Page 13 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Twelve

D arcy closed the door to his chambers with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the solid oak panelling. What had begun as a day of eager anticipation had soon dissolved into a study in disappointed hopes and dashed expectations. Shrugging out of his coat, he tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair, loosening his cravat with an impatient tug.

The morning express from Bingley had brought with it a mixture of expectation and unease. Elizabeth Bennet, under his roof, walking the halls of Pemberley, her presence suffusing the house with a warmth he had long thought absent. The idea filled him with delight and dread, and as the hours ticked by, he had felt his composure fraying under the strain of his own expectations. When the party had finally arrived, he had steeled himself, determined to show Elizabeth—and her relations—the master of Pemberley at his most composed.

His first impression of Mr and Mrs Gardiner had been reassuring. Despite being in trade, Mr Gardiner was gentlemanlike in both appearance and manners, while his wife was an amiable, elegant woman who was clearly a great favourite of her nieces. Darcy had found himself quite at ease in their company—an ease that faltered the moment Elizabeth stepped from the carriage.

Even now, the memory of her quick smile and luminous expression sent a jolt through him. She had looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and for one wild moment, it had seemed as though time had stopped. Yet just as swiftly, reality had reasserted itself in the form of Bingley, who had swiftly moved to Elizabeth’s side, his hand coming to rest with casual intimacy on the small of her back. The sight had sent an irrational surge of jealousy coursing through him, and he had barely managed to offer a polite welcome before retreating behind the familiar mask of civility.

Dinner had offered him some respite. His cook, Mrs Simms, apparently delighted to have a chance to prepare more than the simple fare he and Walsh favoured, had outdone herself, serving two full courses. The food was excellent, and conversation flowed easily amongst the group. He had been particularly gratified to see Elizabeth and Jane Bennet drawing Georgiana out of her shell, their gentle attentions coaxing his shy sister into genuine smiles and laughter. It was a sight he had not witnessed in many months, and for a time, it had soothed the ache in his chest.

Yet, as the evening wore on, the sight of Bingley and Elizabeth exchanging smiles and private glances rekindled a storm of discontent within him. The familiarity with which Bingley addressed her—using her Christian name in company, no less!—was like a dagger to his heart. For the remainder of the meal, Darcy’s thoughts had been consumed by his own desperate yearning to be in Bingley’s place. He wanted to be the one who basked in Elizabeth’s attention, who teased her and received her playful retorts, as he had done in Yorkshire.

How he envied Bingley—the effortless ease with which he navigated the world, his ability to claim Elizabeth’s regard without hesitation or fear. Darcy clenched his jaw, the ache of longing sharp and inescapable. Her smiles, her laughter, her warmth—all now seemed reserved for another man. The truth was undeniable, even as it mocked him.

Crossing into the adjoining sitting room, Darcy strode to the sideboard and poured a measure of brandy into a waiting glass. It had been months since he had indulged in drink, but tonight he craved the numbing reprieve it might offer. Settling into one of the winged chairs by the hearth, he exhaled deeply, his thoughts turning to the conversation in the drawing room.

The revelation of Mr Collins’s connection to Mr Bennet had certainly taken him by surprise. That the Bennets’ cousin and Longbourn’s heir should be his aunt’s rector was an almost absurd coincidence. Although Darcy had refrained from speaking ill of the clergyman in the presence of Elizabeth’s family, his brief acquaintance with the man had left a decidedly poor impression. From what he had witnessed, Collins was obsequious, bumbling, and entirely devoid of sense. The prospect of Elizabeth—or any of her sisters—enduring his attentions was deeply unsettling. Whatever his faults, Bingley was a far worthier match. At the very least, Elizabeth would not be yoked to that buffoon.

Darcy took a long swallow of the amber liquid, its heat spreading through his body, though it did little to quell the turmoil within. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Well, it could not matter to him. The only young lady whose future he was obliged to secure was Georgiana’s—and that duty, he vowed, he would see fulfilled.

