In darcys debt, p.15
In Darcy's Debt, page 15
Darcy said nothing, and Elizabeth added, awkwardly, “I will endeavor to remember how blessed I am when next my mother and I are at odds.”
Darcy nodded, sagely. “The blessing cuts both ways. When one’s only memories of a parent are from childhood, it is easier to envision them as the faultless pillar they were to you in that time. But even idols have feet of clay.”
Elizabeth peered more closely at the portrait, at the eyes of the woman who had given birth to her husband. In the haughty arch of the brow she imagined she could see the echo of Lady Catherine, in the steady, assessing stare toward the painter, her son’s reserve. Elizabeth had yet to hear what the imperious lady of Rosings thought of her nephew’s marriage, but she doubted the woman would approve. Would Lady Anne Darcy have been similarly judgmental? Had all of Darcy’s concerns about their match been inherited from the Fitzwilliam side? Lady Anne’s father had been an earl. The Bennets of Longbourn—gentry though they might be—were nothing to that. The Gardiners of Meryton, even less.
In the painted hand that held the baby Georgiana on her lap, Elizabeth saw something else. The glint of reddish gold, a simple band she knew quite well.
“I wear your mother’s wedding ring.”
“Yes.”
She turned to face him. He was watching her, his eyes guarded.
“Will Georgiana be bothered by this?”
“No. It was mine to give. It has always been the Darcys’.”
She turned the ring on her finger, feeling the weight of centuries in the tiny gold band.
He cleared his throat. “I was sent away to school soon after she died,” Darcy said. “And there I met Bingley, who had also recently lost his mother. It was the beginning of a great friendship.”
“I can well imagine.” And she could. Little wonder, then, that Darcy had grown close to Bingley, despite the difference in their ancestry. Those two motherless boys, on the verge of manhood, with sisters to care for and responsibilities hanging like swords above their heads. Of course they had found each other.
“Where is Mr. Bingley now?” she found herself asking.
“Scarborough, I imagine.” He did not meet her eyes. “I had heard it from my sister before the wedding—that they all went to the seashore before the weather turned.”
Elizabeth knew they treaded on shaky ground. “Have you written him? About our marriage?”
“Yes.” He jabbed at the fire with a poker.
“Has he answered you?”
A pause. “No.”
If Mr. Bingley was angry, or surprised, she doubted it would last long. It was not in that man’s nature to be mean about someone he esteemed as much as Bingley did Darcy.
“Will Georgiana be visiting soon?” Elizabeth asked swiftly, before the silence between them grew more awkward.
“Not for a fortnight at least. Unfortunately, she was already expecting a large party of school friends at Pemberley. I gather the house is positively overrun.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps we should go there after all. It would help me begin to feel at home to be surrounded by half a dozen sixteen-year-old girls.”
Darcy’s smile was smaller, more contemplative. “We do not have to go all the way to Derbyshire for that. Invite your family here. We haven’t seen them since the wedding.”
“My family?” Did he mean it? She drew close to him, but there was no artifice in his countenance, no teasing at all.
“Of course. Your mother would be overjoyed, I think, to help you finish your trousseau. And since no London seamstress will do for you, Mrs. Darcy, if Jane is so accomplished at needlework” —and now he smiled, and touched the neckline of her nightgown— “she can help complete this Sisyphean task.”
Elizabeth was so happy she could have kissed him. So she did.
* * *
It might not have been exactly proper, but Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy rushed to the front door when she saw her family’s carriage outside. The butler looked at her in unvarnished astonishment.
Her mother came spilling from the carriage door almost before the footman had placed the stool. Jane and Kitty followed.
“Oh, Lizzy!” exclaimed her mother, divesting herself of her wrap and coming forward to take her second-eldest daughter in her arms. “Oh, Lizzy, how elegant you look. Mrs. Darcy! And this house! It is the very pinnacle of loveliness.”
