Austen Fitzwilliam-Darcy had his father’s mild-mannered temperament, unlike his sister Evelyn, who arrived a year later, kicking and screaming and very much like her mother. It had been hard at first - the sleeplessness, the night feeds, and then entertaining a toddler whilst holding a newborn, and there were arguments and shouting matches and the occasional storming out- but when Lizzy looked at her husband, sleeping on the couch, with their daughter on his chest and their son nestled in the crook of his arm, Billie Holiday crooning in the background, she knew that she would not change any of this; that this was where she was meant to be, raising another generation of Darcys on the ancient hunting lands.
It was a glorious Derbyshire morning, and the steady stream of visitors were already beginning to arrive; Austen was out in the garden, running and jumping on the lawn, Benn had been up early with Evelyn, a pile of bacon sandwiches and a pot of coffee were already on the table and she grabbed one before cheekily ruffling her husband’s hair. It was light again, but he had grown out his curls, which she loved, although she was still dubious about the beard, however much fancy beard oil he put on it. He quickly grabbed her hand, leaning in for a kiss, before passing her the Cath Kidston scarf that had been merrily drying on the line.
It was going to be a busy day.
A family tree has roots that run deep and dark into the earth that supports it, trailing its way through history, the branches weaving and wending their way through time itself, the leaves sprouting, blooming, falling, before returning to the ground and sustaining the tree with life before the never-ending cycle begins again.
It was all here in the crook of the land, in the reflection of the stream that trickled down from the peaks, in the arching curve of the hills that had dominated the geography of the land for centuries before Piers D’Arcy had claimed it for his own.
And so, it was as it would always be, the players would change, but the gentle sweeping route through the landscape would lead them all back home, layer upon layer, year upon year. The house nestled in the valley would continue to weave its magic into the family who loved it. Pemberley would always remain as constant as the stars in the sky.
Matilda
The woman rode to the summit of the hill overlooking the land; she had ridden here for nearly two days straight, banished to the rough country of the high peaks.
Edward had never forgiven her husband for his earlier treachery and treason, and this was the perfect punishment, gift-wrapped in the form of a feral wilderness that he hoped would destroy them all.
Matilda looked down on the land before her, resolute and decided; the King may have buried the D’Arcy family in the bitter soil of Derbyshire, but he did not realise that they were seeds.
The world consists of tiny stories powered by the beat of the human heart.
about the author
Sara Smallman lives and works on the outskirts of Lancashire, in a cluttered but vaguely tidy house that she shares with her two children.
Volunteering at Lyme Park for the National Trust, she constantly finds inspiration in the characters who lived there, especially in Thomas Legh, who is her historical man crush. She is adamant that if you learn about him, he will become your historical man crush too.
Sara has a degree in Screenwriting from the University of Central Lancashire and is like Lizzy Darcy in that she is quite sure that gin and cake will right any wrong.
Controversially, Matthew Rhys is her favourite Darcy.
‘Becoming Lady Darcy’ is her first novel.
acknowledgments
You all know who you are, you don’t need me to validate you.
Thank you for the support, the kind words, the late-night messages, the helpful hints, the dubious googling, checking the smut/cheese ratio, the soundtrack suggestions, the copious amounts of tea, the listening to me rant on, the reading of tiny script on tiny screens, for keeping me laughing, for buying me gin, for giving me hope, for being the world’s best cheerleaders.
K & O, you keep me OK. Love you to Pemberley and back again.
Lady Penny’s Cheese Pie
Millicent, nicknamed Penny by her American-born mother, was perhaps the most infamous of all the Darcy women to live here at Pemberley during the last century. Arrested several times, she was a prolific and somewhat combatant suffragette, causing damage to the properties of her father’s friends and serving time in Holloway. During the First World War she trained as a nurse, working in the military hospital at Dunmarleigh, as well as driving ambulances for the medical corps. This expertise was called upon again when she ran the officer’s convalescent home based at Pemberley during World War Two, in addition to rehoming a number of evacuees from cities hit by German bombing raids. In later years, she would take over the running of the Darcy business interests, including Stratton Mills and local newspaper publisher, Mercantile News. Following her death in 1969, her son Winston, the 10th Duke, discovered her memoirs and diaries, including her recipe for cheese pie, which became a seasonal favourite in the Pemberley tearooms.
FILLING:
3-4 onions
50g best butter
400g floury potatoes
200g Lancashire cheese
50g strong cheddar
1 tsp English Mustard powder
100ml double cream.
PASTRY:
150g plain flour
150g self-raising flour
Salt
150g best butter
1 beaten egg, to glaze
To make the pastry, tip your dry ingredients into a good strong bowl. Add your butter and squish between your fingers. When it gets to nearly breadcrumbs, stop. Splash in a touch of water and mix gently until it begins to clump. Bring together and leave to one side.
The inside is what makes this pie special. Chop your onions. You must use new onions for this as old ones will not melt down. Add roughly 200ml water and butter. The onions should reduce into an onion puree. Do not allow them to colour.
Boil your potatoes in salted water until soft. Leave to cool and mash them. Add your onions, potatoes, cheese, cream and mustard to a bowl and mix. Season to taste, white pepper is always preferable.
Roll out your pastry, a 20cm pie tin is ample. Add the filling and pie lid. Glaze your pie with the beaten egg and then bake in a hot oven (190c/170c fan/gas 5) for approx. forty minutes or until golden. Serve with a light salad, Mrs Reynolds’ Beetroot Chutney and a large glass of good red wine.
Becoming Lady Darcy Page 49
