Chapter One
"Elizabeth… Elizabeth."
Elizabeth wriggled. She could hear a voice speaking to her, but she didn't want to answer. She was enjoying a walk in the rose garden at Pemberley. There was a riot of colour, bees and butterflies dancing from one flower to the next. Birds were chirping in the trees as leaves swayed in the gentle wind. The sun was streaming down and despite her bonnet the heat was skimming her face. She felt wonderful.
"Elizabeth!"
Something touched her arm and she snapped open her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't think where she was. The colour was gone and so was the heat. There were no flowers. She struggled to focus, blinking hard several times. Rich dark leather seats worn with age, a man in a dark blue tailcoat with brown hair, strong thighs, a worried expression on his face.
She gave herself an inward shake and smiled at her observer. "Mr. Darcy."
"I'm sorry to interrupt your rest Elizabeth," said her husband. "We will arrive shortly and I thought you would like to gather yourself."
"That was thoughtful, thank you." Elizabeth gingerly straightened up and adjusted her bonnet which was slightly askew and tucked a curl which had fallen out of place back where it belonged. She had been dreaming. Of course, she wasn't at Pemberley. She and Mr. Darcy were on their way to Vernon Place, their London home near St James's Park. She had been reluctant to leave Pemberley and the surrounding grounds, but Mr. Darcy had been insistent.
"A change of scenery will restore you to full health," he'd said when he'd told her of their plans.
Elizabeth had tried to argue with him, saying they had no need to be away, but when Mr. Darcy was set on a particular course of action, it was almost impossible for her to make him change his mind. She was certain that being in London would do nothing to overcome the sadness and malaise that she'd been suffering from over the past six months.
"I hope you have remembered this evening we are going to the theatre with Anne and Lord Trentham and then out to dine," said Mr. Darcy.
"Yes, I have," said Elizabeth vaguely as she continued to gaze out of the window.
"Naturally if you would rather stay at home, I can always send word that you are indisposed."
"But I am not Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth firmly as she turned to look at him. "I am looking forward to seeing Anne again." It was true. She marvelled that in the past three years, Anne, Lady Trentham, Mr. Darcy's cousin, had become one of her closest friends.
The former Anne de Bourgh had surprised everyone by falling in love with Lord Trentham, a man twenty years her senior, and to the shock of Anne's mother Lady Catherine they had eloped and married. Freed from a miserable life with Lady Catherine at Rosings, Anne had blossomed and although no one would ever call her a great beauty and she occasionally suffered from bouts of ill health, she was a pleasant companion.
After Anne's elopement Darcy had invited his cousin and her new husband to Pemberley, ignoring the fury of his aunt, and it was there Elizabeth had started to force a close friendship and Anne was almost as dear to her as her sister Jane. They exchanged letters weekly.
"What time are we expected?" Elizabeth asked.
"We will meet them shortly before the performance at eight o'clock. Lord Trentham has a box and we shall be very comfortable. You should enjoy it, Elizabeth, but if it is too much, we can always excuse ourselves."
Elizabeth nodded, trying to stem a feeling of irritation. She loved her husband and she knew that he was trying to do his best for her, but she wished he would stop treating her as if she was fragile. Her body had long since recovered from the trauma of giving birth to her stillborn son and their doctor had declared her fit to resume her household duties. It was her mind that struggled to accept what had happened. At times the pain was unbearable and she mourned his loss daily.
"We will have another child," Darcy had assured her, but she did not feel so sure. She could not understand why she had carried the baby for so many months, felt him kick, gone into labour, only to deliver him already sleeping. Mr. Darcy had been sad at the loss she was sure. He very much wanted a son and heir for Pemberley, but she found it difficult that he appeared to accept what had happened so lightly and seemed immune to the depth of her pain. It had caused some distance between them and the man she loved so deeply had gradually become a stranger to her.
The carriage slowly came to a stop. They had arrived. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, trying to hide her disgust at the pungent air as she alighted from the carriage. What a contrast to the fresh air at Pemberley.
Darcy took her hand and guided her up the few steps where their housekeeper, Mrs Marsh [AM1] was waiting. "How good to see you both," she said warmly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Marsh. I hope we find you in good health," said Darcy as she ushered them into the hallway.
"Oh, yes sir. A touch of pain in my old bones, but I still manage," she said cheerfully. "Now sir, your rooms are ready and we have a meal prepared when you wish to dine."
Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
"I would like to rest," she said quickly.
"As you wish."
Mrs. Marsh motioned forward a maid who was hovering to one side. "This is Polly Danvers, Mrs. Darcy. She will assist you."
"Thank you. I will see you later, Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth let Polly lead her up the stairs to her room, even though it was one that was familiar to her.
Polly immediately set about opening drapes and windows and letting the room which overlooked the park be bathed in sunlight.
There was knock on the door and two footmen appeared with her trunk and boxes.
"Shall I unpack, ma'am?" asked Polly.
"No, not yet. I would rather rest. I will ring the bell if I require your help."
Polly hesitated. "Is there nothing I can do, ma'am?"
"No, thank you, Polly."
Elizabeth smiled as the young maid left the room. Even after four years of marriage to Mr. Darcy she had not grown accustomed to the number of servants they had to do their bidding. She took off her bonnet and laid it carefully on the chair, removed her coat and wandered over to the window. The view overlooked the park and she could see couples walking along the neat paths, gardeners tending plants and bushes, children playing in the sunshine. A different aspect from Pemberley, but no less pleasant. Perhaps being in London wasn't such a bad idea after all. She would never forget her son, but she did have to start enjoying life again. London could be the place to make it happen.
