The Road to Pemberley (2 page)

Yes.

She had said yes. She would be his. Forever. After a year of piercing heartache, Elizabeth Bennet had accepted his proposal, and where winter had once held sway in Darcy's heart, springtime now filled it. Although he had been loath to admit it, Elizabeth had fascinated him from the beginning—fascinated him more than anyone else ever had.

Yet Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the Meryton assembly; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticize. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that Elizabeth had hardly a good feature than he realized that her dark eyes were uncommonly intelligent. “Eyes that could haunt a man's sleep,” he told himself as he checked his cravat in the mirror.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” his valet said and looked up from brushing Darcy's jacket.

Darcy smiled. “It is nothing, Mr. Jordan—just thinking aloud.” In the mirror, Darcy watched the man—who had served him for fifteen years—roll his eyes. Darcy understood perfectly. Less than a week earlier, he had been an outsider—an observer of life, never a participant. He had fought valiantly to maintain his distance, keeping his friends and acquaintances to a minimum. Years ago, he had learned his lesson the hard way. Darcy's most trusted friend had betrayed him on every level. Even now, as his fists closed tightly at his side, he could taste the bitterness. Yet despite the fact that his brain had warned him to be wary, he had chosen to place his trust in another—Elizabeth Bennet.

Her acceptance had given him the hope that things could be different. Elizabeth brought warmth and naturalness and a bit of defiance;
but there was vulnerability also. She had bravely withstood Caroline Bingley's barbs while devotedly nursing her sister. She had verbally fenced with the paragon of haughtiness that was his aunt, Lady Catherine, and had come away unscathed. Despite Darcy's best efforts to resist Elizabeth, she made him laugh.

“Your coat, sir.” Mr. Jordan held the jacket as Darcy slipped his arms through and allowed the valet to straighten the seams across his shoulders.

“Thank you, Mr. Jordan.” Darcy tugged easily on his cuffs to set the line. “I will be at Longbourn for the supper hour.” It was his first meal with the Bennets as Elizabeth's betrothed, and he pronounced his evening's entertainment more so to solidify the event's reality in his mind than to keep his valet informed.

Again, the amused twitch of Jordan's lips told Darcy that his man understood how Darcy's life had changed. “Very good, sir.”

He realized that his servants had waited for him to choose a bride—to bring a mistress to Pemberley. Now he was to marry Elizabeth and take her to his ancestral home. In the fullness of time, they would set up a nursery. He knew now that only Elizabeth—with her loving nature, her common sense, and her
goodness
—could be the mother of his children. “Turn down the bed, and lay out my things, and then you may be excused for the evening. Upon my return, I will undress myself.” Darcy accepted a handkerchief from Mr. Jordan.

“As you wish, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy's heart swelled with happiness as he sat beside Elizabeth at the Longbourn table. The most recent time he had dined with the Bennets, her mother had placed him as far away from Elizabeth as the table would allow. He had spent the meal on one side of Mrs.
Bennet. Such a situation had given pleasure to neither of them, and he certainly had not appeared to advantage. Whenever he and Elizabeth's mother had spoken to each other, Darcy could not abandon his formal tone. Tonight,
ungraciousness
would not describe him.

“The venison is excellent, Mrs. Bennet,” he announced. The way the Bennets talked over one another made him wish for a quiet meal at Pemberley. He relished such meals, which he currently shared with his sister, and he looked forward to sharing them with Elizabeth. Picturing Elizabeth at his table was a recurring daydream.

Elizabeth gave him the smallest of smiles, and his heart jumped. There had been a time when he prayed for such moments, and now they were his to cherish.

Mrs. Bennet preened with his praise and then returned her attention to her eldest daughter and Mr. Bingley. This pleased Darcy; that left him to converse with Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth, the true intellects at the table. Unwilling to lose his favorite daughter, Mr. Bennet had originally not welcomed Darcy's courtship of Elizabeth, but Mr. Bennet had subsequently accepted Elizabeth's assurance of her regard for Darcy.

“Elizabeth tells me that you are considering investing in railroads, Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Bennet sipped his wine, but Darcy observed the man's eyebrows rise mockingly. “It appears prudent to become a partner while the companies are forming. I am considering a small company catering to Derbyshire's needs, taking products to Liverpool for shipment to the Americas and north toward Manchester and the factories. The cities draw workers from the estates. It would be a way to save my father's legacy.”

Surprisingly, Mr. Bennet's expression changed to one of respect. “Well, Lizzy. It appears that your young man has a head for business.”

Elizabeth looked lovingly at her father, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Papa.” Then she smiled. “It is a happy situation. Mr. Darcy shall not bore me with inane chatter at the breakfast table. He has, I fear, quite a good mind,” she said playfully. And although she spoke kindly of him, Darcy flinched. Being teased, even kindly, still hurt him as if were twelve years old once again.

Back at Netherfield, Darcy had always enjoyed engaging Elizabeth in what he fondly called verbal swordplay, but somehow this felt different, and his tone came out sharper than he intended. “I pride myself on being well read.” Darcy had responded automatically, and he waited for the “attack,” but it did not come. Instead, Elizabeth looked questioningly at him. Darcy gave his head a little shake, telling her not to ask. Then he turned to her father, “Mr. Bennet, what might you tell me of Miss Elizabeth's childhood? I will need plenty of stories for our friends if I am to brighten the long winters of Derbyshire.”

