by Ola Wegner
Mrs. Reynolds had an opportunity to develop her own opinion about the new Mrs. Darcy when on the fourth day since her arrival, the girl sought her out early in the morning. She asked to be introduced to the staff and become acquainted with household matters.
While the housekeeper presented the numerous servants to her, she had a smile and a kind word for each one, from the scullery maids to her husband’s steward. She already knew some of them, and instantly learned the names of the others. She seemed to have a good knowledge of the housekeeping business. She asked about the prices of food and their source, telling her how much this or that cost when her mother ordered it at Longbourn, which had been her family’s estate. It was obvious that Mr. Darcy’s mother-in-law had prepared her daughter very well to the life of a country squire’s wife. The girl was intelligent, sensible, and down to earth.
By the end of the first week, it was not a secret to anyone at Pemberley that the Master spent every night in his wife’s bed, and was most attentive to her. The maids were apprehensive about going into the Mistress's chambers early in morning, fearing to encounter the Master there. Mrs. Reynolds had witnessed herself a few times as he kissed and embraced her within open view. Those were chaste exchanges, but still spoke volumes about his feelings for her.
The boy seemed to be even more protective of his wife than he was of his sister, which was difficult to imagine. One day he asked for a private conversation with her. He wanted one of the footmen to be appointed for the task of accompanying his wife on her daily walks, but in such a way that she did not notice anything. Mrs. Darcy walked daily, usually for an hour or two in the early afternoon after she had finished with the household duties.
Seeing that the boy could not be reasoned with about it, Mrs. Reynolds did as she was told. After a mere week of this duty, however, the servant whom she had chosen asked kindly to be released from the task, as it was hard for him to keep pace with the Mistress. Not to mention that she had lost him more than once. The problem was solved on it own when one day Mrs. Darcy approached her personally on the matter. She said that she had talked to Mr. Darcy, and he agreed with her that she was familiar enough with the grounds by now, and she had no need for company on her walks.
It seemed unlikely to Mrs. Reynolds that the boy had surrendered on the matter so easily, and she was right. The next day he returned home with a small ball of yellow fur tucked inside his great coat. Both his sister and wife were delighted with the playfully energetic Labrador pup, who became Mrs. Darcy’s most faithful companion. She named him Brutus.
By the end of the first month since new Mrs. Darcy had come to live at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds was able to breathe with some relief. She was not one to judge others easily, but nor was it easy to gain her trust either. So far, Elizabeth Darcy had done nothing which could be held against her. She had made no mistakes. She was a true lady, carried herself with dignity, was kind to others, and she was always mindful of her new position and her duties as a Mistress.
There was only one matter which worried the housekeeper – Mrs. Darcy seemed to be less invested with her feelings than her husband. She genuinely liked him, that was obvious, the older woman could clearly see that. She respected him, and she was grateful to him. Over time, Mrs. Reynolds managed to draw some more information from Mr. Black. He did not say much, of course, but she could read between the lines, and it seemed that Darcy had rescued her mother and sisters from certain destitution after her father’s death.
However, whether she had sincere love for him was less certain. Mrs. Reynolds could only hope that the boy did not notice the lack of his wife’s deeper feelings for him. She did not wish to see him hurt; he deserved happiness in his life, not another heartache.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Darcy again turned the letter which he had been holding in his hand for the last ten minutes, inspecting it from every angle. It was unusually thick for a private correspondence, and his wife’s name was written on the top in an all too familiar hand. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had decided to keep a private correspondence with his wife. Why?
His reasonable side was telling him that his cousin Richard, who was as close as a brother to him, would never have betrayed him in such a way, but the insecure, possessive, and jealous part of him nagged, persistently, asking why his cousin would feel the need to write personal letters to his wife.
Perhaps Richard wanted to ask for advice concerning his courtship of Jane? That was the only reasonable explanation which came to Darcy’s mind. He knew what he should do in this situation – he should give the letter to Elizabeth, later asking her casually on what matter his cousin had addressed her personally.
A soft knock on the door brought his attention to the present moment. Knowing that it was Elizabeth, he dropped the letter hastily into the open drawer of his desk, shutting it with quiet click.
“Enter,” he called, surprising himself with the sudden coldness of his voice.
“I heard that the post came,” she spoke with smile, walking closer. Brutus, the pup he had given her a few weeks ago, followed her closely.
“Yes, these are for you,” he pointed to a neat pile he had separated earlier from the estate correspondence.
She nodded, still smiling, as she stood close to him by the edge of the desk. Her long, delicate fingers began to sort through the mail, checking who had sent her each letter.
He watched her face, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest, as he observed a visible shadow of disappointment crossing her expressive features. She lowered her head, the smile gone from her pretty lips. Was she looking for the letter from his cousin? Was she expecting it?
“I will go to the park to read my letters.” She gave him a faint smile, which did not reach her eyes.
