Chapter X.

"And, now, I request you all to join me, in raising a glass to their health and felicity in marriage. Mr and Mrs Charles Bingley."

Elizabeth smiled, agreeing entirely, with Mr Darcy's sentiment. It was two days since she had arrived back in Hertfordshire, and this was already the second marriage which she had attended. The first had been the day before, of Miss Maria Lucas, and her cousin Mr William Collins. A not more mismatched pair could be found.

Elizabeth had not spent five minutes in their company before she had concluded the impossibility of any true felicity in their marriage. The one, she had found out, had clearly followed the instructions of his 'esteemed patroness' to the letter, while the other had obviously only accepted due to the persuasions of her parents. She was loathe to imagine how long domestic bliss would last. If indeed it occurred at all for either of them. Poor Maria.

Still, she concluded as her glance surveyed the present, Mr Collins had his good points; one being the confidence to enter into conversation with a person he had never laid eyes upon in his life before. She smiled as she witnessed her husband unable to get away from the ever talkative parson.

The minute Mr Collins had obtained their names, he had quickly decided it was necessary for him to inform the godson of his 'most esteemed' patroness, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been in excellent health, four days ago.

"It appears we are connected in more ways than I had previously realised, Countess," remarked a voice at that moment.

Elizabeth turned. "Connected, Mr Darcy?"

In reply he gestured to the two people she had previously been staring at. "Mr Collins' patroness is also my Aunt." He smiled. "Perhaps I should teach your husband how to extricate oneself from Mr Collins' company."

"I would rather that you did not," Elizabeth replied boldly, then quickly seized upon the happy couple as they came towards them, preventing Mr Darcy from replying with anything but the most curious of expressions. "Jane," she began, "congratulations once again."

"Thank you Lizzy," Mrs Charles Bingley replied, her glow of sweet complacency increasing. Happily she clasped her sister's hands, prepared to embrace her close, had it not been for Elizabeth cringing a little in pain. "Lizzy, what is the matter?"

"Oh, its nothing," she replied, almost too quickly, "merely a strain from sleeping upon it last night. Now, you were telling me of your ideas for the East Room..."

The two ladies walked away, leaving the gentlemen to stare after them. Bingley smiled in adoration. "Is she not an angel, Darce?"

Which one are you referring to? Darcy nearly asked in reply, but swiftly remembered to refrain, uttering a noncommittal "hmm," instead, before parting from his friend. Silently his eyes followed the Countess' form around the room, as his mind pondered upon the expression that had accompanied her cry of pain. All too soon he found further evidence for the conclusion it had drawn. The dark red mark briefly uncovered by her hair could not be explained by anything else.

That scoundrel.

Darcy clenched his fist and rapidly rejoined his friend. If he continued in letting his thoughts run down this path, they would lead him into dangerous territory.

Alone once more, Elizabeth breathed a grateful sigh that her sister had not inquired further after her wrist injury. Once again, she was glad that this occasion had required her to wear long evening gloves. Had it been otherwise, the bruise would have immediately been apparent.

The events of the evening that it had occurred were still fresh in her mind. Since then he had not laid a hand on her, and the bruises had faded from her skin. She still shuddered at the thought of it. Unhappily, despite the advantage of hindsight, the incident had been unavoidable. Even if she had told him the truth, told him outright that Mr Darcy had attended along with his friend, she would still have received the attack. The Earl was quite possessive of her, to the extent that he required to know exactly everyone she knew. He also positively hated any single men having an acquaintance with her.

Elizabeth hated every one of his restrictions, and usually found ways and means to evade them. She could only escape his detection so long, however. Sooner or later, someone would carelessly inform him, and he would exact punishment upon her for the concealment. She still did not know how she had managed to keep her pain hidden from Jane the morning after, let alone get out of bed.

She longed to fight back, longed to revenge herself upon him for his treatment of her. But he had broken her resistance long ago. She had believed herself to be in love, and the moment of her awakening from such an illusion, could not have been when she was more vulnerable.

Nervous as she had been of the truth of her mother's description of the wedding night, versus the possible truth of her Aunt's, she had failed to calculate on his being anything but gentle with her. Instead he had forced her every step of the way. Still of her old character, she had resisted as much as possible, only to have every resistance countered by even greater pain. She shivered as she remembered her final attempt at escape, early in the morning.

The door had been locked. What was worse, upon her first try, he had woken and dragged her back to the marriage bed. When he had let her out, four days later, she had been unable to do naught but retire to her own chamber to recover. Since then, he had barely given her a chance to think of any escape.

And she had rapidly realised the futility of such a notion. His staff were loyal to him, she had only her small dowry to assist, and it would not get her very far. Even if she managed to get away, there was hardly anywhere that she could go where he would be unable to find her. Her family would be unable to protect her, and he had assured that she had no friends that could help in London.

But she had not yet given up hope. The idea of escape still continued to exist within her mind, despite the harsh reality. Despite two years of marriage. She was grateful that Fate had not seen fit to give her children yet. She dreaded the Earl getting his hands on anything so small and so precious.

