A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

by Meg Osborne

  Passing the note to his valet with the instruction that it be dispatched with all haste, he was dressed and waiting in the hallway as Elizabeth descended the stairs. He could not help but smile to see her looking so much like herself, and yet so much unlike herself at the same time. It was as if she had stepped out of the shadow of Longbourn into her own identity, yet he had never before considered her anything other than herself. Whatever it was, it suited her, and he offered her his arm with no small measure of pride.

  “I hope you consider me smartly attired enough for a walk in the centre of London,” she said, in a sly whisper. “I confess I despaired a little at my trousseau when I looked it over this morning. All of my proud declarations that I had no need of elegant clothing, within earshot of Mama, seem rather foolish now that I am faced with polite society. I am sure they shall glance at me and know right away that I am too far from home.”

  “Too far?” Darcy gestured behind them to the elegant front of his townhouse. “My dear Mrs Darcy.” He thrilled at the use of her new title, encouraged even more by the smile its use provoked over her features. “This is your home now as well. And elegance for elegance’s sake is something to be pitied, rather than admired, as you well know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If you feel the need of new attire, we might procure it for you - this very day if you desire it. But believe me when I say your gown quite the most beautiful I have seen, although I do not doubt that is rather more to do with its wearer than the silk itself.”

  Lizzy laughed.

  “Now I know you are teasing me. Silk? Even I know enough that silk is reserved for ballrooms, and plain cotton, as I am wearing this morning, quite the best for walking. Now, foolish husband, where shall we walk?” Arm in arm they began to progress down the street, falling into companionable silence. Darcy was amazed at how naturally they fit together, how comfortably they kept pace with one another. They had fallen into the habit of walking together during their hasty engagement: first at Rosings, where they might be afforded some respite from Lady Catherine’s vocal and extravagant disapproval of them individually and as a pair, and once more in Hertfordshire, as a way of securing a few moments’ peace away from Elizabeth’s overbearing family. In London, then, without necessity, it still seemed favourable to them both that the habit be continued, and they were able to easily comment on the houses they passed, pointing out people and places of interest. Elizabeth was not as familiar with this particular area of London as Darcy was, so he found himself making most of the observations, which were met with interest and happy inquiry from Elizabeth. They reached the park quickly and easily, and began to walk its familiar winding paths. Here, Elizabeth, too, felt free to share her own opinions and recollections of the park.

  “I have not been often in London, as you know,” she confessed. “Yet whenever I did visit my Aunt and Uncle I always insisted upon our visiting this park. It is quite the prettiest spot in London, and I would choose a duck pond over a ballroom at any opportunity!”

  Elizabeth pointed out the aforementioned duck pond, and with a laugh, Darcy allowed himself to be tugged over to it, and to listen with delight as she named the species of water-bird one after another, feigning ignorance. He had devised a game where he would point one bird out, giving it the name of another, and insisting upon it, certain of his rightness, enjoying the spectacle of his new bride getting increasingly agitated at his pig-headed ignorance, and insisting instead that she was right, for any one of a dozen reasons she would now list for his pleasure and understanding. After two rounds of this, she caught the light in his eyes, and recognised the joke for what it was, and abandoned her description, poking him sharply in the arm.

  “You are teasing me, sir!”

  “I cannot deny it,” he said, ducking his head. “Yet you are such a fun prospect for teasing that you must allow it, on this occasion.”

  “On this occasion?” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “I am quite amazed to think that this idiot man is the gentleman I married.” She narrowed her eyes, in an affectation of suspicion. “Are you quite sure you are Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley, and not some imposter? Certainly, I never knew the former to possess so avid a sense of humour.”

  “Ouch!” Darcy held his hand over his heart. “And now it is I who am wounded. If a man may not have a sense of humour the very day after he is married, I do not know what to say.”

  “Come, husband,” Elizabeth said, sliding her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Let us walk, or one of us is liable to end up in the pond with the water-birds, whether we can name them all correctly or not.”

