Page 28 of Mistress of Pemberley

“Mrs Darcy, please wake up. We have arrived at Pemberley,” a voice murmured in Elizabeth’s ear, and it took her a few moments to recall that she was Mrs Darcy and that Pemberley, their destination, was now her home.

She felt Mary’s hand take hers. “We have arrived,” her sister whispered with elation, a note rarely present in her voice.

Elizabeth struggled to open her eyes. The journey had been dreadful, haunted by the terror that something dire might happen in London during her absence. Prisons were not secure, and people visited them, like going to the theatre to see a play; sometimes, such visits facilitated a prisoner’s escape. Mr Wickham would surely head straight to Darcy’s house. If his initial plan had been to make Georgiana a wealthy heiress before finishing what he had begun in Ramsgate, now the scoundrel was undoubtedly driven by vengeance—any form of revenge. She had written to the colonel twice more in desperation, begging him to station more soldiers at the house, and had seriously considered turning back. However, by then, she was closer to Pemberley than London, and it would have been foolish not to continue.

Mary, deeply concerned, had assumed the role of an elder sister for two days, attempting in every way to soothe and even amuse her, but to no avail. She would exchange glances with Mrs Reynolds from time to time, both shrugging helplessly. Elizabeth was impossible to console.

Only the night before, when they had stopped to rest, had Elizabeth finally found peace. A soldier had brought a message from London from Colonel Fitzwilliam. Without naming names, he had informed her that the man had been recognised in prison and, given the gravity of his crime, was under heavy guard and highly likely to be transported to Botany Bay. He urged her to be at ease and proceed with her plans, assuring her that he was watching over Darcy and Georgiana and would show no mercy to anyone who approached them with sinister intent.

She had slept for the last twenty-five miles, genuinely exhausted, but when she opened her eyes at Mrs Reynolds’s gentle voice and saw Mary smiling at her, she felt, for the first time, somewhat rested and at peace.

“Mr Darcy ordered us to stop here on the hill and show you Pemberley in all its splendour from above. You are receiving an exceptional welcome, for the sun is shining directly over the lake,” said Mr Balfour with a pride that warmed Elizabeth’s heart. She did not know how it was possible, but her arrogant husband had gathered around him only enthusiastic, devoted, and diligent people.

She stepped down from the carriage, her heart swelling with emotion. This was the place Darcy spoke of with a light in his eyes. There was pride and love in all he said about Pemberley, which was paradise on earth to him. And indeed, the scene before her seemed plucked from a blissful dream, where imagination had conjured a perfect scene.

They stood at the crest of a considerable hill, where the woodland gave way, and at once, the eye was drawn to Pemberley House, poised with quiet grandeur on the far side of the valley. The road, winding down with a sudden descent, led towards it, revealing a stately stone mansion, noble in proportion and gracefully set upon rising ground, its presence softened yet dignified by the embrace of high, wooded hills. It was a sight that inspired awe and reverence.

Before it, a stream of natural consequence had broadened into a serene and lustrous lake, untouched by artifice. Its banks bore no trace of rigid design nor any embellishment that might mar their simple charm. Elizabeth was enchanted. Nowhere had she seen a place where nature had bestowed so much, nor had its beauty been so little diminished by an unskilled hand.

Even though Mrs Reynolds and Mr Balfour knew the estate well, they joined the ladies in their admiration, for each time one saw Pemberley from above, the sight was just as awe-inspiring and enchanting. At that moment, Elizabeth felt that being the mistress of Pemberley was indeed something of great significance. She longed to have Darcy by her side so he could show her the estate. Still, in his absence, she resolved to preserve it as she found it—prosperous and magnificent.

Anna, who had arrived the previous day, greeted her at the steps and, together with Mrs Reynolds, introduced her to the servants of that immense residence. Since everyone wished to partake in the welcome, the greeting took some time, yet Elizabeth smiled at each person with the same warmth.

“And I wish you to meet my sister, Miss Mary Bennet,” she said.

Once more, everyone bowed and curtsied before Mary, who, to Elizabeth’s surprise, far from blushing, smiled and said in a cheerful tone, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” And indeed, she was.

