Mr. Darcy's Promise

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  Mr. Darcy was more than a little disappointed to hear that Elizabeth did not want to marry him. He assumed her opinion of him had not changed much from what he overheard on the road to Meryton. His nausea came back again as he realized that she might really prefer to marry Wickham. Nevertheless, he loved her, and would take part or all of her heart in any way he could. He knew that if given the chance, she would eventually soften towards him and hopefully learn to at least respect and admire him. “Mr. Bennet, I feel you know your daughter best. Perhaps that is a decision for you to make.”

  “If our domestic peace is upset much longer, I fear it shall never be restored to this house. What do you think about getting a special license and getting this done quickly; say, in two weeks? The incident I am sure has been widely spread by now, knowing Mrs. Long’s tongue. I admit that I am surprised Mrs. Bennet has not found out yet.” He heard a knock on the door. “Just a moment!” He then lowered his voice and said, “If I were you I would leave soon or you will see one of my wife’s nervous attacks when I tell her she will have a daughter married in two weeks!”

  “I understand and I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Perhaps we should speak to Miss Elizabeth first?”

  Another knock sounded at the door. Mr. Bennet smiled, “If I am not mistaken, that is probably her right there.” He raised his voice, “Come in, Lizzy dear!”

  Elizabeth opened the door slowly. She had waited long enough. If these two men were going to discuss her future, she wanted be a part of it. Her first glance told her that her father’s wrath and stubbornness were lessened. She also saw Mr. Darcy looking at her with an expression that she couldn’t quite determine— was it concern or distaste? She understood all too well that she was too late to influence the decision.

  “So it is decided?” she asked her father before turning to Mr. Darcy. “We are to marry?” She raised her chin and looked him directly in the eye until her strength wavered and she looked away, tears threatening her composure. Her head turned before she saw the look on Mr. Darcy’s face change to the same compassion she had seen the night before. She also did not see him blink back tears of his own from seeing her displeasure at the thought of marrying him. All Elizabeth could do was look out the window and ask, “When?”

  *****

  Looking back, the two weeks passed by quickly for Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy only called on her a few times and usually with Georgiana. The only liberties he requested was his offered arm when they went on chaperoned walks. He had also traveled to London for part of the time to get the special license. She was relieved that he seemed to be just as anxious about the wedding as she was. Even Georgiana, who at first seemed to welcome the union, seemed anxious and distracted. It was now, alone in the carriage with him after the wedding had taken place, that it all caught up to her.

  She had been too proud to show her shock when her father relayed that she would be a married woman in two weeks. She had also been too proud to show her frustration with Mr. Darcy. He had been so kind and comforting the night before, yet that morning in her father’s study he was anxious and his actions and words seemed forced. She remembered how rote and rehearsed his unnecessary proposal was. After all, it wasn’t as if she could say no. What made her the most upset was that she knew there was part of her that wished Mr. Darcy wanted to marry her, but each pained expression on his face told her that he was being forced into his marriage. She had been right all along. Mr. Darcy did not admire her in the slightest. Recalling this realization while in such proximity inside a carriage only brought fresh tears to her eyes. She tried not to think of the wedding vows she had repeated just hours before, those vows which she had once imagined as sacred, but had been said without hope of a happy marriage. Her tears flowed freely as she thought of how he had said his vows with a strained, pained voice. He had glanced quickly to her as he said them, the expression in his eyes revealing the mockery and falsehoods of the vows. Oh, how he must hate me to have placed him in this position! She glanced in his direction to where he sat across from her in the gently rocking carriage. He seemed on the verge of speaking yet he did not.

  She remembered telling Jane of her engagement and Jane’s initial excitement that lasted until she saw the look on Elizabeth’s face. Her tears flowed further and she did not even try to wipe them away. Her thoughts kept returning to these moments in the last two weeks, which only brought on more tears in return. She tried not to think of Jane’s engagement to Bingley which had occurred only two days before. How different Jane’s feelings were than hers. Jane’s was a love match, but hers was clearly not. But she kept her sobs from escaping from her tightly constricted chest by holding her arms around herself, as if physically trying to hold in the pain. If only he cared for me! Then things would be so different. She had always told herself that if she were to marry it would only be for love. Now it was evident that her husband— a word that she still had a hard time associating with Mr. Darcy— didn’t love her. If only she could let go of the expectation that a husband should care for his wife, things would be so much easier. If her heart could just be content and not give into hope! Hope that his pained expression was concern, hope that their dances at Netherfield were as enjoyable for him as they were for her, hope that she could be comforted in his arms once again, and hope that she mattered! The tears flowed further and she very nearly let out a heart wrenching sob.

  Darcy could not take it anymore. Her tears were silent but they wounded him deeply. He took out his handkerchief and offered it again, hoping she would finally take it. She looked at his face and sighed, then reached out her hand and took it this time. She did not, however, wipe her face with it, instead she just held it in her hands and turned her tear stained cheeks away from him. It was simply too much. He leaned forward and took the handkerchief from her hand and wiped her tears on her cheeks with it. He gently wiped and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She let out a small sob of pain, her chest jerking in spite of her attempts to remain silent. Oh, dearest Elizabeth! If you would just tell me what troubles you most. I will do everything in my power to your ease your pain!

