Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
E ach room of the gallery was furnished after a style or period in history, and Elizabeth did not know where to look first. Lady Fulford, still quiet, was familiar with the exhibition and explained she wished to reacquaint herself with the statue room, allowing Darcy and Elizabeth a little time by themselves. Elizabeth and Darcy walked towards the Egyptian Room. He was pensive and quiet, and while she endeavoured to appear interested by the artefacts, it was he who truly had her attention. All night and all morning, her thoughts had been preoccupied by him; the masculine decisiveness of his actions when dealing with Lord Fulford, the hesitant tenderness of his touch when he had caressed her arm. When she had spoken of his noble character during the conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s eyes had been warm and pleased, and she had realised how incautious she had been. I must remember to be more guarded. Our plan is to extract ourselves from this engagement with the least amount of fuss, and we have become so familiar in each other’s company that we have forgotten what is real and what is a falsehood.
She studied Darcy, wondering if it were her company that was making him uneasy. His conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam had taken longer than anticipated; when his cousin had bid them adieu, he had shared a look with Darcy that she knew had a deeper meaning.
They passed into a new room, and he must have sensed her eyes on him, for his attention returned to her; her pulse quickened as she recalled the sensation of his lips against her wrist.
“What do you think of the collection?” she asked, attempting to sound unaffected by his presence. “I have never been in a place like this before. It is quite remarkable.”
“The juxtaposition of styles is not to my taste,” he replied. “But it is a perfectly acceptable tribute to humanity’s endeavours.”
Elizabeth laughed at his blunt answer. “Only acceptable? Can there be a more damning word?”
“Have I said something amiss?”
“No, you are entitled to your opinion. I am simply laughing at your ability to make your dislike known with so few words. It is a skill in itself.”
“I cannot pretend to admire something when I do not.” He indicated an ugly copper vase, made in the Greek style with heavy ormolu masks twisted into distorted faces. “Who would desire to look at that every day?”
“You would not wish one for your own home?” she asked innocently, enjoying the good humour in his dark eyes, pleased to see his sombre mood had eased.
“My money would be better spent on a horse.”
“Even though the vase would last longer? Surely it would be a better investment over time?”
“If I bought an animal, I would at least be proud to inform people of my purchase.” He took a step closer to the offending article. “I would not permit an object of such vulgarity to enter Pemberley. I would be ashamed to have it on display.”
She stifled a laugh and said playfully, “For one who claims to have little interest in the arts, these pieces certainly inspire a strong emotion within you.”
He smiled at her. “You are correct. I find myself full of an intense and abiding passion that I should probably suppress in polite company.” His eyes searched her face, his gaze lingering on her lips.
Her mouth dry, she drew Darcy towards an ornate pier table with four Greek women as its legs, commenting that she hoped he would not find this piece as offensive. He seemed glad of the distraction, and they continued to walk through the gallery, conversing about what they saw.
Soon after, they entered a busier room, and she recognised some of the ladies and gentlemen from the theatre saloon. Before long, she and Darcy were subject to many covert glances. His arm tensed as he escorted her about the room.
I cannot bear this, she thought, consumed with thoughts of what people might be saying of her, the insolent remarks overheard in the theatre echoing in her ears. We would not be in London together if it were not for that gossip column. I must find a husband and remove myself from Darcy’s presence. Then surely this wretched feeling of shame—not that I have done anything amiss—will be gone.
Darcy led her to a quiet corner, coming to a stop in front of a large statue. He touched her arm lightly and said quietly, “Elizabeth, I wish to apologise for everything that has happened to you since your arrival in London, and…and for last night. It has been a series of errors of judgment on my part, and I regret any discomfort that my actions have caused you.”
Did he mean having her stay with the Fulfords? Or did he mean his kiss, so soft and lingering on her wrist, which she could not regret even though it ought not to have happened? Unable to decide, she concluded it was both.
“Your apology is accepted.” Her voice was haughty in an effort to conceal an unexpected pang of disappointment at this sign that he regretted her continued presence in his life. After a brief silence, she said, “We should accelerate our plan.”
