by Elaine Owen
“And what did he say to persuade you to accept my offer?”
“To persuade me? I am not sure what you mean.”
“Did he mention the material advantages of marriage to me?”
“I was already aware of your fortune. Mr. Gardiner did not see fit to belabor the point.”
“Did he tell you about the arrangements I had made for an allowance for your mother, the dowries for your sisters, and for the permanent lease of Longbourn?” Darcy’s voice was terse, clipped.
“Yes, he did inform me of those things,” Elizabeth answered, still wondering why her husband insisted on knowing these details. She had, after all, accepted his proposal; what more did he want to know?
“And what was your reaction to this remarkable news?”
“I was surprised, of course. As I mentioned, I had no idea of you regarding me as a possible marriage partner.”
“I see.” Darcy paused. “Did Mr. Gardiner mention anything else about my proposal?”
Elizabeth thought back to the fateful conversation with her uncle that day. Most of it, of course, she could not repeat to her husband. Certainly she would say nothing of her uncle’s shocking view of Darcy’s purposes for selecting her as his wife. “He said that it was a generous offer, one that would be advantageous to my whole family.”
“And did he say nothing else?”
“Not that I can recall.”
Darcy spun on one heel to look at her fully. “Were you forced to accept my offer?”
“No, of course not!” Elizabeth raised one eyebrow as she looked at her husband. “Surely you know by now that I would not take well to being forced into anything.”
“You would never be forced, but you might perhaps be convinced against your will,” Darcy suggested, one eyebrow rising questioningly.
“Not in this matter. Marrying you was my own decision,” Elizabeth answered, raising her chin proudly.
“I see.” Darcy turned back to the lawn. Another long pause ensued, broken when he finally asked, “Are you happy here at Pemberley?”
“Sir?”
“I have never noticed before how much distance one small, simple word can put between two people,” Darcy said, turning back to face her. He sounded suddenly weary. “I am not ‘sir’ to you, Elizabeth; please address me as Fitzwilliam from now on. I asked you, are you happy here at Pemberley?”
“I believe so. You and Georgiana are very kind, and the staff has been more than accommodating.”
“Do you have everything you need? Is your pin money adequate?”
“I have barely spent my pin money.” It was true; aside from sending small gifts to her family, she had had no need to purchase anything more than her husband had provided. “It is more than adequate.”
“And is there nothing more that you desire? I had thought by now that you might want to have your own rooms, at least, redone to your taste.”
“Not at all. They are lovely just as they are. May I ask, sir—” she caught herself, biting back the forbidden word. “I beg your pardon. May I ask to what these questions pertain?”
“It is nothing.” Darcy’s voice had become brusque and businesslike. “I try to see to the comfort of those under my care; that is all. I take my responsibilities seriously, even when they might be somewhat taxing to carry out.”
“I can only hope that seeing to my comfort is not too taxing for your sensibilities, then.”
One corner of Darcy’s mouth pulled down in an expression she had never seen before. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for your comfort. Good day, Elizabeth.”
The words and look together were plainly a dismissal. Darcy spun on his heel and was gone before she could say anything more.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Darcy’s attitude toward her had completely changed, seemingly overnight. In the three days since their conversation in the breakfast room, he had been coldly polite, saying only what was necessary at meals and then leaving the table without further word. He had not sought her out in the late afternoon each day, as his habit had been up until now, and he had not knocked lightly on the door of her bedroom even once.
Perhaps, as her uncle had said, Darcy was finding consolation in the company of a mistress somewhere nearby. Yet she was beginning to realize that such behavior would not be in his character.
She began to feel regret that she had not asked her uncle more questions about Darcy at the time she had accepted his proposal; there were still so many parts of him that she did not understand. The more Elizabeth tried to tease out a pattern to her husband’s moods, the more confused she became.
“Why bother to seek me out, only to push me away?” she asked herself. “Why ask for my opinion and good will on one hand, and then treat me like a common servant at other times? Aggravating, ill-natured man!”
Yet Darcy was not ill-natured, as she had believed him to be upon their first acquaintance. On the contrary, in the whole of their time at Pemberley, and even before then in town, she had to admit that he had shown a more even temperament than she had first believed. He had been abrupt with her, and some of his words had been insensitive to her feelings, but she could not fairly complain of receiving unkind treatment at his hands. The staff at Pemberley, too, did not dread his presence as she would have expected them to do, and many of them had expressed, by either word or action, their pleasure at being in his service. Nobody from the housekeeper to his own sister had ever said a critical word of him, not even in jest—and Elizabeth was well aware that no serious faults in the master of the house could be kept from the mistress of the house forever.
The new disquiet with her husband did not seem to extend to Georgiana. Toward his sister, Darcy was just as he had always been—solicitous, considerate, and attentive. In the evenings he spoke freely with her or listened appreciatively as she played on the new pianoforte. With the staff, too, he seemed his usual courteous self. It was only in Elizabeth’s company that he seemed to revert to the man she had first come to know in Hertfordshire.
