Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (179 page)

The weather had deteriorated substantially, with snow swirling and drifting as the wind howled. An after-dinner stroll in the garden was unfeasible and therefore deferred in favor of a ramble through the Sculpture Gallery, Portrait Hall, and conservatory.

Mr. Lathrop was impressed. “Darcy, you have acquired some spectacular pieces since I was last here.”

“Miss Darcy, your bust is an amazing likeness,” Mrs. Lathrop exclaimed. “As is yours, Mr. Darcy. Superb artisanship. Mrs. Darcy, will you have a bust sculpted as well?”

Lizzy was genuinely taken aback. She had not considered the notion. She turned to her husband and saw an identical expression of mystification.

“In truth, Mrs. Lathrop, I had not given the prospect any deliberation,” Darcy said. “Thank you for the idea. Mrs. Darcy’s beautiful face should be here next to mine.” Darcy smiled at his wife’s blush.

“Mr. Darcy, I do not believe my husband and I ever expressed how awestruck we were by the art collection of Pemberley,” Mrs. Gardiner declared. “I allege no expertise in the artistic realm myself; however, I adore
museums and viewing the works of the masters. Your collection rivals any I have observed in London.”

Darcy bowed graciously. “Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. My family has amassed the pieces gradually over the centuries. I can personally accept few accolades.”

Paintings and sculptures were scattered throughout the entire manor. Those that graced the gallery were the rarest and dominated by marbles. The Portrait Hall, in truth the long hallway leading to the ballroom and formal dining hall, exclusively housed paintings of the Darcy family. The oldest, from 1438, was a group portrait of Alexander and Clara Darcy with their three children. When Lizzy had initially beheld this painting a week after her arrival at Pemberley, she had been stunned by the resemblance of the eldest son, also named Alexander, to her husband. The boy in the painting was approximately eleven and had the clear blue eyes of his mother, chestnut brown hair, and a serious set to his mouth, all of which were the image of the current Master. Lizzy smiled each time she viewed this painting, visualizing their future son.

The entire hall was a revelation of Darcy features. Blue eyes cropped up frequently. Brown hair dominated, although there was a smattering of redheads and numerous blonds. The men were usually tall and lanky with broad shoulders. Darcy’s chin cleft was a newer attribute, first noted on Emily Darcy, his grandmother, in 1760. Almost universally the men appeared serious and aloof, rarely showing the slightest smile, whereas the women displayed more good humor. Pemberley Manor and horses served predominately as backdrops.

Darcy’s parents had been painted shortly after their marriage, the love evident on their faces, even eliciting a small smile from James Darcy. A later portrait of Anne Darcy and her two children, commissioned two years after Georgiana’s birth, clearly captured a beautiful yet pale and tired Anne. Georgiana was a chubby, adorably bright toddler. Darcy at thirteen was incredibly tall, nearly six feet and grave, with a keen intelligence manifest in his eyes but also a lingering grief. This grief would consume his eyes further as the years progressed, until Elizabeth.

No one commented, but the thought was on all of their minds. Darcy, however, was gazing at his parents and marveling at the absence of pain in his soul. He missed them naturally, and always would, yet the melancholy was no more. He looked down at Elizabeth, squeezed her arm firmly to his side, and smiled charmingly.

Entering the conservatory at the very end of the northern annex was akin to stepping into summer. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground and the glass roof, yet the flowers and bushes inside bloomed. The room was perpetually warm and humid, fragrant and colorful. The group impulsively broke up as they strolled among the greenery. Darcy purposefully steered Lizzy to a far corner well concealed by an enormous weeping maple and pulled her into his arms. He held her against his chest and she closed her eyes in happiness, devouring his heat and strength.

“Are you enjoying your first Christmas at Pemberley, my love?” He inquired, resonant voice vibrating in her ear.

