Chapter 8

8

J uly 1812 - Derbyshire

Four long months passed since Elizabeth was in Kent. Almost daily, she asked herself what Mr. Darcy could have possibly meant when he said he wished she loved him. Was he so grateful for her comforting care that he imagined himself besotted? Was that the cognac talking? Or could he be seriously inclined toward her?

After she had returned to Longbourn, she was barely able to eat. Sleep was impossible. Each time she closed her eyes, the sound of the wood breaking under his weight woke her in fright.

As the days passed without any news, Elizabeth took it upon herself to warn her father about Mr. Wickham. She spared any personal details, only suggesting that her father inquire amongst the shop owners as to any uncollected debts that could leave local businesses in distress when the militia left for their next assignment. The results were as Mr. Darcy reported. Tales of loose living and debauchery guaranteed that the officers would no longer be welcome at Longbourn, much to Elizabeth’s happiness and her younger sister’s displeasure. The engagement between Mr. Wickham and Miss Mary King was terminated.

During the ensuing months, she scoured the gossip columns, hoping they reported Mr. Darcy’s reemergence into society. Nothing. Fortunately, there was also no mention of Mr. Bingley’s attaching himself to someone other than Jane. Had Mr. Darcy been able to speak with his friend?

Elizabeth just wanted to know something. Anything!

She heard from Charlotte only once, exactly two weeks after Elizabeth left Kent. Charlotte duly reported that the colonel removed Mr. Darcy from Rosings Park to his London house for treatment from the Fitzwilliam family physician and surgeon. What followed was a list of complaints to Charlotte from Lady Catherine about her nephew’s absence since she considered herself an authority on everything, even wound care. Mr. Collins was frustrated that his patroness did not trust him with news of the happenings of her household. Elizabeth was ashamed to admit that she felt the same.

If only someone, anyone, would let her know about Mr. Darcy.

The opportunity finally came when Edward and Madeline Gardiner arrived at Longbourn.

“Come with us to Derbyshire, Lizzy. We will tour the Peaks and Lakes before traveling to Lambton, where I was raised. We can tour some of the great houses like Chatsworth, Matlock, and Pemberley. Do say you will come.”

Elizabeth could not believe the offer was being made to her instead of Jane. Before her uncle Gardiner could change his mind, she replied, “Yes, I would be happy to accompany you and uncle.”

Edward and Madelaine Gardiner were excellent people. As the younger brother of Elizabeth’s mother, he understood the chaos reigning in Longbourn’s parlor. Over the years, they often had the two eldest accompany them on their travels. This time, Jane would remain behind to care for the Gardiner’s four children. Elizabeth would finally have an opportunity to discover what happened to Mr. Darcy.

In truth, nightly, she dreamed of him, striding purposefully toward the Gardiner’s carriage, extending his hand to assist her from the conveyance. Or he would see her strolling Pemberley’s gardens from a distance, kick his horse to a gallop to join her, slide from its back, and warmly welcome her and her family to his estate.

She hoped her dreams were real.

When she asked the servant at the inn in Lambton whether the Darcy family was in residence, the only reply she received was a “No, ma’am.”

Elizabeth lived for four months with anxiety bearing down upon her. Of course, she excused her concern as being Christian kindness, treating others as you would have them treat you. Nothing more. It was not as if she was in love with him or anything. Impossible!

Elizabeth scoffed. Only to herself did she admit that she cared about what happened to Mr. Darcy. But how much did she care? Did she love him like he had asked? She simply could not say.

Tying the dark blue ribbons under her bonnet, she donned her gloves. Within the next thirty minutes, she would see Pemberley. At last. Her aunt Maddie was just as eager to see the estate but for entirely different reasons.

“Lizzy, I have not been to Pemberley since my father sold his apothecary business to Mr. Smythe the year before I married your uncle. Although we were all impressed with Chatsworth, Pemberley is equally grand, or maybe grander. Of the Darcys themselves, I have never met the son or daughter. However, I was in company with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy on several occasions and observed the conduct of their son. When Papa attended to Mrs. Darcy during her illness, she always made me feel welcome. Her son, the present Mr. Darcy, was at least a decade younger than me. Yet, he was a polite boy. Very quiet. And very concerned about his poor Mama. Once a year after the harvest, the Darcy’s hosted a celebration. The whole community was invited. There was music and dancing, games for the children, plenty of food, and gifts for everyone. In fact, I think I still have a doll I received from Mrs. Darcy when I was about eight years old. I think it is in a box in the attic. I shall need to check when we return to London. My memories of this place are pleasant.”

They boarded the hired barouche with a collapsible hood, and Elizabeth sat opposite her aunt and uncle. Tucking the skirt of her favorite day dress under her legs in case a breeze blew into their uncovered vehicle, she waited to see if her aunt would say more about the property. Or the family.

Instead, her aunt asked questions that Elizabeth hoped to avoid. “Tell us about Mr. Darcy, Lizzy. Your letters reported that he was in Hertfordshire last November, I believe. What sort of man is he?”

Elizabeth’s hands trembled. Tightly squeezing her palms together to keep them still, she measured her breaths to slow her racing heartbeat. Where she had thought of Mr. Darcy daily, she had spoken of him to no one, not even Jane.

She trusted her aunt and uncle implicitly. Nevertheless, she was unable to put her feelings into words. Therefore, she reported occurrences as she remembered them. “My first impression of him was that he was the most prideful, arrogant person I had ever met.” She paused. “No, I am not correct. That impression came later. In truth, my very first impression was when he entered the Meryton assembly with Mr. Bingley and his family. He stood at the back, surveying the crowd. Mr. Darcy is strikingly handsome. Very tall with broad shoulders. His hair is dark and wavy. His blue eyes are piercing. What struck me was how unhappy he looked to be at the assembly. Where Mr. Bingley was all smiles, his friend appeared to be dour. It was not until months later that I learned the reason for his discomfort.”

