Duty Demands

by Elaine Owen

  “I had not considered such a thing,” Elizabeth answered, beginning to have an idea of just how different her world was from Darcy’s.

  “The marriage contract says that you will provide Darcy with an heir. It does not say what will happen to your relationship after that happens. The common understanding among men of his standing is that after you have given him a male heir, your life will be your own to live—with an appropriate level of discretion.”

  Elizabeth was speechless for a moment. “I would never agree to such an arrangement.”

  “Elizabeth, he will not be faithful to you. You must not expect it, or you will be crushed. Also, it is very likely that, after you have performed your duty, he will allow you the same freedom. It is the way of the world, and especially the way of the society in which he moves.”

  Elizabeth sat silent, struggling to comprehend such a different mindset.

  “Of course, if you choose not to complicate your life with your own love affairs, he will not be concerned. Regardless, you will still act as the hostess at all social functions which he chooses to hold, and it is expected that you will act in your children’s best interests by furthering the interests of the Darcy family. You are intelligent and well spoken. It could be that he sees you as a potential asset to the family in this way.”

  Elizabeth shook her head emphatically no. “I wish to marry for love, uncle.”

  “You are not alone in this. You wish for love, Jane wishes for love, and all your sisters wish for love. Is there a person on earth who does not? Probably even Darcy himself would choose to marry for love if he could. But he has picked you to marry, knowing that the difference in your stations means you will be grateful to receive anything at all from him. You will be utterly without resources, save what he can give you. He can have his children with you and have you serve as a suitable hostess at social functions besides, while his own life carries on much as it has until now, with no further demands or expectations of him.”

  “But why wouldn’t he pick a bride who brings him a dowry? He could have anyone he wants.”

  “I think he prefers that you come to him penniless, as you are. A woman of wealth or standing might feel capable of standing up to him, and perhaps work against his interests in favor of her own family. With you, he knows what he is getting. Elizabeth, why are you laughing?”

  “I was just thinking of poor Caroline Bingley, who has been trying to attract his attention for as long as I have known her. Perhaps I should tell her to have her brother cast her out on the streets, and see if Mr. Darcy will notice her then.”

  Mr. Gardiner pursed his lips. “Are you ready to accept him? If so, then I will bring him in.”

  Elizabeth hesitated only briefly. “Yes. Please tell Mr. Darcy that I will be pleased to receive him.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dearest Jane,

  I am writing to you at the earliest opportunity that I have been given, considering the rather constant schedule of activities which Mr. Darcy has laid out for me, full of visits to his family and friends, along with various shopping expeditions. I hope that you, Mama, and my sisters are all well.

  We dined with Mr. Darcy’s uncle and aunt, the earl and countess of Matlock, Friday last. Mr. Darcy, who would probably appreciate being addressed as my lord, has decreed that I not wear black mourning clothes to social occasions, for what reason I do not know. Can you imagine such nerve? I did not wish to flatter his vanity by actually obeying such an absurd directive. I was completely determined to defy him at first, but then I remembered that he is my husband and it would be better not to incur the wrath of such an ill-tempered man, so instead I wore a new dark-blue bombazine, one which is so dark it looks practically black. If he noticed my small act of rebellion, he said nothing of it.

  The countess is a very fine woman with a lively sense of humor and an excellent sense of style. I counted sixteen pearls sewn into the lace on her sleeves alone. If I had that many pearls on any of my dresses, I would spend the evening in a perpetual state of terror lest I damage or lose any of them, but she paid them no attention at all. The countess has a very congenial air about her, and she laughed aloud when I described the absurdities of our cousin Collins to her. I did not tell her of Mr. Collins’s ridiculous proposal to me, for my husband would surely have disapproved. He did not join in our hilarity. He just sat and looked at me with a face so serious I was tempted to make fun of him, but that would never do.

  The countess has asked me to call on her soon, and she and her husband are coming here for dinner next week. I predict that we shall be fast friends in no time. The earl of Matlock, on the other hand, is very like his nephew. Need I say more?

  I have not met the famous Miss Georgiana Darcy yet. Mr. Darcy says I shall meet her when we travel to Pemberley a week from tomorrow. He said that he does not care for the season very much and that he does not plan to spend much time here in town for it next year, or any year at all. He did not ask my opinion, of course. I am holding my tongue for now, remembering your advice, but I am afraid that one day he will receive my opinion whether he wants it or not. You may not say that I did not warn you!

  I am including a small sum of money for you and Mama to spend on some little luxury for all of you. You need not worry that it will be missed. This is my own pin money, and I am free to do as I like with it. Mr. Darcy had his steward explain to me the amount of pin money that I will have to spend each month and stated quite particularly that I am to let him know if it is not adequate for my needs. I suppose my husband’s pride would be offended to think that his wife might actually be in want of anything. I will never avail myself of this option unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I have my pride as well.

  Please write soon. I live for your letters.

  I am, as always, your loving sister,

  Elizabeth Darcy

  Darcy entered the room just as she was signing and closing the letter, coming to stand next to her. “Elizabeth, are you ready to go yet?”