Rising abruptly, Darcy set aside his drink and went to ring for his valet. He prayed that sleep, elusive as it often was, might grant him a reprieve from the chaos of his thoughts. Yet, as he crossed the room to pull the bell, his mind betrayed him once more, returning to the image of Elizabeth. The thought of her so near—and yet so unattainable—made his pulse quicken, and a bitter ache settled in his chest.

With a sharp shake of his head, Darcy forced the image from his mind, willing himself to master his unruly emotions. He could not afford to falter, not now. Tomorrow would bring another day, another test of his endurance. But for tonight, he resolved to banish her from his thoughts and find what solace he could in the oblivion of sleep.

Darcy stood at the front of a church, the warm glow of candlelight casting golden hues upon the vaulted ceiling. All eyes were fixed on the radiant figure of Elizabeth Bennet as she glided down the aisle, resplendent in a shimmering gown of yellow silk. Her steps were unhurried and graceful, her eyes sparkling with quiet happiness. In her hands she carried a small posy of wildflowers, and Darcy could see lavender and devil’s-bit mixed in amongst the winter blooms.

As she came closer, Darcy stretched out his hands, his heart soaring with an unfamiliar, unchecked joy.

But Elizabeth did not meet his gaze. Instead, she looked past him, her expression soft but distant, her attention drawn elsewhere.

Confused, Darcy turned to see what had captured her notice, only to feel his blood turn to ice. There, standing just behind him, was the one man he despised above all others.

“Wickham,” Darcy hissed, his voice low but venomous. “You have no business here. Leave at once.”

But Wickham only smirked, his expression one of practised insolence. “Ah, Darcy,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “I am afraid you are mistaken. It is you who are the trespasser here. This is my wedding, after all.”

To Darcy’s horror, Wickham stretched out his arm, and Darcy saw his sweet sister emerge from the shadows, gazing up at his nemesis with unbridled adoration.

Darcy’s stomach clenched in fury. “Unhand her, you scoundrel!” he bellowed, surging forwards. “You shall never marry her. I forbid it!”

Wickham’s smirk only deepened as he placed a proprietary arm around Georgiana’s slender shoulders. “Too late, old friend,” he said, his voice laced with triumph. “The deed is done. And once you have scurried off to foreign shores, Pemberley will be mine—just as your father always intended.”

Darcy lunged for Wickham, his hands reaching for the villain’s collar. But as his fingers closed on empty air, the scene around him shifted and dissolved. Suddenly, it was Bingley standing before him, Elizabeth by his side.

“Elizabeth, thank goodness!” Darcy cried. Relief and hope warred within him as he reached for her hands, but it was his friend she walked to, her cheeks flushed with a delicate warmth as Bingley’s laughter echoed around him.

“No,” Darcy whispered. Panicked, he turned to the rector, only to find the hulking form of the Reverend William Collins standing before him.

“You must stop the ceremony,” Darcy called out. “Elizabeth Bennet is mine! She is to be my wife, not his!”

But Collins paid him no heed, his droning recitation of the liturgy continuing as though Darcy had not spoken. Spinning back round, Darcy called out to his friend.

“Bingley, what is the meaning of this? You know Elizabeth belongs to me!”

Bingley offered him a ready smile, and Darcy could see that all his teeth were made of gold.

“Sorry, old chap, you had your chance. She is mine now.”

Before Darcy could respond, Bingley leaned in, his hands roaming possessively over Elizabeth’s body, his lips moving along the alabaster column of her neck, inching towards the bodice of her gown…

Elizabeth’s head tipped back, her eyes fluttering closed as she released a soft sigh of pleasure.

And Darcy screamed.

The sound of his own cry jolted Darcy awake, his body drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he clawed at the bedclothes. The oppressive weight of the vision clung to him, the images still vivid and raw.

Running a trembling hand over his face, he forced himself to take deep, measured breaths. “A dream. It was only a dream,” he murmured hoarsely, but the words rang hollow in the silent room. His heart continued to pound as if it had no intention of quieting.

Rising from the bed, Darcy moved to the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal the dawn breaking over the Derbyshire hills. The horizon was tinged with hues of warm orange—a gentle promise of fair weather to come. The serenity of the view contrasted cruelly with the tempest inside him, and yet he found it grounding. He let the cold glass cool his palm as he leaned against the frame, staring out at the beginning of a new day.

