Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (158 page)

“William, your food is growing cold,” she teased, kissing his finger.

He smiled, leaning to nuzzle behind her ear and briefly kissing. “I care not, beloved. Famished I may be, but touching you is preferable. For once your parents are not present to preclude me fulfilling the fantasy of displaying how even the simple act of eating enhances my desire for you.”

Lizzy giggled, fingers covering her mouth. “Oh, William! The vision! I wish you had acted on your impulses then so I could see Mama’s face, if nothing else!”

Darcy laughed, resuming his seat and picking up his fork. “As entertaining as that may have been, Elizabeth, your father would likely have strangled me. Curbing my inclinations was not always easy, but wise. Thankfully I no longer need to do so. Well, within reason, of course.”

After dinner they took a stroll in the silent garden. Darcy talked about Pemberley. The plan was to depart fairly early in the morning since the journey home would take most of the day. Darcy was in a state of uncontrollable bliss that his Lizzy would finally be with him in his home… their home. It was a dream he had harbored in his aching heart for so many months that the reality was incredible. Lizzy was excited and anxious at the same time. With Darcy by her side, his strong arms around her, it was difficult to feel any apprehension. However, she could not completely erase the gnawing doubts of her competence as Mistress of an estate such as Pemberley.

For now though, her emotions were captured by her husband. Her happiness was unlimited and her desire simply to be with him transcended any fears. Before too long they returned to their room, wishing to thoroughly enjoy the last night at this place which would forever be special to them. They made love again, slowly and reverently worshipping each other’s bodies before they fell into a deep, peace-filled sleep. Lizzy ached in muscles and places she had hardly known existed, but her love for this man who had so wholly consumed her soul surpassed any discomfort. They slept entwined, cuddling and warm.

M
RS
. R
EYNOLDS, HOUSEKEEPER OF
Pemberley in Derbyshire, was in a state of jubilant expectancy that she had not experienced since… well, she could not remember a day she had ever anticipated more!

Sometime this afternoon her master, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, would return to Pemberley with his new bride. The entire staff had hoped and waited for the arrival of this day for years, but few of them fully grasped the inexplicable joy in this particular day, this particular union.

Mrs. Reynolds considered herself one of the luckiest servants in all of England. At the age of two-and-thirty she had joined the staff at Pemberley, along with her husband who had been a groom. Pemberley had a reputation throughout the country as an ideal estate. The Darcy family had for generations managed their holdings with honesty and generosity. The former housekeeper had been Mrs. Reynolds’s aunt. When she began to feel old age creeping up on her, the Darcys had authorized her to recommend a replacement.

Mrs. Reynolds had been employed as a still-maid at a manor in Gloucestershire and was content in her service; however, the opportunity for advancement, coupled with the sterling name of Pemberley, swayed her to accept the position. Any trepidation she might have felt vanished the moment she met Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. For the past twenty-four years she had served faithfully and with ever-increasing happiness.

Over the years she had grown to love the family she tended to. She had watched Master Fitzwilliam mature into a fine young man and Miss Georgiana into a beautiful young woman. She thoroughly enjoyed her duties and was an excellent housekeeper. There had been tremendous hardships and grief along the way. The death of Lady Anne some eleven years ago and of the elder Mr. Darcy six years ago, not to mention the passing of her own husband three years ago, had begotten sorrow in her heart that she realized would never dissipate. Yet the affection she harbored for Pemberley and, more specifically, for the two young Darcys could not be more genuine or profound if they had been her own flesh and blood.

It was this love that had made the past several years so emotionally tortuous. Master Fitzwilliam had from his youth been far too serious and intense, too reserved, and too apt to seek solitude. The burdens that had been thrust upon him at the tender age of two-and-twenty, along with his acute sorrow, had nearly overwhelmed him. If possible, he had retreated further into himself, laughed and smiled less, and erected a rigid shell about his heart. He only had a handful of true friends, including his sister whom he loved to distraction, yet even they often found his tendency toward surliness and bitterness difficult to comprehend or tolerate. Mrs. Reynolds had fretted and worried, but there was nothing she could do but pray.

