by Gail McEwen
Darcy.
God.
Damn.
That.
Darcy!
Wickham groaned and shuddered, exploding into her hard and deep before collapsing in exhaustion. She wriggled beneath him with a little giggle.
“I guess you did miss me while you were away.”
“Huh? Elizabeth?” He blinked and forced his eyes to focus on the body beneath him. It was Elizabeth. Of course, it was Elizabeth. His wife. “I did.” He smiled smoothly, scarcely missing a beat. “I missed you very much.”
Chapter 6
Elizabeth slept long and well but woke early enough to join her mother and sisters in helping Jane prepare for the wedding. When she returned to her room to dress, however, George was still sleeping soundly.
“George.” She tapped him gently. “George, wake up. It is time to get ready.”
No response.
“George!” She shook his shoulder, causing him to groan and turn over. Growing impatient, she shook him harder. “Wake up! The coaches to bring the family to church will be arriving in less than an hour, and we are expected to be on them.”
He opened one eye and looked at her then smiled sleepily.
“Would you mind terribly if I just meet you there later, my dear?”
“Meet me there? But why?”
“No reason. I just fancy a walk; that is all.” He turned away and closed his eyes.
“But we are expected with the rest of the family.”
“Do not fret; I shall only be a moment behind you.”
“If it is just a moment, why not simply come with me?”
“Because I am tired,” he snapped, much to her surprise, “and I think I have earned a little rest. You do not know what it is like, working day and night, supervising preparations, making living arrangements, and taking care of my business obligations at the same time. It is exhausting. I have been working so hard, and then I had to travel all day yesterday on top of it to get to this wedding.”
“Half a day,” Elizabeth said under her breath.
“What?”
“It is only half a day’s travel from town.”
“Mm. Right. Well, be that as it may, I will meet you there. I shall arrive in plenty of time,” he mumbled into the pillow. “I promise.”
She stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to do. She could not order him out of bed. She could fuss at him and try to get him up through guilt, as her mother would have done had it been her father, but the idea repelled her. The only other option that came to mind was to climb into bed herself and try to tease and cajole him out, but truth be told, she was irritated with him for the uncalled-for sharpness and did not feel like it. Instead, she readied herself and tried not to hear when the deep breathing behind her turned into quiet snores.
“Where is Mr Wickham?”
Elizabeth imagined she could hear judgement and accusation in her mother’s question when she came downstairs alone. When she saw the pursed lips and raised eyebrows, she knew she had imagined nothing. Would her parents never reconcile to her marriage? Suppressing a frustrated sigh, she explained that George would join them soon.
“Hmm,” was the only response.
She felt even more discomfiture upon arriving at the church unescorted by her husband, certain it would be noted and remarked upon by the neighbours, but it did not take her long to shake her head and laugh at her own silliness. George would be there soon enough, and in the meantime, no one had eyes for anybody but Jane and Mr Bingley, which was exactly as it should be. She turned her attention away from herself and to Jane, where it belonged, only occasionally casting anxious glances in the direction of Longbourn.
The ceremony started with no George in sight, and Elizabeth did her best to hide her disappointment as she stood at her sister’s side. Glancing occasionally across to Mr Darcy, she expected to see smug satisfaction in his face, but he wore his usual reserved expression. More than once, however, she thought she detected an approving, if slightly indulgent, smile directed towards Mr Bingley. She was surprised, pleasantly so, and for some reason, this small show of tenderness from one man towards his friend touched her, and she found herself peering more and more in his direction. As the ceremony proceeded, there was indeed a growing and marked softness of expression, and she could not help but notice he looked the better for it. He had always been handsome, but this was something even more compelling. He should show this side of himself more often, she thought, but then realised that he had, at times, looked upon her with just such an expression, and she recognised it now for what it must have been: affection, true, heart-felt affection. Would things have been different, she wondered, had she recognised it then? Would she have —
Forcefully pulling her thoughts away from that dangerous path—she was a married woman!— she determined that, if Mr Darcy could put aside his personal feelings for the occasion, she could do so as well. Therefore, when the ceremony ended and it was time to follow the newly married couple down the aisle, she sent him a friendly smile when he held out his arm, and she took it with grace.
