Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Although she would never admit it, Darcy suspected Elizabeth was a little lonely at Pemberley. She had Miss Lucas with her, but being a widow prevented her from properly mixing in the neighbourhood. So he had invited a few neighbours who would not judge her for being in company while in mourning. It was not a large evening party or a ball, but it was better than nothing. He told her it was to give Georgiana more practice with company before she went to Ramsgate next week, but, in reality, he had done it for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was finishing a melodious ballad on the instrument, and Darcy did his best not to stare at her with rapt attention.
She performed popular songs to great applause and was clearly well grounded in music. They had persuaded Georgiana to perform once, and while everyone listened to her stronger talents with obvious pleasure, Elizabeth had an easy and unaffected manner that captivated him.
She also seemed especially charming to the man who was now turning the pages for her.
He had invited a couple with a daughter a little younger than Georgiana, and a bachelor neighbour, Mr McCartney. Everyone was listening to the performance or playing a round game, or both, but Mr McCartney was by the side of the fair performer.
Perhaps the party was not a good idea.
Darcy forced himself to pay attention to his cards. He had no reason to be jealous of Elizabeth’s conversation with Mr McCartney or with any other man. In fact, he should delight in seeing such a worthy woman be approved of. She was engaging and sociable, and it was a shame they could not invite her in return while in mourning. Why did society demand that a new widow be isolated and invisible?
Besides, a woman like Elizabeth, with her age and appearance and good nature and wit, would marry again.
“Eliza needs to be persuaded to perform,” Miss Lucas said, leaning toward him and speaking in a low voice. “But when she does, she always does justice to her host. She cannot play at sight, like your sister can, but she is still very pleasing.”
“I agree with you,” he said, “but what made you comment on her performance to me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You were observing her, Mr Darcy. I thought you were interested in her talents.”
Miss Lucas turned back to the game, and Darcy knew that “talents” also meant person, heart, and mind. He felt something more for Elizabeth than a transitory flame of admiration.
The party broke up for the evening, and Mr McCartney received no warmer a parting from Elizabeth than did the other guests. When Darcy returned to the drawing room after ensuring everyone got off safely, his sister was heaving a sigh of relief on the sofa. Mrs Annesley put an affectionate arm around her, and Elizabeth came up to her and said, “You are no longer required to talk. In fact, ignore everyone for the rest of the night and do not even talk to me at breakfast tomorrow. We will eat in total silence.”
“The evening was good preparation for your trip to Ramsgate,” Mrs Annesley said.
“If you can talk with your brother’s friends, I know you will be good company for your own,” Miss Lucas added.
“I am uncertain I want to go to Ramsgate after all,” said Georgiana .
“But you leave in two days,” Elizabeth said. “Your friends from school will be there, and it is only for two months. Mrs Annesley will not force you into company more than is necessary.”
“Of course not, Miss Darcy,” her companion agreed. “We will make certain you have time for yourself. Your friends would be disappointed if you did not come, and it would be good for your confidence to join them and mix in a public place.”
Darcy watched the ladies talk, silently agreeing that his sister needed a little more confidence. Elizabeth had been right that a more tender-hearted person like Mrs Annesley was better suited to foster that than Mrs Younge.
“I want to see my friends,” Georgiana said, “but what about Lizzy? I will be gone throughout September.” Elizabeth gave her a quizzical look. “Your baby is due at the end of October, but what if it comes early and I am not here?”
Elizabeth’s eyes softened. “I would rather you go to the seaside with your friends. There is nothing you could do for me if it came early.”
“But I could keep you company as you await the baby and are confined.”
“She will not be all alone,” Miss Lucas said. “And in all likelihood, you will be back in time. First babies rarely come early.”
“Georgiana, I know you want to be a good friend to me, but I also think you want what is familiar and easy,” Elizabeth said. When his sister looked down, Elizabeth bent to give her a hug. “Oh, my dear, you have a generous heart, but you must stretch your wings. Go to the seaside, try a bathing machine, and tell me all about it!”
“I will visit you in September,” Darcy added, stepping forward. “And if you are truly having a terrible time, I will bring you home. But I suspect you will enjoy seeing the pier, and walking the grand promenade, and all the rides and walks around Ramsgate too much to want your brother to take you from your friends.”
“You will really come?” his sister asked, her eyes brightening.
“Of course I will. I will spend a week, and you can show me all your favourite places. ”
“And I charge you with shopping in Ramsgate as much as you like,” Elizabeth added. “You must go for that reason alone. The shops might even compete with London.”
“They will at least be better than Lambton,” Darcy said, and everyone laughed.
