Mr Darcy's Second Chance

by Gillian Smith

  She shrugged and went back to reading.

  "No, Elizabeth, listen to me. It would not have been different. He would not have been different. Not with you, not with your sister, nor with Teresa. He wanted to marry your sister already having a wife. When a man isn't content with himself, no woman can make him content, no matter how hard she tries. He'll keep searching for one who can and wondering why he cannot find her. Yes, men are men. Our heads are easily turned but not our hearts and we know the difference. At least, most of us know the difference."

  There was no response. He couldn't tell that she was even listening to his diatribe or whether he was soothing or upsetting her. He gave up and carried Jane to the nursery, putting her down in her crib. One of her cheeks was red from being pressed against his shirt, and he stroked it, watching her sleep.

  "I care for you," Elizabeth said from the doorway, startling him. He hadn't heard her come up the stairs. "I am just not good at saying it."

  He left the nursery, kissed her hand tenderly and followed down the hall to their bedroom. She slipped off her robe, draping it over the end of the bed, and crawled under the covers in her chemise and pantalets, giving him a nice view as she did.

  "How is Humfrey doing in there?" he asked, laying down beside her and putting his hand on her flat abdomen.

  "He liked the crepes." She put her hand over his and looked thoughtful. "But he hates his name. He says his father is very strange."

  He snuggled against her, holding her close. "When did you realise you cared for me?" he asked.

  She’d thought for a while before she answered, "The way you talked about Ed, how much you love your sister, how proud you are of your family. How good man you are. I wanted…-" She stopped. "I wanted to take away your pain. And I marvelled at your strength. You had lost so much and yet you still had faith. Hope. Love. I-…" She paused again, looking self-conscious.

  "I thought the very same thing about you," he confessed, then changed the subject slightly. "I remember one evening in Scotland, it was storming, and I kept hanging around the kitchen after dinner, bothering you and putting off going out in the rain."

  "Sometime that night, I dreamt you were in my bedroom, watching me."

  "What an odd dream," he commented. "What in the world would I have been doing in your bedroom?"

  "Unh-mumm," she shrugged, lacing her fingers through his, relaxing.

  He grinned, raising his head to whisper in her ear, "That old chemise you slept in? I know why you took it off to nurse Jane. You might as well have worn nothing. In the morning light, after you'd kicked off the covers, I could see right through it. It was pretty, earlier, though. Billowing around as you opened the window during the storm."

  Instantly, she came alive again, rolling him on his back and straddling his hips. "You were watching me! You are bad."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," he protested, laughing and grabbing her hands. In one easy motion, he flipped them so he was on top of her, still holding her wrists. "I think you like me being bad."

  He kissed her, covering her mouth hungrily with his. According to the marriage manuals, most couples had intercourse twelve times a year. He and Anne had maybe one a year. He and Elizabeth probably averaged twelve times a week and between his trip to Hillcrest, the miserable aftermath, and her news yesterday, there had been a long dry spell.

  Darcy pushed himself up suddenly. "We can't do this. Good God, Elizabeth, why didn't you say something?"

  She licked her swollen lips, looking confused. "What was I supposed to say?"

  "The baby."

  "She is asleep. Please come back here."

  "No, the other baby. You're going to have a child. I mean, you're already going to have a child. That's- that's the purpose of this. You're my wife, not my mistress."

  She raised her head, whispering so he could feel her breath in his ear, "If you do not stop being foolish and come here right this second, I am going to tie you to the headboard, strip you naked, and do whatever I want with to you."

  "Unh, bu- I, uh…" he responded. "Yes."

  *~~*~~*

  As she bolted from their bed and ran, nude, for the basin in the corner of their bedroom, Elizabeth didn't seem to greet the dawn with the same enthusiasm as her husband a few minutes earlier.

  He lit the candles and then stood, watching her uncomfortably.

  "Can I get you anything?" he asked as the retching stopped momentarily. When she didn't answer, he poured a glass of tepid water for her from the pitcher on the dresser. "Here."