The scene outside the church was chaotic. Elizabeth smiled and watched the glowing bride and beaming groom accept the compliments and congratulations of friends and neighbours. She was surprised at Mr Darcy’s manner. He bore the looks and effusions of the guests with calm dignity, but when he shook Mr Bingley’s hand and offered what could only be heartfelt good wishes, she saw once again his feelings so close to the surface. The men clasped hands, and Mr Darcy leaned close to speak into Bingley’s ear. Bingley’s eyes widened, Darcy’s eyes sparkled mischievously, and they both snickered and then suddenly burst into laughter, leaving Elizabeth not only curious about the exchange but also astonished and somehow pleased at the scene. It must be difficult for a man so accustomed to carefully guarding his feelings to allow them to show at all and especially in such a setting. It not only demonstrated the depth of his affection for Mr Bingley, it forced her to rethink some of her dearly held assumptions about the man. True, he had treated George badly—and that she could neither forgive nor forget—but his display of open, honest delight at the happiness of his friend forced her to admit that there must be more than a shred of humanity within, and a declaration of love from such a man was perhaps quite something after all. He happened to catch her eye as she was watching him, and his smile momentarily faltered before he turned away directly. Saddened at the change, she approached him impulsively and held out her hand.
“Come, Mr Darcy, shall we let bygones be bygones and be friends?”
* * *
Uncharacteristically, Darcy had begun the day with no breakfast but strong coffee, fortified by a generous shot of even stronger brandy. He did not like to do it—it felt like an admission of weakness—but he knew he needed something to alleviate the gut-wrenching knot that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his body. It worked for the most part, helped along by his profound relief upon seeing Mrs Wickham arrive alone. Steeling his mind against all distractions, he concentrated on the one circumstance in which he could reflect with pleasure. Misguided proposals, unheeded warnings, and imprudent confrontations aside, Bingley was at that moment joined in holy matrimony to the woman he loved. At least in this one significant area, he had achieved what he wished. It was good to see his friend happy again, and he allowed himself to feel the joy of the occasion as well as take satisfaction in a job well done.
The extended hand and offer of friendship from Elizabeth caught him off-guard. He could scarcely comprehend how she could be in earnest nor was he certain how to respond. It would be unforgivably rude to ignore her friendly overture, yet at the same time, she had acted unforgivably towards him, and he owed her nothing. He briefly toyed with the idea of leaving her standing, spurned and looking foolish, but just as he was about to turn away, he noticed that Bingley and his bride were watching him with hopeful eyes. He took the hand. He owed this much to Bingley, and so he performed what he hoped was his last act of penance.
“I should like that very much, Miss—” He caught himself. “I mean Mrs—”
“Wickham,” came a voice from behind her. “You mean Mrs Wickham, do you not, Darcy?” Darcy dropped the hand as quickly as Wickham grabbed his wife’s waist possessively and pulled her close.
“You have not forgotten that we are married, I hope.” Wickham smiled.
“I have not,” Darcy said through clenched teeth, forcing back any further reply.
“I am glad to hear it. A wife such as mine is not so easily won, you know, and I would selfishly hope that all of my acquaintance can appreciate my triumph in doing so, against all odds, as it were.”
Not trusting himself any further, Darcy merely bowed stiffly and walked away. He had performed his duty to his friend to the utmost; Bingley would have to excuse him and understand his leaving. After such a display, after being duped once again… How did he not see that the offer of her hand in friendship was just another ploy, just another attempt to play him for a fool? Stupid! Stupid! He berated his gullibility, cursing the ease with which he once again allowed himself to be used as an object of amusement for that man.
