Elizabeth's Refuge

by Timothy Underwood

  “You are not,” Darcy replied admiringly.

  He looked towards the road again. “Still enough time. If you insist I can leave you behind, with just a book for entertainment, I’ll do so, but know it makes me feel uncomfortable.”

  Elizabeth took both his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles. “I thank you very much.”

  Darcy went to the chief waiter and handed him one of those big French bills that he’d gotten from his man of business while saying a few words to him. No doubt ensuring that this man would keep a very close eye on her.

  And then he was off to beat General Fitzwilliam into a friendly pulp.

  Or the other way around.

  Elizabeth would not care to wager bets on who would win in that conflict, but from the eagerness both of them had evinced when General Fitzwilliam mentioned the possibility of fencing, she was quite assured both would end with bruises.

  She tried to read Darcy’s novel, and as the sun set the now obsequious waiter immediately set several beeswax candles out for her to read by. But rather perversely she put the book aside shortly after.

  The relationship betwixt her and Darcy was filled with such an odd mixture of the awkward and the delightful, and at this moment her annoyance at the awkward was predominate.

  How could she endure months at least — perhaps much more — halfway the chosen companion of Darcy’s life, and halfway a helpless distressed maiden, a piece of driftwood fate had tossed on his shore?

  She understood Darcy.

  He was honorable. He wanted to do the right thing. He would act to protect his friends when he thought they made the wrong decision. But Lord! This was the same sort of mistake that he had made with Jane and Bingley.

  Mr. Darcy thought it was his business to ensure she made no enforced decision. That there was no necessity tying her to accept him, and no excess of gratitude that influence her in his favor when her natural preference would have been in some other direction. It was ridiculous.

  Was this really where his hesitation to declare himself came from?

  Maybe, despite Darcy’s evident and clear affection for her, his infatuation towards her, his desire for her, perhaps he did not want to have a wife who would be forever barred from England. Or perhaps he was rethinking the entire matter, and not at all sure if he wanted to marry her with the poverty and the scandals.

  His first instinct, she comforted herself in this dour speculation, had of a certainty been to ignore her changed circumstances. But his pride held him back further and further the longer he pondered on the matter.

  The brutish fact was that her circumstances were worse by far, and her family would need far more of his support than when he had asked her to marry him the first time.

  And Darcy had not come easily to the decision to marry her then.

  And thus he had concocted in his mind this notion of it being important for her to not be dependent upon him for her life and safety as an excuse to avoid admitting to himself that he did not actually wish to take her on as a wife, with all that would entail.

  Elizabeth shook her head annoyedly, and asked for a glass of wine and some of the cheeses and sliced meats that one of the other patrons dined on from the waiter when he ran up to her to beg if he could do anything to be of service to her.

  The blue veined cheese with freshly baked bread, made for the evening crowd, tasted exquisite, an explosion of taste in Elizabeth’s mouth.

  On consideration, it was not in Darcy’s character to engage in that level of self-deception.

  The uncertainty scared her. Until he declared himself, she could not know that he would declare himself.

  Elizabeth wanted to know. She didn’t want her heart to be tortured in this almost engaged state. If he yet loved her, and loved her enough to take her despite all the reasons against such a match, she wanted him to do it now.

  But it was impossible for a lady, even one so daring as she, to simply say that brazenly.

  There were matters of money, but she could survive without much money.

  In any case, she was not so desperately dependent upon him.

  Certainly, her French was not so good that she could easily seek some sort of employment at present in France, but her command of the language also was not so bad that she would require a great length of time before she could. She had improved enormously in just the past few days. She could make an effort as a governess again, to some family which never returned to England, or to a French family which wished to ensure their children spoke English perfectly — this time she would find a widow to employ her.

  Or she could become the companion to some widowed or unmarried lady.

  Darcy had an extensive acquaintance. He could foist her off on some friend of his.

  Elizabeth brooded.

  Frowned and brooded.

  And so she was frowning, and slightly tipsy from the excellent red wine she had drunk a glass of, when after just an hour’s absence Darcy returned with General Fitzwilliam in tow.

  “See,” General Fitzwilliam said loudly, and with a wink at Elizabeth, “Miss Bennet is flowering and in better spirits than she ever has been. You needed not to worry about her.”

  “We did not stay away too long?” Darcy asked, in a slightly worried tone, as if she would choose to disappear if he did not constantly keep her in sight.

  “No.” Elizabeth knew her voice was irritable.

  Beyond everything else that she had faced in the last weeks, including being assaulted, nearly dying, and becoming an exile from her country of birth, she could feel that she was only a few days from the commencement of her monthly bleeding.

  It was all quite enough to make a woman cry.

  Darcy flinched slightly at her voice, while General Fitzwilliam phlegmatically raised an eyebrow.

  “I am not a child in your care, who depends upon you for everything. I can protect myself.”

  “I know, Elizabeth.”

  “You do not. I can defend my own honor. I can entertain my own self. I can plan my own decisions.”

  “I know, I know—”

  “I don’t need you!”

  Darcy swallowed and looked hurt.

