11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

E lizabeth sat on a stone bench overlooking the lake, pulling her cape a little tighter around her shoulders as her eyes lost themselves in the rippling reflections. Her thoughts swayed between sadness and solace when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps along the path behind her. Startled, she turned, expecting a servant, but instead saw Mr Darcy approaching with another man—a stranger.

Darcy's expression was formal, as ever, and his bow stiff. "Mrs Darcy," he said, his voice level. "May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth blinked and then brightened slightly at the name. "Colonel Fitzwilliam?" she repeated, standing to greet him. "Captain Darcy spoke highly of you."

The colonel, a man of average build with a thoughtful, dignified bearing, offered a polite bow in return. His countenance was softened by the black armband he wore, a silent reminder of their shared grief. "And I am equally pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs Darcy," he said, though his eyes flicked briefly to Darcy. Elizabeth noticed the exchange between the cousins—a glance passed as if Darcy had offered an unspoken caution, and she wondered at it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to acknowledge Darcy's restraint, but he returned his attention to her, greeting her with a warmth that relieved some of the knots in her stomach. "I am sorry we meet under such circumstances, but I am glad to finally be introduced to the lady who... well, who has joined our family."

"Thank you, Colonel," she replied quietly. "I am honoured."

An awkward pause hung in the air, the colonel shifting slightly. Darcy remained nearby, silent and watchful. The swelling grey cloud that often accompanied his presence seemed to linger, and Elizabeth began to feel the familiar anxiety stirring in her chest. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to notice, though, and he was quick to change the tone of the conversation.

"Tell me, Mrs Darcy, where does your family hail from?" he asked, leaning casually against the stone that had been her seat, as if inviting her to ease into the conversation. "I understand you are not from Derbyshire?"

"No," she replied. "My family lives in Hertfordshire, at a modest estate called Longbourn. We are... provincial by comparison to Pemberley, I fear."

The colonel appeared delighted by her response, casting another glance at Darcy, who stood with his arms crossed, his face inscrutable. "Provincial?" he echoed, his voice light with amusement. "I find that hard to believe. I've always thought the charm of smaller estates lies in their simplicity and warmth. Tell me, do you miss it?"

Elizabeth hesitated, feeling the full weight of that question. "Very much so," she admitted, though she was careful not to allow too much emotion to creep into her voice. "But I suppose anyone would miss the familiarity of home, when thrust into such... grand surroundings."

"Grand surroundings, indeed," the colonel said, glancing around them. "Pemberley does have a way of making everything else seem... less." He leaned in conspiratorially. "But I gather you are adjusting well, from what I can see?"

Elizabeth could not help but smile, even as her eyes flicked toward Darcy. "Am I? You must be quite observant, Colonel, for I feel as though I am still finding my way around both the house and... other matters."

"Ah, well," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied with a grin, "the mark of a good officer is to observe without being noticed."

Elizabeth let out a quiet laugh, one of the first genuine ones since her arrival. It was a relief to speak with someone who didn't seem to carry the same oppressive gravity that her husband brought into every room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, despite his military bearing, was light-hearted and easygoing. He was more like Harry in spirit, and that thought warmed her.

"You were stationed in Chatham, as I recall. Is that so, Colonel?" she asked.

The colonel straightened in some surprise. "Why, yes, I was. Intended to remain there all winter, and quite sorry for myself over it. Harry was the lucky one, stationed in London since May, after his stay on the Continent, the blighter."

She smiled faintly. "I believe he arrived in July, Colonel. And if one accounts for the summer heat, perhaps he did not have the better assignment. I daresay Chatham at least catches a breath of the sea breeze now and again."

"Indeed, it does. There it is—I cannot even complain because you have found me out. What of you, Mrs Darcy? I let my own tales run on without pausing to listen to yours. Tell me, are you fond of walking? I imagine the grounds of Pemberley are quite different from those you've explored before."

Elizabeth breathed a little, glad for the change of subject. "I am, though I have not had much chance to explore the grounds yet. What little I have seen is beautiful, but I imagine it will take time to truly know this place."

