by Jennifer Joy
Still, it begged the questions she had been unable to descry at dinner: Why had William chosen her? Why not marry within his own circle? Whose opinion did he admire so much, he would marry on their recommendation? What had they said in her praise? The only person of her acquaintance who had a connection to Pemberley was Aunt Gardiner. But that sort of conversation with an unmarried gentleman would not have been overlooked by a dutiful aunt with single nieces, and since her aunt had said nothing of William in her letters, Elizabeth had to assume he spoke of someone else.
Evelyn continued, “Mr. Darcy’s father adored the ground Lady Anne walked on. To see those two together, one would never have guessed they had been married over a decade.”
Like Lady Gwendolyn and Sir Knightly, Elizabeth thought longingly.
Fishing for more information, Elizabeth said, “It must have been a wonderful place for Mr. Darcy to be raised. There were more children, were there not?”
With one final tug, Evelyn freed the last button. “Aye, it was. Mr. Darcy grieved Lady Anne’s loss until his own death. If you ask me, he died of a broken heart. He would have gone much sooner had it not been for Miss Darcy.”
A sister! How delightful! Elizabeth listened intently as Evelyn chattered and helped her out of her layers of clothes.
“Miss Darcy was the spitting image of Lady Anne. And her character! So similar the daughter was to her mother, it like to make Mr. Darcy’s heart ache at the sight of her.”
Elizabeth smoothed the nightdress over her, abruptly reminded that Evelyn was a maid with much more to do than stay and talk with her when the girl said with a curtsy, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Thank you, Evelyn. I hope we have more opportunity to converse later.” Elizabeth could not in good conscience detain her any longer. She had much to ponder though. William had a sister! Why did he never speak of her? Then again, William hardly spoke at all.
“If I may be so bold, Mrs. Darcy,” Evelyn said, bobbing another curtsy. “I wish to tell you how happy all of us are downstairs. We feared Mr. Darcy would never marry. And now, he has you, and I think you are lovely.”
She spun around and left the room before Elizabeth could recover from her praise. Evelyn had been so full of commendation for the former Darcys, Elizabeth could not help but wonder if the servants would think as kindly of her as they still did of Lady Anne. She determined they would. Already, she had one supporter.
Would William ever grow to love her as deeply as his father had loved his mother? Elizabeth would like that … if he was worthy of her heart. She had learned nothing of import about William other than the fact that he kept a guarded tongue and an accomplished cook. With the day’s travel and her own upset, Elizabeth had only managed a few bites. She regretted that now as her stomach grumbled. She might have to find her way to the kitchen. Maybe the cook would be as helpful as Evelyn had been in revealing more about William’s past and character.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. She would not succumb as her father had done. She would not give in to bitterness and despair while she had a lot of fight in her still. This was only the beginning. She would try again. She would do better on the morrow. Better to try and fail than conform to a lifetime of heart-breaking indifference. She was not made for meek resignation or acrimony. She would fight.
Like a queen surveying her domain, Elizabeth assessed her surroundings. She did not know what she sought until she saw it. Her ten-inch bronze hatpin with the green beads.
Grabbing the hatpin off the dressing table, Elizabeth ran her finger along its length to the sharp tip. Yes, it would work perfectly … should she need it. While Elizabeth was determined to be kinder to her husband, she would not accept unwanted advances from him. She placed it under her pillow.
If William had amorous intentions, she would soon dispel him of them, for Elizabeth refused to lie with a man she did not love.
Chapter 13
Darcy rose at the first glimmer of daylight. He had slept little, nor would he be capable of rest until he saw Anne. Until she was safe from Wickham.
One more day in London. That was all. He would simply acquire gowns without buttons for his difficult bride.
Dunking his hands in the washbasin, Darcy scrubbed his face. When that did not cool him, he dunked his face in the cold water, letting the beads of liquid run down his neck when he stood. Elizabeth boiled his blood, but she had been his choice. He would live with the consequences of his decisions. What other option did he have? He must do his duty by Anne, and he would try his best to live up to the vows he had made to Elizabeth.
