He glanced at her, nodded, and went to the table to pour himself a glass of wine, then sat silently at the opposite end of the sofa from her. For the first time since they had been married, Elizabeth had the sense that he might not wish for her presence – that she was imposing on him when he had wanted solitude. She closed her book and set it aside.
“Do you wish for me to leave?” she asked, softly. “I know you said you hoped to have this done before I returned. It is not too late for me to return to Clareborne.”
“No, please stay. I – I did not wish for you to see how upset I knew I would be over this. After all, he was – ” here, his eyes grew glassy, and he swallowed heavily before he continued “ – he was only a horse.”
“I cannot claim to know why, but I have become well aware that he was special to you,” Elizabeth said, struggling not to cry herself at the sight of him so affected.
“I feel as though I’ve lost an old friend,” he sighed. “He was my first proper hunter – my father helped me select him. I was very shy in those days – far worse than I am now – but a horse does not require conversation. When you are a good team, he understands you and you understand him, and hardly a word needs to be spoken. And through him, I came to see that hunting, that sports, gave me common interests and easy topics of conversation with others – other gentlemen, at least.”
Elizabeth had long since understood that some fundamental shyness was at the heart of his reserve, but he had never before spoken of this, and she had never understood how deep it ran. She felt a twinge in her chest, and whether it was sympathy for him or chastisement of herself for misjudging him so at first could not be told. Shifting closer to him on the sofa, she took up his free hand; with the other, he took a heavy sip of wine.
“I thought James and George would learn their jumping on him,” he said. “It was to be one connection where there cannot be many, between their grandfather and them.”
“I wish it could have been so, but instead you will have to be their connection, and tell them of their grandfather, and a great hunter you once owned. I am sure they will wish to hear of both.”
He attempted a smile, at this, although it appeared as little more than a spasm of his lips. Then he rose, to refill his wine glass, and instead of returning to the sofa, went to the window and looked outside, where twilight had claimed Pemberley’s grounds. After a very long time, he said, “I cannot help but feel that I am letting him down, my father. I think if he had been alive, he could have done better for the estate in this awful year. I could not even keep King alive, under my watch.”
With a great deal of effort, Elizabeth swallowed a sob, then rose and went to where he stood, wrapping her arms about his chest and leaning her head against his shoulder.
“You must not think that, my love, you must not. You have made every possible effort to aid those dependent on you in this year. No-one could have done more, and I am sure if your father had been alive to see it, he would have said the same.”
He relaxed slightly beneath her embrace and said, “That is the difficulty of being the heir, you see. You rightly noted that ladies and younger sons must leave their homes, but for those of us who are to inherit the property of an esteemed father, at that moment when we gain our greatest responsibilities, we also lose that person whose advice we value most. What I would not give, for an hour of my father’s counsel! What relief it should bring, to hear him say I had done well, just once more!”
“It was more difficult for you than most first sons, I think. I believe many of them inherit when they are past their fortieth or even fiftieth year of age, and have long been wishing for responsibilities, perhaps seeing the errors of a doddering old father. You – you were required to take up ownership of such an estate, not to mention guardianship of your sister, when you were so very young to be holding such responsibilities.”
Elizabeth realised too late that reminding him of his guardianship of Georgiana might, for several reasons, not have been the best thing to do. It was too late, however, and he turned to face her, murmuring, “Georgiana,” with a shake of his head. “Do you know, the last hunts I had with old King were those times Georgiana went out with the Pemberley hunt? I wanted to look after her, and he was the best horse on which to do so – although I hadn’t truly succeeded in looking after her before. So many times, I failed her, but twice, most critically.”
“I think if she was here, she would say the same as I, that you did the best you could, and she loves you for it,” Elizabeth said, feeling that twinge in her chest again, and this time understanding it to be sympathy for him.
“But she is not here, is she? She is on the other side of the world. Elizabeth, I can have no idea of whether she is happy, or even well – she could be dead, for all we know.”
“No, no, my love – ” Elizabeth halted, recalling when she had tried to tell Jane to move past her worries.
“What is it, Elizabeth? What were you going to say?”
“I do not know that I should say it. Recent events have shown me that my advice is not always useful.”
“Well it has always been useful to me. I would much rather hear it.”
“I had – I had intended to say that you cannot be thinking this way, thinking the worst, when you have no reason to do so. I do not think Georgiana would want it. For all we know, she might be entirely happy and presuming we are the same.”
At first he said nothing of the usefulness of her advice. Instead he kissed her deeply, entirely startling her. He sensed her surprise, for when his lips had separated from hers, he said, “Your counsel remains of great benefit to me, and I hope you will always feel free to give it.”
Elizabeth blushed and cast down her eyes, but then endeavoured to make a recovery. “If I may provide you with further counsel now, let it be in a reminder of all the good you have enacted in this year, for your servants and tenants and parishioners, and even for those with the very slightest connexion to your estate. Surely your father would have seen much to praise in this.”
