Miss Bingley said through gritted teeth, “It was a most pleasant house for that part of the city, but you must understand, Mrs. Bennet, that the Gardiners’ home cannot be compared to those in Mayfair. A man who lives where he might oversee his warehouses wouldn’t be accepted in the finest homes.”
“As your father earned his money in trade, and your brother maintains those connections, I’m surprised, Miss Bingley, that you receive invitations to
Claiming a cup of tea, she took a chair close to where Mary rifled through sheet music. She would never tell anyone how out of place she had felt as she had taken in Pemberley’s splendor: the spacious lobby, the elegantly decorated sitting rooms, the large, well-proportioned dining room, and the family portrait gallery. She’d known from Jane’s and Elizabeth’s descriptions that Mr. Darcy had extensive wealth, but she hadn’t conceived of the disparity between her own existence and that of her least-favorite daughter. She loved Elizabeth, but her second child had defied her at every turn. Elizabeth was Mr. Bennet’s daughter: Her husband and Lizzy had shared a love for reading and a fondness for twisting the King’s English, neither of which she cared to think on.
Taking a sip of tea, she settled smugly into the chair’s cushions. At least, between Jane and Elizabeth, she wouldn’t live in poverty when Mr. Bennet passed. It was that particular fear that had driven her to beg Elizabeth to marry Mr. Collins. Longbourn was entailed upon the man, and she’d thought it might remain in her control if the clergyman had chosen one of her daughters. Collins had eventually proposed to Elizabeth, but her daughter had vehemently refused the man — leaving the family in limbo. Mrs. Bennett had cajoled and threatened, but Lizzy had persevered. Now, it seemed that her second child had proven herself most astute in her denial of Collins. “Mr. Darcy holds Elizabeth in deepest regard,” her husband had assured her when he had announced their daughter’s impending marriage. She hadn’t believed it, at first. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had appeared to scorn each other. How was she to know that the man possessed a
The gentlemen joined them in a timely manner, and everyone prepared to enjoy Mary’s performance. Yet, before they could begin, Georgiana stepped forward. “By this time tomorrow, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth shall have returned to Pemberley. My brother wished to surprise his wife with your presence. Our Elizabeth has missed you deeply, and she speaks of her Hertfordshire family with fondness. Traditionally, we decorate Pemberley’s halls the evening before Christmas, but I’m hoping that you’ll join me tomorrow as I undertake that task a few days early. I wish my family to return to a fully bedecked household — to step into a Christmastide fantasy.”
Jane piped up. “I love gathering greenery. Mr. Bingley and I shall join you, Miss Darcy.”
“As shall I,” Kitty added.
“Miss Bennet and I are at your disposal,” Mr. Grange said from his waiting position behind Mary. He would turn the pages for his intended.
Mr. Grange chimed in, “I’m not as young as I would like, but I can still use a saw long enough to cut evergreen branches.”
Mrs. Bennet dropped her eyes. Never very athletic nor one to enjoy the outdoors, she didn’t want to tramp across the lawns. “Perhaps I might better serve by adding my expertise to your housekeeper’s efforts.”
“Of course,” Georgiana said earnestly. “Mrs. Reynolds shall appreciate your ideas.”
Caroline snickered, drawing attention to the fact that she had made no commitment. “What?” she snapped.
“Shall you join us, Caroline?” Jane asked softly.
“I think not,” she said with indifference. “I rarely rise before noon, but, more importantly, domesticity is not my forte.”
Kitty noted Georgiana’s disappointment. “As you wish, Miss Bingley,” Kitty said pertly. “Now, Mary, what shall you play for us?” She wouldn’t permit Miss Bingley to destroy Georgiana’s plans. “Come, Miss Darcy, you’re to sit with me. When Mary finishes, we shall make a list of what we need to give Pemberley a festive look.”
Left alone, Elizabeth instinctively sought her small traveling box. Changing into a night rail and dressing gown, she curled up in a chair before the fire and unwrapped a beribboned bundle of letters. When Darcy spent time away from the estate, she often reread his letters. It was her way of keeping him close. Of course, the bundle held that legendary first letter, the one he had written to Elizabeth after his Hunsford proposal. She had once promised to burn it, but she would fight anyone who thought truly to do so. It was the letter that changed her life — the one which had given her a true understanding of the man so necessary to her existence.
Sitting before the blaze’s warmth, Elizabeth easily remembered how with his second proposal, Darcy had mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”
She had tried to allay his fears. She had explained what its effect had had on her and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.
“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter.” Of course, she had not. Elizabeth had read and reread it so often that she could recite it by heart. “There was one part,” Darcy had continued, “especially the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again.” It was so typical of her husband to worry that his words had brought her mental suffering. She loved him dearly for his compassion. “I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.” As if she could hate a man who had unselfishly saved her family from ruin.
Elizabeth had seized the opportunity to protect him — to let Mr. Darcy know that she welcomed his renewed attentions. “The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believed it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.” Yet, she had not burnt that first letter or any of the others that had followed. For a man who was abashedly silent at the most social of times, her husband was absolutely eloquent when he put pen to paper. Starting with the morning after their wedding night, Darcy had marked poignant moments with personal notes left on her pillow. She would wake to find what he couldn’t say in person.Tonight, she began her reading with that wedding night homage to their love: “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” she read aloud.
Chapter 2
A tear slid down her cheek, but Elizabeth didn’t whisk it away. He had rattled her senses that night. Rattled. Shaken. Turned her world upside down in the most tantalizing ways. Her heart had pounded so intensely when she’d looked upon her husband for the first time: It had mimicked the cadence of his as Darcy drew her into his embrace. Unbelievable desire had coursed through her — ricocheted through her body and devoured her soul. Luckily, she’d spoken quite frankly with her Aunt Gardiner prior to the wedding night. If not, his power over her might have frightened Elizabeth. Instead, she’d viewed it as a challenge, and although she’d allowed Darcy to lead, she’d learned to exercise her own power. Elizabeth loved it when he surrendered to her — when he couldn’t deny her.
A smile turned up her mouth’s corners. They were good together — the absolute best. Her hand instinctively rested on her abdomen. “Please, God,” she whispered. “This time… please.” She wanted so desperately to prove
