RED

Elizabeth tried to think of some reply to what was quite possibly the stupidest thing any man had ever said on his wedding day, but she was unable to come up with a single word.

Darcy sat, waiting for her to say something, but given the set of her jaw, he did not expect anything useful. Having never really dealt with women very much in his life, he assumed she would want to go off and cool off like a man would. It was unfortunate that the cooling off period was to last for months, but such was life. He imagined he was not the first, nor would he be the last husband to transition straight from the doghouse to a conveyance. He suspected sailors and soldiers endured this sort of thing routinely, and if they could manage, then he could.

He somewhat abruptly slid over to the door. Before opening it, he said, "I am sorry that we are parting with such animosity, but I cannot tarry. You have another two or three hours with one rest stop before stopping for the night, and you will be at Pemberley in 2 days. Get to know the house, and we will start our life, such as it is, when I return."

Still seething, Elizabeth could not think of anything to say, so she just nodded.

With a last look, the gentleman opened the door, stepped down, walked over to his other coach and entered it.

Elizabeth watched the whole operation in consternation, until the other carriage pulled beside her coach on the way out.

The Wheel Turns - Chapter 17


Darcy took one last look out the window of his carriage at his wife who seemed somewhat stunned and wondered if he had handled the situation anywhere near correctly. There was little doubt that he had put his wife in her place, and he had been abundantly clear about who was to have charge of their lives – but was it the best strategy for marital felicity? He had to doubt that was the case, but blast it, the woman really got his blood up, and she had no cause to complain about the comfort of the bed she had chosen of her own free will. She had not been dragged to the alter kicking and screaming after all. In fact, he could not read her expression during and after the wedding at all. She had been beautiful in white, but she had not been happy and smiling. He had assumed that meant she was unhappy that they had foregone the wedding breakfast – as if he would willingly submit himself to such torture. What he had endured was bad enough.

He spent a few minutes fuming in burning anger, but since his head felt like a blacksmith from Hades was pounding on it from all sides, he needed to calm himself down – somehow. He lay his head back into the squabs, closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. It did not work anywhere near as well as he had hoped, but he persevered for the next hour, and managed to sweep aside any thoughts of the wreckage his life had become whenever they appeared. They always came right back, but he could have some small relief for a few minutes if he was militant about suppressing the thoughts.

An hour into the journey, he banged the roof to pull into an inn he noticed coming up. It was not a place he usually would have stopped, but then again, he had never been to Hatfield before, nor did he ever expect to go there again, so it was all new.

Once they entered the courtyard, he suggested the coachman and his grooms water the horses for a half‑hour and get some refreshments, while he took a light meal to try to settle his stomach, which was clenching into knots.

He entered the common room of the inn, which was a step down from his usual accommodations, but generally acceptable. It had the usual group of travelers eating and a few local men drinking ale. There were a few families present, and he looked down to see a young girl of perhaps three or four years, standing three feet away staring up at him while sucking on her thumb. The pair were engaged in a minor staring contest, when the child was snatched up by a matron, who chided, "Stay over here and do not bother the gentleman, Lilith."

The mother was not being particularly harsh in her chastisement, but Darcy tipped his hat. "No harm done, ma'am. She is just curious."

The woman looked at him. "She is curious about the fire too, sir."

Darcy chuckled, looked at the young child still staring at him. "Do not worry, young Lilith. I am not offended, but you do know you should listen to your mother?"

Lilith gave a slow nod, so Darcy gave her a small smile, and a wink, though it made his head pound again. "It was nice to meet you, young lady," and gave her a small bow.

As mother and child walked away, Darcy thought pensively about when and if he would manage to have his own children running around Pemberley. The die was cast as to the mother, but at that moment, he had a hard time imagining her accepting the required activity with anything other than passive acceptance or grudging acquiescence, which he would find completely abhorrent. Of course, her anger at their most recent argument could not possibly last for months, could it? He really had no way to know but assumed she would eventually settle down.

In the ways of men and women, he had discussed it with some of his cousins like all young men did, but since he had abstained from most of such entertainments that his peers engaged in, he really did not know much more than his wife. He had some very interesting books in the library that seemed useful, but he really did not know how he would go about it. In the end, he reckoned that he would do his duty to his family, then he would return to Pemberley and do his duty to his wife and future children. It was as simple as that.

A serving maid appeared, and asked, "Welcome, sir. How may I help you?"

Darcy thought about it a minute. "I wish a short stop, but mainly I need some laudanum. Do you have any, or could you send a boy out for some?"

The maid, a woman of around forty years, said, "I have some, but if you do not mind my saying, sir, you appear feverish as well."

Darcy shrugged, not really knowing if he was or not.

She offered, "I could have the apothecary here in an hour."

Darcy thought about it, but said, "I do feel feverish, but there is no need. Have you anything that might give relief? I will be home in London in a few hours and can consult my physician but would like to make the journey easier."