Darcy shifted from one foot to the other, drawing her eye to him. There was something rather odd in his gaze just now—she would almost call it protective or disapproving or… well, she could not quite read it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a knowing nod. "Yes, Pemberley does have a way of revealing itself in layers. Every time I come here, I find something new—though I expect you will know it better than I in no time."

Elizabeth smiled, warming to the colonel's easy manner. He had a way of drawing her out, encouraging her to speak with a familiarity that felt natural rather than forced. "I hope so," she replied softly. "It is certainly a place worthy of admiration."

A brief silence followed, heavy with unspoken grief. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam shifted the conversation again, his tone lighter. "I understand you were lately in London. Do you prefer it to the countryside?" He leaned against the low wall near her bench. "Or is the quiet appeal of the country more to your taste?"

Elizabeth let out a soft laugh. "The quiet does have its appeal, especially when compared to the bustle of London. There, it is easy to feel one is constantly being watched or judged." She paused, her smile faint. Oh, she had felt very judged in London. "The countryside offers privacy, a kind of sanctuary."

"Privacy is indeed a rare commodity in the city," the colonel agreed with a nod. "I must confess, I prefer the freedom of a long ride in open fields myself."

"Captain Darcy once mentioned you rode well. He said you were the only man in uniform who could keep up with him."

Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Ah, Harry had a tendency to embellish, but I thank you for the compliment on his behalf. He, however, was the better rider by far. He made it seem effortless." His expression softened with a touch of sadness as he added, "There was a lightness about Harry, wasn't there? He had a way of making even the most difficult situations bearable."

"Yes," Elizabeth murmured, her throat tightening at the memory of Harry's ready laughter, the way he had seemed to put everyone at ease. "He did."

"So," the colonel continued, shifting to stand more comfortably beside her, "did Harry ever regale you with tales of my many misadventures in the army? He had a particular talent for making me the subject of his stories—whether true or exaggerated."

Elizabeth raised a brow. "Oh, he may have mentioned a certain incident involving a horse that nearly threw you into a stream—though he insisted he was blameless in the matter."

"Ah!" Colonel Fitzwilliam threw his head back with a laugh. "Blameless, was he? Typical! Let me assure you, Captain Harold Darcy had a knack for trouble. He decided it was a fine time to start a race while I had only just mounted my horse. And I nearly ended up in that stream, though I suspect that was his intent all along!"

"I can imagine him doing just that," she said, shaking her head fondly. "He had quite the mischievous side, didn't he? Though I imagine you gave as good as you got."

"On occasion," the colonel admitted with a grin. "Though, more often than not, Harry managed to outmanoeuvre me. There wasn't a dull moment when Harry was around. He could charm anyone, from the lowliest private to the general himself. But there, I suppose that is enough talk of… of horses and whatnot." The colonel swallowed.

Elizabeth glanced over at Darcy, who remained silent but was watching them intently. The colonel followed her gaze, stiffening as if realising he may have overstepped.

Darcy cleared his throat and stepped forward, his expression tightening. "I believe it is time to return to the house," he said, his voice a little too firm to be entirely polite.

Elizabeth blinked, her enjoyment of the conversation abruptly cut short. He left little room for argument in his stiff posture. There was nothing to be done but to nod in acquiescence.

"Of course," she said, her voice more subdued than before. She turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam, her smile faltering. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Colonel."

"And with you, Mrs Darcy," he replied, though his smile seemed tempered.

Darcy extended his hand to escort her, and though she took it, there was a slight chill between them now. She could feel the warmth of the conversation dissipating as they walked back toward the house, the noose of her new life tightening around her neck once more.

" Y ou were flirting with Mrs Darcy!" Darcy accused, his voice low but unmistakably sharp. "I warned you to be polite, but I never imagined you would be... whatever that was. I tell you, it was indecent! Harry gone barely a fortnight, and you flirting with…" He broke off with a hiss and a growl.

