Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian

by Jennifer Joy

  "I am at an unfair disadvantage then, for there was no one of whom I could inquire about your character other than Mr. Bingley … and I am of the opinion he speaks kindly of everybody."

  She understood Bingley perfectly. However, distrust wrinkled her brow, and Darcy wished to placate her. He wanted to earn her trust. He had to for Anne’s sake.

  Leaning forward until he had Elizabeth’s full attention, he said, "I will always be honest with you. It is true I do not know how I am to be the husband you deserve. I do not know how I can offer you the love you desire when, in my experience, love only leads to a pain so deep one wishes he could stop his heart from beating to keep the ache from consuming him." His throat tightened, so he whispered his assurance. "But I will do my best."

  She leaned back against the squabs, her eyes never wavering from his. "I am inclined to believe you, but time will tell whether you mean what you say. In the meantime, William, I will have you know that it is my determination to instigate a thorough study of your character. I wish to love the man I marry, but I will not give my heart away indiscriminately. Not even to you."

  He nodded. He expected no less from her. "A fair beginning in our marriage of convenience."

  Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. “Forced. Our marriage is not convenient to me at all, and until you convince me it is anything other than a forced marriage, that is how I will continue to think of our union.” She laughed bitterly. "I had dreamed of making a love match only to have my dream blown away with one hearty cough. I find myself permanently attached to a stranger. Do not be troubled, William. I have not gone mad. But I will appreciate the ridiculous irony in our situation until I am able to find enough to be happy about, enough hope on which to build a new dream I pray will include you."

  Her tenacious search for a silver lining aroused Darcy’s sympathy, along with another troubling sensation he did not recognize. Far from being grateful, she was grieving … because of him.

  "I am sorry," he said.

  "You do not strike me as a gentleman for whom apologies come easily, and so I will acknowledge the difficulty you have overcome in making one and accept it. It is a point in your favor." She smiled weakly, her forced cheer punching Darcy in the gut and leaving him with the feeling that he had overlooked something important. But what? He had done everything he had said he would do, and more.

  His devotion to Anne’s protection had narrowed his vision so much, he had failed to consider the complications a wife would add to his already unstable life.

  He was a husband now. And he had two females who demanded his attention.

  Good God, what had he got himself into?

  Chapter 11

  The expression on William’s face should have been enough to make Elizabeth laugh. She dearly loved to laugh, and lately, she had not done much of it. Nor would her streak of laughless days end then. She was too affected, but her fiery courage would rise again. There was too much about William she had yet to learn, and her curiosity would be satisfied.

  Elizabeth had to own — if she set aside her own inclination to dislike any man who would marry for anything other than the deepest love — that her husband appeared to be an honorable gentleman. Not Sir Knightly honorable … but few men were. “I do not wish to love again after losing someone very dear to me,” he had said.

  “Love again.” What had he meant by that? Most society men kept mistresses, and she must admit to the likelihood that William was no different.

  As easily as Elizabeth could give in to despair, her optimism insisted he must have a reasonable explanation. She hoped. Something about William moved her sympathy, and Elizabeth realized she stood to lose very little she had not already lost if she indulged it. She may even gain a measure of happiness.

  If only he would talk to her.

  Why had he needed to marry now? He could have had his choice in brides. He could have married a lady of fortune in the first circles of society, but he had chosen her — a country maiden with few aspirations and fewer prospects.

  Who had recommended her to him?

  Whom had he loved?

  Elizabeth brimmed with an endless stream of questions, but she was sufficiently discerning to know when enough was enough. And, right now, William had had enough. Poor man, she thought sarcastically. For a gentleman who claimed not to be influenced by emotion, she felt the weight of them in that carriage.

  He had said love was painful, that he had wanted to rip his heart from his chest to spare himself the ache.

  Was he the sort of gentleman to have a mistress? Elizabeth did not want to believe it. The day was full enough of disappointments to suffer such a soul-crushing revelation so early in the morning.

