Darcy felt like he was walking through a dream, or rather a nightmare. Everything was slightly off kilter, as if he were observing this unexpected detour in his life from the outside: disconnected and out of control, like a passenger in a runaway carriage.
After watching his bride sign her name, he had let out a breath he did not realise he had held. But the new Mrs. Darcy did not even look up; she brushed past him to confer quietly with her sister. The short carriage ride to Longbourn that followed was also conducted in a deafening silence, his wife looking at her gloves, out the window, her feet, anywhere but at him.
Darcy felt himself getting angry all over again, the emotion rose like a fever. His breathing accelerated and he began to tap his fingers in a rapid tattoo against his thigh. Why won't she look at me? Just as he had made up his mind to say something - just a word or two to break the tension - the carriage stopped. She did not even wait for him to exit, or hand her down; rather, she opened the door herself, all but tumbling out of the carriage before bolting for Longbourn. She rapidly hastened past her place in the receiving line. Although Darcy made to follow her, he was too slow; only catching a glimpse of her powder blue coat as she raced up the stairs, het little feet pumping as if the very devil himself was hot on her heels.
Mr. Darcy found himself in the unexpected and uncomfortable position of facing the wedding breakfast, and the tedious denizens of Meryton alone.
He withstood the effusions of Sir William Lucas and some barbed observations from Miss Bingley with as much aplomb as he could muster, but quickly found himself out of humour and with little desire for any company beyond his own. Thus Darcy huddled into a corner of the large drawing room, like a sullen bear, observing the society contained therein, seemingly for no purpose but to re-ignite his banked resentment.
His scornful expression had the benefit of discouraging all but the most intrepid guests from engaging him in conversation, for what was there to be said? Who could, with straight face, congratulate him on acquiring relations whose position in life was so decidedly beneath his own, and with such a total want of propriety? The association was guaranteed to bring nothing of monetary value to the Darcy coffers, but surely a surplus of shame and degradation to the Darcy name. Contact must be kept to the barest minimum, for there was little hope of reform.
He winced at the exuberant tones of Mrs. Bennet: "Yes 10,000 a year. How grand Lizzy will be, what pin money, what jewels and what carriages. Oh I shall go distracted!"
Doing his utmost to repress a shudder of a revulsion, Darcy wandered to the large bay windows; they offered a soothing view of the peaceful, if basic, gardens of Longbourn. What was done could not be undone, but how he hated the thought of acknowledging any connection with Mrs. Bennet!
Watching his mother in law reflected in the glass, he could own that even after bearing five daughters in just seven years she was still in looks. Quite tall, she had a figure that was neither spare, nor running to excess, despite the rigours of child birth. The honey coloured curls spilling from the front of her matron's cap showed few signs of encroaching grey hairs, and for a woman of what must be at least two score, her face was remarkably unlined.
With her widely spaced well opened blue eyes, high cheek bones and full mouth she satisfied every criteria for beauty, and yet any pleasing physical attributes she possessed were soundly offset by her disagreeable personality. Every time she opened her mouth it was to cry out some vulgar statement in a shrill, almost painful voice.
Handsome though she may be, Mrs. Bennet was a woman of mean understanding, little information and uncertain temper. Excepting her sister, Mrs. Phillips, he could safely boast he had never met such a vulgar or silly woman in his life.
The trait he could perhaps forgive the least was her callous disregard for the wellbeing of her children. Many might view her frantic obsession with marrying off her daughters as evidence of a strong maternal affection but Darcy was not so easily taken in. The incident with Jane Bennet riding on horseback to Netherfield in the pouring rain was but one glaring example.
Curling his lip in disgust he remembered that even upon creating what could be a serious illness, Mrs. Bennet could not trouble herself tend to her own daughter, rather it was only a concerned Mr. Bennet who had arrived at Netherfield with Miss Mary in tow to oversee her elder sisters' convalescence.
Mrs. Bennet had declared her dislike of him loudly and frequently, and he had foolishly thought himself safe from her machinations. The tune was vastly altered now he had been forced to take one of her daughters to wife.
Shifting his focus to the music could offer no relief, as the piano forte was occupied by the bookish middle Bennet sister, Miss Mary, whose lack of skill on the instrument was only surpassed by her lack of taste. He subtly rolled his eyes. A dirge? Of all the things to play at a wedding breakfast. And yet, the mournful, if poorly played, tune mirrored his sentiments perfectly, for he found himself in no humour to make merry.
The same could not be said of the youngest of his new sisters, Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia. The laughed, flirted, stood indecently close to the few officers present and seemed to let any inane thought that passed through their head erupt from their mouths, seemingly without filter.
He paid little mind to their utterings, as he had never heard a word of sense from them yet. Although for a second he thought one of them had said Lieutenant Wickham?
Why such wild and unruly girls were out in society at all Darcy could not fathom. Well actually, he could. With a mother set on deporting herself in the most indecorous manner possible, she would see nothing wanting in the behaviour of her hoydenish girls, and so did nothing to check them. Mr. Bennet, rather than censuring his daughters as he ought, seemed content to laugh at them and exercise his questionable wit on his own offspring. Often his cheap brand of sardonic humour only drew greater scrutiny to their undeniably scandalous conduct and his own gross deficiencies as their father.
Darcy resisted the urge to clutch his head in frustration. And they were now his relations! To have his name linked with these… these.. savages! Darcy gritted his teeth, making a resolution: once he quit Hertfordshire he would quit it forever. If his wife wished to visit her family she could do it alone.
The only member of the family whose manners he could not fault would be Miss Jane Bennet. But much to Bingley's disappointment, the serene Miss Bennet had disappeared, ostensibly to assist the bride to prepare for their imminent departure.
Another fault he could lay at the Bennet door: inefficiency. He mentally cringed to think of such a flighty woman running Pemberley. I have competent staff, he reminded himself, if she is as disappointing as I anticipate, I will merely continue to have Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Simmons report to me on household matters. The estate has survived without a mistress for nigh on 15 years, it can certainly weather a poor one. But what if she is like her mother? Bringing chaos and disorder into my household? Although his face remained fixed in the forbidding Darcy mask, the way his fingers continually and roughly slid his signet ring around and around his finger betrayed his inner agitation. With five fulsome days to prepare, how could she not have her belongings sorted and ready? He ruminated that he could have packed up the entire contents of Longbourn in such a generous span of time.
A short cough brought him out of his reverie and face to face with William Collins, of all people. To say that he was surprised to see Lady Catherine De Bourgh's sycophantic buffoon of a parson would give entirely too much consequence to the fool. Darcy could not have cared less where the man travelled, so long it was as far away from him as possible.
There was something distinctly off about the clergyman. It could not be described, only felt; a crawling sensation when the man was near, a sense of unnatural awareness, wrongness, that put Darcy on his guard.
Ever protective of his young sister, Darcy had refused Aunt Catherine's entreaties to bring her along on each of the last five or more Easter visits to Rosings, nor would he allow his sister an extended stay at his aunt's residence to become better acquainted with their cousin Anne. Extremely vexed though she was, Lady Catherine had not made the connection between the refused invitations and her incumbent. To see him present at his wedding breakfast was yet another vexation in a day already tedious beyond imagining.
"Mr. Darcy, Sir, never would I have expected to be met with such superior society as yourself here in Hertfordshire. Please let me convey my most humble apologies for not greeting you sooner. I had not realised you were in the neighbourhood... nor courting cousin Elizabeth."
"Mr. Collins – " Interjected Darcy as the man sidled closer.
"I wish you had applied to me for advice before taking this most precipitous step, Sir." This earned Mr. Collins a forbidding glare from Darcy, for both the interruption and the ridiculous presumption that he would ever go to him for advice. He opened his mouth to deliver a well-deserved set down when the first part of the speech and its implications dawned upon him. My cousin Elizabeth? His wife was…..
