Snow Falls at Pemberley (A Very Darcy Holiday Hug #13)

Chapter 1

Pemberley

Elizabeth shivered, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

The enormous drawing room had two great fireplaces, each with leaping fires and well laid with plenty of logs.

But the room was too large, too high-ceilinged, for the fires to be fully effective, and Elizabeth had spent much of the afternoon in the smaller parlour which was easier to keep comfortably warm.

However, her husband — husband! — adhered to formality, and she needed to be here before dinner.

She turned to the windows, drew one of the curtains back, and gazed out into the December dusk. The Pemberley parkland was buried under thick snow, and she could see the drifts closer to the house glittering in the candlelight.

Mr. Darcy liked his home to be well-lit, and the house must look like part of a fairytale from the outside.

Her lips tightened. His home. It was not hers.

She might live here now, but it did not feel like home.

And she was mistress of this vast estate, performing the duties expected of her to the very best of her ability.

But she felt a guest here, and had, ever since they arrived — in silence. He was always silent.

It had been — and felt — the longest journey of her life. Married to a man she barely knew, and what she had known was hardly complimentary. She shivered again, and took a last look outside before crossing the room to the nearest fireplace, to take a seat on the sofa.

It wasn’t her favourite seat, because she didn’t really have one. The house was the sort of grand country house she and her uncle and aunt were shown round when they were taking a tour together.

She looked around the room. Rich furnishings, heavy curtains to keep the room warmer, and sumptuous furniture. Elizabeth could not imagine that she would ever call this home.

Her surroundings, the formality, the army of silent and remote servants just for her and Mr. Darcy, it was all suffocating.

And the silence! Heavens, the silence. Arriving directly from Longbourn where the house — her home — had been noisy, busy and — yes, chaotic, from morning to night.

Servants rushing to and fro, the voices of Mama and her younger sisters, Mary playing the piano …

how Elizabeth missed them all, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

But no; she did not miss them all. She was so, so angry with her youngest sister.

How could Lydia have done this to her! Elizabeth frowned into the fire.

All her sister had said when confronted was that the servant had been very handsome indeed, and when he had smiled at her, she just knew she had to go with him.

Stupid girl! In the middle of the assembly, no less, and with the new neighbours from Netherfield attending, too.

Elizabeth hadn’t seen the servant at first, but when she had seen the edge of Lydia’s gown vanishing out of the room and Mr. Darcy hurrying after her, Elizabeth had raced to follow them, certain that awful man was up to something.

After all, even though she’d not been introduced to him, she had heard his scathing words to his friend.

“She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

Those words still haunted her, even now, months later.

At the assembly, she had pretended amusement to hide her hurt, and spread his insult widely, while watching him covertly.

His proud demeanour, his disdain apparent with every glance, and his haughty manners to all at the assembly, had all conspired to aggravate her further and her dislike had already become established.

So, why had he followed Lydia, a girl he had been watching with curled lip and a disgusted expression? He had not even been introduced to her!

Then she had seen the servant — a mere kitchen hand from the inn below the assembly rooms — slipping out of the small room off the corridor; had seen Lydia scowling at whatever Mr. Darcy had said to her as she too turned and ran through the servant’s door.

“Stupid girl!”

She knew she wasn’t supposed to have heard Mr. Darcy’s muttered words, but they had incensed her.

“Just the same as all of us that you have disdained all evening, sir! Except that she is very young. I suppose you never did anything in childhood that you were ashamed of?”

He spun round to face Elizabeth. “I beg your pardon, madam,” he bit out. “I suppose you didn’t see the serving man she was with?” He drew himself up to full height, but before he could berate her further, there was a scuffling sound at the door.

“Compromise!” Mama’s voice was louder and shriller than ever.

“Mama! No!” Elizabeth had tried to stop her, but a crowd had quickly gathered, and Mr. Darcy had pushed through them all and walked out.

Elizabeth hadn’t known it then, but he had gone straight to Papa. Within days, she was Mrs. Darcy, and had left Hertfordshire forever. She could not see how her silent, taciturn and probably bitter husband would ever forgive or wish to see any of her family ever again.

He had never spoken of the incident to her — or even Papa. Why had he followed Lydia, a girl he had never met, never spoken to, and disapproved of? He could have left her to ruin. Elizabeth doubted she would ever know the answer. And — Mama. This was Mama’s fault, too.

No wonder Mr. Darcy was so angry.

She was drawn back to the present moment as the door opened, and the housekeeper bustled in behind the footman and stood to supervise two maids, one carrying a tea tray.

Steam curled upwards from the spout and Elizabeth thought a warm drink would be welcome; although, glancing at the clock, it was only a few minutes before dinner would be called.

She frowned slightly, it was unlike Mr. Darcy to be late.

Mrs. Reynolds curtsied, her expression rather anxious.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Darcy, but the master arrived late from the estate repairs. He has instructed that dinner be delayed for half an hour. I thought you might appreciate something warm to drink while you waited, since this room is colder than the small parlour.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “I thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. It is very thoughtful of you.”

The woman nodded. “It is unfortunate, but it looks as if the weather is closing in rather more. Travel may become impossible, and it means Miss Darcy may not be here for the festive season.”

“I see. It would be wrong to subject Miss Darcy to such a difficult journey. I hope she has not yet departed from London.” Elizabeth tried to keep herself composed. She had been looking forward to meeting her new sister, and had hoped they could be friends — it would lift her loneliness somewhat.

“I agree, Mrs. Darcy. I am sure her family will have taken every precaution.” The kindly older woman unfolded a blanket from the back of the sofa and spread it over Elizabeth’s knees.

“I would not wish you to become cold, madam.” She cast a keen glance at the tray where the maid had poured her a cup of tea, and small biscuits rested on the Spode bone china plate.

Elizabeth sighed; everything was of the highest quality, and she was tired of living so high.

But she smiled at the housekeeper; the friendly woman was one of the consolations of this cold life she had not, and did not, want.

“Thank you, I shall be quite all right.” She smiled briefly. “I hope the kitchen are not too disrupted with the delay.”

Mrs. Reynolds smiled again. “I doubt there will be a problem, madam.”

As the door closed behind them — four servants, just to bring her tea! Elizabeth felt lonelier than ever.

It was not long before the footman opened the door again and her husband entered the room.

He looked as he ever did, immaculately turned out, his cravat snowy white against his dinner jacket, the sapphire stickpin rather too much, she thought, given there were to be no guests at dinner.

He bowed at her distantly. “Mrs. Darcy.”

Elizabeth had risen to her feet. She curtsied slightly. “Mr. Darcy.”

How long would he keep up this formality? She knew he disdained and resented her, and her own resentment at him was almost as strong as that against her mother and Lydia. But he was a handsome man, and she wondered what she would do if he ever smiled at her.

He crossed over to the tray and the decanter. “I would offer you a small sherry, madam, but I see there is also hot mulled wine in honour of the season. May I tempt you with a glass?”

If only his tone was warmer, Elizabeth might be delighted at the conversation. “I thank you, yes.”

As he carried over the glasses, he extended one to her, and her fingertip brushed the back of his hand. She was hard-put not to recoil in shock, she did not think she had ever touched him without gloves on, and then only to be handed into the carriage.

Warmth spread a little within her even at that momentary touch and her loneliness lifted just a little.

She nodded acceptance of the drink and turned towards the window.

The view would possibly still be visible, and might restore her equanimity.

But one of the maids who had brought the tea must have closed the curtain again without Elizabeth noticing.

She supposed it was for the best and would keep the room warmer for after dinner.

Elizabeth could remember what she had seen earlier, and the memory of the park covered in pristine snow would calm her a little.