Truth about Mr. Darcy

by Susan Adriani

  “May I inquire as to what you are arguing about so vehemently with your aunt, Mrs. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I would prefer you would not, sir, as there is no need to mention the matter any further. As you can see with your own eyes, I am perfectly well, and that is all that matters.”

  Mrs. Gardiner spoke up. “Yes, Lizzy, but it could very easily happen again. You have said yourself you have been having bouts of light-headedness for some time now. Do you not think this is an indication you ought to take greater care?” She turned to Darcy and said pointedly, “Lizzy fainted this morning in Hyde Park, Mr. Darcy.”

  His brows shot up, his concern evident. “You fainted, Elizabeth? Why on earth would you ever wish to keep this from me? Do not you think I should be made aware of such information? I am your husband, Elizabeth. What if something were to happen to you? I would hardly know what to do for you!”

  “This,” she said with exasperation as she threw her hands in the air and dropped herself into the nearest chair, “is precisely why I have not informed you, Fitzwilliam. I am sure whatever is ailing me will soon pass, and then I shall be the same as I have always been.”

  Mrs. Gardiner, however, observed her newly married niece with no small amount of amusement. “I would certainly not count on that, if I were you, my dear. At least not for some time,” she proclaimed.

  Darcy gaped at her, his alarm palpable, while Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair and laughed. “Surely there can be nothing seriously wrong with me, Aunt?”

  Her aunt only smiled and shook her head, glancing from Elizabeth to her worried husband and back again. Suddenly, the eyes of her nieces lit up with pleasure as a happy possibility for Elizabeth’s situation made itself known, but Darcy, who clearly had not interpreted Mrs. Gardiner’s implication as it had been intended, only continued to grow more concerned for his wife. Eager to enlighten him and to ease his mind, Elizabeth rose with no little alacrity and hastened to where he stood but, before she could do more than take his hand in hers, her head began to spin again. Darcy caught her in his arms just as she fainted.

  * * *

  Doctor Carter closed the door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber and entered her sitting room, where Darcy had been pacing in constant agitation for the last three quarters of an hour. Clearing his throat, the doctor said, “Other than a minor bump on her head, most likely from her fall in Hyde Park, your wife is perfectly healthy, Mr. Darcy. With any luck, everything will go smoothly, and there will hardly be any reason to worry for many months to come, but you had better accustom yourself to pacing, sir. You will find it to be the only thing you will be able to do once Mrs. Darcy’s time finally comes.”

  Judging from the expression of alarm on his face, it was clear Darcy had no better understanding of Doctor Carter’s words than he had of Mrs. Gardiner’s. “I thought you just declared Mrs. Darcy to be in perfect health?” he asked.

  The doctor observed him for a moment. “Mr. Darcy,” he said evenly, “may I inquire as to what knowledge you may have of your wife’s current condition?”

  “I assure you, I have not the slightest knowledge of her condition. She has fainted twice today and has informed me she has been feeling faint periodically since Christmas. Surely that cannot be an indication of good health.”

  Doctor Carter chuckled. “Sir, perhaps you should speak with your wife at this time. I assure you, Mrs. Darcy is feeling quite well—she is quite well—and is most likely anxious to inform you of her condition herself. If you find you are in any further need of my services, it will be my pleasure to attend you. Please feel free to summon me at any hour, day or night.” He placed his hat upon his head and said briskly, “Good day to you, sir,” before taking his leave.

  Still ill at ease over the state of Elizabeth’s health, not to mention puzzled, he thanked the doctor, bid him a hasty farewell, and strode to the door to his wife’s bedchamber. He breathed deeply and ran his hands over his face several times before he finally turned the handle and entered. Elizabeth appeared to be lying peacefully upon the bed, wearing her nightshift and dressing gown. She smiled at him from the midst of a large pile of pillows and beckoned him to join her. He was at her side almost immediately.

  “How are you feeling, my love?” he inquired, feathering a kiss upon her forehead as well as the hand he clasped almost violently in his. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Have you spoken with Doctor Carter, Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy simply nodded and looked away, not trusting himself to speak.

