A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

by Meg Osborne

  “Is something the matter, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked. “You are not unwell, I hope?”

  “Just my lungs.” He smiled, returning the handkerchief to his pockets and thumping on his chest as if to indicate the uselessness of the organ. “They still cause me trouble on occasion, as a result of some ill-health I suffered in the regiment. It’s nothing to worry about.” He met Mary’s eyes with his own, widening them slightly. “I promise!”

  “You can promise all you like, Richard, but I do not think it wise to go gallivanting if you aren’t well,” Mary said, her concern lending her voice an arch tone. “You must stay at home tomorrow, and rest.”

  “Your wish is my command!” He waggled his eyebrows at his wife with a comical grin, and both ladies laughed.

  “Are you to remain at home with him, Mary dear?” Elizabeth asked, linking her arm through her sister’s. “I am looking for an excuse for a walk, perhaps I might find myself in your street and be forced to call on the house and take a cup of tea?”

  “That would be wonderful!” Mary said, beaming. “And you must spend a little time with Louisa.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam groaned loudly into Mary’s shoulder, and his wife continued in a blithe voice, utterly ignoring his disapproval.

  “She and Mr Fitzwilliam are so good and so kind, although quite different from us.” Mary smiled, earnestly. “Still, I think you will get on quite well with Louisa. Do you know, Lizzy, she is an acquaintance of Mrs Radcliffe?”

  “Indeed?” This detail piqued Lizzy’s curiosity, and she determined all the more fervently that she would call on the Fitzwilliams the very next day.

  “She has been in the same room as her, you mean,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, with a snort. “It is not the same as being close friends, although she has dined out on the very name Radcliffe far more than any woman ought, regardless of the closeness of their relationship. I am quite sure even Mrs Radcliffe herself has not such a penchant for dropping her name into conversations it has no business being in.”

  “Richard, as you see, is very fond of his sister-in-law.” Mary smiled wickedly at her husband, who was left speechless in return.

  A movement at the corner of her eye caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she glanced up in time to see Darcy walk over to join his cousin and friends. Caroline looked a little put out by the way Anne’s face gained animation and colour as she turned to speak with her cousin, and Darcy’s unusually droll conversation even succeeded in drawing Charles out of his quiet mood, although Lizzy fancied there was a morose cloud still over the other young man’s usually sunny countenance. Caroline found herself quite expertly elbowed out of Anne’s immediate circle, and could barely keep the ensuing scowl from her features. Her apparent effort was so trying that Elizabeth could hardly fail to keep a smile from creeping up over her features. It ought not to please me so much to see you routed, Caroline, yet I cannot help but remember every cruel thing you ever said - or hinted at - about my family and feel some satisfaction when you face opposition. Her gaze strayed to Mr Bingley once more, and she wondered if the decision to return early to London had indeed been his, and his alone. It was Caroline who loved London society, Caroline who sought to return to it, and - Lizzy’s lips drew down into a firm line - Caroline who sought to separate her brother from a match she felt was beneath him. Was Charles Bingley even aware of the hurt his actions had caused Jane? Or had Caroline found a way to convince him that this abandonment was what Jane chose - what she wanted, even? Oh, Jane, Elizabeth thought, with a woeful memory of her sister’s pale, disappointed face at the news of Mr Bingley’s departure. Why could you not have remained in London, where we might have solved this separation so easily!

  Chapter Ten

  Neither the Fitzwilliams nor the Darcys were eager to part that evening, and delayed some time in bidding one another farewell, with myriad promises to meet the next day. It was Elizabeth and Mary who clung to one another the longest, engaged in a deep and evidently secret conversation, judging from its low volume and sporadic glances over one or other of the sister’s shoulders. Darcy waited, patiently, for his wife to finish her scheming, or at least, and he felt certain this the more likely outcome, to place a pin in it until it could be continued with full fervour the next day.

  “Poor Richard,” he remarked, as Anne drew close enough to him that they might speak without fear of being overheard.

  “How so?” she asked, turning a quizzical glance towards him.

