Page 17 of Mistress of Pemberley
Elizabeth took advantage of the moment the Earl of Matlock approached Darcy to observe the elderly man freely. He resembled his nephew in many ways, not only in physical appearance. When she was introduced to him, she had the impression that she was standing before the Mr Darcy who had entered the Meryton assembly with the same imposing presence. He greeted her with equal arrogance, making it unmistakably clear that he disapproved of his nephew’s decision, if it was the one he suspected. However, as he turned towards Darcy, his entire demeanour changed to one of pain and concern, ready to yield even to that final caprice he so obviously disagreed with.
The evening before, when the earl had visited Darcy and heard of his intention to marry, should Miss Bennet still wish it, his tone had been gentle yet firm in attempting to dissuade him. He had even tried to feign a supportive stance towards the young lady, emphasising that the engagement, like any agreement, could be annulled due to the unfortunate circumstances without tarnishing her reputation. But Darcy was neither deceived by his tone nor his words. His uncle did not wish for a widow whose presence and circumstances would complicate matters further—a stranger who might threaten the inheritance that would follow.
Despite listening to him with due attention and respect, Darcy remained resolute, and when the earl found Miss Bennet in his nephew’s apartment, he understood that the marriage would indeed take place.
He sank despondently into the armchair where Elizabeth had previously sat, waiting for Darcy to initiate the conversation.
But Darcy watched the duke conversing casually with Elizabeth, the older gentleman looking at her with indulgence, perhaps even with pleasure, as he held Georgiana tightly in his arms like a grandfather she had always regarded with affection. While the earl could not totally conceal his displeasure, the duke seemed only to wish for Darcy’s happiness at that moment, entirely indifferent to future concerns.
After a few moments, they all took chairs by the bedside.
“Miss Bennet has accepted my marriage proposal this afternoon, which has nothing to do with what we discussed in Kent,” Darcy announced. Elizabeth appreciated the almost truthful version of events he presented.
“Still, Miss Bennet must know that, under such circumstances, no word once given carries any obligation,” said Lord Matlock.
The duke, seated beside him, gently placed a hand on his arm. “Let the young ones decide for themselves. They know best.”
Lord Matlock shook his head in disapproval but refrained from further comment, while Georgiana took Elizabeth’s hand in explicit support of the decision.
“Let us instead discuss how to resolve this matter efficiently,” the duke interjected in an attempt to soothe Lord Matlock, though they all already knew how a marriage could be arranged in such dire circumstances. At last, the earl reluctantly nodded his agreement.
“I have already requested an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury,” the duke said. Noticing Elizabeth’s surprised expression, he smiled reassuringly and added, “I did not know what would be discussed today, but visiting an old friend is always a good idea. We were students at Emmanuel College in Cambridge almost at the same time. I am one or two years older,” he explained, looking at Elizabeth, the only one unfamiliar with the story.
“My dear ones, the archbishop, my dear friend Manners-Sutton, will grant you a special licence to marry immediately. I shall request that the marriage take place here. The only condition is that a member of Miss Bennet’s family be present—”
“I shall see to it, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said, addressing only the duke, who smiled at her.
“And the will?” asked the earl, who appeared unwilling to abandon his obstinate stance.
“I shall draft it today and sign it immediately after the ceremony. My solicitor will also be present at the wedding,” Darcy replied, his voice barely audible, a testament to his dreadful exhaustion. At that moment, both ladies glanced at him, and with a decisive gesture, Georgiana ushered her uncle and the duke from the room.
After rising to bid them farewell, Elizabeth seated herself in the chair nearest Darcy’s bedside and instinctively took his hand in hers without a word.
After a moment, Darcy withdrew his, and she understood, also without words, that physical closeness was too much for him. He gazed at her in desperation, a look she had not seen even once since her arrival, and she vowed never to torment him in such a way again, for it was evident that keeping his distance from her caused him unbearable suffering.
To her surprise, the regret of not being able to touch him overwhelmed her equally. In a few days, this man would be her husband, but she would never truly know him as one. Her body revolted as though it already loved him.
“Are you not too tired?” she asked.
“I am exhausted, but we must accomplish everything we have planned.”
Elizabeth wished to leave, but he said, “Please, do not go. Let us sit for a few moments without speaking.”
The silence that fell enveloped them in a cloud of tranquillity. He regarded her for a long time and then closed his eyes, allowing her to gaze upon him freely.
She had never realised how handsome he was. His pallor and the stubble on his face lent him an air of mystery, rendering him almost unrecognisable—far from the man she had known or ever seen before. She had the impression that now she truly knew him; the past, as he had said, no longer existed. It was impossible not to admire him in every conceivable way: as a man for his extraordinary strength in putting the lives of those who mattered to him in order, and as a man in the physical sense. For even though he was weakened and confined to a bed, Elizabeth could feel the incredible power of his love for her—a love that had nothing to do with suffering or his ailing body.
She closed her eyes, for it was impossible to look at him or meet his gaze, so great was the pain of not having previously seen him as she did now and of not having known this man before it was too late.
“What if I cannot manage?” she whispered, as though speaking to herself, not daring to open her eyes.
“You will manage, I am certain,” he replied, and only then did she summon the courage to look at him again, hoping he would not perceive the regret in her eyes, which would have disturbed him even further. He would leave the world convinced she had accepted an arrangement, not a genuine union between a man and a woman.
But looking into his eyes, she no longer knew what she had truly agreed to.