  Elizabeth pushed her long hair back from her face and then took the glass sheepishly, taking a sip. She exhaled and made her way back to their bed. She stopped long enough to retrieve her nightgown from the floor, pull it over her head, and then lay down carefully.

  "Would you like the tea?" Darcy offered. "Mrs. Reynolds was always preparing a special tea for Anne when she was with child."

  She nodded again.

  He ran his cool fingertips across her forehead, smoothing out the furrow and then promised he'd be back in a few minutes.

  He found Lillian already in the kitchen, lighting a fire in the stove. Her son sat on the floor near the pantry, gnawing a slice of apple.

  He'd seen her briefly in last several days but otherwise, their last contact had been the day when Elizabeth had angrily ordered Lillian out of their bedroom.

  "Please asked Mrs. Reynolds for a special tea for Mrs. Darcy. And the tray. We will eat breakfast in out rooms," he said, cordial but cool.

  Lillian nodded obediently and got a teacup down from the cupboard.

  "The tea must be prepared by Mrs. Reynolds."

  "So Mrs. Darcy will wait because Mrs. Reynolds is in rooms, some problem with one maid."

  "Do you want tea too, Fitzwilliam?" She asked after the moment. "Or coffee?"

  "Coffee. But tea for Mrs. Darcy is now the most important." He inhaled and left the kitchen. Lillian had run for housekeeper then found Fitzwilliam on the stairs.

  "I shouldn't have come in," she apologised, "to your bedroom. Forgive me."

  "Yes," he said. "It was also a mistake not leaving when Mrs. Darcy told you to."

  "I was worried. You were upset, Fitzwilliam."

  "You're right. I was. But it wasn't your business and Elizabeth told you that."

  “Yes,” Lillian stared at the floor.

  "That will not happen again," he told her, his voice still calm but firm. "I don't want to hear any more complaints about Elizabeth and I don't want you questioning anything she tells you to do. She is my wife, a mistress of this house. I expect you to respect that."

  "I know," Lillian said in the same submissive voice. "I know she's your wife," she repeated. "I know you care for her."

  "Lillian, this is important to me. You being kind to Elizabeth, helping her, not making things harder for her. Will you do that for me?"

  "I will," she said softly. "Whatever you want, Fitzwilliam."

  He shifted his feet, uncomfortable but unsure why. Something was different about her but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

  "So it's settled then?" he asked.

  She nodded, looking down at the floor.

  "Go help Mrs. Reynolds. The tea."He noticed Lillian shiver and wrap her arms around herself and added, "You might want to get a shawl. You're cold."

  She nodded again, and he turned and walked away.

  *~~*~~*

  By nature, he was prone to rumination but not introspection. When a topic, particularly a mystery, tweaked his interest, he would dwell on it so long he should have filed a claim. He wasn't, however, inclined to long, soul-searching examinations of his heart. He tended to act first, think second, and then, and only if necessary, introspect.

  Anyone else would have carefully weighed the consequences of marrying a woman he barely knew - considering she was grieving, she brought nothing except herself and her illegitimate daughter to the marriage. She would never be fully accepted by high society, but Darcy
proposed. He liked her, she liked him, and there was a child. It was a self-arranged marriage and a pleasant one. Debating sentiment after the fact would have been a polite, useless form of mental masturbation.

  But Elizabeth snuck up on a man. She stole like a thief who gave instead of took, shifting their little arrangement. He cared for her and, if pressed, probably would have answered affirmatively that he loved her. Neither was a revelation. It wasn't a passionate, reckless, "in-love" love but a gentle fondness and devotion. It wasn't outlandish for a man to love his pretty, attentive, pregnant wife. In fact, it was the polite thing to do.

  The revelation, which arrived one unseasonably cool July evening while at his desk in the library, was that he was happy with her. Stunned, he stopped writing and put down his pen. He was happy with her. This was how it felt. He remembered though it was like trying on a suit he hadn't worn in fifteen years and being awed it still fit. He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on his desk and watched her, studying on it for a long time.

