Her life was very occupied. They visited the academy and attended concerts with regularity; recently Darcy had surprised her with a visit to a botanical garden outside of London and she had discovered an interest in botany quite distinct from her love of the more domestic art of floral arrangements. They attended dinners and balls frequently; they had hosted intimate gatherings at Portman Square. She saw Jane almost daily, Aunt Gardiner regularly and Kitty had not dared to speak so freely before Georgiana again, although when with only her sisters she was not so circumspect. Certainly Elizabeth had grown weary of being constantly examined by new acquaintances and strangers alike, but at least amongst her husband’s nearest friends she felt that she herself was beginning to establish genuine friendships as well, and with Lady Richmond she maintained a growing intimacy and trust. Perhaps it was all of these sensations of competence and contentedness that were inspiring her generosity. She was filled with hope and good feelings, and wanted no shadows upon her felicity or that of her husband.
Elizabeth opened the letter in her hand and read it anew, it was from her friend Charlotte Collins who had kept her meticulously informed of all the goings on at Rosings Park since the time of her marriage to Mr. Darcy, so that she found herself far more knowledgeable about Lady Catherine’s rising and falling moods than Mr. Darcy could have ever surmised.
We dined again with Lady Catherine, and though she had lately become more silent on the topic of Mr. Darcy’s marriage to you and his perceived disloyalty, she is again most vocal. Easter is approaching and it appears that he was a regular visitor at this time of year. She protests that she is angry, but I believe she is regretful, that she quite simply wishes to be restored to her nephew’s good graces. Indeed, I begin to believe she was very much more in love with him than was her daughter, for in all these months I have not seen a single expression of sadness or anger or melancholy from the latter. Lady Catherine will go on about your marriage with vigorous denunciation and Miss de Bourgh looks as indifferent and uninterested as she is in all other topics of conversation. Mr. Collins is far more chagrined than Miss de Bourgh herself. If only for my sake, you must encourage Mr. Darcy to resolve this matter, for it is awkward to hear my old friend reproved and not be in any position to defend.
Indeed, Elizabeth was sure a restitution of relations must be encouraged. For all the woman’s disagreeableness, she was her husband’s aunt, his mother’s only sister. She could not bear the thought of one day being separated in anger from a child of Jane’s. And then, he continued to show forbearance towards her family, why could she not do the same? Had he not accepted that Kitty would, as soon as the summer, be resident with them at Pemberley? If he could abide her family’s faults, she could certainly do the same. But how to rectify a situation fraught with so much emotion, so fixed by stubborn pride on either side?
Elizabeth had never read the letter itself that had occasioned the break in relations, but remembered well when it had been received. She and Jane had gone to Netherfield for the day, and whilst Miss Bingley, with exquisitely insincere sympathy, was showing Jane the intricacies of the house, Elizabeth was able to spend time alone with her betrothed. She recalled how he had endeavoured to keep from her knowledge of the letter’s existence, but his entire demeanour had spoken of a profound indignation and closely controlled ire. His stoic reserve with her—she understood now in an attempt to sublimate that indignation—had been deeply disconcerting. At last to appease her expressions of unease he had revealed the existence of the letter and its intention if not its specific content. She mistook his demeanour entirely.
She had stood and walked across the room, stopped in front of him and held his gaze evenly, although she was visibly trembling. “You have been entirely altered by this letter. Lady Catherine’s disapproval can hardly have come as a surprise. I can only surmise that being in receipt of her actual disapprobation has impacted you more strongly than you would have anticipated. If it has caused you to regret your choice.”
“Elizabeth!” he had cried before she could continue, grasping her hands within his own. “You cannot be in earnest? You cannot think so little of my constancy?”
Mortified by her error she had turned away, but held firmly to his hands.
“I will not permit Lady Catherine or any other person who may disapprove our union to impose upon our happiness, and I did not consider that you would be inclined to indulge such officiousness either.” Pulling her gently into his arms, he bared before her the passionate man beneath the practiced reserve. “Elizabeth, I desire you for my wife more than I have ever wanted for anything. Do you desire me for your husband?”
Elizabeth was still embarrassed of her foolishness, ashamed that after he had proven himself over and again, she should have rushed to judge him ill. She certainly blushed in embarrassment at her blunder then. “Of course I do. You are the best man I have ever known,” she had replied in contrition.
“There are many women of my acquaintance I think very well of, but I have never desired any of them for my wife. I have only ever wanted you. Is that all, Elizabeth? That you think me a good man?” he had insisted tenderly.
She had lifted her eyes to his and seen there a powerful longing he had never yet so openly exposed and she had trembled in his arms, felt her heart race. “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
He had smiled and pressed her more closely to his heart. “Let us have no more of this foolish talk!” Before she could answer he was kissing her and they had left Lady Catherine and her invective for another day.
Now these many months later when she knew him so much more intimately, she understood as she could not then the unspoken pain of such a breach to a man of her husband’s character: intensely loyal, unless crossed, and then, resentful to a fault. Yet the resentfulness wounded him far more than the object, embittered a heart otherwise so filled with noble solicitude. She had no need for such a breach, gained no satisfaction from her triumph. What but a little wounded pride would be sacrificed if the offense were overlooked?
