Mistaken

by Jessie Lewis

  “Forgive me, Elizabeth, I know I said I would wait, but truly, what can you possibly have been discussing with your aunt for so long that you have not already spoken of this past week?”

  She meant to tease him for his disgruntlement, but instead surprised herself by feeling suddenly tearful. “We were talking about Jane.”

  His countenance was overcome with alarm, and he strode across the room to embrace her. “What in God’s name has been said?”

  “Oh, nothing new. Only what passed between us in London. Forgive me. I know not why I am allowing it to upset me so. I am only tired, I think.”

  She promptly found herself whisked off her feet and carried directly to her bed. He joined her, lying on his side with his head propped on one hand, and wiped away her tears with his thumb.

  “I shall write to Bingley and tell him not to come,” he said so very gently.

  “No,” Elizabeth answered sleepily. “Pray, do not. I should like to see Jane. To set matters aright.”

  She was sunk too far into sleep to discern what he said in response. She knew only, as she drifted off, that his assurances were whispered so tenderly and his caresses so gentle, she could not have remained awake had she tried.

  ***

  Friday, 7 August 1812: Derbyshire

  Darcy caught his breath when he espied her. She stood at the top of the steps just beyond the main door, half-illuminated by the sunlight cascading around her, humming quietly as she awaited the rest of the party.

  Her distress and fatigue the previous evening had alarmed him greatly, for though little in the world compared to the contentment of watching her sleep in his arms, he was unused to seeing aught akin to fragility in her. To see her now banished all his concern. She was breathtaking—radiant of complexion, comely of figure, assured of carriage—and his. He moved to stand directly behind her and put his lips to her ear. “I swear you grow more tempting by the day.”

  She jumped, gasping and laughing, though she made no attempt to move away. Indeed, she arched her back slightly to press her temple to his cheek. Whether it was also intentional that her buttocks pressed against him he could not be sure, but he thought it probable. He made a small, strangled noise, and his hands flew to her hips to stay her motion ere she rendered him indecent. “My God, woman, I am on my knees for you.”

  She turned to face him and raised one delicious eyebrow. “Now that is an intriguing prospect.”

  Dear Lord, would she slay him here in the hall? “Pray, torture me not! I am only human, Elizabeth, and you are divine.”

  She gave no response. With naught but a saucy smirk, she was gone, walking around him to greet her aunt, uncle and sister, just arriving downstairs with Georgiana. He had married the Devil in a siren’s guise! Biting the inside of his cheek to suppress an exultant smile, he straightened his attire, that he might at least appear outwardly composed, and turned to escort their guests to the awaiting carriage.

  “We have thoroughly enjoyed our visit, Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner said as they walked outside. “Pemberley is without equal, and you and Lizzy have been delightful hosts. I cannot thank you enough for making us so welcome.”

  “It has been our pleasure,” Darcy replied. “We are delighted you have agreed to come back at Christmas. Pemberley is an enchanting place for young children. I hope yours will enjoy it.”

  “I have no doubt they will, sir, though whether Pemberley will like them quite as well in return by the end of the visit remains to be seen.”

  “It has weathered worse in its time, I am sure.”

  “And will again, I should not wonder, for if they are aught like their mother, then any children of Lizzy’s are unlikely to be particularly tractable, I am sorry to say.”

  Darcy agreed with a small smile that did not come close to expressing his eagerness to begin a family with Elizabeth. The prospect of establishing his own legacy at Pemberley—of its being Elizabeth with whom he did so, of seeing her make a child in her image and in her body—was one he anticipated with absurd impatience.

  At the foot of the stairs, Mr. Gardiner paused to say goodbye to his niece, and Darcy turned to bid farewell to the ladies. His happy reflections having put him in an exceedingly good humour, he was moved to kiss each of their hands as he helped them into the carriage. Mary smiled and wished him well. Mrs. Gardiner audibly sucked in her breath and stumbled on the steps.

  Keeping hold of her hand to steady her, Darcy leant to better see her face around the rim of her bonnet, enquiring gently after her well-being. Her eyes, when they met his, widened ever so slightly, and she promptly flushed bright red, skewering him squarely betwixt amusement and mortification. For though humility demanded he admit it to no one, he was not unconscious of his looks, and hers was not an unprecedented reaction.

  “Silly me, I missed the step,” she said, all but leaping into the carriage.

  “Oh, I shall miss you, Lizzy!” Mary said, leaning back out of the door to squeeze her sister’s hands, as close to high emotion as Darcy had ever seen her. “Pray write often and visit us at Longbourn as soon as may be.”

  “There, there now, child,” Mr. Gardiner said, shooing her back into her seat as he climbed in. “You have been away as long as your sister has. It is time we took you home.” He indicated that the driver should set off then raised his hat cordially. “Thank you again, Lizzy, Darcy, Miss Darcy. Until Christmas!”

  A chorus of goodbyes arose between them all as the carriage pulled away. Darcy observed Elizabeth from the corner of his eye, hopeful that her relations’ departure would not distress her overmuch. On the contrary, she showed every sign of being greatly diverted.

