Part One

Posted on Monday, 6 December 2004

August 1813

"Mrs Reynolds?"

The housekeeper turned abruptly toward the grand main stair. "Yes, Sir?" she enquired, folding her hands at the front of her sober grey gown.

Leaned against the banister, her young master was the picture, she considered, of relaxed authority. Only one who knew him so well as she would discern the endearingly anxious twiddling of the signet ring on his little finger as he peered at her from beneath unreasonably lush black lashes.

"I should be grateful for a few moments of your time, Mrs Reynolds," he said, lifting his voice that his guests, assembling close by in the Blue Drawing Room, should catch his every word. "Would you be so kind as to come to my study in - ten minutes?"

The old lady dropped a small, resigned curtsey. "Very good, Mr Darcy."

Thus it was that several minutes later Anna Reynolds found herself tapping respectfully at the closed door of the master's study. The deep, pleasant voice of the gentleman bade her enter, and as she did so, starting to make her reverence to him, Mr Darcy rose, shaking his dark head.

"No formality, dear Reynolds. Pray, sit down," he urged, pulling back the chair with his own hand, the coaxing tone confirming all her fears as to the nature of this interview. Perching herself stiffly on the edge of the leather cushions, she watched him, the man she had come to love so dearly in her three-and-twenty years of serving his family. It was folly, even when he had been a wide-eyed scamp of four, to imagine one might deceive Master Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Darcy leaned back in his seat, his chin rested on steepled fingers. "Mrs Reynolds, something troubles you," he stated, in the tone she knew brooked no argument.

"I am well, Sir."

"I am sure you are in excellent health: if I thought otherwise for an instant, you would be facing Dr Jones rather than myself. However, you will concede that you and I have been familiar these many years. We are neither of us, I hope, deficient in wits. I have seen this evening that something has distracted you, and I wish to know what it is. Come now! For when Mr Bingley asked for tea and was handed coffee, I knew it must be something most serious."

"Oh, Sir!" How am I to resist when he entreats my answer in that sweetly boyish way? "I - 'tis nothing, Mr Darcy, only Reynolds being a foolish old dame."

"Mrs Reynolds." She watched one fine black brow make a slow ascent of his forehead, and knew he would not rest until she had confessed, for this was the manner of The Master, accustomed to having his will. "You may deny the obvious all you choose, but be assured, you do not deceive me. Come, you know my stubborn temper well enough to be sure I will keep us here all night, if I must. Pray spare us both much discomfort, and tell me what may be done to relieve your unhappiness?"

His stubborn temper: aye, that she knew, having watched him grow from mischievous scapegrace - when his father was not about to see and condemn conduct unbecoming in the future lord of Pemberley - to this grave, responsible young man, lord of a mighty honour yet ever with time to attend the foibles of those for whom he cared. No less well did she know his clear judgment; his affectionate heart.

Mr Darcy gazed calmly into the eyes of his beloved housekeeper, and sighed. "Enough of this dramatizing, dear Reynolds, tell me! Has one of the servants been discovered drunk in the orangerie? Has one of my guests offended - ah!"

The old dame ducked her chin. "I am an old fool to be put out of spirits by a chance remark overheard from a corridor," she muttered.

Darcy rose, rounding the desk in three long strides. As gently as if she were a Duchess he raised her, strong fingers curling tenderly under her chin. "Foolish or not, you remain my very dear Reynolds, and this remark has given you pain," he said, fixing the big brown eyes she could not resist upon her face. I first looked into them when Old Mr Darcy brought forth his heir for my reverence, the very day I first came here she reflected. Even then those melting eyes had held a secret power, which had only intensified with their owner's growing. On a sigh, she submitted herself to the inevitable.

"As I carried fresh drinking water for the ladies' rooms, Sir, I heard the younger - Miss Bingley, you know, Sir - declaring to her sister that when I am mistress of Pemberley, Louisa, that insolent woman Reynolds will be the first to go!"

Darcy regarded her seriously for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he threw back his handsome head and let loose a sharp bark of laughter.

"Great God, the harridan goes too far! But my very dear Reynolds, do you think your master quite insane? Caroline Bingley will become mistress of Pemberley over my dead body!"

He watched the creases smooth from her careworn face - worn by years of diligent service to his father and himself - and lightly lifted her hand to his lips. "Come now, did you for a moment suppose she had received encouragement from me for her fantasies? That over rouged, overdressed monstrosity with the voice of an enraged fishwife and the manners of a society dame? Am I so hopeless a case that the best I might aspire to in a wife is a Caroline Bingley"

"Oh, no, Sir! I know you could never make an offer for such a creature, and yet - well, to hear her boast of how she'll bring order to this house and instill some proper discipline in our good people..."

He gave her a brief, hard hug. "My very dear Mrs Reynolds, be assured by me. Caroline Bingley's dream will never be realized. If you should ever see me showing the smallest inclination toward my friend's long-faced sister, you must send me to the Windsor Bedlam direct, for I'm sure I should be declared madder than His Majesty himself!"

The old lady laughed, returning his embrace with a shy one of her own. "I am sorry, Sir; I should not have troubled you with such a trifle, but as ever, you are too astute to be deceived by me."

"My excellent Reynolds must know, she is more dear to me than a thousand Miss Bingleys. Why, were she not tied to her unfortunate brother, I should never have her set foot beyond Mr Wiggans' lodge!"

Chuckling, the housekeeper quitted his presence, marveling once more at the wisdom of so young a master.

Darcy too chuckled as he sank back into his deeply padded chair, hands linked behind the unruly mass of his dark curls. The insolence of his friend's unmarried sister, which he endured merely for the pleasure of Bingley's company, became more outrageous with ever visit to the house she fondly hoped, one day, to rule.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, though she would never conceive it, was acquainted with her type. From his youth he had honed his skills in the detection of the fortune-huntress, the shrill society dame with her sight set upon marrying her fortune. There were times, as the years progressed, that he doubted he would ever find the woman able to love him for himself, rather than for his fortunate position in the world.

"Well Miss Bingley, make all the plans you choose," he announced, helping himself to a soothing glass of the finest port -a small glass only, for Darcy was noted amongst his acquaintance for the modesty of his alcoholic consumption. "But Pemberley will never bow to you as its mistress. Ugh! As much chance of George Wickham making an honest man as of my ever marrying you!"

Part Two

Posted on Wednesday, 8 December 2004

20th August 1813
"Mrs Reynolds! Mrs Reynolds, make haste, the master's come!"

The shriek so disconcerted the inhabitant of Pemberley's coziest corner that in rising to respond she dropped the new stitch she had been applying to a thick winter shawl, destined to be a Christmas offering to Miss Georgiana. "What ever are you screeching, Betsy Murray?" she objected, tossing aside the spoiled work for later amendment. As she opened the door in time to prevent the eager young scullery maid from assaulting it, with both fists by her stance, the cry was repeated.

"Make haste, Mrs Reynolds, the master's home, aye, and Miss Georgie with him! Old Roberts said I was to fetch you directly, the carriage is even now before the doors!"

"Miss Georgiana, if you please." Discreetly smoothing her lace cap, Anna Reynolds followed the impertinent chit at the most determined pace her distinguished situation would allow. That mild Sarah Jessup, the quietest upstairs maid we ever had, could have produced such a hoyden! The Lord, as Mr Thompkiss is apt to say, does move in the most mysterious ways!

All thought of taming Miss Betsy fled from Mrs Reynolds' head as she observed the affecting picture in the marble entrance hall from above. Mr Darcy, dark and towering, was embracing his sister, whose silver-gold curls were all disordered about shoulders which heaved gently. What ever is the matter with my chick?

"Sir, Miss Darcy, we were not anticipating your coming so soon!" she cried, hastening down the grand stair to assume management of the footmen as they struggled with the luggage, surely the same trunks Anna Reynolds had packed with such care before the holiday household had departed for Ramsgate. "Jenny! Run to the kitchen, fetch coffee for Master and Miss Georgiana. Here, Miss, let me take your bonnet and coat."

