Something: Old, New, Later, True: A Pride & Prejudice Collection Read online

  However, the mind is a funny creation. While his body aged, his mind still believed he had the vitality of the days when he met and married Elizabeth. Foolish brain! It seemed the older he got, the shorter the legs on his horse needed to be. As he waited for the groom to finish saddling Apollo, he pondered the many tasks he needed to perform as master of a large estate. The list was long. Darcy never lost his pleasure at ending the day with all the jobs ticked off his mental tally. Shaking his head, he wondered how long it would be before he began forgetting more than doing. This middle age of life was not easy.

  His horse had a mind of its own. For though Darcy had intended to ride the western section of the fence line looking for needed improvements, he somehow made the five-mile journey east to his daughter’s home, Briarwood.

  Rebekah had been born with light brown hair that shot up from her skull like spiked armor. Her eyes were as dark as his own, but her laughter came directly from her mother. While his son had been easy to guide to adulthood, his beloved Becca had poked and prodded his heart as she worked on him to gain her way. Oh, who was he trying to fool? He had fallen head-over-heels in love with that infant the instant he saw her. She had wailed her discontent with her new environment instead of calmly accepting her new lot in life. She was a Darcy.

  Easily recalled was the day she turned four-years-old. She had knocked on his study door instead of bursting in with her typical exuberance. When he opened the door, she had demanded he sit back down so she could start over and do it correctly. He barely had time to be seated when a much firmer tap came. Pemberley’s butler, Hayes, announced Miss Rebekah Darcy to see Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. It did not occur to him not to play along.

  “Enter.” His voice was firm.

  Becca stepped out from behind the long-time servant and approached the desk. Holding her skirts out to the side, she attempted a curtsey. She almost met with success and would have had she not spotted an ant crawling slowly across the carpet. Since one ant typically brought friends, her attention was completely engaged in visually following its trail.

  “Papa,” she whispered too loudly to actually be called a whisper. “We have unexpected visitors at Pemberley. I do not believe they have been announced. Look!” Her index finger followed the path of the leader. “Oh, Papa, they are no doubt here for mischief.”

  His little girl had been born for mischief, so she had no difficulty recognizing it in others. He had no idea what her purpose had been in seeking him out and, most likely, she no longer remembered as well. Over the next twenty minutes or so, they had studied the creatures as she speculated on their being in his private room.

  “Papa, do you have secret papers they may want to steal to sell to your worst enemy?”

  “I do not believe I have a worst enemy, Poppet,” he had replied. “I do have secret papers, but they are only of interest to me and are locked safely away. The ants cannot gain access, so I do not think this to be the case.”

  She cupped her chin in her little hand. “I wonder…” Her face lit like a thousand flames. “I do know, Papa. They are from a pirate ship and are here to raid and pilfer. We should have Mrs. Reynolds and Cook guard the pantry, or they will steal all the lemon tarts.”

  “Did Cook bake lemon tarts, Sweetling?” He never checked the menus, but Elizabeth had done away with desserts except on rare occasions. She had been disappointed to have not quickly regained her figure after delivering her second child. A lemon tart had not been served at Pemberley since the last time they had received…visitors. “I cannot think she would have set any out to cool this early in the day, can you? And, little lady, how do you know about raiding and pilfering?”

  “Oh, that is easy. Alex read me a book about a pirate who had a big ship who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor,” was her distracted reply. The ants were continuing to move, her little eyes darting back and forth across the room. “Papa, Alex told me that when he is Master, I have to bow to him. Is this true?”

  He heard her disgust. She was her mother’s daughter!

  “What do you think, Rebekah?” He loved the way her little mind processed information.

  “I think that Alex believes I was born to be his servant. He tells me to be quiet and to mind my manners.” She huffed.

  “And what is your reply?” A smile loomed behind his exterior. He forced it away. It would not do to have his daughter think he took her concerns lightly.

  “Papa, I told him he was not you and that he would never be you because he is a bossy boy who thinks he is big because his front teeth fell out and he can stick his tongue through the hole.” Her arms were tightly crossed and her brows were furrowed. “He thinks he is so smart because he can read all the letters and write them as well. He told me he will, one day soon, go off to school and leave me home alone and I will be mis…mis…miserable. And I will be, Papa.” A tear trekked down her rounded cheek. “I want to go to school too. Please?”

  Ah! This was why she had come. The ants were forgotten as she launched herself into his ready arms. “Pray, do not let him go, Papa,” was chanted over and over as he swayed with her slowly, kissing her sweetly scented hair.

  It had been a long time since she cried herself to sleep. Like her mother, her days were typically filled with learning, adventure, and joy. When she was put down for bed and he kissed her forehead each night, she insisted her dreams would be wonderful because God had turned the lights off and left the stars out so she would not be scared. To have her so unsettled at the thought of her brother going away at a future time that she exhausted herself from her tears hurt his heart. His children were growing up.

  Darcy’s horse blew into the morning air. The memories of his children were so precious to him. As he continued to gaze upon his daughter’s house, Darcy easily recalled that particular memory’s resolution.

