Chapter 8

On the Road to Pemberley

Derbyshire

18 th November, 1812

Elizabeth swayed slightly as the Fitzwilliam carriage rounded a curve. Outside, the Derbyshire air was chill, the sharp nip a reminder of the approaching winter, but inside the carriage, a hot brick and several rugs kept the inhabitants cozy and warm. Across from her, Mr. Fitzwilliam and his wife, Anne, sat holding hands and conversing softly. Elizabeth herself was entirely occupied with watching out the window and her own thoughts.

Recent events had been both unexpected and wonderful. She smiled to herself as she remembered Jane’s wedding a few weeks previously. How radiant her sister had looked, in soft sky blue and white lace. How adoring Mr. Russell had been as he took the hand of his new bride. Elizabeth was confident of her dear sister’s happiness; while Mr. Russell was only a man of trade, he was sensible, honorable, and wealthy enough to support his wife and any theoretical children. He valued Jane in a way that as Mr. Bingley had not.

Elizabeth was now relieved that the master of Netherfield had not returned to Netherfield Hall. Mr. Russell, strong of will and devoted to his new wife’s interest, was a better match than the pliable Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth’s mind now turned to Anne’s letter, in which the heiress of Rosings had disclosed her secret marriage to Mr. Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth had been entirely pleased with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners and character during their short acquaintance and knew that he would be an excellent husband to the oppressed Anne. He would decisively handle his autocratic mother-in-law and be an excellent master of Rosings. Elizabeth grinned at the thought of Charlotte Collins’s likely feelings when she eventually heard the news that Rosings would shortly have a new mistress. For all that Charlotte was a phlegmatic and calm woman, she also had to be annoyed with Lady Catherine, who gave a great deal of ridiculous and overbearing advice. Anne Fitzwilliam would be a far better patroness than her mother.

Elizabeth had, of course, been surprised at Anne’s invitation to visit the great estate of Pemberley with the newlywed couple and had accepted with eager alacrity. She was excited at the prospect of seeing new regions of England on the journey north, along with spending time with her friends in the fabled Pemberley.

Only one cloud marred her current horizon, the anticipation of seeing Mr. Darcy after he had been so disagreeable to her and her family in Meryton. Pemberley was his house, and it was thus inevitable that they would be required to spend at least some time together in company. Still, he was a gentleman, even if he was a proud and unpleasant one. At worst, they could avoid each other most of the time. The house was, she had heard, very large.

He would be an improvement on Wickham, certainly. Darcy was often stiff and proud, but he was not a snake and a rogue, like the former militia officer. Wickham had not merely slandered Darcy, but Miss Darcy, claiming that she was as toplofty as her brother. But Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke of her with great affection, describing her as young and shy and sweet, and Elizabeth looked forward to meeting her.

As eager as she was to reach Pemberley, she was greatly enjoying the journey north itself. The day was glorious. The sky above was a deep azure, puffed with washed-wool clouds. The trees beneath stretched in the sunshine, some with bare gray branches, others still stunningly clothed in yellow and orange and deep scarlet red, while faint puffs of dust rose from under the briskly spinning wheels.

“This is the lane to Pemberley,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, and Anne and Elizabeth both peered out the windows as the carriage turned onto a well-tended road that threaded its way through vast and impressive forests until the mansion came into view.

It was as grand as had been promised, the broad stone face of it glowing golden in the sunlight, the myriad glass windows winking like jewels. The lengthy sward in front of it was crunchy and dun with the turn of the year, though no less impressive for its lack of green. A stream tumbled along at the foot of the lawn, swelling into a lake that would be, Elizabeth thought, excellent for fishing, if one felt so inclined. Behind the house, situated halfway up its hill, forests marched like a lady’s skirt train, to vanish over the bluffs. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and beside her, Anne gave a very soft, “ Oh! ” despite having visited Pemberley previously as a child. Elizabeth, gazing upon Pemberley House and its surroundings, could only concur with her friend’s amazement.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of the mansion, and a moment later, a liveried footman opened the door. Richard spryly descended and then helped out his wife and Elizabeth. Both ladies found themselves craning their necks as they looked around, and Anne said, “It has been so long since I have been at Pemberley that I had forgotten that it is even more impressive than Rosings.”

