On his last night at Pemberley, Mr Bingley was presented with his favourite dish at supper, and I think he was well pleased. He smiled like a child at Christmas and was as gracious as he was jolly. During our pudding course, he eyed me nervously and, stammering, asked me whether all of my sisters were still at Longbourn.
Knowing instantly that he asked of Jane, I tested his feelings. “Not all, Mr Bingley…” I allowed the potential of my words to sit on the air before continuing. “My next sister, Mary, is lately married and now resides in Kent. I, of course, am here. Otherwise, we are all as we were before.”
Relief suffused his face, and after a short and uncharacteristic silence, he began to reminisce. “You know, Mrs Darcy, I can hardly remember a happier time than those short months I spent at Netherfield. What a merry party we were at the ball. I can scarcely remember such a joyous evening. I must say that I did find the society in Hertfordshire quite splendid.”
“Well, sir, I believe you were much missed when you departed. My mama, in particular, has not forgotten you are owed a family supper at Longbourn. And I am sure it would be a great scandal if you did not indulge her!”
He beamed his ready smile, and his eyes brightened with the merriment that was his wont. “I think you must be right, Mrs Darcy. I would not have Mrs Bennet offended, so maybe I should arrange to visit Netherfield again soon. Are you certain?” And here he seemed to linger over his words. I looked at him steadily, willing him to continue. “Are you certain, Mrs Darcy, I should be welcomed?”
“Quite certain, sir,” said I without hesitation and with a small smile I hoped was encouraging. My spirits were lifted by the thought that he may be guided back to Jane.
Later, when the ladies retired to the drawing room, I wondered whether my conversation with Mr Bingley had been overheard by his sister. I had tried to keep my voice low, but Caroline Bingley is not a woman to be unobservant. She began to dwell on Mary’s marriage, and all attended to it. “Remind me of your next sister’s name, Eliza? I must confess I could never quite commit all of the Bennet girls to memory.”
“My sister Mary, Miss Bingley. She is now Mrs Collins.”
“Yes, of course—Miss Mary Bennet, who as I recall was quite the musician. Who could forget her performances? I imagine the society in Kent is feeling quite spoiled! What says Mr Darcy? Shall he be tempted to send Georgiana to practise with the new Mrs Collins?” Georgiana, ignorant of my sister’s shortcomings as a pianist, was confused but cognisant enough of Miss Bingley’s tone to be embarrassed. She blushed and looked at her lap. “And what of your new brother, Eliza? Does he have an estate?”
“He is a clergyman, Miss Bingley. I assume you would not disapprove. As to an estate—well, Longbourn is entailed upon him.”
“No, indeed. I am sure your sister has done very well and made a very respectable match. Not all of your sisters, after all, could expect your good fortune. As I have said before, we were quite astounded, Eliza, to hear in December that you were Mrs Darcy. We had had no notion such a thing might occur. Of course, you have done very well, my dear, and I am sure your mother is thrilled, but we were all staggered. It was such an odd business. After all, it was dear Mr Darcy who encouraged us all to leave for town after the ball.” She spoke these last words slowly and carefully as if there was some danger of my failing to understand their meaning. “I particularly recall…the very next morning, my brother was called to town on a matter of business, and Louisa and I were only too pleased to leave for some respite from the country. But it was Darcy who said Charles had no reason to return, and there was no particular person or persons to keep him at Netherfield as compared to the pleasures of town. He was so certain of that. How odd he should have stayed himself and married you so swiftly.”
She let the silence settle around her words. Her skirts rustled around her as she walked about the room. “Of course, you shall be in town yourself soon, no doubt, and Mr Darcy’s townhouse is so graceful and convenient for the theatre. Remind me where your London family live, Eliza? Yes, of course, I recall your sister telling us: Cheapside. Well, I am sure you will find your new home in town vastly more convenient, so convenient that you may find it a challenge to visit your aunt and uncle at such a distance.”
