Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (14 page)

Casual conversation flowed amongst
the foursome, mixed with laughter and the occasional lull.

It was in one of the latter that
Lizzy turned to Darcy and murmured, “We never made it past your letter to Miss
Darcy. Is that as far as you got?”

Darcy chuckled. “No. I may be a
slow writer, but not that pathetic. Next was a letter to Mrs. Reynolds. The
staff must be alerted, of course, and there are a number of preparations
necessary to conclude before we come home.”

“Home,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Yes,
Pemberley will be home. I suppose I shall have to acclimate to that.”

He squeezed her hand. “I am not
insensitive to how difficult leaving Longbourn for Pemberley will be,
Elizabeth. I shall do all in my power to ensure it is a smooth transition. As
will Mrs. Reynolds. Most of my letter involved instructions to accommodate your
personal comforts.”

“Oh my! I pray you did not
insinuate I require much! I do not wish to impose—”

“You are to be my wife and the
Mistress of Pemberley. Nothing you want or need shall
ever
be an
imposition. But, if it reassures you, I only ordered simple tasks, such as
cleaning thoroughly, airing out my mother’s chambers, resupplying the dressing
room that shall be yours, and so on. Mrs. Reynolds would have done this whether
I asked or not. She is phenomenally capable, and her happiness that I am
finally to be wed will rival Georgiana’s.”

“You speak of her with great
affection, as she did you during our tour of Pemberley. I sensed a caring
beyond what one typically sees from a servant.”

“I was four years of age when Mrs.
Reynolds secured the position after Pemberley’s previous housekeeper, Mrs.
Sutherland, passed on. She never blatantly assumed a parental role, but due to
my mother’s illness, often she was the only female adult I could turn to during
my formative years. She is warm and compassionate, and severely loyal to Pemberley
and the Darcy family. I have learned to rely upon her gentle touch for myself,
and especially with Georgiana.”

“Then I shall try not to worry over
Mrs. Reynolds being burdened. Her assistance in helping me adjust to life at
Pemberley will be appreciated.”

Unable to resist, he reached up and
twisted an errant curl around his finger. “You will love living at Pemberley, I
promise. Do not hesitate to tell me if there are any particular wishes or items
you want purchased or, well, any supplies proper for a lady. My knowledge of
feminine requirements is woefully inadequate.”

“I will keep it in mind, thank you.
So, were your letters of instruction completed? Or are there others in your
employ to be raised to a dither and sent scurrying about?”

“The rest were family, although I
cannot claim none shall soon be scurrying about. I do hope a few might make the
journey to meet my bride.”

“My interest is piqued, William.
The only relatives I have heard mentioned are Colonel Fitzwilliam, his parents,
and Lady Catherine. Oh, and Miss de Bourgh. I saw the family tree tapestries
hanging in the foyer of Pemberley and was overwhelmed by the Darcy lineage. I
guess the recent generations were lost to me amid the vastness of your
ancestry. Have you so many kinsman close to you?”

Aside from the occasional comment
by Mr. Bingley, who had met a few of Darcy’s relatives, Jane and Lizzy listened
in amazed silence as Darcy summarized his immediate family. He began with his
father’s four siblings, those whom he had written to first.

His father’s favorite sister, Darcy’s
Aunt Estella, lived with her husband, Mr. Xavier Montrose, and their children
and grandchildren, in Devon near Exeter. He was confident that they would
attend the wedding, or at least make an attempt.

Dwelling in Manchester, his Uncle
Phillip was not awfully far away, yet the likelihood of him or his family
coming to the wedding was slim. Born when Darcy’s father, James, was sixteen,
the brothers had never been overly intimate. Darcy barely knew him or any of the
cousins.

The eldest of James Darcy’s
siblings was Darcy’s Aunt Mary, the Baroness Oeggl. Even though Mary had dwelt
in Austria with her husband, Baron Oeggl, and their children and grandchildren for
all of Darcy’s life, they had managed to visit each other from time to time.
Darcy was quite fond of them. While doubtful they would travel to England so
near winter, it was possible a couple of his cousins might, so he had already
dispatched the missive via private courier.

