A week passed, and she did not see him at all. She did not report this in her daily letters to Jane, however, thinking it might sound odd. Nor did she write that she had fallen in love with a beastly man who was cruel and selfish. She wrote mostly of the house, of the servants, of the gardens which she walked in when it was not too cold.
And Jane’s letters had started to arrive, telling her of all the news at home. Jane told her that Lydia was now a very special friend of Mrs. Forster, Colonel Forster’s wife, and that Lydia spent much of her time dreaming of being a wife to an officer in the regiment, and that her mother encouraged it, while her father muttered about silly girls.
She wrote that their father missed her very much, and that he asked to have Elizabeth’s letters after Jane had read them aloud to the family to read them himself. She wrote that Mary was learning a new piece on the piano, and that she played it day and night, much to the chagrin of everyone in the family, who were all quite tired of hearing it.
Most excitingly, she wrote that she was engaged, that Mr. Bingley had come to ask for her hand, and that she was incandescently happy, which made Elizabeth feel happy too. After the announcement, the Hursts had quit Netherfield, taking Miss Bingley along with them. Jane expressed her regret at no longer having the joy of their society, and Elizabeth snorted aloud, thinking that her sister was far too kindly sometimes.
When Mr. Darcy did appear at mealtimes again, so much time had passed that they did not speak of the events that occurred that night, when she ran away. He was always polite and solicitous to her, and to the servants as well, at least whenever she observed him.
They spoke of only trivialities. The weather. The food. The servants.
There was a bit of interest amongst one of the footmen and one of the kitchen maids, who were in some kind of a flirtation, and who everyone was speculating about, especially Meg, who spoke of it whenever she saw Elizabeth.
Apparently, Mr. Darcy’s valet talked to him of it too.
So, she and Mr. Darcy gossiped about the servants and whether or not they would be married, and it was all frightfully domestic and nothing about her life was amiss at all.
Sometimes, of course, she thought about the future, and it made her feel like she might lose her mind and run raving into the night, so she endeavored not to think of it after all.
Because she knew that she could not go on in this way forever. This was no way to live, this half-marriage with a man who she did not know and who refused to speak with her about anything real.
She almost preferred it when he had been raging and awful. At least that had been something. Now…
Well, she would tell herself that even if she couldn’t bear it forever, she could bear it for the next day, or even the next fortnight, and she would resolve to make it through that time only.
The future was something distant, something she did not ponder.
* * *
Darcy kept his word to himself. He did not touch his wife. He did not do anything remotely offensive when she was observing him.
But he could not stop himself from going at night to watch her sleep, even though he knew this was wronging her in its way. Watching her when she was not aware of it, when she had not given permission, it was taking something from her, even if that thing was intangible.
He knew he should go, because when he did, when he gazed at her sleeping and beautiful, he wanted her so badly it made him think he might go witless and raving.
He thought of touching her. He thought of having her. She was his wife, and he was well within his rights to demand to share her bed and to be with her.
He wouldn’t, of course. He had made his vow.
But he imagined it, gazing down at her in the candlelight.
He hated himself for it.
Every night, he vowed he would not go to her. He did various things to try to prevent it, going so far as to move his wardrobe in front of the door to his bedroom.
But nothing prevented it, because no matter what he moved into his way, he could always simply move it out of the way again, and then he made his way through the halls to her room and stayed there with her, indulging in his wretched fantasies.
One night, she stirred. She turned over, blinking against the light of the candle.
He swore, blowing out the candle.
She let out a little cry, and it was now too dark for him to see, but it sounded as though she sat up in bed, drawing the covers up around her. “Who’s there?” she cried out, her voice thin and frightened.
He didn’t answer.
“Who is that?” she said.
He blinked and blinked until his eyes adjusted and he moved soundlessly over the carpets and out of her room, never answering her.
* * *
“You were in my room last night,” said Elizabeth at the breakfast table the following morning.
Mr. Darcy looked into his tea, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t deny it,” she said.
“I suppose that would be folly,” he said, but he said it into his tea, without meeting her gaze.
Elizabeth drew herself up. She had determined to speak to him about this, because it had been difficult for her to get back to sleep after waking in the manner she had been roused. At first, half-asleep, she had been plagued by fanciful fears—a horrible monster prowling the hallways of Pemberley, or perhaps climbing in and out of windows.
But as she had wakened completely, she realized this was not likely, and that it must have been Mr. Darcy himself. She had lain awake, then, pondering what he might have been doing there, and she could not make sense of it. She resolved to talk to him about it.
“I am quite sorry, madam,” said Mr. Darcy. “There are no excuses for encroaching upon you in such a way. I knew that it was wrong when I did it, but I did not seem to be able to stop myself, even so. I wish that I were not a man drawn so deeply to dark and sinful actions.”
This confused her further. “Why do you say this? What were you doing there?”
