Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Elizabeth and her aunt had travelled for many miles, braving bad weather and poor roads.
At Clay Cross, they changed into the liveried Darcy carriage that awaited them.
Trepidation hummed through Elizabeth’s veins as she ran her fingers over the familiar design on the squabs, remembering when she had first made the journey to Derbyshire, her father by her side, her governess snoring, her body quaking at the thought that she would soon be living with strangers.
How she wished they were staying with Lord Matlock!
If the choice were hers alone, she would not have returned to Pemberley.
Echoes of Mrs Bennet’s criticism rang through Elizabeth’s ears.
Ungrateful, headstrong child—what did you do to make them send you back?
Even now, the injustice of her mother’s disappointment burnt as fiercely in Elizabeth’s chest, as sharply and as brightly as it had five years ago.
It had been a surprise to learn that Mr Darcy had extended the invitation to her as well as her aunt.
How could she bear to look him in the eye, knowing what he must surely think of her?
“You are very quiet, Elizabeth,” her aunt observed.
“Lately my mind lives more in the past than in the present,” she murmured.
“You never speak of your time at Pemberley. I always feared you were unhappy there. When dear Mr Darcy wished for a friend for his little girl, my first thought was for you and for the advantages the connexion would bring. Your mother particularly agreed with the scheme.”
“I am sure she did,” replied Elizabeth bitterly.
She caught her aunt’s quizzical expression and forced a smile.
“I was desperately miserable at first, but you can be reassured that I was well cared for. However, it is strange to relive my childish experiences through an adult’s eyes.
I stayed only for one summer—hardly any time really, but it was enough to leave a marked impression on me. ”
“I believe you would have stayed longer if Mr Darcy had not taken ill.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, thinking it unlikely.
“Never was there a man more in love with his wife—and I include my poor departed Lord Acaster in that observation. Mr Darcy was devoted to Lady Anne—her death was a crushing blow to him, and his health took a terrible decline. Even though he died years later, it is my belief he never fully recovered from his loss. As you know, I met Lady Anne during my first Season. Even now I can see her standing on the stairs at Lady Mountford’s house, terror in her eyes, completely unaware of how captivating she was.
You would have adored her, for she was the dearest creature, so welcoming and sweet.
There was not a soul alive who could not fall a little in love with her.
When I was younger and newly-married, Lord Acaster and I used to visit Pemberley frequently.
After my own husband and Lady Anne died, I visited on one or two other occasions, but after Mr Darcy’s death I could not bring myself to return. ”
Lady Acaster’s eyes grew moist, and Elizabeth bowed her head to allow her aunt a moment to compose herself. The carriage jostled. Elizabeth gripped the edge of her seat. “At least the Derbyshire roads remain as I remember them.”
Through her tears, Lady Acaster smiled. “With the speed of our arrangements, I neglected to ask for your impressions of Miss Darcy and her brother. I only ever met them as children—Miss Darcy was only a scrap of a thing when I last saw her. It will be interesting to learn how much they have changed in the five years since you were all together.”
“Miss Darcy was a darling girl—a prodigious musician—and I adored her. Mr Darcy’s son—I find it difficult not to call him the young Mr Darcy—he was, as they say, a horse of another colour.”
“You do not think of him fondly?”
“It would be of no surprise if it were he that discouraged Miss Darcy from continuing our friendship,” replied Elizabeth coldly, recalling the first time she met the two Mr Darcys, father and son, and how different they had seemed.
Both wore severe expressions, but after a few thoughtful questions about her health and journey, she had sensed in the older Mr Darcy a kindly, if somewhat reserved, disposition.
The younger Mr Darcy did not speak much, instead preferring to watch her closely through narrowed eyes, like a captain scrutinising a dubious recruit.
“Have you spent much time with Lady Acaster?” had been his first question.
Caught off guard by his brusque manner, Elizabeth had explained that she had stayed with her aunt for a few nights in London before travelling to Derbyshire.
“But you have not spent any meaningful time in her house and among her society.” The younger man had continued in his interrogative way. “That is to say, you know nothing of genteel life?” He cast a meaningful glance at his father as though to say, “I warned you she was a nobody.”
Already nursing a homesick heart, this insult had been a fresh wound to Elizabeth’s fragile emotions.
“My aunt has always taken an interest in my upbringing,” she had replied as evenly as she could.
“As has my father, who is well equipped to teach me everything of importance with regard to polite society.”
You will be pleased to discover I can also eat with both a knife and a fork, she had longed to add but instead schooled her features to remain expressionless.
