An Arranged Marriage

by Jan Hahn

  "Yes. She informed me of that fact and your brother confirmed it."

  "He did?" she said quickly, her eyes searching mine. "Did he tell you who the father is?"

  I shook my head. "Do you know, Georgiana?"

  "No," she answered, looking away, "although I have my suspicions."

  Neither of us said anything for a while and she soon excused herself, retreating to her room. I pondered our conversation no little time. My new sister did not appear to be as innocent of the world as Mr. Darcy would have her be. I wondered how far Mr. Wickham had gone in his betrayal of her and then, although I did not wish it, my mind wandered back to my questions about Fiona. Surely Georgiana could not possibly suspect that the maid's little William was named for his father.

  I did not care for that distasteful thought and how it attempted to overtake me. In order to divert my attention, I picked up a book and walked out into the garden. An abundance of clouds hid the sun that day, but rain had not yet arrived and so I relished the solitary time among the fragrant shrubs and blooming plants. I wandered down the narrow walk that wound in and around the greenery. Coming upon a stone bench hidden away in an alcove that backed up to a hedge over eight feet tall, I seated myself and opened my novel. It was light and entertaining and I anticipated a good read; however, naught but a few moments passed before my reverie was interrupted by what I presumed to be servants on the other side of the giant, dense hedges behind me. They obviously toiled at planting bulbs in the flowerbeds below. I could not see the men nor could they see me, for from their conversation it was evident they thought they were alone.

  I attempted to disregard their talk and even stood up in search of a quieter nook until the nature of their conversation caught my complete attention. One man complained repeatedly that he, a house servant, should not be relegated to the duties of an under-gardener, while the other reminded him that it was his own fault that had caused his descent in position.

  "How can you say that," the first man replied, "when I looked far more spiffy in my tails and wig than Duffy?"

  "Ah, the only reason you be put in as footman in the first place were because you and Duffy matched in size," the other man said. "You never were no great shakes at your job, Johnny, my lad, and the master taken no account with your looks. A few weeks doing grunt work inside and out and maybe if your luck holds, Master Darcy will relent and put you back in your fancy uniform."

  "The master - hah! He's as unfair as they come and he thinks himself so far above us. Well, I heared a thing or two about him that brings him right back down even with me."

  "Careful, lad, you don't go talking about the master too loud. Someone might hear you other than me, and he's thought highly of by every other man about the place."

  "And every gal," Johnny said, snickering.

  "Aye, they all think he's a looker, that's for sure."

  "I can't see that he's a beauty, but some say he does a lot more than look at the girls. That Scottish girly, the one with the by-blow - I heared talk the child might be the master's. Why else would he bring her to London and bide the brat? And what made her so swanky that warranted making a ladies' maid out of her?"

  "Ah, don't be spreading your filthy talk around, Johnny. Just because the girl won't let you have your way with her don't mean you should talk so."

  "It's not me that's saying it. I swear I heared it from one of the lads in the stable."

  "Well, if you did, you be mighty sorry to repeat it is all I got to say. Now, get on with your work a'fore I calls the steward."

  The man called Johnny muttered something under his breath, but I heard nothing more. I sat frozen in place while they worked their way down the long hedge. The suspicions I had been unable to even utter had just been spoken aloud and in the vilest of terms. The man's ugly words harrowed up fears within me, fears that I had refused to entertain. Until that moment I had not even recognized that such thoughts might possibly take root within my heart and the awareness overwhelmed me with shame. To listen to servants' talk and give it credence was far below me. I will not have this! I almost spoke aloud. He may have his faults, but Mr. Darcy cannot be that kind of man. I refuse to believe it, absolutely, completely. I shall put it out of my mind as though I never heard it! There, it is gone!

  And with a valiant, intrepid determination, I rose from the bench and marched into the house, absolutely resolved at the time that I would never believe such rumours. No matter what my resolve, however, my heart was troubled, deeply troubled, and that very night an affliction beset me, an affliction I had suffered since childhood whenever profoundly distressed. I began walking in my sleep and the next morning I awakened to find myself...lying in Mr. Darcy's arms.

