“William and I never would have married, mother,” Anne de Bourgh whispered.
Lady Catherine rounded on her daughter. “I beg your pardon, young lady. You would have married Fitzwilliam had I ordered it!”
Anne flinched but continued, “We did not love each other that way, Mama, and William needs a strong woman. Not a sickly girl as I.”
Lady Catherine airily waved her hand. “Love! What nonsense it that, Anne? Marriage for love is acceptable for the common man, the peasants who have no true responsibilities, but not for upper classes. Fitzwilliam appreciates this and would have performed his duty if she had not bewitched him. She probably threw herself at him, compromising him, and trapping him into marriage! Women of her class are capable of anything. Anne, why are you giggling as an imbecile?”
“Mother, how could you not recognize it? Mrs. Darcy is correct. You do not understand William at all.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“How often had we refused to discuss your wild plan to marry us, Mama? Neither of us wished it, nor would have allowed it. As for Miss Bennet, it was so obvious how he felt about her. I could see it, and so could Mrs. Collins. Even cousin Richard noticed how William stared at her and was flustered when she was about. It was also clear that she did not reciprocate his affections.” Anne frowned. “I could never understand that. William is the best of men.” She shrugged and looked at her mother, who was staring at her daughter in stunned amazement. “I believe she loves him now, based on what the entire family says, but he pursued her, Mama.”
Before Lady Catherine could respond, a footman announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Matlock. Greetings were brief and strained, Lady Matlock smoothly extraditing Anne for a walk in the garden so that her husband could freely talk to his sister.
Lord Matlock wasted no time on pleasantries. “Catherine, you cannot be confused as to why I am here. I am aware of your barbaric violation of Darcy House and the outrageous aggression toward our pregnant niece.”
“Malcolm!”
“I am beyond appealing to your intelligence and decency. You have frankly exhausted my patience and stamina. Instead, I am exerting my authority as Patriarch of this family. If love and humanity cannot sway you, then perhaps honor, duty, and protocol shall. I am the Earl of Matlock and as such I far outrank you, Catherine. Therefore, you will hearken to me and obey.
“Your feelings on the subject of Fitzwilliam's marriage are inconsequential. He is the Master of Pemberley, a grown man, and his choice is his. Elizabeth happens to be a delightful woman, perfect for William, and they are devoted to each other. Even so, this too is insignificant.” He stepped closer to his sister, voice calm and gaze steely as he spoke, “I expect you to remember who you are, Catherine. The daughter of an Earl does not conduct herself as a crass tormentor of the innocent, nor does she violate her proper authority by endeavoring to dominate a man. I have primarily kept silent, rightfully permitting William to handle this as is his prerogative. However, you have crossed a line, and as William is away, it is my place to protect Elizabeth.
“I am ordering you to hereafter be civil, to formally apologize to Mrs. Darcy, to restrain your acerbic tongue, and to do whatever is required to heal the breach in this family. I cannot promise that William will ever forgive you for what you have done. The blame is entirely on your shoulders, Catherine. Any future relationship you have with the Darcys will solely depend on your attitude and humility. I suggest you prepare to beg. On behalf of the entire Fitzwilliam house, we stand firmly behind William and Elizabeth. If you chose to ignore my demands and persevere in your harassment, then you will be choosing divorcement.”
Daily, a letter arrived from Darcy. Amongst the teeming endearments and lyrical phrases of love and yearning were lines recounting his daily activities. In vivid detail he described the environment of Suffolk, the Grafton horses, the business arrangements, the leisure pastimes partook of, the food he ate, and anything else that entered his mind as he wrote. Darcy and Lizzy had grown so accustomed to sharing the specific happenings of their hours apart that it was natural for him to pour the same into a letter. He discovered the action of writing to her each evening to be cathartic, easing his aching heart and permitting him to slip into a relaxing sleep.
