Mrs. Reynolds had been making her home at Pemberley for more than forty-five years. As a young girl she had often walked the five miles from the village of Lampton to the estate, drawn by the grandeur of the house and beauty of the gardens and woods. She would spend hours in repose reveling in the peace that Pemberley offered. When a chance to work in the great house came she left her father's small shop and began her life's journey. Strictly speaking she had been hired as an under parlor maid but wherever there was help needed no matter how menial, she was there, offering a hand, always with a smile and never with a complaint. She was more fortunate than most of the girls who were hired for she knew her letters and numbers which gave her a great advantage. Still, it took her nine arduous years before she was at last rewarded for her diligence by taking up the position of assistant to the housekeeper. Once she was second in command she had access to the entire house and every moment she could spare she walked though all the rooms, memorizing the layouts, the sizes, the colors and the views. For another five years she prepared herself for another life change when she would gain what she had desired for half her life. When old Mrs. Brown died of a massive stroke she was fully prepared to take charge of the most beautiful estate in all the land. Mrs. Reynolds had never married nor had she had a moment of remorse for this omission for she looked upon the inhabitants of Pemberley as her family and her life was full.
Through the next thirty years she was witness to so many changes to the fortunes of the Darcys. She had seen her young master take Anne Fitzwilliam to wife and was there when she delivered him a son. And twelve years later when Georgiana was born she was there . And she was there when her dear mistress went to her heavenly reward and she had wept bitterly for her family's loss.
She took great pride in watching the young master grow into a splendid young man who would one day rule over the great estate and was always there to offer him comfort when life had that insidious way of breaking one's heart as it had when his father passed away. A weaker man might have succumbed to the sudden wealth and freedom but Darcy was made of sterner stuff and he had taken the reins of leadership with strength and resolve and her pride in him could bring her to tears. There was only one thing lacking in her paradise. Her life would not be complete until the master married and filled the great hall with the laughter of children.
Servants were supposed to be seen and not heard...and they were certainly not supposed to hear but there were few secrets that she wasn't privy to so when Mrs. Reynolds received a letter from her master relating how Edmund and Juliet Fitzwilliam were on the way to Pemberley she knew exactly what was required. As the housekeeper at Pemberley she was the oldest and most valued servant tending to that vast estate. Little escaped her watchful eye and her young master and his imp of a cousin Richard always spoke freely in her presence.
She had known for some time that the marriage of Eddy and his bride was in trouble so she assumed that what they needed most was a quiet time together...a time to allow Pemberley to work it's magic. With that thought in mind she ordered a pot of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits and settled down to create a romantic retreat. Only the smallest and most intimate rooms would be opened for Pemberley's guests. As for the foods they would be served, only the most sensual and decadent would do; foods that would appeal to the eyes, nose and tongue. As she laboriously wrote down the menus she smiled and hummed to herself. It would be an interesting exercise and she was determined that those two silly children would come to their senses. It would also be good practice for when Darcy would bring his own bride back to Pemberley. As long as it wasn't Caroline Bingley.
At the Gardiner residence less romantic visions were taking place. Lydia had dreamed of the day she would appear unannounced on the Gardiner doorstep clutching her husband's arm, a huge diamond gracing her hand and dressed in all her wedding finery. He would be dressed in his red coat looking oh so handsome and proud as she preened and demanded their congratulations for having landed such a husband. From there she would board a fine carriage and return to Longbourn in triumph, gleeful to see the jealous looks of her unmarried sisters. Oh, how she would laugh! Instead she found herself dumped in Cheapside in the dead of night, with the ugly mark of a hand imprinted on her face and hysterical with tears.
The Gardiners had greeted their least favorite niece with relief followed by such shock and dismay that Mr. Gardiner fled back to his bed leaving his dear wife to deal with Lydia's account of what had transpired that very night. That a young woman would speak with such candor and no trace of shame was appalling and unheard of in his circle. What was worse, Mr. Gardiner would have to write to his brother Bennet in the morning. What he could possibly say or how he could word it was beyond him. There was no way he could soften the words to make them more palatable to the father of a fifteen year old from a respectable family. At one point during a sleepless night he thought of ceding his responsibility to his wife, but he could not in all conscience do so. In the end he elected to write only the barest information. Mr. Bennet was many things but he was not a stupid man and he would see the truth behind the unvarnished facts.
