Christmas at Pemberley (5 page)

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 to Darcy and to the world that she was worthy of being the Mistress of Pemberley—worthy of his love.

 

For the next hour, Elizabeth thumbed through the various notes and letters. Two of them she'd left folded—letters from Darcy after each miscarriage. Ignoring them didn't mean that she'd never read them—quite the reverse. They were two of her favorites, but she held the strong belief that this gestation would prove successful if she could control all the outside forces—neither too much gaiety nor too much hardness nor too much melancholy. She would keep an evenness—an equable, systematic, methodical order. Maybe then God would see fit to reward her with the child she desperately wanted.

“Maybe it's my punishment for the sin of pride. I once thought too highly of my own intelligence and not enough of Fitzwilliam's inherent goodness.” Mr. Darcy's constancy had never ceased to amaze her. She could not think of Darcy without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish and self-reproach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness. “Punish me, God,” she whispered. “Not him. My husband is the best of men.”

Swallowing back her tears, Elizabeth put the letters away. A few moments later, Darcy's knock announced his return. He kissed her cheek upon his entrance. “I see you've managed without my serving as your maid,” he remarked as he strode past her.

“I didn't realize you wished to assume Hannah's duties, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said teasingly as she closed and locked the door behind him.

Darcy turned toward her, a smug smile gracing his lips. “I'm more adept at removal of garments, Mrs. Darcy.”

She crossed the room and crawled into the bed. “I'll keep that in mind, Sir, in case you ever need a reference letter.”

Darcy watched his wife carefully, trying to take his cue from her. “Did you find something entertaining to do?” He removed his jacket and draped it over a chair's back and then turned his attention to his cravat.

“Just some quiet time,” she said as she draped the blanket across her lap.

Darcy continued to undress before stoking the fire again with more coal and kindling. “We may be here a couple of days, Elizabeth,” he informed her as he joined her under the wool blankets. “Two more gentlemen have taken shelter. They came north from Manchester. They said the storm was just beginning in the south when they left, but it turned icier the farther north they traveled.” He blew out the lone candle.

“How in the world did Mr. Washington accommodate them?” she asked with some surprise.

“Mr. Horvak and Sir Jonathan graciously agreed to double up.”

Elizabeth turned into his embrace as Darcy slid his arm under her pillow. She rested her head upon his shoulder. “Then I'm still the only female among Mr. Washington's guests.” She could not disguise the tentativeness in her tone.

“I will protect you, Elizabeth.”

“I know, Fitzwilliam. I'm just being foolish.”

“Mother, we cannot,” Anne De Bourgh offered her weak protest. She'd have liked to say more, but Anne had never taken a stand with Lady Catherine—with anyone, for that matter. Never rendered formidable by silence, whatever Lady Catherine said was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance. Anne often wished she could replicate even a quarter of her mother's unflappable nature.

“And why not, may I ask? We cannot travel to William's Wood. Observe the roads, Child.” Anne peered through the frosty coach window at the sand-like peppering of the ice pellets on the roadside. A sheen of frigid crystals accumulated in every rut and opening. “Mr. Swank's an excellent coachman, for I'd have none without his expertise, but even he's having difficulty keeping the coach on the road. Martin has released the staff at Matley Manor. Where else would you have us seek shelter?”

“An inn,” Anne offered.

Lady Catherine chortled. “You wish to spend Christmas in a common inn? Sometimes I wonder if the midwife didn't switch out my child with one of lesser birth, but then I recall Sir Lewis's reticence, and I know you to be his. The poor man nearly had apoplexy when he asked my late father for my hand. As dear of a man as ever walked the earth, but he'd have allowed the lowest laborer to walk away with Rosings Park if I hadn't insisted otherwise.”

“Yes, Mother,” Anne said obediently.

“
Yes
, you wish to spend your Christmas at an inn or
yes
, your mother is correct about your father's faintheartedness?”

“
Yes
to the dire situation that the roads present,” Anne said—the closest she'd ever come to defiance. Her mother's frequent remarks about Anne's father always irritated her. Anne's former world of love and carefree acceptance had died with the late baronet.

Lady Catherine asked smugly, “Then you agree that we should seek Pemberley's shelter?”

“What if Mr. Darcy refuses us admittance?” Anne asked apprehensively.

Lady Catherine sighed deeply. “Were you not listening to Georgiana when she announced that Darcy and that woman he calls his wife were away from Pemberley? Even with that touch of mettle that I noted on this last visit to Matlock, your cousin possesses both civility and good manners. She'll welcome us.”

“And when Mr. Darcy returns?”

Lady Catherine smiled knowingly. “The man's a Darcy. Like his father, Fitzwilliam shall snidely deliver a lecture regarding my duty
to his wife, and then he'll welcome the inconvenience. He shall wear his triumph over me as honor's badge.”

