Chapter 17
A LEAP OF FAITH
The journey from town to Pemberley had never been his favourite—stopping every ten miles or so, it required fifteen or sixteen changes.
However, this journey was different. He was with Elizabeth, and finally, finally, he was beginning to see again the woman he had begun to know before Miss Bingley’s conniving.
As she became easier in his company, he found he could be easier in hers, telling her things he had never supposed he would tell anyone at all.
“In a small way, you remind me of my mother,” he told her, after leaving Dunstable with a fresh team. “She always seemed to brighten any room she entered. Others were drawn to her.” She smiled across at him, a little shyly, and his heart beat harder to see it.
They pulled into an inn, perhaps the eleventh of the day. As usual, she walked around and he accompanied her. She seemed to enjoy with interest the prospects around her.
“What an excellent travelling companion you are,” he told her. “Most women seem to stay in the carriage, unless they have a specific reason to move. I prefer to walk, to see what sights surround me.”
“I feel the same,” she said. “Look at that old tower, perched by itself upon that hill? Do not you wonder who built it, and why?”
Inwardly he vowed to gain its history before the next time they came through.
When they returned to the carriage, he handed her in as usual, and seated himself across from her.
She appeared to hesitate. “If you were to sit beside me,” she said, her voice just the slightest bit tentative, “and if I were henceforth to doze, you could prevent me from making a fool of myself by falling off my seat.”
His astonishment was great, and though he did wish to appear calm and collected, it took him all of one second before he had moved, loving the smile she granted at him in return.
“Will you tell me about your parents?” she asked, sounding a little sleepy.
No, it was impossible to find this journey the slightest bit tedious; in fact, it could have been twice as long, with his blessing. Having her here, close beside him, was wonderful. Her presence made it easy to speak of anything at all.
“The Earl of Matlock, the current earl’s father, originally sought a husband for his eldest daughter, Lady Catherine,” he began.
“My father had the right pedigree, and his parents desired the connexion. However, as soon as he met the earl’s younger daughter, Lady Anne, he was smitten.
Her father was much displeased—he was a man who preferred to control every measure of his daughters’ lives, and he felt Anne was too young, whilst Catherine was growing too old; she had not ‘taken’ well with the ton, you see.
The old earl kept him waiting for four years, but finally Father had his heart’s desire. ”
“It sounds as though it was a happy marriage.”
He sighed. “I think it was. She loved London, while my father preferred the country. But he spent several months each year in town to please her. As a child, I too, longed for time with both my parents. My father endeavoured to provide it, when he was home. But I sensed my mother’s disinterest in country life, and as a child often can, misunderstood it to instead be a disinterest in me.
I attempted to stay out of her way, to stay unnoticed.
But I would sneak from the nursery when she entertained at Pemberley, to watch her from afar.
I saw how people gravitated towards her, how they wanted to be in her sphere. ”
He had not meant to say it all, but somehow, with Elizabeth, he was far more talkative than was usual for him.
“I prefer the country to town,” she said. “I would not relish being away from my children for months on end.”
“Oh, I had a very good nurse and a full complement of nursery maids. I was never neglected,” he hastened to add.
“I am sure of it. Nevertheless, I hope we will spend more time at home than travelling. I do love to entertain, but I am more familiar with country entertainments, which might seem dull to you. For instance, every year, Longbourn holds a small summer fete in which the tenants and villagers participate in contests and displays of talent, and of course, consume a good deal of food. I always looked forward to it. Would such an event be possible at Pemberley?”
His heart soared at her words—he had always wanted to host something like that, to have more of a sense of community with his neighbours and tenants.
His father would have been so pleased to hear his daughter-in-law speak thusly.
“It does not sound dull at all, although in all likelihood, such an entertainment would involve a goodly amount of work—we have a great many tenants and villagers. I think I would enjoy it, however, and I hope Georgiana would as well.”
“Do you think she would like to come home to Pemberley?”
“I hope she will. Pemberley was once her favourite place in the world, and I wish it could be again.”
“Will you mind if I include a note to her in your next letter, making myself known to her and ensuring she understands how much we both would like her to come home?”
“I think that would be very meaningful to her.” I could not have gained a better bride, had I spent a dozen more years looking, he thought. And when she fell asleep upon his shoulder, and he was able to tuck her in closely against his side, he wished the drive was a hundred miles farther.
The Saracen’s Head in Towcester was a usual overnight stopping place for the Darcys, and they were very well known there.
Havers and Whitby had gone on ahead, leaving a couple of days before them to prepare for their arrival at Pemberley; it meant they would be required to use inn servants, but also that they were expected, and treated with every courtesy.
Elizabeth seemed pleased with the elegance of the place, with its clean, large rooms, and private parlours.
They dined together, talking throughout the meal easily now. It was late when he walked her to the room across from his.
“Sleep well, Elizabeth,” he murmured.
She reached up to touch his cheek; at the last moment, he turned his lips into her hand.
“Good night,” she replied. But she did not move.
He had to force himself to be the first to turn away.
The sound of thunder wakened Elizabeth; she had no clock to tell her the time, but she could hear the sound of the storm raging outside. Leaving her bed, she pressed her face to the glass, but the panes were too thick to see much beyond them.
Returning to her bed seemed the only option, although she was certain that she would be unable to fall back to sleep, and had no idea how long it might be until morning. The fire was banked, and yet the room was chilly. She felt a sudden loneliness, but it was not for home and family.
She wanted her husband. He had not suggested they spend time together alone this evening, as they usually did—that time she found most awkward, she in her dressing gown and he in whatever state of dishabille he chose.
But then, they had no sitting rooms here.
They had essentially been alone together all day, and yet he did not feel she would want to be alone in a bedroom with him.
Was it the truth?
What if she went to him now? Unlike the previous time she had gone to him to take the steps towards intimacy, it was not a matter of simply ‘getting it over with’.
It was moving closer to him, to a togetherness unlike any she had ever before felt.
It was also the only means of journeying from the not knowing to the knowing.
He might be asleep. Was it right to disturb him? It was probably the very opposite of modest decorum.
There were no connecting doors between their rooms, but the two rooms were in an alcove, both looking out over the innyard, somewhat protected from the view of the corridor—probably the nicest rooms the inn had to offer.
I can quietly go and tap on his door. If he does not hear me, it is because he is sleeping soundly, and I can return to my own room without anyone the wiser.
She threw her dressing gown on over her shift before unlatching her door and stepping out, closing it gently behind her. Taking the few steps to his door, she tapped upon it quietly. How long should I wait? she thought, shivering with a chill that was not simply cold and not simply fear.