Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Abigail Reynolds

  "Elizabeth." He looked at her significantly. "You know why I must go."

  Suddenly, the realisation came to her. He was leaving because of her, so he need not be reminded continually of the error he had made in marrying her. Her chest grew so tight she could barely breathe. She took a step backwards and looked down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. "Of course," she said dully. "Forgive me for troubling you." She wanted to tell him not to take any risks with his health, but he would not wish to hear it. "I hope your journey is safe."

  "Thank you." He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but then he rapped on the carriage top. The driver snapped the reins, and the matched bays took off at a brisk walk. Elizabeth watched until the back of the carriage disappeared from sight, but her husband did not look back.

  ***

  Restless nights led into bleak days. Elizabeth managed to leave her rooms only to make her tenant visits, and that only because she could not bear to disappoint anyone else. She picked at the food Lucy brought her, more to satisfy Lucy than out of hunger.

  One night, when sleep was even more elusive than usual and her mind refused to stop presenting her with lists of her faults, she found her way to the cupboard of remedies in the still room. The bottle of laudanum she had grown familiar with during the days of her husband's illness was there, promising a few hours of oblivion. She took the bottle from the shelf, its weight heavier in her hand than she remembered. Mrs. Reynolds must have refilled it.

  There was enough to purchase her more than a night's sleep if she were not mistaken. Would that not be the simplest solu tion for everyone? Darcy could be spared the bitter reminder of her presence. He could marry again. He would have no difficulty finding a new bride, one who could be a real wife to him and a better sister to Georgiana. The idea of another woman in her place, lying in Darcy's arms at night, caused her eyes to swim with tears, but she wanted him to find the happiness he deserved. She knew it would never be with her.

  It would be no loss to her family; she was already lost to them. If anyone were to miss her at all, it would be a few of the tenants who had come to depend upon her visits and perhaps Pandora. But Pandora would be sold to a new mistress; she would not pine.

  She heard footsteps echoing in the empty hallways and quickly put the bottle away, fearing her thoughts would be evident. It was only a chambermaid carrying a pile of linens, but she turned curiously at the sight of her mistress. Elizabeth closed the cupboard and slowly made her way down the hall to her rooms. It would have to wait until tomorrow night. She did not want any more scandal to touch Darcy, so no one must suspect what she was about. Mrs. Reynolds would guess when she found the laudanum bottle empty, but she would keep the secret out of loyalty to the family.

  Oddly, Elizabeth felt lighter than she had before and was able to drift off to sleep quickly.

  When she awoke, her mind remained clear as to what she must do. It was easier to view the future when it was only a day long. She thought she might even take a walk around the grounds after her tenant visits. She would need to be sure all their needs were met today, since it would be her last chance.

  Lucy appeared with her accustomed tray of breakfast. Elizabeth waved it aside as usual; but Lucy, with a tenacity quite unlike her, shook her head. "Madam, you must eat."

  "Thank you for your concern, Lucy. I am not hungry at the moment, but I will eat something later."

  "No, madam, you must eat."

  "Not now, Lucy." Elizabeth spoke more sharply than was her wont.

  Red flags appeared in the girl's cheeks, but she stood her ground. "Madam, if you do not eat, I… I will tell Mrs. Reynolds."

  Elizabeth almost laughed at what was clearly the worst threat Lucy could imagine. "Lucy…"

  "Mrs. Darcy, you have not had your courses these three months. You must eat."

  For a moment Elizabeth could not understand what she was speaking of. Surely it had not been so long. She cast her mind back but could not produce details. How often had her courses come since she had been at Pemberley? Was it only the once? It must have been, and she had been too preoc cupied to notice.

  This could not be happening. How could she raise a child when her husband barely spoke to her? And what of her own plans? Suddenly, the decision was no longer wholly her own.

  As if from a great distance, she heard herself say, "Yes, of course, Lucy. I promise you, I will eat."

  Looking mollified but distrustful, Lucy set the tray on the bedside table and poured out the tea. Clearly she did not intend to leave until her mistress had eaten. Elizabeth took a muffin and raised it to her mouth. It seemed tasteless, as everything did these days, but she forced herself through the motions of chewing and swallowing. She washed down the dryness with a swallow of bitter tea. Seeing Lucy's eyes still upon her, she took another bite then dropped the remains on the delicate porcelain plate.

  "Now the bread and jam, madam."

  When had Lucy become so intransigent? Elizabeth sighed, then obediently spread the jam on the bread. The sweetness made it a little more palatable, so she finished it, then pushed the tray away. "Please, Lucy, no more."

  "Very well, madam. A little at a time. I know how ill you have been, and it should pass soon; but you must keep up your strength."

  Elizabeth looked at her in confusion, then realised what she meant. Lucy thought she had kept to her rooms because of her condition. It was almost amusing. No doubt it was better to let her think that than to admit to her despair, especially if she might be carrying the heir to Pemberley.