He retreated into his chair, bowing his shoulders around his tea cup. “Well, nothing.”
“Nothing? And yet you apologize so fiercely. I suppose this is like what you said about Othello, that time we met in the stairs at Netherfield.”
“Ah, but Othello had the very devil whispering in his ear. I have no Iago to blame.”
“You said that Othello was too easily led to murder,” said Elizabeth. A chill went through her. “Were you there to harm me?”
He straightened, tea sloshing out onto the floor. “Of course not!”
“Well, then what was it all about, sir?”
“I was… looking at you.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He set the nearly empty tea cup back in its saucer with a clatter.
“Why?” she said.
“You are… pleasant to look upon,” he muttered.
She was confused, too confused to know what to say.
He got up out of his chair, seizing at his cane and striding away from her, toward the massive fireplace in the dining room.
She stood up too. “I don’t understand.”
“Why not?” His voice was sharp. “You know that I want you. I have made that plain.”
Her body suddenly tightened. She gripped the back of the chair for balance.
It was quiet.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was so far away now, and she did not wish to shout at him across the room when they were speaking of such things. So, she let go of the back of the chair and went after him.
He stood in front of the fire, leaning on his cane. The flames reflected against the scar on his face, making it look more grotesque.
She stopped next to him, clasping her hands together. “If you were visiting me to claim your husbandly rights—”
“No.”
“You are, of course, entitled—”
“No.” He glanced at her. “Let us leave this subject, madam. I swear to you, I will not come to your room at
night again.”
She swallowed. “Mr. Darcy, we have not spoken of… what happened all those nights ago, when we…” She found it hard to say the word.
He turned his dark gaze on her.
“Kissed,” she finally managed, her voice barely audible.
His eyes held her own for several long moments.
“I’m sorry that I ran from you,” she said. “I should not have, truly. And I did not think…” She furrowed her brow. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why I did not think of how you must have interpreted my actions, but now I see that I must have made you think that I regretted—”
A series of loud barks.
They both looked up to see the dog, Lady, the one that had been lounging in front of the fire the first night they’d arrived, running across the room toward them.
Mr. Darcy’s fingers tightened around his cane.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elizabeth reached out and put her hand on his arm, but why she did it, she wasn’t sure. Could she calm him with a touch? Could she stop the anger that she could see had already overtaken his body?
He was stiff and his face was twisted, his nostrils flared. He flung aside his cane and went after the dog, moving with surprising speed and agility.
“Mr. Darcy!” called Elizabeth.
“Oh, heavens!” said Mrs. Peters, appearing in the doorway where the dog had come from. “Sir!”
Mr. Darcy tackled Lady, arms around her neck. The two went down onto the floor, struggling. The dog was whining and growling, snapping its teeth, and Mr. Darcy was squeezing it as if he meant it harm.
Elizabeth rushed forward and so did Mrs. Peters.
“She’s only a dog!” cried Mrs. Peters.
Elizabeth fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her husband’s chest. “Stop it!”
Darcy did stop, seemingly shocked by Elizabeth’s touch. He looked at her over his shoulder.
She let go of him, and she stood up, thinking about how she had not realized how firm and solid and muscular his back would be. She knew he was wounded, but he was still quite strong. She felt flustered.
Mrs. Peters had the dog. “Please, sir.”
Mr. Darcy scrambled to his feet, tossing at his hair, which had fallen into his eyes. “Please? You beg for the dog? I thought you found another home for her.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head. “We’ve been keeping her in the kitchens, I’m afraid. She’s a good dog, and the others are her littermates, and we all love her so, and…”
“Mrs. Peters, who is the master of this house?” Mr. Darcy’s eyes flashed.
“Well, you are, sir,” said Mrs. Peters. “But—”
“Then, when I give an order, are you not to obey it?”
“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Peters hung her head.
“Have the dog gone by the end of the day,” said Mr. Darcy imperiously, “or you shall go with it.”
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
Darcy turned to look at her. “Oh, you don’t approve?”
“How long has Mrs. Peters been your housekeeper?” said Elizabeth. “Why, did she not know you when you were a boy? Has she not given a lifetime of service to your family? And you think to dismiss her?”
“I shall ask you the same question, dear wife,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice like ice. “Who is the master of this house?’
“Well, I won’t answer it, because you’re behaving in such a manner as to be positively horrid.”
“It’s a simple request, really,” said Mr. Darcy, going back to the table, this time with a bit of a limp in his gait. “I want the dog gotten rid of. I don’t care what you do with it. Slit its throat for all I care.”
“Kill the dog?” said Elizabeth, aghast.
“Perhaps I should do it myself,” said Darcy, who had arrived at the table. He bent over it, bracing his hands on the edge, his head bent down. “It seems that’s the only way my wishes are carried out in this house.”
