A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

by Meg Osborne

  Once her most profuse apologies had been relayed to Harriet, she had turned her attention to filling her hours until Anne de Bourgh arrived, but not in undertaking any task that might cause her to be distracted, or to appear anything other than properly ready to receive her guest when she did come. Miss de Bourgh might have promised them only a quarter of an hour, but Caroline knew that that could easily be stretched, particularly if she “just happened to summon tea at the very moment you chose to arrive, how providential, Miss Anne!” She had practised this particular phrase before her looking-glass that morning, in order to achieve just the right note of happy surprise, and to offer Anne no chance of escape.

  Not that I wish to keep her prisoner! she thought, with a dark smile. No, she merely wished to cultivate a friendship with the young lady, and stood a far better chance of doing so here, in her own home, and away from the auspices of Mr and Mrs Darcy. Her smile darkened further, into little more than a grimace. So much had changed in Mr Darcy’s attitude towards her since he had become enamoured with Eliza Bennet, and it was not merely the change in his status from a bachelor to a newly-married gentleman. Caroline felt certain that Eliza herself had poisoned Mr Darcy towards her, for where before he met her rejoinders with a polite response or a smile, lately his eyes met her unblinking, his features unmoved, as if he tolerated her merely on account of her relationship to his dear friend.

  And as for Charles! Caroline brought her piano practice to a crashing halt, yet even that was not enough to startle her brother from his reverie. He sat in the window, looking out over the London street and affecting to read, which she knew to be mere artifice for two reasons. The first, that Charles rarely read by choice any novel whatsoever, and the second because he had scarcely had reason to turn the page in the past quarter of an hour. In fact, Caroline wondered if the book was even right-side up, were he to cast his eyes upon it.

  Pushing the piano stool back, Caroline stood, and stalked a little closer to her brother’s solitary position.

  “What is it that attracts your interest, so, Charles?” she asked, willing her voice to appear light and curious, rather than mildly irritated. She need not have worried, for Charles looked up only at her movement in approaching him, and his features creased into a frown indicating he had not heard her, and had scarcely even been aware of her presence within the room. With exaggerated patience, Caroline repeated her question, and Charles shrugged.

  “There is nothing but the daily business of London,” he said, with a sigh. “I fancied catching sight of a person I might recognise, but that is folly, for she - that is, they -” He trailed off, fixing his attention on his book with a ferocity that would have been amusing, had Caroline not been so annoyed by what her brother had not quite said. Shaking his head, he turned the book around, and affected once more to read, this time with a little more conviction.

  “I assume by “she” you mean Jane Bennet?” Caroline asked, quietly. One of us must mention her, at last, she thought, and determined to get the deed done before Anne de Bourgh might arrive. She certainly did not wish Charles’ attention to be fixed on the eldest Miss Bennet when it might instead be captured by the only Miss de Bourgh.

  “I wonder, Caroline, if you think it wise if I was to write to Miss Bennet. Purely as a friend, you know, for I am a friend of the whole family, really.” He brightened as he said this, gaining encouragement from his words. “I might tell her of our reunion with Miss Elizabeth - with Mr and Mrs Darcy, I mean, and with Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam, too. Surely she would like to hear how well her sisters are doing.” He paused. “Yet, maybe the letter ought to come from you, that is rather more proper, is not it?”

  “I wrote just a few days ago,” Caroline lied. “Merely to say that we were disappointed that she did not stay in London long enough that we might see her. It seems she could not be persuaded, despite Eliza’s best efforts, and so you must draw what conclusions you will from that.” She shrugged, as if to draw the topic to a close.

  “It does not seem like her,” Charles murmured. “To so pointedly avoid those she, until recently, considered friends. I wonder what I might have done to cause her to so thoroughly remove herself from our acquaintance.” He pondered a moment more, and Caroline held her breath, wishing he would not strain himself to decipher the unusual actions of Miss Jane Bennet. They were unusual, and out of character, for the Jane that Charles knew. Yet he was unaware that in her own way, Caroline had engineered this situation to unfold exactly as it was. The Jane Charles knew would never have passed up an opportunity to see him: but then the real Jane Bennet was, herself, assured that Charles would not wish to see her. Not for the first time, she felt a flash of guilt in interfering in her brother’s affairs to this extent.

  If he was not so fixed on making a match with a most unsuitable young lady, then I would not need to interfere, she thought, with a prim smile. Besides, Charles is many things, but he is not entirely discerning. Surely one young fair-haired maiden is as another, and in encouraging him to transfer his affections to Miss Anne de Bourgh think how we might be elevated! This thought encouraged her in her plan, but did little to alleviate her nerves. She stalked over to the mantel, and examined the clock, which, it seemed to her, ticked on with ever-increasing fervour and volume, setting her nerves quite on edge. In frustration, she summoned a servant and pointed to the clock.

  “Can’t you find a more suitable position for that? Its relentless ticking is driving me to distraction.”