  “And?” she asked.

  Her husband remained silent.

  Elizabeth could not understand his solemn reaction—his complete lack of enthusiasm—to such wonderful, nay, such miraculous, news. Her smile faltered and then faded completely. “You are not pleased, then,” she whispered, a crushing burden of disappointment weighing upon her heart.

  Darcy turned to look at her, a wealth of emotions flooding his eyes. He somehow managed to keep his composure as he muttered, “I wish only for you to be well, my love. That is truly the only thing that matters.”

  She stared at him for a moment before she finally understood what he might be thinking. “Fitzwilliam,” she asked, her voice quiet, tentative, “you do understand that I am going to have a child and not apoplexy?”

  He stared at her, his mouth literally falling open. “A child? You mean to tell me you are not… that you are only… that is to say…”

  Darcy finally abandoned his attempts at verbal communication in favor of running the back of his hand over his mouth for several moments. Elizabeth watched with growing amusement as his agitation seemed to increase to what she suspected to be an almost intolerable proportion. At long last, he blurted out, “You are with child? Elizabeth, you are completely certain of this?”

  Elizabeth stroked his cheek with her fingers and smoothed a stray curl from his furrowed brow. “Yes,” she assured him. “Of course, we will not know for certain until the baby quickens, but Doctor Carter is fairly sure I am, though only in the very early stages, and I believe my aunt also shares his opinion.”

  Relief flooded his features and Darcy placed a kiss upon her temple before he buried his face in her hair. “Thank God,” he murmured, his voice strained with emotion.

  Elizabeth held him close. “My dearest,” she said, her tone soft and soothing, “I promise you, all is well. Doctor Carter has assured me many women experience similar symptoms and go through their confinements with very little or no difficulty at all. He does not anticipate my confinement to be any different and believes we shall have a healthy son or daughter to bring to Pemberley sometime in the middle of September.”

  Darcy raised his head and cradled her face in his hands, searching her eyes for a long while. “Elizabeth,” he began, his voice quiet and filled with hesitation, “does it not frighten you? Even a little? Are you not scared?”

  Suspecting he had been thinking of his mother, she shook her head and smiled. “No. I feel only happiness. This precious new life has begun from our love, Fitzwilliam. It is an extraordinary gift we have given one another, is it not?”

  Not trusting himself to answer, Darcy responded in the only other way he knew, and leaned in to caress her lips so tenderly with his own that Elizabeth shivered before he had barely touched her. As the tension of the last several hours drained away, he began to relax with her, deepening his kisses until he felt her body responding to his touch. It was not what he had planned after such an emotionally draining afternoon, especially when he was still uncertain of whether or not the doctor had imposed any limitations upon her. Reluctantly, Darcy pulled away and shifted his position so he could recline beside her on the bed. He removed his boots and covered them both with the counterpane. Elizabeth snuggled against him as he enfolded her in his arms, placing several kisses in her hair as he diligently proceeded to remove each pin. They lay quietly together for a long time, so long that both had begun to wonder whe
ther the other had succumbed to slumber, but then Elizabeth heard Darcy ask, “Elizabeth, am I truly to become a father?”

  Elizabeth shifted so she could look upon his face and smiled. “Yes, my dearest, you are going to be an excellent father.”

  Darcy closed his eyes and tightened his arms around the woman he loved.

  Elizabeth could see the corners of his mouth turn up in the barest hint of a pleased smile. “I love you, Elizabeth, more than I could ever express to you with mere words.”

  Elizabeth’s smile grew wider. “As I love you, Fitzwilliam.” They soon drifted off to sleep, their repose being sound and filled with contentment, dreaming of the new life that had begun from their love.

  Chapter 24

  The Darcys were at breakfast several mornings later when the post arrived. A delighted smile spread across Elizabeth’s face as she plucked from the elegant silver tray held by one of the servants a thick letter addressed to her in a familiar hand. “What brings you so much pleasure, Mrs. Darcy?” her husband inquired.

