Chapter 28
Darcy
Ensconced in a beautiful room in the Royal Hotel in Edinburgh, Scotland, Darcy contemplated the bridal tour he had planned so carefully.
On the whole, it had gone well. Other than the hiccups of Lady Catherine’s visit and her insistence on viewing some highly soiled and very private items—the less said about this topic, the better—and the unexpected meeting with Bingley—well, honestly, the less said about this, as well!
—they had been very fortunate. The weather and road conditions had been better than could be expected.
The rare carriage accident or robbery by a highwayman had not occurred.
They had not even had much, as it happened, of the expected rainy weather.
Until Cragdaloch.
Before coming to Edinburgh, the Darcys had stayed at their estate of Cragdaloch, and it had rained every day. Still, nothing had flooded. Indeed, it was the sort of rain that spoiled only half a day’s plans and did not make the roads impassable.
Thinking about Cragdaloch, Darcy could not prevent a chuckle.
Elizabeth had somehow learnt that he kept two oilskin cloaks packed away with the tools, in case the carriage required repair during a storm.
The second day at Cragdaloch, she had insisted on wearing one of the cloaks so that she could walk in the rain.
“After all, I now am the proud owner of sturdy boots,” she said. “Will you join me?”
She had asked the question as if she pretended that he had a choice—she was spirited enough, one might even say mulish enough, to still walk even if he ordered (or begged) her not to.
He sighed as he donned the sorts of clothes that could keep him warm if his cloak could keep him dry, and he drew up the hood of his oilskin cloak.
Then he turned to help her cover her warmest outfit with the second cloak, which was, of course, too large for her.
Then they went out.
It was grey outside. He was very used to grey skies, grey landscape, grey everything feeling very drab, but Elizabeth pointed out that there were hundreds of shades of grey to be seen.
And she was correct. As she spoke softly and walked with him hand-in-hand, he began to discern how many shades of grey there were in the clouds, and then he turned his attention to the varying greys of the craggy cliffs, the dark lake, the stony surroundings.
He had much admired the “grey-scale” sketches of J.
M. W. Turner—sketches of Scotland! Including Loch Katrine!
—and he began to see how the actual misty, atmospheric landscape around him was indeed beautiful.
Haltingly, he attempted to express it to Elizabeth.
“I have admired sketches in pencil and charcoal, before, but until now I have not thought of the beauty of the actual world around me when it is rendered in grey scale by weather. I suppose I had an emotional link from this sort of scenery to disappointment…sadness, even—but now you have opened my eyes to this flavour of sublime.”
“I suppose,” she offered, “it is what we bring to the world, to our surroundings and families and occurrences, that makes the largest difference to our perception of our experiences.”
Darcy smiled. Elizabeth was at this moment the very archetype of the Wise Woman of literature. But he wondered if he could also encourage a childlike desire to play in this complex lady.
He waited a quarter of an hour, encouraging her to go on with her philosophical musings. Finally, she decided to turn back towards the house, still speaking of beauty and nature. He suddenly said, “I love everything you are saying, but I should like to play a bit. Would you like to play with me?”
She looked momentarily nervous, as if he would lay her down on the soaked grass to have his way with her, but her brow smoothed almost immediately as she asked, “What is the nature of this play?”
“I want to jump into puddles!” William said.
“Oh! Well, I will play with you, but when I feel even a little bit cold, I will run back to the house.”
“Agreed!” And then he dropped her hand, took a few steps away from her, and jumped into a puddle with both feet.
He had not done such a thing since he was a young boy, and he was shocked when he saw how high the displaced water flew, and how far. Some of it sloshed onto Elizabeth’s cloak, and some onto her boots. Her laugh, however, showed that all was well.
“You just asked for it, Mr Darcy!” She jumped hard into another puddle, sloshing water his way. A bit even reached his breeches.
“Now, together,” she cried, interlacing their fingers once again. They jumped, sloshed, splashed, and soon wordlessly agreed to run, pell-mell, back to the manor house.
Now, thinking of how Elizabeth had looked so happy and carefree as she ran, he felt contentment rise up in him.