And she knew that the difficulty for her to escape would be even greater. She had done nothing to prevent their arrival, but two years had passed and still there were none. And although she dearly would have liked a child, she was grateful that they had yet to come along.

Elizabeth sighed, knowing that this present subject was not really something she should be thinking of, on this, the day of her sister's marriage, but once she had begun, she could not think of anything else.

"Countess?"

The interruption could not have come at a better time. Elizabeth turned gladly to the source with a smile. "Mr Darcy."

He gestured to the young, clearly bashful, woman beside him. "May I present my sister to you? Georgiana, this is Jane's sister, the Countess of Saffron Walden."

Perceiving instantly the lady's shyness, Elizabeth held out her hand in greeting and remarked, "I very pleased to meet you, Miss Darcy. I have heard so much about you from Mr Bingley."

"I am glad to meet you as well, Countess," Miss Darcy replied shyly. "I have had heard much of you as well."

Seeing Miss Darcy's brother hovering anxiously, Elizabeth endeavoured to draw the girl out, and was pleased when her shyness disappeared nearly half an hour later. Remembering from Mr Bingley's frequent visits to the Earl's town house, that he had spoken of Miss Darcy's fondness for music and art, Elizabeth had begun to speak of the former, which she had more knowledge and experience on, and was glad to see the lady brighten immediately.

Soon they were speaking deeply upon the subject, even drifting into a gentle debate, as they discussed the merits of the harp verses the pianoforte. Occasionally this involved Mr Darcy, who, Elizabeth found to her surprise, had also some skill in the field, and she had been happy to see another facet of his character revealed, as he looked kindly, encouragingly, and proudly upon his sister.

Later, when she was in the company of her sister and brother in law once more, Elizabeth found out even more to give her pause for thought about her recent acquaintances. She had learnt from Mr Bingley how Mr Darcy's parents had both died while his sister was still very young, and that he had seen to most of her education and accomplishment.

Clearly he cared a great deal for his sister as he demonstrated whenever he was around her. There, at least, was proof that not all men in the same circumstances as her husband, were of the same character. Unlike the Earl, who upon his inheritance had used and abused it to its greatest advantage, Mr Darcy had preserved and improved upon what he had, and cared for all of those that were in his care.

His friend respected him a great deal, and therefore had talked much about the nature of Mr Darcy's circumstances, wealth and generosity. Throughout each conversation Elizabeth compared her husband more and more to the man, and found the Earl to be considerably lacking.

Why had it taken her so long to realise that her husband had never been the man of her dreams? She had sworn to marry only for the deepest love long ago, and now she knew that she had completely ignored that vow when she had married the Earl. She had clearly not known what it was to love two years ago. To agree to his proposal after so short an acquaintance! She should have known better.

The next morning dawned, and Elizabeth rose from her bed in somewhat better spirits. Calling her maid, she attired herself in her riding clothes and informed the Earl that she was going riding. For once he declined to go with her.

A half hour later, and far enough away from the house not to be clearly defined, Elizabeth broke into a gallop. Despite the sadness which her marriage had brought, it had also enabled her access to some good things. The ability to ride was one. The Earl had insisted that she learn, even though they had never ridden in public yet, and she was grateful that she had, for the temporary freedom that it gave her was enough to make her forbear most of the bad parts of her marriage.

The other thing that she was satisfied with was this house. Stoke Edith1 was perfect. It had been built around 1698 for a Paul Foley, Speaker of the House of Commons and had thus been acquired by the Cavendishs of Saffron Walden by marriage. Considered one of the finest Restoration Houses, it displayed the skills of James Wyatt, Issac Bayly, and James Thornhill. A hipped roof housed the servants' quarters, and windows covered most of the walls. Its grounds while extensive had both formal and informal design, though she thought the Hall walls and the Green Velvet Bedroom far too opulent and ornate.

Compared to the other houses that the Earl owned, it was smaller, but Elizabeth did not think that a disadvantage. Now, as she rested her horse, looking back on the building from a distance, she wondered why such a beautiful house should be owned by a man who had no value for anything he owned. True, he owned more than most; for apart from this house and the two houses in town, there was another in Kent, another in Cheshire, and one in the highlands of Scotland, but Elizabeth knew that all but the house they lived in were closed up, not even maintained by a steward, due the Earl's fondness for gambling. He could not lose them, due to the terms of his inheritance, but he could certainly rob them of any value.

The sudden sound of a neigh made Elizabeth come back from her introspection. Looking up, she descried another horse and rider, far away, but close enough to determine that it was not the Earl come to join her after all. Her first instincts were to return home at once, before they spotted her, but as the notion ran through her mind, Elizabeth found herself wanting the opposite.

Exhilaration from the ride had made her bold, made some of her old self return to guide her emotions, her desire to resist the Earl. But she kept her steed steady, and watched the other, as its rider spotted her, and broke his horse into a gentle trot in order to join her.

