Mistaken

by Jessie Lewis

  Relieved that not every person was foolish enough to concern themselves with idle gossip, Elizabeth gladly consented to being introduced to Mr. Thatcher and eagerly joined his discussion with Darcy of the Montgomerys’ wedding. Thereafter, the conversation moved on to matters interesting only to landowners, and the party naturally divided. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner struck up their own exchange, and Mr. Bingley turned to Elizabeth to do the same.

  “This is precisely why I prefer balls—less talking and more dancing.”

  “And precisely why Darcy dislikes them,” she replied, turning to him with a grin. “However did the pair of you end up friends?”

  “I sincerely hope Darcy has not deprived you of too many dances because he does not enjoy it himself.”

  “We are going to a ball in a few days, as it happens. If I am very lucky, I might persuade him to one dance.” She resisted the urge to turn and stare incredulously at whoever it was behind her muttering about her carrying on with Mr. Craythorne and Mr. Greyson. “And what are your plans in Town?” she enquired, ignoring it. “Do you intend to stay long?”

  “Regrettably no, I must return tomorrow.”

  “I am sorry ’tis with regret that you must return to Jane. Pray, do not allow our quarrel to come between you.”

  He grew excessively awkward and stepped closer, speaking in a hushed voice. “Lizzy, I am appalled by what she did to you. You are…and she…” His eyes flicked first to her stomach and then to the place Jane had slapped her. “I do not know that I can forgive her.”

  “I beg you would. I have just endured an exceedingly trying visit with Darcy’s family, attempting to resolve the schism I caused there. Pray do not require me to undergo the same unpleasantness with my own family.”

  “Darcy said nothing of any difficulties at Rosings. What happened to you there?”

  Saving her the bother of answering, two absurdly plumed ladies walked past arm in arm, brazenly discussing Lady Catherine’s displeasure at the new mistress of Pemberley’s reputed ineptitude. Mr. Bingley frowned after them and, shortly afterwards, at a young man dressed in regimentals, who could be heard telling his companions about a Lieutenant Wickham, who had attempted to murder Mrs. Darcy upon discovering she had forsaken him for her new lover, Mr. Greyson.

  “You must admire their inventiveness,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Hardly. I know not how you bear it.”

  “I pay it no mind, and I hope you will not either. Now, will you promise me you will forgive Jane? I should be far happier if I knew you were not at variance because of me.”

  He smiled sadly. “For you, anything.”

  Perceiving she had made him uneasy, Elizabeth thanked him and reinserted them both into conversation with the rest of their party.

  ***

  Having concluded his brief aside to his wife and hearing Darcy’s acquaintance mention railways, a burgeoning interest of his own, Mr. Gardiner eagerly engaged him on the subject. Their exchange was not energetic enough that he did not hear somewhere off to his right, Elizabeth’s name mentioned, followed in rapid succession by Mr. Wickham’s, Mr. Greyson’s, Mr. Craythorne’s and the tell-tale rumble of collective derision.

  Mr. Thatcher seemed not to have noticed, but Darcy bore it less well, withdrawing completely from the conversation and frowning furiously at the crowds. Mr. Gardiner was vastly relieved when Elizabeth ceased running on at Mr. Bingley and turned her attention to placating her husband. Just as she attached herself to his arm, however, a pompous wigged gentleman sauntered past, blathering some nonsense about Darcy of Pemberley being duped into marrying into trade, somewhat thwarting her efforts. Darcy abruptly bowed to his friend, obliging Elizabeth to relinquish his arm and, to all appearances, any imminent hope of appeasing him.

  “It was a pleasure to see you, Thatcher,” he said with stiff formality, “but it is high time we all took our seats. I must bid you good evening.”

  “Delighted to have run into you again, Darcy.” Mr. Thatcher bowed to everyone and departed, revealing the woman standing directly behind him to be pointing at their group, her sneering lips curling disdainfully around the word trade.

