Darcy and Elizabeth- Answered Prayers Read online

  “It would be better if it rained,” Lizzy said, looking at the clouds gathering behind the manor house.

  Following her gaze, Aunt Gardiner indicated that her niece might just get her wish.

  As they made their way down the graveled path, Lizzy was asked what she knew of the Lord of the Manor.

  Surprised by the question, she was unsure about how to answer. “I claim no special insight into the man. I imagine he is very like most men of his class. He goes where he wants, does what he wants, and gets what he wants when he wants it.” Except in his choice of wife.

  “Were you not often together in Kent?”

  Very often. Lizzy pictured Mr. Darcy at church, Mr. Darcy in the park, Mr. Darcy in the parlor at Rosings, and most particularly, Mr. Darcy at Hunsford Parsonage.

  “Yes, we did see a good deal of each other. Much to my surprise, the Lucases and I were often invited to dine at Rosings Park, the home of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

  “During your time together, did your opinion of the gentleman change? Did he improve upon acquaintance?”

  Lizzy had to admit that he did. Part of her reappraisal was a result of Mr. Darcy’s convivial relationship with Colonel Fitzwilliam, his attention to the sickly Anne de Bourgh, his toleration of the most objectionable behavior from his aunt, and his deep attachment for his sister. She did not mention Mr. Darcy’s treatment of George Wickham in executing his father’s last will and testament. Mr. Wickham had repaid Mr. Darcy’s honesty by attempting to elope with his sister for the purpose of gaining control over her considerable inheritance. Lizzy had completely misjudged Mr. Wickham’s character, and in doing so, had injured Mr. Darcy.

  “That is quite the list for a man whom you were determined to dislike.”

  Lizzy smiled at her aunt’s comment. “When we were at Rosings, Mr. Darcy complimented my playing on Lady Catherine’s excellent instrument and my fine singing voice. Such a man cannot be all bad. Obviously, he has excellent taste.”

  “How do you account for the alteration?”

  “I do not know that he did alter. It was a matter of his being comfortable amongst his company.” Lizzy paused before continuing. “But is that not true of all of us? When I am at Longbourn, I am quite different from the Elizabeth Bennet one sees at assemblies. I am much less guarded.”

  “Is it possible you misjudged him?”

  “I do not like to think my first impression of the gentleman was a rush to judgment,” Lizzy said, smiling weakly, “but the possibility does exist.”

  “Then why should we not tour the manor house where this enigma lives?”

  Looking at the darkening skies, Lizzy advised against it. “There is a storm coming, and if it rains as hard as it did in Matlock, then we could be stranded.” Although Lizzy wished to leave, she could see how eager her aunt was to tour the manor. As a girl growing up in nearby Lambton, Aunt Gardiner would have heard much about the Darcys. “If we are to do so, we must go quickly or we must leave.”

  “Then quickly it is. Mr. Gardiner!”

  * * *

  As soon as Darcy stretched out on the bed, he thought sleep would overtake him, but his mind was distracted by the young woman in the garden. There was something familiar about her.

  Her walk… Yes, her walk… It reminds me of Elizabeth Bennet when I first saw her walking towards Netherfield.

  On that day, unaware she was being watched, Elizabeth had playfully hopped from spot to spot as a way of avoiding the puddles created by the previous night’s rain. Enchanted by her playfulness, Darcy found himself smiling. It would not be the last time.

  At that time, I had no idea I had fallen under Elizabeth’s spell and that she was the woman I would ask to be my wife. When exactly did I fall in love with her?

  Darcy placed his hands behind his head and continued his reminiscences, but when the clock chimed the passing of half an hour, he was no closer to an answer than when he had begun.

  I cannot fix the day or the hour when I fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet. I was in the middle of it before I knew it had begun.