"I have willow bark tea and laudanum, sir. I should think those would get you home in some reasonable condition."

Darcy nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I would also take something simple. Bread, cheese and perhaps meat if you have it. Cold will do fine. I wish to be away within the hour."

"Yes, sir. Sit down over there in the back, and young Lilith just might ignore you."

Darcy chuckled, which made his head throb, but he enjoyed it anyway. "Do not mind her. I enjoy the attention."

The maid laughed along with him. "Sit yourself down. I will have your things to you right away."

Ten minutes later, she appeared with a pot of the willow bark tea, a small bottle of laudanum, and a bottle of brandy. She said, "You can put the laudanum in just about anything, but you seem like a man who could use a brandy – no offense."

"None taken."

She measured out what seemed like quite a lot of laudanum into a glass of brandy, but he did not feel up to quibbling about it, so he drank it down in one go. He then sipped on the tea, while enjoying the food he had requested.

By the time an hour had passed, he felt almost human again, paid his bill, and got up to leave. As he walked out the door, he had a disquieting thought. If he could afford an hour to take tea and laudanum, he could just as easily have spent the same time with his wife and might not have left the two of them in such a precarious state. He thought about that quite diligently as he walked across the courtyard, checked with his men that all was well, and climbed into the carriage.

It took nearly a quarter hour of pensive worrying and second guessing before a relieving thought came to him, just as he was in the cusp of falling asleep. It seemed that he may have had a touch too much laudanum, but who was he to quibble. At least in sleep, he could forget his still pounding head. The thought that finally gave him some relief was reflecting that another hour together with his wife was as likely to end in bloodshed as reconciliation.


Mrs. Radcliff did not like the look of the master in the least. She had been housekeeper for Darcy House since a year before that gentleman had attained his age of majority and had worked in the house for a decade prior to that. She knew that he was the same sort of stubborn individual that most men were, so he would pretend to be invincible until the evidence was undeniable. He obviously had a fever, and he had the groggy and disheveled look that told her he had been asleep in the carriage, which probably meant he had taken laudanum. That gentleman would have been impressed that she could deduce all that with a glance, but to her, it was so obvious it need not even be thought about.

"Welcome back, sir. If you do not mind my saying so, you do not look at all well."

Darcy nodded in acknowledgement. "No, I have not been in top form Mrs. Radcliff, but I shall survive."

"Shall I send for the physician?"

Darcy thought about it seriously, but in the end, decided it was just a lot of sleepless nights and a disagreeable wedding day that were catching up with him, and the physician would stick him with a week of bedrest.

"No need. I will be fine. Is everything prepared for my departure on the morrow?"

"Yes, sir."

"I had some light refreshments a few hours ago, along with laudanum. Perhaps you can bring me some soup or stew in my study. I need to ensure all is in readiness."

"Yes, sir. Give me a half hour."

Darcy nodded, already thinking about the things he still needed to do before his dawn ship. He would have time to sleep in the ship, so he could stay up as late as necessary, but to tell the truth, he was doing nothing but verification. He had already done all he could do to prepare.

A half‑hour later, Mrs. Radcliff brought in the promised meal, and another bottle of laudanum. Darcy disliked taking the medication because it sometimes gave him nightmares, but in small doses, he thought it better than nothing. After double and triple checking his list of tasks that required completion, he decided that what he really needed was a good night's sleep.

With that thought and keeping in mind that he might not get another bath for days or weeks, he called for water, and retired upstairs.

As he sat in his bath, with the laudanum slowly taking effect, he reflected on his conversation with his wife in the carriage, and it was not with any satisfaction. His thinking was too fuzzy to really make any sense of it, but he thought he would have a tough time claiming he acted as a gentleman should.

Finally giving up on the effort for the night, he fell into an exhausted slumber and let his problems with his wife wait for another day. He assumed she was sleeping comfortably in the inn he had arranged, and momentarily wondered how she would find Pemberley. She was an avid walker, so she would probably like the grounds. She knew someone from Lambton, so she would probably like the village, which was much like Meryton. She was a passionate reader, and the Pemberley library should offer her years of amusement. All in all, he thought she had little of which to complain.

His last thought before drifting off to sleep was that they had a difficult beginning, but perhaps, it might eventually work out. She was a beautiful woman, very social and likable, a deft hand with the pianoforte, and probably the most intelligent one he had ever met. All in all, he could have been much worse off. Once they both got over the anger and awkwardness of the betrothal and marriage, who knew – perhaps they would make a go of it.


With an inarticulate yell, Darcy woke from a restless sleep, with his mind screaming bloody murder, his heart pounding, and his nightshirt stuck to his body by sweat. He sat up, lit a candle and examined the clock to see that it was four o'clock in the morning and pitch-black outside. He sat up, trying get his body to calm down through sheer force of will; and decided to get out of bed for a few minutes to see what was going wrong with his head.