  “Regard my wife and her sister,” Darcy said, with a nod towards the pair. “They are clearly planning something of utmost complexity and importance, for it occupies them even now, when other decent folks are beginning to turn their thoughts towards rest and returning home. I would wager my life on the fact that this is just a precursor to all that they might discuss tomorrow. Poor Richard, for if he is not yet involved in the scheme, he will be drawn into it tomorrow, merely by virtue of proximity to the schemers.” He snorted.

  Anne tilted her head to one side, regarding the pair thoughtfully.

  “You do not intend on accompanying your wife?” she asked.

  “I was not invited,” Darcy reminded her.

  “You were not not invited,” Anne countered. Her eyes sparkled with fun. “Unless, of course, you prefer to accompany me on my visit to Mr and Miss Bingley?”

  Her innocent tone did not hide the amusement she felt at offering Darcy such an alternative, and his evident horror at the suggestion caused her to laugh out loud.

  “I ought not to tease you, I know, for the Bingleys are your friends, and I am a guest in your home.”

  “Mr Bingley is my friend,” Darcy clarified. “And you are resident in my home, yes, but hardly a guest. You are family.”

  “That is kind of you to say, William.” Anne smiled, wistfully, and Darcy wondered if she was thinking of home.

  “I hope my marriage to Elizabeth has not unduly soured your relationship with your mother,” he said, in a low voice. “I know it cannot please her to see you seem to take our side.”

  “I do not seem to take it. I have told her I very much approve of the match,” Anne retorted. “She chooses still to lament over what might have been.” She shook her head, emphatically. “Forgive me, William, but even if she had engineered for you to actually ask me to marry you, I rather think I would have struggled to say yes.”

  “I understand.” Darcy nodded, sagely. “I am indeed a terrible prospect for a husband.” His grim smile was all to indicate his humour, and Anne flashed white, momentarily fearing she had quite insulted him with her words. After a moment, Darcy smiled, and she relaxed, visibly, realising he had intended the remark as a sarcastic one and certainly bore her no ill-will for his feelings.

  “You need not dread calling upon the Bingleys tomorrow. From what I could tell tonight you are already a firm favourite with both of them, and even Caroline Bingley is well equipped to make herself agreeable to any person she is predisposed to like.” He bowed his head. “Such as your fair self. Her brother is altogether without artifice, a good man through and through. I fear him a little lovelorn at present, but that ought not to distract too much from his general good temperament.”

  “Yes, I was surprised to see him break with Miss Bennet,” Anne piped up.

  Darcy grimaced.

  “I would not doubt if that is a key component of the current scheming betwixt the two nee Bennets yonder. I admit I thought it strange myself that Bingley should leave Hertfordshire so abruptly, and still more so upon discovering that nothing had been settled between him and Miss Bennet. Elizabeth seems to think that he has abandoned her and I do not disagree it is a cruel trick to appear affectionate towards a young lady only to disappear without warning or apology, if that is indeed what has happened.”

  “And yet you speak of his being a good man. Would such a good man act so cruelly?”

  Darcy shook his head, vehemently.

  “This is why I speak of the appearance of cruelty. I rath
er fancy that Charles’ activity has been directed by another person close to him and that this sudden removal to London was not his doing at all, rather in accordance with his sister’s wishes. You have met Miss Bingley, tell me, does she strike you as a compliant, agreeable figure?”

  Anne said nothing, but her eyes danced with fun, evidently comparing Miss Caroline Bingley to Lady Catherine and seeing some similarity in the desire to control, manipulate and push one’s own plans forwards, regardless of the wishes of one’s family and friends.

  “I do not doubt she has filled Charles’ head with nonsense concerning poor Miss Bennet, and alas as the young lady in question could not be pressed into remaining in London to meet with Mr Bingley, there has been no chance to clear up the mistake.”

