CHAPTER L

She recovered her manners first. Dropping as low a curtsy as her condition would allow, she said with perfect civility: "My lord husband, this is an – unexpected surprise. Do you need refreshment? I can call for some coffee, or would you prefer something stronger?"

"No, no thank you," he said, matching her tone – though with heightened colour. "Coffee will more than suffice."

She rang for a footman and sent him off with his orders. Gesturing for them to sit, she began: "You have ridden up, I take it?"

"From Nottingham, yes. It is a clear day."

"It is indeed."

The arrival of their refreshments interrupted them. As she set about pouring the coffee, he managed: "You look well. Are you well?"

'You tell me,' is what she wished to say, but answered instead: "Yes. And you lord husband?"

He looked awful, but she was not about to tell him that.

"Perfectly well. Here, I've brought you this." He pulled a small volume from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. She scanned the title and she handed him his cup. Characters of Shakespear's Plays by William Hazlitt. "I've not read it, but – I should be interested in your thoughts."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you. The Queen's trial is over then, I take it? I have not been following the news."

"No, there is a three-week recess while the defence responds to the prosecution's case. It is not going well, in London. Castlereagh recommended we all take some time in the country."

"How caring of him. You intend to spend that time at Pemberley, I expect? Or should I ask Mrs. Gallagher to have the master's suite made up?"

"I had thought to stay here, for some days at least."

"As you please, my lord."

The footman was called back in and sent off with new instructions. They lapsed into silence, until: "Who is that?"

"Lady Elizabeth Anne Fitzwilliam, your lady grandmother, my lord."

"I have not seen her before. Where did the portrait come from?"

"The attic – my lord."

"Why was it up there?"

"From what I understand, my lord, your grandfather had her thrown in Bedlam, for bedding a servant. That is why you have not seen her, and – I expect – why your aunt and uncle never mentioned her. It must have been quite difficult for them to understand, being just children."

"Indeed. Elizabeth–"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my lord?"

"That! For God's sake!" He cried. "I've had quite enough of put-upon wives."

"The Queen's case is going well then, I take it?"

He sipped at his coffee. "The whole Bill is in jeopardy. There's scarcely a chance of it passing in the Lords, and it is quite impossible that it will pass in the Commons. Liverpool's informed the King of such. Brougham is threatening to expose it all; every mistress, every slight, every action right from the first days of their marriage that show he has not been a fit and proper husband. Because–"

"Because the law says only a virtuous man can divorce an unvirtuous wife. It is peculiar, is it not, that such a different standard applies. An unvirtuous wife need only look at another man with affection, while a husband can bed another woman and so long as he does so discreetly, paying her for the privilege, he'll keep his virtue. I do not envy you the decision, lord husband. The whole country is for her."

He made no answer. They fell silent again.

"Where do you keep the brandy in this warren?"

"Mrs. Gallagher removed all of that, on Mr. Balcombe's instruction. Your lordship will remember? I believe he wrote to you on it back in June."

He shook his head. "We cannot continue like this."

"If you wish to override his instruction, then I cannot stop your lor–"

"No Elizabeth, we cannot continue like this."

"The decision on how we continue is entirely yours to make, lord husband. You made that perfectly clear when we last spoke."

"I do not wish us to be so distanced–"

"I am not the one who has not written in over a month."

"And I am not the one who wastes pages upon pages with simpering falsehoods."

"I have not written one word of a lie–"

"Do you take me for a simpleton–"

"–You are the one who ordered this ridiculous facade–"

"–Because I know you think you can play me for a cuckold–"

"–just because your pride is hurt at being found wanting!"

"–just because your blind prejudice must place you always in the right!"

Elizabeth fought to regain her composure. From the look of her husband, he was struggling similarly.

"This will not do," Matlock said in time, contemptuously. "You know, I rode here with the intention of forgiving you."

"You forgive me? La!" She cried. "No wonder the King keeps you so close at hand, with jests like that!"

"The joke is on me it seems for believing you would be contrite."