Moving to the bell pull, he rang for his valet, his mind already on the day ahead. Elizabeth was an early riser, of that he was certain. Perhaps if he hurried with his toilette, he might join her in the breakfast room before anyone else awoke. The prospect brought him a small glimmer of hope.

After the morning meal, he would show his guests through the house, and if the weather held, perhaps they might walk the grounds. He glanced again at the view beyond the window, his frown deepening. If only Elizabeth could have visited in the spring or summer when Pemberley was at its most resplendent. He could so clearly imagine her wandering through the gardens, her keen eyes alighting on the riot of blooms and foliage, her expression filled with delight. The thought was both sweet and painful, knowing it could never be.

Shaking his head, he banished the image. What mattered now was the present—the opportunity to show her Pemberley as it was, even in the starkness of winter. There was one place in particular that he was most eager for her to see. He had imagined her standing within its walls countless times, her presence bringing it to life in a way he had never thought possible. But he would wait. He would bide his time until he could show it to her alone, relishing the moment free from the company of others.

For now, there was much to do. Straightening his shoulders, Darcy exhaled slowly, steeling himself for the day ahead. Whatever it brought, he resolved to meet it with composure and purpose.

They did not have much time, but he vowed to make the most of it.

As Darcy had hoped, Elizabeth was indeed in the breakfast parlour when he arrived, but she was not alone. Both his cousin and Bingley were seated beside her at the long table, chatting amiably as they partook of the spread.

Entering the room, Darcy struggled to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. Since when had Bingley kept such early hours? At Netherfield, the man had scarcely left his chambers before ten o’clock! Schooling his features into a mask of civility, he exchanged morning pleasantries with the group before crossing to the sideboard, where he poured himself a cup of strong coffee before taking his seat at the table.

“You are up early,” he began, directing his words to Elizabeth, though his gaze flicked briefly to Bingley before continuing, “I trust you slept well?”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth replied with a ready smile. “I do not remember when I have had a more restful night. I have always been an early riser, and while I am not sure I can say the same for Mr Bingley, during our travels we formed the habit of walking before breakfast, so perhaps that has inspired a newfound discipline in him.”

Beside her, Bingley chuckled good-naturedly and interjected, “You see, Miss Elizabeth’s presence has already been a steadying influence on me. We had a delightful ramble through the gardens earlier, and I pointed out some of the more picturesque spots.”

Darcy’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. Avoiding his friend’s gaze, he kept his attention fixed on Elizabeth. “Have you plans for the day?” he asked stiffly. “I had hoped to take you and your relations through the house—unless, of course, Bingley has already undertaken that particular duty.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and she glanced briefly at her plate before answering. “I should like that very much. Although I know my aunt is eager to call upon some old acquaintances in the area, I am certain she would enjoy the privilege of being shown through the house. She has often spoken of it as one of the finest homes in the country.”

Darcy’s chest swelled slightly at her words, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “It would be my pleasure,” he replied with measured calm. “I have some business to attend to, but perhaps we might convene in the morning room afterwards. Would eleven o’clock suit?”

Elizabeth nodded with a warm smile. “Perfectly.”

Darcy arrived precisely at the appointed time to find the entire Hertfordshire party, along with his sister and cousin, already gathered in the morning room. He had entertained a faint hope that Bingley might excuse himself, given his familiarity with the house, but it seemed no one had any other engagements to occupy their time.

Clearing his throat, he offered polite greetings before gesturing for the group to follow him into the expansive entrance hall. Although his guests were already acquainted with several of the principal rooms, he began on the ground floor, moving from one space to another. As they strolled through each room, Darcy shared anecdotes and historical details about notable pieces, while his cousin and Georgiana occasionally contributed their own remarks.

The Gardiners and Miss Jane Bennet expressed all the admiration and politeness one might expect, but Darcy found himself distracted, his focus lingering on Elizabeth. He noticed how she spent more time gazing out of windows, studying the views of the grounds, than dwelling on the grandeur within. Her quiet attentiveness, so different from the exclamations of others, struck him deeply.

