Falling at Pemberley Chapter 1 – Kara Louise

I’ve been working on a new book, and I thought what better way to provide me with the incentive to keep on to the finish is to post each chapter here. I have about 15 chapters completed, but not edited. I am posting the first chapter today, and will continue to post every other week for several weeks, and then go to every week. The story begins as Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle are touring Pemberley. There will be several changes to the story, of course, and maybe even a rival for one of them. I hope you will enjoy it. On another note, Falling at Pemberley will probably not be the title, but for now is my working title. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Elizabeth Bennet made a futile attempt to calm the feeling of trepidation coursing through her as the carriage in which she and her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were riding drew closer to Pemberley. She feigned an air of composure as her aunt spoke about the manor owned by Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, recollecting how esteemed the family had been when she was growing up in nearby Lambton, how beautiful the home was, and how much she looked forward to seeing it again. Elizabeth, however, would not be able to view it as a mere tourist. Her chest tightened as she struggled to draw an unhindered breath, and that discomfort, together with her thunderously beating heart, were constant reminders that the very same Mr. Darcy had asked for her hand in marriage but three months earlier, and she had refused him.

As they traversed the woods leading to Pemberley, she was grateful for the shade of the tall trees lining the road, for it cooled them on this particularly warm summer day. She shivered, however, wondering whether it was because it had actually become cooler or if it was the unease she felt, knowing she would soon be walking through the home and grounds that might have been hers.

Her aunt continued to share her memories of Pemberley and the family, but despite Elizabeth’s curiosity, she could barely attend to her words. They had been assured Mr. Darcy was from home, but she knew there would be nothing worse than encountering him, should he be here.

They made an unexpected sharp turn to the right, causing the three passengers to lean to the left, laughing as they did. But as the vehicle and the riders straightened, Pemberley – being more majestic than Elizabeth ever imagined – suddenly appeared before them.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she could not stifle her gasp when she saw the magnificent structure before her. She understood it was a grand home, but she was not prepared for what she saw.

“It is beautiful, is it not, Lizzy?” her aunt inquired.

Elizabeth nodded mutely, at a loss to know how to ascertain her true feelings, considering how she had come to view the man, how lightly she had taken his offer of marriage, and how uncivil she had been in refusing him. She had not spoken of it to her aunt and uncle, for they would never understand how she could have refused such a man. She glanced at them and wondered what they would think if they knew.

They were only aware that, by his words and actions, he had offended their niece and almost everyone else in their country neighbourhood. As the carriage drew closer, Elizabeth’s senses were flooded with all the beauty this place offered. It was an idyllic setting with a small lake in front, in which the manor, perched upon a low hill, was reflected. A small stream led into it, and a grassy ridge rose up from behind. Elizabeth could not but delight in the beautiful stately trees scattered about, the variety of colours in the flowers lining the walkway to the front, and the overall beauty of the grounds.

She drew in a slow breath, hoping it would calm her. She clasped her hands tightly and slowly let out the breath, but it did nothing to calm her rapidly beating heart.

When they came to a stop in front of the manor, Elizabeth reached over and took her aunt’s hand. “I know you think me foolish and needlessly worrying, but I truly do not want Mr. Darcy to know I was here. If any introductions are made, please only call me Elizabeth or, if pressed, Miss Gardiner.”

Mrs. Gardiner patted her niece’s hand. “If you wish, Lizzy, but I am certain Mr. Darcy would not mind that you are here to see his home. After all, tourists go through all the time.”

She shook her head. “With our… slight acquaintance, I would feel awkward encountering him.”

“I think I understand,” Mr. Gardiner stated. “The poor man probably has women coming to tour his home all the time in the hopes they will meet him. I would imagine there are many young ladies who would give anything to become Mistress of Pemberley.”

“Now, Lizzy, I know you disliked him, but I would imagine he was not even aware of it. We shall do as you bid, however, and introduce you as our niece, Miss Elizabeth Gardiner.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “No one need know.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I thank you, Aunt.”

At length, they were admitted into the manor, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, cheerfully took them on a tour. Once inside, Elizabeth found herself captivated by the beauty of the home’s interior.