  They walked on together, laughing and talking and enjoying one another’s company and the greenness of their surroundings, when another couple, coming the opposite way down the path, stopped and hailed them.

  “Darcy! What providence! Look, Caroline! We need not attempt to call on any friend at all, for here are Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth right in front of our noses!”

  CAROLINE AFFIXED A smile to her face with such ferocious effort that she felt the aching in her cheeks long before she had managed to squeeze a polite “good morning” from between her lips.

  “Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley,” Mr Darcy bowed his head in greeting. “I did not realise you were in London yet?”

  There was a vague note of challenge in his question, levied entirely at her, Caroline felt certain, though his eyes were on Charles. It was true, she had been a little economical with the truth in declining Mr Darcy’s invitation to his wedding, suggesting that she and Charles had an elderly aunt they must call on en route to London and would unfortunately not reach town in time to attend the wedding.

  “Not here yet?” Charles laughed. “Of course -”

  “Of course, plans change,” Caroline put in, with an apologetic smile. “We did not think it right to thus upset the arrangements you already had in place for your wedding.” She slid her glance over to Elizabeth, whose attention was also fixed on Charles, with a barely concealed note of irritation that it made Caroline irritated in turn. What right did Eliza Bennet have to think herself better than either Charles or Caroline herself? If she was going to assume airs within twenty-four hours of being wed, well!

  “And how do the new Mr and Mrs Darcy fare?” she asked, icily.

  “Very well, thank you, Miss Bingley.”

  Did Caroline imagine it, or had Elizabeth put a haughty inflexion over the title Miss? Her eyes narrowed. Just because I do not choose to entrap myself a husband...

  “Have you time to take some refreshments with us, Charles?” Mr Darcy asked. He covered Elizabeth’s hand with his own. “It is rather too cold to stand still and make idle conversation, but perhaps we might retreat and take tea.” He glanced around him, as if to seek his bearings. “There used to be a pleasant little place not too far...”

  Charles supplied the name, and before Caroline could object, it was agreed upon as an ideal destination, and the four young folks found themselves seated at a table, shedding the layers required of the cold outside in favour of the comfortable interior, warmed by the fire blazing in the hearth.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Charles began, before breaking off with a self-deprecating laugh. “Forgive me, Mrs Darcy!” He paused, sitting back in his seat and shaking his head in bemusement. “How strange it is to call you so, and yet how content you seem together. I congratulate you.”

  Caroline’s eyes rolled skywards. Her brother’s friendliness bordered on flattery and merely served to rub salt into the very fresh wounds that still plagued her: that it was Eliza Bennet and not she who must be referred to by the name Mrs Darcy. How smug she was, on her husband’s arm. How rarely she even dared to look away from him. Likely she is reluctant to let him out of her sight, Caroline thought, spitefully. She must know how ill-suited they are, and is living in fear of the time when he realises it too. How he will grow to despise her for enchanting him so. This thought was of some comfort, however cold, and she felt the merest hint of a smile creep up her face.

&
nbsp; “Is something amusing, Miss Bingley? Do, pray, let us all in on the joke.” Darcy’s voice was flat, and Caroline felt certain he had singled her out merely to make clear his disapproval of her, although what he could have to disapprove of her for, she did not know.

  “I am merely happy to see you,” she said, smoothly. “Both of you.”

  “Indeed.” Elizabeth’s reply was arch, and Caroline was forced to meet her gaze.

  She knew that Elizabeth Bennet had rarely had any time for her: a state she preferred, for she had immediately dismissed Eliza as someone she would never choose to be friends with. They were polite, as society dictated, and affected friendship only when one perceived the need of the other. In Caroline's case, it was as much a matter of keeping her enemies close as it was of finding anything approaching friendship in any of the Bennet sisters. Jane’s presence, she could actually tolerate a little easier, for she was sweet and good and made it easy to love her. Caroline’s smile hardened. That did not, however, mean she wished for her brother to love Jane enough to marry her. No, indeed. Better their fledgeling relationship be ended as soon as it began.

