by Jane Grix
And she did want to marry him.
She had refused him years before and had regretted it ever since.
He added, “Neither of us are in our youth and you do not strike me as an overly sentimental or romantic person.”
“No, I am not.” Her experiences had changed her, hardening her once buoyant spirit.
“Neither am I.”
She asked, “Were you ever in love?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “Yes. Once.”
She clutched her hands together to keep them from shaking. “And what happened?”
“I proposed, and she refused me.” He smiled at the memory. “I was a different man then – too proud and sure of myself. At first, I was angry, but over time I came to realize that I did not deserve her.”
“I doubt that.”
“No,” he said. “She was too good for me. Beautiful, clever, kind – the ideal woman.”
“No woman is perfect.”
“Perhaps not, but she became my ideal, representing everything good and pure in the world.”
Pure. The word was like a slap to her face.
She was no longer pure. She had been ravished and born a stranger’s child. He would be horrified and disgusted if he knew the truth about her. Her desire to tell him the truth withered within her.
He said calmly, “But that was long ago. She is dead, and I am blind, and I fear that telling you about my lost love will make you not want to marry me.”
“No,” she said. “We all have our memories and they can sustain us in times of trial.” She did not want to ruin his memories of her.
“Then you are not offended?”
“No.”
“And will you marry me?”
Elizabeth felt like Julius Caesar about to cross the Rubicon. The risks before her were great, but she could not turn back. “Yes,” she said finally. “I will marry you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Darcy did not want to wait for the banns to be read, so he purchased a marriage license, and he and Mrs. Holt were married quietly at the church at Lambton with only a few guests, including Georgiana and her husband. There was no time to order a new gown for Mrs. Holt, so she wore one of Georgiana’s dresses, apparently hemmed up several inches for she was a little shorter than his sister. Mrs. Holt had not invited any members of her family, saying that she would write to those who needed to be informed.
“As you wish,” Darcy said. Personally, he was glad that he did not have to deal with new acquaintances.
She said she would invite Mrs. Gardiner to visit Pemberley in the spring when the gardens were better.
“An excellent plan.”
After the wedding, there was a brief wedding breakfast, and then the Tiptons left to travel back to their home.
During the ceremony, Mrs. Lewis arranged for Mrs. Darcy’s belongings to be moved from the servants’ wing to the bedroom that adjoined his.
Mrs. Holt’s first name was Elizabeth, which had seemed like another of God’s cruel jokes, for there was much about his new wife that reminded him of his first love. Even her scent, which was lavender water. At the end of the marriage ceremony, when the minister pronounced them man and wife, he leaned closer and her scent had momentarily swayed him bringing back a wave of memories.
Elizabeth Bennet in his arms at the Netherfield Ball.
Elizabeth Bennet playing the pianoforte at Rosings.
Elizabeth Bennet when he last saw her, the day he gave her his letter.
He forced himself to think of something else. It was disloyal to be thinking of Elizabeth Bennet on the day he married Elizabeth Holt, and he was determined to give his wife the respect she deserved.
After Georgiana left, he asked what his new wife what she wished to do. “You are Mistress of Pemberley now. You can do whatever you like.”
“Would you like me to read to you?”
He relaxed and smiled. “I would, actually.”
She sent a footman for several books and within a few minutes, she was sitting next to him, reading out loud from book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Darcy relaxed. He should not have worried. Marriage to Mrs. Holt – Mrs. Darcy now – would be little different from their relationship before. The one advantage would be that he could now enjoy her company throughout the day without feeling guilty.
That evening, as he prepared for bed, his valet asked him if he wished to shave again.
“No, why?”
“Mrs. Darcy,” the valet said meaningfully, implying that Mrs. Darcy might prefer a husband who was clean shaven.
“Oh,” Darcy said and realized from the valet’s tone that the entire household were assuming that he would consummate his marriage that evening.
But what about Mrs. Holt? Or more appropriately, Elizabeth?
What did she expect from him?
He had told her that their marriage would be more of a friendship, but was she expecting him to pay a conjugal visit?
If she did, he did not want to insult her by remaining in his room.
Or was that merely his mind giving him justification for doing what he wished to do? For years, he had thought that the possibility of marriage was out of his grasp.
He felt a moment’s uncertainty, wondering what kind of husband he could be when he could not see his wife clearly, then smiled to himself – he would have to woo her by his touch.
In the end, he let his valet shave him and dress him in a silk dressing robe. He waited until the man had left and he walked over to the door between the master bedroom and the bedroom that had once been his mother’s.
He knocked on the door.
After a pause, he heard Elizabeth say quietly, “come in.”
He opened the door and walked inside. The fire in her grate was burning, but there were no other lights. It appeared that she was sitting on the edge of her bed, but he had no idea what she was wearing for she was entirely a blur. How he wished he could see her.
He said awkwardly, “I did not know if you expected a visit tonight or not.”
She said calmly, “We never discussed the matter.”
“No. Perhaps that was remiss of me.”
“I do not mind, for we are discussing it now.” Her tone was wry.
