Chapter 19
The first morning at Pemberley. Darcy was shaved and dressed, all the while thinking of the task ahead of him.
Surprisingly, Elizabeth had been unfailingly cheerful and kind to him.
Four days in the carriage to Pemberley, and she had said not a word against him.
They spoke pleasantly of their time in Weymouth.
They discussed some books she had read recently, as well as a few items in the newspapers.
They spent a good deal of time talking of their son.
What they had not discussed was anything pertaining to their separation.
He had not expected her cheerful demeanour, and in some ways, he wished for the necessary arguments to ensue.
Awaiting them was dreadful, but it was his due.
He would wait patiently until she was ready to speak, and then he would hear anything she wished to say.
He only hoped that she somehow would be able to see how very different he was now!
He had changed from the cruel man who had perpetrated such a heinous act upon her.
He hoped that she kept to her habit of an early morning walk; indeed, he had awoken with the anticipation of asking to join her. Once dressed, he went to the door of her bedchamber, tapping gently. He received no response.
He tried several more times but heard nothing within, no sounds of her stirring in her chambers.
Too early. She is likely tired from travelling.
Gently, he pressed open the door and peered in, surprised to find that Elizabeth was not in her chamber.
Her bed was made, and the room had an air of vacancy.
Where was she? A bit of panic began to beat within him as an irrational voice in his head whispered: gone.
No, he argued with himself. No, you simply missed her. Likely she is walking now. To be sure, he decided to investigate. She was not in the breakfast room nor in the mistress’s study. The salon that she had so long ago enjoyed in the winter mornings was empty.
Darcy tried not to succumb to panic, but it was too reminiscent of his time vainly seeking her in Yorkshire for rational thought. Suppressing his desire to run, he immediately went to see whether she was in the gardens.
His heart now in his throat, he walked briskly along the main paths for twenty minutes before turning around, having not seen her. His hands shook and his heart pounded; he knew he was likely being witless, but still, where was she? Where could she have gone at such an hour of the morning?
Re-entering the house, he forced himself to calm down.
It would not do for the servants to witness him charging maniacally around the house looking for Mrs Darcy, although what he wished to do was stand in the entrance hall and shout her name until she appeared.
Fortunately, he saw Mrs Reynolds just as he walked in the door.
She smiled pleasantly. “Sir, Mrs Darcy asked me to inform you that she would be with Bennet in the nursery this morning.”
For a moment, his knees went weak, and he knew his face must display a comical degree of relief. “Th-thank you.”
“I must apologise; I should have given you the message sooner. I lingered in the nursery a bit too long making sure Master Bennet had his breakfast.”
“Is that not Nurse Harriet’s duty?” Darcy then saw a sight he had never before witnessed: Mrs Reynolds was blushing.
“She did not require my assistance,” she said, “but I offered it nevertheless.”
Mrs Reynolds had wished to sit with his son.
Between his relief at knowing where Elizabeth was and his amusement at seeing Mrs Reynolds blush, Darcy chuckled before he could stop himself.
His laugh made Mrs Reynolds flush still more deeply, but she gathered herself admirably and said in a respectful but firm tone, “It has been a dreadfully long time in this house without children. I am perhaps enjoying it a bit more than I should.”
Remorse made Darcy stop chuckling and smile kindly. “You should enjoy it as much as you like, Mrs Reynolds. I believe I shall go and join them. Will you have a tray with breakfast sent to the nursery for me?”
He felt her staring at his back as he walked away and did not wonder that she was shocked.
After all, the thought of his own father dining in the nursery was impossible to imagine.
But the present master of Pemberley cared little for any of that.
He would do as he liked for the happiness of his family.
Elizabeth smiled pleasantly when Darcy entered the nursery, which he found encouraging. Bennet said, “Pop,” and attempted to rise to go to him. Darcy positively delighted in that.
“Elizabeth, I presumed to think you would keep your custom of a morning walk,” he said. “I had hoped to join you.”
Elizabeth’s smile turned to an awkward frown. “A mother’s customs change to suit her children. I take afternoon walks now while he naps. I like to sit with him when he eats.”
