Chapter 27
Pemberley
Herret and little Herbert Platt came shyly to the door. Georgiana pulled two comfits from her pocket, laughing as the children beamed with pleasure, sucking on the astringent sweetness.
“You are too good for them, Miss Darcy,” said Mrs. Platt, wiping her hands dry with a cloth.
She looked up to me, for I was still mounted—I had difficulty remounting without assistance.
“And thank you, also, Miss Bennet. As you can see, the cottage has been set to rights—even better than it was before.”
“And the additional room, Mrs. Platt? I believe the work will start next week?” The lady was increasing, and their cottage was far too small for two infants to share with their parents and a new babe.
Fitzwilliam—no, I must think of him only as Darcy—had inspected the building and immediately authorised the expense.
Georgiana remounted, waving at the children as we turned back along the lane towards Pemberley. “Oh, Lizzy, perhaps we have stayed out too long, but I do enjoy riding with you.”
“And I too, dearest. Come, let us urge these great beasts to a canter; they are lazy things, with only us to carry on their backs.”
We arrived at the stables just as the Matlock carriage was crossing the bridge over the stream.
There would be little time to change before being called to breakfast—perhaps it would be best only to refresh ourselves, for our riding clothes were still clean and certainly suitable for meeting Georgiana’s aunt and uncle.
We came to the hall, where Georgiana went to stand with her father by the entrance doors; I turned towards the family parlour, where we were to take breakfast with the Matlocks.
“No, sir, you must take your breakfast with the other guests, in the dining room. The parlour is for family only.”
Jacob was attempting to prevent Mr. Collins from entering. The man stood there, insensible as always.
“B—but I am Lady Catherine’s clergyman; certainly family. I insist you let me pass.”
“Mr. Collins! Desist, sir, we are expecting guests this morning, and only close family are welcome. There is a fine breakfast laid out in the dining room, where the Crawleys and the Hursts will take their repast.”
Of course, Mr. Collins ignored me, which, at most times, was a blessing.
This morning, though, we had no desire for the man to intrude on the Matlocks’ visit.
Fortunately, Mr. Crawley, at that moment, came down the passageway.
Mr. Collins blanched, having once before been bodily removed from his chair by the gentleman.
He turned, grumbling, giving me another venomous look as he made his way to the dining room.
Mr. Crawley raised an eyebrow, chuckling.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. I saw you and Miss Darcy out riding. A lovely day for it. Perhaps, after breakfast, I may take a ride myself.” He was cheerful, eminently so. Lucky man, for my nerves had not settled from last night when Mama had told me of the purpose of the Matlocks’ visit.
I entered the parlour, where Darcy and Georgiana were now entertaining a man with the sharpest, grey eyes I have ever seen. He was dark-haired, tall, broad-shouldered, of similar build to Colonel Fitzwilliam—certainly, his brother, Lord Milton, heir to the Matlock Earldom.
“Oh, Lizzy, let me introduce you. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, our cousin Harry Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana smirked.
I gave a deep curtsey, precisely correct on introduction to a Viscount. “My lord, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Ah, Miss Bennet. I understand we have much to thank you for in rescuing Georgiana from a villain. Are you recovered? For I was told your injuries were quite severe.”
“As you can see, my lord, I remain four-limbed and, at last count, possessed at least nine fingers and toes. I cannot repine.”
“Well, Darcy, Richard told me Miss Bennet had a quick wit. I must be on my toes, as it were; though at least I had ten of them at last counting.”
Ah, of similar good humour to the Colonel. “Now, sir, having resolved the question of appendages et cetera, could you explain to me why Georgiana called you Harry? For surely you should be addressed as, at least, your lordship?”
I flushed—I had forgotten myself. He was so like his brother that I had, against all propriety, been over familiar. Certainly I was nervous—of meeting the Earl and Countess, of being censured for my amity with Darcy, of my fear for Mama’s happiness.
“Oh, Lizzy, let me explain,” cried Georgiana.
“When I was very young, I attempted to call him The Right Honourable Henry Fitzwilliam The Viscount Milton—but it came out Da Wight Honabul Henwy Fitzwiw-yum, da Bizzcount Miwton. They all laughed at me, and I fled the room sobbing, for I had practised all morning.”
Milton chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Poor Georgie. I followed her, and said that she could call me Harry, not Henry, for that is my father’s name.
Ever since, both she and Darcy refuse to call me anything else.
