A/N: A hundred apologies! A thousand! A Million apologies for the delay!
Really it should be my kids apologizing, and my Husband. Three Business trips in three weeks have left me feeling like a single parent. The kids are fine for the first day or two, but every extra night their Dad is away begins the deterioration in their behaviour (which is never that great to begin with) which starts off a chain reaction, my patience goes, the fighting between the boys gets worse, I get more upset. Until I am a total blubbering mess by the time my man comes home. Needless to say, creativity is at all time low during such times.
But the chapter is here, and work has begun on the next.
I hate doing this, but I would hate for the story to be stolen: Anything contained in this topic posting is the sole property of the author, unless expressly stated otherwise. This story, the author notes and comments are copyright protected and all rights are retained by the author. Any form of plagiarism or copyright infringement, for profit or otherwise, will be actioned.
In other news, 1000 follows! Wooohoooo! I am overwhelmed by the response. And of course the generosity of my betas, Lenniee you make it all better, always, Lucy, thanks for the story chat and edits. K, you too and our guest beta Miss Phryne Fisher.
Readers! I love you all, please review, please favourite, please follow and don't forget to review!
Chapter 10
Mr. Kennet,
My apologies for my excessively tardy reply. Though I read your letter almost the moment it arrived, I have been at a loss as to what to do, and thus what to write. Rest assured that my thoughts have been with you and the beleaguered tenants under your care.
To say that I found your report alarming would be a gross understatement. I am dismayed by how quickly this dispute has escalated and saddened by the attacks instigated by the much honoured Laird of Duncaldine, that disadvantage my tenants far more than they impact me.
Until the local merchants can be convinced to accept the custom of the farmers from Kerridge Estates, I have sent a pair of carts and a wagon to you. The teams provided will stay till further notice; please make provisions for their extended residence in the manor house stables. I envisioned a three day a week schedule with alternating destinations to collect that which the tenants had sourced locally, but I leave working out the finer details in your capable hands.
Planning ahead, I will endeavour to send some men of a military background to you, they may assist in the purchase runs and perhaps keep an eye on the frequently blocked south road. Though he has not resorted to banditry yet, I have very little trust in the honour of our Laird Duncaldine and likewise in the local law enforcement, since your complaints have oft fallen on deaf ears.
I have an associate investigating the local constable who has been so dismissive of our complaints. Though I suspect it is merely a case of nepotism, rather than something more sinister, I owe it to those under my care to explore all avenues.
Continue to remove the illegally felled trees as they block the road. I also beg you to discourage any of the young hot heads that may wish to contrive a watch or any other ill-conceived notion. It is a persistent inconvenience, but merely an inconvenience nonetheless, not worth bloodshed.
I would not presume to…
A knock at the door broke his train of thought, but Darcy had the presence of mind to lift his quill from the paper.
Though he had left explicit instructions that he was not to be disturbed, he did not entirely repent the interruption. It was a difficult matter, and his course of action was far from certain. It was a state of affairs he could not like, as a man who both excelled at and enjoyed his role as the concerned and in-control master.
It did not follow that he was happy that Soames had permitted the interruption, and he was more than a little surprised when Lady Matlock was announced.
Barely looking up from his unfinished letter, Darcy said brusquely, "I believe you will find the ladies in the music room."
"Oh, Fitzwilliam, do not go punishing Soames for my insistence. I do beg your forgiveness for interrupting your work, but I was hoping we could have a little chat before the ball tomorrow evening," said Lady Matlock.
Darcy had been on the receiving end of enough of his aunt's 'little chats' to know what the term presaged –nothing good– but he did wonder if it was he who had offended, or if he was to be chastised as proxy for his wife.
He gestured to the seat on the other side of his large table. Lady Matlock continued to stand, her lips compressed as she gave the chair, the desk, and finally him a meaningful look. With a sigh Darcy levered himself up, feeling the slight tingles that accompany sitting in the one attitude for too long, and made his way around the desk. A wave of the hand asked if the matching chairs before the fire were more to her liking, and the small regal nod from the lady said yes. He chose to ignore the satisfied smirk that accompanied her acceptance.
Crossing his legs upon taking his seat, Darcy asked, "How many offences shall this 'little chat' cover? Should I ring for tea and cake or forgo refreshments, for fear that I will be unable to hold anything once you commence your abuse?"
"How droll," said Lady Matlock, frowning, then she leant across the divide between the chairs to squeeze Darcy's forearm in comfort. "You know it has been many years since I have given you a good scold, and though I am sure you have committed hundreds of offences worthy of reproach since, and likely a dozen or more in the last week –for you are a man after all– that is not my purpose today."
Darcy rubbed his neck, then consciously stilled his limbs, waiting for her to continue.
"I would like to talk about Mrs. Darcy," she said, at length.
