Darcy's Passions (47 page)

Darcy was at his desk in his study when both Elizabeth and Georgiana entered. “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, so excited she rushed to his side, “Georgiana and I were going through some of your mother's things.We came across a ledger and some notes about an annual celebration she held for the tenants between Christmas and New Year's. Do you remember those?”

“Of course, Elizabeth, but that was years ago; they stopped with her death.” Remembering his mother brought him a renewed sadness, one he had not felt since returning to Pemberley with Elizabeth as his wife.

“Georgiana and I would like to bring back the tradition if you have no objections.”

Looking at both of them, Darcy's eyes sparkled with a new resolve. Georgiana came forward. “Fitzwilliam, months ago you said you would share your memories of our mother with me. May we start with this tradition?”

He came around the desk to embrace his sister.“My memories are those of a young boy, but you remind me more of her each day—the way you turn your head and that look when you are excited about something for the first time. Georgiana, I do not object, but will you and Elizabeth be able to organize this in such a short duration?”

Elizabeth joined them. “Fitzwilliam, I have nothing to do for our gathering on New Year's nor for decorating the house for
Christmas. Mrs. Reynolds took care of all those details. Georgiana and I both want to be a part of your vision for Pemberley. May we begin with reestablishing your mother's connection to this estate?”

“How may I refuse the three women I have loved?” But Darcy's cautious reserve betrayed his doubts.“Our mother loved this estate; she was devoted to preserving it. Please keep this simple. Read our mother's notes, Georgiana; she knew what was best for our home.”

“We will, Fitzwilliam. Come, Elizabeth, we have much to do. Thank you, Brother.” She gave him a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth's embrace revealed the passion she always felt when close to him. “We will honor your mother's memory. I promise.” The women left him with his doubts and his sense of dread. Neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana had experience with such arrangements; he hoped for no regrets, but Darcy feared disaster.

 

“Elizabeth, my mother's notes tell me little about what she planned,” Georgiana's frustration showed.

“I asked Mrs. Reynolds what she remembered. From her recollections, the tenants and some of the villagers came to Pemberley in the afternoon to pay their respects to your parents.Your family greeted them, and everyone was given cider. The children were given candy.This took place in the stable and barn area, I believe. An area was blocked off, cleaned out, and tables were set up for the refreshments. Some traditional music was played, but that is all Mrs. Reynolds could recall. It has been too many years for her to remember all the exact details.”

“That is what I see here in my mother's notes, but I envisioned something more. Without wishing to belie my mother's memory, this is a disappointment. I thought it would be more; my parents have a reputation for their generosity.” Georgiana felt she betrayed her mother's memory by vocalizing her thoughts.

“Georgiana, your mother lived in a different time. What she did was appropriate for her time, but we may choose to do what is appropriate for our time.” Elizabeth's assurance came across
stronger than what she felt; she did not know yet how to be a part of Pemberley.

“Will Fitzwilliam agree to our changes, Elizabeth?”

“I promised we would honor your mother's memory, Georgiana. That is what I intend to do; is that not your intention also?”

“Elizabeth, I hope you are correct. I would never wish to upset Fitzwilliam.”

 

Nearly a week passed before Darcy began to have a sense of what all Georgiana and Elizabeth planned. On the day when he stormed into Elizabeth's sitting room, along with Mrs.Annesley, they busied themselves creating pieces of needlework to give to the cottagers. Darcy, of the nature to control everything dealing with his estate, found his lack of knowledge disconcerting. He planned Pemberley's future by teaching Elizabeth its workings. He knew not what upset him; he could not explain why he felt betrayed, but not having control over this celebration caused him consternation, and he overreacted to what he saw. “Elizabeth, what is all this?” The room was full of various items of clothing.“I thought we agreed to keep this celebration simple! This does not look simple!”

“Fitzwilliam, Georgiana and I thought this through. We know what we are doing! Please do not speak to me in that tone; I am not a simpleton!” She jumped to her feet to meet his attack for his censure touched a nerve. If he realized her self-doubts, Darcy would tread softer, but he still placed his family's reputation above his reason.