"No, Fitzwilliam, the joke is on me for ever having believed you had actually changed!"

Mrs. Gallagher chose this moment to appear at the door to inform her master that his rooms had been made up, and was there anything else she could get for them? She was sent away with an order for whisky and brandy. They sat again in silence until the decanters arrived. He handed her a glass, before pouring himself a measure.

"You know," said Elizabeth drily, "I promised myself that when I next saw you, I would behave. I have spent three months practicing for this. So, I hope you are happy, my lord, that you have so quickly uncovered my dastardly ploy to behave well enough that you might be convinced to let me see my children."

"You can go tomorrow Elizabeth."

"What?"

"I said, you can go tomorrow, back to Pemberley. We both will go."

"Together?"

"Yes."

"You are – we are not to be separated then?"

"It would be too great a scandal," he answered gravely. "Do not think I did not consider it, but – it would tarnish the children's prospects too much. The matter then turns to how we make this arrangement tolerable."

She sat in wonderment for a while. The sensation was too forlorn to be relief, but too allaying to be regret. "Tolerable. I have so many questions."

"As do I. And it is my turn. Is that child mine?"

"Yes. You are the only man I have ever lain with."

"Hm."

"When – why did you go to Madam Haywoods?"

"April. Around the time of the uprisings in Yorkshire and Glasgow. I – it was not planned. Goulburn suggested it one night, in order to unwind. I only went with the intention of drinking, but you had made clear you did not wish to share a bed."

"I thought you were at Westminster or Whites. I thought you were angry with me."

"I was. I had hoped we would find comfort together but you – had become very cold. And I did not understand why. Though that much is obvious now."

"How many?"

"It does not matter; it meant nothing."

"It means something to me."

"Most men would not even credit their wives with an explanation."

"That does not make it any less wrong."

"–Three. All clean, before you ask. Now I have nothing else to answer on that front. Your turn, Lady Matlock. You say you have not lain with anyone else, but I am not the only man you have ever loved?"

"–No."

"And this Radical, Weir, he had your heart?"

She splintered. "Yes. How did you find out?"

"You have always been a poor judge of character. Jack Renner. He may not be the brightest spark, but he has a remarkable memory for faces. It was during the execution, the one you insisted on attending. He recognised the man his mistress had met with so many times in with Wood's men and the traitors' wives. He brought your various meetings to the attention of one of Sidmouth's men – the Foundling, the Royal College, Sessions House, even the Museum, I'm led to believe. And a trip to Manchester last autumn, though I expect that was for Mrs. Wickham's benefit? Sidmouth had a man on him every day since then, though he did not actually tell me until he had the required evidence."

"Which was?"

"When did it begin, Elizabeth?"

"What was the evidence, Fitzwilliam?" He glared at her. She felt herself wither. "We met at Liverpool's ball. He – he asked me to dance. I did not think much of it at the time, but then when we returned to London – he was kind."

"You sound as ridiculous as Bingley," he scoffed. "And so that is it, Elizabeth, is it? All we had, snuffed out because some pleb asked you to dance?"

"What was the evidence of sedition that Sidmouth's men found?" He could not meet her eye. "Of course, there was none."

"That does not mean it was not true."

"That is not the point!" She cried. "It is a mockery of justice. But then the whole idea of justice is a mockery anyway. A lie parceled up in laws to make certain those without power never gain any–"

"I've warned you Elizabeth, I will not have you spouting off–"

"Oh, hang it Darcy! Throw me in Newgate then. Or Bedlam, as your grandfather did his wife. If I am so very dangerous, be rid of me. Because I can assure you, husband, you are not the person most wronged in all of this. Not by a far stretch. You have wronged a good man and denied his help to others. Sent him away like all your problems. Like Wickham and Lydia. Like me. And you came here to forgive me. You, who have taken everything from me. I do not even have my own self anymore. Everything I am is yours, to pick up or cast aside as you choose. You are all I have, as you have made perfectly clear these past three months. Nay, these past eight years. You accuse me of being mercenary, but I saw a chance at security and happiness – which is all any woman, even a queen, can ever hope for. And I have paid such a cost for it – my family, my identity, my body, my very mind – and you, you have lost nothing. Nothing. You have broken my heart in every possible way, and yet I am still yours, my lord. And I will be, until you choose overwise. So, if you will not have me then do not have me and have it over with! I no longer care."