The following day proved exhausting and exasperating to both Gardiners as they subjected their niece to lectures on morality and duty to family. Unfortunately, Lydia hardly listened before exploding in anger at their stupidity. They simply couldn't understand that she was in love with Wickham and he was in love with her. She still believed that she had been cheated out of happiness with her beloved Wickie. She accused them of being an unfeeling family, of hiring a thug to treat her savagely and deprive her of true felicity. The Gardiners assumed that this thug who had delivered Lydia to their door was a crony of Wickham and had been sent to deal with Lydia to avoid any scene that might erupt when she learned that he no longer had a use for her.
Lydia was still weeping and complaining loudly when her father appeared the following morning, his face pale with disgust. He directed his youngest daughter to Mr. Gardiner's study and locked the door behind him. Once he was settled behind the desk he regarded his daughter with an icy demeanor which Lydia found more frightening then the few other times she had seen him angry. "For the next two weeks you will stay here and not leave the house. I warn you, daughter, that if I find you have disobeyed me you will have reason to regret it for the rest of your life. You have brought sorrow and disgrace upon your mother and sisters and I find that unforgivable. I will have no qualms about banishing you from our lives forever. And if ever again I hear your lover's name on your lips I swear to the almighty and everything that is holy, I will take you back to the slums without a penny in your pocket and let you fend for yourself. Do I make myself clear?"
When her father had first begun to speak Lydia opened her mouth to argue with him, but by the time he had finished with his short speech Lydia was shaking in terror. She didn't recognize this man whose face was a mask of cold revulsion. When she didn't reply, her father leaned across the desk, "have I made myself clear? I would not wish you to argue that you didn't understand my threat and promise, so I'll ask you one last time, have I made myself clear?" Lydia nodded numbly, her eyes awash with tears. Unmoved, Mr. Bennet sat down again. "While you are here in this house, you will take your meals in your room. Under no circumstances are you to sit down with them for I would not have you contaminate their children."
Lydia regarded her father with horror. "You can't mean that!"
"Do I look like a man who doesn't mean what he says? Have you no idea what you've done to yourself...and by reflection what you've done to your family? Your life will forever be changed due to your reckless disregard for common decency. Now, get out of my sight. I'll be here for another hour before I return home and don't want to see you again on this day."
When his youngest daughter returned to her room, Mr. Bennet sat for a long time with his head bowed, allowing his tears to fall freely.
Charles Bingley had met Fitzwilliam Darcy the day he arrived at Cambridge. By an unbelievable stroke of luck he had been offered rooms to share with the master of Pemberley. To say that he had been terrified during that first meeting was an understatement. He had seen Darcy at the theater and various shops around town and saw him as a tall, handsome, humorless man who seldom smiled or took notice of those around him. He was all that Charles Bingley was not and never would be. It took no longer than an hour before Bingley realized that he had been sorely mistaken in the kind of man Darcy was. His name and position hung heavily about his shoulders making him seem like a cold and disinterested observer of his fellow man but before the first night ended Darcy had proved to be a kind and generous man who was possessed of a devilish sense of humor. They became fast friends and that friendship had remained steadfast during the ensuing years. There was not another soul in the world upon whose good judgment Bingley could have more reliance; no one's advice which invariably proved so sound. So when Darcy advised him to speak immediately to his sister Caroline Bingley he had no choice. It had to be done. Fortunately, Darcy had suggested he first drop Lady Catherine De Bourgh's name and give her time to digest the information that she would be hosting one of the most venerable names in the land who was also the esteemed aunt of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He followed Darcy's advice and at first he thought his sister was about to faint. She had paled and her breathing quickened as Bingley watched her in fascination. He knew he shouldn't find amusement as her brain wrestled with all the opportunities that were now presenting themselves to her but being human he could not help himself and turned away unable to suppress a wide grin. When he finally got himself under control he turned back to Caroline and added Richard Fitzwilliam, whom she despised, to the list followed quickly with Anne De Bourgh's name. Caroline blinked several times and stared blankly at her brother finding difficulty processing all this information. Bingley completed the guest list with Peter Postlewaite and Georgiana Darcy.
Bingley poured them both some wine and handed her a glass, "with you and the Hursts not to mention Darcy, that makes ten. Will you be able to handle such a crowd?"
Caroline drained the glass and refilled it before sinking into her chair, now fully recovered. "Of course I can manage such a crowd. It will give me a chance to show Darcy what an excellent hostess I am. But I believe that I will travel to Netherfield a little bit early. I want everything to be perfect for him. Oh Charles, my life will never be the same after this summer. You see before you a very happy woman."
