It has not been the best couple of days. My son who just got his license, got into an accident one week later when driving with the rest of the guys back from Grandpa's house. Fortunately, no one was hurt, the car is completely insured and we had added my son to the policy. However, both vehicles were totaled and it sounds like my son was at fault. I'm kind of annoyed that my husband was taking a nap rather than keeping an eye on things, as we all know that new drivers can make mistakes and my son was driving in an unfamiliar area. It was up to one of my other sons to yell from the back seat for my son to stop (which he did, which kept it from being worse). But fortunately my son stayed calm and did as well as could be hoped for under the circumstances. I am not looking forward to the jump in our policy rates, but things will be okay. I drove four hours each way to pick them up as the car was completely inoperable.

29. Miss Bingley Presumes Too Much

I woke quite refreshed in that despite the number of times Mr. Darcy had roused me, I had slept deep and hard in between, save for the last couple of hours. Still, I was used to country hours and still awoke and rose with the sun.

It was well that I had, as it gave me time to use the water from the pitcher to clean myself before Frank came in to ready me for the day. Given all the intimate activities of which I had partaken, I could have certainly used a bath, but did not wish to cause so much trouble as to request a bath, having just had one the day before.

I was accustomed to only one bath a week. It was not my preference, just what I had always had. With a pitcher of water and soap to clean up with every day in between, I kept clean enough, but that was when I merely had to cleanse a bit of sweat and the other substances my body produced, not also my husband's leavings mingled with the fluid of my own desires.

I had a feeling that given my husband's and now my own station in life, that more frequent baths might indeed be possible, but the staff was still so limited (although hopefully a cook and additional supplies had been obtained since it was determined we were staying in London for a time). I did not want to cause difficulty for the staff, to be as demanding and ill considered as a Miss Bingley. I did not want to presume too much.

After Frank dressed me in a morning gown (the shabbiest of the three gowns I had with me), I declined the offer of breakfast in bed and exited my room to go down for my repast. To my surprise, I had not gone five paces past my husband's door when the man left his own room. He offered to escort me to breakfast and I accepted.

The day before, I think I would have felt put up on, hemmed in by his timing, by being expected to take his arm, but today it was pleasant, not that it seemed either of us knew what to say to each other.

I felt both warm and embarrassed. He was so handsome, tall, a fine figure of a man in general, but I had seen him without his clothes, recalled running my fingers through his hair when he was down there, licking at me with such enthusiasm that he must have enjoyed it as well.

I had now been joined with Mr. Darcy thrice, likely still had some of his essence within me, and perhaps later on this day it might happen again. I also considered that by his actions, he might have created a baby in me, certainly would at some point assuming I took after my mother and not my Aunt Phillips.

Just before we began descending the stairs, Mr. Darcy paused and turned toward me. He called me by my given name and gave me such a look of tenderness as he smoothed an errant strand of hair away from my face, that I think I might have given him anything he then asked. He told me, "I must thank you, dear wife, for giving fully of yourself to me last night. It was extraordinary, your touch, your embrace, being with you. It was the best experience of my life. I cannot believe that for all my faults and deficits that somehow I am married to you, and can have all this with you.

"But please, do you suppose, that you can stop calling me Mr. Darcy? When you do it, it seems as if we are but acquaintances, rather than married and intimately acquainted. Please address me as Fitzwilliam, or better yet Fitz as my sister does, as my mother used to do."

As I said, his look would have made me give him anything, but I wanted to give him that. Further, I wanted to give him something more.

I told him, "Yes, of course. Do you know that I did not like it at first when you just presumed to call me Elizabeth? You just decided upon it, but in the spirit of the better understanding we have reached, if you wish it, you may call me Elizabeth or Lizzy as my family does."

"I would be delighted," said he. "Lizzy. Lizzy."

We resumed walking, Fitz faintly mumbling "Lizzy, Lizzy," as we descended.

I had just received a lovely breakfast on a plate assembled by my husband, filled with more food than I could possibly eat (including ham, sliced potatoes, eggs and toast with currant jam, along with a cup of milk), and had only consumed three bites (ham, then egg, then toast, washed down with two swallows of milk), and I think he had only eaten one bite himself and sipped his coffee, when we were interrupted. It was Mrs. Johnson.

"Excuse me, pardon me, but you have some visitors, Mr. Darcy, and they are most insistent, will not go away."