“What was it, Lizzy? Was he in ill health?”

“No, Aunt. You see, whispers of his circumstances met him at the door. Mama and Charlotte’s mother were loudly guessing his annual income and how they might benefit by throwing one of their daughters at him.”

“Oh, no, Lizzy. The poor man.” Her aunt sympathized. “And poor you. You must have been mortified.”

How like her aunt to consider the reactions of others, which was why Elizabeth strove to be like her in conduct and attitude rather than imitate her mother.

Edward Gardiner, a businessman of excellent repute, added, “Do not distress yourself, my dear ladies. It is often this way, for has not my sister always said that a single man in possession of a fortune must be in want of a wife?”

“Yes, Uncle.” The reminder of how often her mother’s conduct embarrassed her added to Elizabeth’s discomfort.

He continued, “And I must say that it worked well for me. Within a month of receiving the first revenue payout from my initial investment in the shipping business, I met my sweet Maddie. After twelve years, I cannot imagine my life without her.”

She patted her husband’s knee. “Thirteen years, my dear.”

Her uncle blushed. “You are correct, as always.”

As they entered the park surrounding Pemberley, Elizabeth could not help but note the warm affection and respect between Edward and Madeline Gardiner. She knew that they shared everything. Her uncle routinely discussed his business with his wife. She supported him in every way possible. Elizabeth yearned to have the same level of closeness in marriage someday.

Her aunt gestured toward the approaching structure. “Once we cross this bridge, we are on Pemberley estate.”

The park was large, containing a great variety of foliage. They entered at one of its lower points and drove for some time through a beautiful wood that stretched across the western border of the valley. The road wound through the valley, tracing a path next to a wide lake where ducks paddled and swans glided over the pristine water. Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation. Every view was stunning.

In the distance, she could see a man and a lady astride two powerful mounts, galloping across the field. Peering as closely as possible, it was easy to determine that the man was not Mr. Darcy.

“What do you think of Pemberley?” her aunt asked.

Turning in her seat, Elizabeth gaped at the sight. Pemberley. Situated above the valley, surrounded by a ridge of forest-covered mountains, sat a large, handsome stone building.

Holding a hand to her chest, she said, “I have never seen a place for which nature has done more.”

Her uncle noted, “Or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. You did not exaggerate, Maddie. Pemberley is superior to both Chatsworth and Lyme Park.”

Impressions overwhelmed Elizabeth. How Pemberley perfectly reflected its master. Mr. Darcy. Stately, handsome, and powerfully built, just like his house.Without closing her eyes, she could still recall the strength in his arms as he carried her back to Netherfield Park.

When they descended the hill and crossed a bridge over a stream that ran from behind the house to the lake, the apprehension of finally learning what happened to Mr. Darcy unnerved her. Surely, he had to be well, for who else had the skill to manage such a property?

Her heart was in her throat when they pulled up to the door. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the hall, and Elizabeth, while waiting for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being where she was. Through the window at either side of the front door, she admired the lovely prospect. As they were guided through the public rooms of the house, from every window, there was beauty to behold.

The rooms were lofty and handsome, and the furnishings suitable to the fortune of their owner. Where Longbourn was cozy, Netherfield Park, formal, and Rosings, extravagantly gaudy, Pemberley was elegant.

Running her hand over the waxed surface of the grand staircase banister, Elizabeth’s emotions warred within. She wanted to be in Mr. Darcy’s house to satisfy her curiosity about his lifestyle and to get to know him better by surveying his surroundings. At the same time, she wanted to rush away before she learned that he continued to suffer or that he cared nothing for her.

Strolling through the long picture gallery, Elizabeth stopped in front of a large painting of a younger Mr. Darcy, likely done soon after he left university.

Her aunt asked, “Is this a fair likeness, Lizzy?”

“It is.” The artist captured his subject’s chiseled features, including the warmth of his eyes. “He is more mature in his looks now, Aunt. I suspect that this is likely a result of carrying the responsibility of his estate by himself.”

The housekeeper asked, “Do you know my master, miss?”

This was it—the moment when she would learn Mr. Darcy’s fate.

Breathing deeply, Elizabeth replied, “My family estate is only three miles from Netherfield Park, where Mr. Darcy was a guest of Mr. Bingley and his family last autumn. I saw him again in Kent this spring.”

The housekeeper’s hands flew to her cheeks. In almost a whisper, she asked, “What did you say the name of your family estate is, miss?”

She had not said, of course. But there was no harm in sharing the information, so she said, “Longbourn.”

The housekeeper asked for her name.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The elderly woman gasped. “Thank the Lord!” Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, she glanced at Mr. Gardiner. “Come with me, all of you. I beg you.”

Pulling on Elizabeth’s hand, they hurried down the grand staircase, through an arched doorway, down a long corridor only to stop in front of a set of heavy French doors.

“My name is Maude Reynolds. I have been employed at Pemberley since the master was four years old. I have never had a cross word from him in my life. If I had traveled throughout the world, I could not have met with a better master. I have always observed that those who are good-natured when young are good-natured when they grow up. Mr. Darcy was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world. I would do anything for him. The rest of the servants here and at Darcy House in London feel the same.”

Elizabeth was astounded. What happened to cause this loyal servant to plead for her assistance, for in every way, that is how matters felt to Elizabeth. Before she could gather her composure, Mrs. Reynolds rapped on the door.

“Enter.”

Her breath caught. It was him.