Chapter Two: Nocturnal Contemplations

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

—G. Byron "She Walks in Beauty"

Elizabeth, who had now taken the surname Darcy, stared into the ceiling of Venetian plaster, feeling weary. It had been a long journey from London, where she had been staying previously with her husband; but as November wilted into December, Christmas loomed nearer, and thus Pemberley beckoned the presence of its master and new mistress. The room was enveloped in shadow, with only the dim light of a candle to illuminate the murky figures of the well-furnished parlor. As Elizabeth's gaze wandered to the window, the only thing that could be seen through the lattice was darkness: the sky was starless, the moon hidden behind clouds resting in their airy beds. She sat up with a small sigh as a flood of recollections rushed back to her. Soon she would no longer be able to hear the gentle creaking of the house as the floor settled or the light footsteps of the chambermaid wandering the hall; soon she would be hostess of a full household. The thought was rather overwhelming; she was not used to living in so grand a house as Pemberley, let alone running one.

But I will not be alone, she reminded herself, straightening her posture now and smoothing her skirts. Besides, it had been too long since she had seen her family; and she was yet to meet most of her husband's. Though with this thought was also accompanied the bitter remembrance of a very much less-than-cordial correspondence with one Lady Catherine de Bourgh; and that lady's assurances that they would be the contempt of the world, ignored by all who had ever dared to concern themselves with Darcy. But this was not what nettled Elizabeth. She was not so foolish so as to lose composure over the empty threats of a widowed duchess; it was the fact that not all were happy about her marriage, thinking that she was a fortune-hunter and her husband was a man easily tempted by the charms of a country youth. But she soon shook away the thought. I am not afraid.

The click of a door opening and then closing distracted her thoughts from the prospects of the future and instead brought them back to the present. She had half-expected to see her husband entering, but instead it was her new sister. Georgiana Darcy had spoken very little to Elizabeth over the course of their acquaintance, which some may have attributed to an unjust repugnance or hauteur; but the motives behind Georgiana's reserve were quite the opposite, really. She had always a fear of saying something which would displease her companion, and thought she would give less offense by holding her tongue rather than saying too much. She had a great distaste of listening to someone rattle on; therefore she thought it reasonable others should feel the same.

Georgiana smiled at her sister-in-law by way of a greeting, though this could have easily gone unnoticed in the darkness. She glanced over at where she knew the fireplace to be, though it had not the faintest hint of glowing coals or a crackling fire. This realization seemed to make the room seem all the colder in the December night, and she shivered, wrapping her woven shawl about her the more tightly.

"It is a little chilly," Georgiana observed in a near-whisper. Elizabeth looked up, perfectly able to hear the quiet words.

"Yes," she agreed; "perhaps we ought to go somewhere warmer. Frostbite, though it is plenty fun to get, becomes less charming once it sets in."

They silently stood, then exiting the room in single file. The only sound that could be heard as they walked down the hallway was the gentle tapping of silk slippers against the marble floor, and the rustling of petticoats. They had not walked far when they met Darcy exiting his study. He smiled, pleased that Georgiana and Elizabeth seemed to have some sort of companionship, even if it was of the silent sort.

"My two favorite ladies," said Darcy smilingly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes as her husband took her arm. It wasn't that she did not respect him, but that she delighted in teasing him. The three went along at a leisurely pace, making quite a nice exhibition, though it could unfortunately not be well appreciated in the dead of the night or in the seclusion of Pemberley.

Elizabeth's attention was now mainly focused on her husband: the subtle glowing in his eyes when she tightened her grasp on his arm, the way in which his dark hair curled and flowed from his scalp. His eyes likewise wandered to her, whereupon she smiled faintly, and then turned her head away, putting on the air of a modest young lady being caught in staring too long at a strange gentleman. However, she could not resist the temptation for long: soon she was looking at him as steadfastly as ever. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively; her face merely contorted with mirth as she stifled a laugh. Georgiana was on the other side of her brother, and very much ignorant of the subtle flirtation between the two persons to her left. She looked around at the paintings and tapestries which she had seen a thousand times before, and which she could embellish in her mind the details that were not present in the darkness. Like Elizabeth, she would be sorry for the house to be filled with guests, as she enjoyed the intimacy of just the three of them walking together, even if she was somewhat aloof from the other two.