A hiss that he could not halt escaped his lips. His previous conceptions of the girl had been stretched by Lord Carbeck's and Richard's admonishments, and further tested by his subsequent observation, and yet he had not quite surrendered to the idea that she may not actually be of a mercenary nature.
If you looked at Mrs. Darcy sideways, and squinted a little, you could perceive an innocent country girl without an avaricious bone in her body. Yet when her temper was raised or when she struggled, you could see the powerful determination shining out of her petite frame.
Elizabeth had a generous heart, never more transparent than in her daily interactions with Georgiana. She had a passionate nature, discernible simply by observing the way she walked or even breathed, and exquisitely amplified the few times he had heard her sing and play. Since the Bingley dinner his desire for her had continued its ascent, reaching new and painful heights. Very painful. He reasoned that if he did not have her soon he might just combust!
The thing that held him back, though, was her determination. Scrutinising her closely –as had become his new habit— he could see the intense concentration belied by her casual friendliness. When entertaining his family, he could see her weighing and measuring each individual's responses and catering her own behaviour accordingly. She had become a great favourite with Lord Matlock in but three meetings, Lady Matlock came to see her daily and even the Colonel seemed to seek out her company above that of others during his short visits.
Watching her, Darcy wondered if he was only partially wrong. He wondered if rather than coveting his wealth, it was his position she had lusted after.
But then there were contraindications on that theory as well: she never missed an opportunity to scorn Lord Carbeck, though one could argue that she played him perfectly, as he was ever by her side despite her cutting wit.
"Fitzwilliam? William? Fitzwilliam! Are you even listening to me?" cried Lady Matlock.
Darcy shook himself, feeling a flush creep up from his collar and make its way to his cheeks. "My most sincere apologies, Aunt. I can claim no excuse for my lapse, except that I was wool-gathering. If you would repeat your last statement I would be much obliged."
Scrutinising her countenance Darcy saw her lips, already thin with age, flatten together for a moment, but his genuine contrition seemed to mollify her. Lady Matlock patted her coiffure, but fixed her now worried eyes on his face. Whatever she saw made her expression soften further. "You work too much and too hard. Now that you have added a wife to your burdens you must learn to pace yourself. To–"
"I do what must be done for those under my care. I shall do no less. For all that I love you dearly, I will not have this argument with you again, and I suspect it is not what you came here to say," he said firmly.
Lady Matlock huffed. "As I was saying then… You need to discuss clothing with Elizabeth."
Darcy winced. That he had handled the situation poorly was in no doubt, and although Elizabeth had rebuffed his attempt at a remedy, the ultimate fault lay with him. Aside from any concerns about the character of his wife, his behaviour was unhelpful at best, and if he could view it without self-deception, quite childish. He had let his anger rule him and acted contrary to all common sense; that a poorly dressed Mrs. Darcy would diminish the status of the family was indisputable. He had been petty and cruel, the whole debacle was a stain on his character and a chapter of his short marriage that had come to make him feel very uncomfortable.
"Do you not approve of her choices?" he enquired sedately.
Lady Matlock's fingers lightly tapped the arm of her chair. "No, not exactly," she said. "All that I have seen does lack the usual… that is to say… her choices are unique, but I think they suit her very well. If she were to try to copy our set she would always fail, be seen as a pale imitation, but by positioning herself as an original, she could gain acceptance through sheer novelty. Her gown for the ball tomorrow could not be more perfect."
Lady Matlock paused, searching his features, her brows drawn together. "What can you tell me of Elizabeth's circumstances before your marriage?"
"She is the daughter of a country gentleman from Hertfordshire," he said.
"How enlightening," she replied, the sarcasm evident in her tone. "What concerns me is not so much the decoration of her gowns and accoutrements: they are uniformly charming. I might have even been tempted to patronise Miss Muira myself if her shop were not in Cheapside; but Elizabeth does not have enough, and I understand that she does not plan to order more items for the season."
He could not bring himself to look at his aunt. He let her quiet words wash over him and looked determinedly at his boots.
"In the daughter of a country gentleman, who has four sisters and no brother, frugality is to be admired. As the wife of a great landowner, she must maintain a status in our circles and much of that is dependent on her dress, amongst other things. I think you should give her some perspective. She was not raised to this life and by marrying her you have taken the fish out of her pond, so to speak. You must gently encourage her to adapt to her new role. The sharks, they will be circling, do not provide them an opening to drag her under."
If only Lady Matlock could understand the irony of what she was asking, that he ought to persuade Elizabeth to spend more money. The irony was so thick he could almost choke on it. Unable to speak, he merely nodded.