Before she could step away from the desk, he rose fluidly from his chair, grasping her elbow.
She looked up at him, her eyes questioning. “Stay here,” he spoke. “You can read your letters here.”
“I do not wish to disturb you. You said earlier today that you have numerous correspondences to attend to.”
“Your presence is always welcome,” he assured, pinning her with his steady stare. “I like having you close.”
“Very well then.” She smiled again, lifting to her toes to place a small kiss on the side of his jaw.
He could read the surprise in her eyes when he did not react to her gesture, as he usually did, by pulling her into his arms to kiss her more deeply.
Through narrowed and calculating eyes, he observed as she walked to the sofa, the one placed nearest the windows. She settled herself comfortably, tucking her feet underneath her skirt, her shoes abandoned on the carpet. Brutus climbed after her, stretching against her. Elizabeth reached to stroke his back and scratch behind his large ears. The animal purred like a cat, straining against her hand.
Darcy began to think that the dog was turning out to be useless and disappointing. He had selected the pup himself, and with great care, when he had heard that one of his neighbors’ Labrador bitch had just had a new litter.
He had received a Labrador from his parents as a little boy, before he even had been able to walk properly, and had wept when the dog died many years later.
Darcy knew well how gentle, intelligent, and eager to run and swim this breed of dogs was. They were perfect companions for someone who, like his wife, enjoyed the outdoors. He felt calm about her safety when Elizabeth was not alone on her long walks, but having a dog accompanying her. He also knew that she would feel attracted to the pup’s rare, yellow fur. Most Labradors he had seen in this part of the country were pitch black.
Elizabeth, however, spoiled the animal with her attention, having no measure whatsoever. She refused to allow her pup to sleep with other dogs in the stables, saying he would feel lonely and cold. She insisted on placing a rug for him in the corner of their private sitting room, where Brutus snored soundly through the nights.
She cuddled the pup at every opportunity, cooed to
him, as if he was a newborn child, while carrying him around. Thankfully the dog was growing fast, becoming heavier every day, and soon he would be too heavy for her to do so.
Brutus visibly adored Elizabeth, thrived with her attention, at the same time consequently ignoring Darcy and the other dogs around the house. He did not listen to Darcy’s commands, and he even dared to growl, baring his teeth at him on one occasion. Enough had been enough, when the pup had attempted to take Darcy’s place in their bed. Darcy kicked him out of their bedroom, shutting the door right in front of his face. Understandably, he made sure that Elizabeth was busy changing in her dressing room and could not see him doing so.
Since that incident, Darcy and Brutus had forged a truce of sorts. They tolerated each other, united with the task of bringing a smile to Elizabeth’s face, but there was no love between them.
He watched as Elizabeth lifted her eyes at him once before opening the first letter, her gaze confused. She smiled again, but as he did not return her merriment, her attention focused on the task at hand, and she did not look at him again.
***
Elizabeth sorted her letters in the order she wanted to read them - the first from Aunt Gardiner, next from Jane, then from Mary and Charlotte. She was disappointed that her mother had not replied to any of her letters, but not truly surprised with such a turn of events.
She marvelled about the sudden odd behaviour of her husband. He had acted his usual affectionate self only this morning. She wondered what could have put him into such a sour mood. He resembled the Mr. Darcy she had met last autumn in Hertfordshire, reminding her how cold and sober in his attitude he could be if he wished to. She had forgotten this side of him almost completely during the last few months.
As she tore open the letter from her Aunt Gardiner, she decided not to ponder on her husband’s behaviour. After all, he had asked her to stay with him, which allowed her to believe that she was not the reason for his blackened mood. Perhaps he had some business or estate related problems. She would try to approach the topic later. She wished him to share his worries with her.
Greedily she began to read.
My dearest niece,
In the first words of this letter, let me apologize to you for being so lenient with my response to your letter. My only justification is that I have my hands full these days. Your uncle was forced to let go one of his thus far most trusted clerks, who proved to be unreliable. In consequence, I am helping him with the correspondence and all the other current paperwork till he can find someone new for the position. Even now, I am sitting in the office, summing up the account books. Thankfully your sister Jane is still with us, supervising the children, because truly I would not know how to manage everything without her help.
We thank you again for your invitation to spend summer at Pemberley. The children are especially beside themselves with anticipation. They rarely have the opportunity to spend time in the country, and they are always so curious of animals. Every day they ask me when we will go to Pemberley. You can expect us two weeks from now, in the last days of July. I am afraid that your uncle will not be able to come with us. He may, however, come later, for which I sincerely hope. He needs his rest and some quiet fishing time more than anyone.
Returning to the most important matter - I read your last post several times, and have given much thought to it, let me assure you.
Oh, Lizzy, my heart goes out to you when I read your letter. First and foremost, I wish to you assure you that you are a perfectly normal, healthy, young woman, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Simply, some physical activities take longer to master, let us look at little Fred. He did not learn to run like he does now in just one day. The same is true with physical intimacy. Some people require more time to acquire fluency in it.
