Chapter Five
Lord Darcy gently nudged Elizabeth awake as they rounded the bend of the lane which led to the great house. Goodness! She had once again slept in Lord Darcy's arms! Elizabeth righted herself and pinched her cheeks.
Oh, that her first view of Pemberley could have been during the day!
Instead, a hot bath and a warm bed would have to do.
In the dark, the house was a hulking behemoth of stone, towers, and windows.
It was not a castle exactly, but it was definitely a fortress.
. .or a prison. Elizabeth shook her head and pushed that thought away.
It would not do to start off thinking of her new life in such a way.
If she did that, she might never be happy again.
“Do I look well enough to honour thy household?”
“My lady, you would look well had you been asleep for a thousand years.”
“Remind me to work on thy ability to flatter. That turn of phrase sounds dreadfully desperate.”
Why on earth was she teasing this man? Why was she sleeping in his arms with no reservation?
She was sad and miserable, was she not? She still hated him, did she not?
Despite all the sleep the journey had afforded her, Elizabeth’s mind was exhausted, and this conundrum would be best examined after a bath and some rest in a decent bed.
Lord Darcy offered his arm and led her towards the line of servants gathered within the courtyard. He introduced each of them with swift efficiency. At the end of the line stood Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, Timmons, the butler, and the Honourable Lady Jane Gardiner.
“My lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lady Jane said, smiling as she dipped a deep curtsey.
Jane's action made her somewhat uncomfortable. She herself had curtsied many times to women of higher rank but obviously had never been the recipient of such a grand gesture. She bit her lip but gave her most gracious smile, nonetheless.
“Likewise, Lady Jane. My lord tells me that thy mother was employed by High Lady Anne.”
“Aye, she was and taught me everything she knew for my time. We have a proud heritage of service to the noblewomen of the North Country.”
“I would think so. I look forward to getting to know ye, madam.”
“And I you, my lady. Shall I send a maid to your room to help you change into your night clothes?”
“Nay, but many thanks. I have brought my own maid. Shall we meet in the morning for breakfast tea?”
Jane curtsied again. “Yes, my lady. Very good.”
High Lord Darcy once again offered his arm, taking her into the great house. Surprising her, he dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“What was that for?” she asked quietly.
“You did well, my lady. It was my way of congratulations.”
“Many thanks then. But I would prefer the reward of a long, hot bath and a soft bed.”
“Then you will have your wish granted. Your apartments are in the east wing. Would you like Timmons to escort you?”
“Where will ye be?”
“In my own rooms. In the west wing.”
She nodded and stared at her feet, disappointed she would be so far away from the one person she was acquainted with.
At Longbourn, another person was always nearby, whether it be Hill in the next room or a maid down the hall.
She had a bed chamber, not an apartment.
It would be quite a task to become accustomed to her new life.
Lord Darcy snapped his fingers, and Timmons seemed to magically appear.
“Show the Lady Elizabeth to her apartments, Timmons.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the butler.
“I bid you good night. Sleep well.” Lord Darcy gave her another small kiss on her forehead.
“Good night, my lord,” Elizabeth replied in a small voice.
Heather and her trunks were already in the apartment when Timmons opened the door.
Never in her life had Elizabeth seen a more opulent set of chambers.
She entered into a sitting room decorated in shades of pale green and gold before Timmons led her to the bed chamber.
The bed was draped with what seemed like a thousand bolts of light silver-blue velvet that were pulled back to reveal a high, fluffy bed.
Thick, warm-looking blankets were piled on top of the mattress.
Fine paintings adorned both rooms, all pastoral, and they complimented the furnishings perfectly. Had she not died and gone to heaven?
“My lady, hot water was ordered shortly before we arrived,” said Heather. “They are bringing it up now. We should prepare for thy bath.”
Elizabeth stared at Timmons, and her mouth screwed up a little. Her father had never had a butler, and she was unsure of the protocol.
“I believe, my lady, all you need do is dismiss me.”
She bit back a nervous laugh, and amusement lit the servant's dark eyes.
“Many thanks, Timmons. I believe that shall be all,” she said as she drew her body into its full height and attempted to sound as commanding as she could manage.
“Very well, my lady.” As he turned, he gave her a quick wink and nod of approval.
