Chapter 11
“What would you like to do now?” Mr Darcy enquired. “Should we take a tour of the house, or would you rather see the mistress’s chamber and perhaps rest a little?”
“If you do not have a pressing matter requiring your attention, I should like a tour. The house is so large — I would like very much to find my way through it without a map or interrupting the servants,” she teased.
“Very well. Shall we?” He offered his arm again, smiling, and this time she took it with more ease.
Walking along the hall, listening to her husband’s explanations, Elizabeth composed herself and enjoyed her time.
He presented each public room to her, explaining something about each — telling a short, meaningful story or pointing out a painting or a specific decoration or the colour of the silk paper on the walls; he told her who favoured a certain room and what changes his mother had brought to another, encouraging her to also choose a favourite of her own and arrange it as she saw fit.
A morning room because the light bathed it just so or the parlour for callers; another, private, one for family in which a pianoforte occupied a central place; a deceptively intimate dining room that could accommodate small parties or just the two of them; and several other details that she quite forgot.
She had been mostly teasing about the map earlier, but maybe it would not be such a bad idea…
Darcy had left for last the room he obviously preferred: the library.
He also used it as a study, as a desk was placed near a window, and as a room for entertaining his friends as in the opposite corner there was a billiard table.
It was not the right time to linger, but Elizabeth promised to come back soon and enjoy the room.
From the library they passed through a door into a small passage, then back to the hall, which, along with the staircase, formed a large gallery with portraits lining the walls.
“These are mostly family portraits,” Darcy explained. “There is another larger gallery at Pemberley. Most of these are the work of famous painters, so they have a certain value, but they are invaluable to the family.”
Elizabeth looked with much interest, identifying a few portraits of Mr Darcy — as a child, and later on as a young man.
“I assume this is your father and mother?”
“Yes.”
“And this beautiful young girl is your sister?”
“Yes,” he answered curtly.
“I assume she is in these pictures too?”
“Yes, here she was seven years old, here ten years old.”
“Are there any more recent pictures of her? I greatly anticipate meeting her.”
“There is a painting of both of us, made earlier this year, when she turned fifteen,” he replied.
“When I commissioned the painter, I intended it to be a gift, but she would not sit alone and insisted that if it was indeed her gift, she wanted it to be of both of us.” His voice took on a melancholy quality, and he cleared his throat.
“We have it at Pemberley. Other than that, we have not had any other likenesses taken since my parents died.”
“But this is you, rather recently,” she pointed out.
“Yes — my father insisted I had my portrait painted the year he died. Not so recent, you see. There is a similar one at Pemberley.”
“It is a good painting. And I can see the resemblance even if you were so much younger,” she said, attempting a smile. “I would like to see a more recent picture of Miss Darcy— Oh, I apologise. May I ask her married name? Shall I have the pleasure of meeting her soon?”
Surprisingly, his countenance darkened, his brow furrowed, and the ease he had shown earlier all but vanished. He answered in rather clipped sentences.
“Her present name is Mrs Wickham. I am not sure when you will be able to meet her. She lives far in the North.”
“Sir, are my questions upsetting you?” she asked directly after turning and looking at him. “I can see you are displeased.”
“Forgive me. It is not your questions which upset me but the answers I must provide. This subject is more than unpleasant to me.”
Instead of looking at the paintings, they were now facing each other.
“I shall keep my silence on this subject if you wish. It is quite obvious that you disapprove of your sister’s marriage. Most likely of her choice of husband too.”
“I would rather not speak about this matter, but as my wife, you have the right to enquire. Indeed, I disapprove— No, I downright loathe my sister’s marriage because she is very young, much too young to marry, and I suspect she was deceived into acting against her reason and character.”
“I…I am sorry to hear that. Being so young, I assume she eloped. My youngest sister, Lydia, is also fifteen, and she is certainly not ready for marriage, but I am sure an elopement would be tempting to her too.”
