Suddenly Mrs. Darcy

by Jenetta James

  “Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam is determined that your walking tours of Rosings are to begin this morning, so we thought we would begin by walking to the parsonage directly after you have broken your fast. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “It is; thank you. But do you not wish to ride? I do not wish to keep you from your usual routines.”

  “You are my wife, Elizabeth. Who else but you should keep me from my usual routines? In any case, I cannot allow Fitzwilliam to monopolise you entirely.”

  “Well, in that case, it is settled. I am sure we shall be a happy party, sir.” He did not laugh at my joke.

  So it was that, in the mid-morning sunshine, my husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I walked in harmony to Hunsford. Mr Darcy said little but appeared content and offered me his arm for the journey. Colonel Fitzwilliam was jovial company and entertained us both with tales of his travels and duties. I confessed to finding it most confusing that the colonel’s surname was the same as Mr Darcy’s first name. It was explained to me, by the colonel, of course, that it was a tradition in the family to give the eldest son his mother’s maiden name as a Christian name. I thought of my own child, certain that Mr Darcy would not countenance this tradition if it is a boy, and I was momentarily overcome with sadness. It was resolved, however, that to make matters simpler, I should address Colonel Fitzwilliam as “Richard” and he address me as “…‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lizzy’ if you prefer, sir. All of my family call me ‘Lizzy’ as does Georgiana.” Mr Darcy looked most displeased at this last remark, and I could not begin to understand why.

  Our welcome at the parsonage was a profuse one. We spied Mr Collins as we approached, standing at his gate, and he lost no time in gathering Mary from the house and walking out on the path to meet us. My sister I was quite overcome to see. I had never been close to Mary and, in all my months at Pemberley, had longed to see Jane. However, in the moment that I saw Mary’s light and pleasing figure heading towards me, an unfamiliar lace cap upon her head, I could barely contain my joy. She smiled, and in her smile, I saw my home, my family, and all that I knew. It was Mr Collins who commenced the pleasantries.

  “Mr Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam! You honour us with your presence, and we are most delighted to welcome you to our home. Mrs Darcy! My dear cousin! My dear sister, you are most welcome. I little thought when we met in Hertfordshire that I should be welcoming you to my home in these circumstances, but welcome you are! Indeed you are!”

  And so the visit progressed with any person other than Mr Collins speaking little and rarely. Unfortunately, my new brother’s highest and most lengthy praise was reserved for the person who least wished to receive it: my husband. “It is such an honour to be able to serve my esteemed patroness, but I never thought to be connected to her honoured family by the ties of marriage. Indeed, I did not! What an honour it is, Mr Darcy, to call you ‘brother’; indeed, it seems so august I can hardly credit it is true. Not that my dear Mrs Collins and I would ever expect to see Pemberley, but we are told it is quite magnificent and equals even Rosings in style and splendour!”

  I felt myself redden with mortification and could scarcely look at Fitzwilliam. I pondered whether he was more affronted at having his relationship to Mr Collins made so explicit or at having his beloved Pemberley compared to the excessive ornamentation of Rosings. The babble of my cousin’s eulogising and the clatter of teacups on saucers continued longer than the others present really wished. By the time we departed the Parsonage for the walk back to Rosings, I could feel my husband’s dissatisfaction reverberating between us. He spoke not, nor did he offer me his arm. His long legs stalked away, racing down the hill we had climbed in harmony only an hour before. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to see his displeasure but did not credit it with sympathy.

  “Darcy! Would you make runners of Lizzy and me? Your poor wife will take a fall if we are forced to keep this pace. Slow down, man!”

  I saw him stiffen and battle the anger within. He slowed and turned, his handsome face cast against the lush green of the valley. “Elizabeth, forgive me. I forget myself.” He offered his arm, which I took. He did not look at his cousin as he continued. “As a matter of fact, Fitzwilliam, my wife is an excellent walker, and I am quite sure she could cope with any pace. I would not want to tire you though.”

