Pride and Prescience Page 3

  “I confess, I was vexed at first. But then I saw them together. Mr. Parrish seems truly besotted with her, and she with him. Have they known each other long?”

  He stretched out his legs as far as he could, angling them toward the opposite side of the carriage. “I believe they met at Almack’s when we were all in town last winter.”

  “The infamous ‘marriage mart’? Was it love at first sight?”

  “I wouldn’t know—I avoid the place myself.” Most of the ton considered Almack’s the place to meet men and women of proper quality, but he found the club, with its perpetual parade of debutantes seeking husbands, distasteful. Though it was the most exclusive club in London, he declined all invitations to its balls, and had directed Georgiana to do the same upon her coming out.

  Her eyes shone with merriment. “Lucky for me, or some accomplished lady with a handsome face would have tempted you long before you laid eyes on my tolerable countenance.”

  He winced at the memory of the snub he’d incautiously uttered within her hearing the evening they first met—an opinion he’d long since reversed. “Will you never let me forget that most undeserved slight?”

  “Never. I delight too much in teasing you about it.” Her fingertips gently smoothed his creased brow. “Fortunately, I’m not a vain woman. I doubt Mr. Parrish could have overcome such an adverse start to his acquaintance with Miss Bingley. Not that I can imagine him saying such a thing given how rapidly he formed an attachment to her.”

  “He does seem devoted.”

  “Did you know him before today?”

  “We met a few times. You will recall that I spent part of last spring at Rosings, so I was absent for much of the official season. He seems an amiable fellow, with exceptionally good manners for an American. I understand he’s very well liked in town—more than one lady will be unhappy to hear of his engagement.”

  “That is usually the case, when a wealthy man weds. You and Bingley dashed countless hopes today. Alas, the cruelty of a double wedding!”

  His wife flattered him—Darcy could think of no woman mourning the end of his bachelorhood. “I expect any disappointed young misses will quickly recover.”

  “I was speaking of their mothers.”

  The twenty-four miles to London passed quickly, thanks to fair weather and his wife’s company. As the carriage pulled up to the townhouse, Darcy wished he could have given his housekeeper and her severely reduced staff enough notice to properly prepare the home for the arrival of its new mistress, but there was no helping that now. Mrs. Hale, he was sure, would have at least managed to uncover the furniture, light fires in the main rooms, and prepare dinner. Once the servants he’d recalled from Pemberley returned, they would have a more comfortable stay.

  He assisted Elizabeth out of the carriage, retaining her hand in his as he led her up the steps in the waning winter light. He squeezed her fingers as he opened the front door. “Welcome home, Mrs. Darcy.”

  They discovered, however, that the home was hardly welcoming. Naught but the sounds of clanking keys and hurried footfalls greeted them in the dim vestibule. A moment later, a very startled Mrs. Hale appeared, lamp in hand. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s only us, Mrs. Hale.”

  “Mr. Darcy? Sir?” The housekeeper’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of her master, accompanied by her new mistress. Her ruddy complexion turned an even deeper shade of red. “I—I’m so sorry, sir—I thought you were going to Pemberley after the wedding? Oh, dear! I must have misunderstood your instructions! Miss Ben—Mrs. Darcy—Madam, forgive me for not having the house done up proper to receive you!”

  “Our plans changed unexpectedly,” Elizabeth explained.

  “I see, madam. . . .” His wife’s soothing tone only seemed to fluster Mrs. Hale further as her gaze darted about the house. “Good gracious me. Oh, dear . . . oh, dear . . .” Her workroughened hand threatened to dislodge the mobcap from her grey head.

  Darcy quickly took in the unlit rooms, the covered furniture, his servant’s disconcerted state. “Didn’t anyone arrive ahead of us to inform you?”

  A footman entered from the back of the house. “Sir, I’ve only just come in—my horse threw a shoe on the road.”

  No wonder the housekeeper was beside herself. Mrs. Hale took pride in running a well-organized home, and with adequate notice would have striven to impress her new mistress.