  Please, let it not be another woman. She could turn a blind eye to many things, but not that. Not to betrayal.

  She would wait until dinner. Then, she would renew her attempt to learn more about the man she would stick to or be stuck with.

  Darcy kept himself occupied until dinner. There were letters to write, invitations to decline, a wife he did not know how to behave around, and observant servants who would carry little bits of gossip past the walls of Darcy House if they suspected anything out of sorts. He was a fair master, but loyalties were often forgotten when a juicy piece of news presented itself. Never forgetting that human weakness had helped him keep Anne secret as long as he had.

  Mrs. Fischer, Mrs. Reynolds’ sister and the housekeeper at Darcy House, waited for him outside the dining room.

  “If I might have a word, please, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

  If she had another task for him to see to, Darcy would be grateful for it. “Anything, Mrs. Fischer,” he said.

  Her rosy cheeks bunched up. She was plump where Mrs. Reynolds was angular. She was also more outspoken where her sister was tactful.

  She said, “That is a promising start and makes my difficulty much easier to utter. I asked one of the maids to assist Mrs. Darcy until she finds someone more suitable.”

  Elizabeth’s lack of a maid had been an unwelcome inconvenience. Mrs. Bennet had insisted that the maid remain at Longbourn, so that her newly wedded daughter could acquire a more fashionable French maid in London. Darcy had sent word as quickly as he could to Mrs. Fischer. Any maid would do until they got to Pemberley.

  “Very good, Mrs. Fischer,” he said.

  Mrs. Fischer frowned, wringing her hands. “With such late notice of Mrs. Darcy’s need, I fear it will take several days to find an adequate lady’s maid.”

  “Several days?” Drat! More delay. Darcy held his breath, trying to calm his disappointment. He would not punish Mrs. Fischer when she was only the messenger.

  Exhaling slowly, Darcy said, “I can hardly find you at fault when you did not receive the news until yesterday. I thank you for seeing to the comfort of … my wife.” His troublesome wife who asked too many questions and delayed his return to Anne. She had almost had him fooled in the carriage. She had inspired his sympathy so greatly, he had apologized. And how did she thank him? By declaring her intention to investigate his character as if he were nothing more than a common criminal out to ruin her happiness. As if she stood a chance of finding happiness at all with such a negligent father, overbearing mother, and complete lack of connections.

  Mrs. Fischer beamed. “I aim to have half a dozen lady’s maids lined up for Mrs. Darcy to interview by tomorrow — nothing by most ladies’ standards, but I am content you are pleased.”

  Darcy was pleased. They would only lose one day. Elizabeth would simply have to find someone suitable on the morrow. He just had to get to Anne. He had to.

  Clasping her hands together, Mrs. Fischer said in a lower voice, “My sister will not agree, but I am overjoyed you chose the second Bennet daughter. She wrote how Mrs. Bamber said that while Mrs. Gardiner adores both of her eldest nieces, the second one seems to be her and her husband’s personal favorite. Is Mrs. Darcy as witty as she is said to be?”

  At least someone was pleased with his choi
ce. “I do not know the extent of what you have heard, but I am prone to think the reports pale in comparison to the reality.”

  Patting his hand, Mrs. Fischer bounced on her toes. “I am delighted to hear it! All of us here at Darcy House wish for you to be as happy as your mother and father were.”

  Doubtful. Darcy guarded his silence, not trusting himself to make an amicable reply.

  Before he could continue into the dining room, the source of his affliction appeared at the top of the stairwell. She wore the pale gown with the same green ribbon he had first seen her wear at the Meryton Assembly. Her hair looked as if it would fall out of her pins at the slightest movement — another reminder of her need for a proficient maid. Blast it all.

  One day, Darcy reminded himself. Only one extra day in London, then they would hasten away to Anne.

  He held out his arm when Elizabeth neared the bottom of the stairs.