  “There is not a tired bone in my body, Darcy, as you well know. I could keep going all day. We should plan further walks to show Lizzy the valley and the estate as it stretches towards Westerham. There is a flower meadow I am sure she would love, to say nothing of the view from Ide Hill. What say you?”

  “I say they sound excellent prospects, Fitzwilliam, but I will allow Elizabeth to decide. Maybe after some rest.”

  I well took his meaning and said nothing. There hung in the air a strange tension between the cousins. A rivalry and understanding, from which I was excluded, knitted them together, and I could make no sense of it. I knew my husband was annoyed beyond reckoning, and I ought to placate him. Despite this, I was also wounded that he thought nothing of my own feelings. A rebellious spirit welled up inside me, and I scarce knew how I should stop its growth. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed able to speak to Mr Darcy as I had seen no other person do, and yet he also had irritated my husband.

  That night, I was awake when he joined me in my chamber. He removed his nightshirt wearily and crawled like a tired animal into bed beside me.

  “Fitzwilliam, are you well?”

  He paused, seeming to search for words. After a moment and with a sigh, he assented. “Yes, I am well.” He turned on to his front and locked his eyes with mine. “Shall you need me on your visit to the parsonage tomorrow?”

  “No. I know you do not wish to visit there. Actually, Mary and I intend to walk out and, I hope, have some conversation to ourselves. I made a secret pact with her, and I think she will be glad of it.”

  “Good, well, I hope you enjoy your time with her.”

  “What about our walks with Richard? Do you wish it?”

  “Must the two of you keep to this ‘Richard’ and ‘Lizzy’ arrangement? I cannot grow used to it.”

  “I can return to calling him ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam’ if you like, but the problem is that you are ‘Fitzwilliam’ to me. You should have pity on my poor brain.”

  “Your brain is more than capable of dealing with it, Elizabeth. In any case, I can take you on walks around the estate.”

  “As you wish. Shall you tell me when?”

  “Yes.” The silence stuck between us like layered paint.

  “Fitzwilliam, is anything else wrong?”

  “No,” he said turning to me, a familiar look about his face. He kissed me long. “No, there is nothing wrong.”

  Chapter Twelve

  My walks with Mary were strangely peaceful affairs. Mr Collins was busy with his garden and attending Lady Catherine, so he did not have time to join us. Though we had not been together in many months, Mary had lost none of her absurdity, and her remarks were frequently mirthless and gauche. Still, something in her reminded me of Longbourn, and seeing her before me and hearing her soft voice seemed to prove Longbourn and those within still existed. I missed our family desperately whilst I was with her.

  “Married life suits me well, Lizzy. I hope it does you. But yes, it suits me very well. Our cousin is a good husband, and I have my own household here. I have no Kitty and Lydia to contend with and no Mama to keep company. There is no talk of balls and assemblies. It is just me and Mr Collins at home, and I find that perfectly agreeable. I do not miss the hubbub of Longbourn.”

  “I think I do, but I am glad to hear you are happy. Our cousin sounds to be a good husband to you.”

  “Yes, he is. Now you and I both know about…well, what goes on between a husband and his wife. I suppose we can speak of it between ourselves. Well, Lizzy, I am perfectly content. I find the business itself is not as bad as Mama said
it would be, and in any case, it is only once a week.”

  I had not expected such a confidence and did not quite know what to do with it. I was immediately certain I would not confide the truth of Mr Darcy’s nightly lovemaking in return. It seemed too precious to share in that way, and I was afraid of reducing its power by discussing it. “Well…good. I am pleased to hear it. Do you hear from Longbourn?”

  “Yes, quite often. Mama writes and Jane also. I have had one letter from Kitty. Everything sounds much the same as ever except you are not there, and nothing is known of Mr Bingley. I am sure you know about that. Mama and Jane are both anxious to hear how your stay here progresses. They…well…they ask me to report that you are well—with Mr Darcy, I mean. I hope I can do so?”

  I was taken aback by this. I had written to everyone who had written to me and hoped I left no room for doubt of my contentment. What was the use of my situation if, in addition to my worries, my family were also anxious about me?

