Chapter Seven
Catching The Tones Of The Conversation
The ladies did not join them for breakfast next day, to Darcy’s relief.
It would be mortifying to face Miss Elizabeth over coffee and devilled kidneys before he had the opportunity to make peace with her.
Breakfast à deux with Hugh as the only other family member present would have been well-nigh as bad, but luckily George had ridden early to Pemberley from Sparrowhill to join them, and kept them civil and within bounds. Darcy gave him a hearty welcome.
“Mamma usually breakfasts in her own rooms with Georgiana,” Hugh told Darcy, when he mentioned the absence of the ladies. He added, tone savage, “Her new rooms.”
“Yes,” was all Darcy said. His taking the master’s rooms gave Hugh such dissatisfaction, it appeared to transform his brother’s breakfast into gall and wormwood.
Mrs Darcy had a better grasp on the proprieties: she had moved out of the mistress’s rooms the week before, George had told him the previous evening, and taken up residence in a fine suite on quite the other side of the house.
Hugh glowered, but obviously grasping at the tattered remnants of his temper, ground out, “You will not see her much before ten. I expect Lizzy has been and gone, and is out walking before Mamma needs her to do something.”
George stirred coffee that reminded Darcy of the Turkish brew he and Bingley had drunk in Cairo, strong enough for the spoons to stand upright. “I hope, Fitzwilliam, you are prepared for the next few days. All the neighbours will call.”
That jolted him. “All of them?”
Hugh’s laugh was at Darcy’s expense. “Every last one, I expect.” He added a pointed, “Except perhaps the duke. He is still in mourning for his father.”
Darcy had not met the new Duke of Devonshire, who was around Hugh’s age.
The late duchess had been Georgiana’s godmother and namesake, and since her death five years earlier, his father had said in his letters, relations between the two families had become distant.
Cordial, of course, but the Darcys were not in the first rank of Devonshire’s friends.
They were ‘county friends’, the sort politely invited to large gatherings because they were neighbours rather than dear to the heart.
Darcy would not repine too much if His Grace’s luxurious coach forbore to roll up Pemberley’s drive, though at some point they would meet.
His uncle would arrange it: he and the Devonshires were politically aligned, after all, and Pemberley’s three pocket boroughs must be kept in the Whig fold.
“I suppose I must resign myself to suffer such interruptions at least for the next week or two.”
“It has to be done,” was George’s unsympathetic verdict.
“The gentlemen will mark the arrival of Pemberley’s master by making calls of ceremony.
The ladies will visit Mrs Darcy and”—George’s expression was now a decided smirk—“consider how best they might bring their various daughters to your attention.”
“Good Lord,” was all Darcy found to say.
The notion appeared to disgust Hugh, who had flushed and grimaced at the words ‘Pemberley’s master’. “They will consider you quite the catch, I am sure.”
Hugh may be a surly young pup, but in this case, he was likely correct. Darcy sighed. It made his plate of devilled kidney taste as wormwood-y as Hugh’s appeared to do.
He had time for a word with Reid after breakfast, before his stepmother sought him out. His new steward had been up and around for hours, it appeared.
“I ate breakfast in the servants’ hall, sir, at the upper servants’ table. Can’t say they quite knew what to do with me or where to sit me.” Reid’s grin was savage. “It will right itself as we become acquainted. Then I took a look around outside. The park is very fine.”
“It is, indeed. Well, let me discuss matters with Mrs Darcy, and then you and I will begin work. In the meantime, Pemberley has a library every bit as fine as the park. Make yourself free of it, and I will come and find you when Mrs Darcy and I are done.”
Reid, who had managed to carry books with him wherever in the world they had journeyed, brightened visibly and was quick to obey.
Darcy was left to explore his father’s study in the older part of the house, and admire the neat way it was set up, with boxes of papers and documents stored on oak bookcases so ancient they looked to be crafted out of the remains of the ark.
Some of the documents were a great deal older than the house itself.
When Mrs Darcy joined him, and after the usual polite greetings, he remarked upon the collection of old documents, noting that they should really be stored in the stone-walled muniments room in the cellar, safe from fire.