  “Yes, I am at your disposal as soon as I seal and post this letter.”

  “Seal it, but leave it with Mrs. Moffat to be posted. She knows your family’s direction. I do not like to be late to the theater, and this is a recital I have been looking forward to for some time.” He frowned as he looked at her more closely. “Is that a black comb in your hair? I thought we agreed you would not wear mourning in public.”

  “You made your wishes clear. This is not mourning clothing; it is only a black comb, which may or may not be considered as an indication of my bereavement. I purchased it three days ago.”

  Darcy’s frown did not change. “I noticed the dress you wore to my uncle’s last week. It was very nearly black, despite our agreement.”

  “It fulfilled your requirements in every way,” she answered, wondering what he would say. “It was, in fact, blue, if you looked at it closely enough. It is not my fault if your eyes perceived it as black.”

  She braced for a protest, but nothing came. Instead, she saw a pensive look settle on his face as she looked up to reach for the sealing wax.

  “You must still grieve your father,” he said in a much gentler tone than what she had expected.

  “Of course. It has only been seven weeks since he passed.” She did not look at him as she poured the wax onto the envelope and pressed the heavy seal with the ornate letter D into it.

  “I have never seen you weep,” he commented, more a question than a statement.

  She would not allow herself to grieve in front of this stranger. “My grief is expressed in private.”

  “I understand. My father passed only five years ago.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “It was much like your father’s. His heart suddenly weakened. There was very little time to say goodbye, and afterward I had to be strong, for my sister and for the household staff at Pemberley. I did not allow myself to grieve in front of anyone.”

  He seemed determined to talk. She looked at him warily. “It must h
ave been very hard on Miss Georgiana to lose both parents at such a young age. When did you lose your mother?”

  “Our mother passed shortly after Georgiana’s birth.” Darcy’s face had settled into a mask, and he looked straight ahead, unfocused; she could not read his expression. “In some ways, it still feels as though it happened yesterday. A song I hear, or a phrase I read in a book, may suddenly bring home memories and a new sense of loss to me when I least expect it.”

  Elizabeth could not imagine why he was speaking to her so intimately. “Has Miss Georgiana fully recovered from her father’s loss?”

  “It is not something from which one can make a recovery. One simply accommodates oneself to a new way of living, as you are now doing. It becomes easier over time.”

  The wax on the letter had cooled. Elizabeth stood and looked at Darcy with her letter in her hand, waiting for him to wave her ahead of him so that they could proceed to the carriage together. Instead he said, “I have purposely kept you involved with a variety of activities each day, so that you would not be focused on your loss, but we need not be out every night. If you would prefer to stay quietly at home this evening, then I will stay home with you.”

  Good heavens, she thought, an entire evening spent at home with Fitzwilliam Darcy, with maudlin tales of sorrow and woe for entertainment. An evening in company was much to be preferred. “I think being active outside the house helps me not to brood,” she answered, smiling politely but with no real warmth. So saying, she took the initiative and preceded her husband to the front door, dropping her letter in the silver salver reserved for outgoing mail as she went. As she reached the front door, Darcy’s hand on her elbow stopped her, slowly turning her to face him.

  “Elizabeth, did you wear the dark blue on purpose, knowing how close it was to black? Did you mean to disobey me?”

  Should she tell him a polite untruth and let him reach his own conclusions, or did she dare to speak honestly? She answered carefully, “Many of your friends and family are aware of my recent loss. It would look odd not to acknowledge my status in some way.”

  “And you wear the black combs in your hair for the same reason?”

  She nodded, and he pressed his lips together in a flat line.

  “I wanted you not to wear black in public, Elizabeth, in order to avoid gossip. It is unusual for a bride to be in mourning. But if you do not mind receiving strange looks and comments, I will say nothing further on the subject. You may wear black as much as you wish.”

  “I thank you, sir,” she replied, not certain if she had actually won a victory or not. He was giving her the right to mourn if she wanted, but he was still dictating her choices to her. Perhaps this was all the consideration she could expect in this strange farce of a marriage.

  Darcy offered her his arm and they proceeded to the carriage together, Elizabeth still unsure of exactly what to expect from her new husband.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Elizabeth, my man tells me your things are not yet packed.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise as Darcy entered the parlor, where she was carefully arranging a bouquet of flowers. “We are not traveling to Pemberley until the day after tomorrow, so I have not yet asked my maid to prepare. There is little for me to have put in my trunks in any case.”

  Darcy’s brows knit together. “We leave for Pemberley tomorrow, not the day after tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth stopped what she was doing to face her husband. “That is not possible. We are hosting your aunt and uncle for dinner, here, tomorrow night.”

  “That is not possible, since we shall be well on our way to Pemberley by that time,” her husband retorted.

  “If you wish for me to be your hostess, I will have to be here to do so. You have known about this dinner for a week.”

  “I have known no such thing. I told you quite clearly, last week, that we were leaving for Pemberley the end of this week.”

