Page 3 of The Shades of Pemberley

F itzwilliam Darcy had always known of his heritage, though it had never seemed important enough to pay much attention to it.

The Darcys were an old and respected family from Derbyshire, their roots reaching back further than the time of William the Conqueror.

The original Darcy landowner had performed a service for the crown and had received his land as a gift, holding it from that time forward through the rights of primogeniture, handed down from father to son, and not a few daughters whose husbands had taken on the Darcy name.

From those humble beginnings, the family had taken that land and established the foundations of future wealth, expanding upon the original plot of land until it was now purported to be a grand estate.

Through his centuries of Darcy forebears, Darcy knew he had connections to the nobility, though they were distant enough to be of little use, not that Darcy concerned himself with such things.

The current Darcy master of the ancestral estate, Darcy’s cousin—he had never been able to keep the exact nature of his connection straight—was the grandson of an earl, his mother being the Earl of Matlock’s daughter.

Darcy’s connection to the main branch of the Darcy family was more distant than that, meaning he possessed no direct connection to the earl himself, though he supposed there was some more distant link if one went back far enough into their genealogies.

There were Darcy relations scattered all over England, many of whom still carried the Darcy name.

While Darcy himself was not familiar with them, he was aware of at least three branches of the family that all held land.

This was due to the Darcys’ practice of purchasing satellite estates and gifting these properties to their younger sons, the number of whom had never been plentiful.

Thus, his ownership of Netherfield Park, a property his grandfather had inherited from his father more than half a century earlier.

Darcy had never lamented the relative paucity of his fortune when compared to the wealth the senior line of the family possessed.

With Netherfield, Darcy had a presence in town through a few connections to the first circles, and with that, he was content.

Darcy had met his cousin on a few occasions, and it had always seemed the burden of high society was greater than any benefit it brought.

It also allowed Darcy to marry where he liked, and he had always liked Miss Elizabeth Bennet very well, indeed.

Though several years older than the beautiful minx who would become his wife in a few short weeks—Darcy was now five and twenty while she would be one and twenty in the summer—Darcy had always found her fascinating, had watched her grow from an exuberant child to an awkward teen, and now to the beautiful woman she was.

While he had not considered marriage when she was young, by the time she was fifteen, he had known he wished to have her as a wife.

Elizabeth had not been difficult to persuade, for it appeared they were destined to be together, as Mrs. Bennet often exclaimed, as fanciful as that sounded.

Certainly, Darcy had never questioned his wish to be united with the vivacious woman, having been captured by her charm before he had ever finished university.

With these thoughts, Darcy set out on his morning ride a few days after introducing his fiancée and her family—and more particularly Miss Bennet—to his friend’s acquaintance.

Knowing of Elizabeth’s love of walking, it was not uncommon for them to meet on the paths of her father’s estate, which Darcy often rode for just that purpose, Mrs. Bennet having offered him carte blanche to ride as he would.

Fortune smiled on him that morning, for it was not long after he crossed the fence between Netherfield and Longbourn that he found her on a path he knew was a favorite.

“Elizabeth!” exclaimed he as he rode to her, slipped from his horse, and caught her hand up to kiss it. Then he moved in closer, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was not as chaste as they had been when they had first become engaged, reveling in the greater freedom an engagement afforded them.

“William!” was her laughing reply when he leaned back to look into her eyes. “Well, I can only suppose you are a poor host.”

“Oh,” asked Darcy, grinning at her laughing admonishment. “How so, my dear?”

“Why, that you left Mrs. Bingley alone with your mother at that dusty old house! For shame, sir, for not seeing to the amusement of your guest.”

“In accusing me thus,” replied Darcy, catching up her hand and turning to walk with her, his horse plodding behind them, “you suppose there is any need to see to Bingley’s amusement.

I declare I have never met a man of such a calm temperament.

