Less sympathetic, Bernard had excused himself after only a few minutes of conversation. Soon the conversation had turned to stories about the inhabitants of Pemberley. Although Elizabeth tried valiantly to participate, she could not conceal her fatigue. Adele took her upstairs and settled her in the guest bedchamber.
Upon Adele’s return, the old friends had an opportunity to conduct a private discussion. “Have you decided when Georgiana will be coming out?” Adele asked. Every question demonstrated how she had attended to the details in each letter Darcy and Georgiana had written to her.
Darcy hesitated before answering. London. Georgiana. His life as the master of Pemberley seemed so remote. What would happen if he and Elizabeth never returned from France? Would Georgiana even have a season? No, he must not think in such a way. Their situation was not so desperate. Yet. “Probably next year. She could have come out for this season, but she did not desire it.” In fact, she had begged him to delay it another year.
“She never did enjoy having her share of attention. But she will be beautiful.” The older woman wore a fond smile. “Perhaps Mrs. Darcy can help her overcome her shyness.”
Darcy blinked in surprise. The thought had never occurred to him since Elizabeth was not actually his wife, but now that he thought about it…she could be good for Georgiana. Yes, he could see Elizabeth being of great help to his sister. If she agreed to marry him. Or speak to him. Once they returned to England.
“Ah, I wish I could see her coming out.” Adele lowered her eyes and smoothed her skirts. “But of course, I am needed here.”
“Your home is quite lovely,” Darcy said. He wished he could say something kind about her nephew, but Adele would detect any insincerity. Hopefully when the niece returned from school, she would provide an opportunity to praise Adele’s parenting skills.
“Thank you.” She smiled gently. “Mrs. Darcy seems like a delightful woman.”
“Oh, she is,” Darcy breathed. “Clever, kind-hearted, and beautiful, of course.” Only when he glanced down at his lap did he realize he had inadvertently pulverized the biscuit he was holding. With a chagrined look at Adele, he brushed the crumbs onto the tea tray.
“What is the problem, Will?” Adele’s gaze was sharp.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is it not obvious? Elizabeth and I are trapped in France.”
Adele gave an unladylike snort. “Do not try to fool me. I did not believe you when you denied feeding your horse a lemon biscuit, and I do not believe you now. What makes you so uneasy about Mrs. Darcy?”
Darcy opened his mouth to deny the assertion, but then he sighed. Adele would pry it out of him eventually; she knew him too well. And there was no one he would trust more with his secret. “We are not actually married,” he blurted.
Adele slowly lowered her teacup to the table. “Fitzwilliam Darcy! You have been living in sin with that lovely young woman?”
Darcy ran his hands through unruly curls. “No. Well, not precisely.” Adele sat quite straight in her seat, one eyebrow raised. “Elizabeth believes we are married.”
“Not a matter which is usually the subject of confusion,” Adele said dryly.
“I told you she sustained a blow to the head and suffered memory loss—amnesia the doctor called it.”
Adele nodded. “In all my years I never heard of such a thing.”
“She does not recall me or anything about her previous life.” Darcy tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. When had the room grown so warm? “I had believed her to be dead. When I first saw her at the doctor’s house, I was so surprised that I claimed her as my wife. Perhaps because I wished it to be true, or perhaps I knew the doctor would not allow me to take her back to England unless I had such a claim to her.” He swallowed convulsively. “The lie has proved to be something of a necessity. It is unlikely she would have trusted me so easily or traveled with me so readily if she knew the truth.”
“Trust built on a lie.” Adele covered her face with both hands. “This was not well done of you, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy’s shoulders hunched; she only called him Fitzwilliam when he had done something wrong. He wanted to deny her words, but he could not. There may have been conveniences attending to his falsehood, but it was still a falsehood.
“Have you considered what will happen when she discovers the truth?”
Darcy shrugged. “After traveling so long as husband and wife, we must needs marry. We have shared many rooms, although—of course—we have not conducted…marital relations.” This was a rather uncomfortable subject to be discussing with one’s former governess. “Long before I arrived in France, I realized that marrying Elizabeth was the best way to secure my happiness.”
Adele eyed him shrewdly. “But is it what Elizabeth wants?”
Darcy grabbed his teacup and took a hasty swallow. “The mistress of Pemberley will have many compensations.”
“Enough to compensate for all the falsehoods?”
Darcy felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “Sh-She is fond of me,” he said, aware how weak it sounded.
Adele scoffed. “I am sure she is fond of her sisters and puppies and boiled potatoes. That does not signify.”
Darcy leaned forward as if closer proximity would help Adele understand. “But she must marry me. Her reputation is too compromised to marry anyone else.”
“That will make a very fine marriage proposal,” Adele said tartly.
Darcy could not help remembering the disastrous proposal at Hunsford. Why would Elizabeth accept his advances now when she had so decisively spurned them before? He squirmed in his chair, trying to get comfortable. The room definitely had grown warmer. What a mess he had created. “What can I do?”
