Chapter Twelve #3
The funeral had drawn a large crowd despite the cold weather and the difficulty of travel.
He had worried incessantly over Elizabeth, who played the perfect society hostess in St. James’s Square each day before crying herself to sleep in his arms each night.
He was grateful that she was improving now that all the mourners, including her father, had gone home.
Bedford had been trying to warn them about the will, now that he thought about it, but they had none of them been in a state to attend him.
What had he said? I have been managing the less active accounts. What did that mean?
In the midst of all of this, they had word that her Uncle Gardiner’s ships had come into port; Darcy was not surprised to find that they had brought his wife her pineapples, but not the plants.
Elizabeth had not betrayed any disappointment.
She had simply given the job of growing new ones over to Mr. Yeager.
They had discussed the proper procedures for using the tops to cultivate new plants as well as using the slicks and suckers to gradually increase the yield—the gentleman farmer in Darcy found the details of great interest. The land steward had given them a tour of the greenhouse that had been converted into a small pinery.
Despite his initial hesitation, Mr. Yeager now seemed eager to begin.
They had eaten one of the pineapples, and it had been delicious; the diversion had been most welcome.
With two ships, Gardiner had been able to double his orders and negotiate an extremely competitive rate for his purchases; he had then sold them to three large concerns at a substantial profit rather than piecemeal to individual merchants.
While the smaller merchants paid more, they could not buy in volume, leading to wasted time and, Gardiner insisted, wasted goods.
The ships would sail again in the spring; there were already orders in place.
A few more lucrative trips like this one and Gardiner would be able to add a third ship to his fleet.
Elizabeth’s share was triple the amount of her initial investment. The Darcys had decided to reinvest it all with Uncle Gardiner’s company. They had just finished discussing the contracts when the duke had arrived.
They entered the sitting room attached to their bedchambers and made themselves comfortable. Darcy placed a hand over his wife’s to still her fidgeting, touching his forehead to hers. “It will be all right, Elizabeth. I love you and I am here.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. “I do not know what I would do without you, Fitzwilliam,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
Bedford had suggested that while doing business during mourning was generally frowned upon, there would be matters to which Elizabeth would be required to tend and promised the solicitors would be discreet.
Darcy knew Elizabeth was struggling. She understood that her aunt and uncle would wish her to see to her duty but remained anxious to honor her aunt by observing a proper mourning period.
He had tried to convince her that the Russells would agree with her cousin, but she still fretted.
“Shall I read Aunt Olivia’s letter aloud, Fitzwilliam?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“If you would be willing,” Darcy replied. “I should not like to invade your privacy, love, but I fear I am at a loss.”
Elizabeth chuckled then, and his spirits lifted. “I should not have been at such a loss, knowing my aunt and uncle as I do.” She winced. “As I did.” She closed her eyes.
Darcy lifted her hand to his lips. “It will take time, Elizabeth. Be patient with yourself.”
Elizabeth lifted the folded piece of paper, running her fingers over her name on the
outside, then turning it over and touching the wax. “They saved Longbourn from ruin, you know,” she said quietly.
“Your father told me,” Darcy replied. He knew she was wavering, waiting until she could find her courage. He had no doubt she would, but he would wait as long as she needed.
It took several minutes before she squared her shoulders and broke the seal. She unfolded the pages slowly.
“My dearest girl,” she read, and caught a painful breath. He motioned for her to stand and maneuvered her to his lap. She sat, leaning back against him with a contented sigh, and he kissed her ear before she returned to the letter.
“Do you recall the day you arrived at Weymouth House with endless questions and I told you never to stop asking them?” Elizabeth sniffled. “You were so curious about the world, something girls are told is not their province. Well, it is their province, Lizzy, and you are proof of that.”
“You are, you know,” Darcy told her, his voice husky.
Elizabeth wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I was forced to add this missive to the will,” she read, “for I intend to explain a few things and make a demand or two now that you can no longer argue with me.”
Darcy laughed softly, and Elizabeth swatted his arm playfully. “First,” she read, “you are not to go into deep mourning. It is a waste of time and fabric.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Yet I know my obstinate girl too well to suspect I shall prevail entirely.”
“She knew you well indeed,” Darcy teased, but Elizabeth only gazed at the paper. He kissed her again, this time near her temple.
Elizabeth continued. “Here is your charge. I shall allow you to mourn me as appropriate for an aunt. Three months. One month would be preferable, but no more than three. No black dresses, Lizzy—not one. They make you appear as a crow, and you are not Mrs. Bingley, dearest. A black ribbon on your bonnet is more than sufficient. When that nonsense is over, I want you to dance with John and your husband at your first ball and I want you to enjoy it.”
Elizabeth let the hand holding the letter drop into her lap. “Three months and no mourning clothes!” she muttered, running one hand down her black bombazine skirt. “The woman was mad.” She rested the back of her head on Darcy’s chest.
