Behaving in a Gentleman Like Fashion 6/27/24
Unos, duo, tres, quattuor, quinque. "It's not working" he mumbles under his breath. Sex, septem, octo, novem, decem. "It always works" he thought. It was a trick his tutor had taught him when he got frustrated with the world around him. Counting to ten in Latin worked when he wanted to calm his nerves, when others were annoying him and he felt he had to maintain his gentleman's mien. It worked when Caroline Bingley blathered on incessantly, when Mrs. Bennet got on his nerves, when Bingley went on and on about how beautiful Jane Bennet was. Maybe if he had tried it in Hunsford he would have been able to act like a gentleman then. That memory still haunted him.
This wedding breakfast was going on and on and on. He was finding it increasingly difficult to behave in a gentleman like fashion. All he wanted to do was to grab his bride and head for London. Four hours. It was only four hours to his townhouse on Grosvenor Square. Four hours alone with his new wife in a very comfortable carriage. With drapes on the windows. And no chaperones. Finally. His valet and her maid were traveling separately and they had already left for London. Why couldn't they leave yet?
Because they were stuck being polite to a bunch of people he hoped to not see again anytime soon. But a gentleman does not voice such opinions aloud. He does not let his frustration show on his face. He does not say aloud the impolite comments that he was biting back. He smiled. He accepted platitudes that would make an etiquette coach blanche.
He made "small talk" with a bunch of people who were sizing him up like a prize bull. He guessed that was what he was, really. He was the richest person most of them had ever met. Even without a title, he was considered a catch. And oh, was he caught. He smiled a genuine smile at the thought. Oh, he was caught alright. And he couldn't be happier about it.
He scanned the room to see where his wife was. "His wife". What a lovely thought. If only they could get out of here and make her his..." He chided himself for his blatantly ungentlemanly thoughts. Four hours, he repeated to himself. Four hours. He smiled at Mrs. Whatshername. Nodded when given congratulations for the seven hundredth time today.
He spotted her across the room. She looked up just then and gave him a weak smile. She knew he wanted to go. He was glad she understood it. She nodded and politely cut short the conversation she was having with some older man whose name he could not remember. She made her way over to him and gently laid her hand on his arm.
"Ready to depart?" Sweeter words were never spoken aloud.
"Whenever you are. I know you won't see many of these people for quite a while, so I don't want to rush you. But, I would like to be in London by dark." Dark came early this time of year; an excellent excuse to get on the road.
"Let us make our good-byes. My trunks are loaded and Thompson and Wilkers are already on their way to London. And, thank you, by the way, for suggesting they leave early." She shot him a look that made all his gentlemanly thoughts vanish instantly. It was going to be a long four hours.
It still took the better part of an hour to make the rounds to say good-bye. Well, half of that was spent with her mother going on and on and on and... Finally. Finally they were headed for the coach he had bought to celebrate their marriage. Every new bride deserved a new coach, her mother had said. Although he though Elizabeth did not care about such things, the effusions of her mother made up for the price he paid. And it was a very comfortable coach. Well sprung. Privacy curtains. Plush seats. He had even taken his soon to be mother in law for a ride in it, just to cement his place as her favorite son in law forever. A gentleman always looked after his in laws, right?
His smile was almost gentlemanly as they finally started down the drive. The whole of Meryton seemed to be noisily chasing after the coach as he threw a handful of coins out the window to satisfy tradition. They were finally on their way to London. Four hours he reminded himself.
Turning to his bride (what a wonderful word) he was surprised to see her take off her bonnet and shake her fingers through her coiffure. "Ah, that feels great. I've wanted to take that off for hours. You don't mind do you?"
He just stared. That was all he could do. He was alone with his wife, in the relative privacy of their coach. Alone. No chaperones. No valet. No ladies maid. The coachman sat up top and a footman next to him. Surely they couldn't hear much over the sound of the horses' hoofbeats or the wheels on the gravel road.
Four hours. He could be a gentleman for four more hours. But did he really have to be? A gentleman that is. He was truly alone with his wife. For the first time in their lives. Alone. He smiled. In a moving carriage. He frowned. No, he would remain a gentleman for a little bit longer. Three and a half hours to London.
He held her hand. He kept up a polite conversation. "Was she looking forward to visiting Brighton? Were there any sights there that she wanted particularly to see? Did she want to try sea bathing? Had she decided on any changes she wanted to make to Darcy House? " Gentlemanly talk, surely.