  “And I told you, quite clearly, that I wished to invite the earl and countess of Matlock, your uncle and aunt, to dine with us on Wednesday next. You agreed. You said that you appreciated my willingness to take on social obligations so quickly.”

  Darcy glowered. “I do not recall any such conversation.”

  “And yet you took an active part in it.” Elizabeth stood waiting, with her arms crossed, ready to do battle.

  Darcy brushed a frustrated hand through his thick hair. “I still do not recall. You will have to cancel the invitation.”

  “I will do no such thing.” Elizabeth had staked her claim and was ready to fight for what she wanted. “To cancel a dinner invitation the day before the event, especially to an earl and countess, would be abominably rude. I have already prepared the menu, ordered the food to be delivered, and am now making cuttings of all our fresh flowers to use on the table. If I was not going to be allowed to have a dinner for your aunt and uncle,”—she paused dramatically—“then why was I allowed to plan one?”

  Her husband took a step or two past her and then turned to face her again. “What did you think I meant when I said we would leave at the end of the week?”

  “I believed Thursday or Friday to be the accustomed days to start a two-day’s travel to points as far north as Derbyshire! Neither day would interfere with a Wednesday-night dinner with your aunt and uncle.”

  “You could have confirmed it with me before sending the invitation.”

  “I had no reason to confirm it! You had just thanked me for suggesting the idea.”

  Darcy stared at her for a moment, then turned on one heel and exited the room without another word.

  Elizabeth resumed arranging her flowers, angrily tearing out a small bud that had dared to raise its head in the wrong spot. The blame was entirely on her husband. She was trying her best to fulfill her duties as a cooperative wife and willing hostess, was she not? It was not her fault if Darcy could not remember what he had heard and said from one day to the next. She really did not care if he became angry when faced with his own mistake.

  Her husband, she knew, could be dreadfully ill-tempered when the mood struck him. He had been unusually civil to her since their marriage, but she remembered his past silences and disapproving airs when he was in Hertfordshire, at the beginning of their acquaintance, long before he made an offer for her. She remembered also hearing about the petty vengeance he had worked on his childhood friend, George Wickham, denying him a living as reprisal for the favor the former Mr. Darcy had showed to the son of his steward.

  “The old Mr. Darcy loved me like a son,” Wickham had told her the previous autumn. “He was my godfather. I ate at the family table, and he paid for my schooling at Cambridge. He intended for me to be a gentleman. In fact, in his will he left me a valuable family living, the best living in his gift, to be awarded when the incumbent passed away. But the old Mr. Darcy passed first instead, and when the living became vacant, the present Mr. Darcy disregarded his father’s will and bestowed it elsewhere.”

  “How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress?”

  “There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy-” he shrugged helplessly.

  “How could he be so despicable?” Elizabeth had cried. “How could he ruin a man’s life merely for the sake of his own offended pride? I confess I had not thought him capable of such behavior!”

  “Nor had I,” Wickham had said with a rueful smile, “until the time came. Then I realized that all his actions may be traced to pride, and that there is no limit to which his pride will not push him if he takes offense. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better. He even cut off contact between me and Miss Georgiana, his sister, who was like a sister to me as well.”

  Remembering that conversation now, Elizabeth resolved to keep better control over her words in the future. Who could predict how Darcy might react if she ever pushed him too far?


  She avoided her husband’s notice the rest of the day and took supper in her own rooms that night, hoping Darcy would not wish to join her in her bed that evening. If he did not come, it would be the first time they had spent a night apart since their marriage, for his visits had continued without fail. She did not know whether to dread his appearance or welcome it. Without his attentions she could not conceive the needed heir for Pemberley, yet she had no desire to spend intimate time with an angry man.

  As she finished her bath, lost in thought, it was not Darcy’s knock that startled her, but her maid’s, coming on the front door of her bedroom.

  “If you’ll pardon me, missus, my master has asked that you join him in his chamber tonight.”

  So he had decided to humiliate her by summoning her like any common servant. It was to be expected, she supposed. She sighed with resignation. “Very well. You may tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

  Minutes later, she knocked lightly on the connecting bedroom door and received permission to enter. When she went in, closing the door carefully behind her, Darcy was reclining on his bed, reading a book. He acknowledged her with a brief nod, shutting the book carelessly. “I hope you do not mind my calling you here. I find that I would prefer to have you in my bed tonight, rather than going to yours.”

  “It is no difference to me,” she answered, bracing herself to receive his attentions once again.

  “I believe you have been angry with me regarding the dinner party,” he added, setting the book aside and looking at her seriously. When she did not answer, he went on, “I am forced to admit that you were correct about inviting my uncle and aunt for dinner. After thinking about it for some time, I recalled that you and I did, in fact, speak of inviting them. I was distracted with other matters at the time and was not attending properly. We will hold the dinner as planned.”

  “Thank you,” she answered, trying to be gracious in her small victory. “Cancelling would have been awkward, at best.”