Pemberley.
She now acknowledged Mrs. Darcy’s greeting by a gracious bow, turning immediately to Lucy.
“Lucy dear, the sun, the sun! Do go inside, in the shade—remember your complexion! Nothing so harmful to the skin! Freckles, you know, so vulgar and coarse! And you are looking a little peaked—a strenuous drive, although dear Lord Charles’s carriage is so well sprung—you know you are not strong!”
Henry and Juliet were occupied in greeting the Collinses, but as the newcomers swept into the hall, Miss Bingley seized Henry’s arm, neatly cutting him away from Eliza.
“Henry! How good to see you! And how tall you are grown! Your cousin Lucy is a little tired. Do you go and help her.”
Georgiana looked annoyed. “Lucy is perfectly well, Caroline. Please do not fuss.” Her husband, last out of the carriage, had now joined her, and they paused for their introduction to Charlotte.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Cleghorn, patiently waiting in the background, now came forward and led the visitors upstairs. A hasty aside from Mrs. Darcy informed her that the unexpected visitor should be allotted the blue room in the East Wing.
Juliet had fluttered quickly from Eliza Collins to Lucy Baluster. “Dear Lucy, it is an age since we met.” Her cheek made brief contact with her cousin’s. “Let us all meet in the yellow saloon,” she said, “just as quickly as we can.”
Jonathan Collins, looking back as he mounted the stairs at the newcomer he had scarcely had time to greet, saw a pensive, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were downcast, showing long lashes in half-moons on her cheeks, as she listened to her cousin’s chatter. He paused again as they reached the first landing. The great marble-floored hall beneath him glowed with light from the sunshine pouring through the open doors. A crimson Turkish carpet covered part of the black-and-white tiles and continued up the staircase. The banisters were picked out with gold paint, and lining the stairway were portraits of imposing people in robes and jewels. The girl mounting the stairs behind him was dressed entirely in white, which took on a shimmer of reflected light from sunshine and polished wood and marble and gold paint. Everything was new and exciting, the building grander than any he had previously entered. But it was the girl who held his eye, and at that moment she raised those long dark lashes and looked up at him. He smiled involuntarily, and for a moment her lips too curved upward and her eyes brightened. But just then Miss Bingley spoke, and the girl frowned and looked away. Jonathan took a deep breath.
Mrs. Cleghorn showed Charlotte and Eliza their bedrooms, and then left them together while she escorted Jonathan to his room. Charlotte looked about her with a reminiscent eye; it was many years since she had stayed at Pemberley. She sighed a little. It was a weakness, she knew, but she had always had a liking for consequence. And the splendors of Pemberley were nothing if not consequential. She removed her outer garments, smoothed her hair, and joined Eliza.
Eliza was wide-eyed. She took off her bonnet and laid it on a chair, twisting round as she took in her surroundings. There was a four-poster bed with lacy pillows piled high, and a white counterpane. Three little wooden steps enabled one to reach the bed. An armchair, padded with rose-colored velvet, stood by the window; it had polished, curly feet like paws. There was a dresser skirted with lace. Deep rose velvet drapery over white lace curtains festooned the windows, which stood open. The air was warm and the scent of honeysuckle poured into the room.
“Oh Mama,” said Eliza. “It’s like a fairy tale.”
She had been silent with wonder ever since the carriage entered the Pemberley grounds, and had watched with shining eyes and parted lips as the house itself came into sight and grew ever closer—and grander. It was a large, handsome stone building, standing to great advantage on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high and wooded hills. In front, a stream of some natural importance had been swelled into a lake, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. They had descended a hill, crossed a bridge, and finally arrived at the house itself. Every disposition of the ground was good, and Eliza now looked from her window on the whole scene, the lake, the trees—chestnuts, beeches, oaks, willows bending gracefully over their reflections in the water—and the winding of the valley, with delight. Ducks were swimming on the lake. She was enchanted.
“Yes, my dear; indeed, yes. There is nowhere quite like Pemberley. Now, let me tidy your hair. You need not unpack, Eliza. A maid will do that for you.”
“Who was that lady, Mama? The tall thin one all in black, with the acidulated voice?”