“May I sit down?” he asked.
“Of course. It is your house. I am your wife.”
He smiled. “But this is your room and you are mistress here. In this room, I am your servant.”
“That is most kind of you. Thank you.”
He sat beside her and held out his hand for hers. After a moment, she placed her hand in his and his heart thrilled. Her hand was soft. He brought her hand up to his lips so he could kiss her palm.
She shivered, but she did not pull away.
He said gently, “At any time you wish me to stop, tell me so.”
“Thank you.”
He took a deep breath, breathing in her sweet scent. It was intoxicating. For the past few months, Mrs. Holt had been little more than a friendly voice to him, but now she was his wife, warm and alive. And according to the laws of man and God, she was his. He pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown so he could kiss her wrist. Her skin was soft and delicate.
She sighed as if she had been nervously holding her breath.
“Shall we continue?” he whispered.
There was a moment’s hesitation and then he heard the word that every lover longs to hear. “Yes.”
ELIZABETH LAY IN THE darkness as her husband slept beside her with one heavy arm around her waist, holding her close. There was so much to think on. So much to remember.
After all these years of thinking about him, she had married Fitzwilliam Darcy. She thought Jane would be pleased. Jane had always thought well of Mr. Darcy and she would want her to be happy.
Elizabeth smiled wryly. Her mother would be happy as well to learn that she had married Mr. Darcy with his ten thousand pounds a year, but she had no intention of informing her mother. She did not want her mother or Lydia
to invite themselves to Pemberley.
Heaven forbid.
And if Wickham ever learned of the marriage, he would find a way to make trouble.
No, it was better to avoid her family and London altogether.
She would write to Mrs. Gardiner in the morning and tell her of the wedding. Elizabeth had not dared to write earlier because she knew that her aunt would not be pleased. She would have wanted Elizabeth to tell Mr. Darcy the truth about her past.
During the wedding ceremony, Elizabeth had felt a moment’s fear when the minister asked if any man could show just cause why they should not be lawfully joined together and for him to now speak or else forever hold his peace.
Elizabeth had held her own tongue and prayed that God would forgive her.
She looked now at her husband’s handsome face, illuminated by the flickering embers in the fireplace. He looked relaxed and happy in his sleep. Her fingers itched to smooth his thick dark hair from his forehead, but she resisted the urge. She did not want to wake him. She wanted him to sleep, finally at peace.
Mr. Darcy never complained, but she knew that crowds and public appearances wearied him. He seemed happiest when he was safe within the walls of Pemberley.
Elizabeth touched her lips, remembering Darcy’s kisses. Tonight, she had experienced her first real kiss for Mr. Holt had never done more than kiss her cheek. And he had certainly never visited her bedroom. He had been old enough to be her grandfather and had married her as a kindness to his friend Mr. Gardiner. He had treated her more like a granddaughter than a wife.
And now she was Mr. Darcy’s wife.
Years ago, when Jane married Bingley, Elizabeth had asked her about marital duties. Jane had been too shy to share many details except to say that the process was surprisingly pleasant.
Elizabeth’s own experience in the London house had been horrific – rough and violent, and for a few moments tonight she had panicked when Darcy first knocked on her bedroom door.
But he was nothing like the man in London.
Darcy was a slow, gentle lover, giving meaning to the words of the marriage ceremony “with my body I thee worship.”
When he finished with her and before he fell asleep, he said in a low voice, “Ah, Elizabeth, you have made me very happy.”
She felt herself blush. He had made her happy, too. In truth, if she had known years before what pleasure a marriage to him would provide, she might have accepted him right away.
But all that was the past, and it was not wise to waste time thinking about it. She would do much better to prepare for her future as Mrs. Darcy.
She sighed.
She was no longer young and idealistic, but she loved Mr. Darcy with all her heart.
When had her love begun? That was difficult to say. Her tender feelings had grown so gradually, it was difficult to pinpoint the moment when they began.
His letter eight years before had opened her mind to the realization that he was not a selfish villain. He could be oblivious and arrogant, but he had a good heart and he meant to do well. And then when she saw him again, her heart was touched by his loss.
When he hired her, she was grateful.
And then over time, as she worked in his household, and she saw how he respected his servants and cared for his home, she liked him even more. He was a kind and loving brother and uncle.
And now he was her wedded husband. He was hers to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. Earlier that day she had promised to love him, to cherish him, and to obey him until death parted them.
Please Lord, she prayed silently. Help me to be a good wife to this good man and may he never regret his choice.
CHAPTER TEN
Some of Darcy’s neighbours were scandalized when they learned that he had married Mrs. Holt, but Darcy did not care. She had brought happiness into his life and for the first time in a long time, he was willing to socialize. With Elizabeth on his arm subtly guiding him, he did not need to rely as greatly on his cane. They spent the remaining months of the winter getting to know each other better. He wanted to take her to London to purchase a new wardrobe, but Elizabeth declined the offer. “I don’t need a dozen dresses. One or two will do very well since you can’t tell the difference between them.”