In London, Lizzy determined the same. She wrote each morning upon rising when refreshed and alone in their chamber. It gave her strength to face the day's agenda. Aside from the horrible fiasco of Lady Catherine, the week passed swiftly and rather pleasantly. Darcy's well-laid plans to distract his wife from her loneliness partially succeeded. She shopped, attended several teas where her natural gregariousness garnered her new friends, attended the theater twice with Colonel Fitzwilliam as guardian and various friends surrounding her both for added amusement and to offset any inappropriate rumors, and dined at a different house each night. Lizzy could not deny that she was having a marvelous time, but knew that it all would have been exponentially improved with Darcy by her side. Additionally, no matter how delightful the entertainment, she eventually returned to her lonely bed and heartache and fitful slumber.
As the week wound to its anticipatory end, two incidents of import transpired in London. The first was the halting, stilted, surprising, yet seemingly genuine letter of apology from Lady Catherine. Lizzy knew of Lord Matlock's confrontation with his sister, although not the details of what was said. She had decided not to enlighten Darcy, knowing that he would immediately return if she did so, but also because she simply knew not how to convey it all in a letter. Lizzy discussed the apology with Lady Matlock, decided to accept it in the vein it was offered by replying with an equally brief missive, but refused to engage in further discourse until her husband returned and was apprised of the situation.
The second interesting episode involved Mary. One afternoon, Lizzy and her sisters, along with Amelia Lathrop, shared tea and cakes in the Darcy House parlor. Mary, under the gentle persuasion of Georgiana, had taken to wearing lightly patterned dresses which greatly enhanced her fair features. Today she was especially lovely in a stylish yet simple gown of canary yellow with green striping as she sat with Georgiana at the piano learning a new piece by Beethoven. Mr. Travers interrupted to announce a Mr. Joshua Daniels, the son and partner of Darcy's solicitor.
Mr. Daniels the younger was revealed to be young indeed; in his early twenties, sandy-haired with a ruddy complexion, quite handsome with hazel eyes, slender, and just under six feet in height. He bowed politely as Lizzy rose, eyes sweeping the room as he nodded to each occupant, alighting briefly then moving on until he came to Mary. Lizzy had never witnessed such a blatant spark of interest in all her days. Even Darcy's initial jarring contact with her eyes at the Meryton Assembly had been unobtrusive compared to this. Mr. Daniels's head snapped about, his eyes widened and mouth fell open while Mary flushed, yet boldly met his stare for at least fifteen seconds.
Lizzy's brows shot up and she turned to Amelia, who was pressing her lips tightly to avoid laughing. The moment stretched and may have continued indefinitely if Lizzy had not purposely cleared her throat. Mr. Daniels started, reddened, and tore his gaze from Mary's face. All befuddled, he hedged for several seconds as he collected his thoughts, aided primarily by careful study of the envelope in his hands.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he finally managed, “I, of course, am aware that Mr. Darcy is out of Town. However, my father instructed me to deliver these documents when they were completed so that Mr. Darcy would have immediate access to them upon his return. I trust you will know the safest place to store them in the interval.”
“Thank you, Mr. Daniels. I will ensure he receives them.” Throughout the entire short speech, Mr. Daniels's peripheral glances touched on Mary, and Lizzy was amazed he ably articulated. “Mr. Daniels, allow me to introduce you to my family. This is my dear friend Mrs. Lathrop. My sister-in-law, Miss Darcy. Miss Kitty Bennet, my sister, and this is Miss Mary Bennet, also my sister.”
Mr. Daniels bowed to all, properly greeting wi
th impeccable manners, lingering in his greeting to Mary. “Miss Bennet,” he asked, “do you and Miss Darcy play the pianoforte?”
Of course, the inquiry was ludicrous considering they were both sitting at the pianoforte, but no one chose to mention the fact. To Lizzy's delight and astonishment, Mary smiled shyly and replied, “Yes indeed, Mr. Daniels, although Miss Darcy is far superior to me. I am improving under her kind instruction. Do you play?”
“Poorly, I am afraid. Too many hours passed with a book in my hands to practice, much to my mother's dismay.”
“Obviously your study has proven the wiser, as you are now a solicitor. Your mother surely is not overly dismayed.”
He smiled brightly. “You are correct, Miss Bennet. She has relinquished her distress in the happy knowledge that I will be residing close to home. Do you live here in Town?”
“I am from Hertfordshire, sir. Merely visiting my sister and Mr. Darcy for a month or so.”