  “Oh,” Elizabeth reached her hand out shakingly, “I do not mean to yell — that is not what I meant to say, I… what I meant is that I am sure I could find a position for some employment in France if I needed to. Maybe risk being a governess again, to some sympathetic French widow who wishes her children to speak English particularly well.”

  “Perhaps…” Darcy swallowed, and his eyes looked suddenly hollow. “Elizabeth… perhaps, even if you do not need me, perhaps I need you. I… I have never been to Paris. Never been to France at all. I… I would wish you to stay with me until we have… have seen the country. I do desperately want to see Paris… you and me. And then if you yet wish to find employment as a governess… afterwards. I shall understand… and I—”

  “Oh, you sweet, wonderful, silly, dear man. I… I do not mean I want to become a governess, either. I don’t.” General Fitzwilliam was grinning widely at her, and his amusement was distracting, and they were surrounded by the crowd of evening guests who had made appearance at the cafe for an evening bite and coffee and wine now that the work day was done, but she had to say now what she desperately wanted to say for Darcy’s sake. “What I mean is that…”

  Elizabeth swallowed.

  She felt a terrible hesitation in her gut — a fear of what his reaction would be. Best to know now. Best now. “What I meant to say… what I really meant is that, I… I want to marry you. Mr. Darcy, you are dear to me… and my opinion of you has changed so completely since that day I mistakenly refused you.”

  He blinked at her in confusion.

  “That’s all I meant. That I want to marry you.” She swallowed and waited for Darcy to proclaim her fate.

  “Oh.” And his brilliant, heart stopping smile came out, like a sunbeam through the clouds. “Oh, that’s what you meant by ‘I do not need you.’ I apologize f
or the difficulty I had interpreting your words,” Darcy was grinning so widely that he had to pause, “but now that you have explained, the meaning is perfectly clear.”

  General Fitzwilliam snorted. “Was clear enough to me from the start.”

  Elizabeth glared at him; this was not the time for his humor.

  “Elizabeth, my dear, darling Elizabeth.” Now everything was gone for Elizabeth except Darcy’s beautiful sparkling eyes, and his flashing happy grin. “It seems like I have been a fool once more, I shall often depend upon you to tell me when I am behaving as a fool. Can I depend upon you to tell me?”

  “You can always depend upon me.” Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, as though it both wished to race fast and stop in contemplation of Darcy’s handsome visage. “You can depend upon me for anything.”

  Darcy glanced for an instant at his cousin and the other patrons of the cafe. His smiling expression seemed to say, I had not expected to do this in such company.

  With his color high and a serious voice he said, “Elizabeth Bennet, you do not require my help. That is true. You can survive and you can choose for yourself. That is who you are, a woman worthy of being admired. But I desperately want to help you, whenever you can use help. I desperately wish to live with you, during every trial and tribulation of our lives. However since you do not need my money, since you shall find way to survive without my aid, I have only one thing I can offer to induce you to stay close by my side — for I do need you by my side — my heart. Elizabeth Bennet, you have my heart. I beg you not to crush it, for I do ardently admire and love you. I have missed you every day since we parted last, and now that I have seen you again… Elizabeth, perhaps I might survive without you, but I do not wish to. I ask you to make me the happiest of men, and accept my hand, my heart, and my soul. Please be the companion of my life. I beg you, tell me that I have your heart and then I shall be — and this is no poetic exaggeration — the happiest of men.”

  “Oh, oh, oh! Of course I will. Of course you do. My heart is yours.”

  Darcy stood to his feet and pulled Elizabeth to hers and then he kissed her solidly on the lips, in front of everyone, and then he lifted her in his arms and swung her round three times, laughing with happiness.

  There was a mixture of laughter and cheers from the French cafe goers at this behavior from the English gentleman and his lady in their midst, and in his happiness Darcy promptly paid for dinner and champagne for everyone in the cafe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darcy was deliriously happy two days later when he married Elizabeth.

  There was an Anglican chaplain in the city. According to this chaplain, as they were not in England they did not need to have the banns sounded, or gain a license from a bishop, if they married in a French civil ceremony first.

  To be married by French law Darcy and Elizabeth needed to swear before a notary as to their family circumstances, the location of their births, and their names. And most specifically they were required to swear that there were no barriers to the performance of a marriage between them under the laws of France.

  Both Darcy and Elizabeth were aware of none under the laws of England, and so Darcy hoped very much that French laws were not so different they perjured themselves when they made that oath. The notary assured them that there was nothing strange, and that the French laws on this matter were in general more liberal than those of the United Kingdom, or at least he thought they were.

  In the morning after they acquired the documents from the notary, they went to the town hall with General Fitzwilliam and Major Williams.

  It was strange to Darcy to find he suddenly had a new and previously unknown cousin, though he liked Major Williams a great deal. General Fitzwilliam and Major Williams were to witness their marriage, and then immediately ride off to the southeast to catch up to their regiment which had started the previous day its slow march to join the rest of the occupying army.