"I have long been an intimate of the Bennets, being my own family; of course I flatter myself to say -"
"What?!" Interrupted Mr. Darcy, his tone sharp but with an edge of pleading, in the vain hope that he had misheard - a hope that was dispelled as Mr. Collins went on to relate in embarrassing detail his connection with the Bennet family.
Not only was he cousin to the new Mrs. Darcy, but also heir to the family estate, entailed away as it was from the female line. Leaning closer, almost making Darcy choke on the redolent and putrid body odour emanating from the unctuous rector, Mr. Collins hinted that he himself may have been inclined to be even more closely related to the family until - "That is until I had my eyes opened to many virtues of my dear Ellen and indeed the wrongs of a match made in the heat of desire," he added with a deep sigh, whether for the loss of the late Mrs. Collins or for some other regret Darcy could not tell.
Darcy loomed over the flaccid parson. Perchance with a great enough fright he may be persuaded to conceal the connection. Preening under the increased attention and ignorant of the subtle threat, Mr. Collins gave Darcy a sly smirk. Darcy saw him glance towards the stairs and lick his bulbous lower lip.
"Cousin Elizabeth will need a firm hand to be sure, but I would venture to say that the temptation of such a well favoured member of the fairer sex would try even a saint," he continued, giving Darcy a knowing wink and broadening his smile. "No doubt the taming will be as enjoyable as it is long overdue. Such a wild girl, always scampering about the countryside for hours at a time, alone. Most unladylike, if you ask me. Her father has done nothing to check her and instead encourages her in her inappropriate interests." He said tilting his greasy head in the direction of the elderly Bennet Patriarch, before turning back to Darcy.
"Regular applications of a birch rod could have improved her greatly and I could only recommend that you discipline her vigorously. She may well submit to her husband as she ought to have submitted to her family's wishes. As a man of the cloth I must believe there is hope for redemption in all the wayward females of my flock, nevertheless Elizabeth has proven to be a most wilful, disobedient daughter in the time I have known her. Disgraceful the way she insulted me, putting her-"
Here Darcy gave a rough cough, interrupting the escalating spleen of his companion, before saying: "I am all agog with your description of My Wife - Please elaborate, what has she done to offend?" Said Mr. Darcy levelly, looking straight into Mr. Collins beady little eyes. Whatever her faults, and he truly hoped Mr. Collins was exaggerating, he would not demean himself by beating his wife like some barbarian. Darcy tilted his head down and leaned forward ever so slightly, looking down his nose at the shorter Mr. Collins, drawing out the moment, daring the worm to continue at his own peril.
In spite of his own deep aversion to the union, Darcy knew the importance of perpetuating the fiction of a love match, and thus playing the part appropriately.
"Yes, well – err, it was all so very long ago. I'm sure I can't remember" replied a flustered Mr. Collins to both the words and warning implied in the tone.
"Good!" Darcy affirmed, slapping the man on the back harder than was necessary or polite. "A man of your station cannot be too careful, speaking ill of the wives of your betters cannot be good for your… career," said Darcy finishing with a slightly feral smile.
"Oh I'd best see...- that is - my mother in law is requiring my assistance." For all his bulky frame, Mr. Collins beat an impressively hasty retreat to the other side of the room, into the bosom of the numerous members of the Goulding family.
Glad to be alone but impatient to be gone, Darcy took a deep unfettered breath and consulted his pocket watch, wondering again what on earth could be taking the blasted girl so long.
…
The newly minted Mrs. Darcy was not packing but was pitifully curled over a bucket. She'd had no choice but to quickly escape the stifling atmosphere of the carriage, thick with emotions, expectations and disappointment as it was, she'd ran upstairs, convinced that she was on the verge of returning her breakfast. But after a quarter hour of dry heaving she had naught to show for her vigorous efforts. True, she had only nibbled the corner of a piece of toast for breakfast, but she wished she could do something: be terribly sick, break a window, shriek like a mad woman or even just release all the pent up tears she had been holding onto during the past week. But habits formed in the passage of years to protect a girl from the spite of her mother and the upheaval in her life were hard to break. Her tears would not flow, despite the unbearable constricting sensation like iron bands encircling her breast. She sent down the message that she was still packing, although in actual fact her sparse luggage had been ready since dawn.
Giving a deep sigh of resignation Elizabeth took the bucket she had been nursing for the last quarter of an hour to place it on the bright blue washstand. Her small bedchamber, the smallest bedchamber in Longbourn, hardly suitable for a lady of the house, looked especially crowded with her Aunt seated on the bed and her sister watching her sadly from the window. It was a sliver of a room left over from a long ago renovation, probably intended as a dressing room or created for supplementary storage. Its proportions were more than compact: the quarters of the higher placed servants would appear quite spacious in comparison.
In truth it was a punishment inflicted on the second eldest Bennet daughter at the age of just nine that had never been rescinded, and stood as a testament to the dynamics of the family at Longbourn.
What should have been a trivial occurrence, a benign tribute to the oddities of children, or maybe a tale of valour and selfishness that should have become family legend, if not for the underlying dysfunction of the Bennet family unit.
Elizabeth's mind floated to that day, so many years ago.
Mrs. Bennet was furious that Elizabeth had once again ruined a new frock. The delightful - and expensive - pink confection had been be worn but thrice and to add insult to injury her bedraggled sopping wet daughter had shown up in the midst of a room filled with dinner guests. Not least among these was Lady Margaret of Netherfield, who Mrs. Bennet felt had always looked down on her.
What a wild daughter, to wander in sopping wet, hair tangled with pond weeds, scattering guests as she charged through the parlour to tug on her mothers sleeve. Mrs. Bennet turned a horrified countenance down to her most exasperating child, now dripping filthy water onto her very best rug. Mrs. Bennet's quick scan of the room alighted on Lady Lucas, sporting a look of barely repressed glee at the unseemly spectacle.
"Elizabeth Grace, get upstairs this instant! How dare you track mud and heavens knows what else into the house!" She boomed.
"But Mama, I…"
"Not another word!" the matron hissed making a chopping motion with her hand. "Upstairs this instant!"
Rather than inspiring the desired departure, the admonishment only moved Elizabeth to noisy tears. Most of the guests conspicuously averted their eyes from the display; offended much less by the girl's appearance than Mrs. Bennet's harsh treatment, the exception being the childless Lady Margaret, who often encountered the enchantingly precocious Elizabeth on her rides around the neighbourhood. Lady Margaret's displeasure, written across her countenance, was apparent to Mrs. Bennet, but ignorant that her own behaviour was the source of consternation, she roughly grabbed her daughter's arm, nearly jerking her off her tiny feet, and propelled her towards the doorway.
The now hiccupping and sobbing child was intercepted by Mrs. Hill who discreetly whispered "Why Miss Elizabeth, what's happened?"
"Tommy fell in the west pond, I got him…. Hic!…. out but he won't wake up," stammered the usually confident Elizabeth before dissolving into more shuddering sobs.
Mrs. Hill's face drained of all colour. In addition to the concern the kindly Mrs. Hill would feel for any child in peril, Tommy happened to be her grandson, her only grandson. Oblivious to the onlookers, her mistress included, Hill picked up her skirts and ran for the door, shouting for her husband to make haste and fetch the apothecary.
Spurred into action, Samuel Lucas charged toward the stables, while Sir William Lucas hurried in the direction of the west pond to see what could be done until his son fetched the apothecary. The few gentlemen present followed in his wake, along with a grim Lady Margaret and an increasingly frantic Elizabeth.
