Page 64 of All For You

Lizzy

Tabitha and I left the Cotswolds early that morning in an adventurous mood. I enjoyed our chat along the way as we looked outside the train for three hours, though I missed Oodles’s chin on my knee. As we reached Derbyshire, the scenery became even more stunning, old brick and limestone towns set in rolling hills stitched with hedgerows. We walked our bags to the B&B and took a taxi to Pemberley. Despite the dazzling day, as we drove under the arched gatehouse, my stomach churned at the reminder of Darcy.

Then the taxi turned the corner.

I gasped.

Pemberley.

The huge golden-stone home was elegantly broad, its long windows glinting in the sunlight. The building was set against a sweep of green, mirrored in the large lake and surrounded by forest. Water, rock, and sky met in a way that made you aware of your smallness but strangely steadied by it.

“Oh,” I said. “God, you’re right. It’s stunning.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tabitha asked.

“Tell me something about the architecture for my book,” I said, holding out my phone to record her.

“See the nine bays with columns? Totally symmetrical. The entire building is perfectly and naturally placed on that slight slope. And do you see how it’s mirrored in the lake? The backdrop of those weathered trees and rolling grounds makes it fairy-tale-ish. And you can’t even see the secret garden and the follies. Heaven.”

This was the most stunning setting. But it was too perfect, too serene. I needed tension for my novel. One of the characters would live here, brought up in this beauty and history. The other must be from another class, maybe live in a simple farmhouse on the estate, scraping pennies. “It seems to glow in the sun,” I said.

“The west front is carved yellow stonework, and the window frames are highlighted with gold leaf, which catches the setting sun.”

“It’s gorgeous, but so simple in a way.”

“That’s the beauty of it. It’s baroque and Italianate, but not fussy and frilly. That’s what I loved about it and why I took on this job. They have many events a year, including the Christmas one, which must be wonderful, and Darcy wants it to be lighter and brighter and feel more accessible to the people who come here.”

My body prickled with discomfort at each mention of Darcy’s name. I stopped the audio recording. It wasn’t only his name that irritated me—it was hearing him praised.

That must have shown on my face, because she added, “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about him.”

“No, please, I want to know about your work here. I wouldn’t have come up if I thought I couldn’t handle it. Honestly.” Now, however, I wasn’t too sure Icouldhandle it. “What style are you doing all these rooms?”

“That’s what I love about this assignment. Darcy wants it comfortable and modern and fun, without all the dark drapesand heavy furnishings. But with a nod to the era. We’ve already done his apartments, and now we’re on to the public rooms.”

“Are you going to do a TV episode on this place after the remodel?”

“As you can imagine, that was the last thing he wanted. He said he was scarred by the reality show at the Amor Inn, which is a bit uncomfortable as it was at my parents’ house.”

I gave an eye roll. He was complaining about the weekend?Hewas the one who’d made it intolerable. How could he be scarred by the show? He had been rude to me that first night, lied about his motivation to win the cooking competition, and then rubbished Jane to his brother.

She glanced over at me. “Yes, some of it, maybe most, he brought on himself. But anyway, the staff got excited by the prospect of being on telly. And of course, this place is run as a business, and being on TV will attract more visitors. Eventually, he agreed, but only if it focuses on the staff and the amazing work they do to keep it running. He only wants to say two sentences. I mean,exactlytwo sentences.”

I was thinking about what two sentences I would say to him if I got a chance.

“That doesn’t sound like him. I would have thought he’d jump at pontificating about the place.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s exactly him, at Pemberley anyway. He delegates. He’s self-effacing and wants others to take the credit.”

I still wasn’t convinced. The man she was describing was not the bossy, controlling person I’d met at the Amor Inn.

Now that I was here, I didn’t know whether I felt comfortable being in Darcy’s home. At least he wouldn’t be here.

Our taxi dropped us off at the front, and I smiled at how my emerging in my jeans and white shirt from the funny little yellow Fiat looked next to this grand, historic building. We cruncheddown the gravel driveway and up the steps. A door opened, and a butler dressed in a suit greeted Tabitha, ushering us into a vast marble entry with a painted ceiling of a heavenly scene and a circular staircase.

An older woman in a navy-and-white dress uniform came forward, and the butler nodded and walked away.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” Tabitha said to the woman. “This is a friend of mine, Lizzy Bennet.”