At last, they arrived at the library, a space that occupied much of the east wing. Drawing back the heavy oak doors, Darcy stepped aside to allow his guests to enter first. Their collective intake of breath was as familiar to him as the room itself. The library, with its soaring shelves, intricately carved bookcases, and a domed fresco ceiling, was undoubtedly one of the house’s most impressive features.

Darcy’s gaze fixed on Elizabeth as she wandered farther into the room, her fingers lightly brushing the leather-bound spines. Her fine eyes, alight with wonder, seemed to drink in the endless rows of books. She was so entranced that she did not immediately notice her sister approaching.

“Oh, Lizzy! It is glorious, is it not?” Miss Bennet whispered, her voice reverent as she turned in a slow circle to admire the ceiling’s painted artistry.

Elizabeth nodded, a radiant smile curving her lips, before looking in Darcy’s direction. “I remember Miss Bingley speaking of your library on the evening we dined at Netherfield,” she murmured, “but I never imagined anything like this.”

Darcy inclined his head, his voice carefully measured. “Although I cannot claim any of the credit, I am gratified by your approval. I hope you will all make use of it during your stay. You are welcome to borrow anything you wish.”

This suggestion led the guests to eagerly explore the shelves, and the next half-hour passed in a convivial manner, with everyone delighting in the discovery of old favourites and debating the merits of one author over another. Darcy watched with quiet satisfaction as his library, typically a sanctuary of solitude, came alive with the hum of animated conversation and the rustle of pages.

At one point, his attention was drawn to Georgiana, who had ventured to a shelf in the far corner. Reaching up, she carefully extracted three handsome volumes and pressed them into Elizabeth’s hands. Although Darcy could not hear their conversation from where he stood, the sight warmed him. Elizabeth’s expression lit as she examined the books, calling her sister over to share in her discovery. Georgiana, for her part, seemed emboldened by Elizabeth’s genuine delight, and her usual shyness gave way to an uncharacteristic ease.

When at last the exploration had run its course, Darcy suggested they step outside to enjoy the grounds. Both Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth had expressed a desire to see the park, and the fair weather made the prospect all the more inviting. His suggestion was met with unanimous enthusiasm, and the group began moving towards the entrance hall.

They had just reached the threshold when Georgiana suddenly spoke up, her voice light but earnest. “Brother, you have neglected to show them the conservatory! Should we not take them there first?”

Attempting to maintain a neutral expression, Darcy turned to his sister with a forced smile.

“Yes of course. Forgive my oversight. Let us collect our coats and we shall visit it on our way out.”

Georgiana beamed at his acquiescence, and Darcy nodded to the assembled party. With that, they set about preparing for the excursion, unaware of the subtle shift in their host’s countenance as his thoughts turned inwards once more.

Mr Gardiner expressed an interest in seeing the entirety of the park, though he admitted it might be too ambitious for a walk, to which Darcy nodded his acknowledgement.

“The park is ten miles around, so such an undertaking would indeed be a formidable task. However, I would be delighted to show you the areas closest to the house. The north side of the property boasts some very picturesque views, though the gardens, I must admit, are its finest feature—particularly in the summer months.” He paused, casting a pointed glance in Bingley’s direction. “Unfortunately, there will not be much to see there at this time of year.”

The group set off along the path, and Miss Jane Bennet soon fell into step beside him.

“Do you grow a great variety of flowers, Mr Darcy?” she enquired pleasantly.

Although he was at first surprised to be addressed by the lady, who had heretofore been mostly quiet in his company, Darcy replied with an easy nod.

“We do. Roses, of course—we have an entire garden dedicated to them. Beyond that, we cultivate hyacinths, daffodils, and lilies, as well as perennials like peonies, delphiniums, and foxgloves. My mother was very fond of flowers, and I have preserved the gardens much as they were during her time as mistress.”

Miss Bennet murmured her approval, her voice warm and genuine. They walked on in comfortable silence for a time before Darcy, sensing that further conversation might be expected, turned back to his companion.