  “It is a letter from Charlotte.”

  “Ah, yes. Miss Lucas. And what news does she send from Hertfordshire?”

  Elizabeth broke the seal and began to read. “Oh dear,” she said after a few minutes. “She writes that her anticipated wedding to my odious cousin will take place at the end of next week. She says it is her dearest wish that we might attend.” She laid aside the missive and bit her lip as her husband scowled.

  He studied her before he spoke, his voice tinged with barely concealed bitterness and a hauteur she had not heard from him for some time. “You cannot tell me you wish to bear witness to your intimate friend pledging her obedience to that ridiculous excuse for a man, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Fitzwilliam, Charlotte and I have been the closest of friends since we were young girls. I do confess I am extremely loath to see her consign herself to such a fate—to enter into a marriage where there is little chance of any real affection or respect—especially with such a man, but however I happen to disagree with her choice, Charlotte has asked this of me, and out of respect for our friendship, I feel obligated to accept her invitation. Indeed, I realize it makes very little sense, especially since our paths are not likely to cross again for some time—if ever—but I know what it would mean to Charlotte. She mentions she has written to Jane, as well. Perhaps she and I could travel together with Mr. Bingley in his carriage. That way you would not have to attend an event I know would bring you nothing but vexation and grief.”

  He stared at her with incredulity. “How, in all that is holy, can you honestly believe I would allow you to travel all the way to Hertfordshire without me, Elizabeth, so soon after our own marriage, especially now that you believe you are with child?”

  “All the way to Hertfordshire?” She laughed. “It is but half a day’s journey. And Jane and Charles would be with me, so I would hardly be alone or unprotected.” Her eyes developed an impish gleam. “Of course, I would greatly prefer your company to that of Mr. Bingley, Fitzwilliam. Excellent man though he is, I cannot but find your society far superior to that of any other man of my acquaintance, my future brother included.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes and pretended to consider her request, all the while knowing he could not bear to part with her or deny her anything he knew would bring her pleasure. Sighing, he nodded his acquiescence and grumbled, “Of course I will accompany you, Elizabeth. Though it will give me absolutely no pleasure to be once again in company with Mr. Collins, I would not wish to deprive you of sharing in your friend’s joy on her wedding day. When would you care to leave? Are you certain you are feeling well enough to make such a journey?”

  “I assure you, my love, I am quite well. As for our departure, it shall, of course, depend upon any obligations you may have, but I was hoping to be able to spend at least a few days with Charlotte and our families before the wedding. I cannot think of when she and I may be able to meet again.”

  Darcy pursed his lips. “I would have suggested you meet in Hunsford during my yearly pilgrimage to Rosings; however, I highly doubt that to be a possibility in our immediate future, if ever.”

  She rose then and, situating herself upon Darcy’s lap, kissed his frowning mouth. She meant it as a passing gesture, one with which to reassure him before broaching the uncomfortable subject of his aunt Catherine, but her husband seemed to have other ideas; he captured her mouth in what quickly became an ardent kiss before she could even begin her speech. When their lips finally separated, Darcy buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing deeply while his arms held her close. “My love,” Elizabeth began but was soon silenced by his muffled words.

  “Pray, do not mention that woman, Elizabeth. I care not to discuss her abhorrent behavior at this time. Only know that I cannot so easily forgive her for her disrespect of you.”

  Elizabeth acknowledged his words by gently running her fingers through his hair and holding him a little tighter against her breast. “As you wish,” was all she replied.

  * * *

  The trip to Hertfordshire was uneventful. Bingley, Jane, Darcy, and Elizabeth all left London in Darcy’s carriage late Tuesday morning, stopping only for a light luncheon at an inn along the way, so they, as well as the servants and horses, might rest themselves. They arrived at Longbourn at teatime, much to Darcy’s consternation, as he had been most persistent in his insistence that they first stop at Netherfield so their party might refresh themselves somewhat after a rather tiresome journey.

