Page 56 of A Most Beloved Sister
“Mr. Darcy’s mount. His name is Satan, and he sure is a mean devil. Never met a horse quite like him. All the other grooms are too scared to come near him, but he seems to like me all right.”
“Well, I certainly hope Mr. Darcy is taking the time to check in on his horse himself,” Elizabeth said with a huff.
Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Darcy is at the stable each morning for an hour or so with Satan. He even does the brushing and saddling himself before taking him out. He rides him hard so that he’s too tired to cause much trouble the rest of the day. When there’s poor weather, Mr. Darcy is quick to hand out a few shillings to those who have to put up with Satan’s restlessness.”
The hint of reproof in Jamie’s voice caused Elizabeth’s face to pinken. “I daresay he’s concerned about having to care for an injured servant,” she retorted defensively.
He sighed. “Elizabeth, I know you are not very fond of the man. I, too, do not appreciate how he has spoken of Jane in the past. But I also do not have the same desire to think the worst of him that you do. He has always dealt quite properly with the servants and those of us beneath him, which is more than I can say for many others of his station. You really must let go of your prejudice.”
Chastened, she looked down at the papers in her hand. “Perhaps you are right,” she muttered.
Lifting his good arm, he cupped a hand around his ear. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you?”
She giggled and shoved him. “Oh, you heard me.”
He laughed, then motioned down at her letters. “What news from your aunt and uncle?”
Elizabeth quickly summarized her uncle’s letter and the accompanying note from her father before saying, “I have not yet read my aunt’s missive. I will do so now.”
She unfolded the last of the small sheaf and scanned the words on the page, then allowed Jamie to read over her shoulder as she perused it a second time.
Dearest Lizzy,
I don’t have long to write, but I felt it quite important to include some information along with your uncle’s letter to your father in regard to Mr. Darcy.
Based on your descriptions, I must assume that the gentleman is none other than Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. You recall that I am from Lambton, a small town in Derbyshire. The estate of Pemberley is not five miles from my little village, and I must admit to being quite shocked to hear of your experience with the current master of the grand estate.
As you know, my father was the physician in Lambton for many years before he came to London. I myself never visited Pemberley nor met any of the Darcy family, but my father was regularly called upon to treat Lady Anne, as she was always of delicate health.
I still remember a terrible day a little over fifteen years ago when he was called in the middle of the night to the estate. Mrs. Darcy had entered into her confinement, but there was an issue with the birth, and the midwife had asked for my father to be fetched. He didn’t return until well into the following afternoon, looking as if he had aged about ten years. He refused to speak of what occurred, but after that, Mrs. Darcy was never seen leaving the estate again, and the child’s baptism was performed without any local witnesses.
Rumors began to circulate several months later, the long-time steward was removed from his position, and many of the servants—some of whom had been working alongside their families to serve the Darcys for generations—were suddenly without employment.
My father relocated our family to London, and I eventually forgot all about Pemberley, Lambton, and the Darcys. A year ago, however, I was surprised when I went to visit one of the local children’s homes and was told that a new patron had been found to replace Lord Lockhart, whom you will remember had passed on last year.
Here, Lizzy looked up at Jamie’s scoff. “Good riddance,” he grumbled. “That old coot was always trying to get the girls to sit on his lap!”
Mr. Darcy—the son, not the father—had met with the proprietress that morning to discuss how he could support the children. He immediately wrote a banker’s note and promised there would be more coming each month. On one occasion, I happened to visit and saw him graciously accept a drawing from Sally. Oh, if you could see the tender smile he gave her. She does not get many, not with her face as deformed as it is. But he even bowed to her.
I know this does not give you much information in helping you sketch his character, but a young man who is willing to be so generous, both with his behavior and his purse, may have more depth to him than you think. Remember, we all come with a history that shapes who we are.
All my love,
Aunt Gardiner
Folding the paper, Elizabeth let out a sigh.
“She’s right, you know,” Jamie said. “Mr. Darcy really deserves forgiveness—realforgiveness—where you actually forget about all your anger and move on.”
She sighed again. “It would just be so inconvenient to be wrong about a man I’ve sworn to hate.”
Jamie started laughing. “You’re just as prideful as you insist he is!”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose I could more easily forgive his pride if he had not offended my sister’s.”
“Yet she does not hold a grudge against him.”
“But Jane is all that is good and sweet! She would forgive the devil himself.”
