Just prior to noon, Lizzy sat in Darcy’s study while he worked at his desk. She pretended to read a book, but was more fascinated with inspecting her husband. A small crease sat between his brows as he concentrated. He rolled the quill in his fingers and rubbed his chin when ruminating. Occasionally his lips would silently mouth the words on the document before him. Frequently he would sigh or harrumph or aah or curse or grumble, without being aware he did so. Lizzy adored simply observing him, learning more about him in these unconscious mannerisms.
A knock at the door led to the entrance of Mr. Keith, who requested a moment of Mr. Darcy’s time. With alacrity, and a thankful nod to Mr. Keith, Lizzy rose and left the two gentlemen alone. Mrs. Reynolds stood outside the door. “Is everything ready?” Lizzy asked.
“As you requested, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Thank you!” and with a brief squeeze to Mrs. Reynolds’ hands, Lizzy flew up to her dressing room where Marguerite was waiting.
About forty-five minutes later, Mr. Darcy emerged from his study, asked a footman where Mrs. Darcy could be found, and was told that she was in the conservatory. Darcy walked speedily, already lamenting the absence of his wife. He called to her when he entered, and her voice came from the far side of the room. He made his way around the profusion of potted plants and trees. The tableau before him stopped him dead in his tracks.
A clearing had been made and a luncheon was arranged as if outdoors, hamper and all. Elizabeth stood, wearing her lightest muslin summer gown with only a thin chemise underneath and satin lawn slippers. Her hair was down, with the side strands twisted into an elaborate braid in back. The warmth of the conservatory, the aroma of the blooms, the sunlight shining through the ceiling and walls of glass, along with the blanket on the floor, created the perfect summer scenario.
“Happy anniversary, Fitzwilliam!” Lizzy approached her stunned husband and without preamble began unbuttoning his coat. “I know it is a poor substitute for your grotto, so we must pretend.” She laid his coat aside and then kissed him. “I could not forget the day you made me the happiest woman in the world, my love. One whole week you have tolerated me! You have earned a medal, but instead you will get only lunch. Now sit. I shall serve our food.”
Lizzy also had a gift for her husband. “It is rather silly,” she blushingly remarked when she handed him the small box. “I did not have the foresight to buy a real gift for you. Instead I recalled an inane French novel I read when I was a girl, a poorly written romantic piece of tripe. There was this one thing I thought sweet, in my girlish idea of romance.”
Darcy opened the box and saw a small satin pouch with a drawstring closure. “Look inside,” Lizzy said, biting her lip in nervousness. He pulled out a long slender tress of her silky hair that had been braided and tied on each end with fine thread. “You see,” she explained, “now you will permanently have a small part of me with you even if I am not there.”
He stared at her in unbelief. “You thought this was silly? This is… astounding! Elizabeth, I do not have the words!” He kissed her tenderly and held her chin with his fingers. “My love, I resort to buying gifts because it is what I am accustomed to. You look inward to your heart and give far more generously than I. I will cherish this and bear it with me for all my life. I so love you, Elizabeth.”
It was a lovely afternoon. There is something mysterious about picnics— even indoor ones—that immediately causes one to feel mellow and whimsical. One week of wedded bliss, and they both already had scores of memories to record into their journals, not that either of them would ever forget the passion and joy of these first days.
Chapter Nine
Monday arrived and Lizzy was slightly ashamed, but she could not deny her excitement. Never in her entire life had she been able to shop without worry for the cost. She still was not sure she could manage it, but she intended to try. Darcy seemed as eager as she was. She had learned early in their engagement that he adored buying gifts for those he loved—for her, of course, but also for Georgiana and even his cousin Richard or Bingley. He was almost absentminded about it, simply seeing something that he knew they would enjoy and purchasing it on the spot. It was endearing.
Although she felt somewhat like a child let loose in a candy store, she understood that her excursion today was necessary. Each day, as she wandered about Pemberley, the awareness of her new station in life became increasingly apparent. If for no other reason than to make her husband proud that he had married a simple country girl, she would present herself as exactly what society demanded from the Mistress of Pemberley.
She wore her new pelisse over her gown, feeling more regal than she ever had. She tucked a wad of her pin money into her reticule, just in case, and met her smiling husband in the foyer.
First they had luncheon at the Carriage Inn, one of Lambton’s oldest and most prominent establishments. Lizzy blushed initially at the number of stares her appearance on the arm of Mr. Darcy engendered, but his air of indifference and obvious pride at her gracing his side calmed her. She was introduced to several people, all of whom had heard of Mr. Darcy’s marriage. “Word travels quickly in these small communities, as you well know, Elizabeth,” he whispered.
After luncheon Darcy and Lizzy walked to Madame du Loire’s salon. Along the way they encountered a distinguished older gentleman who approached the Darcys with a broad grin.
“Why, Mr. Darcy! How fortunate I am to meet you so unexpectedly. This must be the Mrs. Darcy we are all hearing about.” He bowed deeply to Lizzy. He had a very open face and Lizzy found herself liking him immediately.
“Mr. Vernor,” Darcy replied with a happy smile, “you are correct. This is my wife, Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy, may I introduce you to our closest neighbor, Mr. Henry Vernor of Sanburl Hall.”
Lizzy curtseyed. “Mr. Vernor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, however, I must insist that the pleasure is entirely mine. I am certain that Mr. Darcy has warned you that the rumors of your grace and beauty have preceded your entry into our little community. Now I shall be able to brag to all that I beheld you first and can glowingly proclaim that the rumors pale in comparison to the reality that was before me.”
Lizzy was a bit shocked at Mr. Vernor’s ebullient charm and assumed Darcy would be miffed, so she was further surprised to hear him laugh boomingly. “It sunders my heart to disappoint you, my old friend, but we have just come from the Carriage Inn and I was honored to introduce my lovely wife to a number of the denizens of Lambton. Tell me, Vernor, how much have you scoundrels wagered on who would espy my wife first?”
Mr. Vernor feigned indignation, “Darcy, you wound me, sir! A true gentleman would never wager on such a thing.” His words, however, were denied by the wink he gave to Lizzy and by Darcy’s continued laughter.
Darcy turned to his wife, who was beginning to find the entire encounter extremely amusing. “You see, my love, Lambton offers little in the ways of diversion so the
Vernor assumed a visage of tremendous mourning. “Mr. Creswell won on the age. There was some debate since you were eight and twenty when you became betrothed, but the wager was for age at marriage, so Creswell edged out Sir Cole. Sadly for us all, although undoubtedly happily and wisely for you and Mrs. Darcy,” he bowed again to Lizzy, “you ventured outside London society, a move none of us anticipated.”
Lizzy laughed, “I do not believe my husband anticipated it either, Mr. Vernor. His chagrin was tremendous, let me assure you.” With a twinkle she glanced at her husband. “He fought valiantly against it, but in the end we ladies usually achieve what we want, is that not true, Mr. Vernor?”
“Most definitely, Mrs. Darcy. When it comes to matters of the heart, the fairer sex has the distinct advantage.”
“My wife is far too generous, Vernor. She led me on a merry chase in which I was all too delighted to engage.” He briefly kissed Elizabeth’s hand, saying, “The prize was well worth the effort.” Darcy was beaming and Vernor could not mistake the looks shared with his wife as anything other than the deepest love. Vernor had been a great friend to Darcy’s father, and his son, Gerald, had been a childhood playmate of Darcy’s and was one of his