His aunt looked thoughtful before continuing, "It is not the gowns alone, Fitzwilliam. It would help if Mrs. Darcy was seen shopping with myself and Georgiana. Family solidarity and all that will go a long way, if you would—"
"I will take care of it," he said tersely.
Lady Matlock's contemplation was penetrating; she seemed to choose her words with utmost care. "Obviously the planning for tomorrow evening's ball has been underway for some time and the guest list long finalised, but perhaps in the future we could include some of her London friends in our events. What type of people are they?"
Darcy swallowed; the enquiry was bound to be made sooner or later; his family were not as witless as the Meryton natives. "I know none of her London connections aside from her Aunt and Uncle, currently bound for India."
Lady Matlock frowned at another threadbare piece of intelligence. Searching his face again, she quietly asked, "William, were your intentions towards Mrs. Darcy always honourable?"
Darcy's stomach churned, he knew that he must look a fright, if Lady Matlock's tight shoulders and wary eyes were anything to go by.
"We are married now, it should not matter."
"I will not denounce you for your prior sentiments, nor for what was obviously the clandestine nature of your courtship. The marriage is in place now and you have made good on your actions." When he made no reply, she huffed again. "I will not mince words with you, Nephew. You have married beneath you, but since the milk cannot be put back in the pail, I suggest you embrace what your weakness has led you to. We are all of us trying to help you, a task made difficult by your deliberate obtuseness and black tempers. I would—"
"Enough!" He took deep breaths trying to calm his agitation. "Your sons, attempting to assist me? Is that what you would have me believe, while James pants after my wife like a dog?"
"Calm yourself. James provokes, it is true, but there is no harm in him."
Darcy scoffed. "You are blinded by maternal partiality."
"That may also be true. But despite his faults, he will always be my darling boy," she replied without anger but rather a rueful smile. "You will discover the unavoidable bias of parenthood soon enough."
The last stunned him, pained him. Though his repeated nocturnal visits had been aimed towards that very goal, the concept of a child had remained academic. An heir to inherit the estate, preferably a boy, though not a necessity.
Darcy had admittedly wondered at the wisdom of getting a child on an unknown quantity of a woman, but the ruminations had centred on the child's mental acuity to rise to the great challenges of managing an estate. In the case of female offspring, he wished to avoid the wild temperament that had beset his wife's younger sisters. He had reasoned that he could raise a boy to a finer state of intelligence and he could check any wayward daughters through persistent nurture. But the fact remained he had not made the leap; he had not considered them as beings he would love and cherish.
It was strange, really; he had always thought of children as a blessing and a joy prior to his marriage. He had not even been aware of the theoretical transition, nor considered from whence it had sprung. He could only surmise that he had not seen their lives as joined in the way he had always envisioned marriage. Darcy thought he would do little more than endure his connection to Elizabeth and thus had not considered any children as being 'theirs'. Nor had he given a thought to loving them.
He rubbed his chest in a tight circle, trying to ease the burning pain that had taken up residence under his breast. There may already be a child, secure under her own ribs, blissfully growing in the dark, waiting to become a part of his patched together family. A child conceived in mindless duty, not the deep abiding love he had always wanted. A child that his wife would love with a depth and sincerity of affection she could never feel for him.
He startled at the thought. Did he want Elizabeth's affection?
Of late she had taken to ignoring him, or no, that was not quite accurate. Elizabeth was wary around him. She frequently avoided eye contact, she did not initiate conversation with him and when he tried to engage her in a discussion her answers were typically short, though not lacking in intelligence. She did not tailor her behaviour to suit his tastes, though advancing or crushing her social ambitions was within his power.
She did watch him, though. He had felt the prickle of awareness more than once and turned to find her eyes on him. Being who she was, Mrs. Darcy did not flinch or look away: she would stare him down in the way he might a wild animal, one you were not willing to turn your back on.
He watched too, but his looks were hungry. How could she miss the way his eyes lingered on her light and pleasing figure? The way he burned for her? His fingers itched to touch her whenever she was nearby.
Even more pathetic, she had teased him over breakfast the morning prior, and a peculiar warmth had enveloped his chest; when he had met her with a light parry of his own, her sweet smile had made his heart stop.
If she craved a wider social circle, a more educated acquaintance, could he blame her? He could not deny her intelligence; the humorous way she had baited Miss Bingley had been delightful without ever crossing the line into cruelty. Or her ability to hold her own against Lord Matlock's highly developed intellect, though their discussions of Philosophy often became more erudite than even he could follow.
She would have been wasted married to some almost gentleman, confined to a pastoral life, an existence that could never provide the requisite stimulation to nourish such a mind. He could see her agile intellect atrophy, her playful wit become bitter and mordant. He would not have wished that upon her.
