Compromised

by Cressida Lane

  Mrs. Collins was sorry for the circumstances that brought the day about, especially the hand she played in it; but she could not regret them, not even for the sake of her dearest friend. Elizabeth would be well and truly settled, and the connections between them would likely bring them together often.

  The journey to Derbyshire took several days, during which Mr. Darcy rode alongside the carriage, allowing his wife to pass the journey within it alone. Elizabeth took no small measure of comfort in his choice for she found that as time passed, her anger mounted. Prior to his indiscreet behavior in the park near Hunsford, she’d not been disposed to think well of Mr. Darcy for his blatant manipulation of Charles Bingley and his callous, unfeeling actions towards the poor Mr. Wickham. Being forced to share such confined space with the man who was now her husband would have made the arduous journey particularly trying.

  At long last, they arrived. Elizabeth had passed the journey primarily lost in her thoughts and now regretted that fact, for the Derbyshire countryside yielded a beautiful view. Pemberley itself was ideally situated, surrounded by what appeared to be a truly vast estate. Elizabeth supposed she’d have to become acquainted with the particulars sooner or later and the thought was unnerving; she was now a primary caretaker of this place.

  Upon disembarking Mr. Darcy introduced her to Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, and in short order Elizabeth found herself being made at home by a flurry of housemaids in the quarters of the mistress of the house. At no time was she left alone with Mr. Darcy himself; in fact, once he handed her off to Mrs. Reynolds, Elizabeth did not see him for four full days. Instead he wrote her messages, always handed over by a servant with her morning tea, informing her of his plans to attend business throughout the day with assurances that he would make himself available should she require him. Elizabeth discovered each message stoked the fire of her anger towards Mr. Darcy – now Darcy, her husband – and took to walking the grounds each day to help dispel it.

  With Darcy’s continued absence on the fourth day after their arrival, Elizabeth began to see past her anger enough to observe just how far her own father’s disinterest must run as a landowner; she did not enjoy dwelling on the faults of the people she loved, but in the case of Mr. Bennet, it must indeed be named a fault. Darcy was continually being sought by someone in the house, or by someone calling from the village; tenants, she suspected.

  Darcy had not spent their time apart idly, the knowledge of which she had from two of the newer housemaids. Elizabeth had wondered aloud to them what he could find so engrossing about the horses that he felt compelled to spend an entire afternoon in the stables. Without additional prompting or encouragement they’d obligingly provided her reports on all his known actions; they had henceforth become her informants.

  Darcy appeared finally at breakfast on the fifth day. They had now been married nearly a fortnight; it had been nearly that long since last they spoke in private.

  “How are you this morning, Miss B—forgive me. You are Mrs. Darcy now,” said Darcy. He appeared perplexed by the notion. That he should have given so little thought to the changes in her life reignited the spirit of her anger, but Elizabeth held her temper.

  “I am perfectly well, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “No business takes you away today?”

  “Not as yet, madam,” he replied. And with that small exchange, they ate in silence. Elizabeth had just resolved to behave as though he had not entered the room at all when Darcy spoke again.

  “My cousin will visit if I send for him.”

  Elizabeth could not understand him.

  “Yes, sir, I daresay the Colonel is generally at your disposal, or so he himself informed me at Rosings not a month past,” said Elizabeth. Darcy seemed to be considering her words with great care.

  “Your… attachment to him, it is a strong one,” said Darcy. He sounded bleak. At once Elizabeth understood. She laughed, the idea and the action both restoring some of her humor, which seemed to have been otherwise lost the last fortnight.

  “My attachment,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy, forgive my humor. It is not intended at your expense but my own. I had wholly forgotten our conversation about Colonel Fitzwilliam in the flurry of more recent events.” For a moment he did not reply.

  “Do you mean,” he began. “Do you mean to suggest you’ve forgotten your attachment to my cousin?”

  “Alas,” she said. “Not only had I forgotten it, but it was never there at all. When I suggested to you that I possessed some tender feeling for the Colonel, Mr. Darcy, it was in jest.”