  Darcy thought about the time they had spent together at Netherfield whilst Elizabeth had nursed her sister. This daughter of a gentleman farmer would not be put down by the better educated and more fashionable Bingley sisters and had succeeded in deflecting their barbs and challenging their assumptions. Nor for that matter would she allow his opinions to go unchallenged. He remembered a healthy debate regarding what constituted an accomplished woman. By her reasoning, she had demolished the narrow parameters he had established for the fairer sex. Furthermore, she had derided him for his lack of compassion for those who had lost his good opinion and insisted that there was a time and place for follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, even if such antics earned the disapproval of those of elevated rank. Her eloquent arguments had won the day, and his views had changed because of her.

  Rising from his bed, he walked to the window and looked out into the garden. As he did, he felt his heart stop. What he saw in Pemberley’s gardens was not a stranger, but Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. “Blast! Is every woman in the country to remind me of Elizabeth?” he said aloud.

  “Did you call, sir,” Mercer asked, appearing from an anteroom.

  “Mercer, are you still here?”

  “It would appear so, sir.”

  “If you are determined to disregard my orders, then I shall put you to good use. Look at that woman—the shorter of the two—and tell me if she reminds you of anyone.”

  It did not take long for Mercer to come to the same conclusion as his master. “She reminds me of Miss… She reminds me of Mrs. Collins’s friend.”

  Darcy smiled. “You need not avoid saying Miss Elizabeth’s name. The sting has gone out of my rejection by that lady.” But not the heartache.

  “I definitely see a resemblance to Miss Elizabeth,” Mercer said, nodding in agreement.

  “I wish she would remove her bonnet.”

  “That would be helpful, and I do believe…that the miss is removing her bonnet.”

  Both men moved closer to the window. With noses pressed to the glass, they declared, in unison, that the woman was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  “What in the dickens is she doing at Pemberley?” Darcy asked.

  An equally surprised Mercer mumbled the only thing that came to mind: “Curiosity, sir? After all, she was to be the mistress of this great estate.”

  Darcy shook his head. “The lady did not give one second of thought to assuming such a role. Quite the contrary. She dismissed my proposal before I had even finished making her an offer.”

  You are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

  Knowing the anguish his master had suffered as a result of the lady’s refusal, Mercer offered to tell Mrs. Reynolds that the visitors should not be permitted to tour the mansion. “Mrs. Reynolds can use the excuse that a storm is on the way and that she does not wish to see the visitors stranded. As you know, when we crossed the Wye, the river was quite high.”

  “True. But I shall tell Mrs. Reynolds myself. And, Mercer, if you are here by the time I get back, you will answer to a very angry master.”

  “Another five minutes and I’ll be done, sir.”

  “See that you are.”

  While Darcy went in search of Mrs. Reynolds, he heard a clap of thunder. The storm was moving their way.

  * * *

  Darcy easily found the housekeeper, her whereabouts revealed by the clinking of the keys at her waist.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, I was watching our visitors from my window, and I noticed that the gentleman was overcome by the heat, so much so that he sought shelter under a tree. The young woman was in distress as well as she found it necessary to remove her bonnet.”

  “It’s the humidity, sir. With a storm coming, there’s no getting away from it,” Mrs. Reynolds answered. “It would be best if they were on their way. I know that they are staying at the Inn at Lambton, so it’s just a short ride. Sha
ll I see that their carriage is brought ’round?”

  “I was thinking more on the order of offering them refreshments in the breakfast room, that is, after they have finished a tour of the house.”

  Mr. Darcy’s response was completely unexpected. With the sound of thunder growing louder, it was best for all concerned if the visitors made haste to Lambton.

  “Are you sure, sir? If this storm is like the one we had the day before yesterday, we could be in for it.”

  “You said the couple was from London, did you not?”

  Mrs. Reynolds acknowledged as much.

  “I would not want to disappoint them as they have come so far to see the manor house. Please see to it, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “But do not mention that the master is at home.”

  “I never would, sir.”

  “Very good. One other thing. Please have Cook send up a pot of tea for Mercer. He is unwell.”

  “To his room, sir?”

  “He had better be in his room, or he will hear from me.”

  * * *

  Jackson had only just sat down when the master knocked on the door to the butler’s office. Seeing the look of surprise, Darcy offered his apologies for his early arrival.

