by Jan Hahn
I was baffled by the news. "Pray, Aunt, tell me to what you refer. What possible business could my uncle have with Mr. Darcy?"
"I cannot, Lizzy." She rose, and placing her cup and saucer on the table, she walked to the window that looked down on the busy street outside, avoiding my inquiring stare. "I am sworn to secrecy, but my dearest, do believe me. Mr. Darcy is a good man, no matter what vile things Mr.Wickham said about him."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I know very well about his dealings with Mr. Wickham."
"You do?" An expression of relief seemed to light up her eyes.
"Yes, how wrong I was to believe Wickham's lies about Mr. Darcy. He explained all of that to me in a letter last spring at Rosings Park and I have rued the day I ever believed my future brother-in-law's tale of woe. I know what a rogue he truly is. We have discussed this before, Aunt. What I do not understand is any further intercourse between Mr. Darcy and my uncle and your need to keep it from me."
That same worried look descended once more upon my aunt's countenance as I spoke and she turned back to the window. "Please do not ask me about it, my dear. If it were up to me, I would tell you all that I know, but I am bound by my oath. I will say this: I refuse to believe Mr. Darcy would do anything less than that which is admirable and worthy."
A moment later, two of my young cousins escaped their nanny and descended upon us and we were prohibited from further serious conversation. I enjoyed the hilarity the children provided and by the time I took my leave, my heart was eased. Perhaps my aunt was right about Mr. Darcy and my fears were senseless fancy. After all, I trusted Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and if they thought highly of him, then they must be correct in their assessment. I repeated that idea over and over during the carriage ride, vowing to believe it, and hoping repetition would cause it to be true.
Upon entering the townhouse, a servant informed me that Mr. Darcy wished for my presence in the garden. It was almost dusk and so I kept on my coat, but discarded my bonnet. The early November air grew cooler with each day, but fortunately, that evening the breeze had died down. As I followed the servant out the side door that led into the small yard directly below my bedchamber window, I heard voices, that of Mr. Darcy and a child. We rounded the shrubbery and there I saw Mr. Darcy and Willie engaged in tossing a ball back and forth. The child delighted in his attention and eagerly ran and retrieved the object each time he missed a catch.
"Mrs. Darcy, sir," the servant announced.
"Elizabeth." Mr. Darcy looked me up and down as he usually did. "Willie, stop and greet your mistress."
The child attempted to obey, but he dropped the ball just as he tried to bow, and naturally ran off after it instead of greeting me. What child would not? I smiled and Mr. Darcy did, too, a pleasant sight, indeed. He was a handsome man - it could not be denied - but when he smiled, he was almost beautiful.
"Fee, come and take Willie in," Mr. Darcy said, and from around a bend in the walk emerged Fiona, a pair of shears in her hand and a basket of freshly cut blossoms on her arm. She curtsied to Mr. Darcy and to me and hurried her child inside.
Now why is he out here alone with Fiona and her son? I wondered. She is collecting cuttings, that is obvious, and why should Mr. Darcy not enjoy his garden? I silently chided myself at the thought of any other conclusion.
Mr. Darcy stood there watching the little boy drop his ball once more on his way into the house, and then he invited me to take a turn about the garden with him. The late fall roses were almost gone, having discarded much of their red, pink, and white petals along the path. I inhaled deeply, savouring the last delicious scent. The fall mums were in full bloom nestled in a bed below the clipped dark green hedges. All of it provided a beautiful, serene respite from the noise of the street heard in the background. If only I had never walked this walk before and heard the hateful gossip from the other side of the tall hedge. That memory insisted upon intruding into this present idyll like a slithering snake, hissing with the threat of its poisonous venom; try as I might, I could not restrain my thoughts and, consequently, the turn of my conversation.
"You appear to take great delight in Fiona's child," I heard myself say.
"He is a fine boy."
"I have rarely seen a master so interested in a servant's child."
