A/N: So, please do not rebel against me for this apparently sexist story. Do I agree with the beliefs expressed? No. Do I believe that the characters would? Yes. Otherwise, enjoy. Review and tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy.
Over the years, I have come to hate that title.
I have been married to my husband for fifteen years, and a wonderful fifteen years they have been. Despite our relationship's rocky – to put it quite mildly – beginning, we have developed into the sort of couple so clearly in love strangers on the street wonder if I am his mistress.
To reach this state of bliss, we had to set aside our pride – both of us. We were both such stubborn creatures in our youth. My sister Jane laughs to recall it to this day - the melodramatic agony we each endured as we fought misunderstanding after misinterpretation.
By the end of our honeymoon I had no pride left. I was – I am, still – so in love with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy that I was willing to set aside everything that had defined my youth to become the sophisticated young bride he needed at his side.
I recall my dear aunt trying to explain the causes of pride to me one evening as we strolled through the gardens. She told me that men and women find pride in different ways. Men find pride in their material accomplishments; they want other men to envy them their wealth, property, and woman. Women find pride in what they create – a happy marriage or beautiful children.
Mr. Darcy has never lacked things of which to be proud. He has gold, grandiose properties, and a wife who, despite her lack of connections, is the envy of her peers.
I do not find myself in the same situation. You cannot create a happy marriage unless you lack one, and my husband and I have always had a wonderful partnership. We married for love, and live our life together as a reflection of this.
I realized my situation when, several years into our marriage, I confided in my beloved husband that I believed myself to be barren.
Barren is such a weighty word.
My husband, while genuinely struck by the idea of never raising children of his own – an idea he had always relished – took comfort in the fact that Georgiana could still produce an heir. His pride was secure.
In that instant, however, mine was gone forever.
What was I, as a woman, to be proud of?
I had no children – no legacy to leave the world as proof of my existence.
After years of struggling to contain the pride of my youth, I realized how much I needed that part of me.
I found myself without passion. Everything a woman does is done with the goal of securing a better future for her children. Her education is only to better raise them. Her marriage is only so they have the resources to succeed. Her personal success is only to be preserved and given to her children.
I will never have children.
I will never have a purpose.
Without a purpose, I have no goals, no accomplishments.
No children.
No pride.
Nothing.