She caught herself watching for his tall form crossing the lawn, listening for the sound of his voice calling her name as she and Georgiana walked outside, and waiting to hear his hand on the latch of her bedroom door at night. Against her will she had begun to be dependent on him in some strange, inexplicable way that she could not, or did not wish to, examine too closely.
Elizabeth was delighted, the next day, to receive three letters from home. Jane always wrote faithfully, but she rarely heard from her mother and sisters, busy as they were in their normal lives. Elizabeth’s absence had been barely noticed except as her marriage had given them more monetary advantages. Still, to receive correspondence from her mother and Kitty as well as Jane was a real pleasure. As much as she was coming to enjoy Pemberley and her new life here, she still longed for contact with her family. They might be embarrassing, vulgar, or unseemly, but still they were familiar and welcome, a part of her that was otherwise gone forever.
She retreated to the solarium with all three letters and decided to set aside Jane’s for last as being the one most likely to bring her pleasure. Instead, she opened her mother’s letter. The first part of it contained a short account of the small dinner parties they had recently attended, as well as gossip of a light, inconsequential nature. The final paragraphs, however, caught her attention.
How well your new name still sounds—Mrs. Darcy! You may be sure that I say it as often as I can to anyone who calls at Longbourn. We have become quite the envy of the neighborhood!
I was delighted to receive your recent letter with the little bit of money you were able to include under the seal. I am sure you are very generous, but has not Mr. Darcy allowed you a great deal more pin money than that? You must write again soon, and be sure to include more this time than last.
We heard from Lady Lucas yesterday that Mr. Bingley is giving up Netherfield. He is such an odious young man! To come to Meryton and make my daughter fall in love, and then leave her just when we thought it
was a settled thing! But we will not miss him here at Longbourn at all, since you can put your sisters into the path of many other rich men.
Your aunt Phillips is asking me how many carriages you have and where you go in them. Do you drive around Pemberley and Lambton in a chaise and four, or do you use a barouche for every day? How many families do you dine with? You must write and tell me all about them, so that I may have something to speak of with Lady Lucas when she calls again. Some people, you know, think of nothing but money and consequence when they are visiting their friends.
I am your loving mother
Mrs. Fanny Bennet
Kitty’s letter, though much shorter, was of a piece with her mother’s.
Dear Lizzy,
Mama says that I am to write to you immediately. Will you send me money to buy a hat that I saw yesterday at Mr. Brown’s millinery? It is ten shillings, which Jane says would be an excessive price to pay, but Mama says you can afford to get it for me as well as anyone. Maybe you should ask Mr. Darcy to open an account for me at the milliner’s. It would be much more convenient than having to settle accounts every quarter. Otherwise, we are all well here. Lydia is going to stay with her friend Mrs. Forster at Brighton next week, and we will see no more of her this summer. Mama is sad that she is going, but I am not, for she insists on going before me, even though I am older.
Kitty
Neither of the first two letters had disappointed Elizabeth in their absurdities. They were just what she had expected—vain, frivolous, lacking any appreciation for how narrowly they had escaped an irreversible slide into poverty, and certainly not expressing any gratitude for their changed circumstances. As she opened the final letter she could not help hoping her oldest sister would redeem her decision to sacrifice herself for her family, by showing that there was one member, at least, who deserved such consideration.
My dear sister,
I trust that this letter finds you well, and that Pemberley continues to be everything delightful.
Mama may have mentioned that Lydia’s friend Harriet Forster invited her to visit her in Brighton soon. In fact, by the time you receive this letter she may be already gone. It is a scheme that gives me some uneasiness, since the regiment which was stationed here in Meryton is there now. Since the shock of our father’s death and then your marriage, Mama has not been as careful with my sisters as she used to be. To allow our youngest sister to stay away from home for six weeks, in the presence of so many officers—I cannot criticize our mother, of course, but I am not entirely certain that Papa would approve of this plan if he were still with us. However, Mrs. Forster seems a good-hearted, sensible soul, and I am sure that I am worrying needlessly.
Mama and Kitty will probably ask you to send more money. I beg you not to do so, dearest Lizzy. I will be writing to our uncle Gardiner directly after this letter to ask for his assistance in curbing my mother’s needless expenditures. Until then, anything you send would be merely good money thrown after bad.
We have received news about Netherfield. In fact, I dare say that you might tell us the news, since you may well have heard it through your husband already. Maria Lucas heard from her maid (who is acquainted with the gardener at Netherfield) that Mr. Bingley is giving up the lease. This past week saw the removal of all his furniture and other belongings and the release of most of the servants. The house will be let again as soon as another family can be found, which may not be for some time. I cannot pretend to be surprised by this news. It was you who always believed more firmly in the strength of Mr. Bingley’s attachment to me than I did myself, and therefore, I am not affected by this news in any way whatsoever, except for the disappointment that it has created for our mother.
Please do write again soon. Your letters are my most constant companion and truest comfort.
I remain your loving sister,
Jane Bennet
Elizabeth ran her fingers over Jane’s signature at the bottom of the page. A few days earlier this page had been in Jane’s hands; her eyes had read the same lines Elizabeth was now perusing. It was the closest she could come to her beloved sister, and a wave of homesickness washed over her, an almost tangible longing for the family she had left behind. A lump rose in her throat.
