Shaking her head, she quickly followed. She walked to the sideboard and began filling glasses of wine and sherry, then passed them around. The room quieted due to her peculiar activities.
Seeing the expectant looks of her family, she cleared her throat. “It is quite irregular for a lady to offer a toast, but then Mama always reminds me of how I vex her nerves.”
Mrs. Bennet blushed, then looked at Darcy and stammered, “She is a very good girl, most of the time. It is only sometimes and to such things as could concern a mother—”
Elizabeth interrupted her. “Shall you hear my toast, Mother? I promise it shall delight you.”
Mrs. Bennet silenced, and Elizabeth spoke again. “It is my great honour and brings me much joy to announce the betrothal of Mr. Charles Bingley to Miss Jane Bennet!”
A roar erupted in the room, and the ladies ran to Jane’s side. Elizabeth hugged her closely. “You should not have delayed on my account!”
“Thank you, Lizzy! You are my very dearest friend and sister. How shall I get along without you?”
“I think you love Mr. Bingley so much that you will hardly notice I am not there.”
“Do not tease! You know I could never replace you. I only hope that one day you will find as much happiness with Mr. Darcy.”
The others pulled Jane from her side, leaving Elizabeth with a growing realisation that throughout her engagement to Mr. Darcy, she never once thought of it with anything less than contentment. Surely one should feel at least nervousness if not marrying for love? She had no further time for thought as Darcy walked towards her. “Might we talk again for just a brief moment?”
Elizabeth readily agreed. She was hoping he would now kiss her again, uncertain as she was how to convey her desire for such a thing. Instead of pulling her close, he did not touch her at all, nor would he meet her eye.
“Fitzwilliam, are you unhappy with their engagement? I thought you approved now—”
He quickly interrupted her. “I am very happy for them! I have realised again my selfishness. How did I think I knew Jane’s heart? Or what was best for Bingley?” He paused a moment and spoke very softly. “How did I force you to marry me?”
“You did not force me. I have consented.”
“After a forceful persuasion!” He looked up at her, and she saw the pain and misery in his eyes. “Tell me,” he said as he reached for her hand, “when I touch you, are you reminded of that day?”
“Yes,” she drew out the word, uncertain of his concerns but enjoying his touch.
He let her hand go. “Tomorrow we marry, and I need you to know that I will not force my attentions on you. I will never again take what you are unwilling to bestow.”
She had an idea he meant the marriage bed. “We will be married. It will be your right. I knew my duties when I agreed to the marriage.”
He shook his head and looked at his feet again. “You refused me because you did not like me. I was selfish, and I realise I awakened some carnal susceptibility on your side, but it is not the same as if you were coming to a husband as you had once wished. You would not come out of love—”
The door to the drawing room opened, and the others filed out. It was time for Bingley and Darcy to leave, and further conversation was impossible. As Darcy boarded his carriage, Elizabeth felt her heart fly from her chest and go with him.
How did a woman tell a man she so hurtfully rejected only weeks before that she now loved him? She lay awake all night considering the best words and how she might say them, but they had no privacy during the wedding breakfast. Once in the carriage together, she was at first too nervous and then fell asleep. Waking upon their arrival in London, she was taken to her new chambers immediately and readied for dinner. Again feeling it impossible to speak the words of her heart, she said very little at all and pushed her food around. Darcy soon suggested they retire for the evening, and he had left her at her door with only a kiss to her hand an hour earlier. It was plain that he was not coming to her tonight.
He did not ask if she had a change of feeling. Nor did he give her any opening. Elizabeth chastised herself for being so upset. Of course, he would not wish to risk rejection again; no man would. Her only route was an unladylike one.
Coming to a decision, she put on her dressing gown. With a candle in hand, she carefully went down the private stairs to a room just outside Darcy’s chamber. The home was remodeled during his parents’ life and the current floor plan was all the fashion then, although she had read that the famed Robert Adams bemoaned the English preference for husband and wife chambers on separate floors for Town. Of course, he meant for decorating an opulent suite, but Elizabeth thought it rather ridiculous to do all this walking in the middle of the night. Or at least for a lady to do so. She was in danger of tripping over her skirts!
Reaching Darcy’s door, she knocked and received no answer. She knocked again, louder, and still heard nothing. Swallowing her pride and in hopes of an invitation into his room, she boldly turned the handle. She would speak her mind and be done with it. She found a room that seemed to see little use. It was clean but looked more like a guest room than one her husband slept in. She looked around. There were no books. Her own room had several of her favourites as well as others not to her taste and some she had not read.
But where was her husband? It was clear that he seldom slept in this room, and he was not there now. She had heard about men who took rooms at their clubs…but on their wedding night? Even if he meant not to consummate the marriage, how would it look to his peers? He would never want something so private to be so publicly known about him. That brought to mind other private reasons for a man to spend a night out of his home. Her heart constricted.
She did not wish to think it. He loved her and would not disrespect her so. A small voice in her head said that he had claimed to love her three weeks ago when he abused her family and station in life, but she pushed it aside. He had apologised profusely for that and many other things she felt required no forgiveness. It was early yet; perhaps he had some kind of meeting to attend and would return later.
