Chapter Text
Above the grating crunch of the carriage wheels on the long gravel drive, conversation became difficult to say the least. Mr. Darcy began to scowl in annoyance, but upon feeling Mrs. Darcy tremble with laughter at his side, his irritation melted away. A feeling of overwhelming affection overcame him, and it briefly crossed his mind to be grateful for the excuse to avoid conversation; coherent articulation was swept away along with the entirety of his reserve at the radiant vision his Elizabeth’s unrestrained joy presented. She beamed up at him, and despite the forced halt to their teasing debate, the only loss Darcy could bring himself to feel was that of the warmth of her pressed against his side. Indeed, resignation to even that was easy, almost natural, at the prospect of making his new wife more familiarly acquainted with their home.
Elizabeth did not appear to share his delighted anticipation, anxiety rapidly vitiating her smile as she smoothed out her skirts and peered out of the window. The carriage came to a standstill, affording them a view of Pemberley unobstructed by the turns of the drive. In neat rows as befitting for the servants of the master (and now mistress) of Pemberley as for those of the Prince Regent, the staff eagerly awaited introduction to Mrs. Darcy, curious to meet the woman who had finally entranced their master. Afterall, it was purported to be a love match! What a claim to make! It seemed so unlikely as to give the audacious assertation a ring of veracity. Truth be told, though, their turning out was less of an introduction than an honouring of Elizabeth’s arrival, but the truth did naught to diminish their stately appearance.
“Is my hair still in place?” Lizzy asked fretfully, turning towards him. Darcy, who could see his faint reflection in the window and hardly doubted the same was true for his wife, wryly thought the action may have been more to avoid looking upon the house and its inhabitants any longer.
“As always, it is perfect,” he replied, with enough conviction and reverence to make a blush paint her cheeks a dusky pink.
Elizabeth shook her head, but smiled slightly. “If you persist in forever telling me so, I shall begin to lose faith in your ability to assess its state, and shall cease to ever ask you.” Throughout this speech she had been fixedly staring at her hands, which were shaking slightly, and pulling on one of her gloves. More specifically, although Darcy couldn’t have known this, she was staring at her marriage ring, focusing on the visual reminder of his love for her. Revelling in that which was no longer improper, Darcy seized her yet ungloved hand between his own. The action brought her eyes back to his, and her tense frame sagged infinitesimally. He longed to draw her closer and give her the reassurance of a loving embrace, but dared do no more with the imminent threat of a footman opening the carriage door. The shouts of the coachmen, struggling as they were to calm the horses (which were less experienced creatures than usual, yet still the best that the stage stop had available when last they paused to change horses), had fallen silent, replaced with the less noticeable crunch of footsteps on gravel.
Raising Elizabeth’s bare hand to his lips, he kissed it, maintaining eye contact with his wondrous wife the whole while. Taking the remaining glove from its limp position on her lap, he slowly drew it onto her hand and up her arm, kissing each individual fingertip in turn once the garment was in place.
The door opened, and Lizzy hurriedly snatched back her hand, glancing over at the waiting footman with a faint frown. Darcy had no such inhibitions - really, what was it to him if his staff saw proof of his utter devotion to his wife? - and whispered, “Welcome home, dearest Elizabeth,” before disembarking and turning to help her own descent from the travelling chariot. As he tucked her hand into his elbow, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern over the fixed smile his wife had adopted. He knew that his reassurances would not alleviate any of her concern, but was also certain that she would be almost as adored by all the staff as she was by him.
“Mrs. Darcy.” Mrs. Reynolds punctuated her greeting with a deep curtsy, and Darcy felt a surge of pride that the housekeeper had forgone the proper order of address in order to prioritise Elizabeth. It felt natural to him, and that he perhaps should have instead felt irritation or concern over the lack of propriety his servants were presenting as their first impression to Elizabeth only occurred to him later, after the original euphoria had faded somewhat. If he had recognised that uncertainty, immaterial though he would know it to be given his wife’s character, it would have paled in comparison to the pleasure in which the sight of a known acquaintance rendered itself apparent across her features. Instantaneously upon recognising Mrs. Reynolds, a genuine beam lit up her face, and the hand which had been clutching at his arm so tightly it was a wonder that her gloves hadn’t torn at the seams loosened to a more comfortable grip.
“Mrs. Reynolds! It’s wonderful to see you again,” Lizzy spoke with a warm genuineness that immediately endeared her to any and all who heard her use it - her tone could only be described as effusive and effervescent, and whilst before Darcy might have condemned these traits as betraying a distasteful want of composure, especially when shown in a young lady, he now knew better. He hoped Georgiana would learn from Lizzy to take more joy in life and good company than his stern and reserved example had set for her. Of course, she would never be as spirited as his wife, but to learn a little liveliness could do no damage…
Before, when his cousin had told him of his friend’s opinion that there was something aimable in the prejudices of a young mind yet untouched by the generalised expectation and mindset of society, Darcy had laughed. Now, he rather thought he understood it; there was something entrancing about the pure joy Elizabeth was able to derive from anything and everything when she chose to. The innocence - which Darcy knew better than to mistake as naivety - felt like a secret she sometimes shared with him, and the privilege of being the one she chose to entrust it with was far from lost on him. His wife was not just another society lady, she was… Well, she was Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Darcy .
