Page 7 of Pemberley's Imposter
“You are distraught, Elizabeth. Come, let me escort you to your room to rest.”
Aunt Gardiner led her to the guest room she used to share with Jane. Elizabeth cried, unable to speak. After her aunt left, it took hours before Elizabeth calmed; when she finally did, she fell promptly asleep.
It was evening before Elizabeth could relate her sorrows to her aunt. Mrs Gardiner listened but made few comments. Elizabeth knew nothing could be done, so her aunt’s silence did not bother her. When she had finished, she thanked her aunt for listening to her woes and promised to never mention it again. She suggested they join the gentlemen for dinner rather than wait for her speechless relative to offer words of comfort they both knew would be hollow.
After dinner, the party removed to her uncle’s study, where her fate was described. Elizabeth was drained and had nothing to contribute other than to repeat her gratitude towards her aunt, uncle, and father, knowing she could never repay their benevolence.
On the morning of the 7thof January, she left Gracechurch Street and her relations behind. The chance of her ever seeing any of them again was slim and far into the future. Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was an outcast from society, with seventy pounds annually to live on. She would have to learn how to cook. It was fortunate she had spent many mornings languishing inLongbourn’s kitchen. She had accidentally learnt enough to save herself from starvation.
Chapter 3 The Nerve of Intrepidity
Pemberley, December 16th, three weeks prior
Darcy had given his wife above the fifteen minutes he had allotted, but no Miss Bennet had appeared. He chose to address her as such in his mind and conjectured her angry visage from the parsonage in Hunsford as his mental image of her.
The nerve of that strumpet!Had he known then what he knew now, he never would have offered her a position as a scullery maid, let alone the honour of becoming his wife! The scruples he had suffered before he formed any designs on her had proved themselves to be accurate and just. In fact, he had been too kind when he declared that she and her sister were to be exempt from the scorn he had heaped upon the rest of her family. If his sojourn to Netherfield had not taught him that, his undertakings into the seedier part of London to rescue her promiscuous sister should have warned him. What blindness could have prevented him from seeing the truth? It was not love. Love did not feel like this. Love did not rip the heart from your chest or strangle you from within. Whatever this feeling was, love had no part of it.
Twenty minutes.
“What do you suppose is delaying her? She cannot have many items to pack?”
His inconsequential toad of a cousin had the audacity to speak to him after what he had done, but Darcy would not show him he cared because he simply did not.
“Why? Are you so eager to bed her? Can you not wait five minutes?”
He did the calculation swiftly in his head and concluded there had not been any opportunities for them to have had a liaison prior to this evening. Thank God he had discovered them so soon, or he might have been duped into leaving Pemberley to a Matlock heir.
“I am not as eager to sample the goods as you may think. I only had your best interest at heart, though she is utterly ruined now, so I suppose it does not signify.”
“I thought…” Darcy began. The colonel had mentioned taking Elizabeth to Matlock and setting her up in a cottage, which made him assume they would continue what he had interrupted. The mere thought made bile rise in his throat, but there were more pressing matters to occupy him. “Never mind, I shall retrieve her myself and haul her by her hair if she resists.”
“Mayhap she is busy filling her satchels with items not her own,” the colonel suggested.
It was not impossible. Darcy hastened his strides and took the stairs two at a time. At her door, he hesitated for ten seconds before wrenching it open.
The room looked empty at first glance, but the box containing her jewellery caught his attention. It was the first place he would look to investigate her proclivities. He yanked open the lid. The box was full. He could not be certain no items were missing, but it seemed to be largely intact.
Her dressing room was next in his plan. He stepped over the threshold and scrutinised the contents. It looked untouched to him, but again, he could not be certain. He turned and strode out of the room and addressed the nearest footman.
“Has Mrs Darcy been to her chamber?”
Uttering her name left a foul taste in his mouth. She was no Mrs Darcy; his mother was. No one could usurp her place, and after this disaster, none ever would. He was shackled for life to the trollop, with no heirs to carry his name into the future.
“Yes, Mr Darcy. Mrs Darcy entered her chamber twenty minutes ago. She has not left, sir.”
“If that is so, why is she not there?”
“She must be, sir. There are plenty of witnesses who can attest that Mrs Darcy has not left her chamber.”
He met the pale faces of his servants, who nodded their assent.
“Linney!” Darcy bellowed.
Mrs Darcy’s lady’s maid came running as fast as her legs could carry her.
“Come,” Darcy barked. Hannah Linney followed him into the mistress’s room. He tugged open the connecting door to his own chamber and looked inside. It was empty. He shut the door again and pointed at the mistress’s bed.
“Look under the bed,” Darcy commanded. The maid obediently bent and looked.
