Chapter 18
Music Room
Pemberley
Darcy swung his foot gently in time with the sweet, lilting melody pouring from beneath Georgiana's fingers.
Beside him, Mrs. Gregson lightly tapped her fingertips on her knee, eyes bright with pleasure.
Adjacent to them, relaxed in her chair beside the fire, Mrs. Annesley had lowered her knitting to her lap so that her needles clicking would not disturb the young performers.
Georgiana was intent on her music, but it was Miss Elizabeth's face that drew Darcy's gaze.
Her pleasure in singing the pining lyrics was evident as she yearned for Robin Adair, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks delicately flushed.
Darcy had heard many voices better trained and technically more pleasing, but he had never heard one that delighted him more.
Society misses crooned with airs and trills and graces.
Miss Elizabeth added none of these embellishments which took away from the general enjoyment of the melody being sung, but rather she sang with simple verve and pleasure and sheer love of the music.
The last time Darcy had listened to this song, Mrs. Hurst on the pianoforte had been doing her best to show off her sister to best advantage.
Miss Bingley, her voice trained in finishing school, had added many a fashionable flourish to her rendition, utterly spoiling Darcy's pleasure from the simple ballad.
Elizabeth’s singing came to an end, and Georgiana played the final few notes before turning on the bench to face their audience, who broke into applause.
“How lovely, my dears!” Mrs. Gregson said admiringly.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said with a curtsey, and then turned to the younger woman at her left. “You play so very well, Georgiana.”
“Oh, thank you,” Georgiana said with a smile. “I like playing for you as you seem able to adjust to my timing if I hit a difficult spot.”
“I do my best,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “I do not pretend to be a truly excellent singer, but I enjoy singing and like to make people happy, and if I succeed in that, I am content.”
“Well, I for one find you both very pleasing to listen to,” Mrs. Gregson said, rising to her feet. “Now, Elizabeth, would you be willing to show me that book on Emperor Constantine in the library? I have decided I would like to read it.”
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Gregson,” Elizabeth replied with a smile and turned toward Darcy. “Until later, Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled at her in return and glanced at the clock. They had been meeting almost every day in the library, but he still had nearly an hour of correspondence to read and write.
He bade farewell to the other ladies and made his way to his study, which was indicative of his nature.
Everything was meticulously organized; ledgers in orderly rows arranged by year and month, correspondence stacked in a chest, a massive desk of dark oak that had been his father’s and grandfather’s before him.
The curtains were a matching dark brown, straight and long and unadorned.
When Darcy had taken possession of the office, a charming landscape had hung on the wall opposite the desk.
It now resided in the downstairs drawing room, where it could be admired by all and not distract him.
He preferred his working space almost severely plain, with nothing to draw his eye away from his business.
The room had gone cold this morning, the fire sinking to ashes.
Darcy crossed to the hearth, lifted a large log from the basket, and tossed it into the fireplace.
He stirred the coals with the poker until small tongues of flame licked up and caught on the rough, seasoned bark of the log.
Darcy waited beside the fire a moment longer, watching it grow, the heat of it beginning to seep out into the room.
Though his eyes were on the flames, his mind was back in the room he had left, dwelling on Miss Elizabeth.
He stood deep in a brown study, thinking wordlessly of her graceful figure, her pleasing voice, her kindness, her deep friendship with Georgiana, her saucy wit, how well she looked roaming the halls of Pemberley, and how he longed to make that a permanent arrangement.
Darcy shook his head to clear it and turned back towards the desk.
The room was now reasonably warm, and the clock on the mantel showed that he had only half an hour before he must depart for the library to meet with Miss Bennet.
In the meantime, a pile of correspondence awaited his attention.
The steward of Pemberley had immediate access to him now, of course, but his man of business had written, and there were assorted small bills, a personal missive, and, on the very bottom of the stack, a letter in flowing handwriting he recognized with the ease of long familiarity and had hoped never to see again.
The very breath froze in Darcy’s throat, and he gulped to clear it, his heart hammering with his alarm. Why in the world would he write?
***
Library
Pemberley
Half an Hour Later
Elizabeth read the letter with growing horror.
Darcy,
I cannot tell you how surprised I was to discover that Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn is staying with you at Pemberley given that, according to her father, she is currently recovering from scarlet fever in London with Mrs. Gregson.
Who is, of course, your great-aunt. When I first heard that name, I thought it was familiar, but it was not until yesterday that I remembered she was a relation of yours.
I think we ought to discuss this situation, and since you have barred me from Pemberley, I will be waiting for you at the Black Stork in Lambton on Thursday, 6th February at 3 hours after noon.
If you decide that you are too high and mighty to meet, well, I will need to speak to Lady Catherine de Bourgh about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s current location.
George Wickham
Elizabeth lifted a stricken face to Darcy and whispered, “How … how did Mr. Wickham discover that I am here?”
Darcy’s jaw was clenched, as were his hands, and he said, “I do not know, but Wickham has always been adept at ferreting out information.”
She leaned back as tears filled her eyes. She had thought herself safe here, but…
“What does he imagine Lady Catherine can do?” she demanded.
Darcy shrugged and said, “My aunt is a noisy creature with a very strong will, and she has long contended that I am to marry my cousin Anne, her only child. If Wickham convinces her that your presence here at Pemberley is a danger to that plan, she may well act.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush, and she lifted her eyes to gaze into his.
“And,” she whispered bravely, “would she be right?”
He stared at her, suddenly intent, and reached out to take her left hand in his own.
“Yes, she would,” he said softly, “because I love you, Elizabeth Bennet, with all my heart.”
She looked at him in wonder, and then her lips stretched into a wide smile.
“I love you too, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she stated, tears filling her eyes. “You are intelligent and kind and such a wonderful master. When I think of how silly I was last autumn…”
“That was my fault,” he interrupted. “Oh Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Of course I will,” she replied instantly. “Of course.”
“You have made me the happiest of men.”
Elizabeth smiled tremulously. “And I am the happiest of women.”
She allowed herself a minute of pure, ecstatic joy. She was still amazed at her courage in asking the master of Pemberley if he cared for her and had been rewarded, fulfilling her fondest dream; she was engaged to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.
That still left the problem of Wickham.
It was time to stop basking and start thinking, and she said, “What shall we do about Wickham?”
Darcy frowned, sighed, and said, “I do not know.”
“What does he want, do you think?”
“Money, undoubtedly. You know that Bingley and I have been corresponding and that your sister’s husband bought up debts in Meryton in order to put pressure on Wickham.
Surely, that has provoked this action on his part.
But regardless, I could pay him to go away.
I suspect he would leave for one thousand pounds. ”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not want that, Fitzwilliam, and neither do you. We ought not to reward him for despicable behavior.”
“I agree. I will meet with him, but I will not give him any money. I refuse.”
He smiled at her tenderly and said, “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”