herself.
“Coming,” Elizabeth answered in a rather shaky voice, more than grateful to leave. As she quickly walked out of the library, she refrained from stomping her foot in frustration.
“Here we are, Miss Bennet. Is anything amiss?”
Elizabeth smiled. “No, nothing at all.”
Mrs. Reynolds and Rosalyn were standing next to a closed door. “This is Mr. Darcy’s study,” she told them. “As he is now in here, we would not think of disturbing him. This is one place where he can come when he wishes to be alone. It is the one place where guests cannot go unless invited. Now, follow me.”
Elizabeth’s insides tightened as they walked past, and she felt that even to take a breath was a monumental chore. Yes, this was going to be a long two weeks, indeed!
As they continued down the hall, they came to a pair of closed double doors. Mrs. Reynolds turned to the two ladies before opening them. “This is Pemberley’s ballroom. Throughout the years, many guests have been in awe of its splendour and grandeur when they step in. Unfortunately it has been a very long time since a ball was held here.”
She turned to open the doors, and as they swung open, Elizabeth and Rosalyn followed Mrs. Reynolds in. They both gasped as they gazed around the room. It was unlike anything Elizabeth had ever seen; certainly nothing in her neighbourhood in Hertfordshire even came close to being its equal. Stepping in, Elizabeth could almost hear the music, see the women in their fashionable gowns dancing under the candlelit chandeliers, and feel the delight of the guests.
Rosalyn walked aimlessly about the room, her eyes bright, her jaw dropped. She took a step out toward the centre of the room and spun around with arms stretched out wide, as if taking a step in a dance and being twirled by her partner. “If only we could have a ball while we are here,” she whispered to Elizabeth, tucking her hand through her arm. “It would be quite heavenly.”
With great reluctance they left the ballroom. Mrs. Reynolds then pointed out the downstairs sitting room, and indicated to Elizabeth where the children’s playroom and nursery were located. Elizabeth’s heart and mind were seized with the realization that those rooms were now her world, much more so than a ballroom. She doubted, in her current position, that she would ever attend a ball in such a place as this.
They came to another set of stairs with two hallways going in separate directions from it. She described one wing as being the servants’ quarters, and the other wing as being additional apartments that were rarely used. She advised them that the sickroom was the first room down the servant’s hallway.
“We shall take these stairs back up. They will take us through the portrait hall, past the music room, and then to the hallway that goes back to your rooms. Very nicely planned, Pemberley is.”
They ascended the grand staircase, and Mrs. Reynolds described in detail how the exquisite woodwork and tile had come from different places around England and Europe, and the paintings that lined the walls were acquired by the late Mr. Darcy on his journeys.
Elizabeth was surprised she was able to attend to Mrs. Reynolds’ words, as her mind still raced with the mortification she felt in walking into Mr. Darcy’s study unexpectedly… unannounced. She unwittingly let out a sigh of frustration.
Upon hearing her, Rosalyn leaned in close and whispered, “It is all breathtaking, is it not?”
Elizabeth merely nodded in accord, being content to allow Rosalyn to believe it was her admiration of the place that prompted her sigh. As she looked around her, however, she had to agree with Rosalyn’s estimation of Pemberley.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, they found themselves in the portrait hall. Mrs. Reynolds began by explaining that the portraits at this end of the hall were the oldest, and at the far end hung the more recent paintings. She pointed out names and ancestral connection to the present Mr. and Miss Darcy as they walked between the myriad of faces looking down at them.
As Elizabeth glanced up at each face, she found herself searching for any similarity between the person in the painting and that person on whom she’d just so rudely walked in. She did, on occasion, see the crook of the mouth, the shape of the nose, or the deep-set brown eyes that belonged to Mr. Darcy. She wondered if Rosalyn was doing the same. A quick look at her friend revealed an interest solely in a portrait at the far end of the hall. Mr. Darcy’s.
As they drew closer to that portrait, Elizabeth felt Rosalyn’s hand grip her arm, as if prodding her because she was not walking briskly enough. They soon found themselves looking up at the larger-than-life portrait of Mr. Darcy standing outside. A large tree trunk framed him on one side, and the leafy branches arched over him. He stood atop a hill, and it looked like the peaks of Derbyshire were spread out behind him in the distance. He looked particularly content in his surroundings. Dressed immaculately, he had an air of distinction about him.
“It is a wonderful likeness of him!” gushed Rosalyn. “He is such a distinguished man!”
“Oh, indeed, he is,” agreed Mrs. Reynolds. “Quite fastidious about being proper in all things.”
A small smile began to form on Elizabeth’s face as she reflected upon her recent encounter with him. While she was deeply embarrassed by her injudicious manners, she realized he must have been just as mortified being caught in such an undignified posture. His look of surprise was not merely due to her walking in on him, but by being seen in such a fashion, leaning casually back in his chair, with his feet propped up on the desk, his coat tossed casually over the corner of it.
She could not prevent a giggle from escaping as she contemplated this, all the while Rosalyn and Mrs. Reynolds affirmed each other in their noble opinion of the man. The both stopped and looked questioningly at her.
“Elizabeth?” Rosalyn asked, her eyes displaying her displeasure. “What do you find so humorous?”
Pressing her fingers up to her mouth to conceal any further laughter, she shook her head as tears of repressed laughter filled her eyes. How she could feel so mortified one moment and laugh about it the next, she could not comprehend. She certainly did not know how to answer Rosalyn.
“I am sorry,” she said, as she again thought of the disparity between the man in the study and the fastidious man he wished for all to see. “My mind was on other things. Pray, forgive me, for I was not being particularly attentive.” As she looked back up at the painting, she suddenly wondered who the real man was.
Rosalyn smiled a reluctant acceptance and turned back to Mrs. Reynolds, who seemed eager to talk about the final portrait.
“This is Miss Darcy, painted just a year ago. Her brother arranged for the sitting, and we are all pleased with the results. Do you not think it a remarkable likeness?”
“Yes,” both ladies answered.
“She is certainly handsome,” added Rosalyn. “A very fine young lady, indeed.”
“And her brother has had such a hand in her upbringing,” Mrs. Reynolds added. “He is so good to her and has always been there for her. It was very difficult when their father passed, but Mr. Darcy stepped into the role of guardian admirably.”
“Such uncommon devotion,” sighed Rosalyn.
“Yes, one would be hard pressed to find a brother who has taken care of his sister as well as he has Miss Darcy.” Mrs. Reynolds clasped her hands together. “Up ahead is the music room. Follow me, please.”
Before continuing on, the two ladies both looked up again at the portrait of the Master of Pemberley. Each had a whirlwind of thoughts concerning the man whose likeness they scrutinized one last time.
Elizabeth thought there was something different about him in this portrait, but she could not readily define it. It was the manner of his posture, the expression on his face, which entirely conflicted with what she knew of him —with what she thought she knew of him.
Turning together, the two young ladies caught up with Mrs. Reynolds, who entered a room at one end of the hall.
They both gasped when they stepped inside. A beautiful pianoforte had prominence in the centre of the room.