The drawing room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, but the warmth of the setting did little to ease the underlying friction between them. Darcy sat upright in his chair, his back rigid, trying to keep control over the frustration simmering inside him. He had been calmer since Elizabeth had left to retire upstairs, but now, with Richard sitting across from him, that calm was slipping away.

Richard raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-sip to lower his glass and stare. "Flirting, was it? Well, I would never claim to be anything less than charming," he replied with a smirk, though the humour quickly faded as he saw Darcy was in no mood for it. "But really, you think I was trying to woo your wife? Even you cannot be so blind."

"And what, precisely, do you mean by that?"

Richard sighed, setting his cup down with deliberate care. "I was testing her," he said, leaning forward as if to emphasise the point.

Darcy's eyes narrowed further. "Testing her? In what way?"

"I wanted to see if she was genuine," he said. "Or just another pretender. You know the type—a fortune-hunter or an adventuress, someone who finds a wealthy family to attach herself to and takes advantage of the situation."

Darcy crossed his arms, almost afraid of what was coming next. "And?"

Richard lifted his teacup again, taking a slow, deliberate sip before answering. "She's authentic."

Darcy's brow furrowed in surprise, though he tried to maintain his composure. Somehow, he had expected to hear the opposite. "What makes you so certain of that?"

"Because that story she told about the horse was true," Richard replied, setting his cup down again. "She also knew I had been stationed in Chatham, and she corrected me when I gave the wrong date for Harry's return from Spain. Unless you've been sharing personal details about Harry and me with her, which I doubt, those are things Harry must have told her himself."

Darcy felt a flicker of something—relief, perhaps?—but he did not allow it to show. He kept his arms crossed, his expression neutral. "Go on."

Richard leaned forward once more, his voice lowering slightly. "And there's something else. The way she spoke about getting to know the estate... there was humility in it. She wasn't pretending to know more than she did, wasn't putting on airs, and isn't trying to elevate herself. She's no adventuress, Darcy. But she is hiding from something."

Darcy's frown deepened. "What makes you think that?"

"It was in her face when I mentioned London. Whatever happened there—she's happy to be away from it. Happy to be here, at Pemberley, where no one can reach her. She's keeping a low profile for a reason."

Darcy grunted, leaning back in his chair. "That is no surprise," he muttered. "We both know why she would be happy to escape that sort of gossip."

"Indeed," Richard agreed, his tone more serious now. He glanced down at his cup before continuing, "But what are you going to do now? You are married, and quite stubbornly so. You've got a problem on your hands, one that's going to become very obvious to the world soon enough. The earl is not going to be pleased, to say nothing of the rest of society."

Darcy's skin crawled at the mention of the looming consequences. The Earl of Matlock, not to mention Lady Catherine and others, would certainly have opinions once word spread. But it was Richard's next question that sent a jolt through him.

"Do you expect to find any measure of happiness in this marriage, Darcy?" Richard asked quietly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "To make all this suffering and trouble worth it?"

Darcy swallowed hard, his pulse suddenly loud in his ears. His hand gripped the teacup tighter than necessary, and for a moment, he could not speak. Happiness? That was not even a possibility in his mind.

"No," he said, his voice flat and final.

Richard studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure about that?" he asked carefully. "The lady seemed rather forthright and intelligent. Sensible of her circumstances but willing enough to smile. She wasn't a punishment to speak to or to look at. Just because she isn't an heiress—"

Darcy cut him off, the words coming out more sharply than he intended. "She is carrying Harry's child, Richard. That is all that matters."

The room fell silent, the finality of Darcy's words hanging in the air like a lead weight. Richard said nothing for a long moment, his eyes darkening with understanding. Darcy set his cup aside, no longer able to stomach the tea.

"I will give her what Harry could not," Darcy continued, his voice low, almost bitter. "That is my duty. And that... is the end of it."

E lizabeth stood before her wardrobe, staring blankly at the few gowns she had brought from Longbourn. Her fingers drifted to the satin hem of one—a gown with a torn bodice that had been damaged... on another occasion. She sighed.