When the door had closed, Elizabeth threw herself ungracefully into a surprisingly comfortable chair and let out a long breath. Heather came up behind her and began working the pins and ribbons out of her hair, drawing the brush through with long, gentle strokes.
“’Tis been quite the day, has it not, my lady?”
“Oh, come now, Heather, ye and I played together as children. Ye need not be so formal when we are alone.”
“I am fearful that we could be watched.”
Elizabeth sat up and eyed her maid closely. “What have ye heard?”
“That the master plans to put a guard at the stair of the wing. That is all, but it has me cautious.”
Huffing in disbelief, the future princess crossed her arms over her chest. A guard at the foot of the stairs!
How would she even begin to plot an escape?
Where in the world did he think she might run?
She did not know this country, its customs, or its people, and they did not know her.
She very much doubted that she would find an ally close by.
Incensed, Elizabeth rang for a servant while sending Heather in to ascertain the temperature of the bath. A few minutes later, a young house maid appeared.
“Yes, mistress?”
“Pray, would ye fetch High Lord Darcy? I have an urgent matter I would like to discuss with him.” She made sure her tone left no room for argument.
The girl coloured and stared at her wringing hands.
“What is it?”
“The master has left the house.”
“He has? Did he leave word as to where he was going?”
“Not to my knowledge, mistress.”
“And what is thy name?”
“Brigitta.”
“Many thanks, Brigitta. Ye may go.”
Elizabeth closed the door behind the girl, seething.
Guards and whores. She had a sudden, cold glimpse of her future; her heart ached despite her luxurious surroundings and the hot bath that awaited her.
Disheartened and grieving once again, she slipped into the bathing room and tried to forget how much she dreaded her fate.
* * *
When she woke in the morning, all appeared better than it had been in weeks. The sun was out. Though the air carried a slight chill, her bed was warm and cozy, even though she had not bothered to draw the drapes before she had gone to sleep.
Oh, no! The previous evening's events came rushing back to her, and she pulled the blankets over her head in an effort to hide from her sudden, newly minted bad day.
She groaned, threw them aside, and was immediately jolted awake by the rush of cold air that surrounded her body despite the thick flannel night shift she wore.
This was so irritating! By the time Heather had readied her, and a waiting servant led her down to breakfast, Elizabeth was in quite a foul mood indeed.
Lord Darcy sat at the head of the table and gnawed absently at a piece of dried meat as he skimmed a ledger.
He barely looked up when she entered the room, which set her blood to boil.
She stormed in, made her way towards the buffet, and began heaping rolls, bacon, and sausages onto her plate.
Dramatically, she dropped heavily into the seat at his right hand, determined to make him pay attention to her.
“Are we hungry this morning?” Lord Darcy asked, an amused expression on his face.
“Go to hell,” she growled through clenched teeth, hurling a roll at his head.
“Leave us,” Lord Darcy commanded the servant who stood near the buffet.
Once he was gone, the menacing prince leaned forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You will not speak to me like that in front of our servants. They talk. People listen. Listening leads to doubt in my abilities to govern once it is assumed that I cannot control the tongue of my bride.”
“Go to hell,” she repeated, though her voice lilted and purred in a sweet singsong manner as she raised her arm to throw another roll.
He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her into his lap, chafing her skin so hard it burned. His eyes blazed with anger, a look with which Elizabeth was more than familiar. With his other hand, he grabbed the roll out of her hand and tossed it down on the table. He levelled a stern gaze at her.
“I shall not tolerate this behaviour, my lady.”
“And I shall not tolerate being spied on!”
He released her wrist, and his head jerked in confusion. “What? Who was spying on you?”
“Do not play coy, my lord! Falsehoods, however good at them ye are, do not become ye.”
“I am not lying,” he muttered. His eyes met hers, a serious question on his lips. “Who was spying on you?”
“The guards ye set at my door last night.”
“Then I shall see that they are punished forthwith.”
What was he about? She stood slowly, letting her eyes fill with suspicion. He seemed earnest in his offer to punish the guards. Could he merely be covering his tracks and blaming innocent men for his black deeds?
“They were guarding my room last night. Ye did not send them to spy on me?”
He shook his head. “If they were at your door and not their post upon the stairs, I shall see to it that they are put into the stockades in the village square. I shall personally lock them in.”