Then, there is the fact that Bingley sleeps later than I do; if we walk together for an hour, I might return after he rises, but that is not at all certain. ”

“Then I shall attribute your incivility to your eagerness to be in my company.”

“Always, my heart,” said Darcy. “I cannot get enough of you.”

Elizabeth sighed in pleasure, leaning against him and initiating another kiss.

Her boldness was the attribute of which he thought most highly, for she held nothing back, whether in her relationships with her family, defending against some perceived slight, or in their amorous activities she pursued with equal verve.

So passionate was she that he had to keep himself under good regulation to avoid anticipating their vows, not that he thought she would press so far, given her virtuous nature.

His resistance to her, however, was not so certain.

“Can you believe we shall be married in only two more weeks?” asked Darcy when they resumed their walk again.

“It seems like a dream,” said Elizabeth. “Given the length of our courtship, I must pinch myself as a reminder that our wedding is only a short time away.”

“What great length do you call it?” asked Darcy playfully. “As I recall, I asked for your hand in marriage a mere month after asking your father for permission to court you.”

“By that standard, you are correct,” replied Elizabeth. “Yet by my account, we have been courting for at least four years. I have known of your intentions since the summer before your final year at Cambridge.”

“Yes, I suppose you must be correct, although I will adjust your impression of events a little. I knew when you were fifteen that I wished to have you for a wife.”

Knowing all about his feelings as she did, it was no surprise to his future wife, though she nudged his shoulder with hers. “At that time, I was much too young to receive a proposal.”

“That explains why I held myself in check,” said Darcy. “That and my father’s disapproval.”

A shadow fell over Elizabeth’s face. The elder Darcy, a man of little warmth and no time for anything but the estate and his wish to improve the family’s position, had thought little of the neighborhood in which they lived.

The elder Darcy had never confided in his son—he was not in the habit of close relationships with anyone—but Darcy had always suspected his father of envy that he had not been born into the main family rather than a cadet line.

That might explain why he named his only son after the maiden name of the most recent mistress of the main Darcy estate of Pemberley.

How that would establish a connection to the earl bearing that surname, Darcy could not say, but he had never understood his father.

When Darcy had been a young man, he had kept any hint of his admiration for the maturing Elizabeth Bennet secret, for he knew his father would not have approved.

The possibility had even existed in Darcy’s mind that his father would threaten to disown him if he insisted on Elizabeth as his future wife; then again, with only one child, that would have been a toothless threat at best. It was not proper to wish for misfortune on another, but Darcy was cognizant that his fortunate position with Miss Bennet as his fiancée had come about only because of his father’s untimely death when Darcy had been twenty and at school.

His father had tried to raise his son to be a man of duty, to value those material things he had valued himself, but Darcy was much more his mother’s son than his father’s.

What his father lacked in warmth, his mother more than made up for it, for she was a beautiful and engaging woman.

Darcy might have wondered at the apparent disparity of their characters had he not had his mother’s testimony of her betrothal being arranged by her father.

She had not been unhappy in her marriage, but she had also not experienced that close companionship one would enjoy with a loving spouse.

Seeing this, Darcy had determined at a young age that he did not wish to emulate his parents’ union, a position his mother supported without reservation.

In Elizabeth, he saw shadows of his mother, though Elizabeth was more naturally vivacious than Victoria Darcy.

“I understand your father’s character,” said Elizabeth, drawing Darcy’s attention back from his contemplations. “That he would not have approved of me was not difficult to apprehend. What of your mother? Does she support our marriage?”

Wishing to kick himself, for Darcy knew the one matter of which Elizabeth could be a little insecure was his father’s austere ways, Darcy turned to her and lifted her hand to his lips again.

“Can you doubt it? You know my mother very well, Elizabeth—Mama loves you above all the girls of the district.”

Elizabeth regarded him, suffused with pleasure for his praise and his mother’s approbation. Yet, underneath her delight, Darcy thought he detected a hint of lingering uncertainty.