  . . . as Darcy himself had wanted to impress her. He silently cursed his bad luck. So much for his romantic plan. Elizabeth had seen the townhouse before, when she’d come to London to visit the Gardiners and order her trousseau. But then it had been his house; now it was theirs, and he’d hoped for her first night in it to be a homecoming—for her to feel in these rooms that she was a visitor no longer, but in her own space, her rightful place, by his side. He’d wanted the house itself to embrace her as he would, to enfold her in a warm, snug haven in which they could begin their new life together.

  Now, due to the perverseness of fate, they would be spending their wedding night in cold rooms dining on leftover mutton.

  He turned to her. “Elizabeth, I am deeply sorry—”

  She regarded him with amusement. “For what? Shutting down a house we did not intend to use all winter? Or sending your rider on a horse determined to fling its footwear across the countryside?”

  “This is not the welcome you deserve.”

  “Nonsense. I like what you’ve done with the place. The furniture all matches now.”

  “The air in here is so chilly you cannot even remove your wrap.”

  “It’s bracing.”

  “We have no dinner.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I believe I am now mistress here. Are you in the habit of criticizing a lady’s home and table to her face?”

  The mock upbraid jostled off his last shreds of ill humor. He conceded with an exaggerated bow.

  “I thought not.”

  Despite their exchange, Mrs. Hale immediately commenced setting the house to rights. “Light a fire in the drawing room and remove the sheets from the furniture,” she instructed the footman. “Madam, if you and the master don’t mind waiting up in the drawing room, perhaps your lady’s maid can put your chamber in order while I start dinner. The larder’s not well stocked, but I’m sure—”

  Darcy intervened. Perhaps he could salvage this scheme after all. “Mrs. Hale, we’ve caught you completely by surprise. Take the time you need to prepare the house. Mrs. Darcy and I will dine out this evening at—” Out of habit he almost said White’s, which is where he normally ate when he dined out in town, but he certainly couldn’t bring his wife to a gentleman’s club. He searched his mind for a respectable hotel, and settled on the most luxurious. It was their wedding day, after all. “The Pulteney.”

  They remained at the townhouse just long enough to change from their travel attire to dinner dress, then trundled back into the carriage.

  “Home sweet home,” Elizabeth said as she settled against the bench. “I think we ought to alter our plans yet again, and simply stay the week in this box. I am grown quite attached to it today.”

  Darcy shifted to relieve the kink in his back that had developed during the ride from Longbourn. “You do not find it a little close?”

  “That’s part of the charm. The ability to move one’s limbs more than a few inches is vastly overvalued.”

  “And what of the constant motion?”

  “Another benefit—it provides ever-changing scenery. What fixed room can compete? Indeed, the more I think upon it, the more my resolve hardens. Economy of exertion, variety of views—I am decided. I shall live in this carriage until we reach Pemberley.”

  “I do hope you will leave it long enough to join me for dinner.”

  “If you insist.”

  Three

  “I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

  Elizabeth to Darcy, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 18

  Elizabeth glanced round the lobby of the Pu
lteney, taking in the lavish furnishings and equally opulent-looking guests. Even she, who until now had come to London rarely and stayed with the Gardiners in Cheapside when she did, had heard of the Piccadilly hotel. A year ago she never would have dreamed she might dine here, but a year ago the thought of marrying Mr. Darcy had also been unimaginable. How much her life had changed in a twelvemonth—in twelve hours!

  “This is considerably more pleasant than our carriage, is it not?” Darcy asked as they crossed to the dining room.

  “Perhaps a degree. Though I had nearly convinced myself that I wanted to be traipsing about London instead of comfortably settled at home.”

  As Darcy enquired after a table, a well-dressed young couple entered the lobby. The gentleman, upon spotting Darcy, guided his companion’s attention toward them. The lady smiled in greeting as the pair approached.