I knew she would never have gone so far had Mr Darcy been present. The knowledge of her spite and jealousy sat in my mind like a stone, but it availed me little. Although I knew she spoke with malice, I was also certain she spoke the truth. I recalled the strange speed of my entanglement with Mr Darcy and the departure of the Netherfield party. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that Mr Bingley deferred to his friend’s judgement. My mind reeled to remember the times my husband had avoided the subject, pleaded ignorance, and redirected my anxiety about Jane. I realised in that moment that he had been even more contemptuous of my family than I had thought. How he must despise us! How little he must care for our feelings if he could act so towards my sister. I blushed at the thought of how completely I had given myself to him these past nights. It can have meant nothing to him beyond passing physical pleasure, and I was mortified at his opinion of me now. I thought, too, of all the things I did not know: Mr Darcy’s reasons for marrying me so readily, his separating my sister from Mr Bingley, the mysterious house in Queen Anne’s Gate, and Mrs Woodham and her fluttering hands. They crowded in on me all at once.
When the men joined us, I had schooled my face to conceal my torment. I discussed Napoleon with Mrs Hurst and played a duet with Georgiana. I forced myself to meet Miss Bingley’s eye but only to prove to myself that I could. Mr Darcy, I believed, noticed no change in me and appeared as he always did. When our guests had retired, we retired ourselves, and I willed myself to be as he expected. However, my heart was broken, and my soul was wretched. The fragile and incomplete thing between us had splintered, and I knew not how it should ever be repaired.
Chapter Eleven
As we journeyed to Rosings Park, my thoughts were of my unborn child. He or she had almost become a character in my life. My breasts were heavy and tender, and slight green veins snaked around their fullness. Under my skirts and so slightly it was known only to me, my belly was swelling. More than this, I felt different. When Hannah left me in my bath or I walked in the walled garden before supper, I no longer felt alone. And yet, I knew that, were he to be aware of my condition, Mr Darcy would care for me as any husband should. However, since Miss Bingley’s awful revelation, I could not tell him. His betrayal of me and his wounding of my sister, I found cruel to bear. I felt quite crushed under the responsibility of carrying his child in such circumstances.
Our carriage would sprint through the countryside for three days to reach Kent. Mr Darcy sat beside me whilst I dozed on his shoulder. We had travelled the rough terrain of the Pennine Hills, and now the more subdued, rolling country around Hertfordshire opened before us. We did have some conversation, for even Mr Darcy could not be confined with another person in a carriage for three days without speaking a little. As we rolled into the gentle countryside of my home shire, I braved a subject rarely mentioned between us.
“How close to Longbourn we must be.”
“Actually, it is some distance. Meryton is 10 miles from the main road, and parts of the journey are poor. You would be surprised how long it would take us to reach it from here.”
Frustration grew in me, and I wanted to say that, were his parents and siblings a mere ten miles hence, bad roads would not keep us from them. The familiar caution of my married life took over, and I did not share my thoughts. “I wonder when I shall see my family again, Fitzwilliam. Seeing Hertfordshire makes me quite nostalgic for them.”
“You shall see Mrs Collins at Rosings, Elizabeth. You will have plenty of time with her in these two weeks, and in any case, surely Georgiana and I are your family now.” He spoke quickly, and his clipped tone told me he was growing irritated. I also was irritated, and the injustice of h
is words burned.
“Yes, of course,” I said, incensed for not speaking out more and wanting to stoke his anger as I had when we first met. Beside him, I simmered, staring out the carriage window at the passing fields and villages. Silence hung between us for some time, and as usual, it was I who was forced to break it. “Tell me about Lady Catherine?”
He smiled one of his half smiles and drew me close to him. “Lady Catherine is my mother’s younger sister. Her husband—my uncle—died some years ago, and so it is just she and my cousin Anne at Rosings. Anne is just a few months my junior, but she has always had poor health, unfortunately. She and Lady Catherine rarely leave Rosings, but I believe my aunt encourages plenty of visits by way of society. I suspect we will see a lot of Mr Collins, for example. Lady Catherine is usually very attentive to the rector of the church at Hunsford.”