In the resulting commotion, dinner was served more than an hour late, featuring a haunch of venison that was overcooked, unpalatable white soup and custard so lumpy as to be inedible. Mrs. Bennet ought to have taken some comfort in the fact that her table was greatly diminished, with perhaps half of the party attending to the Tommy situation and not partaking of the dreadful food. Though, judging by the audible sniffs and sniggers that greeted each course, it was clear the guest who had remained behind were the most mean spirited, determined to find fault and least inclined to credit any mitigating circumstances.
In Mrs. Bennet's opinion it was unarguably the most mortifying day of her life; and so consumed was she with her own disappointment and humiliation, she had not even asked after the child's wellbeing.
In all fairness, the mistress of the house had spent weeks preparing that dinner to strengthen the Bennet's standing in the neighbourhood, the standing that her indolent husband had allowed to slip while she was consumed with carrying and birthing babies. It had been three years since her last and most difficult lying in. The child, beautiful Anne, had lived only a few days and Mrs. Bennet had shown nary a hint of increasing since then.
The gnawing fear that had grown with each pregnancy that produced useless, if pretty, girl children instead of the long coveted heir had blossomed into panic at this extended period of bareness. All that she had done to rise so high and all the many pregnancies she had endured to secure her position could be for naught. Every time her monthly cycles came, Mrs. Bennet took to her bed with pains in her chest, fluttering of her heart, a dizziness she could not overcome and an uncomfortable sense of loss for the Bennet that would never be, like a task on the edge of her mind but stubbornly refusing to be remembered.
Without any likely chance of producing an heir, a new plan to secure her own future comfort had been hatched. The girls must marry, and marry well; the sooner the better.
Although her eldest daughter Jane at eleven was in no way ready for matrimony, the ground work ought to be laid immediately. The girls must be well versed in the proper feminine accomplishments, and more importantly be schooled in the art of pleasing men. Not prim and proper. No that kind of demeanour favoured nasty old spinsters: her girls must sparkle, while still walking just on the right side of respectability.
As to potential suitors, thought Mrs. Bennet chewing her lip and mulling over the problem one afternoon, a London season is out of the question; Mr. Bennet has so few acquaintances and none to speak of in town. Moreover he would never be prevailed upon to foot the cost of leasing a townhouse or consent to being removed from his precious library for more than a Sen night! Foolish man!
Hmmmm, perhaps we could stay with Edward, but who could my brother introduce my girls to? Penniless artists, musicians and a collection of middling tradesman? No thank you! Urggh I want lords of the realm! Not lords of the dirty sweaty manufactories! Even if we were to gain entrance to the right events to put the girls in the path of suitable rich men, as soon as they saw the address the whole thing would fall flat, no suitor of any standing will go a calling in Cheapside! Mrs. Bennet took a deep breath, raising the embroidery sampler that had been all but forgotten on her lap.
That leaves Meryton. Heavens, such a dismally small pool of potential suitors, and of the few eligible bachelors my girls would have little opportunity to engage their interest. If only I had been born a lady, I surely could have married much better than the Bennets! I am determined that Jane shall look much higher. She is such a kind and accommodating child, I'm sure she would let me manage many of the household duties. Heavens with such a face, if she develops a figure to match she would perpetually be with child unless her husband is blind.
It is too soon to tell how Mary and Kitty will turn out, that mousy hair colour does Mary no favours, but if that ash blonde colouring holds, Kitty may be pretty enough. And Lyddy is such a sweet little thing, even prettier than Jane when she was as a baby. She will catch a handsome beau to be sure, but I cannot afford to wait so long to secure my future.
Mrs. Bennet mentally catalogued her developing assets for any matchmaking venture with the precision of a general. But Elizabeth, what will I do with that girl! She could ruin everything. She is uncommonly pretty, I will admit, even if she is nothing to Jane. But those saucy speeches, her wild behaviour…. Lord, if I hadn't spent eighteen hours giving birth to the little bluestocking, I could never credit that she was mine. Even if I cannot marry her off I will endeavour to lock her for the sake of her sisters. And the first man who is foolish enough to want her, can have her, even if he has not two pennies to rub together.
But all of it will be for naught if I cannot get the girls into the path of rich men, or even eligible gentlemen from the neighbourhood, thought Mrs. Bennet continuing to worry her lip raw.
After pondering the problem a few more evenings, she decided that the first step in her matrimonial campaign involved widening the Bennet's social circle, gaining entrance to doors that had hereto been closed to the vulgar daughter of a tradesman who had shamelessly pursued the scholarly Mr. Bennet.
Calls to the local gentry had been made and some few had been returned at Longbourn. Mr. Bennet had been bullied into hosting a shooting party. If the neighbours were surprised at the invite (due to Mr. Bennet's legendary aversion to the activity), the day still ended a resounding success.
Yet the primary event, for this season at least, was to be Mrs. Bennet's dinner party. The guest list included three of the four local families possessing single men of eligible, if not excessive, fortune. The most exalted guest would be the somewhat eccentric yet socially significant Lady Margaret. Granted, the widowed lady had no sons to interest Mrs. Bennet, or indeed offspring of any kind, but as the owner of Netherfield Park and Lady in her own right, she moved in the very circles that Mrs. Bennet hoped to penetrate. If she took a liking to Jane, who could guess what favours were in her power to bestow.
Hereto Lady Margaret had barely acknowledged Mrs. Bennet. As a lady of sense and breeding, what common ground could she find with a woman of Mrs. Bennet's ilk? Nevertheless she was fond of Mr. Bennet, and Longbourn was but three miles away, it would be churlish to refuse. Thus Mrs. Bennet spent weeks in a dither, preparing the house, poring over every detail in minutia, and to Mr. Bennet's dismay, sparing no expense.
Of course Elizabeth could not comprehend the importance of the dinner or the increased pressure on the Bennet matriarch. Nonetheless her age, innocence and undoubtedly heroic act did nothing to ameliorate her mother's temper, nor the subsequent punishment.
"If you cannot conduct yourself as a lady, you shall not be treated as such," scolded Mrs. Bennet about a week after the Tommy episode, while leading Elizabeth roughly by the arm to the small room tucked into the end of the family corridor. "Welcome to your new room," she added with mock generosity and a wide false smile.
Elizabeth took stock of the bleak little space. Her eyes fixed first on the old cot. Despite its modest size, being both narrow and significantly shorter than a modern bed, the dark stain of the timber, the oppressive lines and the height of the bedhead seemed to dominate the whole room, diminishing the already sparse natural light. A feat aided by the wall paper which featured a fussy motif of poorly rendered flowers, in the darkest of hues imposed on an uninspiring brown background. The only other furniture was a rickety washstand with a chipped basin, with such a rough finish that even at its very best it was more suited to a farmhouse than a lady's bedchamber, now it was fit for nothing but firewood.
Even at the tender age of nine, Elizabeth was already a shrewd studier of character, and consequently knew her mother intended the room and the accompanying furniture to be the height of insult. She felt partially to blame for her circumstances. Without knowing the cause, she was acutely aware that her mother's usually unstable temper had been especially volatile since the winter.
That Elizabeth was an enigma to her mother had always been apparent, but of late instead of ignoring the unfathomable or simply throwing her hands up in exasperation, Mrs. Bennet had embarked on a battle of wills with her second eldest child.
Mrs. Bennet, while not a clever woman had quite the stubborn streak. Her motives though unclear were pursued with such energy and persistence that Elizabeth could see no option but retreat.
After days of being harangued on her manifold faults over breakfast, then subjected to in depth lectures on ladylike behaviour in the sitting room and detailed commentary on every which way she was inferior to Jane, Elizabeth felt that she would run mad. Thus in the interests of self-preservation Elizabeth had made herself scarce. Frequently visiting her friend Charlotte at neighbouring Lucas Lodge, or extending her habitually long walks into all day affairs, absconding from the house with a warm roll, apple and a book to find a suitably secluded tree to read in peace until supper time.