Leaving his chamber, she decided to wait in the library for his return. Silently entering the room, she suddenly stopped as she saw Darcy standing before the fire. He leaned one arm against the mantle, and his head rested on it. His other hand held a brandy glass. He wore only his shirtsleeves and breeches. She had never seen him so informal, nor had she ever seen him so distressed.
“Fitzwilliam?” she asked and tentatively took a step forward.
“Elizabeth!” He suddenly raised his head to look at her. His body tensed, and she saw his fist tighten around the glass.
“I am sorry if you wished to be alone. I did not mean to intrude on your privacy,” she said, entirely losing her nerve for coming downstairs at all. Her feelings were too raw. A moment ago, she had thought him not home and struggled to not cast mean reasons upon it. Just before that, she had thought he was purposefully ignoring her. Now he looked upon her with surprise, admiration, and something else she had not seen before.
“Could you not sleep?” he asked, and Elizabeth noted that he did not correct her assumption that he wished to be alone.
“I was merely looking for something to read.” She moved to a bookcase and inspected a few titles before grabbing one. “This should be sufficient.”
“I wish you a good night then,” he said.
Elizabeth was walking towards the door, feeling his eyes follow her, when she realised the ridiculousness that a husband and wife should say good night to one another in such a fashion. Especially on their wedding night!
“Might…” She halted for a moment and gathered her courage. “Might I have a kiss good night? You gave me one before, but as I did not go to bed, I rather think I deserve another one.”
“As you wish,” he said and walked towards her but without a smile on his face. Bringing her hands to his lips, he gently kissed each one. “I hope you have pleasant dreams, Elizabeth.”
E
lizabeth licked her lips. “That is a kiss goodbye from a suitor. Does not a wife get a different sort of kiss good night from her husband?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are questioning my husbandly behaviour already?”
“I am only testing to see if you have truly amended your manners.”
“Far be it from me to displease Mrs. Darcy,” he said and stepped closer. She watched as his chest heaved up and down, and she felt her own heart race. He gently held her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her face up. She saw his blue eyes search hers before hers fluttered shut. At last he gently kissed her lips, and his fingers trailed down her throat, settling at the base of her neck. Stepping forward, she licked the seam of his lips, desperate for the kind of kisses he gave her weeks before. He wrenched himself away.
“Elizabeth! Have mercy on me, please! If only you knew how difficult this was for me, I know you would never wish to be cruel. You know my affections and wishes, and I have desired to give you time to adjust to being my wife first.”
“You stupid man!” she cried as she flung her arms around him. “Do not you know my feelings have altered? I love you!” He tried to speak again. “No, now I will silence you!” She kissed him, and at last his arms wrapped around her.
The next morning as she rushed to dress lest they be late for breakfast, she swatted Darcy away as he attempted to kiss her neck. “Shoo! I have to tie up the collar.”
“Oh, Lizzy. I hate seeing you all covered up.”
“This is what ladies wear in the morning when there are no visitors. Surely you have seen Georgiana wear something similar.”
“I never understood why it is that at home a woman should be covered from head to toe—no, no, not the cap,” he plucked it from her hands, “but if there are visitors or she is out of the house, she ought to wear short sleeves and a lower-cut dress.”
“Neither do I, but I do not make the rules. I would hate for the servants to think me unladylike, though.”
He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “I rather like your unladylike displays.”
Elizabeth blushed. “Well, perhaps you might be a visitor this evening, and I shall wear the proper attire for your call.”
“A visitor? No, I do not plan to return to my room, regardless of the fact that it is where we spent last night.”
“I did notice it seemed mostly unoccupied. I think I left my cross on the little table.” Elizabeth watched as he found the table without direction. “You seem to know your way around my chamber quite well.”
“I have slept in here since November, actually. At first I could not understand why I found no sleep in my bed chamber and thought perhaps there was a draft. I tried other chambers as well and still could not rest. At last I tried this one and slept perfectly. I never took much time to consider the décor, but one day Georgiana asked if my mother had liked long walks as the décor of the mistress’s chamber suggested so. That was when I realised the chamber reminded me of you. A few weeks later, I journeyed to Rosings and found you there.”
“So you admired me for being a great walker? I shall never forget the looks of horror on Miss Bingley’s and Mrs. Hurst’s faces when I arrived at Netherfield on foot with petticoats covered in mud. They thought me a hoyden, I am sure.”
She stood before him, and he smiled. “I told you, I rather liked your unladylike displays.” He untied her collar. “There, just impertinent enough.”
Darcy continued to insist that Elizabeth not hide her beautiful neck when at home. Three weeks later, she received an unexpected call from Darcy’s aunt, the countess. Charmed by Elizabeth’s attire, she soon adopted it and began a fashion trend, giving Mrs. Darcy all the credit. Some declared it unladylike; others quite enjoyed what was displayed.
The End
Teddy
This story was written for my son’s third birthday. He’s turning six this year! They grow far too fast!
November 11, 1820
Pemberley
Elizabeth looked up from the book she had been reading and sighed. He had been so determined to stay awake until Fitzwilliam returned, but since he was eschewing naps, he was exhausted by seven. He has grown so much. In the last year, he had lost most remnants of babyness and looked much more like his older Bingley cousins.