She could not find fault with the relaxed, yet elegant style of the rooms and décor. It was a home one would be proud to live in, graceful and comfortable, stylish yet practical, but with an appreciation for its history. She found herself absently stroking the cushion of a chair, wondering whether Mr. Darcy ever sat in it. She looked out the various windows and pondered whether he gazed out and enjoyed the view as she was doing now, or if he was immune to the beauty because he had seen it all his life. There was a delightful prospect from every room.

She could not order the variety of feelings she felt as she was delighted with each room, prospect, piece of furniture, and window covering. It was altogether agreeable to her sensibilities.

Despite admiring the home, Elizabeth could not rest easy, dreading that the information given to them might have been incorrect and Mr. Darcy was not from home. But when Mr. Gardiner inquired of Mrs. Reynolds about the Master of Pemberley, she confirmed that he was away, however he was to return on the morrow.

Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief, yet she was also struck with how fortunate they had been in deciding to come to Pemberley this day and not putting it off a day later. She could now enjoy seeing the house in a more composed state.

They stepped into the music room and viewed the instrument that had just arrived for Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana. It was a beautiful pianoforte, and Elizabeth thought it would be a delight to hear it played. She recollected Miss Bingley’s praise of Miss Darcy’s accomplished playing, and Mrs. Reynolds commented similarly. The housekeeper also could not speak well enough of the excellent brother Mr. Darcy was to his sister.

Elizabeth was grateful for her scheme to go by a different name when Mrs. Reynolds discovered she was acquainted with her master. Mrs. Gardiner had inquired of her niece whether a small portrait they saw of Mr. Darcy was a good likeness. The housekeeper was delighted that her master was known by her, so Elizabeth did all she could to make light of their acquaintance.

Knowing now that he was to return on the morrow, she said, “It could hardly be considered an acquaintance; it was so trifling.” She laughed nervously and then added, “I doubt he would even know who I am.” Her aunt gave her a teasing raised brow but said nothing.

She shuddered when she saw the small portrait of Mr. Wickham, likely kept as one of the late Mr. Darcy’s favourite possessions. When Mrs. Reynolds spoke of his wild ways, Elizabeth could not help regretting how she had been deceived by him and felt a great deal of self-loathing for it.

With this confirmation by the housekeeper concerning his behaviour, Elizabeth was grateful she had been able to talk her father out of allowing Lydia to go with Colonel Forster’s wife when the regiment left for Brighton. She shook her head as she pondered the trouble Lydia could have gotten into there. Knowing now what she did about Wickham, she doubted he would have had any interest in a young girl with a pittance of a dowry, but she felt that Lydia’s behaviour would have been even more unchecked and the possibilities for disaster would have been endless.

After viewing several more rooms, the small group began their stroll down the picture gallery. Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle listened with great interest to Mrs. Reynolds as she gave a fascinating account of the Darcy family, going back two hundred years, but Elizabeth heard not a single word spoken by the housekeeper as she searched the portraits ahead for one in particular.

At length, she espied a full-length portrait of the man who had been occupying her thoughts almost since their first meeting in Hertfordshire nine months earlier. Initially, those thoughts had been of a more critical nature – how he had insulted her, offended the neighbourhood, shown himself to be arrogant, and finally, the ultimate offence of interfering in Jane’s relationship with Mr. Bingley by persuading his friend that her feelings had not been as strong as his were.

In the past few months, however, Elizabeth had begun to wonder how much of what she initially thought about him was incorrect. The fact that he had confessed his ardent love for her had played only a minor role in her change of heart, but it had affected her deeply.

She could no longer recollect the words she had thrown at him in rejecting his offer of marriage, as her anger directed at him had been so very violent. The very next day he had presented her with a lengthy letter addressing some of the misconceptions she held concerning him and his actions. She was forced to re-examine her estimation of his character and the accusations made against him by Mr. Wickham.

Since then, she had realized that in much she had erred. She still strongly felt, however, that Mr. Darcy could not be absolved in meddling with Jane’s happiness, no matter how deeply he felt justified in doing so.

That mere thought produced a stifled huff as they walked the long hallway, past men posed with rifles, hunting dogs, and occasionally with their wife and children. Mrs. Reynolds stopped at a family portrait of a gentleman, lady, and a young boy. Elizabeth knew at once that it was a picture of a young Fitzwilliam Darcy and his parents. It was not so much the features of the boy, but those of his father. He looked very much like his grown son did now.