“Mama, it is good to see you.” Elizabeth kissed her mother, then turned to Jane and Kitty. “I am so glad you are come.”
“Papa sends his love,” Jane said. “And his apologies. He cannot bring himself to return to the city so soon, even to see you.”
“And Mary would have been here,” Kitty added, “only just this morning she is claiming the most abominable cold.”
“A summer cold is most insulting,” said Elizabeth, though privately she wondered if her middle sister’s health were as bad as all that. Like their father, Mary preferred the quiet comfort of Longbourn. And in the last two weeks, since becoming Mrs. Darcy, Elizabeth began to wonder if the two of them were not right.
Elizabeth had spent most of her time since the wedding becoming acquainted with her London household and preparing for her life as a rich man’s wife. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have happened during her engagement, but her time in London, as everyone standing before her knew, had been anything but ordinary. She’d returned social calls and left her card more often than not, but had failed to make any real acquaintances among the fashionable set. The promise of company with the Bennets had been all that had carried her through the last few days.
She and Darcy, too, had settled into a pleasant routine. Whatever awkwardness or coldness had come between them in the first days of their marriage appeared to have dissipated as they had become more accustomed to each other’s ways. They spent pleasant hours walking in London’s pretty parks or sitting alone in the drawing room of their townhouse, discussing reading or travel. One night, he had taken her to an opera, which had been foremost in her conversation for several days following, as she had never before seen one, and her grasp of Italian left many of the finer points in the storyline to mere conjecture. Still, she had loved the singing and the costumes and the display to be seen among the rich and titled in the boxes.
In times like these, Elizabeth could almost forget his strange bouts of reserve or sadness, or the fact that their very intimacy was due to the fact that his social circle was not as lively as it might once have been. Invitations that must have once been plentiful for a single man in possession of a large fortune had dried up now that he was no longer an object of fascination on the marriage market, and since his bride had brought no particular wealth or consequence of her own, she was not nearly so intriguing beyond the story of their double wedding. When they were in society, she saw the recognition in people’s eyes—ah, here was that country girl, that one of a pair of sisters who married a gentleman and his best friend—though she did not always appreciate the liberties that gossip had taken with her situation.
In some stories, Elizabeth and Lydia were the daughters of a tenant farmer. In others, they were orphans. In all, they had no dowry, which was at least the truth, though Darcy was always painted as heroic and self-sacrificing for having taken her without such worldly wealth. Elizabeth always hated that part of the story, as it so completely echoed Wickham’s cruel words at their wedding.
Still, she contented herself that if the gossip painted her a penniless orphan, at least it did not tar Lydia as a fallen woman.
Darcy seemed to shrug such inaccuracies off, as he did the perceived reduction in his social invitations. “I would much rather stay at home,” he said, good-naturedly. “I find I am so very tired in the evening, of late.” He would smile with her, and often even joke, meeting her teasing barb for barb.
Elizabeth was often quite tired, too.
When he left her bed in the night, though she missed him, she no longer asked him to stay. Perhaps she was adjusting, as Mr. Darcy advised her she must. Perhaps they both were.
Now, though, she would merely enjoy the arrival of her family, who would enliven her days and evenings. She had planned all manner of social outings for their time in London, not to mention the shopping which her mother was determined to do.
As the servants brought up the Bennets’ things, Elizabeth showed them about the house, and Mrs. Bennet was in utter raptures. Not a stick of furniture, not a single vase, not a miniature or polished doorknob was beneath her notice and praise. Elizabeth began to wonder if she was not in the presence of Mr. Collins at Rosings Park and hoped her mother tired of the exercise before Darcy returned to the house.
When at last Elizabeth brought her mother to her assigned bedchamber, Mrs. Bennet shut the door and bade Elizabeth sit down.
“Now, Lizzy,” she said, quite serious. “In all your haste to wed, there were things we were not able to discuss, but that must be shared between a mother and a daughter—”
“Mama,” Elizabeth warned. “I have been married to Mr. Darcy for two weeks. I do believe I understand what is involved.”
