“You asked to see me, madam?” The door to my sitting room clicked shut behind her.
“Ah yes, thank you, Mrs Reynolds. I have been visiting the Ashbys at Haddon today, and I am rather worried about them. Mr Ashby has an appalling cough, and I rather think he would benefit from being seen by a physician. I would like to arrange this and, of course, pay for it. I am sure I can pay for it from my pin money. But are you able to arrange it?”
“Yes, madam, of course. But I am sure you do not need to pay for it from your pin money. I can speak to Mr Franks about it, but I am sure estate funds are normally used for that sort of thing.”
I thought of confiding in her, of trusting her with my inhibitions, and on balance, I preferred to keep them to myself. “There is no need to trouble him, Mrs Reynolds. I am happy to pay for it, and I rather think the Ashbys may be embarrassed to think of everyone here knowing this charity had been given. As it is, it shall just be between us, and I think that may be better.”
“Erm, well, if you are sure, madam. I can arrange for Dr Worthing to call. He lives in Lambton, and I can write to him today. Will that be acceptable?”
“Yes, I think that will do very well. I do hope she shall not be offended at my having taken this step, but he did sound very bad, and she is very heavy with child herself, Mrs Reynolds, with five young ones already born. She has a great deal to worry on. I hope I do not add to it.”
That evening after supper, Georgiana retired early to bed with a headache and left Mr Darcy and me in the music room. Anticipating he would like me to play, I opened the instrument and began a simple, easy piece I knew by heart.
“I do not wonder that Georgiana has a headache; it was very windy on our way back from Haddon today. We were nearly blown back to Pemberley.”
“But you are well, Elizabeth? I hope you are not ill as well.”
“No, not at all. I am fine. I have been enjoying the tenant visits very much. I love to step outside, learn my way around, and meet the people who live here. It makes me feel as though I know where I am. Do you understand that, sir?”
He looked at me steadily. “Yes, I think I do. How did you find the Ashbys?”
“Oh, not well at all. Mrs Ashby appears to be a very agreeable woman, but I can scarce imagine how she copes. She has five children, all of them less than six years of age and another expected in a month. Her husband, I believe, is ill. He was there, but we saw him not. He was coughing appallingly in another room, and his chest sounded very bad.”
“Is that why you have asked about Dr Worthing visiting?”
I wondered whether he was challenging or simply asking. His tone, as was often the case, was a mystery to me. I was ready to defend myself. “Yes, it is. I believe he needs a doctor. It is not a cold, Fitzwilliam. It sounded dreadful. I was glad we had taken two baskets instead of just one. But I fear they are in crisis. Both of the Ashbys have lived all of their lives on Pemberley land. They are Pemberley people. I took the view we ought to be doing more than we were for them.” I looked at his handsome, inscrutable face and added quietly, “I hope I did right.”
I hated begging for his blessing thus. In my heart, I added that poor Mr Wickham was a Pemberley person as well, born and raised here, and he should never have been abandoned as he has been. I wondered how Mr Darcy could justify to himself that he had treated his father’s godson so shabbily.
“Of course you did, Elizabeth. I was not suggesting you had done anything wrong. I…you are doing very well. I do not believe you were ever taught how to be the mistress of a great estate. There is no reason to think you would have been. Your parents can hardly have envisaged this for you, so you are relying on Mrs Reynolds and your native abilities. But I hope you know that…well, I do not find anything wanting.”
As he spoke, I was heating with frustration and wounded pride. The piece I was playing reached its conclusion, and my hands rested lightly in the middle of the instrument. I wondered what he expected me to say to this little speech. Ought I to kiss his feet for having raised me in the world? Ought I to offer that I never need write my parents, as well as never see them, since their condition in life is so far below his? Could I ever repay the condescension he had shown in marrying me?
“No, I am not complaining, Elizabeth. I was merely concerned that you told Mrs Reynolds you would use your pin money rather than estate funds. There is no need for that. That sort of thing ought to be paid for from the estate. Your pin money is for you to spend on yourself.”
“I did not want everyone to know, that is all. Mrs Ashby seemed…well, I thought she would not appreciate it if everybody here knew about their plight; I could pay out of my pin money, and only Mrs Reynolds and I would know about it. To get money from the estate, I would have to approach Franks and who knows who else. As it is, Mrs Reynolds clearly went straight to you after having spoken to me, so I need not have bothered. I did not know she was so little to be trusted.”
I tried not to be wounded by the suggestion that I had betrayed my inferior background by the manner in which I had tried to help the Ashbys. I wanted to say it was not ignorance. I wanted to say it was not ostentatious charity that motivated me, just a desire to assist them in the best and most discreet way. I wanted to but did not. Images of the swollen belly of Mrs Ashby and echoes of her husband’s hacking cough whirred around my mind. I flushed to think Mr Darcy thought my lack of preparation for being the mistress of Pemberley was so obvious, and I stared down at my fingers resting on the black and white keyboard. For a few moments, he spoke though I did not hear him. “…if you are too tired to play, we can retire. Would you like to retire?”
“Erm, I am sorry I was wool gathering. Yes, I can play if you like, or we can retire. I don’t mind, Fitzwilliam.”