  The first thing I saw was his smile. I screwed up my eyes, certain I was still asleep and dreaming, but then allowed myself to peek through my lashes, for one does not inhale the pleasing scent of a man's skin in a dream, and Mr. Darcy's scent not only filled my senses, it seemed to permeate every pore in my whole body. I opened my eyes wider. His fine lawn nightshirt fell open at the neck and there in the hollow, I could see the slight shadow of his beating pulse. That was the moment I became conscious that I lay in his arms, those very arms that only yesterday I had bemused myself with the thought of touching.

  "Good morning, Elizabeth," he said, his voice barely more than a low whisper, deep and full of gravel from early morning sleepiness.

  I could not respond. In truth, I felt such shock that I wondered if I could recall how to talk. I could not take it in, his face so near to mine, my head upon his shoulder, his dark curls mussed and falling across his forehead in the most provocative manner, the dark shadow of his beard outlining his face - how had this happened?

  Slowly...very, very slowly, I sat up, clutching the sheet to my throat. I dared a frantic peek below the cover to assure myself that I was still clothed and closed my eyes in relief to see my nightgown. "Where...where am I?"

  "In my bed," he replied as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his finger against my lips. "Now, before you attack me with accusations, hear me out. Sometime in the night, I awoke and found you right here, cuddled up against me. You came willingly, Elizabeth," he said, the smile continuing upon his countenance. "I did not coerce you in any way."

  "But...how...what...why would I...did we? Help me! I cannot remember anything!"

  "My, my, you certainly know how to flatter a man. Share his bed and not remember a bit of it!"

  I searched his face, mine evidently reflecting horror, but that same tantalizing smile continued to grace his. Then slowly I realized he had made the last statement in jest. Mr. Darcy was teasing me!

  "Sir, I pray you be serious and tell me what happened."

  He took pity on me then and began to explain my nocturnal wandering. "I confess I was as surprised to find you in my bed last night as you are this morning. I attempted to talk to you, but I soon discerned you were sound asleep. I had an uncle who was a somnambulist. His physician cautioned us to never awaken him as it might cause irreparable damage, so what else could I do other than allow you to share my bed?" He reached over and patted my hand. "Quit your fretting, Elizabeth, and be assured that nothing untoward happened between us, for I am not a man who takes advantage of an unconscious woman. Have you ever walked in your sleep before?"

  I nodded and then sighed with relief, a sigh so heavy and obvious that I saw him struggle not to laugh. It was humorous; even I could acknowledge it, and as I saw him press his lips together to restrain his mirth, I began to giggle, softly at first, and then when he joined me, we both erupted in laughter. I had never seen him laugh before; in truth, I had never allowed myself such unbridled liberty in his presence. We both laughed until I almost cried. When our amusement eventually slowed, I became all too aware of the intimacy of our postures, for there we sat, still facing each other right in the middle of Mr. Darcy's bed.

  Suddenly, I blushed anew and began t
o look around me, searching for a way I could escape his chamber without exposing myself. He startled me by reaching out and gently touching my face, turning it back toward him. "What is it, Elizabeth? What do you need?"

  "A graceful way out of this predicament, I confess. Will you leave, sir, so that I might return to my room?"

  "And expose myself in my nightshirt, Madam? Oh, I think not. You are the invader; it is up to you to leave."

  "But...I am not dressed properly..."

  "So I see." He smiled once more as his eyes wandered over me, lazily surveying my dishabille.

  "Really, Mr. Darcy, you might take pity on me and act in a gentleman-like manner."

  He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. "Aye, I might, and then again I might demand that you get out of my bed immediately - were not those the words in which you addressed me when I inadvertently wandered into your bed in that wretched little inn where we spent our wedding night?"

  "But you, sir, were drunk!"

  "Yes, I was and consequently unaware of my actions, Elizabeth, just as you were last night. Shall we not forgive each other these lapses and admit that neither of us is perfect?"

