A Virtue of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  Mary shrugged and lay on the extra bed now in Kitty's room. “You mustn't speak her name. Father has said we must not, and we must not.”

  “But why? What reasoning has ever been given? No one would have married that toad!”

  “I would have. I would have married Mr. Collins, and you should not call him a toad!”

  “Oh, you loved him did you? All his sermonizing and superior airs. Yes, I'm sure you would have made the happy couple until you found out what poor Charlotte had to the hard way.”

  Mary's ears perked up at the hint of gossip surrounding her beloved William. “What did Charlotte Lucas learn? Any fault of Mr. Collins is surely caused by an unsupportive wife.”

  “Wouldn't you like to know?”

  “Tell me! It is a vicious lie, whatever it is.”

  Kitty shook her head. “No it's not, I heard it straight from Maria Lucas when she returned from Kent!”

  “Tell me!”

  Kitty mimed locking her lips, which only infuriated Mary more. Frantically looking around the room, Mary spied a favored bonnet by her sister and snagged it, threatening to rip it to shreds.

  “No! You're no better than Lydia!”

  “Where do you think she learned it?”

  “Girls!” Mrs. Bennet shrill voice carried up the stairs and both Mary and Kitty realized their spat had gone too far. Kitty marched over to Mary and giving her a surprising shove, snatched the bonnet from her hands as she fell back towards the bed. Only Mary's feet slipped from underneath her and she landed on the hard wooden floor with a thud.

  Kitty's eyes widened in fear as loud steps could be heard thundering up the stairs. A very angry Mrs. Bennet stood in the doorway as Mary began to sob and pointed her finger at Kitty.

  “What is this? What have you done to poor Mary?”

  “Nothing, Mama. She was going to rip my bonnet!” Kitty held up the bonnet as proof of her sister's treachery.

  “She's painting again, and she won't stop talking about Lizzie,” Mary whined as she continued to whimper from the floor.

  “That's not true, tis not! I wouldn't tell her what Maria Lucas told me about Mr. Collins blackening Charlotte's eye during their visit, and she —”

  “Enough!” Mrs. Bennet stormed past Kitty and collected the offending paint set as it sat next to the window.

  “No, please! I so enjoy the painting, and it is an accomplishment!” Kitty pleaded.

  “You wish to work on your accomplishments? Stitch. Read. No husband will want you with paint beneath your finger nails and your wild visions on paper!”

  “Please, Mama!” But it was to no avail, Mrs. Bennet carried the paint set out of the room and Kitty sunk to the floor in sobs. After a few minutes, Mary ended her charade of being injured and slithered towards her sister forlorn before her.

  “That's what you get for spreading lies!” Crawling backwards away from Kitty's reach, Mary rose and restored her dress and appearance before leaving the room herself.

  Anger pounded and throbbed in Kitty's head until she screeched and clenched her fists at her side. Throwing herself upright, she rushed to the door and slammed it shut! A habit becoming too familiar in her life, Catherine Bennet, the surrogate for Elizabeth, cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lady Matlock reclined in her parlor nursing a most dreadful headache with her Cook's famous tea blend. A splash or two of brandy in the cup made the warm beverage a balm to sooth the Countess of Matlock's throbbing veins. Before her lay a complicated arrangement of invitations as the height of the London Season came into full swing. Many families would arrive from the country as Easter was the following weekend, but given the scandals of Georgiana and now Fitzwilliam and the girl from the theatre, the Matlocks had elected to remain in town to help parry whispers.

  Sipping a long draft from her fine china, the sound of a carriage rolling up to the house outside piqued her interest. While dressed impeccably for the day and able to accept callers, truly Margaret Fitzwilliam had no interest in playing social games as she still suffered from late hours of the previous evening's ball at Lady Sefton’s town home.

  Relief washed over her as her dear husband strolled into the parlor, until she viewed his expression.

  "Reginald, sit down. You look as if you are to suffer an apoplexy." His wife beckoned for him to find a chair. Instead, the Earl of Matlock paced the parlor floor in front of the grand windows looking out upon the busy street.