  She glanced over at Charles, half expecting him to question her on her sudden flair for interior decoration, but Charles’ attention was once more fixed on the window, yet this time Caroline fancied he saw nought but a blur of activity as he stared out of it. His thoughts were not on the London street, nor London proper. They had fled, as they seemed to do most often, to Hertfordshire, to Longbourn, to Miss Jane Bennet.

  Caroline raged inwardly, and turned her attention back to the piano. She reached for a piece of music she knew well and rattled through it at twice speed and three times its normal volume, and was gratified to see Charles at last turn back to her and smile, encouragingly, although his expression was a little desperate and indicated that his ears might appreciate rather less haste and rather more softness of pressure against the black and white keys. Relenting, at last, Caroline segued into a piece she knew better, one that she also knew her brother to be fond of. There, she said, soothing her conscience in easing her brother’s apparent discontent. You see Charles? As your sister, I know only too well what is best for you.

  PHILIP FITZWILLIAM and his wife were out, so it was a particularly contented Richard that greeted Darcy and Elizabeth upon their arrival at his cousin’s house.

  “You seem better this afternoon,” Darcy remarked, as he and Richard stood a little apart from Mary and Elizabeth, who were bent over the piano, Mary playing, and Elizabeth sitting companionably beside her on the stool.

  “I’m fine,” Richard growled. “Although Mary refuses to be convinced. If a rattle in my chest is all the memento I might keep from the war I shall count myself lucky.”

  “How dreadfully tiresome it must be for you to have a wife who dotes over you and looks on you with concern when you do not appear entirely well,” Darcy remarked, in an amused monotone.

  Richard paused, his frown receding into a smile, and then a laugh.

  “Right you are, cousin. I am being a bear. But you cannot imagine the monotony of being trapped...here.” He glanced around him as if the place itself were causing him to itch, and shuddered.

  “Again, I defer to your experience. An elegantly dressed townhouse and freedom from the mundanities of keeping it must be a punishment scarcely worth bearing.”

  “I’m not sure you ought to have married after all,” Richard grumbled. “If all it serves to do is render you so insightful.” He scowled at his cousin. “And so damned cheerful.”

  “I am nought but myself,” Darcy said, with a shrug. “If either of us is out of sorts, it is yo
u. What on earth has you wound so tight today?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Richard said. “I am merely a cantankerous old soldier who is tired of London life and yet staring down another month of it, at least, before we can see green fields and freedom once more.” He walked with Darcy towards the window. “Tell me, how is Georgiana? Does she order you and Elizabeth to make the journey to Pemberley?”

  “Almost daily,” Darcy said, with a smile. “She will have her wish before too long, I expect, although I do not anticipate our travelling there before Christmas.”

  “Pity!” Richard sighed. “We might have accompanied you, if you did.”

  Darcy met Richard’s eyes with concern.

  “Is it so very bad, being here?”

  “Mary does not think so. And I wager she is right, being new to the family and thus able to view us without prejudice. But Philip drives me mad! Even in our current state, where we are forced into one another’s company for scarcely an hour at a stretch, he spends three-quarters of that time lecturing me on how I ought to comport myself, and the other quarter rattling off the names of people I must endeavour to impress when next we meet...” he rolled his eyes skywards. “Give me Caroline Bingley and Netherfield once more, or give me death!”

  “One-half of that is entirely doable,” Darcy said, with a small smile. “In fact, our dear cousin is visiting Miss Bingley even as we speak.”

  “Blessed Anne. She has gone alone?” Richard made as if to turn towards the door. “Ought we to send someone to rescue her?”

  “She is quite capable, I am sure, of managing Miss Bingley, and in any case, Charles will keep things calm.”

  “Charles is a little low-spirited, I fear,” Richard said. He had had experience enough of men falling into melancholy that he was well-attuned to it amongst his peers, and his anxiety touched Darcy's heart.

  “You are a good man to feel such concern for him, but I think he will rally.” He winked. “I rather think he would rally sooner if he might be reintroduced to Jane Bennet, but that is out of my hands just at present.”

  “I wager you will not leave it out of your hands for long,” Richard said, with a glance towards his wife. “Mary has intimated that there is a scheme afoot between her and Elizabeth to contrive to get Jane here sooner rather than later, and the little matchmakers might be put to work once more.”

  “Then Caroline Bingley will be no match for them, for the combined forces of Jane Bennet’s beauty, London and the festive season will no doubt win Charles’ heart almost immediately.”

  “How delighted his sister will be when that happens!” Richard hooted.

  Darcy’s eyes rested on Elizabeth, as she and Mary abandoned their piano playing for a moment of quiet conversation. How different his wife seemed to him, today. She was lighter, somehow, and happier even than she had seemed when they first agreed to wed. This was the result of his honesty the night before. He could not have dreamed that the intensity of his feelings could ever be returned, and still laughed to recall Elizabeth’s confession that she, too, loved him - had always loved him - yet felt certain that it was she who was alone in feeling such affection. He shook his head, a faint smile lifting his features. How alike they were in some ways. He could not believe that the suggestion he had made as a practical one had resulted in so tender a union.

  “I trust marriage is treating you well?” Richard asked, seeing Darcy’s glance and sensing his thoughts. “Truly I think this is the longest time that I have known you and Elizabeth to spend time together without descending into argument.”

