Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
When the footman told him that his cousin’s carriage was seen turning in at the lodge, Darcy went to find Elizabeth.
She was writing in her journal in his father’s room as she had done daily since they arrived.
If the room was to be a favourite of hers, he supposed he would have to think of it as his wife’s room.
He had a wife.
He had been married one week, and it still bewildered him.
It had not been a complete surprise that they had to marry, but the full realisation of having another person live alongside him often caught Darcy unawares.
Elizabeth was in the drawing room with him in the evening, reading or working quietly a few feet away.
Wallpaper samples arrived, and the furniture in the breakfast room had been moved.
Household matters he had managed on his own were now done by her, and plans he would have made alone now had to be made with her consideration.
What shook him the most was when he had thought she offered certain marital advantages. His heart had run wildly—eagerly—out of control in those few moments of misunderstanding.
But it was not a bold invitation, only an innocent hint to let his new wife manage his household.
He might have every right under the law to take her to bed, but coercing her or forcing her felt appalling.
A desire for children would eventually overcome every other reservation—their not having an affection for one another, their scarcely knowing one another, their losing control of their own fates.
As he watched her write, he recognised he had not even considered it until her unintended remark, especially after Elizabeth had announced she would submit neither her body nor her heart to a husband she did not choose.
Strong esteem and lively friendship were more important goals for now if they were to make their marriage work.
Elizabeth was a striking beauty, but any reluctance on her part made the act impossible.
“You can come in,” she said to him, without looking up. He had not realised she had noticed him staring from the doorway. “This is still your house.”
“Our house,” he corrected. Every time he said it, it became easier to say. Darcy came into the room and stood before her. He wondered if he warranted a mention in whatever thoughts she recorded. “My cousin will be here in a moment. He is eager to meet you.”
She set aside her pen and turned her full attention to him. “Not as eager as he must be to talk over the astonishing event with you.”
“You were there,” he said flatly. “You can add your account of what happened in Gretna Green.”
“No, I meant your outrageous marriage to a woman of no consequence.”
“I will not disparage you,” he insisted.
“I should hope not, but there must be a natural feeling of resignation and frustration when you discuss marrying me. Unburden yourself to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I will join after. By then, you will have once again reconciled yourself to your unwanted wife and be able to pretend you like me.”
“I do like you,” he said in a low voice. “Please do not suggest that I hate you or resent you.”
Elizabeth looked chastened. “I am sorry I said that. That was thoughtless of me, and not true. We are determined to be friends after all, and I will help you along until you like me because you actually do and not because you feel you must.”
She carefully closed her journal and set down her pen. With her hands lightly tapping the cover, she murmured, “I like you too.”
Looking into her eyes stirred something in him, made him feel restless, vulnerable. But at the same time, he enjoyed talking to her, listening to her, and even allowing her to sport with him. He would have to get accustomed to whatever this was she made him feel.
She saved him from thinking of anything to say. “But you need to talk with your friend in confidence, and I will be one of the subjects. I would rather join you after, if you do not think he will be offended by my not greeting him on arrival. Send for me when you are ready.”
“Just come into the library in half an hour,” he said. “You will be welcome, and I promise to put any discussion of you early in our conversation, so you will overhear nothing as you open the door.”
Elizabeth smiled, then took her journal and left.
By the time he went downstairs, his cousin was already in the front hall.
“How do you do?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked him, his voice heavy with meaning. The tone was as though he had shaken his hand and said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“I am as well as it is possible to be, given the circumstances.”
“With a sister scarcely better than ruined and a stranger with your ring on her finger? I would be stale drunk and on the floor.”
Darcy wondered if he would be more distraught had he returned to Pemberley alone after Gretna Green.
Was he as composed as he was because Elizabeth was a sharer in his sorrow?
But of course, part of his disquiet was that he now had a wife whom he met a fortnight ago.
“I will not make a favourable impression on my wife if I am drunk at half past three.”
“Where is the new bride? Did you lock her in an attic or basement?”
He had been leading his cousin into the library, but turned round to cast Fitzwilliam a glare. His cousin only laughed. If people knew the truth about their marriage, would they assume he hated her, and would mistreat her? “No, as a matter of fact. She is giving us time alone to talk about her.”
“I am sure that we will, but Georgiana is more on my mind. Has she written to you?”
He nodded, heaving a sigh. “She asked for money. She wants her fortune released to her because ‘dear George’ has only the thousand pounds my father settled on him. They are still in Scotland but intend to remove to London as soon as they can. When she married him, I told her she made her choice, and having neither money nor support from me was one of the consequences.”
Fitzwilliam hung his head. “Damned stupid girl. And why did she agree to have him, even after everything you told her?”
“Because he is handsome and charming, and Mrs Younge supported her—”
“I will wring her neck if I ever see her again.”
“Indeed.” He already made certain she was never left in charge of another young lady.
A few well-placed words with the right people and an advertisement in the newspapers took care of that.
“But the real reason Georgiana eloped is because she thinks I was controlling her, and she imagines my father would have approved of her choice.” He threw himself into a chair.
“I should never have allowed this to happen.”
Fitzwilliam sat up. “Do you think this is your fault? Darcy, Georgiana is a sweet girl, but her irremediable infamy is of her own making. She chose to exchange letters with a single man, she chose to elope with him, and she chose to marry him despite the towering pile of evidence against him. You even told her he has the pox and that he told Georgiana’s friend he would elope with her! ”
“What is my fault is that I failed to protect her,” he breathed. “And I failed to persuade her to leave him.”
His cousin shook his head. “She is a misguided girl, and she was led astray, but nothing you did caused this. Trying to prevent your fifteen-year-old sister from embarrassing herself by acting above her age is not a bad thing.”
“But look at the consequences.”
“Do not discount her responsibility in where she now finds herself.”
“I do not,” he said honestly. “But we share the blame.”
“That is your wife talking. She must think it is your fault, but she is wrong.”
Fitzwilliam was always ready to defend him. “No, not at all. She lays it all on Wickham.”
His cousin’s shoulders settled back into their normal place. “Well, at least the new Mrs Darcy has some sense. I doubted she had any when you told me her scheme to recover Georgiana.”
Fitzwilliam was not inclined to like his new wife. Darcy would be sceptical too if the situations were reversed. “If her idea had worked, you would sing her praises and grant her any boon she asked for.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged, and that was as much of a concession as Darcy would get.
“How do you find her? Tell me honestly.” Darcy drew in a breath, and his cousin held out a hand.
“No, do not be civil. I know how you will act. You will keep your wife above reproach. But just this once tell me the truth, and then we can go on believing that you would have actually chosen this Elizabeth Bennet.”
“She is intelligent, kind, lively, handsome.”
“Is she?” Fitzwilliam crossed his arms over his chest.
“She is,” he insisted. “Truly, she is generous to her family and was a kind friend to Georgiana. She is witty and animated—you will like her. And, and she is pretty.”
“Beautiful?”
Darcy thought most men would say no. Elizabeth was not classically beautiful, but he would defy anyone to not agree that she was pretty. She had a pleasing figure, good features, striking dark eyes, and a mouth that always looked like it was on the verge of laughter.
As his thoughts drifted toward her lips, he realised Fitzwilliam was waiting for an answer. “She is the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”
His cousin scoffed. “What a civil thing for a new husband to say. Honestly, Darcy, how are you calm about this? Even if she is sensible and pretty enough, you never chose her!”
“What am I going to do?” he asked, his patience snapping. “Choose to be miserable over it? That would be like drinking poison and waiting for her to die.”