"Th-thank you, M-Mrs Reynolds." Dear Heaven, the poor child was in tears, and Mr Darcy - had he ever looked so grim? And where in the world was that haughty madam Mary Younge, so high above the household in her post as companion to Miss Darcy?

"We will take our coffee in the Green Sitting Room, Mrs Reynolds, if you please." The words were rapped out, despite the courteous close, yet accompanied by a look from the gentleman of the most beseeching urgency. No questions, Reynolds dear, his eyes implored. Not now, perhaps not ever.

Careless of how his household stared, Mr Darcy guided his sister toward the small parlour overlooking the lake, his tall person stooped to protect her tearstained face from avid eyes. "That will be all," he added, an afterthought, to his observers.

"And what are you gawking at, Tom Roberts?" Wrong to accuse the nearest to hand of a shared offence, yet the brusque demand released the fluttering of dread in Anna Reynolds' stomach. The young lady was supposed to be at the seaside until September; the gentleman, in Town until further notice. What could bring them home without warning, in haste and so obviously distressed?

And where in the world is that insufferable creature, Mary Younge?

For two days the servants whispered at how Miss Darcy followed her brother like a second shadow, red-eyed and fretful if she was a moment left alone. Mrs Reynolds sought to stamp out such improper conversations - Perhaps Miss Bingley was right, a little more discipline is required hereabouts - without success.

It was not malicious, in that she took some comfort. For who was to deny that something disastrous had happened to their young lady? And what could they, her own folk, do to help her?

Mr Darcy, she assured the bolder sprites that dared seek her opinion on the matter, would have all well in hand, and as to Mrs Younge, her departure from their lives was hardly to be regretted.

"Aye, that simpering ninny!" Mr Stevens, the gentleman's valet, was apt to take liberties, the lady considered, on account of his singular intimacy with their master. When the senior servants gathered for tea in the kitchen, he was not to be silenced by an old woman's tutting. "Thinking herself a lady for being paid to wait on one!"

"She came with excellent references, having attended the Earl's daughters afore our lady." Cook too, a Lambton native to the horror of the master's more fashionable friends, was never found wanting for opinions. "Why, Lady Matlock was loath to let her go, they say!"

"Lady Matlock may have her back, then!" Stevens replied with spirit. "Fancy she sent her to Miss Georgiana to learn some manners, I do! If she never sets foot on the estate again, I shan't miss her!"

Mrs Reynolds pondered guiltily on whether she should bring the household's gossip to Mr Darcy, only to have the initiative seized from her grasp. Late that second evening as, candle in hand, she prepared to undertake her final tour of the house, the summons came. "Mrs Reynolds, the master wants you in his study. Your very earliest convenience, he said to say."

"Then, Mr Edley, I had best go directly."

The burly footman flashed her a toothy grin. "Usually what he means, our gent. Goodnight, Mrs Reynolds."

Darcy was standing at the window when she entered at his instruction, gazing out across the darkened sweep of his park. Omitting to offer a seat as he turned, he declared himself with all the directness he possessed. "The name of Mrs Younge is not to be spoken in this house, Mrs Reynolds. Be so good as to make our people aware of the fact."

"Very good, Sir." If he had slept more than an hour in the last week, she thought critically, it did not show. "Miss Georgiana, Sir..."

"My sister has been much wronged, Mrs Reynolds." The words emerged reluctantly, as if each one was weighted with lead. "I will not see her disturbed by the ill-considered murmurings of her servants."

"Of course not, Mr Darcy."

Briefly the gloom which had enveloped him lifted: the half-smile he sent her began in his shadowed eyes. "Miss Georgiana and I intend to remain here until September, and I anticipate that my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will shortly be calling. Please ensure the Quebec Suite is at its military brightest."

"Yes, Sir." The young lady's second guardian calling, this was alarming indeed! Still, if the poor child had fallen into folly, she must have had the sense to confess to her devoted brother. He would, no matter what, forgive his angel all.

Darcy regarded the discreet and deferential woman before him, her eyes cast down; the picture of the proper servant. Ah, but you have never been that, dearest Reynolds! If you were, I should feel no compunction in dismissing you without another word. And that, I cannot do.

"Mrs Reynolds, I am not deaf to the conversations which occur in corners. You may inform any who dares enquire that Mary Younge is not the respectable woman my aunt and uncle imagined. Further speculations are unacceptable. Neither myself or my sister were satisfied with the performance of her duties."

"Her name will never be spoke by any of us, Sir, rest assured. She was not - liked amongst our people, Mr Darcy."

Again he favoured her with the ghost of his usual smile. "I doubted she was, dear Reynolds; I'm assured the staff at Matlock found her difficult in the extreme!"

There was more, but it was not her place to probe his mind. "It would have been quite impossible for Miss Georgiana to remain at the seaside unchaperoned, Sir."

"Quite so." He exhaled the words, relieved to be spared the effort of excusing his sister's changed plans, and revealing more of himself than he knew to his oldest adherent. "That will be all, Mrs Reynolds. I beg you forgive me, that I keep you from your bed so late."

The old lady bestowed a motherly smile that eased his aching heart upon Darcy. "Oh! Don't trouble yourself on my account, Sir, I was touring the house before retiring when you sent for me. Bid you goodnight, Mr Darcy."

"Goodnight, dear Reynolds." He whispered the words to the closing door, allowing his stiffly-held shoulders to relax at last. It is done, Darcy. Georgiana's secret is safe. By a small precaution now, a little harm is prevented. Dear Heaven, had you only protected her so well from a fortune-hunter as you do from the tittle-tattle of her servants!

Part Three

Posted on Thursday, 9 December 2004

May 1814

Mrs Reynolds sighed, halting her final tour of the house close to the library, the candle shielded in her hands. Of late her mind had wandered often to the fond conversation she had enjoyed with Mr Darcy, not quite a twelvemonth ago. Has it been so long, she wondered miserably, since he teased me with that light confidence, those dancing eyes? For as the weeks had passed and she had learned to, discreetly, mock the pretensions of the Bingley trout, the contentment of her master had begun to ebb away.

It had begun with the dismissal of Mary Younge, though in the company of his sister he had taken pains to disguise his melancholy. That Christmas season in particular, he had exerted himself to amuse Miss Georgiana, though the holiday had meant little to Pemberley since Lady Anne's untimely death. His distraction had passed unnoticed by much of the household. Indeed, only Anna Reynolds, she was sure of it, had been aware of aught amiss in him, until he returned after Easter, from his visit to Lady Catherine de Bourgh at Rosings.

It was no secret the master went to Kent with the greatest reluctance; that each year his relation sought to impress upon him the obligation she held he owed his Cousin Anne. Annually she had greeted him on his return with the question: How did you find Rosings, Sir?

And annually Mr Darcy had smiled, rolled his eyes and assured her that his connections were in tolerable health, and the park in remarkably fine condition for the time of year. No more was said. No more was needed.

This time it had been different. He had come home first six weeks ago, a changed man, tired and drawn, his eyes sunk deep with exhaustion, and with something Mrs Reynolds had recognized with dawning dread as heartbreaking misery.

And now he was returned unexpectedly again, and all the servants were speculating. And who's to blame them? Our dear one is changed in every particular!

She crept closer to the library door, her fear confirmed by the shaft of golden light breaking across the hallway floor. Past the midnight hour, Fitzwilliam Darcy lay slumped in his favourite wing chair before the hearth, a decanter (discreetly refilled that afternoon) drained at his side, while he stared unseeing into the empty grate, there being no call for a fire in such fine weather as had blessed Derbyshire of late.

No one could comprehend it. Every night for the last week in the place he vowed he loved best, Mr Darcy - Master Fitzwilliam, her beloved boy - had followed the same uncharacteristic routine, concealing himself and his sorrows in the library. Had he carried on so in London?

Mrs Reynolds doubted it, for there he had Miss Georgiana's company, and never, surely, would he allow his sister to see him reduced to such a pitiable state.

She drew the door shut. There had been a time when none of the servants, either, would have been permitted to glimpse their employer in so disheveled a condition.