Georgiana smiled under their good-natured support and agreed that she would go to Ramsgate. She then insisted she wanted to go to bed, and Mrs Annesley also parted from them. As soon as he sat on one of the drawing-room chairs, Miss Lucas leapt to her feet.
“I will go to bed too rather than read in your parlour. Perhaps Mr Darcy will read to you in my place while you work. Good evening.”
By now, his guests knew they need not stand on ceremony and could stay up or go to bed if they liked, but Miss Lucas was often quick to retire. Elizabeth looked embarrassed before insisting he did not have to read to her while she sewed baby clothes. “But if you would like to keep me company there for a while, you are welcome to.”
Darcy looked round the large drawing room. It felt cavernous for two people, and he did not want to go to sleep so early. He rose and gestured for her to precede him from the room. As they climbed the stairs, Elizabeth exhaled when she reached the top, as though the climb had tired her.
“Are you well?” he asked with some concern.
“Oh, yes.” She kept walking toward her parlour. “Someone is just exhausting me. Sometimes I feel like my balance is not as it was, either, but I am well.”
“Should you be climbing stairs at all?” He wondered if she ought to stay on the ground floor, but Elizabeth threw him a look that said his opinion was unwanted.
“I am healthy, and have been thus far. A few stairs are nothing.”
“Your disposition is one of activity, but are not pregnant women encouraged to live luxuriously in the last months?”
“You mean indolently?” she said with a smile. “The midwife said I could move as I felt able, and she even said to walk more near the conclusion to gain a more favourable delivery. ”
That conclusion was not far off; about two months, if she had reckoned correctly. Perhaps he should leave the patient to her own choice. Her inclination was a better guide than his opinion.
While they settled into her parlour, it occurred to him that when Elizabeth left Spain, Cádiz’s harbour was still under siege. She would have had to walk out of the city along the coast to reach the ship that brought her home. While experiencing all the trials of sickness of the early days of pregnancy, she had to march for miles for several days in a row. A few stairs were nothing.
She sat in her chair and he took up his typical seat across from her while she found her work basket. She seemed to make some small baby thing, but he dared not guess what it was.
“Charlotte has been reading Stratagems Defeated while I sew, but you need not read aloud. I would rather you talk with me. Besides, there is an element of mystery in the book, and I fear you would be confused. Although there is a virtuous hero you would identify with.”
He laughed. “I am no hero for aiding you.”
“I would say you are still honourable and good, though, and if Charlotte were here to read to us, you would see the similarities.”
Darcy thought to ask a question that had been on his mind for some weeks. “Does your friend dislike me? Have I made her feel unwelcome?”
Elizabeth’s expression was of complete surprise. “Not at all! Charlotte admires you, and not only for what you have done for me. Why would you suspect such a thing?”
He leant forward. “Miss Lucas often leaves when I talk to you. Whether in the garden or in your parlour, if I join the two of you, she departs as soon as she can. She can tolerate me in a large group, but it is as though she is afraid she might be obliged to talk to me at length if we are in a smaller one.”
He heard her draw in a long breath, her face impassive. “She would be distressed to think she offended you.”
“I am more concerned I offended her. Why does she leave?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks turned pink. “I think I know her reasoning, but I assure you she does not dislike you. Please, do not press me or her. ”
To be honest, he did not mind that Miss Lucas often left them alone. He enjoyed every moment he spent with Elizabeth, and the hour he typically spent with her every evening was fast becoming the brightest part of his day. He just could not understand why Miss Lucas was so quick to part from him.
Elizabeth grasped his hand. “Pay it no mind, please? I will speak with her, but I promise you have done nothing to offend her.”
He felt a flash of awareness the moment his hand connected with hers. It only deepened when he met her eyes. They sparkled with her usual cheerfulness, but Darcy swore he saw the same affection mirrored in them that was beating away in his own heart. But could it be a true attachment, something of fidelity and fondness that would last all the rest of their lives?
She pulled her hand away and avoided his eye, her finger fumbling with her needle as she took up her work. “Your sister has an extensive collection of music. I was glad for the chance to find something I could play tonight.”
“I am happy you approve of it.”
What a mundane reply. He supposed it was better than asking if she thought Mr McCartney handsome or if she had thoughts of marrying again.
“It was generous of you to arrange a small party. I am not supposed to be in company, and dancing is certainly out of the question, but I was happy to meet your friends. You were wise to invite people who would not look askance at a widow spending time with new people. Everyone was amiable.”
“And Mr McCartney in particular?” Good heavens, the envy in his voice was unbecoming.
“I suppose. He liked my performance, at least. He said he knew attending to Georgiana would make her uncomfortable, but I am neither shy nor a mere fifteen-year-old girl. He rarely hears music at home.”