  “Shall we?” Darcy barely waited for Elizabeth before stalking off.

  Considering the vast condescension the man had showed in hosting them in his box, Mr. Gardiner was not about to take umbrage if he found that the ensuing attention chafed somewhat. Elizabeth, he perceived, was not nearly so ready to excuse her husband. Her expression as she marched after him was indignant.

  “I believe that is our cue to go in,” he said to his remaining companions. He began edging his way through the crowd, envying Darcy his height, or perhaps his pique—whichever had enabled him to cut through at such a pace.

  “The gossips are out in force this evening,” his wife observed.

  “The place is crawling with them!” Bingley agreed. “I pity Lizzy having to tolerate it.”

  “Do not distress yourself on her behalf,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “She is a sensible girl. She can tolerate a few silly rumours very well. I am more inclined to worry for Mr. Darcy.”

  “Darcy? Why?”

  Mr. Gardiner chuckled and answered for his wife. “Because little though he likes all this tittle-tattle, unless he learns to better direct his affront, he will find himself with a very unhappy wife on his hands.” He left unsaid the glaringly obvious explanation that the only thing ever to come of an unhappy wife was an even unhappier husband, assured from what Mrs. Gardiner told him that Bingley was already well aware of the fact. Sharing a knowing smile with his wife at the prospect of their vastly spirited niece giving her illustrious husband a dressing down for his ill temper, they nipped into the box ahead of Bingley and took their seats.

  ***

  Bingley’s trips to any theatre were sparingly few, and this one was doing naught to convince him he ought to change his habits. Whilst it was true that people gossiped with equal zeal at balls, at least there, one was never trapped in a blasted box, lit up by several thousand candles for every person present to scrutinise.

  Elizabeth and her relatives were doing their best to ignore the whispers. Darcy sat in icy silence with his arms crossed, glaring fixedly at the stage and giving monosyllabic responses to every attempt at conversation, the lack of which exposed them all to the whispers rippling through the surrounding boxes.

  By the end of the third act, Bingley had heard charges ranging from Elizabeth’s total want of education and accomplishments, to her scheme to turn Pemberley into a poor house. One report even had it that Darcy had killed Wickham, the only one of Elizabeth’s lovers not present, in a duel. Most painful of all were the recurrent murmurs of the Darcys’ discontent, something with which no one watching them this evening could argue.

  “It is quite different to the adaptation we saw in Cheltenham, is it not, Lizzy?” Mrs. Gardiner said overly loudly, failing to completely muffle the strident remark from a gentleman in a box overhead that if his wife were such an incorrigible flirt, he would hand her over to her lover and wish him good luck.

  “Aye, very different,” Elizabeth replied with laudable composure.

  “I hear they played it as Mrs. Siddons’ farewell performance earlier this year.” Mr. Gardiner chimed in as cheerfully as if somebody had not just replied to the other gentleman that if Mr. Darcy were handing his wife over to lovers he should very much like to know where he might join the queue. “I am surprised they reprised it so quickly, though it seems not to have done them any harm.”

  “Aye,” Bingley said, adding as ebullient a voice as he could muster to their charade of equanimity. “It has drawn quite a crowd.”

  Their endeavours to appear unaffected left Darcy unmoved. He continued to glare petulantly at the empty stage as though incensed that Act Four had the audacity not to have yet begun. Bingley shuffled to th
e edge of his seat and leant to speak quietly in his ear. “Darcy, this is absurd. If you are intent on being in such high dudgeon, you may as well admit defeat and go home.”

  “I should like nothing more,” he muttered back, “but, though it may have escaped your notice, not even the first performance has yet ended.”

  They had been speaking extremely quietly, but Elizabeth must have heard nonetheless. She leant close to Darcy. “If you wish to go, let us go. I have a headache anyway.” She twisted round to address Bingley. “Would you be so kind as to take my aunt and uncle home?”

