Apprehension and Desire

by Ola Wegner

  He dried her, helped her into a fresh nightgown, wrapped her hair in a towel, and put her back to bed.

  They were silent as the servants took the tab away.

  “Tell me now.” He took her hand. “Are you in pain?”

  “No, not at all. We can go tomorrow.” she said, her eyes focused on some nonexistent point in front of her.

  “It is too soon, you should stay in bed for a few days.”

  “The doctor said we could go as soon as I feel well. I do not want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  He nodded. “I understand. As you wish.”

  She looked at him. “I have a favour to ask you.”

  “Anything, love.” He lifted her hand to his mouth. “Anything.”

  “Do not tell anyone. Anyone.” She sat up, her eyes burning. “I do not want them to know what happened.”

  “Of course. No one will know.”

  “Your people witnessed me being sick yesterday. Could you tell them that I ate something bad, and that is why we needed to postpone our journey?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Thank you.” She dropped back on the pillow. “I will sleep now.” She closed her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty -Three

  Darcy gave his horse to a stable hand and hurried inside the house. He had been away the entire morning, having left early, when the house had been yet asleep. He had ridden to one of the more distant parts of the estate and had a final conversation with a troublesome tenant who had developed an excessive liking for liquor in recent years. His farm was situated on a good plot of land, but had not given any profit for a long time. Darcy had thought of himself a generous and fair Master, but he did not like when somebody tried to abuse his trust and good will. He dreaded situations like these, and even though they happened rarely at Pemberley, it was still his responsibility as a landlord to deal with them as they occurred.

  He felt the muscles in his face drawn so tight that it nearly gave him physical pain. He made an effort to relax; he did not want to show his scowl to his family and servants. His true worry was not about the lazy, useless tenant, but only about Elizabeth. Six weeks had passed since they had come from London, and she was far from being her old self.

  “Where is Mrs. Darcy?” he questioned the butler from the threshold. When he had been leaving early in the morning, she had been in deep sleep, warm and flushed, buried under numerous blankets.

  “She left for a walk about an hour ago,” Peters answered as he took his hat and greatcoat.

  “Then she should return soon,” Darcy murmured more to himself. “When Mrs. Darcy returns, please ask her to come to my study.” He spoke formally to the servant.

  Peters bowed. “Yes, Master.”

  In his study, he noticed a fresh pile of correspondence waiting for him. Two letters were for Elizabeth, one from Jane, and the other from Charlotte Collins. Perhaps they would cheer her up.

  Involuntarily, his face tensed back into a strained mask. After what had happened six weeks ago on their way to Pemberley, he had expected her to be devastated, to mourn the loss. He was mourning as well. There had not been much evidence of the babe’s existence yet when the miscarriage happened. Nevertheless, he had already managed to envision this child in his mind; a bright eyed girl with bouncing curls, just like her mother. He had imagined how he would show her around the park, making small steps, her tiny hand in his large one, or carrying her around in his arms for everyone to admire the little beauty. He did not know why he had thought the child to be a girl, perhaps because his only experience with infants had been with Georgiana.

  Elizabeth suffered more than he. It was understandable; she was a woman, and it was her body. At first he had been amazed with her. He had expected her to stay in her rooms, abed for a few days, even longer. But from almost the first day, she had begun her new life as a Mistress of Pemberley, and his wife, as if nothing had happened. Every day she conversed with Mrs. Reynolds, learning the matters of the house. She had asked him if there was some part of the correspondence that she could help him with, answering it as the Mistress instead of him. She admitted guests who came to Pemberley curious of a new Mrs. Darcy and visited them in turn. She spent at least some part of the day with Georgiana. All that she did with a constant smile on her face and kindness in her voice. Even her light laugh, he could hear from time to time.

  Darcy was not fooled with this façade. This was not the Elizabeth he had known and fallen in love with. Her eyes were different, changed, more conscious and, above all, sad. When she thought that nobody was looking, they lost their sparkle, and she stared blankly in front of herself.

  What bothered him the most was how their relationship had changed when they were alone, in the privacy of their rooms. She did not avoid him, or shy from his embrace, but she was not the same either. She had become passive and quiet. She could sit for an hour in one place, without speaking a single word to him. Such behaviour on her part would have been unthinkable in the past, when at every opportunity she had climbed onto his lap for a kiss or to tell him something interesting that she had seen, heard or read about in her sweet, uplifted voice.

  The worst of all, however, was when she cried, and it happened almost every single day. For instance he would come into their bedroom in the afternoon to check on her, only to see her small body curled on the bed, sobs shaking her. When he tried to talk her into calming down, begging her not to weep, the result was the opposite, as she would wail even harder, nearly turning hysterical. A better way to handle her, he had discovered, was to simply lift her up into his arms and hold her as she gradually cried herself to sleep. At such moments, he wanted to shed tears with her, fighting hard the dampness dangerously itching his eyes. He knew though, that his breakdown would not help her. She needed him strong and in control, not wallowing in despair.

