Author's Note: (I updated the previous chapter a bit, because I did not end up liking the dinner invite to Mr. Burrows either. I liked the idea of a fellow from Darcy's past acting as a catapult to change his behavior, in a real way, and so I changed what Darcy did for him, not his presence. He shows up again in this chapter. So thanks for the reviews. They really do help me. The rest of the last chapter is the same, especially Darcy's convo with Georgiana. I enjoy writing Darcy and Georgiana scenes.)
This chapter is more of an evolution of Darcy's way of seeing the world.
Chapter Seven
Some Kind of Beautiful
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Colonel Fitzwilliam remained at Pemberley for the following week, adding calm, conversation, and an intelligent charm to Pemberley (his words, not Darcy's). Georgiana delighted in the rare company of both her guardians watching over her. As ever, despite Fitzwilliam's penchant for needling him, Darcy enjoyed the rejuvenating effect the colonel's easy, jocular ways had over him. The cousins passed the warm, late June days soaking in the luxuries of good hunting, good riding, and excellent angling; the nights slipped by with tender performances from Georgiana and debates about everything from politics to playhouses.
On the colonel's final day at Pemberley, the two gentlemen were returning from a fishing trip beside the lake when the colonel pointed out to Darcy a shocking red tuft of hair. Darcy informed the colonel that the owner of the ghastly hair was one Mr. Jack Burrows. With a mild frown, he wondered about the reason for the actor's appearance, knowing that he had discussed his plan of commissioning new headstones with his steward only yesterday. And he had never intended on his act of kindess to beholden Mr. Burrows or anyone else to him. Fitzwilliam and he approached the man and saluted him, startling the actor, who had been staring off in the opposite direction.
"My apologies!" the man exclaimed, removing his hat and wrinkling it in his hands. "I did not mean to trespass or interrupt your solitude. I was making my way to the house, for an appointment with your housekeeper, Mr. Darcy, when I was distracted by the fair as it is feathery sight of a meadow which me and my lady danced in while children."
Darcy trailed his gaze to the meadow which winked at them in the sunshine, below the path and beyond a smattering of trees. He noticed the massive, knotted trunk of a tree beside the brook which meandered through the thin grove, outlining the meadow's entrance with a sparkling rivulet, and could not help but smile at the sight of his former favorite spot in all of Pemberley.
"I remember that meadow, as well, Mr. Burrows. I watched you and the young girl who would become your wife play there one day."
"I remember that too, sir. It is one of my and Mrs. Burrows' most treasured memories. to have my name called by your beautiful other—it was a gift which warms me still." The man shook his head, twisting his hat a few more times. "You must pardon my impertinence. I am keeping you, and likely making Mrs. Reynolds await me."
"Not at all," Darcy assured. "We were just returning to the house for the afternoon. Might I be of assistance? Perhaps I can spare my housekeeper a task or two today."
"How magnanimous," Mr. Burrows murmured his eyes pinging in several directions. It was clear from the nervousness of the man that he had come with some particular thing in mind. His eyes darted repeatedly to the colonel, who picked up on the man's hesitancy. Fitzwilliam smiled and excused himself, leaving Darcy alone with Mr. Burrows.
"I do not mean to be intrusive or overstep my boundaries, but I must admit that I have nowhere else to turn, my good sir."
"I shall help any way that I may," Darcy said, setting his rod and bucket against a nearby tree.
"My wife begged me not to come, but I told her, see I told her that the finest master of Pemberley—"
"My father was the finest master of Pemberley, Mr. Burrows. You do not need to flatter me to win my affection. You have expended the effort to come here. Please tell me what is on your mind."
Mr. Burrows smiled and destroyed his hat with some more wringing. "Thank you, that doth bolster my heart in seven different pockets, Mr. Darcy."
"Go on, Mr. Burrows."
"It is just that my missus, well, my missus has enjoyed this country air so much. The London air does not do her good, Mr. Darcy. It is a terrible thing for her health, to be sure. I am bound by contract to finish out the year on the stage, but I was hoping, well, you see, I was wanting to ask if my wife might find some form of employment at your house. She is very good with a thread and needle—and even better with a spoon and pot. I swear to you, she can cook as fine as any French chef that ever there was on this blessed land. She can be ready as early as tomorrow at dawn."
Darcy, expecting something much grander and more difficult than a job at Pemberley, sighed in relief. "I am certain we can find something for her to do. And when your contract is done, I would be only to happy to arrange some lessons or tutoring opportunities for you."
"I would be much obliged, Mr. Darcy."
Mr. Burrows stamped his mangled hat back on his head. "If I may be so bold," he hesitated, "you are a kind friend, Mr. Darcy. There is not any other way to term it. You are a kind friend first, and a fine gentleman to boot."
Darcy merely bowed his head, assuring Mr. Burrows that he would inform his housekeeper to expect Mrs. Burrows tomorrow morning. With that, the actor spun on his heel, a distinct bounce to his step. Darcy watched him go for a moment, before picking up his pole and bucket and slowly walking up to the house.
