Portraits of Pemberley

De: Carrie Mollenkopf

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

Duración: 5 h y 2 m

Resumen del Editor

Elizabeth Bennet Darcy walked slowly down the long gallery that housed the visual images depicting generations of Darcys. As she paused before the frames, it was as if each pair of eyes was staring back, studying her in return. Imagining they could speak, Elizabeth pondered what opinions were held by her husband’s forebears. Were they pleased with the new mistress or did they find fault? Some of the portraits went back hundreds of years, having been installed in the current house long after the first had been razed during the early 14th century. Pemberley, as it now stood, was built upon the remaining foundations of a Medieval fortress. Its stones had been repurposed in the great hall floor and fireplace. Of the drafty damp walls and rush strewn chambers, no trace could be found. The current residence was a thing of true splendor, one that Elizabeth hoped she would serve well during her life, continuing the legacy for the next generation. As of yet, her own likeness did not grace these walls, it was a point of debate she held with Fitzwilliam. Having been married nearly a year already, he had been pressing her to choose an artist and sit for her portrait. Just that morning, Darcy had mentioned it again. “It really is long past time that you had your portrait painted. The family gallery is incomplete without you.” “It is already filled. There isn’t any space for me,” she replied lightheartedly in excuse. Truth be told, Elizabeth hated the prospect of sitting still for hours only to have her likeness recorded. There was so much about her new home that had yet to be discovered. Just the other day, she had explored the former nurseries hoping that they would be needed in the near future. Although it was early in their marriage, many female acquaintances had discreetly broached the subject of children. An estate the magnitude of Pemberley needed an heir, and the sooner the better. While Elizabeth loved children, she was in no hurry to begin the process. For now, she was content to simply enjoy the company of her husband. With each passing day, she grew to know more of his preferences. No man was perfect, but the Master of Pemberley was about as close as she could imagine. In spite of Darcy’s fine attributes, or perhaps because of them, he also possessed a stubborn streak that was nearly as fierce as her own. This was exacerbated by a dedication to preserving may of Pemberley’s traditions. Of late, the portrait gallery, and its lack of her image, seemed foremost in his mind. Sighing, Elizabeth knew she would concede eventually. Perhaps it was best to be done with the ordeal while she was young. After all, who wanted to be remembered for posterity in their dotage? When space is made to accommodate Elizabeth's portrait, a startling discovery is made. Tucked away behind the painting of a Darcy ancestor is a mysterious painting, one that is not only bordering upon scandalous, but also affirms an old Darcy family legend. Who is the stranger that reaches out through a mirror to grasp the outstretched hands of Isabel Darcy? Inquiry into the painting will lead to a web of murder, mystery and lies, with Elizabeth and Darcy in the center.