A/N: I'm sorry for having so many epilogues — I intended to do one but I am now splitting it into three parts. If this upsets you, please wait until the fifteenth (expected to be the last) chapter/epilogue to return to the story. Thank you for understanding!
Your reviews are delightful to hear, and I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for your kindness.
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A Wicked, White Cravat
by Anton M.
Chapter 13: Mrs. Darcy's Lot in Life
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Darcy woke to feel Elizabeth's cheek pressed against his skin. Her pillow had fallen on the floor, and she was tucked underneath his arm, breathing against his side. Her arm surrounded his stomach and her legs were curled underneath his.
He wrapped her in his arms, and Elizabeth smacked her lips before humming and smiling in her sleep. Darcy removed a strand of hair from her face to see her better, and his heart swelled at the sight of his wife, entirely his, his to love and to cherish and to enjoy for a lifetime. How did he get this lucky? He would've considered the night to have been a dream, but he was all too aware of her naked body against his.
When a louder knock interrupted his train of thought, he realised that knocking had awoken him in the first place. Sliding away from Elizabeth, he covered her fully with the duvet, only leaving her head out, and put on his nightgown.
"Yes?"
His valet, Mr. Sculthorpe, entered the room. "Good afternoon, sir. I would—" His eyes landed on Elizabeth's hair behind Darcy and he promptly turned around to face the wall. His ears were red. "My apologies, sir, I did not realise you had company."
Darcy almost made a snarky remark about this being the day after their wedding and how his wife did not even have a bed to sleep on, so if, at any point in time, he was expected to have company, it should have been today.
But Darcy was in a far happier mood than to blame him for his words, and so, he felt much more understanding today.
"No harm is done," Darcy replied. "You may expect this to be a frequent occurrence from now on. What did you need?"
The redness of his ears did not lessen. "Lord Henry and Countess Margaret have arrived for a visit, sir."
"Today?"
"Yes," he replied. "They claim to have your invitation."
"An invitation for next Monday," Darcy replied, gaping at the back of his valet. "What a sad marriage they must have to expect us to entertain them the day after our wedding."
Darcy realised the extent to which he was scandalising his valet.
"Pardon me," Darcy said. "I presume that they feel bad for how we left things at Netherfield, but I think a little concern for their relationship with us would do them good. Please tell them they are expected for dinner next Monday, December 16, as originally agreed."
"And what will I tell them as the reason that you can't see them today?"
"The truth should do admirably. I would not receive them today if they had the Prince Regent himself with them." Darcy paused. "If you wish to be more discreet, excuse us with a prior commitment. You need not elaborate."
"Yes, sir," the valet replied. "And do you need my services today?"
"Perhaps before dinner, but I shall call for you. Please let Miss Leeson also know that she need not wait behind the door. Elizabeth will call for her if needed. Thank you, Sculthorpe."
His valet nodded at the wall and left.
Darcy rolled over to his wife, straddled her body and pressed a trail of tender kisses on her face. She stirred, wiped hair from her face and blinked up at him.
"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy," Darcy said, loving the sleepy, adorable look in her eyes.
Elizabeth smiled so sweetly that Darcy could not help but taste her lips, and after ensuring that he had not injured his bride, words became entirely unnecessary to express the depth of his emotion.
They spent their first few weeks as a wife and husband as newlyweds in love are expected to spend it, and if any servants were scandalised by the amount of time they spent in Darcy's bedroom, none of them voiced their opinions to them.
Work on Elizabeth's room picked up quickly. She made colour choices for the wallpaper, curtain, and carpet before a carpenter was consulted for dressers, a table and a bed that suited Elizabeth's taste. She also spent more of her afternoons getting fitted for new dresses than she deemed necessary, but bore the privilege without complaints and eagerly listened to Georgiana's advice on latest fashions.
By Wednesday morning, Darcy could no longer ignore his duties as the master of Pemberley, and Elizabeth found her husband sitting by the giant table in the library, his forehead in his palm, concentrating on a letter from a pile of documents.
"William."
He looked up. His face softened at the sight of his wife, and he pulled her to sit in his lap.
With twinkling eyes but no resistance, Elizabeth checked the doorway in embarrassment.
"This is most improper."
Darcy squeezed her side, pressing a kiss on her shoulder. "Are you opposed?"
