Page 9 of Pemberley's Imposter
Darcy had barely slept; the same dream kept repeating itself over and over as soon as he closed his eyes. Even in his conscious state, he was still not free of the image of her annoyed expression, then her stunned countenance, before utter horror had suffused her features. He would not think of it; he could not bear it. He leapt up and rang for his valet; there was no reason to linger in bed when sleep eluded him.
An enraged Darcy paced the passage. The library had been utterly ruined for all eternity; never again would he feel at ease in that room. Neither would his study bring him any relief because too many memories lingered within its walls. It was obvious what he needed to do. He called for a footman to find Mrs Reynolds, Georgiana, and his steward. The footman looked ill at ease before he dared mention the early hour of the day.
Darcy groaned, but the servant was right. He could not haul his sister out of bed at six in the morning. He amended his order to call them in for a meeting at ten. He had plenty to occupy his time while he waited for them to rise. He had to have something to do—something that would drive every memory of a certain impertinent country miss from his thoughts.
Darcy had not been to the attics in years. Treasures of times gone by were stacked high, but he knew exactly what he was looking for.
If any of the servants in the nearby quarters were still asleep, they soon were wide awake. Furniture was being dragged along the creaky floor and items toppled over, but no one went to lend a hand to the master’s endeavours.
Darcy did not mind the solitude as he rummaged through the piles of furniture his late mother had cherished. Piece by piece, it had been removed by his grieving father, who said he could not bear to look upon it when its owner was no longer amongst them. The thought prompted another action he needed to take, and he left the attic in search of his steward. He hoped he might be obtainable, but if not, someone else might do.
Ian MacGregor had anticipated his master’s needs and was awaiting him in his study. Darcy did not approach his desk to sit as he usually did. Two days prior he had held his wife in his lapwhilst kissing her deeply in that exact chair. It would have to be burnt.
“Mr MacGregor, since it is winter and nothing is happening in the fields, I have remembered some maintenance that must be done, but firstly I have an urgent task for you. Close up the mistress’s suite of rooms. I want them barred, locked, and impenetrable. Immediately, if you please.”
His steward eyed him warily.
“Should I not let the maids empty the room of personal belongings first?”
Darcy waved his hand dismissively. “No need. There is no time for it. We have much to do. Board it shut as it is. It will likely not be inhabited for several decades. The next mistress of Pemberley will have to deal with it when that day comes. Most likely it will be Georgiana, and she might want to move the master and mistress’s suite to another part of the house by the time she inherits. No, leave it as it is. It does not matter.”
Mr MacGregor bowed before he left to accomplish his assignment.
Pemberley moved into the busiest winter season in its history. Georgiana was handed the task of designing a new library. The study, music room, dining room, breakfast room, and parlours followed, each time his sister enquired after Mrs Darcy. Why could she not be satisfied with his repeated, “because I ordered her to leave”?The only chamber left untouched by Christmas of the following year was the master’s own suite of rooms. They remained unchanged, next to the locked mistress’s chamber.
The new task of redecorating came with advantages. Darcy suddenly had a plausible excuse for declining all requests for his company, including his Matlock relations’ Christmas invitation,not to forget their Twelfth Night ball. He could not stomach encountering his cousin; he might never again be able to look at the reprobate without reopening the wounds he was fighting so hard to mend.
Georgiana thrived and worked tirelessly day and night. Darcy prided himself that he was doing a satisfying job in preparing his sister to be the mistress of a large house. She, in turn, had an exceptional eye for colour and furnishings.
The first fly in the ointment came after the Twelfth Night ball. The cousin he could not abide came to visit. His servants had not known to bar him from entering; he had forgotten to give the order, which he immediately took it upon himself to remedy.
He adjourned to the blue parlour, where the scoundrel was waiting.
“Get out!” he ordered without greeting.
“Darcy, you cannot throw me out of your house. Believe me, you do not want a breach with the Earldom of Matlock,” the colonel warned.
“I have no quarrel with the earl,” Darcy countered calmly. “I fervently wish to never encounteryouagain, but I have no dispute with your father.”
“IamGeorgiana’s guardian!” Richard yelled.
“I shall happily draw up the papers for you to sign her over to me or your father,” Darcy suggested.
“That will never happen, Darcy, but I did not come here to quarrel with you. I wondered whether you had heard from Elizabeth. I never found her, Darcy. No one has seen her in Lambton or Kympton. The only sighting of a stranger was of aservant girl in Rowsley. Do you know whether she took her red coat?” the colonel enquired.
“No, she took none of the garments I purchased for her. She left wearing her old brown coat,” Darcy deigned to answer out of curiosity. It was to be hoped she had not become lost in the woods and frozen to death. The image of a deathly pale Elizabeth appeared unbidden in his mind. He shuddered whilst the colonel swore under his breath.
“It might have been her who was seen boarding the mail coach bound for the south.”
Darcy did not answer; he did not care either way.
“Damnation, Darcy. You could at least tell me whether she reached Longbourn. I imagine she travelled thither.”
Darcy shrugged. As if he held any interest in where Miss Bennet chose to travel. She was no longer his responsibility. She had been correct in assuming his selfish disdain of the feelings of others. Her betrayal had robbed him of all tender warmth and left his heart hollow and stale. Where she went was of no importance to him, though he admitted to feeling relief that it was improbable he would happen upon her dead body in his woods.
His cousin glared at him.
“I should take responsibility for Georgiana. I am loath to leave her with a man devoid of the simplest compassion. It is more than seven miles to Rowsley, if she had the wherewithal to follow the river. She could be lying buried in the snow on your property for all you know.”