  “What amuses you?”

  She made a poor attempt to conceal her mirth and shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “You are determined to exclude me from all your jokes?”

  “No, only some of them.”

  “Have I not demonstrated my capacity for extracting information?”

  “Yes, very well, but I am wise to your methods now.”

  God, he wanted to kiss her. He wished his sister were not there, staring at them aghast as though they were hurling oaths at each other. Keeping his expression perfectly blank, he looked back to the disappearing carriage.

  “You have no respect for me whatsoever, wife. I ought to have invited your aunt to stay. She is not so impervious to my charms.”

  He vastly enjoyed Elizabeth’s surprise, by now of the firm opinion he must take his victories whenever he could with her.

  “You know full well what diverted me!” she cried, laughing.

  It was his turn to shrug. If he had noticed Mrs. Gardiner’s discomposure, it was no great surprise her niece might have.

  “Which is a shame,” she continued, “for I was thinking, had you got down on your knees, I might have been persuaded to tell you.”

  Thus, she effortlessly reclaimed the victory and ran off gaily, leaving brother and sister staring after her in astonishment—the former wondering how on earth he was to reassure the latter that his wife did not truly expect him to beg, despite that being precisely what he meant to do.

  Scarisbrick, Hampshire

  August 8

  Dearest Jane,

  I thank you for your letter and good wishes. You are too kind. We are indeed having a wonderful time. This year’s gathering is even better than last since the Countess of Paignton is among the party. Of course, you could not know her reputation for fun, so you must take my word that we are all having a lark. And my, my! Your sojourns about London seem to have kept you busy! I myself frequent the places you describe but rarely, but I am delighted to hear they pleased you so well.

  Now, as to your reluctance to visit E. I entreat you not to refuse her invitation. Have I not counselled that a breach would be ill advised? Besides, if B’s letter to D did indeed m
ake no mention of visiting them, it seems I was correct, and his interest has already run its course; thus, there can be little to fear on that score. I say go, enjoy the many delights of P, and should E’s teasing and flirting prove no better, you may commiserate with me at your leisure.

  Indeed, pray write to me anyway with news of how she gets on, for I should be vastly comforted to know D does not regret his choice. Your mention of her struggles with her new role is a cause for great alarm in that regard, though little surprise. I can only hope the mistakes to which she alluded in her letter to you are neither too many nor too egregious. Mayhap when you visit, you might show her by your example how a woman ought to be sensible of her station?

  I wish you a happy wedding trip and look forward with relish to your next letter.

  Lady Ashby

  9

  Of Revelations and Resentment

  Friday, 14 August 1812: Derbyshire

  One month of marriage had not diminished Elizabeth’s happiness in any way, and familiarity had not dampened her bliss. She still woke each morning as surprised as the last to find herself a woman married, still delighted every day in discovering more to love in her husband, and still marvelled constantly at her new situation.

  Much of what there was to marvel could be seen from her bedroom windows as she idled at her dressing table, quietly humming the tune she had been practicing that afternoon and brushing her freshly washed hair. It was into this bubble of utopian contentment that Darcy stormed with a quantity of papers in his hand, an angry imprecation on his lips and a savage scowl upon his countenance.

  “Of all the vexing, ill-timed mishaps!” He strode back and forth across the floor. “I never heard such a catalogue of poor excuses and incompetence! He ought to have put Ennings to the job in the first place. A leg will not mend before the harvest. Magnus will have to journey from Kympton! Blast it, Barnaby!”

  “Fitzwilliam, is there some way in which I can help?”

  “What? No. No.” He shook his head and continued pacing for a moment then whirled back to her. “I must postpone our trip tomorrow.”

  This news brought Elizabeth nothing but relief. They had visited several local towns that week already and dined with neighbours twice, and she was exceedingly tired. A long jostling carriage ride to Buxton had lost all its appeal. She opened her mouth to tell him she had no objection to the delay when he abruptly set off about the room again, fuming about the as-yet-unspecified calamity. Her third attempt to regain his attention silenced him at last.

  “Fitzwilliam, what exactly has Mr. Barnaby done?”

  His countenance darkened further still, and his answer, when he gave it, took her by surprise, for it had naught to do with legs, harvests, or trips to Buxton. “He has asked me to be godfather to his new son.”

  The cogs of her mind laboured to fathom why on earth that might have distressed him. Her heart squeezed when she comprehended the answer, but once again, before she had the chance to speak, he took to pacing and bemoaning Mr. Barnaby’s ineptitude.

  Despite his pique, Elizabeth found herself smiling fondly at him, for it was becoming ever clearer that he had come to her seeking neither advice nor answers but only to vent his spleen. After all her regrets to have left him broken-hearted and comfortless following their quarrel in Kent, she rejoiced at being able to provide him such consolation. She returned to brushing her hair and simply watched him, content to let him rail until his ire ran cool—and rail he did.

  “There is not room enough for Magnus to board with Powell or Craig. I shall have to reopen the long barn and have it fitted out for all the extra hands.”