“Georgiana was never reckless or impetuous. She somehow lost her good sense and capacity to reason for a moment. And yes, she did indeed elope and married at Gretna Green. The marriage is legal. There is nothing to be done now.”
“I can see you are pained…”
“I am pained for her. I know that she is not happy, and I wish she would allow me to help her.”
“She is probably very much in love…or imagines herself to be. Love is often dangerous to one’s reason and judgment.”
“She is not in love,” he almost spat before controlling himself.
“I am certain she was deceived into confusing her affection for an old acquaintance with something more. Shall we continue our tour now?” he invited her with a large hand gesture, and she nodded; that particular subject was closed, though it seemed much of it remained hidden.
So, the young Miss Darcy had married an old acquaintance, one whom Mr Darcy loathed and who had apparently deceived her into marrying him against her brother’s or the rest of their family’s wishes.
It must have been either someone who fell in love with her or someone who pursued her for some nefarious reason.
It seemed the latter was what Mr Darcy thought.
Either way, she understood an elder brother’s concern. Lydia would surely marry any handsome man who asked her, with nary a second thought to practicalness or situation, even if she would be miserable afterwards. And, sadly, their mother would probably support any marriage proposal.
They walked in silence up the stairs. The first floor housed the private family rooms. Holding her husband’s arm, she was quivering nervously in expectation of seeing her own.
“This is the mistress—your door. The next one is mine,” he explained when only moments later he stopped. “May I join you inside?”
“Of course,” she almost squeaked, then became annoyed with her own weak voice. What was happening to her that she kept acting so unreasonably?
He opened the door and allowed her to enter first, but both startled when a maid let out a cry and they recognised a very pink Janey.
“Mrs Darcy, Mr Darcy, I beg your forgiveness… I was unpacking the mistress’s trunks and… Excuse me,” she mumbled, red-faced, averting her eyes and hurrying to the small door to the adjoining dressing room.
“Do not leave, Janey, you are exactly where you should be,” Mr Darcy said. “I am sure Mrs Darcy would like to change and rest a little before dinner.”
“I would, thank you,” she replied.
“I shall be in the library if you need me. Here,” he said, opening another door, “is my chamber. I shall leave the door open, if you wish to see it.”
“No, that will not be necessary,” she answered hastily. “I shall see it later on…tonight,” she added, then she realised how her words sounded, and her face burned with mortification. She noticed that even Janey tried to conceal a smile and a blush, but Mr Darcy answered with perfect composure.
“Of course. Whatever is your pleasure.” Then he bowed and quit the room.
Elizabeth took a few steps around the chamber, looked out of the window without really seeing anything, hoping to calm her nervousness, then sat on the bed.
“Ma’am, would you like to take a bath? There is hot water brought up.”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
“And what gown would you like me to prepare for you to wear afterwards? For dinner?”
“That one,” Elizabeth pointed out absently.
Indeed, she did not care much what she was to wear.
In fact, she did not feel hungry at all, but she imagined Mrs Green and the cook would have taken special care with the first dinner for the newly wedded couple; she did not want to disappoint the servants by not attending or hurt their feelings by not doing their troubles justice.
An hour later, after a hot scented bath that relaxed her body and her mind, Elizabeth’s spirits returned, and the anxiety caused by the wedding soothed.
The house was beautiful, and she had hardly had time to see it properly.
Her chamber was elegant and comfortable, the servants amiable, her maid competent, and her husband a perfect gentleman.
What more could she wish for? She lay contentedly on the bed, sinking into the soft pillows.
She heard Janey moving softly about, placing more coal on the fire, then leaving the room.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and wrapped herself in the blankets, feeling warm and at peace.
***
Darcy looked at the papers spread out in front of him, reluctant to even touch them.
He was late in responding to his solicitors, to Mrs Reynolds, and there were issues that needed his attention on two of the other estates.
He also needed to decide how to proceed in regard to Rosings, which had also been under his management for the last four years, but this stewardship had come to an end after his row with Lady Catherine.