The picture of him clung to her memory as she readied herself for bed; lost in his thoughts, an empty glass dangling between his fingers. If his unusual consumption of strong liquors was intended to grant a refuge from his sorrows, it was failing. There had been such a look of misery about his posture, such pain in his red-rimmed eyes, that she could gladly have throttled the wicked wretch that had brought him to such a pass.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would gather her courage; abuse her privileged position with her master. Not tonight, when he was deep in his cups, drunk as well as melancholy!

But tomorrow, when the pounding headache his night's indulgence was bound to cause was eased, and he was alone, reflective, haunted, at his desk. Then she would challenge him; find the words to shake him out of his present, unbearable torpor.

She sent for a light breakfast on his summons, her tender heart breaking at the sight of him, shuffling like an old man into the small east-facing breakfast room. His attire was as impeccable as ever, though she fancied the fine-cut clothes hung a little looser on his lean frame than in times past. Not sleeping, barely eating, drinking himself insensible alone, what's become of my boy? she fretted, hovering about the hall while he toyed restlessly with his toast.

He was aware of her scrutiny; for her sake he raised a weary smile, one that began in his eyes before appearing to briefly curve his lips. Behind his back James, the footman, shook his head. Mrs Reynolds acknowledged the message with a flick of her eyes. The master was driving himself to an early grave, and any fool could see it.

His glossy hair was dulled; his eyes surrounded by the bruising of sleeplessness. My sweet boy, who has done this to you? Anna Reynolds cried silently. Just show me to the wicked, senseless soul...

She waited, making her slight reverence as he quitted the table and not following on his rush to the study. She gave him a full hour to collect himself before declaring to Mr Stevens that the moment had come.

Her stomach churned. Even when he had been a small boy, she had never found occasion to speak firmly to him. It had to be done now, and she was unsure of how to begin.

"Come in." Even his voice, on answering her respectful knock, was lifeless. Drawing a deep breath, Mr Darcy's housekeeper opened the door and stepped into his sanctuary.

Darcy dragged his heavy head from his hands, attempting a grin as he recognized his guest. "Mrs Reynolds. Why, you look very serious this morning!"

"Aye, Sir." Well, at the worst Anna Reynolds would be seeking a new situation! "Mr Darcy - Sir, you're not well, you have not been for..."

"I am quite well, Mrs Reynolds: but I thank you for your concern."

"No, Sir, you're not, and as you did say to me in this very room some months ago, you and I have been too long acquainted for deceit."

That almost lightened his grim countenance. "I see. 'Tis my turn to hear a lecture."

He watched her draw up to her full, not-so-intimidating height as she began. "Master Fitzwilliam, I have known and loved you since you were but a tot of four. I cannot stand idle and see you reduce to this - this pitiful shadow of yourself! I know I exceed my authority in speaking so, Sir, but I refuse to watch you slowly drinking yourself to death o' nights, so miserably unhappy!"

There were tears in her eyes, Darcy realized, real tears! He cleared his throat twice, fighting to overcome the lump brought there by the title he had not heard used since the last day of his father's life.

"I - Mrs Reynolds, I am grateful for your concern, but please be assured, I am perfectly well: a little out of spirits, that is all."

"Nay, Sir, this is more than a passing melancholy! What would Miss Georgiana say were she to see you so? Oh Sir, you cannot go on this way, I can't bear to see it!"

"I am - somewhat overworked," said he, with perfect truth, for he had sought solace in escapes other than the bottle while in Town. "I shall be myself again soon."

"I wonder, seeing how this canker eats at you from within!" she returned with spirit. "Sir, yourself and Miss Georgiana are as dear to me as - as the children of my own flesh should have been, had the Lord seen fit to bless me with them! All your people are troubled for you, Mr Darcy. Knowing ourselves blessed with the best of masters, it grieves us to see you unhappy!"

"You give me too much credit, all of you," Darcy muttered, unable to meet her flashing eyes. "I have - recently, Mrs Reynolds, I have looked long and hard at your master. I do not like what I see in him."

"But Sir!"

Self-reproach flooded his face as he continued, seemingly forgetful of her existence. "I have been selfish; abominably proud and selfish, aye, and cruel. Oh, I grant you, there was no intention to be so, but puffed up with my own insufferable conceit, I have been cruel indeed. You are not to distress yourself for me, dearest Reynolds. I have been long deserving of these - painful reflections."

"No, Sir, 'tis not so! Oh, could I get my hands around the throat of whoever's got you maundering like this! You were ever a serious boy, too much inclined to bear all the world's blame, but this! You, cruel? Selfish? I cannot hear you accuse yourself unjustly, Mr Darcy, I know you to be none of those things!"

"Mrs Reynolds..."

"Nay, Sir, I'll not be silenced for more foolish self-loathing, I know you to be the very best of men! Why, would your tenants bring their troubles so readily to you if you were such a - a tyrant? Would Miss Georgiana depend on so reprehensible a creature? Only think to last summer, Sir, when you and she returned early from the seaside, the dear child could not rest content from your company, and who alone could calm her when she cried out o'nights?"

His pain was, she recognized too late, only increased by reminders of his sister's suffering. "Mrs Reynolds, please have faith in my judgment of this affair," he begged, his voice breaking on the plea. "I have been - much depressed of late, but I shall recover. Your strictures about the folly of seeking relief in our excellent wine cellar, however, are duly noted, and will be remembered henceforth. It may be some men find escape from their troubles in a bottle's dregs, but I am not amongst them: I waken only with a thumping in my head and a throbbing in my throat. I promise on my honour, I'll not indulge my self-pity in that childish way again."

"Sir, I care more for your quiet heart than..."

"I know that, dearest Reynolds." For a fleeting moment he was master of himself again, before the weight of his conscience crashed down once more upon him. "Therefore, I shall overlook your shocking impertinence in addressing me so forcefully, if you will undertake to excuse my own abominable conduct these past few weeks."

"There is naught to forgive, Sir. I wish only I could ease something of these unwarranted agonies!"

"By your kind thoughts, you do so." Tiredly Darcy rubbed his eyes, a gesture unseen in the house since his boyhood. "I must - and I shall - conquer this, Mrs Reynolds. I leave for London on Friday next, and in early July will return with Miss Georgiana for the best of the summer. By then, I am sure, all will be forgot, and I shall be myself again."

With a nod he indicated the interview's end and, reluctantly, the lady moved toward the door. "I trust so, Sir," she announced over her shoulder before departing. "For you must know, Mr Darcy, how dearly we - your tenants and servants - all love you, Sir."

Part Four

Posted on Sunday, 12 December 2004

July 1814

“Mrs Reynolds!” he bawled, skidding into the marble-floored hall with droplets of water spraying from all over his dripping person. Her bonnet askew, the housekeeper flew from the Crimson State Drawing Room, coming to a horrified dead stop before him.

“Great God, Sir, you’ll take a chill!” she gasped as, heedless of her indignation, the young master charged toward the great stair.

Darcy glanced over his shoulder, vaguely conscious of the poor woman’s stricken look. “Send Stevens!” he commanded.

“Yes, Sir.” Nodding to the startled footman who had opened the door to the master, she stared after his disappearing form, calling absently for a maid to dry the splashes of pondwater he must have left on every step. He is gone mad, she thought, astonished. His melancholy has finally driven my poor boy mad!

Inside ten minutes he was sliding back down the long, straight banister at top speed, a thing he had not done since before his sister’s birth, when the Lady Anne had been present to indulge him. Correctly attired, his hair still in soaked disarray, he leapt off before the bottom step and sprang forth across the hall, fighting the buttons of his waistcoat with the fire of old restored to his eyes. Turning the efforts of his fingers from waist- to topcoat, Mr Darcy sprinted down the steps: standing forgotten in the hall, Mrs Reynolds could hear the brisk, firm step of his boots on the cobbles as he dashed across the small court toward the carriage which had brought the day’s very civil visitors to see the estate.

Almost an hour passed before Mr Darcy returned to the house, his shock of dark hair dried by the sun, his tread slow and measured, confident again. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders straight, firm chin lifted at last from his chest. Mrs Reynolds approached him with caution, reluctant to disturb his reverie.