  “How is your - ah, your sister, Mrs - Elizabeth?” Charles asked, fumbling his way through the sentence as much because of his anxiety concerning its subject as because of his awkward attempt to recall Elizabeth Bennet’s current form of address.

  “You must be more specific, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth said, with a sweet smile. “I venture to think I might know to which sister you refer, but I would not presume to risk speaking so.”

  “Miss Bennet, that is, Miss Jane Bennet. I trust - I trust that she is well?”

  Elizabeth’s hands tightened on her tea-cup, a motion so minuscule that it must have been missed by the gentlemen present, but Caroline’s eagle eyes spotted it. She, too, did not approve of the direction Charles seemed determined to take the conversation and opened her mouth to change the subject.

  “Eliza, dear, I wonder -”

  “Miss Bingley,” Mr Darcy cut across her, conjuring some topic of conversation that might be addressed directly to her and permit their friends to continue speaking uninterrupted. “Tell me, what are your plans for your time in London? You know, I am sure, that my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mary are here, staying with Mr Fitzwilliam in town. I have also taken the liberty of inviting my cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, to stay with us some time.”

  Caroline straightened. Ordinarily, Mr Darcy’s attempt to engage her directly in conversation would be the highest compliment she could imagine. His mentioning Anne by name to her would be perceived an invitation for the two to become friends. Why, just two weeks earlier, she would be walking on air by this point, too elated to care even if Charles was moments away from declaring his love for Jane Bennet before the whole tea-room. Instead, her nerves were set on edge.

  “I thought your aunt was - forgive me, but I was under the impression that she did not entirely approve of your marriage?” She smiled, warmly, to show that she, Caroline, was eminently in favour of the couple sitting before them. It was an act, but she had always thought herself a very fine actress.

  Mr Darcy sucked in a breath of air through clenched teeth.

  “It is true she is not delighted by the news. But, Miss Bingley, recall it was of my cousin that I spoke and not my aunt. Anne is very fond of Elizabeth, indeed I have never known her to be wrong in her judgments.” He fixed Caroline with a look that she felt certain was intended to communicate far more than words. He was suggesting that she had been mistaken, and might repent at her leisure, learning to value those she had once dismissed.

  Allow myself to be taken in, you mean? I do not think so! Caroline straightened, meeting his gaze with a haughty smile. My brother and you might both be fools, determined to believe the best of those who do not deserve your notice, but I am not so easily persuaded. Still, this new arrival might prove useful. Anne de Bourgh. Caroline rolled the name around in her mind. She was not yet married, Caroline knew. And what were the words Mr Darcy had used to describe her in the past? Sweet-natured? Kind? Musical? She began to knit the details together. Might providence not have just provided her with the very thing she had been seeking: a preferable alternative to Jane Bennet as a focus for her brother’s hapless affections? As the only daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne might move Mr Bingley - and she, as his sister and close confidante of Anne herself, for Caroline determined immediately that she would win the girl’s affections and insert herself between any budding friendship between Anne and Eliza quite competently - into the kinds of circles they deserved to move in. Why, Caroline might have lost out on Mr Darcy, but if she could secure a connection between her brother and Anne de Bourgh, that might bring a hundred men more prosperous, more successful and perhaps even titled, across her path.

  You may keep your Mr Darcy, Eliza Bennet, Caroline thought, continuing to refer, in her own mind at least, to Elizabeth by her maiden name. I shall outstrip you both.

  Chapter Eight

  “And will your family stay in London?” Mr Bingley asked, circling back to the topic of Jane, albeit without mentioning her directly. Elizabeth folded her hands before her, unsure what to make of Mr Bingley’s evident interest in her sister. Why spurn her, then? she wanted to ask. Why leave her unsure of your affections? Why abandon her without word, without even a farewell?

  “My sister had intended on staying with Mr Darcy and me,” she said, at last, meeting his pale blue eyes and holding his gaze carefully. “But she finds London fatiguing, and is wary of being in the way.” She paused. “She would much rather be at home, among the family and friends she has there.”