  One of the difficulties in having a staff that made Pemberley hum like a mechanical wonder was that the senior servants did not like surprises. Even though he had absolutely no doubt that every preparation had been made for the arrival the next day of his sister and the Bingley party, having the master in the house before he was due would have every servant, from scullery maid to butler, scurrying about as if a member of the royal family had arrived on their doorstep without notice.

  “There is no need for concern. I have already spoken to Mrs. Bradshaw about supper. Mrs. Reynolds knows that I am here, and now you do as well. There is only one thing that I need to bring to your attention. There are visitors in the garden, and they will soon be touring the house. After the tour, I have asked Mrs. Reynolds to arrange to have lemonade served in the breakfast room.”

  “Lemonade, sir? For travelers?”

  “Yes, I know it is unusual, but it is such a hot, humid day. We can’t have our visitors fainting in the foyer, now can we?”

  “I can’t remember another time—”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Jackson. It is without precedent, but there is a first time for everything.”

  “Your father and mother never—”

  “I understand that my parents chose not to serve refreshments to tourists. However, Lady Anne has been gone for ten years and my father for five. You cannot accuse me of being overly hasty in making one or two changes at Pemberley.”

  “There is a storm coming and—”

  Darcy let out an exasperated sigh. “You know what they say about the weather in Derbyshire: if you do not like it, just wait a minute. It will change.”

  “I thought that was a quote about London, sir.”

  “Jackson, sometimes you are entirely too literal.”

  * * *

  As soon as Jackson heard the door close to the master’s room, he went in search of Mrs. Reynolds. As he entered the housekeeper’s office, Mrs. Reynolds smiled. She had been expecting him.

  “Visitors in the breakfast room drinking lemonade! What next? A tearoom in the conservatory where we sell shortbread and raspberry jam? A souvenir shop where paintings of the manor house are for sale? Trinkets on display in a glass case?” Jackson harrumphed.

  “Mr. Jackson, I know all about the visitors having lemonade in the breakfast room.”

  “I do not understand it. I hope this is not the start of throwing open the doors of Pemberley to hoi polloi. I have no wish to be seen as competition to Matlock.”

  “I think you can set your mind at ease. I believe the invitation has more to do with a pretty young lady touring the gardens than Mr. Darcy turning Pemberley into a shop for travelers.”

  “What pretty young lady? Surely, not the one who broke his heart?”

  Although not a word had been said by the master to his servants, both Jackson and Mrs. Reynolds had seen a changed man when he had returned in April from Kent. Mercer, who was known to share an anecdote or two about Mr. Darcy, had been as tight-lipped as a clam about their visit to Rosings Park, both master and servant wearing doleful countenances upon their return from the South.

  In June, after seeing Georgiana settled with her Aunt Marguerite, Darcy had traveled to the West of Ireland, ostensibly for the purpose of purchasing horses. When he returned—horseless—the master’s disposition remain unchanged. Pemberley’s two most senior servants had come to the conclusion that there was only one thing that could bring their master so low: unrequited love.

  “I think it’s a good sign that a lady has caught Mr. Darcy’s eye.”

  “Please, Mrs. Reynolds, do not let your imagination run wild,” Jackson said, taking a chair opposite to the housekeeper. “Mr. Darcy has only seen the lady from his bedroom window.”

  “That is true. But what he saw, he liked. Do you remember what it was like to have a woman capture your attention?”

  “Yes. But the woman in question had sense enough to marry another.”

  “Knowing how serious you take your position at Pemberley, Miss Elgin understood that you were incapable of serving two masters,” she said, chuckling at her little joke.

  “You are right there, Mrs. Reynolds. Miss Elgin was not shy about letting me know when she was unhappy,” Jackson said, laughing. “But if I take your meaning, you are saying that our master wishes to spend a few hours admiring a pretty lass. No more, no less.”

  “Well, it can’t be anything more, now can it? He doesn’t know the woman. To my mind, there’s no harm in looking, and it’s the first time I’ve seen the master smile since spring. As far as I am concerned, that is well worth the price of a jar of lemonade and a plate of shortbread.”