  "That son of yours, Margaret, shall be the death of us."

  "Which son is that pray tell? We do have two."

  "Richard! I had business with our solicitor and I notice papers with his name written upon them. Now, I ask you, what business does Richard have with our lawyers that I am not aware of? I know he confides in you.”

  Margaret Fitzwilliam mulled for a moment, and continued sipping her tea.

  The Earl halted in his track as this wife's playacting and stormed over to her table in a deliberate double-quick march. Placing both hands on the edge, he peered closely until his nose was directly in front of his wife's teacup that she held so delicately. “Margaret, tell me what you know."

  Lady Matlock leaned back in her chair and fluttered away her husband's face with a slight wave of her hand. Reginald returned to a standing position and folded his arms across his chest. The position was a similar stance he shared with both of his sons, a similarity Margaret always found highly amusing.

  "I have not spoken to Richard in weeks. Why not visit him at his barracks and seek your answers directly from him?"

  "I did just as you say and he's not there! He’s gone! I was told by some bloke in a red coat the Colonel has leave and is visiting his relations in Kent!”"

  Lady Matlock gasped.

  "Margaret, I'm going to ask you this once more. What is our son planning and where is he?"

  "He wouldn't . . . they wouldn't . . ." Margaret Fitzwilliam's furrowed her brows and placed her teacup down. She flattened her palms against her temples and pushed as she tried to find any evidence her supposition was wrong. Surely those two boys did not think they could take on their Aunt Catherine, alone, without reinforcements?

  "We must ready the carriage. We must leave for Rosings at once!”

  "Whatever for?" The Earl of Matlock called after his wife as she hastily stood up from the table and began pulling on cords to summon the housekeeper. There was much to plan and little time to accomplish it all.

  “Richard's going to marry Anne, and your negotiations with the Duke of Northumberland will fall to shambles.”

  "What!" The Earl roared, much in a similar fashion as his son. The Earl's lip glistened with perspiration and his wife approached him to place her hand on his arms.

  "I'm certain we shall be there in time. If Darcy and Richard had pulled off this coup, we both know Catherine would be standing and shouting in our parlor at this very moment.”

  Still the Earl said nothing and only breathed huskily in and out. Finally, he listened to his wife's good sense.

  "We shall leave tomorrow, I cannot miss the dinner tonight at the Burrells. If they have not accomplished it as yet, tis better I shore up any loose ends now."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chirping birds harkened the arrival of dawn as Elizabeth Bennet shivered in the morning's crisp start. Taking a moment to collect a few blooms along the way, she worried not that the bottom of her best gown showed several inches of the grass's dew. Her breath caught in her chest, as standing outside the small chapel on the north side of the estate was her Fitzwilliam, dressed impeccably in a suit of the finest cut in a pale gray.

  “Good morning, sir, it looks to be a glorious day for a wedding!” She called out as she turned onto the front of the chapel's outdoor path. Walking down a perfect aisle from the shrubbery around her, with the blossoms for Anne firmly in her hand, Fitzwilliam Darcy turned to see a vision of his loveliest dream walking towards him with the sun's glory illuminating around her.

  A
s Elizabeth approached, he extended his hand to accept hers and bowed over it to kiss the top, careful to nip just above her petite glove.

  “Good morning, madam, I am only sorry to say the wedding should be for another couple.”

  Elizabeth smiled and cocked her head to one side. With a heavy sigh, she felt surprised to feel tears prick the edges of her eyes. She shook her head, determined not to cry before the ceremony even began, and sniffed. “Our time is near, Fitzwilliam. I am afraid once we return to Hertfordshire, my father might insist upon a proper courtship.” Elizabeth giggled and took a step back so that Mr. Darcy could open the chapel door.

  Inside the stone abbey was aglow with candles, and Miss de Bourgh’s long time companion Mrs. Annesley and her maid, Harriet, sat in the small pews. The bride was prettily seated in an ornate chair provided for her health and Elizabeth happily took her place as witness. As the men discussed the license and particulars with the exalted Archbishop of Canterbury, Elizabeth suddenly felt very shy to see Fitzwilliam's godfather.

