Page 2 of Mrs. Gardiner: Matchmaker (The Pemberley Collection #3)

"He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived," Mrs. Reynolds said to them as they continued on their tour, "Not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

Elizabeth blanched at such an explanation for Darcy's somber mien, recalling how he once told her how he did not have the talent of conversing easily with people he had never met before, and she now realized perhaps it was true. Darcy was shy and uncomfortable in new places and situations, and he was not smooth or easy speaking like other young me—such as that vile Wickham, for example.

She cringed to think of how she had once been taken in by Wickham's lies, and as if her aunt were reading her mind, the lady leaned over to her and whispered, "This fine account of him is not quite consistent with his behavior to our poor friend."

Elizabeth looked at her aunt quizzically—the woman had some knowing spark in her eyes, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth suspected that somehow Mrs. Gardiner knew the truth.

But that was impossible.

"Perhaps we might be deceived," she answered tentatively.

Mrs. Gardiner raised an eyebrow with an almost teasing smile and said, "That is not likely; our authority was too good."

Elizabeth frowned briefly but let it go—she didn't have the time nor wherewithal to explain to her aunt the truth of the matter, that Wickham was a liar and had deceived them all when he was in Meryton.

They moved to the art gallery, where there were large portraits adorning the walls, and there was one which drew Elizabeth to it the most. It was Darcy's portrait—how fine he looked. But more particularly, there was a contentment in his expression, a slight smile which was pleasant to look at, and which, as she recalled with a mixture of shame and embarrassment for not realizing it for what it was earlier, was not unlike the expression she had often seen on his face when he looked at her . She gazed at his portrait for some time, and even came back to it a second time, thinking this would likely be the closest she would ever get to seeing the man himself again, a thought and realization which caused a small wave of sadness to overcome her.

She was relieved to finally venture outside and away from the painful reminders of how much she wronged the man with her prejudiced opinions against him. Hearing Mrs. Reynolds's praise of him, a woman who was not only an intelligent servant but who had also apparently known him since he was a little boy—her words did not fall lightly upon Elizabeth's ears.

Outside, she adored the grounds. The small river which flowed through the landscape and released into the grand lake beyond was pleasing to her; she admired how nature itself was untouched by Pemberley's grand presence here, as if the estate was in perfect harmony with its natural surroundings; she could accept that if Darcy were proud, this was certainly a place of which to feel so.

Suddenly, as if conjured by her very thoughts, there he was—Darcy himself, walking from the stables, directly toward her.

Elizabeth froze, unable to comprehend what he was doing here. He wasn't expected back until the next day. Mortified, she tried to turn away, but she failed to do so before he looked up and saw her too. They made eye contact, and they both blushed furiously—he stumbled to a halt, staring, until he recovered himself and began to make his way toward her.

She was petrified, glued to the spot—oh, how she could die right now, in this very moment!

What must he think of her, to be here at Pemberley, after what happened between them in Kent?

"Miss Bennet," he said, coming near, bowing, "How—how do you do?"

"Mr. Darcy," she stammered back, her address equally as awkward as his, "I am well, thank you."

"May I ask after your family?"

She blushed as she was reminded of his letter's words about her family's many improprieties—

"They are very well, thank you."

"And you are—you are here, at Pemberley."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. He shook his head and asked after her family again. If Elizabeth hadn't been so mortified, she might have been amused at the evidence of his distraction, but she only answered him again, politely and even as awkwardly and distractedly as him. Then he seemed to realize that he had repeated himself. They stood there strangely, him shifting on his feet, her clasping her hands in front of her, and then he finally remembered himself and bowed, silently taking his leave.

Her breath finally escaped—she hadn't realized she was even holding it until he was walking away from her briskly, back to the estate. She stared after him, flabbergasted, amazed, horrified, and embarrassed. She turned on her heel and tried to walk quickly. They must leave— surely they should leave.

Why should they stay?

She thought of how to convince her aunt and uncle to depart at once. She knew they had watched her exchange with the master of the estate with some curiosity, but surely they could discern the level of discomfort shared between them. Surely, her anxiety and trepidation at being there, now that the master had returned, would be enough to convince her relatives they ought to cut their tour short and leave now.

