Becoming Lady Darcy Page 6

He nodded never averting his gaze from the crowd.

  “Occasionally.”

  “You were rather good as Heathcliff, I must admit.”

  He nodded again, saying nothing.

  “I’m really looking forward to seeing what you do with Fitzwilliam, he is –”

  “Lady Elizabeth,” he said somewhat contemptibly, staring at her as if she were the offensive cheese scone. “I know full well who Fitzwilliam Darcy is and his connection to you.”

  Leaving his plate on the table he walked away, just as Matthew started his speech and called for the presence of Mr Darcy to the sound of cheers and claps from the party guests. He disappeared into the gardens, ignoring the shouts to come up on stage; his absence soon forgotten after a drunken gaffer shouted out.

  “His diet pills haven given him the shits – he’s on the bog.”

  Lizzy didn’t understand why he felt the need to act so very rudely, but she did see the almost unnoticeable shard of sadness that momentarily crossed his face as he retreated, and she began to think that maybe he was simply misunderstood.

  “Lizzy, how the devil are you, old girl?” Charlie grabbed her in his embrace and gave her the biggest hug, practically lifting her off the tiled floor. “I say, it has been a bloody long time since I have seen you outside of weddings and funerals.”

  “I know, I miss you!”

  She genuinely had. Despite growing up in different parts of the country, they had always kept in touch via letters and phonecalls, then emails and IM, before it became Skype and WhatsApp – Winston had always made sure they visited Charlie on St Andrews Day at Eton, and he always made sure that he gave her the pre-requisite birthday punches that he owed her from the month before. She kept her arm wrapped around him, as they walked over to the bar.

  “Have you not brought Emma with you?”

  “No, of course not, she is at a retreat in Geneva with Mufty and Portia, and then she is off to Norway for a few weeks.”

  He swigged at his whiskey, waving at a pointy looking red-haired girl with a sour look on her face, before handing her a large glass of something pink as they squeezed past some baby-faced ingenues and a few faces she recognised from past productions.

  “She will back for a fortnight before the boys are back at school and then we’re all off to the villa to stay with Dad.” They pushed past people trying to make their way from the bar, “are you and Harry coming too?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lizzy laughed, “we’re always there for the last two weeks of summer. Idiot.” She rolled her eyes at him, “How’s Imogen been?”

  “Back in rehab, not sure what for. Dad has managed to keep it all out of the press so that’s a relief,” Charlie downed his whiskey, “he just doesn’t want her to end up like Aunty Julia.”

  “How many husbands now?”

  “Four. The latest is some Count from Bordeaux.”

  “After her money, obviously?”

  “They always are. She’s done more for European relations than the EU.”

  “At least they don’t write about her in the papers anymore, not now they have Imogen to gossip about.”

  The older Darcy siblings had always been publicity-shy, never truly understanding their little sister’s desire to always be in the spotlight, and she became a frequent topic of conversation between them.

  “Promise me you will come to town soon, I want you to come and see the boys. It all would have been so much easier if you had married that chap from the City and moved into the old house like you wanted to, I could have seen you so much more if you were in Chelsea.”

  “You could see me plenty if you ever answered my FaceTime calls. Besides which, don’t you see enough of everyone else?”

  “I do, but it’s not the same, is it? We’re the originals, me and you. Joe and Imogen are good kids, but they’re kids, they never spent time at Pemberley like we did. They don’t get it.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  They walked under the porch, sitting on the stone seats, gazing down the driveway. The view never changed; to the right were the majestic Victorian stables with their squeaking weathervane, to the left the formal gardens were gated off and suitably stately, straight ahead lay the Cage, the deer herd, and the way out. Still the same as when they were children, it had been here that they waited for Winston to bring out kites in the early bluster of autumn before Charlie went back to school, or in the long, hot summers when Mrs Reynolds would carry trays of clinking glasses filled with ice and lemonade.