They were ushered into the main drawing-room, and only then did Elizabeth understand why Darcy loved Pemberley so dearly. The beautiful room, generously lit by the sun through four huge windows, seemed as though a family had just departed, leaving behind the lingering essence of their presence. In London, everything was perfect, and the upholstery of the chairs appeared as though they had been renewed just the day before. But here, she saw a sofa with slightly worn fabric, made all the more endearing by the imprint left by family members and friends who had passed through.

“It is superb!” Elizabeth exclaimed earnestly, and Mrs Reynolds smiled with delight.

“Mr Darcy told me you would love it. Everything has remained as it was since Lady Anne died. This sofa was her favourite,” Mrs Reynolds continued, pointing precisely to the one Elizabeth had noticed. Pemberley was a Longbourn with grandeur, yet it had the same air of a happy family home.

“We must prepare a room for my sister Mary,” Elizabeth said.

“It is already prepared,” Anna interjected. “Mrs Reynolds sent word ahead. And Emma will be attending to Miss Bennet.”

In an instant, Emma appeared—a shy and sweet girl—and to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mary, once timid and unsure in public, looked about, then at Emma, and accepted it all with the confidence of someone who had always lived this way.

“Would you like to accompany me on a tour to see how Pemberley has fared in my absence?” Mrs Reynolds asked with a playful smile, and she too seemed different within the walls of the house she had managed for so long.

It was precisely what Elizabeth wished. In London, it had taken her several days to begin exploring the house and acquainting herself with it, but here, things were different. She was Mrs Darcy and was already beginning to learn what that meant.

The house overwhelmed her, from the delight of the drawing-room to the grandeur of the ballroom to the majesty of the library—where they lost Mary—and then to the greenhouse, which opened onto an immense lawn whose borders vanished into the woodland; everything was majestic yet also to a human scale, nothing to impose futile greatness but everything to invite one to live and dream and spend a meaningful time with family and friends.

“How many rooms are there?” she asked in the upstairs hall, where untold treasures were displayed—paintings from every era, ancient statues, and modern glasswork from artisans worldwide.

“Nearly a hundred in all, madam,” the housekeeper responded.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly. It was an enormous task to oversee such a house.

Then she was shown Darcy’s bedchamber, and just like in London, it connected with her own, and instead of enjoying seeing them, she felt only a profound hole in her heart—and life.

When she crossed the hall from her bedroom, she found the nursery right where she had imagined it, close to Lady Anne’s apartment, just like in London. Elizabeth hesitated a moment before leaving that room, and Mrs Reynolds, scrutinising her face with apparent sorrow, murmured, “I am so sorry, madam. You cannot imagine my despair at your situation.”

Elizabeth gave a pale smile when she answered, “I know. I have felt your feelings, everybody’s, in fact, from the first moment we were married. But be sure this room will be soon filled with the smiles and voices of Miss Darcy’s children.”

∞∞∞

After a brief supper, Elizabeth withdrew to her apartment, eager for peace in which to read the two letters that had already arrived from Darcy and to reply with a full account of her journey, particularly the delight with which she was discovering Pemberley. The best thing about Mary was that she required no arrangements to be made for her. Before settling at her writing desk, Elizabeth called for Anna and granted her leave for the evening.

“Nevertheless, I have a request,” said Elizabeth. “Please speak to Emma and see to Miss Bennet. The two of us are known in our family to be entirely indifferent to fashion. Yet we may evolve… You have seen it in me,” she added with a smile.

“Oh, madam!” exclaimed the girl, thrilled by such confidence. “In your case, all that was needed was the wish itself—everything else followed naturally, for elegance is either within someone or it is not… And when it is not, one cannot hope to evolve.”

Elizabeth regarded her curiously. “You read, do you not?” she asked.

“Yes, madam, many of us do, but there is never quite enough time.”

“Then let us make time, Anna. While we are here, and as long as Miss Mary is with us, you will spend an hour reading under her guidance each day. And in return, you will transform that rather stubborn and careless girl into a handsome young lady.”

Then, to her husband, she wrote one of the longest letters she had ever penned, in which almost every step of her journey was recounted—from their arrival at Longbourn to that very moment, as she admired her chamber, especially two exquisite portraits: Darcy and Georgiana, likely at the same age of three or four, nestled in their mother’s arms.

And before she drifted into sleep, she reflected that she had invited Mary on a mere impulse, yet now she was convinced it had been the right decision.