Mr Darcy's Mistress Page 3

  “A short walk, no more.”

  She stepped down and they proceeded across the turf and then along a wending sheep trail.

  Of mind to set marital parameters as prior planned, he said: “I would appreciate a more intimate affection, than Darcy.”

  “But you are Darcy, to me, and to others of our acquaintance,” said she, eyes keening the way ahead and taking the lead. “Would you have me refer to you as husband, or Fitzwilliam?”

  “Heaven forefend, Elizabeth, you should ever resort to address me as that of husband. But Fitz would suit me; admirably so.”

  “That is Georgiana’s affectionate address.”

  “When I have pleased her in exceptional manner, indeed, else it is Fitzwilliam.”

  She suddenly paused in step. “Oh goodness. You were right. Pemberley is mapped before us.”

  “Now, tell me, what do think of it from this perspective?”

  “How fortunate you are.”

  In laying his hand to her shoulder, he leaned closer drinking the fragrance of his wife. “Shall we sit awhile?”

  “Oh yes, oh yes.”

  And they did. Though he could not help but feel Pemberley held Elizabeth captive, not he.

  Three

  ~

  With time aplenty and nothing to do, every miniscule nuance of the elegant blue upper drawing room no longer held her spellbound as it had on the day she and Mrs. Gardiner had stepped across its threshold. She was, as might be said, utterly bored, and goodness knew what her aunt would make of that: if ever the good lady heard the like. In all her time at Pemberley, now a matter of two months and ten days, not one visitor had called by to become acquainted with the mistress of the house.

  Where were Darcy’s friends? And why did he ride out in haste on occasions as though summoned forth and nothing to report on his return? Of questions asked to determine his reason for absence almost always met with excuse of estate matters in need of his attention, and he would then vanish to his study for a goodly half hour or so. When he emerged his mien was affable and seeming unconcerned by what had prior proved of such importance several hours beforehand that he had taken leave of the house in haste. What she was to make of his comings and goings, she knew not, or where to begin in understanding this new life she had so willingly coveted.

  Life at Pemberley, as she and her aunt had envisaged, had fallen short on expectation. As vast and beautiful as the house was, she had no part to play in its everyday management. Duty of that remit fell within Mrs. Reynolds efficient hands. Thus on Monday’s at precisely eleven of morn she was consulted, no— she was presented with the daily menus for seven days, to which Darcy suggested she approve with grace and acceptance that cook knew best. It was clearly the recognised modus operandi at Pemberley to assign responsibility to cook for all that was served at table. Even availability of fresh produce from the kitchen garden, the estate, and elsewhere was entirely within cook and Mrs. Reynold’s remit.

  Whilst she had made it clear to Darcy, as his wife, she would have preferred some say in the matter of unnecessary array of differing foods, of which she, nor he, indulged sufficient to clear the platters; thus there was needless wastage. His response was to the effect; she was now at Pemberley where there was no requirement for frugal living. It was a thoughtless statement, and stung her pride a great deal, but admit to bitter grievance by responding as she might have before they were wed, not she.

  Tears momentarily brimmed in recollection of that brief moment of Darcy’s hauteur, albeit far less since shared intimacies within the marital bed. There was nevertheless every reason to hold her counsel. As yet, her place at Pemberley was as vague as the shadows moving from room to room whilst servants went about their daily tasks.

  The house was horribly silent: no joyous laughter, no constancy of chatter, no sense of life to speak of. Oh what had she done, why had she dreamed of Pemberley as a glorious house in which to dwell?

  She could not fault Darcy’s attentiveness when in her company, but seeming disinterested in reading novels, he instead dallied for lengthy periods in his study as though not a thought to her whereabouts. There were times she had dared to venture to the study, though of late had rarely done so, for he was always engrossed in writing or reading correspondence. Thus agitation befell him if she lingered over long. Such was the complexity of men, her father no better when he had oft taken flight to his study to avoid the constant banter of his daughters and wife.

  To dwell on the many times she had walked the near grounds in the past days, the times she had ventured along the carriageway added weight to her sense of hopelessness, and still the hours crawled from day to day, week to week. If only Georgiana were to return from a friend’s house, his sister’s time away conducive to Darcy’s notion the bridal couple were obliged privacy for a month, and now seemingly longer. He had though, removed Georgiana from the influence of Caroline Bingley and that unsavoury woman’s sister, Mrs. Hurst.