  “Darcy! I had no idea you were in town.” Though the man had a long, narrow face and high forehead, he was not unattractive. His whole lanky frame seemed animated with genuine delight at encountering them. “I’d heard you were off in Hertfordshire getting married.” He directed a curious, but friendly, glance at Elizabeth.

  She sensed her husband’s usual public stiffness relax a bit. Apparently, Darcy shared more than a passing acquaintance with the gentleman. “Yes, I was. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth, this is the Earl of Chatfield and his wife, Lady Chatfield.”

  The earl bowed. The countess’s smile broadened, lighting her bright blue eyes as she addressed Elizabeth. “It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends shall be envious to hear that I’ve been introduced to the new Mrs. Darcy so soon.”

  Elizabeth judged the lady to be about her own age, a few years younger than the earl. She had a delicate visage, small hands, and hair the color of Longbourn’s honey. She carried herself with an air of self-possession that Elizabeth associated with those born into privilege, but it was complemented by a natural warmth that made her seem altogether a kind, unaffected person. “The pleasure is mine,” she responded.

  “Are you in town for Christmas?” asked Lady Chatfield.

  “No, only until Thursday week,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Then I’m delighted we happened upon you here, Darcy,” said the earl. “With such a lovely bride to escort around town, I doubt I’ll see you at White’s this visit.”

  Darcy acknowledged the possibility as unlikely.

  “Say, though—you should pop in to see the betting book,” Chatfield said. “Half the members have wagers on whether Lord Griswell’s wife will finally produce a son this time around or daughter number seven. Griswell swears it will be a boy, but everyone’s betting on another girl just to aggravate the chap. I even put in a wager myself for ten guineas.”

  “Poor Griswell. You torment him.”

  “Nay, it’s only sport. You should place a wager yourself.”

  Darcy shook his head. “I am not a gambling man.”

  “Neither am I. Don’t go in for the cards or dice at all. But a small private wager every once in a while is all in good fun. Say, I’ve seen the name of a friend of yours in the betting book quite often of late. What’s the fellow’s name? Hurst, that’s it! Just last Saturday, he bet a hundred guineas that Frederick Parrish would find his way to the altar before year’s end. Parrish, of all people! Even Beau Brummell gave up betting on him marrying anytime soon after he suddenly cried off Miss Kendall last month.”

  Elizabeth started in surprise at the gossip. Lady Chatfield caught her reaction. “Do you know Mr. Parrish?”

  “Only slightly,” Elizabeth responded. “We learned today of his engagement to our friend Miss Bingley. They plan to marry next week.”

  “Really?” Lord Chatfield chuckled. “Capital! Hurst must have had inside information on that one. Well, good for him—makes up for some of his card losses.”

  “James, sometimes you are too much.” Lady Chatfield rolled her eyes, but her gaze held affection when it rested on her husband once more. She turned to Elizabeth. “I realize this is short notice, and you’re on your honeymoon. But we’re hosting a dinner party Saturday evening, and I’d be honored if you and Mr. Darcy would join us.”

  Flattered by the impromptu invitation, Elizabeth glanced to Darcy. He nodded ever so slightly, indicating his interest in attending but leaving the decision up to her.

  “It will be our pleasure,” she responded.

  Their conversation ended as the couples were seated at separate tables.

  “I hope Mrs. Hale has some apples in the house,” Elizabeth said as she examined the menu.

  Darcy raised a brow. “And why is that?”

  “I need to thank a horse for throwing its shoe. We might not otherwise have chanced upon the earl and his wife.”

  “I would have left them our cards while we are in town, even if we had not met them here. Their townhouse is but a few doors from ours.”

  “I like them. Are they intimate friends of yours?”

  “Chatfield and I dine together fairly often. We met through White’s, before he married the countess. I admire him—he may speak like an idle young buck, but he possesses a strong understanding. He patronizes numerous scientists in the Royal Society.”

  “Then I look forward to this dinner party even more.” Elizabeth brimmed with questions about some of the earl’s statements, particularly those relating to Bingley’s present and future brothers-in-law. “What is this ‘betting book’ of which the earl spoke?”

