Chapter 2

March, 1821

Pemberley, Derbyshire

"There they are!" cried little William. Up until a few weeks ago, he would likely have cried, There they is!, but the Darcys had finally found a tutor to take up residence at Pemberley, and the young man had quickly encroached on the flaws in William's grammar, aided by a pupil who liked nothing more than a challenge followed by praise once he had achieved that challenge.

Mr. Owen had found less success with his pupil today, the day his father's dearest friends were due to arrive on the estate. Their exact role had never been described to him, but he had grasped well enough that these people were of the utmost importance to the Darcys, and thus it was better to allow some interruption of his lessons, rather than fighting a battle that could never be won.

His employers understood this: it was fully expected that Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth, William, Henry, and Elizabeth Darcy should all convene outside the family entrance to the house as the carriage came to a halt. Jory flung open the door before Arthur could even begin to think of seeing to the stairs, jumping out and then grasping his wife by the waist and easing her to the ground.

"Will, my God, an' this is yer house – this is yer house!" he exclaimed, gaping in consternation at Pemberley's façade. "How grand you is, Will!"

This was all delivered with a degree of wonderment, but also fear. Darcy understood the fear, understood that Jory and Eseld has just given up their lives to come to Derbyshire, and at present they were wondering whether they could ever be comfortable here.

"Yes, this is Pemberley," Darcy said, embracing them each in turn. "Would you like to come inside the house and take some refreshment, or go directly to your own cottage? We can certainly send refreshments there."

"Oh, Will, we'd much rather go to our cottage than some-place so fancy as that, 'specially when we're all dusty from the road. Not that yer carriage weren't clean and good at keepin' out what dust it could, but – "

"Do not worry over it, Jory," said Darcy. "Everyone gets dusty on the road, but I understand. I hope you will like your new home. It is just a short walk, beyond the lake there."

"Let's walk, then, Will. Be nice to be about an' movin' again."

So they walked together, little Elizabeth held in Darcy's arms. The boys were hopping about and informing Jory and Eseld of all that had occurred since they had seen them last, encouraged with that particular enthusiasm of people who loved them, enthusiasm sufficient to keep the exhaustion the Trevillses must have felt after such a journey from reaching their countenances. But Darcy's promise was proven correct – it was a short walk to the cottage, one of the reasons it had been his preference for them.

The Trevillses went in ahead, alongside the boys, and so Darcy and Elizabeth heard their reaction at first, rather than seeing it. "Oh, look at this!" cried Jory. "Goodness!" cried Eseld. It was not a particularly large cottage, but it was larger than what they had known before: two rooms on either side of a hall with a sturdy staircase leading up to a first storey and then a garret. The exclamations continued as they understood they would have a separate parlour for sitting. Then Eseld caught how that parlour was decorated and gave another cry of delight, motioning to her husband that he should come and look at the watercolours hung on the wall with her. Darcy had spent much time with his wife in careful selection of the furnishings for the cottage, wanting to select nice pieces, but ones that would help comprise a comfortable home. But he had understood all along that his commissioning of the artist who had painted these was perhaps the most important thing that could see to the Trevilles's comfort: all about the room were scenes from Mousehole, a reminder of the home they had known all their lives.

They were much affected by the watercolours and delighted with the room; Darcy told them he hoped it would be oft-used, in their more leisurely life. They seemed a little more comfortable with the thought of this than they had been in Mousehole; Darcy did not think they would have left that village had they not been ready for it, and thankfully the boys were demonstrating one way in which their life would not be leisurely, by pulling them across the hall and into the kitchen, so they could see that part of the house.

Waiting in that kitchen was the next part of this life of leisure, and Darcy tensed, wishing to introduce her properly. Susan bobbed a prompt curtsey from her place beside the hearth, and Darcy said,

"This is Susan, the daughter of my tenants, the Millers. She has been hoping to enter service and I would like for her to begin with you, as a maid of all work. She has experience working in her parents' farmhouse, of course, but I believe there is more she can learn here."

Jory and Eseld looked to each other, and then to Darcy.

"You're thinkin' we won't want the help, an' aye we don't rightly need it these days," stated Jory. "But we're not so young as to pretend those days ain't comin', Will. Ye look like a nice lass, Susan, an' we'll be glad of havin' ye about."