  He had hugged her little form against his chest. Of all he had under his care or owned in various parts of England, his investments abroad, and the inventory of his safe, he held his family far above anything else claimed by the Darcy name. He had brushed his lips over her forehead and examined her closely.

  She had her mother’s nose and sweeping black eyelashes. Her cheekbones were hidden under padded pink flesh, but her eyebrows arched like Elizabeth’s. She had his chin, the one his wife insisted was stubborn. He could not see her reference in himself. However, it was quite evident in Miss Rebekah Darcy.

  “Becca! Becca! Where are…” Almost seven-year-old Alex charged around the doorway. “Papa, have you seen Reb…? Oh! There she is.” His voice had gone from yelling to a soft whisper as he pointed at his sister. “Is she sick? Do we need to call the doctor? Should we send to London?”

  “No, son.” He shook his head as Rebekah’s brother approached. “She was only tired, and I enjoy holding her since you will not allow it any longer.”

  Alex thumbed his chest. “I am no longer a child, Papa. I will soon be a man who has to shave my whiskers and can drink brandy with Uncle Colonel.”

  “You will? Hmmm!” He appreciated that both of his children loved his cousin, Richard. Despite the fact he no longer served in the military, he was always the colonel who won the battle charge when Alex played with his toys. He had become the stuff of legends. “I can see that we need to step up your education if you will be shaving soon.”

  “And, Papa, I will need to trade Petunia for a stallion. Petunia is a child’s pony.” He looked at his sister. “Becca can ride her, almost.”

  “I see. And, are there any more changes I should be prepared for, son?”

  Alex stood straight and tall with barely any fat on his bones. The young man was a voracious eater, and yet, to Elizabeth’s chagrin, failed to gain a pound while each day his pants seemed to get shorter and shorter.

  “Well, now that you mentioned it, Father, I think it is time I am taught to take the reins. Soon, I will be old enough to race a carriage against Harrison. He told me Uncle Bingley will buy us both a pony cart and will paint his red and min
e blue.” The boy mused. “I think blue is a faster color than red, do you not agree?”

  Before he could answer, his daughter’s eyes popped open and she launched herself from his lap. The two siblings completely ignored him as they raced out of the room—him and the trail of ants forgotten.

  Now, his Rebekah will have a child of her own to worry and entertain her. One day, hopefully Alex will as well. Then, and only then, would they know the love and devotion a parent has for their progeny.

  As Darcy looked down upon Briarwood, he brushed away a damp spot on his cheek and glanced up to see if rain was coming. He hoped so. The farmlands needed the moisture. Hmmm! No clouds. Odd!

  The bucolic setting offered him no peace. With the coming of their first grandchild, their lives would never be the same. He was changing. His body was changing, and he did not like it one smidgeon of a bit.

  Only that morning, his valet had asked if he wanted the wiry grey hairs pulled out of his eyebrows. Of course, he had. Wiry grey hairs! Who had those? Old men, that is who. Hair in his ears. Hair in his nostrils. Heaven forbid—hair on his back. He shuddered. He would resemble a bear before long.

  As his horse stepped restlessly to the side, Darcy instinctively settled the animal as he considered aloud, “Possibly, Elizabeth would appreciate the extra warmth during the cold winter nights when she snuggled up behind me.” Then, he thought of those hairs tickling her nose and making her sneeze until she turned away from him in the night. Loneliness over this hypothetical situation blanketed him until he felt like sobbing from the loss.

  Good grief! He was maudlin, not Rebekah’s old doll.

  Kicking his horse into a run, he flew down the hill to meet up with the road leading to his daughter’s house. With the wind threatening to blow off his hat and whipping against his face, the years were swept away and he was young again. But, only in his mind.

  When his daughter, who must have been waddling in the garden, saw him, she immediately cautioned, “Papa, be careful. You are not as young as you used to be to ride that fast.”

  His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Such an unpleasant reminder from someone brimming with vitality. Grrrr! Could his day get any worse?

  THREE

  By the time Darcy returned to Pemberley, he was convinced it was he who needed to determine the nature of Alex’s bride. Rebekah spoke kindly of her husband as her hand unconsciously moved softly over her rounded belly. It had been Darcy who had introduced the couple. It was a good marriage to a man of worth and position. Lord Clayton Masterson was shorter than Darcy and had a gentler approach in society, but he was as fiercely devoted to his wife as she was to him.

  Therefore, during the five miles home, he had mentally reviewed the daughters and unattached young ladies of his acquaintance. Miss Mildred Teagarden had a sweet dowry of twenty-thousand, but a sour disposition that would make it difficult to have her living in his home. Miss Abigail Thornton had a gentleness about her that put him in mind of Elizabeth’s eldest sister, Jane. He added her to his list of possible candidates. Miss Caroline Hurst, the daughter of Bingley’s brother-in-law, was contented to remain indoors and oversee the tea table, sampling the delicacies and growing broader with each bite. No, Alex would not find her attractive, would he? Darcy shuddered. No.