* * *
Elizabeth felt inexplicably disappointed at the guarded expression that immediately returned to Mr Darcy’s face on George’s approach—disappointed and not a little confused. It was funny how the scene she had looked forward to just the day before now felt unnecessarily harsh and out of place. Feeling slightly guilty, she watched Mr Darcy walk away, but her attention soon was reclaimed by the man at her side.
“What was all that? Did I interrupt something?”
“Oh, no, it was nothing.” She sighed. “I thought, for Jane and Bingley’s sake, that we should move away from the awkwardness of the past and try to be friends, or at least hate each other less, but it was all for nought it appears.”
“Friends?” Wickham’s grip on her arm tightened and he drew her away from the crowd. “What business do you have trying to become friends with any man, most especially with Darcy?”
“I meant nothing improper, I assure you.” She tried to pull her arm loose, but his hold only grew tighter.
“And you expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe that my wife of less than a month is innocently making friends with my mortal enemy?”
“I do expect you to believe it because it is true!” Elizabeth retorted angrily. “I thought only of Jane and Mr Bingley. I should not like to distress them by making it necessary to choose between her family and Mr Bingley’s friends when they entertain. We shall see them in town, and I am sure Mr Darcy will be much in town as well. We must find a way to behave civilly towards one another. All of us.”
“No, we do not, and you most certainly do not. I will not have it! You consider the feelings of Jane and Bingley, but you ignore mine? I am your husband! We may have to endure his presence on occasion, but you will not betray me by making friends with him, is that clear?”
He was furious; she could see it in his eyes, but he dropped her arm and took a step away. Her own anger ebbing away in guilt, Elizabeth did not know what to do. She had not meant — She had made the friendly overture purely on impulse and had not stopped to consider what it might mean to George. She was taken aback and then devastated by his reaction. Acting without thinking, she had done something so thoughtless as to cause him to doubt her devotion and affection.
Moving towards him, she lifted her hand to his face, wanting to soothe away the hurt.
“I am so sorry…” she began, but he pushed her hand away.
“Stop.”
People were starting to stare.
“Well, I am sorry,” she said in a sharp whisper. “Do not be such a child. Accept my apology, and let us get on with the day.”
“A child? We are calling names now? Is this the plan the two of you hatched up in my absence? To humiliate me in front of all your friends and family?”
“Plan? What plan? For heaven’s sake, you are being simply ridiculous.”
“Oh, so now not only am I a child, I am a ridiculous child! A simply ridiculous child.” He was nearly shouting now, to the great delight of the gathered onlookers, and Elizabeth wanted to melt into the ground.
He turned on his heel and left her standing with her mouth open. In a flurry of emotions, she watched him storm down the lane towards Meryton. How could he so easily misunderstand? How could he be so willing to believe the worst of her motives? She watched him until she became aware of the looks and barely disguised snickers of her neighbours. Oh, how they took delight in her misery. Having no desire to face her mother’s questions and snide remarks, Elizabeth decided to forgo the family carriage and return to Longbourn on foot.
Alone.
Again.
Taking her time, she walked slowly, trying to sort through her confused thoughts along the way. In both circumstances, she had tried to do the right thing, and both had gone completely wrong. Her desire to put aside the animosity between her and Mr Darcy had only served to make it worse. That was evident by the look on his face when he left them, and although she tried to turn her anger upon him and blame his response for her current unhappiness, in all fairness she could not. Remembering the reason she had been compelled to approach him in the first place, she had to admit that he was simply enjoying himself and his friend’s happiness until she and Wickham intruded upon it.
Upon reflection, she realised that she too had been enjoying herself until George arrived with his unnecessary remarks and false insinuations. And then, when she tried to make amends, he only got angry, leaving her alone to face the impertinent looks of the neighbours. Why should he spurn her when all she wanted to do was apologise? In truth, why must she apologise at all? Why could he not believe that it had been a perfectly innocent gesture on her part? And honestly, if he had just accompanied her to the church as he should have done, none of it would have happened!
