Chapter 11 Significant Introspection
Significant Introspection
Darcy’s week away from Hertfordshire was fantastic—at least in comparison to the week suffered through by his beloved Elizabeth.
With spirits fortified by his spontaneous visit to Longbourn, the initial leg of his journey was, indeed, close to fantastic.
Unbeknownst to his beautiful and so very sensuous fiancée, London was not his immediate destination.
Rather, upon reaching the busy north-south thoroughfare, the driver turned north.
Just under five hours later, the coach pulled into the wide, circular drive fronting the two-story brick entrance of the White Stag Inn.
In contemplating where to spend their wedding night, Darcy had immediately crossed off staying at Netherfield or Darcy House in London.
He had learned to tolerate Elizabeth’s family, and had even grown quite fond of Mr. Bennet and, to a lesser degree, the vivacious Kitty.
Nevertheless, he needed to be alone with Elizabeth, far away from Bennets and Bingleys, and this meant traveling some distance after the wedding reception.
Going south to London—while closer and therefore shortening the time between the vows and finally, blissfully, making her his wife physically—would put them farther away from Pemberley.
His greatest wish was to be with Elizabeth in the place he loved most in all the world. Therefore, they had to travel north.
Located past Bedford, the White Stag Inn was one of four coaching inns Darcy patronized on his many jaunts between Pemberley and Darcy House.
Depending upon road conditions, weather, the fatigue of the horses, and other various concerns, which inn he chose for the two-day journey differed, but the White Stag was his favorite.
The distance from Longbourn was farther than he preferred for a wedding-day journey, but it would decrease the final leg to Pemberley, which would still require nearly all of one day to reach.
The inn nestled in a shallow, verdant valley with a pristine river and modest-sized lake.
The small village was nothing to brag about, but it was well kept and boasted enough shops to entertain, if they wished.
All in all, the locale was perfect for a romantic honeymoon, and the owners of the inn, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, were delightful people whom he trusted to make their stay special.
He had corresponded with the Hamiltons shortly after his engagement, and he trusted them to provide all he had requested, and probably more.
Visiting in person was not truly necessary, but he would rest easier after speaking with the Hamiltons.
Call it evidence of his need to be in control, but Darcy was not taking any chances on their initial days, and nights, as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy being less than perfection.
Additionally, he had only boarded in the smaller rooms for single men and eaten hasty meals in the pub.
Peripherally, he was aware that the White Stag’s accommodations included private dining and luxury suites, hence his choice to stay there with Elizabeth, but he had never viewed them or studied the inn with a wife in mind.
One night was all he needed to be satisfied on all counts.
The following morning, he departed the White Stag Inn for London.
Bypassing the side road to Longbourn was an unhappy reminder of the long, lonely week stretching ahead. Adding to his gloominess was his empty townhouse.
Lord and Lady Matlock had rescued a restless, bored Georgiana, and the trio was visiting friends in nearby Essex.
Darcy was thankful his sister wasn’t sitting about the house with only Mrs. Annesley for company while waiting impatiently for the wedding.
The Matlocks’ last-minute invitation was great for his sister, even if it meant a too-quiet house for him.
That left his cousin Richard as the only person he cared to socialize with.
Unfortunately, aside from one dinner, the colonel was snowed under with work.
“I asked for your wedding off, and apparently the generals had a confab to devise ways to make me pay,” he exasperatedly related to Darcy on their lone evening of bachelor debauchery—Richard’s phrase.
Undoubtedly a massive exaggeration, but regardless, Colonel Fitzwilliam was unavailable.
There was nothing to do but read, or attempt to read, and write Elizabeth letters of increasing romanticism. “You are pathetic,” he frequently muttered, and kept on writing.
Elizabeth wrote to him as well, but only twice. The small number of letters did not bother him unduly, as she had friends and family to occupy her time. The sensations of unease he experienced were triggered by an indefinable, underlying tone to the sentences and paragraphs.