Whatever Susan had been expecting, it was not this, but she smiled to them, seeming tempted to curtsey again but ultimately deciding to just stand there. Soon enough, Darcy thought, she would be enveloped in their happy household, and likely not considered a servant at all. If someday she sought a position elsewhere, she would need to understand that she could not maintain such familiarity with her employers as the Trevillses would want with her. But Darcy intended her tenure in this cottage to be of long duration, and if she served the Trevillses so well as he hoped she would, she need not worry about her future.

Eseld spent a little time in giving encouraging remarks to Susan and looking over the kitchen implements that had been purchased to supplement what she had packed up from the old cottage and sent on by carrier, but eventually the boys showed themselves to be bored by such things and insistent that the Trevillses should see the upper storeys of their home. They were led thither at a goodly pace while Darcy nodded to Susan and then took up his wife's hand as they strolled into the hall.

"I am glad this is here, this sweet, cosy little home we shall all escape to," Elizabeth murmured to him. "And most of all, I am glad they are here."

Darcy was prevented from replying by the sweet voice of little Elizabeth; he had set her down upon their entrance into the house to toddle about as she liked, but she had never toddled far from her parents.

"Mama," she said, tugging upon her mother's skirt, "Mama. Up? Staiws? Esewwl?"

The Darcys exchanged a glance, some combination of parental relief and pride. They had never discussed the child's slow pace to speaking; without words amongst themselves it had passed as a topic of mutual concern, one alleviated by her continuing addition of new words into her spoken vocabulary. Darcy had never doubted the child's intelligence, had always thought some combination of shyness and fear had prevented words from emerging when they should have.

It was a particular irony, he thought, that the most reserved of his children, the one he bore the most affinity to, was the one who was not his child by blood. He could acknowledge this to himself, at present, when he would not be inclined to acknowledge it aloud. Little Elizabeth was not his, and yet he would have fought any man who claimed otherwise with every fibre of his strength, every last stratagem of the law. For she was his, in his heart; both she and little Henry had been born during the interregnum of his life, and each was as much Darcy's child as the other. He knew with certainty that he would have given his life for either, and had as his proof that awful night of the fire.

Darcy did not dwell upon such things, however. Instead, he followed after his wife as she picked up that dear little girl and carried her up the stairs. There, they admired the Trevillses' bedchamber and then the guest chamber across the hall, and when this was done sufficiently, they moved on to Susan's bedchamber and the storage space in the garret. When they had seen the whole of the cottage, Jory came up to Darcy and clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Will, it's all better'n we could have wished for, but we should ha' known you'd give us something so nice. Only thing I want to see now is this sailboat of yours."

Darcy promised that he could see it next, and when their return to the ground storey coincided with the arrival of the promised refreshments, Elizabeth encouraged them to continue on unless Jory was hungry. He pronounced himself to be just a little hungry, plucked a peach from the fruit bowl, and continued on out the door.

"Never had one of these," he stated, as they gained the path to the lake. He bit into the peach, chewed for some moments, and then said, "By God, Will, that's delicious. What is it?"

"It's – it is a peach. We grow them here, in a hot-house."

"D'ye mean those houses made of glass?"

"Yes. They allow us to grow things out of season. We shall be sure to send a steady supply of peaches to the cottage, and you must let us know if you find you like other fruits beyond those I know you prefer. You have not seen the kitchen garden for the cottage yet, but it is of a goodly size. If Eseld wishes to extend it still more, I can send a gardener over to assist her."

"I expect we'll expand it, but I also expect we won't want your man's help, Will. We'll need something to do."

"I know you will, but I had hoped you would act as the estate's boat-master and chief fisherman," Darcy said, smiling as they approached the boathouse and he pulled the door open. "Again, I know it is not what you are used to, but it is something to fill your idle time."

"I'd be glad to, so long as I don't do it alone most of the time. I'd rather you or those dear little children of yours be with me."

Darcy smiled. "That is as I would have hoped it. Jory, I – I cannot say how important it is to me that you and Eseld are comfortable here, that you are happy here. If there's ever anything standing in the way of your happiness, I hope you'll tell me."

"I understand, Will, I do. I don't rightly see how there is more we could need, but we'll tell ye if there is, I promise. Now let's have a look at that boat."

Darcy looked on, feeling strangely nervous as Jory made a minute inspection of the boat, finally concluding,

"Fine little craft, and seems in good condition. We'll want to caulk her seams come spring. Did'ye do this splicing?"

"Aye, I did."

"Well done, Will, well done," Jory said, and Darcy felt a glow of satisfaction and affection deep within himself. "I remember how bad you was at it, when you started on the lugger. Should ha' thought then that you might be a gentleman."

