“Then why stay awake all night in your cups? Why last night of all nights?”
I raised my eyes to meet her indignant ones. What could I say? To slake my desire for her? To drown my sorrows at having married a woman who despised me? That I feared I had made a terrible mistake for both of us?
“I will also thank you not to question what I do under my own roof, madam,” I replied curtly, trying to curb my anger. “We do not share a bed, so it is no concern of yours what I do late at night. It does not affect you.”
“Ah. So you are punishing me for failing in my wifely duties.” Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes sparkled with rage. My head pounded so severely that I would have considered the guillotine a mercy right then. Whether I wished to escape my head or this dreadful marriage more, I could not say.
“I already told you I would not pressure you, that I would wait until you came to me willingly. I expect you to take me at my word.”
I spoke as calmly as I could, but my rage was so great, there was a tremor in my voice. “This is the second time in a few hours that you have cast aspersions on my honour. If this is what I am to expect from married life…”
“Do not blame me for that,” said Elizabeth. “I had another option. You are the one who insisted for very flimsy reasons that we must marry out of some misplaced sense of duty. Do not pretend you expected a better start to a marriage that came about in such a way.”
She pushed her chair back so hard her plate rattled, and she swept from the room. She slammed the door behind her. I stared after it for a moment before burying my face in my hands. What on earth was I to do?
I could not endure staying in the house. Elizabeth’s absence was worse than her presence, no matter how much she bristled with resentment. I went outside, grabbed my coat and hat and went out into the gloomy December fog.
17
Elizabeth
I watched as my husband strode down the street, going to who knew where. Green as I might be, I knew London held many distractions for an unhappy man. Where would he go? To his club where he would spend the day drinking? To a mistress?
My heart froze at the thought. I knew many men of his standing kept mistresses but for him to go to one the day after our marriage just highlighted the utter failure of ours all the more. Would he take comfort in the arms of some pretty Cyprian while she soothed away all he endured from his awful wife? I found it hard to imagine Mr Darcy doing such a thing. He always seemed so — honourable.
But how honourable could he be if he was willing to deprive Wickham of his inheritance? Perhaps Mr Darcy was one of those men who thought he deserved the credit for high ideals without possessing them. And how well did I know this man I had pledged my life to? Just yesterday, I would never have thought he was the sort to remain awake all night in his cups, but one day of marriage had disabused me of that notion. I gritted my teeth and rested my head against the cool window. How had my life fallen apart so quickly?
At least with my husband out of the house, I could explore it myself without fear of running into him and enduring another argument. A book had always comforted me in times of trouble before, and I was sure one would do so again if I found the library. I had not seen it last night as I had cut our tour short by a desire to retire. I would find it now, and no matter what my husband did, I could still pass a pleasant day before the fire with no temperamental, inscrutable man to disturb me.
The library would have contained my dear father’s one several times over. Shelves of books lined floor to ceiling and from the cosy chairs spread about, it was a room in frequent use. I ran my finger along the leather bindings in admiration. If this was Darcy’s town library, his one at Pemberley must be magnificent. I selected a book then padded across the thick red carpet to curl up in an armchair. I slipped my feet out of my new elegant slippers and tucked them underneath me, tucking my gown around them to keep them warm. The smell of book hit me as soon as I opened it, and I smiled at the comfort it brought. For a while, I could forget the situation I found myself in and disappear to a tropical island where I was almost sure the pirates would be more pleasant than my wayward husband.
I did not have long in the West Indies before a knock on the door proclaimed I had visitors. I half rose from the chair in confusion. I had received no cards this morning. Or had I? To my dismay, I realised I had not checked for calling cards or instructed how any visitors should be received. I had not thought they would come so soon. Surely they would have given a supposedly happily married couple a few days of peace?
“Shall I tell them you are not home, madam?” asked the butler, seeing the lack of enthusiasm on my face.
I cleared my throat.