  I was unsure whether he was serious or still teasing me, but I took advantage of the offer and agreed with him. In turn, he pulled the counterpane loose from the bottom of the bed and suggested that I make use of it as a temporary robe. I wasted no time in wrapping it around my shoulders, slipped from the bed, and hurriedly walked through the open door between our chambers. I did turn and catch one last glimpse of him over my shoulder. He sat there, watching my retreat with that same beguiling smile playing about his countenance.

  Goodness, he was incredibly fine to look upon first thing in the morning!

  I stewed and fretted for some time about what I had done. The last time I had walked in my sleep occurred during the wee hours of the morning after my father's burial. That time I had actually awakened lying on the ground beside his new grave. From then on, Mamá ordered the doors at Longbourn locked at night. What I wouldn't give now for a lock on the door between my chamber and that of Mr. Darcy! But then my heart raced at the memory of waking up beside him. New and exciting sensations overwhelmed me until my head felt completely muddled.

  Later that day, my new gown arrived that had been ordered for Lord Matlock's ball. I welcomed the diversion and opened the box at once. A pearl gray silk, it was finer than any I had ever owned. I had prevailed and insisted that it be trimmed in black lace, but even so, the ornamentation seemed to make it more festive rather than somber, as I desired. When I tried it on, I gasped at my reflection in the glass. I no longer appeared as one in mourning and the change shocked even me. My maid was delighted and could not contain her excitement.

  "Oh, Ma'am, you are truly lovely in that dress! Won't the master be pleased!"

  Again, my pulse beat faster as I wondered at his reaction.

  "And here, Ma'am, are the black feathers for your hair. Aren't they beautiful and with these silver combs, you will be outstanding."

  "No feathers, Fiona."

  "But, Ma'am, they come with the dress."

  "You heard me. I do not wear feathers."

  "Not even to a ball, Ma'am?"

  I silenced her with a look and she quietly returned the feathers to the box in which they had come. "Help me get out of this." Realizing I had spoken in irritation, I softened my voice as she unfastened the back of the gown. "I will use the silver combs."

  That seemed to satisfy her. "Yes, Ma'am, and I will fix your hair in ringlets. Fancy up-dos are my specialty, you know. I used to practice on Miss Georgiana when she was a child and I am quite skilled, if I do say so, myself, Ma'am. The master would laugh so at our shows."

  "Your...shows?"

  "Yes, Ma'am, back at Pemberley I'd spend hours fixing up the little Miss's hairdos and she had to run into the master's study for his approval of each one. She called it putting on a 'show,' but it weren't, really. It were just her way of begging his attention."

  Once again, I noted the tone of intimacy in the maid's voice as she spoke of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. It was almost like she was a member of the family. Just last evening I happened upon the three of them laughing together in the great hall. It ceased when I appeared and with a nod from Mr. Darcy, Fiona vanished to the back stairs; for some reason I felt left out, excluded from their shared affinity. I watched her now as she carefully hung my gown, smoothing the creases from the skirt. We were the same age. She was a pretty lass, red-haired with green eyes and fair, fair skin. Bearing a child had done nothing to hurt her figure and I could see how appealing she might be to any man. Suddenly, the hateful gossip I had heard the servant utter about her in the garden rushed up from where I do not know, almost smothering me with its intensity. I thought I had rid my heart of such ugliness, but now I felt an urgent need to see her child. I wished to see for myself if he had inherited his mother's red hair.

  After dressing in my familiar black bombazine, I told Fiona she was free to go, but on second thought I decided to follow her out of the room and toward the servant's back staircase. "Do you have other duties now, or will you return to your child, Fiona?"

  "I was just going to check on him, Ma'am," she said, uncertainty evident in her voice. "Was there something you needed?"

  "Actually, I am curious to see your son. May I accompany you?"

  "Oh, no, Ma'am. That wouldn't be proper and all, you such a fine lady going to my quarters. But I will be glad to show him to you, Ma'am. Just let me run fetch him."

  I nodded in agreement. "Bring him to the small parlour on the second floor."

