A/N: Sorry for the long absence. A series of disasters commensurate with Family life struck: late nights at work for my husband, illness, injury and kids who just refuse to sleep night after night.
But thank you all for the wonderful reviews! There is a big pile of dirty washing sitting in my laundry giving me the gimlet eye, but I repent nothing! I hope this meaty chapter adequately expresses my gratitude for all the support.
And of course this chapter would have taken much longer and be vastly less readable if it were not for the continued efforts of Lenniee, she is awesome.
…
In the two weeks that followed, Elizabeth was bound to a rigorous regime of shopping and improvement, the latter courtesy of her overbearing husband.
Mr. Darcy was quite a bore when it came to instruction; to be sure, such a mediocre teacher would never be permitted at Mrs. Pratts' school. The topics ranged from proper calling etiquette and conversation topics, to how to address various members of the Aristocracy and the finer points of precedence. It was all subject matter that any gentle woman should be familiar with, country born or not, although in Elizabeth and Jane's case this instruction came through their Aunt Gardiner rather than Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth having the further benefit of being drilled on these points at school.
Yet any time she tried to interject, to say that she was more than aware of the way to act -in theory at least if not in practice- she was shushed unceremoniously. She would have been infuriated, if she were not so painfully bored!
He had given up trying to lecture her in the breakfast room. She had spent half an hour watching him serenely while continuously stirring a stone cold cup of tea. Around and around the spoon went, occasionally dinging against the cup. "Just drink the thing!" he had boomed, quite suddenly but satisfyingly. She had only smirked back, "Oh but it is has gotten quite cold, I was just so absorbed in your instruction… please do go on."
If she had to be lectured, she preferred his study over the drawing room; at least it had a nice view from the window. Daydreaming was a given, and she had made stifling yawns into an art form. Teasing him was the only amusement, and she took a grim pleasure in setting him ill at ease –though she owned it was no great challenge: he was such a prickly thing!
Sometimes Elizabeth adopted the most affected poses for listening: cradling her chin in her hand and staring at him with an over exaggerated rapt expression that always made that muscle in his jaw jump like a cricket.
Aside from the one outburst over the tea, the signs of his irritation were subtle, perhaps easily missed if she had not spent so much time with little else to do but observe.
Her husband clung to the appearance of good manners, if not their spirit. He did not belittle her with direct insults, and yet his unconscious sense of superiority could not be anything but offensive: an incendiary combination of improper pride in his own status and a blind prejudice towards her background that he defended against all of her quiet attempts to pierce it.
As he droned on… and on… and on, Elizabeth's mind often wandered, mostly venturing into more pleasing subjects and some less so.
She would remember his naked flesh pressed up her own at the oddest times, causing a powerful blush to suffuse her features. She could not credit it was the same man, the man who had been so intent upon her and her body. Now even when lecturing her he tended to gaze at a point just beyond her shoulder, never at her, that jaw often twitching when her blush made not infrequent appearances.
It was remarkable how he could ramble on about social mores (a few of which he had woefully incorrect), and yet in their everyday interactions he never said two words when one would suffice, and preferred none when he could get away with it.
His perfunctory manner continued in the bedroom. While Elizabeth found it easy to turn a deaf ear to his twaddle on etiquette, she could not ignore him when he visited her chambers. Nor could she muster the courage to tease him.
The transcendent act she had enjoyed on their first night and that had felt so infinitely natural was now a hurried and impersonal exchange. He hovered over her on his elbows, keeping his contact strictly corralled to what was necessary for the procreation of children. He even kept his trousers and shirt on, accessing her expeditiously through his unbuttoned fall. Throughout, he wore a rather pained expression: clenched jaw, furrowed brow, which he attempted to hide by turning his face away whenever he happened to catch her looking at him.
When complete, he would rest upon her for a few moments, crushing her with his weight while he caught his breath. Depending on the night, once recovered he might either snap to attention like a soldier derelict in his duties and flee the room rapidly thereafter, or he would disengage slowly, following with a sad, barely audible sigh, before departing with a dejected shuffle. On his last visit he had even given her an absent-minded pat on the shoulder.
It was truly absurd, but not the kind of folly she could laugh at.