She was not, and whispered against his temple, "Have we not scandalised our servants enough?"
The servants had quickly learned to stop walking into a room without clearing their throat or knocking on the doorway unless one wished witness a most scandalous display of kissing and hand-holding.
"Did you find a suitable lady's maid from today's candidates?"
"I think I have found two potential women for one last interview," she replied. "They are both invited back tomorrow to be introduced to Mrs. Parsons to see if they treat everyone downstairs fairly. How are you faring?"
Darcy rested his chin on Elizabeth's shoulder, still amazed that he was allowed to do so, and sighed. "There is a lot to go through."
Elizabeth stood, gathering the letters and papers, and held out her hand to Darcy. She guided him to the couch, set the papers on the table, and motioned for her husband to sit beside her. She took the paper he had been holding and read through the letter.
"Mr. Oakes is demanding that you cease your tenancy contract with his neighbour, Mr. Plowman and his family, effective immediately," she concluded, lifting her gaze from the letter. "What is their story?"
"I would tell you if I knew," Darcy replied, resting his head against the back of the couch and letting out a slow breath.
"Have you talked to them? Do they not get along?"
"They do not get along on either side," he replied. "I have spoken to both men. They've given many justifications for why I should be evicting either family but neither reveals what their problem is really about."
"Have you spoken to their wives?" Darcy sat up straighter, but Elizabeth continued, "What about their servant or servants? Do they have a maid-of-all-work?" Elizabeth skimmed through the letter once more before she rested her head against Darcy's shoulder. "I'm presuming that since this is not the first you've heard of such a request, you don't have another property to rent to them?"
"The earliest I could have one would be next October, which is not early enough. It is the middle of winter. Not many tenants are moving or expecting to do so."
Elizabeth paused, setting the letter down before taking off her slippers and resting her knees on Darcy's lap. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, playing with a curled tendril, deep in thought.
"When do you think we could reasonably expect to go to Pemberley?"
"If we wish to remain in the constraints of polite society, I fear not until early May. June would be expected, but May, at least, would not raise any eyebrows."
Elizabeth failed to hide her disappointment as she caressed his fingers. "So late."
Darcy tilted her chin to see her face. "Would you like to leave sooner?"
She turned her head to kiss his palm. "Very much."
"Then we shall set out in March," he replied. "I usually visit Rosings at that time of year, but since the tradition is now discontinued, I think our absence in March, weather permitting, will not be too unexpected."
"But will it be enough time for my first season among the ton?"
"It will have to be," Darcy said. "If all else fails, we may excuse you from the ton for an upset stomach and a failure to tolerate the scents of London."
Elizabeth smiled, taking hold of her husband's neck and pulling him closer.
"By then, William, it may be the truth," she whispered, and his eyes softened as he gently caressed her side.
"There are no words to express my impatience," he replied, eyes burning as he pulled her into a sweet kiss. She turned toward him, admiring the unfiltered tenderness in his eyes, and smiled against his lips. When Darcy got carried away, turning and pressing her harder against the couch, she started laughing in his arms. He pulled back, questioning her with his eyes.
"I do not think this is appropriate for the library," she said, kissing him for good measure before she sat up.
Dazed and quite mesmerised by his beautiful wife, Darcy slid his hands over his front, attempting to smooth out any wrinkles. "You are right, of course," he said with a small blush. "But if I am to solve the problems of Pemberley with you, I would much rather you sat closer to me."
Elizabeth sat by his side, their thighs flush with each other, but Darcy shook his head and lifted her sideways on his lap. She let out a small squeal before her laughter got the better of her and she shook against his neck.
"Sir, we shall be known as the most scandalous couple in all of England."
"Certainly. Nothing could be more scandalous among the ton than a happily married couple," he replied, eyes filled with mirth. He squeezed her against him, enjoying the smell of her hair. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes," she whispered against his neck, a little bit embarrassed by their show of love but not enough to move.
Darcy motioned for her to continue reading the documents, and Elizabeth picked up the same letter.
"Would you allow me to pay a visit to the wives and servants of these two gentlemen?"
Darcy pulled back to focus on her face. "You would do that?"
"Of course," she answered. "I am the Mistress of Pemberley. There is no use of my being a woman if I cannot be allowed to form the kinds of bonds with other women that form a community. I cannot promise you that I will find out the heart of the matter but I would be happy to try."