She was captivated with the portrait, curious about what his parents had been like. It was an indoor setting; she thought she recognized the fireplace from the front parlour. Mrs. Darcy had a kind, gentle countenance and held her son’s hand in one of hers. His father, while appearing stern and strong, wore a soft smile and had a hand on his son’s shoulder. The other arm rested on the mantel of the fireplace; much like the pose she had often seen his son display. A fire blazed behind them, adding warmth to both the family and the scene.

Mrs. Reynolds moved along, and at last they stopped in front of the portrait Elizabeth had been eager to see. It was not life size, but its likeness to Mr. Darcy was exceptional. He was standing in the woods; Elizabeth was certain it was somewhere on the grounds of Pemberley.

She gazed up at the portrait and unwittingly shivered. As she looked up into his eyes – painted so strikingly realistic – she almost felt as though he were looking back at her. She silently chided herself at the foolish thought.

“Is this portrait not a finer likeness than the smaller one we saw earlier?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

“Yes, I believe it is very much like him,” Elizabeth replied.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled and looked back at the painting. “I think it captures him well. It was painted while his father was still alive.” She shook her head. “He lost his mother at a young age, and a few months after this portrait was completed, his father died. The responsibility of Pemberley and his sister was placed squarely upon his shoulders. He has always displayed such strength of character, and one could not meet a more honourable gentleman. The love and care he has for his sister is beyond measure.”

With the housekeeper’s profuse and often repeated praise of her master, Elizabeth could not help considering this as she gazed up at the portrait. One striking feature was his smile, such a one that she had rarely seen. He seemed content and relaxed, almost amiable, and she wondered whether her initial opinion of him would have been any different had he been more willing to display such a countenance to her friends and family in Hertfordshire upon his arrival. While musing over this, however, she also considered that the heavy burdens placed on him in the past five years – after this portrait had been painted – had surely taken a heavy toll on him.

In the portrait, he stood erect, holding his gloves in one hand and a walking stick in the other. It was a finely carved walking stick with something at the top, but she was unable to see what it was. This portrait was different than the other paintings in that most of the other men in outdoor settings carried a rifle.

Mrs. Reynolds continued to lavish praise on her master and then let out a long drawn-out sigh. “While it has been difficult for him in recent years, I have to admit he has done an admirable job.”

“He seems like a fine gentleman,” Mr. Gardiner said, catching his niece’s eye and winking.

Elizabeth was fairly certain her uncle suspected the housekeeper was being overly generous in her praise of Mr. Darcy. She, however, felt the woman was expressing a deep, heart-felt conviction, which continued to undermine everything she had once thought about him.

“There is truly none finer,” Mrs. Reynolds said, content to keep her gaze fixed on the portrait.

They reached the end of the hall, and the housekeeper informed the party that the tour of the home was complete. The gardens, however, would be open to them if they wished. She offered to arrange a tour with the gardener, and they readily agreed. Mrs. Gardiner explained to the housekeeper that she had visited several times as a young girl and recollected the grounds being lovely.

Elizabeth watched the others walk towards the grand staircase as she battled a mixture of emotions. She certainly felt a more gentle sensation towards Mr. Darcy than she had in the height of their acquaintance. She no longer considered him as despicable and insufferable as she once had, although there were some elements about him that certainly still provoked her.

She slowed as the others began to make their way down the stairs. She took in a deep breath and let out a barely audible sigh. Had she truly been this wrong in sketching his character? She shook her head and turned back one last time to gaze upon the portrait.

Even though she no longer stood in front of the painting, from where she stood, it seemed his eyes had continued to follow her and were still upon her. She trembled and turned quickly to take the stairs down.

But too quickly!

Mr. Gardiner had paused at the top of the stairs, and her rapid movement caused him to propel forward. He grasped at the railing in an attempt to prevent himself from falling, but he stumbled down several stairs. Both Elizabeth and her aunt cried out as he landed on his side.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Reynolds as she looked back at him. “Is the gentleman hurt?”

Mr. Gardiner waved them off as they gathered around him.

“It is nothing, I am certain.” As he attempted to move, however, he let out a groan.

“I am so sorry, Uncle. I was… I was not watching where I was going.” She winced as she saw the pain in her uncle’s face.

