Fitzwilliam, for that was what she had decided to call him, the name his beloved mother had chosen for him. She did not want her affection associated with any others. Georgiana called him William or brother while his male friends like Mr Bingley, or close relatives such as Lady Catherine simply called him Darcy. The odd person such as Lord Byron or Richard used the horrible acronym Fitz, which she disliked intensely. Suddenly, the realisation hit her. Fitzwilliam! It was when she had called him Fitzwilliam. He thought she was calling for Richard!
Throwing the covers back, Elizabeth sat up, her mind racing. Did he know of his cousin’s declaration? And if so, who had told him, for it was not her, she had kept her promise of secrecy. It must have been Richard, the day before the wedding. It would certainly explain why Darcy had acted with such indifference towards her. But if Richard had confessed all that passed between them, why was Darcy so angry with her? Perhaps it was because she had not been the one to tell him. When she rejected Richard’s offer, she had done it with compassion and thoughtfulness, conscious not to wound his pride or trample his feelings.
Agitated by the turn of events, she jumped from her bed; this must be remedied and at once, she thought; they could not start their married life with this between them. Snatching up her thick robe from the chair, she made her way through her sitting room to Darcy’s door. Once there, her courage failed her. He had clearly imbibed heavily while brooding in the library, and she guessed once he had gained his rooms, he had continued thus. Elizabeth decided it would be unwise to confront him while he was in such a state, and turned to retrace her steps. First thing tomorrow, she would make a clean breast of it.
Once more huddled up in her bed, Elizabeth still found sleep elusive. It was only when fatigue overcome her that she finally found rest
Darcy slept dreamlessly, more unconscious than asleep. When he roused in the morning, it appeared he had at least made it to the bed. However, he had not managed to undress or gain the covers. He was sprawled on top of the mattress with the counterpane tangled between his legs. He tried to sit up, but the thumping in his temples forced him to merely prop himself up on one elbow. This is getting to be all too familiar, he thought, and where the Devil was Fletcher? He tried to shout for him, but only a rasping sound came forth, his mouth and throat dry from his over-indulgence. Rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, he gingerly swung his legs to the floor and tested their capacity to hold him. Ascertaining they would, he slowly made his way across the room, only to be stopped by the sound of crunching underfoot? Looking down, he saw shattered glass scattered across the floor, radiating from the fireplace. The memory of him hurtling the empty decanter into the dying flames came back to him, and he felt heartily ashamed of himself and his lack of self-control. He was now reluctant to call for Fletcher again, knowing he would have to deal with either a look of quiet disdain or a fatherly lecture from him. But unless he were to shave himself, he would have to endure one or the other.
The next morning, Elizabeth made her way to the breakfast room but with no thought of food in her head. However, she arrived just in time to see the footman clearing away Darcy’s place setting.
“Has Mr Darcy finished breakfast already? Do you know where he is?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am, fifteen minutes ago. He was dressed in his riding clothes,” he informed her.
Elizabeth was perplexed that she had been thwarted in her attempt to put things right between them. Having missed him now meant she would have to wait even longer to resolve the matter. She decided to make good use of her day and asked Mrs Reynolds to introduce her to the indoor staff. She spent a few minutes with each of them until only Fletcher remained.
Now Fletcher knew a good deal about the new mistress, and although not one to gossip, since his return to Pemberley he had passed on a few interesting snippets during the servants’ meal times.
“Let me tell you this,” he said as all eyes to turn to him. “When Lady Catherine tried to bribe the mistress with the offer of ten thousand pounds,” and he paused for effect, “she demanded Miss Bennet abandon the master at the altar, thus forcing him to turn tail and scurry back to wed Miss Anne. Well, the new mistress sent her packing in no uncertain terms. Told her flat that they were a love match and no amount of money could buy her off. Her ladyship said she had never been spoken to in such a manner.”
A ripple of undistinguishable words of approval fluttered around the table before he continued.
“Our new mistress is a lady of breeding, and I like her very well,” he finished with a flourish.
