Page 16

Darcy

A footman cleared away his empty plate while Elizabeth looked up and thanked him. Darcy smiled. She looked every bit the mistress of Pemberley.

She had made efforts to fill the role, meeting regularly with Mrs Reynolds to discuss household matters. On Sundays, she accompanied him to church and he had introduced her to tenants and villagers alike.

It had felt normal, pleasant. Real.

Too real at times. He had to remind himself of their agreement more than once. This was a temporary situation. He had freed himself from his family’s pressures, and she had escaped her arranged marriage. That was all. They had assured each other’s freedom.

If in a year’s time they wished to part, they would. If not, they would continue as they were now. As friends. Nothing more.

For the time being, however, Darcy could not help but enjoy it. This morning, as on many others, Darcy read his correspondence while Elizabeth worked quietly. Occasionally he would glance up, his gaze lingering on her concentrated expression before returning to his letters.

He marvelled at how swiftly the solution to their problems had developed into something resembling an actual marriage. Their movements had become unconsciously harmonised, like dancers who had rehearsed the same steps many times.

“More toast?” he asked, his eyes still on his letter.

“Thank you, no,” Elizabeth replied, closing her notebook with a satisfied expression. “I believe I have made sufficient progress for this morning.”

Darcy looked up, curiosity in his eyes. Though Elizabeth had mentioned her literary aspirations, she kept her work private, and he had not presumed to enquire into the particulars of her writing.

He respected her desire for independence in this pursuit, even as he wondered about the stories that occupied so much of her attention.

“Your work goes well?” he asked.

“Well enough,” she replied with a small smile. “Though I find the solitude of Pemberley provides far fewer distractions than Longbourn ever did.”

“I am pleased our home affords you the peace to pursue your interests,” Darcy said, folding his letter and setting it aside.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, the sound settling comfortably in the sunlit room, warming him inexplicably. “Peace is certainly abundant here, though I sometimes miss the energy of five sisters under one roof.”

These moments of easy conversation had become increasingly frequent as the days passed. Each one seemed to draw them closer, expanding their arrangement into something he had not anticipated.

The sound of hoofbeats on the drive outside drew his attention. Darcy rose and moved to the window; his tall figure silhouetted against the bright light.

“A visitor,” he observed. “Rather early for social calls.”

Elizabeth joined him at the window, maintaining a proper distance between them—a distance he wished, quite unexpectedly, was less carefully observed. A horseman was dismounting, handing the reins to a waiting groom. Darcy recognised the visitor at once.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” he exclaimed, his face brightening with genuine pleasure. “My cousin,” he explained to Elizabeth. “I mentioned him to you before—the second son of my uncle, Lord Matlock.”

“Yes, I recall. You said he was among the few relations whose good opinion you valued.”

“Indeed. He possesses both sense and sensitivity, a rare combination.”

Elizabeth smoothed her muslin morning dress, suddenly conscious of her informal appearance. “Shall I change before receiving him?”

“Not on Richard’s account,” Darcy assured her. “He is not one to stand on ceremony, particularly at this hour. But if you would prefer—”

“No, I am content as I am if you believe he will not find it wanting.”

Darcy felt a flash of admiration for her sensible nature—so unlike the fussy concerns of most fashionable ladies of his acquaintance, who would never receive visitors without elaborate preparation. Elizabeth possessed a confident self—assurance that required no validation from external trappings.

They moved to the entrance hall to receive their visitor, arriving just as the butler was showing Colonel Fitzwilliam in. Darcy observed Elizabeth’s appraisal of his cousin.

“Darcy!” Richard called, striding forward to clasp his hand. “What an age it has been.”

“It has hardly been an age, though it feels that way at times so much has happened,” Darcy replied, though his smile belied the dryness of his tone. “What brings you to Derbyshire? I thought you remained in Town with your regiment.”

“A fortnight’s leave. I intended to visit Matlock, but my curiosity brought me here first.” The Colonel’s attention shifted to Elizabeth. “And this must be the new Mrs Darcy I have heard so much about.”

Darcy turned to Elizabeth, feeling an unexpected surge of pride as he made the introduction. “Elizabeth, may I present my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Richard, my wife, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy.”