"Why should I care about it?" Fitz asked, explaining "I am not at home to anyone as you well know. Let them remain outside until they grow tired and go away."

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but she was raving about her missing brother and needing your help, so I already let her and her companions in. It is Miss Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, in the outsiders parlor.

Fitz huffed, but stood, throwing down his napkin. "No need for this to interrupt your breakfast, too, dear Lizzy," he told me sweetly, but I arose and accompanied him also.

As we approached, I could hear Miss Bingley raving "What is taking so long? Surely Darcy has heard I am here by now. What can he be thinking of keeping such an old, broken down crone? He should have a proper butler."

I could hear responding feminine murmurings, undoubtedly those of Mrs. Hurst, though as she was not shouting, I could mostly just hear her tone, which sounded soothing, reasonable. As we rounded the corner I heard "try to be patient."

"Why should I be?" Miss Bingley whined. "I only hope it is not too late, that Darcy can talk some sense into Charles."

We entered just then, a small, rather cramped and dark room just to the side of the front door. The only furniture was two ornate wooden benches without any cushions that I could see. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were seated on one, while Miss Bingley paced. A curio cabinet housed some obviously expensive but gauche objects and two large vases were empty.

Fitz motioned for me to stay behind him and entered first. It seemed a sort of protective move, but I would not be cowed and entered just after him.

"Oh, Darcy," Miss Bingley crowed, hurrying toward my husband, "we need your help, desperately. I knew you would see us for we are such good friends. Charles is acting the fool once again."

She noticed me then. "Oh, Miss Eliza, whatever can you be doing here?"

I noted her dress was very fine, finer than anything I owed and I felt a bit of embarrassment in how I was attired. I was certainly dressed the worst of anyone in the room. However, I squared my shoulders, determined that my posture should not reflect my discomfort. I was the mistress here and she was a presumptuous guest who had come to our home uninvited. I would not let her bait me.

Miss Bingley considered and then a vicious, triumphant look came into her blue eyes. With a falsely sympathetic tone she added, "I heard all about what befell your family. I am sorry, but we cannot be friends any longer. You see we have our reputations to maintain.

"I suppose you have been obliged to seek employment and Mr. Darcy was kind enough to take you in. Have you come to see what sorts of biscuits we prefer with our tea?"

"Miss Bingley!" I heard a warning in Fitz's voice.

Miss Bingley turned back to look at my husband, "I hope you know to keep Miss Eliza, though likely you just call her Bennet now, well away from your sister. I hope rather than believe that she shows good industry, for I always thought her to be a rather lazy sort, no real accomplishments to her name. But perhaps it is just as well, for now she can accomplish chopping vegetables in the kitchen, polishing the silver (be sure to count the pieces afterwards) or perhaps making beds."

Then to me again, "Tell me, are you a kitchen maid, an upstairs maid or has Mr. Darcy employed you in another position?"

My husband clenched his fists and then jabbed a pointed finger toward the door as he roared in his deepest and iciest tone "Get out now! No one insults my wife."

"Wife?" Miss Bingley squeaked, shock registering upon her face, and in what I was sure was a calculated move, rolled her eyes back and collapsed in a swoon that splayed out her skirts in a becoming manner.

Mrs. Hurst shook her head, her face pinched with worry which made her look at least a decade older than her probable age. "I am very sorry, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, for Caroline's abhorrent behavior. Let me express my best wishes for your health and happiness."

Fitz gave a little nod. "Well, no matter how ill your sister is, she is not remaining here. Get her out." He crossed his arms and glared.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst looked at one another and then from either side tried to get her up, but Miss Bingley remained dead weight. Mr. Hurst tried to lift Miss Bingley, but either he was in poorer condition than anyone knew or Miss Bingley was far heavier than she looked, for he dropped her when she was only a few inches off the ground.

"Could you . . ." Mr. Hurst looked about as if some strong footmen might suddenly appear.

"Get her out now. I care not if you have to drag her out!" Fitz bellowed and I was glad not to be the object of his wrath.

"We are very sorry," Mrs. Hurst told me as her husband dragged Miss Bingley upon her back under the arms, her pretty skirts dusting the room and then hall. I was following them out as courtesy demanded. "Have you been married very long, Mrs. Darcy? I have not seen an announcement yet."