  The knock on the door brought his attention to the present moment. With the back of his palm, he made sure that his eyes were perfectly dry.

  “Enter,” he said, his voice thicker than usual.

  “You wanted to see me?” She stood in the open door; her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy. She always looked like that after a physical exertion.

  He put on his best expression. “Yes, love. Please come in.”

  She closed the door with careful movements and walked forward, stopping in front of his desk. She looked very pretty. He was a lousy bastard to think about it so soon, but he wanted her back, not just sleeping next to him at night, but loving her fully, being inside her.

  He handed her the letters.

  She took and examined them. “Thank you.”

  Her lips stretched in a smile and for a change, it seemed genuine, not forced. She played with the envelopes, her small fingers tracing her name, handwritten on the top, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  She turned on her feet, making an indication that she wanted to leave. “I promised I would join Georgiana in the music room so we could have tea together. I will read my letters while she plays. If you do not need me...”

  “You can read them here,” he interrupted her. He hated when she was so formal, so proper with him, and it happened too often nowadays, as if some kind of barrier had grown between them. “The light is better here at this time of the day than in music room,” he added lightly. “Georgiana will not mind; you know how engrossed she usually is in her practice. Besides, I thought about having tea as well. I have just returned myself.”

  An understanding dawned upon her face. “Ah, yes. I should have remembered. How was the meeting with Mr. Kirby? You seemed so worried about it yesterday.”

  “Not good. I think there is no other way than to terminate the lease the next spring if nothing changes.”

  She walked closer, her expression of real concern. “I imagine it must be a very unpleasant situation for you.”

  “Well, yes...” he agreed soberly, staring into her face. His expression changed suddenly and he grinned boyishly. “I think that a cup of tea with my wife will i
mprove my mood vastly.”

  Her face lit up for a moment, and she stepped to him, brushing lightly against his torso. “I will be back soon.”

  He looked after her with warmth in his eyes as she strolled out of the room. Her spirits seemed to be higher today, he judged with relief.

  As she had promised, she was back with tea before long, just as he finished answering the first letter.

  “You may go,” Elizabeth said to the maid who carried the tray. “I will call you later to take the dishes away. Thank you.” She smiled at the girl, who shyly smiled back and hurried out of the room.

  Darcy sat by the small table, as Elizabeth busied herself with the teapot and the cups. He very much enjoyed every time she served tea to him, entirely occupied with his comfort, paying attention only to him.

  “Perhaps you would wish something to eat?” she asked as they began to drink.

  He shook his head. “No. Thank you. I had a hearty breakfast before I left.”

  As his eyes locked on her, he noticed her falling into her absent minded mood again. With her half empty cup of tea on the saucer in her hands, she gazed emptily out of the window.

  Wanting to distract her, he set his cup on the table and touched her arm. “I am very impressed with you, very proud.”

  She blinked her eyes repeatedly. “With me?”

  “Yes, you are doing excellently as the Mistress of Pemberley.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  “I appreciate all your care, work, devotion and effort,” he assured.

  Her head lowered and she shrugged her shoulders. “At least there is one thing I can do well as your wife.”

  “Do not say so.” He tried not to sound angry. He took the cup away from her hands and touched her cheek to make her look at him. “Elizabeth, you cannot carry on like this.”

  She looked away from him. “I did not believe in that child from the beginning.” Her voice was no more than a whisper and a shaky one at that. “ There was no joy in me. I did not feel the way I was supposed to feel, so the babe died.”

  “That is the biggest nonsense I have ever heard,” he hissed, ire in his voice palpable. “No good can come from such thinking. On the contrary, you only make yourself more depressed.”

  She stood up. “That is how I feel about it.” She strolled to the window.

  He did not allow her to shut him out and followed her. “Listen to me.” He turned her to him. “It was because of natural causes, the doctor said so. This happens to many women. My mother lost children several times before she gave birth to Georgiana.”

  “But my mother did not!” She pointed to her chest. “Why should I?”

  “You must see that we cannot control certain things. You are not your mother. Besides, you cannot be sure whether she never had such experience. Was she never ill when you were little? You can write to her and ask.”

  She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly. “I do not understand why it happened to us,” she muttered.

  He pulled her into his arms. “We have so much, Elizabeth. We should appreciate it.” He stroked her back. “You cannot expect everything to be perfect.”

  Slowly, he felt her relax in his arms, the tension leaving her body. She sighed. “You are right; I know that you are. I am immature, selfish and...”

  He put his finger on her lips. “Shush... do not. Enough castigating yourself for one day. I do not want to hear any of that. ” He lifted her chin, frowning at her. “Do we understand each other on that?”

  She nodded and reached her arms up, locking them around his neck. “Let us go upstairs,” she whispered.

  It was his turn to stiffen.

  “I miss you,” she whispered, her lips on his neck.

  His arms around her tightened. “Oh, Lizzy.”

  “Shall we go upstairs?”

  He shook his head. “The doctor said two months, we should wait two months. It has been only six weeks.”

