Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Today was the first day since Darcy had been at Pemberley that he had not been in discussion from morning to evening with his tenants, his steward, his servants, his neighbours, or his housekeeper.
There was much business to conduct at this time of year, and accounts, rents, and improvements occupied all of his time.
But it was better to push together his engagements and responsibilities in rapid succession so he could return to Elizabeth all the sooner.
Esteem was finally enlivened with desire, confidence with enduring affection.
Yet here he was, two and a half days in a carriage away from her, with love, longing, and hope his only companions.
Time and time again his mind passed over Elizabeth’s ardent embrace before he left London, and it was only discipline and control that made him useful for anything at Pemberley.
Who would have believed a month ago that he would now have a violent, sincere passion for his wife?
Darcy paced around his library awaiting his cousin, too restless and blood now too hot to be productive.
Fitzwilliam wrote on Monday saying he had finished visiting his parents and that he would, if it pleased Darcy, return to town with him in a few days.
His father, he mentioned, was placated regarding the good name of his nephew and the reputation of his new bride.
Unlike his sister Lady Catherine, he would be sure to notice Mrs Darcy when he came to town this winter.
His lordship added, in a hasty postscript, that the latest on dit assured him that Mrs Darcy was well received.
Darcy had read the Morning Post article himself the day after it was published. His sense of delicacy recoiled from his wife’s mention in gossip pages—even if it confirmed what he and Elizabeth had set out to town to do.
Before Georgiana ran off and he allegedly eloped, he had never seen his name alluded to in print, and he had always conducted himself above reproach so that his name was hardly mentioned in a club’s betting book or in chaperones’ gossip in a ballroom.
It hurt him to see Georgiana mentioned in terms of such reproach, even if it was merited.
This mention of Elizabeth was in all good terms, even if his affection for her was referenced far too openly.
But reputation was fragile, and someone in high standing could be held in contempt the next day.
A servant entered and announced Colonel Fitzwilliam, who strode in, hand held out, smiling widely. “How do you do, Lovestruck?”
Darcy flinched and dropped the hand he had outstretched to greet his cousin. “You read the article?”
“Oh, I cut it out and carry it with me. I have ‘lovestruck’ underscored.”
He was condemned to be called lovestruck for the rest of his life.
Darcy sighed wearily and gestured to a chair while his cousin laughed at him.
Fitzwilliam fell into it, saying, “The new Mrs Darcy is a success, a credit to you. ’Tis a small price to pay for the world knowing you are excessively fond of your wife. ”
He scoffed. “Excessive? I bought her diamonds and treated her respectfully. It is hardly worthy of note.”
“That may be, but did anyone at that ball see you look at her? That would answer for it.” Darcy lifted an eyebrow at the strange question.
“If only you could see it for yourself. I noticed it instantly when I was last here. When you look at her, it is like you are starving and bewitched all at the same time.”
There was no way to respond to that, but he felt a flush creep over him.
“Tell me, does Mrs Darcy still distress you?” Fitzwilliam went on. “When we were last here, you did not like how you felt around her. Like you were vulnerable when you spoke to her and yet still wanted to talk with her. What could be the sense in that?”
Darcy turned away at the memory. Of course, he knew why she made him feel like that since the moment he saw her outside that concert room in Ramsgate, but he had not wanted to admit it.
“I remember. My stomach twists and my heart beats fast when she is in the room. I say senseless things and act nervous when I have no reason to be. How peculiar.”
He waited for his cousin to reply, and he did not disappoint. “Darcy, you are an idiot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have you truly never admired a woman in all your life?”
“Of course I have,” he said, keeping his tone even. “What has one to do with the other?”
“Do you really need me to tell you?” he cried, acting just as Darcy thought he would. “You like your wife!”
Darcy kept a calm expression. “I freely admitted weeks ago that I admire her. She is quick, lively, pretty.”
Fitzwilliam watched him with barely restrained frustration.
“I see that I have to tell you. Darcy, you are in love with her.” His cousin spoke as though to a child who was behindhand in his lessons.
“You were attracted to her from the moment you met her. And through all the darkness of this wretched disaster, she has been the one bright light.”