“Mrs. Reynolds tells me you ordered items removed from the public rooms because you intend to use those for your gathering. What is wrong with the barn area my mother used? Did you not think you should seek my permission before you rearranged
my
house for
your
celebration?”The words cut through her; Darcy saw her stiffen and the fire rise to her eyes. He really did not mean the words he said, but his foolish pride would not allow him to apologize immediately. At all costs, he must save face in front of Mrs. Annesley and his sister.

“Fitzwilliam,” her words came out like cold daggers, “I do not know which hurts me more—the knowledge this is
your
house or the knowledge you do not trust me to make decisions which affect our future.”The tears came to her eyes as Elizabeth stormed from the room, and he knew instant regret.

Darcy turned to look at his sister. Both she and Mrs. Annesley remained suspended in the moment when one sees a destructive act but one cannot stop the destruction. Neither woman raised her eyes to him for fear of his disapprobation.They did not move; their needles pierced the material but did not complete the loop. Darcy stood there staring at them seeking answers they did not have. Finally, he strode from the room, slamming the door on his way out.

Mrs. Annesley spoke first. “Georgiana, you must go to your brother.You must make him see what he just did to his wife.”

Fearing the look in his eyes when he left the room, she said, “I cannot, Mrs. Annesley. He will not listen to me.”

“Georgiana, he values you.Your brother is not upset with Mrs. Darcy. He wants things to remain the same as when your parents were alive. People when they remember those who are passed select the memories they will keep of the person.Your brother's memories of your mother are idealistic; she died before he matured enough to realize she was not perfect. Mrs. Darcy cannot live up to such perfection; she will always be found wanting. If he lets this go too long, he will lose Mrs. Darcy's love.”

“Do you believe it to be that severe?”

“This was not a simple fight. A crack in their affection opened today; for the first time, they distrusted each other's judgments. If it is not sealed immediately, it will forever plague their time together. Neither of them can help their natures.”

Georgiana listened intently; she felt the blame for this misunderstanding; she encouraged and welcomed the plans created by Elizabeth; Georgiana liked the independence the project gave her. Cautiously, she went to find her brother.

 

Darcy, sequestered in the library, brooded and replayed his words
with Elizabeth. He heard Georgiana's light tread, but he turned not to see her, hoping she would leave him to his anger. Instead, she came and sat on the floor at his feet, placing her head on his knee. Instinctively, he reached out to stroke her hair.They sat as such for several minutes before Darcy broke the silence. “I suppose you came to tell me I acted as a foolish ass.”

“I would never contradict you, Brother; you must judge your actions.”

“A very diplomatic response,” he chuckled ironically.

“Instead, I came to speak of our mother. Do you remember anything about our mother which was not pleasing?”

“There are no memories of such for me,” he continued to caress her head as she rested on his leg.

“Then our mother was
perfect
?”

Darcy stopped stroking her hair, and she raised her head to look at him. “It is not likely,” he said slowly, “our mother made no mistakes.” He sat in contemplation realizing his folly.“I think I understand your implications, Georgiana.”

“Fitzwilliam, by today's standards our mother did very little for our tenants on Pemberley. I read her notes and was disillusioned. Our parents lived in a different time—you have said so often. If you wanted things the same, you should have chosen someone besides Elizabeth. She will
never
act as our mother acted. Do not force her to be someone she is not. Did you not fall in love with her because she was not what you expected but was what you needed?”

“How do I wipe away the hurt I saw in her eyes?” His self-reproach arrived.

“I do not know what you should say, but if you do not do so immediately you will hurt Elizabeth beyond repair.”

Realizing his foolishness, Darcy helped Georgiana to her feet, caressed her cheek, and went to find his wife.