  “Indeed,” Charles nodded. “Yes, she is a very amiable sort of person. I do not doubt she has scores of friends and - and suitors - lining up all over Hertfordshire.”

  “If you think so, Mr Bingley, you do not know my sister,” Elizabeth said, prickling at his suggestion that Jane was somehow a flirt or a tease, encouraging scores of men to fall at her feet if only to toy with their emotions and move on to the next. “She conceals her feelings only too well, at times. I assure you she does not often open her heart to people, and when she does, finds it ill-used.”

  Mr Bingley frowned, and it was on the tip of Lizzy’s tongue to ask him outright why he had treated Jane so poorly, and why he affected, now, to care for her, when Lizzy knew he had been the one to do the damage to her sister’s heart. Before she could challenge him further on the matter, though, Caroline Bingley cleared her throat and stood.

  “Well, pleasant as it has been to cross paths with you, Mr Darcy, Eliza, we must really be on our way. Come along Charles.”

  Charles Bingley looked rather as if he would prefer to remain, to quiz Elizabeth further on Jane’s fate and feelings, but at length he stood, reluctantly bidding Darcy and Elizabeth farewell, and following Caroline out of the tea shop.

  “Tell me you did not engineer our meeting,” Elizabeth said, turning to Darcy.

  “How could I?” he asked. “I had it on good authority that they were not yet in London.” His features sank into a frown. “That is, I had it on Caroline Bingley’s authority. I do not like the way she orders Charles about so much.”

  “He seems content to let her,” Elizabeth remarked, unwilling at that moment to give any ground to the man who had so upset poor Jane and seemed, now, unable or unwilling to acknowledge his cruelty.

  “He is too good-natured,” Darcy conceded. “And she is too manipulative.” This last was muttered under his breath but Elizabeth could do nothing but concur with his assessment.

  “I will allow you to think well of him, for he is your friend,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “But I cannot forgive him for the way he has treated poor Jane.”

  Darcy nodded, slowly, as if he were giving her words great consideration.

  “Are you sure she could not be pressed into staying in London a little longer?” he asked. “I am sure, given time and the chance to see one another once again, things would b
e easily put right between them.”

  “Even if he does not deserve them to be?” Lizzy challenged. “He led her to believe there was real affection between them, and then disappeared without even a goodbye.”

  “I was not aware either party had spoken of their affections,” Darcy said. “I mean, it was plain to me that Charles cared for Jane, but -” He broke off, smiling ruefully. “I will not speak ill of the man, for, as you say, he is my friend. But he is too inclined to lead with his heart and end up where his mind would not necessarily have led him, had he taken the time to listen to it.”

  Lizzy bristled, momentarily perceiving a slight against her sister, but she felt his fingers close warmly over hers.

  “If what you say is true and he has walked away from the chance of happiness with Jane Bennet then he is a more foolish man than I thought him. The two seemed perfectly suited, yet who am I to make such an assessment? I am scarcely well versed in romantic success.”

  “Says Mr Darcy, the day after his wedding.” Lizzy could not resist one sly, teasing comment, winning back the ease of conversation that had been disrupted, but not destroyed, by their meeting with Mr and Miss Bingley.

  “As Mrs Darcy is under no illusions of the parameters of our marriage, I will not hasten to remind her of them.” He sighed, and for a moment Lizzy fancied she saw a flicker of melancholy pass over his features. She slid her hand out from under his, suddenly fearing she had been too affectionate, too familiar, and if he regretted the motion he did not show it.

  “Come, let us walk some more. It is stuffy in here and I am eager for some more exercise before we return home.”

  “Very well,” Darcy said, hauling himself upright. “I can see I shall certainly not want for activity in our future together.”

  “Insofar as you refer to walking, yes, I will permit it,” Lizzy said, dancing ahead of him a few steps. “But I maintain my utter reluctance to ever step near a horse.” She shuddered. “You shall be forced to ride alone or with friends, sir, for I have never been fond of the creatures, and they seem, as a breed, to despise me.”