When the weather did not permit an outdoors escape, Elizabeth had a bolt hole in her father's book room. Both leather wingback chairs that sat facing her father's desk were infinitely more comfortable than a damp tree branch, and due to their size, they also had the benefit of concealing Elizabeth, should Mrs. Bennet casually peek into the room.
The many months of doing little else than reading ensured that Elizabeth quickly exhausted the books deemed appropriate for a young lady. But as her father raised no objections, or if truth be told, actually encouraged his daughter to become more omnivorous in her reading, she was exposed to a wide range of topics. Elizabeth was a swift reader, so devoured the tomes quickly and as she was intelligent beyond her years, she comprehended nearly all of what she read.
History, plays, philosophy, poetry, medical texts, mathematics, agricultural management, she absorbed it all, and when she expressed a desire to read the classics in their original from, Mr. Bennet was happy to oblige, giving her instruction in Latin and Greek. If she had been a boy she would have been classed a prodigy, but as a girl her aptitude would likely be nothing more than awkward and therefore best concealed.
At the conclusion of one lesson Mr. Bennet added with a wink that while they while they were expanding her language horizons they ought to tackle French as well. "For all the very best novels are in French my dear."
"If you are trying to turn me into a proper accomplished young lady I'm afraid that horse had already bolted. No man wants to marry a girl who can conjugate Greek verbs," she retorted with a mischievous smile.
"Hmmm perhaps you are right," mused Mr. Bennet out loud, "Oh, well off with you then, out of my library, go paint a table or net a purse, so you can catch yourself a husband."
"I would throw this book at you, if I were not enjoying it so much," she quipped from behind the leather bound biography of Julius Caesar. "In any case what I lack in female attributes, fair Jane more than makes up for. I would wager she'll marry a Lord with a library far exceeding yours." Mr. Bennet laid a hand to his chest in mock heartbreak. "So in return for access to their bounty of books I will teach Janes 10 children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill!" She finished with a triumphant hoot.
"You embroider cushions, ha! I daresay you could not complete an embroidery sampler if your life depended on it!"
She shrieked in light-hearted outrage and threw a nearby cushion at her father. As it happened, the projectile was an earlier example of her atrocious needle work. For all the world, the cover looked as if it depicted a demonic seal straight out one of those dark Norse folk stories, rather than the stag on a river bank she was trying for. As they both dissolved into a fit of laughter that ran long, Mr. Bennet reflected on his daughter's words and could not keep bead of alarm from forming within his heart. Will there ever be a man who would appreciate such a jewel as my daughter and can she ever discover him in a sleepy little village like Meryton? But true to form Mr. Bennet pushed the nagging doubt to the back of his mind in favour of escaping into the written word.
In the end Elizabeth did gain a good grounding in French as well as Italian from her time with Mr. Bennet, and her grasp of classic languages far exceeded that of most university educated men by the tender age of fifteen. She eschewed any study of German, claiming that the harsh language had no music she could discern, and furtively confided that whenever she read in German it was her mother's voice she heard in her head, and thus could not like it. Mr. Bennet far from reprimanding his daughter laughed, saying that with her tall stature, blond hair and generally intimidating demeanour Mrs. Bennet was a veritable Valkyrie.
The time together fostered a real bond between Mr. Bennet and his precocious daughter. He revelled in both her analytical mind and her sharp wit. Her romantic sensibilities were a source of gentle amusement, reminding him of himself before the world, and a union of strangers, made him more wary, if not outright cynical of the idea of love.
Brining her awareness back to her current predicament, young Elizabeth wandered past the dark bed in her new room. Yes she ought to have stayed out of her Mother's way, but she could not repent of her actions. The punishment was great, but it had truly been a matter of life and death. As she reached the sash window and peered out, she repressed a quick smile. Well at least escaping my prison will be easy, she mused to herself, looking at the branches of the ancient oak tree that came right up to the windowsill.
"How long will I have to stay here?" She queried, attempting a rightly chastised expression.
"Until you behave like a lady," Replied Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth let out a sigh, I will likely die in this room then! She thought, knowing that she had as much chance of turning into a turkey as meeting Mrs. Bennet's notions of how a lady should behave. So with the help of Mrs. Hill, her meagre personal belongings were moved into the 'naughty girl's, little closet' as Elizabeth came to think of her room.
In the usual way of the Bennet household, Mrs. Bennet would eventually soften and relent to a degree, but the distinct lack of callers in the succeeding weeks and the cool treatment by the local society banked Mrs. Bennet's anger and continued to fuel her resentment.
That is not to say that the young Elizabeth was without allies. Jane appealed to her mother, stating that she would be ever so scared and lonely in such a big room on her own, and begged that Elizabeth be permitted to return. But Mrs. Bennet would not be moved, and instead promoted Mary from the very full nursery in order to share with Jane and benefit from her good example.
Mr. Bennet was sympathetic to his favourite daughter's plight, although not sufficiently to openly oppose his formidable wife and further disrupt the peace of his household. He wrote directly to his brother in law to apprise him of the situation and to acquire some new wallpaper to brighten the dreary little room. The package, when it arrived, included not only the requested wallpaper, but a very slim, beautifully upholstered armchair and an invitation to spend the approaching winter with the Gardiners in town. The invitation was the first of many, setting a trend for Elizabeth to spend a good portion of the year in London with her aunt and uncle, mostly alone, but occasionally accompanied by either Jane or Mary.
The circumstances of the fateful day, whilst ignored by her mother but widely known throughout the locale of Meryton, also garnered gestures of support from all levels of society. For, the erstwhile Hannah Hill had been well liked by the staff at Longbourn, before marrying Thomas Brown, a prosperous tenant farmer on the Longbourne Estate. As the only surviving child of Mr. and Mrs. Hill's union, Hannah was quite doted upon by her parents and her only child, Tommy, was the apple of their eye. Mr. Hill spent three consecutive weekends trimming and sanding the wonky washstand before painting it a beautiful bright shade of blue. To complete the revamped stand, Mrs. Hill contributed a simple but finely made porcelain basin. Thomas Brown had made a slim bookcase to store her books and treasured keepsakes, along with a matching desk. They were by no means extravagant but the slim, unpretentious design appealed to Elizabeth's sense of style, and were painted in the same bright, cheery blue as her washstand.
Any who discovered the details of Elizabeth's heroic act could not help but admire the young girl and be dismayed that she should be subjected to such a cruel and unfeeling mother. For Elizabeth had not merely fished the boy out of the water from the safety of the bank, she had waded out into the deepest part of the pond. As a furtive self-taught swimmer, she was by no means confident in the water and had feared for her own life more than once, especially when trying to manoeuvre a heavy Tommy through the deeper parts of the pond whilst keeping his face above water, while being hampered by her skirts and petticoats. By the time she reached the shore, she had felt as if she could have died from exhaustion, but as the other children were hardly more than babes, all aflutter with excitement in the crisis, she could not rely upon them to seek assistance. She had therefore run the half mile to Longbourn, frequently tripping, adding ripped stockings, scraped knees and mud to her already dishevelled appearance.
Such selflessness was rarely to be seen, and Lady Margaret had offered the young girl the choice of her own greatest treasures as a reward for her heroism; she could pick two books from Netherfield's extensive Library.
Elizabeth endeared herself to the Lady even further when she elected to take a beautifully illustrated edition of 'The Histories' by Herodotus in its original Greek, and could not be persuaded to select a second book.