  Bingley assured her he would, and after the arrangements were agreed with the Gardiners, Darcy stood up, sullenly tugging his lapels straight. Elizabeth made to stand also, but he prevented her with a gruff instruction to remain seated. “I shall arrange for the carriage and come back for you. I would not have you standing about if you have a headache.”

  A nice enough sentiment to be sure, though Bingley thought his surly tone rather belied his solicitude.

  The curtain went up on stage just as the door to the corridor closed behind Darcy, preventing ordinary conversation. Nevertheless, Elizabeth and her aunt immediately struck up a fervid whispered exchange that Bingley strained to hear despite himself. He could not make out Elizabeth’s opening remark, what with her back to him, only Mrs. Gardiner’s response.

  “I am sure it is not intentional. He must be excessively uneasy.”

  Though he still could not hear her words, the agitation in Elizabeth’s voice as she whispered back was unmistakable.

  “You forget what deference he is used to,” her aunt replied. “You may be able to shrug it off without another thought, but you are being unfair to expect a man of his consequence to do the same. Rest assured, your uncle and I are not offended.”

  Frustrated at not being able to hear Elizabeth’s responses, Bingley resorted to pretending to refasten his shoe, bringing him within earshot in time hear her reply emphatically that she was.

  He sat up again, heart hammering with dismay. Elizabeth and her aunt looked around, and for a moment, he thought his eavesdropping had been discovered until he heard Darcy say behind him that the carriage had been summoned and realised it was at him the ladies were looking. He let out his breath and eased back into his chair, regarding the Titan sidelong while Elizabeth bade her relations good evening. There he stood, caught up in the injury to his consequence, impervious to the fact that Elizabeth suffered not only the scorn of the entire theatre, but that of her husband as well, and with a damned sight more forbearance than he!

  Bingley scarcely wondered at Elizabeth’s resolute composure. No doubt, were she to reveal aught of her own misery, Darcy would “take her in hand” as he had, only yesterday, suggested he do with Jane. He launched himself to his feet to speak, but it achieved him naught. Elizabeth was done bidding her relatives goodbye, and after a cursory farewell to him, she and Darcy were gone.

  ***

  It was accurate to say Elizabeth did not leave the theatre quite as happy as when she arrived. She held Darcy’s arm for the sake of appearances only, beyond caring for the tension in it that evinced his displeasure. Barring a curt instruction to his coachmen, he maintained an obstinate silence from the moment they left the box to the moment he stiffly handed her up into the carriage. She afforded him the same courtesy for the remainder of the journey home.

  The consequence of her silence was the escalation of her indignation, as her mind substituted conversation with seething. She cared not what the rest of the world wished to say about her. She had told Darcy over and again she would be unmoved by any such disapprobation. But his petulant and public brooding over it, his unpardonable incivility to her relations, and her suspicion of Lady Catherine’s influence in all of it had reduced her patience for his present ill-humour to a resounding nil.

  Godfrey met them at the front door, enquiring with a well-trained blind eye to their early return whether they should like supper to be served directly.

  “I have no appetite,” Elizabeth said. Leaving Darcy to answer for himself, she took her leave and stormed upstairs to her bedchamber. She was unsurprised when her door clicked open again moments after she slammed it closed. She finished peeling off her gloves, dropped them onto her dressing table, and turned to face her husband, all defiance.

  “Elizabeth, are you unwell?”

  It was not how she expected him to begin. “Unwell?”

  “Yes, unwell,” he snapped. “You have claimed a headache and no appetite. These are common symptoms of illness, are they not?”

  “I daresay. They are also common symptoms of serious vexation.” His evident surprise exasperated her no end, provoking her to give poor Baker short shrift when she arrived, expecting to help her mistress undress. “How could it possibly come as a surprise that I am vexed?” she demanded of him once the maid had been unceremoniously dismissed. “Did you expect me to enjoy your incivility this evening?”

  He frowned and looked aside, his jaw clenched. Elizabeth crossed her arms and awaited his answer, declaring with her silence that she required one.

