised from the books in the library was tarnished but still guarding the flaking cover and the fading illustrated pages. The letter was hidden between a map of Egypt and Persia and he removed it slowly, inhaling the musky smell.

  My Dearest Elizabeth,

  If this poorly formed letter is now in your hands, then I have taken my leave of this earth and left you alone in it. Do not cry, my dearest, for I would hate to think that sad thoughts of me would cause a frown upon your face when our love walks around in each of our children – the-enduring inheritance that we have bequeathed to Pemberley, and our grandchildren who will continue the legacy that we created.

  Ours has been a rewarding life together, through the best of times and the saddest of times, but everything bad was easier to overcome with you by my side, and every beautiful occasion was made sweeter knowing that I had your hand to hold.

  I am so grateful that you gave me the opportunity to prove to you every day that I was the gentleman worthy of you, and I sincerely hope that this life of ours has been as wonderful for you as it has been for me. We have built a strong family who have known what it is to grow up in a house filled with love and laughter, and my dearest wish is that there will always be Darcys at Pemberley, in the home we have loved so dearly, to continue our legacy.

  Please know that however my end has occurred, my last thought will have been of you – of you dancing and laughing with a fire in your heart and a spark in your eyes. You may now be a grand duchess, but to me you will always be the impertinent girl with the fine eyes who captured my heart across a crowded assembly room.

  Elizabeth Bennet, I have loved you, most ardently, until the end of my days and will continue to love you until, by the grace of God, we meet again.

  My heart always has been and always will be yours.

  Darcy

  He ran his finger over the parts where the words had become smudged, seeping into the page, the sharp lines of the letters blotting into the thick paper. Thomas was old enough to know that this letter had been cried over, teary drops of water falling onto the parchment and disguising the words – he squinted, deciphering what it said before folding the letter back up and carefully placing it back between the pages.

  He carried the atlas down the curve of the staircase, the woven cover accidentally bouncing off the plaster, before putting it back in its place in the library and returning the gilded bull to its literary herd. Inside, folded carefully, a lost treasure waiting to be found again.

  Twenty-Seven

  The yellow Mini darted up the driveway of Pemberley, over the hill, curling around the bridge, through the tall trees, fast and smooth in the curve of the landscape towards the house itself. Above them the soft twilight of the stars illuminated the way, as the four women inside sang ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ as loudly as they could in the vast expanse of moorland that lay beneath the stately gaze of the Cage.

  As they pulled into the visitor car park, they disturbed a few of the ancient red deer, who always ventured down after nightfall, perhaps trying to reclaim their lost land. The car came to an abrupt stop outside the small information kiosk, the doors opened, and Imogen fell out into a heap onto the floor.

  “Fuckssake!!” she said exasperatedly as she struggled with the car seat, trying to let Harriet out of the back, as the smooth upholstery banged against her hip.

  “Calm down, Imogen,” Harriet warned as got out of the car and dragged her aunt to her feet.

  Reaching the smooth path, the girls paused for a moment to remove their shoes and then began the slow walk up the steep hill to the house itself. Arm in arm, they began to sing again, their voices ringing out like a siren’s call in the dark emptiness of the valley.

  It was May, the air around Pemberley filled with smell of the summer ahead; freshly mown grass, magnolias and the warmth of the air itself. The house on the hill was bathed in golden light, looking like a majestic wedding cake plonked on the landscape, its cornices and arches somehow transformed into sugar craft in the darkness. In four weeks, the Duke of Derbyshire planned to marry for the third time, and this time he knew it was for real. The future Mrs Darcy, as she was choosing to be known for professional reasons, hadn’t wanted a big fuss making, however, this evening had been her unofficial hen party.

  Organised in the ‘Georgiana’ suite of the Armitage Arms, her future stepdaughters had arranged for family, friends and staff members, past and present, to attend and all were there to celebrate with Joyce, who had been overcome with emotion as she had been led into the room which had been decorated with soft pink roses, white lilies and dozens of fairy lights. It had taken three glasses of prosecco before she had finally relaxed and then danced with everyone, thanking them all profusely for attending, before falling asleep on one of the plush purple sofas, the glittery willy bopper headband still bouncing on her head. The willy headbands had been Imogen’s idea and she had been immensely proud of them, whilst Lizzy had shuddered at the thought and tried to accidentally leave the bag behind in the flat.