"It would be greedy and unpardonable to take two when this is such a magnificent book." Elizabeth had claimed sweetly, then she turned very solemn. "And truly, my Lady, if you persist in such largesse, it might just tempt me to shove all the local urchins into obliging waterways so that I might rescue them one by one to expand my library," the sparkle in her eyes and the sweet dimple in her left cheek giving away her tease.
"Very well Miss Bennet, I will not test your fortitude, but you must come and borrow books from my library whenever you please to prevent your resorting to such underhanded methods," replied Lady Margaret with a laugh.
Even now, ten years on, the exclusion and the insult still stung.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth once again surveyed the room. She had been banished here by her mother, but the gifts of the kinder people in her life had turned the prison into a cosy retreat, quite at odds with the general chaos of the Bennet household. She was sorry to leave it all behind: the cheerful wallpaper, the bright and comfortable yellow armchair, the desk where she had penned all of her early correspondence and the bed where she had slept and dreamt of a better life.
The lovely leather bound gold embossed Greek Histories that had occupied pride of place in her bookshelf here, then accompanied her to boarding school, to her uncle's residence in Cheapside and back to Longbourn again, would not be left behind. The treasured tome was in one of her trunks ready to follow her to the next stage of her life.
As she guessed she would never see the room or her home again, she ran her hands along each surface as if to imprint them in her memory through touch. In an attempt to regain her equilibrium, Elizabeth wandered over to the window and leaning heavily on the sill, staring intently into the branches of the adjacent ancient oak tree.
Jane, made uncomfortable by the melancholy silence, placed a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder. "Oh Lizzy, it will not be so very bad, you will see. You will. Who could fail to come to love you once they have the chance to know you?" She entreated lovingly, stooping down to rest her chin on her much shorter sister's shoulder and wrapping her arms around Elizabeth's chest to draw her closer.
Jane, ever the optimist, willing to put her faith in humanity tried to maintain a serene and subtly hopeful countenance. "Things will turn out, you will see".
But rather than being soother, Elizabeth started gulping, emitting a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, but surely on the edge of hysteria. Elizabeth could not help but marvel at Jane's sweet heart, her naïve innocence. How does one go through life thinking the best of everyone? Particularly someone raised in the Bennet household? For Elizabeth, the more she saw of the world the more she was disappointed with it. Judging by the almost pleading tone of voice, she wondered if Jane sought to convince herself as much as anyone else. As much as she desired to be bolstered by Jane's conviction, threadbare though it was, she could not. Today she would once again leave Hertfordshire behind, once again to venture into the unknown. Yet this time she would have the neither the company of her Aunt or Uncle to support her confidence. No, her only company would be a man who had shown her nothing if not outright contempt.
Elizabeth placed her hand over her sister's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Jane you are too good. You see in goodness in everyone, even when there is none to be had. He was so bitter, so cold, during the ceremony. "
The other occupant of the room, Madeline Gardiner, blanched. Seeing her usually vibrant niece brought so low clearly pained her as she bleakly watched the sisters giving each other comfort.
If there had been anything the lady could have done to spare Elizabeth from her fate, it would have been executed with alacrity. Alas, the consequences of refusing the match were simply too great: all of the Bennet sisters would have had to partake in the resulting ruin and disgrace. Indeed even if Mr. Gardiner had the legal standing to dispute the match, there was every chance Elizabeth would have insisted on going through with the marriage nonetheless, unable to blast her sisters' already slim chances of matrimony.
Mentally canvassing ways they could have halted the inevitable was fruitless, as were Jane's empty platitudes.
"Jane why don't you get Mrs. Hill to sneak some tasty morsels into a basket for the carriage ride while we talk marriage duties" suggested Mrs. Gardiner.
"No need to ask me twice," replied Jane with an uncomfortable smile. She gently turned her sister by the shoulders to face her and smoothed an errant curl behind her ear. "I will see you downstairs, do not forget to fetch me before you depart. I would never forgive myself if I did not have the chance to see you off."
The unsaid word 'again' hung in the air between them along with the fear that it may be the last time they would see each other for some time, perhaps ever. As Jane softly closed the door behind her, Elizabeth, cognizant of her imminent departure, endeavoured to pull herself together. Taking a shaky breath and running her thumbs under her eyes - even though she had not managed to produce any tears - she took a seat on the small bed and turned an arch look on her aunt, who had also risen for Jane's departure and was now seated in the armchair against the opposite wall. "I fancy I know all there is to know about the marriage bed. Apart from growing up on a farm, Mama gave an account that was both detailed and vivid…. Shockingly vivid!" She said with comically wide eyes.
"I have no doubt that your mother's disclosures were alarming to say the least, but the subject I had in mind is rather more encompassing, making it rather difficult to know where to begin."
"I believe, that to begin at the beginning is customary," offered Elizabeth drolly, with an arched brow.
"Whilst I am glad to see you retrieved your wit, I would prefer that you shelve it again for the duration of this discussion. Perhaps you could put away your pride along with your pig headed stubbornness, if you do not mind."
At the look of naked hurt that flashed across Elizabeth's already pale face Mrs. Gardiner sighed, "I'm sorry Lizzy, I should not have snapped at you. My only excuse is that the discussion…. that is…. I have never shared the whole of my history with anyone, even your uncle, although he is familiar with the more salient points. Many aspects of what I am about to tell you still occasion pain, but simply put, love you too much to stay silent. "
Elizabeth watched as her aunt, usually the very definition of composure, paced back and forth on the rug before settling at the window. By the look on her face, Elizabeth guessed she was not seeing the garden before her, but was instead looking far back in time, thus it was no surprise when she spoke in a distant voice. "My mother died when I was a very young girl. I have only the faintest memory of her. In my formative years my family consisted of my father, with the occasional visit to my elderly grandfather in town. I was largely left to my own devices, as the estate and horse breeding ventures consumed the lion's share of my father's attention. Honestly, I suspect he had no concept of how lonely I was, moreover if aware, I doubt he would have had the knowledge or inclination to resolve the situation. My life lacked affection, but I did not want for any material thing. Dresses, toys, even an obscenely expensive pure white pony to ride. But much like you, my dear, all I cared about was books. I buried myself in the written word, I read about adventures so far away from my dull existence, about science, philosophy, heroes and villains. But most of all I read about love." She turned and gave Elizabeth a sheepish half smile.
"I was so caught up in my romantic sensibilities that I participated in local society, assemblies and such, but emotionally kept myself aloof from it all. The posing dandies of the neighbourhood and the more staid older marriage minded men of the county held no interest for me. Naturally, in the absence of a respected female influence I had no-one to bring me down to reality, to counsel prudence. I dreamt of the magic of a London season, of being dazzled by some young gentleman who would sweep me off my feet, who would make the world so beautiful just by his presence. You will have no trouble imagining my surprise and disappointment when my father told me he had brokered a marriage for me."
Elizabeth nodded, intrigued by her Aunt's disclosures. In recent years Elizabeth had spent more time in her Aunt's London home than Longbourn, and considered Madeline Gardiner to be her true mother in many ways, yet despite their intimacy, Elizabeth knew almost nothing of her Aunt's childhood or first marriage.
"Well I ranted, I raved, had fainting fits, refused to eat and even tried to run away. I rather think I played out more than half of the plot lines I had ever read, but unlike the heroines in my stories, I did not prevail."
"But how could your father arrange a marriage without even consulting you? Moreover, once he knew you were opposed to the match, why did he force you? Did he have no regard for your feelings?"