But Mrs. Bennet sailed forth anyway. “It is most important that you keep your husband happy, at all cost, my dear.”
“I will do my best, as would any wife.”
“And since your husband is such a great man, there are things that must be allowed for. Your own father in his goodness was always most attentive and loyal to me, but we must not assume that all men are the same, especially here in town. Mr. Darcy, may God bless him, is known to be of a more disagreeable nature.”
Elizabeth was quite astonished. “Mama, we have just married.”
“You do not know what arrangements might have been in place before,” her mother pointed out.
Elizabeth stood. “I will thank you not to make such implications in my husband’s home.” She headed for the door.
Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue. “Oh, Lizzy! Your love for him does you credit. I only thought to warn you, my dear. I would have considered myself to be failing in my duties if I did not at least bring it up.”
Chastened, Elizabeth returned. “I thank you for that, ma’am. But I am most certain that Mr. Darcy will prove as loyal and attentive a husband to me as Papa has been to you.” At least, she hoped so.
“And so he shall, Lizzy, to be sure. I know he must have been so enchanted with you to want to marry under a special license. And ten thousand a year! As good as a lord…” she beamed at her daughter, who had heard the word enchanted and little else.
“You have made me most happy, my dear. You are the best of all possible daughters. The answer to all of my hopes.”
And how could Elizabeth stay angry with the woman after that?
She took leave of her mother, then came into her sisters’ room, where Kitty was looking out over the square, and Jane was arranging the last of her things.
“I am so pleased to see you,” Elizabeth said.
Jane came forward and embraced her. “Lizzy, I am so glad to see you here and well. I have been waiting every day for more of your letters and rereading the ones I have to squeeze every last drop of detail from them.”
“Yes,” Kitty echoed. “Did you really go to the opera? And meet a viscount? And where are your new dresses? I vow I have seen that one you are wearing in Longbourn, for did not Jane embroider the scallops at the hem?”
“Indeed, Kitty,” said Elizabeth. “This is not one of the new ones.”
“Tell us everything, Lizzy,” Jane urged.
Elizabeth glanced at Kitty. She would tell Jane all, but perhaps not in front of their chatty little sister. “Let us head down to the sitting room. I am sure they are already setting the tea.”
Kitty bounded ahead of them, as expected, and Jane in complete understanding took her time unfolding her wrap.
“Lizzy,” she said, when she was sure they were alone, “is everything quite all right? The story you have shared in your letters was most astonishing. I did as you asked and kept the pages you directed for my eyes only to myself.” She produced the sheets. “I shared with the rest of the family only what you instructed me to.”
“Thank you for that,” Lizzy replied. In her private pages, she’d poured out her heart to Jane, explaining how things had changed for her in Pemberley, and how surprised she had been by Darcy’s high-handedness and obstinacy upon their arrival in London. She’d glossed over the humiliations she’d endured at the dinner party, as well as Wickham’s cutting words to Darcy. It would benefit no one in the family—least of all the good-hearted Jane—to realize how wicked and vicious their brother-in-law truly was. But Jane deserved more of the story, especially since she knew that Elizabeth had once refused Darcy’s hand.
“Are you happy, Lizzy? Is he good to you?”
“Very good,” Elizabeth assured her.
But Jane, sweet as she could be, was no fool. “Are you happy?” she pressed. “Do you love him?”
The frankness of the question must have caught Elizabeth’s composure by surprise, as tears welled up quite suddenly in her eyes.
“Lizzy!” Jane snatched a handkerchief from her sleeve. “Oh, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth waved her away and blinked back the tears. “I am well, dearest Jane. Only—only, I think I do love him. I love him more and more every day. And I am frightened—beyond frightened!—to anticipate what will happen when he no longer loves me.”
“But that will never happen!” Jane declared, ardently. “To know you is to love you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth forced a laugh. “Your opinion on this matter is not universal.”
