Chapter 15 #2
Letting out a bark of laughter, he pulled back and shook his head. “I give.”
She laughed, too. But then she got up, swirled around to make her nightgown flutter, and said, “Oh, but Mr Darcy, sir, I do beg your pardon—but what I meant to say was ‘calf’s-feet jelly’!”
Fitzwilliam made a grab for her, which she eluded, and he chased his giggling wife down and growled in a low voice, “That, my dearest, Lizzy-est Elizabeth, is far too alluring to withstand.”
And his gentle kisses transformed into feverish ones as they once again found the bed.
Two more days of travel and two more nights in the best inns money could procure seemed to Elizabeth to be everything a bridal tour should be.
Fitzwilliam and she traded anecdotes of their childhoods and fully described the disappointments and betrayals that had helped to forge their characters.
They discussed their ideas of marriage and parenthood in more depth than they had had a chance to do.
He described their land holdings and investments and let her know how important she would be to the lives of their tenants and to their decisions about charitable endeavours.
She told him how much more she valued exploring nature than attending social events.
“I know that very well, Elizabeth,” he said.
“I was certain of that from your letters to Georgiana, and that was something I sought to confirm when we met again in-person. No matter how much I desired you to be my wife, I know that I vastly prefer the country to life in London, and I would not have continued my courtship if you were not of the same mind. I thought it just would not have been fair to you.”
Elizabeth nodded and added, “When we do go to Town, I hope we will go to more exhibits and performances than routs and balls.”
“Assuredly. We will decide together what we shall do. And since you have had less time in London than I have had, you will get the larger vote.”
When he had booked the inns ahead of time, via post, Fitzwilliam had written, “We will be newlyweds, on our bridal tour,” and they continued to receive rooms with thick walls and special congratulations from the innkeepers and their servants.
Elizabeth was both amazed at and deeply satisfied by the variety of activities during which she did not have to lie still and endure.
The scenery in Hertfordshire was beautiful, and as they travelled north, the varied English scenery remained beautiful.
Naturally, it being late fall segueing to early winter, the beauty was of a stark flavour, with leafless trees etching the often-cloudy skies.
The landforms became rougher and the vegetation wilder as they travelled north.
Frost and ice appeared on the second morning, and by that evening they spotted snow on the gritstone escarpments.
Finally, on the third day after the wedding, Fitzwilliam said, “Today we will reach Pemberley. Are you ready to see your new home, take possession of your role as mistress of a great house, and meet your many, many servants?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Goodness, when you put it that way, I am not certain I am ready. But….” She straightened her shoulders and continued, “Yes. I am eager to see Pemberley, although the high praises I have heard seem impossible, and I am steeling myself against disappointment. I know that nothing could truly match the adulations of Caroline Bingley.”
Fitzwilliam just smiled, and Elizabeth noted that he did not display even the slightest fear of her disappointment.
When Pemberley appeared, hours later, she realised why the man was so very confident.
Anyone who was master of such a huge—yet elegant, restrained even—such a beautiful home would feel confident of his place in the world.
As a matter of fact, it was surprising that Fitzwilliam was not a puffed-up, arrogant sort of fellow!
“I have never seen a home so beautiful, nor so beautifully enmeshed in its surroundings,” she said. “None of the praise has been exaggerated, after all.”
She felt a bit intimidated when they got close to the house and she saw for the first time the veritable army of servants lined up to meet their new mistress.
She fiddled with her hair and smoothed her skirts, while still in the carriage, but Fitzwilliam laid one of his hands on her nervous hand and said, “You look beautiful, they will love you, and you were born to be the mistress of Pemberley.”
She felt that he might just be wrong about that last part—well, really, about all of it!
—but he reminded her in a husky whisper, “I spotted you as the perfect mistress of my home when you were but fifteen years old. Since then I have met scores—likely hundreds—of ladies who wished to audition for the position, but none of them suited as well as you, and no auditions occurred. If you cannot trust that you are capable, you are saying that you do not trust my judgment.”
Elizabeth straightened, then, and said, “Well, I do trust you; therefore I shall be a capable mistress, fair with the staff and generous with the tenants, and naturally an excellent mother to your children.” Her eyes grew wide, and she whispered, “Oh my, it sounds like rather a lot!”