The sight was a powerful one. Elizabeth could not remember ever seeing anyone so in tune with their horse before, even her husband, who had been riding almost as soon as he could walk, although he preferred now to recklessly race carriages with his fellow members of the Four Horse Club.2

He came to a halt before her, and bent forward in the saddle to serve as a bow in greeting. It was Mr Darcy. "Good morning Countess," he added, his voice displaying little sign of exhaustion, even though he had ridden a fair distance from Netherfield.

"I had not realised that I had strayed on to the Earl's land." That was a lie. Though he abhorred disguise of any sort, Darcy was sure she would not want to know that he had specifically ridden this far just in the hope that he might see her.

"You have not, sir, for this hill is just past the edge of his boundary," Elizabeth replied, remembering the Earl referring to it the last time they had stayed here, shortly after her marriage, so he could teach her to ride. Quickly she shied away from memories of that time. "Have Charles and Jane left yet?"

"Yes, they went early this morning," Darcy answered. "The rest of the guests in residence there and I leave today. Yourself and the Earl?"

"We leave this afternoon."

A moment of silence passed between them. Then Darcy decided that enough was enough. He had to know. "Countess, may I ask; what did you mean yesterday when you wished for me not to tell the Earl how to get away from Mr Collins?"

"I meant..." Elizabeth hesitated, then made herself bold. "I meant exactly that." She flicked her reins and drove her horse to turn and gallop further on.

Darcy kept his position for a moment, watching her, deciding what he should do next. Before he knew it, he was also galloping. Rapidly he drew level with her, as their horses, as if by a mutual agreement unknown to the riders, matched strides with each other, jumping a hedge boundary into another field together.

Then Elizabeth stopped, turning hers to face his once more. "I wanted to avoid him," she confessed aloud.

"The Earl?" Darcy confirmed. "Why? Because of that?" He pointed with his gloved hand to a faded but still apparent red mark just under her chin. Any other possible injury was hidden by the fashion of her riding clothes.

Elizabeth hesitated a mere second this time. "Yes." For some reason, unknown to herself, she wanted this man to know the truth.

Darcy had difficulty in keeping his anger in check as he heard his suspicions verified. When he spoke, his voice was awash with emotions; anger at him, fear and love for her. "Has it always been like this?" He saw her nod her head, and his hands became clenched fists as he asked, "Why have you not run from him?"

"Where could I run to?" she replied rhetorically. "My family have not his connections. I have no one."

He was about to come closer towards her. About to vow that she had now had him, and that he would protect her with his life. But the outside world interfered. A church bell sounded the hour, causing her to change.

"Excuse me, sir, I must go," she announced, her voice quieter than before, as if she was afraid of being overheard. "Please, tell no one of this," she entreated, before galloping back the way they had come.

This time he did not follow, choosing to watch her silently instead, as he contemplated all that had passed between them, and what his emotions and thoughts had now revealed to his conscious mind.

It was too late. He had already gone beyond the point of no return. He would love her for the rest of his life. Above all others. From this moment on, he would do all that he could to help her.

And damn the consequences.

1. Stoke Edith is- or rather was -an actual place, though it resided in Herefordshire. Everything I have stated is true to the house, except for the bit concerning James Wyatt. The decoration in question is in his style, but has also been attributed to Robert Adam.

Tragically, on the 16th December 1927, a fire struck the building, completely ruining all the fine architecture and interiors. Only the ruinous wings survive. My source for the place is a lovely book by Giles Worsley titled 'England's Lost Houses' from the archive of the magazine Country Life. Pictures of the interior and exterior are contained in the book.

2. The Four Horse Club was an organisation in which wild groups of young men enjoyed bribing coachmen to give them the reins of their vehicles then drive them at breakneck speed down very poor British roads. By the early nineteenth century it was considered a respectable club for only the best drivers, numbering at its peak thirty to forty members.

Sometimes referred to as the Four-in-Hand Club, the Whip Club, or the Barouche Club. Its popularity began to die out in 1815, and it was briefly disbanded in 1820, before being revived in 1822, but only for another two years.

3. Duelling: According to Richard Hopton's book, Pistols at Dawn, a History of Duelling, the question of honour lay at the root of any challenge. When one gentleman calls another other he is seeking to expunge a slur, either real or imagined on his repution (honour). This could range from the seduction of a wife or daughter, an insult delivered in speech, to a trifling argument over dinner. Failure to pay debts were also grounds for duels, this is where the phrase 'debts of honour' comes from.

With officers, there was the additional requirement to defend not only their own honour, but the honour of their regiment. During the Pensinsular War officers could be punished, cashiered and dismissed from their regiments if they failed to uphold their honour or the honour of the regiment.

An insult offered to a woman's honour would be an insult to the man of whom she belonged to, be he husband or father. It was considered more shameful to stand by and be a cuckold than to fight a duel with your wife's lover. The events of Anna Karenina are a classic example of this.

One of the ironies of that time was although duelling was illegal, and penalities ranged from the gallows to a mild reprimand, with a few notable exceptions, duellists got off very lightly indeed.