  He hated the direction his thoughts kept leading him towards. Why was she so forlorn? Was it out of lost love for Wickham? He prayed not. She was surely too clever to be taken in by his schemes. But that kiss! He wished he could make up his mind on whether or not she was a willing participant! Then he would know for certain. Was she missing her family? Did she regret being forced into marriage with such a “proud” man? Or was she most anxious about the wedding night? He understood many women feared what would happen in a marriage bed. Growing up in the country she surely knew the particulars of what it entailed, but he couldn’t be certain even of that. Nor could he imagine that her mother had given her any great reassurance on the matter. Yes, he decided, she was probably worried most about the expectations of being intimate with him. This last thought was the only one he felt he had any power to control. He would do anything to ease her anxiety and pain.

  He dabbed her eyes once again. “Elizabeth?” he said softly. She slowly turned her head towards him and met his eyes. Her own were swollen and red from crying. “I do not know all that troubles you, but I can assure you that you need not worry about tonight.” She looked at him, confusion clearly written across her face. How do I speak of this with her? “What I mean is . . .” He tried to speak delicately. “I promise not to make any demands of you as your husband until you wish for it.”

  There was a point in Elizabeth’s thoughts where she felt she could not hurt any more than she was. All she heard him say was that Mr. Darcy did not wish her in his bed and it was too much. She let out a sob of pain, new tears forming with each word he said. He does not wish to even share my bed? She thought again of her first encounter with him. “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” And yet there were those engaging eyes during the dance at the ball! She swallowed her pride and tried to speak. “Mr. Darcy . . .” she began. It came out high-pitched and clipped.

  �
��Please Elizabeth, call me Fitzwilliam or William. I would prefer it.”

  How could I use such a familiar name when he seems so reluctant to even marry me! And why does he keep calling me Elizabeth? I never gave him permission to do so, not at the ball when I was in his arms, and not now! She took a deep breath. They were married now and he could use her Christian name. He could call her anything he wished. She rallied her strength and cleared her throat, “If that is what you wish, I will abide by both your requests . . . I am your wife and I vowed to obey you . . .” It was all she could do to speak calmly, and she looked away again, gazing out the window in an effort to regain control over herself.

  “Dearest Elizabeth, I do not wish for you only to obey. I want you to be happy!”

  Why was he speaking so intimately with her? Dearest Elizabeth? She let out another sigh. It was only appropriate now that they were husband and wife. But all it did was confuse her more. His voice was soft and caring, but his eyes anxious and sad! Oh, how frustrating! If only she knew why her father insisted on them marrying when it was Wickham who was so inappropriate! Perhaps her father had refused to listen to even Mr. Darcy as he had refused to listen to her. Now he was in an arranged marriage to a woman who couldn’t stop crying! She took a deep breath and collected herself. This will not do! I am stronger than this! I know he does not care for me but I must get control of myself. Although the pain was raw, and she felt like unleashing her sadness, she knew her fate now. She was married to a man who did not love her.

  Regardless of how comforting it felt to be in his arms or the stirrings inside her that she felt when she danced with him, he had promised not to force her into his bed. How much she even wanted such a thing was still unknown. What a strange promise to make. Certainly he could demand his rights as a husband. What man has the fortitude to avoid such a thing when they will be in each other’s presence regularly? She pondered on this promise for a while. If it was true that Mr. Darcy was not attracted to her, perhaps it would be an easy thing to avoid her presence. If he was indifferent, she reasoned, he would not have made such a promise. If he cared . . . no, Mr. Darcy could not truly care for her, in spite of his professed endearments. Once again she felt overcome with emotion but bit back the tears that sprang to her eyes. This moping was not in her nature. She was what others would call a strong, confident lady. It was not in her nature to focus on the sorrow she felt. At some point she would have to learn to accept a loveless marriage. One thing she knew for certain was that she did not want to continue to hurt this way. She committed herself to try her hardest to preserve or merely erect a certain level of companionship with Mr. Darcy. If nothing else, she would be a good wife to him. She turned her head back to him and gave him the best smile she could create under the circumstances. Yes, companionship I can live with; it may not be love, but what more can I expect?

  Darcy was so relieved. She smiled! Thank goodness! I must have been right! She was worried about the wedding night! He dabbed at the single tear running down her cheek and placed the wet handkerchief back in her hand. He gazed in her eyes and smiled back. He then settled back against the back of the carriage and prayed that this was a good sign. Perhaps she might even start teasing me again!

  *****

  In spite of her self-consciousness in doing so, Elizabeth reached for her reticule and took out her mirror. By now London was all around her, and by the way Mr. Darcy was acting, it would only be a matter of minutes until they reached Darcy House. She examined her reflection with consternation. “Oh dear!”

  Mr. Darcy looked more concerned than the matter called for. “What is the matter?”

  “I am hardly presentable! How much time do we have until we arrive?”