Fitz replied for me, "Since Wednesday. The announcement shall be published today or tomorrow."

As I was still wondering what their visit was all about, I asked "Is your brother well?"

Mrs. Hurst smiled tightly. "Yes, quite. It seems he left for Hertfordshire yesterday but Mr. Hurst did not give us his message until this morning." She gave her husband a look, but he was huffing and puffing with the effort it took to drag Miss Bingley (whose eyes appeared to open a crack beneath her lashes) and he did not notice.

"No doubt then men conspired to save him from our attempts to dissuade him. You see, Charles went to call on your sister Miss Bennet, with an eye to asking her a certain question. Perhaps we may be sisters in the end.

"Given recent events, Caroline was very upset and worried for how such an association might affect our family. Had she known your current ties, I doubt she would have worried half as much."

I was not sure how to react to such news. Mr. Bingley had been such pleasant and agreeable company, but had not made a proposal to Jane when he ought to have, and I was not sure what my sister would make of his reappearance some sixteen months later. I could not imagine that Miss Bingley would ever be glad that I had married the man who she set her cap for.

My husband saved me from needing to make a response. "Mrs. Hurst, whatever else she might be, your sister shall never be recognized as any sister to my wife. Now here we are. Remove her now. In case I have not made it clear enough, understand, we shall not see her, ever."

I heard a little sound of dismay issue from the supposedly insensate Miss Bingley.

Fitz opened the door himself, and as soon as they were through it, he slammed it shut and bolted it.

"Did you tell Mr. Bingley that we had married?" I asked, trying to make sense of why he should suddenly get it into his head yesterday to pursue Jane.

"No, no one knows but the servants here and those of the Earl's house."

I shook my head, confused. Then I decided to satisfy my curiosity about something which he might have better knowledge. "Why was that parlor called the outsiders parlor and why is it so gloomy and spartan?"

"It was my mother's invention," Fitz explained. "It is to house unwelcome guests and hopefully make them eager to go away. Everything in that room is of the best quality of course, but it is all objects that we do not like and those benches are exceedingly uncomfortable, far more so than church pews. It may be excessive to have three parlors, but it works out well."

He ticked off on his fingers, "You've seen the family parlor, which is more for comfort than style, and the outsiders parlor, for it belongs to help keep them out, but we also have the guest parlor." He led me to it, and showed me the welcoming room on the other side of the front door. It was done up in creams and blues with fine floral wallpaper and thick rugs and plush cushions. I walked around and admired the fine room in which I would receive guests.

"Let us go back and finish our breakfast," Fitz suggested. "It has long ago grown cold, but we can have it remade."

"Do not have anyone go to any trouble on my account," I replied. "I like a cold breakfast just fine and I should hate to cause extra work because of Miss Bingley's presumption."

We both returned and ate the rest of our breakfast where it remained. I could not eat half of it, although Fitz urged me to try to eat more, for "You are far too thin."

I forced down two more bites and then I was done.

Not long after that, a seamstress sent by the Countess arrived and took my measurements and discussed with me my favored colors and fabrics. I was given to understand that the Countess was arranging for my wardrobe which my husband would pay for. Given my diminished figure and hope that I would not always be so thin, she agreed to have the dresses made up on the loose side and to also keep more material than typical for the seams in case later they needed to be let out.

Then I had a good tea with my husband, who kept urging biscuits upon me.

Another task I undertook was to I write my sisters and mother a letter as I ought to have done upon my first arrival. I said nothing of what had occurred between the Colonel and my husband, or Miss Bingley's visit. Instead, I wrote of meeting the Earl and Countess, mentioned gaining their support, explained that I had come to a better understanding with my husband and was convinced that we would be happy together. I wrote enough of a description of my husband's house and that of the Earl as well to satisfy my mother. I concluded with my wish that we might see each other soon, but my uncertainty of when that might come to pass.

It took me three drafts before I was satisfied with the letter, which seemed an unfortunate overuse of pen and paper, but I wanted it as good as could be. I brought the unsealed letter to my husband, for I did not want to violate our agreement.

He asked me "Why do you bring me this?"

I asked "Surely you remember that this was one of your requirements, that you review my correspondence."

He brushed at the air with his hand. "Are we not beyond any of that? Go ahead and send it off."

So I did, marveling at the change in how my husband was behaving now, compared to how he had acted just days prior.