She folded Charlotte’s letter as Darcy entered the room, just returned from Angelo’s[9] where he went thrice weekly for fencing exercise. He always looked particularly attractive to his wife when he returned from the exercise; he enjoyed it thoroughly and he had a satisfied, vigorous air about him upon its completion. After greeting her he inquired of the letter in her hand. “Any news of import from Longbourn?”
“This letter is from Hunsford, from Charlotte.”
“Ah,” he replied neutrally. Charlotte wrote to Elizabeth with regularity, but Darcy never expressed the smallest interest in what she might have to report, not even a civil hope that all was well with her friend.
“She tells me they dined at Rosings,” Elizabeth offered, but he made no reply. “You do not know her well, but I can assure you my friend Charlotte is very astute, very observant. Indeed, in Hertfordshire she was very early on convinced you admired me. Did I never tell you that? I scoffed at her assertion, so much more confident in my own powers of observation. My very perceptive friend thinks that with Easter approaching, Lady Catherine is missing you, that she wishes to be restored to your favour.”
Darcy cut her off abruptly. “Must we discuss this again? Pray, Elizabeth, let us leave things as they are.”
He looked so content and satisfied as he had walked into the room that she was entirely disinclined to pursue the topic with much dedication. “I have only one question, if I might? Was it your habit to visit Rosings Park every Easter?”
“As a boy I went into Kent with my mother every Easter, yes. When she died, my father thought it best to continue the custom and I suppose I saw no reason to alter it either after my father himself died.”
Elizabeth rose from her seat and came to him. “I will not importune you further on the topic. I grant you a respite, for the moment.”
“For the moment?”
She smiled, placed her hands within his. “At the moment you might tell me instead about your morning. Some
day I should like to see you at your fencing.”
“Would you?”
“I imagine I should find it very stimulating,” she remarked, stepping a little closer to his person.
“What an entirely provoking wife I have.”
“Do you?” she replied warmly.
They spoke no more of Lady Catherine, but Elizabeth had formed a private resolution to do all she could to heal the breach between them; she was sure she had the right of it.
“I have had a most welcome letter today,” Darcy shared after a sweet interlude. “I have spoken to you of my father’s cousin, Dr. Hodgson; his health is greatly improved and he has asked that I take you to Cambridge that he might at last make your acquaintance. We have no pressing engagements for the next few days. Would you like to go?”
“Oh yes, most certainly!” Elizabeth responded enthusiastically. “I should like very much to become acquainted with a gentleman you have spoken of with such admiration and then, I have travelled so little I must welcome every new opportunity.”
“We could depart as early as tomorrow. Cambridge is a very easy distance.”
“Tomorrow then, for what are fifty miles of good road?” she replied with a smile.
The scheme agreed upon, on the following morning Georgiana was taken to Grosvenor Square where she would lodge with her aunt and uncle whilst Darcy and Elizabeth were away in Cambridge.
“You are to visit Dr. Hodgson, are you?” Lord Richmond inquired of Darcy before they departed Richmond House. “Such a peculiar fellow, your father’s cousin.”
“He is a brilliant man and a loyal friend to me, as he was to my father before me.”
“As I recall, my sister thought him rather too influential by half; he holds such novel ideas.”
Darcy made no response. He was not inclined to enter into the familiar, old dispute. “We must be leaving now,” he answered instead, “or we shall arrive to Cambridge quite late.”
Dr. Philip Hodgson was a well-respected theologian, a gentleman physically enfeebled beyond his years, whose mind nevertheless remained sharp and penetrating. With a strong inclination towards asceticism, he occupied a sparse, discreet cottage situated on a small but appealing park. Elizabeth was surprised to find her husband’s relation installed in such modest surroundings. The room where he greeted them was sparingly furnished, with dark wood panelling, but the bright sun filled the room with an inviting warmth.
“Pray do not trouble to rise,” Darcy insisted as he rushed into the room to prevent Dr. Hodgson’s rising from his chair. Arriving before him he shook his hand fraternally. “My dear sir, I can see you are much improved from when last I saw you.”
“I am, my dear fellow, much improved. But do step aside and let me look upon this lovely young lady who must be your wife. Come, my dear, and sit near me, let me see your face.”
Elizabeth came forward eagerly and sat in the chair directly before him—it was a reviving novelty to be so openly and warmly welcomed by one of her husband’s relations. The sun illuminated her face and gave brilliance to her complexion, bathed her in a becoming golden light. He leaned forward and took her hands within his timeworn, trembling hands; he had long fingers that easily encased her hands within his own. His voice was kindly and surprisingly strong for so weak looking a man.
