Elizabeth didn't seem to be unhappy about what had been said to her anymore, but he hated that she was isolated like in London.
When he asked again last night, she wouldn't tell him what was said, or who the servant was. She'd begged Darcy to let her handle it on her own. She was the mistress, and she must manage the servants on her own. Further, she did not wish the person responsible to be dismissed. She even begged him to say nothing of the matter to Mrs. Reynolds.
The only reason Darcy let her have her way was because he had begun to grow angry again.
He felt so stupid, he'd just assumed Elizabeth had been called on by the ladies of the neighborhood and was returning the calls on the days he was not there. He barely knew what the proper etiquette was. He'd entered the army at eighteen and such matters were not important for officers too young to marry.
When Elizabeth said nothing, he had just assumed.
After breakfast Darcy ordered his horse saddled. Elizabeth followed him to the barn, her small brown boots crunching over the gravel walkway. The morning sunlight brought out golden highlights in her hair. Elizabeth smiled softly at his close gaze. She was nervous, and he thought Elizabeth planned to deal with the servant whose name she wouldn't give after he left.
His dear Elizabeth. She didn't want him to fight this battle for her. After they'd gone to bed, he'd dreamed of her holding him. Darcy hated that she had been sad, but the way she sought his comfort made it one of his happiest moments.
She gave him a quick embrace and kissed his cheek before Darcy mounted his horse. He wished he dared to pull her tight against him and kiss where her neck curved into her shoulder, her mouth, the little cleft between her collar bones.
He leaned over in the saddle to take Elizabeth's hand. "I… if you need my help I…"
"This is my matter to manage."
"Don't let it make you unhappy. You are dear to me to be… none of them matter."
"Do not worry so." She clenched her small fist and stood up straighter. "I am the mistress, and I will manage this matter."
Darcy smiled warmly at her. "I know you will. You are the bravest woman I know."
Elizabeth laughed, though there was something in her manner which was still tense. "You say that because you attribute every virtue to me. As my husband should. Though I confess I have given you cause to think highly of my bravery, so it is only when you attribute other virtues to me that I will resort to teasing."
Then she waved him off. "Go on, go on. Make your call. I shall handle my own matters."
He set off on the short trip he'd taken the day before to see Mr. Hunt again.
He now realized the old acquaintances who had called upon him had done so in a manner that allowed them to avoid an introduction to Elizabeth. Darcy felt an anger deep in his bones. Not the spells, but a matter of family pride. Until one reached Matlock to the south or Chatsworth in the east, everyone for ten miles around was beneath his family in consequence. He would not stand for mistreatment of his wife.
When he arrived, Hunt stood on a lawn to the side of the house with his shirt off lifting over his head a section of a log that had been planed down to the yellow wood. The boxing master chanted out a rhythm, and with each call Mr. Hunt brought the log from one shoulder to the other.
Upon seeing Darcy, he gave a grunt and lowered the log to the ground. A watching manservant immediately handed Mr. Hunt a towel, and then his shirt. As Hunt buttoned the linen, he said, "Darcy, whatever brings you back so soon?"
The sense of helplessness and anger that he felt the previous day returned. Darcy squared himself and said in a quiet voice, "I understand your wife has not left a card for Mrs. Darcy."
"Now, Darcy — I believed you understood…"
"Understood what?"
"Well, things have been said. Now I do not say I believe them, but you must know that things are being said."
"I did not ask about things being said. Why has Mrs. Hunt not called upon Mrs. Darcy?"
Mr. Hunt rubbed his hand through the short cropped hair at the back of his head.
"Dammit! By Jove, answer me."
The echo left a sharp crack.
"Things were — I heard…people heard what happened at your trial. It was printed in the record of the court and the gossip rags. Now, well…the ladies talked — you know how ladies are. They talk…to each other…a great deal — and, well, they think not every woman resident in the neighborhood should be part of the neighborhood. You do understand… Things were said."