  Miss Penelope Greenwood? Definitely not! It was not that her looks were unappealing, as her hair was an attractive color. It was her eyes that bothered Darcy. They followed a person with diligence, and he most often felt awkward around her—like she knew something secret about him that she would share if she ever needed to prove whatever point she needed to make. No, she would not do.

  It was with reluctance that Darcy admitted to himself that he had no idea of being able to find someone within their small circle in Derbyshire. He would hate to take a lady so far from her home should they come from outside his county. Hypocrite! He had had no qualms about moving his Elizabeth the two-hundred-fifty miles north to his estate.

  ***

  “Elizabeth, I bring greetings from our daughter and her child.” He had found his wife in her sitting room, corresponding with his sister, Georgiana.

  “Her babe sent greetings? How extraordinary.” His wife set aside her quill and gave him her full attention.

  “Do you doubt me?” Greeting her with a kiss, she smiled against his mouth. “I will have you know, woman, that the very last thing Rebekah said to me as I was riding off was to tell you her son or daughter loves you very much and is excited to come to know her grandparents.”

  Elizabeth’s chuckle filled the room. He loved that about her. “I sincerely think we will be the ones filled with excitement at coming to know him or her.” She sat beside him on a leather-covered sofa. “Now, William, tell me how you ended up at Briarwood.”

  “My horse,” was his reply. He left everything else unsaid.

  “Your horse.” His wife turned to look him directly in his eyes. “What are you up to, Fitzwilliam Darcy? I know that look. Your countenance tells me you are guarding a secret that you believe I will find difficult to hear. What is it, man? Just tell me now so we may avoid an argument later.”

  “Ha! You think you know me well, Elizabeth Darcy. However, there is no secret I am hiding. If you want to know what is on my mind, you only need to ask, my dear. There is very little I would ever voluntarily keep from you.” He debated with himself as to whether or not he should tell her. She had insisted he not interfere. Well, could she call it interference if his plans resulted in the perfect bride for his son? Not at all. She would praise him for his wisdom and thank him in a most appropriate manner common to all married couples. Yes, he would have to tell her for his plans to succeed. He needed her help.

  “Dearest, I believe we need to hold a ball.”

  “A ball?” She rested the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you well? Did you, by chance, fall from your horse on the way home and smash your skull on some poor defenseless rock?”

  Her eyes glanced over every surface visible under his riding clothes. He noted his error. He should have changed prior to seeking her out.

  “Now, why would you immediately conclude I have injured myself? It is only a small request for the mistress of Pemberley, is it not?” He grabbed her hand before she could tuck it back on her lap and kissed her fingers, then her wrist. She was everything lovely with the afternoon sun streaming through the window, highlighting the silver glints threading through her coiffure.

  “You are serious, Fitzwilliam?” She caressed his cheek with her hand. “You are wanting to invite not only close friends, but those we are not well acquainted with into our home? To socialize?” Her eyes squinted and her back straightened. “What are you not telling me, husband? What is causing you to suddenly act out of accord with your usual manner? For, I cannot believe you truly want this.”

  He scoffed.

  “Have you given consideration to whom we are to invite to this gathering or is this the work of a moment?” When her head turned slightly, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye, he wanted to smirk. He knew her as well as she thought she knew him.

  “Elizabeth Darcy, I am appalled your initial conclusion is scepticism. How can you, after these many years, doubt me?” His pretended hurt had no impact, so he changed tactics. “Fine. You are a cold woman, my wife. Heartless.”

  Her laughter filled the room. “You are being silly. Pray, tell me what you are after.” She softly patted his cheek. Suddenly, her hand dropped to her lap and her mouth settled into an ‘O’. “You! You are wanting a ball to invite families with unattached daughters to tempt and coerce our son into marrying the one you choose most qualified to be the future mistress of our home. Oh, William, how could you?”

  He could bear almost anything other than her disappointment. For some reason, he had thought anger would be the emotion of the day. Humph! Women! Their reactions were particularly hard on errant husbands who had the temerity to think they actually understood the female sex from living with t
hem for decades. What did he know? Obviously, nothing. However, in this circumstance, he had the right of it. They needed to help their son.

  “My bride, pray listen to my reasoning. To do so, you need to recall the evening we first met. It was that horrid assembly at Meryton I had not wanted to attend. Succeeding occasions where I was in your company, we learned little about each other as we had few opportunities to converse in private without Caroline Bingley attempting to interrupt our exchanges.” Elizabeth snorted her disapproval. “With this said, it was at the ball held at Netherfield Park where we had true discourse. Admittedly, our conversation was based on misunderstandings we both held.”

  “I recall. I believed Wickham to be the better man, and you thought I was aware of your budding attraction.” A small smile grew and his wife’s eyes danced.

  “Budding attraction, dear? You are underestimating your appeal. By then, my heart was most agreeably engaged with the second Bennet daughter from Longbourn.” He briefly kissed her. “We are straying from my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “It was upon that occasion, as we danced for the first time, I forgot the existence of every other female I had been introduced to or known for all of my first seven and twenty years. You stood out from the debutantes of the ton and, despite my irritation at the subject of our conversation, I inherently knew, although I chose to deny it to myself at that moment, that you were the only woman for me.”