Throughout the rest of the meal, Mr. Bennet—with occasional comments from his wife or one of Elizabeth's sisters—regaled Darcy with tales of a young Elizabeth's exploits. Everything that he had ever considered that he knew of her changed somehow. He discovered the source of Elizabeth's self-deprecation lay in Mrs. Bennet's continual praise of her eldest and her youngest. He now understood why Mary Bennet sought refuge in her music, and the immature Kitty in her interest in fashion. Each girl claimed her own niche, and Elizabeth's strengths rested in less stereotypically feminine accomplishments. She possessed a pleasing voice, but Elizabeth did not play the pianoforte exceptionally well, nor was her needlework beyond being adequate. She was not gifted in languages nor did she paint tables, cover screens, or net purses.

Elizabeth owned a quick wit, and she used it as her defense against being found wanting. “Follies and nonsense, whims and
inconsistencies, do divert me, and I laugh at them whenever I can,” she had said one evening at Netherfield, when Caroline Bingley had insisted on Elizabeth's walking about the room with her. Now, despite thoroughly enjoying the flush of pink coloring her skin, Darcy considered how many of Elizabeth's earlier escapades might appear quite mortifying to her in their retellings. It seemed that many of her embarrassing moments had come at her own hand. She often acted impulsively. Although he understood why she used her daring as a diversion, he could not help but wonder if Elizabeth would not be happier if known for her merits, rather than her mistakes.
But negative attention is still attention,
he told himself.

“I suppose my mother forgets that I, too, have a wedding to plan,” Elizabeth said softly beside him. They sat together in a Longbourn drawing room. As was typical, after the evening meal, Mr. Bennet had retreated to his study to read. Kitty examined the latest fashion plates, and Mary practiced her music. Mrs. Bennet had demanded that Jane Bennet and Bingley join her in the sitting room to finalize plans for their wedding breakfast. So although others remained in the room, he and Elizabeth might as well have been alone.

Darcy was not sure whether she had meant for him to overhear her muttering. With a deep sigh, Elizabeth turned to him. “It is abhorrent of me to complain after all your ministrations on my sister's behalf. Forgive me, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy watched carefully, expecting Elizabeth to turn her moment of envy into another disparagement of her own failings, but she did no such thing. Evidently, this was a private moment: Elizabeth would show him a face that spoke the truth: Her mother's preference bruised his future wife's feelings. “I would forgive you
anything, Elizabeth, if we could move beyond your calling me Mr. Darcy. Could you not call me by my given name?”

She smiled broadly. “You wish for me to call you Fitzwilliam? I would enjoy that, sir.”

“Then say it, Elizabeth,” he whispered hoarsely—his breathing suddenly constricted. Her eyes mesmerized him. The effect she had on him always took Darcy by surprise.

Elizabeth leaned in closer, unaware of what she did to his composure. “Fitzwilliam, have I told you how happy I am to become your wife?” she murmured softly.

Desire shot through Darcy. He had planned to kiss her this evening—had actually dreamed how it would be. His finger now traced a line from her temple to her chin. “You, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, do not know how long I have waited for you to say so.”

Realizing their impropriety, Elizabeth blushed and leaned away from him. “May we speak of the wedding, sir?”

Darcy sighed but he said evenly, “Of course, Miss Elizabeth. What do you wish to settle?”

Elizabeth turned to him again. “We must agree on the ceremony's date. Do you favor a long engagement?”

Darcy straightened his shoulders, a posture he automatically adopted when completing business transactions; and, after all, among his society, marriage was a business. “I have waited to claim you for a year. I must admit that I am of the persuasion to finalize that claim as soon as possible, but I am not insensitive to the fact that this is a greater change for you. You must leave your home and family behind to start a new life with me. And although I wish to have you on Pemberley's staircase when I return from my trips, I will understand if you insist on a longer waiting period.”

Elizabeth blushed again. “You have thought of me with you at Pemberley, Fitzwilliam?” she asked sweetly.

Darcy smiled. “You would be shocked, Elizabeth, at how often each day you enter my mind.”

“How often?” she prompted.

“Too often,” he growled quietly. “And in too many ways.” Then he was silent, willing away his arousal with a mental recitation of multiplication tables.

“Oh!” she said and gasped. A long pause followed. Elizabeth glanced at Kitty, who was sketching a fashionable dress pattern. “Except for my father, I do not believe anyone here will realize I am gone,” she murmured. Her face was sad for a moment, and then she turned to Darcy with a smile. “A shorter engagement seems advisable,” she said with more confidence. “Mr. Bingley tells me that the North Road can be hazardous in winter. If we are to Derbyshire, it would be judicious to do so sooner rather than later.”

“Mr. Bingley is correct. Derbyshire winters can be cruel. Plus, I would wish to celebrate the holidays at Pemberley. Georgiana and I have spent the past few Christmases in London. It is my dream to take you to my home and for you to share it with my sister. With your acceptance, I will instruct Mrs. Reynolds to open up the house for a winter ball. We have not held one at Pemberley for more than a decade. I can introduce my new wife—the estate's new mistress—to my close family and friends.”