An Arranged Marriage

by Jan Hahn

  "When you are ready, we can go down to supper," Mr. Darcy said, turning away to stoke the fire. The logs had burned down somewhat; the ashes now threw sparks of blue and orange in response to his prodding.

  "I am ready." I glanced in the mirror and patted my hair. I swayed slightly as I stood and reached for the dresser to steady myself.

  "Are you ill?"

  "No, I must have risen too quickly. That is all."

  "Then let us depart." He strode to the door and I followed him, conscious of the smell of alcohol about his person as he held the door open.

  The main dish at supper was cold mutton, the fat so heavily congealed that I almost gagged at the sight of it. I picked at the sweetbread pie, but I could not abide any other dish. Mr. Darcy drank more than he ate, bidding the barmaid fill his glass over and over. I had never before eaten a meal with a complete lack of conversation. I grew conscious of the give and take between the family members at the only other table in the room. The girls teased each other and their mother softly chastised them when they became too boisterous. A wave of loneliness for my sisters, especially Jane, swept over me The noise of the men in the common room adjoining the small dining area, some of whom were Mr. Darcy's servants, seemed to call even more attention to the silence at our own table.

  At last, I gave up and, placing my knife and fork across the plate, I sat back in my chair.

  "Do you care for anything more?" Mr. Darcy asked and when I shook my head, he raised one eyebrow. "You have hardly touched your plate. Are you certain you are not ill?"

  "I am perfectly well. I simply have no appetite."

  "With what we've been served, I can well understand." He stood and indicated we should leave.

  "I can make my way alone, sir, if you prefer to remain here."

  "I shall see you to the room."

  "It is not necessary."

  "I shall see you to the room." His words were hard and insistent.

  "Very well," I said, my tone equally cold. I could feel his eyes upon me as I climbed the stairs, knowing he was right behind me. The wooden steps were worn to a dull shine, the handrail likewise a burnished chocolate colour, facts of no importance but a scene I can still see to this very day.

  Inside the room Mr. Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and walked to the window. I dropped my shawl on the bed and stood, waiting. Silently, he nursed his drink and peered out into the dark, wet night.

  At last I spoke. "I shall require at least an hour alone before retiring and I have no need of the maid. I can manage on my own."

  He turned and looked at me long and hard and then placing his empty glass on the table, he proceeded to the door.

  "Mr. Darcy, I would caution you not to drink excessively. The staircase is steep."

  He turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Your concern is touching, but if I fall and break my neck, would that not solve your problem? You would then be a rich widow." He uttered a laugh short and mocking, then closed the door behind him with sudden force.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the animosity in the room envelop me. How had my life come to this? And how could I bear this future before me, a future bereft of love or happiness? Slowly I unbuttoned my dress and removed it. After washing myself, I slipped out of my chemise and pulled on a long, white nightgown. Mamá had packed it herself, but it was Jane, I knew, who tucked the dried sprigs of lavender between the folds. They both were such optimists, hoping to the end that I should grow to care for my husband. My mother, indeed, could see no reason why I should not be elated and grateful for a proposal from such a wealthy man, but Jane, who knew my heart and soul as no other, understood my despair and yet still believed Mr. Darcy would turn out to be a good and loving husband after all.

  I sighed, closed my eyes, and shook my head slightly at the folly of such hopes. I pulled the pins from my hair and released my curls, reaching for the brush to smooth out the tangles. How I wished Jane there to brush it for me as she did so many nights of my life. No, what I truly wished was to be home at Longbourn with Jane and not trapped in that dismal little room with a man I did not love.

  After folding my chemise and placing it in my trunk, I hung my dress in the armoire and placed my shoes there along with my bonnet and cloak. I stirred the fire and walked to the window one last time; the storm had not lessened. As I passed the table, the bottle of brandy stood there, still containing enough for a glass full. I was not accustomed to drink stronger than wine, but tonight I felt the need of warmth and comfort. Perhaps it would help me sleep. I walked around the room and blew out the candles as I sipped the sweet brandy. I left one burning on the mantle for Mr. Darcy's use. Finally, there was nothing left to do but crawl into bed. I settled down between the sheets, then sighed and arose once more. Taking the extra quilt from the bottom of the bed and one of the pillows, I tossed them onto the chaise.