He looked at her, with that same expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. "And these are your true feelings? It is a wonder you have stayed."

"You know full well there is nowhere else I can go."

"We find ourselves back at the beginning then."

"How do you mean?"

He sighed. "That against all my better judgment I, still, love you. While you – you have made your feelings perfectly clear." His face hardened. "You will not see the children, if you make me take this through to a divorce. I will not let you sully their reputation as well as your own. The only way word of any of your activities does not spread is if we stay as husband and wife, in appearance as well as in law. If we separate, I will provide enough for you to be comfortable – in honour of the children you've borne me – but you will never see them Elizabeth. Am I clear?"

She answered resentfully that that much had always been perfectly clear. Then, from some instinct she did not understand, she added: "I did, you know."

"Pardon?"

"Love you. It was not all some great act. You should know that."

He turned his face away from her, and up to all the faces that had come before them. She picked up his failed peace offering and flicked through the pages. She let out a sad laugh. "You know, if this was a comedy, Richard would walk through those doors right now – probably with some beautiful Spanish lady on his arm – not dead, just lost. He would claim his father's title and lands and we could go back to just being Elizabeth and Darcy. This whole year forgotten."

"He would never be so considerate."

"What are we to do now then?"

He stared up at the portraits. Just as she determined that she would have to answer her own question, he replied, in a voice of forced calm: "I hope we will not have to settle for tolerable. I would like us to be man and wife again."

"It that a request, or an order, my lord?" She tried to sound saucy, but her voice fell flat.

"That is your choice, Elizabeth."

She followed his stare up. It truly had been a miserable year. "If that is to be the case, may I have my book returned, please? The one my aunt gave me. Not to keep, I promise, but so I may dispose of it myself, on my own terms."

He considered her a moment, then said at last: "Very well."

"And John Harrison's school, I should like him to run it to Mr. Bentham's curriculum."

He sucked on his teeth, but said: "The conditions of your patronage are yours to make, within reason."

"And what is reasonable?"

"The people want stability, Elizabeth, order. We give them that. The government may change its colours, but the institutions remain. The Crown, the church; the gentry, the nobility. Law, history, marriage. Without these there is only anarchy."

"You always said your Latin was always better than your Greek. Anarchy is not an absence of order. It is the absence of a ruler: of concentrated power." He looked at her bewildered. She shrugged. "There has been little to do these past few months, but make use of the library. Regardless of that, if this is truly what you believe, then the King cannot divorce his wife. How do you reconcile that with your reasonableness?"

"I cannot. And he cannot."

That surprised her. "You intend to vote against the Bill?"

"I do not know yet. Collective responsibility requires all ministers to vote with the Government. And I am not the only one who thinks like this. If the King gets his way, then we will have chaos."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"You are still the one person I feel most comfortable with."

She shook her head. "I won't absolve you. You have acted despicably, and I cannot forget nor forgive that. Indeed, the fact you have not even asked for my forgiveness shows you are not yet worthy of it. But if you would have my advice, voting with the King seems the surest way of bringing about this chaos you so wish to avoid."

"So now I am for chaos, and you are for order."

"It would appear so. Perhaps this is a comedy after all."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Their time together could not be comfortable, but with determined effort on both sides, it was made civil. All that could be said between them, had been. All that remained now was to live with the truth of it. There was nothing of warmth or familiarity, but neither was there a storm of anger. They spoke as two acquaintances might, swapping news of mutual connections and plans for improvement to his estates until the hour allowed for a polite parting. What happiness could reside in both their chests came solely from their return to Pemberley. What his exact feelings were, she could but guess. For her, walking into the nursery and holding her little ones tight sparked a determination to never again be parted from them.