Chapter 8 #2
Four days as a bride, and Elizabeth was finally responding when someone called her “Mrs Darcy.”
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth answered her. “Your suggestions are good ones, and there is little to change.” She had been eager to go round the house with Mrs Reynolds to discuss the furnishings. It had been something to focus on.
She had not arrived at Pemberley in a composed state of mind.
When they left Scotland, she flung herself into the coach and gave way to her grief.
The tension that filled the post-chaise leaving Springfield felt different from the tension that filled the mail coach that had raced to Gretna Green.
Neither she nor Darcy were angry at one another; neither one ranted and stormed at the injustice of it all.
But a resignation settled over both of them for the one hundred and seventy miles to Derbyshire.
She had seen little of Darcy since they arrived yesterday, so she could not be certain if his mood had improved upon his homecoming.
Mrs Reynolds was unaffectedly kind upon learning there was now a Mrs Darcy.
Any surprise about Mr Darcy eloping was swiftly hidden, and they were both congratulated.
Everyone at Pemberley was disappointed over Miss Darcy running off with a man from the estate who had turned out rather wild, but the housekeeper admitted they were all pleased the master found someone who was good enough for him.
It was not as though Darcy had a choice.
Whatever Elizabeth had expected upon arriving at her new home, the reality of Pemberley astounded her.
Her eye was delighted with the commanding scenery on her first approach to the mansion.
The interior was exactly in unison with what she had seen driving up, and there was something both comfortable and grand in its arrangements.
“I think it a good thing to put your own mark on the house, ma’am,” Reynolds said.
“All that remains is to present it to Mr Darcy for his approval or rejection.” With a conspiratorial smile, she added, “Let us hope my little renovations and modernises do not offend him. I would hate for him to lash out if I change the wallpaper he likes.”
“Oh, he would never,” Reynolds cried. “Not even as a child would he fly into a temper. He has a good heart, a good mind, good sense, and there was as little to correcting him as ever I saw in one of his age. But you know that, of course, ma’am.”
Elizabeth kept her smile in place. She knew little about her husband, but she agreed he did not have mercurial moods.
Reynolds left her, and Elizabeth took out her journal to finally record her thoughts and actions for the last few days.
This room was a lovely place to do it. She had taken a liking to it, with its broad views of the lawn and the stream.
She typically recorded what she did and where she went, who she saw, and what she wore.
But the diary was also a way to reflect on her experiences.
There was no one at Longbourn she could always confide in, no matter the subject, and Pemberley would be the same.
Writing her thoughts always made it easier to accept whatever had happened as she sorted through her feelings.
Half an hour later, she took a break and walked around the room to decide what, if anything, needed to be changed.
Elizabeth looked to the mantelpiece and recognised a miniature of Georgiana as a little girl and one of Darcy that looked to be when he was around twenty.
She was startled to see the likeness of Wickham amongst several other miniatures.
She stared into the face of the worst man in the United Kingdom, the man whose selfishness and greed had most contributed to her situation. Her impetuosity and Georgiana’s stubbornness and imprudence played a part, of course, but here was the man who had overturned everyone’s lives.
Elizabeth clenched it in her fist and threw it across her body toward the wall as hard as she could. It hit the panelling with a satisfying crack and when it fell to the floor, its frame split.
“I hope that was not mine.”
She hung her head at being caught in a weak moment.
The first time they had spoken aside from polite nothings across a dining table, and her reluctant husband caught her in a tantrum.
Elizabeth turned round to see Darcy cross the room and pick up the miniature.
He frowned when he recognised who it was.
“I understand why you threw it, but perhaps we can simply burn it.”
“Or send it to your sister.”
He scoffed as he set the miniature face down on the mantel. “It is unwise to encourage her affection for that man. When he is unfaithful, and if she has proof of it, she can sue him for divorce and be rid of him.”
“She sue him?” she repeated.
“Because they married in Scotland.” When she still did not understand, he added, “In Scotland, both sexes are in a position of equality in claiming adultery and the consistory court can settle the matter.”