She dreaded his visits, but they were a necessary evil, weren't they? She had told him on the first night of their union that she hoped for a child, and despite his disgust, possibly in his own way he was trying to give her… something she desired? Or maybe he was simply diligently and joylessly questing for an heir…
Although she never felt the delicious pleasure she had experienced on their first night, he was never rough, that was something to be grateful for, wasn't it? That he didn't use her ill? And the one time she had said she felt poorly he had left her swiftly without recriminations or complaint –or any words beyond 'Goodnight'. But the interludes, that ought to have been intimate, made Elizabeth feel increasingly lonely. A resentment, rooted in confusion and shame, began to build with his repeated rejections. That he knew better was in no doubt; if she had erred someway on that first night, he ought to have told her so.
He seemed intent on correcting her perceived faults for moving in society, but totally uninterested in improving their felicity as a couple.
While her husband was clearly apprehensive, Elizabeth eagerly looked forward to joining society again. She had a number of friends in town, met during her time living with her Aunt and Uncle.
Uncle Gardiner was a solid businessman, but he had also been given an education befitting a gentleman, thus he was well versed in the appreciation of literature, art and music. A naturally inclusive man, he had fostered that enjoyment in his home, making welcome a wide range of individuals of an intellectual inclination. Some conversation, some light banter, and - heaven forbid - some laughter had the potential to warm up the stifling mausoleum that was Darcy house. The artistic set could not help but provide it.
Elizabeth also wondered about her new sister. The few times Darcy spoke of her, his voice glowed with affection. His eyes too betrayed his warm regard, even if his face was not aware of the depth of his esteem, for whatever topic they discussed he seemed to have that tight mask of restrained irritation firmly affixed.
At dinner she was aware of him watching her eat her repast with rapt attention, his dark eyes crawling over her, methodically searching for fault, no doubt. How nice it would be to add a third to their silent dinners, for even if the girl turned out to be a wholesale shrew at least she may divert a measure of his intense scrutiny.
The shopping trips turned out to be a true delight, and perhaps the only thing that kept Elizabeth sane in those early weeks. Amusingly, White outright refused to accompany her Mistress to Cheapside. Rather than argue with her maid about her duties, Elizabeth decided to count her blessings, few though there were, and took the parlour maids on a rotation. The girls seemed to like the change of scenery and, more importantly, getting out from under the thumb of Mrs. Pearce for a few short hours.
The gloomy atmosphere at Darcy house was down to more than just the décor. In her short experience, Elizabeth found Mrs. Pearce to be a harsh woman with all except the Master. It was not a matter of sternness -housekeepers were universally stern- but more of an underlying meanness of spirit. She punished minor infractions in the staff with a severity that was quite unwarranted. Elizabeth bore witness to her intemperate abuse of one of the maids regarding a mere dust in the disused red drawing room. When Mrs. Darcy had entered, the woman looked up at her Mistress, but rather than excuse herself or the silently weeping girl, she had continued to berate her, only departing once the maid had already run off in a flood of mortification.
But needs must be adapted to resources. Elizabeth would bide her time, perhaps reserving household changes until she enjoyed a greater measure of ease with her husband and a greater measure of time, once the first rush of shopping was over. Loath though she was to deprive anyone of their livelihood, White would surely have to go, perhaps Mrs. Pearce as well. The next thing would be to address those ridiculous dinners.
When Elizabeth had first applied to have a basket of food stuffs made up for her to take to the Miura family, Mrs. Pearce had objected most vehemently, even threatening to consult Mr. Darcy on the point. Had he not given explicit instructions that he was not to be disturbed that afternoon, the housekeeper would have undoubtedly marched into his office to decry the Mistress' demand. As it was, she had desisted in the face of Elizabeth's continued insistence.
The issue was not forgotten however, and in the interests of causing as little fuss as possible (for the time being anyway), Elizabeth had ventured down to the kitchens to retrieve the next basket personally, hoping for a kinder reception from the cook. In this she was again disappointed. The buxom mistress of the kitchens had a ruddy face with piggy little eyes that viewed Mrs. Darcy with evident distaste, and pursed lips that opened to claim in strident tones that she could not make a basket, "Cause I haven't got no spare baskets." Elizabeth had blanched at the coarse tone, but Jonny piped up, helpfully saying that there was surely one in the butler's office and that he would get it in a moment. Once filled, the wiry footman, that put Elizabeth in mind of a dark whippet, had naturally insisted on carrying the packed offering upstairs for the young Mistress.
Upon reaching the foyer Elizabeth had asked, "Are they always this unpleasant or is it just me?"
"They never warm to ye, but I guess you just get used to their sour pusses after a while."