“You should tell her the truth at once.”
His whole body protested the idea. “I cannot do so now!” he exclaimed. “She still remembers nothing about her past. I cannot risk losing her trust.”
Adele’s face was impassive. “You would prefer that she discovers a basic fact about her life another way? Perhaps when she recovers her memories?”
The thought made Darcy faintly nauseous. “I cannot tell her while we remain in France. Who knows what her reaction will be? Once we are safely on English soil, I will tell her immediately.”
Darcy had trouble identifying the emotion he read on Adele’s face. Was it…pity? “I just hope you have the time,” she said sadly.
***
The bed at chez Laurent was very comfortable—wide and soft. Elizabeth sank into the pillows gratefully. Miss Laurent had provided a simple dinner and, noticing Elizabeth’s continued fatigue despite her afternoon nap, had encouraged both of her visitors to retire early. William had not objected; no doubt he was more fatigued than he appeared.
As Elizabeth relaxed, her mind drifted, supplying her with the sorts of nonsensical ideas and images that populated the state between wakefulness and deep sleep. Eventually her drifting thoughts coalesced into an image of a scene…a ballroom, no, an assembly room.
The assembly room at Meryton. Somehow she knew the name.
Other people were dancing, but Elizabeth was not. With insufficient men to partner all the women, she was sitting out, watching the dancers and trying not to observe the two men standing before her. As their shapes sharpened in her view, Elizabeth recognized one as William. The other man, blond and smiling, seemed familiar, but she could not recall his name.
"Come, Darcy,” the man said. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner."
William drew himself to his full height. "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner.” He sniffed disdainfully. “At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, Bingley, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
This declaration might have provoked Elizabeth’s ire, but it was all so amusing. Mr. Darcy obviously thought very h
ighly of himself if he could only bring himself to dance with two women in the entire assembly.
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Mr. Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, regarding a very pretty blonde woman across the room. Elizabeth immediately recognized the woman as her sister Jane.
"She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!” Mr. Bingley exclaimed. “But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
He means me! Elizabeth realized, frozen in her chair. She had no desire to stand up with a man as proud and disagreeable as Mr. Darcy, but it was already too late to escape his notice.
"Which do you mean?" Glancing around, Mr. Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye. She hastily glanced away, but he had noticed her and knew she was without a partner. How awkward!
Mr. Darcy replied to his friend with cool civility. "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."
Mr. Bingley shook his head at his friend but made no further comment before hurrying away to find Jane. Mr. Darcy’s head turned in Elizabeth’s direction, but she kept her face impassive and hoped she was not blushing. Once he had disappeared into the crowd, her breath came more easily.
There was no reason to be ashamed. Nobody had overheard. And really, the conversation had revealed nothing more than Mr. Darcy’s lack of character. A fine gentleman indeed! He might be rich in wealth but certainly not in manners.
She allowed her eyes to range about the room, but the sights blurred in her eyes. Upon most days she might have ignored such a slight or laughed at it, but today it was more difficult to forget. She had not yet managed to secure a single partner while she watched her friend Anna Preston dance with her newly betrothed. She was happy for her friend, but the news was another reminder that Elizabeth’s own chances of marrying well were vanishingly small.
And then Mr. Darcy found her tolerable, but not handsome. Her hands clenched into fists. I will not cry. I will not cry. Nonetheless, one tear escaped from her eye; she dashed it away impatiently. No doubt her skin was decorated with ugly pink blotches as well. If only she could depart the assembly that very minute! But all her sisters were agreeably engaged, and her father had disappeared into the card room. She was quite trapped.
She stood, making her way blindly through the crowd to the ladies’ retiring room, where she could dab her eyes and blow her nose—and claim she suffered from a trifling cold. Tears pricked her eyes, and Elizabeth quickened her steps so she would reach the retiring room before she disgraced herself further.
Elizabeth forced her eyes open to stare at the brown linen canopy, willing herself awake as she might do after a nightmare. Well, it was a sort of nightmare. Mr. Darcy—William—had been vile to her, insulting her without any provocation. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her lungs labored to obtain sufficient air. She slowed her breathing lest she trigger another bout of coughing.
It was only a dream. I am not that person. I am not attending an assembly in Meryton; I am lying in bed in France. The repetition did little to calm her racing heart, and Elizabeth knew why: the source of her unease was lying beside her in the bed.
It was only a dream. It had no connection to reality. But the words failed to soothe her. In truth, the images had not felt much like a dream. Events had unfolded logically and sensibly in the way that dreams never did. It felt as if she had uncovered a buried memory—a memory of her first meeting with William.
Rubbing her eyes, she felt moisture and silently berated herself. It was fruitless to cry over something that happened months ago—or perhaps was an invention of her befuddled mind. But the melancholy from the dream persisted.
Resigning herself to wakefulness, Elizabeth sat up and rested her head against the headboard. The man in the dream had been haughty, arrogant, and uncaring of others’ feelings. Had her William ever behaved in such a way? It seemed impossible to reconcile that William with the man she knew. Perhaps it was only a dream.
