Chapter 4
Elizabeth glanced out of the window in her chambers.
Mrs. Reynolds had been correct, it would be madness to walk outside today.
While she had been fortunate that Mr. Darcy had called a seamstress to Pemberley and she had been equipped with a full wardrobe suitable for Mrs. Darcy, the mistress of a northern estate — and she still did not quite believe that he had not appeared to resent the expense — it was still too inclement to venture out of doors.
Emily had appeared with Elizabeth’s warmest shawl, and she nodded her thanks and dismissed her.
She had explored the whole house, floor by floor, when she had first arrived, and she knew where to find the gallery, although it had been dusk when she viewed it before and she had not returned in daylight.
It would be an interesting excursion today.
As she crossed the landing that overlooked the great hall below, she saw Mr. Darcy standing beside the butler near the great front door, which was open. He was looking out and frowning.
“I thank you for bringing me the letter despite the terrible weather. Do you have much further to go?” Her husband’s voice echoed clearly up to where Elizabeth was standing. I must remember that, so I do not speak out of turn where my voice echoes.
Mr. Darcy waited while the footman spoke to the man whom she suspected was the express rider, and returned up the steps to relay the message to his master.
Her husband nodded, and moved back to the door.
“My man will show you to the kitchens and instruct you have a hot meal and a flask before you leave here. A groom will take your horse to the stables and rub him down, give him a hot mash, and we will also provide you with a better saddle blanket to cover more of him before you ride further.”
Elizabeth whirled suddenly and hurried on before Mr. Darcy could turn to see her watching him. She was rather breathless when she reached the gallery, but here she would be able to think about what she had seen and what it might mean.
The gallery was a cavernous space. The north wall had extensive glazing — goodness!
She chuckled to herself; the window tax on Pemberley alone was likely to outweigh that of all Meryton put together.
But it was very beautiful. This room was well lit from so many windows, despite the heavy overcast and falling snow, and she looked around her.
The polished floors gleamed — how many housemaid’s knees had become calloused as they crawled this way with the polishing rags? No sooner would they have reached one end of the gallery than it would be time to begin again at the other. And the gilded ornate picture frames; how were those dusted?
No, she must not think of that! The portraits, Lizzy. Look at the Darcy ancestors. She walked briskly the full length of the gallery several times to get her exercise, and then slowed to contemplate the paintings.
They were not grouped by year or age, she discovered, and she wandered along, ignoring the ones which were faded and cracked with age, looking for more recent portraits.
She came upon a picture of a very young-looking lady, just a girl, really, possibly even younger than herself, and she leaned forward to read the small brass plate inscription below it.
Mrs. Flora Darcy
1732-1751
She stared open-mouthed. Nineteen. Flora Darcy had died at nineteen years old, some sixty years ago. She shivered and hurried on.
She was standing in front of the portrait named as Lady Anne Darcy who had died some fourteen years before, when a slight sound told her she was no longer alone.
Her skin prickled; she knew who it was. She turned slowly, her gaze lowered, and curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.” Then she looked up.
He looked rather awkward, she thought, as he bowed. “Mrs. Darcy.” Then he smiled, just a tiny smile. “I see you are looking at the portrait of my mother.”
She nodded; it would have been superfluous to agree. “I have not yet found a portrait of her with you, sir. Is there one?”
He flushed. “Yes, but that portrait is in my study. I — I like looking at it.”
Elizabeth’s heart softened. “It must bring back happy memories.”
“It does.” He offered his arm and she took it lightly, enjoying the feeling of warmth after the recent lonely months.
They turned and strolled further along the gallery.
She wondered when she might dare to ask him if she might borrow a book from his library; she was weary of the ones she had brought with her.
“I have been remiss,” he said abruptly. “In the New Year I shall have to rectify the issue and call the artist to Pemberley to render your likeness.”
She stared up at him, confused. “It … it is not necessary, surely?”
“It is essential,” his voice was firm. “I ought to have seen to it earlier.”
He seemed anxious to change the subject, and stopped at a painting further down the room.
“This was my grandfather. He passed when I was only six years old.” His voice gentled.
“I remember him reading me many stories while I sat upon his lap. Robinson Crusoe was my favourite, and I believe it was his, too.” His smile vanished.
“It is a painful memory to recall holding my father’s hand as we walked behind the coffin. It was a long way.”
Elizabeth tightened her hand on his arm. “Did you walk all the way to Pemberley chapel? It must have seemed an enormous distance for a child.”
He nodded reluctantly. “I believe Father put me in the coach at the halfway point. He said I was slowing them down too much.”
“I am sorry for your pain,” she said softly. “I saw a portrait of Mrs. Flora Darcy earlier. She was very young.”
He nodded. “My grandmother. She was Grandfather’s second wife.
His first wife and their children died in an epidemic, and he was persuaded to take a young wife to provide an heir to Pemberley.
They grew to love each other very much, although they had barely met before they were wed.
” He looked at her meaningfully, then looked down.
“But she died only a few years later, a week after my father was born.”
How terrible. Elizabeth shivered, and he turned to her. “Let us return to the warm parlour. It is too cold here for your comfort.”
She felt warmer at the sign of his concern. “Thank you. It has been a pleasure to begin to learn of your family, although I apologise if I have stirred unhappy remembrances.”
“It is necessary if I wish to keep their memories alive.” His voice was bleak, but turned warmer as his arm squeezed her hand. “I believe Mrs. Reynolds is determined to provide us with hot chocolate and ginger biscuits in the small parlour.”
“It sounds delightful,” Elizabeth murmured, her heart beating heavily within her. Was this the thawing of their silent lives? She hoped so.
Later that night, in her chambers, Elizabeth reflected on their meeting. Had the housekeeper told him where she was? She could not imagine how else he might have found her, but she hoped the woman had not mentioned anything that might make him have felt obliged to seek her out.
But he had been kind, and far more forthcoming than ever before. Once again, Elizabeth felt the faster beat of her heart and she cupped her hot cheeks in her hands, thankful that she was alone.
And his kindness to a weary express rider and his horse! It was not done to impress her, for he had not known she was there. He was kind because it was in his nature.
She tightened her lips; he had not been particularly kind to her before today.
He must have known how much his insult at the assembly — not even three months ago — had hurt her; and then to demand they become betrothed, allowing no objection.
Elizabeth was almost as angry with Papa for allowing it as she was with Mama and Lydia for setting the whole thing alight.
And she, Elizabeth, was the one whose life had been altered forever.
Mr. Darcy had been silent and distant. He had rarely dined with her, or sought her out, or spoken to her before today, and her disdain and anger had simmered just below the surface.
But if her husband was going to be kinder, she might not be as unhappy as she had been since the assembly. He had even smiled at her — only a tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. She warmed herself with the memory.
And when his arm had tightened on her hand as they strolled in the gallery! The heat spread up from where she had felt it.
She rose to her feet. It was too cold to remain sitting by the banked fire since Emily had assisted her to prepare for the night. She would climb into her bed, and continue to ponder the enigma that was her husband.