2 #3
He had always taken his duties as godfather to Jane Darcy very seriously.
He loved the gentle, quiet girl who had not been expected to live more than a few days when born.
He was keen, as were her parents, to protect her from all harm.
Sometimes in the dead of night, when he could not sleep from the pain of the injuries he had received abroad, he wondered if this was the type of daughter he might have had with Elizabeth.
But as dawn rose, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
Anne Darcy, even as a child, had annoyed him by her supercilious manners and arrogant behaviour. Bennetta and the boys treated him politely but obviously felt he was just another elderly relative who had to be respected but who knew nothing about their world.
Jane was different: since childhood she had sought out his company and it had been obvious over the years on the Darcys’ visits to Deerwood Park that she was the one who looked forward to seeing him the most. On her he lavished all his affection and he was seriously worried by a recent letter from Elizabeth, telling of arguments and divisions in the family.
The sound of wheels on gravel and the jingle of harness sent a wave of relief through him. The Darcy coach was rounding the bend. Just then a young lady came out of the house and slipped her arm through his.
“Oh ‘ave they arrived? They are so late! I dislike lateness, it is very bad mannered, but then I expect being so rich, Jane Darcy feels she can do as she wishes, although I think she should perhaps show you more consideration. You should be resting your poor leg. But perhaps I am unkind. They may have been delayed on the road. Forgive me, dear Colonel, I was concerned that you had been worried and that dinner will be late when you have other guests arriving and your poor cook will be distraught! Me, I am so delighted to make Jane’s acquaintance. It is good of you to give shelter to all your cousins.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gazed down at the beautiful face turned up to him, the sparkling black eyes and affectionate expression.
He smiled; the arrival of this distant relation had both surprised and delighted him.
The Italian girl had only been at Deerwood Park for three weeks but in that time she had impressed him with her love of life and been pleased with the little attentions she showed him.
“And I am certain she will be overjoyed to meet you, too, Celeste. Don’t look distressed. I know only too well that it is concern for me that makes you speak harshly. I am sure you will be good friends. Look, here she is now.”
Celeste gripped his arm tighter and turned her gaze to where a slight figure in pale green silk with a hat to match—a colour that did nothing for her—was alighting from the carriage.
So this was Jane Darcy. Well, she was pretty, in a fair-haired, insipid, English sort of way, and well dressed—although not in the very latest fashion, her sleeves should have contained far more material and surely she was only wearing three petticoats when four was the fashion.
Celeste stroked the skirt of her crimson silk; the Colonel had been very generous lately and she had bought several new outfits from a shop in Dorchester.
Jane was smiling as she walked up the steps to the front door, but Celeste could see that she was very pale and there was an air of sadness and restraint about her person.
A rival? Oh yes, the Colonel would feel very protective of this girl.
But Celeste could see nothing in this person that could cause her to believe she could stand in the way of her plans.
Jane was delighted to have arrived at the house she considered her haven, her safe harbour from the world. From her very first visit as a small child, Jane had always loved Deerwood Park: her parents had often brought their whole family to stay with Colonel Fitzwilliam when they were small.
A few minutes earlier she had felt a swell of anticipation as the carriage clattered through the village of Compton Forge with its tiny Norman church and cluster of cottages around the village green.
She had lowered the window, oblivious to the dust thrown up by the horses and pointed out all the familiar sights.
“Look, Susannah, there is the duck pond from which Henry had to be rescued when he had just learned to walk, and there is the village shop which sells everything you could possibly want and where Mrs Ramsden used to give out biscuits, but only to children who had been good. She still serves behind the counter. There is the Green Man, a very old inn, built in good Queen Bess’s time, so they say.
It is an odd name, is it not? I have no idea where it comes from.
“And, see that big tree we are just passing—one of the village children dared Bennetta to climb it and she did, right to the very top, and she was confined to her room with just bread and water for two days as punishment! And there is the field where Anne’s pony used to graze.
He is long gone, of course, but even when she was small she was a fine rider. ”
Susannah smiled and nodded with interest but she was well aware that there was no mention in Jane’s memories of any escapade she might have been involved in as a child.
It was as if she had always been kept safe, locked away in a gilded cage, always the observer, outside the family inner circle, watching but not taking part.
Two farm labourers, on their way home from the fields, looked up at the carriage passed and doffed their hats, recognising the Darcy crest emblazoned on the doors. A group of women gossiping on their doorsteps, turned and bobbed deferential curtsies.
Now the carriage had left the village behind and was sweeping down a long road, through gates already opened in anticipation by the lodge keeper, into the main drive.
It swept under a tunnel of green where the branches met and entwined overhead, turned an abrupt corner and there, under the shelter of a hillside, the mansion house of Deerwood Park lay snugly before her.
Over two hundred years old, it had been built towards the end of Queen Elizabeth’s reign and the creeper covered red bricks, small mullioned windows and tall carved chimney pots stood untouched, the same as the day they had been built.
Jane had once heard her sister remark that it was a crime that Colonel Fitzwilliam did not tear down the old monstrosity and build a lovely new house, full of high-ceilinged rooms with large windows.
It had been one of the few times when she had argued heatedly with Anne. She loved Deerwood Park with all her heart.
Pemberley was wonderful, of course, and her home, but it did not appeal to her romantic nature as did this old, rambling building with its steep stairs, twisting passageways and cavities locked away behind panelling and false shelves, that were memories of the dreadful times when Catholic priests had been hidden away from their persecutors.
She stepped down from the carriage, not waiting for Archie’s help, and smiled in pleasure at the sight of her godfather standing at the top of the steps. Her smile only faltered a little when she noticed the small, dark haired girl clinging to his arm.
“Jane, my dear child. You have arrived safely! I have been worried. There is such unrest everywhere and travelling has become distinctly difficult of late.”
The Colonel eased his arm from the girl’s grasp and took both of Jane’s hands in his. He smiled past her and bowed his head in acknowledgment. “And Miss Courtney! How delighted I am to see you here at Deerwood. Come in, come in. I have ordered refreshments for you.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is so good to see you again. And …” Jane hesitated and dropped a small curtsey to the girl.
“My dear, this is a distant cousin of mine and an even more distant one of yours—Signorina Celeste Fiorette.”
Jane held out her hand in astonishment; she had never heard of this relation but as the slim white fingers grasped hers with a grip that was too tight, almost painful, she found herself gazing into beautiful dark eyes that were as cold as a winter’s night sky and at complete odds to the smile on the foreign girl’s lips.