Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
A few days later, a letter came from Haddon Court.
The viscount was now experiencing periods where he was insensible of the world around him, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence was desperately needed.
Anguish lined every feature of the colonel’s face, and Elizabeth’s heart ached when she thought of him losing his only brother.
“You will be of great comfort during this sad time,” she told him, just before he entered Mr Darcy’s carriage.
“But who will bring comfort to me?” he said, kissing her fingers meaningfully.
Bowing low, he bid her farewell, and Elizabeth returned to Georgiana, suddenly worried for the unnatural pallor of her friend’s countenance.
Mr Darcy must have noted it too, for he went to Georgiana's other side and gently supported her up the steps.
Once inside he rang for Mrs Reynolds, who insisted that bed rest and quiet would be required for the remainder of the day. Elizabeth did not miss their exchange of anxious glances over Georgiana’s head.
“How is her sleep?” she caught him murmuring to the housekeeper, who answered with a purse of the lips.
Worried for her friend, Elizabeth asked whether Georgiana would like to be read to. “There is an illuminating book on crop irrigation in the library. I am sure it would send you to sleep in an instant.”
“No,” Georgiana replied with a wan smile, her face ashen.
“Mrs Reynolds is correct. I should retire. All I want to do is rest. I am sorry that I am not better company.” She addressed Mr Darcy, “Brother, will you look after Miss Bennet this afternoon? I am sure she will feel Fitzwilliam’s departure most keenly. ”
Certain that a man as busy as Mr Darcy would have countless reasons not to spend the afternoon with her, Elizabeth was shocked to hear him say, “If it reassures you, Georgiana, and it is amenable to Miss Bennet, then I shall make myself at her disposal. A meeting with a tenant has been postponed, and I unexpectedly have time to spare.” Placing a comforting hand upon his sister’s arm, he added, “But I wish to know at once if you feel unwell.”
This tender moment was at odds with the Mr Darcy of Elizabeth’s memory; she had always remembered him to be a distant and cold sort of man, especially with regard to his sister.
She thought again of his confession, of how he had hidden his grief from all the world.
Perhaps she had misjudged him? Once, Elizabeth might have dreaded his company, but she had a growing sense that under his grave surface was a man of depth and feeling.
He intrigued her, she was prepared to admit, and if his presence meant that Georgiana’s mind was eased, then that would be an additional advantage.
“Before the colonel received his unfortunate letter, Georgiana, he, and I had intended to visit Apollo’s Temple so that I might spend some time sketching it. The path is too steep for my aunt, so perhaps you might like to join me instead?”
Mr Darcy’s gaze lingered upon Elizabeth. How she longed to know what he was thinking; his was such a guarded disposition, so different to the open friendliness of his cousin. What would it be like to draw him out? What would make him laugh?
To her amazement, he gave a quick bow and said, “Allow me a moment to inform my steward of the amendment to my day, and I shall be with you directly.”
Anxious to reassure Georgiana that she was content with this change in their plans, Elizabeth set aside her surprise and kissed her friend’s cheek. “Rest well, my dear, and you may laugh at my artistic pretensions upon our return.”
Elizabeth walked alongside Mr Darcy, her arm in his.
He was quiet, as was his wont, and for once, so was she.
Still recovering from the speed of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s departure, and reeling a little from his almost proposal, Elizabeth did not have her usual capacity for conversation, and Mr Darcy was not the sort of effusive man that rattled away.
Yet, she did not mind the silence; it felt oddly companionable.
Pemberley’s grounds were extensive, and her calves ached as she ascended the hill towards the temple, constructed a few hundred years ago by one of Mr Darcy’s illustrious relations.
Panting a little, she slowed, and a flash of concern passed over his countenance.
“Am I too fast? I do not wish for you to faint again.”
Elizabeth smiled away his worry. “I am well, let me assure you. It is only that your legs are longer than mine, and I have not climbed this path in many years.”
He stopped and allowed her to catch her breath. Sunlight illuminated the magnificent grounds spread out before them, the precisely ordered parterres and fountains a glorious reminder of the wealth and consequence of the Darcy family.
“Is it how you remembered?” Mr Darcy’s voice came quietly at her side.
“Your home grows more magnificent with each visit,” she replied, enthralled. “There is no beauty equal to that of Pemberley’s.”
He opened his mouth, his gaze fleetingly resting on her lips, looking as though he might contradict her, but said instead, “I am glad that you think so. As its custodian, it is my deepest fear that I should be lacking the qualities needed to ensure Pemberley’s success.”
This frank admission of vulnerability appeared to surprise Mr Darcy as much as it did Elizabeth. Gently, she replied, “Allow me to say, with my limited experience, that you are doing a fine job.”
“You would not have me change anything?”
“It is not for me to suggest how you run your household.”
The corner of Mr Darcy’s mouth curved upwards. “Again, an indirect answer, Miss Bennet. Lady Acaster was correct—you have elevated eluding questions to a form of art.”
She heard an unspoken challenge in his voice, and her temper rose to meet it. “Pemberley needs more colour. Too many of your rooms, for all their grandeur, feel dark and empty. There needs to be more light, more softness. Not in every room, of course, but in the ones that are used most frequently.”
“How do you recommend I remedy this disturbing lack of homeliness?” Mr Darcy sounded offended, but Elizabeth would not be sorry; it was he who had demanded her honest opinion.
“Flowers,” she replied with an arch of her eyebrow.
“If I had a home of my own, there would be flowers everywhere. Nature would be as much on the inside as on the out. Drawing books would be hidden in every corner so I might be able to sketch whenever inspiration struck, and I would be so vain as to choose my favourite pieces and hang them about the place so I could be surrounded by beauty.”
“I suppose all the existing paintings would have to be removed to make space for them.” Mr Darcy no longer appeared annoyed; in fact, he was smiling.
“Naturally,” Elizabeth continued, warming to her theme. “For what good is a portrait by Thomas Lawrence when you may admire one of my delphinium sketches.”
“I shall be sure to tell that to the master himself when I see him next.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell agape. “Are you acquainted with Mr Lawrence?”
“I have sat for him several times.” Mr Darcy beckoned towards the top of the hill. “If you have sufficiently recovered your breath, I shall answer all your questions about the great man while we reach our destination.”