He approached me and stroked my shoulder, his fingers sliding slightly below the silk of my sleeve. He was my husband, and yet, I was shocked by the intimacy of it.
“No, you look fatigued. Let us to bed?”
We did go to bed, and as had become customary—and with little conversation—he made love to me. In the months of our marriage, I had become well used to the patterns and rhythms of the act. I knew where on his back he liked to be stroked and how to recognise the beginning, the middle, and the end. I knew he liked my hair about my shoulders, and I took care that he found me in such a pose when he came to me. I met the kisses he bestowed upon me with kisses of my own. When he pushed my nightgown up to bunch around my waist, I looked into his eyes and smiled. In all of this, I told myself I acted out of my determination that our marriage should work as well as may be—work as well as any union between two strangers thrown together by circumstance might work. But in the darkness of my chamber, when I was in his embrace, I knew that was no longer quite explanation enough. My feelings had changed, despite my loyalty to my family and friends at home and my own better judgement. Being with him night after night, feeling his skin and strength and breath had touched me, and I wanted it for itself.
On this occasion, he rolled off me and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Elizabeth, I hope you did not think I disapproved of you sending a physician to Ashby?”
I stared at his bare neck and placed my small hands against his chest. It was shaming that his physical closeness had so tempered my attitude towards him, but it was true. “Well, I do not know. I could not make out what you thought really. I suppose, I feared you did disapprove, or that you might.”
“I do not at all. It was the right thing to do. We cannot let people on our land suffer in silence, and well…for his family’s sake, we must do all we can for him. No, I could not approve of simply leaving him to the care of Mrs Ashby, especially in her condition. You did what I would have done if visiting fell to me.”
I considered his words, and they being by his standards a compliment, I resolved to accept them as such. My hands stroked his chest.
“I am glad, Fitzwilliam. Your approval is rarely given, I believe, so more worth the earning. Thank you.”
Chapter Six
Three days before we expected the Bingley party, we attended a ball given by our neighbour, Lady Bellamy. The Bellamy estate, Standenton Park, bordered the Pemberley Woods, and I had glimpsed it on my walks through tangled branch and bracken. Now, our carriage clattered towards it on the open path of its approach, and I was breathless with anticipation. It was the first time I had accompanied my husband in company outside our home, and I knew it would not do to let him down or appear less than I should be. His smile, which he turned on me as he had assisted me into the carriage at Pemberley, drove me on in my ambition to please him. Unconsciously, I fingered the Darcy pearls that hung about my neck.
“I hope you are not concerned about this event, Elizabeth. I am sure it will pass quite easily, and Lord and Lady Matlock will be there.”
“Yes, I look forward to seeing them very much. And besides, it is not in my nature to fear a ball. I am desirous to meet with my neighbours, and I do love to dance.” I thought of his unwillingness to dance in Hertfordshire, of his solemn face circling the company, and the ladies hoping in vain to be asked. “I hope you will not wish to sit out all of the dances? For then nobody will ask me, and I should not wish to be taken for an invalid.”
“I am not a great fan of large gatherings, and as for dancing, well, a little goes a long way. But I am sure we can dance a little, you and I.”
“Is that your manner of asking me to dance, sir?” I asked boldly. “Should you not be more specific? Should you not reserve certain dances? That would have the advantage of certainty for us both. Or do you assume, sir, that nobody else will ask me and I will, therefore, be available at your pleasure?”
“I am sorry, Elizabeth. I did not realise I had to ask my wife as I would an ordinary acquaintance. But since you wish it, would you do me the honour of dancing the first with me, Mrs Darcy?”
Having obtained the offer for which I had been worrying at him for days, I was quite undone by the twinkle in his eyes as he smiled at me. Unequal as I was to responding with a witty remark, I smiled back and thanked him.
“As for our neighbours, I hope you are not disappointed, Elizabeth. I believe Lady Bellamy has invited most of the county, so you can expect a fair amount of farming talk. Apart from my aunt and uncle, I know not who will be present, but we can expect all of our near neighbours and many other families besides.”
“It is a shame Georgiana cannot attend. I believe she felt it keenly, waving us goodbye at the door.”
“There will be time enough for balls when she is out in society. She is too young to be out, and she is much better off at home.”
His tone told me he would brook no argument, but I thought of my sisters, all out in company at fifteen, and I was doubtful. My view was that Georgiana would benefit from a little more society and her painful shyness was, in part, a consequence of Fitzwilliam preventing her from ever meeting anyone outside of her family. She would benefit, surely, from some more society. I thought this but did not say it.
The home of Lord and Lady Bellamy was a splendid one indeed, and they welcomed us with smiles and happy words. The event was far larger than I had anticipated, and great crowds of people seemed to push around me. Fans fluttered, skirts swished, jewelled heads bobbed, and the energy of being there swept through me. My husband seemed concerned, firstly, that others should not brush against me in their eagerness to reach the ballroom, and secondly, that we should locate Lord and Lady Matlock without delay. His head craned around the room, his gaze passing over one hundred tailcoats and coiled hair arrangements until, at last, he rested his search.