Fletcher stood before Elizabeth and gave a low bow. They then exchanged a few words of welcome.
Fletcher reminded Elizabeth of her father, his face was a little craggy with lines, and his thinning hair had all but turned grey.
This man is as close to Mr Darcy as any, she thought; surely he will know the answers to my questions.
“Mr Fletcher, I understand you have been with Mr Darcy since he came down from Cambridge?” she asked gently.
“Just Fletcher madam, that is correct. I have served the young master as valet these last seven years, and his father before him.”
“He has spoken to me of your expertise in knot tying; I understand he is the envy of all his friends due to your skill.”
Fletcher gave a humble smile, but his chest puffed up with pride.
“I wonder, do you know when he is expected back from his ride today?” she asked, knowing he would assist Darcy to change from his riding clothes.
“Mr Darcy has gone on a tour of the south perimeter madam and is not expected back before supper. I believe he wants to survey as much as possible before the snows come,” he answered, touched that she was missing the master already.
“He will not return for luncheon or afternoon tea?” she asked.
“That is my understanding, ma’am. Cook usually prepares them a cold repast, plus there are several tenants out that way to give the master a dish of tea, or a bowl of hot soup. He’ll not go hungry,” he said with a chuckle, thinking her concern was for Darcy’s stomach.
“Is that wise? The weather is so cold, and Mr Watkins said heavy snow was imminent?”
“The master always checks the whole estate when he has been away for any length of time, be assured Madam, I dressed him for inclement weather,” he replied.
Well, at least he is not avoiding me. Elizabeth remembered to thank Fletcher and then made her way to Mrs Reynolds room where they went over the menu for the evening meal. Mrs Reynolds offered her a list, which detailed the required skills of her new Abigail and then asked if there was anything else she wished to add.
Elizabeth looked over the list; select and coordinate outfits and accessories, style hair, sew clothes, clean jewellery, care of shoes, gloves, bonnets, etc. It was a comprehensive list, and Elizabeth could think of no additions, and so she happily approved it. These were her first instructions as mistress of Pemberley, and she had no one to share her joy with. So this was how it felt to be homesick.
Darcy made his way to the library with stealth; he had no desire to speak to anyone, least of all Elizabeth. His mood was foul and taciturn, and the only company he wanted was his own. When he entered the library, he saw the little leather book, still where it had fallen last evening. He picked it up and flicked through a few of the pages until he came to a few familiar lines.
And they who carefully survey will find
Each part is fitted for the use design’d
The purest blood we find if well we heed
Is in the testicles turn’d into seed:
Which by most proper channels is
transmitted
Into the place by nature for it fitted:
With highest sense of pleasure to excite
In amorous combatants the more delight
For in this work nature doth design
Profit and pleasure in one act to join
The book, Aristotle’s Complete Masterpiece was attributed to the great
philosopher Aristotle, but was not actually penned by him; among other things, it described the act of love and the bliss of the matrimonial bedchamber. In fact, it was a rare first edition, published in England in 1684. All the Darcy men had been given it to read before putting its teachings into practice, and although he had no reserves about a married woman perusing its pages, it was, as he had stated to Elizabeth, unfit for the eyes of a maiden. He tossed it onto a pile of paperwork on his desk and then sat in his desk chair, letting his head rest back. Had Elizabeth known what book she had chosen, or was it as he now suspected a random selection? Knowing Elizabeth, the lack of any outward title would have piqued her inquisitive nature, driving her to peek inside its covers. Running his hand through his hair, he sighed heavily. It had felt so right when he held her in his arms, savouring her willing response as his hands travelled over her slim body. Damn! He thought, he must stay firm in his resolve, he did not know if he had the strength to reject her a second time. The only solution he could see was to remove temptation. He would wait until the festive season was over and then join Georgiana in London for a few weeks. He could then send Georgiana north to keep Elizabeth company while he journeyed abroad.