As for the last sibling, and the one
who had been dearest to both of his deceased parents’ hearts, his Uncle George
was unquestionably the one most willing to move mountains to be at Darcy’s
wedding.

“It is strange that somehow I know
this,” he murmured. “The truth is, I am not close to my Uncle George. Nothing
amiss or to be guilty of in that assessment, you understand. George has lived
in India as a practicing physician with the British East India Company since I
was a baby. His return visits to England, only three of them, have been under…unusual
circumstances.”

Deciding it was far too complicated
and personal to dive into at the present, Darcy left it at that. “Suffice to
say, our personal relationship has never flourished into true intimacy. He is
brilliant and a good man, but eccentric and reckless. Over the years we have
corresponded regularly, and as much as possible within letters, my fondness for
my uncle has grown. George cares for me as well, although how much of that is
based on my own merits or due to being the son of his favorite brother, I
cannot say.”

Darcy pointed out that no matter
how swiftly dispatched, an invitation would reach India long after November the
twenty-eighth. Dr. George Darcy would
want
to be at his nephew’s
wedding, Darcy was sure of this, and therefore would be the most heartbroken at
missing it.

“All I can do is pray my lengthy
letter rich with details will soften the blow.” Darcy did not elaborate that
the pages had been filled with gushing enumerations of his joy, praise for his
betrothed, and rapturous assurances of how her excellence would, in countless
ways, positively affect George’s namesake, Georgiana, and Pemberley.

“Once finished with those, it was
after noon. My desire to be here, on this path with you and enjoying the fine
autumn weather, overruled the desire to inform my mother’s side of the family
of our engagement. Time enough for that tomorrow.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam will be top on
that list, eh, Darcy?”

“Do you know the colonel, Mr.
Bingley?” Elizabeth asked before Darcy could affirm his friend’s query.

“We have met on several occasions,
yes. Capitol chap. Dissimilar to Darcy in temperament, but the two are thick as
thieves.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam is my cousin,”
Darcy clarified to a confused Jane. “He is nearly three years my senior, but
our families live less than ten miles apart in Derbyshire, so we grew up
together. His father, the Earl of Matlock, was my father’s oldest and dearest
friend. His lordship’s sister, Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, and my father, James,
fell in love when quite young. They married a few years after my Uncle Malcolm,
that is Lord Matlock, married Lady Madeline Hamilton, one of my mother’s dearest
friends. Rather cemented the relationships, I suppose, but as Bingley said,
Richard is a capitol chap, so my affection for him is based on more than shared
blood—when he is not driving me insane, that is.”

“Yes, I seem to recall an undertone
of familiar sparring between you two.” Lizzy laughed at Darcy’s long-suffering
sigh. Turning to Jane, she said, “I met Colonel Fitzwilliam while in Kent this
past spring. A most amiable gentleman with a delightful humor.” Darcy frowned,
but Lizzy did not appear to notice. “We conversed a great deal, although he
never mentioned his kinship to Mr. Darcy. It was a surprise to me when I
learned of it.”

She did not ask aloud if his cousin
knew of their history, but Darcy could see the unspoken question in her eyes.
He inclined his head slightly. “As Bingley intimated, I will write to my cousin
later. He is currently away from London, on some sort of secret military
assignment, and not expected to return for another week or more. I may wait
until I am in Town to share my news. He will be pleased to see me settled, if
for no other reason than to have something new to harass me about. He praised
your amiability and humor as well, Elizabeth, and appreciated your company at
Rosings more than you probably realize.” He smiled at the blushing surprise
crossing her face. “Our Aunt Catherine annoys him far more than she ever has
me, and he hates it when I drag him along for my visits there. Your presence
was…beneficial for both of us.”

Darcy said no more. Best not to dig
too deeply into all that had happened while at Rosings Park in Kent. And there
was no reason for her to know that Richard’s continual innocent effusions about
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had brought Darcy closer to strangling his cousin than
the worst of their youthful skirmishes ever had! Luckily, Richard was a
confirmed bachelor, so his harmless flirtations had not been too worrisome.