Darcy nodded in agreement, embarrassed by his relief. What was happening to him if he begrudged a forty-year-old bachelor from enjoying a few songs? “I wish I could host more parties this summer. ”
“Well, you can host them, but I cannot attend them.”
“Then there is no point.”
He watched her blush. “You need not pander to the widow.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I am eager to have a home of my own someday, however small it is likely to be if Fitzwilliam’s money cannot be recovered.”
A rush of sadness came over him. “His bank failed,” he said gently. “All of your husband’s prosperity was with Cattell and March, and they are bankrupt.”
She knew this, but she looked disappointed at his saying it. It pained him to lay the truth so plainly, but it was not in his nature to lie, and he had too much respect for Elizabeth to not tell her the truth. If he lied to spare her feelings now, she would only hate him for it later.
“Then I suppose it will be a small home, but it will be mine.”
He strove to make her smile. “Are you implying, madam, that the accommodations at Pemberley are not to your liking?”
She laughed. “No one could disapprove of Pemberley. But”—she hesitated and made a few stitches before continuing—“even on visits, women are captives to the set of their hostess; hence, women are tethered everywhere but in their own home.”
He thought he had kept his expression calm, that he had not shown the displeasure he could not help but feel at learning that Elizabeth was eager to leave. But Elizabeth gave a kind smile and said, “I enjoy being at Pemberley. But you are a clever and compassionate man. Surely you can comprehend the difference between being the guest of even the kindest host and the freedom of one’s own home.”
“I do.” He felt comfortable with his friendship with her enough to add, “And after the year you have had, of course you want to be settled properly.”
“I am happy here, you know. And I do not need you to find friends to visit the pregnant widow, either. With Charlotte and your sister, and you,” she said with a catch in her voice, “I have everything I need.”
What would it be like to have Elizabeth here always, and not as his guest? Whatever it was he felt for her, he felt it every time he looked at her, her voice drifting to his ears and those intelligent dark eyes of hers looking into his. But until he knew she was ready to marry again, there was little point in investigating either of their feelings.
After a stretch of silence where she stitched and Darcy watched her, she said, “To be honest, I am uncertain that even a home of my own would make me feel entirely settled.”
As she requested, he had never mentioned the greatest threat to Elizabeth’s contentment. “You cannot be at ease knowing what Milton will do if you have a boy?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I cannot wish for this baby to be anything other than what it is, but I cannot lose it to Lord Milton. I will not.”
The resolution in her voice struck him. Before he could offer his friendship and assistance with the law as far as it would go, which was admittedly nowhere without Fitzwilliam’s will, she asked, “Has Lord Milton written to remind you that he intends to assert his claim?”
Milton had coldly asked if she was still pregnant or had lost the baby, and Darcy had no intention of repeating that vulgar question. But he could not keep the truth from her, either. “Yes, he iterated his intentions.” She sighed, and he added, “It is not much, but I have had a letter from the colonel of Fitzwilliam’s battalion.”
“Since you did not mention it earlier, it must not have said he has been holding on to Fitzwilliam’s last will and testament.”
“I wish it were so simple. Colonel Bushkill said many officers wrote wills in Spain, and he even remembers witnessing several before Barossa, but he cannot remember if your husband was amongst them.”
Her needlework lay forgotten in her lap. “I can see in your face it still held some promise; what is it?”
“Colonel Bushkill said there was a soldier who had been an attorney’s clerk who copied documents for soldiers and officers. He gave me his name and said he was still in Spain, and that he might remember the wills he recorded.”
“Perhaps he remembers copying it, but would he still have a signed copy, or the original?” she asked sceptically. “If anyone witnessed Fitzwilliam’s signing and might have it, it would have been Major Hamilton. He was his dearest friend in the second battalion.”
“They returned to England in May, as you know. You sailed home with them. But fit men were brigaded into the third, so Major Hamilton is still in Spain. I wrote to him, as you directed, but he has not yet replied. Colonel Bushkill said that the battalion are on their way to Seville, and have a long march north after that. It will take time to find him or this clerk.”
“It does not matter if the clerk or the major remembers he wrote a will.” Elizabeth looked at the baby thing in her lap. “Nothing short of a document with signatures will be enough for Lord Milton and the courts.”
“It will take time, but now we have a hint to follow.”
“I know I have to be patient, in many ways”—she put a hand on her stomach—“but I have a lovely place to wait, and the best company too.”
Elizabeth smiled at him. She had such a glow of complexion, but was it from being pregnant or being happy? Possibly both, but what he was more concerned with was if her future happiness could ever depend on him.