Still seeking a way to change her mother's mind,Anne reasoned, “I wouldn't wish you to feel Mr. Darcy's contempt,Your Ladyship. A stay at a common inn would be better than your losing face within the family.”

Lady Catherine laughed softly. “Do you think I'd permit any man dominion over me? All the time Darcy parades his condescension, I shall have the knowledge that I managed to walk uninvited into his home, and there was nothing he could do about it, except to allow me the choice of where I wished to spend the festive days. Darcy is bound to receive me by
duty
; I'll stay at Pemberley by
choice
.”

Anne observed, “The Mistress of Pemberley may have other plans.”

 

A wrinkle of her aristocratic nose signaled Lady Catherine's distaste. “The former Miss Bennet shall never defy Mr. Darcy.” Even as she said the words, Lady Catherine recalled Elizabeth Bennet's obstinacy. “Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy?” she had argued with the girl. “Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?”

And Elizabeth Bennet had stood there, defiant as ever, when she said, “Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss De Bourgh.You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage; its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honor nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why not I accept him?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Catherine thought, “the girl was quite capable of defying Darcy. And what better way to put a chink in their reported marital bliss?”

She'd done her best to align Anne with Darcy, but her daughter had always feigned illness rather than interact with Society. In the early days, she had fought her only child, but her efforts brought Anne such physical pain that after a while, she'd abandoned her efforts to bring Anne to heel and had concentrated her administrations on her sister's only son, trying to reason with Darcy, to make him see the match's advantage. However, her nephew foiled the best of Lady Catherine's plans.

“Despite her poor connections, Mrs. Darcy holds social graces. She'll extend her welcome to her husband's family.”

 

Anne wanted to argue further, to convince her mother of how incogitant it was to impose themselves on the Darcys, especially at Christmastide, to speak of Her Ladyship's own poor manners. But Anne could never find her voice when meeting her mother's close inspection. She truly possessed her father's personality, and as much as Anne missed him, missed the feeling of belonging that Sir Lewis had provided his only child, moments existed when she wished more for Mrs. Darcy's ability to thwart Lady Catherine's plans.

Although she desired her own home and family, Anne had understood that her marrying Darcy was never a reality. The man intimidated her. Even as a boy, Darcy had tormented her for her shyness, claiming it a weakness. Despite being more than a bit humiliated, Anne actually found that amusing. Better than anyone else, she recognized diffidence in both Darcy and Georgiana. She'd always thought Darcy amplified her faults in order to disguise his own.

“It'll be agreeable to spend Christ's birthday with family,” Anne observed. “To have Mr. Darcy's good favor again. To know an end to this feud. I've truly missed Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.”

“Do not fool yourself, Child,” Lady Catherine warned. “Mr. Darcy's forgiveness shall be late coming, and if you imagine that I'm of the persuasion to guard my usual frankness in reference to my nephew's marital nearsightedness, you'll be sadly disappointed. Only when Mr. Darcy admits his mistake shall I extend my forbearance.”

Silently, Anne groaned. She knew from private moments with Georgiana at Matlock that Mr. Darcy violently loved the former Elizabeth Bennet. When that fact was added to his reluctance to admit any weakness, it wasn't likely that he would give Lady Catherine any satisfaction. They'd intrude on the Darcys' Christmas, ruining the day for everyone.

“Do you suppose that Georgiana is safe?” Elizabeth asked as she and Darcy shared breakfast in the inn's limited seating area.

“Georgiana is fine,” he assured. “She was to return to Pemberley two days prior, but even if my sister was delayed, my Uncle Matlock would see to her safety.”

Elizabeth looked longingly at the snowy landscape through the ice-laced windowpanes. “Might we take a short walk, Fitzwilliam?” she asked, lost in her own world.

Darcy recognized her need for daily exercise. Traveling for two days had left Elizabeth confined to his traveling coach. More often than he should, Darcy recalled how Charles Bingley's sister, Caroline, had criticized Elizabeth for her preference in walking. “To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”

Darcy smiled knowingly. “I would love some time outdoors,” he responded genuinely. “Especially with you.” He teasingly waggled his eyebrows.

His amusing attempt to ease her qualms spoke of Darcy's love. Elizabeth drew in a deep, determined, definitive breath. “Why is it?” she whispered. “Why, after two years, do I still see you as I did on our wedding night?”

Darcy felt his groin tighten: She had that effect on him. And Elizabeth had just uttered the most provocative thought wrapped in a cloak of sentimentality, something she did with regularity. It
kept him off balance—topsy-turvy. He would be going about his duties as Pemberley's master, and his wife would say something inviting, and his thoughts were lost to her. It had been that way from the beginning: Elizabeth would challenge him with a pert curve turning up her mouth's corner. Lord, help him! The woman had no idea how crazy she drove him!