Family Wing
Elizabeth Bennet awoke at seven as usual on her twenty-first birthday.
She had spent the three days since what they all euphemistically called the first sister incident in the blue parlour in tremendous bouts of reflection between duties.
Mr Darcy, while still quite confusing, seemed to be losing a good deal of her animosity.
Perhaps the hole he had dug for himself was down to the size of Netherfield, and their first meeting could even reduce it to the size of Longbourn.
She had to sheepishly admit that most of his worst sins were seen by her through a prism of prejudice provoked by one ill-mannered remark that would have been commonplace in Longbourn.
Elizabeth began to form a hypothesis that the duties of a mistress would expand to include everything she was willing to accept.
She noticed a lot of things coming to her attention that should have been settled by someone else.
Consequently, she started deflecting matters back down to the people who should have dealt with them in the first place.
Lady Matlock noticed the change and smiled approval the first time she saw Elizabeth gently chide a footman, telling him he was an intelligent man who had been in the house more than a decade longer than her, and he should be able to use a bit of initiative.
Stewart brought her breakfast as usual, and the kitchen seemed to know just what she wanted on any particular day.
Elizabeth had no idea how they managed it, since she did not know what she wanted when she arose.
She imagined she had unconsciously decided on a policy of wanting whatever was on the tray so she would have one decision removed from her purview.
After breakfast, she bathed and was fitted for yet another dress, as usual.
Stewart had tried to suggest a new dress might be the thing, but Elizabeth suppressed that idea as hard as she could.
While she was perfectly willing to act as mistress until Mr Darcy returned, she expected his return any day.
Mr Breton had told her that, based on the weather, the express had likely been delayed by at least two days, and the only thing the master would know of was the measles, and he would not even know the butler was laid low.
By then however, he should have caught up with the gentleman wherever Mr Darcy was—most likely Longbourn—and the master was almost certainly on his way.
Breton’s best guess was that they were two days from his arrival.
After bathing, and dressing, the mistress received a note from one of the builders in Kympton.
The man had an opportunity to purchase a large store of building material for the villagers from a bankrupt supplier.
The decision had to be made before noon, and the materials had to be paid for immediately, and it might or might not be recoverable from the villagers.
Elizabeth thought it a decision for Lady Matlock, but so far, that lady had steadfastly refused to give judgment.
The infuriating woman only said she would fully support any decision Elizabeth made.
If there were financial consequences that annoyed her nephew, she would either cover the costs from Matlock’s coffers, thump her nephew on the head, or more likely both.
In the beginning, Elizabeth worried over every shilling and had to consider ten pounds.
She gradually grew so accustomed that an expenditure of fifty or a hundred pounds was fairly ordinary, but this was one thousand.
The materials they were purchasing were worth close to two, so it was quite a good opportunity, but she had no idea the rate at which the villagers could pay it back, or even if Mr Darcy would demand repayment.
She did not even know if he would accept it.
Elizabeth thought furiously about the matter and determined she would finally make Lady Matlock earn her keep, so she hurried out of the room to find her.
The lady was likely still in her suite, so Elizabeth turned in that direction, but her progress was interrupted when she ran into a brick wall that had not been there previously.
Before she could think, or even understand what was happening, she found herself falling backward toward what was likely to be a painful and humiliating landing flat on her back.
Much to the lady’s surprise, the ignominious fall was arrested in the middle, and she found herself gently restored to her feet.
Her thinking was still a touch muddled, as she felt a pair of strong hands holding her about the waist, and then noticed her hands were atop a pair of shoulders.
Finally, her eyes travelled up to find she was but a foot from the admittedly very handsome, but worried-looking countenance of none other than Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley.
In that instant, she was assailed with so many sensations she had no possible way to sort them out.
She was vaguely aware that his hands still grasped her waist, and somewhat surprised to feel that it did not bother her in the least. As her dawning comprehension concentrated on that feeling, she found his hands neither grasped too tightly, nor did the owner seem in any hurry to release her.
She felt, right in that moment, that those hands represented a bit of safety—as if Mr Darcy wanted to ensure her wellbeing and nothing else.
She found her own hands resting on his shoulders, and she very curiously felt no great need to remove them and restore the distance that propriety and long habit should require.
All those thoughts circled her head leaving it quite muddled, and there were no convenient ghosts to advise her, so naturally her mouth spit out the very first thought that occurred to her addled mind.
“Mr Darcy, what are you doing here?”
She was a bit distressed that the first words out of her mouth since the abominable proposal were an impertinent, and mostly irrelevant question, but was surprised to see something both new and unexpected.
Mr Darcy smiled, and in that smile, she saw things she might have recognised before if she had not been so biassed against him.
She had never seen a real smile from him, but she had seen their smaller cousins sometimes when he stared at her.
Something about his countenance seemed… altered.
She saw a hint of… what was it… perhaps chagrin…
perhaps concern… impertinence… perhaps… vulnerability?
Before she could get her head organised to ask a more sensible question, the gentleman answered with a smile and a completely unexpected chuckle.
“I live here.”
Elizabeth laughed at the ridiculous exchange, but her mouth continued without any sense whatsoever.
“I am aware. I just meant… well… what are you doing in this part of the wing?”
Once again, she thought the question idiotic, but the gentleman did not seem to mind, as he flicked his eyes to a door a dozen yards away and replied with a gentle smile.
“That is my room.”
Elizabeth looked at the door and snapped in indignation. “Why, that little minx! Georgie assigned me this room on my very first night. What was she thinking placing me only a dozen yards from your chambers?”
Surprisingly, the gentleman started to laugh, but it was a gentle one, completely devoid of censure. It still muddled her thinking considerably.
After his laughter died down, he replied. “What indeed? But I must correct you on one particular. It is true the rooms are but a dozen yards apart, but that is only in the corridor. Inside, they are separated by the thickness of a door.”
“SHE DID NOT!”
Darcy chuckled. “Perhaps my sister was being presumptuous, but I can assure you that I find no objection to you residing in the mistress’ suite.”
Elizabeth turned beet red in embarrassment. She did not know if she was more embarrassed by the impropriety of staying in that particular suite, or stupidity that she had not worked it out before.
Of course, then she wondered if Georgiana had painted her in an even tighter corner than her own actions already had.
However, she decided it made little difference in the end.
She had already been as presumptuous as it was possible to be, and it was hard to see how the choice of a bedchamber in that circumstance could change anything.
Darcy noticed her consternation, leaned his head closer, and said, “Fear not, Elizabeth. Nobody will read any more into this than you wish. Perhaps Georgiana was just being hopeful. She is young, and a bit impetuous, but I should hope that you are not terribly distressed by it?”
“No, I suppose not,” she sighed. “The entire experience has been so odd that it is difficult to know when we passed from unlikely to strange to ridiculous to fantastic.”
“I shall, to the best of my ability, ensure that you have your own choices. I would not have you forced to any action by any factor other than your own desires.”
“Thank you, Mr Darcy. I appreciate it.”
That said, she did not know what to do. So far, this had been the most peculiar discussion, and not at all how she expected to resolve their last conversation, if you could call it that, in Hunsford Cottage.
Elizabeth was mostly filled with confusion.
She had come to know the real gentleman much better through the reports of his relatives and had come to a much better understanding of him, and also of herself.
Of course, that just made her wonder what his interest in her was, and if it had even survived.
If he was a man who regretted making an offer, he was certainly not acting like it, but it was difficult to believe anyone with even a modicum of pride would still be interested in a woman who ran from him like a frightened rabbit.