Free Mr. Darcy's Dream by Elizabeth Aston Page B

a pleasing prospect of a rolling landscape visible from its windows.
    Like Pemberley, the house had been modernised and improved over the years, and when its present owner, Sir Henry Martindale, had brought his bride home three years before, he had had several of the main rooms refurbished and newly decorated in her honour.
    At forty-three, Sir Henry was many years older than his young wife, but theirs was a love match. They had met at the York races, when Kitty Stanhope had gone to stay in Yorkshire with her aunt and uncle, who always held a large house party for the races. Sir Henry had been invited, had seen Kitty dancing with some of the young people after dinner one evening,and had been enchanted by her gaiety, gracefulness, and the ready laughter which made her mouth so pretty.
    Further acquaintance had convinced him that despite her light and lively manners, she was no mere butterfly, but a young lady of sense and intelligence and warm-heartedness. Three weeks later in London, he proposed to her and was accepted, for Kitty had fallen in love with this handsome older man almost as quickly as he had with her.
    Kitty’s parents, Lord and Lady Stanhope, were far from pleased by the match, but Kitty was of age and it was clear to everyone in the family that she was determined to have Sir Henry. The Stanhopes would have preferred a political marriage for their only daughter, so that Kitty might follow in the steps of her mother and enjoy a success as a glittering hostess among the elite of London society, but Kitty, like her brother, Arthur, had no taste for the political salons and intrigues of London, although their reasons differed. Arthur found that society narrow and self-regarding, while Kitty was at heart a country lover who preferred the tranquillity of rural life to the festivities and bustle of London, and who was very happy to contemplate life as the wife of a rich squire.
    That was why, this April, she and her husband were still in the country. Sir Henry Martindale had a seat in Parliament, but went to London as seldom as possible. He enjoyed the life of a country landowner, was on good terms with his neighbours, hunted throughout the winter months, and took his gun out as often as possible when the birds were in season.
    Kitty sat in the drawing-room at Martindale House, a slightly pensive look on her face as she regarded her brother. “It is very pleasant to see you, Arthur, but I’m not sure to what we owe the courtesy of your visit. You normally never stay for more than two days at a time before you grow restless and areoff somewhere else, and yet you have been here already for two days and are talking of making a stay of several more.”
    â€œI have a sudden inclination to rusticate,” said Arthur untruthfully. He didn’t like the country, was not a sporting man, and found the prospect of a wet English spring positively depressing. Since he had been on Wellington’s staff in Paris after the Battle of Waterloo, he had found himself in his element in the foreign capitals of Europe. After selling out of the army, he had determined on pursuing a diplomatic career, much to his father’s fury.
    His father, who hated all things French with a deadly passion, had never set foot out of England. When it was pointed out to him that he might make his way to Germany or Italy via the Low Countries, he had simply raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the notion that any Englishman would want to spend a minute abroad that he might spend in his own country. He had no objections to foreigners as such, distinguished men from many parts of Europe were welcomed at his wife’s parties and assemblies, but his interests were essentially insular.
    Kitty laughed at her brother, her face lightening into the warm smile that Sir Henry had found so attractive. “I don’t believe a word of it. You have some ulterior motive, with you there is always an ulterior motive. Have you accrued huge