mounted them.
They gave way to a corridor which was looking bright and cheerful, having been newly renovated. The windows had been cleaned and the view they gave over the Pemberley park was beautiful. Sweeping lawns spread in every direction, and beyond them lay the Derbyshire moor.
He trod on the squeaking floorboard and smiled. Elizabeth had at first wanted to replace it, but she had relented when he had told her that it reminded him of his childhood. When he had slept in the nursery, its sound had heralded the approach of visitors.
His had been a happy childhood, roaming the grounds and climbing trees, loved by both parents, his beautiful mother and his austere father. From his mother had come open demonstrations of affection; from his father had come a solid feeling of security.
“The Darcys have lived at Pemberley for over two hundred years,” his father had said to him. “It is a name to be proud of.”
And he had been proud. Too proud on occasion, he thought uncomfortably, as he remembered his early relationship with Elizabeth. But she had taught him that too much pride led to incivility and, worse, blindness. Blindness to the qualities of others, regardless of their rank. And so he had mended his ways, and in doing so he had won his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.
He paused on the threshold of the nursery. It had been decorated in a sunny yellow and the window seat had been upholstered in a matching fabric decorated with rocking horses. The inspiration had been his old wooden rocking horse, which had been freshly painted and varnished. He had spent many happy hours playing on it, as he had spent many happy hours kneeling on the window seat and looking out at the gardens, his excitement brimming over as he had seen his first pony standing below.
He turned to look at the cot in which he himself had slept, and he had a sudden memory of his mother bending over him illuminated by a halo of light coming from the candles on the landing behind her. He could almost hear the swish of her brocade dress as she bent over him, and feel the soft fall of powder on his cheek as she kissed him goodnight.
And then the memory faded and he thought that here, soon, his own child would be sleeping, climbing on the window seat, riding on the rocking horse.
He had always known he must marry and provide an heir for Pemberley, but with Elizabeth it was so much more than that. It was not just marrying and then having done with it; it was going through life together, exploring its new experiences side by side. And it was this, having a child together, becoming a family.
He smiled and, with one last look around the room, he went down to the first floor. He gave instructions to his valet for the morrow, then he went downstairs and rang for Mrs. Reynolds.
“Mrs. Darcy has no doubt told you of our plans for tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes, sir, she has.”
“I want to make sure that everything is done for her comfort. Blankets in the coach, a hot brick for her feet, a hamper of food with some tempting delicacies, and plenty of cushions.”
Mrs. Reynolds assured him that everything would be done. Content that he had made all the necessary plans, he made ready to escort his wife around the park in the phaeton.
As they set out, Elizabeth looking radiant in a new blue cloak, Darcy privately thought that the ride might show her she was not capable of making such a long journey by coach on the morrow. But instead of finding it uncomfortable she found it exhilarating. She was by nature active, and if she could not walk round the park, then to drive was the next best thing.
“You did not find it too tiring?” he asked her as he handed her out of the phaeton after an hour.
“Not at all. And I will not find the coach journey too tiring either,” she said mischievously.
“Then I admit myself beaten. We will set off at two o’clock,” he said.
There was a light covering of snow the following day. The whiteness glittered in the sunshine as it lay across the open expanse of the moor.
When Elizabeth stepped outside after lunch, the sharp, clean air stung her cheeks and made them glow. Darcy handed her into the coach. She settled herself, with some difficulty, on the comfortable seats, and he wrapped her round with blankets. She put her feet on the hot brick, the door was closed, and, with a crunching sound as the wheels began to roll across the frosted gravel, they were off.
Elizabeth felt her spirits rise as they bowled down the drive and turned into the road. She had not set foot beyond the gates for a week, and she was looking forward to the journey.
It was now almost three months since Jane and Bingley had left Netherfield. It had been a comfortable house and it had created many happy memories for them, but it was too near to Mrs. Bennet to be truly home. Mrs. Bennet had had a habit of visiting every day, sometimes two or three times a day, and if it was not Mrs. Bennet, then it was one of the other relations. Jane, always softhearted, had not liked to tell them that, although she loved them, she did not want to see them quite so often; and even Bingley, the most mild-mannered of men, had been heard to remark on several occasions that he wished the Bennets were not quite so near.
Since the Bennets could not be expected to move, and since Netherfield was only rented, the problem was solved once Jane and Bingley found a house of their own to buy. They had wisely ignored the suitable houses in Hertfordshire and looked further north, near Lizzy and Darcy. After many months of searching, they had found the perfect house and they had taken up residence there at the end of summer.
The house had at first not been fit for visitors, and afterwards, Elizabeth’s condition had made travelling difficult, so that Elizabeth and Darcy had not yet visited, and Elizabeth was eager to see it.
The coach drove through Derby, a bustling city, and Darcy asked Elizabeth if she would like to stop for some refreshment, but she was eager to arrive. So they travelled on into Nottinghamshire, where the countryside became softer and more smiling. Gone were the moors and instead there were fields, separated from the road by hedgerows, which were covered with glittering spiders’ webs.
The snow gradually disappeared as they moved further south and, as they approached Jane’s new neighbourhood, they saw open fields with a river meandering through.
“We are almost there,” said Elizabeth, her excitement mounting at the thought of seeing Jane again.
The coachman took a wrong turn and had to ask for directions, but they were soon on the right road and turned in between tall gates. They travelled through a deer park until the house came into view. It was an imposing house in the English Renaissance style, its pale stone looking serene in the midday light.
The coach came to a halt outside the front door, which opened immediately, and Bingley came down the steps, hands outstretched to greet them.
“My dear Darcy! And Elizabeth! Upon my honour, I have never seen you looking better. But it is cold out here. Come, let us go inside.”
He asked them about the journey as they went indoors, and they remarked upon the splendour of the house, but there was only one thing Elizabeth really wanted to do and that was to see her sister and her new nephew.
Bingley conducted them to the nursery, where a large fire crackled cheerily in the grate. And there was Jane, looking matronly and happy, by the side of the crib.
“Lizzy! Oh, how glad I am to see you!” she said, jumping up and kissing Lizzy affectionately. “I hoped you would come, but with the weather being against us and your time being so near I did not depend upon it.”
“I could not resist. The opportunity to see you was too tempting, and the chance to see little Charles was irresistible,” said Elizabeth.
She embraced Jane and then bent over the crib, where the newest addition to the Bingley family lay sleeping. His little fists were curled up sweetly, and his expression was contented.
“He has your nose and Bingley’s chin,” said Elizabeth. “I cannot yet tell about his eyes. Oh, Jane, he is beautiful.”
“I think he is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen,” said Jane.
“As our baby has not been born yet, I will not argue with you!” said Elizabeth. “He shall be the most beautiful baby in England until then. Have you decided what to name him?”
“Charles Edward Fitzwilliam Bingley,” said Jane.
“A very large name for a very small baby!” said Darcy, who was looking down at the infant with some interest.