  “Yes…of course. I am very happy with my circumstances. Mr Darcy is… He is a good husband to me, too.”

  “Good. He seems to say so little and…well, Lizzy…he is awfully stern. It is hard to imagine him within his own quarters. But if you report you are happy, then it must be so. I am sure Mama and Jane will be content.”

  As promised, my husband escorted me on walks around the estate although Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanied us on a couple of occasions. On Maundy Thursday, the weather was very fine, and the gentlemen agreed I should see the meadow as it stretches towards Brasted. I was to meet them in the music room, and we would set off from the back of the house. Hannah dressed me in my favourite walking gown, and I almost ran to our meeting place. As I approached the music room, I saw the door was slightly ajar. From within I could hear my husband and his cousin, their voices not exactly raised in argument but also not in harmony. Colonel Fitzwilliam used a tone with Mr Darcy I had never heard before.

  “Darcy, the whole of London knows of Mrs Lovelace and her ‘establishment.’ I really do not see that it signifies now. There is too much done. And the fact of the matter is that she will find out at some point—”

  “But not at this point, Fitzwilliam. It is far too soon, and I will not have it. No, I shall deal with this issue alone. I will be seeing Mrs Lovelace in town and…well, I will arrange things.”

  “And what about Mrs Darcy?”

  “Mrs Darcy does not need to know.”

  How I hated those words, and how I hated the feelings of confusion and tumult that beset me. I loathed listening at doors, but then to discover I am a problem to my husband and am to be kept in ignorance of some great secret was too much. It occurred to me to return to our chamber and feign illness, but I suspected he would simply visit me, and I would be forced to face him in even less desirable circumstances. No, it would not do. I straightened my back against the wall outside the music room, filled my lungs, pinched my cheeks, and entered the room.

  Had my mind not been on fire with speculation as to the identity of “Mrs Lovelace” and her connection to my husband, I would have enjoyed our walk very much. The way through the woods was cool, clear, and beautiful, and the meadow was speckled with wildflowers of all colours. The air was heavy with the scent of them, and the sun shone upon our heads. When I felt Fitzwilliam’s hand upon the small of my back, I could have cried, and if his cousin had not been with us, I probably would have done so. As it was, I forced myself to smile and prayed most ardently for some resolution to my problems.

  ***

  If there was an aspect of Lady Catherine’s patronage that Mr Collins enjoyed even more than being her guest, it was being her spiritual guide. This we were all made aware of during our Easter services. Solemn though Good Friday must necessarily be, my cousin did not neglect to compliment the clothing of Lady Catherine and her daughter as our party arrived at church. He flapped and flustered us to the de Bourgh family pew as though he were conducting the Prince Regent to his seat at the theatre, and I knew Mr Darcy was horrified. Matters were little improved on Easter Sunday when his sermon’s principal concern was the distinctions of rank within the Kent community. Lady Catherine’s head nodded gently in approval, and I sat between my husband and his cousin—one, incandescent and the other, I suspected, stifling the occasional laugh. Then Mr Collins and Mary joined us for luncheon at Rosings on Easter Sunday.

  “Mrs Darcy, you are very glum today. But of course you are; you shall be going away very soon. I am sure you are unused to splendour in houses as you must find at Rosings.” I hardly knew what to say to this, and as it turned out, Lady Catherine required little by way of reply. “I understand your father’s estate is very small and entailed upon Mr Collins. That must be very disagreeable to grow up away from the advantages of the best society and to contend with an entail as well.” She paused for a moment, skewering me with her eyes and raising her chin to continue. “Of course, Pemberley is a fine estate, but you must be quite lost there. A country girl such as you has never been mistress of Pemberley before and…well, I imagine you are quite undone by the expectations.”

  Mr Darcy interrupted. “Aunt, Elizabeth is a fine mistress and—”

  “Yes, yes, but my sister was the last mistress there, and our father was an earl. We grew up on a great estate and have always known their ways. The current Mrs Darcy is at quite a disadvantage, Darcy; you must say that.”