At this rather disrespectful disclosure, his stride had faltered momentarily, but then he gave a cheeky grin at his own intemperate words. "I'm sorry Ma'am. Even if I think it, I shouldn't say so." Elizabeth had given a laugh, her timbre warm and friendly. She had not contradicted his self-chastisement but reached out to pat his arm. This only seemed to discompose him further and he stumbled off toward his duties.
She wondered at the hiring of the staff: how had the advertisements read to attract characters like Mrs. Pearce, Mrs. White and of course the cook?
Pre-requisites: strong belief in own infallibility, meanness of character and sour countenance must be displayed at all times. Cheerful souls need not apply.
To be fair, the staff at Darcy house seemed to fall into two disparate categories. Putting aside the terrible triad, there was no evil in the other servants. The footmen were universally very good natured, though not so familiar as Jonny, who was still comparatively new to service. The parlour maids were meek girls, easily dominated but essentially kind, as far as Elizabeth could tell. And the stable staff were quietly efficient and discreet.
The only one who seemed to straddle these two groups was the stately Soames: he seemed confident enough in his position to hold his ground without victimising the other staff. Yet he had still once or twice turned a very disapproving eye on the new Mistress, but the difference between him and Mrs. Pearce was that when he frowned at Mrs. Darcy she usually deserved it. Elizabeth was thankful Soames did not comment on the water she had tracked into the house one afternoon or ask how she had come by it, and she had decided to like him quite well when she realised he had not reported her transgression to Mr Darcy.
And what full days she enjoyed or endured, depending on the battle her seamstress had designated for the day.
Mostly they trotted back and forth on Gracechurch Street, patronising the local establishments just as capable as any Bond Street artisans; if all they lacked with the exclusive address, they also did not charge the exclusive prices. Miss Miura also haggled like an old fishwife; it was an ambush, the shock of the small doll-like woman requesting, nay, demanding a better price in strident tones. And yet she was so genuine and fulsome in her praise of the work well done that few grudged her at the end of the visit.
They passed by the Gardiners residence frequently, and Elizabeth always felt a pang upon seeing it. The pain was still too fresh, the uncertainty of her new situation and the fear she may never see them again made the hitherto cheery home take on a spectre-like quality in her mind. The impression persisted until one day she saw four perfectly turned out little girls in peach half dresses and white petite bonnets encasing their gold curls. What an odd thought: a house previously dominated by boisterous little captains and knights was now home to a gaggle of tiny princesses. The idea cheered Elizabeth immensely.
After the shopping was complete, but before she returned to the Darcy residence, Elizabeth indulged in her little guilty pleasure. Walking.
There was no call to intrude upon the notice of the fashionable set just yet, but Elizabeth visited a select few of the respectable but less frequented shrines to nature in the city. Enjoying her anonymity while it lasted, she went on moderate rambles, always accompanied by the maid on shopping duty, and on the rare occasion the weather was relatively pleasant Miss Miura might be tempted to join also. "Only an English woman!" she'd say when Elizabeth insisted that the outdoors would be no less enjoyable despite the chill weather and strong wind. Fingers cramped from long hours with a needle she could endure, but fingers cramped from the cold when there was no imperative to be abroad in the depth of winter, Akiko firmly declared it to be insanity.
The maids never complained, but then again they never would. Regardless, Elizabeth never let her walks stretch beyond an hour, leaving the girls with sufficient energy reserves to complete their duties and enough time for her to return and prepare for dinner.
Yes, she engaged in some mild subterfuge to enjoy her winter jaunts, but if she ever felt a twinge of guilt it was short lived, and the fact that the staff supported her in this small indulgence, neither reporting her whereabouts and concealing the evidence the time she had absentmindedly wet her gown in some snow drifts, brought a warm glow to her heart: it was good to have allies.
After the walk she would submit to White's gloomy preparations before meeting her husband, always in the hall and always dour. During dinner Mr. Darcy would talk little, but stare a lot. His silence, juxtaposed with his pompous verbosity in the morning, ought to have been soothing, but it wasn't.
There was often a short interlude between eating and retiring, again silent. She could have played the fine piano forte, but did not like the idea of exposing herself to him, even through music. Both retreated into the written word, though when she lifted her gaze, Elizabeth more than once found her husband paying more attention to her than his tome.