He had few regrets in his life, and he would not hasten to declare his marriage a failure. Not yet. Not after one day.
Dressing without the aid of his valet (really, it was not so impossible as Elizabeth made it seem), Darcy went downstairs in search of Mrs. Fischer. There was a lot to do in preparation for the morrow.
Mrs. Fischer was discussing the menu with Cook when Darcy stepped into the kitchen.
Cook, her cheeks as red as apples from the exertion of kneading the dough on the table, wiped her dusty hands on her apron. “Master Darcy come to visit me in the kitchen again? Well, this is a treat! Will you have a scone with a spot of preserves?”
Darcy was stunned. “You have extra this early in the morning?”
Cook beamed. “I always save a few when the master is in the house, knowing your weakness for sweet things,” she said, hobbling over to the pantry and returning with a scone and a jar of red berry preserves.
In a blink, Darcy was twelve years younger. He and Georgiana had crept downstairs to invade the pantry where Cook always saved treats for them. Strawberry tarts had been Georgiana’s favorite. They would whisper and shush each other, huddling around a candle, and Darcy would help Georgiana wipe the evidence of their activities from her sticky face and fingers until she was old enough to perform the service herself. The memory was so real, and it gripped Darcy so hard, he struggled to swallow his bite.
Fortunately, Cook twirled away from him, mumbling something about chocolate.
Sitting opposite Mrs. Fischer at the table, Darcy soon found himself surrounded with more food than he could possibly consume in a week.
Mrs. Fischer leaned forward and whispered. “She will empty the larder unless you start eating. Just yesterday, she declared you far too thin for your strong build.”
Cook emerged from the pantry, hefting a ham as large as the soup pot bubbling on the range.
Darcy shoved the scone into his mouth before she produced anything else.
Cook grinned. “Ah, now that is more like it. You will need your strength if you are to fill this house with children.”
Darcy choked.
“Martha!” exclaimed Mrs. Fischer.
Pounding his chest and coughing, Darcy took the cup Cook shoved at him. The chocolate scalded his lips and burned a molten path down his throat, making his eyes water.
“What? Any young lady would be blind not to want to receive the attentions of such a fine, good man,” Cook continued.
Blurry eyed and gasping for breath, Darcy coughed again. She would be the death of him if the subject was not changed quickly.
“Martha, it is bad enough you insist on calling him Master Darcy when he is no longer a child, but it is hardly appropriate for you to discuss Mr. Darcy’s personal affairs,” Mrs. Fischer chided.
With a wink that lit Darcy’s skin afire, Cook said, “Mrs. Darcy is a handsome lady with a tooth for sweet things, too. I had the pleasure of feeding her last night. She came tip-toeing into the kitchen just like Master Darcy used to do. She is everything charming and lovely.”
Not the words Darcy would have used to describe his wife…. Wait … why could Elizabeth be good-natured to the cook and not to him?
Nodding her head, Cook added with another wink, “Mark my words, we will hear a child’s laughter at Darcy House within the year!”
Mrs. Fischer rolled her eyes. “Oh, bake your bread and hold your tongue, or have you completely forgotten your place?”
Cook did not seem the least bit worried about her place, but she returned to the mounds of dough resting on the table.
Darcy took a deep breath, trying to calm his heated complexion and cool his seared tongue.
“You know what would be romantic?” Mrs. Fischer said, resting her chin against her palm and looking at him.
Romance was hardly on Darcy’s mind. All he wanted to do was leave for Pemberley. Was that too much to ask?
The meddling housekeeper continued without any encouragement from him.
“You ought to take a tray up to Mrs. Darcy’s bedchamber. I do not know a woman alive who does not appreciate her husband bringing her breakfast in bed.”
Darcy thought it prudent to avoid his wife’s bedchamber.
Ignoring Mrs. Fischer’s suggestion, Darcy asked the question for which he had sought her out. “Were you able to arrange several interviews today?”