At that moment, a servant entered with a tray of breakfast. Darcy motioned for it to be set at the small table where Bennet had been eating. He smiled at his wife hopefully. “Have you eaten? I have quite a lot here.”
“So I see,” Elizabeth said, seeming shocked. “Were you…did you intend to eat here?”
“I do indeed.” Darcy nodded at his son. “With my family.”
His cheer dimmed a bit when he saw a brief flash of something—was it irritation?—in her eyes, only to be quickly subsumed by complaisance. “Of course,” she replied. “We are glad to see you.”
In a serious tone, he responded, “I have been apart from both of you long enough, and I wish to spend as much time with you as possible.”
“Very well, then,” she said with a little nod. “Pray, sit. Next time, we shall not be surprised to see you.”
They were not many days at Pemberley before Elizabeth’s intentions for them became clear—a civil union.
When they were together, she behaved like a stranger at a party making polite and amiable conversation with a bore.
She varied her schedule such that he often had no idea where she was, or whether she was even in the house.
He always saw her in the nursery for breakfast but sometimes not again until dinner.
At least twice a week, she claimed a headache or indisposition of some sort and took dinner in her bedchamber.
He supposed it was to their credit that anyone outside of their home would not likely realise anything was amiss.
She treated him in a manner that was just short of loving when Bennet or their sisters or the servants were about.
If Georgiana, Kitty, or Lydia were with them, she often fell silent, allowing the younger ladies to carry the conversation.
He had learnt to stop trying to press her to speak to prevent her running from him.
She permitted him to walk with her at times, and she would sometimes read with him in their private sitting room in the evenings, but it was rare.
It was a most civil union—the sort of cold and sterile but cordial marriage that many of elevated society had. He hated it. He would have far rather faced her ire in hopes of regaining her passion and love than to settle for this forced politeness.
It was frustration that induced him to try again one night after dinner when they had set out on a walk together. “I want to show you the lavender we planted for you.”
“Lavender? For me?”
“Over on the east side of the paddock. We planted it last spring—1813, I mean. Jane was of great help. She had the gardeners at Longbourn send us some seeds of those variety as well as some other, newer varieties.”
When Elizabeth did not immediately reply, he added, “I recall you saying how Hill always scented your bed linens and towels with lavender, so I had hoped it might be something you would enjoy having done here as well.”
“Very kind of you.”
They soon found themselves at the field, and Elizabeth made all the obligatory sounds of delight that he might have expected. But, as was the new custom, he saw that her replies were forced and dutiful rather than genuine.
“I suppose I can only hope you truly like it.”
“I said I do. I like it very well.”
“But if you were dissembling, I should never know.” He shrugged, frustration getting the better of reason. “If you care about me or care about my lavender…no one will know.”
She shot him a strange look and began to walk away, saying, “I do not comprehend your meaning, sir. Pray do not speak in riddles.”
“I have anticipated that at some time we would discuss…us. Our problems. To confront the problems, and heal the breach. Alas, you seem determined to pretend nothing ever happened.”
She laughed nervously. “We have. I am here, you are here, we have our son. What more is there to talk about?”
“How can you say that?”
She paused a moment, looking around as if for guidance from the fields themselves.
“Upon my word, I am baffled by your need to argue with me. We do not need to have some vicious row or a dramatic outpouring of emotion to reconcile. A terrible thing happened, but you have done all you could do to set things aright. Let us just continue on with our life together now.”
He regarded her carefully. “I am not saying that I wish to have terrible arguments or would enjoy your anger; however, I know how I have hurt you. I only want you to do and say whatever is necessary in hopes that you might feel less pain and I might one day earn your forgiveness.” And regain your love too, I hope. But he was not bold enough to say so.
She smiled and quickly said, “I do forgive you, and it is not necessary for me to revisit the pain of the past two years in order to do so. Do you approve?”
Frustrated, he insisted, “It matters not whether I approve or disapprove. I only thought we might discuss it at some point.”