He didn't visit her chambers every night, and he usually gave her advance warning, either at dinner or after. He phrased it as a question, but he must have been relatively confident she would not refuse. Though the new method tickled her recollections of that first night, it brought her no joy.
Elizabeth wasted many late night hours wondering what had triggered the change, but she could not come to any satisfactory conclusions. Her shyness still held sway until she forcefully overcame it, writing to both Aunt Gardiner and Cassandra of that first intimate encounter in the blandest terms she could, hoping they could shed light on the fault in her bedroom behaviour.
Approximately a sennight into their co-habitation, Mr. Darcy at one breakfast held up the letters she had directed the butler to post the day prior. Outraged, Elizabeth exclaimed, "By what right do you confiscate and read my private correspondence!"
With a telling look at the footman, who promptly departed, Mr. Darcy countered coolly, "The right of a husband." He flicked the letters, showing the seals unbroken on the reverse side "I would not violate your privacy by reading your private conversations, but I ask that you do not jeopardise the privacy of this family by committing to paper that which could harm the reputation of the Darcy name."
Elizabeth pushed her plate away from herself and crossed her arms, "I must have some confidantes, Aunt Gardiner's and Cassandra's discretion can be relied upon, I assure you. Would you deny me access to my friends and family?"
Her husband seemed to consider this, tapping the letters on the white tablecloth, "I would prefer you to keep to the fiction of a love match, even with your closer connections. If you must confide in someone, I would prefer it to be in person and with the utmost care." He then leaned in closely, distracting her with his pleasantly masculine scent. "You must know that the servants hereabouts gossip terribly; some of my contemporaries even stoop to bribing their retainers for juicy scandal fodder. It is much easier to keep a secret between two than two dozen. Letters likewise can be intercepted, and a letter to India will pass through a great number of hands, it is a great risk to rely upon all of them being honest."
Elizabeth watched him rub his thumb along his chin in an unprecedented display of uncertainty. "I will allow these salutations and any future correspondence unhindered if you can give me your word that no references to the circumstances of our engagement or the strained state of our marriage are included therein."
Elizabeth sighed, it was the first evidence that he would be willing to compromise on any issue and as such ought to be rewarded with honesty on her part. She took the letters from his hand and walked over to drop them in the fire. Picking up a nearby poker she pushed the letters into the hottest part of the established blaze.
"I give my word, I will not write anything sensational of our circumstances. I will not lie, but I will be circumspect in my disclosures," said she upon resuming her seat at the table.
Her husband gave a nod and she fully expected the matter to end there, so Elizabeth was surprised when he went on talking. "I can fully appreciate why you may not want to dissemble in your correspondence. I generally abhor disguise myself, but I would ask that you strive to present a picture of marital felicity when my sister joins us Monday next."
"Can she not be trusted with the truth?" asked Elizabeth surprised. He had talked but little of his sister, but any mention of her to date had held a measure of respect as well as affection.
"I am sure she could, but I would not have her disappointed by the way our marriage came about, or correspondingly prejudiced against you. Our parents were a great love match, very uncharacteristic of their time, and I would like her to remain confident in her chances of a match of affection as she approaches her imminent launch into society."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at this little speech. She could understand disappointment but not prejudice, should Miss Darcy learn the events that had led to their marriage, for it was really an unfortunate accident. That the last pair of Darcys had been a 'great' love match was a surprise; surely, with his dour attitude she would have imagined her husband viewed marriage in the old way: essentially a businesslike transaction, with credentials of prospective brides examined in much the same manner he would fill a position within his staff.
"What of your other relations?"
"I have kept Lord Matlock in the dark. We will need the support of the Countess and their children in the coming weeks. As for Lady Catherine, well, let us just say she does not need any additional incentive to hate you."
After offering such a tantalising description of his family, Elizabeth would have liked to ask him to elaborate, but he consulted his pocket watch, informing her that he must away if he was to make an important appointment in time.
…..
Darcy may have cursed himself for not having been more forthcoming regarding his family before the following week rolled to a close.
The Countess, with an uncanny talent for mischief, contrived to call on one of the few occasions Darcy had allowed himself to leave the residence to attend to urgent business.
Naturally he considered it more prudent that he be present for all calls, especially this first and rather important introduction to the most influential of his female relatives. As juvenile as it would appear, he was not above kicking his wife's slipper-clad little toes if she strayed from the requisite social niceties or displayed that temper of hers.