“That is Miss Caroline Bingley, sister-in-law to Mrs. Bingley. She has not a happy nature, I’m afraid. At one time, I think she hoped to marry Mr. Darcy—but I must not gossip. It is all a long time ago.
“Now, if you are ready, my dear, we shall go down.”
The afternoon was not all pleasure for Eliza. She and Jonathan found themselves in a group of young people, comprising not only Henry and her newfound Darcy cousins, Juliet and Fitz, but also Amabel and Anthony Bingley and the quiet young girl who had arrived so closely on the Collinses’ heels, the Honourable Lucy Baluster.They refreshed themselves in the yellow saloon, a very pretty sitting room, decorated with yellow cushions and hangings, once known as “Miss Georgiana’s room,” and now Juliet’s special domain.While they enjoyed a luncheon of fruit and cold meats and little cakes, two more young people arrived, a striking and exuberant pair, Torquil and Catriona Fitzwilliam. The children of Colonel Fitzwilliam, they were both tall, handsome, and auburn-haired, confident and talkative and obviously good friends with the Darcys. Exclamations were heard as the Darcys flocked round the newcomers. A stream of family references and “do you remember” exchanges dominated the gathering. Jonathan and Eliza found themselves relegated to the edge of the group.
Charlotte Collins sat with Mrs. Darcy and her gentle sister, Mrs. Bingley, in the long saloon overlooking the lake, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. There also were gathered Lady Charles Baluster and, a little later, Miss Morag Douglass, a cousin of Lady Moira Fitzwilliam, who was acting as companion and chaperone to Catriona Fitzwilliam. Meanwhile, the older menfolk, comprising Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Lord Charles Baluster, had made their way to the stables.
Miss Caroline Bingley, to Eliza’s dismay, came and went between the two groups of women, relishing her importance as a guest at Pemberley, but unwilling to relinquish her self-designated post of guardian to Lucy Baluster.
It was Juliet Darcy who set the tone of the afternoon gathering. Her manner was imperious and she seemed to have trouble remembering Eliza’s name. Henry greeted Eliza with his old ardor, his eyes lingering on hers as the introductions were made. She smiled back shyly, but as he started to speak, he was interrupted by Juliet, who announced her intention, after they had refreshed themselves, of carrying the girls off to her own room.
“Catriona, I must show you my dress for tomorrow. And you must show me yours. Lucy, what color shall you wear? I hope we shall not all be the same.”
Henry tried to divert Eliza to the stables on the excuse of showing her his horse (“your old friend,” he said), but Juliet would have none of it. “Jonathan may go with you, Henry. And Fitz and Torquil,” she said with an imperious nod of her head. “We will go upstairs. And later I want to show Lucy and Eliza the conservatory.” And the young men had obeyed her, though Henry wished to stay with Eliza and Fitz with Amabel. Juliet, thought Eliza, was used to having her own way.
But Henry too had a mind of his own. Even as he accepted his dismissal, he turned to Eliza to say, with a slight bow, “We shall meet this evening, but pray save me tomorrow morning, Miss Eliza. We will ride tomorrow.” And then he was gone, leaving Eliza bright-eyed and wistful.
The hours spent discussing dress in Juliet’s flouncy bedroom passed slowly. Eliza had one dress made specially for the ball, but her dress for dinner that evening was not new, merely her best. She knew she could not compete with these privileged young women in the matter of apparel. She longed to explore the beauties of Pemberley, both indoors and out. The day was brilliant, and the room grew over warm. Eliza began to make friends with Amabel Bingley, who asked about Longbourn, her mother’s old home, and Meryton, and expressed an interest in Eliza’s life there. Lucy Baluster said little. Juliet and Catriona kept up an animated chatter on London friends and activities, in which Eliza and Lucy could not join. At last they adjourned to the conservatory.
Here, at least, the glass doors were open to the terrace. Inside, the conservatory was hot and humid; trickles of moisture ran down the windows farthest from the doors. It was a jungly place, thought Eliza. Vines reached to the rafters while below grew exotic flowering plants and shrubs, gardenias and camellias, frangipani and rare orchids. A heavy, heady scent filled the air. Eliza wandered away from the group, moving from plant to plant, smelling the flowers and admiring the brilliance of color and the delicacy of individual blooms. Juliet was offering