  “Are those for me?” Anne inquired, noticing Elizabeth looking uncomfortable.

  Elizabeth nodded and handed her wildflower bouquet to her friend and hopefully one day, cousin.

  “They are so beautiful. You should not have troubled.”

  “I understand that if there is ever a day to undertake any troubles for any one, it is most certainly for a bride on her wedding day!” Elizabeth laughed and noticed Mrs. Annesley nodded sagely while Harriet covered her giggle.

  “If we may proceed, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of our God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you.” His Grace began the service.

  “And also with you,” those in attendance responded.

  The marriage ceremony was identical to the ceremony Elizabeth watched for Jane and Mr. Bingley, only this time her gaze could not leave the face of the male witness. As Richard and Anne took their vows to love, cherish, and protect one another, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam could only stand silently, each wishing to make the same declarations.

  The service ended with communion for all and as Elizabeth knelt for a blessing from the Archbishop, she was stunned when the older man looked at her with kind eyes and proclaimed: “You will do well for my Fitzwilliam. Blessed be your life, Elizabeth Bennet.”

  She nodded, not knowing what to say, the solemnity of the moment weighing too heavily on her conscience. Briefly, doubts of being strong enough to become his wife flashed across her mind, but she closed her eyes and relished in the peace of love. If the Archbishop of Canterbury was certain, who was a young miss from Hertfordshire to contradict him?

  The smile did not stay away long from Lizzie's lips and it was all much too soon that Fitzwilliam was walking her back towards the parsonage as the sun was now high enough to be early morning. Arm in arm, as it no longer mattered who saw them together, for Anne and Richard were bound in Holy Matrimony, Elizabeth felt herself slow her pace as it suddenly felt wrong to leave Fitzwilliam's side.

  “I have spoken to Father Charles and he is most intrigued by your cousin's management of the parish.”

  “But a living cannot be revoked except for extreme misconduct . . .”

  Darcy nodded as they reached the path where they must break away unless he was to walk her to the parsonage. Both of them stopped.

  “Can you bear four more days, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked earnestly, biting her lower lip.

  “Four days? Whatever for, Elizabeth? I am free! Free to whisk you away this very minute to seek your father's permission and to Gretna Green if need be!”

  As he twirled them about in a rare bubbling over of his emotions, Elizabeth laughed. The meadow around her became a blur of colors. When they stopped, she regained her focus from the momentary dizziness.

  “I fear for Charlotte. And I have not visited yet a fortnight, after we leave, I do not know when we shall return, do you?”

  Darcy frowned, and quickly recovered remembering how intently his beloved Elizabeth studied his face. “I cannot play the offended suitor. Richard asked me to stay on for a few days at most to see to a smooth transition of the estate. He may need to ride to London himself should our Aunt fight their wedding.”

  “Fight it? Surely she cannot seek an annulment when The Most Reverend presided . . . I mean, who on earth would challenge such a wedding?”

  Darcy wiped his chin with his hand, imagining the sheer preposterous situation his Lizzie just evoked. “You do not know my Aunt, I would not be surprised if she sought Prinny's help. The man's opinion can almost always be purchased.”

  A crow crying off in the distance distracted the happy couple back to their present aims. Darcy's hand delicately traced Elizabeth's jaw and very softly he kissed her lips.

  “Fitzwilliam . . .”

  “No my darling, today should have been a double wedding. This madness has gone on long enough. May the world know Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, Carver, and Darcy House in London is caught, and he prays his future wife shall never let him go.”

  The pretty speech made Elizabeth blush and she looked up at him through her eyelashes. With a heavy sigh, she released her grip on his arms and walked a few steps backwards.

  “You ought to go back, soon as Lady Catherine finds out about the wedding, Richard and Anne will need you.”

  Darcy nodded and bowed sweepingly low for his intended bride out of respect. The mantle he was asking this young woman to wear would not be light, but he had no doubt the caliber of her character would more than carry her through this trying time and all future ones.

