CHAPTER LI
They continued in this manner for the duration of his return to the country. In front of the children, Miss Darcy, and Miss Butler they acted as if there was no discord, or – at least – that is the impression they believed they gave. The pretence allowed for more courteous conversation when they were alone; a retelling of something humourous the children had done; appreciation of the talents of one or other of the two young women. Though what was not to be spoken of always lingered, filling the space whenever silence fell.
It was in such a silence that they found themselves the day before he was due to depart back to London. Stood in the upper sitting room, looking out across the Peaks, Lady Matlock articulated a thought that had been growing for several days. Ever since he had returned, in fact, and had so rudely undone all her hopes for composure. She could not do studied compliance around this man; theirs had always been a battle of wills and wits, one she intended to win.
"We should come to an accord."
Besides her, her husband's eyes widened. "Pardon?"
"That is how conflicts resolve themselves, is it not? A treaty of some such. I'm hardly expecting Castlereagh to write one up for us, but I can see the sense. Something we both may point to and say, this is what is expected of you, and what you may expect from me in turn."
"Surely that is simply one's wedding vows?"
"If that were true there would be no need for marriage settlements."
He sighed. "What then do you suggest?"
"Fifteen years." She said bluntly. "Taking us to what? I will be forty-three, and you – fifty? For fifteen years I will be dutiful, honourable. I will bear as many sons to promote and daughters to marry off as you please, while you will support my family, promoting John on terms he wishes; investing in my uncle's business, albeit from afar; even aiding Lydia, should she ask for help. If you wish to stay in the Cabinet then I will be all that is encouraging. I will bat my eyelashes at whatever king or colleagues requires it, and whisper pretty notions into their wives' ears, that it really would be better if their husbands voted this way or that. And in exchange, I may patronise whatever causes I wish, and you will shrug your shoulders and tell the other peers that you simply respect your wife's opinion too much to impose your political will on her. We will be to all the world the image of marital bliss. And, if you find on occasion you need to dally – as I understand men are emotional creatures, who cannot control their urges – then I ask simply for the courtesy of knowing. You need not worry about upsetting me. I find I am increasingly minded towards dear Charlotte's approach. Marriage is something to be managed, and in such cases it is sensible to have terms."
"That does not sound terribly romantic."
"Love is chaotic, my lord. I am offering you order."
His brows drew together. Back when she knew him better, she would have assumed he was struggling with some repressed emotion. Finally, he replied: "Fifteen years, you say? And what happens at the end of this 'accord'?"
"We revisit our terms."
"And why, exactly, would you choose that length of time?"
"I have not," she said coolly. "It is what the law requires; fifteen years to atone for a transgression, against the general peace and order. And we have both transgressed. If you would prefer not to then we can continue as we have this past year. But you said you wished things to be more than tolerable. And I am proposing a way."
"You should be the politician. This is not what I wanted for us."
"And yet, it is what we have."
He closed his eyes and moved his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. After some time he said: "Very well, let us take this as a beginning. You will want something in writing, I suppose? I will ask my attorney to draft something up."
"Thank you."
He returned to London; she remained at Pemberley. Her condition, and the swelling anger amongst the people, meant she could not have followed him even if she had wanted to. As soon as was feasible she received a letter from him, confirming his safe arrival. More followed after that first, so she found she did not need to read the newssheets to know how the Queen's case was progressing; she had it all from her husband first.
About two weeks after his departure a large bundle was delivered from the City: her requested accord, drawn up by his lawyers. She read it through twice over to check it was in the spirit of what they had discussed, and then sat for a while, pondering again the strange twists of fate that had brought her to this stage. She steeled herself: she would think no more of the past, not even those remembrances that gave pleasure. She would do as Lydia had bid. She would survive.
Dipping her pen, she signed her name:
ELIZABETH DARCY, COUNTESS OF MATLOCK.