“I am enjoying my first Christmas with you, beloved. We could be on the moon and I would be delirious with joy. William, I have not had the opportunity to thank you properly for your gifts.” She tilted her face up to meet his eyes. “The gowns are lovely; the shawl is stunning; you know how I love books; and the stationery set is perfect and useful. Mostly I must tell you how touched I am by the seal. I am a Darcy! I know it is ridiculous, yet I still forget at times. I suppose I have been a Bennet for too long.” She laughed and he smiled.

“Have no fear, Mrs. Darcy, I shall remind you a hundred times a day if need be. I will never allow you to forget you are mine.” He tenderly caressed her cheek, then cupped her face with his hands and lavished light pecks all over her features.

Col. Fitzwilliam’s voice from around the tree successfully quashed any further romantic enticements, sadly. Darcy frowned and scowled at his cousin in annoyance, Richard merely raising one eyebrow and pointedly ignoring him. Lizzy took Georgiana’s arm and, with Lizzy giving her husband an amused glance, the sisters resumed their walk.

“Fine day, Darcy, wouldn’t you agree?” Richard asked with a grin.

“Tremendous,” Darcy replied with dripping sarcasm and Richard laughed.

The remainder of the evening passed in varied pursuits. Georgiana delighted them all on the pianoforte. Carols were sung, Richard adding his talents several times, as did Darcy twice. Refreshments were furnished, although no one was particularly hungry. A rousing game of charades was highly successful, as was a lively round of musical chairs, with Georgiana the ultimate victor. Richard challenged Darcy to a bout of darts. Darcy was fully aware he would lose miserably, to which Richard proclaimed it was healthy to be humbled periodically. Upon
this decision, the gentlemen repaired to the game room for port, brandy, and manly activities.

The ladies retired to the parlor, ending what was universally agreed to be a first-rate Christmas with quiet conversation, cards, and a mind-boggling game of dictionary that they were all far too weary to take seriously.

Lizzy retired hours earlier than Darcy, the gentlemen capping their evening off rowdily. She was deeply asleep when he staggered into bed and only marginally aware of him gathering her into his arms. The urge to tease him the next day for his raging headache was potent, but she resisted. After all, she rationalized, fun was had by all and he deserved to celebrate as he deemed appropriate. Instead, the ladies allowed their smug smiles to speak volumes as to their lack of sympathy. Suffice to say, this Christmas would be remembered by all for a multitude of reasons!

S
OMEWHERE IN THE WEE
hours of the morning, Lizzy’s sleep was invaded by a loud rumbling. She attempted to ignore the annoying sound but eventually her consciousness fully returned, along with the recognition of what the sound was. Her husband was snoring! In a month of marriage, this was a first. There had been a couple of instances where she had been mildly roused by his deep respirations and warm breath tickling her neck, but never had he snored. Of course, this was also the only night he had fallen asleep after having overly imbibed, which most likely was the catalyst. Lizzy rolled over, surprised to find Darcy’s back to her, another first. She nudged him but his reverberations did not cease, so she grasped his shoulder and tugged. He rolled over heavily, snorted, and resumed his singing. Lizzy was vaguely irritated yet could not resist smiling and kissing his cheek. Even snoring and inebriated he was handsome, and he was hers. She pushed the hair away from his eyes, mesmerized by the thickness of his lashes and the play of shadows on his face in the dimly moonlit chamber.
Oh, how I love him!

Suddenly she remembered the key. The locked cabinet with private books had been a running joke between them since their honeymoon. She had been surprised, pleasantly so, yet rather confused by how competently her purportedly virtuous new husband had performed. That is when he had spoken of the specifically topical books used to enhance his education and how they were kept
in a safe place. She had teased him several times about sharing the books with her, in truth not very interested as she was amply content and satisfied to allow him to dominate and teach in the intimate portion of their relationship.