“Do you recall Darcy when you came to see me last June?” He began to speak without removing his probing grey eyes from Elizabeth’s face. “He came to me, Mrs. Darcy, as he regularly does, to ensure his old friend is well and in need of nothing. After we supped together I left the room for a moment and returned to find him looking out the window with a strange melancholy air unfamiliar to his usual way of being. What troubles you, my dear fellow? I inquired. He told me then of a young lady he found it impossible to forget. How admiringly he spoke of her; I had never heard him speak of another in quite such terms. He told me she was intelligent, forthright, affectionate, courageous; most certainly she was not a woman to suffer fools, and that he had acted as a very great fool before her. You love her? I inquired, and he confessed, very quietly to be sure, though he had no hope of ever calling her his own, he loved her to his very marrow. He said no more; for what purpose? Such a surprise when I received his letter communicating that he was to be married to that same young lady. And so you are the young lady he could not forget.”
Elizabeth lifted her gaze towards Darcy and smiled, her expression one of unmistakable affection. With the bright sun upon her and her countenance a glow with tenderness, she was incontrovertibly lovely.
“Ah!” cried Dr. Hodgson. “Who would wish to forget such a face?” He laughed softly and patted Elizabeth’s hands before releasing them from his grasp and leaning back in his chair. “Now, my dear Darcy, we do have some business to attend; I have not asked you here only for pleasure. I ordered Saxonburg to revise my papers now you are married, just in the manner we long ago discussed. I am too old to know if such legal matters are properly arranged. Do go into my library and review the papers, will you? I have left them atop my escritoire for your convenience. Ensure everything is in order. Your wife will give me her arm and take a turn in the garden with me before the sun is too low in the sky.”
As soon as Darcy quit the room for the library, Dr. Hodgson rose and took Elizabeth’s arm as they stepped out into the picturesque little garden and he directed them to a bench at the far end. They walked slowly and he conversed with animation.
“I must confess my deceit, Mrs. Darcy. I am perfectly capable of understanding the legal documents I have sent your husband to review. The more enfeebled becomes my body the sharper my mind; I am convinced. My little subterfuge aside, he should be aware of the details. I am sure he has informed you that if you should have a second son, he will be heir to a small property I have; a few thousand pounds a year. Quite fitting enough for a second son. I have no nearer relation to whom I should wish to leave it. My sister’s son is a profligate and irreligious black-hearted fool and will have nothing from me. My sister lives there now and Darcy ensures all is properly managed and she lacks for nothing. I have no head for such matters. In any case, I simply wished to have a walk with you in private. You like to walk?”
“I do. There are few things which give me greater pleasure than a long walk in the country.”
“What do you like about it?”
“To see where my own feet will take me, I suppose.”
“An independent woman. That is good. Darcy would be an unbear-able husband with a wife who had no sense of independence. All his Fitzwilliamness would come to bear.”
“His Fitzwilliamness?” Elizabeth laughed merrily.
“Oh dear, you must forgive me. I am neither a Darcy nor a Fitzwilliam, therefore I can speak freely where others will not. Do you not find that people often confuse manners for character; but what has one to do with the other, necessarily? Look at your husband. He has the Fitzwilliam manner but the Darcy heart. One is all goodness and amiability and the other all cold, arrogant propriety.”
“You are no admirer of his Fitzwilliam relations?”
“How could I be, my dear? You see how I choose to live. I have dedicated my life to reflection, to the mind and the spirit. My cousin George was the most amiable and good-hearted of men. I am sorry to acknowledge that I never found his wife or her relations worthy of such a good man.”
“Truly? I am surprised, sir. Mr. Darcy has spoken of his mother with the greatest respect and esteem.”
“Naturally, my dear. He would believe himself entirely dishonourable to speak of her otherwise, and I dare say he is correct. He would not be capable of besmirching the memory of a long dead mother. But she was neither my mother nor my wife that I am so obliged. She was a frightfully accomplished creature. She did everything well and with taste.”
“Everything well and with taste! I have lately heard his cousin, Lady Edith Norbury, described exactly so and she is a formidable woman to be sure. Is she like her aunt?”
“I could not say. I knew
Lady Edith only as a girl when I would sometimes coincide with them at Pemberley. As for her aunt, she did do everything well. She was impeccable in accomplishments and manners. Nevertheless, for my liking, she lacked heart, my dear. She was aloof, cold, and gave far more consideration to the passing materiality of this world than to the more precious concerns of the spirit. She never liked me; indeed, she did not care much for those beyond her family circle. How do you get on with all his Fitzwilliam relations?”
“Well enough,” Elizabeth replied with circumspection.
“Ah, they have not been unwelcoming then? I am happy to know I am mistaken in my conjecture.”
“Some have been more welcoming than others. Lady Richmond in particular.”
“Lady Richmond is not a Fitzwilliam.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You do not take it to heart, I see.”
“I am not sure what it would serve to be offended if I have not always been received with the warmth one would wish for under such circumstances. My father always taught me to not be offended by idle gossip; and I suppose I am equally unoffended by idle disapproval. Unpleasant moments may arise, indeed have arisen, but in the end it has no bearing on my happiness or that of my husband.”
To Teach the Admiring Multitude Page 20