Elizabeth dressed with extra care that evening. If she was to straighten this mess out with Darcy, she needed to make certain his mind was focused on her words, not her attire. At the last minute, she decided to add a piece of lace to cover her décolleté, just in case it was her nightgown that instigated last night’s outburst.
When she walked into the dining room, she was surprised to see Darcy already there. Standing before the fire with his legs astride, and his hands locked behind his back, he looked devastatingly handsome. As she met his gaze, Elizabeth felt her heart flutter with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. She longed to be held in his strong embrace again, and at the risk of sounding wanton, in his bed too. But until all was resolved between them, there seemed little chance of either. Taking courage, she walked to the seat nearest to Darcy, sat down, and waited. She hoped Darcy would initiate a conversation, but when he also elected to remain silent, Elizabeth opened with a safe enquiry.
“How was your day sir? Did you attend to all that you hoped?”
“Thank you, yes. I have made a start on my rounds and will continue tomorrow. There are a few minor things that need attention, and Peebles will action them directly.” Darcy replied politely.
Elizabeth was encouraged.
“That is good news indeed sir,” she replied with a smile.
Elizabeth was not one to suffer from attacks of the vapours, but she could certainly attest to not feeling quite herself at this moment. A whiff of Mrs Bennet’s salts would have been most welcome. Realising delay was pointless, she went directly to the subject.
“I wondered if we might speak in private, sir,” she asked, her voice giving way to a slight quiver.
“We have nothing of a private nature to discuss madam,” Darcy replied, refusing to meet her gaze.
“Sir, you give me no choice. I wish to speak of the events of last evening.” Elizabeth said insistently.
Darcy shot her a burning glare of anger before returning his eyes to the front.
“Very well madam, if you insist,” he said coldly.
With a slight nod of his head, Darcy dismissed the waiting footmen. Once alone, he turned and glared at her, his eyes burning with anger and declared,
“I realise you have led a rather different and often lax existence at Longbourn in comparison to what is observed here at Pemberley, madam, but the facade of a harmonious existence is to be maintained in front of the servants at all times, is that understood?”
Turning to face the fire, he grasped the mantel and kicked at the burning logs with venom.
Shocked at his rebuke, Elizabeth stared at his back momentarily before defending her actions.
“That is unfair sir; did I not ask to speak to you privately but a moment before?” she asked, “If you had acquiesced to my request…”
Darcy cut her off mid-sentence.
“There is nothing, nothing, you can possibly have to say to me about the events of last evening, I would wish to hear,” he hissed, “the utterance of your lover’s name was more than enough, madam. Now, if you will excuse me, I find my appetite has deserted me.”
Darcy strode from the room, purposely ignoring Elizabeth’s pleas to stay, to let her explain.
Elizabeth sat alone, bewildered at Darcy’s unreasonable behaviour. A mixture of emotions raced through her mind; anger that he had given her no chance to explain, dismay that her worse fear had been confirmed; he thought Richard was her lover. And finally, disbelief that he did not trust her. If he would not let her speak on the subject, to explain, how could this misapprehension ever be resolved?
Elizabeth sighed; clearly, there would be no resolution tonight. How she missed Jane and her ready words of comfort.
Darcy made his way to his favourite room in the house, his inner sanctum, his retreat. In this room, he had spent many happy hours with his parents, reading, playing games or debating something they had read. It was where he did his work, his reading, and of late, his drinking. He poured himself a large glass of port and then retrieved the small book. Taking to his favourite chair in the alcove by the fire, he was assured no one would disturb him. He would not be surprised if Elizabeth packed her trunks and returned to Longbourn. His treatment of her since the night of the Lucas ball had been unforgivable, and he knew it. He had been wrong tonight, too; he should have let her offer up her excuses. Who knows, maybe it would have helped ease his pain. How he longed to wipe from his mind the vision of Elizabeth’s hand in Richard’s, but, unfortunately, it was seared in his memory. Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Marmion’, ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive,’ seemed to lend itself perfectly to her situation. He reasoned with himself that to conquer his emotions, he must first let her confess. Maybe then they could come to some arrangement. Draining his glass, he opened the little book at random. The lines of the script described how a couple should think happy, pleasant thoughts during coitus, thus ensuring any child conceived from their union would be fair of face. As the alcohol mellowed his mood, he chuckled at such an archaic notion. Only one hundred years ago, such ideas were thought to be fact. Such falsehoods belonged only in storybooks, he mused. He filled his glass again, and he tossed the book back onto the table. It seemed unlikely he would ever have a child of his own now. He could not ask Elizabeth to surrender to him just to beget an heir. And it was unthinkable for him to force himself on her, although he knew such practices went on.