  This time, it was Fitzwilliam who watched Elizabeth's lithe figure walk forlornly towards the cottage her cousin lived in. Once she rounded the bend in the road, Darcy adjusted his hat and turned on his heel to head the hundred yards towards Rosings. He would not miss his Aunt's apprising of her dowager status for the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Elation over the wedding ceremony and her future by Mr. Darcy's side evaporated as soon as Elizabeth carefully closed the side kitchen door to the parsonage.

  “There you are, Cousin Elizabeth. I was getting a little nervous.”

  His voice chilled Elizabeth to the bone and the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Hunched over the door handle, she slowly craned her face around her shoulder to see her cousin, Mr. Collins sitting calmly at the worktable. For a brief moment, neither of them moved, as soon as Elizabeth began to turn he grabbed and dragged her from the kitchen by the forearm.

  Elizabeth cried out in pain as his grip and twist was thrice the strength he had employed before.

  “Nasty, conniving, trollop that does not deserve a shred of dignity . . .” he muttered on and on as many insulting epithets as he managed with Elizabeth struggling against his aims. With a harsh toss, he cast Elizabeth to the floor; she barely braced her fall, further injuring her twisted arm.

  “Stop! Mr. Collins, perhaps she has an explanation. Lizzie, you have an explanation, tell my husband why you are dressed . . . and out . . .” Charlotte Collins looked at her friend upon the floor from the safety of the stairs, as if the bannister and railing provided some magical barrier to Mr. Collins' anger. As Charlotte's eyes widened at the damning evidence before her, Elizabeth raised her arms defensively looking towards her friend.

  The first slap stung Elizabeth's cheek before she had any warning and her face turned most violently in the direction of the force.

  “Look at her! Who did you rendezvous with? Out with it! Which man made you his whore that you sneak out at the break of dawn to meet your liaisons?” Collins reached forward to lift up Elizabeth's dress as if looking for proof of her dalliances. Elizabeth smacked his hands away as she screamed again, pulling her gown down and scurrying backwards as much as she could manage.

  “You are mad! Absolutely mad! I've not had any such liaisons!”

  “Lizzie, do not lie. He hates it when you lie,” Charlotte advised, again distracting Elizabeth briefly before anothe
r slap met her face.

  Truly angry, Elizabeth scrambled to stand and picked up the closest object she could find. The book flew wide, not coming even close to Mr. Collins' person. She continued to back away from his menacing presence.

  “I am not lying! I went for a walk, which I know, is against the rules, but I had to get out. I had to walk in God's great cathedral of nature.”

  “Do not dare speak of our Heavenly Father, your words are a displeasure to Him. You defy every person of authority and expect no retribution. Oh, retribution is coming.” Collins reached behind him to pull a crop from the side table. Raising it high, he brought it down with such force, Elizabeth only barely managed to shield her face, though her arm felt on fire from the blow.

  “I witnessed your treachery, kissing an engaged man out in the open!” Another blow came down, but Elizabeth managed to dodge just at the last moment causing Mr. Collins to stumble forward and grasp the mantle to steady himself.

  “I kissed my fiancée! Mr. Darcy is to marry me!”

  “ Lies!” Collins roared turning and rushing towards Elizabeth who tipped the armchair at the last possible second to thwart him once more.

  Ducking below the legs of the upturned chair, Elizabeth cowered and prepared to lift up on the chair again in defense.

  “Anne and Richard married this morning. Mr. Darcy and I stood witness as His Grace performed the ceremony.” Elizabeth flinched as she breathed easier, expecting his temper to calm once he heard the truth.

  As she opened her eyes, a moment passed. The last thing Elizabeth Bennet saw was Charlotte's mouth open wide in a scream.

  Chapter Thirty

  Hours later, Elizabeth woke with a vile taste in her mouth and instinctively leaned over as she began to toss up the liquid contents of her stomach onto the bare floor. Her head spun so mercilessly, the creak of the bedroom door took a moment to register in her throbbing head. Once it did, she cried in panic and rolled off the bed to retreat to the far side of the room, an action that immediately flooded her senses with pain once she stopped.