“I wonder his manner would not put her off.”
“No, I very much doubt that, Elizabeth. My aunt…well, she cannot have too much praise.”
He smiled, and I wondered what he was keeping back. I recalled the endless prattling of Mr Collins and thought, not for the first time, that the famous Lady Catherine must be a singular sort of woman.
“And what of your cousin, sir? Are you close?”
“Anne? No, not at all. We are the same age, but she has always been so sickly, she remains within doors most of the time. Since my father’s death, I have spent Easter at Rosings every year, but I have always had Fitzwilliam with me, and we spend much of our time out riding or visiting tenants for Lady Catherine. So, Anne has never really been a part of it. In any case, she says so little. She is quite timid.”
“That must be a family trait,” I said.
“Georgiana is only shy with those she does not know.”
“I did not mean Georgiana.” He looked completely perplexed. “I thought of you! You say very little.” I could not help but laugh.
A wounded look stole over his face, and I realised he thought I was making sport of him. I had not meant to criticise but could not regret having spoken the truth.
“I hope I do not waste time saying things which do not need saying, Elizabeth. If you have been missing conversation, then you will find plenty at Rosings. I daresay, between my aunt and your cousin, you will be quite overwhelmed.”
“I did not mean to criticise, Fitzwilliam, but…well…I worry you do not speak to me more because it is not agreeable for you to do so.”
“I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Elizabeth. Of course, it is agreeable to speak to you. In any case, with Anne it is completely different. She does not speak because she does not have the confidence to do so. It is very hard to get anything at all out of her.” With that, he kissed my hair and closed the subject.
***
Our arrival at Rosings, delayed as we were by poor weather, was in the early evening. Hannah had dressed me in one of my better day gowns of pale green silk, and I had never alighted anywhere in such finery. My husband had said nothing of my appearance, but he had held me for many miles. It was a blow to my comfort when, as we reached the perimeter of Rosings Park, he withdrew his arm and straightened, staring out of the carriage window and away from me.
The entrance hall, where we were received, was a most ornate room, and in the half-light, I could scarcely take it in. Rich canvasses and whitened sculptures seemed to unfold on all sides and enclose us. When the mistress of the house appeared, my eyes could hardly account for her. Lady Catherine stood several inches taller than me and, although it was not hot, waved a silk fan before her lined face. Her skirts were so thick that I fancied they looked like curtains.
“Darcy! Is that my nephew? Where have you been? We expected you hours ago! It is most vexing when visitors are late, and I cannot abide it.”
“I am sorry, Lady Catherine; we were delayed by rain. Lady Catherine, may I present my wife, Mrs Darcy.”
She turned her large grey eyes on me for the first time. “Yes, I imagined you must be Mrs Darcy.” She seemed to look me up and down and scarcely looked pleased when she said, “Welcome.”
I curtseyed to her and raised my eyes to see she had turned away and was addressing my husband. “Fitzwilliam is already here; he was not delayed at all, and he rode from town. Now I shall leave you and see you at supper. I trust that you will not delay that as well.”
Astonished as I was at this reception, I determined to say nothing. Having easily established good relations with Lord and Lady Matlock, as well as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, I expected there was hope for Lady Catherine and me. Hannah and Mr Darcy’s valet immediately went below stairs, and a footman and housemaid from Rosings showed us to our chambers. My husband kissed me lightly on the forehead when they left us, but he said nothing, and we each prepared for supper in our own chambers.
That supper was excessively odd; but for the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam, it would have been entirely wretched. Since we had been married less than a year, I was seated next to my husband whose conversation, scarce as it was, was directed at everyone but me. Miss Anne de Bourgh said not an audible word throughout the meal, only occasionally nodding in the direction of her mother or cousins when they spoke. Lady Catherine, as it transpired, spoke enough for all her family and seldom required a response. Her attitude to me was no less strident than it was entrenched.