  “I was not aware my distraction was obvious,” he said at length.

  “It is not as though you made any endeavour to conceal it! You have sulked the entire evening!”

  “I have not sulked.”

  “Call it what you will,” she replied, beginning to tug pins from her hair and toss them forcibly onto her dressing table, “but you barely spoke two words together the whole night, you ignored my aunt and uncle, and you flinched every time I so much as touched you! I call that sulking.”

  “I apologise if I was not as attentive as you would have liked, madam, but my mind has been less agreeably engaged.”

  “You have suffered no more than I—less, I should say! Most of the rumours were about me, after all, and I have not hurled my rattle from the crib for the whole of London to see!”

  “What rumours?”

  No two words could have more effectively doused her anger. She lowered her hands and stared at him. “What do you mean what rumours?”

  “I mean precisely what I said! I have no idea to what you are referring.”

  “I am referring to all the hostile attention we received this evening.” He only stared at her, nonplussed, prompting her to press, “Are you telling me you were not aware of any of it?”

  “I am sorry to say it escaped my notice,” he replied, frowning. “What was said?”

  “Nothing of substance—but much of it.”

  His countenance darkened. “It grieves me to here this.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, do not become vexed about it now,” Elizabeth cried, returning to taking down her hair with still greater impatience than before. “There is even less advantage in allowing it to distress you after the fact!”

  He looked affronted. “Let us both hope I am improved enough in character that the whisperings of a few imbeciles with pretensions to consequence can no longer distress me. I am grieved that you were distressed by it and that I was too distracted to act as I ought to have done.”

  “I was not distressed by it! I have told you many times I care nothing for the world’s scorn.”

  “Then might I enquire why the devil you are upbraiding me, woman?”

  “Because I thought you were distressed by it—unreasonably so. You certainly made it seem that way with your insufferable brooding. You ignored us all—all evening!”

  He stepped towards her abruptly. “Is not discovering my wife has been intimate with another before me enough to consume my thoughts to the exclusion of all else?”

  Elizabeth recoiled, unable to do aught but stare at him, no less bemused than incredulous. Her astonishment kept her silent too long.

  “You do not deny it?” His anger did not quite mask the note of panic in his voice.

&
nbsp; “I am unsure of what precisely you are accusing me, sir. With whom am I supposed to have been intimate?”

  Her words, or tone, or perhaps both gave him pause. Doubt flickered across his features, and he did not sound at all sure of himself as he answered. “Mr. Craythorne.”

  Her mouth fell open. Yet, even as her affront rallied itself to be unleashed in its fullest force, she recalled his strained observation that Mr. Craythorne had seemed excessively pleased to see her. The insult of his absurd assumption notwithstanding, the burgeoning suspicion that her dear, sensible husband, paradigm of reason and man full grown, was suffering a jealous pique worthy of a stripling boy tempered her indignation with more than a pinch of amusement.

  “I understood you did not care for rumours?”

  “Would that it were rumour and not your own aunt’s testimony.”

  “My aunt? What had she to say on the matter?”

  “That it was thanks to Mr. Craythorne you knew far more about the marriage bed than a maiden ought to before she found herself in one!”

  Elizabeth bit her lips together. In his defence, that did sound hideously damning. “Why on earth did she say that to you?”

  “She said it to your uncle,” he mumbled, “while I was speaking to Mr. Thatcher.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “It is not my habit to eavesdrop,” he said angrily, “but I heard Gardiner enquire of your aunt why you blushed so violently upon seeing Mr. Craythorne, and since I wondered the same, I made a point of listening to her answer!”

  Oh, dear Lord, how she loved him—her dear, foolish, jealous husband, so wild with envy that reason had quite deserted him. Nevertheless, in a long line of strong contenders, this was possibly the most offensive of all the charges he had ever laid at her door, and she would have him admit the injustice of it before absolving him.