Darcy finally laughed at his cousin’s solemnity. “Yes, I suppose you must be right. I thank you for explaining it so fully.”
Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes. “You knew it.”
“I know it now,” he agreed. “I did not know it when I last saw you.”
“Well, I am glad for it. At least something good came from the Ramsgate affair.”
Darcy sighed, the effusions in his heart for Elizabeth fading as disappointment took its place. “I lost my sister but gained my wife.”
“You lost Lady Catherine too, and I would tally that as a win.” He gave Fitzwilliam a weak smile for his effort. “And Georgiana made the choice despite all of your advice and pleading, and she must suffer the consequences. And one consequence for you is…”
Fitzwilliam gave him an expressive look and held out his hand for Darcy to finish. “I married and fell in love with Mrs Darcy.”
“Precisely. You have every expectation of domestic felicity, and your unconnected bride is actually a help to you and not a hindrance. You have not disgraced your family. Rejoice, and go back to her and be happy, Lovestruck.”
Darcy glared at Fitzwilliam, but he had such a passion and affection for Elizabeth that perhaps the indelicate newspaper article had the right of him after all.
“How fortunate we have a person of renown in our company,” Mrs Ballston teased Elizabeth on Friday afternoon as they walked the broad footpath from Hyde Park Corner to Kensington Gardens, along with her eldest daughters.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes at the jest. “Pay no mind to what you read in the newspaper.”
A gentleman who touched his hat or a lady who asked how did she do often greeted them as they walked. “Perhaps your popularity will help my daughters find husbands. You might as well be of use to me, since you prevented any of my girls from having Mr Darcy.”
She laughed, knowing neither Mrs Ballston nor her daughters bore her any ill will. “Your position, fine manner, and marriageable daughters will do more than my company. The novelty of a new bride will not last much longer.”
It was rather crowded, even for this time of year, and difficult to proceed.
Late afternoon was the time for fashionable people to promenade in the parks and gardens to see and be seen.
It was still an odd sensation for her to be one of those people.
And she felt a deep relief that she had done credit to Darcy.
The burden, the anxiety of being perceived the right way by the right people, was now beginning to ease.
Their hasty marriage was no longer a subject of salacious gossip that would ruin his good name.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. His name was now hers, and who would have imagined how happy that would make her?
“My dear Mrs Darcy, we still expect cards for your first party, whenever it is.”
She hardly thought that Mrs Ballston and her single daughters would expect any advantage by being invited to an evening party in Charles Street.
But at the least, it proved that Darcy’s elopement with a woman of no standing had done his family’s reputation no lasting harm.
If the talk was more about her rather than Georgiana’s censure and the decline in consequence of the Darcy name, then it was all the better for Darcy’s peace of mind.
“You have been a kind friend to me, as has Lady Summerlin, and of course you and your daughters must come. But I do not think it will be the pinnacle affair you expect.”
“Nonsense. Everyone expects the new bride to open her house. The house in Charles Street is not large enough for a ball, at least for all the people who expect to be at your first party, but a grand party it will be.”
“I must hold it after my aunt and uncle meet my husband, and of course after Mr Darcy returns from Pemberley,” she added a little breathlessly. She was exceedingly eager to see him, talk to him, touch him. “He returns on the eighth, and then I can plan an event with his input and approval.”
“The eighth, you say? And do you have it marked on your calendar? Do you have a time to expect him? I hope you are home to greet him properly.”
Mrs Ballston gave her a shrewd look; she must have heard Elizabeth’s eager tone. She felt her cheeks heat, but said nothing. A few more days until Darcy returned, and then she might understand for herself all that Mrs Ballston’s face and tone expressed.
When they arrived at the gate, they found it locked, and they stood about in confusion until Miss Ballston recalled Kensington Gardens was closed in the autumn.
Mrs Ballston’s carriage had been awaiting them nearby for when they finished touring the garden.
As they discussed what to do, Elizabeth’s footman, who had been standing with the carriage, approached her.
“Ma’am, a man said he wished to speak with you when you returned.”
“Did he give his name?”
“No, but it is the same man who caused a commotion at the house on Tuesday. He must have recognised my livery. He is just there.” He pointed.