“Don’t you wish to be the stylish Mrs. Darcy?” he asked.
“Not if it means travelling to London. I am perfectly happy to spend the rest of my days here with you at Pemberley.”
Darcy could not believe his good fortune.
Elizabeth also lightened his load of responsibilities by overseeing the running of the household. Mrs. Lewis assisted her in understanding the house budget and supervision of the servants. Under Elizabeth’s care, Pemberley was cleaned top to bottom and the curtains, carpets and linens were either repaired or replaced, something that had not been done since his mother was Mistress of Pemberley.
Darcy noticed that his favourite foods appeared at the dinner table more often, and they were prepared in ways to make it easier for him to eat them.
As the weeks passed, Darcy was occasionally reminded of Elizabeth Bennet, but the fleeting memories did not bother him. Elizabeth Bennet was dead, and if his new wife was similar it only proved that he was drawn to a particular type – a strong, independent woman who could speak her mind as well as make him laugh. His new wife seemed calmer, less impulsive than Elizabeth Bennet had been and she seemed a better match for him.
After realizing that, he chose to close the door on the past and thoroughly appreciate the present. Sometimes when he listened to his wife read, he wondered if he was falling in love with her, but that seemed too romantic a description. He was no Romeo, with passion burning hot, waiting outside her bedroom window. No, he was too old for that. His love for Elizabeth was quieter, calmer, perhaps more like the love shared between his parents. He liked to think that he had skipped the mad impetuous stage and moved on to a satisfying, mature love.
He thanked God daily that Mrs. Holt had come into his life.
In March, Mrs. Gardiner and several of her children came to visit. She enjoyed riding in a pony cart around the estate.
In April, Georgiana and her husband came again. One evening, Georgiana teased him saying that marriage agreed with him. “Some men get fat when they marry, but not you. You seem to have grown more vigorous.”
“It is all due to the physical exertion Elizabeth requires.”
Mr. Tilton laughed, Georgina gasped, and Elizabeth said in a scolding tone, “Fitzwilliam, please.”
Darcy laughed when he realized how risqué his comment sounded. “Forgive me, my dear. I referred to our walks, nothing more.” He explained further to their guests. “Elizabeth walks out of doors nearly every day, and now I accompany her, which has improved my health and mental state immensely.”
That evening when they prepared for bed, she teased him. “You nearly gave your poor sister a heart attack by referring to our physical exertions.”
Darcy smiled. He had no idea how often other husbands lay with their wives, but he and Elizabeth seemed to have a healthy appetite.
She wore a nightgown and sat before a mirror, and he continued to brush her long hair. Elizabeth had a habit of carefully brushing her curly hair two hundred strokes every night to get rid of the tangles, and over time, it had become one of his duties – something he could do easily without his sight. He said, “Georgiana is a married woman with children. She should be able to hear about marital relations without fainting.”
Elizabeth said, “Do not be so quick to judge. Not every woman is as matter-of-fact as I am. Some are more delicate. My sister, for example –”
“Your sister?” he asked, surprised. “You have never mentioned a sister before. I thought you were an only child.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I did have a sister, but she died.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” Elizabeth said. “I should
not have mentioned her.”
Darcy had noticed that Elizabeth rarely spoke her family but when she did, the references were vague as if she were ashamed of them. All he knew was that both her parents were dead and that she had been estranged from her mother for years. He hoped that over time, she would trust him more and share more of her history.
And then, a few days later, he learned more of her past in a most dramatic way.
Georgiana and her family had left Pemberley, and Elizabeth was tired after supper. She chose to retire early. Darcy stayed up later, dictating some correspondence with his secretary Mr. Fletcher, then came to bed as well. After his valet assisted his change of clothes, Darcy opened Elizabeth’s door to wish her good night. He could not tell if she was asleep, so he drew closer. In the process, he tripped on a coverlet that had fallen from the bed and he staggered, reaching for the bedpost to steady himself.
Elizabeth stirred.
Darcy picked up the coverlet and tried to put it back on her bed, but as he did so, his hand brushed her arm which startled her.
“Don’t worry, dearest,” he whispered and reached across her body to straighten the coverlet.
At that moment, Elizabeth screamed and struck at him suddenly, kicking and clawing like a madwoman.
He held her down, so she could not hurt him. “Elizabeth!” he said sharply. “You are dreaming.”
One of the footmen, hearing her scream, burst through the door. “Is everything all right, sir?”
In an instant, Elizabeth was gasping and crying, no longer fighting him, and he released her. “I am so sorry,” she said. “Fitzwilliam, did I hurt you?”
“I am fine,” he told her. Heaven only knew what it looked like with him in his nightshirt and robe, holding down his distraught wife. He said to the footman, “Mrs. Darcy had a nightmare. Nothing more. Please fetch us a glass of wine.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the young man left, Darcy sat next to Elizabeth on the bed. He smoothed Elizabeth’s hair and held her close. She sobbed quietly and clung to him. Darcy felt as if his heart was breaking. He said, “What happened? If I frightened you, I apologize. I only meant to straighten your bedding.”