The discomfort you mentioned is nothing unusual, I assure you. Your husband is much bigger than you, so it may take some time and practice before you fit together just right. I remember feeling some discomfort as well for the first few weeks after our wedding.
You mentioned the pain to be unbearable each time you attempted to couple with him. That was my experience as well at one time. You may not remember this, but the birth of twins was especially difficult for me. Even though I healed completely within two months, I could not bear the thought of being intimate again with my husband for another year or so. Each attempt ended in such a pain for me that I kept asking him to stop. Moreover, at that time, your uncle started a rather risky (in my opinion) business with a man I considered unreliable. This only added to my low spirits.
I know that the circumstances are different for you. However, I wish to tell you that what you are experiencing is not uncommon. You are not the first nor are you the only woman suffering from such a predicament. In time, when you feel less depressed and more secure in your new life, I am certain that your problem will resolve itself on its own.
You also voiced concern as to whether your husband may look for someone else when you are not able to give him what he needs. I would not worry about that. He loves you; a blind man could see it. You are writing that he spends every night in your bed, that he does not avoid physical contact, even though he stays respectful to your boundaries, and never demands more. Consider this, my niece; when would he would find time to entertain a lover if he spends the nights with you, holding you chastely, while his days are divided between you, his sister, and his numerous duties?
You seem to dread trying again in anticipation of another failure. I suspect that this fear raises your anxiety all the more. My dear, this should not be and nor does it have to be.
My advice to you is to relax about this matter and stop torturing yourself with thoughts and suspicions like I found in your last letter. When the right time comes, you will feel you cannot bear waiting any longer to have him inside you, to put it bluntly.
I cannot tell you when this moment will happen, but be certain that it will come, and sooner rather than later.
If you are impatient, you may try to let him closer, without allowing things to go too far, if you understand my meaning.
I am certain that he would be more than happy with kissing and intimate touching in the privacy of your bedroom. A little practice cannot harm anyone. On the contrary, it may only add to your confidence which you seem to need so much. A small glass of good wine before sleep will help you to relax (not too much though, and not on an empty stomach, because the result may be quite the opposite).
When you are in his arms, do not think that something must happen, that you must conceive a child, that you must fulfil your duty to him, his family and his estate. Allow yourself to have a pleasant time with your husband. May I remind you that, your uncommonly handsome, affectionate, and very much enamoured of you husband who is completely in love with you. Never forget that, my dear, and all will be well.
“I love you,” she heard his deep voice close to her ear.
She jerked, closing the letter abruptly. Fitzwilliam was seated beside her, staring into her face intensely.
“You scared me,” she said, blinking her eyes at him. “I had not heard you coming.”
She saw that poor Brutus must have been unceremoniously pushed down to the floor, his expression sad as he stared at them with hurt in his eyes.
Darcy pushed his head onto her lap, causing some of the letters to fall to the floor. His long body stretched on the sofa with his booted feet extended on the other side.
“What is the matter?” She tugged at his hair affectionately.
In response, he took her other hand placed it on his chest, his eyes closed. He seemed to need physical contact, so she held him closely, stroking his hair leisurely to give him comfort.
“Aunt Gardiner is writing that we should expect them in the last days of this month,” she said after a moment.
“That is good,” he murmured.
“Uncle may not come; he is very busy with his business. Aunt will arrive alone with Jane and the children.”
�
��I see,” he said with a sigh, opening his eyes.
Her heart tugged in worry. “Are you not pleased with their visit? I know that you are not accustomed to small children, but we will take them out of your way, I promise.”
He shook his head. “I like the Gardiners very much, and I do not mind children. I should be getting used to them, after all.”
“Then why are you in such a strange mood?” she questioned, frowning.
He sighed again, before lifting up from her lap and sitting properly next to her. “You shall be angry with me,” he announced.
“What did you do?” she asked, amused.
“You will not be angry?” he questioned childishly, resembling a five-year-old guilty of eating too many cookies before dinner time who was afraid to confess his misdeed to his mother.
“I cannot promise that I will not be angry; however I will try to understand why you did it—whatever it is that you have done.”
She felt something being pushed into her hand. Looking down she noticed that it was a letter addressed to her, but written with an unfamiliar hand. She read the name of the sender, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Why would Colonel Fitzwilliam write to me?” she mused, turning the letter in her hand, before she saw that the seal was torn.
“You opened it?” she gasped.
He wrapped his fingers around her wrists. “I will never do it again.” He swallowed visibly. “Forgive me.”
She ignored his words, opening the post. “What is he writing?” she asked curiously.
Strangely, the inside was blank, but there was another letter inside, addressed to Miss Jane Bennet.
“What is the meaning of this?” She frowned. “He wants me to send this to Jane?”
