Chapter Seven #2
“Thank you. Bingley was with me in India, with Mr Reid. He is a staunch friend.” The moment soured a trifle with the mention of Reid, so he hastened to add, “I am still considering exactly how Reid will fit into the household, but in the meantime I wish him to take charge of those areas outside your purview, ma’am.
To begin with, he will survey the house with me while we decide on a programme of improvements, which he will then oversee.
” He essayed a smile, but she stared back at him, expressionless.
“I want Pemberley to be in the best condition it can be before winter, regarding roof and walls and windows. I remember the draughts all too well.”
“I see.”
Time to canvass the most difficult issue of all.
“One further thing. Hugh.”
Her eyes widened. Fear, rather than curiosity, he suspected, but once again she drew herself up proudly. “Yes?”
“I hope we can live in harmony, but I will be blunt, ma’am. Thus far, Hugh has not been welcoming.”
The colour on her cheekbones was marked. “You must remember that you do not know each other very well. Hugh has been the only son at Pemberley all his life.”
“I do remember. I understand Hugh’s position, I assure you.”
“He loves Pemberley deeply.” She gestured to the boxes of papers. “As did his father.”
“Yes. I do sympathise, but the circumstances are such we must all find our balance. Be assured I do not require he remove to… which estate was he was left? Shireoaks, was it not? He is welcome to remain here, part of the family, until he wishes to be independent. He is of age, so outside of my authority and I do not require his obedience or obeisance. But respect is necessary. He may think of me what he will, but he should forebear to voice it in my hearing.”
Mrs Darcy flushed brighter than before, and her mouth tightened. She favoured him with one sharp nod.
She understood him perfectly.
Elizabeth Bennet was leaving the library as he approached it on his way to find Reid. She treated him to a level look out of the bright, intelligent eyes that were quite the best feature in her too-thin face, and dropped a curtsey.
“Miss Bennet… Ah. Miss Elizabeth, rather.” He found himself gripping his lower lip between his teeth and had to force himself to stop. “Erm…”
She regarded him with an enquiring look he considered to be deliberately exaggerated, tilting her head to one side and quirking her finely-drawn eyebrows at him.
“I do not know if you… er… overheard us yesterday evening when you came to the dining room?”
“Gentlewomen do not deliberately eavesdrop, Mr Darcy. Have you confused me with a housemaid? Although in the maids’ defence, Mrs Darcy does not tolerate such behaviour in the staff and discourages gossiping, a stance I find quite admirable.”
His face burned. “Of course not, Miss Elizabeth. I meant no such thing. Only it would not be so extraordinary if you had chanced to overhear us as you approached the door. I meant no criticism of your conduct. Indeed, my only intention is to apologise if you heard anything that might have offended you.”
“Offended me? Neither you nor Geo— Mr Wickham were using language my father would stigmatise as sporting. You appeared to be exchanging frank opinions, an activity that does not necessarily involve tact and diplomacy between old friends. I cannot take offence, sir, at your right to do so.”
Dash it, had the girl heard him or not? She hinted at it, but would not be explicit. How was he to make amends if he did not know the depth of his offences? “Nevertheless, Miss Elizabeth, I do apologise.”
She pursed her lips, and surveyed him with that level gaze again, before nodding. “Very well, if you feel the need to undermine your own judgements, I accept your apology.”
He bowed, but before he could speak, she gestured to the door of the library and said, “Your Mr Reid is a fascinating man. He tells me he has travelled with you all over the world.”
“Yes. We were in the Americas and then India.”
“From one side of the world to the other. More interesting than merely noting the temperature of the place, I am sure.” She bobbed into another curtsey. “I will leave you and Mr Reid to your deliberations, sir. Good morning.”
She whisked herself away before he could do more than clack his sagging jaw shut, and collect himself enough to attempt to bow. He watched her go. George had said Miss Elizabeth would not be easy on him. George had not exaggerated.
Damn it.
George had not exaggerated about the neighbours coming to call, either.
They were considerate enough to allow him his first day at Pemberley unencumbered by anything other than his uneasy conscience with regard to Miss Elizabeth and the subdued unfriendliness of his family.
On the second day, however, the long driveway was suddenly thick with barouches, landaus, and coaches, each bearing people intent on showing him every neighbourly courtesy.