  A good wife would at least make up the couch for her husband, would she not? No, a good wife would never have banished him from her bed. But since when had I wanted to be a good wife to Mr. Darcy? With a toss of my curls, I pursed my lips and blew out the remaining candle. Let him find his own way in the dark. I then gave myself up to the call of the bed. Even though the sheets were cold, it turned out to be a fairly comfortable mattress and it was not long before I succumbed to the relief of sleep.

  Sometime in the night, I grew aware of a pleasant, cozy warmth, as though someone cradled me in his arms. I struggled to awaken, but the effects of the brandy and the exhausting strain of the day kept me from conscious thought. I told myself I must be dreaming and, if I was, I liked the way it felt.

  Chapter 2

  The morning after my wedding, a slow, steady thump awakened me. A continual rhythmic cadence resonated in my ear, somehow soothing in its perfect repetition. It skipped not a stroke. I felt the pillow under my head move slightly up and down with each beat, in and out, in and out. A beat! That was it - a heartbeat!

  Slowly I opened my eyes, struggled through the fog of sleep, and attempted to focus on the strange room in which I had spent the night. Oh yes, it was the inn. Now, I remembered. But what was that sound and why did my head go up and down in a slow, persistent manner?

  I raised my eyes and saw him - Mr. Darcy! I lay with my head on his chest, my arm thrown across him, and both his arms around me, clasping my body close to his. How could this have happened? He slept soundly, lying on top of the covers, fully dressed except for his boots. Most of me, fortunately, was under the sheet and counterpane, although I know not how I came to use his chest for a pillow.

  I sat up immediately, calling forth his name - "Mr. Darcy!" - with sufficient force that he jerked upward in such haste that our heads collided. We both cried out at the shock of the blow and I shrank back, as he grabbed his forehead.

  "What? What is it?" he muttered, lost in confusion. A stale smell of alcohol permeated his disheveled clothing; his hair was in disarray, and dark stubble covered his chin.

  "Get out!" I cried. "Get out of my bed!"

  "Your bed?" He blinked in the radiant sunshine that illuminated the room. "But how...how did I...did you..."

  "Get out! I do not know what you are about, Mr. Darcy, but I expect you to keep your word!"

  "I do keep my word," he muttered, crawling off the bed. When his feet touched the floor, he staggered and grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. He moaned and reached for his head again. "Will you not blow out that blasted candle?"

  "What candle? The light is from the sun and not even you, sir, can order it blown out. Now, will you leave this room?"

  He blinked again and screwed up his eyes as though they refused to focus. He lurched toward the door, but then turned back once more. "My boots. I need my boots."

  They lay beside the bed as though thrown off in a hurry. I crawled across the mattress, picked up first one, then the other, and threw them at him, hitting his stomach with one. He doubled over and glared at me, but did not cry out. Grabbing the boots and hopping first
on one foot and then the other, he managed to pull them on. With one last bewildered stare in my direction, he opened the door and stumbled forth.

  I was in such shock that all I could do was sink under the sheet, suddenly aware that I had grasped the quilt to my neck even though my nightgown was sufficiently modest. As I slid back into the warmth of the bed, I felt the heat on the sheets underneath the counterpane where he had lain beside me. I was angry. More than that, I was furious. How dare he invade my bed! And yet, I had to admit I had slept more soundly that night than I could remember. I became quite disconcerted when I found myself absently running my arm up and down the sheet, enjoying the warmth he had left behind. I ceased such action immediately.

  Had Mr. Darcy taken advantage of me in the night? I knew little of such things, but surely he could not have done so and remained fully clothed and outside the bedcovers. And no matter how well I slept, I knew it would have been impossible to sleep through such an encounter with that man.