After a long rest and a small meal, Elizabeth found she felt more like herself. Polly fussed over her as she got ready for the theatre later that evening. "You look beautiful, ma'am," she said as she fastened a pearl necklace about Elizabeth's neck.
"Thank you," said Elizabeth, admiring the pearls in the mirror. They had been a present from Mr. Darcy. He told her they had once belonged to his mother and he wanted her to have them. She was delighted. They were very beautiful.
Polly pinned her hair and fastened in a couple of flowers. She realised it was a long time since she had dressed for a special occasion. Even at Pemberley she had avoided going down to dinner for months as sadness had engulfed her.
"This dress is a little big on you, ma'am," said Polly.
"It is," agreed Elizabeth. She'd had little appetite and hence the weight had fallen off her. "It will not matter."
"Oh, yes ma'am. I will place a stitch at your waist. No one will notice but it will help."
Elizabeth willingly stood while Polly disappeared to fetch a needle and thread and then added the stitches pulling in the dress at the waist until it fit much better.
"Now that is perfect," said Polly, standing back to admire Elizabeth with a look of satisfaction on her face.
Elizabeth smiled. It seemed her maid was feeling almost as much pleasure as she was in her appearance.
Mr. Darcy was already waiting in the hallway when she descended the stairs in her finery. She caught her breath as she looked down at him. She was fortunate to have married such a handsome man. He held out his arm for her.
"Are you ready, Mrs. Darcy?" he asked, smiling at her.
"I am indeed, Mr. Darcy," she said, taking his arm. It was her first step back into society and she was ready.
They met the Trenthams in the foyer of the Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden where the play was being performed.
Anne smiled with delight as she saw them. "Elizabeth, how good it is to see you again."
"And you too, Anne," said Elizabeth, kissing Anne, Lady Trentham on the cheek. "How well you look. It is too long since we met."
"It is indeed," said Anne, who was looking splendid in her scarlet gown, her brown hair adorned with white flowers. "I was only saying to dear Albert, we do not see you in London often enough." Anne touched her husband's arm and he bowed to Elizabeth.
"I hope we find you well, Mrs. Darcy," he said, smiling at her.
"Thank you, sir. I am very well," said Elizabeth, inclining her head.
"I am so pleased you could join us," said Lord Trentham, taking his wife's arm and leading them up the stairs to his private box. A footman took Elizabeth's cloak and she stepped forward to look over the box balcony to the scene below.
Elizabeth was entranced. She had only been to the theatre twice before and on both occasions she had been seated so far back it had been difficult to see the stage. This was quite different. From Lord Trentham's box, not only could she see the stage with its opulent red curtains, she could see the stalls at each side which were full of people standing and then the central rows of seats that were quickly filling up. It was very noisy as people talked and greeted each other.
Elizabeth turned back to Anne. "It was so kind of you to invite us," she said excitedly.
Anne took her hand. "I'm glad you came, Elizabeth," she said quietly, gently guiding her over to the side of the box out of earshot of the two men who were already deep in conversation.
Elizabeth sensed something was wrong. "What is it?" she asked.
Anne wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "I have something to tell you, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth's heart dropped. She disliked bad news. "What is it?" she repeated.
A red flush infused Anne's normally pale cheeks. "I am with child," she whispered.
Elizabeth felt as if someone had stabbed her with a hot poker. She took a deep breath. "Oh Anne, I am so pleased for you both. What does Lord Trentham think about your news?"
Anne looked rather shy. "He is delighted though a little surprised. But I am concerned for you. I hardly liked to tell you after your recent tragedy."
Elizabeth felt tears stinging her eyes. "You shouldn't be afraid to talk about it, Anne. I am so pleased for you," she said quite truthfully.
"Are you certain?" Anne looked pained. "I would not like this event to come between our friendship."
"Nothing will come in the way. It is too important," Elizabeth said firmly, as she wished they could take their seats and the play would start.
"I am so relieved. I have been worrying about it. I thought perhaps you might prefer we didn't meet."
Elizabeth took Anne's hand and squeezed it hard. "Anne, I am truly happy for you both."
Ten minutes later Elizabeth got her wish as they were seated, negating the necessity for further conversation.
Mr. Darcy touched her arm and whispered. "Elizabeth, I hope you are not distraught."
She looked at him with a touch of haughtiness, ignoring his concern. "Am I right in assuming you refer to the news of Anne being with child?" she said.
Mr. Darcy nodded, shuffling in his seat slightly.
"No, I am not distraught, sir," she said with more assurance than she felt. Anne's news had hurt, that she could not deny, but she was truly happy for her and hoped Anne would be lucky enough to deliver a healthy child.
Mr. Darcy looked embarrassed. "I thought…" He never said what he thought because at that moment there was a series of bangs and actors started to take their places on the stage.
Elizabeth tried to put all thoughts of Anne's baby out of her mind and concentrate on the stage. As she stared ahead something caught her eyes. A figure. A familiar figure. It couldn't be. She leant forward slightly. She must be imagining it. She snatched up the opera glass by her seat, adjusting the ring to make her view clearer and peered again. Her eyes had not deceived her. About ten rows back from the stage sat George Wickham. His good looks were unmistakable. He was leaning over slightly, whispering to the woman on his left. Elizabeth could not see her fully, but one thing she was certain of was that the women was not his wife. Poor Lydia. The man was nothing but a scoundrel.