The morning after they had company in the evening, Elizabeth forced Charlotte to stay with her in the breakfast room. Darcy and Georgiana had gone to take leave of her neighbours before she left for Ramsgate. Elizabeth dismissed the servant nearly as soon as the door shut behind her host.
“I must speak with you alone,” she said to Charlotte.
Charlotte’s curious expression brightened. “Have you news to share?”
Elizabeth drew back, puzzled. “What? No. I must speak to you about Darcy.”
“But you have news? ”
“No. Darcy has noticed that you make yourself scarce when he is with me. He thinks you dislike him.”
Charlotte smiled a little. “I hope you assured him that is not the case.”
“Of course I did, but your behaviour says more than my words. Why do you always leave us alone together?”
“You cannot need me to answer that.”
No, she supposed she did not, but she had foolishly hoped she had been wrong about Charlotte’s motives. “You must forget this idea of our marrying.”
“Marrying Mr Darcy could solve all of your problems, and if you will not try to secure him, then I will help you spend time alone with him until he realises he wants to marry you. You cannot tell me you dislike the hours you spend together.”
Elizabeth kept hold of her patience. “He does not want to marry me, and I do not want to marry him.”
Charlotte held her gaze. “Do you like Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth hoped the room was just warm and her cheeks had not turned pink. Words like desire, admire, appreciate, adore, and even love were words that were closer to encompassing what she felt for Darcy. “He has a sense of humour, which I did not expect. And he is cleverer than I expected. I might like him.”
She felt the weight of everything she did not say, everything she felt for Darcy that had been building over the last two months. She had been married six weeks and known her husband only a little longer than that. She had now both known and spent more time with Darcy than she had her husband.
She and Fitzwilliam had fallen into a heady rush of mutual but juvenile affection. After months in Darcy’s company, she knew him even more than she had known Fitzwilliam. The affection and attraction she felt for Darcy was different, though. It had not come upon her as quickly, and the foundation of it felt as though it were on firmer ground.
Her partiality for him was not of a common fleeting kind. It was a deep and permanent impression, but it was absurd to think of love when marriage—submitting herself to the control of another man—was intolerable. Lizzy Bennet had wanted to be her husband’s friend, his equal, and now Elizabeth Fitzwilliam had learnt that sort of marriage was not what men expected.
“‘Might like him’? That is remarkably vague,” Charlotte said, taking a sip of coffee. “For all the time you spend together, there must be something appealing about him. Most women would only want an establishment, but you are the sort to want a man to meet your mind.”
Elizabeth looked down at her empty plate. “When Darcy speaks to me, he listens to my answer, and the whole time, he looks at me as if my reply matters.”
Charlotte set down her cup and stood. “If you see so much to admire in him beyond his house and his respectability, then stop concealing your affection, lest you lose the opportunity to fix him.”
Elizabeth rose to follow Charlotte. “My husband was careless. My father was neglectful. Neither one provided me with funds to live on. My brother-in-law will take custody of my son. Men have led me to where I am now: poor, and possibly about to lose my child. I am never putting myself into the power of another man.”
Charlotte stopped by the door and gave her a sympathetic look. “I do not blame you for not thinking highly of men. But the truth is you need a man to manage your business affairs, petition the courts for custody of your child, and give you a comfortable home.”
A course of anger shot through her, pushing aside her tenderer thoughts of Darcy. How deeply did she resent needing men to help her get and keep what should naturally be hers? It was unfair, and yet there was nothing she could do to change it, except for keeping herself out of men’s power.
“You are forgetting what Darcy needs,” she said archly to hide her feelings. “Is not the man to be consulted in such cases? If you are managing his future, then you ought to ask him what he wants.”
“He wants what any man needs, a wife who will alleviate his cares and be a companion.” Charlotte grasped her hand. “Mr Darcy is attached to you, and would likely treat your child well.”
“He is a worthy man, but I am not marrying again. ”
“Is Mr Darcy likely to be as negligent as Colonel Fitzwilliam or your father?”
Her heart whispered no, but she had trusted her first husband, and look where she was. Her mind remembered every trial she had suffered since her father never set aside money for her and her husband died intestate and invested poorly. Both men had loved her dearly and had left her in a terrible position. She did not even know if Darcy returned the deepening affection she felt for him. The attraction was mutual, but who was to say if there could be anything lasting behind it?
Did she love and esteem him the way she had thought husbands and wives were supposed to love one another? It did not matter if he loved her or if she had fallen in love with him. Putting herself under the power of a man again would be foolish.
Elizabeth let go of her friend’s hand. “You need not leave us alone in the evenings.”
Charlotte gave her a stern look as she opened the door. “I am doing you a service, even if you are too foolish to see it.”