Page 55 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
He nodded towards a stately townhouse ahead.
It stood apart from the others—freestanding and at least five storeys high—with elegant windows and immaculate brickwork.
The sheer scale of it made my breath catch.
It was perhaps not as large as some of the others around it, not quite taking up the entire square, and I could only imagine the mews and gardens that must stretch generously behind it. I could see their walls.
The carriage came to a smooth stop before the front steps, its wheels crunching faintly over gravel. I blinked rapidly and adjusted my gloves, attempting to will my nerves into submission.
Before the footman could descend and place the step, the front door opened wide.
A lady attired in a severe black gown, her chatelaine suspended at her waist, stepped forward—likely Mrs. Smythe, Fitzwilliam’s London housekeeper—her sharp eyes warming as they settled on us.
Behind her stood a man, presumably the butler, and I saw several others gathered behind them.
Fitzwilliam descended from the carriage first, extending his hand to help me down next. Behind me, the footman assisted first Jane and then the maid, but Fitzwilliam did not wait. He led me up the stairs and into the house.
“Welcome home, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” the butler greeted. His voice was deep and strong, but I could detect the hint of a smile in his address.
The housekeeper stepped forward. “We have been expecting you. Mr. Darcy, everything is prepared just as you requested,” she said, her sharp eyes noticing the way that I clung to Fitzwilliam’s arm and the look in his eyes as he looked at me.
Our personal servants stepped forward to help us remove our outerwear, disappearing with them before Fitzwilliam could respond.
“Thank you, Mr. Smythe, Mrs. Smythe,” Fitzwilliam replied.
“Allow me to introduce you to my wife and her sister. Elizabeth, this is Mr. Smythe, the butler here at Darcy House, and his wife, Mrs. Smythe, your housekeeper. You will meet the other servants in the coming days, but I do not want to overwhelm you today.” He gestured toward the roughly twenty others nearby, though, as he had said, he did not introduce them.
It would have been too much for today, but I would need to learn their names soon.
Fitzwilliam turned towards Jane. “This is Miss Jane Bennet,” he said, introducing her to the assembled servants. “She will be with us on this visit to London, and I am certain you will all treat her as you treat my sister.”
Most of the servants dispersed at this, but behind us, Isla followed hesitantly, glancing around as though expecting someone to call her back.
I pulled the housekeeper aside. “Mrs. Smythe, this is Isla Dunbar, and her brother Graeme is with the carriage. They will be here in London until we can arrange for their travel to Mr. Darcy’s estate in Scotland.
I am certain that they would prefer to rest for a few days, but if they desire to be doing something, I am sure that work can be found for them.
Isla could use a few new dresses, I think, particularly once she travels to Scotland, and I do not know yet how you typically handle things like this. ”
“Oh, no, Mistress,” Isla protested, her burr growing thicker in her distress. “I dinna need new things, truly.”
“Nevertheless, you shall have them,” I replied firmly. “Not many, but from the size of the valise you and your brother brought out at Netherfield, it is plain you have little to your name. As your employer, it is my responsibility to ensure you have what you need to do your work properly. ”
“But madam—” she began again, clearly uncomfortable at my offer.
“You shall have a few dresses,” I said, cutting off her protest with a gentle but resolute tone. “They will be suitable for your station, of course, but they are part of your compensation.”
She opened her mouth once more, but I raised a hand to forestall any further argument.
To my quiet satisfaction, I noticed Fitzwilliam and the Smythes exchanging approving looks.
Fitzwilliam and I had not yet discussed household management in detail, but as mistress of Darcy House, the staff would fall under my care.
I might not yet know all the proper forms, but I was quite certain that whatever the Bingleys had provided had been the barest minimum.
Grandmama Bennet had taught me that servants deserved both dignity and respect, and I fully intended to honour that lesson now.
“Mrs. Smythe, is there a seamstress employed by Darcy House?” I asked.
“Yes, madam,” she replied. “We have found it is easier that way. She can have a few dresses finished for Isla quickly since she always has a few things started. I am uncertain whether she has any thicker materials, but I will see about getting them.”
“Let us meet tomorrow morning to discuss that,” I said. “Around eleven?”
“You have an appointment with the modiste tomorrow, dearest,” Fitzwilliam interjected. “My aunt will call for you at noon.”
I nodded. “Then let us meet at ten, and if we need to continue the conversation into the next day, we will do so.”
“Yes, mistress,” Mrs. Smythe said, giving me a small curtsy before straightening with brisk efficiency. “Dinner will be ready in two hours, sir, madam. Would any of you care for a bath before the meal?”
“Please have hot water brought up for my wife,” Fitzwilliam said before I could answer. “Miss Bennet? ”
Jane offered a tired but gracious smile. “Thank you, but I do not require a bath. I believe I shall rest a bit before dinner, if that is acceptable.”
“Of course, miss,” Mrs. Smythe replied with a nod. “I will show you to your room myself.”
As Jane followed her from the entryway, Fitzwilliam reached for my arm and tucked it into his. “Come,” he said with a glint in his eyes that surprised me. “There is something I think you will appreciate in your chambers.”
He guided me towards the stairs, the weight of the morning’s tensions already beginning to ease. Once we were out of earshot of anyone else, he leant closer and lowered his voice.
“Whilst I was searching for you, I had your apartments refreshed both here and at Pemberley. One of the changes I made to your rooms here,” he said, “was the installation of a rather large bathing tub in your private chambers.”
I arched a brow at him, curious despite myself.
He smiled. “Large enough for two,” he added, a roguish note creeping into his voice. “It was a hopeful addition—meant to be enjoyed together.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I could not help the smile tugging at my lips. “A hopeful addition, indeed.” I shivered at the thought of bathing together; it was not fear, but rather excitement that had me flushing.
“Have your maid assist you into the tub and then send her away. I will join you a few moments later,” he said as he showed me into my rooms.
Annette was already waiting for me when I entered my chambers, and I could hear the sound of water being poured into the bathing tub. Without delay, she helped me out of my travel-stained garments and into a soft dressing gown .
“Your bath will be ready in just a moment, madam,” she said with a respectful nod, then guided me through a side door into the adjoining bathing chamber.
What I saw there gave me pause.
The tub was made of polished copper, gleaming warmly in the light from the tall windows. It was immense—easily thrice the size of any I had used before—and just as Fitzwilliam had promised, clearly designed to accommodate two.
I drew in a quiet breath, a tremor of anticipation curling low in my belly. Although we had been married only a few weeks, each night—and more than a few mornings—had been filled with tenderness, passion, and a depth of intimacy I had never imagined possible.
No one had prepared me for what the marriage bed truly meant. The few conversations I had overheard from Mama had painted it as something to be endured rather than enjoyed, and though Aunt Gardiner had once promised to speak with me before I wed, circumstances had prevented that talk.
And yet… nothing I had been told—or had read of in the books I borrowed from Mr. Bennet’s library—could have prepared me for Fitzwilliam: for his gentleness, his devotion, or the joy we found in one another.
One look at the bathing tub left me with little doubt that tonight would be no less fervent than the nights before—though I suspected we might now be freer to express all that we felt.
Here, in the privacy of our own home, no longer constrained by thin walls or the ever-present noise of an inn, I imagined Fitzwilliam’s attentions would be as devoted—but perhaps a touch more ardent.
We had known a few such nights at Pemberley, but most of our marriage had been spent in modest lodgings where caution too often dulled the edge of our passion. Tonight, there would be no restraint.