Page 23 of Pemberley's Imposter
“Not much of a choice, then,” Elizabeth remarked flatly.
“May I hold her?”
Elizabeth pretended she had not heard his request.
“I want my sister to come and visit me at Pemberley.”
“I suppose that could be arranged,” he allowed.
“That simple? I know she gave you the cut direct.” Elizabeth’s mistrust showed no bounds.
“Pemberley is a large estate. If she wishes to avoid me, it is easily done.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze upon her daughter, resting on her hip.
“Ellie, meet your papa.”
“Like Mr Bingkey?”
Elizabeth bit her lip to quash the laughter that threatened to spill, which did nothing to relieve his sudden longing to hold her and his daughter in his arms.
“Yes, like MrBingleyis Charlie’s papa, Mr Darcy is your papa.” Elizabeth emphasised the correct spelling of Bingley’s name once she had reined in her mirth.
The precious child stretched her arms out towards him.
“Want Papa.”
“She must have learnt that from Charlie, who adores his father above everyone else.”
Elizabeth’s remark stung. Then she moved to bar the door, as if she was readying to cut off his escape should he try to flee with their daughter.
An image of his wife’s green eyes flashed in his mind, together with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brown ones, as he looked into his daughter’s blue eyes that mirrored his own.
His pulse beat heavily in his throat as his precious little girl tucked her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. His treacherous heart knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Ellie was his own child.
“Pretty Papa.” She smiled brilliantly before she noticed his intricately tied cravat. It immediately caught her interest, and she tugged at it until he was half strangled. He did not mind; she could tug all she wanted as long as she was in his arms. He kissed the curly head that was bent over his chest. She smelt divine; he could not help himself that as he sniffed her hair, a single tear escaped his eye. He did not care whether Elizabeth could see it.
Chapter 9 Out of Blue Comes Green
Acute awkwardness assaulted Elizabeth’s senses as she alighted from the carriage at Pemberley. Especially because the servants had lined up to greet them. She wished she was holding her daughter to have something to centre her attention upon, but Mr Darcy had lifted Ellie out of the carriage and carried her proudly on his arm. She could not bring herself to make a fuss when Mr Darcy was holding their child—loath as she was to enter into close proximity with the man who had ripped the ground from under her feet. The servants eyed her suspiciously, though they affected politeness; the Darcy household servants always behaved irreproachably.
Elizabeth entered the house and looked about in perplexity. Pemberley looked the same from the outside, but on the inside, everything had changed. Even rooms were not in their previous positions. It was as though it had been torn down and rebuilt. The changes were lovely but unnecessary in Elizabeth’s mind. The vestiges of generations past had vanished beneath fresh paint and modern furniture.
As they walked through the rooms, Elizabeth recognised old pieces she had cherished—statues, tables, and a vase here and there, but not one had remained where she had left it.
“I suppose you would like to refresh yourself before supper, but perhaps you would like to see the nursery first?”
“That will not be necessary. Ellie is staying with me,” Elizabeth retorted.
“Ellie will stay in the nursery,” came the swift reply.
How could she forget so easily she no longer had any say over her daughter?
A painted screen covered the door to the mistress’s chamber. Elizabeth gaped at the scene displayed. It was a poor rendition of Jezebel being fed to the dogs, and the image made her feel sick.
“You are pale,” Mr Darcy remarked. “You should rest,” he ordered before turning towards the object in front of her.
He pushed the screen out of the way only to discover that the door was boarded shut. By the chagrin displayed on his countenance, he must have been aware, Elizabeth surmised.