  Darcy drew in a long, slow breath. He would tolerate his cousin’s teasing, for he knew it was meant in good humour, and when he turned towards Richard he saw a genuine smile on his cousin’s features.

  “I knew a practical match was some polite nonsense you had dreamed up to hide your true feelings a few moments longer. Am I to assume that both you and your bride have abandoned it, now, in favour of the truth? That you love one another, and always have?”

  “I would not say that we have always had such an affection...” Darcy countered, wincing slightly as he recalled the dreadful comment he had made of Elizabeth to Charles when first he laid eyes on her. It was a deflection, in part, for he did not wish his friend to see too quickly what Darcy’s true feelings were, but even then they had not been love. Interest, perhaps or curiosity, at this quick-witted, dark-eyed creature who, whilst not as conventionally beautiful as her companions, possessed an energy, a spirit that was altogether captivating. That this first impression had merely grown on him the longer and better he came to know Elizabeth made it seem to him that their marriage had always been an inevitability.

  “I wonder if Charles Bingley was aware of all he was starting, when he invited me to stay with him at Netherfield.”

  “I wager his sister certainly didn’t,” Richard remarked, with a snort. “If Caroline Bingley had had her way, I do not doubt you would be facing an altogether different future.” He reached his hand out, gripping Darcy’s warmly. “For what it is worth, I think this particular future is much the better, for all of you.” He turned towards the ladies, clearing his throat and speaking so that they too, might hear his suggestion. “Now, it is too pleasant a day to be cooped up in here. Why do we not take a walk?” Sensing Mary’s protest, he directed the last of his words directly towards her. “Not a long walk, my dear, you must not fret. And I shall wrap up like an arctic explorer, if you wish it. Only let us have some activity, please, or I shall begin clawing at the walls!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Darcy and Elizabeth had stayed far longer than was merely polite with Richard and Mary. Indeed, when the time came for the groups to part ways, it was with reluctance, and the promise to meet again soon, if not the very next day. Strolling home arm in arm, Elizabeth let out a happy sigh.

  “It is so pleasant to have such friends and family so close.”

  “Indeed,” Darcy agreed. “I feared you might be lonely, trapped in London so suddenly. I see now I needn’t have nursed a concern, for with your sister living locally, and my cousin to stay, you do not want for companionship.”

  “And with my husband by my side,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Although I am sure you are tired of my constant presence. You must not feel as if it falls to you to occupy me, William.” Elizabeth faltered a little over the name, but its use provoked such a warm smile from her husband that she made a mental note to use it again, and often. She had heard Anne referring to him as William and asked her about it, and upon discovering that even Darcy felt Fitzwilliam far too formal an address from those he truly cared for, had determined that she might use this shortened form. She certainly would not call him Darcy as Richard and Charles were prone to do, but she also did not wish to resort to romantic terms of endearment popularised in novels. All were too elegant, too silly for her pragmatic, sensible husband, and she did not wish to be thought foolish to attempt using them. William suited him best, so William he would be.

  “You speak as if there were another place I might prefer to be,” he remarked, after they had walked a few more steps in silence. “A fact which I refute. The only place I might prefer would be Pemberley, and that would only be with you by my side. We are married barely a week, I certainly have no desire to abandon you already.”

  Elizabeth let out a breath she was not aware of holding. She had been nervous, although she certainly would not dream of confessing to it, that William would be only too eager to return to his male-dominated sphere and leave her alone as keeper of their household. She had seen it among her companions that marriage resulted in very little discernible change, and even when the inevitable children arrived, women and men still kept to their invisible quarters, one scarcely reachable by another. When she had convinced herself that their marriage was for show and no more she had sought some refuge in the notion that they would not be forced together more than was necessary, but after the previous evening, when it became apparent that their affection of politeness fooled no
body, least of all themselves, she had dreaded the reality they must now inhabit, of him forever at his club, or socialising with friends, and she trapped at home, more alone than she had been when she ventured to think him little more than a friend.

  “I am glad,” she said at last. “For although I am grateful to have friends so close by, I certainly do not wish to sacrifice the company of the one person I value above all others, merely that I might play the piano with my sister, or discuss books with your cousin.

  They walked on in happy companionship, drawing home before either one of them expected it. Shedding their outer layers, Elizabeth enquired of Anne, wondering if her friend would be eager for some chance to tell of her visit with the Bingleys and not wanting to deprive her of the opportunity to clear her mind before retiring.

  “Miss Anne?” the servant asked, turning Elizabeth’s question back to her. “Why, she has not come in yet.”

  “Really?” Elizabeth marvelled. “I felt certain she would beat us back, for we tarried rather too long with Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam.” She turned to Darcy. “Did you hear that, William? Anne is still not back from the Bingleys.”

  Darcy frowned.

  “I wonder if Miss Bingley is holding her hostage,” Elizabeth joked, as they wandered into the parlour, requesting a tray for some evening refreshments before they, too, would retire.

  Darcy smirked at her comment, but the amusement did not linger long on his features.