Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Three

Elizabeth

12th December 1812

T he days at Pemberley crawled past with agonising slowness, each seeming heavier than the last. Elizabeth endeavoured to settle into her new life as mistress of the great house, but Mr Darcy seemed determined to thwart her efforts, whether intentionally or not. Since their quarrel in the carriage, their interactions had been fraught with tension. Arguments seemed inevitable, and if they were not bickering, Mr Darcy maintained a cold reserve that was, in some ways, more cutting than his sharp words.

Elizabeth could not help but feel the weight of his disapproval, as though he held her responsible for the unfortunate circumstances of their marriage. It was unjust—after all, it was he who had compromised them both with his careless actions. To think that a man so renowned for his propriety and honour had been caught in such a scandalous entanglement at an inn, and with a woman who was not his wife, no less! Yet Mr Darcy carried himself as though she, not he, had brought disgrace upon their union. His clipped tones and cold glares spoke of reproach, though for what, Elizabeth could not fathom.

To her knowledge, there was no evidence to suggest his dalliance with the mysterious woman continued, yet doubts lingered in the back of her mind. There were occasions when Mr Darcy left Pemberley without much explanation, citing urgent matters or the need for a solitary walk. While such absences might well have innocent explanations, her thoughts often strayed to darker possibilities. Try as she might to banish them, they cast a shadow over her already fragile peace.

One morning at breakfast, following yet another strained exchange between husband and wife, Georgiana broke the silence with a quiet plea. “I do wish the two of you would not argue so often,” she said, her soft voice carrying a note of sadness.

Elizabeth started, caught off guard by the remark. She had hoped their efforts to avoid open discord in front of Georgiana or the servants had been successful, but evidently, they had failed. “I am sorry, Georgiana,” she said with a weary sigh. “I did not mean for you to overhear us. I know how unpleasant it must be.”

“It cannot always be avoided,” Georgiana replied, her composure belying her youth. “But it is not entirely your fault, Elizabeth. My brother is unusually testy at present.”

Elizabeth gave a small, bitter smile. “I am afraid a peaceful coexistence is beyond us. Neither of us wished for this marriage, and it is difficult to find common ground with someone one neither knows nor holds in affection.”

Georgiana’s brow furrowed in thought. “I do not believe it is impossible. You are married now, and though it is not the arrangement either of you would have chosen, it is one you must navigate together. Perhaps there is a way to mend the rift—or at least soften it.”

Elizabeth glanced at her young sister-in-law, sceptical but intrigued. “And what would you suggest?”

“Well,” Georgiana began, her tone brightening, “it is nearly Christmas. A thoughtful gesture—a gift, perhaps—might serve to thaw his mood. It could be an opportunity for you both to start afresh in the New Year. You need not love one another, but civility is a necessity, is it not?”

The thought of giving Mr Darcy a gift struck Elizabeth as absurd. The very idea of going out of her way to please a man so unkind, so quick to judge, seemed unbearable. Yet, Georgiana’s earnest expression gave her pause. Elizabeth could not help but feel affection for the girl, who reminded her so much of her own sisters. And, undeniably, Georgiana was correct—they could not continue as they were.

“What sort of gift would you suggest?” Elizabeth asked at last, though her tone remained wary.

Georgiana’s face lit up with an almost childlike delight. “Am I correct in thinking you can embroider? Fitzwilliam has been complaining about his slippers—they are wearing thin. A new pair, embroidered by you, would surely please him.”

Elizabeth hesitated, considering the idea. It was a modest gesture, one that would require little of her time and effort. Perhaps it was not entirely unreasonable. “That is a fine idea,” she said finally, with a small but genuine smile. “Thank you, Georgiana.”

Georgiana smiled, clearly relieved and grateful. She leaned forward to embrace Elizabeth warmly, her enthusiasm a balm to her weary spirits. “I am so glad! I know he can be difficult, but I do think this will help. And I am here if you need any assistance.”

Elizabeth returned the hug, moved by the younger woman’s kindness. Despite her reservations, she resolved to follow through on the plan. If it might bring even a semblance of peace to their household, it was worth the effort.

***

For the next week, Elizabeth applied herself diligently to the creation of gifts for Georgiana and Mr Darcy, though her progress was often hampered by the lingering reluctance she felt towards fashioning anything for her husband. Each stitch was an exercise in patience, yet she persevered, determined to see the task through.