“I hope so,” said he, with the faintest of smiles. “If I cannot have my father’s approbation now, at least I may have yours, and I suspect yours is truly the more difficult to earn.”
“Perhaps it was, but you have earned it entirely, my love,” she said, and kissed him with delicate tenderness, but then said, “I do need to return to Clareborne tomorrow, at least for a few more days. I had thought Jane to be getting better, but she regressed a little, this morning. She convinced me to return, to see the twins, and I stayed because I – I thought you needed me more than she did, tonight.”
“I cannot speak for your sister, but for my part I believe you were right. I should have known what a comfort it would be, to have you here.”
Following this, they partook of a very little of the dinner that had been laid out, and then Elizabeth rang the bell so that the remnant food could be removed from their sitting-room. She made to ask that one of the maids be sent up to help her change, but Darcy said it should not be necessary. Elizabeth wondered whether this meant he desired the particular comforts she could offer as a wife, or it had been meant to retain their privacy together. When he helped her undress, she had her answer, for his motions were far more practical than sensual.
She thought about him, as they climbed into bed, thought about her first impressions of him and how she regretted them more and more deeply the better she came to know him. That countenance she had thought composed of hauteur and pride was the face of a reserved, private, and even shy man. Still more, it was the face of a man who worried – more deeply and more constantly than she had understood before – that he was not doing right by his family, by those dependent upon him, by his forebears and his descendants. This he held so close within him that it had taken more than two years of marriage for him to even share it with his wife, and she was glad he finally had.
Nestling up close to him, she laid her hand on his chest and said, “When my aunt and uncle and I first came to visit
Pemberley, and Mrs. Reynolds was showing us around the house, do you know what she said of you? She said you were the best landlord and the best master, and that any one of your servants or tenants should vouch so.”
“Are you endeavouring to bolster my confidence by telling me of the praises of a woman who has been fond of me since I was a boy and she was head housemaid?” he asked, drily.
“I am telling you of the praises of a woman who knew both you and your father. She very much saw you as living up to his excellence. I am sure she still does, although she would not speak so openly of such things to me, now that I am mistress of the house.”
“That, I am once again exceedingly glad of. To go through this year without you – I do not know how I would have borne it.”
“You would have. Perhaps it would have been more difficult, but you would have. Do you wish me to stay tomorrow night as well, before I return to Clareborne?”
“Nay, that will not be necessary,” said he. “You should give your sister the support she needs.”
“I will, then, and perhaps it is for the best to give you a little more time, for – ” again Elizabeth hesitated, thinking of Jane, and how her past advice had been received. Yet he had said he always wished for it, and his countenance showed openness to receive it, so she continued “ – for you have lost your optimism, and you must find it again. Take a little time to grieve for King, as you should, but if you have not returned to optimism by the time I am back, I promise that I shall teaze you into it.”
He chuckled, softly, but chuckled nonetheless, and Elizabeth was glad to have drawn a little levity from him. They settled into silence, until Elizabeth was struck with a sudden thought, and said, “I know what you should name the dower house.”
“Do you intend to share it with me?”
“I do: Fitzwilliam House.”
“Are you not the woman who told me Fitzwilliam had too many syllables for everyday use and insisted on calling me Darcy?”
“As your name, it does – as the name for a house, which should not be uttered nearly so often, I find it quite fitting. In the present, it can honour your maternal family, but for future generations, it should be a reminder of you, and what you have done for the estate.”
“I hope I may have earned the need of such a reminder,” he said.
“I believe you already have, but I also hope you shall have many, many more opportunities to do so in the future, before James is to have his own chance.”
Chapter 18
Elizabeth made a tearful good-bye to her sons and their father, then returned to Clareborne, unsure of how long she would remain. She wished to stay until she felt certain Jane was well enough to bear her more permanent absence, but mindful now of how difficult it had been to be away from her sons, she felt it likely that she would need to leave when duty to and affection for one family once again outweighed the other.
She found both of the Bingleys awaiting the post-chaise in the drive; they were holding hands, which filled her with further hope. Charles might not be entirely able to replace her as a confidante – there were some things that were always more comfortable for women to speak of to another woman – but if she could feel confidence that Jane would confide in him regarding all that troubled her presently, Elizabeth was sure she would be able to leave her sister more easily.
They remained together as a threesome through dinner and the remainder of the evening, Elizabeth watching her sister closely for any signs of agitation, of unhappiness. She saw none; the Bingleys seemed returned to the pleasures of fitting up their temporary home, poring over catalogues in the drawing-room, and eliciting Elizabeth’s opinion on some samples of wall-paper they had received that morning from town.
In the nursery, as well, the next morning, Jane seemed well-established in those better spirits she had shown since Elizabeth’s return, as she yet again took Amelia behind the dressing-screen for an extended suckle, and Elizabeth entertained herself with her namesake, who was very enamoured with her new hobby-horse.