“Elizabeth, Darcy, what a joy this is! But there are too many people!”
“I agree, Aunt Mary,” said Fitzwilliam, bowing to her. “I had no idea that Bellamy had invited the families of three counties. It is quite stifling in here, and the dancing has not yet begun!”
“Can there be too many people at a ball?” I asked. “Does a large number not simply assure those of us whose husbands are not given to dancing that we shall not be in want of a partner?” I squeezed his arm, and Lady Matlock laughed.
“I have asked you for the first dance, Elizabeth. Is there to be no end to this merrymaking?” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. His eyes creased as he smiled at me, and I felt a sudden lurch in my belly that took me quite unawares. For a moment, I was made speechless by his attention towards me, but I battled hard to regain my composure.
“Certainly not, sir!”
I had not noticed when I danced with Fitzwilliam at Netherfield how elegant he appeared in a ballroom, but I noticed it now. We touched and parted to the pattern of the dance, and I admired his handsome form in the unusual setting of a crowd for the first time. The music reached its peak, completed, and the dance was at an end. I gladly accepted Fitzwilliam’s arm, and he led me from the floor, I assumed back to his aunt and uncle. We had made little progress when we were interrupted by a lady’s voice.
“Mr Darcy! I thought that I spied you from across the room. How marvellous to see you again, sir. And this must be Mrs Darcy!”
The statuesque and exquisitely dressed figure of a woman appeared before me, and though she accosted us assertively, there was a strange, buzzing, nervousness in her manner. Her hands seemed to wave around unnecessarily as she spoke, and she flicked the luscious, dark curls framing her handsome face. There was, I fancied, mischief there but also anxiety. She sported a pearl bracelet around her narrow wrist with which she fidgeted. She was young, no older I would hazard than myself, and she had a gentleman in tow, half a pace behind her. An emotion I could not place swept across Fitzwilliam’s face.
“Mrs Woodham, it is a pleasure, and Mr Woodham. May I introduce Mrs Darcy? ” Bows met curtseys, and smiles were exchanged, but I was none the wiser.
“You are far from home, Mr Woodham. You must have travelled fifty miles to be here.” Fitzwilliam turned to me and said, “Mr and Mrs Woodham live at Pittleworth, which is to the north of Pemberley, Elizabeth.”
With that, Mrs Woodham and Mr Woodham spoke at once: the wife to suggest we must be their guests and Mr Woodham to say Mrs Woodham wished to attend and that her wish was his command. They both seemed to me to be pushing themselves forward in a remarkable manner. There was an odd and mercifully short silence before Mrs Woodham turned to address me.
“I understand you are lately married, Mrs Darcy. So am I. Mr Woodham and I have only been married these two weeks—imagine that!”
“Well, yes, I am. Mr Darcy and I were married in December. This is my first visit to Standenton Park. Are you a frequent visitor here?”
“Oh no, I have never been here before, but Mr Woodham knows the Bellamys, and I believe he has been here several times. It is lovely, is it not? I lived in London before I married, so I am learning country ways, Mrs Darcy.”
I wondered whether her forwardness was partly attributable to this and resolved to think kindly of her. She took my arm, closing her beautiful jewelled hand around the lace of my sleeve before continuing. “I have heard, Mrs Darcy, that you sing and play beautifully; is that true? I should love to hear it.”
“Well, not beautifully at all, but I do enjoy music very much.”
“Shall we hear you tonight? I should like that very much. I love to hear a good song, but I am not talented myself. My sister, Sophia, is a wonderful pianist. I believe she has all of the musical talent in our family!”
“Well, I shall play if requested, but I would not wish to excite your anticipation, for I am no virtuoso. I play very undemanding pieces really. Wherever did you hear of my playing?”
She appeared shocked by this simple and reasonable question, but as she opened her mouth to speak, we were interrupted by Mr Woodham. “Alice, you never lose an opportu
nity to promote your sister’s talents! She is superb at the pianoforte, Mrs Darcy, but for myself I cannot better the majesty of an orchestra. If I should play an instrument, I should play the violin and be one among many!”
We laughed lightly at the idea, and within moments, Mr Woodham asked me to dance the next with him. It would have been unthinkable to refuse. Fitzwilliam was clearly acquainted with him. In any event, he was a polite and amiable young man, and I could see no evil in it. To the soft harmony of the strings, we danced. We threaded and bobbed our way through the routine, smiling to other partners, and being reunited, laughed with one another. Though charming and pleasant, he did not quite hold my attention. Before long, my eyes wandered across the floor, taking in courting couples and spinsters sitting out the dance.
The sight of the two of them talking struck me like an axe to the spine. Mrs Woodham and Fitzwilliam stood where we had left them, heads inclined towards one another, eyes locked, lips jittering in speech as if nobody else were present. They were neither touching nor improperly close, but I could feel in my bones an odd and indefinable intimacy emanating from them. She looked upon my husband, not as an indifferent acquaintance, but as one who really knew him, and the sight of it hounded me. How it could be that so young a woman, raised in town, engaged my husband so, I knew not. A wild feeling of resentment built up inside me. I began to feel giddy.
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