  “I have not yet met Miss Bennet, as you know,” Anne said, after a moment of thoughtful silence. “But having met two of her sisters, and seeing how their very presence has changed both of my cousins for the better -” Darcy opened his mouth to complain, but was silenced by a look, and frowned, allowing Anne nonetheless to continue speaking, uncensored. “I can only imagine her to be a wonderful creature, one Mr Bingley would be fortunate to win the affections of.” She folded her arms in a determined manner. “And if he has been led to think otherwise, I shall do my utmost to redress the balance in her favour.” Her voice dropped, in pitch as well as tone, taking on a dangerously serious note. “Nobody should be kept from their true love on account of misunderstanding or formality, or due to the interference of others who claim to know better.”

  Her words were not spoken lightly, and Darcy felt certain they pertained to more than merely Bingley and his interfering sister. Surely she intended to reassure him that his own actions in marrying Elizabeth were indeed right, regardless of her mother’s opinion.

  Encouraged, he smiled, lifting his eyes slightly so that they rested on his bride once more.

  “How right you are, cousin. One ought not to be forced to marry - or kept from marrying - the person they love.”

  RETURNING TO THEIR townhouse, Anne was the first to excuse herself and bid Darcy and Elizabeth good evening. She had been quiet the whole journey home, quiet enough that Elizabeth had begun to wonder if her friend was quite well. Not wanting to draw Darcy’s attention to Anne’s discomfort, nor to worry him unduly, she skirted the matter carefully, as they prepared to retire for the evening.

  “I hope Anne was not over-tired by the evening’s concert?” she asked.

  “I think she rather enjoyed the outing,” Darcy said, with a smile. “Did not you?”

  “Very much.” Elizabeth smiled, fervently, admiring the way Darcy’s dark eyes gleamed in the reflected light of the fire. And I enjoyed being there with you, she thought, but did not say. Her feelings towards her husband had been changing even in the short time since their wedding, or rather, not changing, for that would indicate they had not existed in some form before. She had begun to recognise the true nature of her feelings towards him, and marvelled that she, who had always prided herself on knowing her own mind, had managed so well to ignore the truth: that she cared deeply for Mr Darcy and had no more married him for convenience than because it had been the deepest wish of her heart since their first muddled acquaintance.

  He cleared his throat, and turned his attention to the papers in front of him, and Elizabeth smiled. Well, perhaps not from our first acquaintance. She had certainly been predisposed to dislike him, and he had done little to dissuade her of the notion. Yet now, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time.

  “Are you intending on observing me all evening, my dear? Because if so I must warn you that even I am growing weary after the evening’s excitements and will retire to my own room before very much longer.” His lips crept up at the edges as he spoke, indicating good humour, and Lizzy let out a laugh of approval, both at his sentiment at his good mood.

  “Yes, you are quite right!” she acknowledged. “It is very late, and I must preserve my energy for tomorrow’s visit to your cousin.”

  “Your cousin, too,” Darcy said, laying down his newspaper and hauling himself to his feet. “By marriage.” He crossed the room in two long strides, and stood in front of her. “And your sister, you must not forget you possess a link to the Fitzwilliams that even I do not.”

  “Your sister, too,” Elizabeth said, turning his own words back to him. “By marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Darcy smiled, dropping his gaze as if realising something that shocked him, but still made him laugh to acknowledge.

  “Something funny?” Elizabeth asked, dropping her own gaze to meet his.

  “It struck me as amusing all of a sudden.” His tone took on the notion of confession, a whispered secret he entrusted only to her. “I first came to Hertfordshire at my friend’s invitation, but that was not my only reason for doing so, nor was it my chief concern.”

  “No?” Elizabeth hardly cared for the story, but there was something about the interplay of the shadows on her husband’s face, the gentleness of his tone of voice that made her wish for him to keep talking. Indeed, he might have recited the business figures of a fleet of His Majesty’s ships at the Cape, and she would have listened with rapt attention to every cadence of his voice.

  “I wished to prevent Bingley from making a mistake I felt certain was mere days away,” Darcy continued. “In marrying a Miss Bennet who was, I was angrily informed by his sister, far beneath his notice and station.”

  Elizabeth felt a flare of anger as she deciphered his words, and she straightened, but at the movement, Darcy reached out, threading his own fingers through hers, and holding her fast. Her mild irritation fell away, disappearing entirely as he continued speaking.