“Ah, my dear Mrs Reynolds!” When he acknowledged her, too, it was with his old, dimpling smile, quite without the lowering shadow of pain she had come to expect. “Forgive me that I sent no word of my changed plans…”

“Sir, any one would think I wasn’t delighted to see you home so soon!” she exclaimed, determined to hide her discomposure better than he did. “I - ahem! - I hope only you did not mind finding visitors on the property.”

A broad, most un-Darcy-like smile flashed out: for an instant he appeared to have taken light within. “Oh, no, not at all! I - that is, the young lady is a slight acquaintance, and - excuse me! - I should have been delighted to invite her party to Pemberley, had I known they should be in the country.”

“Yes, Mr Darcy, the young lady did say she had the honour of some small acquaintance with you.”

Oh my poor, sweet child! she thought, observing how he brightened at the conventional phrase. Have you been pining for her all these months? If that be the heartless chit that’s reduced you to misery, I should have turned her off the estate, and her relations with her!

If this was the she certain of the household had suggested must be behind the master's misery, Miss Elizabeth Bennet had received far more courtesy from Anna Reynolds on first meeting than she would encounter on a second!

Darcy guessed the thoughts passing through his loyal servant’s head and, in spite of himself, he smiled. “Did they - express any opinion of the place?” he enquired.

“Why Sir, they were as delighted by every thing as every visitor is!” Oh God he is so anxious, I hope that wicked, unworthy creature repents all the anguish she has caused! Was it she dared persuade him he is such a selfish, hateful man? Detestable girl, what do you know of him?

Still, it could not be denied that her appearance at Pemberley had revived the master’s spirits until he looked, save for the marks of tiredness about his eyes, almost his former self. If she can affect him so greatly, perhaps I ought not be judgmental. And in truth, she seemed a pleasant, well-bred girl!

“They were very taken by the place, Sir,” she continued, conscious he had noted her distraction as they passed through the hall and into the Yellow Saloon. Must let him know how she reacted to his portrait, she told herself, quite shocked by her own meddling. Foolish woman, Anna, you ought to have guessed by how guilty she looked when ever her relations spoke his name, theirs is more than some trifling acquaintance. “And the older lady, Mrs Gardiner, I think, she was most impressed by your likeness! Seemed to think she knew another face, mind; one of the miniatures in your father’s collection.”

“Mr Wickham spent some little while in Hertfordshire last winter.” He spoke the name neutrally, but his mouth tightened. “Perhaps she came upon him there.”

“Perhaps, Sir. Told them how he’d turned out very wild, but, well, you must forgive an old woman her prejudices, Mr Darcy, for I much preferred to dwell on your image than his. Why, the lady declared, ‘tis a handsome face, to be sure! And she asked her niece - Lizzy, I believe she called her, would that be so, Sir? - if it were a proper likeness.”

She watched him dip his head, in hopes she might fail to note the colour staining his cheeks. Mrs Reynolds ached to laugh out loud. How is it folk can fancy this poor child proud, when he is the sweetest, shyest man that ever lived? Proud, indeed! Too modest for his own good!

“And the young lady supported me very prettily, Sir,” she rattled on, thankful he was accustomed to her relating how high she praised him before unknown visitors. “Agreed to its being a very fine likeness, and seconded me most readily when I said, and is Mr Darcy not a very handsome gentleman, Ma’am? Yes, said she, all blushing and smiling, very handsome!”

She thought him handsome? Mr Darcy appeared, for a moment, to quite lose track of what his housekeeper was telling him. He stopped. Stared.

Mrs Reynolds’ discretion was one of the many virtues which had rendered her invaluable to the family of Pemberley; her ability to retain the bland disinterest of the proper servant under all circumstances had won her a place far beyond the norm in their esteem. Never had those talents been more sternly tested than in that instant as she looked up at the bewildered and innocent face of her master.

“Then Sir, she stood fully ten minutes before the large portrait in the gallery; couldn’t take her eyes off it, and I fancy she didn’t hear her aunt’s questionings at all, for the gentleman, her uncle that is, went up and fairly bellowed into her ear! Still, it makes a nice, mannered change, I must say, from all the other young ladies, what set up such a squealing and a telling of how remarkable good-looking you are.”

“Mrs Reynolds, I believe you delight in making me blush!”

“Ah, ‘tis as well you’re so modest about it, Mr Darcy, there’s many a young gentleman would have his head quite turned for him by so much admiration! I am glad you are come home, Sir. Is Miss Georgiana well? When will she be with us?”

“Hm? Oh! Mid-morning tomorrow I imagine, Reynolds dear, she travels with Bingley and his relations, and yes, she is very well.” Darcy shook himself, angry with his dazed helplessness. One look into her lovely eyes and he was as much a fool for her as he had ever been! “Speaking of my sister reminds me, I shall have her portrait placed opposite my desk, I think, where the pastel of her at five hangs now. That I believe I should like to have in my private sitting room.”

“I’ll have it done today, sir. But may I ask, what brings you home ahead of your friends? Miss Georgiana…”

“Good God, I had forgot! Send for Mr McIntyre if you will, Mrs Reynolds, it was on his account I left my sister to the care of our friends. Georgiana is in excellent health, and her spirits are, I fancy, rather improved for coming north. Yes, send Mr McIntyre to the library; I will await him there.”

“I will so, Sir; and I am thankful to see you smile again, Master Fitzwilliam.”

She scurried away before he could gather enough of his wits, scattered to the four winds at least twice already today, to respond. At the door she hesitated, glancing back to find him standing stock-still by the mantelpiece, staring toward her with the oddest of expressions on his face.

“Besotted! The quiet ones are always hardest struck by love’s dart, isn’t that so, Mrs Reynolds?”

“Hold your tongue, Roger Jenks, we care naught for your tawdry opinions here!” The family and their evening’s guests were safe ensconced in the music room, leaving most of the household free to gather in the servants’ hall to consider Mr Darcy’s most unusual interest in a party of passing travelers. Anna Reynolds nestled into her chair beside the fire, her knitting in her hands, sadly conscious her remonstrances would not still the excitement of her colleagues. “’Tis not our business whom the master invites to dine!”

“A pleasure, mind, to see the sisters so put out.” Jack Harris put in, roused from contemplation of his book. James guffawed into his tea.

“Aye, did you note the look on the spinster’s face when ‘is lordship seated the young lady at table? Curdle the milk, she could!”

Mrs Reynolds shook her head and continued placidly with her knitting, closing her ears to the wilder speculations Mr Darcy’s attention to Miss Bennett had stirred up. The gentleman was enamoured: not all his careful self-control could conceal that he had eyes only for the modest young creature his sister had been prompted into inviting to dine; not that Miss Georgiana would have required much encouraging, she understood her brother better than any, and would venture any thing, even from her shyness, to aid him. But what of the honoured lady herself?

She was not, Mrs Reynolds was satisfied, unaffected by his marked attentions. Having been hovering in the hall when Mr Darcy had ushered his guests inside, she had observed the becoming flush on Miss Bennett’s cheek as she passed by on the young gentleman’s arm; on pausing outside the library she had heard their mingled laughter over a foolish anecdote recited by Miss Georgiana from her childhood. And upon their removing into the dining room, she had noted such a look on the young lady’s face that had first pleased, then puzzled her; the look of a young lady much admiring of her immediate companion.

I cannot make her out at all, she thought. If she could make him deem himself so detestable in May, why now does she look upon him with such tenderness? It can’t be for Pemberley; she has not the air of the fortune-huntress about her. Can she have realized a mistake in judging him too severely? My poor child does not show to advantage, I dare say, in strange company. Oh Lord, he must bring her to Pemberley again, for here she’ll see him as he truly is! I wonder if Miss Georgiana might befriend her?

It was past eleven when she followed, at a proper distance, as Mr and Miss Darcy, with Mr Bingley trotting at their heels, accompanied their guests down to their waiting carriage, the flambeaux from countless sconces casting vast distorted shadows over the walls. The farewells were warmly made, Miss Darcy exerting herself to a degree which delighted brother and housekeeper alike from her timidity, and Miss Bennet responding to her endeavours with warmth. On the arm of Mr Bingley, the young lady of the house retreated as the Gardiner coach moved away, leaving her brother alone, his outline gilded by torchlight, to stare until the carriage was quite swallowed up by the night.

