Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (10 page)

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared moodily at the footman who had just entered the drawing-room of the Darcys’ London home.

The footman was dressed in the Darcy livery and he was a tall, well-built man, but nevertheless he quaked under Mr Darcy’s glance. He cleared his throat nervously and said, ‘Your father asks you to attend him in the library, Sir.’

‘Does he indeed?’ said Mr Darcy with a glower.

‘Yes, Sir,’ gulped the footman.

‘Very well,’ said Mr Darcy curtly.

When he made no move towards the door, the footman said, ‘He requested your presence at once, Sir.’

Mr Darcy’s mouth set in a grim line but he said, ‘Then I had better not keep him waiting,’ and strode out of the door.

He crossed the hall, his footsteps echoing around the noble space, and went into the library. His father was standing over by the window. His father was a tall man with broad shoulders and an elegant carriage. His hair was just starting to turn grey at the temples but his eyes were bright and his attitude was vigorous. He turned round as Mr Darcy entered the room.

‘Fitzwilliam,’ he said with a serious air.

‘Father,’ said Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Fitzwilliam was very like his father in appearance. They both had the same height and broad shoulders and they both had an air of haughtiness about them. They were immaculately dressed, each wearing a black tailcoat and cream breeches, with frilled white shirts, and each wore a diamond tie pin.

But there the resemblance ended. The elder Mr Darcy bore the unmistakeable signs of age upon his face, the younger Mr Darcy was in the prime of life. Hid glossy dark hair fell across his unlined forehead and his smooth, lightly tanned skin was firm across his high cheekbones. His deep brown eyes were alert.

The two men looked at each other coolly, and an observer would have guessed correctly that they were at present out of sympathy with each other. They were both strong willed, and when two strong willed gentlemen had a difference of opinion, then a certain coolness was inevitable.

‘You know why I have called you here?’ asked the elder Mr Darcy.

‘Yes, I believe I do,’ said Fitzwilliam, returning his father’s steady gaze.

‘Then oblige me by telling me the reason,’ said his father.

‘You want me to choose a bride at the Pemberley ball,’ said Mr Darcy.

‘No. I do not
want
you to choose a bride, I
expect
it,’ said his father. ‘You are seven-and-twenty now. It is high time you were married. I want to see you settled, with a son to carry on the Darcy name, before you are thirty.’

‘There is plenty of time for that yet,’ said Mr Darcy obstinately.

‘Not as much time as you think. There will need to be a formal betrothal, after which a suitable time must elapse before the wedding can take place. Then you will want to establish yourself in your own home before you start filling your nurseries. And they must be filled, Fitzwilliam. Pemberley depends upon it.’

‘And what if I do not find a woman I love at the ball?’ asked Mr Darcy.

‘Love will come after marriage,’ said his father.

‘But —’

‘But me no buts, Sir,’ said his father brusquely. ‘You must do your duty, as every Darcy has done before you. You will choose a bride at the Pemberley ball or I will choose one for you. Now away with you, and think on what you owe to your family name and your family pride.’

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned back to the window.

Fitzwilliam Darcy fought back the angry words hovering on his lips. He made a curt bow, which he knew his father would see reflected in the window, and then he left the room. He strode angrily across the hall and went upstairs, taking them two at a time.

On the half landing he met his mother.

She was a noble woman who carried herself with pride but her eyes were filled with a light that softened her pride into something virtuous. Her dark hair had a few silver threads enlivening it and there was a touch of grey at her temples. She was dressed in a splendid gown of blue silk which rustled as she walked, and she carried an ostrich feather fan.

‘You have been to see your father, then?’ she asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘Because only your father can put you in such a temper.’

‘He is unreasonable!’ burst out FItzwilliam. ‘He expects me to find a bride at the ball, but I have no interest in any of the women who court me for my name and my expectations.’

She looked at him with affection. Lifting her hand, she stroked his cheek and said, ‘I understand. But I, too, would like you to find a bride.’

He was taken aback.

‘I thought you would be on my side,’ he said.

‘I am. I want you to marry, but not for the reasons your father has given you. I would like you to marry because I want you to find the love and happiness your father and I have found. He can be a hard man sometimes, and he can be impatient, I know, but he has your best interests at heart, even if he does not always express himself well. As for the ball, do not be so sure you will not find anyone you can love. There will be some new young ladies there —’

He groaned.

‘Debutantes,’ he said.

‘And what is wrong with debutantes?’ she asked.

‘They blush if I look at them and they cannot answer a simple question, let alone say anything interesting. They have no conversation except for a few phrases they have learned by rote and they bore me to tears.’

‘Some of them are great beauties.’

‘I require more than beauty in a wife,’ he said.

‘Then you must try to break through their shyness. There are one or two who are worth knowing, if you persevere. And you must persevere Fitzwilliam,’ she said more seriously. ‘I will not command you to find a bride, as your father has done, but I will ask you, at least, to try. He is right, Fitzwilliam. You are a Darcy, my son, and I would like you to marry for love if you can, but we must both remember that you have a duty to your family and your estate, and you cannot wait for ever. You must marry and you must provide an heir, and so I beg you to make an effort to find a bride before your father finds one for you.’

‘You mean my cousin Anne,’ said Fitzwilliam sourly.