Darcy stared at his wife before squeezing her flush against him and capturing her lips in a most inappropriate kiss. Her softness nearly undid him.
"You are the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered against her neck. Elizabeth caressed his back, resting her chin on his shoulder, and hid her smile against his shoulder.
"As you are to me," she muttered, kissing his neck before she cleared her throat and set aside the first letter. "Now, we have a hundred and one matters to attend to. Should we proceed?"
Their discussion took so long that they had to have a meal in between. They sat apart as the food was delivered but asked the maid to shut the door, and a moment later, Darcy lifted his wife to be in his lap as they proceeded to analyse the best courses of action for each issue. Darcy felt like he was dreaming. A pile of work like this sometimes took him many frustrating nights to get through, and as the work was endless, sometimes he even skipped dinner with his sister in order to carefully consider all matters.
Elizabeth did not have all the answers, but neither did he. However, what he felt was exceptional about his wife was that she focused on taking smaller bites out of bigger problems, and not only did Darcy no longer dread the nights he would have to focus on estate matters, he felt he might start to look forward to them. It was a relief to share the burden with his wife.
He did, of course, have his steward, Mr. Fagan, but many decisions still lay on Darcy's shoulders because the consequences of any decisions were his to face. Now, he had an intelligent, loving wife with whom to solve problems, to discuss improvements and to share his knowledge in depth, and he was a more patient man for it.
After dinner, Darcy and Elizabeth invited Mr. Fagan to the library to discuss the matters that needed the most urgent attention. Elizabeth started the discussion, getting straight to the point, and Mr. Fagan, a respected and knowledgable steward of his own right, stared at a most uncommon sight — a Mistress telling him what to do!
After Elizabeth had stopped speaking, Mr. Fagan cleared his throat, looking at his master. "Mr. Darcy, I do not understand…"
"My wife and I handle estate matters together from now on, Mr. Fagan," Darcy replied. "Is that agreeable to you?"
"But surely, sir, she does not know—"
"She is more knowledgable in many estate matters than you are, Mr. Fagan, and that is not a slight against you as much as it is a compliment to my wife. You are to obey by her orders just as you obey mine, regardless of how sweetly she delivers them. I have full and unwavering trust in her decisions."
"But sir—"
"Will that be a problem for you, Mr. Fagan?"
Mr. Fagan, eyes flickering between the two people, cleared his throat.
"Do we have a problem?" Darcy repeated, face severe and jaw set as he narrowed his eyes at his steward.
"No," Mr. Fagan replied, almost choking on his answer. "There is no problem."
It took Mr. Fagan a full week before he was able to talk to Elizabeth as a normal person would, looking her in the eye while discussing issues with her, and another two months to not feel undermined in his position because many of his orders came from a woman. However, he was not so foolish as to give up his position.
A few months later, Mr. Fagan witnessed a few discussions during which the Mistress of Pemberley revealed a most intimate knowledge of the finances of several other estates, and at his wonder, Mr. Darcy simply patted him on the back and chuckled at his gaping mouth. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Fagan."
However unconventional his master and mistress, Mr. Fagan stopped doubting Elizabeth's decisions after the incident, and their relationship was better for it. If he was uncomfortable with the orders given, his thoughts were considered carefully and a solution found that felt fair to all three of them.
Elizabeth chose a petite woman, a Miss Augusta Crauford — eager, honest, and kind — for her lady's maid. Although chattier than her sister Jane, she reminded Elizabeth of Jane so much that Elizabeth could not go against her gut in her choice, and when Mrs. Parsons implied that she witnessed an arrogance towards the scullery and laundry maid in the other candidate, Elizabeth's choice became clear.
Her first dinner as a hostess of the Darcy townhouse was spent with the Earl and the Countess. Lady Catherine's behaviour had humanised the ton to Elizabeth in a way that nothing else could have, and she no longer felt even a shadow of intimidation by their titles, allowing her to conduct herself with such grace and wit that she made Darcy's otherwise stern uncle laugh so uproariously that Darcy almost fell off his chair in amazement. He had, in all their years of knowing his uncle, never seen him so unrestrained by the rules of polite society.