"Friend," he muttered to himself. "Now that is a novelty." He wondered what his aunt might say about him fraternizing with the rough, would-be genteel man, what his father might say. He really did not care what the lady of Rosings had to say about it. He only cared what the lady who yet lingered in his heart and lived at Longbourn might say about this exchange. He had an inkling that she would approve of his kindness.
~0~
Colonel Fitzwilliam took leave of Pemberley the day before Darcy was scheduled to depart for the south for a house party. As a none-too-surprising twist, the colonel took Georgiana with him. His sister had expressed her desire to see Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam, rather than a house full of strangers, and as his brother's estate was his next stopover, the colonel volunteered to bring Georgiana with him. The plan worked out well for Darcy, who had already intended on traveling through London after the house party and would meet his cousin and sister en route to town.
Before embarking on his trip, Darcy paid a few visits to his neighbors before leaving the county, remembering for the first time in over a year to include the Barnley sisters in his calls. He had noted how their hands were shaking as brittle leaves in a breeze, that sign of age which often overcomes the hoary headed person, during his birthday celebration and wanted to renew the friendship. He would not become derelict in caring for his elderly spinster neighbors. How well he remembered their kindness to his father after his mother's passing. He mentioned this to them, and they waved away his gratitude with a hoot and a wink.
"Tis nothing, Darcy," Miss Mariah Barnley, the slightly older and slightly fatter sister said.
"Nothing at all," her sister Miss Agatha repeated. "We well remember the kindness your mother showed us, and the sage advice and helping hand your father lent us as we adjusted to ruling the roost after our dear papa's passing."
Miss Barnley nodded, wiping an elusive tear from her eye. "Dear, dear papa."
"Do not hesitate to rely on me. I feel as if I have been a neglectful neighbor of late."
"Nonsense," the sisters exclaimed in unison, then turning to each other, laughed at their impromptu chorus.
"You have been busy, Darcy," Miss Barnley said.
"Very busy," Miss Agatha agreed.
"Nevertheless, I can make more time to visit friends."
"What you need is some help, Darcy," Miss Agatha said.
"More specifically, a helpmeet," Miss Barnley added.
"Oh, how clever, Mariah," her sister giggled.
"How clever and true," she replied, with a laugh of her own and another wink at Darcy.
"Yes, well," Darcy said. He was remembering why he had allowed his visits to these two women fall to the wayside. They had a way of making a caller dizzy, with their dual voices ever braiding together and the one sister inevitably parroting the other. He smiled down the grimace which nearly overran his expression and stood to leave.
"I shall call on you when I am returned home," he said.
"And we shall pray that you will not return unless you can introduce us to the next Mrs. Darcy."
Darcy merely bowed to this, and exited the house.
He paid a few more visits around the neighborhood, a quick chat with Harvey and his wife—who were actually talking directly to each other for the entire visit—and a short conversation with the Marnets, to make sure that they had made it home from Pemberley the other night before the rain had come. The husband and wife assured him that they had indeed—though not before the chill of damp had threatened to give them a cold. The final visit he made was to his own kitchens, where he wanted to peek in on the new cook and ask how she was faring at Pemberley. Mrs. Burrows wiped the flour from her eyes and rubbed her hands on her apron, a blush overwhelming her cheeks. She thanked him for the job and asked if there was anything she might bake for him. He told her he had no complaints and only the warmest compliments for what he had tasted thus far.
"I might have heard that you enjoy a good ham pie, sir," Mrs. Burrows mentioned as he exited the kitchens—to the obvious relief of all the downstairs. It was novel enough that he would chat so conversationally with a cook; it was positively shocking that the master of the house would become a visitor to the kitchens.
Darcy paused his departure at the mention of the ham, curious now.
"Who told you I enjoyed ham, Mrs. Burrows?"
"Everyone, sir," the lady replied. "They say you have loved it since you were a little boy and ate an entire ham by yourself."
Darcy digested this information, twirling his thumbs behind his back. So the story of the ham had become a legend.
"Are the rumors wrong, sir? You do not like ham?"
Darcy smirked. "No, no I enjoy a well-cooked ham as much as any other man. I am just wondering something, Mrs. Burrows."
"Something I can help you with, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy laughed and shook his head. "No, Mrs. Burrows. No one can help with this. There is no way to tell how a story will end, or certainly how it will be told years after it has been lived."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I do not know." Darcy thought of his own life's story. "But I am hopeful that our histories can be re-written."
With that, he left a perplexed Mrs. Burrows to scratch her brow. He jogged up the stairs, dusting the flour from his clothes. He may not be able to change what had happened these last six months, but for the first time in a long time, Darcy began to believe that he was rewriting the story of who he was. His final act before he departed for the south was to arrange for that room to be made up to his sister's liking, and to order the piano for her enjoyment. With a sigh, he wished he could shower as much affection on a different young woman who played the piano.