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It did not matter. I was Mrs Darcy now; I could sympathise with this woman, but Pemberley was to be my home. She gave the shallowest of curtseys, barely polite. I returned her a curtsey perfectly appropriate to a guest of no particular moment—not disrespectful by any means, but definitely not above me in rank. I saw the flash of surprise in her eyes as she recognised it.
So, she knew my recent circumstances, but not my roots.
“Where is Reynolds? Morton?” Mr Darcy asked.
How she would have answered, I could not say, for at that moment a respectable-looking woman in her late fifties hurried from the house and proceeded quickly towards us; a man, obviously another upper servant, was at her side. He was likely the butler, and she could be no one but the missing housekeeper. “You must be Mrs Reynolds,” I said, holding out my hand. “So good of you to come out to greet us, and on such a cold winter day.”
It was my acknowledgement of her slight, with an offer of an olive branch in one gesture. Mrs Reynolds was more adept at hiding her astonishment, in the way of the best servants, but nevertheless, her eyes flitted to Mrs de Bourgh, however briefly. She took my hand, though, which was the recognition I required.
“Of course, madam. Please forgive us, as we did not know exactly when you would arrive. I will, of course, bring the household out for inspection any time you wish.”
Mrs de Bourgh’s eyes narrowed. She did not like this acceptance of my role, so easily won.
Mr Darcy said a few words to Morton so quietly I could not hear, but the tips of the butler’s ears reddened and not, I think, with the chill. “Mrs Darcy, this is our butler, Morton. Thank you both for your attendance upon us. Let us go in out of the weather,” he finished, offering me his arm.
I did not truly blame Mrs Reynolds or Morton. They were accustomed to taking their tone and their orders from the first Mrs Darcy, and, plainly, her mother. I knew that two mistresses in a house was a recipe for disaster. Mama had spoken often about the trouble she had when Papa’s mother was alive and living at Longbourn; I could only imagine how that must have been and was certain Mama had made the situation worse, if she possibly could. But while Mama would never have stood for open insult, neither would she recognise subtle or even obvious disrespect in so many aspects of mannerly behaviours. In fact, she might have handed Mrs de Bourgh her cloak and parasol, as if she were a footman. The thought made me smile. I took my husband’s arm, and followed the servants into the house.
* * *
A few moments later, we entered a majestic drawing room, lined floor to ceiling with windows. Plush sofas flanked two fireplaces, one at either end of the long room. A globe stood on a nearby table, and I gently set it spinning. Mr Darcy went directly to a desk piled high with letters and began sorting through them. I realised how little I knew about him, about what kind of a landowner he was and his daily concerns and routine. It would not, certainly, include lying about in bedchambers and paying passionate attentions to his wife, even had he been wildly in love with me.
Mrs de Bourgh entered, followed by Mrs Reynolds and a maid with a tray. I approached Mrs Reynolds, stopping her from following Mrs de Bourgh to the fireplace nearest Mr Darcy. “Mrs Reynolds, so good of you to know how much in need of refreshments we would be after our long drive,” I said.
It was almost comical; she froze in place, uncertain. “Mrs de Bourgh said Mr Darcy would want his tea,” she said in a gentle attempt to manoeuvre the situation back towards the woman she was so accustomed to obeying.
“I would prefer to have the tea over here, if you would be so kind.” I walked towards the opposite side of the room, knowing that it was best if I asserted authority early. There was no way for Mrs de Bourgh to outstrip me, and gain the table before I could; likewise, I doubted Mrs Reynolds had any wish to present defiance. I was taking my place as mistress, as was proper. Difficulties between two mistresses were hardest on those who served them both.
Mrs de Bourgh had no choice but to follow us to the opposite side of the room, with no opportunity to take control of the chessboard—er, the tea tray. I directed Mrs Reynolds to set it before me, and went about preparing to serve it as she made her escape. “Would you care for weak tea, or strong?” I politely asked Mrs de Bourgh.
“Strong,” she replied, a pinched expression upon her face. At that moment Mr Darcy looked up, mild annoyance crossing his features as he saw this collapse of Pemberley tradition in progress, with a tea tray so far from its accustomed placement.
“Mr Darcy, she did not understand that we never have our tea on this side of the room in the afternoon,” Mrs de Bourgh explained. “The windows face full west.”
“I am certain Mr Darcy has more important worries, after his long absence from Pemberley,” I said smilingly. “Milk? Sugar?”
“It does not matter where we drink it,” Mr Darcy said, bringing his mail with him so as to retain ample ammunition for ignoring the battle in progress.
Mrs de Bourgh haughtily accepted the proffered cup, drinking it in silent indignation.
I already knew how Mr Darcy took his, from our brief honeymoon, and served him as well. He muttered his thanks. After a few moments something occurred to him. “Are the new accommodations ready?”
“They are ready for you, Mr Darcy,” Mrs de Bourgh said. “Though the views are nothing to the cliffside chambers.”
“Have you been making alterations?” I asked him politely.
“I thought we would be more comfortable in the other wing,” he said in an impassive voice I had not heard from him since the dowager countess’s teas. “I prefer the views of the woods.”
“Pemberley’s family wing was built upon the cliffside. The view from the mistress’s chamber makes one feel as though one were enthroned in the clouds. The eastern side of the house has only lodged guests, up until now,” Mrs de Bourgh said, with an emphasis on the word guests.
I forbore pointing out that of the two of us, she was more guest than I. And why was it that Mr Darcy had failed to mention her presence? It was awkward, of course, but I deserved more notice than a quick word as we were arriving, and I was deeply irritated with him.
On the other hand, most men were oblivious to subtleties. And while I did not consider her manoeuvrings particularly subtle, perhaps he, like my father, only saw what he wished—although at least my father had noticed enough to laugh. Even if he likely would have laughed at Mrs de Bourgh and embarrassed me.
She was to be pitied; she had lost her daughter and now, clearly, the authority of her place in the household, far sooner than she should have had to lose it. It was not my fault and yet I was to blame. Like the countess, Mrs de Bourgh could not hurt me, but I had very much wished for peace, and it might be some time before it could be established.
“I have to meet with Mr Williams—my steward,” Mr Darcy said, still absorbed in his letters. “I shall ask Mrs Reynolds to show you to your rooms.”
“Oh, no need,” Mrs de Bourgh announced. “I shall be happy to show her the way.”