It was not a full acceptance of Elizabeth, not just yet, but the private dinner started a thawing of their attitude and no doubts were voiced to Darcy even when Elizabeth was not present.
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On the night of the first of January, after two days of vigorous cleaning in the townhouse and an intimate dinner party that ended with singing the Old Lang Syne, Darcy read The Globe as he waited for his wife to join him. He had ordered a footman to deliver a set of his mother's earrings from Pemberley, and they had arrived just in time.
He could have presented her with many boxes of jewellery, old and new, but Darcy now knew his wife well enough that she needed time to adjust to all the privileges of being the Mistress of Pemberley, and he had witnessed her (silent) hesitance at receiving newer items. The sentimentality of his mother's most precious earrings would speak to Elizabeth as much as it spoke to Darcy, and he was eager to make her happy.
However, by one o'clock in the night, when Elizabeth still hadn't knocked on his door, Darcy set down the newspaper, put on his banyan, and knocked on her door. He had never had reason to do so, and it felt new to approach her rather than be approached.
At her silent agreement, he entered. He found Elizabeth lying under the duvet, her braided hair wet, crocheting something of linen, in a bed he did not know had been ready. Silently, he shut the door behind him as Elizabeth set down the cravat she had been working on, and their eyes met.
He cleared his throat, intending to ask her why she hadn't joined him, but then he realised how much she had spoiled him with her presence. Thus far, she had joined him every night, and he had presumed her presence in his bed so much that he no longer wished to sleep away from her warmth.
"I did not know your room was ready," Darcy said, taking in the light wallpaper, the new furniture, the plush carpet and an intricate curtain. She had chosen different locations for all furniture, and the room felt cohesive and beautiful, full of warmth and care. As he walked in the room, he stopped at a framed embroidery of Longbourn, signed by Catherine.
"Kitty promised to make me another of Pemberley once she has paid us a visit there."
Darcy turned around. Elizabeth's choices were simple. She had not chosen a four-poster bed but a simpler one yet still masterfully crafted, and it all fell together beautifully.
"How long has this room been ready?"
"Only a few days," Elizabeth answered. "I meant to show it to you but it has been a busy few days. Is it to your liking?"
Darcy sat by her side, taking her hand. "I would not have known it is the same room had I not entered it from my own bedroom. It is warm and inviting, and not presumptuous."
"Was it too much to presume of me to adjust the location of the furniture?"
"Not at all," Darcy replied. "I think your touch is exactly what this room needed. I am relieved that I cannot recognise it, and you've done a beautiful job."
Elizabeth looked in her lap in joy and embarrassment. She rubbed his fingers. "I am sorry that I did not join you tonight."
"You are not obliged to join me."
"But your face when you first entered — I have rarely seen such disappointment in your eyes, and I do not like being the cause of it."
"I fear you have spoiled your husband with your love," he replied with a smile. "But I owe you an evening with yourself if you assure me that you have suffered no injury and are not upset at me for any reason."
Elizabeth cupped Darcy's jaw. "I have suffered no injury beyond what being a woman brings each month, and you are as lovely as ever."
Darcy let out a relieved laugh before he sat closer to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. "Your courses begun. Of course!"
Elizabeth had certainly not expected his reaction, and tried to go along with his change in mood. "I thought you would be upset. I am not yet headed toward confinement."
"I am relieved, my love," Darcy answered. "I thought I had done something to drive you away, and instead of telling me, you chose to avoid me altogether. I am glad that is not the case. We have many years ahead of us to create our own little olive-branches and it is not uncommon to try for a year or two before you are with child."
The mirth in his eyes assured Elizabeth that he would enjoy the journey there as much as she would, and she smiled. "Your openness of the topic is most unexpected but not unwelcome."
"I would have to banish my dear little sister to prison in her bedroom for at least a quarter of the time if I feared women that much. My own mother ensured that discussing this would be possible for me. Tell me, are you cared for?"
"Miss Crauford is a most attentive lady's maid and ensured I would not be in need of anything, although our poor laundry maid Marjorie has already suffered the consequences."
"Perhaps it is for the best. After this, nobody will dare suggest that the reason for our rushed wedding was a true need for one."
Elizabeth pressed her lips against his knuckles. "I love you. Will you stay for a little while longer?"
"May I not spend the night?"
