“Very humorous, brat. Very droll. Seriously, is this war going to continue for a long time? You will be back in the immense bosom of our aunt by Easter, won’t you?” He lowered his voice to its sincerest depth. “Please, Darcy, have a heart. Stop thinking only of yourself…think of me.” He looked pathetic. “You know how I so hate having my own pleasures curtailed, and I would miss our annual pilgrimage of penance.” He grabbed for another piece of food, a fork just missing his hand.
“This war, as you aptly call it, was begun by Aunt Catherine, and it will need to be rectified by Aunt Catherine. As neither she nor my beloved mother saw fit to consider my feelings regarding marriage with Cousin Anne, I feel no remorse at disregarding her opinion about whom I did marry.” Darcy poured himself another cup of coffee, splashing it all over with his angry, jerky hand movements.
Fitzwilliam darted a glance at his irate cousin, all the while trying to get his own cup beneath the moving spout. “…Yes, well, as long as you keep a happy thought…” he mumbled.
Darcy slammed down the coffee pot. “No, I won’t let her abuse Elizabeth ever again. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.” A smile softly crept into Darcy’s eyes, his lips twitching at their corners. “She is the kindest, sweetest, most delicate creature God ever created.” Darcy’s face had a faraway, glazed, and grinning expression, very similar to an empty-headed jack-o-lantern. It became too much for his cousin.
“Hold that thought for a moment, if you would, Darcy. Please. Could you pass that trash pail. No, not that one—the other—yes, the larger one. Yes, thank you. Why? Because I feel I’m going to throw up at any moment!”
Darcy tried not to laugh but had little success. “If I remember correctly, you were besotted with her once yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking broadly.
“Incorrect yet again. An unbroken streak, I might add. Now, I may have been bemused by her and bewitched by her, even beguiled, but I was never besotted. That, my friend, I left entirely to you.” While Fitzwilliam sipped his coffee, he regarded his cousin with warm affection. “I will, however, admit to a bit of envy for your happiness, would even consider marriage for myself one day… if I could meet a woman of character, integrity, compassion, intelligence, gentleness…”
Darcy regarded Fitzwilliam as if he had just grown another head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?”
“…with a face like a goddess and a body meant solely for sin…”
“Ah! And the world returns to its revolutions; all is right again with the universe.”
“Getting back to Catherine,” Fitzwilliam continued, never missing a beat, “I have thought a great deal about this—now don’t go giving me that haughty Uncle George expression. I firmly believe that Elizabeth is the one person in this pathetic little family circle of ours not needing protection from Aunt Catherine. I seem to remember your teeny wife having the backbone of a Viking. I have every faith that she is more than able to hold her own with the Marble Countess.”
When Darcy began to protest, Fitzwilliam put up his hand to stop him. “No, Darcy, I think it was your own pride that was offended by Catherine’s highhanded behavior more than anything she may have said to Elizabeth. Come, Cousin!” he whined pathetically. “To hell with Aunt Catherine—have pity on me! You will have to let this thing go eventually. Remember, ‘Family is Everything.’” Fitzwilliam raised his hand in salute to their aunt’s favorite quote.
“You’re probably right. I can’t judge myself anymore, it seems. I only know that she said some very mean things to Lizzy about her family—yes, I realize I’d said the same things she did, but I recognized my deplorable behavior and apologized for it. Now Aunt Catherine will have to do the same. Let’s not discuss this anymore, please.”
“Do you have any idea how similar you two are? How similar you are to the Queen of Hubris? Arrogant and stubborn, the both of you. I myself am the most good-natured of men, and yet I remain ruggedly handsome and charismatic. I truly believe it impossible that I could be related to either one of you. I must have been dropped at the door by some Scottish circus group.”
Chapter 3
Elizabeth walked briskly around the house, clasping her cape tightly at her neck and her hood close around her face. She reflected on what she considered her Embarrassing Predicament. Or was it? First and foremost, she was a realist and a sensible country girl. All right, she began to shiver with the cold. Just of what am I ashamed? I’m no different than any other young woman, am I?
No, Elizabeth, you are not.
We are married; we want children, do we not?
Yes, most emphatically you are and you do! Honestly, this is ridiculous. Eventually the embarrassment of marital relations will fade, if only through the sheer bliss of repetition. Finding herself vigorously nodding in agreement, she could not help a bit of giggle and blush. She then forced herself to regain her composure. And, the embarrassment may very well fade quicker if you do not make such a childish spectacle of yourself, bringing more attention to it than you already have. She felt her backbone stiffen with her resolve— or perhaps it is just freezing into place, she mused as she gazed longingly up at the massive back of the main estate house with the windows steaming from the heat within, smoke billowing from its many chimneys.
She began to walk rapidly. Besides, it is bloody cold out here, and that is surely curing me of my “flutters and spasms!” She laughed out loud with that common quote of her mother’s, causing the vaporous air of amusement to flutter about her. In fact it is curing me much quicker than delicate female modesty would care to admit. The rapid walk soon became a run. She entered the house through the closest door available, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, and realized she was in the servants’ hallway.
Surprised maids and footmen jumped back as she passed, giving her quick bows and curtseys, grabbing for their coats, straightening skirts, spitting out half-smoked cheroots and hiding them beneath their boots. Pushing her hood farther back on her head, she smiled and nodded hello, all the time humiliated by the reality that she had no idea where she was or how to get out.
Finally someone thought to alert Mrs. Reynolds, who hurried toward her. “Mrs. Darcy, is there something with which I can help you?”
Lizzy shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “I am so sorry to disturb you all, but I seem to have entered a strange door, and now fear I am lost.”
“I understand perfectly.” Mrs. Reynolds gave a ready nod. “Please allow me to show you the way upstairs.” Thankful for her rescue, Lizzy followed the housekeeper through the winding corridors of underground kitchens and bedrooms, linen rooms, pantries, and servants’ parlors and sitting room.
“It’s much like a little city down here,” Lizzy marveled as they walked past dozens of servants and room after windowed room where she could observe the work being done. She saw women washing and ironing, polishing this, repairing that. “I had no idea there were this many servants at Pemberley!” She felt like an intruder in their domain.
“We really have a much smaller regular staff than most of the great estates. Many of these young people are actually from our tenant families. They train here for future work in other great houses. The added money they earn here helps the families, and a recommendation from Pemberley, as you can imagine, is a tremendous asset. I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone trained here who did not go on to a very respectable position.”