Chapter 36
Elizabeth sighed. Perhaps she had been rather premature in her estimation of her husband. Notably, she had dared to think him predictable.
She was sitting in a carriage, alone, with various people trying to distract her from the bangs on the roof.
This had been going on for a quite a while.
Lizzie had dressed in her fashionable new coat as Darcy had asked…
but it did not seem likely that she would need it.
It was clear that she was supposed to grow old here, in the comfortably dull carriage.
She would, perhaps, be revived for the purpose of compromisation…
but only if her husband remembered she existed. It seemed that he had forgotten.
There were more clunks on the carriage roof, and a hushed conversation between the coachman and another servant. Mrs. Reynolds had ordered them to be silent, but once she left the servants relaxed.
Ah, Mrs. Reynolds. She had blocked the window to ask about some small matter which could have waited for months.
Suddenly, it was urgent! Only Elizabeth could solve the problem…
from inside the carriage. It was imperative that she not move.
Mrs. Reynolds had, at least, the goodness to look mischievous when she recited her obviously false lines.
Elizabeth stubbornly refused to speculate.
Let them have their secrets! She passed the time thinking of the half-hour she had spent with Georgiana before getting changed.
Her dear little sister had just started moving her hands.
They were barely noticeable spasms, but her eyes were wide and joyous after each one, and Elizabeth loved every attempt.
Georgiana had a beautiful smile, and when she was truly proud of herself it beamed like the sun.
Had Elizabeth imagined it, this morning, or had there been a knowing glint in her eyes, too?
Darcy finally climbed into the carriage, did not bother with either an apology or an explanation for his tardiness, and knocked on the roof for it to depart. Lizzie, sitting opposite him, sighed loudly and folded her arms mannishly in front of her chest.
“You are going to tell me.” she pointed out flatly, “You are so proud of this secret… whatever it is. Kindly enlighten me now, sir, before I give into the urge to hit you with a cushion.”
“Who told you that there was a secret?” he refused to budge.
“Nobody, sir! But I am no fool.”
He smiled, “No, you certainly are not. What do you think is happening?”
“There is luggage on the roof. Mrs. Reynolds attempted to disguise that fact from me, but she clearly arranged it. This morning, Georgiana knew of some scheme too. I must conclude, sir, that you told her about it. She would not be privy to a walk through Lambton or an intimate discussion in the library, so I suspect your plan is something which will affect her. So: we are going away for at least a night, possibly more, and undoubtedly not into town. How did I do, sir?”
Darcy laughed uproariously. “It serves me right for trying to be duplicitous. I told you I have no talent for it. We are going into town, in fact - but not to Lambton. We are going to spend a few days in Chesterfield.”
“Chesterfield!”
“There is a ball there which I thought would amuse you. We have never danced together.”
Elizabeth considered this with some amazement.
It had not even occurred to her that one could be married to a man without having danced with him!
It was most peculiar to discover that she and Mr. Darcy had somehow overlooked the first step into intimacies, since they had stumbled so effectively into the last.
“Do you like dancing?” she ventured.
“With people I like, certainly. I doubt I shall look for any other partners there.”
Lizzie laughed, “Then I must hope that Mrs. Reynolds packed me some sturdy slippers!”
As the carriage made its comfortable way along the roads of Derbyshire, Elizabeth discovered that Mr. Darcy’s plans went far beyond the acquisition of an invitation to the Otter Lodge Ball.
In the blunt, determined manner she was beginning to admire, he had created an entire itinerary for himself and his young wife.
To start with, Chesterfield was a market town and had a staggering array of high-quality vendors. He was determined for Elizabeth to find something she liked in every single one.
(“Even the cheesemongers?” Elizabeth teased.
“Do not be facetious, Mrs. Darcy.” he replied).
There was also a large park with an orangery, where Darcy hoped to find some rare plant seedlings to bring back to be cultivated in Pemberley.
There was a Roman ruin to explore, and several beautiful churches to admire.
Chief among Darcy’s destinations, though, and the reason he had chosen this town in particular, was an art exhibition.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened when they arrived there. Through a modest door, into high-ceilinged but plain rooms, the building promised very little. Then, caught by the light from the wide windows, she caught sight of the paintings.
Landscapes. Endless sunsets and clouds, trickling rivers and roaring waterfalls. Soft green spring trees, dark and rugged winter pines… every breath of the seasons had been caught and captured in eternal oils.
“This is where I found the painting which you like so much.” Darcy murmured, standing close.
“You chose it? I thought it was part of the house.” she mumbled, unwilling to even blink. Her husband laughed.
“It is my house, Elizabeth. I was happy to find out that you liked the painting so much, as I had always been fond of it. Pemberley is your house, too. I think it needs some more paintings, do you not agree? Choose whichever you like, my love.”
Darcy was gratified when Elizabeth went pink with delight.
It was as if the world had faded around her; she danced from painting to painting in a sleepwalker’s dream.
For a long time, he admired her as if she were one of the masterpieces herself.
Then, recalling the second part of this gift, he slipped out of the room.
Elizabeth blinked dazedly when Darcy approached her. He had another man beside him, who looked at her with a warm smile. Blushing (oh, how shameful to be observed in such a manner!) Lizzie curtseyed and shot her husband a mildly reproachful look. He ignored it.