The evidence of the night they had met was against her innocence, though. What could a gently bred lady mean skulking about alone in the dark? Running? Why would she have been running in a neighbourhood surrounded by her friends and family, except for some nefarious purpose? When he thought back upon the sequence of events, he even believed her little hands had clutched at him immediately preceding their fall. And the most damning piece of evidence had been the immediate arrival of witnesses to what had hereto been a deserted part of the house during the festivities.
But what if it were just some terrible mistake as his cousins had suggested? In what light did that paint his behaviour in the first month of their marriage? His mind shied away from the possibility.
Usually prone to excessive self-flagellation –mental if not physical– Darcy had tortured himself for months over the inattentiveness that had, in his mind, been the deciding factor in his sister's near ruination. Those familiar with him knew that he looked after his tenants with a fanaticism that bordered upon insanity, taking upon himself many of the misfortunes that would not be laid at his door by any temperate mind.
Mayhap his very identity was at the crux of the issue. He could not allow her to be anything other than a mercenary, for if she was innocent of calculation, his retaliatory actions had been shameful beyond anything that had come before and perhaps beyond reparation. Could he presume to call himself a gentleman when he had treated his wife so poorly? Even if she had been mercenary, as the tide of his anger lowered, he had found himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his recent course. Without that small –yet insufficient– excuse for his abuses, he wondered if the truth of how he had behaved might just be enough to unman him.
Darcy scrubbed his hands over his face, once, twice but was halted from repeating the movement yet again by smaller, softer hands upon his own.
He looked between his fingers and into the worried eyes of Lady Matlock, now standing stooped in front of him. Gently pulling his hands from his face, she gave them a squeeze. "There is no need for despair. If I have not said so before, let me do so now: your wife is a treasure. I like her very much, no matter how the marriage came about. And I will always love you, no matter how the marriage came about."
When he did not respond immediately, he saw her shoulders drop, just a fraction. "I am sorry for interrupting your work, and equally sorry for my interference."
Before she could make good on her intention to leave, he fortunately came out of his stupor. Clutching her hand as she walked between the chairs, he pressed a kiss to it, and then cradled it in both of his own. "Interrupt me whenever you see fit," he said solemnly.
Darcy walked his aunt to the door with a firm promise to see her tomorrow evening, and a more reluctantly given one to dance tomorrow evening. As much as he loved Lady Matlock in general, if there was an aspect of her character he could not love, it was her proclivity for taking advantage of any momentary weaknesses or flashes of sentimentality in her menfolk.
Now there was naught to do but wait until his wife answered his summons. He cast a quick assessing look at the drinks trolley, but turned away. Darcy had sensibly curtailed his imbibing after Lord Carbeck had exploited his novel state to pry loose too many secrets.
Darcy found himself rather anxious about his upcoming conversation with his wife. Vacillating between indifference and temper lately, he did not know how Mrs. Darcy would react to this further intrusion into the hereto sensitive issue, and thus decided he ought to have all of his wits about him.
When Soames finally ushered Mrs. Darcy into the study, it was plain to see that she had decided to adopt her attitude of calm indifference today, but his palms still began to sweat. Her curtsey was shallow, and Elizabeth seemed to find a great many aspects of his study uncharacteristically fascinating. She looked at the painting above his desk, the desk itself, the fire was well stoked by her scrutiny and she even regarded his shoes for a moment. Yes, her gaze visited a great many places but conspicuously avoided his eyes, in a more pointed manner than she had at breakfast. He surreptitiously rubbed his hands on the heavy fabric of his trousers and led her over the seat so recently occupied by Lady Matlock.
She sat with her back ramrod straight, perched near the edge of the chair.
Darcy felt a frown mar his brow and cleared his throat before speaking. "I wanted to speak to you." He cringed, instantly wishing he could take back the inane statement.
"That is, I had a visit from Lady Matlock, just before," he continued.
Raising an eyebrow she replied, "I know, she said she planned to speak to you."
He took a deep breath to disperse the excessive anxiety that constricted his chest, and hopefully allow his mind to produce speech that did more than repeatedly state the obvious.
"She raised some concerns about your wardrobe," Darcy said tentatively. Elizabeth did not respond verbally but turned her face towards him; her expression was difficult to decipher, except that she was waiting.
Thus the words came tumbling out in a less restrained and logical manner than was his wont. That Lady Matlock did not think she had enough gowns or outfits, that she needed to accustom herself to her new status, through attire and spending. To cement her position she needed to be actively seen with the family, to prove their acceptance was not just a face they were putting on a bad situation, merely for the duration of the ball. A vague reference to him acting wrongly may have been tucked in somewhere, but he could not be sure, such was the rapidity of his verbal sprint.
He knew he finished with the declaration that he would set up an account for her at the modiste that his sister and aunt frequented, yet today, for her to take advantage of at her earliest convenience. He knew, because he was about to say more, strangely unable to help himself, when she held up a hand.