  By noon we were on our way to London. The river had receded and although the road remained a muddy lot, our horses pulled the carriage through the ruts. I had not seen Mr. Darcy until he joined me in the carriage, having kept to my room all morning. How he shaved and cleaned up, I know not, but there he was looking the impeccable gentleman, except for the tired look about his eyes. His clothes were not rumpled nor even smelled of liquor, although I felt certain they were the clothes he had slept in. He must have an invaluable valet in service. I trust he paid him well if he could work such a miracle.

  We said nothing to each other. I did not even grant him the courtesy of a greeting; instead, I turned my face to the window. No, I turned my entire body to the window and busied myself with intense perusal of the passing trees, shrubs and farmland. We rode no little distance in this fashion, when suddenly he cleared his throat and I jumped.

  "I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to startle you. Miss Ben...that is, Eliz..." He stopped and blinked as though in search of something. "I do not seem to know how to address you. You are no longer Miss Bennet, but I fear you do not wish to be called Mrs. Darcy. May I call you Elizabeth?"

  I worked hard not to smile at his discomfiture. "It is your choice, sir, as long as you do not take the advantage as licence to act more familiar with me."

  He closed his eyes as though I had struck him. "I would not think of it. But I must be allowed to apologize for my behaviour last evening."

  I nodded oh, so slightly.

  "I do not remember last night. I confess I imbibed far too generously of the innkeeper's ale. How I came to be in your bed, Elizabeth, I am sorry to say, is not possible for me to recall."

  "Is this generous intake of alcohol a part of your general nature, sir? If it is, you should have told me, for I have no intention of living with an intemperate man."

  "Absolutely not!" He spoke forcefully and leaned forward, a pained expression across his face, as he put his hand to his forehead. "I promise you that I do not make a habit of such behaviour."

  We said no more for several miles. I returned my attention to the window, but from the corner of my eye, I could see that his headache was severe. Again and again he closed his eyes to the glare of the outdoors. I was glad to see him suffer. His behaviour deserved punishment. I congratulated myself on feeling no wifely sympathies until I remembered the headache that frequently put me to bed. One did not have to be a loving wife to feel compassion.

  "Mr. Darcy, would you prefer the shades to be lowered, to shield your eyes from the light?"

  Surprise covered his countenance at my suggestion. "Do you not wish to observe the scenery?"

  "I do, but I do not suffer a headache."

  "Thank you." He reached up to release the dark shade over his window. I did the same and was astonished at the sudden feeling of closeness within the coach with the absence of light. An intimacy enveloped us that made me self-conscious. I wondered if he felt it, as well. Now I had nowhere to look but at my lap or straight ahead, and then it would appear that I looked at him. Perhaps compassion had been a mistake.

  But had Mr. Darcy not shown compassion in marrying me? Why did he marry me? I remained unsure of the reason and feared I should do so for some time. His first proposal had been so uncivil and arrogant that I heard little argument for marriage and much against. He openly acknowledged the unsuitability of my family and connections in comparison to his and yet he still asked for my hand. I could see him standing in Mr. Collins' parlor at Hunsford, insulting in his manner and words. What had been his reason for marriage? Something about, "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

  I dismissed his words of love as foolishness because his rudeness had so infuriated me. How could he profess love and treat me as he had?

  And the second proposal six months later could hardly be called that. Arrangement would be a better word. How shocked I had been the day he entered my mother's house at Longbourne with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. I could still hear my mother's cry upon greeting her brother.

  "Oh, Edward, Edward! You are here at last. Whatever are we to do?"

  "There, there, Fanny," he soothed. "Ease yourself, sister. I come with good news."

  "Good news? You have found hidden funds belonging to Mr. Bennet? We are not to be turned out from Longbourn next week?"

  "Not hidden funds, but something better." Mr. Gardiner looked toward Mr. Darcy. Mamá sniffed as she usually did in his presence. She had not even acknowledged him prior to my uncle's words for she disliked him intensely since we first met a year ago at an assembly ball in Meryton. That is when the entire community became acquainted with his arrogant manners. He slighted me when she practically invited him to dance with me, and the one thing my mother would never forgive was a man's refusal to dance with one of her five daughters. Now, she slowly led my aunt and uncle and Mr. Darcy into my father's study, closing the door behind them.

