Becoming Lady Darcy Page 3

  As she stood next to him wearing his mother’s diamond and sapphire necklace, the gems sparkling and glowing in the candlelight, he could see the attention that it drew from the ladies as they walked passed or thanked their hosts for the evening, and he smiled to himself as Mrs Darcy received the recognition she deserved and accepted it graciously. His wife had received an education befitting that of a gentleman’s daughter, she had not been schooled by a governess in the unspoken and complex rules of the aristocracy, and he knew that her composure often belied an underlying anxiety of being unable to stand her ground amongst the ladies of high society. But tonight, she had been formidable – gracious, generous, funny, and attentive, and he knew, probably knew better than she did herself, that she had no need to be worried about anything.

  Elizabeth watched the dancing and clapped her gloved hands. Observing others gave her time to think, her current thought being that she must have tried too much of the food over the last few weeks as her dress felt much tighter than she remembered it being when she went for her final fitting in town with Lady Matlock. But never to mind, she could survive a few more hours of discomfort if it meant that Darcy would continue to keep looking at her like he did. Darcy and Elizabeth usually kept separate chambers, but the cramped conditions at Pemberley this weekend meant that they were breaking with social protocol and sharing for three nights. It was glorious inconvenience for Elizabeth, who loved waking up with her husband, and an even better one for Darcy who secretly loved playing the ladies maid, helping her remove her attire with all the playfulness of a naughty schoolboy.

  The evening passed in a whirlwind of introductions, reunions, laughter and food. Jane and Bingley had arrived earlier that day and happily confirmed with their closest friends and relations that they would be expecting a new addition to the family sometime in the autumn. Elizabeth was thrilled for her sister and excited about the prospect of becoming an aunt. Married life suited Jane and this happy event had made Bingley even more decided to relocate from Netherfield and further north. They had found a solid estate called Dunmarleigh in Cheshire and planned to move there before the baby was born. The distance between the sisters would now be a lot more manageable with good roads between the two residences.

  The whole assembly became aware of the good news once Mrs Bennet was informed, and no-one had seen a woman happier that evening – although Elizabeth did not know if this was a result of the baby or Darcy’s pineapple centrepiece. Either way, her mother’s nerves had absconded for one evening and this had made her company a great deal more pleasurable for all concerned.

  Elizabeth watched as the final carriage disappeared around the bend of the driveway. How beautiful her home appeared in the early days of spring, she thought. From the front of the house she could see down into the valley below and how the colours of the forest were turning with the seasons. She made her way to her chambers, slowly opening the door so as not to disturb Darcy who had retired to bed at just past four am. The clock in the room chimed to signify that it was now quarter to six, she removed Lady Anne’s necklace and placed it in the chest on her dresser, it was too early, or late, to call for her maid Ellen who would still be asleep, so she lay on the bed to rest, just for a moment. It had been such a wonderful night.

  The household began to stir, maids waking from their rest, splashing their faces, pinning their hair and running down the curling staircases of the tower, ready to light fires and prepare food for the family and their guests. Darcy awoke to see his wife sprawled out on the bed, her hair had become loose in the night spreading out over the pillow. Still fully clothed, her dress crumpled. He did not know how she could sleep laced in her stays, but it had been a long day. Leaning over gently, he stroked her face, she stirred a little, turning over so that she faced him. He adored these early morning moments that they shared.

  “I love you in this colour blue,” he murmured.

  Elizabeth awoke, but did not open her eyes. She hoped that he would go back to sleep and let her rest.

  “This blue… it’s beautiful.”

  He must still be drunk, she thought.

  “Beautiful Eliza Bennet in blue…” he said, gently tracing his finger behind her ear, tenderly pulling her to him with a hand on her waist. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her with a look of love and wonder. He kissed her tenderly on the lips, and she responded to his gentle persistence.

  “Darcy, the dress is indigo. If you are going to be painfully annoying, at least be accurate about it and make my lack of sleep worthwhile.”

  “I will be accurate about taking you out of this damn dress, for beautiful as it is, I would much rather see you out of it.”

  Quickly, potently, he kissed his wife with vigour, his hands were all over her body as he attempted to unlace the dress, Elizabeth giggling as his still-tipsy fingers fumbled over the fastening.

  “There is no need to mock me, Lizzy, I am a desperate man!” Defeated, he left the lacing and fell back on the bed exasperated.

  “There will be plenty of time for that later!”

  She kissed him firmly so that he knew she meant it, confirming it once more by looking into those dark grey eyes that could captivate her from across a room.

  “Also, dear heart, do not forget that you danced with my mother last night,” she giggled, before getting out of bed and walking over the window. “I was expecting you to be more than a little delicate this morning.”

  The drapes were still closed, but she opened them in a dramatic move that let mid-morning sunlight spill into the room.

  “Oh, oh good god in heaven, I danced a reel.” He placed his head in his hands. “With your mother.” He turned to face her, looking absolutely mortified. “Did Georgiana laugh?”

  “Hysterically, particularly as you forgot the movement more than once,” Elizabeth said. “But I suppose I will forgive you for being such a liability on the dancefloor, as you are so very good at so many other things.”