  She could not keep back the tears. Covering her eyes, she managed to say, "That will be all, Lucy."

  Chapter 14

  WHEN A FOOTMAN BROUGHT her a letter a week later, Elizabeth's first impulse was to tell him to take it away. The post had brought her nothing but pain, and she saw no reason why that would change. But that would not be suitable for the mistress of Pemberley, so she accepted the letter. The direction was in the firm handwriting she remembered from the letter Darcy sent her when they were engaged, but this would not be a love note. She wished she had appreciated more the one he had written her then.

  She was half afraid to break the seal, not knowing what instructions he might have for her. She reminded herself he was neither unfair nor unkind, and whatever he had written, it could be no worse than what he had already said to her. Still, she retreated to her bedroom to read it.

  Madam,

  We have made substantial progress in our efforts here. Your sister has been recovered and is presently at your uncle's house in Cheapside. Mr. Wickham has agreed to abide by his promise; their wedding is scheduled for next week. They will then travel into the north where he will take up a post in the regulars. I will remain in London for the ceremony and return to Pemberley at some point thereafter. I hope this intelligence will provide you with some relief.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. It was so unexpected she hardly knew whether to believe it. He must have been in contact with her family. And with Wickham! She could scarcely credit it. She read the brief missive again, pausing at the indication that he would be attending the wedding. There was no reason he would participate in an event he must find repugnant unless he were somehow involved. Based on Wickham's earlier demands, she could only assume some money must have changed hands.

  Was this why he had gone to London, to undertake this effort to bring about their marriage? She could not imagine how he would endure the mortification of it. She wanted—no, she longed to believe it was on her behalf. Two months ago, before their quarrel, it would have been. Now it was more likely he did it to minimise the scandal. Still, his letter indicated he must care about her state of mind at least to some degree. Otherwise, he need not have troubled himself to write. She reviewed the few lines again, searching for reason to hope.

  Perhaps he regretted his harshness after his illness and wanted once more to establish a civil relationship. The sheer relief that she might not have
to live with his enmity made her stomach lurch in a pleasant way, and she rested her hand over it. The baby. Perhaps that might please him, too. Perhaps it was not altogether hopeless.

  She crossed to the desk to pen a carefully worded letter of thanks.

  ***

  Elizabeth could not help but hope for a response to her letter, nor could she avoid feelings of discouragement when one did not come. But she was still determined to do her best to ensure a happier outcome than had seemed indicated prior to Darcy's departure. She thought of him often, of his gener osity and virtues, and prayed that generosity would outweigh the resentful temper he had spoken of in the long ago days at Netherfield. She was by no means certain of it, but she continued her efforts to become the best mistress of Pemberley she could. This included spending more time with Georgiana and encouraging her confidence.

  One day, as they sat together in the front drawing room, Georgiana spoke up with unusual determination. "Have you ever looked at the miniatures over the mantelpiece, Elizabeth?"

  "Not closely." Elizabeth's needle moved nimbly through the fabric.

  "Would you object if I removed one of them?"

  Elizabeth set aside the handkerchief she was embroidering. She had been working earlier on a shirt for the baby Mrs. Tanner was expecting but found it drew her mind to the question of her own condition. Although she wished she could view the possibility of her own child with joy, she found it impossible to think of anything but how her husband would react to the news. It was hard to forget that once she had produced the heir to Pemberley, there would be little inducement for Darcy to make their marriage more than in name only.

  Yet still she longed for his presence and hoped he would be happy to see her on his return. It was desperately confusing.

  She disentangled herself from her bleak thoughts to focus on Georgiana. "I cannot see why you should not if you so desire. Would you show me which one you have in mind?"

  "If you wish to see it, which I doubt that you do."

  Now curious, Elizabeth approached the fireplace. She had never examined this particular group in detail. Her eyes lingered on a miniature of Darcy, clearly taken some years ago, but with a familiar smile on his face. She recognised Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam in two of the others. There was one of Mr. Darcy as a boy and one in a matching frame of another child she did not recognise but with the Darcy family looks. Then her eyes alighted on an unexpected face. What was Mr. Wickham doing in this family collection? It must be the doing of old Mr. Darcy. She could not imagine her husband making such a choice.

  "No, I have no objection whatsoever to removing it." Elizabeth felt no need to ask which miniature Georgiana meant. "I agree it has no place there."

  Georgiana's shoulders relaxed. "No, it does not. I will ask Mrs. Reynolds to put it in storage and to rearrange the others."

  Elizabeth pointed to the miniature of the unknown child. "I do not recognise this boy. Who is he?"

  "That one? Next to Fitzwilliam? That is Thomas."

  "Thomas?" Perhaps it was a cousin she had not heard of.

  "My brother. It is the only likeness of him that was taken."