  I found a book I had left on the table near the fireplace and settled myself to read, thinking it would be some time before she brought the child. I had not long to wait, however, as I had scarce read two pages before she entered the door, a sturdy little boy clasping her hand.

  "Mrs. Darcy, this be my Willie," she said. "Willie, do your bow like I learned you."

  I smiled to see him pull his thumb out of his mouth and putting his hand to his waist, make an exaggerated bow before me.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Willie."

  He immediately popped his thumb back into his pink little mouth although his mother tried her best to keep him from it. As she bent over him, a strand of light auburn hair escaped from her bun and I saw it fall over his dark curls. He had beautiful large eyes, but they were not green. They were as dark brown as his hair, and Willie looked nothing like his mother. His face struck me with its familiarity and yet to whom, I could not bring myself to acknowledge.

  "He is a fine boy, Fiona. Take him to the kitchen and give him a treat and have Adams summon the carriage for me. I have a call to make."

  I returned to my room, donned my bonnet and grabbed my shawl. I had suddenly been taken by a great longing to see my own family, to find comfort in the familiar world from which I had been thrust. I instructed the driver to take me to Gracechurch Street as quickly as possible. My Aunt Gardiner met me at the door, for she was about to go out. She cancelled her excursion when she correctly ascertained that I was in great need of her company. We embraced and sat together on the sofa for no little time as she peppered me with questions about the weeks of marriage I had endured so far.

  We talked of my mother and sisters and I was gratified when she shared a recent letter she had received from Jane. I described Mr. Darcy's townhouse in great detail and I talked of Georgiana and how shy and reticent she was and what inadequacy I felt in fulfilling Mr. Darcy's wishes to be her friend. I avoided any reference to the intimate side of my union with Mr. Darcy; indeed, my aunt would never presume to intrude upon such private matters, but I could not conceal my troubled mood from her, no matter how brave my endeavors.

  "Lizzy, tell me true, now," she said, "is this marriage as dreadful as you feared?"

  "I am not mistreated, Aunt."

  "You are not happy, though, are you?"

  "I did not expect to be, and there are moments..."

/>   "Your mother had such hopes for you and I confess I entertained them as well. You must know that your uncle and I encouraged this union only because we thought it would be best not only for your family, but for you."

  "I know that is what you wished, Aunt, but I had always hoped to marry for love."

  The maid brought in a tea tray just then, and my aunt stopped to pour us both a cup. She stirred in sugar cubes until the servant left us alone. "Many people marry without love, Lizzy. I hope that you will eventually come to have a high regard for Mr. Darcy. When we were in Derbyshire, his behaviour to us was pleasing in every respect, as well as his understanding and opinions. He lacks nothing but a little more liveliness and I hoped you might teach him that. Believe me, your uncle would never have entertained his proposal if he had not known him to be an honourable man."

  "And how, may I ask, does my uncle know Mr. Darcy's character? Hospitality and pleasant ways do not always reflect the truth of a man. He is quite taciturn, you know, and unrevealing, certainly not an easy person to grasp. What assurance does my uncle have that Mr. Darcy is an honourable man?"

  The look on my aunt's face told me I had said more than I should have. I had no intention of repeating idle gossip about Mr. Darcy and my maid or allowing my own fears to be spoken aloud. How could I have blurted out such a doubt? Surely she would now question me about things I must not reveal. Oh, why had I come here? I had allowed my need for comforting familiarity to lead me to a place where I could not afford to be candid, for I refused to accuse Mr. Darcy of a deed I hoped most desperately to be untrue.

  "Elizabeth, I want to tell you something. Mr. Darcy and your uncle had an occasion to enter into an arrangement. Has he never spoken to you about it?"

  When I answered in the negative, she looked surprised and somewhat troubled, but continued. "Then I am not at liberty to speak of it, but be assured that Mr. Darcy acted every bit the gentleman in all of his dealings with your uncle. It was this very occurrence that elevated him to great esteem in our eyes and provided the means by which we were receptive to his marriage proposal to you."