His brow furrowed. “You wish to be introduced to other men?”
“The longer our engagement lasts, the more questions we shall have to answer. My mother has already sent me more letters than I care to recall asking about preparations for our wedding. If we do not do something soon, we shall find ourselves married.”
Darcy scowled. “Is it what you wish, to meet other men?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I wish for you to be free of any obligation to me.” It was the truth, but there was more. She desired him; his kiss had taught her that. I must marry someone else, have someone else to go to the theatre with, to share diverting conversation — a marriage founded on mutual regard, not simply duty.
“Very well. Let me cast my net for you.” His manner suddenly sharp, Darcy’s gaze turned towards an awkward-looking boy of perhaps nineteen with protruding ears and an ostentatious cravat. “What of him? A delightful specimen of youth and refinement. If he does not meet your taste—he does seem a little young, I suppose—there is him.” With an impatient jerk of his chin, he gestured to an ill-favoured man of about her father’s age.
Upset at the change in his demeanour, Elizabeth retorted, “I only raised the subject because I thought you might welcome my removal. You cannot wish to be burdened with me longer than necessary. If you are to be obtuse, then I shall choose for myself.” With great determination, she looked about the room.
“Desist with this ridiculousness,” he said angrily. “There are no suitable men here.”
“You located two likely candidates with such ease that I thought I might try my hand.”
She glared at him. He met her gaze, and, to her exasperation, his lips began to twitch with suppressed laughter. The silliness of their argument struck her, and although she was still annoyed by his manner, some of her vexation dissipated at his poorly concealed mirth.
“Anger suits you,” he said with a tentative smile.
“Not as much as contrition becomes you,” she said primly. “Let us end our disagreement. I seem to be continually saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment.”
“As do I.” He looked about the room once more. “I was simply attempting to choose a successor I would not be jealous of.”
Stunned by the notion that he would be jealous, Elizabeth could not immediately respond. At that moment, Lady Fulford reappeared. Seeing a distraction, Elizabeth spoke to her friend, and Darcy drifted towards a wall of paintings. He was only a short way away, but the distance between them felt far greater. She and Lady Fulford sat on a bench in front of a large painting depicting an embrace between two Greek deities.
Lady Fulford gazed at it for a moment and then asked abruptly, “Tell me of your courtship with Darcy.” Her question took Elizabeth by surprise and, when she did not immediately reply, her friend continued. “I believe you are of a romantic inclination, and I cannot understand how my stern and uncommunicative cousin successfully wooed you.”
Elizabeth longed to tell her the truth of her connexion to Darcy, but to do so would mean breaking a confidence with him, and she liked him too well to do so.
Impulsively, she drew closer to her companion, and in a lowered voice, said, “He saved me.”
“Gracious, whatever do you mean? Were you in mortal danger, or are you referring to the tedium of country life?”
Elizabeth concealed a smile at her friend’s unflattering portrait of Meryton society.
“There was a man who took a liking to me. I thought it innocent, although I did not return his regard, until he showed that his behaviour was not that of a gentleman. Fortunately, Mr Darcy was nearby and intervened. From that moment, I came to value the depths of his character. He did not need to woo me with pretty words.”
“What happened to the other man?”
“I did not see him again, but I have since heard that various dishonourable aspects of his character have come to light.”
“Did he count drink amongst his vices?” Lady Fulford’s eyes were lowered, her voice barely audible.
“He was drunk on the occasion I mentioned. That is why I know Mr Darcy would help you however possible, if you were to confide in him.”
Lady Fulford was quiet for a moment before saying, “Forgive me for allowing you to stay with us. I should have refused when Darcy asked, but I was glad to have another lady with me. And, selfishly, I hoped hosting my cousin’s future wife might temper my husband’s wilder tendencies. I never dreamt he would behave abominably in your presence.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Prior to our marriage and during the first weeks, his conduct was very different. Around my family, he was all things courteous. My mother idolises him. She calls him her saviour for taking me off her hands. Last night was the first time he has been inebriated in their company.” A small gasp escaped her lips. “And it hardly concerned her.”