Elizabeth sighed; that was not fair either. He could not be held responsible for her impulsive actions. She felt lost and confused. Married life was not as easy or natural as she had anticipated, and she had nowhere to go for help. Her mother, even if she had been willing, was no suitable guide, nor could she burden Jane, who would have her own adjustments to make, with her uncertainties and questions. Learning to be a good wife would be a difficult road, and it looked as if she must learn the way on her own.
She would have no chance that day, however. George stayed away, leaving her to keep up a brave front during the rest of the festivities and the quiet family dinner where his absence was conspicuous and, of course, much remarked upon. When he returned in the wee hours of the morning, stumbling drunkenly up the stairs and loudly cursing the darkness, Elizabeth, mortified, huddled tightly on her side of the bed, feigning sleep and stubbornly willing herself not to cry.
Chapter 7
After leaving Hertfordshire, it took several months at Pemberley before Darcy felt ready to return to London. The time was not peaceful, and he doubted whether it was particularly helpful, but for the first weeks, Darcy subjected himself to a peculiar penance, the necessity of which he could not explain. He personally had done nothing for which he needed to atone. Nonetheless, it was necessary, and he performed it by walking nearly every square inch of the grounds, torturing himself with memories.
Reminders of Wickham were everywhere. Being the only two boys close in age in the vicinity, they had spent a great deal of time together while growing up, getting into trouble more often than not. Naturally more daring and brash, Wickham had been the instigator in most of their misdeeds—taunting him if he questioned, ridiculing any reluctance, and accusing him of being too “fine” to have any fun. Young Darcy, despite his misgivings, found those taunts impossible to withstand, and he usually gave in. Starting out as boyish dares, over the years they had grown into something quite different. Looking back from the vantage point of adulthood, Darcy could see that Wickham had gradually changed from challenging him to setting him up for failure and embarrass
ment. It had no longer been enough for Wickham to defeat Darcy; he had needed to humiliate him. Arm wrestling matches left him with sprained wrists; footraces lasted until he was so winded that he could only fall to the ground and vomit; boxing matches never ended before he was bloody. They had been evenly matched in strength and ability, but no matter how determined he had been to win — and as the defeats mounted, the determination mounted equally—Wickham pursued every contest with a feverish zeal, and there seemed to be nothing Darcy could do to outlast him.
He had eventually outgrown the need to try to prove himself, but now as he walked the familiar woods and visited his childhood haunts, he dwelt upon the past—cataloguing every indignity, every humiliation, every instance where he was bested by Wickham—until he was in danger of disgusting himself with his self-indulgence.
At the same time, he carried on a long, intense and, on her end, often tear-stained correspondence with Georgiana, who had, of course, heard the news. One more instance, one more time George Wickham had disturbed their lives and their peace, but as he read his sister’s latest letter, he surprisingly found that her words offered another perspective.
You will be happy to hear, brother, that I have calmed down and, with the help of Mrs Annesley, am able to look upon this situation without becoming overly distressed. She declares that I need not ever speak to Mr Wickham, even if I come upon him in company with the Bingleys—which, as you know, has been my fear. As for Mrs Wickham (oh, how it disturbs me still to write that name for any woman, let alone one I was, on your recommendation, disposed to think of so highly—I can only imagine your thoughts on the matter), Mrs Annesley reminds me that she was likely as deceived as…well, as I was last summer, and she deserves pity rather than censure…
Then, to Darcy’s surprise, she let the subject drop and turned her attention to news of her friends the Franklins and her disappointment that they had not been able to meet while he was in town. Thankfully, his fears that her continued recovery of spirits would be adversely affected by Wickham’s latest deeds were unfounded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Although she was not possessed of all the pertinent facts, Georgiana’s growing maturity and willingness to see things in the best possible light put his hours of brooding to shame. That man had already taken enough from him. He could not—he would not—allow George Wickham to diminish the pleasure he found in his home nor command any more of his time or attention.