  “In jest.”

  “Yes, sir. I was teasing you,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “And for it I am truly sorry.”

  “You needn’t apologize for teasing me,” said Darcy. “Certainly you never have before.”

  “Yes, but this particular teasing precipitated a startled reaction from you—“ for Elizabeth could not account for his reaction that day otherwise “—and led to our discovery by the upstanding Mr. Collins, and therefore our subsequent marriage. And so yes, I am very sorry, indeed.”

  The servants had been dismissed once the meal had been laid, yet Darcy checked the room to be certain they were alone.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I have something to say to you.”

  “Given that I am now your wife, I suppose you might as well start calling me Elizabeth, for I am Miss no more.”

  “Elizabeth, then” said Darcy. His manner was very solemn. “I would not have you blame yourself for our circumstances because I had resolved to ask your hand that very same day.”

  So great was her shock, Elizabeth bobbled her tea in a most unladylike fashion.

  “Mr. Darcy, you cannot be serious,” she said.

  “I am rarely otherwise. That day Mr. Collins discovered us in the park, I had come to Hunsford with the intention of proposing marriage to you. When Mrs. Collins suggested you might be in need of some assistance in the park, I thought perhaps that was my opportunity. But then,” here Mr. Darcy blushed at the memory. “You were unprepared for the weather. And you suggested you held some hope for my cousin. The rest was unintended, yes; but you must know I have wanted only you; I have loved only you. I am sorry for the unfavorable occasion that brought us here, but I cannot regret that you are here with me now.”

  Elizabeth took in his countenance, determined to suss out any hint of mockery in his face; but there she saw only warmth and profound earnest. He spoke the truth, then.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Elizabeth as she abruptly stood from the table. He stood as well, the warmth in his gaze replaced by concern.

  “Are you quite well, madam?”

  “I am well,” said Elizabeth. “Though perhaps not quite well enough. I think I shall lie down for awhile.”

  Darcy summoned Elizabeth’s favorite maids —so the housekeeper now called them— and bade them escort her to her rooms. Mr. Darcy had no experience with proposing marriage to any woman, nor had he much practice at using words like ‘love’, but he strongly suspected his wife’s response to his declaration was less than ideal.

  Chapter 4

  Elizabeth spent the rest of the morning attempting to rest her head between bouts of pacing her rooms. That Mr. Darcy should have been in love with her all this time! It was unthinkable, though obviously only to Elizabeth’s mind. Mrs. Collins had the right of it after all. But that such a man, so mean of character should have supposed she’d actually agree to the marriage! Elizabeth could not account for it.

  Elizabeth made her excuses for the rest of the day, preferring to take her meals in her rooms. Mr. Darcy resumed his habit of attending business the next day and much to her relief, Elizabeth did not see him for nearly a week, though she could sometimes hear noises through the door adjoining their chambers.

  She had been Mrs. Darcy three weeks when her downstairs informants brought her an old report, but one of a most unsettling nature.

  “Mr. Wickham and Miss Georgiana? Are you certain, are you absolutely certain?” Elizabeth chid
ed the maids, even threatening to turn them out of the house if they brought her falsehoods of such magnitude; but the young women stood firm, going so far as to suggest Elizabeth appeal to Mrs. Reynolds for verification.

  Mr. Wickham had lied, to herself and to all her acquaintance. These accounts made him a foul character indeed, one of no substance and certainly one no longer of any consequence to Elizabeth.

  “Thank goodness the regiment left Meryton when they did,” said Elizabeth, for her own ears only.

  This meant that Darcy had been mightily abused, both by Mr. Wickham and in her own mind. Darcy was not guilty of any unkind feeling in this case, nor was he guilty of the callousness Mr. Wickham had so brazenly laid at his door. And Darcy’s poor, poor sister. To have loved such a man, and at so young an age. Elizabeth resolved to be her very kindest self when they finally met.