"Did you say that Mr. and Mrs. Bingley will be arriving on the morrow, then, my dear?" asked Darcy, at last penetrating the silence. The trinity began to ascend the staircase.

"Yes," replied his wife; "I received a letter from Jane a while ago where she expressed her wish to come a little early. I couldn't very well deny her the pleasure, since it has been quite a while since I have seen her. But why so formal?—Jane your sister, and Bingley one of your oldest friends, and now your brother. I am sure these formalities are not required, Mr. Darcy."

"Very well then; I shall never call anybody by their formal name from this day forward, and constantly give offense."

"It is good to know you will do so simply to please me." Elizabeth felt that she had won at that battle of wits, since she received no reply to this comment. They went along in mutual silence, till Georgiana, who had been taking advantage of this period of time to plan out what she was to say very carefully, and conjecturing at her companions' reactions (particularly Elizabeth's, since she did not have many reserves when it came to speaking with her brother); and when she felt satisfied they could not take offense, boldly announced:

"I am tired, so I think that I will retire for the night. Good night." She was pleased when her declaration was met with that her brother and his wife were likewise tired, and would follow suit. So they parted in the hall, Georgiana going one way and Elizabeth and Darcy going the other, thus ending their midnight rendezvous.

As Elizabeth undressed herself and unraveled the plaits in her hair, she felt that she really was not afraid of Lady Catherine's threats or those of Darcy's relatives whom she was yet to meet. She had never been one to back down from a challenge; and this challenge was no different than any other except in its nature and its magnitude. It was not quarreling with the local youths or plodding through a thick volume; this was something which mattered: something that she would have to grow accustomed to as mistress of Pemberley. It was certainly a challenge that could be met with. When they had been previously in London she had discovered a miniature of Lady Anne, and as she admired the pretty likeness of Darcy's departed mother, she could not but feel a deep sense of relatedness. Lady Anne knew what it was to be mistress of all of the greatness that Pemberley was; knew what was expected. She was certainly a fine woman, with dark, thick hair and soft gray eyes. Her expression in the miniature was dignified and graceful; but portrayed in her eyes was the intensity which was typically sadly lacking in fine ladies. Elizabeth could easily esteem her, though she may have no longer been living.

"What sort of woman was she?" she had asked her husband, feeling no need to be delicate or reserved when speaking of his parents, as he had never betrayed any reluctance to speak of them, sometimes openly referring to them in her presence. She had held the miniature in her hand, twisting it about as she examined it from various angles.

"I confess that I do not remember her very vividly; she died when I was twelve. But I have always heard her spoken of as a principled, strong-willed woman: at least, I like to think of her that way. I remember that the entire family came when she was ill, so I think that she was well-loved. I wish I would have gotten to know her better, or that she may have lived longer so that Georgiana could have known her." Elizabeth smiled at this, and decided that she too would like to think of Lady Anne Darcy as a principled, strong-willed woman.

A brush being pulled through her hair woke her from her reverie, and she could feel the warmth of her husband's lips pressing against the nape of her neck. She didn't protest, and only took the moment to exhale a deep breath; and then her hair was being brushed again. Elizabeth lifted her hand from her lap and groped for Darcy's free one, which was at his side. She grasped it tightly, like a child saying "this is mine", intertwining their fingers. The brushing stopped again, and Darcy set the silvery brush aside. She turned around, staring into his eyes, saying nothing. She could only hear the wild pounding of her own heart and her shallow breaths. Her lip trembled slightly as he leaned in closer. She closed her eyes. She could feel his breath against her lips now. She could still feel his hand grasping hers.