Then did he return, slowly, to the house, where his diligent housekeeper awaited his instruction. At the sight of her, Mr Darcy broke into an affectionate smile.

“Dear Mrs Reynolds, pray convey my warmest thanks to the staff for their good conduct toward our guests,” he said, giving the startled lady’s hand a squeeze. “No, you must take your ease tonight; I shall tour the house in your stead, I believe I know well enough what must be attended.”

“As you wish, Sir. Miss Darcy and your friends are returned to the Yellow Saloon.”

He almost rolled his eyes. “Very well; I had best join them briefly there. Tell Cook I shall see her in the morning; Mr Gardiner was particularly appreciative of her roast lamb.”

“Such very charming people, Sir.” Leaning on his arm, Mrs Reynolds accompanied her master toward the elegant saloon from which the shrill voice of a discontented houseguest emanated. “And the lady one of our own, from Lambton I think she said!”

“Indeed.” By Mrs Reynolds’ standard, Darcy considered, this was unsubtle questioning. He dared not imagine what was being whispered below stairs for her interrogate him so! “They intend to be a week more at The Bull, Mrs Reynolds; I hope we shall have the opportunity to see them at Pemberley again. My sister was much taken by Miss Bennet.”

“A delightful young lady, Sir.” He glowed under the conventional praise, thus confirming all Mrs Reynolds’ hopes and fears. “Her father’s estate would be Longbourn, Sir, is that correct? I heard the ladies - Mr Bingley’s sisters, I mean - remark upon its being a very modest place.”

“Mr Bingley’s sisters would consider any thing less than St James’s beneath their notice, dear Reynolds.” He could distinguish the words of the younger now; shrill, petulant as she dissected every part of Elizabeth Bennet’s appearance and behaviour through the evening. Indignation welled, causing him to grip his neighbour’s arm rather more painfully than he knew.

Mrs Reynolds disengaged herself discreetly from his grasp. “I shall bid you goodnight, Sir,” she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered lest he see her disgust at the artifice of the crowing female who was, after all, still his guest. “I think Miss Bennet would be a very fine friend for Miss Georgiana, Mr Darcy; she has such a pleasing air! I shall convey your kind words to the staff. Goodnight, Sir.”

Part Five

Posted on Sunday, 19 December 2004

September 1814

“Miss Darcy!” Mrs Reynolds made haste toward the tinkling sound of the pianoforte, the latest express from the south clutched in her hands. “Post’s come, Ma’am!”

The music was instantly silenced. “From my brother, Mrs Reynolds?” the high voice of Miss Georgiana cried, accompanied by the sound of flying footsteps. At the music room door they met, the elderly servant pressing the packet she carried into the girl’s extended hands. Miss Darcy sank onto the golden-covered chaise from which her brother had admired her own and Miss Bennett’s playing in the summer, breaking the wax seal into shards which scattered across the sofa in her haste. “Oh!”

The housekeeper, who had been retreating to allow the lady her privacy, was stopped by the sharpness of the exclamation. Miss Darcy lifted a flushed and smiling face. “My brother is gone to Hertfordshire, Mrs Reynolds, with none but Mr Bingley for company. For shooting, he says.”

“The sport must be very good in that country, Miss.” Was not Mr Bingley’s present estate within three miles of Longbourn? Miss Darcy’s high laughter rang out.

“Dearest Reynolds, you know Mr Bingley is as accurate a sportsman as my brother is an enthusiastic one!” she cried. “No, they are gone to that country in pursuit of game other than the winged kind! Oh, how I hoped he would do it! He loves her so, and Charles Bingley has not got over his infatuation with her elder sister, did you not know he fell in love with the oldest Miss Bennett the very first time he laid eyes on her? ‘Tis true, for I have it from my brother’s own lips!

“Oh, they must have gone to propose, only think! Will she accept him, Miss Elizabeth, do you imagine? I fancied she was inclined toward him, that night she was here! Goodness! You must think me very forward!”

“Not at all, Miss Darcy.” These Bennetts would unravel all the shrilling trout’s great schemes, were Mr Bingley truly as attached to the firstborn as Miss Georgiana implied. The young lady laughed again.

“Oh, but you do, Mrs Reynolds, for I know I am! You must not tell my brother how naughty I’ve become, but it is not ill-meant, I should so love to have a sister of William’s choosing. He says he is in good health, and asks that I give his warmest regards to you. You must excuse me, I must write a reply immediately. Would it be wrong, do you think, to urge him to act? I should so like to see him settled! I shall ask that he give my fondest wishes to Miss Elizabeth, how will that be? He must know from that, I should welcome her into our family! Oh, dear! Caroline will be most put out, she was determined Charles should never set foot in Hertfordshire again!”

Leaving the young lady to the study of her brother‘s words, Mrs Reynolds backed into the corridor and returned mechanically to her tasks, her mind flown to the few hectic days in summer when Mr Darcy had been content again. Miss Elizabeth Bennett had, for good or ill, changed the master: his miraculous return to spirits had lasted precisely the length of her residence in his country.

The very morning after her triumphant dinner, the young lady’s party had been summoned south on urgent business, and thither had Mr Darcy’s peace flown in their wake. The day succeeding, he, too, had fled, so preoccupied he had almost overlooked his housekeeper, waiting diligently by the carriage for his final words of instruction.

“Have a care for my sister, Mrs Reynolds,” he had murmured, dipping his lofty head to hers. “The duties of hostess are painful to her. Oh! And be so kind as to persuade my guests that these sudden departures for Town are not uncommon for the season.”

All below stairs were chattering about this being a vast change from the master’s usual routine, but Anna Reynolds knew an appeal for aid when she heard one, and falling in love might have odd effects on even the most stoic of men. “Business knows no season, Sir, as your excellent father used to say.”

That had won her a small smile and a tip of the hat as Mr Darcy had ascended the step into his landau. And for a week, there had been no word of him.

Then, as unexpectedly as he had gone, Mr Darcy had returned, grave and preoccupied, short with Mr Bingley’s jovial questionings and anxious only to seek out his sister. For an hour they had remained closeted in the gentleman’s private sitting room on the second floor.

Trotting to answer the urgent ringing of the bell’s summons, Anna Reynolds had been quite turned in the stomach by the stricken condition of Miss Georgiana. Whey-faced and trembling, the girl had leaned heavily into the protective circle of her brother’s arm, unable to meet the old servant’s eyes as Mr Darcy declared her to be taken poorly with a headache. “Pray bring tea to my sister’s rooms, Mrs Reynolds,” he had instructed tightly, maneuvering his large frame as a shield from prying eyes. “And inform my guests that Miss Darcy is indisposed, and not to be disturbed.”

The requests she had acknowledged with a brief reverence and a dip of the chin to conceal her worried frown. To one well versed in the reading of Darcy moods it was plain the young lady’s indisposition was of the spirit, not the body: and in being so, undoubtedly the harder to heal.

She had conveyed the master’s message to the company, fleeing for the kitchen ahead of Mrs Hurst’s squeals and worse, her sister’s squalls. A silver tray balanced across her forearms, she had used the back stair to reach the family’s private apartments on the second floor. Quite caught up in her fretting, she had not at first recognized the rat-tat-tatting of a lady’s heeled shoes approaching from the direction of the main stairs.

“Miss Bingley!” she had cried, really startled by the statuesque female’s looming up before her outside Miss Darcy’s door, fingers already wrapped around the handle. “Ma’am, I beg pardon, I thought you must have heard me say, Miss Darcy is not receiving visitors!”

So saying, she had inserted her smaller person betwixt huntress and hunted, refusing to quail before the haughty stare of the wealthy tradesman’s daughter. “And who, pray, are you to give instruction to me?” the crow had shrilled. “I am not to be kept from my dear friend’s side by a - a servant! What, pray, is your authority here?”

“That of my representative, Miss Bingley.” The voice that overbore Anna Reynolds’ outraged sputterings had been cold and sharp-edged as a rapier blade. Lounged against the half-opened door, Fitzwilliam Darcy had scowled upon the interloper, a tiny muscle at the side of his jaw clenching; first warning of a monumental fury. The night crow had turned red, then white, finally settling at an unlovely mottling of the two.