  “I took the flowers for Mum,” he said. “The ones from Dad were

  already there. Roses, as usual. It looked nice, as nice as it can look, I guess.”

  “Thank you for doing that.”

  She snuggled into her older brother, remembering all the times when

  they had held each other close, how much she missed him.

  “I’m starting to forget her,” she said.

  “I’ll help you remember if you want,” a tenderness in his voice as he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her cardigan in tight against the cool breeze sneaking through from over the moorlands.

  “Old enough to not quite remember, but not small enough to forget.”

  “You were very little, Lizard.”

  Once again, it was as if they were small children, motherless and alone, clinging to each other in confusion, where he had plastered on his public-school bravado and put on a brave face for his little sister. It was what a Darcy did, he was told, so he never really stopped, except for moments like this when he felt that he could.

  “Right, Lady Liz, enough of this. Let’s go and get you a massive cocktail!”

  “Sounds like a plan, Lord Darcy. Nobody loves a free bar more than a member of the aristocracy, especially impoverished ones who live ‘above the shop’.”

  “Quite rightly! Speaking of which, is the esteemed Duchess drunk yet?”

  “Leathered.”

  “How wonderful, I hope Dad has booked her a car because she isn’t sharing mine.”

  “Where is Dad? Did he not fancy it?”

  “An evening with Carol? Not likely!”

  Inside the courtyard she could see Matthew talking to Benn Williams, who has reappeared and looked furious. He gestured in her general direction causing Matthew to look at her somewhat angrily. Lizzy felt annoyed at this hostile move, but inside her head she laughed it off. Silly arrogant man, she thought, before taking her brother by the hand and returning to the dancing, laughter and singing.

  1811

  The last month of the year was passing in a flurry of excitement and activity, with Mr, Mrs and Miss Darcy eagerly anticipating playing host to their greatly extended family. This was Elizabeth’s second Christmas as Mrs Darcy, the first spent away in the Lake country in a blissful honeymoon state, where the newlyweds had little regard for any festivities apart from each other. However, this year was different, and Darcy was determined to make Elizabeth’s Christmas at Pemberley a most joyful occasion, especially as the birth of their first child was imminent. For Georgiana this would be her own first Christmas spent in the embrace of her new family, and she was excited to spend time with people her own age, as well as those that she truly loved.

  The Bennets, including Kitty and Mary, who had recently become engaged to a well-spoken, well-read pastor from Kent, were to arrive on the twentieth, with the Bingleys arriving a few days later. Charles and Jane had spent the last few months busy with introducing their new daughter to relatives far and wide, and everyone who met the strawberry-blonde haired babe declared her as beautiful as her mother and as affable as her father.

  Jane found that she enjoyed motherhood and could not think of a time when her days had been better spent, Lydia wrote to her second eldest sister to say that she had never seen Mrs Bingley look so well and it made Elizabeth ache for the arrival of her favourite sister. The Darcys were yet to meet little Charlotte Bingley and, despite letters being sent and received almost daily, Elizabeth and Darcy were both eager t
o see their new niece in the flesh.

  Fitzwilliam had taken it upon himself to supervise the preparations for the Christmas feast, as he did not want to place any undue strain on his wife. He had spent most of the last eight months fruitlessly trying to convince her to rest, which had forced Elizabeth to call Dr Jeffries who confirmed that walking, and lots of it, was good exercise for the mother-to-be and would also help with an easy birth. Elizabeth did not like to be still, he found.

  “Mrs Darcy,” he enquired as he watched her marching down the courtyard steps with an easel in the early months of October. “Where on earth are you going? Pray let Stewart or Owens take that for you…”

  He tried to take the structure and the accompanying paintbox from her but found that she resisted with a strength he had not witnessed before.

  “Mr Darcy,” she scolded. “I am not an invalid, there is no requirement to treat me as such.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said, as the under-butler came scurrying over to take the offending equipment. “I do not suggest that, I merely ask that you exercise caution due to your condition.”