“I believe these are mostly copies, but your father liked having Pemberley’s history at his fingertips,” Mrs Darcy told him.
“Ah. I understand his affection for them.”
“Do you?”
“The history roots us here, does it not, and gives us our sense of who we are.” He gave her a slight smile. “That applies to me as much as any other Darcy, you know. Still, you did not wish to talk about old papers, I am sure.”
She had flushed slightly over the cheekbones, but she took the opportunity he offered to change the subject. “There are a few things we should discuss. Your plans for Georgiana, for instance, and…” She hesitated. “I shall be direct, Fitzwilliam. Do you wish me to remain at Pemberley?”
He could not be surprised, given their indifference towards each other. She was no fool. She knew she remained Pemberley’s mistress at his pleasure, and at any time he could remove her to the Dower House. Yet, she did not beg or plead, but sat erect and proud. Admirable, really.
“I assure you I will be very pleased for you to remain mistress here until such time I marry, and I have no notion of marrying soon. You have been mistress for many years, and, since I would be a fool indeed to overset that apple-cart, I would be grateful if you would consent to carry on. I am sure we will contrive to live in harmony.” He essayed a smile he hoped looked rueful.
“As for Georgiana, I am not qualified to take sole management of a fifteen-year-old girl. Any decisions about her education, for example, or her come-out in a few years, we will discuss first. Though I reserve the right to make those decisions, you are her mother and know her best.”
Only for an instant did he see her relief, before she hid it. “Thank you. So many gentlemen discount the views and advice of a lady.” For the first time, she offered him a smile. “I am glad you are not one of them.”
Had his father brushed her concerns and opinions aside? It was not impossible. Robert Darcy had been fixed in his views.
“We both want to ensure Georgiana’s health and happiness, and can work well in harness together to achieve it.
We might discuss this again, when I have learned more of my sister.
” Even on his side of it, he could feel how wry his smile became.
“I do regret that I do not know her or Hugh as well as I should. All I really know of Georgiana is that she is musical, and her playing delighted my father. He mentioned it in every letter, I think. I take it she has not attended school?”
“No. She is too shy and reserved to do well in a school. She has a governess, and does not lack for companions near her own age with the younger Bennet girls so close.”
“George mentioned they shared her lessons. I thought at first Miss Elizabeth was her governess.”
“Lizzy? Oh no. She principally supports me in managing the house, our relations with the tenants, and Pemberley’s charitable work. Do you object to her presence? She is my family, but not yours, so I do understand—”
“No objection at all! You must continue as you did before my arrival, when it comes to guests of that sort.” It behoved him to make his peace with Miss Elizabeth, considering the evident favour with which his step-mother regarded her.
Mrs Darcy murmured her thanks.
“I have another matter on which I seek your views, ma’am. Though the other ladies and Hugh are in half-mourning…” He gestured to her dress, feeling all the awkwardness of referring to a loss she undoubtedly suffered more keenly than he did himself.
“It is too early for me for half-mourning. It may feel so for a while yet.”
“I understand. I wish, then, to ask about hosting guests. In a few weeks, a close friend of mine and his sisters will travel north to his family home in Yorkshire. While Pemberley is a touch out of his way, I would like to invite them to break their journey here and stay a week or two. I do not envisage any great festivities and entertainments beyond our usual avocations. Bingley enjoys shooting, and I may organise small excursions to Dovedale or Chatsworth, but nothing more elaborate—no evening parties are required or expected, for instance. However, if it causes you too much discomfort, then hosting Bingley can wait until you are more at ease and more able to accept a broadening of our family party.”
She looked surprised, but said, after a moment’s hesitation, “My dear Fitzwilliam, this is your home now. You must feel free to invite whosoever you please.”
“Not if you find the notion disagreeable, ma’am.
If it reassures you, I can confirm Bingley is an excellent fellow, and will be all that is sympathetic and understanding as a guest in a house still in mourning.
I am barely acquainted with his sisters, but hope Bingley’s characteristics are shared by all his family. ”
“Then do, please, invite them. If they are content with a less exuberant visit than they might normally expect, then we will be glad to see them.”