  She cupped his cheek. “I feel well. I have just finished my monthly courses, so I think everything has returned to normal.”

  “I am not sure,” he said half-heartedly, at the same time bringing her closer.

  She tilted her head to the side. “We can stay here if you do not wish to go upstairs. Lock the door. Unless, you do not want me after what happened.”

  His eyes glittered furiously. “What, more nonsense?”

  She took his hand into hers and began to walk towards the door, pulling him with her.

  “Go first.” He stopped, preferring no one to see them sneaking together upstairs in the middle of the day, being a bit embarrassed with it. “I will join you in a few minutes.”

  She lifted on her toes, her hands supported on his chest to maintain balance. “Do not linger.” She placed an open kiss on the side of his jaw and taking her letters, left.

  ***

  Darcy opened his eyes, waking from a nap, feeling every part of his body singing in joy and sensual energy. He stretched and glanced to the side, his eyes locking on Elizabeth’s bare back. She was on her side, the sheet only partially covering her.

  He reached his arm over her waist and spooned behind. “You are not sleeping?” he murmured into her hair.

  “No, I have just woken up.” She turned on her back and sat up, supporting herself against the pillows.

  Darcy cushioned his head on her bosom. “What does Jane write?” he asked, seeing a letter in her hand.

  “This one is from Charlotte Collins.” Her free hand played in his hair. “I am leaving Jane’s letter for dessert.”

  “What says Mrs. Collins then?”

  “Your aunt bought new stained glass windows for the church. They cost two hundred pounds.”

  “She tries to buy herself out of her sins.”

  “William, you should not say that, she is your relative after all, your mother’s sister,” she reminded gently.

  Darcy shrugged. “I doubt my mother truly liked her. I think that the Fitzwilliams were rather relieved when she married so far away from home. It is her own fault that her family finds it difficult to keep normal, civilized relations with her.”

  Elizabeth sighed but did not comment. “The main news, though, is that Charlotte gave birth to a healthy baby girl,” she said after a moment. “She named her Catherine, which is not surprising.”

  Darcy looked up with concern. “It must be uneasy for you to read about it.”

  “Not really. I knew that Charlotte was expecting yet in Kent when I visited her. I guessed that she should have given birth around this time.”

  He took the letter from her hand and put it on the bedside. “Let us drop the unattractive subject of the Collinses and my aunt.”

  “There is still a letter from Jane to read.” She tried to protest, the knowing smile playing on her lips.

  He shoved her beside him abruptly, making her giggle. “Later.”

  When they had made love earlier that afternoon, he had taken his time to caress her, make her ready, and satisfied in advance, but now he felt more impatient, more urgent. She had to sense that too, because she opened her legs and invited him in, pulling him on her.

  He was about to push himself inside, mindful to be gentle, as she always seemed to need a little while to adjust around him, when she touched his face.

  “I love you,” she said, looking into his eyes.

  He frowned. He did not expect such a confession.

  “I know that I do not tell you this as often as I should.” She swallowed, her eyes teary. “I love you.”

  He groaned with a laugh. “I am trying to be gentle here. You are not making it easy.”

  She laughed too. “Come here.” She cupped his bottom with both of her hands, pushing him in.

  “Ahhh...” she moaned as he found the rhythm.

  “Good?” he asked thickly.

  She strained against him. “You cannot imagine.”

  He smirked. “Oh, I think that I can.”

  ***

  “William, wake u
p. William!” he was nudged firmly.

  “Something’s wrong?” he murmured, focusing his vision on Elizabeth. She was dressed in her nightgown and robe, her hair strewn down her back and shoulders, the letter in her hand.

  He had fallen asleep again after they had made love the second time. He had shamefully spent half of the day in bed with his wife.

  “I have just read the letter from Jane.” Elizabeth said, her whole expression and body language agitated.

  He sat up, running his hand over his face . “What is wrong? Something with your parents?” He dreaded to ask whether another sister had escaped home, giving herself freely into the arms of some rake. He had little fancy for leaving the comfort of his home, family and the company of his beloved wife to rescue another Bennet girl from scandal.

  “No, they are fine. It is about Jane herself.” Elizabeth paused dramatically. “Mr. Bingely proposed to her.”

  Darcy dropped back on the pillows. “All is well then. We expected that, did we not?”

  “She refused.”

  “What?” He sat up again. “But...” he shook his head. “I do not understand.”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip and stared at the letter in her hand. “I knew that Jane possessed some doubts, but I did not quite expect that...” She sighed.

  Darcy stared at her with a frown of his own. “You told me that she was in love with him.”

  “She was; I am sure she was.” Elizabeth cried, her voice defensive in tone. “She must have changed her mind.”

  “Changed her mind?” he questioned unbelievably. “I had to apologize to Bingley for my interference, convince him to return to her, and now she says no to him. There is no sense to it.”

  She straightened herself, giving him a slightly offended look. “I am convinced. I know that she had a very good reason to refuse him.”

  “Does she explain it in her letter?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “What is it then?”