28. Lizzy
Lizzy
Tabitha and I left the Cotswolds early that morning in an adventurous mood.
I enjoyed our chat along the way as we looked outside the train for three hours, though I missed Oodles’s chin on my knee.
As we reached Derbyshire, the scenery became even more stunning, old brick and limestone towns set in rolling hills stitched with hedgerows.
We walked our bags to the B&B and took a taxi to Pemberley.
Despite the dazzling day, as we drove under the arched gatehouse, my stomach churned at the reminder of Darcy.
Then the taxi turned the corner.
I gasped.
Pemberley.
The huge golden-stone home was elegantly broad, its long windows glinting in the sunlight. The building was set against a sweep of green, mirrored in the large lake and surrounded by forest. Water, rock, and sky met in a way that made you aware of your smallness but strangely steadied by it.
“Oh,” I said. “God, you’re right. It’s stunning.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tabitha asked.
“Tell me something about the architecture for my book,” I said, holding out my phone to record her.
“See the nine bays with columns? Totally symmetrical. The entire building is perfectly and naturally placed on that slight slope. And do you see how it’s mirrored in the lake?
The backdrop of those weathered trees and rolling grounds makes it fairy-tale-ish.
And you can’t even see the secret garden and the follies. Heaven.”
This was the most stunning setting. But it was too perfect, too serene.
I needed tension for my novel. One of the characters would live here, brought up in this beauty and history.
The other must be from another class, maybe live in a simple farmhouse on the estate, scraping pennies. “It seems to glow in the sun,” I said.
“The west front is carved yellow stonework, and the window frames are highlighted with gold leaf, which catches the setting sun.”
“It’s gorgeous, but so simple in a way.”
“That’s the beauty of it. It’s baroque and Italianate, but not fussy and frilly.
That’s what I loved about it and why I took on this job.
They have many events a year, including the Christmas one, which must be wonderful, and Darcy wants it to be lighter and brighter and feel more accessible to the people who come here. ”
My body prickled with discomfort at each mention of Darcy’s name. I stopped the audio recording. It wasn’t only his name that irritated me—it was hearing him praised.
That must have shown on my face, because she added, “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about him.”
“No, please, I want to know about your work here. I wouldn’t have come up if I thought I couldn’t handle it. Honestly.” Now, however, I wasn’t too sure I could handle it. “What style are you doing all these rooms?”
“That’s what I love about this assignment. Darcy wants it comfortable and modern and fun, without all the dark drapes and heavy furnishings. But with a nod to the era. We’ve already done his apartments, and now we’re on to the public rooms.”
“Are you going to do a TV episode on this place after the remodel?”
“As you can imagine, that was the last thing he wanted. He said he was scarred by the reality show at the Amor Inn, which is a bit uncomfortable as it was at my parents’ house.”
I gave an eye roll. He was complaining about the weekend? He was the one who’d made it intolerable. How could he be scarred by the show? He had been rude to me that first night, lied about his motivation to win the cooking competition, and then rubbished Jane to his brother.
She glanced over at me. “Yes, some of it, maybe most, he brought on himself. But anyway, the staff got excited by the prospect of being on telly. And of course, this place is run as a business, and being on TV will attract more visitors. Eventually, he agreed, but only if it focuses on the staff and the amazing work they do to keep it running. He only wants to say two sentences. I mean, exactly two sentences.”
I was thinking about what two sentences I would say to him if I got a chance.
“That doesn’t sound like him. I would have thought he’d jump at pontificating about the place.”
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s exactly him, at Pemberley anyway. He delegates. He’s self-effacing and wants others to take the credit.”
I still wasn’t convinced. The man she was describing was not the bossy, controlling person I’d met at the Amor Inn.
Now that I was here, I didn’t know whether I felt comfortable being in Darcy’s home. At least he wouldn’t be here.
Our taxi dropped us off at the front, and I smiled at how my emerging in my jeans and white shirt from the funny little yellow Fiat looked next to this grand, historic building.
We crunched down the gravel driveway and up the steps.
A door opened, and a butler dressed in a suit greeted Tabitha, ushering us into a vast marble entry with a painted ceiling of a heavenly scene and a circular staircase.
An older woman in a navy-and-white dress uniform came forward, and the butler nodded and walked away.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” Tabitha said to the woman. “This is a friend of mine, Lizzy Bennet.”
“Hello, Ms. Bennet. I’m the housekeeper here.”
“You have a stunning place,” I said. “So beautifully cared for.”
“Thank you, it’s been a pleasure to work here for forty years. I’ve known Darcy—” She blinked. “Excuse me, young Mr. Wainwright and his brother, since they were lads.”
“Mrs. Reynolds, would you mind showing Lizzy around a little while I work?” Tabitha asked.
“Of course not. Young Mr. Wainwright always encourages us to welcome new visitors. You know what he’s like. I beg your pardon. Maybe you don’t. Have you met him, ma’am?” she asked me.
“Once or twice.” I trained a pleasant expression onto my face.
“Then you’d know how he is. He’s so kind and generous and so easy to be around. Such a good man.”
I’d glimpsed sides of him where he was likable, a good man, that last night dancing, hay baling, jumping into the river, even the dog training. But he’d proven otherwise in how he’d influenced his brother, and he could be judgmental, rude, and interfering.