  “I did not dream I would lose my own heart in the process. I certainly did not imagine, of the two of us, that I would be wed before him, and happily so.”

  His voice took on an urgency that was reflected in the way his eyes lit on her face, resting first on her lips, then her eyes, then darting away altogether, before returning once more to hold her gaze in place.

  “It appears I have deceived you, Mrs Darcy, and it is imperative that I now do what is in my power to undo the damage.”

  “Yes?” Elizabeth’s heart beat rapidly, but it was not out of fear. She felt a sudden certainty, a knowing deep in her soul that this man, the man that she had married, would never hurt her. He would take any amount of pain on his own shoulders before allowing a single blow to reach her.

  “I said I wished to marry you for convenience only, to allow each of us the opportunity to escape the matches others would make for us. That was only partly true.”

  Elizabeth's mouth was dry, and with an effort she wet her lips, her voice coming out a croaked whisper, when she did at last speak, more a sound than a discernible word.

  “Oh?”

  “I wished to offer you an escape from your cousin, but I wished to marry you because I - I love you.” Uttering the words aloud seemed to give Darcy courage and he spoke them again, once, twice in quick succession, gaining energy with each utterance. “I love you, Elizabeth, I love you.” His features fell, so quickly that even Elizabeth struggled to keep up with the interplay of moods across his countenance. “I cannot hope that you love me, but I was encouraged this evening that, even if it be folly to reveal my hand so early on, even if you are never able to learn to return my feelings, I could not go on without you knowing the truth. I love you, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy.”

  Elizabeth’s mind was blank, and she could summon no words adequate to offer in return for the gift he had given her, in confessing his true feelings, in opening up to her and allowing her to see him as he truly was. She could think of nothing to say in return, and so she did the most natural thing she could. She leaned closer to him, lifting slightly onto her toes to reach his height, and pressed her lips softly against hers. The action startled him at first, and he reeled backwards, but he regained his balance a moment later and it seemed as if no further words were necessary: wou
ld never be necessary. They may have married under a pretence of pragmatism, but neither of them wished to hide behind it any longer. They loved each other then: they loved each other now: and they had a lifetime together in which they might love each other still more.

  Chapter Eleven

  The clock on the mantel ticked at odds with Caroline’s nerves. She had already been forced to rip out several stitches that were uneven, and eventually had thrown her embroidery aside in a fit of pique. Next, she had attempted to play the piano, but even that was unsettled by the ticking of the clock, which served an unhelpful metronome. Where usually the tiny clock mechanism proceeded entirely unnoticed by Caroline, today it punctuated every thought, and she was managed by it, by the passing of time, as never before.

  Do call on us, Miss de Bourgh, she thought, grimly recalling the previous evening. Foolish Caroline. You ought to have specified a time. With no specific moment given, the call might be expected imminently, and had been, by Caroline, since the moment she laid down her cutlery at breakfast. It would not be proper to expect a call so early, she knew, but Miss Anne de Bourgh was so used to life at her family’s country estate that there was always the possibility that she was not yet used to London times and might call early. Rosings. Caroline loved the sound of the name, as it reverberated through her mind, conjuring images of romantic rose-bushes and elegant, fairy-tale houses.

  In any case, the expectation of the promised call weighed heavily upon her, and she had striven to be ready at a moment’s notice, refusing to see a friend who had chanced to call and claiming a headache that she would doubtless be forced to make up for later in the week. It mattered not. Harriet Parker was no Anne de Bourgh, and was in thrall enough to Caroline that any excuse might be enough to undo any upset. A headache was not an unheard of excuse, particularly after an evening at the Royal Academy, for Harriet would be thrilled to hear of the harpist Caroline had seen. Her friend was a great admirer of the arts, despite being tone deaf, and shackled to a brother who cared nothing for anything other than cards and brandy. Poor Harriet was never permitted to attend concerts or talks, and only occasionally welcomed to dinners or assemblies. She had latched onto Caroline quite by chance some seasons previously and Caroline encouraged the friendship whenever she was in London, for it soothed her to have one friend, at least, who could do nothing but admire her.