Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Thursday morning, the Gardiners departed for Hertfordshire, and soon thereafter, the earl’s carriage arrived to collect Elizabeth.
As the journey across town progressed, her anticipation for the coming weeks grew.
Part of her heart would be at Longbourn with the Bennets and Gardiners, but she was about to experience a Festive Season unlike any other and with relations she had feared she would never know.
Lord Romsley was present to welcome her, but he excused himself after a few minutes. “I have work I must attend to. My wife would like you to herself, in any case, so it is just as well my sons and I are all occupied this morning.”
Lady Romsley slapped his arm playfully, and Elizabeth chuckled. Before they did anything else, the countess insisted on showing her the bedchamber that would be hers.
“I hope you will be very comfortable here,” she said, as Elizabeth looked about the spacious apartment.
“It is lovely,” Elizabeth replied. “I do not know how anyone could not be comfortable.” The room was twice as large as her chamber at Longbourn and much more finely furnished.
The walls were papered in a soft green and ivory, the furniture all gleaming mahogany.
Flowers added a light scent to the air, and several books were placed on the table beside a cosy-looking wing chair near the fireplace.
“Good,” the countess said, a hint of relief in her voice. “If there is anything you would like or require, you need only ask.”
Regarding her, Elizabeth realised her aunt was anxious that she feel at home.
“I shall. Once you know me better, you will discover I can be quite bold when necessary. You should ask Mr Darcy to tell you about the time I walked three miles across muddy fields to go to Netherfield because my sister had fallen ill while visiting Mr Bingley’s sisters.
I should say cousin, I know, but Jane has always been a sister to me.
It is difficult to think of her any other way. ”
“I understand, and did you really? You must tell me about it while we take refreshments. Let us go to the sitting room. I have asked Mrs Gibson to have tea and cake sent there.”
Elizabeth reminded herself that Mrs Gibson was the housekeeper. She would have to become familiar with more of the servants, starting with Miss Herriot, the maid her aunt had selected for her.
Once settled near the fire with tea and spice cake, Lady Romsley pulled a letter from her pocket and, her eyes expressing pleasure, said, “I cannot believe I forgot to tell you as soon as you stepped into the house. I shall forgive myself only because I know there was good reason for my distraction.” She smiled fondly at Elizabeth.
“It is a response from my brother. Naturally, he expressed surprise to discover we had a niece. Where is…” She ran a finger down the sheet and made a soft noise of satisfaction when she found the passage she had been seeking.
“He wrote that he trusts me when I say there is no doubt that you are Thomas’s daughter.
” The countess rolled her eyes. “He has always been an overly cautious sort of person. It took him a year before he convinced himself that it was perfectly rational to pursue Sophia, even though she was unreservedly suitable and it was obvious he loved her.” She laughed.
“I find it diverting that my nephew Darcy resembles him in this regard. They are not related, yet they are both so careful, always debating the good and bad of every decision and situation. It can be vexing. But they are both excellent men. I would not wish you to think otherwise.”
“I do not,” Elizabeth said before taking another mouthful of the soft, savoury cake.
To herself, she reflected that she had seen another side to Mr Darcy, one that was not so admirable.
Then again, knowing his nearest relations were wonderful people and they all loved him, perhaps she had not been entirely fair to him.
For her own sense of peace, to ensure nothing marred this period of her life, she should attempt to set aside her animosity.
Of course, doing so would be easier if she did not think he had a role in separating Jane and Mr Bingley. But then, I do just think it. I do not know that he did anything to influence his friend.
Pushing aside the subject for the moment, she gave her attention to her aunt and the conversation, which covered such subjects as Mr Sterling’s letter, what his estate, Hillsdale, was like, and how they would occupy themselves in the coming days.
When Bramwell had proposed that Darcy accompany him to Grosvenor Square, he had agreed at once, hoping he might see Elizabeth.
Today, she was coming to stay with the countess.
Too much time had passed since he had last seen her.
In truth, the number of days was not large, but it felt like they had been separated by weeks.
It might be because he knew that, henceforth, whenever he called upon his relations, she would be there.
Bramwell, Fitzwilliam, and he had been on an outing with friends; Fitzwilliam had elected to remain with them.
The ladies were in the drawing room, chatting pleasantly and drinking tea.
Darcy stopped near the door and immediately felt lighter just seeing Elizabeth; it was as though he could breathe easier.
What a fool he had been to walk away from her in Hertfordshire!
He ought to have realised the attraction he felt towards her was uncommon and wondered at its meaning and significance.
Could he have recognised some tie to his family in her, some unconscious understanding that—despite the reasons he had decided to resist her temptation—she was the lady for him?
More likely, the universe, God, fate, whatever you like, was playing a joke on me, attempting to teach me a lesson about not judging people too quickly. He would do better in future, he vowed, and begin by convincing Elizabeth that her worth was not tied to who her father was, not to him.
Darcy greeted the ladies, his eyes lingering a heartbeat longer on Elizabeth.
“I am glad you are finally here,” Bramwell said to her. “My mother might stop rushing about, ordering the servants to prepare this or clean that, all with the goal of ensuring you are so comfortable and feel so spoilt that you will never leave.”
The countess smiled, shook her head at her eldest son, and said, “You are too much at times. But your teasing does not cause me a second of distress, not on such a happy occasion. My niece is with us, and Christmas is less than a week away. Is that not reason enough to rejoice?”
“It certainly is,” Darcy found himself saying.
Since his gaze remained fixed on Elizabeth, he saw the moment that a dusting of pink blossomed on her cheeks.
He forced himself to look at his aunt and added, “The Festive Season is always a favourite of yours, I know, and this one will be particularly memorable. Georgiana and I were speaking of how fantastical your reunion is.”