  “I understand that, Fitzwilliam, but surely I am able to manage a short walk up Cage Hill to take in the bracing air. If you insist, I will allow Owens to carry the easel, but you must not worry as much.”

  Darcy looked down at his wife, she stood a head height shorter than him and later, when they were safely ensconced in the privacy of their rooms, he would pull her into his arms and the shape of her would fit perfectly into him; the babe a burgeoning wonder between them. But for now, under the gaze of their servants, he would look at her knowingly, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Wife of mine, you will surely by the death of me…”

  “Maybe,” said she. “But what a blessed life we would have had.”

  Elizabeth turned on her heel, the sound of cotton and muslin swishing as she swept across the courtyard, the feathers on her bonnet blowing gently in the breeze as Owens struggled to keep up.

  “Mr Darcy, Sir, would you like to try the millefruit biscuits before we box them up?”

  Mrs Reynolds gestured at the decadent, fruit jewelled biscuits that she was holding on the tray in front of him. Darcy could smell cinnamon and cloves, the rich, sweetened smell taking him immediately back to childhood. He remembered vividly sitting in this same room as a small boy, cuddled up on his mother’s lap as she read stories to him in her gentle, melodic voice, stroking his dark brown curls until he fell asleep sated, content and safe.

  “They were your mother’s favourite, if I remember…”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, they were.”

  Mrs Reynolds studied the gentleman before her, she had known him since his childhood and knew that he felt the loss of his mother most keenly during this season.

  “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Mr Darcy,” she said hesitantly. “But I understand why you are nervous about the next few weeks.”

  Darcy glanced up at the woman who had cared for him in those dark days after his mother’s death and gestured for her to sit, which she did before continuing.

  “Sir,” she uttered softly. “What happened with your mother was very rare, and very quick. There was nothing that could have been done that your father did not do, he would have moved heaven if he could have brought her back.”

  “Mrs Reynolds, I am…” he started before biting his lip and rethinking. “I am aware that childbirth is a risky, yet necessary event.”

  Darcy’s statement tried to disguise his inexperience, his only knowledge taken from the day that Georgiana had been born. He had been twelve years old and the sounds and cries from his mother’s chambers had terrified him. He had gained a sister that day, but his dearest Mama was gone.

  “I cannot promise you that everything will be alright with this birth, Mr Darcy, but the mistress is strong, and you have ensured that she has received the best care.” She paused for moment, trying to make him look to the future, rather than remember the past. “What I can assure you is our new young master or mistress will be so spoiled by the whole of Pemberley, as we are all of us so eager to have children in the house again.”

  She tentatively placed her hand on his knee, he covered it in his own and held it for a moment. It was a comfort. Darcy was unable to explain his underlying anguish to Elizabeth, nor was he able to disguise it from her, which meant that she had believed him to be in a foul mood for the past few months. He could not explain to her that he was filled with the insurmountable dread that in the act of bringing their child into the world, she would be taken out of it

  “Thank you, Mrs Reynolds,” he said quietly. “Your words have been much appreciated.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr Darcy,” her voice was reassuring and as she stood, she comfortingly placed her hand on his shoulder. “Now, I think it’s time for tea.”

  Elizabeth listened to her remarkably accomplished sister practice for the Pemberley tradition of carol singing on Christmas Eve, the drawing room fire was ablaze, and the room filled with servants decorating. She had been watching the preparations all day and felt exhausted at the observations. Greenery and foliage had been being prepared in the courtyard to be brought in on the twenty-fourth, whilst the smells of spiced fruits and sweet delicacies hung in the air, the drawing room had been dressed in holly, ivy and mistletoe, and all around there was a feeling of merriment and festivity. Pemberley was getting ready to welcome guests and even though she was cumbersome with child, Elizabeth was just as excited.