She kept up her end of the conversation. "How long will Georgiana stay with her aunt at Matlock? How long would it take her and Colonel Fitwilliam to get there? What made him decide on Brighton for their honeymoon? Had he ever been there before?" Her mother trained her well in the skill of polite drawing room conversation.
At one point their conversation lagged. It had been a long, trying day for both of them. Despite it only being three in the afternoon. Two hours to London. Two hours.
"Did you want to stop along the way? Perhaps get a light meal?" He didn't know how to hint about, um, if she needed to use the necessary, along their route. She convinced him that she was fine, she didn't care if they stopped, unless he wanted to. They continued on to London. One and a half hours to Grosvenor Square.
She looked sleepy. "It's another hour to our house in London." Our house. How nice that sounded. "You can close your eyes if you want. You look tired. It has been a very busy few days." She was already tucked up under his arm, with her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes. "Mmm" was all he heard. She was soon fast asleep next to him.
He let his eyes wander over her sleeping form as he never had before. He remembered fondly the few times previously when they were almost alone. They had, as usual, outstripped their chaperones, usually Bingley and Jane, but occasionally Mary or Kitty. The two kisses they had shared had reawakened, um, not quite gentlemanly thoughts in his head. The first one, in the little wilderness next to Longbourn, was definitely not quite gentlemanly. She didn't seem to care. The hint of future passion in her response warmed him to his, um, toes. The next one was not much more than a peck on her cheek when they turned a bend in the road before Mary and Kitty could get them in sight again. Almost gentlemanly. Again, Elizabeth seemed like she didn't mind.
When he recognized landmarks that told him they were almost to his home, he gently woke Elizabeth. "Dear, we are almost home. Wake up dear." She only mumbled something he could not make out. "Dear, you need to wake up now. We are almost to Darcy House." He thought that watching her wake up for the rest of their lives would be his favorite past time from now on.
She awakened fully and set about putting herself to rights. It would not do to be introduced to her new staff with her hair askew and her dress rumpled. With the help of a small hand mirror that he produced from a small drawer in the coach, she made sure she was tidy and fit to be presented as Mrs. Darcy to the staff.
His smile was a mile wide as the coachman set the step and opened the door. He turned back to help Elizabeth alight from the coach and tucked her hand into his arm as they turned to alight the stairs to Darcy House. It had been a long four hours, but he was still being a gentleman. So far, so good.
His entire staff, all the way down to the scullery maids, were lined up in the front hall, awaiting their arrival. He proudly introduced Mrs. Darcy to the staff and he couldn't have been prouder of her kind words to each person as they were introduced. He dismissed them and asked the housekeeper, Mrs. Patterson for baths followed in an hour by a light meal in their private sitting room. She replied that Thompson and Wilkins were all ready for them and the meal would be delivered promptly.
One more hour. He could keep up his facade for one more hour. His valet attended him to wash and dress casually for dinner. Cravat and waistcoat, no evening coat, house shoes not boots. A few minutes later, she arrived dressed in a casual dress with her hair in a loose coiffure. A light meal awaited them. They made more small talk. After dessert and a glass of wine, he ever so gallantly said,"shall I come to you in a half hour?" A shy nod was his reply and she disappeared through the connecting door. One half hour remained in his agony.
Exactly thirty minutes later he knocked quietly on the connecting door. "Come in" was her demure reply. The sight he saw when he opened the door took his breath away.
She sat at her vanity, in a silk concoction that looked to be held together with just one small bow at her shoulder. Her hair was all the way down her back, loose, not even braided. She was a vision. His gentlemanly thoughts vanished.
She was nervous, he could tell. He wondered what she had been told about what was to happen next. He assumed her mother would have told her the bare minimum. Probably something akin to "lie still and wait for him to finish." He hoped not. He had come across her and her Aunt Madelyn in the garden one day when he arrived to visit. From the blush on her face, he thought, he hoped, that the aunt she adored had given her more practical advice. He couldn't ask directly, so he asked her "How was your talk with your aunt?" She blushed even deeper.
"Fine." was all she answered.
"Good" was his reply.
She stood from her vanity and smiled shyly at him. He knew that his gentlemanly facade was gone. That was okay. They were married. She was his wife. But he still didn't want to scare her.
"You are beautiful," he said as he slowly approached her and raised her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles.
And since a gentleman never kisses and tells, our story is at THE END.