He had barely glanced at his housekeeper; only a jerk of the head to indicate she should slip into the airy sitting room, newly converted to suit his sister’s tastes. Scurrying to her business, Mrs Reynolds had studiously ignored the low thrum of the gentleman’s irate voice. Only on raising her head to meet Miss Darcy’s wide blue eyes had her composure been threatened, her lips tugging, quite against her will, up into a grin.

Tremulous, Miss Georgiana had matched it, and Anna Reynolds’ shaken spirits had soared. The child would be well. She had lost neither her courage or her sense of humour.

“I should thank you to remember, Miss Bingley that my servants obey my instruction, most particularly in connection with my sister,” Mr Darcy had said, his deep voice low, almost menacing. “When Mrs Reynolds advises you that Miss Darcy is not receiving visitors, you will be so kind as to remember that the words, and therefore the authority, as you choose to call it, are to be considered mine.”

“I am so sorry, Mr Darcy, I meant no disrespect, and Mrs Reynolds, I am sure, will quite comprehend a sensitive lady’s terror for her poor friend…”

“That is for Mrs Reynolds to decide, Madam.” Inflexible, Mr Darcy had stared down his importuning guest. “Georgiana has a sickly headache; she requires rest and quiet. I will gladly convey your good wishes to her - and your apologies to my housekeeper for your unfortunate misunderstanding of her position.”

And he had closed the door in the mortified harridan’s stricken face.

The memory made Anna Reynolds smile still. In her dread of being forced to apologise directly, Madam Caroline kept her distance from me the remainder of her stay. Goodness, had I anticipated such a response, I should have tricked her into being rude long before!

A full ten days passed before further word from the master was received at Pemberley, where he had deemed his sister might safely remain for the immediate future. “Mr Bingley is engaged to Miss Bennett the elder,” Georgiana announced, halting Mrs Reynolds at the library door. “My brother was in London when it happened, but he is not surprised; indeed he declares he expected it must happen, when he went from Netherfield. Dear William, I believe he invented his business in Town, to give Charles chance to speak!”

“That would be like the master, Miss Darcy.” Expectantly, Anna Reynolds regarded the young lady. Georgiana’s shoulders slumped.

“No, he says nothing of Miss Elizabeth, but we must have courage, for with her sister united with his friend, they must often be drawn into company, and that will give her ample time to fall in love with him, don’t you think? I thought her so sensible! Surely if she is, she cannot remain indifferent to such a man for long?”

“I did not think her indifferent, Miss Georgiana.” The reassurance cheered the dear girl, though in her anxiety for her brother, she could not be comforted for long. Anna Reynolds made a brisk reverence and went on her way, nibbling thoughtfully on her bottom lip. It was true, of course; she would not lie to her chick, she had truly thought Miss Elizabeth Bennett close to loving the master in July, before she was called in such unfortunate haste home. And the union of sister and friend must allow them more opportunity to know each other. How much longer can we bear this uncertainty? If he were to come home, I should give him a proper shaking, I swear I should! Such a lively, clever girl, she would be just the wife for him, what ever Miss Bingley or Lady Catherine and her daughter might say!

September’s mildness gave way to the nip of October, causing fires to be lit throughout the great house, and still no word came from Mr Darcy. Miss Georgiana haunted the halls and began to mutter of a longing for London. Below stairs the visit of Miss Bennett was forgotten, the brief stirring of speculation stilled. Anna Reynolds knew not whether to be more relieved or disappointed by the fact.

“Letter for you, Mrs Reynolds.” Sam Edley ambled into the servants’ hall with a packet, addressed in a fine flowing hand that had the old lady starting up from her corner chair. “Aye, from the master. Express just come with a fine packet for Miss Georgie, and this for you. We’ve took in the poor devil what brought it; ‘tis a pretty day for galloping about the countryside! Wicked, the weather’s turned!”

“Very well, Mr Edley.” Turning the letter in her hands, Mrs Reynolds was assailed by a wave of dizziness. Can it be? Oh Lord, I can scarce bear to open it! Come, Anna, what’s become of your good sense? There, a finger beneath the wax, unfold the pages, oh goodness, it is!

Taking a calming breath, she forced her eyes away from the words that leaped from the second paragraph. Read it through, ‘tis too important for misunderstanding, but he says he is engaged! He is engaged!

My very dear Mrs Reynolds, (Mr Darcy had written)

Firstly, I thank you: by your wholly undeserved praising of my imagined virtues was the heart of the finest woman I have ever known softened toward your unworthy master. If in the past I have not merited your very great kindness of spirit toward me, I promise henceforth, dearest Reynolds, I shall make full amend.

For Miss Elizabeth Bennett, to whom you displayed our home in the summer, has consented to become my wife. We intend to wed on the second day of December, standing up beside my friend Bingley and his charming bride, Elizabeth’s excellent elder sister Jane, and to reach Pemberley in good time to prepare for Christmas, when Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle Gardiner, with their four small children, will join us.

I will visit before my marriage - forgive that I am so vague, the prospect of parting from Elizabeth has me distracted - to nod my approval of any changes you deem necessary for the house in preparation for the coming of a mistress. Elizabeth, by the bye, bids me convey her warmest good wishes to you, and asks that you promise to be very patient with her when we come home, for the management of so grand a house will be, she says, quite beyond her without your wise counsel.

The preparation for her coming I leave entirely to your good judgment, although that virtue in you is rendered somewhat questionable by your most unwarranted praise of me before visitors. Dear Mrs Reynolds I beg pardon again for the gloomy moods you have borne from me in recent months: I can offer no excuse save lovesickness, and I promise that with Elizabeth beside me I shall be a happier master and, I hope, the master you and our excellent staff deserve, for the rest of my days.

Together with this missive I dispatch one to my sister informing her of my happy situation. To your discretion and hers I leave the announcement of our forthcoming marriage to the staff, saying only this: if you will have a toast to my our future happiness, dearest Reynolds, only a nip as my father would have said. Only a nip.

Should you discover any thing in need of my personal attention, send to me at Netherfield at once; I would have every thing perfect for the coming of Mrs Darcy. I dare say I will prove quite hopeless when you see me next, so pitifully will I be pining for my beloved. I console myself with the knowledge that Pemberley, in your skilled hands, will be made ready without any interference from,

Your devoted,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Part Six

Posted on Sunday, 26 December 2004

November 1814

“Mrs Reynolds!” Georgiana Darcy hitched up her skirts lest they slow her wild gallop down the main stair. “My brother is home!”

“Gracious, Miss, and so early!” Abandoning her involved debate with the senior parlourmaid about the proper way to tie back drapes, Mrs Reynolds made haste to follow the echo of the young lady’s shriek, her smile breaking through unbidden as she observed Mr Darcy vaulting down from his hired mount in the courtyard. “Dear Heaven, on horseback and in this vicious weather, we’ll send him back to Miss Bennett with a scarlet nose and a croaking throat, the silly soul!”

Before Mr Darcy could consign his dappled steed to the charge of a running groom, his sister was upon him, alternating cries of joyous welcome with reprimands for his cavalier unconcern for his health. “What will Lizzy say, sir, when I tell her, Mr Darcy rode through a morning downpour, his coat flapping open and without his hat, to arrive home resembling nothing so much as a poor, drowned puppy?”

Darcy dropped a kiss on her golden crown, lifting his glowing eyes to the censorious ones of his oldest servant atop the steps. “You see, Mrs Reynolds, your lectures are unnecessary, for my sister says it all in your stead,” he announced, making a grave reverence before mounting the steps, Miss Darcy clinging rapturously to his arm. Anna Reynolds tutted.

“And says it all admirably, Sir! Let me take your coat - I dare say your hat will be found in a muddy field! Mr Pyke of Park Lane must make half his profits from your carelessness, charging about the country in all weathers! Miss Georgiana, insist your brother change his wet clothes directly, he listens to you! I will send coffee to your rooms directly, Mr Darcy.”