“No. No, I am home to visitors. My husband is — he has some business to attend. Who has called?”
“Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, madam. I took them to the drawing-room.”
My heart sank. Miss Bingley. I had been amused by how she would receive news of our marriage, but I did not like to deal with it when I was still so raw from our fight. That lady had a nose like a bloodhound for scandal, and I was sure it would be even more refined where it came to her darling Darcy.
Still, there was some comfort in knowing who came to me. I was at least thankful I did not need to entertain strangers.
“And a Madame Amelia Bessette.”
I frowned.
“I am not acquainted with Madame Bessette. Did she come with the other ladies?”
The butler bowed.
“She did, madam.”
I nodded and took a moment to tidy my appearance in the heavy gilt mirror above the fire before leaving to greet my guests.
Miss Bingley rose from her chair, all hard smiles, when I entered the drawing-room.
“Forgive us for the early visit, my dear Eliza,” she said. “But close as we are to Mr Darcy, I thought we might be forgiven. I was so eager to see the two of you together after our enormous surprise at the news. Were we not surprised, Louisa?”
“Astounded, more like,” said Mrs Hurst with a tinkling laugh. “Eliza Bennet of Longbourn and Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Why, no one ever suspected a thing between the two of you. Caroline and I were sure Charles had taken leave of his senses when he told us the news. We were sure he had confused names. The last we heard from dear Meryton was that you were to marry your cousin, that clergyman.”
This flow of information came at me all at once, and clearly, a response was not required. They exclaimed their astonishment repeatedly to such an extent that they forgot to introduce me to the other lady present.
She perched elegantly on the sofa. Her soft blue gown was the height of fashion, and her auburn curls were the work of a professional. She was exquisitely beautiful although she might have been more pretty if she did not look so displeased. Was she another Bingley relative who saw Darcy as her personal property? No, if the Bingleys were related to such a lady, all of Hertfordshire would have heard about it before their carriage drew to a stop outside Netherfield that very first day. I smiled at the lady, and her returning one was brief. I gave Caroline a pointed look though I had little hope it would pierce her train of gushing about her astonishment, her shock, her awe, her great surprise. Mrs Hurst took the hint and coughed to interrupt her sister.
“Ah, yes,” said Caroline. She smiled tenderly at the other lady. “You must forgive me. It is not every day a dear friend contracts a most unexpected marriage — Miss Eliza Bennet, may I introduce you to our very dear friend, Madame Amelia Bessette.”
“It is Mrs Darcy now, Miss Bingley,” I said with my sweetest smile. “How lovely to meet you, Madame Bessette.”
The lady smiled again, but her look was still frosty. “And where is dear Fitzwilliam?” she asked. She was not French as I had assumed. I raised my eyebrow at her use of my husband’s Christian name.
“He is in town at present.”
“The day after his wedding? That is too shocking. You shall have to scold him most heartily when he returns,” exclaimed Miss Bingley
with an affected laugh.
“My husband is a conscientious man. He wishes to take me to Pemberley soon for our honeymoon so he is finishing up some business in London that we might spend our time together undisturbed.” I tried not to smile as Miss Bingley’s laugh faltered, and a flash of irritation crossed her face.
“I confess, all of London will be astounded by your marriage, Mrs Darcy, so it is no wonder you will wish to be away. No one likes to be an object of curiosity though you must forgive all of us for it.” Madame Bessette spoke in a friendly tone, but there was just that something in her voice that spoke of a certain coolness towards me. Who was she and why did she refer to my husband by his first name?
I rang for tea and fended the ladies’ pointed questions as carefully as I could. The Bingley sisters demanded a full account of our having fallen in love with one another. I was forced to invent a story as close to reality as I could make it.
“Mr Darcy was a great comfort to my family when my father died,” I explained. “He visited us frequently to see we had all we needed. He and I took many walks together, where we bonded over losing our fathers. He visited daily, and we both realised we looked forward to seeing the other. When the question arose of him returning to London, neither of us could bear the parting.”