  “You did really well tonight,” Maggie said, as they followed the younger women up the hill, “I think she really enjoyed it.”

  “She won’t be saying that tomorrow when Imogen puts all of those pictures on Instagram.”

  “Maybe not,” Maggie agreed.

  They were halfway up the steep hill that led the way home. Maggie followed her cue and sat too, and they both stared up at the indigo sky, which was quietly dotted with stars.

  “I had forgotten how dark it gets here.”

  “I miss you, Maggie.”

  “I miss you too,” she said. “As great as London is, it’s not Pemberley.”

  “Pemberley is home, Mags, it will always be here when you decide to come back,” she reached into one of the bags they had brought back from the party and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in tin foil. “Cake?”

  There was a silence again. Maggie knew that Lizzy was hiding something from her, she could always tell, would always know. She simply had to wait long enough for it all to come flooding out.

  “How’s Pete? Is he coming to pick you up tomorrow?”

  Maggie had dated Peter Edwards on and off for years, and Lizzy counted him as part of the family, Harriet even called him ‘Uncle Pete’. It looked as though they would never marry – Pete living in his own flat in Tooting, working as a DCI for the Metropolitan Police, and Maggie living and working at Pemberley – but they fumbled on and it seemed to work for them for a long time, until he wanted a future and a home with her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to make the leap from her comfortable existence to something new and different.

  It was the loss of Pete – the temporary split which saw her crying into her coffee far more often than she liked, ignoring the sad little glances from Kate in the ticket office – that pushed her to apply for the job at Austenation and move down south. He had proposed at the top of the Eiffel Tower on the eve of her birthday with a platinum solitaire from Tiffany’s. He knew it had cost far too much money, but his mother had always told him that shrouds don’t come with pockets, and Pete Edwards got down on one knee and popped the question as Margaret Jane Wickham accepted with the biggest of smiles. They had married quickly, quietly and without any fuss in the registry office at Chelsea and then treated themselves to afternoon tea and champagne at The Rit
z before texting everyone to let them know the good news.

  “Lizzy,” she said with all seriousness. “Pete isn’t perfect, he can be a complete arsehole sometimes, but I love him very much.” She took Lizzy’s hand, squeezing it a little, “I want you to be happy.”

  She rolled her eyes warningly, “I am happy, why would I not be happy?”

  “Lizzy, I know that you think you’re happy, but there is more to life than Pemberley; I think you need to leave for a bit, take stock of what you actually want. Maybe travel, take some of the book money and go on an adventure somewhere. Harriet is nearly all grown up, she will be going to university soon and what are you going to do then? You can’t keep yourself busy by doing the Lady Darcy tours of the house six times a week, it’s not enough. You’ve been rattling about since you left the office.”

  “Since I got sacked from the office, Mags. There’s no point wrapping it up in pretty paper.”

  “Pemberley is a great harbour, Lizzy, you will always be safe here, but that’s not why ships are built.”

  “Fucking hell, you’re quoting Pinterest to me now… you really are drunk!”

  “I mean it! You need to go your own way.”

  “Fleetwood Mac?” Lizzy raised her eyebrow and her laughing got louder. They pulled each other up of the pebbled pathway and made their way up the hill and into the house.

  “I’m serious,” Maggie said as they reached the oak door. “Pemberley was never designed to keep you locked up and prisoner, Pemberley was always designed to welcome you home. There are so many adventures waiting for you, Lizzy. Please go out and grab some of them before it’s too late.’

  “I will, Mags,” she said, unlocking the door with a clank. “But first, let’s have some tea. I’m absolutely parched!”

  Maggie snorted loudly and the happy sound of their laughter echoed around the courtyard as they climbed the stairs to the flat in the tower.

  1859