First of all, thank you to all of my reviewers. This was much better received than I had expected it to be and I only hope that the rest of the chapters live up to the expectations of others. Secondly, this would have been longer, but it's my last week of work and I find myself a lot more tired than I had expected to be and so it is much harder to focus in the evenings. Rather than leave you all hanging I give you a short chapter instead. And finally, I would usually reply to all my reviews so if I missed you then I apologise. Again I can only say that my last days at work are proving more tiring than I had expected them to. That said, baby tends to keep me up at night kicking, so I get the odd bit done here and there when I can't sleep. That probably contributes.
Chapter Two.
Though a she took a great enjoyment in the study of character Elizabeth found that Mr Darcy was a man that she could not figure out. Once upon a time she would have taken his silence during dinner as pride, a wealthy man made uncomfortable by the low birth of both Jane and herself. Knowing his past, however, the loss and betrayal of his sister, she supposed that his silence was due more to wariness of intent than pride in his status. Certainly she could see that there was little affection in him for Caroline, whether the woman could have once considered him as husband material or not. There was not even the indication that he was suffering from disappointed hopes on that score. Rather he seemed to have done everything in his power to avoid coming to her attention, much in the same way that she had observed he had tried to avoid her own notice.
Bingley had implied that his friend was an intelligent man, a man of great conversation, well read with a great love of the countryside and his sister. The man she had met was an enigma and Elizabeth dearly loved a mystery. There was, she had concluded, no harm in getting the know the man better if she was able. She was unknown among the ton, had no reputation in town to protect, and once she returned to Hertfordshire after this visit no one in Meryton and the surrounding country would care who she had associated with while there. Clearly Bingley had no intentions of cutting his friend from his life, which in Elizabeth's eyes could only endear her new brother to her more, and so it was likely that she would spend more time in his company over the coming weeks.
It was a topic she had mused upon in moments of solitude, though those were few and far between with the stream of visitors who still constantly came to the house to meet the new Mrs Bingley. It was also something that she thought on as they made their way to the theatre several days after she had met Darcy. Jane and her husband were talking quietly to one another, something she did not begrudge them as it pleased her to see Jane so happy, and Caroline was staring out of the window of the carriage as they passed through the streets. The silence of her new sister was something that Elizabeth had become accustomed to over the fifteen months of their acquaintance. The two women had little in common, Caroline preferring to talk about fashion and society gossip while Elizabeth preferred literature, and so by silent agreement they avoided conversation with one another where possible. Caroline despaired of Elizabeth's country manners, tastes and attitudes, Elizabeth believed that Caroline thought herself too fine for a lady whose money had come from trade.
Upon arrival at the theatre Caroline hurried off to greet a number of dear friends, though Elizabeth had her own suspicions that she was just as eager to greet the women as she was to avoid being associated with her less than fashionable new sisters, and the remaining three members of their small party began to make their way to their seats confident that she would join them before the start of the play.
"Darcy!" Bingley's joyful greeting of his friend startled Elizabeth from her half curious study of the décor. She followed as they changed their course and approached the gentleman in question. He was stood with an older man and woman, both obviously people of wealth and fashion, and there could be no denying that he looked decidedly uncomfortable in his current setting. It made Elizabeth wonder if he was, as opposed to proud, simply shy of large crowds.
"Bingley," the two shared a bow. "Might I introduce my aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Matlock." The older couple inclined their heads politely.
"It's an honour," Bingley smiled, "this is my wife, Jane, and her sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennett." The introductions taken care of he turned his attention back to his friend. "I confess I had not thought to see you here tonight."
"My aunt insisted, she is of the opinion that secluding myself entirely from society is both unnecessary and foolish. I had hardly expected to see you here either, however, as I recall the works of the Bard are not among those that you generally enjoy."
"No, I confess you have that absolutely right."
"The fault is mine, sir," Elizabeth admitted, "I am a great lover of the works of the Bard, particularly his comedies, and I found that I could not visit with my sister in town and pass up the opportunity to see one of them brought to life."
"I should have thought Romeo and Juliet would be more to the taste of a young lady than the comedies," Darcy replied, sharp eyes upon her as though studying her reactions.
"Certainly the romance of the play has it's appeal," Elizabeth replied, "but I find that the real tragedy of it is not the death of the young people but the foolishness that leads up to it. I am more inclined to laughter than melancholy, however, so I find that the tragedies hold little appeal when compared with the comedy of errors in Twelfth Night."
"You must be disappointed, then, Miss Bennett, that the play tonight is King Lear," Lady Matlock joined them.
"Of course not, I can take enjoyment from any of his works and the joy here is in the experience," Elizabeth insisted.
"I have heard much the same thing said by my..." Darcy trailed off before finishing his sentence. "Forgive me." He turned from the group and disappeared into the crowd.
"Perhaps it was too soon, my dear," Lord Matlock said to his wife. "He was never easy in society and I fear Georgiana's loss has affected him more than we thought it would."
"He cannot hide from society forever," Lady Matlock insisted.
"Can you blame him for attempting to avoid their judgements?" Her husband questioned.
"Perhaps society should look to itself before people decide they have a right to judge," Elizabeth offered as the crowds around them began to move. "It was a pleasure to meet you both," she finished as they were all drawn apart.
Her meeting with Darcy and the Matlocks was something that Elizabeth would think on over the coming days, but for that evening it was the joys of the play that held her attention.
oOo
She stood at the window, her eyes unseeing as she stared at the street below. An absent hand moved with a deceptive tenderness over the swell of her stomach, barely disguised by the dress that was obviously too big for her fragile frame. Her husband, and how she shuddered to think of him in those terms, had not been seen for three days and she found herself hoping that his taste for gambling and women of loose morals had finally caught up with him. She found herself hoping that she would then be free after eighteen months of heartbreak, humiliation and fear.
"You must eat, ma'am," a gentle voice chided from behind her. "If not for yourself then for the child."
The young woman turned her eyes upon her maid, a girl of no more than five and twenty years, who had been hired more for the sake of appearances than her husband's desire to spend her fortune on anyone other than himself. His wife, after all, must look the part even if his idea of a marriage and hers differed wildly.
"His child, you mean," she never spoke his name, the pain of realising she had been little more than a ticket to wealth with the advantage of revenge had been too much. "He does not want this child any more than I do. Why condemn the babe to the curse of an unloving and disinterested father?"
"The child is innocent in this, ma'am," the servant pointed out.
"Such innocence is a curse, not a blessing, Mary, as I discovered to my cost." She turned back to the window and to her vigil. "Still, you can leave the tray, perhaps later I will attempt to eat something."
He would be angry, she knew, if he found out that she was not eating for if she died her fortune would not pass to him. It would return to her brother unless a child was born of the union between them. Then, she knew, he would squander it away until their baby was left with nothing. She could not inflict that upon a child. Even though she did not fear for her own life, however, she did fear for what he would do to Mary if he found out that the girl had failed him.
