The Road to Pemberley (12 page)

At Rosings Park, he had followed her with his eyes, drinking in the pleasure of her presence—the pleasure of her voice—of their war of wits. He had envied his cousin for securing Elizabeth's attentions—actually thought of doing the good colonel bodily harm for daring to look
her
way. Then Darcy had delivered his disastrous proposal. Even now, he fought the urge to clench his fists in anger with himself for his insufferable arrogance and with her for her acerbic response.
You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.

Mr. Steventon, the local magistrate, was next in the receiving line. He thrust his hand out to shake Darcy's. But Darcy's mind was still on Elizabeth's rejection of his first proposal, and he took an extra beat to respond.

Steventon chuckled at Darcy's faraway look. “Don't worry about your guests. Mrs. Reynolds appears to have everything under control. The lady is a marvel.”

Darcy's eyebrows rose. “You may not steal away my ace in the hole, Mr. Steventon.” he said.

The man laughed obligingly. “The lady has too much loyalty to the Darcy family for anyone to tempt Mrs. Reynolds away.”

“I shall convey your compliments to my housekeeper,” Darcy said before turning to a another member of the local gentry.

For the next twenty minutes, Darcy responded automatically to each of his guests, his mind never fully engaged. All he could truly consider was a light and pleasing form and a pair of dark eyes.

The tuning of instruments signaled the beginning of the ball. “We should join our guests, my dear.” Darcy caught Georgiana's elbow to lead her into the ballroom. His hothouse, he assumed, held no more blooms, for every vase overflowed with floral bouquets. Their scents blended into a nighttime perfume. Every crystal sparkled with reflected light, and Darcy felt excitement, as well as a bit of trepidation, in his gut.

Georgiana's hand tightened on his arm. “This is my first official ball,” she whispered.

“So it is,” he said close to her ear. “It will be a splendid prelude to your society debut.”

Georgiana smiled mischievously and he smiled back. “Meaning that I may trip over my hem or make the wrong turn in the quadrille, and no one will criticize me?”

“You will find, my dear, that gentlemen rarely care to dance, so despite any mistake a beautiful woman makes, they will all be polite.” He cupped her hand with his free one and gave hers a squeeze. “So if you trip or make the wrong turn, you have nothing to fear. Your smile, freely given, would stun even the harshest critics into silence.”

Georgiana giggled nervously.

“Who shall claim the first set?”

“The colonel.” As she said the words, their cousin appeared and took Georgiana's hand to lead her to the floor.

Darcy shot a glance about the room. The people invited for the evening were his friends and family. He had asked Mrs. Reynolds to include his mother's titled relatives, his father's distinguished kin, his close companions from his university days, and the local gentry. These were the people with whom he wished to spend this glorious evening. Dutifully, he claimed his aunt as his partner and assumed the position at the head of the line of dancers.

“You appear to be quite content tonight, Darcy. Your uncle and I are pleased to see it. You have caused His Lordship several moments of concern. My husband takes his responsibilities to your mother's family quite seriously.”

Darcy bowed. “I apologize, Aunt, for any uneasiness His Lordship experienced. I promise that Lord Matlock will have no more worry on my account.”

The music began, and a lively country-dance opened the evening's entertainment. Despite his longing for Elizabeth, he felt a great deal of satisfaction at that moment. This was Pemberley, and he was its master. He had, at age eight and twenty, finally ascended to his esteemed father's position, no longer railing against the responsibility for which he had been groomed. In the past few weeks,
he had come to terms with how much influence—whether for good or for evil—he had.

As the set ended, Darcy returned his aunt to where Lord Matlock stood, discussing business with their cousin, Baron Prestwick. He exchanged a few brief pleasantries before saying, “Excuse me, Your Lordship, Baron, but I must secure my partner for the second set.”

“A waltz so early in the evening, Darcy?” Lord Matlock questioned with a bit of amusement. “Are you setting your own standards?”

“Yes, Uncle.” Darcy's smile reached the corners of his eyes. He bowed his exit. With a determined step, he crossed the dance floor and headed toward the main entrance. Darcy was a man with a purpose. He paused to whisper to Georgiana, “Wish me well.”

“You know that my heart is always with you, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured.

As he walked on, he heard Caroline call, “Mr. Darcy!” But Caroline Bingley would not be the woman he held in his arms that evening. He pretended not to hear her and continued on. And then she stepped into the arch of the entranceway, the light of a thousand candles framing her. Wearing a gown of forest green silk, Elizabeth glided a few steps forward to meet him. The gown, trimmed in a delicate lace, clung to her slim figure, and Darcy thought her the most handsome woman of his acquaintance. The emerald-anddiamond teardrop necklace complemented the gown's low décolletage. She glowed. She belonged there. Just as his mother had belonged there.

