CHAPTER TWENTY
Mrs Darcy of Pemberley
The small house at Ashbourne belonged to Darcy through his mother's family. It held twelve rooms instead of Pemberley's hundreds and no guest beyond a discreet married couple who kept it ready for occasional use.
Elizabeth entered as Mrs Darcy beneath a stone portico dusted with late snow.
The housekeeper curtsied. Darcy removed Elizabeth's cloak with hands that were steady until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck.
They dined alone.
For the first time in months, no parent, sister, aunt, servant carrying a message, or curious chaperone occupied the edge of their awareness. The privacy was liberating and suddenly formidable.
Darcy poured wine. Elizabeth noticed he nearly filled his own glass twice.
"You are nervous," she said.
"Terrified."
"Of me?"
"Of causing you pain. Of expecting too much. Of appearing to expect nothing and thereby insulting you differently."
Elizabeth reached across the table. "We need not perform perfection tonight."
He took her hand. "What do you wish?"
The question had become central to their love.
"To stop feeling as though fifty relations wait beyond the door. To be kissed by my husband. To learn the rest without pretending I am not nervous too."
Darcy raised her fingers to his lips. "That is exactly what I wish."
After dinner they entered a sitting room warmed by firelight. Elizabeth stood before the mantel, suddenly conscious of the ivory traveling gown, the pins in her hair, the ring on her hand.
Darcy came behind her. Their reflections met in the mirror.
"May I?" he asked, touching one pin.
She nodded.
He removed them slowly. Each small piece of metal clicked upon the table. Her hair loosened, then fell over his hands. Darcy's expression in the glass was so tender that fear eased.
Elizabeth turned.
"You have seen my hair loose before."
"At Longbourn, when you walked through rain. I thought you beautiful and resented the conclusion."
"A severe burden."
"You have no idea."
She placed both hands upon his face and kissed him.
Their practiced restraint gave way slowly to care. Darcy held her as if desire and reverence were not opposites. Elizabeth discovered the pleasure of making him lose a sentence, of seeing composure return and fail again when she touched his hair or whispered his name.
When he lifted her, she laughed softly against his mouth.
"You might warn me."
"May I carry you upstairs?"
"You are already doing so."
He stopped on the first step.
"Fitzwilliam."
"Yes?"
"Carry me upstairs."
His smile was the last clear thing she saw before he kissed her again.
Later, beneath heavy blankets while snow touched the dark windows, Elizabeth lay with her head over Darcy's heart. The first awkwardness had given way to tenderness, laughter, and trust. No poetry could have made it perfect. Its humanity made it theirs.
Darcy traced one finger along her shoulder. "Are you well?"
"Very."
"Certain?"
"If you ask a fourth time, I shall become less so from irritation."
He kissed her hair. "I was advised to bring doubts to you."
"Not every three minutes."
"The terms were unclear."
Elizabeth lifted herself enough to see him. Without cravat, coat, or reserve, he looked younger.
"I love you," she said.
Emotion moved openly through his face. "I love you."
Morning came pale over snow. Elizabeth woke alone for one startled instant before hearing movement in the dressing room. Darcy returned carrying a tray with tea he had plainly removed from a servant at the door.
"I did not know whether you preferred chocolate."
"Tea. Strong."
"I shall remember."
He sat beside her, hair uncombed. Elizabeth smiled into the cup.
"What?"
"Pemberley's master steals breakfast trays."
"Ashbourne's servants are discreet."
"And at Pemberley?"
"Mrs Reynolds will know what we require before we do."
They remained at Ashbourne two days while weather cleared. They walked only far enough to return gladly, read by the fire, wrote one joint letter to Netherfield, and learned the small rhythms of waking, eating, and silence together.
On the third morning they began the journey north.
Elizabeth watched the landscape change beyond the carriage. Darcy pointed out towns, ridges, and the inn where he always ordered mutton and was always disappointed.
At the final rise before Pemberley, he took her hand.
"Ready?"
She saw the house appear across the valley, no longer merely his home and not yet fully hers.
"Yes."
* * *
Pemberley's doors opened before the carriage stopped.
Mrs Reynolds stood at the head of the servants. Georgiana waited beside her, smiling so brightly that formality lasted only until Elizabeth reached the top step.
"Welcome home," Georgiana said and embraced her.
Home.
The word entered slowly.
Darcy presented Elizabeth to the assembled household not as the new mistress alone but by name.
"Mrs Elizabeth Darcy."
She greeted each senior servant, repeated names, and forgot two immediately. No one appeared shocked. Mrs Reynolds guided her through the morning with kindness free of indulgence.
The blue drawing-room curtains were indeed faded.
"Lady Catherine was right," Elizabeth said.
Darcy looked alarmed by the precedent. "We need not tell her."
"Marriage has made you secretive."
"Prudent."
Elizabeth did not change the curtains that week.
She did not rearrange the furniture, replace menus, or summon tenants merely to prove activity.
She walked through the house with Mrs Reynolds, learned the household accounts, visited the stillroom, and asked which customs mattered to the servants who carried them.
At the first formal dinner, she forgot the name of a neighboring baronet's eldest son and recovered by asking about his horses. At the first tenant reception, a farmer addressed every answer to Darcy despite Elizabeth's question. Darcy redirected him without humiliation.
"Mrs Darcy asked about the south field," he said. "She knows more of drainage than I did at our marriage."
"Only because Papa considers it courtship conversation," Elizabeth replied.
The farmer laughed and answered her.
The monthly open afternoon began in April. The first visitor was a tenant widow who wished to move to a smaller cottage but feared losing her garden. The second was a schoolgirl requesting more books. The third came only to see whether the new Mrs Darcy truly had dark eyes and a royal locket.
"Do I meet the report?" Elizabeth asked the child.
"Your eyes are darker."
"Then truth has improved upon rumor."
Darcy watched from the doorway, pride warming him without possession.
Elizabeth did not perform every duty easily. A dinner for thirty exhausted her. She offended an elderly neighbor by seating a naval captain above him. She cried once after receiving three cold letters from Darcy relations and then became angry with herself for crying.
Darcy found her in the gallery.
"Lady Selwyn says I lack understanding of Derbyshire precedence."
"Lady Selwyn says everyone lacks what she alone supplies."
"Your cousin writes that I encourage Georgiana to be forward."
"Georgiana spoke three sentences at dinner. The family is unprepared."
Elizabeth smiled weakly. "I thought I would not care."
"Why must indifference prove strength?"
He sat beside her. She leaned against him.
"I miss Netherfield."
"Then we shall go."
"Not because I am unhappy here."
"You may love one home and miss another."
Letters came almost daily. Lady Bennet reported weather, neighbors, and rumors.
Sir Thomas reported Longbourn yields and asked Darcy's opinion of a drainage design before rejecting the answer in a postscript.
Jane described married life at Longbourn and Bingley's search for an estate.
Mary sent music. Kitty enclosed sketches.
Lydia requested permission to invite Georgiana to an officers' charity concert and included an account proving the funds would be supervised.
Elizabeth kept every letter.
In May, she and Darcy walked to the small temple at sunset.
The valley was green again. Pemberley's windows held the light.
"Does it feel like home?" he asked.
Elizabeth considered. "More each day. Not because I have learned every name. Because I am allowed not to know them yet."
Darcy kissed her temple. "I still discover Pemberley."
"You were born here."
"One may spend a lifetime learning a place."
She rested a hand over his. They stood above the water as they had before their engagement, but nothing between them waited to be asked.