  “Lizzy, would you like to join me in a duet? It will sound better if you play with me,” Georgiana stated boldly.

  “Georgie, you know as well as I that I will play the wrong notes and then try to cover them up,” Lizzy grinned, as she walked over the pianoforte to look through the sheet music. “When one has four sisters it is a rare thing indeed to be able to practice as much as one would wish.”

  “If I had many sisters as you, Elizabeth, then I would never have practiced at all! There is something very lonely about being the only child in a house such as this,” Georgiana paused reflectively. “You must promise to have a whole host of little Darcy children to fill these rooms with laughter.”

  “I think I should probably concentrate my efforts on this one first before making any plans for further additions.”

  She placed her hand on her belly, now large enough to prevent her from getting into the bath without assistance or fasten her boots by herself. Georgina observed her as she wobbled uncomfortably on the chair, a hesitant question on her lips.

  “Can I touch it? Is that odd…can I ask that or am I being terribly rude?”

  Her brow creased in the same way that Darcy’s did, Elizabeth noticed. Surprising how two people could be so similar and different at the same time.

  “No, of course it’s not odd – it’s perfectly normal, in fact,” Elizabeth reassured the younger woman, taking her hand in her own and laying her palm flat on the most prominent part of the baby bump, “if we press here very gently, I think we will disturb him, and he may say hello.”

  Almost on cue, the youngest Darcy responded from inside the womb with a firm kick. Georgiana pulled her hand back, shocked by the gentle force.

  “Oh my! That was so strange! Elizabeth, I am all astonishment that you even manage to walk about with such a commotion going on in your insides.”

  Elizabeth laughed at Georgiana’s shocked face and embraced her gently. It had been wonderful to spend the last few weeks in her company, and she looked forward with eager anticipation at the months to come.

  The snow fell on Christmas morning, coating the grounds with a fine dusting of white powder. Downstairs the Pemberley servants were preparing a feast for their guests – they would have their respite tomorrow when Mr and Mrs Darcy would present them with the boxes for St Stephens Day and a full day’s holiday. The night before the families of the estate workers and tenants had queued up for joints of beef, presented to each of them by Mrs Darcy herself and Darcy had travelled in
to Lambton with hampers of food for the local tradesmen and their families. Fitzwilliam prided himself on rewarding hard work and he saw to it that everyone could enjoy the festivities of the season, not just his own family and friends.

  Darcy awoke to find Elizabeth standing by the window, they were now sharing the bed in her rooms often, and he delighted on seeing her first thing in the morning. The heavy drapes, which had been hung in preparation for her lying in, had been opened slightly and he could see the bright winter sunshine glinting through. He watched her for moment; rounded and beautiful, she meant everything in the world to him, but he tormented himself with the innate fear that he was not deserving of lasting happiness.

  The room was chilly, despite the fire smouldering away in the hearth, her skin cold to touch, and he enveloped her in his embrace. He didn’t know if he was trying to warm her up or if he was holding onto her as tightly as he would allow himself, scared that she might slip away. Sensing the tension in him, she kissed him gently on the nose. He closed his eyes, somehow scared to open them in case she had gone. She intertwined her fingers in his; his hands were much larger than hers, and she always felt delicate when he took her hand in his as he had done now. He held her hand firmly, as if the slightest move to relinquish his hold would cause him to lose her forever.

  “Are you alright, my love?”

  “Of course, my dearest.”

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you hold the livelihoods of hundreds of people in your hands, and you are not yet thirty years of age.”

  “I find I am at a loss in understanding your meaning.”

  “How can I explain,” she said, wondering how to best phrase this without causing offence. “When people hear of Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire and his ten thousand a year, they are instantly of the understanding that here is a wealthy gentleman who has so great a fortune that there could be nothing else able to trouble him.”

  “You had similar thoughts too, if I remember correctly.”

  “Aye, but that was before I realised that you were all too human.”

  “Perhaps to a degree of failing, I fear.”