  She stopped one step from the floor. She did not take his arm but looked at him levelly. “Are you cross, William?” she asked.

  Great. Another question.

  Heaving a sigh, he said, “No.” Now, that was a lie. He had not been married an entire day, and already he was lying to his wife.

  She peered at him closely.

  Cross or not, he did not wish to begin this way. “I—”

  “You are a terrible liar,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Your jaw is clenched. I can see the muscles there twitching.”

  There are few things more irksome than being denied the satisfaction of righting a wrong. Darcy felt his eyelid twitch, annoying him further because he had no doubt that Elizabeth saw it too.

  Very well. If she wanted blunt honesty, he would give it to her. “If you must know, I am annoyed about the delay in travel we must suffer due to your lack of a maid.”

  “So it is my fault, is it? Allow me to soothe over my transgression by suggesting that we leave at first light on the morrow. How could I possibly think we had time to stay in London when we did not even have time to get to know each other in Hertfordshire?”

  Darcy did not trust her reasonableness.

  Her smile was too sweet. “To be sure, I see no problem in the arrangement … so long as you are willing to perform the services otherwise seen to by a lady’s maid.” She reached up to her hair, a tendril falling at the slightest touch. “As you can see, my hair is difficult to manage. Even the most talented maid will be challenged, but I have confidence in your superior abilities.”

  Darcy knew she was being impertinent, but he was desperate enough to travel on the morrow to consider it. He had seen the groom braid his horses’ manes. It could not be that hard.

  Elizabeth spun around, her hands fumbling over the buttons at the back of her gown. “Another duty under your charge would be my buttons. I would require your help dressing … and undressing.”

  Heat crawled up Darcy’s neck, flooding his face. This was the woman with whom he was supposed to produce an heir, and right now nothing could provoke him to touch her or her buttons.

  She spun back around, facing him. “Are you well, William? You look apoplectic.”

  He glared at Elizabeth. She had proved her point thoroughly. It was unseemly to rub it in.

  Again, Darcy held his arm out for her. His greatest wish was to dine as quickly as decorum allowed and retreat to his study. Away from his contentious wife.

  Again, she ignored his gesture.

  “You are not given to drink, are you? Forgive me for asking, but I do not know you well enough to have discovered your vices…”

  He jerked his arm away. This woman was insufferable. “I do not have vices.” He was a Darcy, for Heaven’s sake.

  She clasped her hand over her heart, reaching to take the arm he no longer offered. “I am relieved to hear it. Most gentlemen — generally speaking, of course — are given to vices, and I could never love a husband without enough strength of character to temper his consumption of spirits … or loose women.”

  Loose women? Darcy’s jaw dropped. “What kind of a man do you think I am?”

  “I do not know at all. That is the problem. But we will soon remedy the situation. I have several questions prepared.” Elizabeth stepped down off the bottom stair, still holding her hand out expectantly.

  He could have used a drink just then, but he could not imbibe in front of her after that comment. Drink was ruined for him. She had ruined it.

  Begrudgingly, Darcy gave her his arm and led her into the dining room, wherein she made true to her threat with a barrage of questions.

  This was not a celebratory wedding day dinner. This was an inquisition.

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth turned for the maid, holding up her hair so as not to make the difficult task of unhooking the tiny buttons more arduous.

  She had overdone it at dinner. She had only meant to make William understand how she wished to be taken into consideration, how she desired to be treated. Whether it was his inability, unwillingness, or his stubborn refusal to grasp her point, Elizabeth did not know, but it did not excuse her behavior. She had yielded to bitterness. William must think her a contemptuous shrew. She felt like one.

  In her own defense, how was she supposed to react when time after time Fitzwilliam made decisions without once consulting her? Did her view hold so little value, he thought it best not even to inquire?

  They had not been five minutes at Darcy House when she found out they were to continue traveling the following morning. And she had only overheard that comment when Fitzwilliam gave orders to his valet. The valet knew their plans, but Elizabeth did not.

