Chapter Sixteen

 

 

…Elizabeth belonged here… with him…in his life and in his bed…

 

Up bright and early the next day, Fitzwilliam prepared for his trip. As he packed enough clothes for one day, he thought about all he’d learned concerning Elizabeth’s family. He was anxious to be on his way to gather the evidence he was looking for. He also wanted to go to Pemberley to see the old paintings in the family gallery and take a closer look at his own family history. He had many questions. Snapping the bag shut, he walked downstairs to his waiting Jag where he set out on the short scenic drive to Meryton and then on to Longbourn village.

He’d never had a reason to visit Hertfordshire, therefore he had no idea of what to expect. Glancing around as he entered the village, he suspected the house had once been on the corner of Longbourn Street and Church where a local pub now stood. He sighed as he continued on his quest. Once he reached his destination, it was not too difficult to check the records. First, he went to the Longbourn Parish Churchyard.

Reverently brushing away the dirt and debris from an old stone in a secluded area, he found what he had come to see—the grave of Thomas Nathanial Bennet. Thomas was buried next to Mary Elizabeth Beauford Bennet, and next to them were Edward Thomas Bennet and Frances Emily Gardiner Bennet. He pulled out his PDA. The record matched the name and dates Elizabeth had given him, and, as he already knew, Thomas Nathanial Bennet and his son, Edward, were his ancestral grandfathers.

As Darcy left the family cemetery, he thought he caught a glimpse of a white bird, but when he turned to catch the sight more fully, it was gone. He wrinkled his brow and looked about, but there was no bird. He shrugged it off and walked in the direction of the church. The rector was more than agreeable, and after checking the parish records he had provided, Darcy found what he was looking for—the birth confirmation of John Thomas Bennet, matching the exact date recorded on the gravestone in the Cumberland Plateau. It was the same family; therefore, John Thomas Bennet was indeed his distant uncle. As he closed the book, he wondered about the inscription on John Bennet’s headstone. Was John Bennet speaking of him and Elizabeth? He needed to know more before he could make that judgment.

Having learned all that could be learned here, he left for Pemberley, taking the longer drive, savoring the scenic beauty of the English countryside. It had been so long since he had been to Pemberley that Fitzwilliam had almost forgotten the beauty of his boyhood home. As he pulled into the long drive to Pemberley House, a strange euphoria came over him.

“Pemberley,” he whispered to himself. This was where he belonged…where his family belonged, and that included his brother and sister. The house was more than big enough for three families. He sighed gently as he rounded the curve to the Great Elizabethan Hall. …I have grown apart from Georgiana. I need to rectify that. I love her, and I want her close to me… Family is important…at least to me. Finally, when he pulled up to the house, two servants came out to meet him.

Dorothy Reynolds’s beaming face greeted him as his Jag rolled to a stop. She had been in the Darcy family’s employ for many years. In fact, for generations, her ancestors had worked for the Darcys. She was like a mother to him, and Fitzwilliam loved her very much.

“Master Fitzwilliam! It’s so good to see you. I cannot tell you how glad I was to hear from you when you called yesterday.”

“Dorothy, how have you been?” he asked, giving the older woman an affectionate hug while he kissed her cheek.

“I’ve been well, but I’m even better now, seeing you here at Pemberley. I’ve made the master suite ready as you requested and will have a light meal prepared for you immediately.”

“Thank you. I want to change first and go for a ride. I’ll eat when I get back. I especially came to see the family gallery. I feel like a trip down through the past.”

As soon as he entered the house, he took the stairs two at a time and turned to the left once he reached the landing. Heading towards the gallery, Fitzwilliam reflected on his lineage while he contemplated the future. The gallery was old, holding images of five hundred years of Darcys as well as his own family. Walking the hall, he looked over the generations, observing how they all seemed to favor each other in appearance. While he studied each one, he remembered stories that he’d either read or had been told.

Finally, he reached the portraits he was looking for—Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy and his wife, Elizabeth Rose Bennet Darcy. Staring at the portrait, he frowned. Why had he never noticed it before? He looked almost identical to his ancestor, and since David looked enough like him to be his twin, they both did. Then, he focused on the image of Elizabeth Darcy. He was amazed at how strongly she resembled his Elizabeth. Their hair and eyes were the same color with that same unmistakable sparkle, and their smiles pleased in the same manner. He marveled. Perhaps the past was going to meet the future. …Well, I dare say if we can be as happy as you were, then we shall be quite happy indeed. He continued for several more minutes looking over the portraits, before turning to leave.

Once he had changed, Fitzwilliam walked to the stable, saddled his chestnut stallion, and headed out. Riding over the estate gave him a certain satisfaction as he explored places he and David had ridden as boys. A sudden peacefulness filled his heart, and he smiled as a herd of red deer bolted and thundered into the woods. This is where I belong…My strength is renewed here…this is home.

Fitzwilliam breathed deeply, taking in the crisp, clean, fresh air of the cool December afternoon. As he rode over the fields, he had one place in mind—the cove, his boyhood secret place where he and David had spent most of their time in the summer.