"It is not that rare. My own father, as you know, cared deeply for his steward's son."
"Like father, like son," I murmured.
Mr. Darcy stopped abruptly. "What are you saying?"
"I only wonder if you intend to educate and provide a living for Willie as your father did for Mr. Wickham?"
"He shall learn to read and write, yes, and I shall provide him with a position in my service when he is of age, but no, I shall not send him to Cambridge along with my son, as my father did."
"And why not?"
"For one reason, we can well see what little good that did for Wickham. Elizabeth, I am not in the habit of sponsoring all of my servants' children, nor do I intend to begin doing so."
"But Fiona's child is not like all of your servants' children, is he? Do you not show him particular favour as you do his mother?"
"Perhaps I do, but only because I feel a...well, a partiality toward Fee."
"Partiality?" My agitation increased.
"Georgiana has always loved her and it is hard not to appreciate one who makes my sister happy. The two of them together remind me of more pleasant times, days gone by when George Wickham and I were boyhood friends. And as for Willie, he certainly bears no responsibility for the circumstances of his birth. He is a fine boy."
"Yes, you said that earlier."
"Did I? Well, let us change the subject." I did not trust myself to say any more and so, we walked in silence for a bit before he spoke again. "You went out this afternoon, did you not?"
"I did."
"You told no one where you were going. Why?"
"Who should I have told? I was unaware that I am required to report the destination of my outings before leaving the house. I am a grown woman."
"It is only common courtesy."
"A courtesy you fail to perform."
"I beg to differ. Either Adams or my valet is apprised of my comings and goings, with rare exception."
"And how should I have known that? You have often left the house and I had no idea where you were. You might have told me before now that you leave such information with particular servants so that I would not need to canvass the entire household as to your whereabouts. That, sir, would be common courtesy as I see it."
He stopped once more and stared at me. Had I gone too far? Would he now unleash his temper upon me? I might have feared such, except that my own self-justification was in full mode, fueled by an emotion I had not yet acknowledged. We stood there, returning each other's gaze without flinching and suddenly, right there on the garden walk I realized for the first time what I felt - I was jealous of Fiona; when I found her and Willie in the garden alone with Mr. Darcy, I did not like it. I did not like it at all! The thought so alarmed me that I hurriedly retreated to a much more familiar sensibility. I could handle anger; anger felt good and right and just and so I stood my ground. This time, however, Mr. Darcy would not respond to my baiting; instead, I saw a slight twitch about his mouth.
"Touché," he said with just the tiniest hint of a smile. "I shall attempt to mend my ways if you will mend yours." I opened my mouth to make a retort, but he silenced me. "And before you announce you have no need of mending, I shall call upon you to exercise discretion. Since we have agreed to live under the same roof for the rest of our lives and, I might add, even share the same bed at times, shall we endeavour to practice the niceties of polite society? Will it not make things more pleasant?"
I closed my eyes at the reminder of that morning's mortification, my head beginning to ache with the strain of tension. "Very well," I said flatly, and let it go at that.
We walked on a bit farther and coming upon a bench placed beneath a large deciduous tree that had already los
t most of its leaves, he indicated we should sit. From there, we could see the evening sky, the reds, oranges, and blues of the setting sun streaking across it in magnificent display. London's houses were so close that I rarely caught a glimpse of the sky, and I missed the sunsets at Hertfordshire. How pleasant it would be if we could just sit there quietly for a while, but no, he would speak.
"Will you tell me where you went?"
"To Gracechurch Street."
"To visit the Gardiners? How are they?"
"Well." I looked at him, surprised that he should take any interest in my connections.
"Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are fine people. We should include them when next we entertain."
"And when might that be?"
"Sometime next week after the Earl's ball. I think we should host a small dinner party. Will you see to it?"
"Of course, but shall my aunt and uncle be the only guests?"
"No, of course not. We shall invite Bingley and his sister, the Hursts, and Lord and Lady Matlock and Fitzwilliam, as well."