Behind her came the sound of a footstep. Turning, she saw Georgiana turning hastily away, and she wiped her eyes as she called out, “Georgiana, were you looking for me?”
“No!” Georgiana answered, looking embarrassed. She flushed and looked down at the ground, refusing to meet Elizabeth’s eyes. “That is, I had thought to speak with you if possible, but I see that you are occupied. I do not wish to disturb you.”
“You are not disturbing me. I was just reading a few letters from home, and I can do that at any time. Please, come and sit with me.” Georgiana sat down hesitantly on the bench next to her and fixed her attention on the ground, while Elizabeth waited patiently. She had the feeling Georgiana was working up the courage to speak.
“It is a lovely day to sit outside, is it not?” Elizabeth finally said encouragingly, trying to start the conversation. Georgiana agreed that it was, but then looked down again at the ground, seemingly hesitant to say anything more.
“I have been here only a short time, and yet the woods and grounds of Pemberley feel like familiar acquaintances already,” Elizabeth persisted. “For someone like you, who has been here her whole life, they must be considered practically members of the family.”
Georgiana smiled a little at the fancy and owned that she was very fond of them as well, but then she said nothing more. After another minute of silence Elizabeth, sighing, decided to take a more direct approach.
“Georgiana, if there is anything on your mind, you may feel free to speak of it without fear of how I may react. I am used to listening to a sister’s confidences, and I have often observed that a trouble shared is a trouble halved. Would you care to test the theory?”
Georgiana looked up at her gratefully. “I have been trying to bring myself to speak to you for the past several days. I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.”
“Of course you may.”
“I was wondering,” Georgiana began, and then hesitated, “if it is not too much trouble, if you might speak to Fitzwilliam on my behalf.”
“Whatever for?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity piqued.
Georgiana took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry Mr. Bingley.”
“Oh!” Whatever Elizabeth had been expecting, it was not this. She stared at her sister.
Georgiana’s words came in a sudden rush of relief, as if she had been holding them back for a long time. “I know it may seem strange to Fitzwilliam, and perhaps to you, that I would not want to marry him, but Mr. Bingley has been like a brother to me. I do not think I could ever see him as a potential suitor, no matter how eligible and amiable he may be. And I don’t think he sees me that way either!”
Elizabeth, for once, was at a loss for words. When she could speak again she asked, “What makes you so sure that your brother wants you to marry Mr. Bingley?”
“Has he not spoken of it to you?” Georgiana asked, surprised. When Elizabeth shook her head, she looked relieved. She continued, her voice becoming more strong and certain. “Fitzwilliam has been urging me toward Mr. Bingley ever since last summer, when we first started talking about me coming out. He has done everything in his power to throw us into each other’s company, having Mr. Bingley and his sister stay here as often as possible and urging me to write to Caroline.”
Elizabeth could make no answer, listening attentively.
“You heard how Fitzwilliam spoke to me about Mr. Bingley coming to Derbyshire. He made a point of asking me if I would like it if he took a home in this area. Fitzwilliam intends for me to come out next season, go through a courtship, and then marry his friend and settle down somewhere nearby. It is all settled in his mind as the best way to see to my future, but it is not what I want to do!”
It was the first time Elizabeth had heard such
a passionate declaration from her sister. She finally found her voice. “Surely your brother would not push you into an unwanted marriage. He loves you.”
“He still thinks of me as a child, needing his guidance and approval. He probably thinks I will come to have feelings for Mr. Bingley if I spend more time with him. But I will not!”
There was a strange energy in the way Georgiana had said that last phrase. “I have always found Mr. Bingley to be a pleasant sort of gentleman. He was a great favorite in Meryton.”
“Yes, he is very pleasant, but he has never shown any romantic interest in me. I enjoy his company, but I have also seen him in love with other women. His attentions never last for long. Miss Bingley says that he fell in love again last winter with someone who was completely unsuitable, but once he learned that the lady did not care for him he gave her up almost at once.”
Elizabeth almost stared at her, but Georgiana did not notice.
“And even after that he never showed the slightest interest in me. We are too close for him to think of me in that way. Besides,” she added with an unusual show of distaste, “I do not think Caroline and I would suit as sisters.”
Elizabeth noticed the unexpected editorial, but she was still too surprised to react to it. “Georgiana, why do you not say all this to your brother yourself? Your reasoning is sound, and you have clearly thought about this a great deal. I’m sure he would listen to you.”
“I have tried, but I do not have your confidence, Elizabeth. It is hard for me to think of disappointing Fitzwilliam when he has done so much for me. But you are always able to speak your mind with him. And he likes it! I can tell by the way he looks at you when you are teasing him.”
“He might not like it as much as you think,” Elizabeth answered shrewdly, remembering the stiff courtesy of the last few days. “And I do not know if he would care for me interfering in his plans.”
“But he adores you! He will listen to anything you say.”
The poor, romantic child. Her notions of love and marriage were still naïve; clearly she had no idea of the real state of their marriage. “I still think it would be better if your brother were to hear all of this from you,” she persisted.