“Oh, yes. There are a couple of promising applicants, but only Mrs. Darcy will be able to discern who will suit her best. Not just anyone will do as a lady’s maid. And as you know, we have other…” Mrs. Fischer dropped her voice to a whisper, “…concerns which require discretion and trustworthiness.”
Darcy cradled his hands around his chocolate, but the steaming liquid did not warm them. It would be difficult to keep Anne secret from a lady’s maid. They were usually privy to the family’s most intimate affairs.
Pulling out a letter from her apron pocket, Mrs. Fischer handed it to Darcy. “This arrived from my sister yesterday. I did not read it until after retiring from my duties or else I would have shown it to you earlier. Open it and read the last page.”
Darcy did as she bid, his eyes skimming over Mrs. Reynolds’ tidy handwriting until he saw his name.
She wrote: Pray inform Mr. Darcy that the filly is doing well.
“Filly” was their code word for Anne. Should their letters be intercepted, nobody would raise more than a curious eyebrow at a foal born so late in the year.
He continued reading.
Like all young things, she is content so long as she has food and company. Mr. Darcy will not take my suggestion, but your tongue is bolder than mine, and so I will leave you to convince him to stay in London for at least a fortnight — a month if you can manage it.
Impossible! Out of the question.
Disgruntled, he read on, determined that whatever arguments Mrs. Reynolds presented, his answer would remain unchanged.
The filly will not notice his absence of a fortnight. You will convince him, I trust. It is not in his nature to use others to his advantage as Mr. Wickham used Miss Darcy, and I cannot allow he will use the young lady he married in such an ill manner either.
That was all there was, but had there been more, Darcy’s eyes would not have moved beyond that last paragraph.
Use others to his advantage as Mr. Wickham used Miss Darcy. Darcy’s stomach soured in disgust. Mrs. Reynolds compared him to Wickham? To a man so intent on gaining the fortune and position he believed to be his, he had abused Georgiana — neglecting her and exposing her to his self-serving indifference while Darcy watched her heart break?
They were nothing alike! He shoved the letter across the table.
Why should he extend his stay in town? What did town offer that Pemberley could not overshadow? Surely, Elizabeth would feel more comfortable in the country than she would in London society.
“Pardon me for interfering,” began Mrs. Fischer in a tone which implied no remorse and every inclination of continuing whether he wished for her to or not. “But have you discussed the matter with Mrs. Darcy?”
“No.” What was there to discuss? Anne needed him more than Elizabeth needed a maid.
Mrs. Fischer continued, “London is an exciting place for a lady accustomed to the quiet of the country. I imagine she would like for you to show her around.”
Darcy imagined no such thing.
Mrs. Fischer must have discerned his disagreement, for she changed tactics. “It would be a kindness to your wife to see to her wardrobe during your stay. The families in your circle will not take the news of your matrimony well — especially the ladies who have tried, and failed, to capture your attention over the years. They will use anything they can against Mrs. Darcy.”
“Why would she wish to be friends with those malicious females?” Darcy did not waste his time on them, and he could not imagine why Elizabeth would want to either.
Mrs. Fischer sighed. “She will need your help to ease into society. A favorable first impression will serve her well in the years to come.”
Darcy frowned at Mrs. Fischer. So much for not interfering in his personal matters.
The housekeeper was not done voicing her opinions yet. She said, “Aside from a new wardrobe, you ought to take her for a drive in Hyde Park. Take her to the theater and out for ices. It is the least you can do for what you expect of her.”
Again, Darcy’s face burned. He could not deny the truth in Mrs. Fischer’s reminder. He needed an heir, and thus far, he had not done a very good job encouraging affection in his wife. If anything, she despised him.
In truth, he despised himself. The longer he waited to confide in her, the harder it would become. And yet, he could not bring himself to tell Elizabeth the entire, awful truth, knowing she wanted more than he was capable of giving. It was difficult to think of love when a defenseless child depended on him at Pemberley. A child he was powerless to keep from Wickham without Elizabeth’s help. He needed her. He must not forget it.