“You do not appear to have an appetite, Mrs Darcy. Your sister, Mrs Collins, has an excellent appetite. I hope you are not ill. I have always considered visiting people whilst one is unwell to be most discourteous.”
“Indeed ma’am, but I am not ill. I assure you.”
“Hmm, well, good.” She eyed me with suspicion and turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Mrs Darcy’s sister is my parson’s wife, Fitzwilliam. You shall meet them both tomorrow. Mrs Collins appears to be a sensible, respectable sort of woman—not brought up too high.”
Grateful was I for Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners and kindness when he pointedly turned to me with his reply. “I have already met Mrs Collins, Aunt, at Darcy’s wedding. She is a very pleasant lady, and I very much look forward to renewing my acquaintance with her. I am also most anxious to know my new cousin better.” He nodded towards me, smiled, and with his eyes seemed to say, Relax. “Indeed, I do not recall an Easter when we had so many ladies present, and it is set to be most diverting. What say you, Darcy?”
Mr Darcy appeared completely shocked by his cousin’s involving him in this exchange and simply replied, “I do not doubt it, Fitzwilliam,” with rather more sternness than I thought was merited.
“Neither do I, Darcy. Mrs Darcy, are you still fond of walking? There are some wonderful walks hereabout in the park. The grove is particularly beautiful at this time of year, and I hope you will enjoy it.”
“You may be certain of it, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I could not see the grounds properly when we arrived as we were losing the light, but what I could see looked most promising. I have my hopes fixed on explorations during our stay.”
“Do you walk out of doors often then, Mrs Darcy? I have not noticed this trait in Mrs Collins. She, I must say, very sensibly remains indoors attending to her household much of the time.”
“I very much enjoy a walk, Lady Catherine. I do not know whether I can tempt my sister to join me though; she has always been a great one for indoor pursuits.”
“As well she might be. I am not at all sure it is appropriate for young women to walk extensively. It is far too tiring, and there is nothing in the park that cannot be seen from your carriage. I wonder at your being so different from your sister, Mrs Darcy. You are one of five daughters, are you not? Are you all at such variance from one another?”
“We are quite different, ma’am…but I have often observed that children of the same home often are so. And indeed, I believe it should be encouraged since variety is, as they say, the spice of life,
is it not?”
The look of astonishment on my hostess’s face was complete, and her eyes flitted between my husband and me. After some time, she replied. “You state your opinions very decidedly for so young a person, Mrs Darcy. Pray, what is your age?”
“I am a married woman with three younger sisters grown up; your ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.”
“Come now, Mrs Darcy, I will wager you are younger than my nephew. You cannot be more than one and twenty?”
“I am not yet one and twenty, ma’am,” I said, feeling excessively young and under siege.
The time of the evening in which the ladies retired without the men to the drawing room was by far the worst. Lady Catherine, Anne, and I sat around the ornate room like tiny pegs in a sea of brocade. Anne said not a word, nor did she meet my eye, try though I did to catch hers. Lady Catherine spoke on the subject of her garden, the season, her dislike of town, and other subjects too obscure to number. She looked at me in an odd, sideways manner, and each time I bade to speak, she appeared alarmed. When we retired to bed, I was exhausted with the effort of remaining polite and defending myself. Hannah removed my gown, dressed me for bed, and I collapsed, not waiting for Mr Darcy before I fell into a deep slumber.
I awoke in the morning to find him gone. It was clear from the sheets and pillow next to me that he had slept beside me, but I recalled nothing of his coming to bed. I still wore my nightgown and knew he had not loved me in the night. A fear stole over me that I had angered him in some way in the carriage or over supper. I did not want to lose the physical connection between us. We had, it seemed, little enough on which to base a marriage as it was. Thus worried and downcast, I rose and allowed Hannah to dress me as she chose after my bath. When I appeared at breakfast, my husband was at the table and rose to seat me.
Suddenly Mrs. Darcy Page 9