“Mrs. Darcy, may I introduce you to Mr. Frock. He is the artist whose work you are admiring.”
“Mr. Frock?” she echoed, her eyes widening. Her words came out in a stutter, so amazed was she: “Your paintings are… they are wonderful, sir!”
“The subjects speak for themselves.” he replied modestly, absentmindedly gesturing to the sweet apple orchard in the nearest painting. “I merely copy them onto canvas.”
“To that matter, Mr. Frock, I have something I wish to discuss.” Darcy said, “Our home, Pemberley, has not been painted in nearly a generation. I would like to change that.”
Frock looked amazed, but pleased. He smoothed his moustache with his thin fingers, clearly to hide his excitement, and his voice was artificially steady: “I have heard that it is a fair prospect. I would be glad to try.”
“Excellent, then we shall discuss your commission while my wife chooses which paintings she wishes to purchase.” Darcy beamed and beckoned for the man to follow him.
When they were out of earshot of Elizabeth, he made a very generous offer indeed and then asked if Frock painted portraits as well as he did landscapes.
Finding that he did, Darcy lowered his voice even further and made another commission.
While this nefarious kindness was being carried out, Elizabeth selected four paintings.
It was a hugely difficult decision. She could have bought every single one - and she suspected that Darcy might have let her.
Pemberley would have been transformed into an art gallery.
The family portraits would have to fight for space!
Poor Lady Anne would not be in the library; she would end up in the stairwell!
Thinking of the peaceful painting above her fireplace, which was lit by a pink sunrise, Elizabeth decided to choose a painting in full daylight, one in the evening, and one swaddled in blue-black night.
The fourth painting she choose was completely different from the others.
It had been tucked away in a corner, almost as if it felt ashamed of being among the others.
Unlike the large canvasses around it, it was a small rectangle, barely bigger than a sheet of letter-writing paper, in a plain wooden frame.
It was a portrait of a young woman sitting beside a lake.
The shore she sat upon was green and verdant, but in the background the grass was yellow from the hot summer sun.
The sky blazed above her, cloudless and fierce, but when it was reflected in the lake it looked soft and serene.
“This is not like the others.” she remarked to Frock when he returned. He looked surprised at her choice and tapped the wooden frame with one finger.
“I painted this as a student. An early work. Now, I fear, it is rather unfashionable - and certainly too small to grace the grand parlours my other work requires. Still, I have a certain fondness for it, which is why I took the time to mount it here.”
“Would you prefer to keep it?”
“No, madam. I thank you for the thought, but I have no especial attachment to it. Both the lake and the lady are mere figments of my imagination.”
Elizabeth murmured to Darcy, “She looks so otherworldly. I think Georgiana will adore it. There is such tranquillity in the water… so many colours…”
“We are here to choose gifts for you!” he teased, but looked pleased, “Yes, I believe that Georgiana will like it.”
The rest of the day passed in much the same manner: Darcy attempting to buy gifts for Elizabeth, and Lizzie expertly deflecting his generosity towards other recipients.
It was an amusing chain, Darcy thought. He wanted to treat Elizabeth, she wanted to treat Georgiana, and Georgiana had always been just as generous.
If she were here, she would want to buy gifts for them.
As the sky started to grow dark, they decided to retire for the night.
This time Lizzie did not wait in the carriage alone; Darcy handed her in and immediately followed, making sure that she was warmly wrapped up in a lap blanket despite the short trip.
When he moved to sit opposite her, Lizzie laughed and caught his wrist to pull him beside her.
Looping her arm through his, she sighed contentedly and rested her head on his shoulder. Darcy absentmindedly stroked her hair back from her cheeks. It was tangled and frizzy from the windy day but felt soft against his fingers.
“I must thank you, madam, for your kindness towards my sister.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she interrupted sternly, “I do not require gratitude from you! You forget, sir, that she is my sister too. I love her dearly. To congratulate my kindness towards a member of my family, sir, is quite unnecessary.”
He smiled and kissed her temple. “Then I shall be silent. I would hate to inadvertently compliment you, Mrs. Darcy. Such abominable rudeness should not be tolerated by any woman, much less one I admire as much as you.”
Lizzie laughed and snuggled closer to her husband. “This is not at all what I expected. I have had a wonderful time.”
“You did not expect to enjoy yourself?”
“I expected… I am not sure! Poetry, I suppose, and soft words in sunlit gardens… perhaps I have read too many novels.”
“I was not sure if you would enjoy such things. You often look uncomfortable when I attempt to flatter or compliment you. I thought that you might prefer a day like today, with time to explore and discover beautiful things, rather than being compared to them in rhyming couplets.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth sounded dazed, “How well you know me.”
“Not as well as I would like.”
“You say that, yet I feel like I do not know you half so well. What do you like, Mr. Darcy?”
“Aside from you, angel?”
“Oh!” she cried, “You are impossible!”
He smiled as the carriage started to slow. “You know me well enough to tease me.”
“That does not signify; I have always teased you.”
“I believe you are getting worse.” Darcy said drily. Elizabeth chuckled and he stroked her cheek tenderly, “I would not change you for the world, my dearest.”