  While it was said Georgiana was residing not so far distant, Mrs. Reynolds had indeed revealed ‘Miss Georgiana, if of a mind to, could quite easily ride to Pemberley’. Therefore it was assumed she was to remain away until Mr. Darcy sent for her. Such news was quite frustrating, for what purpose did Darcy have for keeping his sister away from Pemberley for more than a few weeks, when at least she and Georgiana could pass the time in jovial discourse: anything but have his wife idling time merely for the sake of. They were sisters-in-law, and apparently of like in a few pastime activities, though true enough, Georgiana did ride a great deal, and she not.

  The person, of whom Darcy’s sister was quite attached, according to Mrs. Reynolds, implied they shared a love for equine sporting activity. Such was understandably a potent lure. At the same time, why a friend of Georgiana’s bore no desire to make the acquaintance of Darcy’s wife was strange indeed. For if roles were reversed she would be longing to set eyes on the Mistress of Pemberley, and oh how envious she would be, but perhaps that was the mysterious aspect of no callers.

  How silly to presume Lady de Bourgh was but one covetous mother who had assumed her daughter would one day become mistress of Pemberley. Darcy was exceedingly handsome in face and pocket; therefore it was probable there were young ladies within Derbyshire who had indeed looked on him and Pemberley with great admiration, and would not they, and their families, have taken unkindly to news he had married a foreigner? What a potent question, and no one to answer it.

  Oh dear, how oft that word, foreigner, had arisen when a young man or woman from outside Hertfordshire had dared to steal a heart from the array of damsels and young gentlemen in the district of Meryton. Wails of despair and accusations were commonplace as young ladies believing selves to be spurned sought solace in the comforting commiserations of those who prayed such would never happen to them. And young men too had blustered in arch disapproval of soldiers out and about the town, and had indeed remonstrated with bitter words when assumed lady loves strolled by on the arm of unknown outsiders, often as not, soldiers of the militia garrisoned nearby.

  There was no denying the militia’s arrival in Meryton had set the young ladies all a tizz, and she no better than the rest, if truth be told when she had first set eyes on Wickham. The consequence of an exceptionally handsome young man was inevitable, and all eyes fell upon him whilst none were cognisant to the true man beneath the polished veneer, least of all, Lydia. Oh how she prayed her sister’s naivety could forever protect her from the cruel reality of Wickham’s devious nature, for men such as he were secretive, and in many respects deceitful creatures, even Darcy.

  Oh how true that was, for Darcy had intervened and manipulated events which essentially lead to heartache for Jane and Bingley, a misunderstanding all told, but nonetheless needless and hurtful. He later as good as assisted Bingley in begetting his heart’s desire and thereby redeemed himself a little. He had also taken it upon himself and resorted to interference in Wickham’s affairs and that of Lydia’s, but for a differing reason and of good
heart in the matter. Oh he was redeemed, utterly when he had finally owned to his part in the dreadful affair.

  Darcy was indeed an enigma, a man of pride and arrogance and of disagreeable countenance one moment, and in the blink of eye he was affable and discerning in effort to please and share pleasures of mind, body, and the universe. Where he was now, and what he was thinking, and what he was about, she may never be told. Brief aspects of his ventures abroad oft surfaced from time to time during discourse, though all in all presenting little more than puzzle pieces of information. If asked to clarify he would dismiss it as of no consequence and would change the subject with affectionate asides, or would suggest an excursion around and about the house if unfavourable outer conditions fell suggestive a walk in the grounds as inadvisable.

  Was he so unaware of the fact she had walked the corridors numerous times, and wandered from room to room, or of long hours whiled away within the library? Every piece of embroidery brought with her from Longbourn; all long since completed. She played the pianoforte until her fingers ached, she sketched still life, quite badly at first, though had it in mind her work was improving with regular practise. Kitty had always said she worried too much with the minutiae of background, and if she allowed the background to fade away to a blur, the central object would be all the more prominent. How right Kitty had been, and oh how she missed her sisters: all.

  A sigh of frustration escaped, and she determined to set to with writing correspondence to her sisters and father. But short of letter paper within her escritoire, needs must she upped from her seat, the book to hand cast aside.

  A few moments later she entered Darcy’s study, there to discover the shutters partially closed, a habit of his to ensure against sunlight penetrating to cause fading of his prized walnut desk, or its gold-embossed bound green leather top. Not an item lay out of place. Assorted feather and silver quills adorned a glass tray, others standing erect within a crystal quill holder, its matching inkpots with black and indigo ink. As expected and witnessed before, there were ledgers in a pile to the right hand side, and array of open correspondence to the left. Those for the post had been collected or handed to the head footman, and unopened letters delivered were lying atop the leather writing folder.