  And to Darcy… Elizabeth felt she owed him at least an explanation. Were there positions reversed, she would wish to be informed that such an account of her actions had been told, and could only suppose he’d prefer the same kindness. And as cowardice had never suited her, she found the opportunity to do so the next evening at dinner.

  According to her helpful maids, Darcy had spent the intervening days visiting his newest tenants. Elizabeth was ashamed to realize she ought to have accompanied him for those visits to welcome the newest residents of Pemberley and the nearby village. She was determined to fulfill her role as wife and mistress of the house with aplomb; shirking her duties in a fit of pique did not accomplish that. She would not allow it to happen again.

  It had occurred to Elizabeth in quieter moments that there were other ways she was not fulfilling her duties, particularly as that of wife. It was not lost on her that Darcy had not yet insisted upon his rights as husband, and she was grateful to him for it. As that subject would require a more private setting, however, it would have to wait.

  They ate in peace, exchanging few words at first in favor of the enjoyment of an especially fine roast. Elizabeth embraced that moment to reflect on what she truly knew about her husband, by facts and not by rumor or supposition.

  Darcy took great interest in and care of his family estate; he kept few friends, but to a man they were deeply loyal to him; he was respected by his servants; he treated his staff with respect in return; Elizabeth had not yet seen him idle in any way; he was generous with his resources, inasmuch could be said of a man who would not be taken advantage of.

  These facts began to add up in the mind of the man’s wife, and Elizabeth began at once to feel some warmth toward her husband. Perhaps their life together would not be humorless and cold, as she’d first suspected; perhaps it would not always be stilted and polite, despite its beginnings.

  There was still the matter of Jane and Mr. Bingley, however, that prevented any warmer feeling from encroaching on Elizabeth’s mind. Darcy had almost certainly taken it upon himself to separate Mr. Bingley from her sister; Colonel Fitzwilliam had confirmed Elizabeth’s suspicions on that score. But Elizabeth’s anger had diminished, doubt seeded in its place by the revelation of Mr. Wickham’s perfidy. Perhaps Darcy had an explanation.

  They exchanged pleasantries about the meal and the household, then lapsed into silence a moment before beginning simultaneously.

  “Mr. Darcy, I—“

  “Elizabeth, I—“

  She gestured for him to continue.

  “I do hope you’ll call me Fitzwilliam. Or Darcy, at least.”

  “Darcy, then.”

  “Elizabeth, Mrs. Reynolds tells me you’ve been settling in well.”

  “I am, yes. She and the staff have been very kind to me,” said Elizabeth.

  “I apologize for not being more available to you here these last few weeks. My involvement was needed in the village. And…”

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to give you some time to get used to it here, I suppose, without getting in your way. Pemberley is to be your home. I hope you can come to see it as such,” said Darcy.

  Elizabeth was astonished to discover that, of all that may have concerned him, this should be among them.

  “I appreciate your consideration, sir. Pemberley is beautiful. Indeed, I have never seen it’s equal. But you cannot have doubted that; you’ve lived here all your life.”

  “I have,” said he. He hesitated a moment. “Was there something you wished to ask me?”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I wondered whether you had any news of your friends, the Bingleys. Jane tells me they remain in town but she has not yet seen them.”

  Elizabeth studied her husband’s countenance thoroughly, watching for any sign of discomfort or guilt that might indicate his thoughts on the subject. Darcy’s expression remained placid, politely engaged in their conversation, but revealing nothing more.

  “I have had a letter from Charles just last week. It contained felicitations from that family on the occasion of our marriage. Would you like to read it?” he asked.

  Elizabeth declined; she had no doubt that had there been even one mention of her sister Jane in that letter, Darcy would not have offered it to her in the interest of keeping his friend’s confidence.

  “I was merely curious,” she said. “I had rather thought your friend had formed an attachment to my elder sister, but perhaps I was wrong.”

  Darcy startled a bit at this last.

