Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Elizabeth had been delighted with the grounds at Pemberley. Indeed, she could have happily foregone seeing the house entirely, so pleasantly had the last hour been spent wandering the various gardens that surrounded the estate.
During this trip with her aunt and uncle Gardiner, they had stopped at several great houses, but Pemberley was the first for which she had felt any true affinity, for it seemed to rise naturally from its surroundings, appearing to merely be a part of the scenery.
Regardless of her feelings in seeing yet another ‘grand house,’ her aunt and uncle did wish to see the interior, and Elizabeth had heard enough of the library to be curious.
That alone rendered touring the inside appealing, even if she would not be permitted to peruse the shelves or take any volumes in hand, much less read from them.
Elizabeth’s father had always encouraged her to read a great deal, and as a result, she positively adored books.
From the moment she met the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, she had been struck by the lady’s manner of speaking of the house and its grounds.
It was almost as though the place were a character in a story, and Mrs Reynolds took evident pleasure in being the one entrusted to tell that story to those fortunate enough to visit.
They toured the lower rooms and were shown into several of the finer spaces reserved for guests. Pemberley was unquestionably a grand house—of that there could be no doubt—but unlike others they had visited, it felt not merely impressive, but inhabited.
“The Darcys have always been known as the best masters in the area,” Mrs Reynolds was saying, her tone warm with pride.
“And they have done much to prove it, certainly in the two decades I have served here. The late mistress, Lady Anne Darcy, was everything lovely and kind, and she did much for the tenants. Her husband and son have done what they could since her death, but it is not the same as having a mistress in residence.”
Her voice was a little melancholy as it trailed off after this admission, and for a moment Elizabeth wondered how long it had been since she passed away. It was the second mention of that lady since she had been there, and it was obvious she had a lingering effect on everyone there.
The lady seemed to recall herself, for she returned to the topic at hand. “Still, there are rarely any vacancies in the tenant cottages here, and when one does become available, it is much sought after.”
Elizabeth listened with interest, noting the genuine affection in the housekeeper’s voice—not merely for the estate, but for its master and his family.
Her uncle asked a few questions, and at last they were shown into a long gallery on the upper floor. Many of the portraits depicted family members from decades—even centuries—past, but near the end of the gallery were several that were clearly of more recent date.
The first was a family portrait of the master and his late wife, painted, Elizabeth supposed, when they were newly married. There was something familiar in the gentleman’s countenance that struck her as odd, but she had no idea where she might have seen him before.
A moment later, another portrait drew her attention—and this time there was no uncertainty about its subject’s familiarity.
“He was not a gardener,” she whispered, the truth settling upon her all at once. A warm flush rose swiftly to her cheeks.
She had, in fact, spoken with Mr Darcy himself in the gardens—and he had answered her many questions without once correcting her.
He must have thought me exceedingly foolish. Mortified by the recollection, she was nevertheless unable to look away from the portrait for several moments.
Mrs Reynolds, observing her interest, came to stand beside her.
“Master Darcy is a fine gentleman, is he not?” she said kindly.
“He is the very image of his father, and I have little doubt that, when the time comes, he will prove as good a master as any of those who came before him. Mr Darcy has raised him well, and both gentlemen are very fond of Miss Darcy—the young lady of the family.”
“There is a daughter as well?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, Miss Darcy. Her portrait is here.” Mrs Reynolds indicated another painting nearby of a young girl who did bear remarkable similarity to her mother. “She has grown somewhat since this was taken. She will soon be thirteen, and her father has spoken of sending her to school in the autumn.”
Elizabeth considered this.
“For so large an estate, I imagine there are not many young ladies near her age with whom she might form a close acquaintance,” she said contemplatively.
“School would perhaps do much to make her more at ease in society—and allow her to form friendships with others of her own age and situation. I have often wished that I might have gone to school myself, but my father was firmly of the opinion that we were better instructed at home.”