Madeline Gardiner turned to her niece with that rueful smile again and shook her head gently side to side, making her strawberry blonde curls sway. "My father was not the villain, arranged marriages were the norm back then. I envisage he rather thought he was doing the right thing by his only child. My betrothed with his title, minor though it was, would be considered quite a step up socially. His nearby estate was known to be moderately prosperous, and the master himself deemed by most to be a fair, open minded type of gentleman. And as my father, the incurable horse lover, told me "His stables are in excellent condition and I've never seen him ill-treat any of his horses." I guess he supposed that likely to make him equally kind to a wife," she explained, before returning her gaze to the window. "At first he was baffled by my obstinacy, his anger when he comprehended my resistance was more than frightening," she gave an involuntary shudder. "So by the time Sir Arthur Morton proposed to me, I accepted with all the appearance of meek pleasure. I docilely went through the motions of the engagement, expecting a last minute reprieve that never came."
She touched the window, running her fingers along the edge of the panes of glass, refusing to acknowledge Elizabeth's mounting indignation.
"The first months of my marriage I still existed in a state of shock, unable to account for the change my life had taken. As I emerged from the overwhelming inertia, I could only see the faults in my husband - so many inconsequential little faults – thus I rejected all of his overtures of friendship; I sought little ways to punish him, as the author of my predicament."
"So I should say," fumed Elizabeth. "Sold to the highest bidder, like some sort of brood mare."
"But that is where you are wrong; where I was wrong! This is what I am trying to convey to you, my stubborn, beautiful, headstrong girl!" She responded with conviction. "My husband was a true gentleman, Lizzy. He tried to meet me halfway numerous times, when frankly my behaviour so was appalling, he would have been justified in putting me aside. I can scarcely reflect on my attitude without abhorrence." She paused taking an even deeper breath before continuing, "In the early days he frequently presented me with small gifts: books, jewellery and piano music sheets. I was treated to a shopping trip in London and a holiday in Bath. More to the point, he tried to engage me in conversation, to understand my interests and find common ground. Yet I persisted in my churlish attitude, clung to my prejudice. After a year or longer he stopped trying, went on long hunting trips with friends, leaving me behind in my misguided misery. It was on such a hunting excursion that he took a fall."
As her Aunt talked she placed her palms flat against the window sill. Two tracks of tears began to silently make their way down her face. At that moment she looked like nothing but lost girl, rather than the elegant confident mother of three boys Elizabeth had come to admire. "It should have been nothing, but the wound he sustained developed an infection. Naturally I was summoned.
When I arrived he was quite far gone, in his fever and delirium he clung to me so desperately, confessed all the things I had made it impossible for him to say. He confessed that he had always viewed me with affection, an innocent affection that had bloomed into love when I reached my womanhood. All he had wanted to do was support my happiness; create a family for us and love me. He went onto to apologise for marrying me, for falling short of the man of my dreams, for letting his shyness overshadow his passionate feelings.
He even implied that perhaps it was better this way, that with his death I would be set free to be happy, to marry a younger man. I… I still have nightmares about that final night," she choked. "I begged him to live, I begged him, as he shook violently with the fever and all he kept saying over and over again was that he loved me, he loved me so much. By the morning he had slipped into a coma and took his last breath an hour after sunrise."
Elizabeth could do nothing but unabashedly gape at her Aunt. Although she was aware that Uncle Gardiner was her second husband, Elizabeth had never given much thought to her Aunt's first marriage. She could have never imagined that her impeccably poised Aunt could have concealed such a past. To Elizabeth she was the definition of a sensible woman, the type of woman she aspired to be, just as the marriage her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner shared was the yardstick she measured relationships by. Her desire to replicate their loving relationship was as much behind her quest for a love match as the dismal example of marital discontent she had been privy to growing up.
As if the confession had sapped her energy or perhaps her spirit, Madeline Gardiner sat down heavily on the bed, the tears had stopped, but her pale countenance still held a slack look, her eyes still unseeing. Unsure what to say - or if indeed there was anything to say - Elizabeth scooted along the bed to wrap an arm around her Aunt's middle and rest her head against her shoulder, like she had often done as a child. "I am so sorry Aunt, I never knew."
The only response she received was a barely perceptible nod. As they sat in silence, Elizabeth thought over her Aunt's disclosures. To have been made to marry a man she did not care for, it seemed to be the way of the world. She could apprehend that her Aunt still felt very guilty over the manner of her first husband's death. Then another thought struck her: as the daughter of a well to do gentleman and the widow of a Baronet, how did she ever end up marrying Uncle Gardiner?
Before she could stop herself she blurted out the question. "Why did you marry again and to Uncle Gardiner?"
"That is a story for another time," her Aunt replied quickly. The question seemed to re-animate her, though. "When I saw you in the church today, I felt I was looking at myself as I was back then. You are so angry right now, and I understand how you feel -I truly do- but don't make the same mistakes as I did. You could…"
"But it is not the same Aunt!" Elizabeth interjected, pulling roughly away. "Notwithstanding that ridiculous story we've been bandying about Mr. Darcy and I meeting in London and falling in love, you know the true sequence of events. This is a forced marriage; there is no base of affection on his side, quite the opposite. You witnessed yourself how cold and haughty he was during the ceremony."
"Can you claim that you behaved with perfect propriety during your wedding ceremony?" Mrs. Gardiner gently admonished her niece with a quirked eyebrow. "Consider that Mr. Darcy may have harboured other plans for his future. He is as much a victim of circumstance as you. Do not judge him too harshly for his behaviour of this last week." She reasoned firmly, before continuing. "Furthermore, you have little concept of the world he inhabits, the kind of match he would have been expected to make. You are well outside the sphere he would have searched for a bride."
Elizabeth bristled, straightening her back. "He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman's daughter so far we are equal".
"A gentleman's daughter yes, but who are your uncles? Your mother? A country attorney? A Tradesman? The daughter of a Wainwright, a very successful Wainwright, I admit, but what is that compared your Husband's family?" She said, not unkindly. "He is nephew to the Earl of Matlock, has cousins in the De Bourgh family and ties to the Duke of Carlisle."
"How do you know so much about it?" replied Elizabeth sulkily.
"The Darcy family own half of Derbyshire, they have been there since the time of William the Conqueror, and have continued to grow in wealth and influence rather than frittering it away like most so called noble families. Many people travel to Derbyshire with the express purpose of touring Pemberley. Until this morning your husband was one of the most sought after bachelors in all of England."
Elizabeth watched as her usually unflappable Aunt pinched the bridge of her nose for patience, "I know a little more than most. My father's estate Emmersdale, is no more than seven miles from Pemberley. Although he was by no means a close acquaintance, my father was received by the previous Mr. Darcy and Lady Anne. The £10,000 a year your mother keeps quoting is but a fraction of the overall Darcy wealth."
She slipped her hands around Elizabeth's and gave them a squeeze. "If the circumstances were other than what they are I would be thrilled for you."
Fire kindled in Elizabeth's dark eyes. "Because Pemberley is beautiful and I will be rich, Aunt how can you say such a hateful thing! I care nothing for the trappings of wealth."
"I know, I know," she interposed, patting her niece's hands. "Fine clothes, fine carriages and rich meals are not all that will come with your new position. You will have a great deal of responsibility; Pemberley alone would employ as many as fifty souls between the house, stables and gardens, and you will also have the management of a well-staffed house in London. There are obligations to the tenants of the estate and you will be expected to take an active role in the community, charities and so on, both in Derbyshire and in town. It will be an opportunity to use that remarkable intelligence of yours, and that eccentrically effective education you received. It is the kind of opportunity that is rarely available to our sex and nigh on inconceivable for the daughter of a country squire. It is the life I had hoped for you, living as nothing more than a drawing room ornament would have destroyed you."
"Did you worry about me so much?" Said Elizabeth, her eyes softening.
It was a dilemma Elizabeth had mentally chewed over for most of her adolescence: were the abilities she possessed a blessing or a curse? Certainly, her artistic expression; her skill on the pianoforte and her untutored but delightful drawings, were lauded as the proper accomplishments of a young lady and she was permitted to indulge in them at will. If Elizabeth preferred to scribble detailed architectural representations in charcoal rather than flowers in watercolours, the quality of the depictions more than compensated for the odd choice of subject matter. Elizabeth's passion for language and the written word was more problematic.