He would not have put it past his Aunt to have deliberately arrived when she knew him to be out -either through some female witchcraft or with the collusion of one or more of his staff. Just because her husband had accepted the rather extraordinary match without pressing for details, it did not follow that the Countess would be so complacent. Whether it was by design or not, she had now enjoyed unfettered access to his country bride and had come with Georgiana in tow, and judging by the denuded tea trays, the call had already run quite long.
The introduction between his wife and Georgiana was an even more delicate matter that he had hoped to oversee personally.
Darcy had always felt a great deal of sadness over Georgiana's sombre upbringing. The amount of time he had dedicated to his sister when home during breaks from his education were well in excess of the attention that most fathers paid to their offspring, but the young man had been acutely aware of his father's persisting melancholy. His father was more than capable of running the estate: he seemed to revel in estate work, to the exclusion of all else, but once separated from the ledgers or discussions of drainage or crops, the colour and verve would leech out of his eyes. George Darcy had no time for Georgiana the baby, and as she grew and her similarity in looks to the late Mrs. Darcy strengthened, he seemed to actively avoid the girl, and then passed well before he could ever know the woman.
Darcy could not deny that providing a friend and role model for his sister had been a factor in his search for a wife, but only the right kind of wife.
Now the sensitive and often lonely girl was sitting there, positively beaming, in her new sister's company. Elizabeth said something. In his position just outside the room, he was too far to hear exactly what, but it was accompanied by a sly smile and a wink. Georgiana's eyes opened in astonishment, her mouth falling open to reinforce her shock. Lady Matlock reached over to pat the girl's arm at the same time as the new Mrs. Darcy did, and all three of them dissolved into laughter. Darcy stood, puzzled by the display of female solidarity but also reluctant to break the spell.
Georgiana caught sight of him first.
"Brother!" she cried, running across the room and hurling herself into his arms. It was unladylike, but he could not admonish her. He swung her around in a tight circle before putting her down again.
"I've missed you," they said simultaneously. Georgiana laughed gaily at the impasse, while Darcy, with a smile, put a hand on the small of her back to steer her back to the settee and her companions. But the Countess and Mrs. Darcy now stood, the latter with a look of wonder upon her face.
"We have taken up too much of your honeymoon already," declared Lady Matlock, smoothing her skirt.
"No, surely not!" explaimed Georgiana. "Fitzwilliam was not even here."
Lady Matlock just gave a 'tut tut' and began moving them towards the door without actually shoving, but through the sheer force of her personality.
"In a few days we will descend en masse for dinner, then you will return to take up residence in a little over a week. Allow the newlyweds their last measure of honeymoon bliss, my girl."
Darcy reluctantly relinquished Georgiana to Mrs. Darcy and offered Lady Matlock his arm. He felt rather mystified at the warm camaraderie established so quickly in his absence, and was rather sorry to see Georgie go. He walked Lady Matlock to the door while Elizabeth conferred quietly with his sister, and astonishingly brought another dazzling smile onto the shy girl's countenance.
"You have done well, Fitzwilliam, I am very proud of you," said Lady Matlock cutting across his thoughts.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
And with that rather surprising statement, Lady Matlock departed with his sister. The weight that had been sitting on his chest ever since the Netherfield ball lightened a fraction, allowing him to take a deeper breath, unconstrained by stress.
In the absence of the other ladies he had the leisure to appraise his wife. She wore a rose coloured muslin gown; the colour was so deep to be almost red at the bottom of the skirt, gradually fading to a very soft blush at her neckline. A beaded starburst started at the peak of each shoulder, the lines themselves were very neat and tidy despite the beads being of varied sizes and shapes, but uniformly in a glass-like silver. The lines radiated out, making their way down the sleeve, the back of the dress, and warping slightly to frame the edge of her chest, ever so gently drawing attention to and enhancing the feminine curves of her upper torso. It was stunning in its simplicity and suited his wife very well. A matching bandeau tamed her lovely curls, and two slippers in the paler blush of the dress peeped out from under her skirts, finishing the look. She was, in a word, breathtaking.
"Is that a new dress?" he said, falling into step with her on their way back to the drawing room.
She spun around slowly. "Yes," she said. But she did not preen under the compliment, the spin and glint of defiance in her eyes made him wary of attempting another compliment.
"You seemed to get on well with Lady Matlock," he added when it was clear she was not inclined to elaborate.
"She is a pleasant lady."