As Mr. Darcy settled into his role as Master of Pemberley, she had noted a loosening of his stern demeanor. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a loyal companion who would tease the Master and encourage him to socialize more. Also, his friendship with Mr. Charles Bingley was providential. Mr. Bingley was the polar opposite of Mr. Darcy and, by all outward appearances, the two should have loathed each other. Luckily their relationship had created its own path, and the two young men had formed an abiding bond of mutual affection. Mr. Bingley’s sunny, effervescent nature was a soothing balm to the frequently brooding Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Reynolds began to believe that her dear Mr. Darcy would break out of his self-imposed prison. Her sincerest hope was that he would find a young lady to mend and fill his aching heart.

Then abruptly, that past April, Mr. Darcy had plunged into a dark pit of despondency and depression unlike anything Mrs. Reynolds had previously witnessed. It was not unlike the immense grief to which the former Mr. Darcy had succumbed when his wife had expired. There was no basis for young Mr. Darcy’s anguish, as far as she could ascertain. Eventually he did
partially return to the world of the living, but a lingering pain in his blue eyes refused to lift.

Until one glorious day in early September.

Mrs. Reynolds remembered the day vividly, although it had initially dawned virtually identical to all other days. Mr. Darcy was in Town, not expected to return until the next day. Mrs. Reynolds had welcomed visitors to the manor, not a frequent occurrence, but one that happened often enough not to register as significant this time. The visitors, an older couple and their young niece, were polite and gracious.

The niece seemed vaguely uncomfortable and nervous, but Mrs. Reynolds did not dwell on it overly. She executed her duty as tour guide with pleasure, being quite proud of the house and its furnishings. She recalled being a bit startled to discover that the young lady was acquainted with Mr. Darcy as she did not immediately strike Mrs. Reynolds as being in the same class with her master. However, as his personal affairs were for the most part outside her purview, she did not thoroughly ponder the situation.

Toward the end of the tour, the niece became separated from the group. It could not have been more than fifteen minutes before she came bounding around the side of the house to where her aunt and uncle were standing by their carriage, expressing their thanks to Mrs. Reynolds. The lady, Lizzy her aunt called her, was extremely agitated. She insisted on walking back to Lambton, wringing her hands and shifting her feet the entire time she asked to do this. She kept glancing toward the house as if she feared something or someone was going to barge out of the front doors and attack her! It was most unusual. Mrs. Reynolds stood speechless, wishing she knew the root of the young woman’s distress, fearing greatly that something terrible had happened and wondering if she should inquire. In the end, Miss Lizzy left, nigh on running down the road toward the bridge.

Mrs. Reynolds stood in the drive for a few minutes ruminating on the odd behavior of Miss Lizzy. She determined that she would ask the other servants if they had seen the young lady after she had been left behind in the gallery. She needed to guarantee that nothing untoward had occurred. She entered the foyer and ascended the stairs to the main floor, but before she could advance any farther than five feet, she was paralyzed with shock when Mr. Darcy, whom she was unaware was even home, fairly flew out of the parlor door. He was frantic, but his face was radiant and he wore the broadest grin. He skidded to a stop mere seconds before bowling her over.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he shouted breathlessly, “send word to the stables to resaddle Parsifal, immediately!” Without another word he dashed around the corner, heading toward the stairs leading to his chambers.

She stood there with her mouth hanging open, only then aware that Miss Georgiana was standing in the doorway, also displaying a ridiculously bright smile. “Hurry, Mrs. Reynolds! Do as he asks and then come back and I shall tell you what is happening. Oh, it is the most wonderful thing!”