  “A tradition at White’s—a form of entertainment, really. Members record their private wagers there, in part to keep them honest about payment, but also to impress others with their wit and outrageousness.”

  “What do they bet on, besides Lord Griswell’s children?”

  “Anything—politics, the weather, Napoleon’s next move.” He sipped his wine and shrugged. “Mr. Parrish’s marriage plans.”

  “Miss Bingley’s announcement today must have delighted Mr. Hurst. Will his fellow wagerer accuse him of cheating?”

  “I doubt it. The bride may be Hurst’s sister-in-law, but Parrish’s engagement to Miss Bingley happened so fast, who can say whether Mr. Hurst knew any more about it than the rest of us?”

  Indeed, Elizabeth silently conceded. Given that all her encounters with the indolent Mr. Hurst had seen him eating, drinking, playing cards, or dozing on the sofa, she believed the proposal could have taken place on his lap without the man noticing. It may well have been a perfectly fair wager.

  “Did Lord Chatfield’s remark about Mr. Hurst’s card losses concern you?”

  Darcy shook his head. “Hurst hardly conducts himself like one of those wild dandies who lose the entire family estate in a game of faro. He likely just forfeited a few pounds at whist.” He seemed pensive as he took another sip of wine. “Perhaps I should caution you, Elizabeth, that gossip makes the beau monde go round. Rumor becomes news, and news becomes scandal, all in just a few retellings by people with nothing better to occupy their minds. Do not believe everything you hear.”

  She ruefully recalled how she’d once been deceived about Darcy’s real character by half-truths someone else had told her. “London society hardly has a monopoly on slander,” she said. “Don’t worry—I have learned to exercise discernment.” She would not allow prejudice, nor the smooth words of another one such as Mr. Wickham, to similarly blind her again.

  They spent the greater part of the meal in discussion of more pleasant matters. Darcy expressed a wish to visit the British Museum during their time in London; Elizabeth, an art exhibition. They made plans for their first Christmas together at Pemberley. They spoke of the wedding and their guests—who had said what, who had looked well, who had not. Elizabeth confirmed Darcy’s impression that Charlotte was in the way of adding to the number of Collineses in the world.

  “Will her mother attend her when the time comes?” Darcy asked.

  “Yes, and will stay until the child is a month or two old. Though with La
dy Catherine there, heaven knows Charlotte shan’t want for advice.”

  “My aunt is certainly generous with her opinions. Perhaps I should strive to heal our breech directly, so that when your time comes, you, too, may benefit from her instruction.”

  She called his bluff. “I thought rather to invite my mother to live with us for six months. Women want their mothers at such—Darcy, are you choking on a fish bone?”

  In the carriage, Elizabeth yawned. Though the happiest of her life, the day had been excessively long. “To think that when I awoke this morning, I thought merely getting married would occupy my day.”

  “Me, too.” Darcy took her hand and with his thumb traced her wedding band through the glove. “Do you think the house is ready for us yet?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not a bit.”

  She nestled into her husband’s side, resting her cheek against his chest. “Mr. Darcy, take me home.”

  Four

  Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.

  Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 10

  This one looks innocuous enough.” Elizabeth studied the splintered wooden beam. It was a simple, aged pine log, unremarkable but for a star carved into its center. A circle connected the star’s five points.

  “Lintel, circa 1640,” Darcy read from the display card, “taken from the doorway of a Massachusetts cottage. The beam bears a symbol known as a pentagram, evidence of familiarity with witchcraft in New England decades before the infamous Salem Witch Trials of 1692.”

  His voice echoed in the empty gallery. She and Darcy had come to the British Museum for the afternoon, drawn by the Towneley sculpture collection and a set of medieval manuscripts Darcy had wanted to see. After viewing the old texts, they had wandered into an exhibit titled “Curiosities from the Colonies.” This room they had all to themselves. Apparently, none of the museum’s other visitors had much interest in New World relics.