The younger Mr Darcy had not seemed impressed with her response, and asked, “Do you play an instrument?”
“The pianoforte, sir, though I do not pretend to be proficient.”
“Do you draw?”
“Very little.”
Undeterred, he had pressed, “What are your accomplishments, Miss Bennet? Tell me one or two of your interests. I wish to learn more of the girl who is to be a friend to my sister.”
Sitting in the carriage, Elizabeth’s mouth pressed into a smile as she recalled her spirited reply.
“I was always taught that a gentlewoman should not boast about her accomplishments, rather she must demonstrate her exemplary character through kind words and virtuous deeds. With regard to my interests, I can hardly say. The world thrills me, and I wish to learn all that I can of it. How am I to name one or two subjects when there is so much that I want to discover?”
The older Mr Darcy had roared with unexpected laughter.
“A fine answer, Miss Bennet! For those at the tender, formative age of fifteen, the world is still a wondrous place.” From the scowl on the younger Mr Darcy’s face, it was clear that he was not impressed with Elizabeth’s response.
He had paid no attention to her for the rest of the encounter.
Reliving that moment made her body feel hot and awkward, as though she were still that defensive young girl, so lost and alone.
Valiantly, Elizabeth threw herself back into the conversation with her aunt.
“He was very proud and disagreeable. For his sake, I hope that he has improved in the intervening years. Indeed, I do not think it possible for a man to be more taciturn or unpleasant.”
Her aunt’s brow creased. “What a shame to hear such a damning report of Lady Anne’s son! He was a lovely little boy. We shall not have much to do with him, and we may occupy ourselves with Miss Darcy instead.”
Wishing to change the subject, Elizabeth asked tentatively, “Do you believe there to be any hope for Lord Matlock’s eldest son?”
Lady Acaster shook her head. “By some miracle, he survived his accident, but his life hangs in the balance. It is understandable that Lord Matlock will not receive guests at present. Given my previous friendship with Mr Darcy’s mother, I am glad Pemberley was suggested as a suitable alternative.”
Elizabeth could not fully share her aunt’s enthusiasm and remained silent.
Not noticing her niece’s reticence, Lady Acaster continued blithely.
“I remember from your letters that you appeared quite enamoured of the younger Fitzwilliam son. He is a colonel now and on very close terms with the Darcy family, I am told. When Lord Callan dies, the colonel will inherit everything, making him a worthy prize for any woman. I have heard that his father has commanded him to visit his brother at Haddon Court. If we stay at Pemberley long enough, I am confident your paths will cross.”
Shocked at her aunt’s mercenary view of events, Elizabeth retorted, “That is a very heartless interpretation of Lord Callan’s misfortune. I should hate to use the suffering of another for my own gain.”
“No one could accuse you of such perfidy. I only speak to you as a woman of the world who wishes to secure your comfort. Elizabeth Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock has a noble sound to it,” said her aunt with a worrying lack of compunction.
Too agitated to speak, Elizabeth fell silent and turned her gaze to the world outside the carriage. Once, she had known every crag and brow of the hills surrounding Pemberley, and she drew strange comfort from the familiarity of the terrain.
At last, her aunt broke their silence. Reaching over, she squeezed Elizabeth’s hand.
“Do not be cross with me. You are too lovely to live a spinster’s life.
Rumour has it that the colonel is a fine-looking man.
Handsome as well as rich! Let us hope he is amiable—I will not have you end an old maid. ”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed at her aunt’s description. “As we approach Pemberley, I am fearful of what meddling you may attempt. Promise me that there will be no matchmaking.”
Lady Acaster’s shoulders drooped theatrically, and Elizabeth fought the impulse to laugh despite her vexation. Eventually, and with much reluctance, her aunt replied, “I shall not interfere.”
The road curved, and Pemberley came into view.
It was as majestic as Elizabeth remembered, all dramatic lines and carved stone.
An enormous ornamental lake stretched out in front of the house, reflecting the brilliant sun, and the ground was dancing with dazzling ripples of light.
Pemberley has a beauty that makes one ache, she thought; it could be the only explanation for the dull pain cleaving in her chest.
The carriage rolled down the lane. The last time she saw Pemberley had been when she departed shortly before the elder Mr Darcy’s death.
Unbidden, the image of Mr Wickham danced through her mind.
Her heart clenched; contained within those walls were many moments she had tried to forget.
What will Mr Darcy think of my return? There was a flurry of activity by the main door, and the horses slowed.
Shoulders back, Elizabeth gathered her composure, as unsure of her reception as she had been five years ago.