Pemberley
Darcy
Graham, Mr. Cross, and I set out towards the southmost end of the estate. Graham kept to the rear and remained silent as Mr. Cross and I discussed the possibility of leasing out an unused parcel of land.
In time, Graham drew Rusty alongside Regal, and my under-steward lagged behind us.
Graham stared at one of our shelters for the cows. “The more I see of Pemberley, the more impressed I become. Each building we have passed has been maintained with impeccable care. Even the structures for the cattle and sheep are well made. One might even describe their design as artistic.”
“My father insisted upon maintaining an exacting standard of care for our tenants, and I have attempted to continue in that vein. As for the new animal shelters, my stablemaster deserves the credit for their design.”
“Yet you allowed them to be constructed to his specifications instead of using simpler plans, which would have been cheaper to build. Most other estate owners are far less diligent to these details.”
“What happens on other estates is not my concern.”
We reached the southern border, and after a thorough perusal of the fencing, I pointed out the areas needing repair. Mr. Cross parted from us to gather the men needed for the work.
Graham and I rode side-by-side towards the house at a sedate pace, and my thoughts drifted to the plans for the next two days. Could I have forgotten any pertinent details? Mrs. Reynolds had readied the rooms for our guests' arrival tomorrow, managing to keep Elizabeth in ignorance of the preparations. We should have my wife’s birthday dinner that evening. On Wednesday, a neighbourhood party would be held on Pemberley’s grounds. I had managed everything within my control, yet how might my aunt and Lady Rebecca hinder the proceedings?
“Darcy, I take you for an astute and responsible gentleman.”
My vision shifted towards Graham. His tense carriage and the downward draw of his mouth gave him an odd appearance. What happened to his customary, almost constant jollity and serenity? “I hope that is true.”
Graham nodded. “Throughout the years, I have observed many instances in which men, even wealthy, landed ones, have died without warning, leaving their widows insufficient funds to live their lives in comfort. I understand that in England, a husband is responsible for ensuring his wife is left financially secure in the event of his death. I do not believe you are the sort of man to neglect such an important matter.”
Why had he posed that particular question? “You are correct.” With effort, I maintained an even tone. “Gentlemen must ensure their heirs will receive an adequate reserve of assets with carefully written wills and marital settlements.”
“Ah, I knew you would have considered this vital subject.” Graham’s shoulders relaxed, and he gazed at the path ahead without further comment.
My pulse raced. I could not mistake the sinister implications of Graham’s speech. He seemed satisfied, even relieved, at my assurance that Elizabeth would be affluent after my death. Did my demise loom in the near future? Why else would Graham—who, as an angel of death would know my fate—be concerned with this subject?
One particular turn of phrase from my first meeting with Graham emerged from my memory, and a chill invaded my core. On that occasion, Graham maintained he had saved my life and further remarked that he could havedelayedthe death of another man instead.
A perturbing sort of logic could be applied to the situation. If I took Graham at his word, perhaps my death could be postponed for a set amount of time and no more. Given this, how long did I have left?
I almost demanded an answer from Graham but stopped myself. It seemed he had lied by omission at our first meeting, giving me a false sense of security. Therefore, I could not be certain he would provide a truthful answer.
Regal nickered and tossed his head. My intelligent horse seemed to sense the significant alteration in my mood. I stroked his neck and bent towards his head. “All is well, my friend.” My softly voiced words, although spoken for Regal’s benefit, helped to pacify my own frayed nerves.
Back at the house, Graham proceeded to the library, and I went to my study.
Once alone in the room, I composed two missives—one to Elizabeth and the other to Bennet. By the time I quit the study, each letter had been sanded, sealed, and stored in my desk where my wife could easily find them.
Despite the tumult of emotions that threatened my self-possession, I resolved to conceal my distress. I should do everything in my power to ensure nothing spoilt Elizabeth’s birthday celebration tomorrow. With a resolute set to my jaw, I strode upstairs to change for dinner.
After I dismissed Winston, faint sounds of voices—Elizabeth speaking to her maid—reached me from the next room. My longing for her company impelled me to knock on the door rather than wait. At her call, I entered the dressing room and occupied a nearby chair as Gibbs finished working on my wife’s hair.
Elizabeth directed a smile at me via the mirror. “I shall be ready in a few minutes. Do you not think Gibbs has become expert at taming my unruly mane?”
My sight drifted to the small curls at Elizabeth’s nape which escaped any attempt at confinement; they never failed to entice me. “I do not doubt Gibbs’s skill, but your hair is beautiful no matter how it is displayed. Your lustrous tresses are but one of your many distinguishing qualities that I appreciate.”
The muscles surrounding Gibbs’s mouth tightened as though she held back a smile. With a final pin placed in Elizabeth’s hair, she stepped away and departed through the servant’s door.
“There you go again, exaggerating my good qualities.” Elizabeth moved from her seat at the vanity. I began to rise, but she pushed my shoulders down and sat sideways on my lap. My arms secured her as she wrapped hers around my neck and placed soft kisses on the side of my face. She halted near my ear. “You, my love, are an excellent husband.”
I glanced at the bracket clock.Dash it. Our guests may already be waiting in the drawing-room. With effort, I resisted the desire to place my hands in her hair and unbutton her dress. Elizabeth took my earlobe between her lips, and I groaned. When I regained enough presence of mind for movement, I captured her mouth in a fervent kiss. In time, I managed to pull back. “I dearly wish we did not have guests.”
She released a theatrical sigh. “I echo your sentiments, but we must not arrive late for dinner…again.” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in that alluring way of hers. “Although, perhaps we shall profess to be fatigued and retire early.”