The cove was nestled back amongst a grove of ancient Spanish oaks that towered high over the earth. And in the heart of the cove was a large waterfall, roaring down out of the side of a steep hill, tumbling into a natural pool where they’d swam as boys. Beside the pool, there was a moss-covered spot of ground where they would lay, staring up at the sky with nothing in particular on their minds, except maybe contemplating their futures or solving world problems. As he galloped across the fields, he remembered the carefree days of his youth, of laughter and fun, and of summers gone by. Then, he thought of the future, his wife, and another set of children who would play here one day. His heart was light and filled with joy as he rode.

Entering the grove of trees, he slowed his horse. It was a little barren this time of year, he thought as he glanced around, but it was still as he remembered it. Riding on into the heart of the cove, he stopped and dismounted and tied the horse to a low-hanging branch. Walking over to the thickly carpeted mossy floor near the waterfall, he paused, thinking that someday he would bring Elizabeth here as his wife and make love to her right here on this very spot in the wilds of the outdoors. This would be their place—a special place for them alone. Gazing at the waterfall, he closed his eyes, imagining them swimming naked in the pool. Fitzwilliam smiled, amused with where his thoughts had taken him. Someday, he promised himself, he would return, and perhaps he would build her a replica of the cabin at Longbourn on the higher ground near the falls.

Returning to the house, he hurried to the kitchen. It was late in the afternoon, well past teatime, and all the activity of the day had left him famished. Hot soup and a sandwich, along with a cup of hot chocolate, were just the things he needed. After eating, he went to the library and selected the first volume of his ancestral grandfather’s works, The Masters of Pemberley Vol. I, which contained a summary of the journals and writings of Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy 1806—l866. He had read it, along with the others that went with it, several years ago, but he felt the need to read it again. Signing the register, indicating he had the book, he took it to his room.

Making himself comfortable, he settled in to read. Hours passed as he turned the pages. …Hmm, it’s just as I remember…He felt the obligation and sense of duty thrust upon him deeply and at such an early age, too. Fitzwilliam laughed softly. He was proud—like me in some respects. Pride under good regulation is never a bad thing. He shrugged. …He weighed his decisions carefully, as I do… What time is it? He glanced at the clock upon the chimneypiece. …It’s time. Pulling out his mobile, he keyed in her number.

“Elizabeth, love, how was your day?”

“Oh, well enough, I suppose. I’m getting ready for Christmas. We’ve been baking cakes, pies, and cookies. Kat made some fudge.”

“What kind did she make?”

“Umm…French vanilla with candied cherries and triple chocolate with pecans and raisins—my absolute favorite.” She giggled. “If I don’t stay out of it, I’m going to get fat.”

“I doubt you’ll become fat,” he laughed, “but just in case, you need to exercise.”

“Well, I asked for that one didn’t I? So tell me, how are you doing, and what are you up to?”

“I’m here at Pemberley looking over the estate and reading family history. And I’m up to six foot two.” He chuckled as her peal of laughter echoed in his ear.

“Fitzwilliam, you know perfectly well what I meant. But I can see what you’re up to. It seems you are reminiscing about old times, as I often do.”

“You know me well. That’s exactly what I’m doing—that and dreaming of you. I’d like to share my home with you someday.”

“I’d love to see it.” She sighed. “I love you, you know.”

“Yes, I do know. I love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you again.”

“And I you,” she whispered softly. “I suppose we should go. I know it’s late there.”

“Yes, it is, but before we say goodnight, I have one more thing to tell you. I stopped by Longbourn Parish today before coming up to Pemberley, and my hunch is correct. John Bennet is the brother to my ancestral grandfather, Edward, so we are distantly related. The church is still intact, but I’m afraid the house is gone.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me on either account, given what we’ve already discussed. Nor am I surprised with your discovery, given what we have discovered here on my side of the family, although I am glad to have it confirmed. We are indeed cousins.” She laughed. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, I plan to go through the records I have here and discover what I can about the English Bennets. I’ll do that tomorrow before I leave for London.”

“Good. I’d really like to know about them.”

“Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam hesitated, “do you suppose we are the fulfillment of the promise John Bennet made to my grandfather all those years ago? Do you think it could be us?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought much about it, but I suppose it could be. To me it’s just an interesting coincidence, and it’s something to draw us closer, but I don’t think there’s anything to it more than that. Do you? I mean you don’t really believe in such things as Fate or Divine Providence do you?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. All that truly matters is that I love you, and I want you for my wife. That’s all I care about.”

“I love you, too, but Fitzwilliam, it is late, and I need to go. We’ll talk about this when you come back.”

“All right, darling. I’ll ring you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodnight.”

As he hung up the phone, Darcy sighed heavily. Every night after talking to her, he felt the gnawing separation. He couldn’t wait to see her again, to hold her, to make love to her. Glancing around the room, he breathed deeply as he turned down the bed and crawled between the covers. Someday this would be their room. Three hundred and fifty years of Darcy men had brought their brides to this room, and over forty children had been conceived in this very bed. Elizabeth belonged here… with him…in his life and in his bed. He smiled. His day was coming. He hadn’t written in one for years, but tomorrow he would begin a new journal…one to record his new life.