‘He is certainly thinking of it. Your cousin Anne would be a good match. The family would be in favour of it, and if you do not find anyone else then you cannot refuse her for ever. I myself once hoped you would like her well enough to marry her. When you and Anne were in your cradles, my sister and I used to think how happy it would make everyone if the two of you grew up, fell in love and married. Then the property and money from both sides of the match would remain in the family. But you do not love Anne, and I have long since given up thinking of a marriage between you. Your father, however, has not, and if you do not find your own bride he will force you to marry her. So, for your own sake, my son, make an effort at the ball. Talk to the young ladies. Dance with them. There might be someone there you can love. Your father is determined to see you settled before —’

‘Before?’ he asked.

‘Before you are thirty,’ she said.

There was just the slightest hesitation before she said it, but he did not notice. He was too angry with his father’s edict to think of anything else.

‘Will you try? For me?’ his mother asked.

His anger began to subside.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will try. But I make no promises.’

‘Then that is all I ask.’ She patted him on the cheek in a loving maternal gesture and then she said, ‘Why not go to Pemberley, then you can remind yourself what it is all for. You have always loved it there, particularly in the fine weather.’

‘It will disturb Mrs Reynolds if I go now,’ he said. ‘She and the rest of the staff will be busy getting everything ready for the ball and I will be in the way.’

‘You are the master and they are your servants,’ she reminded him haughtily. The loving mother gave way to the highly-born lady. ‘It is up to them to organise their time around you, not the other way around.’

Mr Darcy knew it was useless to argue, for Lady Anne was the daughter of an earl and she was fully aware of her exalted position in life. She had passed much of her haughtiness on to her son, but he was always considerate of the staff at Pemberley and he would make a good master when the time came.

‘You are fretting here,’ Lady Anne continued. ‘I can see the signs. You need to be out of doors. Go to Pemberley. Ride off your frustrations. And then be ready to greet your guests at the ball with a view to finding a wife.’

He made her a bow and withdrew.

He had no wish to find a wife but he was filled with a sudden longing to be back at Pemberley. He would have open spaces around him instead of the walls of a town house or the limited avenues of the park. At Pemberley he would be able to ride for miles with total freedom, and freedom was suddenly very important to him; for, if he was forced into marriage, then, all too soon, his freedom would come to an end.

Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to Pemberley in a bad humour. But when he found himself once more on Darcy land he began to feel calmer. The beautiful Derbyshire landscape was familiar and he loved it. The grounds of Pemberley were such as to delight the eye, and from the woodland to the lake, the garden to the river, he loved every inch of it.

As his carriage bowled down the long drive he saw a horseman coming towards him. He recognised the man at once. It was Stuart Fielding. Mr Fielding was a distant cousin of the Darcys and he had taken over the running of the estate on the retirement of the previous steward, Mr Wickham.

Mr Fielding was glad to have the job. He was only remotely related to the Darcy family and he was not wealthy. The position of steward was a responsible one. He carried it out efficiently and the income gave him a good living.. He made sure the home farms were being well managed and he took care of the timber, planting enough trees to ensure the estate had sufficient wood for building and fires and other sundry things in the future. In short, he saw to the efficient running of the estate.

He and Mr Darcy had become friends in their childhoods, for Stuart’s family had often visited, and the two boys had played together. They had fished in the river and climbed trees and swum in the lake. They had not seen each other then for some time, but when Stuart had taken up the position of steward they had furthered their friendship, since Stuart was working and living at Pemberley.

‘Darcy!’ said Stuart, as Mr Darcy’s carriage stopped beside him. ‘What brings you here? I thought you were to stay in London until the ball?’

‘Yes, that was the arrangement, but I decided to return early. My father has commanded me to find a bride at the ball and I want to make the most of my freedom whilst it lasts.’

Stuart gave a sympathetic nod.

‘Why not come round the estate with me?’ he said. ‘Things always look better on horseback.’

‘You are right. I will join you at the south spinney in an hour.’

Stuart nodded and then set off again.

The carriage rolled on and Mr Darcy was soon at Pemberley. He had mixed feelings as he opened the door without waiting for the footmen to perform the task for him. He jumped out without bothering to lower the carriage step and then he strode across the gravel drive, with his booted footsteps making a crunching sound. His coat tails flew out with the rapidity of his motion as he crossed to the front door. His brow was furrowed, showing his state of mind, and his conflicting feelings intensified as he went inside.

Everything about Pemberley was grand and imposing. The hall was floored with marble and there were marble columns at regular intervals. The ceiling was painted and the banisters were gilded. He paused for a moment, looking round at the familiar hallway. He loved the house but it sometimes felt like a prison. He could not be himself because he was the heir to Pemberley and he must marry accordingly. He must behave like a gentleman at all times and never show his true feelings. Indeed, he was not expected to have any.

He continued on his way. He went up to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. His clothes were so tight they pulled against him uncomfortably as he mounted the stairs. They felt as if they were squeezing the life out of him. As he went into his bedroom he wrenched his cravat aside because he thought it would choke him. Then he fully untied it and threw it on the bed. He pulled off his tailcoat, which was moulded to him with such precision it seemed to be suffocating him. Then he stepped out of his breeches.

At last he could breathe again.

Dressed only in his white shirt, he went over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of brown leather trousers and a brown wool jacket. It was the outfit he kept for riding round the estate with the steward because in such an outfit he could brave the muddiest parts of the property. He could ford streams and ride through the woods without worrying about ruining his expensive clothes, and he could breathe freely. He could be a man on horseback instead of Mr Darcy of Pemberley. He felt a huge burden lifting from his shoulders as he thought of it.

His valet entered the room and looked at his outfit disapprovingly but Mr Darcy dismissed him with a wave of the hand, then he went downstairs. He was just crossing the hall and heading towards the side door, which was the most convenient way to the stables, when he happened to glance into the ballroom, and the sight which met his eyes stopped him in his tracks.