"I thought… I thought you might wish to avoid me."
"Do you wish for my absence?"
She took his arm in both of hers and ran her palm over his forearm. "Not at all."
Darcy took off his banyan, threw it on the armchair, climbed over his wife and pulled the duvet over himself. When Elizabeth smiled and lowered herself under the duvet, Darcy motioned for her to turn her back to him. He pulled her back flush against his stomach, surrounded her body with his arm, and kissed her neck. "Sweet dreams, my love."
Elizabeth was sure she had never felt as warm, safe and cared for as she did when she got to fall asleep in his arms.
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Invitations from the ton poured in, partly due to their connections, partly due to the intrigue of an unknown country lady having stolen the heart of the proud and wealthy Mr. Darcy. Mothers of the ton, especially those of high station, were most bitterly upset that a country nobody had managed what they had been (unsuccessfully) plotting for their daughters for years, but nobody dared remove the Darcys from the guest list for fear of upsetting a most prideful man. However, desire for intrigue perhaps played an even bigger role in sending invitations to the Darcys, and soon, the newlyweds had more invitations for the season than either of them wished to consider.
Entering the polite society of the ton required a steady presence by them both — at least the first season — and a finesse in handling relationships that only a woman with a perfect balance of wit and kindness could deliver. Darcy found that Elizabeth did not need to learn a new skill to impress the ton with for she had a talent very few had heard of. She had a most enviable talent with words.
Her fearless expression of opinion and her desire for debate earned admiration and intrigue, but also jealousy and hate. It rarely left the participants indifferent. Darcy often found himself observing his wife in awe, and especially her polite but straight-forward attitude toward men and women of any rank. In Darcy's eyes, Elizabeth won the ton over by simply being herself, and his pride knew no bounds when friends and acquaintances found him by the wall of yet another ballroom to congratulate him on finding a most becoming wife.
A few expressed interest in meeting her sisters, given the intriguing character of Elizabeth, and on those occasions, Darcy bowed and promised an introduction.
In an interesting course of events, the rumours about Elizabeth's virtue did not take hold in London easily. Darcy, being well-known and well-acquainted with many among the ton, was known to be a man of remarkable family pride. If Darcy, being who he was, had accepted to marry a woman such as Elizabeth, there could be no doubt about her virtue, and therefore, any rumour that suspected otherwise was seen as speculative folly borne of jealousy.
Elizabeth's continued interest in estate matters meant that Darcy had most unusual evenings with his wife, engrossed in discussions about her revealing yet another gentleman in debt or, on the contrary, living far below their means without anyone's knowledge. Darcy had always thought he hated gossip, but Elizabeth's skills were such that he was both eager to test her theories and felt humbled by her observation skills.
In mid-January, the season was truly picking up. On one such evening, Darcy and Elizabeth returned to the townhouse after more than two full weeks of engagements — luncheons, dinners, outings, balls, routs and a ridotto — and Darcy found his wife curled up by the foot of his bed, in her beautiful blue dress, long hair still pinned up. She was asleep.
It had been a most exhausting fortnight, all the days full of socialising and the nights full of loving each other, and Darcy realised that they had worked her to the bone and she had not complained once. Tenderly, he brushed a tendril off her face and kissed her cheek before he walked out of the room and found her lady's maid, Miss Crauford, waiting for Elizabeth by her bedroom door. He had already dismissed his valet.
"Miss Crauford, if you please, I fear I need your help in explaining to me how to remove Elizabeth's dress. She is asleep on my bed."
The woman curtsied and entered his room. "Only… explaining?"
"Yes," Darcy whispered, feeling his cheeks warm. "I would like to know how to do it if there is a need for it in the future."
It was a testament to how professional Miss Crauford was that she simply nodded and did not react to his words.
She turned around and pointed at the top of her own back. "There is a hidden button here that, once released, allows you to put your finger under the higher layer and slip off each hidden button, one by one. They are attached by loops."
The woman stepped next to Elizabeth, leaning forward, and unbuttoned the highest part of her bodice before showing him how to release the rest. Mr. Darcy, pleased, nodded at her.
"Thank you, Miss Crauford. You are very kind to help me. You may go."
Expecting her to leave, Darcy begun to release his cravat, but he could detect Miss Crauford's quiet presence behind him and stopped his movements.