“Your father seemed affected.”
She shrugged. “He will—can—do nothing. I was relieved my brother stayed at the house last night, but he cannot reside there forever. Perhaps once you are married, I shall live with you and Darcy at Pemberley.” She spoke as though she were making a jest, but the wistful sadness in her expression made Elizabeth wonder if Lady Fulford was revealing what she truly desired.
Shame at knowing the lady would be injured when her and Darcy’s false engagement ended made Elizabeth’s cheeks burn, and she squeezed Lady Fulford’s hand.
“Speak to Mr Darcy.”
A noise behind them signalled his return. Looking between them, he said, “Are you well? Do you wish to return home?
“Not yet.” Elizabeth stood and indicated Darcy should take her seat. “There was a piece of pottery that caught my eye in the next room. It was gloriously hideous. I shall return in a few minutes.”
As he took his place next to Lady Fulford, Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Take as long as you need, Elizabeth. I am sure my cousin and I shall find something to discuss.”
“Has there been any word of Fulford?” Darcy asked Fitzwilliam as they sat by the fire in the Fulfords’ sitting room.
“None,” his cousin said. “He stayed away last night, as well as the night of the theatre, possibly because he expects to find me waiting for him, as I have been. He is too much of a coward to face me.” His expression darkened. “I have been informed he is likely to be at a certain address in Leicester Square, and I have written to him, demanding a private audience. My message has gone unanswered.”
“What does Thorpe say to all this?”
“Very little. Thorpe and Fulford lead very similar lives, although my brother has the decency—if you can call it that—to keep his liaisons private.” Fitzwilliam rubbed his hand across his brow. “However, I have been informed that he has fallen under Mrs Wilder’s spell, and he is a frequent visitor to her residence.”
Darcy gave a disgusted groan. His eldest cousin had a wife and a young child, but that would not trouble his conscience.
“The best we can hope for is that Thorpe keeps his dalliances with this woman discreet,” Fitzwilliam said. “Fulford is more of a problem. His drinking makes him volatile.”
“As you said, Fulford has not returned home for two days. From what your sister told me, even before this he has hardly been here.”
“I wish to God Cecilia had not married him.” Fitzwilliam swore. “What compelled her to do it?”
“If I had known his true nature, I might have intervened, but Thorpe proposed it, your parents approved, and I had no reason to suspect he might marry his sister to such an unsuitable man.”
After a brief silence, Fitzwilliam said, “It is my fault. If I were here, I might have prevented it.”
“You are not to blame for her situation. She had another brother and both parents here to protect her. In comparison, I am to blame for Georgiana’s. She has no one but me, and I failed to protect her,” Darcy asserted.
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Wickham was at fault, not you.”
“There is still no word from those who would wish Georgiana ill. If reports of Wickham’s seduction were to spread…” His throat closed up, preventing him from continuing. He had caught Georgiana with the man, sitting on his lap like a common strumpet and kissing him. Her stricken expression was not one he would soon forget. Standing, her hands outstretched towards him, she had begged for forgiveness.
In that moment, when Wickham must have known he had lost his chance to claim her fortune, and when he had nothing else to gain, he revealed his true colours. He had not even had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “I take it you do not give us your blessing? What a pity! I very much would have liked to see the horror on your face when you learnt of your sister’s elopement—to the son of your father’s steward, no less!”
Georgiana had recoiled at his callous tone, and Darcy had only just caught her as she fainted. Too angry to speak, he had carried her to the waiting carriage and drove swiftly to the safety of their home in London. There she had stayed for two weeks, not eating, hardly drinking, wasting away in front of his eyes, curled like a small child in her bed, weeping into her pillow. It had taken everything for him to persuade her to travel to Pemberley. Even then she did not venture into the gardens. It was only after countless hours of his gentle coaxing that she began to believe that Darcy did not hate her for her deception.