He once thought life without Elizabeth would be unbearable, but at the moment, life with her was just as torturous. Draining his glass, he reached for the decanter again.
CHAPTER 29
Elizabeth rose early again the next morning, intending to explore the grounds a little more before breakfast. Knowing Darcy would have left hours ago, she did not expect to see him until the evening meal. She also hoped to use this time apart to solicit Fletcher’s help. Mulling over her plan as she descended the stairs, Elizabeth was startled to see Mr & Mrs Reynolds standing in the atrium afore a huge, potted tree. They took a few steps back and appeared to be admiring it. How strange, she thought. Hearing her approach, Mr Reynolds turned and bade her good morning, then disappeared down the hallway.
Mrs Reynolds curtsied and asked,
“Good morning, Mrs Darcy, I trust you passed a restful night?”
“Good morning, Mrs Reynolds; yes, I did, thank you. Forgive me, but why has a tree been brought inside?” she asked.
“It’s from the estate ma’am. Every year, Mr Darcy and his steward ride out and select a tree for the house. This one has taken thirty summers to grow. ’Tis a fine example, is it not?”
“Yes indeed, but for what purpose, Mrs Reynolds?”
Full of curiosity, she walked around the huge pot, inspecting the magnificent specimen and its colourful container.
“Wel
l ma’am, when Mr Darcy went on his grand tour, he spent the festive season with cousins in Vienna. They have a tradition where they bring in a tree on the eve of Christmas and cover it in decorations. The master admired the notion very much and decided Pemberley would benefit from such a tradition. When Miss Georgiana was a youngster, she would help me with the trimmings, but the last few years she has elected to spend Christmas in town. But she decorates the Airwhile House tree very well, madam. Nowadays, I usually pick the newest serving girl to help me; it helps take their mind off feeling homesick. It is hard work, but the outcome is quite prodigious.”
Elizabeth was fascinated with the idea, and although she did not want to deprive anyone of the prospect of helping, she longed to participate.
“I would not wish to divest anyone of a welcome opportunity, but would you think it very presumptuous of me if I offered to be your assistant this year? I should very much like to immerse myself in all the household traditions,” she offered shyly.
“Why, not at all madam, that would be most gracious of you, besides we have no new girls this year. I’ll send Tuppence to get the boxes at once. When you have finished your breakfast, we can make a start.”
Elizabeth was pleased to have something to occupy her until Darcy came home, and she would still have ample time to enlist her accomplice. After enjoying a slice of toast and honey, she quickly drank a dish of tea and returned to Mrs Reynolds. The housekeeper was sitting on a stool next to a table on wheels, and all around were empty boxes. The curious looking table was laden with an array of objects. There were small wooden animals from the nativity, dozens of brightly coloured paper flowers tied into small posies, and a rainbow of coloured ribbons stitched together to make bows. Then she found painted walnut shells threaded on a ribbon to look like bells and dried orange peel and cinnamon sticks tied into small bouquets. Next, Elizabeth spied a piece of soft white linen neatly tied with a pink ribbon. Picking it up, she carefully unfolded the outer cloth. Inside was a string of paper dollies, clearly decorated by the hand of a child. Written on the hem of one of the dresses was, Miss Georgiana Darcy December 25th 1800 aged 5. Elizabeth was touched that a man like Darcy had kept something so delicate and sentimental. She hoped that one day contributions made by her children would be added in a similar fashion.
Mr Darcy's Struggle Page 21