"Yes?"
Miss Crauford shifted, torn, unsure if her speaking up would help her mistress or cause her harm. But, unlike the other servants, she had yet to see the master angry, and therefore, decided to speak out.
"Sir, it is not my place. But — I am concerned for your wife," she whispered.
Stepping forward, Darcy almost choked. "Concerned? Is she all right?"
"Sir, your wife is trying very hard to please you, hard-working lady as she is, but please, if I may, if you would consider, it would be most admirable if you could allow her to have a day off. You have many obligations as the master, but now that she shares those obligations, you must see that she also has obligations handling employees and servants and being the hostess. She is respected and admired downstairs, but I am worried for her. As it is, sir, she is doing the work of two people, while entertaining the whole of ton, and it is simply too much for a single lady, however strong she is. If you wish her to be healthy enough to give birth to many heirs, I beg of you, please, please — allow her to rest."
It was a wildly courageous thing to do, to tell the master of the house that he may have made mistakes, and Darcy bowed at the woman, guilt tearing him apart.
"Did she tell you to share this with me?"
"Mr. Darcy, she would never! She has not said any of this to me — I am simply expressing this because I see her when you do not, and I am worried for her. Please, do not punish her for my words, and if I must be given the sack for this, then it will be so."
"I appreciate that you told me, Miss Crauford. I can see how much you care for my wife. Please, in the future, approach me sooner, much sooner. If you so much as suspect that she is taking on too much, never hesitate to find me and tell me. I will always trust your advice on this."
Miss Crauford, perhaps from relief, teared up, but kept her eyes carefully on the ground not to show it.
"Thank you, sir."
"Will you promise me that you will tell me? You have my word that you will never be punished for doing so."
"I promise, sir," she whispered, curtsied, and closed the door after herself.
With a heavy heart, Darcy took off his cravat and sat beside his sleeping wife. He carefully released her button loops. Once done, he pressed small kisses on her face before apologising for bothering her and pulling the dress off of her. Her exhaustion was such that she did not wake, and he proceeded to remove her stays and petticoat, leaving her in her plain shift.
She was a most beautiful sight, but Darcy simply took her in his arms and slid her under the duvet. Slowly and carefully, he puzzled over her hair, removing more pins and needles he thought could fit in it. Having slid his palms over her hair, ensuring that no pins were left, he determined to ask Elizabeth to teach him how to braid it. As much as he enjoyed her loose hair, he had seen the pain of brushing it in the morning, and leaving her hair in a braid made her mornings easier.
Elizabeth stirred, not unlike a kitten in Darcy's eyes, and curled up again. "I will be ready for you in just a moment, William," Elizabeth whispered, half-asleep, and it tore at his insides.
Darcy had been selfish.
Did Elizabeth think that Darcy would grow to resent his decision to marry her if she dared show that she was human? He was used to the ton, and even he had felt tired by the end of the previous week, but Elizabeth had a wholly different role to play in everyone's eyes, a lot more to prove, and she did it admirably. Did she feel that she was not allowed to fail? That she could not say no to an invitation, or to refuse hosting a dinner party? Did she feel that he would be disappointed in her if she were to spend time resting and recuperating from the demands of a mistress, a hostess, an interested guest and, dare he think it, a wife?
She had given and given and given, and he had eagerly taken it all with no thought to how many adjustments she had gone through. Just because Elizabeth was talented in making friends and laughed at the follies of the ladies who failed to hide their envy, it did not mean that the obligations upon her did not take their toll. Miss Crauford had pressed upon Darcy's desire to have an heir, and as much as his guilt squeezed his heart with regards to that, he was more worried that trying to please the ton would swallow her whole. What if the obligations he put in front of her drained his wife of her liveliness and tenacity, and he would be left a mere shell of a wife, taking care of her obligations and his needs?
He had been so selfish.
Darcy removed his coat and suspenders but remained in his breeches and shirt, a reminder to let his wife sleep regardless of his wishes. He blew out the candles, added a log into the fire, and slid under the duvet next to his wife, pulling her to his chest. She hummed, and he pressed feather-light kisses on her neck and hair.
He thought of all the goodness she had brought him and all the obligations he had brought her, and vowed to do better by her. Deep in thought, he caressed her hair until he fell sleep.
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