Did he imagine a lack of cheeriness? Was her use of endearments and romantic phrases minimal merely upon comparison with his flowery prose?
Were the two, one-page letters an indication of trouble between them, or merely that she was busy?
While he did not want her to pine for him, it was a blow to his ego to imagine her blithely carrying on with life to the point of having no time to write him.
It is only a week, for goodness sake, he told himself, but that fact not soothe his mind.
He gained scant clarification re-reading the other letters she had written to him.
There were only three, for one thing—not a significant quantity to claim knowledge of her letter-writing style.
Furthermore, two of them had been written during his first trip to London, when they had been engaged barely over a week.
The difference between those two and the one received when he stayed in Town after the shopping expedition were considerable, as one would expect.
By then, they were far more relaxed and familiar with each other.
Elizabeth’s playfulness and love had shone through in the third letter, which, he noted, was three pages, front and back.
With insufficient evidence and unable to resolve the matter anyway—if there even was a “matter” to resolve—his only choice was to hurry through his business and get back to Hertfordshire.
The bulk of his week entailed extended hours in one of the luxury conference rooms inside the elegant building housing the law offices of Daniels & Sons.
The original Mr. Daniels of the business’s name had established his practice three generations past with a hope of sons in the plural—a hope as he only had one child at the time, a boy not yet two years of age.
Darcy’s grandfather, James Darcy I, had been one of young Mr. Daniels’s first clients, the two men having met as youths in boarding school.
A second Daniels son did come along, and amazingly, both chose law as their profession.
Over time, more clients and more Daniels were added to the firm until the present day, with over a dozen doors bearing a Daniels nameplate.
Mr. Andrew Daniels, the grandson of the founder and current leader at the firm, had two sons working alongside him—Joshua and Jeremiah—a third in law school, and two or three others yet at home (Darcy had lost count).
This boded well for the future success of the firm, as well as a continuing, solid relationship with the Darcys of Pemberley.
What this historical tidbit meant was that the solicitors at Daniels & Sons were intimately involved with all of Mr. Darcy’s business and personal legal affairs.
It was Mr. Andrew Daniels himself who oversaw the bulk of Darcy’s business, although Mr. Joshua Daniels, the eldest son, had assumed a portion of the duties and was present at most of the meetings.
Darcy trusted them both explicitly. Nevertheless, he made it a rule never to sign anything without reading it thoroughly and having every question answered to his satisfaction.
Obviously, this took time, thus contract reading being the main time consumer of his days in London.
In between, when desperate for physical exertions, he twice visited Angelo’s Fencing Academy.
He also squeezed in more shopping. Now that he had bravely ventured into the realm of purchasing feminine items, and triumphed beyond his initial expectations, it was akin to a fever racing through his veins.
The plethora of fabulous objects available to gift to his adorable Elizabeth begged to be bought.
By the end of the week, another shipment of boxes containing various trinkets with personal notes attached was on its way to Pemberley.
By express courier, he sent the comprehensive pages of instructions for Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Taylor, this to be his last correspondence with the Pemberley staff before the wedding.
His shopping wasn’t exclusively for Elizabeth, however. Mr. Meyer had completed Darcy’s wedding suit, delivering it to Darcy House while Darcy was in Hertfordshire. The suit was secure in a garment bag and hanging in his dressing room, so his first order of business was trying it on.
While assisting, his valet, Samuel Oliver, calmly informed him of his plan to freshen Mr. Darcy’s supply of cologne, as well as acquire new shaving equipment, toiletries, and various necessary accessories, such as stockings and handkerchiefs, while in Town.
Rather shocked it hadn’t occurred to him sooner, Darcy figured it was wise to do a bit of resupplying for himself.
A new banyan and slippers, nightshirts he frankly hoped not to wear, a brand-new, fashionable top hat for the wedding, two pairs of shoes and new Wellingtons, and random articles of clothing for no reason other than they appealed to him.
Honestly, aside from the robe and slippers, he needed nothing.
Tramping through stores was a way to kill time before returning to the empty townhouse.