Her heart lurched as she gazed lovingly at the sweet face resting on the pillow. How many times had she prayed for this blessing? How many times had she feared this day would never come?
Elizabeth had been content to enjoy her first several months as a newlywed. She and Fitzwilliam were growing in love, and she was adapting to her role as mistress of the vast estate, Pemberley. Her mother had begun to berate her for failure to fall with child before their six-month anniversary, but it never bothered Elizabeth. Jane produced a son shortly after their first anniversary, and Elizabeth’s heart had felt only joy. When another year passed, and another nephew came, she began to grow impatient.
Fitzwilliam claimed he was content, and she believed him, truly she did. Facing the opinions of the rest of society was another matter. Encounters with Mrs. Parke, the former Miss Bingley, who had already performed her duty in producing an heir, were never pleasant. Lady Catherine attempted to prove herself useful with endless advice over Elizabeth’s “predicament.” Georgiana made her debut later in the Season, and even with the assistance of her aunt by marriage, Lady Matlock, the experience left Elizabeth exhausted and frazzled. Bemused, she began to realise why her husband disliked balls so much.
By the third year, even Elizabeth had to admit that it was difficult to see Jane with child again and Mrs. Parke expecting “the spare.” Lydia had borne a son, and even Kitty, lately married, suspected that she was with child. Elizabeth was not made for ill humour and determined not to grow despondent, but nonetheless, she felt empty.
She and Fitzwilliam had so much love to give. Fitzwilliam was made to be a father; he had already done so well with Georgiana. They spoke with physicians and midwives, and they all said the same thing. Nothing irked Elizabeth more than being told not to fret, and then she would easily conceive. For a time, she found herself fretting over if she was fretting too much.
The winter after their fourth year of marriage, her husband’s cousin chaperoned Georgiana for the Season. Fitzwilliam spoiled her with an extended visit to Cornwall. By the time they left in May, she had many suspicions that her greatest wish was fulfilled.
Happy was the day in June when the heir to Pemberley made its presence undeniably known. Happier still was his safe delivery on November 11, 1817, just shy of his parent’s fifth wedding anniversary.
Their son was tall like his father. His looks were very much like him as well, except for the sparkling eyes he inherited from his mother. They named him Theodore; after so long a wait and so many prayers answered, no other name would do. He carried the middle name of Robert, as every Darcy heir had for five generations.
Elizabeth’s thoughts were distracted by the cooing of her infant daughter, called Annie after her Darcy grandmother, in the crib across the room. And she suspected another addition in the late summer. Her heart nearly burst with the joy motherhood had brought her.
Teddy, as they called him, was intelligent and bright. His temperament matched his mother’s, cheery and friendly, always active and lively. But he loved his papa and hence why she was in the nursery this evening.
Fitzwilliam had visited the Matlock estate to help on some matters and planned to return last evening but was prevented by rain. The sun broke through for a portion of the afternoon to dry the roads, and Elizabeth knew her husband would be home before this night was through, no matter that it began to rain again nearly two hours ago. Fitzwilliam would never miss his son’s entire birthday.
She heard soft footsteps in the hall and turned to see the door inch open.
“Lizzy.” Her husband quietly walked towards her, quickly embraced her, and gently kissed her lips. “He fell asleep?”
“Aye, he tried so hard, but
without napping, it just proved too much.”
“I am sorry I missed this day,” he said with real regret.
“It is well, love. He knows you love him, and you can enjoy tomorrow with him. Let’s come to bed; you must be exhausted. Has Mrs. Reynolds called for a bath?”
“Hmmm,” he murmured. Then he bent down and gently kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you son, our gift of God.”
The End
Presenting Miss Darcy
I wrote this for my daughter’s first birthday. She is called Annie after her paternal grandmother, so it seemed fitting to imagine her as a Darcy child.
May 30, 1842
Pemberley, Derbyshire
A hush fell over the drawing room as the couple entered. Elizabeth Darcy’s conversation ceased as she glanced across the room and made eye contact with her husband. He gave her a soft smile, but it did not reach his eyes, which clearly belied his sadness to her.
As the room watched, mother and father of the bride walked across the room to the newlyweds. Fitzwilliam Darcy took his eldest daughter’s hand, not the one with the ring on it that symbolised she was now under another’s care, and raised it to his lips. Finally, his daughter’s eyes were drawn away from her spouse’s and met his own. She gave him a full, radiant smile. Elizabeth’s smile. It offered him a modicum of cheer.
Having gained the notice of the lovers, Darcy turned to face the crowd and make his announcement. “May I present…” In the short pause, three and twenty years of memories flashed. “Mr. and Mrs. Edward Moore.”
Applause rang through the room. Elizabeth placed her arm on Darcy’s, and they began to lead the assembled crowd to the dining-parlour for the wedding breakfast. Darcy said little during the breakfast, and on the occasions he met Elizabeth’s eyes from across the table, he smiled a little at the memories he knew they shared of their daughter.
One Autumn with Darcy Page 45