“Between my own investigations and those of Mr Andrews, we are bound to learn something soon,” Fitzwilliam said.
A knock on the door was immediately followed by Elizabeth entering the room. He was instantly filled with alarm at her stricken expression.
“Pardon me for intruding,” she said. “You must see this.” She handed him the latest edition of the Morning Gazette . “It is about the theatre.”
Wordlessly, Darcy took the paper and found the entry.
What delights were in store for Mr FD when he attended the Theatre Royal!
The usually honourable and fastidious gentleman sought the intimate company of the lovely Miss B in his box while the other audience members were returning home. It seems that music truly is the food of love. We can only hope that Mr D’s appetite was well satisfied.
Blood rushed to his face. “I thought my letter to the editor had put a stop to this nonsense.”
Tears rolled down Elizabeth’s face. “It will never stop. I shall never be free.”
Her words hit Darcy like a blow to the chest. He glanced at his cousin, who, for once, took the hint and quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook. Darcy gathered her into his arms, offering what comfort he could as she sobbed. How his heart ached for her, his beloved Elizabeth! It was torture knowing he there was so little he could do to ease her suffering.
“I shall instruct my solicitor to take action against this scurrilous claim. I promise you, with all that I am, I shall defend you against any?—”
She took a step back, breaking away from his embrace. “What recourse do we have? We were there alone. Or at least, I thought we were. Someone must have seen us, but who? I did not tell a soul about…” She hesitated, and her cheeks coloured. “I have not spoken of the events of that night to anyone. Are we being followed?”
He led her to a sofa and insisted she sit. “May I ring for a maid?” he asked. “Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine. Shall I get you one?”
She kept her chin lowered for a long moment of silence before lifting her face to his. “I want to be with my family.”
“You wish to return to Hertfordshire?” Darcy’s heart sank. What was he to do without her?
“No, not Hertfordshire. If I leave London, people might presume that I am overcome with shame. I could stay with my uncle and aunt.”
“I had forgotten you have family nearby. Where do they reside?”
“Gracechurch Street, in Cheapside,” Elizabeth said with a touch of defiance in her voice. “They are not the sort of people your relations would like, but they are respectable, genteel, and I love them dearly.”
Her words stung him. They implied that she needed to defend her family from the derision of his, yet, upon reflection, he could not deny it was true. She shivered and drew her shawl closer to herself. He watched her, taking in the paleness of her face and her sorrow. I should have suggested that she stayed with her own relations from the start, he realised. She would have fared much better with her loved ones than in my own unhappy family.
Desirous to remove her careworn expression, he said, “Of course, you should visit your uncle and aunt, if you feel that it would help you. I shall take you whenever you wish to go. It would be an honour to meet them.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. You wish to…? You need not go with me. I could?—”
“But I would like to,” he said hastily.
Elizabeth’s expression softened, and she smiled approvingly. He longed to take her hand into his, but he did not know if she would welcome it.
His eyes fell on the newspaper again, and he sighed. “I wish I knew how to stop this gossip without causing more people to speculate about you. My past communication with the editor has shown that he is not willing to cease publishing such nonsense, and, as the paper does not give our names, he could easily deny that the article is about us. My lawyer will give us his opinion as to the best course of action.”
Her eyes, red-rimmed from her recent tears, met his. “What if it happens again? My parents will learn of this new article. How am I to explain it to them? Who could be doing this?”
“I do not know who is behind these stories or what their purpose is, but I promise you, I will do all that I can to shield you from harm. I shall write to your father, if you wish it, to put his mind at ease.”
“No, it will be better if I do it.” She looked at the newspaper again, biting her lip anxiously.
This time Darcy could not refrain from placing a comforting hand on hers. “Write to your uncle first. Indeed, I would be happier if you were away from this house. I do not know of Lord Fulford’s plans, and it would put my mind at rest to know you are out of his way.”
She regarded him, her expression one of gratitude. “Thank you. I shall write to the Gardiners directly.”