She touched my arm gently. I must have zoned out.
“Would you like me to come with you and point out the main attractions?” she asked.
“I don’t want to trouble you,” I said.
Darcy wasn’t here, but I pictured him everywhere—striding through the door, looking out the window, finding fault with everything he saw, annoyed that the sky wasn’t blue enough, the grass not sufficiently green.
And now that the housekeeper had met me, wouldn’t she tell him I’d been here?
I imagined the scowl. But that wasn’t how she presented him at all.
In fact, it sounded like he was a good delegator and appreciative. But then there were all the events, strangers in his house. How did he handle all this? Or did he spend a lot of time in his apartments, sort of living over the shop?
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, and I’m so proud of this place,” the housekeeper said. “It’s a treat for me to give tours, as we have a full staff who usually do them. As you could probably imagine. We have three hundred thousand visitors a year.”
Three hundred thousand visitors? This was a huge business—I didn’t know why I expected it not to be—and he ran a property development company down in London too. No wonder he was so grumpy arriving at the Amor Inn that first night. Still, that didn’t excuse everything that came after his arrival.
“Gosh, that many?” I said. “That’s impressive.”
“It’s a lot of people to keep happy and interested, but we do.”
She led us down a long, wide hallway glittering with chandeliers, our footfalls softened by traditional red carpeting.
I tensed, expecting Darcy to walk toward us any moment.
“You’ve worked here for forty years?” I asked. “You must have seen lots of changes.”
The way she affectionately mentioned young Mr. Wainwright made me wonder about the old Mr. Wainwright, Darcy’s father. But I was sure she wouldn’t let slip any opinions about him.
“Yes, and all good changes when it comes to the young Mr. Wainwright.”
We walked past room after carpeted formal room—a music room, a drawing room, and a proper ballroom. The grandeur was head-spinning.
And yet somehow with the views out to the hills and lake, the vast space wasn’t as overwhelming as I would have expected.
In one beautiful drawing room, I paused and imagined a couple living here and having a regular life.
This home was stately, made for grand gatherings, and yet there was something peaceful and human-sized about the other rooms—the library, the smaller dining room.
I wasn’t sure if it was because of all the light on both sides, the views softened through roses and elm trees and broken-down arches.
Something about the views brought me peace, then made my spirits soar.
“Let’s go to the sculpture room,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
“So you’ve known young Mr. Wainwright since he was born?” I asked, wondering if maybe he’d had a more difficult childhood than I knew about, growing up with this kind of money. It might not all be easy. Maybe isolating. Was that why he was difficult as an adult?
She nodded. “Most of the staff have worked here for decades, and the Wainwrights are two of the nicest lads you’d find anywhere.
Since the young Mr. Wainwright took over, he’s made a lot of changes.
All for the good. He wants to hold free events that include more of the villagers.
I’m one of the traditional ones here who doesn’t like change, but the village needs this place to gather, to be a central hub they’re proud of and feel comfortable in.
Though, making this estate more accessible to all does mean we have to make more money from the events we do charge for.
So it’s more pressure.” She took in an almost imperceptible breath.
“Oh, listen to me running at the mouth. I’m being indiscreet.
It’s that he’s so thoughtful about other people who don’t have the same privileges, even though that makes it harder to turn a profit. ”
She made him sound genuinely thoughtful. But how could that be true of the man I’d met? “Oh, that’s quite the praise, then.”
“Both of the boys are wonderful.” She laughed.
“Most of the staff have stayed on since he took over. Why would you go anywhere else? He is the kindest, most generous employer, a joy to work for.” She chuckled.
“Work with, he keeps telling us—we are working together—but that’s him.
He has all these modern ideas about respecting each other and what we contribute.
We do laugh about it a little. I’m old-school, and I can’t get used to not simply following orders. ”
I nodded numbly, still struggling to reconcile the man I’d interacted with who loved to give orders and the warm one she was describing.
“Come in here. This is one of my favorite rooms,” she said.
The space glowed white beneath the domed glass roof, the marble sculptures standing silent around us as though the room was holding its breath.
She gestured to an elegant statue. “This is him. Isn’t it a good likeness?”
I blinked, suddenly realizing I was looking at Darcy’s face in stark relief. Without color or texture, his high cheekbones, defined jaw, seemed of another time.
I stopped myself from tracing along his masculine nose. “Yes, it is.”
She turned away and checked her phone. “I’m so sorry. I’m needed in the kitchens. There’s a disagreement over the browned-butter sauce. Such is my life. Take as much time as you need. Are you okay by yourself?”
“Yes. Honestly, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
As soon as she left, I stared at the statue again.
Without thinking, I ran my fingers along his jawline, the smooth marble under my touch oddly sensual and intimate.
His profile etched into the pure white stone was disarmingly beautiful.
There was a stillness to the lines of his face, not coldness—something restrained rather than absent.
Had I known Darcy at all? He’d been curt and rude at times, but I’d also glimpsed the man Mrs. Reynolds had described. Started to fall for him. Until he’d ruined everything to protect his brother from my sister—needlessly, obviously. But wouldn’t I do the same? Not like that!
The edges of the bright white room blurred, and my head spun with everything I’d seen and heard, my feelings for him twisting into something I couldn’t untangle. Who was this man to me?