Mrs. Peters cleared her throat. “It is truly not Lady’s fault. Why, Georgie didn’t even care for her, and you are punishing her for—”
Mr. Darcy swept the plates and cups and silverware off the table and they all shattered against the floor.
Mrs. Peter’s voice died in her throat.
Elizabeth flinched.
Mr. Darcy turned, and he was trembling with rage. “Pray, don’t mention his name ever again in my presence. If I don’t wish to see the dog, I don’t wish to hear you call him Georgie, in the name of God, Mrs. Peters. It’s as if no one believes me when I tell you what that man was.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head, her mouth working as she searched for words. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I will… Lady will…”
Darcy started for her.
Mrs. Peters backed away, dragging the dog with her. She looked frightened.
Elizabeth went to intercept him. “Perhaps you should take a moment alone, husband, in order to calm yourself.”
Darcy rounded on her. “Oh, you think to tell me how to handle my affairs?”
“I think that you are being a monster,” said Elizabeth. “And whatever there is in you, sir, there is not only monstrousness, so when you let it out—”
“You are mistaken,” said Darcy. “Shut your mouth.”
“I shan’t,” said Elizabeth. “I am your wife, and if no one else is here to check your bad behavior, then—”
“That is something we shall remedy,” said Mr. Darcy. With that, he turned, looking around the room. Eventually, he spied his cane. He went to it, swept it off the floor and left the room.
Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. She turned to Mrs. Peters. “I’m so dreadfully sorry. I don’t know why he’s this way.”
“It’s you I’m sorry for, mum,” said Mrs. Peters. “Married to that. He wasn’t always this way, you know. He was the sweetest little boy.” Her lower lip trembled.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “Well…” And she thought of the fact that she had fallen in love with Mr. Darcy and wondered if she could fall out of love, if—in fact—she was falling out of love just now, as this was all unfolding.
“I should see to the dog,” said Mrs. Peters. “Have someone clean this up.” She gestured to the broken dishes.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I think I shall retire to my room.”
But when she got to her room, the door was open, and Mr. Darcy was inside. He was inside her wardrobe, tearing out her dresses and hurling them onto the floor. “I can’t find your trunk,” he said when he saw her. “Perhaps you know where the maid has stored it?”
“What are you doing?” said Elizabeth.
“Helping you pack,” he said.
“What?”
“Let’s be truthful with each other. You don’t want to be married to me, and I was a fool for going through with it. I thought to be as honorable as I could in the face of my dishonor, but I shouldn’t have done such a thing to you. Now, I’ll fix it. I’ll send you back to your family.”
“You can’t send me back. We’ve been married for two months. There is no undoing that.”
“The marriage is not consummated. We’ll get it annulled. It’ll be as if it never was.”
“That’s… you can’t simply—”
“I’ll give you money,” said Mr. Darcy, throwing out a creamy morning dress. “Why I didn’t think of this before, I don’t know, but I have thought of it now, and if I pay you enough, surely it will make up for all the hardship that I have caused you.”
“Take your hands off my clothes!”
He laughed at her, a wild laugh, and he sounded insane.
Maybe the sound of it infected her. She waded over her wardrobe to him, and she grabbed his arms to stop him.
They wrestled for a moment, but he was far too strong for her to have any effect on him.
He soon had her by the arm, and he was dragging her over her clothes—which were strewn on the floor—and out of her bedroom.
She struggled. “Let me go. Take
your hands off me!”
“Indeed, if I give you enough money, you can buy new dresses. Why bother to pack them?” He tugged her down the stairs.
“Please!” she said, trying to get free of him. She was frightened, but underneath all that, she was furious. The fury was growing inside her, climbing into her throat.
They crossed the vast expanse of the main entryway, and Mr. Darcy threw open the front door. “There. Go!”
The cold air swirled over the threshold.
It was snowing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Darcy gazed dumbly into the snow, which was already laying on the ground, turning the blades of brown grass white.
His wife wrenched her arm free. “You wretch!”
He turned to look at her, feeling as if the snow had extinguished something hot and glowing inside him, coals of bright rage. But now, he felt exhausted and spent. He shut the door.
“Never touch me again,” said Elizabeth, her voice quiet but serious.
He swallowed.
“I’ll leave,” she said. “I will. There is nothing that could induce me to remain here with you any longer.”
“It’s snowing,” he said softly. “You can’t leave now. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“You really thought to throw me out, here and now? You thought to simply pack me off and solve the pesky problem of having a wife? Is it that awful to have someone pointing out that you are behaving worse than the devil himself?”
His jaw twitched. “Listen… it wasn’t you I was angry with. I shouldn’t have taken it out on—”
“It was the dog, then?” said Elizabeth. “Or Mrs. Peters?”
He hung his head.
“I know,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps it was Georgie.”
He winced. He couldn’t look at her.
“Killing him wasn’t enough?” she said. “You didn’t extinguish your hatred of the man when you murdered him?”
Mr. Darcy, the Beast Page 10