Drat. Darcy rubbed his hands over his face, hating how the only solution would keep him from Anne.
“Pack a hamper. I am taking Mrs. Darcy for a drive in the park.” He would prove he was nothing like Wickham, or his name was not Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Chapter 14
Mrs. Fischer rose from the table. “I had best see the breakfast parlor is in order. Country folks keep earlier hours, and I suspect Mrs. Darcy will wake soon if she has not already.”
Cook bustled about collecting dishes, complaining, “I hope Mrs. Darcy does her plate better justice than you do.” Unloading the contents of her arms into the pantry, she crossed them and watched Darcy.
Surely, she did not expect him to eat again after the spread she had just laid out for him. Other than a scone and half a cup of chocolate, he had not consumed much. Certainly not enough to satisfy Cook.
“Well? Does she?” Cook asked.
It took Darcy a moment to catch on, and his relief was only brief when he realized Cook inquired about Elizabeth’s appetite and not his lack of one. He had not the faintest notion how to reply. Neither he nor Elizabeth had eaten much the night before. Her slight build suggested that the propensity of her stomach was bound to disappoint Cook.
Grabbing a piece of ham before she put the tray away, Darcy popped it into his mouth both to appease her and to avoid having to give an answer. He knew so little about Elizabeth, and he had not revealed much of himself to her. They were strangers. Married strangers.
Washing down his bite with the rest of his cooled chocolate, Darcy made his way up the hall.
Voices from the direction of the breakfast parlor suggested that Mrs. Fischer had been correct in assuming Elizabeth would arise early. Darcy followed the sound, stopping short when he saw his bride tugging at one end of the velvet drapes at the window.
“Such a lovely view of the garden to cover with thick draperies. Pray help me move the table closer to the window. One must never miss an opportunity to appreciate nature where there is so much less of it to see in town,” she said to the maid, biting her bottom lip as she tugged at the fabric and watched with wide eyes as the stiff yellow silk moved across the rod holding it up. Elizabeth looked as charming and vivacious as Darcy remembered her being at the Meryton Assembly. It was a welcome sight.
The maid’s eyes widened when she saw him le
aning against the door frame. Rushing over to Elizabeth, she took the drapes from her. “Let me help you with those, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth took notice of him, too. Her eyes roved over his face, and she smiled nervously. “What do you think, William?”
He was pleased to be “William” that morning. Last night, he had been “Fitzwilliam.”
She stepped toward him. “Shall we look over the garden while we break our fast together?” Clasping her hands, she added, “That is, if you are agreeable to the idea. After last night, I would not blame you if you do not wish it … but, I should very much like to try again.”
Remembering her words from the carriage the day before, Darcy said, “I recognize the effort with which you extend a white flag, and I accept it. It is a point in your favor.” His lips twitched.
Hers did too. “We are even, then, both in our merits … and our demerits. I would much rather focus on your better qualities in the hope you will extend me the same courtesy.”
“Naturally,” he said with a bow.
Their truce thusly made, Darcy joined her by the window expecting to see an array of spring flowers. All he observed were bare branches and empty flowerbeds.
“There is hardly anything worth seeing,” he commented.
Elizabeth touched the glass with her fingertips. “Is not the grass gloriously green? Nobody notices it in the spring when there are so many flowers competing with it for attention. Green is my favorite color.”
Standing as she was against the green backdrop reflecting through the windowpane, Darcy appreciated how the color complemented Elizabeth’s rich chestnut hair, the pink in her cheeks, and the creamy brown of her eyes. Green suited her. He knew her favorite color — an insignificant detail, one might argue, but at that moment, it felt important to Darcy. It was a beginning.
What would she think of Hyde Park, with the ladies preening and posing in their carriages like hothouse flowers? They cared not for the beauty around them. Their purpose was entirely vainglorious.