“She may have been,” Darcy agreed. “You are hardly a crow.” He laughed softly. “Perhaps a magpie.”
Elizabeth huffed, but gave no sign she wished to read the rest.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing at the letter.
She sighed and nodded. “Please.”
Darcy read over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I am certain you are now uttering something entirely unladylike.” This time he laughed openly while Elizabeth tossed her hands up, letter and all, exasperated. He waited for her to recover before picking up where he had left off.
“I beg you to spare your demonstration of pique, my dear,” he read, trying not to smile, “for I shall not see it. I am gone at last to be with Phillip and I need none to mourn for me. But for loving you I would not have tarried so long; however, there were things I needed to finish here. Remember, it is you who now has business to tend. To that end, I wish to outline what you will learn in the will.”
Yes, Darcy thought, there will be a great deal of business to conduct, and it cannot wait for the end of a lengthy mourning period. Mrs. Russell knew it. Bedford knows it. I hope Elizabeth will see that it is not a slight to her aunt to carry on. Elizabeth handed him the letter.
“Shall I finish it, then?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.” She shifted so she could lay the side of her head on his shoulder.
He found the place where he had stopped.
“Lizzy,” he read, “when you were thirteen, your uncle realized that you possessed both the acumen and the discipline to carry on what he had built, provided you were carefully taught. You have been prepared very well for what you are about to assume. Do not doubt that you can do this, especially with Fitzwilliam’s assistance.
Remember, Phillip chose you—and he was not wrong. ”
Darcy let those words of encouragement hang in the air before continuing.
“There are accounts that John has had in keeping about which you are unaware. First, there is my widow’s portion.
I was the youngest child and married rather late.
Between my father and my brothers, my dowry had grown to ten thousand pounds, quite a sum in those days.
Your uncle Phillip invested it in the funds.
It was conservative for him, but the dear man refused to take any chances with it, even adding to it as he became more successful.
As the principal grew, he took some of the interest to invest. Thirty-nine years is a long time for money to sit growing, but I have never needed it.
This is how we amassed the sum I now give to you. ”
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, peering at the paper and sounding a little dazed. “does that say eighty-eight thousand pounds?”
Darcy blinked, but forced it out of his head for the moment.
The sum made the jointure he had insisted upon in the marriage contract appear rather paltry.
“It will allow us to provide for our children, dearest,” he said, commanding himself to at least appear calm before returning to the missive.
He was not as tranquil as he pretended but thought one of them should at least attempt to remain grounded.
He helped Elizabeth stand before standing himself and walking towards the wall.
“Where are you going?” Elizabeth asked. Her voice was reedy and uncertain, and he returned to her side at once.
“Only to ring for a servant, Elizabeth,” he said, squeezing her hand and waiting for her to look up at him.
When she did, he gave her a crooked smile.
“I brought some brandy back from Darcy House. I think before we continue,” he remarked, gesturing to the letter in his hand, “I will need something stronger than tea.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and gave him a smile that was both sweet and cheeky. “Two glasses, please.”
They read through the business carefully, but the letter went on, offering the treasure of reminiscence.
Because of the stories her aunt wrote out, Darcy knew that Elizabeth had fallen off her horse twice her first week riding on her own but had refused to give up.
He learned that she was rather good at fishing but hated taking her catch off the hook.
That she sometimes had laid flat on her back in the middle of a floor to better study the art on the ceilings at Weymouth House.
That she had scandalized George Darcy by teaching Georgiana to do the same one spring afternoon at Pemberley.
That she had drawn nearly every creature indigenous to West Riding, and that those drawings were safely packed away in the attics.
That when she loved someone, she drew them over and over again.
Elizabeth was not the only artist in the family. Mrs. Russell had painted a picture of her own—one of a country girl with a loving heart and an insatiable desire to learn about the world around her. The letter, Darcy realized, had been as much for him as it was for his wife.
“Lizzy,” he read as the letter concluded, laying his cheek against her curls, “you have been the light of our lives from the moment you descended the carriage with your papa and forced yourself to walk rather than dash up the stairs to meet us. You have been every bit our long-awaited daughter, and we will forever be grateful to your parents for sending you to us. You gave two old people new life, my delightful girl, and now it is time for you to live yours.”
Elizabeth read the final words. “Our love will be with you always. Aunt Olivia.”
Darcy folded the letter and held it out to his wife. She took it and for a few minutes they sat together without speaking.
“I know it is early,” Elizabeth said softly, “but may we go to bed, Fitzwilliam?”
“Of course, my dear,” he replied. He stood with her still in his arms and carried her the short distance to their chambers. “Which Darcy secret shall we explore tonight?”
She snorted against his neck, and he laughed at the tickling sensation on his skin. “Oh, the third one, Fitzwilliam,” she said, clinging just a little tighter. “I am excessively fond of the third.”