“You will do well, Elizabeth,” he whispered, and she believed him. Yet, at the same time, her heart broke painfully. But she was not permitted to show it.
“Mr Harris and his son have arrived,” Georgiana announced, entering the room so quietly that she had not been heard. Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who, with closed eyes, seemed to have left her entirely as though for good. She found herself breathless, unable to move, staring at Georgiana, who had approached the bed. But then she was reassured by the rise and fall of his chest.
“He is sleeping,” Georgiana whispered. “Do not wake him. We can wait.”
She withdrew on tiptoe, glancing back several times. Elizabeth remained behind, feeling the profoundness of the drama Georgiana was experiencing. It was not difficult; the mere thought of one of her sisters being in such a situation made her appreciate the depth of Georgiana’s pain. But for Georgiana, it was even more than that, for Darcy was her only close relative.
After a while, Darcy opened his eyes and smiled. “You let me sleep. Thank you. I needed that. Have they arrived?”
Elizabeth nodded, and shortly thereafter, Mr Anthony Harris and his son, Mr Philip Harris, entered the room and were introduced to Elizabeth. Reserved yet composed, the two exuded an air of competence that suddenly gave weight to Darcy’s plan, which until that moment had seemed nothing more than words.
“We did not bring a clerk. My son will record what we discuss today,” the elder Mr Harris said, and the younger Mr Harris took place at the desk, which was already prepared.
“Mr Harris,” Darcy began, and they could see his effort to speak, “Miss Bennet and I shall marry in a few days. Most likely the day after tomorrow. By then, the will must be prepared, and I shall sign it immediately after the ceremony.”
“Let us begin, then,” said Mr Harris in the same calm tone. “Your properties are free from any encumbrances. You may dispose of them without restriction.”
“Yes, that is due to the wisdom of my father, grandfather, and all those before them, and the trust they placed in their descendants.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, for the same could not be said of her ancestors, who had gazed upon Longbourn with selfishness and avarice, meaning that, after five generations of Bennets, it would fall into the hands of a distant cousin.
“You can proceed, Mr Darcy,” Mr Harris said, and Darcy closed his eyes for a moment before speaking, but when he did, his voice was clear and powerful.
“Pemberley, the estate and all it contains, will pass to my sister, Georgiana Darcy, upon her twenty-fifth birthday.” He turned to his sister. “You can marry much sooner, but my intention is that the value of your inheritance should not be known when you find someone you love. You will retain the dowry provided by our father, but inheriting Pemberley will remain a secret provision until after you are married. Elizabeth Darcy will manage the estate regardless of her subsequent marital status.
“Elizabeth Darcy will inherit this house in London…”
Darcy continued speaking, but Elizabeth no longer heard him. She did not know how to stop him, for she could not understand why she was to receive that magnificent townhouse, a symbol of the Darcy family’s wealth and status, which she had only entered for the first time that day. Everything should be Georgiana’s, yet she could not intervene in the discussion, for she was, as yet, only his betrothed and not his wife. She had agreed to manage the houses and estate, to take care of them for a sum she had not even imagined, but certainly not for something so significant. She looked desperately at Georgiana, but the girl smiled contentedly, even as her brother prepared to leave the house in which she had grown up to another.
From time to time, Elizabeth caught fragments of the conversation: their mother’s jewellery, attributed to her, other possessions that stayed with her or Georgiana; then came relatives, friends, and servants—none were forgotten. Yet Elizabeth waited for everyone to leave so she could tell him that this version of the will could not be signed, for she could never accept all that Darcy had decided.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said as soon as they were alone in the room, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “This is impossible—”
“Good night, my love,” she heard, and when she looked at him, he was already asleep—that “my love” likely uttered in his dreams.
∞∞∞
“I cannot agree to what he has written in that will,” Elizabeth said to Georgiana as they sat down at the dinner table later.
It seemed an eternity since she had arrived in that house that was to become, through his will, hers.
“What can you not agree to?” Georgiana asked, and indeed, she seemed not to understand Elizabeth’s worries.
“Everything, Georgiana, everything. I agreed to stay and help you, even to marry him, but for a fair fee—”
“What fee?” Georgiana asked, and her face, already calmer, expressed only slight surprise.
Looking at the girl before her, Elizabeth realised that Georgiana did not care that her brother had written a will and that the London house would not be hers, any more than she cared about their mother’s jewellery or other objects she barely remembered.
“Georgiana, between your brother and I, it is a…business matter.”
“Nonsense. Fitzwilliam loves you, and in two days, you will be his wife with all the rights a wife has. I understand that he wants Pemberley to be mine and pass it in its entirety to my eldest child, but the rest… is yours. There is no business in this marriage in his mind.”
Long after retiring to her room, those words resonated in her head. Fitzwilliam was in love, and he wished to marry her as he had done in Kent. He viewed their marriage as if nothing had ever changed for him. His discourse on her duties, recompense, employment, or business had been meant solely for her, for everything he did was driven by his love and concern for her future.
When her preparations for the night were complete, she hesitated before the door to his apartment. But at last, she entered, not making a sound. His valet made as if to rise upon seeing her, but with a gentle gesture, she bade him to remain seated.
For a while, she stood gazing at Fitzwilliam as he slept. Silently, she promised him that no matter the reasons that had driven her to accept his proposal earlier, she would care for his sister and his estate. When the time came for her to leave, she would take nothing but the agreed-upon fee—the amount of which she did not even know, for at that moment, she had been too preoccupied with his other provisions to pay attention.