As he put on his banyan and lit a second candle, he noticed his back teeth were sore – a sure sign that he had been clenching his jaw. He did that at night when he was overly anxious about things, but it had not happened for some time, so he reckoned he was even more distressed than he thought.

He did not want to awaken any servants, so he found the banked fire still had some coals. He took some kindling, coerced it back to life and sat down in his favorite chair in front of it, trying his best to calm his mind and see what had awoken him so abruptly.

It did not take all that long to work out that his distress was caused by the most obvious cause in the world – his argument with his new wife. Their discussion in the coach as they entered Hatfield had occurred with his head pounding and his anger in full bloom, so he felt like he had not really heard all she said. He assumed the words were stuck in his head somewhere, but he had not really understood them or reacted properly.

He sat there quietly in his chair, staring at the flames, drinking slowly from a glass of wine, thinking over the conversation, and found it coming back in bits and pieces. The first fragment to come back hit him like a hammer blow: 'your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others'. Hearing the words repeat in his mind felt like being slapped all over again. Not a single person had ever spoken to him in that way in his entire life. The worst argument he had ever had with Richard or Wickham would have come to fists without having any such words being spoken. And this was with the woman he was doomed to spend his life with?

Was that truly how his wife saw him? He could not credit it. He had always, all his life, tried to act the gentleman. For a certain, he did not mix well with new people, but that hardly counted as 'selfish disdain'. His best friend was Bingley, and next to him, any ordinary man would seem like a plodder. No, he did not really believe himself to be at fault. Try as he might, he could think of nothing he had ever said to the former Miss Bennet that could produce such a level of animosity. It was beyond certain that Wickham had found fertile ground for his lies, something he might have to do something about finally; but he could not think of a single disparaging or arrogant thing he had ever said within his wife's hearing. He had said some things privately, but he felt certain those had remained private, so where did her animosity come from?

On that subject, if he was 'the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed on to marry', then how in the world had she managed to end up compromising him. He was just chewing on that thought, when he got his next near‑fatal blow of memory, and this one made him blush in shame. He sat in concentration, trying to recall, until he thought he had the exact words.

'Let us have this out once and for all, Mr. Darcy. I did not compromise you! I will freely admit that my mother did, but I had no part in it. I remind you of the sequence. You asked me to dance, and I reluctantly accepted. You pulled me over to the corner where my mother performed her evil. You grabbed my arm hard enough when she started screeching to leave a bruise that took over a week to heal. You returned to Hertfordshire of your own volition to ask my father for my hand, without even bothering to ask my opinion. I can assure you, sir, that I had no part in this debacle, and did all I could to escape it.'

His mind repeated the sentence over and over like a mantra, getting angrier and angrier as he went along. If she had not been involved in the compromise, and he had nothing to prove her word incorrect, then everything he had thought and done since that blasted ball had been built on quicksand. All his actions were based on his understanding of the world, which now seemed like it might be tragically in error. It was unfathomable. It was inconceivable. It was so wrong that he could not entirely wrap his head around it. He sat there for perhaps an hour, with her most critical words repeating over and over and over: 'I can assure you, sir, that I had no part in this debacle, and did all I could to escape it.'

He found the circling phrases circling around and around in his head, none of it provable, or even truly believable; but all of it disturbing if true. 'did all I could to escape it', 'did all I could to escape it', 'did all I could to escape it', 'did all I could to escape it'. If that was true, then he had dug himself a much deeper hole than he expected.

In his mind, he had accepted his wife's anger as being directed entirely at his behavior, because he did not fall at her feet after being compromised; and did not allow her to enjoy the early fruits of her marriage, or show off her husband to the neighborhood. If what she said was true, then she had plenty of reason for her anger.

The very idea of his wife being blameless in the entire affair had never occurred to him. He still did not know what was true and what was not, but it was for blasted certain he aimed to find out. He would be gone for some time, but there were ways for the investigation to continue in his absence, and it seemed unlikely anything terrible would happen to her at Pemberley while he was gone. She would be fine.

He thought about starting to write some letters, but then thought better of it. He had less than two hours before he had to get dressed and begin his journey. He still felt exhausted, feverish and slightly ill – as well as potentially thoroughly disgusted with himself. If his wife was telling the truth, he had not acted the gentleman. He still had a hard time crediting her words, but the very most basic duty of a gentleman was to ascertain the truth and administer justice. If he was culpable, it was his responsibility to make amends – not to mention, his only slim hope of surviving the next fifty years with anything remotely approaching contentment. He uncle's suggestion of an annulment was obviously something he would never do, so he had to, one way or another, make things work with the wife he had.

Feeling the exhaustion that came from the effort, but thinking he could finally sleep, now that he had a plan, Darcy wrote a short note for his valet to be certain he had laudanum in his trunk when he travelled in the morning, and fell back into bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.