  * * *

  As the Gardiners and Lizzy climbed the steps leading to Pemberley’s grand entrance, they felt the first drops of rain.

  “Aunt, I really do think we should go back to the inn,” Lizzy said as they waited for a servant to answer the door. “I am concerned that if the storm lingers, we shall have to remain here for hours.”

  “I do not think that would be such a terrible thing.”

  Lizzy’s furrowed brow indicated otherwise.

  From Elizabeth’s continued protests, Aunt Gardiner was beginning to think that something else was at play. “Elizabeth, is there something you have not told me about the owner of this great estate?”

  Lizzy was prevented from answering by the arrival of a footman in Darcy livery who led them into the great hall. Looking quickly about her, she did not know what to admire first: the dual wrought-iron staircase, niches adorned with Greek statuary, artwork by the masters, a Gobelin tapestry, a painted cupola… It was too much to take in.

  From a hidden door nestled between the dual staircase, the housekeeper emerged, and the smile on her face told Lizzy that her entrance was something she enjoyed doing—a little surprise to start off the tour.

  As she had done whilst visiting the public rooms at Blenheim and Chatsworth, Lizzy oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments, but this time, she meant it. The décor was understated but elegant, and there was an openness about the rooms that contrasted with so many great houses where no hard surface went without some sort of display, be it a figurine or an exhibition of fine drawing by one of the ladies of the house.

  Once in the gallery on the first floor, Lizzy walked between portraits of Mr. Darcy’s ancestors. As in all families, some were more handsome than others, but Nature had been truly kind to Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy. Unlike her dark-haired, dark-eyed son, the lady had light hair and light eyes. The setting for the painting was Pemberley’s terrace. The painter, Thomas Gainsborough, had used the outdoors to compliment an already beautiful woman.

  “I see that you admire this portrait, miss,” Mrs. Reynolds said, addressin
g Lizzy. “It is a portrait of my late mistress, Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy, and was painted in 1786, two years before the artist’s death. There is another here,” she said, pointing to a family portrait. The portrait showed Old Mr. Darcy, his wife, a young Master Fitzwilliam Darcy, and Miss Darcy, a child of perhaps one year. “This family portrait was painted in 1783, when the current master was about ten years old and his sister just a wee bairn. There is another, later portrait, but it is in the master’s private rooms. Shall we continue?”

  Mrs. Reynolds’s answer was a clap of thunder, and a concerned Elizabeth looked to her aunt.

  “Perhaps we should conclude the tour, Mrs. Reynolds,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “With the rain coming down, it is probably best that we return to the village.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t rush off just because of a passing storm. I have arranged for lemonade and shortbread, a particular favorite of the master’s, to be served in the breakfast room. It is from that room that you can see a small private garden that is not open to the public.”

  Lizzy looked at Aunt Gardiner, and with an almost imperceptible shake of the head, let her aunt know that the offer should be declined. Before an answer could be given, the housekeeper turned on her heel and was leading the party of three down the staircase.

  “Apparently, it was a rhetorical question,” Aunt Gardiner whispered. “We are commanded to have lemonade and biscuits. We dare not say no!”

  In the breakfast room, Lizzy took a seat closest to the window so that she might admire the Darcys’ private garden. With the rain now cascading off the roof, she abandoned any idea of returning to Lambton. She could only hope that the storm would be a late afternoon soaking so common to this part of England—or so they had been told at Matlock and Chatsworth and Dovedale.

  As she nibbled at her shortbread, Lizzy watched as her uncle’s head began to bob, his attempt to stay awake a lost cause, and his head fell back until it settled on the crown of the chair.

  “Lizzy, your poor uncle is in need of a rest,” Aunt Gardiner said, looking sympathetically at her sleeping spouse. “He is completely exhausted from our travels.”

  “If the weather does not improve, he might be sleeping in that chair for the remainder of the afternoon.” And the thought of lingering so long caused Lizzy to frown, a reaction that did not go unnoticed.