“Can one call it a reunion when none of us knew about the other?” Bramwell asked.
“Whatever we name it, I am so, so glad it has happened,” Elizabeth said. “As I have expressed many times!”
She laughed and returned the countess’s smile; the ladies clasped hands briefly.
To Darcy, seeing them together and Elizabeth lovingly embraced by his relations—who also happened to be hers—was beyond anything he could ever have imagined.
In Hertfordshire, he had not allowed himself to envision becoming friends with her, let alone lovers and spouses.
Amongst his objections to such a connexion was the certainty that his family would object, especially the earl and countess.
The discovery that she was Elizabeth Sterling was still a shock, likely the largest he would ever experience.
But it is also the best I shall ever have.
It gives me a chance to remedy the error I made in deciding to forget her.
As my cousins have said, this is a gift to our entire family. What better time of year to receive it?
“We were discussing the coming week,” the countess said. “It will be busy, of course, beginning with dinner at the Darcys’. Your aunt was generous to arrange the event so quickly.”
The last remark was directed at him. Apparently, Aunt Darcy had wanted to have the Fitzwilliams, Elizabeth, Georgiana, and him to dinner as soon as she learnt of the startling reunion.
Once she had met Elizabeth, she felt free to proceed with the arrangements.
She was a gentle lady whose chief interest was ensuring the people about her were happy.
“I know that she, my uncle, and Rebecca are all thrilled to know a lost relation has found her way back to you. Naturally, they wish to welcome her.”
A moment later, while the countess explained the relationship to some of the people Elizabeth would meet in the coming days, Bramwell leant towards him and urgently whispered, “I must speak to Elizabeth alone. Distract my mother.”
Darcy gave him a stern look that informed him he would do no such thing. He was not a schoolboy to play such games.
His cousin’s expression was demanding yet imploring, and he mouthed the words, “Do it!”
In response, Darcy silently asked him why.
Lady Romsley noticed their antics and said, “Why ever are you making such strange faces at one another?” She shook her head and looked towards the ceiling. “Can I trust you two with Elizabeth for a few minutes, or are you going to continue acting like adolescents?”
Bramwell laughed, but the sound had a false quality to it. “You know we shall take excellent care of her. Darcy and I were just— Well, it was nothing important.” He leapt to his feet and held out a hand to his mother to assist her to stand.
The countess eyed him speculatively. She stood and, before leaving them, said to Elizabeth, “If they tease you, I advise you to discover an urgent need to fetch a shawl from your bedchamber. I must speak to Mrs Gibson, but I shall not be more than ten or fifteen minutes.” To her son, she added, “Be good.”
Bramwell watched as his mother walked across the room. No sooner was she through the door than he turned to Elizabeth, fell back into the chair, and eagerly said, “You met Rebecca? Err, I mean, Miss Darcy,” he added, glancing at Darcy, who rolled his eyes.
“How often have I heard you call her by her Christian name and not objected?” he murmured. His cousin did not appear to hear, too intent on speaking to Elizabeth, but she did; their gazes met briefly, and he saw her attempting not to smile; it almost felt like they had shared a joke.
“What did you think?” Bramwell asked. “Oh, do not bother to answer. I know you will only say how lovely and wonderful and amiable she is, and while I do not object to hearing her praised, we do not have time enough to do her justice before my mother returns.”
“Then why did you ask her opinion?” Darcy said. Again, the viscount acted as though he were not there, but Elizabeth seemed amused, which was enough to encourage him to find the humour in the situation.
“We did meet, but I am afraid we spent no more than a few minutes in each other’s company,” Elizabeth admitted.
“I have been assured I shall like her, however, and I am glad we shall meet again so soon. Mr Darcy will tell you I am used to being surrounded by other young ladies, and since you have no sisters—”
“You could not make a better friend in all London, I assure you,” Bramwell interjected, glancing towards the door. “You must help me convince Rebecca to marry me.”
“Bramwell…” Darcy said.
The viscount waved a hand at him, telling him to be quiet, and carried on imploring Elizabeth.
“She likes me well enough,” he assured his new cousin.
“If you ask her, she will admit it. But she is uncertain if she wants the life I have to offer her. You can tell her it is not so terrible. You have joined the family and cannot have any complaints.” With added urgency, he said, “You do not, do you? If there is anything—”
Darcy chuckled and, as the countess had earlier, shook his head at the ridiculousness of the scene.
“No,” Elizabeth assured him. “But in fairness to Miss Darcy, you are asking her to take on the role of a viscountess. I have only just met all of you, and I am a niece and cousin—and the daughter of the family’s black sheep at that.”
“You should not think of yourself that way!” Darcy insisted, speaking more sharply than he intended—although he had not intended to say anything at all.
But now that I have opened my mouth… “No one else does, I assure you.” To Bramwell, he said, “Did I imagine you and Fitzwilliam telling me your mother had a response from Mr Sterling and he greeted the news with pleasure?” Bramwell shook his head, and turning back to Elizabeth, Darcy asked, “Did my aunt not tell you?”
Bramwell sniggered, and Darcy nearly kicked him.
Elizabeth, her brow furrowed, said, “She did, and I am very grateful for how kind everyone has been.”
Her confusion, for such was how he understood her response, was no doubt because of his vehemence, which he knew was perhaps a bit much.
But she should realise he thought well of her, very well.
He hated to think that she would feel her welcome was not as unequivocal as it should be.
Part of him recognised that, because he had behaved towards her less politely than he should have in Meryton, he was being excessively careful to ensure she saw that he wanted to be her friend.
Indeed, he wanted a great deal more than that.
Fortunately, Lady Romsley returned a moment later, accompanied by the earl, distracting both Darcy and Bramwell from the subject of romance.