  Aware paper was kept within the middle drawer on the left side, she drew forth the drawer and selected sufficient to complete her correspondence plus a few sheets besides. On closing the drawer sense of nausea befell her, thus she placed her hand to the desk and drew several deep intakes of breath. Such nuisance had befallen her for two weeks or more, and always around noon, thus partaking of light midday repast for the last few days had drawn forth enquiry from Mrs. Reynolds as to whether all was satisfactory.

  Albeit she had assured the housekeeper she was well satisfied with all the meals put before her, she did ask if smaller portions could be served when taking meals alone. Mrs. Reynolds thus conveyed the mistress’ request to cook and so it was and had been, but there remained the oddest sense Mrs. Reynold’s had wished to put forth on another matter and had nevertheless held her tongue.

  Momentarily recovered and about to turn about her eyes fell upon a letter protruding from beneath a part folded one, the signature, Until— your affectionate confidante, Belle, which caused her stomach to lurch. She should not pry into Darcy’s private correspondence, but who could ignore the provocative and suggestive sense of familiarity in the other person’s prose. Raising the folded letter exposed Belle’s writings and she read:

  ~

  Dearest Fitz,

  I have held back on asking you to call at Farthingly daily, but I feel you will oblige me given the direness of our beloved Bonnie. You cannot know the agony of five years of tending to her needs, and now this dreadful circumstance facing us is unbearable. To think of all the love we have lavished upon her it breaks my heart to see her this way. I truly fear she cannot survive the ailment that has befallen her. She is so terribly listless, so infrequent in seeming conscious awareness, and I know not what to do in easing the certain pain she must be suffering. All expertise has been applied to no avail and I know in my heart you would wish to be here in her last moments, for we cannot deny she has held us bound one to the other with great hope she would one day grace Pemberley as intended. She is as much yours as mine and the love we share will continue in memory of her beauty, and at Farthingly we will mourn her passing together.

  Until— your affectionate confidante,

  Belle

  ~

  Affectionate confidante?

  Bonnie?

  A love child?

  How dare Darcy, how dare, dare he deceive her in this cruel manner.

  Clutching the sheets of letter paper to her bosom she ran from the room, along the corridor and fled directly to her private sitting room adjoined to the marital suite. In despair of the situation now so apparent, she paced back and forth betwixt door and window, and on the third about turn she placed the letter papers to her escritoire on the right hand side of the window.

  What was she to do? How could she face Darcy and appear ignorant of all she was now cognisant to, for if she challenged him to account for his deceit, her indiscretion would be apparent. No, she would find a way to compromise him, force him to confess, and what then?

  She had heard tell of gentlemen and their mistresses. The dreadful humiliation wives had suffered when the truth of husbands infidelities were revealed by way of whispers or anonymous missives. How unbearable it all was.

  Anger cloaked about her, her cheeks blazing, her eyes but arid deserts, and yet, such pain as befell her could not be borne with grace and dignity. A loud groan expressed she flung herself to a chaise longue, and with clenched fists she pummelled the tasselled bolster. Behold, moderate satisfaction befell her, but not half as pleasurable as would be if Darcy lay beneath her.

  Oh the cruelty of it all and against her every effort to resist floods of tears she gave sway to a tumultuous torrent; soon accompanied with heartfelt sobs and bleak acceptance she was nonetheless, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley. No one could wrest that from her, and she had no cause to surmise her husband would move Belle and Bonnie to Pemberley. Why would he when he clearly wished to retain distance between his wife and his mistress, and yet: did the missive not say, Bonnie would one day grace Pemberley as intended?

  Could Darcy have it in mind to adopt the despicable notion as had the former William Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire, who accommodated his mistress and illegitimate offspring within his abode at Chatsworth and other of his properties? How Georgiana Cavendish must have suffered, how humiliated by the dreadful truth her best friend had betrayed her, too. The duke was not alone in favouring a mistress over a wife. It was known to be commonplace within the aristocracy, and Darcy was seemingly more akin to the upper echelons than she had formerly surmised. He had indeed owned to the fact Belle was a lady by title. And what was former Elizabeth Bennet, but the daughter of a county gentleman whose estate provided income of two-thousand pounds per annum. The truth, her father’s income was but a pint of wealth in comparison to Darcy’s ten-thousand.

