Chapter 28
Pemberley
The news of Mrs. Bennet’s and Mr. Darcy’s betrothal was greeted by the Crawleys and the Hursts with all the acclamation of goodwill that was to be expected from truly well bred people.
Mr. Collins was silent, and I supposed he would immediately scurry off to discover Lady Catherine’s opinion before venturing one of his own.
To my surprise, even Miss Bingley was effusive in her congratulations, though she did not seek an introduction to the Countess, fearing to be cut after her poor behaviour in London.
Lady Matlock, wishing the day to remain pleasant, appeared blissfully unaware of the lady’s presence.
Later that morning, the ladies were encouraged to take a walk in the gardens, with Milton and Darcy to accompany us.
Milton quickly claimed the arms of Miss Crawley and Georgiana.
Miss de Bourgh, displaying unusual fortitude, declared she wished to accompany us.
Naturally, Lady Catherine insisted Darcy walk with her, in case the path proved to be dangerous.
‘Are there scree slopes at Pemberley?’ smirked Mary.
Mrs. Hurst declined to walk out, staying to speak with Lady Matlock and Mrs. Bennet.
Initially, I thought to walk with Miss Bingley, but she hurried ahead to take Darcy’s free arm.
I wondered whether her assault on Darcy was to be renewed, now that I was no longer a contender for his matrimonial bliss.
Darcy glanced back at me, his face reddening at the others’ rudeness. “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
But I had not the least inclination to remain with them for much longer, wishing to visit the folly and view the unrepentant Diana by myself.
“No, no. Stay where you are. You appear to uncommon advantage; a fourth would make conversation between you all quite hard, were we to walk four abreast.”
“How will you bear it, Fitzwilliam, to have such a sister as Miss Elizabeth? To think I must also call her cousin—how intolerable.” Anne de Bourgh’s voice cut sharply through the peace of the garden. I was still behind them; the path to the folly was a little further along.
“Why, Elizabeth is an exceedingly pleasant young lady,” interposed Miss Bingley. “Her elder sister is married to my brother. Louisa and I were travelling to visit them when we were so kindly offered accommodation at Pemberley.”
Whatever was Caroline about?—she had not called me Eliza?
“I shall not talk of her then,” responded Miss Anne with some pique. “That hedge, Fitzwilliam, is too high. We must have it cut back.”
In reply, the only sound was the slight crunch of Darcy’s boots on the gravel.
“I trust, Fitzwilliam, that you intend to take up residence at Rosings. Mama has said she will vacate the mistress’s apartments. That is so considerate of her.”
“Then you must redecorate the room to your taste, Miss Anne. Did Lady Catherine decorate when she married?—why, the furnishings must be at least twenty years out of date.” Caroline laughed.
“It must be so much fun to plan the decoration of a whole house. I have heard that Rosings is quite the mausoleum.”
“Oh, no. The family crypt is in the Hunsford cemetery. Do you think, Fitzwilliam, that we should give up the house in Town, or lease it out? I much prefer Darcy House, though the attics are dreadful.”
“Which is the more fashionable, Grosvenor or Berkeley Square? I myself prefer Berkeley—so convenient to Gunter’s at number seven.”
I left them to their inane chatter. Darcy seemed to take no interest, not even to respond to Anne’s presumption that they would marry.
He was so quiet, his gaze fixed on the distant woods.
And Caroline, my sister by marriage? Had she really given up hope of fixing Darcy?
Otherwise, to restore her place in London society, she must find a respectable hostess who was prepared to overlook her previous indiscretions.
Perhaps she thought the new Mrs. Darcy could introduce her—not to the highest levels, which were now beyond her reach, but to those circles where her fortune was notable and her close connection with the Darcys was a significant asset.
As I took the path towards the folly, I heard Anne de Bourgh—soon to be cousin Anne!—suggest that Darcy obtain a custom-built chariot with a dormeuse extension, enabling her to fully stretch out and sleep while travelling. Poor man.
“I find her beauty overrated.” I started. Fitzwilliam was standing behind me. “Diana has a pleasing figure, but not the vitality of a truly remarkable woman.”
Fitzwilliam!—I had not suspected him to find me here, of all places. It was nigh on impossible to say anything of sense, standing as I was in front of an unclothed goddess. So I elected for the banal—”You escaped your escort. How so?”