“Do you think you can stand up, dear?” her aunt asked him.

“Yes, I think…” Mr. Gardiner started to get to his feet, but he quickly closed his eyes. “I think… my back… it is in a great deal of pain!”

“Oh, heavens!” Mrs. Reynolds clasped her hands together.

“Dear, sit still for a moment,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Hopefully the pain will pass, and then you can try to stand up again.”

Elizabeth shook her head, angry with herself for her folly. “Perhaps he should not attempt to move.” She began to wring her hands. “We cannot be certain if he seriously injured himself.”

“I think it would be best if I rest a bit. I am feeling a little unsteady.”

“Edmund!” Mrs. Gardiner said. “You are not well; your face is so pale!”

Mr. Gardiner opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He slowly shook his head.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Mr. Gardiner. “We have an infirmary room in which we can let you rest. I will call the doctor, but I first must ensure the room is prepared, and then I will summon a servant to carry you down to it.”

Mr. Gardiner waved a hand through the air. “If you give me a moment, I might be able to do it on my own.”

He sat for a time, turning his body slightly in one direction and then another, but he let out a moan with each move.

“I think I will be able to walk, but if you would call a servant – a fairly large servant – I would certainly appreciate any assistance he might give.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds turned and quickly took the remaining steps down.

When the housekeeper disappeared, Elizabeth leaned down next to her uncle and took his hand. “I am so sorry, Uncle.” Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I cannot believe how careless I was.”

Mr. Gardiner squeezed her hand and smiled. “Do not berate yourself, Lizzy. It could have happened to anyone.”

“How did it happen?” Mrs. Gardiner said.

Elizabeth dropped her head, shaking it. “I had turned back to look… I was so foolish! So foolish!”

“Now, now,” Mr. Gardiner said. “It is as much my fault, for I paused, and you had not expected me to.” When he turned his head to look at his wife, he stiffened and groaned.

“Try not to move, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner said as she sat down on the step next to him. “You might make things worse.” She paused and then asked, “Does it feel as though anything is broken?”

Mr. Gardiner shook his head. “No, I do not think so. At least, I hope not.” He drew in a sharp breath. “But it certainly hurts.”

“Oh, Uncle!” Elizabeth cried out as she wrung her hands. “Please take care! I am so sorry!”

A moment later a brawny manservant appeared and took the stairs up to them. “I am at your service, sir. What would you like me to do?”

“If you would be so kind as to help me up and then support me as we take the stairs down. I do not think I need to be carried.”

Elizabeth and her aunt watched silently, wishing to do something to assist their loved one – or at least alleviate his pain – but were unable to help at all. Once up and supported by the manservant, he took slow and careful steps down. When they reached the bottom, they paused to allow Mr. Gardiner to take a few breaths of relief.

“Edmund, how do you feel? Is it worse?”

He shook his head in answer and gave a slight wave of his hand.

“If it would help, sir, I can certainly carry you,” the manservant suggested.

Mr. Gardiner tried to protest, but his voice was weak as the pain overtook him.

“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “While he may not wish it, I feel it would be better. Please be careful, however, as we do not know the extent of his injuries.”

The manservant carefully lifted him up, making certain he did not jostle him or aggravate his injuries in any way.

As they walked, Elizabeth turned to her aunt and grasped her arm. “Oh, Aunt! I feel so responsible! How could I have done such a thing?”

Mrs. Gardiner cupped Elizabeth’s cheek with her other hand. “Please do not fret, Lizzy. I am certain it is not as serious as it could be. He is in pain, to be sure, but that is to be expected.”

“Do you suppose the doctor will allow us to return to the inn? I would not want to move him if it is not safe, but…”

“That remains to be seen. I wonder if we should have moved him at all.”

“Yes,” she said softly, a sharp wave of unease passing through her.

“Lizzy, I know you do not wish to be here when Mr. Darcy returns, but I would not worry. You know the families who live in these fine houses are used to having people tour them.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, merely nodding her head in response to her aunt’s supposition. The nods turned to slow shakes of her head as she could not help but silently disagree with her aunt. But most women who have turned down an offer of marriage would not do such a thing. If you only knew the truth of what happened between us, Aunt. If you only knew.

Chapter 2