Even at the club! I must say, though, if others do, Darcy calls them out either to Angelo’s, where he whips them with his foil; or thrashes them next door at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. ”
Oh, I had never thought of it—the light-footed way he followed me across the rocks of Scawfell, the ease with which he carried me from carriage to parlour at the inns, and up the staircase here at Pemberley.
His figure, hidden beneath his tailored jackets and fashionable trousers, held a quiet strength I had failed to see.
We caught each other’s eye—surely, he was thinking of the same private moments.
I blushed, recalling the intimacy of amber and sandalwood.
“Is there a tradition in the Fitzwilliams to call the son after the father?” I asked, to hide my embarrassment.
“Yes, for many generations. But it is of little account, for I am always called Milton, after the viscountcy. But Darcy is the man I pity, lumbered with Fitzwilliam when he could, by all accounts, be George—oh, then I could call him Georgie!”
I looked quizzically at Georgiana. “We have a different tradition, to name the eldest son after the mother’s family name,” she replied.
“Papa was indeed fortunate—Grandma Darcy’s family were the George-Graves from Lincolnshire; thus, he was named George.
So my dear brother is Fitzwilliam George Darcy, after the Fitzwilliams and Papa.
“And what shall I call you, my lord?” I asked. “I am not accustomed to addressing nobility—should I address you as Milton?”
“We shall see, Miss Bennet. But stay your hand, my instinct says otherwise.” His grey eyes sparkled.
Darcy, all this time, had not said a word.
A slight frown crossed his brow when I had asked, a little boldly, about the origin of Harry.
That he was nervous as well—that Mrs. Bennet becoming Mrs. Darcy would influence his life as much as mine—was, until that moment, foreign to me.
How I wished to take his hand, to sit together on the settee, and share our worries and fears for the future.
But nothing was further from possible. I gave him a nervous smile—he returned mine, betraying just the slightest hint of a heightened complexion.
* * *
“Milton! Come to raise Pemberley from the degradation into which it has fallen?”
“Ah, the pleasure of your company, Aunt.” Milton kissed Lady Catherine on her cheek. “How delightful that Cousin Anne accompanies you. We were not aware you had come to Derbyshire. Perchance you intend to visit Father as well as Uncle George?”
“Harrumph! I had discovered the most scandalous rumour: that a widow and her unmarried daughter were living in Lady Anne’s house—were the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?
I hurried here to remind George Darcy of his duty to my sister.
But I, the sister of an earl, am disdained, my advice ignored!
” The lady looked about the room. “And where is Mr. Collins? I specifically requested that he join me for breakfast.”
“Mr. Collins is taking breakfast with our other guests,” I said, a little unwisely.
Lady Catherine scowled at me. “And why should you be present, Miss Bennet, if a clergyman—a man of the cloth—is not?”
Milton laughed, winking at me. “My dear aunt, surely it is obvious. On such a beautiful day as this, I much prefer viewing Miss Bennet’s figure—her jacket fits very well indeed—than that of a clergyman, no doubt grown rotund attending your table at Rosings, and enjoying Mrs. Abernathy’s cooking.”
“You may joke about it, Milton. But now that my brother, the Earl, is here, we shall see the hussy and her mother run off!”
A silence descended upon the room. Milton stepped forward, likely to admonish Lady Catherine for her vulgarity and lack of civility.
He looked to Darcy and me, but we both gave a slight shake of our heads, for we knew the reason for the Earl’s visit was not to expel Mrs. Bennet from the house, but to secure her position as mistress.
“Anne, how are you enjoying Derbyshire?” Her cousin effortlessly turned the conversation.
Frowning, Miss de Bourgh replied, “Mother told me that Darcy was to propose—I brought my finest gown to wear at our betrothal dinner, yet it hangs unused in the closet. I do not understand. With Rosings and Pemberley united, he would possess a great fortune. Am I not of equal rank to him, the granddaughter of an earl? Why does he deny his mother’s dearest wish that he and I should marry?
” She gave me a spiteful look. “They speak of an injury to Miss Bennet, but I have seen no such thing—more likely, it was to conceal a foul injury to Darcy. For otherwise, she would not hold his merest glance, given the advantages of our union.”
Never before had she made such a long speech in all the week she had been at Pemberley. Clearly, her resentment had been building over the time. Darcy scowled, barely in control of himself; Georgiana, bless her, took his hand.