Mr. Darcy's Promise (31 page)

“Then I am afraid that it is missing. I recall distinctly that I placed it in the bottom drawer, madam, but it is not there now.” Serafina felt her fingers tremble as she did up the last button. Many servants had been let go for simply misplacing a valuable item. She had heard many stories of carelessness or theft being blamed upon the servants. She brushed the seams on Elizabeth’s shoulders. “I am sorry, madam. I only noticed it missing yesterday afternoon, and meant to tell you about it last night, but was distracted by our conversation. I had hoped that you had moved it. I am truly sorry. I will have every servant looking for it.”

Elizabeth put her hand up over Serafina’s, stilling her fingers. “I am certain that it is not your fault. But Serafina, this is the third thing to go missing. First Mr. Darcy’s gold pocketwatch, then it was the silver, and now my necklace. Has Pemberley had problems with theft in the past?”

“No, madam,” Serafina protested. “No one is new to the house, either. I suppose . . .” she let out a breath. “I will have to speak to Mr. Darcy about the necklace.” She did not want to be the one to tell
him; somehow she suspected he would be less understanding, but the necklace had been in her care last. She was responsible.

Elizabeth sat down on the bed, her lips pressed together. “Please speak to Mrs. Reynolds. I think we must comb over the house. I will speak with Mr. Darcy. It will not be pleasant but he needs to know.” She felt a pang at the thought. It was a beautiful and valuable necklace, true, but it now carried so many memories. When he gave it to her, it was when he first told her she was tempting. It was when she first allowed herself to hope for something more than companionship. It had once been his mother’s, but most importantly, it was from him.

After dressing, she went downstairs for an early breakfast. Mr. Darcy was waiting downstairs, reading a few of his letters over a pot of chocolate. She smiled at him. “Good morning, William.”

“And how is my wife this morning? Did you have a restful night?” Darcy said, smiling back at her. He felt considerably and blessedly rested this morning after a few days of exhaustion.

She took a seat across from him, deciding that she would tell him of the necklace after they had dined. She did not want to see his features clouded with worry just yet. “It took a while to fall asleep, but I did sleep well.”

“I am glad that we are both refreshed for the new day. I confess that I do not think I can sleep until I take an inventory of the day.” He smiled quietly to himself— their late-night kiss had most certainly featured prominently in his inventory. He took another sip of his chocolate and set his letters aside. “I have been considering the fairest prospect for a swing that we can discuss after you eat. There are several natural cedar trees on Pemberley grounds. We have a few my grandfather planted as well that might be the correct size.”

              Elizabeth had been hungry, but now her anxiety over the necklace twisted her stomach. “I think I will just have tea this morning. How soon can we go?” At her words, the footman disappeared, reentering after a few moments with a copper kettle. Elizabeth waited as he poured the hot water into the teapot, and then sat back, waiting for the leaves to steep, admiring the beautiful Wedgwood tea set that graced her breakfast table each morning.             

“Well, there are a few things I need to get in my study and I can show you the map of where we are going too. After that we should be free to leave. Are you sure you do not want to eat anything?”

Elizabeth debated, turning a silver teaspoon over in her hand before speaking. She would need her strength for the walk, but she was not sure she could stomach much food. Perhaps she should tell him now, and risk the opportunity to go out for the perfect cedar tree. She avoided answering him for a moment by pouring herself the tea and slowly mixing the honey and milk in, watching it dissolve in the amber liquid. How was tea always so perfect at Pemberley? It never sat for too long, nor burned her tongue if she sipped it too quickly.

Mr. Darcy waited for her reply. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but did not entirely know how to speak. He broke the silence. “Our namesakes are doing very well. I checked on them this morning and can speak to their health.”

Her face lit up. “Truly? I knew that they would do well after the rain stopped, but it was so thoughtful of you to visit them so early.”              

Darcy was a little embarrassed now that he was being called thoughtful. The truth of it was he wanted desperately to understand the riddles about the chickens and he thought if he thought on them without Elizabeth’s distracting presence he might be able to make sense of it. He was still carrying the list that he made with him in his pocket, the added pieces of information from watching them hatch already scratched on it. He had read, pondered, and watched the chicks and the hen, his eyes going from paper to hen to chicks to nest box and back to the paper . . . but he was no closer to understanding them then he was before. “I was enthralled with the whole experience of watching them hatch that I wanted to see that they survived,” he said.

“Yes, seeing them hatch gives me a glimpse into what it must be like to become a parent. You anticipate the moment so much that when they finally break out of the shell you are overcome with gratitude and pride. We are very lucky too. All seven hatched and that is not usually the case. That hen was very devoted.” Elizabeth was still struck with her own gratitude that William had taken a liking to the chickens. It was a hobby of hers at Longbourn, but they had grown to be much more than a hobby here at Pemberley. It was, strangely enough, what linked her and William together.

Mr. Darcy met her eyes. Would they someday share more than a flock of chicks between them? He held her gaze for a moment before he cut her a slice of cake. “Here, eat a little something.”

She took a bite, the knot in her stomach loosening a bit as she did so. She ate briefly making light conversation until her cake was finished. “Well, let us see that map! I have always loved swinging. There is something about it that is invigorating. I used to swing when I was troubled when I was too young to go out walking on my own. I loved the whole experience.” She looked at him with a curious little smile. “Pray, Mr. Darcy, have you ever truly contemplated the image of a swing?”

Her eyes were so bright. This was a part of her that he treasured dearly: her sharp wit, her clever observations, and he would do anything to hear her speak. “I am afraid, Mrs. Darcy, that you shall have to enlighten me on such matters. I confess I have never given much thought to a child’s plaything before. Do not, however, imagine that my omission makes me any less of a deep thinker.”