“And you will do it all beautifully. But not all of it at this moment. Now we just have to step out of the carriage, smile at the staff, speak a few words, and climb a set of stairs. Are you ready to do those things?”
She laughed, shaking her head at his ability to infuse her with his confidence. “I am very, very ready, sir.”
They did all of those things. And if Elizabeth was surprised by the obvious respect in the faces of the bowing men and curtseying women, the warmth of the housekeeper’s greeting, the tears (happy tears, she was positive) in the butler’s eyes—she had only to see the echoes of respect and affection her husband showed all of his servants, and especially his senior staff, to understand why they seemed so very pleased.
The housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, said, “I am so very glad to finally meet you. I have heard much of you, Mrs Darcy.”
“And you have been praised to the skies by both Mr and Miss Darcy, Mrs Reynolds. I cannot but feel that I am the most fortunate woman to have such a treasure already so capably running the home. I hope you will put up with my questions as you help me learn my new role.”
“Of course I will. But for now, would you like to retire to your own rooms? Have a bath? Eat a meal?”
Elizabeth glanced at her husband. He nodded, and she said, “I believe Mr Darcy can show me to our rooms, and if you could send some tea and a collation to our sitting room, we can refresh ourselves and rest as needed.”
He nodded and added, “Perhaps a bath in two hours, Mrs Reynolds.”
“Very good, ma’am, sir.”
Fitzwilliam swept Elizabeth up the stairs, saying, “From what Eagleton says, our trunks and personal servants arrived an hour ago, and therefore our things should be unpacked and our rooms empty, for now, but feel free to summon your abigail or any other sort of service.” He opened a door and said, “This is your bed chamber. Georgiana and I updated it, and we hope you like the colours, but you should know that I encourage you to change anything you wish.”
The room was beautiful: large, with several charming Gothic arch windows, a huge four-poster bed, a desk with exquisite inlaid-wood details, and a little sitting area before the fireplace.
Best of all, to her, was that the colours of the sumptuous bed linens, rugs, and curtains were all complementary colours of green, from dark forest green to a brighter springlike shade.
The curtains were edged with soft rose pink and were tied back with cords of the same colour.
The plaster walls, beautifully accented with intricate mouldings, and the dado rail and wainscoting were all painted in creamy white, and the entire room was elevated with polished brass curtain rods, mirror frames, and fender guards by the fireplace.
Best of all, to Elizabeth, was that the rose pink colour reappeared in hot-house flowers displayed in multiple cut-glass vases. Each flower arrangement also featured greenery, cream-coloured camellias and orange blossoms, and even golden winter chrysanthemums.
Elizabeth let go her held breath. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, it is so beautiful! When did you and Georgiana have time to—” She turned to him, startled by a notion. “Did you do all of this redecorating before you even arrived in Hertfordshire? After five years, were you so certain of me being worthy?”
“I was certain you were worthy, yes. Remember, I had all the evidence of your letters. And, before you ask, no, I was not certain if I could win your regard, but I did have a lot of hope that you would accept my proposal.”
“And how did you know my taste so well?”
“You do like it?” he asked. He looked a bit like a little boy, his eyes shining in anticipation of praise.
“Of course I do! Did you somehow glean from my letters that I would wish for a green and white room?”
“You said those exact words when you wrote to my sister of your mother redecorating her own bedroom in reds and golds.”
“Ohh…I had forgotten that!” Elizabeth laughed and asked, “How on earth could I ever deserve you?”
“Believe me, I ask myself the same question, in reverse.”
He proceeded to show her the dressing room, which had a large copper tub, the small room with a prized water closet, and the nursery. Next came the sitting room that adjoined her rooms to his. The collation and several beverages were laid out on the central table.
“Do you want to peek at the master’s rooms before we refresh and eat?”
“Yes, please.”
He had as large a bedchamber as hers, and he leant towards her and, despite their privacy, whispered in her ear, “I hope you will sleep with me every night in this bed.”
She nodded. They had slept in the same bed during their stays at the inns, and it was a beautiful experience she would be loath to give up.