 

In her dressing room, Elizabeth stared at her reflection, but she saw not her likeness; she saw only the hurt felt within her heart. He entered the room from their bedroom and stood in the doorway for
a long time wondering what he could say or do to remove the pain he caused, but she did not move or acknowledge his presence. Eventually, Elizabeth stood and walked toward him. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy,” she said as she started past him, “even though this is
your
house, I assume as
your
wife I am allowed the privacy of my own quarters.”

Darcy caught her arm to impede her passage. “Please, Elizabeth, let me explain, I did not mean . . .”

“What did you mean, Fitzwilliam?” Her voice came colder than the disdain he suffered at Hunsford. “I can be your wife and your partner in the privacy of this bedroom, but when the public is involved I am still inferior to your family.”

“Elizabeth, I . . .”

She furiously pulled her arm from his grasp and picked up her pelisse. She started for the door's entrance, pausing to look back at him. “Fitzwilliam, my father warned you I would not be caged by your society's regulations; you continue to see me as your inferior; if that be so, I am entitled to the same privileges you provide your staff—my privacy; I can no longer bear to look at you; please do not come to this room again.” Saying so, she left him standing arms akimbo, watching her retreat down the hall into the late afternoon shadows.

 

Several hours lapsed before Georgiana found him sitting in his study staring at nothing at all. “Fitzwilliam, please,” her voice held her agitation,“Elizabeth has not returned to the house.”

“What? I thought she came back.” He sprang to his feet immediately.

“It has been nearly three hours, Fitzwilliam. The temperature has dropped, and snow has started to fall. What is worse is Hero returned to the house without Elizabeth. I am worried.”

Instantly, he headed toward the door.“Tell Mr. Shepherd to saddle Cerberus.Where is the dog?”

“Mrs. Reynolds has it under control in the front hall.”

“Hurry, Georgiana, find Mr. Shepherd!” Full of fear, he ran the
length of the hallway.“When did Hero return, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Nearly a quarter hour ago, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy often returns after the dog, but she is never this far behind. Something must be amiss.”

“Keep the animal here, Mrs. Reynolds.” He ran toward the stables. Within minutes, Darcy reined Cerberus toward the abrupt rise his wife preferred on most of her walks; he hoped she would be a creature of habit today.The light snow gave him some ideas—Hero's paw prints clearly visible; yet, if he did not find Elizabeth quickly the ever increasing snowfall would soon fill in the dog tracks. Darcy prayed she had not met with danger, but his instincts told him otherwise. Elizabeth was too impetuous! But if she was hurt, he was at fault! Trying to spot the dog's tracks, he urged Cerberus across the pathway. Darcy's eyes scanned every tree, every rock, and every rise of the land hoping desperately he would turn his head, and she would be there. Something could not—could not—happen to Elizabeth. He would never forgive himself.

At the bottom of a sharp precipice the dog prints stopped, but Darcy noted the animal clearly ran back and forth on this spot several times. He dismounted the horse and began to frantically call her name. “Elizabeth!” He climbed, nearly crawled, the rock surface, thinking he could see best from the height. “Elizabeth!” The snow came down steadily now, and the smooth surface of the rock made climbing difficult. Reaching the summit, Darcy turned round and round in a circle—heart racing—trying to decide what to do next—fighting the fear which crept steadily through his chest. Then his heart stopped; lying in a clump about thirty feet down on the backside of the climb lay Elizabeth. She did not move even when he called her name.
Please God!
He quickly pulled off his outer jackets and began to snake his way down the slope, holding onto tree limbs and broken rocks, inching his way toward the ball which was Elizabeth.

At last, Darcy reached her. “Elizabeth,” his voice calm compared to the tension in his body, “I am here.” He turned her over slowly, not wanting to know if she did not live. Her body shivered, and
Darcy gave God a heartfelt thanks. “Elizabeth,” he said again.

“Fitzwilliam, you came,” her voice barely audible as the coldness racked her body. Mud and snow and scratches covered her face. A bruise showed at her left temple, and dried blood seeped down the side of her cheek.