“Are you fond of flowers, Miss Bennet?” he asked, his question eliciting a genuine smile. Looking into her clear blue eyes, bright with interest, Darcy suddenly found himself struck by the symmetry of her features; she was, he realized, a truly beautiful young woman. Were she of the peerage—or even from a distinguished family residing in town—she would undoubtedly have been well married after her first Season.

Catching himself staring, he quickly averted his gaze, a flicker of embarrassment colouring his thoughts. He forced himself to listen attentively as she spoke, though he realized belatedly that he had missed the beginning of her reply.

“…a variety at Longbourn,” she was saying, “but we also have a stillroom, and I enjoy preparing herbal essences for myself and my sisters.”

Darcy nodded politely, though he felt his earlier lapse keenly. Fortunately, they had just reached the river, and Mr Gardiner, who appeared to have a great fondness for fishing, eagerly asked after the best spots for the sport.

This was a topic Darcy was happy to discuss at length, and he even extended an invitation for the gentleman to return in the summer months and fish to his heart’s content, should his travels bring him back to the neighbourhood.

The party continued along the edge of the water for some time before crossing a simple bridge and proceeding into a wooded grove. Their progress was unhurried, as Mrs Gardiner was not an adept walker, and her husband was engrossed in enquiring about every feature of the estate, from the lay of the land to the varieties of fish in the stream.

But as ever, it was Elizabeth who drew Darcy’s attention. No leaf, plant, or bush seemed to escape her notice, her eyes alight with wonder at the natural beauty surrounding them. Darcy found himself suppressing a smile, captivated by the way she appeared to savour each sight as though experiencing it for the first time.

When they reached the crest of a small rise where gaps in the trees revealed sweeping views of the valley, the opposite hills, and the meandering stream below, the party paused to admire the prospect.

“Oh, it is lovely,” Elizabeth breathed, stepping closer to Darcy’s side. “How very fortunate you are to be surrounded by so much beauty. I can better understand now why you would never wish to leave here. I dare say if I were lucky enough to call a place like Pemberley home, I should feel the same.”

Her words sent a jolt through Darcy’s body, and he could only stare back at her. But after a moment, Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed, as though she had just realized the unintended intimacy of her remark, and she quickly looked away.

The others soon joined them, offering their admiration for the view, but Darcy barely registered their words as his thoughts wandered.

When was the last time he had considered himself fortunate? How long had it been since he had looked at Pemberley with the same awe and reverence it had inspired in his youth, instead of seeing it as a weighty responsibility, a millstone around his neck? Certainly not for years. Oh, of course, he knew that many in his social circle envied his position—but it was merely his wealth and connections they coveted. None of that mattered to Elizabeth; she was entirely unaffected by material possessions. It was the natural world that enchanted her. Happiness for her was found in the gentle rustle of leaves on a summer’s day, the cheerful babble of a stream carving its path through the countryside, or the bracing pleasure of a walk under an open sky. These were the things that had drawn him to her in the first place, all those years ago.

For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to picture the life he might have known: a marriage based on mutual affection, Elizabeth Bennet always by his side, filling every corner of Pemberley with her laughter and light.

But then Bingley called out, playfully chastising him for woolgathering, and the spell was broken.

Darcy moved to join the others, whereupon Elizabeth expressed a desire to ascend to higher ground, having learned from Georgiana that the village of Lambton could be seen from one of the nearby hills. Mrs Gardiner, however, who was already fatigued by the morning’s exercise, stated she could go no farther, and Mr Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly volunteered to escort her back to the house.

The remaining party resumed their climb, eventually reaching a rocky plateau that offered a panoramic view of the valley below, with Lambton nestled at its heart and the village of Kympton visible in the near distance.

As he had anticipated, Elizabeth’s enthusiasm for the scenery was unbridled. She described the view in glowing terms before linking arms with her sister and wandering towards the crest of the hill. There, the two engaged in quiet conversation until Bingley joined them, his presence drawing a light laugh from Elizabeth that carried on the breeze.