As she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her nightrail, she tried to take a rational view of the situation. Perhaps her dreaming mind had combined different memories. Perhaps the incident had unfolded as she remembered, but with a different man. Her memory was nothing if not faulty. The dream might be part memory and part fantasy.
As she prepared to slip under the covers again, William stirred and looked up at her. “My love, are you all right?” Even in the dim light cast by the moon her tears must have been quite visible.
No. Such a tender man could never have said such awful things. Her dream must have been a very flawed representation of reality.
“Darling.” William’s arms encircled her shoulders, drawing her down to his chest. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Elizabeth seized on the explanation. “Y-Yes. Just a b-bad dream.”
He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. “Will you tell me about it?” he asked.
A recounting of the dream would not reflect well on Elizabeth and might hurt William. She shook her head. “I would rather forget it.” How ironic: she struggled and strained to remember everything else.
William murmured his agreement and pulled her down next to him, nestling her body against his. “Very well. Go to sleep, my darling.” Her muscles were tied in knots, her body as pliable as a wooden board.
But he made a contented noise and pulled her closer. His warm breath tickled the back of her neck, and the warmth of his body seeped into hers, helping her to relax. As she dropped off to sleep, Elizabeth was still contemplating the dream. She had wished for her memories to return, but perhaps her life was better without them.
Chapter Eleven
Recovering from the rigors of their journey, Darcy and Elizabeth slept quite late that morning. He noticed happily that the dark circles under Elizabeth’s eyes had lightened, and her eyes regained some of their sparkle. His fear that her exhaustion heralded a relapse of her lung fever abated.
After they arose, Adele served them a leisurely luncheon in her garden. It was simple fare—a bit of ham, cheese, grapes, and bread—but the food was fresh and delicious. To Darcy’s delight, Elizabeth ate with relish.
The garden itself was small but well-maintained, surrounded by high walls that preserved its privacy from the surrounding houses. The roses were in bloom, and their subtle fragrance added to the meal’s pleasures. Elizabeth and Darcy were introduced to Marie, Adele’s niece, a girl of fifteen who was as bright and cheerful as her brother was dark and brooding.
Conversation soon focused on how Darcy and Elizabeth would reach the coast. After clearing away the food, Adele spread a map on the table so she and Darcy could debate which roads to travel and which ports would be safest. Finally, they settled on a rather circuitous route that would eventually lead to Calais while avoiding the roads most likely to be frequented by soldiers.
The conversation then turned to other subjects. Bright-eyed and fascinated, Marie asked Elizabeth many questions, particularly about the amnesia. “You do not remember anything at all of your life before awakening in Saint-Malo?”
Elizabeth hesitated briefly before replying in stilted French. “Recently I have had a few memories.”
Darcy leaned forward in his chair at this news; his skin prickled with apprehension.
“Only a few remembrances from my childhood,” she reassured him with a smile. “I recalled when my sister and I thought we must rescue a baby rabbit from beside a pond, but the rabbit ran away and we both got wet.” Everyone joined Elizabeth’s laughter. As it died down, Elizabeth said wistfully, “I do not remember my
sister’s name.”
Darcy’s heart ached anew. How lost Elizabeth must feel!
Elizabeth mustered a smile. “I do not believe such was an unusual occurrence. I think my mother complained about my ‘wild ways.’” She looked ruefully at Adele. “I am sure William did not provoke similar complaints as a child. He must have been always polite and well-behaved.”
Oh no. Darcy was not pleased with this turn in the conversation, but Adele had a knowing smile on her face. It was already too late to prevent disaster. “Oh, he was very well behaved.”—she rolled her eyes—“except, of course, for the time he slid down the front stairs on the best silver tray from the butler’s pantry.”
Darcy could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Naturally that would be the story Adele chose first.
“William!” Elizabeth exclaimed in mock horror. “Now I learn the truth of your misspent youth? Did you disclose this to me before I married you?”
“Another time,” Adele continued, “he climbed into Pemberley’s attic and dropped apples and potatoes into the courtyard.”
Elizabeth gave him a dubious look.
“I had been studying about Sir Isaac Newton and thought to conduct my own experiments with gravity,” Darcy said with as much dignity as he could muster.
The hand over Elizabeth’s mouth surely concealed a smile. “And what did you discover?”
He could not completely suppress an answering smile. “I discovered that when you drop apples and potatoes into the courtyard, it creates a mess on the stones that your governess will require you to clean up.”
Adele nodded. “Precisely. And you never did that again.” Everybody laughed.
“Of course, it was your cousin Richard who caused the most trouble,” Adele remarked. “I certainly hope the army has tamed his wild ways.”
Darcy drank from his teacup. “That might be beyond their power.”
Adele turned to Elizabeth. “Richard would organize all the local children into battalions and send them into battles with sticks and wooden shields. I was forever treating bruised shins and scraped arms.”
The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy Page 12