I could not believe my ears. "You wish to include the Gardiners in such a gathering?"
"Yes, I can see no reason not to."
"Shall it not embarrass you, having such low connections? My uncle is in trade, you know."
"The Gardiners should never embarrass you or me. I shall be glad to have them in my house."
I gave thanks that I was sitting when Mr. Darcy relayed that bit of news. What had happened to the censure he was sure to endure at the hands of society upon marrying a woman with lowly relatives? Had he not listed my family's improprieties last Easter when he proposed to me at Hunsford, and clearly pointed out that I could not expect him 'to rejoice in the inferiority of relations whose conditions in life were so decidedly beneath his own?'
"Mr. Darcy, my aunt told me you had business with my uncle in the recent past."
He stood up abruptly, turned his back, and I could not see his countenance. "What else did she tell you?"
"She refused to relate the particulars of your transaction because she said it was of a confidential nature. It is only natural that I am curious. Will you tell me of it?"
"No." He turned and offered his hand, indicating that we should go. "It was a private affair and not worth repeating."
"She said because of that occurrence my uncle regards you as an honourable man."
Mr. Darcy smiled slightly. "Does he now? An honourable man, hmm. Well, I shall say the same in return. I esteem your uncle an honourable man as well and one I shall be ever glad to have present at my table and among my guests. Now, shall we go in? The light is failing."
I followed him inside, more confused than ever. The man was an enigma - so many questions and precious few answers.
That night after I had done with Fiona's services and before I climbed into bed, I pushed and pulled a large chair across the room, stationing it squarely in front of the door between Mr. Darcy's chamber and mine. I then retired for the night, quite tired, yet unable to sleep. I turned from side to side; I plumped my pillows not once, but twice; I turned back the top cover and then pulled it back up around me; at last, I arose and tugged at the chair until I had returned it to its rightful place.
After all, I could not be held responsible for where I ended up when walking in my sleep.
Chapter 7
On Wednesday evening we attended a concert at the assembly rooms in Drury Lane. A large company attended, one of which was Lady Jersey, whom Caroline Bingley pointedly informed me was a Viscountess. She was granted, of course, the choicest of seats while the rest of us filed in behind her party. Caroline pushed her way forward so that she might sit directly behind the Viscount's wife. She maneuvered Georgiana along with her and insisted that she sit between her brother and herself, whereupon she fawned over the poor girl excessively. I could see her suffer at such oppressive attentions, but Mr. Darcy and I were situated in the row behind and I was at a loss as to how to rescue her. Caroline remained frosty in her attentions to me, except to enlighten me on rank and privilege and to note how pale - "almost to the point of illness" - my complexion appeared contrasted with my black gown. I doubted, however, that her feigned concern for my health fooled anyone.
She flirted with Mr. Darcy before we went in and again while the musicians tuned their instruments, turning around in her seat to bestow adoring looks upon him as she talked and laughed far too loudly. I saw Mr. Bingley give her several pertinent frowns, as she persisted in calling attention to herself. I thought of how she had sneered in disdain when Lydia had acted up with some of the officers at the Netherfield ball, and that night she exhibited almost the same behaviour.
Relief appeared with the beginning of the concert and the quieting of the entire audience. I was much impressed with the artistry of the soloist. Her Italian art songs and arias were exquisite and I discovered that Mr. Darcy was so well versed in the language that he offered to interpret the lyrics for me while she sang. Naturally, I accepted for I knew but little of the language. In order to do so, it was necessary for him to lean his head quite close to mine so that his soft words would not detract from the performance.
The woman sang in a clear, vibrant soprano, "Sento nel core certo dolore, che la mia pace turbando va, splende una face che l'alma accende, se non e amore, amor sara."
I listened closely as Mr. Darcy whispered, "I feel in my heart a certain sorrow, which goes on disturbing my peace; there shines a torch which inflames my soul...if it is not love, it will be love soon."