“Send it to the Blue Drawing Room in ten minutes, Mrs Reynolds, if you will. Oh! I am commanded convey directly my fiancée’s very warm wishes, and to assure you she will be quite at a loss if you are not very kind to her, as she declares she will never master the management of such a house as ours without your compassion.”

“Oh, Sir!” He extended his free arm toward her. Laughing at his foolishness she took it and, together, the trio hurried from the gusting rain to the sanctuary of the house.

“Lord! Never heard the gentleman so chatty, and laughing so freely! Miss Bennett this, Elizabeth that, he talks of nothing else!” Mr Stevens’ opinion of his employer’s present condition was avidly sought out by the chatterers of the servants’ hall, and not even her frowning presence, to Mrs Reynolds’ dismay, could quash his enthusiasm. “And to see them together! Well! Besotted, ‘tis the only word for them!”

“Long as the lady’s as lovesick as he.” Jack Wilson gave a wag of his grizzled head. “’Twas always the fear of the father, that his heir would fall into the snares of some low-born fortune huntress.”

“Shows how little the father knew our gentleman! What do you make of her, his Miss Bennett, Bob?”

“A charmer.” Prolonged residence in Hertfordshire attending Mr Darcy had elevated Robert Stevens to the wholly unwarranted status of authority on the gentleman’s courtship. “Got a temper, mind, and strong opinions. And may God help us when her mother comes to stay! I don’t often agree with the Bingley women, but they nailed our Mrs Bennett right away! Fit for Bedlam, and her younger girls with her!”

“What’s the father like?”

“Cares more for his books than his womenfolk, from all I hear!" Stevens planted his booted feet on the hearth. "Still, Mr Darcy speaks well of him, so it may be Miss Lizzy resembles him as she don't that shrilling freak of a mother!”

“You’ll hold your ignorant opinions about Miss Bennett’s connections to yourself, Mr Stevens, if you please.” There were limits beyond which even the most valuable servant should not pass, and in Anna Reynolds’ view, Robert Stevens had left them behind long ago. “’Tis the daughter Mr Darcy weds, not the dam - or the sisters!”

“They do say a girl turns into her mother.”

“You disprove that one, Bess Murray!” Anne Morton chimed in, before her ally Anna Reynolds could recover her breath. A scullery maid intruding into the senior household’s discussion! Not to be borne! “I never met a creature less like your poor late mother than you!”

“So you do say daily, Mrs Morton!”

“That will do, young woman.” The tinkling of the bell marked Blue Drawing Room offered salvation, and Mrs Reynolds leapt to seize it. “If you cannot conduct yourselves decently, the new mistress will see you all dismissed!”

With the threat ringing in their ears she swept out, slamming the door before they could see her dissolving into laughter. Eighteen months ago, I was frightened out of my skin by just such a suggestion, and from one I knew would never attain authority here! she exulted, straightening her cap as she trotted to attend the family’s requirements.

“So, I thought we might replace this heavy oak with the pretty French pieces your late mother purchased when Madame de Ligne came to stay, Sir.”

“What? Oh, yes, an excellent idea, Mrs Reynolds.” Mr Darcy shook off his distraction to smile across the Mistress’s dressing room. “Forgive me, I have not the smallest idea of how Elizabeth would furnish these rooms of her own choice!”

“Miss Georgiana and I have been considering the whole, Sir, knowing it to be an question beyond the compass of a gentleman.” The trace of condescension in the words won her a startled stare, but Mr Darcy only shrugged, evidently grateful to have matters of such bemusement removed from his hand. “We have undertaken to order fresh linens for the bedchamber, to complement the present decoration. Peaches and cream are such feminine shades, Mr Darcy, and never unfashionable. When we are done, none will believe these rooms have lain empty so long!”

“A criticism of my tardiness? I have always said I would not bring a mistress to Pemberley until I was absolutely sure of my choice.”

“Aye, and there’s none of us regretted your fastidiousness, Mr Darcy. Mr Jenks promises there will be fresh flowers on the nightstand when you bring your lady home; he's very eager to see you, Sir, that you might tell him what blooms Miss Bennett especially likes.”

“I shall call on him later, Mrs Reynolds, rest assured. No one is more anxious to please the new Mrs Darcy than I.”

His dark eyes lit with the fire all the household had commented upon since his return to them. “I am so fortunate, dear Reynolds, that I have you to manage these things! Confess it: your master is hopeless, is he not?”

“Quite the fool for love, Mr Darcy, but I dare say I can forgive you that. Surely you’ve noticed the smiles about the place, Sir! It is not forgotten that when she came to dine with her relations, Miss Bennett was deemed by one and all to be a delightful young woman.”

“You must praise every thing you saw in her, Mrs Reynolds, if I am to survive this separation from her. My sister is grown quite merciless; have you not heard her teasing me for my hangdog looks?”

“I have heard her, Mr Darcy, but I understood her words differently, for I thought she was approving how much you miss your lady.”

“I would be stone if I were able to do otherwise, Mrs Reynolds. Do you know, I believe they become good friends, even by letter. Does Georgiana…”

“I did observe in the summer, Sir, how well I thought they took to each other.” Always the same, more anxious for his dear ones than for himself. Giving a nudge that sent Mr Darcy sprawling back against the window seat, Anna Reynolds summoned up a cheery smile and a bracing tone. “All will be well, Sir; we have all in hand for your bride’s arrival, and your sister would be enchanted with almost any woman you chose to marry.”

“Only almost, dearest Reynolds?” Like Georgiana, like Elizabeth, he reflected, this woman knew how to make a solemn man smile. “Forgive me! I am the luckiest and happiest man alive, and I know not what to do with my good fortune. Tell me, then; what marriage I might have made would have displeased my sister?”

“The one you would never consider, Mr Darcy, with a certain lady that fancied herself first choice to be mistress of your house.” Master and servant smiled, each pleased with self and companion. “May I enquire how Mr Bingley does, Sir? I trust he is as content with his future situation as you?”

“Bingley smiles and nods and is amiable to every one, Mrs Reynolds, but so has he always been, and ably does Elizabeth’s sister second him. They are of a matched temper, and will manage very nicely together, I expect. We anticipate their coming to visit here very often.”

“It must be very pleasing to Miss Elizabeth that her sister is marrying so worthy a man,” Mrs Reynolds remarked lightly. Darcy bolted up from his perch.

“What?”

Great God, what is the matter with him? “I - meant only, Sir, that Mr Bingley is such an excellent gentleman, and I gathered that Miss Elizabeth is especially fond of her elder sister…”

The sight of his beloved Reynolds actually cringing from him dissolved all of Darcy's frightened fury. Lifting both hands, he sagged back onto the window seat. “I am sorry, Mrs Reynolds, I merely thought - he is not without connections in this country, I thought you might have heard…”

The disjointed speech, the tiny muscle working in his jaw, all the signals of emotion scarce-controlled. Darcy balled his hands, threw back his head and drew in a deep, calming breath. “I wondered if you were hinting, Mrs Reynolds, at another sister’s marriage with the least worthy man of our acquaintance. Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Miss Lydia Bennett, was united in matrimony this summer with a certain George Wickham. I - forgive me, I ought to know your honest nature better! - suspected you might be warning me, the secret is about.”

“M-married to Mr Wickham, sir? But her father is not a rich man!”

Instantly she knew, her words had found an open wound. “I doubt he intended to marry her when they fled Brighton, Mrs Reynolds,” Darcy rapped out, his mouth tightened into a thin line. “May God forgive me, it was I bought the senseless child her marriage, and I cannot find it in me to repent it!”

Pieces snapped together in Anna Reynolds’ head, bringing order to a confusion which had nagged her since the summer. “The urgent business that called Miss Bennett's party home, Sir?"

“A letter from Jane, announcing the elopement of her youngest sister. Elizabeth knew - I had told her enough of Wickham in Kent - yes, I saw her there, proposed marriage to her in fact…”

“And her refusing your hand - she's a singular young woman that could do that, Mr Darcy! - sent you into that pit of gloom. I may never forgive the silly girl, if you’ll pardon the phrase!" How bitter rejection to a man so wholly unaccustomed to receiving it! Anna Reynolds' heart clenched for him. "Still, she did have the sense to change her mind, and I'm bound to say I did fancy her halfway and more to loving you when she came to dine! No, Sir, don't sigh and roll your eyes, for Miss Bingley saw it too."