"Everything said by Mr. Allen was a lie. Every word. He is a scurrilous liar who should be shot and hung."
Mr. Hunt had finished buttoning his shirt. He pulled on his coat and held his hands out placatingly. "I believe you. I do."
Darcy said, "She is your wife. You have authority over her — order your lady to call upon my wife."
"Now, Darcy—"
"Do not put me off."
"I would never hear the end of it. Ladies are not so easy to command — now that you're married, you'll find that out eventually."
"Are you a lady yourself? Be the man in your house."
Mr. Hunt looked down and scuffed up a pile of dirt with his boot. "Is it so important? We will accept you. And you are the one who was hurt by this marriage and her—"
"Damn you." Darcy spat on the ground. "Damn you. That is what I think of your friendship. I want nothing to do with any of you — I ought to… your wife is a vicious empty headed…who…"
Mr. Hunt drew back wide-eyed and pale. The muscular man suddenly looked like a frightened child. Like that boy with the wispy mustache he'd killed at Kollipur. Darcy's rage had brought him to the edge of saying things that might cause another duel.
Darcy closed his eyes and breathed in; he remembered himself inhaling Elizabeth's scent the previous day. Lizzy. Lizzy. Lizzy.
"I apologize." Darcy felt shamed for having lost control. He only lost so much control when Lizzy was hurt. "Since I took a serious fever in India, my temper has at times not been under good regulation."
"I understand — no harm done. No harm." Mr. Hunt spoke in a shaky voice. "Nothing to forgive."
"Then understand this also. I shall have no connection with anyone who is not willing to meet my wife. When we conclude the business of that bridge, send your steward to mine. I shall not meet you again, unless it is to introduce Mrs. Darcy to you and your wife.
"Must it be that way? We were friends."
"It must." His rage threatened to break free again. Darcy called up the sensation of Elizabeth's arms squeezing him tight as he pressed his lips against her hair again and again. "I shall send a letter of this import to everyone in the neighborhood. Understand, any contribution to community affairs, such as the assembly's support, will not continue. I will have nothing to do with the neighborhood so long as the neighborhood excludes Mrs. Darcy. And come hunting season, if your dogs cross into my lands, I will have them shot."
Mr. Hunt shook his head up and down wide-eyed. "Certainly. Certainly — none of them will."
One of Hunt's servants and the boxing master were watching them. Darcy turned and nodded his head to acknowledge the teacher, and then, without saying any words of goodbye, mounted his horse and rode away.
Elizabeth watched Fitzwilliam ride off. She needed to confront Mrs. Reynolds about her insubordination. Her stomach felt queer and anxious.
Must she?
She needed to. If she couldn't, she would fail at being the best wife for Fitzwilliam. He didn't want her in the other ways a husband wished for a wife, so she must do everything she could.
Elizabeth went to her sitting room and rang for Mrs. Reynolds. The housekeeper entered with an erect head and calm dignity. She wore a clean, well-cared for muslin. Her hair had mostly turned grey, and her face was lightly wrinkled.
It was absurd for a girl of nineteen to berate a woman of more than fifty. She did not belong here. She never would. Mrs. Reynolds belonged.
You are dear to me.
She had to do this for Fitzwilliam. He was fond of Mrs. Reynolds but would dismiss her immediately if he heard about the conversation yesterday. She could do this. For Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.
Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and said coldly, "Mrs. Reynolds, did you inventory the jewelry?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And everything was present as it should be?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good. Miss Darcy is my dearest friend, and you wished to protect her possessions. You have served this family — my family — loyally since before I was born. This time, this one time, I will forgive your disrespect. Should you ever speak to me again in the way you did yesterday, I will be forced to dismiss you."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Enough of that. You will cease to treat me in this distant manner. Whatever you think of me, it is the wrong way to treat the mistress of the house. If you cannot serve me as you should, I ask you to resign and I will give you a perfect reference. Otherwise I will be treated by you the way you would treat me if I were the daughter of an earl. Do you understand?"