“I see,” he spoke softly, pausing, and then abruptly remembered the other occupants of the room. Turning to Lizzy, he said, “Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy for disturbing your afternoon.” He bowed to all yet again and then, with a last glance to Mary, departed. Mary smiled benignly, and after a tarrying gaze at the empty doorway, attended to the music as if nothing has transpired.
Lizzy was thrilled at what the enchanted moment signified. She wrote a long, descriptive narrative of the flirtation to her husband in what would be her last letter, as he was due home in two days. When Darcy received the communiqué from his wife on the morning of his final day at Pemberley, his heart leapt with joy. The week had been endless and his endurance was depleted. He sat on the terrace reading her humorous, passion-inundated letter with a mixture of intense happiness and profound irritation. The perpetual suffering in his heart had grown to a torment and spread to every cell in his body. The yearning to see her face and brilliant smile, hear her voice and musical laugh, kiss her lips, and touch her soft skin had mutated into a torture of covetous need. He no longer slept for more than a few fitful hours, ate little, found no pleasure in his horses, and for the only time in his life, hated being at Pemberley.
He sighed deeply, reclined his head against the cool stone of the wall, closed his eyes, and readily conjured her face. They had finished their inspection and breeding program technicalities early yesterday and Darcy had urged for departure today, at first light preferably. Duke Grafton, however, was having a delightful vacation, adored Pemberley, and expressed the wish to remain longer. Darcy had grit his teeth, employed the frayed edges of his generally massive self-mastery, and compromised. Relaying a deep concern for his pregnant wife, an emotion the Duke seemed unable to comprehend, Darcy relented to one additional day only. The concession nearly killed him. He was so weary from lack of sleep and misery, the long ride to London was an agonizing contemplation, with only the vision of Elizabeth and the tiny bulge she wrote was now apparent lending him strength. Tomorrow evening, he incessantly chanted, you shall hold her and kiss her, eloquently tell her of your love and make love to her. He shifted on the bench uncomfortably, the wretchedness of his necessity manifesting physically. With a groan of despondency he lurched to his feet, kissed the scented letter before tucking it into a pocket, and headed toward the stables. As during their engagement, a hard and fast race on Parsifal was required.
He returned to the stable yard an hour later, heartache as acute, but at least his lust had cooled for the interim. Chaos reigned with Duke Grafton, who Darcy had ascertained was not the most proficient rider, despite his vast knowledge of horses, and who was currently desperately clinging to the back of a particularly spirited filly that Darcy had been training yesterday. With a harsh curse, Darcy flew off Parsifal's back and leapt over the fence to assist the frantic groomsmen. He grabbed a dangling rein with his left hand, uttering soothing vocalizations, and pulled with all his strength. The distraught animal began to calm, but Duke Grafton lost his balance and instinctively seized hold of the filly's mane, sending her into renewed fits of rage. She reared up, the precariously perched Duke flying off to land with an explosive grunt flat on his back in the soft sand. Darcy's left arm was jerked wrenchingly upwards, but he held on through the pain, mightily yanking downward. She responded with a wicked lash of her front hooves, sending the two grooms flying for cover. Darcy spun to the side but was not quick enough. One hoof forcefully impacted squarely on his upper left chest just below the clavicle. Instantaneous paralysis to his already injured shoulder ensued, with deadened fingers releasing the rein as he fell to the ground with a cry of agony.
Sharp-witted grooms, now storming the corral in great numbers, dragged Darcy and the Duke to safety while Mr. Thurber managed to finally control the poor beast. The Duke was unharmed except for a few bruises and aching muscles. Darcy was in extreme pain, his arm completely numb and breathing difficult.
The following hours were torture. The physician was called for, determining that miraculously no bones were broken and the obtunded flesh was temporary. He ordered Darcy to rest for several days, but Darcy flatly refused, declaring in a voice that brooked no argument that he intended to depart for Town on the morrow. His only concession was to stage the trip over two days, but even that was for the benefit of the Duke, whose backside was sore, rather than for himself. An express message was dictated and sent by courier to Mrs. Darcy informing her of the delay, after which Darcy demanded solitude. Once alone, he released his anguish of combined physical and spiritual woe with a shuddering sob.