“I addressed her not as a suitor, but as an emperor to a beggar. Elizabeth rejected me--" simply saying the word made him blanch "--and in anger she accused me, on the basis of his lies, of injustice to my late father's favourite. You know me well enough, dear Reynolds, to know I am not rational in anger!

"Don't ask me to dwell on it, if you love me: I am ashamed to remember what I said, and her accusations of pride, of selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were merited indeed. That period of mourning to which you refer has made me, I trust, a better man, one worthier of my lovely Elizabeth's affections."

Dear Heaven, what he has suffered for the love of her! A more light-minded woman than Anna Reynolds might have swooned at the romance of this troubled courtship; she was, she thanked God, of a more practical stamp, able instead to cluck in dismay at all the time the foolish pair had wasted. Believing that scoundrel Wickham, was she? Mind, he was an attractive rogue, even as a boy.

“Her declaration that she, who knew what Wickham was, might have prevented her sister’s fall, cheered my heart, but what was I to do, Mrs Reynolds?” It was almost a plea. “The woman I loved sat before me sobbing for the loss of her sister and the ruin of her family. Oh God! I ached to tell her, all would be well, Wickham would not disgrace an honest family…”

“He that ruined poor Molly Smith, aye and would have sent Meg Parker to her grave of shame, had not your father taken pity on the girl and brought her into service when her own sire shunned her!"

Darcy nodded, but she knew he barely heard her words. “I did the only thing I could,” he whispered. “I followed her father and uncle to Town, and there, by threats and cajolery, I discovered him, eager to lose his giggling paramour as soon as the danger from his creditors was past. You know George Wickham, Mrs Reynolds. The prospect of immediate relief from his difficulties secured his promise of marriage to the silliest wife in England - it grieves me to speak ill of Elizabeth’s sister, but I cannot deny I despise the wife quite as much as the husband .”

He raised his unblinking gaze at last to the neutral expression of the woman before him. “You do me too much credit, Mrs Reynolds, in praising me as you so often do. The paragon you represent me to be would not take this - malicious delight in knowing that by his means has lifelong punishment of a petty rogue been assured.”

“I have never thought you a paragon, Master Fitzwilliam.” Her head spun from all he had revealed, yet Anna Reynolds knew there was more unsaid, for the unremitting hatred her master felt for his boyhood companion could not have been provoked by the myriad small offences committed by Old Wickham’s son through a short life of dissolution. “And if Miss Lydia prove a lifetime’s penance to that villain, I shan’t pity him! I know you to be what Mrs Wickham’s sister plainly sees you for; an honest, honourable gentleman too much inhibited by your shyness to show the world how good and kind you really are. Now, Sir, if you’re content with the arrangements here, go to Mr Jenks and assure him, whatever flowers he can provide for Mrs Darcy's nightstand on your arrival will be welcomed! The poor man is half mad with worry!”

Conclusion

March 1815

“Yes, Mrs Reynolds, this will suit my sister ideally.” The mistress of Pemberley smiled warmly at the old housekeeper who had become her firm friend. “Jane will be enchanted with these rooms. Thank you for all your efforts, I know I am a troublesome creature to you!”

“Indeed you are not, Ma’am! Such a happy chance, your sister marrying the master’s best friend.” Trailing the lady from the room and toward the grand stair, Anna Reynolds tutted at the very idea. Mrs Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennett that was, had wrought changes in not three months' occupation that her present companion had never dared hope she might see. The stately halls rang with her laughter, and with that of her husband too, for however preoccupied he might be, Mr Darcy could never resist his lively wife’s teasing for long.

Why, he even flies down the banister when he thinks there’s none but she too see it! Mrs Reynolds mused, stifling a grin with an effort as she recalled the master’s decidedly windblown appearance at the breakfast room door the previous day.

It was no secret Mrs Darcy was of modest stock; that her father’s estate, while respectable, was nothing at all to Pemberley. The lady had herself charmingly expressed, in her first minute within its walls, her fear that she might prove unequal to the duties she now undertook. Small chance there ever was of that!

Diligently memorizing the very precise instructions Mrs Darcy rattled off for the reception of her sister Mrs Bingley, Anna Reynolds let her mind wander back through the months which had followed her receipt of Mr Darcy’s announcement.

All of Pemberley had been tossed into confusion. A mistress again, after so long! What if she were difficult? Their gentleman, it had been generally agreed, would be helpless against the wiles of one he adored. What havoc might a new broom wreak amongst a settled household?

All the terrors had dissipated as the master, relaxed and smiling, had proudly escorted his wife down the line of servants eager for a glimpse of her. Gasps had been heard; one or two of the bolder sprites had even hazarded a whisper. Despite what she would later claim of nerves, the new Mrs Darcy’s natural charm had sung from every kindly word of thanks she spoke to the good wishes offered her way.

“Mrs Reynolds? Are you unwell?”

“Oh! No, Ma’am, forgive me, I was…”

“Lost in your thoughts?” Mrs Darcy smiled, her bright eyes dancing. “Well, I believe all our preparations are made, and not even Miss Bingley will find any thing wanting in our reception! Pray tell me, what delightful thoughts were making you smile so?”

“I was thinking o’ the difference you’ve made to this place, Ma’am, if I may speak boldly.” That she might, Mrs Reynolds had no doubt, for Mrs Darcy appreciated honesty: it was, she said often, one of the more disconcerting virtues with which her excellent husband was endowed. “Pemberley was a silent house too long; we have lacked laughter since the late Mrs Darcy, Lady Anne, passed away. The late Mr Darcy, well, the life left him when his wife died, and the master - I never heard him whistle between the day Miss Georgiana was born and his arriving here to visit after your engagement. It used to break my fond heart to see him so lonely and grave, bearing all the weight of the world on his young shoulders. I began to fear I should never hear his laughter again.

“You have brought joy back to my master’s heart, Mrs Darcy, and in so doing you’ve restored the life to Pemberley itself, and - and all of us that love and serve him are in your debt for it!”

“Dear Mrs Reynolds!” With the impulsive generosity which had become familiar in so short a time, Mrs Darcy embraced the older woman. “Believe me, I have noted the very great affection for my husband within these halls, and I know very well how he merits it! I can only be grateful that you all have welcomed me so kindly! I confess I was much daunted to find myself mistress of this enormous place: or I should have been, had I not the support of the best man in the world to lean on.

“I am honoured, so deeply honoured, that you should speak to me of the happy changes for which I may assume some credit. I have learned so much from you, Mrs Reynolds, these past three months, and if I grow to be a fit mistress for Pemberley, it will be in no small measure your doing.”

“Ma’am, you were the perfect mistress for us all the instant we saw how the master came alive in your presence,” Mrs Reynolds pledged. “Ah! I hear him in the main hall, asking for you!”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up; from within burst forth the same fiery light Anna Reynolds had seen kindle about Mr Darcy when his wife appeared. “Oh, my dear husband!” she breathed, the words so faint Mrs Reynolds almost doubted she heard them. “Mrs Darcy is at the Green Sitting Room door, Sir!” she called down the stairs.

“Elizabeth!” Booted footsteps thudded up the stairs and Mr Darcy’s smiling face appeared, hastily followed by the rest of him. Mrs Reynolds stepped away, watching her boy stride to swing his wife up into his arms with an unabashed happiness she had, not long ago, feared he might never know.

Mrs Darcy wound her arms tight around his neck, squealing with laughter. Her fingers worked deep into his windblown curls as her face lifted, appealing for his kiss. “Mmmm, I have missed you all morning,” she murmured, her breath softly tickling his chin. Their attendant forgotten she lurched upward, attaching her mouth firmly to his. A low growl rumbled up from his chest. “You smell fresh and out-of-doors and delicious, Sir!”

Mrs Reynolds retreated under the sound of their shared laughter, disappearing into another kiss as the master carried his lady into the privacy of the small pale green sitting room. It was no surprise to her when, a moment later, she distinctly heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock.

The End