  Oh to share Pemberley would not do, simply would not do. She could not bear the indignity, and would not stand for it. No, she would not. She would ensure a continual flow of guests, and would dispatch invitations to her own family if necessary, in order to curtail stay of unwanted intruders. Indeed, what of Jane and Bingley? Would Bingley not leap at the chance to put greater distance between self and Longbourn for a few weeks? Besides, he would know of Belle and could enlighten on how strong the acquaintance between Darcy and that damnable woman. And Lydia, surely she would be grateful to escape Newcastle when her husband was away to Bath and London, though for what military purpose drew Wickham abroad escaped considered pondering; therefore she surmised Wickham was no lesser the Wickham of old. She would write to the Gardiners, and arrange for Kitty and Mary to pay visit too.

  On her feet in a thrice and seated at her escritoire she began with a letter to
Jane.

  Four

  ~

  The letter to her beloved sister revealed sense of urgency: and perhaps more than prudent in the circumstance of marital confidentiality. Where should one draw the line when matters of the heart overwhelmed and there was no one to confide innermost thoughts and concerns to? Oh how she missed Jane’s companionship, the one person who would have listened to all her suspicions and no doubt viewed the whole affair from a wholly differing perspective. But could Belle’s missive be conceived as other than writ? The evidence had lain before her in black and white prose.

  Once again she read through her own words:

  ~

  My dearest and beloved sister, Jane,

  Your letters are so heartening and I perceive marriage to Bingley has fulfilled your heart with bounteous joy, and all that you hoped is the stronger for it. Whilst I should not dwell upon distance, it does sadden me we are now so far apart. I miss our walks together and our late evening asides. The weather here held remarkably well with glorious sunshine for several days, quite unusual for late October, thus I ventured out with Darcy in his curricle and merely a shawl to shoulders, though it was two weeks past. Yes it was that warm, whilst the air at last eventide fell bitter and reminds us the harshness of winter is but a severe frost away now that November is here. I know not how to portray life at Pemberley since my last letter to you, except to express M. Gardiner would be as disappointed as I in what has lately transpired. Did I tell you in my last letter, Georgiana returned to Derbyshire two weeks before us, and is staying with a friend, which afforded Darcy and I time alone. I presumed the precious time would cease after a period of a week or two, but in the last few days I have pondered his sister’s long absence. You will think it a little strange, no doubt, that I, of all people, should feel unable to approach Darcy on the subject of his sister, but I cannot bring myself to do it. He has the propensity to appear distracted when I display the slightest proclivity to enquire after his friends and acquaintances. Albeit the housekeeper revealed Georgiana is resident at a distance of twelve miles as the crow flies, I cannot comprehend why she has failed to grace Pemberley for at least an hour or two albeit by road it is a good deal farther distant. Mrs. Reynold’s [h’keeper] is sure Georgiana will not return until Darcy sends for her. What is more, Darcy’s recent absences from the house have become more frequent with the passing of the weeks. Whilst the estate indeed has call upon his time, for several days this last se’night his routine has set in with his riding out early of morn, and on his return of evening we partake of supper and we retire aloft earlier than envisaged. What I am to do, for life passes me by and I have no say in orderly matters of the house. I merely wander about its vastness and the grounds, and of all the dreadful notions, I fear I am snubbed by the local gentry hereabouts. Not a single personage has called by at the house to acquaint themselves with the Mistress of Pemberley. Do you not think it a strange concept: Darcy brings a bride home with him and none of his friends is the least bit curious? Oh Jane, my happiness is somewhat blighted, for I discovered a missive from a woman, and I almost wish I never had. What eyes have not seen the heart cannot grieve over it, nor draw upon the collar of it, and what I feel cannot be expressed in words. What am I to do? For I am aware if I challenge Darcy to account for the missive, he will assume I have with deliberate intention pried into his private correspondence. Perhaps, dear Jane, you may be able to let slip Lady [Belle} Sanders’ name during discourse with Bingley. He will know her, or has heard tell of her for sure, do you not think so, for he did indulge lengthy visitations at Pemberley. Perhaps there is a perfectly innocent explanation for the contents of Lady Sanders’ letter, though I cannot see it. You always were kindness itself in telling me I was far too quick in judgement of others. Bingley may save me from myself in this instance if I am wrong in my assumptions. I would love it if you and your dear husband could come and share a little time at Pemberley, I would so appreciate your company: both. Do come, if at all feasible.