“So he proposed,” prompted Mrs Hurst.
“Yes, Mrs Hurst, he proposed,” I said, trying not to sound too mocking of the silly question. “We were both unspeakably happy to discover the other felt the same.”
“It is only natural, I suppose,” said Madame Bessette. “Fitzwilliam has always been a kind man. A lady grieving over her father would pluck at his tender heart and make him feel a tendre for her. It happens all the time.”
I ran my thumb over the handle of my cup as I tried to hide my irritation.
“Oh, the understanding Fitzwilliam and I have is far beyond shared grief,” I said airily. “We can talk for hours about many things. I sometimes think there are not enough hours in the day for us to discuss all we wish. If anything, it is our shared grief that brought us together enough to realise how perfect we are for one another. May I ask how you are acquainted with my husband, Madame? I have never heard him mention you before.”
“I grew up in Derbyshire in Hartspoole. It is the neighbouring estate to Fitzwilliam’s,” she replied. “Fitzwilliam and I have known one another since we were small children. We used to play together all the time.”
“How delightful,” I said, feeling a flash of what I would call jealousy for want of a better word. “And are you still close?”
Her face became guarded.
“Alas, no. I suppose you could say we went separate ways in life. I went away to school, and Fitzwilliam had the running of his estate. I was engaged to marry a young man in France and went to live there with him.” Madame Bessette’s hand shook, and she placed her cup back on the table as if greatly affected. “Forgive me…” she said as she drew out a handkerchief. She glanced away as if embarrassed to be soon as she dabbed at her eyes. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst turned to her at once with cooing sounds.
“I am afraid Madame Bessette lost her husband in the war,” Miss Bingley whispered even though Madame Bessette was right there. “Terrible thing. He was quite wealthy - a viscount, you know. The eldest son. But alas, this terrible war… the family lost everything.”
“Dreadful,” I murmured, though I wondered whether the other lady’s grief was caused by the loss of her husband or his wealth. “I am sorry, Madame. Did you live in France all that time?”
She drew a shuddering breath as she mastered herself.
“For most of it, yes. When Jacques died, I came home. I wished to be surrounded by family and friends so they may comfort me in my grief. Some of them — some of them had not been happy with my choice.”
“I see.”
She twisted her handkerchief between her pale fingers. I was oddly annoyed to see crying did not affect her as it did me. When I cried, my face was red and blotchy for hours afterwards. I looked as though I were about to pass out. But Madame Bessette looked even more delicately lovely than before. The tears made her blue eyes luminous, and the only sign of her storm of tears on her skin were two little spots of colours that became her.
“I am afraid one of those who was not happy with me and who I have not seen in that time is Fitzwilliam,” she confided.
“Ah. I see.”
I did not see.
“He has always been a dear friend to me. Always so solicitous of my wellbeing, always caring for me and watching over me. When he returned home from university on holidays, he always came straight to our house to see me. He missed me — our family — very much. We had a falling out when I told him I would marry Jacques. He knew I was coming home to England to visit, and he came at once to see me. When he heard the news of my engagement — well, he was not happy. I am afraid I did not take his reaction well, and we have not spoken since.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” I occupied myself with pouring more tea as an excuse not to speak while I gathered my thoughts.
A beautiful, neighbour Darcy had grown up with, whom he stopped speaking with when she told him she would marry another man. It was not possible, was it? It was bad enough to be married to him in the first place, but the idea that he loved another woman made my stomach twist unpleasantly.
18
We discussed other matters, or at least the Bingley sisters did. I nodded and feigned interest as they spoke of the trivial doings of their many friends and acquittances. Madame Bessette too was quiet.