Caroline Bingley left for Netherfield the following day taking the Hursts with her. Only one thing could be said about the journey...it was mercifully short, just a half-morning's carriage ride. She had no expectation of pleasure with the estate that her brother had leased without her approval and already she was composing a myriad of apologies for the bad taste of her brother. She had to make it clear to Darcy and his aunt Catherine that her taste in everything fine was unexampled. Hardly aware that she was thinking out loud, she didn't see the sour amusement on her brother-in-law's plump face.
Humphrey Hurst despised his sister-in-love as much as he loved his wife, Lousia, Caroline's unfortunate sister. He blamed her for everything that was wrong with his marriage. There were times when he hardly recognized the sweet fun-loving woman he'd married. The first few years had been full of joy with travel and parties and the quiet times that secured their happiness. All that changed when her father died and Caroline and Charles moved in with them. His life changed overnight. Caroline immediately began to usurp Louisa's authority, making decisions that rightly belonged to his wife. At first Hurst had been amused waiting for Louisa to send her little sister packing but that moment never arrived. Slowly, insidiously Hurst and Louisa began to draw apart. It seemed to Hurst that he was the third wheel of a marriage-a-trois and his resentment towards Caroline flourished in proportion to the unhappiness of his wife. Louisa was no longer the happy independent woman he'd married but had become a quiet, somewhat sullen woman. Every time he spoke of kicking Caroline out of their lives Louisa became unsettled unwilling to sever her relationship with Caroline. Hurst could not bear to see his wife so unhappy so he turned to food and drink to assuage his discontent. Sated and deep in his cups he'd while away the long evenings listening to Caroline describe the many ways she planned to change the rooms at Pemberley when Darcy finally begged for her hand. It was during these moments he'd let his own imagination loose and ponder the various ways he might commit foul murder. His musings ran the gamut from voodoo dolls to quicksand where the last he'd ever see of Caroline would be her orange plumes slowly sinking from sight.
Once Bingley bought his own townhouse and Caroline became his hostess, not much changed in their lives. Louisa was the only one Caroline could confide in so hardly a day passed when the sisters were not together. Louisa complained bitterly that Caroline had become a bore; that she had no conversation beyond the topic of Darcy. She showed no interest in the books he read, and unless he invited the Bingleys and Hursts to join him for the evening, she showed absolutely no interest in the plays or operas he attended so any conversation he allowed with her was of the most superficial kind.
One evening when Charles was home from Cambridge for the holidays both men sat down in Hurst's small library enjoying a postbrandial drink. Charles had never spoken of his early childhood after his mother had died but that night he opened up to Hurst describing how Louisa had become their mother during those dark days. "Louisa was just eleven years old and hardly more than a child herself. Our mother had been feeding Caroline stories of how one day they would all be rich and Caroline would wear beautiful clothes and live in a great mansion with hundreds of servants. When mother died Caroline was inconsolable with grief believing that all of her dreams of becoming a great lady had died with her. It was left to Louisa to reassure her that her dreams were alive and well, that one day a prince charming would come along and take her to live in a castle in the sky."
"And Darcy is that prince and Pemberley is the castle."
Bingley nodded. "I rue the day I introduced her to my friend. Darcy's such a gentleman and puts up with her silliness but I fear that one day he'll fall in love and I shudder to think what Caroline's reaction will be."
Hurst remembered the conversation now as their carriage approached the village of Meryton. He too shuddered to think what might happen if Darcy fell in love and shattered all of Caroline's dreams. How lovely it would be if Darcy would only find the perfect woman this summer. Then, maybe Caroline would come to her senses. She was no longer a spring chicken and it was time to get on with her life.
Despite the overpowering stench of urine and horse droppings, the unwashed public and the smells of poverty which permeated the air of London, Lady Catherine hadn't had so much fun in years. Closeted away in Kent for so many years neither mother nor daughter realized just how outmoded their dresses really were and they spent hours examining dozens of patterns and exquisite fabrics. Anne had always been a beautiful girl but now with her health restored and draped in the finest silks that money could buy she was truly breathtaking. Lady Catherine's own features began to soften as she watched her daughter's beauty blossom; she found herself smiling at each new day, eager to check out another shop for a hidden treasure.