"My, he is as handsome as his portrait," her aunt said as they came upon Elizabeth, "I saw you giving his likeness a good examination earlier, my dear. Now I can truly see why—he cuts a fine figure, I daresay."

If her aunt was trying to evoke an agreement from Elizabeth, she would not be satisfied this afternoon. No, Elizabeth was too mortified to stand there and comment on how handsome she found the man whose marriage proposal she once horribly refused. She ignored her aunt and turned to keep walking. They continued the trek outside, her aunt and uncle seemingly oblivious to her humiliation at being there, taking their sweet time, meandering on the path as if they had nowhere else to be—if only Elizabeth could get away, but there was clearly no way out any faster without alarming her relatives unnecessarily.

She remained fixated on Darcy. Where was he now? How did he feel about seeing her there? Did he absolutely despise her?

Or could he possibly still, after everything that had happened between them, find her to be very dear to him?

"Lizzy, what's on your mind?"

Her aunt's inquiry caught her in her reverie.

"What ever do you mean?"

"I mean, you seem heavily preoccupied."

Elizabeth forced out a light laugh as she shook her head. "I'm afraid my mind is quite empty, actually."

Her aunt frowned slightly, tilting her head at her. Elizabeth again had the uncanny feeling that her aunt knew something—but just as quickly as it came into her head, she dismissed such a notion. Nobody knew anything about her and Darcy except Jane, and even Jane didn't know the extent of what was in his letter, having omitted telling her about Darcy's part in pulling Bingley away from her last autumn.

Elizabeth sighed. If only things could have been different; if only Jane were with Bingley now, living at Netherfield, married, maybe even expecting a little babe. And then there was Darcy—Elizabeth cringed to acknowledge she would have still refused him, even if Bingley had married Jane. She had foolishly believed all of Wickham's lies about him, and she would have loudly refused Darcy's offer on those faulty grounds—on the fictitious story of the denied living.

Oh, what a fool she'd been!

They walked through the woods, taking a lovely path over the stream, and Elizabeth tried to calm her mind by focusing on the beauty of the surroundings—Pemberley was, indeed, a wondrous place, and if she hadn't been so mortified, she would have wanted to explore every winding path that the grounds offered. This proved a good distraction from her current anxieties, but just as she thought she was calm again, she saw him once more—Darcy was coming for them, again, walking from the estate. Her heart raced, seeing him a second time, but she resolved to remain calm, to try and adopt the civility which he deserved, despite her embarrassment at having been caught here on his lands, uninvited.

He came toward her, and she smiled at him and said, "Mr. Darcy, I must admit, I very much admire the grounds of your home. The stream here is charming and delightful..."

She trailed off, blushing, now realizing how it might sound, such praise coming from her. Thankfully, he didn't seem to take her words in any other way than how she meant them, and he subtly nodded to her aunt, who was standing nearby.

"Might I be introduced to your friends?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," she answered, feeling silly for not having thought to do so already, "Mr. Darcy, it is a pleasure to introduce you to my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, and my uncle, Mr. Gardiner, of Cheapside."

Elizabeth daringly mentioned their residence, a residual defiance in her, wondering how Darcy would fare against such knowledge—her aunt and uncle, the lowly tradespeople whom she certainly knew he had heard about from Bingley's snobbish sisters—but he surprised her. He didn't turn away and leave them abruptly upon such knowledge; instead he stayed and entreated them into conversation, especially her uncle.

They all began to walk, Darcy with her uncle, she with her aunt, and while Mr. Gardiner and Darcy spoke of fishing, Mrs. Gardiner took Elizabeth's arm and entreated her with her gaze. Elizabeth knew her aunt was wondering about Darcy's behavior, as abjectly different it was from what Elizabeth knew her aunt had learned to expect, all thanks to her negative reports of his character. Elizabeth felt embarrassed that clearly she was wrong about Darcy, and she also wondered at it: surely he didn't act so differently because of her, did he?

Her reproofs at Hunsford surely couldn't have affected such a change in the man.

After walking a while in silence with her aunt, the woman suddenly exclaimed she was fatigued—odd, Elizabeth thought, because it didn't seem that Mrs. Gardiner was having any trouble walking, not to her anyway—and Elizabeth then found herself walking with Darcy.

What she could have to say to this man, she couldn't possibly know. He was a puzzle to her now, and she couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that she was beginning to very much regret refusing to marry him.