  "I'm happy you're my wife," he announced out of the blue.

  Elizabeth had been steadying Jane as she toddled around the library and she paused, picking her daughter up and settling her on her hip. She considered, taking a time to figure out what he was talking about, then answered, "Well, you said you would be."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I did. I didn't realise I'd be right, though."

  "You did not? You asked me to marry you when you did not think you would be happy with me? Did you feel that sorry for me?"

  "Of course not but happiness is like the colour red. There are different shades of it. Sometimes it's so vivid it's blinding, and other times, a pale, faded memory. I told you I thought I would be happy if you were my wife and I am just telling you I am. I am happy you are my wife. As opposed to you being someone else's wife."

  He closed his mouth, worrying the inside of his lower lip. He started conversations with her sounding so intelligent and ended them sounding like the village idiot had been given a podium.

  Darcy cleared his throat, recovering his poise. "Anyway, I was just telling you. For pity's sake put Jane down, Elizabeth. You are carrying a child-"

  A floorboard creaked, and he noticed Lillian in the hallway. He stopped scolding and Elizabeth turned to see what he was staring at. Lillian's expression showed she'd been listening for some time and was upset about what she'd heard.

  "Well, I suppose our secret's out," he commented, breaking the tense silence. "Lillian, I'd appreciate if you wouldn't tell-"

  Lillian was already gone. All that remained was the echo of her quick footsteps to the stairs.

  "Oh, damn," he grumbled, getting up from his desk and chasing after her. He caught up in the hall, standing in front of the door to the servant's quarters and blocking her path.

  "Lillian, what's wrong?"

  She wiped her nose with her free hand and answered shakily, "Nothing is wrong."

  "I know you heard us talking. We have told no one yet. We only found out a month ago."

  "Forgive me. I didn't mean to listen. She's your wife. She'll have your children."

  "Lillian, I thought we had an understanding."

  "We do. Fitzwilliam, please move. I want to go downstairs."

  "No, tell me what's wrong," he insisted.

  "Nothing's wrong. I'm tired. I want to lay down."

  "You're- Lillian, are you crying?" he asked in surprise.

  "No, I'm not crying." She stood up, facing him but still keeping her head down. "She's your wife. I know you care for her. I'm glad she makes you happy. I'm glad another baby makes you happy. I'm foolish, that's all. You know how foolish women are."

  "Well, you can't be foolish. It makes my stomach hurt." Nothing made him as ill at ease as a woman in tears. "And you can't be angry with me. I need you now more than ever."

  "You do?" she whispered, sniffing.

  He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from her.

  "With another baby coming? Of course, I do. Elizabeth is going to need help. She must rest, except, of course, she doesn't think she needs to rest."

  "Of course." She said and went downstairs.

  "Did she name her son before or after Anne died?" He suddenly heard Elizabeth from behind him.

  "I don't know." He looked over his shoulder to see her standing at the edge of the hall, holding Jane and looking unhappy. "After, probably. Why?"

  "Francis. It is very close to Frances. The names have the same nickname, Fran."

  He shrugged. "She and Anne were very close. They didn't know they were sisters, but they felt connection, anyway. Actually, the three of us grew up together. You know about it."

  Elizabeth blinked like he was telling a joke and she thought she might have missed the punch line. "It was what you and Anne planned to name your baby girl. Frances. Is the Francis was planned for a boy?" Another shrug.

  "You are right, Mr. Darcy. You can be a little dense."

  *~~*~~*

  He ran upstairs looking for his wife and found her in the empty ballroom, checking her figure in the floor-length mirrors that lined one wall. He leaned against the doorway, grinning like a little boy who'd just gotten by with something rotten.

  "Yes, it does show, when you do that with hand," he said softly.

  She turned sideways, examining the slight outline of her abdomen against the front of her dress. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, ambling toward her.

  "Humfrey's okay?"