Once again a short answer. Darcy felt himself become flushed, the easy banter she had with the other ladies was stripped away with their departure. Elizabeth was civil, though it was a cold civility. He tried again to draw her out.
"What did you talk of?"
"Nothing improper."
Darcy wanted to growl. Maybe he unconsciously did, because she added another tidbit, albeit reluctantly, that much was obvious. "Turns out we had an acquaintance in common."
"Oh really?" He tried to sound mildly interested, to encourage her.
"Does that surprise you?"
"I would be lying if I claimed otherwise. But then again, the Countess is very actively engaged in a number of charities, consequently she meets people from all walks of life."
She gave him a smile that had a very sharp edge. "So she consorts with my lowly kind?"
"I would not put it like that," he shook his head, "But there is a fine nuance of status in the upper class, Lady Matlock is more liberal than most."
"As are you."
"Me?"
What could she be getting at? Her smile, sharp though it had been, was now erased. Her expression had been wiped blank but her eyes glittered with fury.
"Bingley is hardly your equal, yet you were a guest in his home for months, I understand."
"Yes, well, that is different," he replied, still not sure where this was leading. "We have been friends for many years, since Cambridge. On the whole, most of my circle conforms with society's ideas, and my social position allows me some leeway in choosing my closer connections."
"And I have none? Must I pander only to those of greater social consequence? Should I throw off the companions of my youth?- Is that your edict for me?"
"I wish you would not put words in my mouth."
"But it matches your overall sentiment, does it not?"
Darcy winced. How did a compliment on her dress and an oblique reference to a shared acquaintance trigger such a furore? His wife's overall stance was defiant, but there was a slight tremor in her fingers. Perhaps he had been working her too hard; the morning lectures, the whole situation must be putting a mountain of pressure on the country girl.
He gave a long suffering sigh and encouraged her to take a seat, asking if she would pour him a cup of tea. Maybe if he could avoid saying more, since he could apparently say nothing right, the quarrel could be ended. He watched, temporarily mesmerised, as she arranged her skirts delicately, but the distraction only lasted until she placed the cup and saucer into his hands.
"I must suppose that the daughter of an Earl is much lower in consequence than the wife of one."
It took him a moment to place the context of the comment. So the acquaintance she held in common with Lady Matlock was an Earl's daughter. He reclined back in the chaise, balancing the tea cup on his knee and affecting a casualness he did not feel. Not just from his wife's badgering, but at how becoming she looked while executing said badgering. Though his wife shared the overlarge piece of furniture with him, she was at the far end and seemed to be almost bouncing with the desire to get away.
"Lady Margaret of Netherfield Park," she supplied though he had not enquired.
"Oh yes… Deceased – correct me if I am wrong. I don't think you ought to make too much of the connection. Having a house in the neighbourhood, I guess the family would have to make some contact with the locals, but I'm sure Her Ladyship meant nothing by it."
She said nothing further, but sat there still like a statue, so still that it was entirely possible that she had stopped breathing. He leant forward placing his tea cup onto the small table with a mild clatter, and reached over to take her dainty hand.
"The Countess seemed to view you favourably, and I have never seen Georgie take to someone so easily… You did well today Elizabeth."
His wife looked down at his hand grasping her own as if his appendage was some foreign and vaguely threatening object, then his face became the focus of her scrutiny. Her dark eyes were wide and searching, like he had also spoken in a foreign language, though her lips had formed a small moue of disappointment. With an exaggerated dignity she shook her hand free of his grasp, got up slowly and walked from the room. No curtsey or explanation was offered even for politeness' sake. She did not even look back.
The first visit to their home had seemed to start with promise but ended with discord and acrimony. He was disappointed but not surprised when she sent down the message that she would take her evening meal in her rooms and retire early. What did surprise Darcy was how much he missed her company while he ate alone, and after due reflection upon their earlier conversation, how condescending he had sounded.
…
The next caller brought chaos to Darcy House and yet, perversely, a brief spell of harmony to the Darcy marriage.
After checking the poorly healed injury on one of his matching team of four, Darcy was discussing options with the stable master and the head coachman when an urgent message arrived.
The stable master was in favour of retiring the whole team soon and beginning to source and train their replacements. The coachman advocated changing the injured horse only, arguing the team had a year or two in them still and if a young horse was selected it may yet lead the new team. And the out-of-breath footman who skidded to a stop on the slate floors, slick from mucking, urged the Master to get inside, and quickly!
"Lady Catherine has arrived, Sir."