  Darcy attempted to pull his wife towards him, but she pushed him back on the bed, “there will be time for that later! You forget that we have guests to entertain and a full afternoon of leisurely pursuits planned – and I’m sure I can recall that you promised my mother to dance another set with her this evening after dinner.”

  Elizabeth disappeared into the dressing room, pulling the bell to call for Ellen, glancing back around the door frame she grinned at her husband with his tired face and ruffled hair. Darcy fell back onto the soft feather pillows and groaned. He pulled the blanket over his head and resolved never to drink again.

  Two

  The girl stood in the porch dwarfed by her huge suitcase. It seemed as if one wrong word would cause a waterfall of tears to cascade down her face, but she had a resilient little lip that stuck out firmly, and she held her breath, scared to make a sound in case those sad little sobs and sniffles escaped without her permission. In her hand she held Jane, stroking the golden polyester locks of her dolly as if they were rosary beads and she was absolving herself of a great sin.

  She didn’t know where her other dollies were. Grandad Duke took her hand and squeezed it gently, leading her up the stone steps, through the big rattling door into the entrance hall and then up more stairs into the crackling, musty warmth of the drawing room. She had never been here before without Mummy, or Daddy, or Charlie. The room was dark, but the windows sparkled like jewels from a storybook. Grandad Duke passed her a cup with Vimto in it. She liked Vimto. Mummy liked Vimto too. Where was Mummy? Her lip wobbled and the cup fell to the ground with a smash.

  Maggie Wickham watched the new arrival from her position on the bright gallery where she was furtively spying on the new girl. What a wild-looking thing, she thought, with her curly hair and her mis-matched clothes…and she had wellies on. Yellow ones. Maggie was nearly ten and considered herself to be very grown up indeed. She had already decided that she would look after Elizabeth Darcy, whether she wanted looking after or not, and got very cross when Winston and her mum found
it funny. Jumping down from the ledge, she nudged against her little brother who was racing cars down the wooden floorboards.

  “Come on, Matty,” she ordered, grabbing his hand and pulling him off the floor. “Let’s go and meet our new friend.”

  The room at the back of the house was light and airy and it had, at some point in the past, been the head housekeeper’s room, although it had been the ‘shop’ for as long as Maggie or Lizzy could remember, Mrs Reynolds always preferring the small snug next to the estate office, from where she could see everything and get everywhere quickly. She walked over to where Lizzy was busy packing away her Lady Darcy tour information, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated on squeezing too many leaflets back into the purple plastic box.

  “Here you go, your ladyship!”

  She handed her a large mug of coffee emblazoned with Colin Firth’s face and ‘I Love Mr Darcy’ on it.

  “Thanks, Mags. I am absolutely parched!”

  Lizzy took a large swig and grabbed her bag from behind the counter, rummaging about in its murky depths.

  “If you are looking for your Jammie Dodgers my wonderful niece stole them when you were out doing a meet and greet with the Barnabus group,” Maggie grinned, rearranging some guidebooks that weren’t in their proper places and tidying up a display in the centre of the room.

  She paused for a moment to take stock of the day; it had been the busiest of the season so far, and they had been rushed off their feet since the gates had opened. Poor Harriet had been serving afternoon tea all day in full regency costume and had suffered in the underground heat of the tea room on this uncharacteristically hot Saturday in April.

  “Don’t worry though, I sent her upstairs early with a two pieces of chocolate fudge cake.”

  “Which she will have eaten all to herself,” Lizzy chastised, before posing dramatically on the ticket desk, hand swept over her face like dramatic heroine. “Nobody suffers like I do, Miss Wickham. No-one.”

  “Wow,” Maggie said straight-faced. “And get your bum off the desk, you’re meant to be setting a good example!”

  “Crikey, who to? Anyone who thinks I’m a good example must be mad!”

  “Well, that’s what I thought…” Maggie handed her an official looking envelope. “This arrived for you today.”

  Lizzy jumped down off the ticket desk and stared at the envelope, her heart pounding out of her chest. The envelope felt thick and heavy, with the official mark of the publishing house she had sent a short story to a few months before.

  “Is it what you have been waiting for?”

  She nodded, and ripped into the envelope, pulling out the paper and scanning the words. Her face immediately fell.

  “Is it a no?”

  “Thank you for your submission, but unfortunately we are not accepting new manuscripts for publication at present.”

  “Oh, Lizard…” Maggie reached over and took the letter. “Which story?”

  “Trick of the Light.”

  “Well, I liked it, apart from the bit where his mum turned out to be his sister…”

  “His mum wasn’t his sister,” she shrugged. “But if I can’t get you to read it then I obviously have no chance getting an editor to read it, do I?

  The walkie talkie blared from behind the counter with the code ‘Oscar Isaac’, Maggie took a deep breath and sighed.

  ‘Oscar Isaac’ meant that someone, somewhere was very unhappy and wanted to vent their frustrations to a figure of authority. She hated dealing with guest complaints, especially when people were shouting, as they often did.

  “Don’t worry,” Lizzy said, placing her cup down and grabbing a Pemberley postcard, “I’ll go.”