“It is bigger, perhaps,” a deep male voice said, and the visitors turned as Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped into sight, having apparently just returned from the stables, as he was clad in riding attire.

“Darcy,” Anne said, stepping forward and holding out her hands. “Thank you for allowing us to visit.”

“It is, of course, my very great pleasure,” he replied with surprisingly gallantry. “Richard, Anne, many congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Richard said with a nod of the head. “You remember Miss Bennet, I believe?”

Darcy turned toward Elizabeth and bowed. “Of course. Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bennet.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. It is wonderful to be here.”

“Shall we enter so you can refresh yourselves?” Darcy suggested. Richard nodded and took Anne’s arm, and Elizabeth, watching with approving eyes, noticing how gentle he was with his new wife as he guided her up the half flight of stairs which led to the great front door.

“Miss Bennet?”

She looked with surprise at Mr. Darcy, who was holding out his own arm and, with some discomfort, took it, and together they began climbing the steps behind the Fitzwilliams.

“I hope your journey was a pleasant one?” Darcy asked courteously.

“Yes, very much, thank you.”

“I hope your family is well?”

Elizabeth hesitated and then said, “Yes, very well. My elder sister Jane was married only a month ago to a fine man in London.”

She felt the gentleman jerk slightly and turned her head to look up into her companion’s face. He definitely looked startled, but managed, within a few seconds, to say, “Many congratulations to your sister.”

“Yes, we are all delighted for her. Mr. Russell is a splendid individual, very steady and committed to his new wife.”

This was, Elizabeth knew, a slightly discourteous jab at Mr. Bingley, but she could not regret it when she observed Mr. Darcy’s face tinge just slightly red. They reached the open door at this moment, and Elizabeth proceeded into the large vestibule, which was currently occupied not just by the married Fitzwilliams, but by an older woman, a servant by her garb, along with a tall, blonde woman of some sixteen years dressed in pink muslin.

“Georgiana,” Richard said, turning toward Elizabeth. “Please, allow me to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, Miss Darcy.”

The ladies curtsied, and when Elizabeth had achieved her full height again, she found herself gazing at Miss Darcy, who was herself looking at her brother, her blue eyes uncertain.

“We are both very glad to have you here,” Darcy said firmly, and Georgiana nodded fervently and said, though in a near whisper. “Indeed, we are so very pleased to have visitors.”

“Allow me to escort you to your rooms,” the older woman said, and Elizabeth obediently followed the woman, whom Mr. Fitzwilliam referred to as Mrs. Reynolds, up a sweeping staircase and into a wing of the great house, which was obviously meant for guests.

The housekeeper opened a door, and Elizabeth stepped inside, looking around curiously. The room had been done up all in peach and light brown, the cushions on the chairs a sensible dark tan that would hide light dirt, with needlepoint covers of pink roses laid across the tables, and curtains of a soft orange-pink hung at the windows. Currently they were pulled back to show the sweeping views beyond the panes, a riotous wilderness of bare tangled branches and vines and brilliant autumn foliage. A ribbon of stream glittered silver and gold in the distance before vanishing between two small hills.

“Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Reynolds said, and she turned to see a young maid standing next to the housekeeper, dressed neatly in a mob cap and apron. “This is Sally, who will serve as your personal maid during your time at Pemberley.”

Elizabeth could not help but sigh in wonder. She knew that her own family was a wealthy one, as the Bennet estate of Longbourn earned two thousand pounds per annum, but she had never had her own personal maid at home, only sharing a single maid with her sisters. It was an indication of the Darcy wealth that a guest would have her own personal maid.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I am grateful.”

“When you are ready, she will guide you to the east sitting room to join the family for tea,” Mrs. Reynolds continued and retreated out the door as Sally stepped forward and said, “May I help you change out of your traveling attire, Miss?”

“Yes. Thank you, Sally,” Elizabeth said.