It was all Darcy needed to hear to spur him into action and momentum toward the house.
Darcy's long legs propelled him swiftly, quickly outdistancing the trotting footman. Even through the closed windows fronting the garden Darcy could hear the raised voices. His Aunt's shrill voice exploding with acrimony was unmistakable, but he could also discern another cultured alto responding in clipped tones, which despite their neat enunciation did not lack for volume.
As he made his way down the internal hallway towards his wife's preferred drawing room, the content became audible.
"You are naught but a shameful interloper! Mark my words, you shall be shunned by one and all, no one will take notice of you if I have anything to say about it. You will rue the day you ever set your cap at my nephew, you vile adventuress."
"I will not be spoken to with so much disrespect within the walls of my own home. Try for some decorum, would you! If you cannot be civil, I suggest you await my husband in his study."
"Your home!... This was my sister's home. You pollute it down to its foundations with your very presence, you upstart! Who are you to marry my nephew? You are nothing but a country chit of questionable pedigree and respectability! Do not for a moment doubt that your cousin has informed me of all I need to know about you."
"Who my relatives are is no choice of mine, but the fact that you willingly choose to associate with someone such as Mr. Collins says much more about you than it does about me, and let me be clear, my intent is not to compliment," replied Elizabeth in a tone so cold one could catch their death from it.
The tableau he encountered upon entering the drawing room was nothing short of spectacular: Lady Catherine wore a shimmering green travelling dress, matched perfectly with a similar green bonnet that she had obviously forgotten to remove in her unseemly haste to accost the new Mrs. Darcy. The bonnet sported a jaunty orange ostrich feather, which bobbed around in time with Lady Catherine venting her spleen.
The way the rather majestically-proportioned green-clad Lady loomed over his wife put him in mind of a dragon molesting a princess, but unlike a fairy-tale damsel in distress, Elizabeth was no wilting flower. On the contrary, she was standing up for herself, her composure was not perfect, but remarkable in face of the extreme provocation. Her spine was perfectly straight and her face self-possessed, except for a rosy circle on each cheek, while Lady Catherine was completely red in the face, her chest heaving in outrage and fury, spittle even flying from her mouth as she began berating Mrs. Darcy again.
"ENOUGH!"
Both ladies' heads snapped around to regard a clearly furious Darcy. Elizabeth stepped back, her eyes flickering with chagrin. Her movement also served to reveal his cousin Anne watching the combatants from a seated position. She looked abnormally well, but it was neither here nor there at this point. His first priority was to separate his wife and his aunt swiftly!
"Oh dear nephew, thank goodness you are here! You would not believe the abuse this vulgar creature has been heaping upon me," said Lady Catherine, her address turned to that of spun sugar.
"You are right, I would not believe it. I had the privilege of hearing a portion of your discourse thus far and I suggest you accompany me to my study right now or I will forcibly eject you from my home."
Darcy was hard pressed to decide who was the most shocked: he was more than surprised by the words that had leapt from his own mouth, his wife was regarding him in a manner that suggested she had never seen him before, and Lady Catherine was mouth agape, clutching her heart as if staging a Shakespearean tragedy. The reactions of those in the room were rounded out neatly by his cousin Anne who smiled… very much like she was viewing a particularly good comedy.
His eyes once again found Elizabeth, who was gazing at him levelly.
"Our home," she said slowly, with just a hint of wavering uncertainty he imagined to be discernible only to him.
Time slowed. In her eyes he read the momentous nature of the statement come enquiry. He nodded in his mind, sure of the right decision, even if he was not clear on the why, then nodded his actual head. "Yes, our home."
Lady Catherine scoffed loudly.
"Study. Now. Or out. Take your pick." he snapped.
Though the harridan made her way down the hall, it was with continuous harping on the manners of the lower classes, and the foolishness of men who followed their appendages rather than their heads into matrimony, turning against their relatives who only wanted the best for them.
Darcy turned a deaf ear to her vitriol, waiting until the heavy door to his private sanctuary clicked shut. He sighed.
"Aunt, what could you have been thinking? Barging into my house in this reprehensible manner? Abusing my wife? Making a spectacle for the servants. –Tell me, for I am inordinately curious. What were you thinking of?" His speech was quiet, yet still retained a strong undercurrent of steel. His visage matched: there was something stony, implacable about his darkened eyes. If he had known how much his expression reminded Lady Catherine of her father –the only person in her life she had ever feared– he would have catalogued his air for later use, but as it was, he only saw her tremble.