"No, thank you," she said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, no thank you," she repeated with asperity.
He blinked. "I do not consider that an option."
"You made it very clear that I had a budget –a budget you knew to be insufficient– and I was to work within the constraints of that budget without assistance or interference," she said.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face; it was too much to hope that she would let him off easy, for he did not deserve it. "I was wrong. I shall admit it, for it is true. Now if you would kindly allow me to address the issue, I would be most grateful. You must know that what I suggest is best for everyone involved."
"It is not the best for everyone involved!" she cried, her prior cloak of disinterest falling away like leaves in autumn, stripping her bare. Her eyes wide and suspiciously glassy, and the way she had begun to mutilate her lower lip seemed incongruent with the mundane nature of the matter.
Inspiration struck and he raised his hands, trying to calm and placate her without actually touching her.
"You can have nothing to fear. My aunt, and I daresay my sister, will be with you. Follow their example. Should anyone be rude to you, Lady Matlock will make her displeasure known. She is fond of you already; you may not have noticed," he said in a soothing voice.
Thus he was not prepared for the mingled incredulity and rage that exploded upon her countenance barely a breath later.
"Really, Sir, what a thing to suggest! Allow me to remind you that I am a gentleman's daughter. I am well-equipped to move among the gentry without fear." She paused to take a handful of heaving breaths.
"When I had an entire wardrobe to assemble on a limited budget, I made an arrangement with a dressmaker I knew of in Cheapside," she continued in a more moderate yet still exasperated tone. "Miss Muira, while talented, is as yet unknown. I did not have the requisite funds to purchase all the necessary gowns, and she knew she might have to wait years for me to settle my account. I barely had enough to pay for materials, and yet she agreed to help me, provided that she was my exclusive modiste, and she reserved the final say on what I am to wear this season."
Darcy mulled this new piece of information over. It was a rather clever arrangement, but there was no denying that being seen shopping with his family would ease her transition into her new world.
"Very well, contact Miss Muira to determine how much is owed for the gowns supplied and those in progress. Ask her to nominate an additional sum for the breaking of the agreement and I will pay it."
"No, thank you," was her reply, delivered coolly.
"Come, you must see that this will be for the best. I will compensate Miss Muira, and you will shop where the rest of the ton shops, thereby cementing the family connection. I think Georgiana would be thrilled to go shopping with you."
"She already has, in Cheapside, and if you would like her to choose gowns with me she is welcome to do so… In Cheapside!"
Darcy felt a flood of heat wash through his body as anxiety was submerged by his rising anger. How much was he to blame for the contentious nature of their marriage when she could be so… so mulish! She had previously declined his offer of additional funds and now she was denying a well-reasoned plan to establish her image through dress and her status through family connection in the one move.
He growled, propelling himself to his feet and walking over to the fireplace. And Elizabeth followed him, stepping her tiny frame into his line of vision.
"If you want me to go to your aunt's modiste then you must be prepared to take me bound and gagged, for I will not go there under my own power and will certainly take every opportunity to resist," she goaded.
"Why must you be so stubborn?" he snarled. Elizabeth took a step back but her whole demeanour was nevertheless unrepentant.
"My stubbornness is in direct correlation to your obtuseness. Try to understand my perspective and you shall find my resistance perfectly rational and correct." She speared him with her dark eyes. "Miss Muira has come to mean a great deal to me. She was a friend to me when I had none. The opportunity to showcase her work to the clientele most suited to her is not something money can buy. She has many under her care who are dependent upon her success. But even laying all of that aside, I gave my word and I shall not break it."
Darcy wanted to tell her that the future prospects of her Cheapside modiste were no concern of hers, that no matter this Miss Muira's situation, she was not Elizabeth's responsibility. But it reeked of too much hypocrisy, even for him. How many times had he been told that he took too much upon himself? That he could not save the entire world? It had led him into trouble on occasion, his sense of duty, but he clung to it as an integral part of his identity. Could he castigate his wife for her commitment to duty?
Likewise, Darcy considered his word his bond. If Elizabeth felt so strongly about fairness and honesty in her dealings, was that not a good thing? Arguably yes, to both, but only in as much as it did not impinge upon his family interests.
"Might I suggest a compromise then?"
He noticed her chest swell, her expressive eyes signalling an impending set down, then she registered what he had actually said and deflated slightly.
"What if you ordered just a riding habit with Lady Matlock? You could be seen in Bond Street but leave the bulk of the wardrobe with your existing seamstress."
"No," she said, crossing her arms. Darcy could feel a scowl twisting his features and also observed a widening in his wife's eyes again.
"But I see your point," she said slowly. "Shopping with your aunt need not include clothing though, perhaps if we went to Gunter's… Or maybe a bookstore."
Despite the tumultuous nature of the conversation, Darcy could not help but chuckle at her hopeful expression. "I do not think you will encounter the fashionable ladies of the Ton in a bookstore. But Gunter's is a valid alternative and you might also wish to perhaps visit a cosmetics establishment."
A small frown turned down her lips and she raised a hand to her cheek.
"No!" he quickly qualified. "I did not mean that you needed… I just thought you might enjoy it."
She gave a wan smile, but then her countenance suddenly shuttered and her body seemed to curve in on herself slightly. "We are not making good on our truce, are we?"
As a statement, it was very far off the course of their conversation so far, though he could not dispute its veracity. Rather tired of fighting himself, and quite sure he would not come off the winner if they kept at it, he could see no harm in following her divergent path.
Bracing his shoulders, he gave voice to the inclination he had been feeling since Christmas night, "I… I had looked forward to getting to know you a little better, in light of our understanding, our truce. But you seem to have been avoiding me. You have not been contentious, but unremitting evasion is nearly as opposed to forthcoming as spouting untruths."
Very hesitantly he reached out and took her hand. It was a very light contact, still she flinched a little, but he was relieved when she did not draw it back.
"Could we sit back down?" he asked gently. "Start over?"
There was a long pause before she nodded, and another between her nonverbal acquiescence and her actual moving to settle herself in the wingback chair once more. Darcy followed her lead, but the relocation seemed to breed awkwardness instead of dispelling it.
He picked at an imaginary piece of stray thread on his sleeve and cleared his throat. He was beginning to see a pattern in their quarrels: a sharp flare of anger –either on his part or hers– then sharp words were exchanged and finally a brief shining moment of understanding. That is, if she did not run away, which she was also in the habit of doing if their dissension became heated.
Darcy assigned himself the goal of setting a new, more congenial, route for their future interplay, but for the time being he tasked himself with extending their usually brief cessation of hostilities. "I very much enjoyed your song, the night that the Bingleys dined with us. I wonder if you would play for me some nights; I cannot think of a performance that has given me greater pleasure."
Darcy watched a becoming blush steal over Elizabeth's face. She shook her head. "A very pretty compliment; if only I could believe in your sincerity, Sir! A man in the habit of hearing the very best performers must recognise my limitations on the instrument, especially one with such a great proficient as your sister under his roof," said she, and there was no barb in her speech, rather a playfulness that he found more than a little alluring.
"I am not a man who deals in falsehoods. If I tell you I liked your playing, you may trust that I mean it. If you need authentication in this instance, I shall not be offended and provide it thus with the honest disclosure that yes, Georgiana –and even Miss Bingley– play with more technical precision than you, but they also play with the same affected air drilled into them by a generation of artless music instructors. I will give into your care another secret. The way in which ladies of the ton take some of the greatest, most emotive compositions of our time, and suck the very heart out of them turns my stomach; I cannot feign enjoyment of their mechanical and soulless performances, but I delighted in yours. The piece itself was refreshing and further enhanced by your artistic delivery."
Her reaction to his words included that lovely blush of hers, and he closely watched her lick her lips, while her face was partially turned away. He considered her to be genuinely shy of compliments rather than falsely coy.
"I am also torn," he continued. "I have thought that I might like you to instruct Georgiana in adding that indefinable something to her music. To add expression to her already advanced execution would be something, but if she were to incite such feelings in her audience as you raised in me I would be terrified by the crowd of swains I might find knocking down my door post her debut."
At that she gave a natural laugh, and for the first time since their wedding night, he saw a hint of awareness flare in her eyes. Darcy leant forward a little and licked his lips. "Did you study with a master at Longbourn?"
The shadow that briefly fell across her face smote his heart and made him wish the question unspoken.
"We did receive visits from a master at Longbourn, but I would give him credit for nothing beyond teaching me my first scales –even that he did poorly. A friend of my uncle's gave me lessons in town, though they were terribly infrequent and more often than not exceedingly short. I would say they were rich in inspiration and encouragement and I would be remiss if I did not mention that he provided me with a treasure trove of unusual compositions. Yes, I would assign this teacher the lion's share of any credit there is to be had." She paused to look thoughtfully at her left hand, spreading the fingers in her lap. "He was most disappointed when he realised that I would never have the physicality to achieve true mastery, then again, so was I."
"Did it grieve you very much?" Darcy asked.
She shook her head, yet answered in the affirmative, saying that she had wallowed in despair for all of a fortnight, but that it was not in her nature to grieve that which could not be changed and focused her study on her oft neglected voice. "I am quite reconciled to my limitations now, and grateful for the training I did receive. My station in life could have never permitted me to pursue music respectably, and if I did not marry –the likely outcome— there would have been few occasions for me to exhibit," she finished.
Now that was baffling. He tapped his finger against the arm of his chair, wanting to ask her to clarify, but her rigid posture and equally stiff way she held her face suggested she was not truly as comfortable with the topic as she affected.
He had no wish to further probe a subject that caused her pain, and yet the next subject he was pressed to bring could not lead to anything pleasant.
"Elizabeth, when I agreed to marry you, I suggested that we present the incident as a courtship that had got out of hand, an interlude that had got too passionate." Darcy tried to keep his voice moderate, as herculean a task as that was. His memories of that week between the ball and his wedding were anything but moderate.
He could still taste the rage he had felt that fateful morning, following the even more fateful Netherfield ball.
Darcy had spent the night pacing. Come morning he had accepted his fate, seeing no other path that would not threaten to expose his sister's transgressions, but he was far from happy and a continent away from calm.
He did not know what to expect from the family when he presented himself at Longbourn at the earliest polite hour. Smug satisfaction? Grudging respect? For doing what he must against his inclination or what was in his best interests?
He received neither, but was left cooling his heels just inside the entrance for what felt like an eternity before being shown into the master's library which also served as his study. The Master himself had ribbed Darcy over the scandal and resultant chaos he had created in the neighbourhood, even though the subject of the malicious gossip was the man's own daughter! But Mr. Bennet's provocative humour paled into insignificance against the thinly veiled contempt displayed by the uncle.
The man had treated him like a vagabond begging scraps and even had the audacity to suggest they did not need Darcy to make amends for that which he had carelessly broken. Had the entire household gone mad?
In the first show of mettle he'd witnessed, Mr. Bennet told his brother that he could not claim a father's privilege in deciding Elizabeth's future. Especially as the matter had such import to the fortunes of his other four daughters and the very respectability of the Bennet family as a whole. The other man had not subsided, but argued loudly with the patriarch and so violently, Mr. Bennet had asked Darcy to wait outside.
Wait outside! While they had debated his future, his fate! How dare they treat him like some errant school boy! The temptation to leave them to be boiled to death in their own scandal broth had been great. The yelling, high in volume and rich in venom, had been audible through the heavy oak door and a dozen paces down the hall. Though he had only been able to discern one word out of five, it was enough to inflame his temper further.
When he had been invited back into the room, he did not wait to hear the outcome of the argument.
"I will marry the chit." The uncle had tried to interject, but Darcy roared him down, "Be silent man! I will return in six days with a marriage settlement and a special licence in hand. In the meantime, you will both to your utmost to diffuse the scandal so brazenly created by your females."
He had then pointed a finger rudely at the uncle, "You there, has the girl spent any time in London in the past year?"
"Yes, Sir," was the reply grudgingly given through clenched teeth.
"Through September or August?" Darcy had asked, still impatient and not inclined to hide it.
The man had nodded.
"And last winter?" Darcy had prompted, and was rewarded with another nod. "Even better," he had said without joy.
The portly man went to add something, but Darcy had made a chopping motion and cast upon him his very fiercest scowl. The need to escape had been completely overwhelming; to get out of there, while he was still hurling words only and not punches.
He had leant over the desk, loomed really, resting his knuckles on the flaking leather surface. Mr. Bennet had seemed to shrink under his regard, but Darcy waited for the older man to meet his eye.
"If you want me to save your chestnuts from the fire, I want to hear the locals buzzing with the rumours of our prior courtship in London. If I hear even a breath of an intentional entrapment, I will go and never return. Can I rely upon you to make it so?"
Mr. Bennet's blood shot eyes had blinked rapidly, but the man had eventually nodded. "It shall be done."
The pest of an uncle had stepped forward, face red, and tried to speak again. "Sir, unless you wish me to wash my hands of this mess, I suggest you keep your peace." Darcy had forestalled him, yet again. "I will place the announcement in The Times immediately upon my return to town. Expect me on Tuesday with the marriage settlement in hand. We shall marry the morning after. I care not who makes the arrangements, I will not dally over this distasteful business."
So the lie had been born. Mr. Bennet had kept his word. The fools who had watched his bride grow up had been all a-titter with the tale of her secret courtship, had laughed about their discovered amorous encounter. The marriage gave the episode respectability, barely, but did nothing to ameliorate the lack of decorum.
How much the family had told Elizabeth of the plan, he did not know. It had been a shabby lie then, and he could not like the idea of continuing with a story that painted his wife in such a poor light now. But it was all he had and he needed her assistance to assemble enough detail to sate the interest of his more curious London acquaintance. Though he vowed he would restrict the tale to the secret courtship, no mention of an improper embrace would be circulated by him or anyone who wished to claim a connection with him.
Darcy realised some of his latent anger must have seeped through his prior enquiry, his voice was moderately pitched but still Elizabeth had wilted as if he had shouted.
He took a deep breath, pushing the memory of Longbourn, her uncle and her father to the deep recesses of his mind and focused on gentling his voice. "I do not bring this up for any reason but to ensure our stories are congruent and convincing. I am not known to be a demonstrative man and I confide in few… I doubt anyone will ask out of anything but idle curiosity, but idle curiosity can turn into insidious speculation if we are not cautious," Darcy said, his words carefully measured.
She bobbed her head, but every line of her body spoke of her discomfort and unhappiness, making the anger triggered by his memories lose some of its burn.
"Could you tell me how you spent your time when you stayed in London?" he asked.
The extended wait before she spoke seemed terrible to him. Elizabeth was so still. "More or less like everyone else does, I suppose," she finally said. "I visited with friends, attended parties, some balls also, and made myself as useful as possible to my kind relatives."
"Let us focus on public rather than private amusements; I think it would be too much of a stretch to claim I met you through your relatives or their friends."
His comment inspired a more animated, if not desirable, response. Her chin went up and she balled her little fists. "I attended the theatre, various museums and I will admit I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Temple of Muses."
A smile touched his lips. He remembered her restrained delight when he had shown her the library, that is when he finally got around to giving her an extended tour of the house. "So you are a bibliophile as well! I can claim to prefer a good book over many amusements, I think a meeting at such a place would be plausible, if not entirely proper," he suggested in a conciliatory tone.
"As you wish," was her wooden reply.
"Would you like me to take you there, or would you prefer to add it to your itinerary with Lady Matlock?"
She graced him with a look so sharp it could likely cut stone. "While we are being so open and forthcoming, I shall tell you that you have left me with no funds to purchase a pamphlet, let alone a book. So although I did suggest it in the spirit of compromise, now I say: why torture myself? Even an ice at Gunter's is beyond my means. I am in debt to my seamstress, a debt that may take years to pay off. You have set me up for humiliation and failure; you must forgive me if I cannot simulate eagerness for your schemes."
He felt as if her words were a corporeal mass; they settled on his chest, pressing it with the weight of his shame. His mind scrambled for that anger that had sustained him in the earlier stages of his marriage but came up empty. He felt empty.
It took him a moment to connect that tapping sound with his study door, closed against prying eyes or curious ears. "Enter," he said around the lump in his throat.
Soames entered, moving more cautiously than before. It could have been simply because he was interrupting a man and wife in private discussion, but Darcy fancied the man could sense the tense atmosphere. How could he not? The all-pervasive tension was so thick you could nearly cut it with a knife.
"Sir, the carts and wagon have arrived. There seems to be some dispute regarding the animals to accompany the vehicles?" said Soames, clearly apologetic and confused.
Darcy cursed under his breath. What were the fools doing here? Their instructions were to depart for Scotland directly. Now they had wasted half a day's travel making their way into town from their perfectly selected departure point.
"I will be there directly."
"Very good, Sir."
Darcy scrubbed his hand over his face in frustration, thus nearly missed his wife's attempted departure immediately after Soames had made his efficient exit. Darcy jumped to his feet and lunged towards her. This time there was no mistaking her flinch, though her eyes sparkled with anger, not fear. "I will leave you to your responsibilities," she said, as her skirts swished with another step toward the door.
"You are my responsibility," he snapped, feeling angry at himself. On nimble feet he positioned himself between her and the door. Her frown was chilling, but Darcy could not let the moment pass, he'd not leave another misunderstanding to fester.
"You are my responsibility and I intend to do better. Have your seamstress make up an invoice, the balance for all the gowns she has made thus far. It will be paid on the same day I receive it. I will set up an account with her and any other merchants necessary to have you outfitted properly. You may choose who you patronise, though I do urge you to consider the social ramifications of where you place your custom. I shall reimburse last month's pin money, as well as supplying you with this month's allotment, enough for some shopping, a book even. Would that make you happy?"
He searched her expression but her face, and most importantly her eyes, had gone completely blank. Then she turned her face away.
When she brought her head back it was his turn to recoil, for her face was an ode to fury, still lovely somehow, even with her teeth bared and her elegant brows heavy on her stormy eyes.
"Happy? No, it would not make me happy! I would not take a penny from you if there was any other way. But to refuse is to disgrace myself, so I accept. I will not lower myself by letting anger cloud my judgement, but I would humbly beg you to let me pass before the temptation proves too great—"
"Elizabeth, I—"
"Let me pass, please," she said, less angry and more plaintive.
Clearing her path, he anticipated one of her whirlwind exits, but she minced towards the door with exaggerated dignity. He had business to attend to, but he allowed her plenty of time to clear the hall, before he went about his errands with a distracted air that concealed a heavy heart.
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