“Did you have a governess, Miss Bennet?” Mrs Reynolds enquired kindly.
“No,” Elizabeth replied with a small smile that closely resembled a grimace.
“We never had a governess—but we were encouraged to learn whatever we wished, and whenever any of us expressed an interest in a subject, my father was certain to procure the necessary books or even hire a master if one could be found. I do regret, however, that he attempted to have me learn languages solely from books. I believe I know French and Italian tolerably well, though I doubt a native speaker would find me entirely fluent.”
Mrs Reynolds nodded politely, but their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the butler only a moment later.
He spoke to her in low tones, and Elizabeth’s heart gave a small, uneasy beat.
She could not help but wonder whether, by some dreadful chance, her earlier mistake in the gardens had been discovered and would now result in their being turned out.
She watched as Mrs Reynolds approached her aunt and uncle and spoke with them. Whatever she said was clearly unexpected, for Elizabeth saw the surprise upon their faces.
When the conversation concluded, Elizabeth rejoined them, and soon the three were led into a sitting room on the first floor.
“The master will join you shortly,” Mrs Reynolds said, before leaving them alone.
“It seems,” Mrs Gardiner said, “that the butler, Mr Reynolds, remembered me from when my father was the rector at Lambton, and we have been invited to remain for tea. Mr George Darcy himself issued the invitation upon hearing of the connexion. I do recall meeting him once or twice when my father lived here, though I was very young at the time.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, even as a quiet sense of relief stole over her. At least the invitation had nothing to do with her earlier folly.
Several minutes later, Mr George Darcy entered, and Mrs Reynolds, accompanied by several maids, brought in trays of tea and refreshments.
“Mrs Gardiner,” he said, “I am delighted to welcome you to Pemberley. I remember your father well. Although my family attended church more often at Kympton than in Lambton, I had frequent occasions to speak with him. He was greatly missed, but the man who is there now has done well.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “It is very pleasant to see you again. It has been many years, but I do recall your visits to our parsonage. I remember your wife, Lady Anne, even more clearly, for she and my mother met often in the village in support of various charitable endeavours and I was old enough to have accompanied her a few times.”
Mr Darcy inclined his head at this, and Elizabeth thought she saw a flicker of pain cross his features. Again, she wondered when the lady had died since the mention of her seemed to inspire great feeling.
“Indeed, my late wife was an excellent mistress and kind to all she met. Her death was a great loss to all who knew her.”
After a moment, he seemed to realise the silence had lasted too long and offered, “But you must introduce me to your companions.”
“Of course, sir. This is my husband, Mr Edward Gardiner, of Gardiner and Company, an importing concern in London. And this is his niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
Mr Darcy bowed.
“Mr Gardiner, Miss Bennet—I am pleased to make your acquaintance. How did you find Pemberley and its grounds?”
Mr Gardiner responded first, speaking thoughtfully of the estate and offering comparisons to others they had visited.
At length, Mr Darcy turned to Elizabeth.
“And you, Miss Bennet? How did you find Pemberley? My butler tells me you were particularly inclined towards the gardens.”
Elizabeth smiled, though she felt her cheeks warm slightly under his gaze.
“The gardens are my favourite, sir,” she replied.
“There is no question that the house is in every respect delightful and surpasses any we have yet seen. I confess a preference for the out of doors, and I greatly enjoyed my time among the gardens. They are not overly formal, and it is evident the gardeners have allowed nature some freedom, rather than imposing too rigid a design.”
She had the distinct impression that he watched her closely, and once again warmth rose to her cheeks as she wondered whether, by some ill-timed turn of fate, he had seen or heard her conversation with the young Mr Darcy in the gardens.
Elizabeth could not say precisely what it was in his manner that stirred such a response, yet she could not dismiss the uneasy suspicion that he had witnessed, or perhaps even overheard, something of that earlier exchange.
The thought that he watched her did little to steady her.