Darcy smiled, faintly. "I believe there are plenty of men in the world who are not gentlemen and yet also cannot splice rigging."

"Are there?" asked Jory sceptically.

Darcy did not answer that question. "My father always dealt with the rigging, when he taught me to sail."

"How old was ye, when your father died?"

"Two and twenty."

"Wish ye'd of had more time with him. I expect he was a good man."

"He was. There's a picture of him in the gallery – I hope someday you and Eseld will come to see it."

"I know ye want us to come an' visit the great house, Will, and I know it's your home, but I don't see how it can ever be a comfortable place for Eseld and me."

"I understand you, believe me I do. I have known what it is to feel out of place in that house. I would like for you to at least see the place, to know my home, but I will not push you when you and Eseld have already made such changes in your lives to be near us. More than anything else, I want you to be comfortable here."

"I am sure we will be. Such nice, big place you've got for us, Will. 'Tis a big change for us, to be sure, but I think we can be very happy there." Following this statement, Jory proceeded jump into the boat with his usual spryness, as though he had not just been subjected to a lengthy carriage journey.

Darcy was quick to follow after him, jumping into the boat and realising he would be ceding his usual place at the tiller to Jory. The breeze that day was capricious, but in truth this was best for two men desirous of a challenge. They worked hard, to keep the boat to the pace they desired, well-attuned to each other and deeply pleased to be sailing together again. They were a long time with no more conversation than was needed to sail, until Jory finally asked,

"Where d'ye keep the net, Will? I don't recall seein' it in your boathouse."

"There is not one – we've always done coarse fishing with rod and reel on the lake, and fly fishing for trout in the stream."

"I've never fished with a rod," stated Jory, a tinge of hesitance in his tone.

"Well then for once perhaps I shall be able to teach you something," Darcy said. "You'll pick it up soon enough."

"I reckon that's the more leisurely way of fishing," stated Jory. "Don't suppose we can go round the inn for a pint, though, once we're done."

Darcy's initial reaction was to say that there was nothing preventing them from going to the inn at Lambton and sitting down to a pint at the taproom together, although it was a good four miles from the Trevilles's new cottage and they would need to take a carriage. Yet a moment's thought told him this could never be – his presence would prompt confusion and a goodly dampening of spirits of all the men in the inn's taproom. He told Jory this, but then added, "There is nothing to prevent your going there, however, and I hope you'll feel free to do so whenever you wish. I had planned to have someone come by your cottage every morning, to see if you or Eseld will want a carriage at some point during the day. I know it is not the sort of independence you have been used to, but I hope you will make frequent use of them. We have numerous carriages – it will not be putting us out at all, for you to use one whenever you want it."

"I'm glad of hearin' that, Will. This new cottage is nice as could be, but it's surely more isolated than what we've known."

"In that, I may have been selfish. I chose the one that was the easiest distance to the great house and the lake. If you are feeling too isolated, though, I hold others in the village of Lambton."

"I'm grateful to ye for thinkin' of such things, Will, but I'm glad ye started us in the one closest to your family. Maybe we can start a new tradition, and have a few pints of ale in that fancy sitting room."

"I would like that very much, Jory. And Pemberley does brew some very good ale."

Jory grinned. "I'm glad to hear that, Will, for I'm sure we'll still not stop at one pint."

Many pints were consumed in that sitting room, as the Trevillses settled into their new home. Darcy and Jory went out every day that it was fine, beginning Jory's education on plying rod and reel. They often took the boys with them, giving Darcy three pupils, to instruct in this form of fishing. They would return to the cottage for pints of ale and milk, usually finding Elizabeth, Eseld, and Susan in the kitchen, preparing their dinner. The draw of the cottage was strong, pulling them all to it for as many hours as they could spare. After some days, though, the Trevillses were convinced to come and see some of the rooms in the great house. They were awed by all they saw, but the library held particular gravitas: both of them had learned enough of reading to deeply respect the volumes on the shelves, and wish to continue their education so they might attempt to read even some little portion of Pemberley's many books.

Then one day they had additional visitors at Pemberley, to draw the Darcys – at least – back to that house for a greater portion of their days. These visitors were not eagerly anticipated by the children because they had carried a surprise for the children, and therefore had been kept a secret. General and Mrs. Fitzwilliam – who both preferred that address over Lord and Lady Ashbourne – arrived in the Sudbury post-chaise.