Darcy extended his arm, and Elizabeth placed her hand in his. She gave him an intimate smile as Darcy brought her hand to his lips. An overly interested, silent group formed behind him, but Darcy had planned this moment's every detail, even the silence. He
thought he heard Miss Bingley sob, but his heart could not accept anything besides the extreme happiness coursing through his veins. In a loud and distinct voice he said, “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Darcy. You are just in time for our wedding waltz.”

“I hope I have not kept you waiting, my husband.” Her voice was joyful.

“It is not a ball at Pemberley without an estate mistress, my dear.” He turned and led Elizabeth to the floor's center and then nodded to the musicians. With the violin's first note, he swung Elizabeth into his arms, the place she belonged. They moved as one as they circled the floor.

Darcy edged her closer, pushing the lines of propriety even for a married couple. “Happy, Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured close to her ear.

“Absolutely, Mr. Darcy.” She allowed her fingertip to brush the side of his neck before settling her hand more firmly on his shoulder. “I suppose you are quite proud of yourself,” she taunted. “You have surprised everyone with this display.” They looked deeply into each other's eyes.

Darcy had never enjoyed the waltz until that moment. His countenance softened, while his gaze intensified. “I am content, my wife. I secreted you away for a fortnight, and now I must share you with family and friends.” He tightened his hold. “Are you prepared for the onslaught of questions when the music stops?”

“If you believe in me, Mr. Darcy, I am.” Darcy observed that her bottom lip trembled.

He spoke only for her hearing: “I will not leave your side.”

“I am depending upon that fact, sir.” Elizabeth glanced about her as they whirled around the dance floor. “Have we done the right thing, Fitzwilliam, by not telling everyone of our nuptials?”

“Some will disagree,” he conceded, “but most will celebrate the fact that I am content, at last.” He was silent for a moment as they danced on. “Those in attendance tonight are the ones who—for the most part—will welcome your presence in my life,” he confided. She nodded her head, but he saw Elizabeth's confidence waver.

As the music died, Darcy turned to the Matlocks and the colonel, but Elizabeth caught his arm to stay him. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered frantically.

Darcy chuckled as he raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. “This from the woman who dared to thwart Lady Catherine's tactics!” he whispered back, his eyes dancing in amusement. Then, noting her anxiousness, he confessed, “My greatest happiness lies with you. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days loving you and raising children with you.”

As if his words washed over her, Elizabeth tilted her head, a hint of a grin touching her mouth. She felt the pride of knowing she was his. “You are either crazy or are the bravest man in the world,” she retorted.

“Although I admit, sweetheart, that you have driven me nearly insane in this past year, I am neither crazy nor brave—simply a man in love.”

She wound her arm gracefully through his and raised her chin in that familiar act of defiance that he had come to cherish. “Then it is time I met my new family.”

Darcy's breath caught in his throat, and he felt a simple joy take hold. The couple approached his beaming uncle and Darcy bowed. “Your Lordship,” he said, “may I present my wife, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.”

But He Turned Out Very Wild

BY SARAH A. HOYT

It was dark and wet. Outside the carriage, rain fell in drips and splats from the branches of trees and the gates of the great houses we passed.

Inside the carriage, the air felt cold and damp, and there was the smell of wet wool from my uniform coat and from my collar—soaked through with my tears. The carriage rocked and swayed. The coachman cracked his whip. I had promised him a reward for getting me to Pemberley by early the next morning. Before she… before the woman I loved slipped out of my reach forever. I had—I
thought—proof that would render my reputation blameless and me worthy of her.

But why should Darcy believe me now? Now, after all these years. Perhaps I'm going on a fool's errand.

Something like the exhaustion of sadness overcame me. I turned to the window and rested my head on it. And I felt the carriage rock beneath me, rock, rocking me away from the present and into the past.

“No, I don't believe I will give you the living at Kimpton,” Fitzwilliam snarled at me. “Good Lord, man, think you I don't know about your scandals at Cambridge?”

I stood, mute and confused, in front of him, in what was once his father's study. From the wall behind Will, his father's portrait looked down at me, his blue eyes softly benevolent and his smile that gentle one that he often gave me. Will's father had been my father's best friend, and had lured my father away from a lucrative practice as a solicitor to manage his great estate of Pemberley.

It wouldn't have been a hard thing to do. My father had been left recently widowed, with no one to look after a baby son, and facing letting that son grow up in cramped quarters in London with no supervision. George Darcy had offered him a chance to live in the country, in one of the most beautiful estates in Derbyshire, and to have his son share the nursery with Darcy's own son. How could my father have refused? Oh sure, it was a diminution of prestige for him, but what did he care for that? George was not someone to hold to the social differences. My father had taken the offer and been contented with it. As had I, till that moment.