“So, then Miss Grey said ‘Oh, I see she has brought her country manners too, has she?’ And her betrothed laughed like anything. I am sure the foolish girl thought he was serious about marrying her. Ah, you should see the lace in Miss Grey’s wedding train. I think she will be the most beautiful bride of this season…”
“It is most strange to be under this roof once again,” Madame Bessette interrupted. I blinked, Miss Bingley’s gossip having lulled me into a daze.
“Indeed. Have you been here many times before?” The thought did not thrill me.
“Oh, many times. I stayed here when Fitzwilliam and I were children. He even escorted me to my coming-out ball. I came here first to speak with his parents. I was so nervous, but Fitzwilliam insisted at once he would come with me. Though he is not fond of society, he would not hear of me going without him.” Madame Bessette sighed and looked about the room. “Dear Mrs Darcy.”
I raised my head at the overfamiliar address, but I saw she did not mean me. Her eyes fixed on the portrait of Darcy’s mother above the fireplace. I had not seen it last night as this was one of the rooms we had not yet explored before I went to bed.
“Lady Anne Darcy was one of the finest ladies who ever lived. She was like a second mother to me. She even lent me a pair of her gloves when a seam came free from my own before my first ball. She told me I was like a second daughter to her. I suppose for many years, I was her only daughter before dear Georgiana came along.”
“I am sure her death must have been difficult for you,” I said politely. Was she aware of how overdetermined she appeared about seeming familiar with the family? I was no Jane, always looking for the good in people and wanting to offer the benefit of the doubt, but I could not make this lady out. Perhaps her years in France and the death of her husband made her say things that did not sit quite correct.
“It was. She was a dear lady, as was the older Mr Darcy. I am sure you would have loved them, Mrs Darcy. And I am sure they would have been delighted with you.”
She placed her cup to one side.
“Would you indulge me if I ask a rather odd request?”
“Of course.”
“Lady Anne and I planted a rose bush in the garden one summer.” She gestured towards the French windows to the grey day beyond. “Would you mind if I went to look at it? No, please do not accompany me. I should like privacy if you do not mind so very much.”
I had started to rise
from the chair to indulge her, but at her request, I sat down. As mistress, I should really accompany her, but I understood more than anyone how much one needs solitude sometimes.
Madame Bessette stepped outside and closed the French doors behind her.
Miss Bingley looked back at me with a sigh.
“Is she not delightful? Is she not the most wonderful creature? I am sure you will dote on her as much as we do, Eliza — Mrs Darcy. Mr Darcy spoke of her so many times but we were not at all aware they had not spoken in such a long time. It will be a great surprise to him if he returns to find her here. When did you say he will return?”
“I did not say, Miss Bingley,” I replied. “I have no idea. He has to see his solicitor and his agent in London. I am sure they will also wish to congratulate him on his marriage. It might be hours before he returns.”
“Oh, surely not,” cried Mrs Hurst. “A newly married man must wish to return at once to the arms of the woman he loves. Why, the day after our wedding, Mr Hurst and I did not see another soul for at least a week. He wished to keep me all to himself.” Her smile was smug, but I had met Mr Hurst. He was a lazy man who cared for nothing but eating and sleeping. His only topic of conversation was food and when he discovered I preferred a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing more to say to me. I suspected Mr Hurst’s desire for solitude after his wedding had less to do with amorous passions and more to do with sleeping on the couch and waking only to fill his stomach.
“Yes, I am sure Mr Darcy will not stay away too much longer,” cried Miss Bingley. “Why we have been here some time, and I have been looking for him to walk in at any moment. A newly married man would not wish to stay away from his bride so soon after they had wed. Not a bride he loves. Oh no, I am sure it would be the strangest thing in the world if he does not return before we leave and we so want to see him ourselves to give our congratulations…”
“Your congratulations are received with thanks, Miss Bingley,” came a deep voice from the door. All three of us turned in our chairs to see Mr Darcy standing in the doorway. His face was less pale, and his eyes not so red. If there were shadows about them, well, no one expected a new groom to sleep much.
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