Henry came out first, and although he looked fully well, still he waited until his footman had seen to the stairs and then stepped out with care, the same care that was evident when he handed his wife out. Kitty had a mildly dishevelled appearance to her, but whether this was due to human or canine attentions could not be told. For after her came a little tumbling mass of spaniels, which – if it would have been possible to distinguish its parts – would have been shown to be two male puppies, each bent on gaining the upper hand with the other, and doomed to growling failure. Beside him, Darcy heard Elizabeth laughing at their antics, a particular delight to his heart. They were coaxed by Henry in the general direction of the house, while his wife reached inside the carriage and retrieved a third spaniel pup, a little female much smaller and quieter than her brothers. She was thus as Kitty carried her inside the house and Darcy and Henry took one male puppy each by the scruff of their necks.

They all took their burdens up to the nursery, where Henry handed his puppy over to his cousin and said, "Here, you take them – you should get the credit."

"T'was you who wrote to me, of the litter," stated Darcy. "T'was you who convinced Waterstone to keep his runt alive."

"Eh – I still owe you, for my poor timing with the ponies. Let this be my compensation."

Thus it was that Darcy came into the nursery with two wriggling puppies in his arms, the two of them seemingly determined to take up their battle again.

William and Henry had both been seated with Mr. Owen, for Henry had proven interested in following after his brother and had been started on reading. Both boys looked up on the entrance of their father, but it was Henry who screeched, "Dooooooogs!"

Boys and puppies converged on each other in the sort of utter chaos that was preferred by all of them. Growling, screeching, barking, giggling, tears of happiness – all were emitted, all were the sounds of a happy party.

This was watched by a silent Elizabeth from her corner of the nursery. She clasped her doll to her chest and glanced back at her shawl, lying some feet away on the floor. Disturbance had come to the nursery, and could not be liked by a child who longed for protection and stability. But her eyes searched the room and found papa, and with an imploring look and that word, she begged him to see to her safety.

Darcy did not do precisely that. Instead, he took up the little female runt from Kitty's arms, and knelt down on the floor before Elizabeth with the little pup. She was the opposite of her brothers: shy when they were aggressive, quiet when they were loud. Little Elizabeth's first hesitant pats were just exactly what she should like, and she turned her head to begin licking the child's hand, eliciting rare giggles from her companion.

Darcy's observations were interrupted by the sensation of his wife's taking up his hand. "You were right," she said. "Little Elizabeth will not have a human companion in the nursery that is near her age, but I suspect she shall have a friend more steadfast than any human could be, and just as dear."

The adults all watched for some time as the children enjoyed the delights of their new companions, but eventually left the nursery to make the walk down to the cottage so that the Fitzwilliams could be introduced to the Trevillses. This meeting went smoothly: the Fitzwilliams were well-used to conversing with those of the lower classes, Henry from his time in the army and Kitty from her many meetings with Longbourn's tenants. When mixed with the good cheer of Jory and Eseld, and the earnest desire on both Darcy's and Elizabeth's part that they should all get on well, they spent a pleasant hour in the sitting-room of the cottage, enjoying the many refreshments pressed upon them by the Trevillses.

None of them was particularly enthusiastic about dinner following this, but Elizabeth – having anticipated the repast that would be pushed upon them in the cottage – had ordered a smaller and later dinner, and informed her companions of this as they walked back to the house. She went upstairs to change and then determined she would pass the time remaining before the meal in the library. She took the volumes of Ivanhoe thither with her, hoping to find something new to read; her progress in the book had halted at the witch trial, when she had determined she would rather think upon any more trials for the rest of her life.

When she entered the library, however, she realised there was another within: Henry was standing by the window. He was standing, she realised, before the place where he had been stabbed by his brother. He heard her entrance and turned towards her, forcing a smile.

"I am so sorry – you must have wanted some time for private contemplation here," she said. "I was just returning these – I will come back later."

"Nay, I believe I have had all the contemplation I need." His gaze had turned more inviting, and Elizabeth stepped nearer. "I was just thinking of how strangely mixed my feelings are about that night. They were difficult wounds, certainly, and then there is my brother's role in it and all that followed. And yet, if it would not have happened, I would not have come to an understanding with Kitty so quickly as we did. Perhaps it would have come in time, but I cannot be sure of that."

"I understand what you mean. For my own part I would much rather that night had never happened, and yet without it I would not know the peace of his being gone from the world. Yours is the happier outcome, though, and I am glad of it – my sister seems exceedingly pleased with married life."

"I believe she is." Henry smiled, genuinely this time. "Come sister, shall we go to dinner?"

Elizabeth took up his proffered arm, and together they left the library.