She saw the mirth in his eyes and began to explain. “Well, it is not so much a parallel as a metaphor. Life has many ups and downs. Sometimes we struggle with trials, or gravity in the swing’s case, and feel low and heavy. It even looks like we will hit the rocks below us. That moment where we think we can get no lower is very difficult. We feel the weight of our trials the worst at that moment and we do not have the perspective to see a way out. But the most important part about a swing is after the lows, after the trials and hardships we face, the swing always goes up. Always. Life always gets better. In fact, because we are so faithful and used our strength to pump ourselves during the lowest spot we are rewarded with two very important things.

“The first is perspective. As it swings up we are high enough to see a perspective that we could not get during the low part. We can see everything. I like to swing high enough that the ropes that tie us
are not even in my peripheral vision and I feel like am just flying in the air.

“That brings me to the second important reward. As we reach that peak, we are weightless for just a moment. All that irritates, like the ropes or seat of the chair in the swings case, or trials or things that make us anxious in life’s case, it all just disappears for a moment and we are free from all that binds us. We feel nothing, not even gravity weighing us down. It is a moment that I relish. To have perspective and be weightless at the same time is indescribable. So yes, life is like being on a swing. We can just sit there at the lowest spot and be miserable or we can fight and struggle and pump ourselves to a position that allows us to see things in a better light. But the most important life lesson you get from a swing is that after every down, the swing always comes back up.
Always. Life can be hard but it always gets better.” She sat and watched him, his eyes intently focused on hers.

Mr. Darcy was silent for a moment. He had never seen the depth of conviction that she had just demonstrated to him. She was always intelligent and wise in his mind, but to have spent so much time correlating a simple swing to help her understand life’s problems was beyond anything he could have come up with on his own. “You are beyond amazing, Elizabeth. And I must admit I lied to you again.”

She knew this game now, and smiled at him. “And what might be the truth?”

“You are most definitely a deeper thinker than I am. I must remember that when I try to understand you. I have to admit that a swing has always been just a swing to me.”
And a chicken has always been a farm animal, but to her it was more.
He would need to remember her cleverness and powers of observation if he was to make sense of the chickens.

“If you are going to keep lying to me, you might just alter my opinion of you,” she teased.

He was most anxious to hear what her opinion of him was. “And what might your opinion of me be that would be so altered?”

“That you are trustworthy.” She gave him her best smile.

He had, in his heart of hearts, been hoping for more, but trustworthy? He could live with that opinion. It was better than proud. He had made every attempt to be trustworthy with her, and he was grateful he had gotten that across. He stood up and took her arm and tucked it into his. “Let me show you the map.”

She let him lead her into his study, feeling delight at his very presence. His fresh cedar and sage scent was overwhelming, but she closed her eyes for a moment once they were inside, attempting to focus her mind. He spread the map of Pemberley out on his desk and then took some books to place on the four corners of the map. She glanced idly over the objects on his desk: the inkwell, the carefully sharpened quills,
the neatly stacked letters. A torn piece of paper caught her eye, and without thinking, she reached for it. It was Georgiana’s letter from Wickham. She held it up to him. “How did you come across this?” Had Georgiana given it to him? The last she knew it was still in her book in the library. Had he read it?

Darcy’s hands paused in their motion. He should have burned the letter immediately, but he was struck at her reaction. She didn’t seem ashamed, but merely curious as to how he had obtained it. Perhaps a little concerned, but nothing greater. What was he to make of this? “I was going to burn it,” he said flatly.

“Burn it?” Her eyebrows drew together. “You do not think it important?” Something was wrong. He had always been so protective of Georgiana in the past, and she had expected him to be overwrought with worry and even angry enough to do something. To burn it, though, meant it wasn’t worrisome. Did he simply want to sweep the troubles under the rug? She would not have expected such a thing from him. Her mind was very confused. But his next reaction shocked her to the core.

His entire day yesterday was consumed with the severity of his reaction to the letter! How dare she question him, after all that she had done? “Of course I think it is important!” he said sharply, his voice rising. He had not known what to expect: apologies, remorse, but not this moderate concern. “I am your husband! How can you imagine that I might not care?” He shook his head, turning and walking to the window. “Good Lord, Elizabeth! Do you think me totally heartless?”

Elizabeth’s face flushed with anger. She put her hands to her hips, her brows drawing together in a glare. How dare he speak to her like that! “What exactly does being my husband have to do with this letter?”

He could not believe his ears! She had not flinched in the slightest. Was she absolutely craven, then? He was getting
more angry and his voice bellowed, “Do you know what kind of man you are dealing with, Elizabeth? Do you want me to enlighten you about his prior actions? Or does his kiss still linger on your lips?” He stepped forward, snatching the letter from Elizabeth’s hand, ready to tear it up. He watched as her mouth dropped open, and inhaled, standing still.
Patience. Time
.
The words ran rapidly through his mind. He would not let Wickham’s scheming ruin his marriage. He had gone too far and he knew it. Yesterday he had made the decision to move past the letter, but apparently the decision had not solidified as obviously his emotions leapt to levels he was not prepared to handle. He opened his mouth to apologize when Georgiana tapped on the door and stepped inside.

“Is everything all right? William, why are you raising your voice so?” She came closer and noticed the letter, her letter, in William’s hand. She looked at Elizabeth, who had tears in her eyes. “You gave him my letter?” How could Elizabeth betray her like that? Apparently she had taken things into her own hands.

Mr. Darcy looked at the letter in his hand. “Your letter? Georgiana, this is your letter from Wickham?”

“Yes, of course! Elizabeth, how could you give it to him without telling me?”

Darcy unfolded and then refolded the letter, looking between Elizabeth and Georgiana. “This is your letter. . . ” He opened it up again and held it out to her.