Jane pressed on. “And Mr. Darcy’s affections, you know, have been remarkably constant, even throughout your discouragement and rejection. What man in twenty would propose again to a woman who had once refused him? What man in a hundred would arrange to marry her by special license in order to silence the bleating of tongues about her sister’s scandal?”
What man in ten thousand would not regret all that, after the initial fires of ardor had cooled?
“Mr. Darcy has been most kind to us,” she said instead. “And now it falls to me not to disappoint him.”
“Disappoint him,” Jane repeated, incredulous. “And how might you do that? It is too early to question your ability to bear him children.”
Elizabeth had not even begun to imagine that possibility, though she was not altogether surprised that it was foremost on Jane’s mind. “I am not an earl’s daughter, like his mother. I do not come with a fortune or position of my own.”
“If he had wanted those things,” Jane said, “he would not have chosen you.”
“Perhaps he chose foolishly,” Elizabeth said, “and will grow to regret it. Others have done so.”
Jane was silent as she, too, reflected on the circumstances that had formed their own family. Perhaps when they’d first wed, Mr. Bennet had thought his wife would make him happy. But at some point, he realized that her foolishness and vulgarity outweighed her liveliness, her beauty. Marriage was for life.
Elizabeth kept talking, finally able to release the fears which had taken root within her heart to someone she could trust completely. “The first time he proposed to me, he expressed that he was doing it against his better judgment. When he tried again, in Derbyshire, I urged him to wait until we could both be sure. But that did not happen. Lydia’s elopement meant we could not wait. He was urgent in his desire to save her, spurred on, I think, by his passionate regard for me. But such passion cannot work to establish reasonable behavior. We were married in such haste, Jane. How can it but lead to regret?”
Jane considered this solemnly, and her countenance grew agitated, as if she wrestled with a great inner turmoil. “I do not know if I have an answer for you, Lizzy. But I will say this—no man has ever loved me so passionately as to disregard his material concerns. You are married, while my greatest admirer moved away rather than risk the temptation of my charms. So if I were to make a pronouncement, it would be only that in the face of such a violent love, I would not have so many doubts.”
Chapter 19
Elizabeth did not get another moment alone with her sister for the rest of the day. In the afternoon, they went shopping, and Mrs. Bennet dressed Elizabeth to even her heart’s content. For the most part, Elizabeth had a lovely time, even as her mother sighed over kid gloves, wishing she had been able to pick out similar pairs for Lydia, and wrapped up multiple strands of ribbon to send to “poor Mrs. Wickham, alone in the wilds of the North.”
In the evening, they dined with the Gardiners and Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth found she was primarily engaged in judging whether her husband’s reactions to her mother’s commentary were amused or outright scandalized. She was relieved that there was far less talk of Wickham in Darcy’s hearing and wondered if Mrs. Bennet had ever been educated on the reason it might not be good to mention one son-in-law’s name in the other son-in-law’s presence.
Most of the conversation, however, ran smoothly. As always, the Gardiners were pleasant dining companions, and Mr. Gardiner’s long experience in handling his sister would probably prove most educational to Darcy in learning how best to manage his new mother-in-law’s most energetic outbursts.
Mrs. Gardiner had just had her front room hung with new curtains and was describing them in detail to the ladies over dessert.
“Perhaps tomorrow, you could come for luncheon and see,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
“That would be lovely!” Jane exclaimed. “I do long to visit with the children again.”
Darcy, who had been engaged in conversation with Mr. Gardiner, looked up. “Tomorrow? Is there an outing being planned?”
“We thought we might venture to the Gardiners’ house in Gracechurch Street,” Elizabeth said, “and see Mrs. Gardiner’s new living room curtains.”
Mr. Darcy nodded absentmindedly and returned to Mr. Gardiner.
When they went to bed that night, Mr. Darcy said, “I think you should send your mother and Catherine down to Cheapside alone tomorrow, Elizabeth.”