"I was thinking of you Darcy, and how to get you out of this mess you have landed in," she said, more calmly than he had anticipated. The shrill volume was gone, but he discovered he found wheedling equally distasteful.
"There is no releasing me from this union, which by the way is none of your business. It was sealed by God, for no man or woman to tear asunder."
"Annulments are not unheard of."
Another sigh from Darcy, but this one was directed at what was to come rather than what had been said before. He rubbed his wrist surreptitiously.
"Annulments create scandal, barely less so than a divorce, I have grounds for neither."
"You are determined to have her then?" his aunt asked quietly, but he saw her eyes narrow.
"I already have her and I am determined for you to accept her. Whoever she was before, she is Mrs. Darcy now." The steely edge was back in his voice again.
"You are not the head of this family!" she bellowed, her timbre slipping towards indignation again.
"I may not be head of the Fitzwilliam family, but I am head of the Darcy family. If you do not make peace with my wife you cannot be accepted into our houses or recognised by us in public. It would send the wrong message."
Rather than meeting the explicit demand head on, Lady Catherine's reply was, "What about Anne?"
"The best thing for Anne would be for you to publicly embrace my wife, demonstrate that there was never any engagement between Anne and I."
"Never any engagement?" she snarled.
Darcy consciously unclenched his fists and rolled his jaw, before continuing. "Any notion of an engagement between Anne and myself has been nothing more than a figment of your own imagination. I was never bound by duty or inclination to your daughter. You make yourself, and more importantly your daughter, ridiculous by persisting with this delusion."
"Ridiculous!" his aunt cried. "I will tell you what is ridiculous, you losing your head over some country chit who should have been good for a quick romp, not to foist on your whole family, you naive boy. It is the talk of Meryton, how you could not keep paws off her. Why don't I make it the talk of London? I offer you Rosings on a silver platter and you throw it away on a… on a… bit of muslin!"
"Out!"
When she looked poised to begin another offensive tirade, he shouted "Out!" even louder. When she did not move, either from stubbornness or shock, he cupped her elbow and marched her to the door.
As Darcy anticipated, Soames was standing a little ways down the hall, guarding his door from eavesdroppers and staying just outside of earshot himself. "Please escort Lady Catherine directly to her conveyance, and in future she is not to be received in the drawing room but is to be escorted straight to my study, should she call."
"Do not talk over me like I am some idiot child!" she spluttered.
"Then stop acting as one," he retorted in a harsh whisper, "Do not talk, just leave. I cannot vouch for my temper right now, and if you continue to press me you may just make this break permanent. If you move against us, you will find out who has more clout when I retaliate. Go now, and return when you have an apology for my wife and for myself."
"I know how to act." Pronounced his aunt shrugging him off and gliding towards the foyer where they found Anne, already waiting, her outer gear restored. She obviously knew enough of her mother to know that once she got going their welcome would be short. Wisely, Elizabeth was not present to exacerbate the barely contained situation.
"I take no leave of you, send no compliments to your wife, you deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased," Lady Catherine said imperiously. "Come Anne."
His cousin gave him a saucy wink before practically skipping down the stairs. Darcy had not seen her do that since she was a little girl, prior to her illness.
Once their uninvited guests were on their way, he returned to the drawing room, where he found a pale faced Mrs. Darcy awaiting him. "I'm sorry," he said.
"I should not have raised my voice; I am the one who is sorry?" she replied, her little teeth taking hold of her lower lip.
He laughed shaking his head, and was pleased to see the corners of her lips twitch in an involuntary, hesitant reply. "You faced down the dragon, and not only survived but I think triumphed, that is nothing to apologise for," he said, his voice quiet but brimming with feeling.
Her smile widened… and his heart expanded.
"Do you not think that is a rather disrespectful thing to say about your Aunt?"
The reply came to his lips without thought, "Maybe, but it is quite accurate."
Her chortle of acknowledgement was music to his ears. It was a distinctly pleasant thing, being in accord with one's spouse. When he next encountered his aunt, he'd have to tell her how she had contributed to the felicity of his marriage that day, thank her even, for he knew how much Lady Catherine loved to be of use.
"I appreciate that, but you should not beat yourself up. Not everyone can have a family as perfect as mine," she said with an arch look.
They smirked at each other, exchanging a look of complicity. Yes, it was really quite nice being in agreement.