  Thank goodness for Mrs. Fischer. She had provided a maid to help Elizabeth bathe and dress for dinner.

  Resentful that she would be denied a maid when her husband employed a valet in whom he entrusted more information than herself, Elizabeth had loosened her hair before descending the stairs to dinner, knowing that the slightest movement would send her locks tumbling down.

  It had been a long dinner, wherein Elizabeth’s every attempt to punish William for his inconsideration resulted in her own shame.

  She refused to carry on in this manner. Not only had she made William miserable, but so was she.

  Elizabeth sighed. Her misery would not lighten a jot if she insisted on wallowing in it. She must try to see the good … starting with the housemaid currently assisting her. Perhaps an easier, smaller beginning would help Elizabeth feel more forgiving toward her husband … and toward herself.

  In truth, the girl had done a much better job of securing Elizabeth’s untamable mane than most were capable of doing.

  Evelyn — whose untrained fingers lacked the dexterity required of the task before her — tugged on Elizabeth’s bodice. “I am sorry,” she repeated.

  Unwilling to continue in her sour mood, Elizabeth smiled at the girl. “You are doing better than I could manage, Evelyn. Without your assistance, I would be forced to sleep in my gown.”

  Evelyn chuckled. “My fingers fumble for fear of snagging the fabric — they are quite rough — but Mr. Darcy has arranged for Mrs. Fischer to see about acquiring a proper lady’s maid for you. He will see everything is put right.”

  “Really?” Elizabeth scoffed, biting her tongue. Letting go of her bitterness would be more difficult than she had thought. She smiled at Evelyn.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Darcy sent word before you got here, and Mrs. Fischer has been making inquiries since.”

  Elizabeth stiffened. She had assumed he had forgotten. Puzzled, she asked, “If he remembered I needed a maid, then why did he arrange to leave for Pemberley on the morrow?”

  Another chuckle. “If you ask me, Mr. Darcy loves Pemberley so much, he is simply impatient to show you his grand estate. Who can blame him for wishing to show his beloved home to his bride?”

  Elizabeth had blamed him. She still did. “He knew I needed to interview maids,” she said.

  Evelyn tsked and tugged. “That is a man for you. Mr. Darcy’s valet has been in his employ for
so long, he has forgotten how much care a lady must take in selecting a proper lady’s maid.”

  Could it be that simple? Had she misunderstood William’s impatience as negligence? Elizabeth’s shame multiplied. How could she expect her husband to understand her when she clearly did not understand him at all? How could she demand consideration when she herself failed to display the same quality?

  She could do better. She would do better. No more confrontational questionings. Until William spoke for himself, Elizabeth would learn what she could from those who knew him and his habits the best — his servants.

  Straightening her shoulders, Elizabeth asked, “How long have you worked for Mr. Darcy?”

  “My mother was in service to Mr. Darcy’s father before me. It was such a happy house. I would not dream of going anywhere else.” Elizabeth heard the admiration in Evelyn’s tone.

  “They sound like lovely people. I am sad I shall never get to meet them.”

  “Oh, they were lovely. The loveliest!” Evelyn gushed, rewarding Elizabeth’s inquisitiveness when she continued. “I was a child when Lady Anne passed away, but I remember her being the most elegant lady I had ever seen. And so friendly. She was not too proud to talk with common folks. Oh, and her gowns! Her gowns were always the height of fashion. The other ladies copied everything she did. If her neckline was square, they rushed to the modiste to have gowns made with square necklines.”

  Elizabeth stifled a snort. Nobody would rush to copy her. Her nicest gowns had been repurposed from Jane’s the year when puffier sleeves were all the rage. Her outdated wardrobe was hardly of any consequence at Longbourn, but Elizabeth was in different company now. High society would not be so considerate as her neighbors had been. They would be quick to point out her flaws. And how can a lady not wearing the latest fashion possibly possess a worthwhile character? Elizabeth thought sarcastically.