Elizabeth curtsied, meeting the Colonel’s appraising look with composed dignity. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you are most welcome to Pemberley.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Mrs Darcy,” he replied, bowing. “I must thank you for accomplishing what the combined efforts of my family has failed to do for years. I feared this fellow may never settle.”

“I assure you; circumstances rather dictated the outcome. As for family, I believe you know as well as I that I was not what they intended for your cousin.”

Darcy admired her ability to assess his cousin so quickly. She always knew when to speak out and when to be quiet.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose at this admission, but his expression remained amiable. “The best battles are often won by seizing the unexpected opportunity,” he said lightly. “A principle well understood in both military and matrimonial campaigns, I believe.”

Unease gripped Darcy at the direction of the conversation. “Have you breakfasted, Richard?” he intervened. “We were just finishing, but I am certain—”

“I ate at the inn in Lambton. But tea would not go amiss after an early ride.”

They returned to the breakfast room, where a fresh pot of tea was soon brought.

The Colonel settled into a chair with the relaxed ease of someone long familiar with Pemberley, while Darcy observed the interaction between his cousin and his wife with interest, pleased to see them taking each other’s measure with apparent approval on both sides.

“Now, tell me. How is my uncle?”

He had told his cousin everything by way of letter and thus knew they did not need to worry about keeping up pretence in front of him.

“My father is quite beside himself.”

“I imagine he is,” Darcy replied, his voice even. “Though I fail to see how my marriage requires his permission or approval.”

“Not his permission, perhaps, but you must admit the manner of it invites speculation. A hasty trip to Scotland with a young lady none of us have met? And when he was so eager for your match with Lady Eleanor? And Lady Catherine has been writing daily letters of the most inflammatory nature.”

“I can well imagine their content,” Darcy said dryly, thinking of his aunt’s propensity for dramatic pronouncements.

“She accuses Mrs Darcy of all manner of witchery,” the Colonel confirmed, with an apologetic glance towards Elizabeth. “Though I assure you, madam, no one of sense gives much weight to my aunt’s dramatics.”

Darcy watched Elizabeth’s response, impressed by her composure as she met his cousin’s candid gaze with a level one of her own.

“I have developed a thick skin, Colonel, through years of managing my own mother’s sensibilities.

I daresay Lady Catherine’s opinion will not crush my spirits, however forcefully expressed. ”

The Colonel smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I believe you shall do very well at Pemberley, Mrs Darcy.”

“And my uncle?” Darcy asked, turning the conversation back to the Earl of Matlock. “Beyond being ‘quite beside himself’ what is his true response? He has written to me but you know as well as I sentiments expressed in writing rarely mirror those professed behind closed doors.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression grew more serious. “Disappointed that his plans for an alliance with Lord Morton have been dashed. Concerned that you acted in haste. There is talk of connection, of course—the usual considerations.”

“By which you mean they object to Elizabeth’s lack of fortune and consequence,” Darcy stated flatly, feeling a surge of protectiveness towards his wife.

“They object to knowing nothing of her or her family,” the Colonel corrected. “Though yes, there are murmurs about unsuitability of rank. My mother has enquired extensively about the Bennets of Hertfordshire, with limited success.”

Darcy observed a flush of mortification rise to Elizabeth’s cheeks, though her expression remained composed. It ignited a surprising anger within him to see her discomfited by his family’s prejudices.

“The Bennets are a respectable family,” he said, his voice taking on a firmness that surprised even himself.

“Mr Bennet is a gentleman with an estate entailed upon the male line. Mrs Bennet’s connections are in trade, it is true, but they are respectable people of sense and propriety.

Elizabeth’s uncle is a lawyer in Meryton, and her uncle in London is engaged in a prosperous import business. ”

“You need not defend my lineage so vigorously,” Elizabeth interjected. “I am perfectly aware of my position in society relative to yours.”

“It is not a defence,” Darcy insisted, turning to her. “Merely a statement of fact. Your family’s standing is entirely respectable, whatever my relatives might insinuate.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked between them, his shrewd eyes missing nothing. “There are also rumours,” he said carefully, “that this match was pursued for… financial advantage.”