  The happy couple duly presented at the town hall their documents from the notary. They had cost Darcy two hundred francs to be written up and prepared on such short notice. The mayor himself came out to administer the oaths — this apparently was unusual, and only occurred because Darcy was a great gentleman, and the mayor was an acquaintance of General Fitzwilliam.

  The usual course was for a couple to have the oaths administered by a minor city clerk. They were made to swear their wedding oaths in French, and after Elizabeth and Darcy had replied oui to each question, the mayor popped open a bottle of effervescent vin de Champagne that actually had been grown, aged, and bottled in Champagne.

  They toasted their marriage, and happily smiling to each other they walked arm in arm out into the mostly cold February sun. The couple then needed to walk several blocks, holding a paper certifying their marriage, to the rooms the Anglican chaplain had rented to serve as a church.

  The chaplain then properly married them before God, and the Church of England — which in Darcy’s view was a matter of somewhat more importance than being married before the laws and King of France.

  They signed the register, which was just a single sheet instead of a whole book.

  The chaplain had explained the previous day that their marriage would be properly registered in England under Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753 — the law which made Gretna Greene the most popular destination for wedded bliss in all the land. The Bishop of London kept a book in London to which the chaplain sent the register of each marriage he performed to be recorded there officially and properly in England herself.

  After the chaplain married them, and they’d said their proper English “I do’s” in accordance with the well-known words of the book of common prayer, the chaplain also popped open a bottle of champagne. This bottle was furnished by the cellars of a decidedly lesser gentleman, and was not quite so fine as the one the mayor of Calais offered them.

  Darcy and Elizabeth still happily toasted themselves and their happy future once more with General Fitzwilliam and Major Williams.

  On the street their carriage awaited them, with Becky and Joseph waiting to travel south with them. Also Darcy’s coachman, grooms, and his footmen all were gathered round to travel with them as well. Being rather tipsy, Darcy shook hands once more with his cousins, profusely thanked General Fitzwilliam for his help, kissed Elizabeth on the open street in full sight of everyone, and handed her into the carriage.

  And so they set off into a happy future.

  Darcy’s man of business had ridden ahead on horse the day before to rent a house in the city for them. He would prepare everything for them to stay at least a month’s time in Paris. As they travelled south, at each postal station the couple needed to show their passports to be allowed to rent the horses, and every single time Elizabeth smilingly took a walk about the French town. She made an effort also each time she stopped to talk to someone in French.

  She had improved enormously, having already a solid grounding in the language and reading a great deal in French, but she had just lacked the knack for the proper, and frankly strange to an English ear, pronunciation the language required.

  Darcy loved each single minute of their travel south. He and Elizabeth were constantly affectionate with each other, as they sat together in the carriage, his happy arm around her happy shoulder. Elizabeth often rested her head on his chest. She usually smiled, and her smile was his favorite thing in the world.

  Her body nestled soft against his, and he was filled with an infinite sense of protectiveness and affection, and he was very, very satisfied that she had — wise woman that she was — convinced him that it was better to be her husband than simply her guardian.

  Elizabeth laughingly complained that the scenery did not look nearly different enough from England to be worth the price of the trip. All hedges with leaves lost for the winter, and she could see those in England any day of the year.

  “That would only be true,” Darcy replied dryly, his hand upon Elizabeth’s — his wife’s! — leg, “were it a day in winter
.”

  Elizabeth laughingly kissed him. “Pedantic man — you have no love for the poetic.”

  In actual fact, the landscape of France was not remarkably dissimilar to that of England.

  There were of course differences, mostly in terms of the color of the paint preferred and the style of building, but it would take an architect to be able to really explain how French village construction differed from the British style.

  There was a great similarity Darcy thought between all Christian cultures, even the Catholic ones. The style of building and life was similar also in the Germanies — the same types and cuts of clothes worn by the fashionable, the same Beethoven and Mozart were beloved everywhere, the plays of Shakespeare and Goethe also. No matter where you went in Europe, cultured men spoke French with some facility.

  Only when one reached as far east as Russia did the appearance of the people and of the churches became really distinct. And if one entered the lands of serfdom, the peasantry was entirely distinct from good English cottagers.

  Even in Russia the cities seemed to Darcy a little like the rest of Europe, likely because the cities were filled with merchants and aristocrats who travelled and imitated what they saw in foreign lands, whether for good or for ill.

  In Russia Darcy had heard repeated twice the story of how Peter the Great had early in his reign gone to visit the more Occidental nations, so that he might learn the secrets of their wealth. And then upon his return, he promptly banned the wearing of beards, because the Dutch went clean shaven.

  Spending every night in the same bed as Elizabeth was magical, everything he had imagined, and yet somehow more tender, and more dear and more special than he could have imagined.

  He had had some worry that she would be shy or frightened of him because of natural maidenly delicacy, and because of fear occasioned by Lord Lachglass’s attempt to attack her. Yet she was quite the opposite, warm and eager to explore and passionate with him. However when Darcy had suggested such an idea to Elizabeth, she laughed and said that being with him was entirely different, and there was no reason she could see to be anxious with him when an entirely different man had attempted to attack her.