  “I do not say that, Lady Catherine, and let that be an end to the matter.” Then, Mr Darcy moved to the window and turned his back on the room, his rigid fingers clasped behind his back.

  Once again, the colonel came to my rescue. “Mrs Darcy, might we impose upon you to play? I am in great need of a song. I hope Mr Collins will not consider me a heathen!”

  “Your concern does you credit, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but no, certainly not! Indeed, I do not. I consider music, in the right setting and amongst people of morals, is a great balm to the spirit.”

  I stood and, before Mr Collins could explain himself further, sat at the instrument and began to play. My playing made me deaf to the conversation in the room, and I was glad. My fingers hammered the keys, and my body was alive with the energy of music. Sound rose from the strings and made an agreeable barrier between my company and me. My husband appeared beside me, bearing gifts of more sheet music. He had selected a number of pieces from Lady Catherine’s collection, and I played them all, wordlessly agreeing with him that I was more welcome as a bringer of song than as a relation.

  ***

  Our final night at Rosings was a week after Easter. I had walked the length and breadth of the estate, played after every supper, and tried my best with Fitzwilliam’s aunt for over two weeks. I was ready to depart. After dinner, when the ladies retired to the splendours of the drawing room, leaving the men to their whiskey, it was a comfort to know that it was the last time. Steady to my husband’s description, Anne said almost nothing throughout our stay, but Lady Catherine never stopped.

  “Well, Mrs Darcy, I am sure you already look forward to your visit to Rosings next year. It is quite a tradition, and Darcy is always so sorry to leave, but I suppose he has business in town.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We are to town for three weeks before returning to Pemberley for the summer, and we shall carry very fond memories of our time here.”

  “Of course, you cannot have spent very much time in town before, Mrs Darcy. It will be quite new to you, I imagine. You will be most impressed, I am sure. For my part, I was never one for always being in town and going here and there. I have always been most at ease here at Rosings, and so was my late husband. He was not the sort of man who needed to visit town as other men do.”

  “Well…” I was not sure what she suggested, but I suspected it was not intended to comfort me. “I am a country dweller myself, Lady Catherine, so I can sympathise. Your home is very grand, and if you never wish to leave it, then I can
well understand.”

  “Well, then we are as one, Mrs Darcy, which pleases me. I hope you find the married state an agreeable one. You have done very well by your marriage, but I expect you know that.” She paused, fingering the blue lace of her sleeve and then, looking up at me, continued. “You may not realise that, when he married you, Darcy broke his engagement to poor Anne.” Her great grey eyes stared me down and then, after a beat, glanced gently to her daughter sitting beside her. “Or maybe you did know about it. He may have told you, or he may not have. It is, I suppose, in the past now. He has begged my forgiveness, and I have granted it. Darcy knows I could have made more fuss than I did, and I would have been within my rights to do so. It is not the sort of thing he would like people to know: that he broke a promise to a respectable and high-born relation in order to marry a young woman who…well, in order to marry another.”

  I blinked and felt a lurch within me as though I had fallen from a great height. I recalled Mr Darcy had said little of Anne, even when I asked, and he seemed to grow rather testy when required to discuss her.

  “We have resolved not to think on it though, he and I, and I suppose in time it shall be forgotten. I understand from my servants that my nephew keeps to your bedchamber at night. Well, it is early in your marriage, and he has not yet been to town, has he? No, of course, you have been at Pemberley.”

  My mind reeled at this new direction in her conversation. I was astonished that she had raised such a subject and still more that she should do so with her unmarried daughter sitting beside her. Anne looked away, and I flushed, completely at a loss as to how to proceed.

  “You may find when you are in town and as time passes that matters change, and that may be agreeable to you. Your stay here has satisfied me that you are an intelligent young woman, and I do not suppose you are in ignorance of the ways of the world, Mrs Darcy. It is well known, of course, that my nephew keeps a mistress in town. I am afraid I cannot tell you her name, but maybe you can tell me. I can see you are the sort of girl who makes it her business to know matters, and you seem to handle my nephew reasonably soundly, so I shall venture no advice to you.”