It wasn't until the evening hours after Lady Catherine retired to her rooms that she had the time or inclination to give a thought to the trip to Hertfordshire. Anne and Georgiana were both eager to reacquaint themselves with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and their eagerness translated into whispers and giggles with frequent mentions of Darcy. Both young women seemed to think that she was deaf. She wasn't. She knew very well that her daughter and niece had high hopes for a marriage between Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Lady Catherine didn't know what she thought of such a marriage. She knew that ten years ago it would have been unthinkable...even a year ago it would have been out of the question. However, so much had changed in the near solitude of the past ten years when all she had wished for was the recovery of Anne and her eventual happiness. Seeing Anne so bright and cheerful in her determination to win Richard, made her study her nephew Darcy in a different light. He had always been quiet and reserved and she'd always assumed that it was in his nature to be so but remembering how he had looked at Elizabeth had altered her opinion considerably. By no stretch of the imagination could she describe herself as being an expert in love but she supposed that when a man and woman couldn't keep their eyes off each other, something was in the air. That it might be serious had completely escaped her...more fool she. In the two dinners they had shared since their arrival in Town, Lady Catherine had studied Darcy in his unguarded moments and realized just how lonely her nephew was. How a man of such wealth and good looks could be lonely was beyond her, but it appeared that he was just that.
Well, she thought with a mental shrug, there was nothing anyone could do about it if Elizabeth Bennet was truly the woman he desired to be mistress of Pemberley and the mother of his children. If there were any misgivings in the family they would have to go unsaid for Darcy was independent enough to forswear his entire family if he suspected rampant disapprobation over his choice of bride. No, there might be gentle rumblings in the family but nothing worse. She was tempted to come right out and ask Darcy point blank just what he planned to do when he got to Hertfordshire but could not think of a delicate way she could ask such an impertinent question. As this last thought crossed her mind she laughed out loud in the darkness. That she would hesitate to be impertinent was a novel idea. As she slipped into a pleasant sleep she wondered how many more changes were in store for her now that she was once more in control of her life.
When Peter Postlewaite's brother deserted his responsibilities for adventure in the Americas Peter was shocked at the defection but not too surprised. He'd known for years that Simon was unhappy with his lot in life; a farmer's life was much too tame for his brother's restless spirit. As far back as Peter could remember, Simon had chaffed under the rules that governed the life that lay before him. As the heir to the Postlewaite fortune, he would attend Cambridge and upon his return begin the life he was born to with all the wealth and prestige he was entitled to. It was one of life's ironies that Simon could not see himself spending the rest of his life watching things grow; that he looked upon his future as a stagnant existence that would eventually smother, then kill him. Peter, on the other hand, was only a spare so he too would be educated at Cambridge, then would choose the military or the church... and he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life on the beautiful estate where he had been born for he found the greatest pleasure in the changing seasons, watching life begin, then sleep before springing awake again. It was his joy to ride the familiar grounds thinking of all the improvements he would make if only the land was his.
Through the years of what he considered his servitude, Simon tried to speak to his father, trying to make him understand how unhappy he was; that Peter was better suited to manage the estate but his father would not listen to him, attributing his discontent to high spirits and growing pains. So Simon remained at the estate saving every penny he could from his substantial allowance and waited for Peter to finish Cambridge. It was another one of life's ironies that Simon's spirit was the impetus that led him to sneak away in the dead of night while his family slept. His father in fury and grief ceded the estate to his youngest son and left for London. Peter's parents never returned to Nottinghamshire.
At the age of two and twenty Peter's life was turned upside down, his life changed from what had been complacence to a compulsion to make his father proud. It took him a full year before he realized that his father didn't care. Those were the lonely years when he became withdrawn and nearly reclusive only allowing visits from his Cambridge chum Charles Bingley. Bingley never pried or asked uncomfortable questions and Peter was content to listen to his friend describe his life in Town, amuse him with stories about his sister Caroline and her obsession with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
When the invitation to spend time with Bingley at his estate in Hertfordshire arrived by post, his inclination was to refuse, no longer confident in his own social abilities. He'd become reticent and a quiet observer of human foibles and frailties not sure he could fit in with a party of friends and family who would be inclined to laugh and play while he, the outsider, would pretend to be something other than a shell of a man. However, he had to admit that it might be fun to be around Bing again for he had never met a man with such a happy disposition. He hoped that some of that happy complacency might rub off on him. The consumption of a bottle of brandy that evening opened his eyes to his loneliness and how foolish he had become and in the morning he penned a note to his old friend with his acceptance and pretended delight.
Now, sitting in Bingley's small library, he was content. Charles was still the same happy young man he'd first met at Cambridge years earlier; still that odd mixture of cleverness and naiveté that made even strangers smile. And, he had finally met the illusive Fitzwilliam Darcy. To his great surprise he found that Darcy was exactly as Bingley had described him. Cool and watchful at first but once comfortable, extremely affable and warm. Peter was rather looking forward to this trip to Hertfordshire. He could never have guessed that his life would once more take a surprising turn for which he would be eternally grateful to Charles Bingley.