  Her brother? How had Elizabeth remained unaware of this piece of Darcy family history? Thomas looked to be nine or ten years old in the portrait, and the matching one of her husband suggested they were close in age. "I had not realised you had another brother."

  Georgiana's surprise was evident in her expression. "Yes, though I do not remember him well. I was still a child when he died, and he was much older than I. Fitzwilliam could tell you more about him."

  Elizabeth did not doubt this was true, but if he had not mentioned him in their months of marriage, it seemed unlikely he would now. "What happened to him?"

  "Smallpox. Both Thomas and my mother succumbed to it. My father had it as well. He recovered, although he was scarred by it."

  It must have been a terrible time for Darcy. She suddenly remembered something he had said once—I fear losing the people I care for. "But you and Fitzwilliam were spared?"

  "Fitzwilliam was safe at Cambridge. I never became ill."

  "How dreadful for all of you." She wondered what it had been like for Darcy to return home to a decimated family.

  Georgiana shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

  "Thank you for telling me." Elizabeth had many more ques tions, but she suspected this conversation was more upsetting to Georgiana than it appeared.

  Georgiana looked puzzled and seemed about to say some thing, but then she fell silent and returned to her book.

  ***

  The day was unseasonably warm, and Elizabeth was tired by the time she returned from a walk through the Pemberley grounds. No sooner had she entered the doors of Pemberley than one of the maids gave her the welcome news that Mr. Darcy had returned.

  "Where is he?" A surge of gladness filled Elizabeth's heart.

  "In his study, madam."

  Elizabeth hesitated. The proper behaviour would be to return to her room to refresh herself before seeing her husband, but she had missed him too much and wondered too long about this reunion. She hurried down the hallway to the study.

  The door was open, though he was alone, seated behind his desk. He looked healthier than he had when he left, still a little thin, but with good colour and a general air of strength about him. It warmed her just to see him.

  He did not seem to notice her until she said, "Welcome home."

  He looked up then rose to his feet formally. "Thank you."

  "You were much missed." She smiled at him, feeling a little shy.

  "I appreciate the sentiment, Elizabeth, but it was not your gratitude I was seeking." He resumed his seat and lifted a glass of brandy to his lips.

  "It is not gratitude that makes me glad to see you." Even as she said the words, she knew they were pointless. His unsmiling visage told her that much. Her dreams that his actions in London represented continuing affection for her were just that: dreams. He was polite, nothing more. But she would not give up so easily and go back to their long silences. "Tell me, how was your trip?"

  "Uneventful. I assume you would like to hear about your sister Lydia."

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Was he reminding her of her disgraceful connections? "No, in fact, I would prefer to hear about you."

  "You are not concerned for your sister?"

  Perhaps she had hoped for too much in thinking he would be polite. She raised her chin. "You have already told me she is alive, married, and to live far away. Since the past cannot be undone, that is the best I can hope for, so there is nothing further you can say to reassure me."

  He took a swallow of brandy. "Do you not wish to know whether she was party to Mr. Wickham's plans?"

  She had not considered that possibility. Lydia, although vain and frivolous, had never possessed a talent for mischief making. But if Lydia had known what Wickham was planning, it would be a disgrace Darcy would never be able to forgive. "I suppose I ought."

  "She was not. She was unaware of the contents of the letter beyond her own note."

  "That is, I suppose, a relief. I would rather her worst fault be silliness than larceny."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared in the doorway. "Darcy, have you… Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy; I had not realised you were here. I hope you are well?"

  Her husband had not cared to ask that question. "I am, I thank you."

  "I will not interrupt you further then." He bowed, as if to depart.

  Suddenly, her hurt turned to a form of anger that her husband did not even show her that much courtesy. "There is no need. I was merely expressing my gratitude to Mr. Darcy, and we have quite exhausted the subject. I shall see you at supper, I presume?"

  The colonel gave her a puzzled look. "Of course. I shall look forward to it."

  She moved past him, hoping she could keep her counte nance until she was out of sight.

  Her first impulse was to flee to her room and to lick the wounds of her lost hopes, but she was
tired of hiding in her rooms, tired of crying, and tired of feeling unloved. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen and asked the cooks to put together a basket of food for the Tanners.

  Delivering it calmed her a little. The children's pleasure in her visit lifted her spirits, and seeing the fading bruises on Mrs. Tanner's face reminded Elizabeth of how much she still had to be thankful for in her husband. Even if he never cared for her again, at least he did not misuse his position.

  She delayed her return to the house as long as possible, arriving back just in time for supper. She ate it in silence, letting Darcy, Georgiana, and Colonel Fitzwilliam carry the conversation. It seemed the wisest course, since she felt unable to discern what Darcy wanted from her. Did he wish for her to be animated or to try to be invisible? To act as mistress of Pemberley or not to interfere with his household? Or did he wish her to leave completely?