Even thinking of the books now did not pique her curiosity as much as the fact that he had entrusted her with a key to his personal and private items. His vulnerability, honesty, and faith in her and their bond caused her heart to swell. Lizzy paused for a moment in her tender caresses.
Have I given myself as wholly to him as he has to me? Would I trust him with my journals? Yes, I would, without hesitation, for I have given him all of me.
She recollected his confession on Christmas Eve of how he yearned for her and was inundated by his need. Those phrases had registered as encapsulating precisely her emotions for him. The little brass key was symbolic. His soul was hers utterly, and likewise he owned her. The only reason he had not given it to her immediately is that Mr. Darcy was learning to tease!

Nonetheless, she was inquisitive and wide awake. She kissed his full, puffing lips and left the bed. Snaring one of his thickest robes and a lamp, she quietly tiptoed through the empty, diffusely lit corridors to his study. Passing by the parlor, she glimpsed the glow from the Yule log shimmering on the slumbering boy in the chair beside the fireplace. She paused and smiled. The older offspring of the servants were awarded the honor of tending the Log to ensure it remained perpetually alight through Twelfth Night, per tradition. Tonight, Phillips’s son Caleb had been assigned the duty. The blanket had slipped to the floor and Lizzy hankered to cover the boy, but she knew he would be mortified if he awoke realizing the Mistress had caught him dozing, so she left him undisturbed.

The cabinet in question was a grand, antique armoire of ornately carved oak. There was an identical armoire against the opposite wall, also locked securely, in which were kept the estate documents, ledgers, funds, and such. Lizzy had previously been given a key to this cabinet, the only other keepers being Mr. Keith, Mrs. Reynolds, and Darcy, naturally. Lizzy lit an additional lamp and then unlocked the door to Darcy’s personal storage area. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the array of correlative leather-bound books filling the top shelf and roughly half of the second. She retrieved the first book, his journal with
Fitzwilliam Darcy
etched on the cover, and opening it to the first page, she began to read.

The first paragraph elicited a smile. It was dated November 10 of 1801, his thirteenth birthday, and he had written in his firm, precise hand a dry
narrative of who he was, where he lived, his family, what he was studying with his tutor, and other pertinent particulars. It was detailed but wholly devoid of any emotion or insight. Then he wrote:

“My father gifted this unfilled book to me for the express intent that I initiate inscribing my daily musings, undertakings, and activities of import. I extended my gratefulness, however, deemed it essential in the interest of maintaining frank communication and honesty to inform him that the concept of elucidating personal minutiae betwixt the pages of a book was ludicrous and demeaning. He assured me that it was a worthy endeavor, one that he has partaken in since he was a young man, and further guaranteed my future appreciation in possessing a catalog of my memories. I persist in judging the exercise inane; nonetheless, I shall trust my father and obey his dictates.”

Lizzy laughed out loud. So like him to overanalyze even the simple matter of keeping a journal! She returned the slim volume to its designated space. It would consume months if she ever wished to read all the books, so instead she proceeded to the third shelf. Here were stacked several cigar boxes of varying sizes and brands. The oldest by appearance contained an odd assortment of what she could only assume were his “mementos.” There was a glass jar filled with a disgusting collection of dead bugs and spiders, oddly shaped knots of wood, ten rocks of diverse colors and textures, a small case with pinned moths, the well-preserved flattened corpse of a toad, and a book with meticulously fine labeled drawings of leaves.

Clearly the treasures of a young boy, although Lizzy could well remember her own fascination with the oddities and marvels of nature. Each subsequent box revealed the maturing Darcy as his possessions grew more sophisticated: a lock of his mother’s hair; numerous other sketch books of flowers, trees, animals, insects, and more, all detailed and labeled; programmes from an astounding number of operas and plays; letters from his father, mother, sister, and other loved ones; the reports of his marks from Cambridge (all excellent, Lizzy noted); stamped passage and boarding tags from excursions abroad; and a vast amount of other odds and ends, many of which indubitably held meaning only fathomable to Darcy.

The last box was entirely devoted to Lizzy. A parchment note lying on top of the items was addressed to her: