We never got Covid so were able to go on the mission trip and it was a good experience. I've been doing a lot of catch up since then. So sorry for the wait, but if you're teading now I guess you've stuck with me. This is a monster chapter, which still didn't get to the end point I had planned, so I am already working on the next chapter. Please excuse typos as I wrote most of this chapter on my phone. Remember, reviews inspire me to write faster (hint, hint, wink).
Is it just me, or has FF not had all that many good stories recently? An exception to that is of course Little Red Riding Hood and All the Zombies, which was more Emma than PP; what a ride that was! What are your current favorites that I should be reading, too?
Elizabeth's POV
Chapter 41: Everyone has Feet of Clay
It was all too much, for in less than a seven day I had been through more changes than I usually had in a year. I knew who Elizabeth Bennet was, but this Mrs. Darcy, well I was still sorting out who she would be, how she fit in this new world.
Every day since Mr. Darcy returned to Hertfordshire had been such an upheaval and I was continually forced to reassess who my husband really was and what I thought about him: villain or hero, selfishest man alive or most generous one, my master or my servant. But after this latest interaction, my head was left spinning once again, and my body, the mercurial woman that she was, felt a slight ache of disappointment in being alone, that he had not insisted on my company.
Who could blame me, however, that after all the events of the day I might need some time alone to sort everything out? I felt disappointed in everyone, including myself, and without uninterrupted reflection, time for an inward reconciliation, I knew I was liable to act in a snit and make things even worse. So although I knew it would hurt my husband's feelings (feelings I now believed him to have, whereas once I would have denied him every rational feeling), I was not about to dress for dinner, and go down on his arm as if nothing had happened.
On this Friday, my understanding of my place in this world had been thoroughly upended once again. I had woken up with hope that there was a good possibility for a happy marriage, for had my husband not shown that he must indeed hold me in some kind of affection to endeavor and then succeed in pleasing me so, and also in accepting my later refusal? We had begun to call each other by our nicknames, and then when Miss Bingley had derided me, my dear Fitz had defended me. But even as I savored how my husband had mercilessly ejected her from our home and circle, I recognized what a terrible thing it would be to be in Mr. Darcy's brown books, for he showed no mercy.
Still, I had comforted myself that if my husband ever turned his back on me I was not friendless, at least in London, for though in a less afluent part of town, my relatives the Gardiners were not far away. I was still considering how I might approach my husband about whether we could call on them, my longing to see them increasing in each mile toward London, surging as I came to know his relations. But then rhey had appeared, as if my desire itself had summoned them, and my happiness had overflowed.
I could conclude nothing less than that they were worried about my precipitous marriage, perhaps even wished to save me from it. I was prepared to reassure them that I was well, that they need not worry too much (although I would welcome their concern as it was a sign of the love they bore me). But then the reason for their call had turned out to have nothing, really, to do with me at all!
I had thought myself to be well loved by my Uncle Gardiner, that Jane and I were his favorite nieces, but that he held our whole family in affection even though his sister (my mother) sometimes exasperated him. It was something that we shared, a sort of mutual joke, where our eyes could meet in acknowledgement when she was being particularly ridiculous. A lifetime of visits and gifts, of warm exchanges, well you can see how I could be under such an impression that I mattered to him.
I knew my aunt and their children came first, of course. That was only natural. But I thought we were a close second, not something to be discarded as quickly as could be, like the contents of a chamber pot.
When Mr. Darcy first mentioned how it was through his efforts and money that Lydia was found, and not through my uncle as we had previously supposed, I minimized his role, thought him acting a bit the braggart. Still, I was glad for his efforts for the bespoke of a man who cared.
Then when I learned that there should have been extra funds that should have come to my family, I thought there must be some misunderstanding, that perhaps my sister's freedom had cost more dearly than Mr. Darcy supposed, perhaps Uncle Gardiner sent the money and someone else stole it or something. I could not conceive of anything else, not based on my understanding of my uncle's character, but today I had learned that my uncle was not who I had always believed him to be.
Perhaps Aunt Gardiner was acting disloyal to explain it all to me, but I pestered and prodded after the men left, until I learned what she had so recently found out, that my uncle had kept the money so that he could start anew, despite knowing our desperate situation. She denied that the children would have gone hungry, explained that Uncle Gardiner was more interested in maintaining his appearance as a prosperous, independent businessman than at admitting things had gone wrong and then humbling himself by seeking new employment.
I had wanted to talk to her about my marriage, to get some insight into it all from her, but there simply was not time. The closest we came to such a discussion was when, while walking through the garden I asked, "How is it, Aunt Gardiner, that you were able to make Uncle come here and do what he would rather not?"
"Sheer force of will and persuasion, dear Lizzy, for a wife in a marriage has no true power but what is ceded to her or what she seizes for herself. She occupies the space her husband gives her and nothing more.
"Your uncle came here today because he chose to confide in me, and then in chastizing him throughly and demanding we come here, well he knew I was right, so he did it to maintain some modicum of marital harmony. Believe me, I shall have to reward him thoroughly for doing what he ought, give him such marital pleasures as to help erase all the humiliation he felt. Keeping your husband content in such a way is most important."
Aunt Gardiner nodded, and stroked her turgid belly.
"Give?" I asked. "Can not a man, a husband simply take what he wants whenever he wants it?"
"Yes, that is true," her quirked mouth bespoke how she wished to question me further about this, but apparently then thinking better of it (I had the feeling she would rather not know), she offered "but most men prefer what is freely offered, rather than seized, hope for praise at their prowess, attention and affection toward their . . . male parts."
I was just about to question her further about this, when I saw our husbands, and not long after this my aunt and uncle departed for their home and I knew not when I would see them again.
I was glad my husband was not leaving the Gardiners in distress, for I was unsure if Aunt Gardiner might be minimizing the risk to my cousins for my sake, but annoyed that Mr. Darcy did not seem to understand how important my family was to me, even if I was still struggling to understand my uncle's actions. I could not reconcile them with the man I knew, my mind kept worrying upon them, like a dog at a bone. I did not think he could have accurately understood the depth of our distress, understand the desperation of our situation, how hunger knawed at us. But another part of me insisted that he should have known all too well, given that he sold what we could, was in constant communication with Uncle Phillips (and no doubt Aunt Phillips also wrote to Aunt Gardiner).
It was Uncle Phillips who paid the butcher and the grocery, who had delivered to us more than our meager funds could buy. It was Aunt Phillips who supplied us with cloth and sewing notions so we could clothe Little George, make up an ample supply of pilchers and clouts.
I had always thought Uncle Gardiner to be a good man, among the best I knew, but if he was not, if he was as selfish as it appeared, well what hope was there to be had that Mr. Darcy who had openly voiced all his selfish demands could be any better? And what hope was there that such a powerful man would even tell me enough that I could even try to prick his conscience if, like Mr. Gardiner, he went astray. For Mr. Darcy seemed to take some kind of perverse delight in telling me as little as he could about the arrangement he had made with my uncle for my sisters, of putting me firmly in my place. I tried to needle him by stating essentially that I would attend to my wifely duties, but he seemed oblivious.
I did find a certain contentment in arranging the meals after that (although I resented that I could not have my relatives in attendance). While the cook had already made plans for the first meals in consultation with Mrs. Smith, I was able to specify Sunday's dinner, ordered a simple beef roast (I had no desire for the elaborate French dishes she seemed to favor, craved a dinner like I would have enjoyed with my family while we were still a leading family and my mother lauded as having a good table). I hoped to host at least Miss Darcy and her companion, trusted that simple good fare would satisfy her and my husband. I also made tentative plans for the next of the week.
I contemplating that I might choose to serve anything Mr. Darcy abhorred to show my displeasure, conversely how I could reward him with favorites when pleased. But such a power would need to be exercised judiciously or he might displace me from such a task, overrule me.
But as I considered this (being more amused by the idea rather than having any real plans to bring it to fruition), it occurred to me that I knew next to nothing about Mr. Darcy's preferences, less than I knew about Mr. Hurst's, who I knew liked a ragout. I had only learned in the past day how Mr. Darcy liked his tea (with milk and honey). From our shared time at Netherfield, I only knew he preferred coffee in the mornings, nothing about what he liked to eat. I cast my memory back to our shared meals at Netherfield, but could only remember he was pleasant to our hostess about the food but never offered any excessive praise for anything. In such things he was evidently the opposite of Mr. Collins who unreservedly praised it all. I was fairly certain that Miss Bingley had made some big production about something she had planned to obtain for his sake, but I could not even recall what it was, let alone if he had enjoyed it.
But even if I had known what Mr. Darcy would enjoy most and least, I was uncertain as to whether I should express happiness or annoyance at him. My emotions were all over the place, for he was constantly both helping and hurting me with what he did, in a most complicated manner. I could not decide if when he bumbled it was a deliberate thing or stemmed from what seemed to be an utter unfamiliarity with womankind, an unfamiliarity that was perplexing, given that he had a sister and a bevy of female relatives.
Should I not, rather than punishing him with loathsome vegetables, well incorporated into some dish so he could not simply avoid them, perhaps a putrid puree of beets and cream, topping a steak, its sickly pink color advertising its stomach churning character (which I would have to then feign liking), instead simply talk to him about the things bothering me? But would he actually listen? Would Mr. Darcy actually care? I wanted my marriage to be something deeper than a business arrangement, but I also feared getting confirmation that it was nothing more than that. For he might speak words of love, but was there any substance behind them? I wanted to believe that in his depths Mr. Darcy might indeed be a good man, but also doubted.
When Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley came to call, I was glad enough to try to put all of this aside, enjoy the diversion of their company. While Miss Darcy had reverted to her shyness, and I had not the reserves of energy as before to put a concerted effort to draw her out, not when I was so heartsick about my uncle, it was a relief to let the Colonel entertain us all with stories about Mr. Darcy's youth, to chuckle at how he had placed an earthworm in George Wickham's hair in revenge after George had pushed him after he dismounted, his pony having bested George's in a race, made him fall in mud (observing and grasping that worm while knocked flat).
I was still imagining the scene when my husband had appeared, and rather than joining in the jovial conversation, another turnabout occurred. The look in his eye when he found me having a pleasant time without him there, his conceit in not wishing for me to ever have any pleasure apart from him, it was unbearable.
Mr. Darcy stared at me with his dark eyes, demanded in his deepest voice as he grasped my arm, "Elizabeth, come with me now, I have need of you." The words might have been neutral, been attibutable to most any desire, but I knew what he meant as he pulled me away. He was speaking of his physical, marital need, had decided somehow that he must impose himself on me in the middle of the day, when the Colonel, Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley would know what we were doing, well it was mortifying.
I had planned to let Mr. Darcy do whatever he must, for I rather thought he might be prepared to hurt me if I resisted in the least, but I was also expecting it to be unpleasant for I had no desire at the moment which would have eased his way. How could I with my mind so distracted still from our visit from Uncle and Aunt Gardener? As he hurried me up the stairs, I wondered what I had done to be treated in such a way, tried to reason it out. I had not done anything amiss. I had simply been talking to his cousin and sister, treating them as the family they were to me now. Why should this upset him so? It did not seem rational.
It seemed that I was married to a man ruled by his careless emotions, a beast simply clothed in a man's skin. This worried me. For I was under his power and he could do whatever he wanted to me, had every right, and as his wife I had to submit and suffer all. While I was prepared to endure whatever he might visit upon me, to my disgust and mortification, I found something thrilling that he would not be denied, that possessing me was so important to him. I began to believe I might even possibly enjoy what was to come, to be the object of such passion. Of course, if that were to occur, I could not let him know it, for I would not wish for him to think that he could just visit his passions upon me at any whim, remove me from any social gathering simply because jealousy or need had roused him to action.
Too, mixed with the stirring of passion as Mr. Darcy flung me upon his bed, I felt a certain fear and trepidation. Surely he would not actually hurt me! Surely if the act was carried out more akin to how it was betwixt the animals, it should not cause undue distress now that I had two days to recover from the loss of my maidenhood (I did not feel fully recovered as I might have had not someone engaged in the act with me a further two times, although I did not begrudge him those interludes, especially the first which had showed me that I could enjoy pleasures equal to his own). But even as I tried to reassure myself, to lie still and meek as a proper wife should, my mind rebelled as he crawled upon me, sat across my thighs, his knees a cage on either side of me. Then he leaned forward, and the hard evidence of his desire pressed against one of my thighs as he grabbed at my wrists and drew my hands above my head. I felt fear then, in being so restrained.
I noted then (I could not help but notice as his face was perhaps eighteen inches from my own) that Mr. Darcy's face was florid, his lips taut, his eyes black pits that did not seem to even recognize me. It recalled to me the man I feared as he proposed to me on Oakham Mount, the man who I feared would simply take whatever I refused to give.
An icy chill ran through me for I understood without a doubt that Mr. Darcy was angry, oh so angry, that anger ruled him far more than any passion. I felt all the vulnerability of being a woman. I always knew that womankind was at the mercy of men, for we are smaller, weaker, and have no training in any of the combative arts, no nothing at all about how to fight. While I suspect I might be stronger than the rest of my sisters save Lydia (I know from experience she is fierce as a lioness when it comes to scrabbling after any bit of ribbon or lace that she thinks ought to be hers, and have felt the bite of her claws upon my skin on several occasions) but can only judge my prowess compared to the others based on the energy in which I can walk, even a strong woman is weak next to all of mankind but for undeveloped boys and elderly and infirm men. But Mr. Darcy certainly was not in such a category, nor was he an ordinary specimen of man, for he was taller, larger, stronger (of this I had no doubt), than any other man of my acquaintance. In any physical sparring, I was certain he could defeat my father, my uncles, Mr. Lucas, Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley and all the rest, save for perhaps one or two members of the militia and I might given him equal odds against his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam (for Darcy is the taller, but the Colonel is broader of chest and arm).
I knew with certainty that like it or not, the only thing which could keep me safe then, from Mr. Darcy would be himself, but I saw nothing to suggest he had any restraint or self-control at that moment. My mind jolted to recalling hearing cats couple, the screeches and hisses as the Tabby was forced to submit to the Tom. In my mind I chanted to myself: Do not resist, do not resist and he will not hurt you. But interwoven with such thoughts, a snake twisting and turning through them, was the amendment, or at least not as badly as he will should you oppose him. I began to tremble uncontrollably then even as I tried to remain passive, still and limp as a rag-doll, for I could well imagine Mr. Darcy hitting me if I did anything but accept whatever he might do. I could not stop him, this I well knew, and in the end he would get what he wanted.
There was no help for me, for Mr. Darcy as my husband could use me as he wished, to beat and hurt me if he so desired. It was his right. I was owned by him, nothing of myself truly my own anymore but the thoughts within my head. I recalled my aunt's words and understood that in truth anything else was only to be mine because he granted it to me.
Mr. Darcy's voice boomed out suddenly then, deep, dark and foreboding, "Just what game do you think you are playing at, wife, with my cousin in my own home? I shall not share you with him! You are mine and mine alone. I told you, do you not recall, that I would make you forget all about him. I must redouble my efforts, I see."
I had a moment of confusion, for my thoughts were far removed from the previous events in the parlor. I had not been thinking of anything but Mr. Darcy and what he might do to me. I tried to recall what I might have done that he would interpret as untoward. I wished to deny his accusation for I could think of nothing I had done that could be construed as improper. We were certainly well chaperoned by Miss Darcy and her companion. Was I not to entertain our guests, treat family as family?
But my lips did not move to begin forming words of denial in time, for already then he was kissing me hard, angrily, but also with undertones of passion. I could not think, could hardly breathe, both wished to return his kisses and resist, but did neither for a moment. But then fear won out and without any planning I turned my face away and exclaimed "You are hurting me!"
Mr. Darcy paused then, pulled back, and his eyes were clear, his face horrified, as if he had just woken from nightmare and could not tell just what was real and what was not. He jumped off his bed, flung open our connecting doors and ordered with a gesturing hand "Go to your room."
I did not need to be told twice. I jumped up so quickly that my vision grayed for a moment, but rather than see whether I might tumble to the ground or be steady with a breath or two, hurried through the door and shut it behind myself, hoping that if I might fall it would at least be within my own chamber. But such was my unsteadiness that I was obliged to cling to the door knob for several breaths and then when my vision did not fully clear, used it to slide down upon the floor.
I felt ill, but the coolness of the floor helped when I lay my face upon it. I was soon well and once I could think clearly again found myself confused, with my emotions shifting between shades of disappointment and elation. I was well, I was whole, and Mr. Darcy had chosen to protect me from himself by removing me from his room at his direction, but I felt a prick of guilt. He had not exactly hurt me, it was more that I was afraid he would.
I was still there when the Colonel and my husband talked. I did not like hearing further confirmation about my uncle's character, his selfishness. But was my husband any better? I did not know.
I half expected Me. Darcy to force open my door and drag me out when I declined going to dinner. His solicitude in seeing to my needs was an unexpected boon, and I briefly considered asking him to wait so I could dress and join him before I concluded that I was correct, that I needed more time.
I paced and thought until the dinner arrived, delivered by my maid, Frank, a young man who must have been a newly hired footman, Peters, and a young blonde girl who must have been a kitchen maid and was too shy to look me in the eye or mumble her name at above a whisper (though Frank finally told me she was Lucy Gray). Peters first brought in a small round table and a chair, which Frank covered with a thick table cloth and set with a linen napkin, fine silver and a wine glass. Little Lucy set out bread, honey, blackberry jam and butter, bobbed a curtsey and fled. Frank and Peters promised they would return with more.
I knew I needed to eat, had seen the evidence clear enough in the looking glass that hung in my new room (our own mirrors save but my mother's having been among our goods that had been sold). I sat down and spread the bread thick with butter and jam. The bread, a sour dough, smelled divine, the blackberry flavor burst upon my tongue, reminding me of happy times as a child collecting the berries with my sisters, but it was still hard to force myself to chew and swallow, given the roiling of my stomach.
As if he were beside me, I could hear my husband urging me to eat. With this motivation and feeling how it would please him, I was able consume that first piece of bread. But when the rest of the courses began to arrive (each a small, single portion of perhaps three bites each), I was not sure what I could stomach, for it was all too elaborate for me.
Frank, perhaps, could see something of this on my face, for she reassured, "Mrs. Darcy, there are two other dishes coming, but they were not yet quite done. I shall bring them up as soon as they are, and then the sweet, too."
I had not much hope that these dishes would be more to my liking, so did my best to find something else to eat from what was before me, eating some peas, more bread, and the fish (which was the freshest I had ever had).
I had almost forgotten about Frank's promise, when she returned with a plainly prepared roast beef, boiled potatoes and a slice of apple pie. I stared at the food, overcome. The beef was just what I would have requested, the potatoes promised to be the perfection of simplicity compared to the overly elaborate prior dishes.
"How did I come to get these dishes?" I asked Frank. I had an idea, but was afraid to hope, to be disappointed.
"Why, Mr. Darcy ordered them made especially for you. I heard tell the new cook was rather cross for she had been cooking all afternoon when he inquired as to the menu and requested these additions. She had to send Peters to the butcher for the meat."
Frank promised to return later to remove the food and then help me prepare for bed. When she left, I sat down again and enjoyed my plain dishes. I considered whether Mr. Darcy had heard and remembered my long ago exchange with Mr. Hurst, or perhaps had asked Mrs. Simons what sorts if dishes I had ordered for the meals I had planned. In either event, it showed such solicitude for my welfare.
Fitz was indeed looking after me. It had been so long that so many burdens were on me (although shared with Jane and Mary). It felt good to be coddled, even if from afar. But it was I who had separated him from me, had pyshed him away when he attempted a reapproachment, but he had returned good while I had failed him. I understood then that I, also, could have done better.
My husband might be prone to being far too direct, saying what was on his mind no matter how inappropriate, to even acting rashly on occasion, but in thinking back on it, I saw that he had always responded properly when I indicated my unwillingness to do something, had always listened to me. He had been largely more generous than I deserved. I wondered if he was in the room beside me, planned to leave me alone or come in later. I was not sure what I wanted.