  "She is fine."

  He raised his eyebrows in mock distress. "When did my he become a she?"

  "When she discovered she was to be named Humfrey."

  He shifted his hand on her waist, running his thumb over slight swell evidencing the child's presence.

  "I love you," he said simply. "You don't have to answer, although I'd rather you didn't laugh. I just wanted you to know."

  She waited, probably for him to qualify that. To say he loved her, but not like Anne. He loved her, but he wasn't in love with her. Or perhaps to see if he'd spend the next week avoiding her and pretending he hadn't said it at all.

  "If you were going to answer, though, Elizabeth, now would be a good time," he said nervously, feeling naked. "If I asked you if you love me, what would your answer be?"

  "If you asked me, think I would say yes," she said softly.

  "Good." He did his agreed-on-the-price-of-a-horse nod. "That makes things simpler."

  "Yes." She cleared her throat. "You were looking for me?"

  "Umm, yes. I got the message from Lady Eleonora. She is going to York to see her sister which means Georgiana is coming home. She isn't happy about it but I think it is a time."

  Chapter 7

  “It is better to risk saving a guilty person

  Than to condemn an innocent one.”

  - Voltaire

  

  Elizabeth brought him a cup of tea, tucked her dressing gown around her and sat beside him in the hallway outside Georgiana's bedroom. It didn't matter what the crisis was; she had a tea for it. He took a small sip.

  "I would ask if you plan to sit and watch her all night, but you are already halfway there," she whispered, slipping her hand into his, interlacing their fingers. Her palm was warm from the teacup and she smelled of sun-dried cotton, the nursery, expensive soap, and clean hair.

  Darcy responded by manoeuvring so he was leaning back against the wall, and she was sitting between his legs, his hands covering hers on her abdomen. He should get her from the cold floor and go to bed but he didn't. It was nice to have his arms around her.

  "She is beautiful."

  "Like her mother."

  "Yes. I saw paintings."

  "She's a good girl, Elizabeth. I know she seems standoffish, but she's really not. She's just been through so much."

  Georgiana had greeted Elizabeth politely, then wandered through the house for a while, silently noting the changes. She'd declined tea, struck a few chords on the piano, looked around, then told them goo
dnight and gone to her bedchamber. Judging from the light beneath her door, Georgie hadn't gone to sleep for another two hours.

  "She blames me and she should. I was the one who fell asleep. Anne should never have been having another child but- I... She didn't want to come home because of me."

  "Did she say that?"

  "No, of course not. She's not going to say that."

  "Maybe it wasn't that she did not want to come home, but she needed someone to help her find the way go through with this. Something you couldn't do. You were travelling through the Britain and she still didn't want to live here. You were right. There are ghosts here, Mr. Darcy. There are restless spirits that haunt you and her still. Perhaps your sister could not face them alone, either."

  "I didn't go home because I was looking for the another chance."

  "Well, then you spent several months looking for it in my house."

  He took her hand and put it to his lips.

  "And I found it there."

  She inhaled, shifting her hand against her belly.

  "What's the matter?"

  "The baby is moving."

  "Does that mean something is wrong?" he asked urgently.

  "No, nothing is wrong. He is just moving. He had been for a few days. Can you feel him?"

  She leaned back and Darcy put his palm where she showed, tilting his head. "What does it feel like?"

  "Like a butterfly flapping its wings. Just a little flutter."

  He pushed her dressing gown aside, moved his hand against her nightgown and pressed again, trying to detect any motion. "No, I don't think I can. But you can?"

  "Yes, I can feel him."

  He leaned back, leaving his hand where it was on a new beginning.

  "I do love you, Elizabeth. And Jane. And this child." He kissed her earlobe and dragged his lips across the soft, warm skin of her neck.

  *~~*~~*

  He wasn't really awake, but he wasn't asleep either. It was the comfortable state of being skin-to-skin with another human being in the cool darkness before dawn and having no need to open his eyes or move for a few more minutes.