  “Five minutes or so.” In spite of Elizabeth’s attempts to do so discreetly, he closely watched her pull out pins and section by section repin her hair. She folded up the handkerchief and patted at her eyes before she surreptitiously pinched both her cheeks. He had heard of women doing so to bring some color to otherwise pale complexions, but never actually witnessed it. “You are quite presentable,” he said, and then added after a moment, “In fact, you look lovely.” He watched as his second comment made her glance his way briefly. When her eyes met with his they fluttered before a charming blush suffused her cheeks. Now that is how one puts color in a lady’s face! She looked back out the window and they sat in silence until they arrived.

  Mr. Darcy’s groomsman was waiting faithfully to open the door. “Welcome home, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Thank you, Anderson.” Mr. Darcy exited the carriage, handing Elizabeth out before tucking her arm into his. They walked in silence to the front door where he introduced Elizabeth to the waiting butler. “Mr. Taylor, this is Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, my new bride. Elizabeth, this is the butler, Mr. Taylor.” He turned to the butler. “Would you be so kind to collect the servants so I can introduce them to their new mistress? I will just show her around a little.”

  “Certainly, sir!” He took the gloves and hats from them, bowing once more to Elizabeth and left immediately.

  It took Elizabeth a moment to realize how firmly she was holding onto Mr. Darcy’s arm. She released it slightly, but he placed his other hand atop hers. She didn’t know what to make of it, but realized that he was probably putting on a show for the servants. I am his wife now and I must remember not to embarrass him. She was too embarrassed herself to even look around until they were half way down the hall and he began pointing out different rooms to her. She was shown the sitting room, the music room, the door to his study, and then he stopped in front of a large door.

  Mr. Darcy let go of her arm with one hand while he opened the door to the library. “This is the room I most hope you will enjoy. I have great pride in it.” He tried to guide her in while still holding her arm. It was a little awkward as the frame was too narrow for both to pass comfortably, but he wasn’t ready to give up this simple pleasure quite yet.

  Oh my! Look at all these books! Each wall was filled from floor to ceiling with books. The room itself was bigger than Longbourn’s sitting room and dining room put together. There had to have been thousands of books! She could smell the leather and the aged paper. The smell filled the room and calmed her a great deal. It also helped a little with the headache that had been forming for some time. She reached her hand out, brushing her fingers against the rows and rows of books. Mr. Darcy finally dropped her arm. Of course, now that there are no servants to watch, we do not have to perform our roles. I will have to remember that in the future and perform as a good wife should. She fingered the bindings and looked at the many titles, most of which she had not heard of. Each book had a series of numbers and letters on the bottom. “Mr. Darcy . . .”

  “William . . .” He corrected her.

  She was too impressed with the sheer number of books to be disgruntled by the reminder of his request to call him by his Christian name. “What are these numbers and letters engraved on the base of each book?” She looked at him then. His eyes lit up. For a moment she could imagine what he looked like as a schoolboy.

  “It is a method I heard about in France that allows one to organize and find any book in your collection. Here, come over here.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a drawer. She leaned over and was surprised to see that the drawer held hundreds of cards, each filed one right after another.

  He pulled out one such card and showed it to her. “Each book I own has two sets of cards in these drawers. One card is filed under the title and the second is filed under the author. See here, this card in the J’s is filed as Julius Caesar and at the bottom is the name of the author, William Shakespeare. You will find an identical card under the S’s for the name William Shakespeare for Julius Caesar. You can find any book as long as you have the name of the book or the name of the author.”

  Elizabeth felt as if she should say something. “Such an impressive way to catalog what books you own,” she commented.

  “It is more than that. See, on the right of
each card is a series of numbers and letters that correlate to the numbers you see on the books themselves. Over by the door are the smaller numbers and as the books wrap around to the fireplace they get larger.”

  Elizabeth was stunned. She could spend hours just reading the titles, but to have the ability to find the exact book she was looking for in a matter of minutes in a library this large was thrilling! “I am thoroughly impressed! I do not think I have ever seen a library quite this large! I am afraid if you cannot find me you should look here first. It is sure to be my favorite room.”

  Mr. Darcy was overjoyed at the spark of light that appeared in her eyes as she said this. “Then I shall have great pleasure in bringing you to Pemberley. The library there is three times as large.”

  Her eyes widened. “Truly?”

  He walked over to her and took her hand in his, “Truly, but I admit you might not be as impressed as you are here. We have just started the cataloging process and it is not in any way a sanctuary. This room took nearly three months to catalog. We just started Pemberley’s right before I left for Hertfordshire. I am assured that in spite of everyone’s best efforts, it is still greatly in need of work.”

  Elizabeth offered him a quiet smile. “Perhaps I can look forward to being of assistance.”

  A knock was heard at the open door and Elizabeth was suddenly aware that Mr. Darcy was holding her hand. She pulled her hand away in embarrassment but then regretted it because the butler— Mr. Taylor if she remembered correctly— saw her. It would be perfectly acceptable for a husband to hold his wife’s hand! Elizabeth’s headache returned in full force. Each new situation seemed to draw some additional amount of strength from her.