Another topic he had no intention
of discussing with Elizabeth now, or ever if possible, was how his Uncle
Malcolm and Aunt Madeline might react to Darcy’s choice of bride. Possible
objections to the match mirrored the regrettable words he had spoken when he
proposed at Hunsford in April. Richard’s acquaintance with Elizabeth, and
resulting excellent opinion of her, could prove beneficial in persuading his
parents.

His Aunt Catherine’s opinion on
what constituted a marriage was absolute and forever had been. There was no
question how she would take the news of his engagement to Elizabeth Bennet, and
after her unforgivable offense in barging into Longbourn, Darcy had no
intention of wasting his time with more than the briefest of letters.

Lord and Lady Matlock were
altogether a different matter. For one, other than an occasional vague comment
and the habitual introduction to unattached young ladies at any function Darcy
happened to be at, neither of them had overtly seemed concerned about his
marital status. Unlike Lady Catherine, the suggestion that Darcy marry their
daughter, his cousin Annabella, had never been broached. Affection between them
was genuine, so he knew they would desire his happiness. And, as he had told
Elizabeth yesterday, he truly believed they would adore her once they spent
time with her. How could they not?

On the other hand, Darcy knew his
uncle to be, like most English aristocrats, exceedingly proud of his title and
heritage. In essence, Darcy did not dispute this. He too was a man of ancient
lineage, with roots firmly bound to his family’s land and wealth. It was no
secret that the obligation and expectation, even if never loudly vocalized by
Lord Matlock, was for Darcy to marry well.

In Darcy’s mind, he
was
marrying well, better than he deserved or could have found amid the polished
veneer that comprised the vast majority of women in Society. Yet it had taken
him a long while, and the indictment passing the lips of Elizabeth when he
first proposed, to fully comprehend this meant more than a title or generous
dowry. Hopefully his uncle and aunt would understand, but he honestly did not
know.

“So now you know all there is to
learn of my family—”

“All there is to learn? I can think
of several dozen more tidbits to pick from your brain. For instance, you never
mentioned your other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother. The colonel is a
second son, so I presume there is another?”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed while
standing and extending his hand to help her rise, “there is. I recommend saving
your dozen tidbits for another time or we shall have nothing to talk about on
our next walk, thus left with scant to do but stare at the passing grass.”

* *
*

On Monday and Thursday, in the
minutes between three and four o’clock in the afternoon, a postal carrier
crossed the bridge over the River Derwent and passed under the massive stone
arch emblazoned with the name PEMBERLEY. He then veered toward the narrower
avenue to the north, until reaching the gigantic graveled courtyard between the
stable complex and the domestic wing of the great house. His presence was
expected, and without fail, he was greeted near the kitchen entrance by Mrs.
Reynolds, who exchanged the sack of incoming mail for an identical sack of
outgoing mail. She also routinely handed him a flagon of cold water and a tin
plate heaped with food. While the thankful young man enjoyed the nourishment,
he and his mount resting in the shade for a spell, Mrs. Reynolds immediately
retired to her office to sort through the mail.

The twice-weekly Royal Mail
shipment primarily consisted of personal correspondences from friends and
family members of the extensive Pemberley staff, as did the shipment leaving
with the postal carrier. However, it was not unusual for letters to arrive via
the general mail service for Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, or the Pemberley steward,
Mr. Keith. Of utmost importance was ensuring these three individuals be given
their mail before anyone else in the household.

This long-ago established post
routine for Pemberley was rarely deviated from. Conversely, the arrival of
dispatches sent by special courier was impossible to predict.

If able to afford private delivery,
as Mr. Darcy of Pemberley certainly was, that avenue was preferred due to the
frequent delays and mishaps plaguing the Royal Mail system. Pemberley’s butler,
Mr. Taylor, and the footmen who were under his jurisdiction never knew when a
rider may gallop up to the front entrance of the manor, so there was always
someone standing at attention in the vaulted, massive foyer just in case.

On the day Darcy’s letters to
Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds arrived at Pemberley, the footman Rothchilde was on
duty as sentry. Diligent to the serious task of delivering any missive from Mr.
Darcy, Rothchilde enlisted the aid of fellow footman Phillips to hand carry the
envelope addressed to Mrs. Reynolds. Neither footman knew precisely where she
might be at that exact minute, but Phillips hunted her down to the main linen
closet on the second story.