  Jane and I were bewildered, as were Mary and Kitty. What could Mr. Darcy have to do with our mother? And could we trust her to keep a civil tongue in his presence? How much better it would have been if Jane or I had been allowed to be in on the meeting.

  "Why is he here?" I asked. "And how did he come to know our uncle?"

  "They met this past summer," Jane replied, "when Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner traveled to Derbyshire."

  "Oh, yes, the trip on which I was to accompany them."

  I had not gone, of course, because of Father's death, for I no longer felt free to go on pleasure trips. Mamá was of no use to anyone, totally dependent upon Jane and me and besides that, we were scrambling to find a means by which to support our family. We knew that our mother's profligate ways would soon exhaust her small fortune and although we would not be paupers, our manner of living must be severely reduced. We both sent out inquiries for governess positions and I spent May and June searching for a reasonable cottage in which to move our family. I regretted giving up that trip with the Gardiners. We were to tour the Lakes and see some of the grand houses in the north country.

  "But how, Jane? How could they have come into Mr. Darcy's company?"

  "His estate is in Derbyshire, Lizzy, surely you remember that. Aunt Gardiner wrote Mamá that they had happened upon him unexpectedly while touring his great house at Pemberley. They had been told he was away from home, but he returned earlier than expected. Our aunt wrote a very pleasing account of his manners in her letter, much different than what we experienced. She said that once he knew of their connection to our family, he overwhelmed them with invitations and civility."

  I snorted at the idea. Jane admonished me, "Lizzy, what a noise! You sound like Lydia!"

  I blanched at the thought of being compared to my youngest sister, my wild, irresponsible child of a sister who had only added to our woes in the middle of that summer by running off with a blackguard in the militia, a Mr. Wickham. I am embarrassed to say that when I first met the man some seven or eight months earlier, I, too, thought him an amiable, pleasant man. Instead,
he turned out to be a cad who preyed on young women of fortune, having even tried his lot with Mr. Darcy's fifteen-year-old sister, Georgiana. Of course, I did not know the truth of his character until after my meeting with Mr. Darcy at Hunsford.

  The morning after his first proposal, he gave me a letter outlining his relationship with Mr. Wickham, a far different tale than the one Mr. Wickham had painted. It seems that Mr. Darcy had not cheated Mr. Wickham out of his inheritance, as the latter had told far and wide, but rather that Mr. Wickham had refused the living (a curacy in Kympton) in exchange for the sum of 3,000 pounds. He later attempted an unsuccessful elopement with Georgiana, a fact shocking to hear and I am certain painful for Mr. Darcy to relate. How I regretted not having warned my own sister about his character before she, too, fell prey to his charms. I fear that if my Uncle Gardiner had not paid out vast sums to Mr. Wickham, he would not have married her, but left her a ruined woman deserted in London.

  For that very reason, our uncle could be of little financial assistance to us, not after he had been so generous with Lydia. We knew that he had given us more than we could ever repay. Our mother, of course, expected him to rescue us, but Jane and I accepted the fact that it was impossible and we would not allow her to beg him for more. That is why Jane had taken a governess position in August. I, too, sought such a position, but someone had to stay at home and help Mamá and my younger sisters move into new quarters. I had at last found a cottage in Surrey and we were packing to move before Michaelmas when that strange arrival of my relatives and Mr. Darcy occurred without warning.

  "Lizzy," Jane said, "perhaps Mr. Darcy has heard of our search for governess positions and he comes with an offer."

  "I think not. Mr. Darcy's sister is well past governess age. She now has a companion and will soon be out in society."

  "Well, if he does want a governess, I shall go. I know how much you dislike him, but I do not feel as strongly. Besides, since I failed miserably at my first post, I should try doubly hard if I am offered another chance."