Most were fellow landowners, though few had estates the size and importance of Pemberley, except for the morning Devonshire’s coach bowled up to the front door.
Not even Pemberley outdid Chatsworth. Yet Darcy greeted His Grace with equanimity.
He was used to earls, not to mention Indian princes and rajahs.
A mere stripling carrying the title of duke could not overset him.
He had a great deal to do, and the neighbours were, frankly, a nuisance.
Between long discussions with George about the estate, and with Reid about the condition of the house, and attempts to better acquaint himself with his brother and sister…
well, his time was already stretched. It was galling to be deep in discussion about the harvest, or talking to earnest little Georgiana about her reading and her interests, to be called away—often by Miss Elizabeth—to join his step-mother in the drawing room to greet the visitors.
He was at least thankful that Miss Elizabeth was civil, as if no uneasiness lay between them; a boon, since she was much in evidence about the house and spent every evening in company with the family.
It would be less unbearable if his neighbours spoke of matters more important than banal comments on the weather vis-à-vis the effect on the harvest, or empty-headed complaints about Perceval’s ministry in London.
He was more accustomed to viewing conversations as a part of his diplomatic arsenal: they were arenas for a kind of intellectual combat, battles to be won or lost with advantages to Britain’s standing in the world riding on the outcome.
Even if all he had been doing was rifling through someone’s words for information or hints of other governments’ intentions, every conversation had had its purpose.
In contrast, these exchanges with his neighbours were far less weighty.
The thirty minutes Darcy spent while General Lackenby described the various nostrums used to eradicate powdery mildew in his barley fields, were endured in polite tedium.
By the fourth day, Darcy was, Hugh observed, exhibiting signs of nervousness as visiting hours approached.
“You would be nervous, too, if you did not hide yourself away the moment the door knocker sounds.”
Hugh snorted. “They do not come to see me. They know me.”
Darcy let the comment pass. It was the closest Hugh had come since the evening of Darcy’s arrival to pointed hostility, having been more polite, although aloof. Mrs Darcy must have spoken to him. He could allow Hugh some small outlet for resentment.
But the next day, when the time for callers drew near, Darcy kept watch from his study window.
At the first sign of a landau bowling up, he slipped out of the house by an obscure side door to the stables to have a horse saddled, and make his escape.
He had learned on his first morning at Pemberley that the neat grey he had admired was the personal mount of “the young master”—Darcy had stared at the red-faced stable master until the man realised his faux pas in applying the appellation to Hugh—and had settled instead on Ramesses, the big chestnut that had been his father’s favourite.
Darcy had not bothered to discover Hugh’s feelings about his claiming their father’s horse as his own, or his shortening the animal’s name to a form easier for English tongues to master, but he fancied Hugh would think it all of a piece with the domineering behaviour of the usurper.
Hugh would sulk no matter which horse he had saddled.
He had no opportunity that day to have Ram readied.
He had barely caught a groom’s attention when a gig turned into the stable yard, accompanied by a rider.
It was driven by a young woman, a matron at her side on the front seat—her mother, probably.
Two younger girls, confined to the back-facing seats behind, appeared to be squirming and jostling for space.
Like most of the visitors he had met, these ladies were dressed in their finest, and as the gig drew up, one of the younger girls clutched at her straw bonnet with one hand as she voiced a sharp-tongued, “Have a care, Kitty! Keep your elbow away from my best hat!”
But it was the rider who caught his attention.
Not for the nag she was riding, for the animal looked old and worn, and should surely be put out to grass.
Nor for the riding habit clinging to her slender figure, for it was as old and as worn as her steed.
But his interest was piqued by the smiling face she turned towards him, as she drew the horse to a halt.
He caught his breath. This was surely one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and given he had indeed travelled the world over, that was praise indeed.
She returned his glance, her serene expression barely showing a change.
He took a step forward to greet her—and the others, of course—but before he could speak, Hugh’s voice came from behind him.
“You do not escape so easily, Fitzwilliam! No—” Hugh broke off, then with a note of astonished delight in his voice, he went on, “Jane! My dear cousin, how splendid to see you!”
Darcy glanced at him, to see him fairly glowing. He looked from Hugh to the Beauty, and blew out a soft breath.
It seemed the rest of the Bennets had come to visit.