I was unsettled at first by such intimacy, his breath warm upon my ear, and the essence of his scent all about me, but I did not object; indeed, I found myself almost bewitched by the tender, romantic words of the songs, a meaning I would have missed if not for his translation. His voice was as low and resonant as the diva's was high and clear and I thought how lovely it would be to hear such words on his lips if we truly cared for each other.
"Caro mio ben, credimi almen, senza di te languisce il cor."
"My dear beloved, believe me at least, without you my heart languishes." With that last phrase, I turned and found him gazing directly into my eyes as he spoke. That proved far too intense an encounter and I immediately refrained from looking at him. A flush swept over my body. I feared my rosy countenance exposed my consternation.
After the concert, we mingled with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Bingley at the tables filled with light refreshments. While I was engrossed in conversation with Mr. Bingley, Caroline returned to her pursuit of Mr. Darcy by insisting that he and Georgiana meet Lady Jersey's niece, whom Caroline evidently knew slightly. She linked an arm in each of theirs and actually pulled them away from our party and across the great room to the throng surrounding the nobility. It was a direct snub toward me evident to all and I suppose I should have been angry, but in my opinion it was of little consequence.
I almost felt sorry for Caroline. She had been out in society for some time, I felt sure, and the threat of spinsterhood loomed over her as it would for any woman her age. Now that Mr. Darcy was no longer available, she needed to broaden her vision and encourage other men who might be induced by her fortune to seek her hand. What possible motivation could she have in continuing her attentions to Mr. Darcy? Did she envision my early death? I would have experienced a chill at the thought, except for the fact that I was a healthy woman. And if she hoped for the event to happen in childbirth, how disappointed she would be to know such possibility did not exist - for one must suffer exposure before contracting the condition.
Mr. Darcy's requirement that I eventually present him with an heir intruded upon my thoughts and I felt myself grow warm at the thought of what that would entail. Three weeks ago the very idea would have alarmed me, but now I felt the lock upon my heart slightly, oh so slightly, loosened. I certainly would not welcome such an event, but I no longer cringed at the thought. No, that is incorrect, for I had never cringed at the thought; I had been far too caught up in my anger. And now with memories of his touch still
alive in my heart, and at times like this evening when his head inclined close to mine and his warm, caressing voice repeated words of love in my ear, I found it difficult to remember exactly why I ever disliked him.
~ * ~
Georgiana and I both slept late Friday morning, descending the stairs together around 11:00 o'clock for breakfast. We had taken but two or three steps before the sound of forceful argument stopped us. It emanated from the drawing room below. One voice definitely belonged to Mr. Darcy and the other filled me with familiar apprehension and drove Georgiana to turn and flee in the opposite direction. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's imperious demanding tone was unmistakable.
"Where are you going, Georgiana?" I cried.
"S-h-h! Do not let my aunt hear. I shall have Cook send breakfast to my room." With an expression pleading for my co-operation, she vanished down the hall.
I sighed and proceeded toward the lion's den, or should I say lioness, for from what I could hear, Lady Catherine was already attempting to preside over this house just as she did every house into which she entered. I halted outside the open door and listened, for neither party had yet seen me, although I had a clear picture of their confrontation.
"It is insufferable!" she cried. "The son of my late sister aligning himself with such an upstart is unbelievable! When Mr. Collins told me of this arrangement, I imagined it a scandalous falsehood and now you have the gall to tell me it is true. You have actually married the girl?"
"I have," Mr. Darcy said.
"How can you stand there and make such an announcement without a sign of remorse? Surely, you were tricked into the agreement. Her arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made you forget what you owe yourself and all your family. She must have drawn you in."
"I assure you, Madam, that is not the case. There was no trickery, no infatuation, no practicing of arts, as you put it. And if there has been any allurement, it is only that of her own good character and fitness to be my wife." Mr. Darcy stood at the fireplace, his hands behind him, but when he turned I could see how tightly he clenched his fists.