His grief was compounded that afternoon when a letter arrived from his uncle. With a frown and intense stab of fear, Darcy broke the seal and began to read. Lord Matlock's initial sentence of assurance that Elizabeth was well allayed the worst of his anxiety, but it was short lived. A string of foul curses rent the silence as he absorbed his uncle's recounting of Lady Catherine's abuse to his wife and the Earl's confrontation with her. Darcy, as Lady Matlock had predicted, was overwhelmed with crushing guilt. He was proud of Elizabeth's reported handling of his obnoxious aunt, but nearly prostrate with self-condemnation for what he perceived as a failure to safeguard his family.
Lizzy woke on the day she expected her husband's return with an instantly joyous grin. Her heart fluttered rapidly, matching the rhythm set by their tiny passenger in her womb. She did not anticipate his arrival until late, but simply imagining him on his horse and heading her way filled her soul with a rapturous bliss. Her own need for him in all the various ways their love manifested was consuming her. She, too, had slept poorly all week, and the unrelenting emptiness in her heart was wearing on her. Luckily, the baby's demanding appetite prevented her not eating well and the muscle spasms had ceased, so physically she was strong. All morning she walked about with a ridiculous grin and her feet barely touching the floor. When Darcy's hastily dictated note arrived, Lizzy burst into tears and fled to her room, collapsing in a puddle of dejected misery on their bed. She was inconsolable. The only positive was that her depression precipitated a deep, much needed sleep.
Darcy's journey was tortuous. His pain was severe, a massive bruise spreading over the entire left chest and shoulder, and the decreased sensation to his left arm slow to resolve. Gripping the reins was problematic, and he was incredibly fatigued. By mid-afternoon he was in a haze of suffering, unsure whether it was his physical or emotional pain that vied for supremacy. At the inn, he choked down a hasty dinner then fell into an exhaustive, nearly comatose sleep for close to ten hours.
At four in the morning he woke lying in the exact position, stiff but rejuvenated. The pain had dimmed to a dull ache with the feeling predominately restored to his arm. An hour later, the sun a faint smudge of brightness on the horizon, he was washed and dressed. He hurriedly scribbled a note that he slipped under Gerald's door, and roused the stable boy to saddle his horse. Some four hours later he turned onto Grosvenor Square, windblown, dusty, saddle-sore, and aching, yet jubilant. Never in all his life had the shining white bricks of Darcy House filled hi
m with such exultation. He rather prayed his wife was yet abed, but any room would suffice as long as he was embracing her. With a skip to his step, he mounted the front stairs.
THE FOYER WAS EMPTY. The soft tinkling of piano keys and laughter sailed on the air from the music room. Wincing slightly, Darcy carefully removed his overcoat and the moist, grimy cravat as a footman rounded the corner, halting in surprise at the sight of his Master.
“Mr. Darcy! We did not expect you until this afternoon.”
“No apology is necessary, Peters. Is Mrs. Darcy in our chambers?”
“No sir. She is yet in the garden, I believe.”
“Thank you.” Thrusting his garments into the servant's hands, he strode rapidly down the hall to the rear of the house with heart pounding and grin spreading. Elizabeth stood amongst a plot of lilacs taller than she was, snipping fragrant blooms with her new shears to join the array of colorful flowers already lying in her new basket. Darcy paused on the threshold, the ache to envelop his wife momentarily offset by the vision she unwittingly presented. She wore a thin, simple-muslin morning gown of pale lavender, hair unbound with only the sides unevenly secured with a loose tie in back. The sun shone brightly, highlighting the multiple hues in her hair and accenting the flush on her cheeks. She was smiling slightly as she smelled the lilacs, and he thought he detected a faint humming.
Smiling even broader, Darcy stepped out of the shadows onto the stone patio. The movement caught Lizzy's attention and she turned. Her eyes widened, the foremost thought being that she was hallucinating. It had required colossal effort on her part and loving persuasion from her sisters to revive her spirits last night. The restful sleep had aided her tremendously as well. Finally, she had attained a state of calm acceptance, willing herself to be strong as she grudgingly bowed to the inevitable wait of one more day. She had no idea where they would stop for the night, since it all apparently depended on the Duke's condition, but had not expected Darcy's homecoming until after luncheon at the soonest.
Loving Mr. Darcy Page 20