  “He might have done, but Miss Bennet never seemed to prefer him much to the company of any other,” said Darcy.

  The word of Mrs. Collins rang in Elizabeth’s mind. “If she does not help him on…” Her friend had been right once again, it seemed.

  “That is perhaps my sister’s only failing; if one might exceed in tranquility, it is she. Her feelings run deep, but it is rare indeed they show any disturbance on the surface.”

  Darcy looked at Elizabeth a long moment.

  “Do you mean that her general feelings run deeply, or that her feelings on this subject specifically run deep? I would not misunderstand you in this.”

  Elizabeth blushed, caught between breeching her sister’s confidence and speaking the truth to her husband. She had been so very wrong about Darcy’s character with regards to Wickham; Elizabeth chose in that moment to trust him.

  “The latter. My sister is quite fond of your friend.” She could bring herself to say no more.

  “I see,” said Darcy. “You have given me much to think about, Mrs. Darcy. Thank you.”

  Elizabeth stood, preparing to quit the room, when Darcy held up his hand.

  “Please,” he said. “Won’t you stay awhile?” Faced with the prospect of another night with no conversation from anyone, Elizabeth consented. They left the dining hall; Darcy informed her he preferred to spend his free time in the library.

  Darcy offered her a drink, and Elizabeth sipped it carefully. Excepting a few small portions when ill, she’d never had whisky from the north before. It burned her throat at first, then warmed her from the inside as she drank.

  “Mrs. Reynolds is already fond of you, you know,” said Darcy. “I think she finds you a far more satisfying mistress than she ever did me as master of the house.”

  “She’s known you from childhood,” said Elizabeth. “I expect that makes a great deal of difference in the eyes of a servant, seeing you from a boy to the master of the house.”

  “Perhaps so,” he said. “She has always been kind to me. I would have been quite sorry to see her go, if she’d chosen to seek employment elsewhere after my father’s death. Several of our servants did, you see.” By all accounts, Mr. Darcy the elder had been quite a benevolent man.

  They sat in silence for some moments, until Elizabeth’s tongue was warmed enough to speak on a subject that brought her more than a little discomfort.

  “Darcy, I must thank you,” she said.

  “For what? You owe me nothing,” said he.

  “I must disagree with you there. I owe you thanks at the very least,” she said, blushing once more. “You have not insisted upo
n your rights as husband. I am mindful of your forbearance, and grateful to you for it.”

  After this pronouncement, neither could bring their gaze from the floor.

  “Please do not trouble yourself,” he said at length. “Our marriage was precipitous. I could no more think of imposing on you than I could a stranger on the street.”

  Elizabeth did not find that to be especially flattering and resented the remark, even as her own reaction confused her further.

  “Well, that is fine,” she said archly. “Shall I expect to see your mistress walking down the street someday, then?”

  Darcy’s look was incredulous when he met her eyes.

  “I did not—“ he began, and stopped to compose himself. “Madam, I meant to suggest no such thing, only that you need not fear me.” This reply pacified Elizabeth, though her confusion lingered. She could not understand why the thought of his desiring someone else should upset her so much.

  “I do not fear you, Darcy.”

  “I have no intention of taking a mistress,” he said, returning his gaze to the fire.

  “Not if I were to refuse you forever?” Elizabeth had heard horrific stories of women who attempted to deny their husbands. How or why she dared tease Darcy in this vein, she knew not.

  “You may refuse me, Elizabeth, and the circumstances that brought us here might have been curious, but you are still my wife. I shall endeavor to treat you with all the honor due that office.” Darcy’s mouth tightened, and Elizabeth could see that she had wounded him in some way. After all, the man had confessed to being in love with her before their unexpected union. Perhaps… yes, perhaps she went too far this time.

  Elizabeth moved to sit beside her husband on the lounge. She covered his hand with her own and spoke.

  “I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I did not mean to insult you, nor to offend. The subject makes me nervous. You have been very kind.”

  He faced her then, turning his palm into hers.