Mrs. Reynolds nodded.
"Say it."
"You are the mistress. I was out of bounds yesterday, and I will act as I should towards you in the future."
"Mr. Darcy will hear nothing of this matter. He would be very unhappy if he learned it was you who suggested I was a thief. You will collect every item you believe belongs to Miss Darcy. Darcy and I will examine the collection together, and then we will send all of the items to Matlock straightaway."
Mrs. Reynolds blinked and nodded.
Elizabeth waved her hand. "You are dismissed."
Mrs. Reynolds left. The tension drained out of Elizabeth, and she almost laughed in nervous relief. She had done it. She had done it.
Elizabeth grinned at her own refusal to be cowed by a servant, even one with as much dignity as Mrs. Reynolds.
Elizabeth was in an excellent mood as she waited for Fitzwilliam to return. After a brief turn about the garden she settled in the library with a fluffy nonsensical French novel.
When Fitzwilliam came into the library to join her, his shoulders were slumped, and he flinched away from the sunlight streaming through the broad window. Elizabeth quickly put her book aside and started up with worry.
"Are you well? Oh, you have another headache."
She pushed Fitzwilliam to sit and brought him a glass of wine. She then bit her lip and looked at him.
"Forgive me," he said. "I tried — I asked Mr. Hunt to make his wife call on you…but…"
Worry squirmed in her stomach. "You didn't…argue…"
Darcy took her hand and pulled Elizabeth to sit next to him. "I can usually keep my behavior under good regulation. I was angry, but I said nothing which will lead to trouble. Do not worry, I will never do anything which would lead to another duel."
Elizabeth let out a long shaky breath. She squeezed Darcy's hand. He was unhappy, and she knew his errand had failed. But so long as he would not fight again, she did not care about any of that.
"The ladies…the ladies of the neighborhood made an agreement to refuse acquaintance with you. I shall have nothing to do with any gentleman or group whose members refuse to acknowledge you, but while the loss of our patronage will hurt the assembly and other local associations, that will not make them welcome you. I don't know what to do… Forgive me, Lizzy, I wish…"
"None of them matter."
"Lizzy, I know you are lonely and—"
"None of them matter. I have you, and Georgiana will not forget us, and when she comes of age she will return to us, and — it doesn't matter."
"You…you love company and activity, and it is just the two of us. You can't be happy this way. And it is my fault that I cannot force them to accept you, and I just want you to be happy; beyond anything I just want that."
He looked so miserable with his red lips turned down and the guilty worry in his eyes as he looked at her. He was so worried that she wasn't happy, but despite yesterday, she was. Impulsively Elizabeth kissed Fitzwilliam's scarred cheek. "Don't worry about that. Don't. I am happy. You are my dearest friend in the world. Being near you makes me happy. Aren't you happy too? Despite everything. Do say you are happy."
"Lizzy. I must worry about anything which hurts you."
"Please. Just tell me that we are happy. I am. I am. With you I am."
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked at him pleadingly. After a long moment he smiled at her, perfectly dimpling on the unhurt cheek, and still loveable and handsome on the scarred side. Her heart fluttered, and Fitzwilliam took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I am happy. Happier than ever before. Being near you makes me happy."
They looked into each other's eyes, and Elizabeth realized she wanted Fitzwilliam to kiss her. Instinctively she half licked her lips. Rather than what she hoped, Fitzwilliam responded by looking away, still squeezing her hand, and staring at the wall for what seemed like a long moment.
"I promise I will never do anything to hurt you."
"What?" Why was Fitzwilliam suddenly talking about that? "I know you won't. It was an accident. You ought to trust yourself."
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he let go and smiled slightly at her and said, "I do. I can manage myself, for you."
Then Fitzwilliam suggested a different subject, and the moment of desire and connection she had felt dissipated. Despite how warm what Fitzwilliam said about being happy with her, the conversation left her oddly dissatisfied and desiring something Fitzwilliam seemed unwilling or unable to give her