A girl desperate to cling to the idea that she was grown and could marry would not petition her husband for divorce no matter what he did. Elizabeth began to fear that if her new husband was so unyielding toward his own sister, what hope did his unwanted wife then have of earning his respect?
“Will you begrudge her forever?” she asked, hating how nervous she sounded.
Darcy had been looking at the pictures on the mantel and turned back in surprise.
“Begrudge? Because I will not welcome her or admit to her husband’s society?
I do not resent her, although she has been married less than a week and has already written to ask me for money.
If she asks you for any, you must refuse. ”
“Should you not give her enough to get back to England, at least?”
He threw her a dark look. “While I do not resent her, I have to protect the rest of my family from Wickham.”
She supposed that now included her, and she was not sure how she felt about that. Pleased, maybe, but annoyed by it being necessary. “I cannot tell if you are angry because her choice is a humiliation to your family, or just overly cautious. Wickham may cause you no problem at all.”
He sighed, looking at his sister’s miniature. “I am not angry, I am…” She wondered if he might have said “sad,” and that broke her heart a little. “Wickham will always ask for more if I show her any kindness,” he countered. “If I give a penny, he will demand a pound.”
“Perhaps he will await the court ruling regarding your mother’s settlement.”
“You do not have a suspicious bone in your body, do you?” he said without malice.
“No, but I am beginning to see I have been na?ve about what happens in the world.”
“Wickham will lodge her in a dismal place, neglect her, and ask me for more money. If I send it, he will still keep her in such surroundings and spend it on drink, cards, and women. I promise you, anything I send will never benefit Georgiana.”
She doubted that, but chose not to argue with him. Getting along was more important than being right, at least for now. She returned to her seat and her journal when Darcy came to stand by the table.
Why was he still here? Between her meeting the servants, learning the house, and writing letters to friends and family and him being likewise engaged with his steward and his own letters, this was now the longest conversation she had with Darcy since they married.
“I came to tell you my cousin, Georgiana’s other guardian and executor of my father’s will, sent an express.
I wrote to him from London to apprise him of our plan, and apparently my messenger from Carlisle alarmed him,” he said drily.
“He asked to come and said I can expect him on Thursday. He is on his way to his parents’ home.
Reynolds says she will have it all arranged. ”
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment and gathered her patience.
“He” could expect his cousin. “He” had arranged it with Reynolds.
Had he forgotten he had a wife now to manage his household and guests, or was this a deliberate slight?
Did he consider her anxious, gossipy mother and suppose Elizabeth could not keep a good table?
The gold wedding band Darcy bought her in Carlisle caught the sunlight.
What sort of wife would she be? Her mother would complain of her misuse and attribute malice toward her at every turn.
Her father provoked his wife, but Darcy did not seem the sort to be amused by injuring anyone.
She could look at her new husband in one of two ways: she could assume he insulted her or assume he did not know how to be a husband.
She blew out a slow breath. He had said he was twenty-seven, and he seemed in fine health. He was not prone to drink or recklessness, so they could spend thirty years together at least. She had to get along with this man for the rest of her life.
Besides, what was more to her nature, to be cheerful or melancholy? Was she a kind person, or needlessly critical?
“Mr Darcy, you seem to have forgotten there are benefits to taking a wife,” she said playfully, “even an unwanted one. I thought you might have taken advantage of some of them.”
To her surprise, Darcy flushed and looked at her in alarm. She could not name whatever he felt as he openly appraised her. Then he appeared completely composed again. “Ah, you mean having a hostess and helpmate.”
What had he thought she meant? “I have met with Reynolds and the upper servants. I realise you do not know me, but you can trust me to run your household.”
“Yes, forgive me. This is all rather—it will not happen again. I have every faith in your abilities. May I assume Colonel Fitzwilliam is welcome?”
“Any of your family is welcome, and I hope so too is mine,” she added with an emphatic look.