----

Catherine drew her legs up closer to her, then resting her chin on her knee. An eerie silence had settled over Longbourn since the marriages of three of her sisters; and it had a sobering effect. To giggle or chat in her typical good-humored way would have seemed a superfluous way of expressing herself. So she sat in her boudoir in this unwonted quiet way, with the fire gently crackling and glowing in the hearth, her cream nightgown hanging loosely on her body. She held a book in front of her, barely able to make out its small print in the dimness of the night; indeed, she thought she had been reading one paragraph for the last quarter of an hour. Her eyelids felt laden with lead; it was a constant struggle to keep them open. The only thing that kept her from climbing beneath the thick covers of her bed and dropping off to sleep was sheer laziness.

"What are you reading, Kitty?" asked Mary. They had never been great confidantes in the past, but each preferred the other's company in favor of their parents'. Catherine could not have a conversation with her sister, however, without feeling a slight pang of annoyance: she could distinguish something patronizing in the tone of Mary's voice when she spoke to her; and though she had gotten more used to it as of late, still found it a little provoking. She closed the book and carelessly flung it on the little end table beside her.

"Oh, I hardly remember the title—some romance novel." Mary grimaced slightly, having a great distaste for romance novels herself. She had made it her goal in life to be constantly improving her mind and her talents, conscious enough that she was not the ravishing beauty that her other sisters were; and this was made blatantly apparent by the fact that three were married, and she was not one of them. She felt it was natural enough for her to resent this, and her mother had a tendency to indelicately point out that she was inferior. So if she did seem condescending or severe on Catherine's ignorance, it can at least be somewhat pardoned.

"I see," replied Mary, shutting her own thick volume with an impressive thump; then adding nonchalantly: "I was perusing the second volume of Fordyce's Sermons." She patted the spine of the leather-bound book, as if she had a great affection for it, and then let it rest on her lap. She gazed over at her sister, waiting for a response.

"Isn't that what Mr. Collins was reading to us that one time? I don't understand how you can bear it; I own that I was rather glad Lydia interrupted him." Catherine faintly wrinkled her nose, though this was not discernible to Mary, who was sitting in the corner which was some distance away. Mary was feeling rather nettled; she dared not account for it, but she had always felt that her sisters had treated their poor cousin unjustly when he had come simply out of the kindness of his heart. She thought that he certainly had a great deal more sense than the lot of them, too.

"Yes," she said pettishly. Either Catherine was too tired or too oblivious to the subtle intonations of her sister's voice to notice her annoyance (or perhaps it was a combination of both), and so she went on in the same casual manner, thinking it would be a very agreeable thing to change the subject before Mary commenced any of her sermonizing.

"What do you think of going to Pemberley for Christmas this year? I am quite wild to go myself; I do want to see the place very much—so grand, Mamma assures me, and so large! And everyone will be there; well, everyone except Lydia, but I hardly expected that." Catherine paused for a moment to mourn the loss of her younger sister's company, whom she had always had everything in common; she felt so easy around Lydia, and had never to question whether this or that was the right or prudent thing to do, since she could simply follow her sister's lead. She felt a little abandoned; now only Mary, Mamma and Papa remained: she hardly knew what to do with herself. But she could think of Pemberley and be merry again. "And the gifts Jane sent us," she continued, "the wrap she sent me was true Indian muslin, I declare! I am so delighted with it."

"The library I have heard to have one of the most extensive private collections in the country," said Mary, who would not allow her thoughts to think of finery. She was a young lady, and could not deny that when she saw sparkling bright jewels that her heart gave a flutter; but she would not be seen as silly: she could suppress her capricious and materialistic desires. She stood, cradling her copy of Fordyce's Sermons in her arms, and announced that she was going to retire for the night. Catherine bid her sister good-night after releasing a violent yawn, and then crawled into bed herself.

She wasn't quite sure what to expect from life. Before she had been contented with dancing and handsome soldiers; but with the removal of her greatest influence, she had much more time to consider what was to become of her. The only thing for a lady to do was to marry or to die an old maid; and she certainly dreaded the reputation that came with the latter. Her eyes were being slowly opened to the realities of life, though she still looked upon former days with delight and tenderness, remembering how happy she had been, immersed in her fantasy world with balls and frivolous pleasures. But for now, she shut her eyes, and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.