  He paused to send her an exasperated glance, and she smiled sympathetically.

  “Ennings will have to stand in for Donaghue—no! There is the north gable to be seen to this autumn, so he cannot be spared, either.”

  She thought he might be biting off an oath when he snapped his mouth shut and threw her another irate scowl. She smiled again.

  “Somebody else will have to be found,” he resumed. “God alone knows who will replace Donaghue permanently if his leg does not heal! How Barnaby thinks to arrange it all before he leaves for York is the devil’s own guess. And this—this—is the day the man thinks it prudent to ask me to be godfather to his child! Would that he ask his brother, or cousin, or one of the damned sheep, for I want no part of it, and for the love of God, would you cease your infernal humming, woman!”

  They both froze, staring at each other, dumbstruck. Darcy looked horrified. Elizabeth was immobilised with the near-insurmountable urge to guffaw. Persuaded by his vast dismay that now would be the most inappropriate time to do so, she turned away to hide her smirk.

  “Dear Lord, I beg you would forgive me, Elizabeth. That was unpardonable.”

  Would that he be less contrite, that her amusement might seem less unfeeling! Her shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.

  He was at her side in an instant. “Love, pray do not cry. I am sorry.”

  Oh, good heavens, he thought she was weeping! A snort of laughter burst from her lips, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head for him to cease apologising, but he would not desist. He reached for her hand and turned her gently but insistently to face him. His expression was one of mortified concern—briefly. It was soon overtaken with confusion then affront.

  “You are not crying.”

  “No.” She sniggered despite herself and pressed her lips closed.

  He stepped away from her. “You are laughing.”

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Elizabeth, I just bellowed at you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I fail to see the humour in that! I have never shouted at a person in such a manner in my life! That I should have done so at you is insupportable!”

  “Ah, but you have never had a me before to cut up your peace and turn your world upside down. Besides, you would not be the first person to be irritated by my humming.”

  “Your humming does not irritate me, not usually.”

  She supposed growing up almost as an only child meant he was unaccustomed to the compromises and vexations of living with another person. She felt a little teasing was in order to compensate for his deprivation. “’Tis well, Fitzwilliam, I am not offended. Your pacing does not usually irritate me, either.”

  He frowned at her. “My pacing?”

  “You pace, more so when you are agitated. But it is not as vexing as your teeth grinding.”

  “What teeth grinding?”

  Elizabeth thought he was doing an admirable job of maintaining his dudgeon, given her own broadening grin. How she adored him and his silly pride! “When you are concentrating, you grind your teeth.”

  “I do not.”

  “And you sneeze too loudly.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When you sneeze, you do so exceptionally loudly.”

  “What sort of objection is that? One cannot regulate the volume of one’s sneezes.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It makes me jump.”

  At last his lips quirked. “Is there aught else?”

  “That will do for now.”

  He reached for her hands and pulled her up off the stool and into his embrace, his mouth upon hers ere she was on her feet. It was over too soon, yet for all its brevity, his kiss left her breathless and flushed.

  “I am so in love with you, Elizabeth.”

  “Despite my humming?”

  “Your humming is Mozart to mine ears.”

  She giggled, but her smile faded as her thoughts sobered. She placed a hand upon his chest and looked up at him earnestly. “You know, Fitzwilliam, you are not your father. And Mr. Barnaby’s son is not George Wickham. You are not destined to repeat their mistakes.”

  He sighed he
avily. “I know, but I cannot abide the thought of imposing the same blight upon my own children.”

  “It will not go the same. We shall make sure of it. Do not let your resentment for a bad man lead you to offend a good one.”

  “You are right, of course.” He kissed her once more and released her, turning to retrieve his papers from the table. “I am sorry we can no longer go to Buxton tomorrow,” he said, holding up a letter from the pile and peering at it as though noticing it for the first time. “I am certain you will like the place very well.”

  “I am sure I shall.” She returned to her stool and picked up her brush once more. “But it will still be there next week. We need not explore the whole of Derbyshire in my first month here.”

  He did not answer, for he had begun reading the letter, and his countenance, so recently relieved of its angry glower, was very rapidly being overspread with an even stormier expression. “God in Heaven, what is the man thinking?” He threw the sheaf of papers back on the table and turned away in disgust, one hand planted firmly on his hip, the other rubbing his jaw.

  “Whatever is the matter now?”

  “Montgomery has offered for Anne.”

  Elizabeth winced. “Well, you knew it was probable. You will just have to accept it.”

  “That is precisely what he expects me to do,” he said, turning to face her. “He wishes me to stand up with him at his wedding. To set aside all my grievances with Lady Catherine as though our estrangement were nothing more than a trifling squabble! But I cannot forgive her; thus, I must disappoint him.”

  Elizabeth set her brush down. “Will you not even consider reconciliation?” she said cautiously. “For your friend’s sake and your cousin’s if not your own.”

  “How can you even entertain the notion after the way she has treated you? She has been insufferable throughout this whole affair.”

  “She has always been insufferable. She is hardly likely to change at this late stage.”