Well, there were still two hours before she had to dress for dinner. Perhaps she could mend it, but really, what was the point? What did it matter what she wore when her husband scarcely looked at her and seemed content to keep her hidden away, shut in her room?

No, that was unfair. He had told her they would be having dinner with the colonel. Had given her the option of whether she wished to join them—they would honour the dictates of her feelings on the matter. Perhaps she might be too fatigued, he had suggested.

Too fatigued for a dinner in her own home? She could endure that, surely! The colonel, at least, was good company, and with him there, Darcy would be forced to speak. That would be better than sitting alone in her room again, staring at the walls, the suffocating silence around her. Her world had shrunk to that small, stifling space—her isolation at Pemberley pressing in on her more each day.

Elizabeth rifled through the remaining gowns. She had little that suited a formal dinner—nothing like the gowns of silk and satin worn by fashionable ladies of London. Her husband had mentioned sending for a modiste soon, but even the prospect of new clothes did not excite her vanity. What she craved was some sense of belonging, perhaps some gowns that made her feel part of this new role she had been thrust into, rather than the intruder she feared she was.

Her hand fell on that evening gown—once the best one she owned, now a sad ruin of stitches and muslin. If she sat down with her needle now, perhaps the damage could be repaired, hidden…

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Startled, Elizabeth turned toward the door. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Mrs Reynolds, and behind her, a stately older woman whom Elizabeth did not recognise.

"Mrs Darcy," Mrs Reynolds began with a curtsy, "this is Mrs Watson." She gave no further explanation, merely glanced between the two women before excusing herself.

Elizabeth stared after Mrs Reynolds for a moment, baffled by the sudden introduction. She looked back at the woman, who had stepped inside and was now watching her with a small smile.

"Mrs Watson," Elizabeth repeated, carefully masking her confusion. "I... forgive me, but I did not know I would be expecting… a guest."

"No trouble, madam," Mrs Watson said, folding her hands in front of her. "Mr Darcy sent for me. I am here to assist you." Her smile remained, serene and polite, but Elizabeth noticed a curious note of familiarity in her voice.

"To assist me?" Elizabeth echoed, still unsure of the woman's purpose. Perhaps she was a trained lady's maid? "I see. And to what do I owe this... attention?"

"Mr Darcy asked that I attend to your well-being, madam," Mrs Watson replied, taking a seat across from her as if she had done this many times before. "He expressed some concern for your health."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. Of course. More of his excessive attentions. "My health?" she repeated, frowning slightly. "I assure you, I am quite well."

Mrs Watson's smile softened, but she remained where she sat, composed and patient. "That is good to hear, madam. Though I was informed that you had been feeling unwell yesterday—perhaps a bout of fatigue or... other symptoms?"

Elizabeth's frown deepened. "I believe I can safely say I was only overwhelmed," she said slowly. "The journey was rather long, and I had not eaten since daybreak, but I assure you, there is nothing amiss."

Mrs Watson nodded, her gaze still fixed kindly on Elizabeth. "Overwhelmed, perhaps, by your condition?"

"My… condition?" What condition could the woman possibly be referring…?

Oh.

The blood drained from her face as realisation suddenly dawned on her. "Wait... you are not under the impression that I am—"

Mrs Watson blinked in surprise, her smile faltering. "Mr Darcy did mention... well, that is to say, it is not so unusual for a young bride..."

The rest of the woman's words faded into the background as Elizabeth's head spun. Her stomach clenched, her heart pounding in her ears. Darcy believed she was pregnant? That explained the constant coddling, the hovering servants, the endless attention to her every need.

That explained why he had married her. He believed she was with child.

Harry's child.

"Oh," she whispered, taking a shaky step back from the woman. "Oh, no!"

Mrs Watson rose, alarmed by Elizabeth's sudden reaction. "Madam, please—"

Elizabeth held up a hand, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. "No, please, Mrs Watson. Forgive me. I must... I must speak with Mr Darcy."

Without another word, she hurried out of the room.