The time for his departure for Hertfordshire was fast approaching and Darcy was on edge. He'd been suffering a week of sleepless nights unaided by long solitary walks through the large park adjacent to his house. He seemed incapable of relaxing and spent an inordinate amount of time pacing his library mumbling to himself and reaching for the brandy decanter with unusual frequency. His stomach was tied in knots and he could not account for it. He was a man of the world; master of all he surveyed yet the thought of seeing Miss Elizabeth Bennet again had kept his mind spinning in so many directions he wasn't sure he knew his own name. That an impertinent slip of a girl from a country village could effect him was appalling, annoying and so unfathomable that a part of him still insisted that he would conquer this feeling, though in the deep recesses of his mind he knew it was already too late. He was lost and a man deep in love and he was going to have to do something about it before he went stark, staring mad. His unpleasant ruminations were interrupted by the unannounced entrance of his cousin, Richard, "don't you ever knock?" Darcy snarled, "and where the hell have you been?"
Richard blinked at the greeting, then grinned broadly. He had just returned from Newcastle where he had spent an exhausting week in long talks with his general and even longer periods of soul searching. He had opted not to stop at his family home but to head straight for Darcy's townhouse where he could relax and unwind. Darcy appeared to be in worse shape than he was. He helped himself to a liberal amount of brandy before dropping into his favorite chair, all the while observing his favorite cousin. Darcy was always in control of himself...but Darcy had never been in love before and Richard found the sight of him pacing and glaring quite amusing. "I suppose you're all packed and eager to see your friend's new estate. You must be looking forward to sharing your expertise with Bingley but I hope you will allow yourself some time to walk about the countryside. I'm sure there are many delights to be found in Hertfordshire, or so I've been led to believe."
Darcy stopped his pacing and regarded Richard with a frown. "Never mind me. Where did you get yourself off to? A wild week of debauchery, no doubt."
Richard laughed out loud, "you do have a vivid imagination, cousin. No, on the contrary. I spent most of the week in contemplation of my future. The end result was that I handed in my resignation."
Darcy's jaw dropped in shock, "good grief! How did this come to be?"
"I refused an order from my general."
Darcy didn't have to ask what the order was. "What was his reaction?"
"Well, he didn't threaten me with a firing squad. He took it rather calmly. Apparently men in my line of work burn out quickly. I lasted longer than most. Actually, he offered me a promotion and an office here in Town."
"He offered you a promotion to general and you turned it down?" Darcy was dumbfounded. "Richard, what were you thinking? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
"I thought so. But lately I find that I've lost my taste for the army and the life I've been living."
"What part did the incident with Wickham have to play?"
"Not enough to concern you, Wills. It's been on my mind for several months now." Richard stood and refilled their glasses and handed one to Darcy. Instead of taking his chair again he stood staring down at his cousin with a wry grin. "I know you think I'm the densest spy in all the land, but I did enjoy all your subtle remarks on how beautiful and desirable she had become but I already knew that. Once I realized that I had fallen in love with Anne and wanted to make a life with her I decided to make it it happen. Hence, my trip to Newcastle."
Darcy sat in stunned silence. First Bingley, now Richard. They both found it so easy to act on their inclinations while he dithered and worked himself up into a lather worrying about what Elizabeth was capable of doing to his well-being. It would be much easier if she might feel the same about him but how could he find out without asking directly? "Have you spoken to Anne?"
Richard shook his head, "not yet. I thought at first I would explain what I had been doing in the army. I want her to know the real me."
Darcy shot out of his chair, "you will do no such thing, Richard. Anne doesn't need to know what you've been ordered to do for the crown. Leave it in past where it belongs."
"All this from a man who believes that every disguise is an abhorrence? Shocking!"
"This is no laughing matter, Richard."
"No. I suppose it isn't. Frankly, I'm not quite sure of what my next move is. I doubt if she'd appreciate me grabbing her and saying "what say we get married, kiddo."
Despite himself, Darcy started to laugh at the silly expression on Richard's face. "Perhaps we should ask Bingley about courtship. He's had more experience."
Richard rolled his eyes imagining such a scene, "I'm sure he would be glad to lend us a helping hand, but I think not. I would not wish to appear to be a blushing, blathering idiot to my beloved."
"I've never seen you blush."
The two cousins were just a bit tipsy and still laughing together when they were called to dinner.