The next month had been fraught with emotions and angst. Miss Georgiana had told her the whole sorry tale. That Mr. Darcy was head over heels in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet was an indisputable fact. What was not so clear was whether Miss Bennet was in love with him. Mrs. Reynolds adored her master and was initially vexed, assuming that any lady who had refused him once was unworthy of him. However, as the truth was revealed, she did understand and eventually recognized that Miss Bennet was precisely what Mr. Darcy so urgently required to heal his wounded heart.

Two months ago she and Miss Georgiana had at long last received the missives they had been longing for. Mr. Darcy’s ecstasy at Miss Elizabeth accepting his hand was uncontainable. Mrs. Reynolds had received hundreds of pieces of correspondence from her master over the years, but none remotely similar to the letters he now wrote. Why, she could remit them to a publisher for a book of romantic musings and poetry! Her heart was overflowing with joy.

Mr. Darcy had been quite specific in his orders regarding the new Mistress. His mother’s chambers had been aired out and thoroughly scrubbed. Old furnishings had been removed. His plan was to allow Mrs. Darcy to redecorate the rooms at her leisure, so for now they needed only to be clean and comfortable. He had purchased several items that had been sent ahead, including a new bathing tub and washbasin, a new mattress, a stationery set for her desk, and an enormous painting of a landscape. All he had hinted was that the scene was special in some way and he wished it to be a surprise for his new bride. The painting was to be hung, he instructed, in her dressing room behind the vanity.

He had entrusted Mrs. Reynolds to acquire any feminine objects that were essential and to stock the bathing room with the finest linens. Numerous odd packages had arrived from Mr. Darcy, trinkets, he told her, that he picked up here and there: various hair accoutrements, perfumes, ribbons, small pieces of jewelry, a musical snuffbox, robes with matching slippers, a set of silk
handkerchiefs, several books, and other odds and ends. These she had carefully distributed as he instructed. The last touch was numerous vases of flowers randomly placed about the rooms, the largest a bouquet of white roses and lavender to be placed on the vanity.

He also had detailed directives regarding his own bedchamber and private sitting room. They, too, were to be thoroughly cleaned. New bed linens and coverings of a lighter design than the dark colors he usually preferred were sent. Some of the more masculine furnishings were to be removed and exchanged with new pieces he purchased in Town or with specific objects from elsewhere in the manor. The small table was replaced with a larger one with two overstuffed chairs. The old rug, a remnant from when the rooms were his father’s, was discarded and replaced with a gorgeous Persian carpet of pale blues and golds. The overall effect was subtle; the rooms were already beautifully decorated, but the changes added an airiness that was altogether inviting.

Mrs. Reynolds was not an innocent. She comprehended that her master was of the conviction that his wife would be sharing his quarters much of the time. The former Mrs. Darcy had done so, except for when she was confined or ill, so Mrs. Reynolds was not shocked by this. In fact, it amplified her happiness to know that her master had fallen in love with such a woman.

Mr. Darcy had written to his aunt, Lady Matlock, soliciting her assistance in hiring a lady’s maid for Elizabeth. She had gladly done so, sending three women to Mrs. Reynolds to be interviewed. Mrs. Reynolds had settled on a Frenchwoman of thirty named Marguerite, who was an experienced lady’s maid. Her recommendations were impeccable, and she had agreed to a probationary period pending Mrs. Darcy’s final approval.

The staff had been quite busy over the past weeks ensuring all was in perfect readiness. Mr. Darcy’s last letter had arrived the day of his wedding. He directed Mrs. Reynolds to have a light supper prepared, to ignite the welcome torches on the grounds, to have their chambers warm and well lit, and to assemble the senior household staff for a quick greeting of the new Mistress. The flurry of activity that had descended on the normally placid household was concluded. Mrs. Reynolds strolled, for the umpteenth time, through the house guaranteeing that all was flawless. A sentry was stationed by the main road to alert Mrs. Reynolds the moment the Darcy carriage was spotted.