He was fulfilling his vows—not only the public ones made in church the day they wed, but his own vow made long before that, to keep Elizabeth safe and to make her happy.
He felt the great privilege of having the duty to do so.
But tomorrow morning they would start for Pemberley.
At long last she would see her future home, the home of their prospective children.
They would take up their roles as master and mistress, they would engage with their estate and household duties, and they would find ways to ensure that the joy and connexion they had enjoyed on this tour would continue.
He was not in the least reluctant to get back to work, to once again attend to his duties to his ancestral home, even though he knew perhaps better than Elizabeth how much hard work was in store for them.
He actually felt in his body and his mind that it was high time that he do exactly that: work hard, ensure the wellbeing of his tenants and servants, meet with countless people face-to-face in that effort, check the financial records personally, even though he trusted his man of business and his stewards.
It had been a pleasure to check the books at each of his estates, a pleasure to affirm that every estate was increasing in earnings, thanks to the crop rotation techniques instituted and the liberal use of funds to update machinery and repair homes.
Soon he would be able to once again witness in person the prosperity of Pemberley.
Yes, he was very much looking forward to beginning the journey to Pemberley tomorrow morning.
But now—“Good evening, sir,” Elizabeth said in her most sultry voice. “Might I tempt you to come to bed? I find myself…restive.”
He grinned, well remembering that she had said nearly those exact words on their wedding night.
“Restive, are you?” he asked, echoing the words he had said then. “I have a notion of how I may solve that little problem….”
Four days later, Darcy rapped on the carriage roof.
The coachman did not need to be reminded to make a particular planned stop, but Darcy had promised to rap, just in case.
The coachman expertly slowed the horses and guided the carriage to one side…
just as the dense tunnel of trees gave way to a glorious vista.
Darcy was not looking at the glorious vista. No, he was looking at Elizabeth, who gasped, enraptured, and said softly, “Oh, Will!”
Even young friends from school had been struck by this particular view of Pemberley, the lowering sun painting the stone facades with golden light; the fountain pool, lake, and stream reflecting the blue of the sky and the gold of the sun in lovely wind-ruffled arcs, the naturalistic planting of trees and shrubs, grass and flowering plants all conspiring with boulders and a rather high hill to make a truly gorgeous setting for the palatial building that was Pemberley.
“You approve, dearest?”
“Oh, indeed. I think there would be very few people who would not approve!” she said fervently.
“But none of those people will be the mistress. You will; therefore I ask for your opinion.”
“Oh, William, it is truly beautiful. I cannot believe—even after all I have heard—I assure you, none of the praise has been exaggerated, and I long to be down there, seeing this magnificence up close!”
He chuckled and said, “As you wish,” and he rapped for the journey to resume.
Soon he was handing Elizabeth out of the carriage, introducing her to the servants, and then introducing the housekeeper and butler to his darling wife. “I know you will serve her as well as you have served me,” he said, with the greatest confidence that he was correct.
“It is wonderful to meet you, Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Reynolds said, “and it is lovely to have you back home, Mr Darcy. We have missed you exceedingly, but we are all so delighted that you took the time to find a wonderful mistress for Pemberley.”
Mr Grant gave similar sentiments, and Elizabeth greeted her husband’s longtime servants with as much warmth as could be.
She was soon conferring with Mrs Reynolds about the dinner that night, as well as when and where they could meet in the morning so that Elizabeth could begin to learn her duties and so they could plan the upcoming Christmas celebrations.
Darcy turned down Mr Grant’s offer for him or Mrs Reynolds to tour Elizabeth that afternoon; he said, “I will show her three public rooms and my study, downstairs, and then we will go up to our rooms, to refresh ourselves and rest before dinner.”
“Very well, sir,” the two servants said in almost perfect unison.
Darcy began the tour, feeling immense satisfaction in beginning to introduce the love of his life, Elizabeth, to the other love of his life, Pemberley. She looked just as happy as he felt, and he was certain of their continued joy in their home, in Georgiana, and in each other.
And, of course, in the children he hoped would come. Who knows? he thought. It may be that there is already someone else, even now, readying to join in their felicity.