Darcy himself was still grinning foolishly over the thought when the angel herself returned to his side, along with a pleased Mrs. Reynolds, from her initial introduction to the staff as their mistress. “Fitzwilliam,” she murmured, looping her arm through his proffered one. “Is that Miss Darcy?”
Glancing in the direction of Lizzy’s tilted head, Darcy indeed saw his sister peering through the window of one of the parlours. Upon noticing that she had their attention, she quickly retreated, but not before Darcy caught the anxiety at the upcoming reintroduction written upon her face. For the first time, he felt a twinge of unease and guilt. Their acquaintance before had been brief, and although he knew that Georgiana had been delighted with Elizabeth and keen to further their budding friendship, the time apart and Lizzy’s recent rise in status had suddenly transformed her into an intimidating unknown in his sister’s mind. She had too much sense to be unaware of the power Mrs. Darcy would have in the house and over her, and too much distrust from past betrayals to yet be reassured that such authority would not be abused. That he promised her in his letters that Elizabeth would be nothing like Livia Drusilla and other such figures from history and fiction, and that her own first-hand knowledge of Elizabeth transgressed such abstract and fantastical imaginings, was irrelevant. Worry was not a rational creature, and Georgiana was prone to pessimism and fear even at the best of times. Moreover, she was skilled at masking such emotion; an attribute which only served to deepen Darcy’s misgivings.
Ascending the stairs, Darcy wondered if Elizabeth would be amenable to briefly seeing Georgina before they changed out of their travelling clothes; they had agreed that the inconvenience of sending a trunk of clothes ahead each was not worth the slight benefit, when they would be able to swiftly be unloaded upon their arrival at Pemberley. However, instead of immediately acquainting Mrs. Darcy with the mistress suite, which she had confessed to her husband to feel some measure of irrational anxiety over, Darcy was now struck with the realisation that a sudden detour directly to the parlour Georgiana currently occupied may be a gratuitous solution to both the worries his two favourite women presently found themselves concerned with.
For Elizabeth, the delay would allow her some brief respite between the introduction to the staff and the introduction to her rooms; it served the extra purpose of allowing her to see a little more of Pemberley - and parts of Pemberley that she had seen before, at that - rather than being immediately thrust into the private familial wing. Aside from indulging her curiosity once she (no doubt) rapidly overcame her trepidation and reserve, Darcy also knew she would soon lapse into relative boredom as they awaited their trunks and valet and lady’s maid respectively. Whilst he flattered himself that conversing with him was interesting enough to stave off the worst evils of idleness (having spent much time simply doing such over the last few days more intensely than had been possible during their brief courtship), he also knew that the waiting was the worst part.
For his sister, Darcy was certain that leaving her in suspense for the least amount of time was the best course of action. It would prevent her from getting too in her head over the coming reintroduction, and reaffirm her importance to him. He would not have her think his wife the only important woman to him! And yet, Georgiana had never been inclined to trust solely in verbal assurances, instead assigning more weight to the actions that proved them. She was like Elizabeth in that regard.
“Dearest,” Darcy murmured. Lizzy stopped; abruptly forced to cede his gait mid-step, Darcy did too, although in a manner rather more unbalanced than his wife’s. Entranced, Elizabeth was staring around the grand foyer, magnificent, alluring, and divine in the flickering candle-light. “Dearest?” Darcy repeated, smiling fondly. It was something he admired about her greatly, her ability to be so struck with grandeur and beauty at a moments notice, even at sights she had seen before, and her ability to express such wonderment freely even when etiquette would have her comportment be otherwise.
Turning to him, Lizzy’s face was alight with joy. “I apologise,” she said before waiting pensively, obviously expecting him to impart whatever declaration had had him seek her attention in the first place. He laughed, a short and low sound which he saw Mrs. Reynolds, who was hovering in the doorway, start at. Even though it was apparent that Elizabeth's attention was fixed upon him, her eyes roved the intricately carved wall behind his person.
Moving to face her fully, Darcy took her hand in his, wishing it had remained ungloved. “I had wondered if you would be willing to briefly meet with my sister directly, rather than waiting until we have changed for supper.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered. “Fitzwilliam,” she averred softly, almost hesitantly. “We… I have not changed. I would not have her think ill of me, and what else can she think but that I do not esteem her when I greet her first in a dusty and wrinkled travelling gown?”
“She would not mind it,” Darcy assured her. He didn't understand why Elizabeth was quite so greatly aversed to the idea, but was troubled by the rapidly emerging, and extremely likely, possibility that he would have to either disappoint his wife or his sister.