Whereas the modern languages were viewed as the purview of gentle bred females, ancient languages were the province of aristocratic men, learnt in the hallowed halls of university. To have a female comment on the inaccuracy of a quote or translation could be a serious blow to the ego of a recently graduated, perhaps insecure, young gentleman, earning her the title of bluestocking or girl in breeches.
Likewise, her knowledge of literature could be considered a liability on the marriage mart. Though many a young buck might say he would wish for an intelligent wife to engage in high minded discourse, what they truly appreciate is a female to nod, listen and smile sweetly while the man may ramble on uninterrupted and unchallenged.
Wisely, she had concealed her proficiency and enjoyment in mathematics from all but her most trusted confidantes, namely Mr. Bennet, Jane, Charlotte Lucas and the Gardiners. And of course Cassandra, who exploited her skill unabashedly at every opportunity.
"Aye, I did worry and will continue to worry a while more," continued her Aunt earnestly. "You are too quick to judge people and as stubborn as a mule once you form an opinion." Elizabeth looked down, chagrined at the truth of the statement.
"I will refrain from implying that Mr. Darcy is perfect, no-one is, but he is your husband and he deserves the benefit of the doubt and your loyalty, as far as you are able give it. For your own happiness you must not let your ego, your wounded pride or vanity rule you. Meet him halfway, my dear. If he is less than the perfect husband that is no excuse for you to be less than the best wife you can be. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Elizabeth nodded mutely, still unable to look at her Aunt.
Mrs. Gardiner reached under the bed to retrieve a large flat box tied with a deep red ribbon, and placed it tentatively onto Elizabeth's lap. When she looked up Mrs. Gardiner was smiling self-consciously.
She toyed with the ribbon for a few seconds before her curiosity got the better of her. Lifting the lid, Elizabeth found the most exquisite robe: ivory in colour, the silk robe sported a lovely pattern of a forest of brambles with brightly coloured birds, insects, leaves and flowers rendered in painstaking detail, finished with a soft lavender trim and matching sash. Tracing her fingers over a green humming bird, she flashed delighted smile. "Oh thank you, it is so beautiful!" she said, running the silk through her fingers and delighting in the tactile pleasure of the very fine textile.
When Elizabeth lifted it up to appreciate the full effect of the pattern another garment fell from her hands. Picking it up with curiosity Elizabeth turned it this way and that, marvelling at the soft texture but confused by the sheer translucence. Even with the fabric doubled over she could easily discern her hand through it. How strange, perhaps it is an overdress of some sort? She held it higher to better gauge the items use before giving a loud gasp and letting it drop through her fingers.
"It is a nightgown, for your wedding night," said Mrs. Gardiner as if reading her niece's mind.
Elizabeth looked at her in horror. "The cut alone is more than indecent and the fact this is entirely see through….. well I… might as well wear nothing at all!" She replied in a rush, her cheeks glowing red.
Mrs. Gardiner gave a laugh, "If things go well this evening it may even come to that." She regarded her scandalised niece who had her mouth open like a gaping fish. "I thought you claimed that between your mother, the farm animals and books you were well informed with regards to the marriage bed?"
"Oh Aunt please do not tease me on this subject! Despite my bravado, I am terrified. Is it really as unpleasant as Mama says?" Elizabeth pleaded, holding her hands on her cheeks as if to contain her blush.
"Very well my dear. I will desist, but only if you take what I am about to say with the gravity it deserves." Elizabeth nodded her agreement, and yet it was a few moments before her pensive Aunt brought herself to carry on, choosing her words with care.
"Much of the success of a union is determined in the marriage bed. Obviously procreation, getting an heir for your husband and a child for you to love are reason enough to never bar Mr. Darcy from your chambers. Furthermore men have quite strong urges for physical intimacy, if denied they are wont to become irritable and moody."
Elizabeth watched her aunt pause and take a very deep breath before exhaling it with a sigh, clearly reticent. "It is not uncommon for a gentleman of Mr. Darcy's standing to keep a mistress, if the desire for intimacy is particularly strong. You were not his choice in a bride, nor do you have the family connections to compel his good behaviour, placing you at a disadvantage before you begin. You do not want to spend the early years of your marriage competing with his paramours."
Elizabeth picked up the robe and scandalous nightgown and folded them neatly on her lap while her aunt talked, blanching slightly at the mention of lovers. It brought back remembrances of a time in her life and a man she would rather forget. Smoothing her hands over the collar again, she spoke. "How am I to keep him….. satisfied?" She looked down at her hands, "I cannot help but think that I…. will be a disappointment."
Elizabeth missed the knowing smile that met her statement.
"Although you may not realise this, you are naturally inclined to passion. The way you infuse your music with emotion, your love of poetry, even the way you stroke that robe all speak your passionate nature. If you can but surrender to physical intimacy, I venture that you would greatly enjoy it. Permit yourself to be led by your husband, he will show you what is pleasing to him and I speculate he will want to please you in return"
Elizabeth graced her aunt with a sceptical glance loaded with an equal measure of vulnerability.
"You are an exceptionally beautiful girl." At this statement Elizabeth began shaking her head, emphatically.
"I know what you would say, that your beauty is nothing to Jane's," countered Mrs. Gardiner, "but I must tell you that your mother glorifies Jane's beauty precisely because your sister is the picture of herself in her youth. I have always thought your looks more engaging and there is no doubt your beauty is much more appealing to men. Tell me who had two offers of marriage before their nineteenth birthday?"
"A sycophant and a cad," replied Elizabeth.
"Two eligible matches, nonetheless….. Your husband will want to touch you," continued her Aunt, "you must let him, you must try to enjoy it even."
"And if he hurts me? How much trust can you extend to a perfect stranger? I met him but a week ago and I can scarcely count more than ten words we have spoken to each other, none of them amiable."
"Mr. Darcy was gentleman enough to marry you to preserve your reputation and the standing of your family. Those are not the actions of a rake. If he was inclined to cruelty, the worst punishment would have been to walk away. I cannot think he will be anything other than a gentleman in private," reasoned Mrs. Gardiner, before adding, "if he is not…. well I can only remind you that you are not friendless. Seek shelter with Lady Cassandra. It may take time, but should you have need of us, we will come for you. Nevertheless, even if he is all that is kind there will be pain the first time, bleeding too, and some minor discomfort thereafter until you accustom yourself to the activity."
Mrs. Gardiner finished her discourse with a few simple methods for minimising the discomfort of her initiation to marriage, ranging from a glass of wine before bed, to a warm compress after the business was taken care of. She then gave the new Mrs. Darcy a few minutes to contemplate the entirety of their conversation. For Elizabeth's part her mind was a whirl: married to a man, a stranger, and she would leave all of her family behind to go home with this stranger. If she was to salvage any happiness in her new circumstances, she could not wallow in self-pity or indulge in bitterness of spirit.
To say that she had found her aunts past a surprise would be an understatement. Although the circumstances were perceptively different, she could apprehend the warning. It gave her a great deal of comfort to have a plan; the rapid beating of her heart began to subside, along with the earlier feeling of nausea. Elizabeth determined that she would endeavour to give her Husband the benefit of the doubt. She would set out to discover the best aspects of his character, and whenever she felt herself becoming peevish she would think on her Aunt's example and strive to do better; or at least hold her impertinent tongue, should all else fail.