Darcy lingered where he was, striving to bring his unruly emotions under control, and a moment later, Georgiana appeared at his side, her cheeks pink from their exertion and the brisk breeze.

“Are you cold, sweetling?” he asked, surprised to hear himself use the endearment he had not spoken since she was a young girl.

Georgiana tilted her face up to him, her expression radiant. For the first time, Darcy truly saw her not as the child she had been but as the poised young woman she was in the process of becoming.

“Not at all,” she replied with a happy smile. “I had forgotten how beautiful everything looks from up here. It almost makes one forget that there is anything disagreeable in the world.”

Darcy nodded. “Indeed, it does.” For a moment, they stood in silence, the crisp air carrying the faint scent of damp earth. Then, offering her his arm, he said, “Shall we rejoin the others?” His sister smiled and took it, and together they turned, leaving the view behind.

Elizabeth entered Pemberley’s entrance hall in high spirits. Although she had thoroughly enjoyed her tour of the house— especially the library, where she could easily imagine spending many happy hours—it was their walk through the park that had truly invigorated her.

When they had stepped into the conservatory, her breath had caught at the sight of the exotic plants flourishing in the warm, sunlit space. The orangery, briefly pointed out by Miss Darcy, had seemed equally alluring, and she would have loved to explore it further. But once they had begun to walk through the grounds, she could see why Mr Darcy had hurried them along.

The park was vast, with natural beauty to be seen at every turn. Woodlands and groves gave way to lakes and rivers, gardens and follies, all seamlessly blending into the surrounding countryside. Although Elizabeth had visited grand estates before, nothing compared to Pemberley. She had never felt more at peace than when wandering its expansive lands, with Mr Darcy at her side and the quiet hum of nature around them.

Once their pelisses and greatcoats had been collected, Mr Darcy excused himself to attend to matters of business, and Elizabeth and Jane sought out their aunt and uncle.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner were easily found in the cosy sitting room near their chambers. Settled into armchairs before a crackling fire, they eagerly welcomed their nieces, and soon, the conversation turned to their impressions of the estate and its master.

With a mixture of admiration and delight, they each pronounced Pemberley unrivalled in beauty and elegance, and Mr Darcy infinitely exceeding expectations.

“He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming,” said Mr Gardiner. “I have been continually impressed by his attention to us. Why, to personally take us through the house and grounds when there was no need—it speaks to his character.”

“There is something a little stately about him, to be sure,” Mrs Gardiner added, “but it is in his bearing, and not unbecoming. And Pemberley itself is beyond my imaginings. I have often heard that its woods are among the finest in the country, but I never expected such a harmonious blend of grandeur and natural beauty.” Her gaze shifted to Jane, and with a wry smile, she said, “I dare say it would be something to be mistress of all this.”

Both Jane and Elizabeth flushed at the comment. Elizabeth looked away, while Jane lowered her eyes, murmuring with some discomposure, “The lady who one day calls Pemberley home will be fortunate indeed, but I hope you do not have ambitions for a match between Mr Darcy and me.”

Mr and Mrs Gardiner exchanged curious glances before Mrs Gardiner said gently, “Do you not enjoy Mr Darcy’s company, dearest? I noticed the two of you walking together in the gardens—you seemed to be conversing quite comfortably.”

“Oh, I find Mr Darcy perfectly agreeable,” Jane replied earnestly. “But I have never sensed any particular regard on his part. If anything, I would say he seems most at ease when speaking to Lizzy, do you not think?”

Mrs Gardiner’s eyes widened slightly before she turned to Elizabeth with a lifted brow. “Well, yes,” she said slowly, “but Lizzy is attached to Mr Bingley. Surely Mr Darcy would never be so ill-mannered as to seek the attention of a young lady already committed to his friend?”

“Indeed, he would not,” Elizabeth hurriedly replied, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. “And I happen to know, Aunt, that Mr Darcy is not currently seeking a wife. So let us all enjoy our time here without trying to make more of his civility than it merits.”

Her words were met with smiles, but Elizabeth could not help feeling the conversation had trodden uncomfortably close to matters she would rather not examine.