Elizabeth shook her head. Her frown hadn't yet faded. “No, perhaps had she known me better before now. Yet, she doesn't, and whilst I should hope time shall alter such distasteful first impressions, what else can she think? You forget, we did not know one another long nor well enough to write each other, nor did we have the excuse of relation we do now. No, to exchange letters would have been entirely improper, thus we remain distant.” Noticing how vexed her husband appeared to be by her speech, Elizabeth added, “Do not be concerned, Fitzwilliam. We shall become inseparable before too much time has passed, I am certain.” Darcy still remained lost in thought. “I suspect,” Lizzy whispered conspiratorially as she looped her arm back through his and resumed walking, “that Georgiana shall soon become my dearest sister.”
They fell silent for a moment, Darcy considering all that had been said and Elizabeth in appreciation of Pemberley. Slowly, they walked through the vast array of corridors. Finally, a staircase later, Darcy stopped outside a door of middling splendour by Pemberley’s standards. A short distance farther down the hall was an identical room; without him having to say anything, Elizabeth immediately understood where they were. After a moment, she forced a smile. It did not achieve its intended purpose of reassuring him, especially when coupled with her announcing her supposition that here they would surely depart from each other until supper.
“I had thought,” Darcy started, “that we would sit in one of the rooms until our trunks have been brought up and we are ready to dress.” He intentionally avoided saying ‘our rooms’ , or deciding on ‘my room’ or ‘your room’ , unsure of how she would receive such presumptuousness. For goodness’ sake, he knew of her apprehension regarding the rooms - and she hadn’t seen hers, let alone his own, yet! “But,” he hurried to assure her, “naturally you are correct. It would be more proper, and I apologise for the assumption that-”
“Oh, no! Fitzwilliam, you must not think that.” She took his hand. “Merely, I presumed that you would greet Georgiana without me. You had no apprehensions about her seeing me in my travelling clothes, so I thought it was the natural order of things for the two of you to see one another before changing.” Reading his face closely as she spoke, Elizabeth asked, “You had not thought to do so?”
“I had not,” he confirmed. “I did not wish you to feel as though I was abandoning you-”
“I do not,” she interrupted. Then, more softly, “Go and see your sister.” That being said, she took a deep breath, and opened the door to her room.
The door shut behind her, and Darcy stood in the hall for a moment, staring at it, before turning to find his sister. The realisation that neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana would be disappointed struck him as a blacksmith strikes his anvil, and he hurried towards the parlour his sister generally favoured. She wouldn’t be expecting him, but rather hoping , which seemed infinitely more fragile a thing to potentially break. It was with surprise, then, that Georgiana startled from her piano when he strode into the room.
Hugging him tightly after her initial shock subsided, Georgiana moved to sit near the fire. With a graceful, studied indifference, she politely inquired, “Will Mrs. Darcy be joining us?”
Darcy shook his head. “Not before supper. She would like to change out of her travelling clothes.”
“Of course,” she replied. “I have always found them uncomfortable too. I entirely understand.”
“No, Georgiana, you don’t.” Darcy, who had been standing by the fire to stave off the late November chill, sat down on a chair near to her. He sighed, twisting his wedding band around his finger. “Elizabeth, she-” he cut himself off, and began anew. “She esteems you greatly, and wishes to be at her best for her reintroduction. She would not have you think ill of her in any way.”
“I could not, under any circumstances!” Georgiana exclaimed. “I am determined to adore her; I know my reservations to be entirely unreasonable, and a slight to your judgement. I apologise for making her expect hostility from me - but, I suppose it should be Mrs. Darcy whom I address such regrets to.”
Just then, the fashionable mahogany clock perched on the mantelpiece chimed ten. Georgiana raised her hand to hide her yawn whilst the last chime rang out, looking vaguely surprised. “I wonder,” she said tentatively, “whether Mrs. Darcy might be willing to wait until tomorrow to meet with me. If we are to engage in every possible propriety, I would instead see her in either a morning or drawing room, and be wearing a nicer dress.”
Darcy laughed. “Do you mean to tell me that you wish to retire?”
“Brother!” Georgiana flushed. “I did say it so blatantly. And do not think the reasoning which I did give untrue; surely you cannot fault me for desiring both? It is late, and I am unaccustomed to partaking in supper. I am satisfied, tonight, with seeing you home.”
“All is well, Georgiana, do not worry yourself.” Rising, he moved to kiss the top of her head. “Good night. I look forward to you and Elizabeth becoming friends in the morning.”
“Sisters,” Georgiana softly amended - but her brother did not hear her correction, too intent on his return to his wife now that he was satisfied with his sister’s welfare. It wasn’t long before he found Mrs. Reynolds and informed her that he and his wife would take supper in their rooms, and that most of the staff could retire for the evening. Telling Elizabeth of the change of plans was achieved even more rapidly, and the evening was soon settled.
Darcy was glad to have returned to Pemberley at long last. But, above all, he was glad to have returned to Pemberley with his wife.