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The estate was lovely, of course. Pemberley was far enough from the road that it was a world away from the crowd at the gate. Elizabeth knew the Hamptons weren’t that big and the real estate wasn’t cheap. How many acres did the Darcy family own here? As they climbed out of the limo, she could see another house not too far away, so the property couldn’t be too large.
“Who are your neighbors?” she asked Will, pointing to the house. “Anyone I know?”
He coughed. “Um…that’s the estate’s guest house.”
Well…shit, it was big enough to be another mansion.
The initial exhilaration of being with Will again was beginning to fade, and a kind of queasiness was replacing it. Everything at Pemberley was tasteful, beautiful, perfect…and completely overwhelming. The exterior of the house was weathered shingles, giving it a seaside New England appearance. But the size was far beyond any fisherman’s house. The circular drive had deposited them at a white-columned portico that easily accommodated three additional cars from the motorcade. More columns adorned a porch that ran the length of the house. The house appeared to be three stories and stretched dauntingly in both directions.
Elizabeth glanced at Will’s patrician profile as they approached the front door. Maybe she could get a tour, stay for an hour or so, and then discreetly depart.
The double doors were tall enough to admit any small-to-medium giants who happened to be in the neighborhood. As they approached, someone—a waiting servant perhaps?—opened one side so Will and Elizabeth could enter, followed by Bing and Fitz. The two-story, marble-clad foyer featured twin staircases and an understated yet elegant chandelier. The paneling was exquisite, a light-colored wood that Elizabeth couldn’t identify, which contrasted nicely with the gray marble of the floors. “How old is the house?” she asked.
“A little more than one hundred years,” Will replied. “It was designed by the renowned architect Stanford White, and I had it renovated and modernized ten years ago, not long after my parents’ death.”
“They did a very nice job.” That was a stupid understatement. “It’s exquisite.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
People flowed into the house around them. Secret Service agents bustled into different rooms to secure the building. One agent appeared to be setting up communication equipment in a corner of the foyer. Staffers carried luggage up to the second floor. Bing hurried up the stairs, with Fitz following more slowly. No doubt they had visited many times before.
Will led her through the doorway between the two staircases. “Let me show you my favorite room.”
Elizabe
th gasped. Two stories tall, the room boasted windows—well, not really windows so much as a wall made from glass panels—that provided a stunning view of the ocean. Tearing her eyes from the scenery, she noticed that the room had dual conversational areas with all-white chairs and sofas grouped around two antique stone fireplaces. Her parents had a large living room but nothing on this scale. Balconies crafted from simple ironwork ran halfway up three of the walls, revealing entrances to second-story rooms. As if reading her mind, Will said, “That door leads to the master bedroom suite”—he pointed—“and the other side has doors to two of the bedrooms.”
Elizabeth drank in all the details so she would be able to describe them later to Jane. The décor wasn’t at all ostentatious; in fact, it was the very simplicity and understated elegance of the room that made it so appealing. It was big, but not nearly as grand or formal as the White House—and consequently it felt much more like a home.
Will observed her intently as if her reaction to the house was terribly important. “It’s…um… magnificent,” she said in awe. The word was completely inadequate, but he appeared very pleased nonetheless. “It just—it takes my breath away, Mr. President.”
His brow furrowed. “I thought we were past the ‘Mr. President’ stage.”
“Are we?” He’d said something to that effect on Air Force One, but she hadn’t taken it seriously.
“I just picked you up by the side of the road. Surely that counts for something.” His lips twitched. “I would like to believe you don’t get into cars with strangers.”
She laughed. “I don’t. I turned down the previous two presidential limos that happened by.”
This sally provoked a broad grin—the equivalent of a full-belly laugh for this man. “Would you like to see more?” he asked.
“Of course.” His posture was still painfully straight, but his pride in the house was so sweet she couldn’t help but find it charming.
The next stop was a kitchen Elizabeth’s mother would drool over, with a “breakfast nook” bigger than her parents’ dining room (which itself was not small). The nook had another spectacular water view. “How big is the house?” she asked Will.
“The main house is eighteen thousand square feet, and the property is twenty-eight acres. I’m very grateful for every acre right now since it provides some much-needed privacy.”
Elizabeth tried to wrap her mind around such scale. “I would guess so,” she said.
He led her into another room. Wait, when had he started holding her hand? Her hand felt so comfortable in his that she hadn’t noticed.
The sight of the next room pushed all other thoughts from her mind. It was a two-story library filled with thousands of books. “Wow. I could stay here for days and never leave.”
Will gave her a relaxed smile. “A woman after my own heart. I holed up here frequently as a child.”
Elizabeth imagined a serious, dark-haired boy curled up in one of the armchairs near the huge limestone fireplace. It was a cozy image but also rather isolated. “Did your family live here in the winter?”
Will fondly surveyed the room. “Technically Pemberley is a summer house, but my mother didn’t care much for New York City, so we usually lived here year-round, venturing into the city frequently to stay with my father in our penthouse. Georgiana and I had tutors until we were old enough to attend boarding school.”