  Relief swept throughout Maggie’s whole body, she wasn’t the best at dealing with any kind of confrontation, taking every criticism against Pemberley as a very personal slight.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, you know Lady Darcy always impresses any cantankerous customer. At least it will give Joyce less points to poke me with,” she took a final slurp of her coffee. “Don’t worry, Mags. I’ll sort it out.”

  Maggie smiled to herself, Lizzy Darcy could be about fifteen different people in one conversation, but she always so fantastically Lady Elizabeth when it mattered. She watched as Lizzy charmed the elderly lady with a serene smile and a coupon for a free cake, before taking some photos with the rest of the party, telling them information about the house, and hugging and laughing with them as if they were old friends. She could always rely on Lizzy to smooth over any guest issues with a Darcy smile and a few kind words, and she wondered what she would do if at some point in the future they weren’t working together.

  The moon was high in the sky as Maggie and Lizzy finished their second bottle of wine and nibbled the cold remnants of their takeaway, eating as they did on the small slope directly in front of the south front of the house – the Pemberley View, immortalised in countless paintings, pictures, and on film. It was wonderfully warm, the fragrance of the coming summer held in the air like a promise and small fairy lights, leftovers from a wedding the previous weekend, twinkled in the bushes to the right of them.

  “I can’t believe this is our last pizza…” Lizzy sighed, coating the final slice of thin crust Hawaiian with garlic mayo and folding it over, the greasy sauce dribbling down her fingers.

  “I hope you’ve enjoyed it,” Maggie replied, popping a garlic mushroom in her mouth. “No more takeaway deliveries to Pemberley, it said. It doesn’t work with the aesthetic!”

  Lizzy sniggered, how ridiculous; she knew full well that this rule had come straight from the top, from the Boss Lady with the angry face and the strict observation of the rules.

  “She should eat some pizza once in a while,” she said bitchily. “Needs a little bit of fun in her life to quell the upsurge of wrinkles.”

  “Lizzy…” Maggie rolled her eyes, “you know she is only doing her job.”

  “Her job is not to boss me about though, is it?”

  “Her job is to look after all of this! You need to cut her some slack occasionally.”

  “I don’t know what Joyce’s problem is. It’s not like I’m going to whip my boobs out and start running through the flowerbeds.”

  “Are you not?”

  “Of course not! Well, not again anyway…” Lizzy harrumphed. “But if she is looking for historical accuracy then every Darcy I have ever read about always thinks it’s a brilliant idea to dance on the front lawn,” she slurped her wine.

  “I agree with you. Even Mr Darcy used to get drunk occasionally…judging by his wine ledgers anyway.”

  “He also looked nothing like Colin Firth.”

  Maggie shook her head. The portrait of the real Fitzwilliam Darcy, painted by an artist when he was in Rome, hung on the grand staircase. It showed a young man with a furrowed brow, dark eyes and a chin you could cut glass with. Whilst he wasn’t an unattractive man – and Maggie secretly had a bit of a crush on him – he wasn’t as handsome as casting directors wanted the public to believe.

  “They still haven’t moved that painting of Colin Firth from outside my front door.”

  “You can put it in my bedroom if you like!”

  Maggie remembered the height of Darcymania, the shrine that had appeared around the portrait of the fictional Mr Darcy that Winston had convinced the production team to donate to the house.

  “You will have to prise it out of Joyce’s cold, dead hands, I think! That’s the thing, isn’t it? A book is life with the boring bits taken out, but Austen took out some of the more dramatic bits. The bits that come after the happy ending.”

  “Do you have proof of these dramatic bits?” Maggie asked teasingly.

  “I might do.”

  Lizzy folded her arms, her chin jutted out and she sat on the rug, indignant, the true Darcy inheritance streaking across her face.

  “Come off it, Lizzy, if there was any evidence of Darcy and Elizabeth doing anything particularly extraordi
nary then we would have known about it long ago.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “All those researchers from Austenation squint over the archives every year trying to find some more information about them. The only thing they found of any interest was that Darcy spent three grand on a pineapple, which he didn’t even eat!”

  Lizzy loved the story of the pineapple, which had been passed down as family lore for generations, and finally confirmed by receipts, housekeeping journals and the discovery of a pewter pineapple stand in one of the rooms off the service tunnel.

  “You know what,” said Lizzy, still laughing. “I bet I fell asleep one-night reading Jane Austen fanfiction and got all confused. It sounds like something I would do, doesn’t it?”

  She got up from the rug on the lawn, collected the rubbish in the carrier bag she had brought with her, after fighting to remove it from her trouser pocket, and began the short walk back to the house.

  “I’m off to Bedfordshire,” she said, turning. “Goodnight, Miss Wickham.”

  Lizzy did a little curtsey and began laughing again, her loud, boisterous boom echoing against the sandstone walls, ricocheting down into the ravine, piercing the silence. Maggie watched as Lady Darcy stumbled towards the house, clanking the gate loudly, singing a song, finding herself hilarious. Maggie wondered if there were actually any letters at all; she grabbed her bag, slipped on her shoes and made her way through the rose garden and back to the flat above the stables.