Whatever the state of their personal relations, he would have no cause to reproach her on her duties pertaining to the houses or the estate. The skills she never anticipated using would be employed. Naturally of real life experience she had none, but Rome was not built in a day. She would take time to learn and adjust to her role, just as the staff would take time to adjust to her management, but she would attend to her obligations as mistress with diligence. Yes, diligence and as much cheerfulness as she could muster!
The marriage bed though, she thought, her newly revived spirits faltering again as her breath hitched. Her aunt had never steered her wrong before, and yet the thought of a man whom she did not love, touching her, taking liberties and perhaps undressing her completely was difficult to reconcile. She remembered the stolen kisses, the youthful indiscretions she had engaged in years earlier, before her eyes had been opened to the true character of her erstwhile suitor or betrayer, depending on how you looked at the situation. She had been so ashamed after the first kiss and yet the scorching urgency of his embrace and heady feeling created by his whispered words of passion had led her to meet him again despite her better judgement. Was this evidence of a passionate nature? Would kisses with her husband have the same intoxicating effect?
She was shaken from her reverie by her Aunt clearing her throat.
"You have given me much to ponder, thank you for being, so…so... forthcoming."
Her Aunt shrugged before taking Elizabeth's hand to pull her up from the old bed. "And yet there is no time for introspection, your departure is nigh." She stopped before opening the door to the family corridor. "I wish we could delay the Indian expedition, so that we could be nearby should any difficulty arise. Perhaps I could remain and travel onwards once you are settled."
The idea had appeal, but Elizabeth waved off the statement. "Nonsense, your home is leased and the passage booked, there is nothing to be done but leave as planned."
The Gardiners had always made their home open to Lizzy, both as a guest and as a permanent resident, incurring considerable expense to further her education. She could not begrudge them the chance to expand their fortunes. Uncle Gardiner was both clever and ambitious, which was just as well, since he had three sons and was determined to see them well educated, and more importantly, well brought up. It was sometimes a fine balance, pursuing pecuniary advantage while maintaining a sufficient fatherly presence in the home, thus he found it necessary to take his family with him to India. Should everything proceed according to plan, many years would pass before they kissed the shores of Mother England again, mayhap never. It would be the height of selfishness to beg her aunt to stay, delay her departure, and make the protracted perilous journey without the protection of her husband.
The choices made in such a short life already haunted Elizabeth. If she had not insisted on seeing her family one last time, she would be bound for India as well. Now she was destined for a fate even more foreign and frightening.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth Darcy nee Bennet proceeded down the wide staircase at Longbourn arm in arm before separating in the foyer. Mrs. Gardiner glanced at the tall grandfather clock and then peered discreetly around the doorway at the wedding festivities. "Should I send the carriages around now or would you prefer to linger a while?"
…
Lost in his dark thoughts, Darcy missed the approach of her new wife. It was not until she reached over to gently touch his elbow that he registered her presence. Despite the touch being feather light, he flinched away from the contact, before turning a haughty look at his diminutive companion.
He struggled momentarily with the idea of making a false display of affection: a kiss upon her hand or even a warm smile, but he found his face was set into hard lines, completely immovable, like stone. Try as he might, he could not re-arrange those set features into a more agreeable rictus, disguise of any kind was his abhorrence. Fortunately, he was also not known to be a demonstrative man nor a talkative one. A quick survey of the room assured him that no-one had noticed anything amiss.
With a bracing breath Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy looked up into the forbidding face of her spouse. Her own countenance was devoid of colour or expression as she emotionlessly offered. "The carriage should be around momentarily, if you care to depart?"
His only response was to offer her his arm. Looking down at his proffered limb, she bit her lip and glanced up at his face again in that searching manner of hers. He watched her slowly place her hand in the crook of his elbow, her manner reminiscent of a wary animal; indeed her touch was so light he could barely feel the contact.
As they made their way to the door, he noticed out of the corner of his eye Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner moving to follow. As the carriage rounded the house, Mr. Bennet with a grim expression patted his daughter awkwardly on the shoulder. A gruff: "Safe journey," was all he offered before turning on his heel to re-enter the house.
Miss Bennet put her arms around her shorter sister in a lingering embrace, whispering soft words of comfort while Mrs. Gardiner soothingly rubbed the back of her departing niece's arm.
Once again Darcy found his chest tighten with the injustice of the whole situation. Why were her relatives acting like she was on the way to the gallows rather than the comfort of Grosvenor Square and eventually the splendour of Pemberley? And what if he were taking her to a hovel? She was the author of this scene, of the whole sorry situation. She was not entitled to the luxury of regret.
Letting out an impatient huff Darcy walked closer to the carriage, distancing himself from the emotional scene. Too far removed to discern the substance of their conversation, he could only witness his wife shake her head to a softly spoken question from her Aunt and then shake her head again at a similar entreaty from Miss Bennet. She tied her bonnet under her chin in a practised manner, and with a watery smile she gestured for the other women to return inside.
Another figure shot out the door in a flurry of shirts, literally throwing herself into her sister's arms. Mrs. Darcy squeezed Miss Mary with equal vigour, then held her back at arm's length with her head tilted at an angle and a smile fluttering on her full lips. "No, it will not do", he heard his wife mutter. She then proceeded to remove her bonnet and place it gently on her sister's crown, her matching scarf was transferred to her sister's neck. She momentarily fussed this way and that before nodding her head. "There, now all that is lacking is a coat and you will be perfectly turned out to visit me in London." The normally staid Mary gave a giggle and said something, but he was too far away to catch the reply.
If she thought he would allow her sisters to share a home with his own impeccably mannered sibling, he would disabuse her of the notion soon enough.
Turning his gaze determinedly to the carriage, he noticed a decided scarcity of trunks. Although the Bennets were not of his sphere he expected a gentlewoman would have accumulated a significant amount of belongings during her lifetime. Equally, he assumed that she would be hard pressed to prioritise the possessions that she might like to take with her into her new situation. In an unprecedented show of consideration to his bride, he had left the bulk of his own luggage in London, limiting his valet to just a single trunk of necessities. By all appearances he ought not have bothered: the carriage where he had anticipated upwards of a dozen items of luggage to be secured only held a large trunk, a hat box and two smallish wooden crates in addition to his own travel chest.
He suspiciously watched the Miss Bennets return inside, followed by Mrs. Gardiner, then cocked his head at Mrs. Darcy and enquired: "Has your father sent your luggage ahead already?"
He watched as a blush crept up her neck and set her already rosy checks in a deeper shade of pink. "No, Sir".
Darcy regarded the carriage again in confusion before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why, the bold little hussy. Best disabuse her of any notions she may have of manipulating him in the future: he had no intention of dancing to her tune, now or ever. "I would command you to go back up and get the rest of your things, but I have had my fill of local society under the circumstances," he said in a menacing voice. The way she winced and dropped her eyes to her shoes suggested that he had hit his mark.
Right in front of him he had seen her gift her bonnet and scarf to her sister.
He turned a critical eye on the rest of her travel attire. The blue fabric was of reasonable quality and the cut well fitted, but it was stark in its lack of adornment, very much at odds with the fussy attire the rest of the Bennet girls usually sported. Additionally, it showed signs of wear, a repaired cuff, gentle fraying on the hem; this was not the first winter for the coat. Yes, added together with the sparse luggage and against the gowns her sisters wore traipsing about the village, it was clear that she had given away the bulk of her best attire on the eve of her wedding.
"Be warned, Madam, I will not even advance you a shilling towards a new wardrobe as Mrs. Darcy. I am not a man to be trifled with. You will be required to subsist with the means of your pin money. You ought to have thought of that before you allowed your sisters to divide the spoils of your life as Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
Mrs. Darcy glanced back towards the house, though her Aunt and sisters were long gone, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but obviously thought better of it, before sweeping past him, jaw obviously clenched, to enter the carriage on her own, spurning his extended hand.