“We were overtaken by Crawley, who had just returned from his ride. Miss Bingley thought his arm stronger than mine—having heard of him wrestling Collins from his chair. I was obliged to relinquish it.”
“And Anne? Surely you did not leave her stranded in the maze? You, at least, have the advantage of peering over the tops of the hedges.”
“Milton and Miss Crawley were returning to change into their riding clothes. Anne confessed weariness and returned to the house with them; no doubt Georgiana has discovered further delights in the music room. I found my legs wished to stroll further.”
“Fitzwilliam. Oh, that is too familiar—I must call you Darcy… I confess, I find Mama’s marriage to Mr. Darcy exceedingly unsettling. That she and your father should enjoy such happiness—I wish only the very best for them, and could never stand in their way. Yet…”
“Unsettling, how so?”
“We, you and I, have enjoyed such an easy intimacy, that of brother and sister. Mama tells me that it is wrong for us to continue as before—I am an unmarried woman, of no relation to you. Society will see scandal in our familiarity, whether there is or not. Even now, that you are with me, alone, viewing a statue of an unclad woman, is certainly scandalous.”
Yet I longed to lean against him, to feel the warmth of his chest, as he had held me on Lingmell Col.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam. Can you not see? It is my reputation at risk, for what we may see as a slight indiscretion, others will see as compromising and unchaperoned. Without the prospect of marriage, it is I, not you, who would bear the social disgrace.”
Darcy was so silent, I could hear the sunbeams falling from the sky. He took my hand—oh, the very thing that he should not!
“You are correct, Elizabeth. I had not thought…” He looked at me, so intently, I could not tear my eyes away.
Then, against all my arguments, he offered me his arm; against all the protests of my rational mind, I walked with him, feeling the warmth of the superfine wool of his coat, the strength of his shoulder.
Until that moment I had never known such weakness—there was naught I could do but follow a heart that was certain to be disappointed.
With a last glance, I cast a final look at Diana, who stood unrepentant as ever. ‘Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly.’ Tonight, we would toast Mama and Mr. Darcy. My mind wandered to the inconsequential; I wondered whether Anne would wear her best gown—certainly, I would wear mine.
* * *
The celebratory dinner passed without incident.
Anne de Bourgh wore her second-best gown; I wore my best; and Mama was radiant.
Lady Matlock acted as hostess for the evening, seated regally at the head of the table, every sapphire the countess.
Lord Matlock presided at the foot. Eschewing all tradition, Mrs. Bennet sat opposite Mr. Darcy at the centre of the table, the grand centrepiece removed for the evening.
After no more than ten minutes, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room—the evening was to honour the betrothed couple, and Mr. Darcy hardly wished to be entertained by port and cigars when his lady was waiting nearby.
I wandered about the room, not heeding where I was going, a smile endeavouring to crease my lips.
Did my eyes follow Darcy? Surely not. Had he spoken to Anne de Bourgh precisely twice, Louisa Hurst five times, Caroline Bingley seven times, and Marianne Crawley eight times?
Eight times! I was so pleased when Milton—Harry—turned the pages for her at the piano-forte; and Rupert Crawley did the same for Caroline.
“Lizzy, you are staring at Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana led me away from the punch bowl, of which I had been imbibing a little too freely. “Are you unwell? You appear out of sorts.”
“Oh, sweetling, it is nothing. It has been a very long day. I fear that I will miss you awfully when we return to Hertfordshire to plan the wedding. It seems only yesterday that we first met at the Salutation Hotel in Ambleside.”
“You are a silly thing, Lizzy. Afterwards, you will be staying with Fitzwilliam and me at Pemberley.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, do you wish to live at Meryton? You must have many friends there.”
Meryton—yes, there were friends. Charlotte Lucas was the closest, but she had written to say Colonel Forster had proposed, and she would soon be away to Brighton with him.
What a surprise. The Colonel, it seems, had discovered he desired a wife of good sense and intelligence, rather than fortune; in Charlotte, he had found such a woman.
Jane, of course. In her letters she wrote that Bingley wished to return to Cheshire—a county neighbouring Derbyshire—likely to purchase within thirty miles of Pemberley.
An easy distance on good roads. In truth, there was little I would be leaving behind.
Even Longbourn, my home of twenty years, no longer called to me—that was my childhood, which I had given up.