  He was especially concerned with Elizabeth’s comfort, worrying himself over her current state and trying to gauge whether or not she was fatigued by their journey, but Elizabeth was not of a mind to acquiesce to any particular demands to rest herself, stating she had managed to fall asleep for a while in the carriage and felt perfectly well enough to dine with her parents and sisters. Though Darcy remained skeptical, he reluctantly let it go, as she had agreed to his proposal that they stay with Bingley at Netherfield, rather than at Longbourn with her family.

  Elizabeth had given in to this arrangement mostly for the sake of her husband, whom she knew would be far more inclined to be open in his cordiality to the neighborhood should he not have to share the same roof with her mother so soon after they had just parted company in Town.

  Though she very much wished to accompany her brother and sister to Hertfordshire, it was decided between them that Georgiana would remain in London under the protection of Lord and Lady Matlock until their return. Neither Darcy or Elizabeth wished to risk having her meet accidentally with Wickham, should he still be in the vicinity. They soon saw their judgment proven quite sound, for, when they dined several evenings later at Lucas Lodge, many of the officers, Wickham included, happened to be among those in attendance.

  For Darcy, it was a doubly trying evening as he found himself thrown into the rather unsavory company of his father’s former favorite as well as his aunt’s officious clergyman. As could be expected, he bore the insincere flattery of the latter with less than civil forbearance; the former, who leered at him with a smirk throughout the course of the entire evening, he found far more difficult to treat with indifference. Darcy found himself glaring at the man for the duration of the night, particularly when he noticed Wickham’s gaze sweeping over Elizabeth’s elegantly dressed figure. As a precaution, Darcy strayed little from her side.

  The party, for the most part, was a merry one, especially with the two youngest Miss Bennets in attendance. They flirted with all the officers and called upon Mary to play lively airs so they might dance with them, as well. Both girls, but Lydia in particular, had become intimate with Colonel Forster’s young wife, Harriet, who just happened to be close, both in age and temperament, to Lydia. At one point, their laughter was so effusive it actually drew Mr. Bennet’s notice from his conversation with Colonel Forster, who, rather than sharing Mr. Bennet’s sentiments on the silliness of the young ladies, commented, instead, on his pleasure in seeing such liveliness in females,
as he found it to be a welcome diversion from the oftentimes grave responsibilities he carried as a soldier in a time of war.

  Toward the end of the evening, in an effort to get some much-needed fresh air and a few moments to herself, Elizabeth slipped away while Darcy was engaged in conversation with Colonel Forster and her father. She had not enjoyed above two minutes of solitude on the terrace located just outside the drawing room, when she overheard a disturbing conversation being conducted in hushed voices by Lydia and a gentleman whose voice she could not quite identify. Appalled by her sister’s total want of propriety and decorum, Elizabeth advanced several feet toward a manicured hedge and discovered her youngest sister in a most disgraceful and compromising situation with none other than Mr. Wickham.

  “Lydia!” she cried, “you will return to the house immediately!”

  The lovers jerked back in obvious surprise. Lydia hastily covered her exposed bosom, which Wickham had been fondling just moments before, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “La, Lizzy! Just because you are now shackled to such a dour man, it does not give you the right to spoil all the fun for the rest of us. You are hardly in charge of me just because you are now a married woman. I shall continue to do what I please with my dear Wickham, never mind what you say.”

  Rage flowed through Elizabeth’s veins at Wickham’s nonchalance. “Come now, my pet,” he said in a voice that made her feel ill, “be a good girl and run along inside while I have a word with your sister. I will join you shortly.”

  With a look of resentment toward her sister, Lydia kissed Wickham full on the lips before flouncing through the French doors, slamming them behind her. Elizabeth turned to follow her but found herself detained by Wickham, who was quick to circle around her, blocking her way to the house. “Well, well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with his usual air of insincerity, “or rather, I should say, Mrs. Darcy. I see we are destined to meet again, though I must confess to have been rather shocked when I heard from your sister that Darcy had actually deigned to marry you. Quite out of character for one in his station, I assure you, but I do suppose being caught in a compromising position by a clergyman must carry some weight with his conscience.”