Chapter 14 #2
Darcy did not answer. He ought to be delighted she should think so, but it was as though, with the sentiment, Elizabeth had torn the rug from beneath his feet.
He had been concerned by the appearance of the crack, of course—deeply so—but his primary object had been policy: hazards and consequences, materials and labour, timings and costs.
Elizabeth had articulated precisely that which had been sitting at the pit of his stomach, gnawing at his equanimity, the thing he had been stoically ignoring for days: his family seat was crumbling, and he was unutterably sad about it.
“I am sorry if I have said something to pain you. The last thing I would wish is to add to your distress.”
Elizabeth was regarding him anxiously, one hand hovering halfway between them as though she had reached to comfort him and thought better of it. He resisted the urge to take her hand in his own, though he longed to feel the consolation of her touch.
“If there is any burden upon my shoulders, it presses more heavily from the past than all present concerns. Pemberley is, as you say, the work of generations. The prospect that it might fall under my curation is difficult to bear.”
“It is not as though you have gambled away your fortune or wilfully allowed the house to fall into disrepair. This is entirely out of your control.”
“That makes it worse. If I had done something, it could be more easily un done. As it is, I know not what the solution ought to be, if I can afford it, or if it can even be done. I find myself faced with the real possibility that this could be the beginning of Pemberley’s downfall.”
“Oh, but I quite disagree!” she replied fervently, almost crossly.
“Pemberley is manifestly more than stones and mortar. Nobody could think otherwise who has seen all this—” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm that took in the grounds as well as the house.
“Or heard your friends and family and servants speak of it, or witnessed the pride you take in it, and the care you take of it. If the whole house were to fall down, you would still be the master of something of real importance to a great many people, both past and present, and I daresay future. And walls, you know, can be rebuilt as easily as they can be knocked down.”
Darcy savoured the familiar upwelling of admiration he had used to feel whenever she locked horns with him in the early days of their acquaintance.
She had done it again: induced him to say, to feel more than he intended, but by God he could get used to having such a fierce advocate!
Fierce, and devastatingly alluring with it.
He considered her handsome at all times, but in high emotion—be it obstinacy, anger, or, as now, defiance—Elizabeth’s beauty was captivating, her complexion radiant and her dark eyes flashing fire.
“You have a most effective way of making a person see the truth before their eyes,” he admitted.
Such she had done when she accused him of selfishness, conceit, and ungentlemanly behaviour—all demonstrably true, all in dire need of correction.
“Pemberley is far more than the sum of its parts. I welcome your assurances. Indeed, I am persuaded that I ought to take steps to preserve some of those parts and have this wing emptied.” He gave her a small, wry smile and made yet another confession. “I have been putting it off.”
“Until your guests left?”
“That is the reason I avowed to myself, but in truth, it felt too much like an admission that there was any real danger.”
Elizabeth gave him an encouraging nod and set off back towards the front of the house. “It is always better to take charge than sit about, waiting for Fate to play its hand. And that must be especially true for those with a strong inclination to have things their own way.”
It could have chafed but, said as it was with a playful, sideways glance, the tease gratified Darcy no end. “Purpose is always preferable to irresolution.”
“Oh, absolutely. If only buildings were as complying as people, you could simply tell the wall not to fall down. Have you tried? If you gave it one of your very severe stares, it might work.”
To distract himself from imagining what it would be like to spin her around and kiss her until she begged him to marry her, Darcy asked whether her plans were yet determined for the rest of their travels.
“My uncle had decided we would leave on Tuesday, but my aunt has been invited to a recital that afternoon, so I think he may be persuaded to stay until Wednesday.”
“In that case, might I impose on you all to join us on Monday? With the work beginning here, I thought it would be prudent to take my guests away from the house. We are to have a picnic at a spot on the far side of the estate. You would like it, I think. It has a charming view over the Derwent valley.”
Darcy was anticipating a repeat of Elizabeth’s embarrassment from three days ago, when Georgiana invited her to dine with them, or her quiet reticence on their walk to the gorge.
Instead, she answered directly that she would very much like to attend, only becoming embarrassed upon belatedly recalling that she would need to confirm with her aunt.
She promised to send a note, and he delivered her to Georgiana, who had this time been joined by several of the other ladies, he was pleased to see.
Then he went in search of Mrs Reynolds, principally to give the instruction to begin emptying the east wing, though the thought crossed his mind to triple her salary for whatever it was she said that worked such a change on Elizabeth’s opinion of him.