“Go howse go!” exclaimed Bess, when Elizabeth’s attention had strayed, and she had slowed her pace in rocking the horse. Elizabeth chuckled. In vain had she attempted to show Bess that the child could make the horse go herself, and whether Bess was too young to understand or simply enjoyed ordering someone else do it for her could not entirely be told.
Eventually the child tired of this and toddled over to her pianoforte, looking expectantly at her aunt. Mrs. Padgett looked at Elizabeth as well, and said, “I’ll do it, if it’s too much noise for ye.”
“No, I shall do it,” Elizabeth said. She seated herself at the bench and pulled Bess into her lap, and then the child began pounding upon the pianoforte’s keys, an expression of delight upon her face. They passed their time in this way until Jane emerged with Amelia, and Bess wriggled down from Elizabeth’s lap of her own accord, saying, “Big sissa! Big sissa!”
“Yes, my dear little Bess, you are a big sister, aren’t you?” asked Jane. “Say good morning to little Amelia.”
“Amewia,” was all of this command her elder sister managed.
Jane and her daughter continued on in this manner of conversation, and Elizabeth, watching them, wondered if she would ever manage to be alone with her sister, ever manage to get some better sense of how Jane was truly doing. She glanced at the window, saw the day’s rain seemed to have stopped, and when finally Jane and Bess were done speaking, proposed she and Jane have a walk.
“I have not even seen the village here,” she said, for while she did wish for more privacy with her sister, she did not wish to return to the place that had disturbed her.
“Oh yes, that sounds lovely,” said Jane. “I can leave word with our coachman to come and retrieve us, if the rain resumes.”
They separated to don half-boots and pelisses and met in the entrance-hall, stepping out into the damp, chilly air. Jane pointed the way to the village and their breath clouded the air as they began the walk, Elizabeth strongly reminded of similar trips to Meryton, in their youth, when they would venture out despite the cold, seeking what amusement a market town could bring them. She wondered if this had been the deeper choice for their destination, if some nostalgic longing had been working within her mind, seeking a more complete reminder of her first family, of the Bennets and Longbourn.
Jane was silent until they passed through the main gate of the estate and turned for the village, and then she said, “I know you are worried about me, Lizzy, but I am doing better.”
“I had thought you were doing better, too, until that morning.”
“That was not the first time I was recalled to it, and it will not be the last. There will never be a last – that is one thing I have come to understand. The reminders may become less frequent, less painful, but they will always be with me.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth said, aching with sympathy for her sister.
“This may sound strange, but I have been thinking about your cousin, Edward,” Jane said. “About how he lost his arm. This is hardly a subject I could broach with him, and perhaps I should not compare what happened to him to what happened to me, but I have been thinking, and I believe there are moments, in life, critical moments where everything changes for the worse. And once you have been through one of those moments, you cannot help but look back and wish things had come out differently – there is a piece of your mind trapped permanently in that event, wishing always that the outcome had been different, angry that it was not. I think Edward must look back and wish he had not received that injury, and he must bear with a reminder far more constant than mine. And yet for either of us, things could have turned in a different direction – an even worse direction – and that is what it is not easy to remember. His injury could have killed him, and if Dr. Alderman had not acted as he did, it is possible I might have died. I do not believe you have been through one of those moments, but I hope you understand.”
Elizabeth did not speak – Jane had given her much to think on, an
d this was another of those times when she sensed listening was far more important than speaking. So she merely took up Jane’s arm in a comforting grip and considered what Jane had said.
Her sister was right, that Elizabeth had never suffered one of those moments. She could look back and see those moments that might have become such for her, had things gone differently – several of them bound up just recently in that outbreak of scarlet fever at Rosings. If George had been truly ill, if she had lost him to scarlet fever. If Darcy had suffered for his own actions in staying behind to look after his aunt. Then her mind travelled back still further, to another event in Kent, this one in the parlour of Hunsford parsonage. That moment, that time of her wilful, stubborn refusal, would have been such a moment for her, had it not been set right by subsequent events. Whether through Darcy’s letter or not, eventually she would have come to understand the truth about his character, and then yes, she surely would have looked back to that moment with regret, with the strongest desire that it should come out differently, even angrier at herself for her actions on that day. Eventually, perhaps, was the key word in these regrets – Darcy was such a private man that even now, even after marrying him, she was still reaching the deeper aspects of his character. Perhaps this was why that moment, in Hunsford, had been so much on her mind lately, and still now – even though it had all come out right in the end for her. Her ruminations had largely centred on what she would have lost, but now she was struck in full with what it would have meant for him, that it would have been a moment that haunted him, as Jane’s haunted her. Poor Darcy, to suffer forever the stings of a woman who did not know what he was!
It was then that Elizabeth realised Hunsford was such a moment for her. She had not suffered the physical pain that Jane or Edward had, but Jane was right, that a piece of her mind was trapped permanently in that time. It had changed her life for the worse, but only temporarily – thank God – and only in understanding what she had gained and what injury she had assuaged could she also understand what she would have lost.
A Season Lost Page 40