One afternoon, seated in the drawing room with needle and thread in hand, she worked slowly on the embroidery. The room was quiet save for the faint crackling of the fire and the distant hum of estate activity, when familiar voices drifted through the slightly ajar window. Though the air was cold, the window had been left open for ventilation. They voices were at once familiar.

Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley.

Elizabeth’s spirits lifted at the sound of her brother-in-law’s warm and cheerful tones. His presence at Pemberley was a comfort, though she had been sorely disappointed by the absence of Jane. Her sister had planned to accompany her husband, but familial duty had called Jane to Louisa Hurst’s birthday celebration, leaving Mr Bingley to journey north alone. He had come to oversee the furnishing and staffing of Hartley House and had taken the opportunity to call on Elizabeth and Mr Darcy more than once.

She’d hoped Jane would join him for Christmas but to her disappointment, Mr Bingley instead intended to return to Town to spend it with Jane and his family.

Pausing her work, Elizabeth listened as Mr Bingley spoke animatedly of his plans for Hartley House. Mr Darcy, as ever, replied with measured tones, offering practical suggestions on the management of the household and grounds. Elizabeth could not help but smile at Mr Bingley’s irrepressible enthusiasm. His joy in settling near Pemberley warmed her, yet her longing for Jane’s companionship was undeniable. How much easier it would be to navigate this new chapter of her life with her dearest sister by her side. She imagined that Jane’s presence would not only bring her comfort but also provide a refuge when Mr Darcy’s company became particularly tiresome.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Mr Darcy’s voice, sharper now, cutting through the amiable hum of Mr Bingley’s conversation.

“I cannot believe I am saddled with her for the rest of my natural life,” Mr Darcy said, his tone clipped and grim.

Elizabeth’s hand froze mid-stitch, her ears straining to catch the reply.

“Elizabeth is thoroughly charming, Darcy, I assure you,” Mr Bingley responded, his characteristic warmth untampered. “She is well-read, witty, and kind—a truly admirable wife. Many would envy you.”

Elizabeth felt a fleeting gratitude for her brother-in-law’s kindness, though her heart sank at Mr Darcy’s dismissive tone.

“You should make an effort, old friend,” Mr Bingley continued, undeterred. “She is bound to you now, as you are to her, and it can only benefit you both to establish some manner of harmony. Surely you can see her virtues if you allow yourself to do so.”

“You do not understand the difficulty of it,” Mr Darcy replied dryly. “To you, she may be charm personified, but with me, she is impossible. She behaves as though I ought to consider myself fortunate in this marriage, as if the fault lies entirely with me. I am not fortunate, Bingley—I am miserable. She is wilful, headstrong, and seems to delight in opposing me at every turn.”

Mr Bingley, unperturbed by Mr Darcy’s dark humour, answered with his usual good sense. “Matrimony is not so easily undone, Darcy. You have pledged yourself to her, as she has to you, and it seems to me that civility would make the arrangement far more bearable. After all, the two of you must inhabit the same house for the rest of your lives.”

“And where would you suggest I begin in this endeavour?” Mr Darcy asked, his tone edged with sardonic disbelief.

“The answer is simple, is it not? Christmastide is nearly upon us! Give her something thoughtful, something she would delight in. It need not be a grand gesture, but it could go some way in softening her disposition towards you. I am not suggesting you woo her outright—but even a small kindness might ease the tension.”

Mr Darcy gave a noncommittal huff. “I shall consider it,” he replied at last, though without conviction. “Were your wife present, I would appeal to her wisdom, but as matters stand, I suppose I must rely on you. What, pray, might she find acceptable?”

“Well, I have a few ideas,” Mr Bingley started but then their voices drifted out of earshot, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts. She set down her embroidery, her fingers trembling slightly. Mr Darcy’s words had stung, yet his willingness to entertain Mr Bingley’s suggestion gave her pause. Could there be hope of a truce between them, however fragile?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the now-familiar ache behind her temples, a megrim that had dogged her steps since her arrival at Pemberley. Closing her eyes, she took a steadying breath, then glanced down at the half-finished slippers in her lap. Her resolve faltered momentarily, but she picked up her needle once more.

If Georgiana and Mr Bingley were correct, perhaps the spirit of Christmas might yet offer an opportunity to mend the fractures between herself and her husband. But if the season failed to work its magic, Elizabeth knew all too well that her future at Pemberley might remain as cold and unyielding as the frost-covered grounds outside.