Chapter 4
The snow, which had been predicted to be light and barely cover the fields, came down in thick blankets. They had slipped and slid several times and were yet only about five miles from Pemberley, or so Elizabeth believed.
She wished to twist the handkerchief in her lap but did not.
She had wanted to go to Longbourn last week, when an unseasonably warm spell should have made travel exceedingly comfortable.
Darcy had insisted that it was impossible for him to leave then; however, what it was that made it so, she could not say.
There had been little business accomplished save for the business of bedding her.
Do not be shrewish, Lizzy. She sighed. Her dear husband could not have predicted this weather, and she knew her ill humour was mostly because she feared they would not make it to Jane and Bingley’s wedding, an event to be held in exactly four days hence.
That Darcy would not willingly spend an excess of time in her family’s presence was not surprising.
Mr Bennet had never given up being suspicious of him, Mrs Bennet crowed incessantly about his wealth, and the younger girls were silly and brazen, constantly asking him when they could go to his London house. But still! This was Jane’s wedding!
She bit her lip and looked out the window.
“You are frightened,” he said from beside her. “You need not fear. The men driving are my best.”
“I am sure they are. I cannot help but feel sorry for them though. Much as I want to see my sister’s joy, I do not wish pneumonia on the coachman.”
“Or worse.”
Some minutes later, when another icy patch had nearly sent them off the road, she said, “Do you think we should turn back?”
It was not the first time she had asked the question. The others had been met with quick demurral, but this time, he hesitated. “If we can get as far as Derby, it will likely improve.”
“Derby seems very far off at the moment.”
“It is only about twenty-five miles, but in this weather”—he peered out the window—“it is very far indeed. We have likely gone no more than five or six.”
Minutes later, the carriage stopped, and Elizabeth heard the coachman climbing down to knock. Darcy stepped out to speak to him and, a minute later, got back in with snow crusted around his face.
“The men are nearly frozen solid up there. We should return to Pemberley and perhaps try again tomorrow.”
“If we travel tomorrow, we shall miss the wedding,” Elizabeth cried. “Oh! But no, I know it is foolish to continue on, foolish and selfish.”
“I am so very sorry,” he said feelingly. “This is my fault. We should have gone days ago.”
Elizabeth bit back her anger. It was useless to blame him for what was by no means his fault. “It does not signify. I shall see Jane soon enough.”
Darcy sighed. “No. No, I fear Jane will be…Bingley intends to take her to Italy for a wedding trip.”
In an instant her own despair was forgotten as Jane’s delight was considered. “How lovely! Jane will be so very pleased.”
“But perhaps London first? I am not certain of the plans. Let us do all we can do see them soon in London, shall we?”
“And what about Georgiana?” Elizabeth asked. Darcy’s—and now her—younger sister made her home in London and had remained there with her companion while Elizabeth and Darcy enjoyed some solitude at Pemberley. “Forgive me for saying so, but in her last letter, she seemed rather lonely.”
“She and Miss Bingley are good friends,” Darcy said apathetically. “I do not doubt she has already contrived some scheme to go to the wedding and will enjoy herself there.”
Alas, it was nearly March when Darcy and Elizabeth were at last able to travel to London.
The snow had been fierce and unrelenting, trapping them in their own admittedly happy paradise in Derbyshire.
Georgiana did attend the Bingleys’ wedding as the particular guest of Miss Bingley, and she filled Elizabeth’s ears with every detail, including, most importantly, the felicity of her dear Jane.
The demands of society were immediately upon them in London.
Lady Matlock, Darcy’s aunt, had done all she could to ensure Elizabeth’s kind reception, introducing her to the right people and teaching her whom to avoid and why.
Elizabeth rapidly formed a group of lady friends, including some who were powerful among the first circles, thus ensuring her widespread admittance.
It was quite surprising to Darcy, and he could not fathom how she had managed it; for no matter the charm or personality of a lady, with that group, those who were from the outside remained on the outside and the wrong connexions were a death knell.
Yet she had formed alliances with some known to be pompous snobs, and what was more, they appeared to truly befriend her.
Those who voiced dislike of her were discounted as suffering from sour grapes for having failed to attract Mr Darcy for themselves.
The number of invitations the Darcys received appeared to increase daily, much to Darcy’s dismay.
Elizabeth and Darcy enjoyed many evenings out together, as she loved the theatre and the opera as much as he did.
Georgiana attended with them at times but, more often than not, left them to their own society.
They perused art exhibits and attended dinners, and Elizabeth spent morning after morning making and receiving calls and attending teas.
Indeed, on many a morning, with Darcy at loose ends in his study or whiling away his time at his club, he began to wish she were a bit less well regarded.
But still, she appeared pleased by her reception, and so he could not complain.
When in her company, Darcy found that he did not mind mingling in society quite as much as he had previously.
Although he would always prefer quiet evenings spent at home or with a small, select group of friends, he found society gatherings were much more tolerable now that he was married.
The attentions of the unwed ladies and their mothers had turned to those gentlemen who remained eligible, and Darcy revelled in his reduction in desirability.
As much as Elizabeth was liked by the ladies, the gentlemen had more than a fair appreciation of her as well.
It did not immediately bother Darcy that his wife was so admired.
Although he was by nature a somewhat jealous and possessive man, he was reasonable enough to acknowledge that Elizabeth’s light figure, enchanting eyes, and chestnut curls would be appreciated by more than just himself.
In truth, there was a certain pride in knowing how other gentlemen could only wish for what was his, to see their envious stares as he entered the carriage with her at the end of the night.
He had to admit, he did occasionally indulge himself with petty exhibitions such as standing too close to her, or caressing her shoulder as he helped her with her shawl, just because he could.
Still, more than once, he wished Elizabeth was just a little less comely and that he was not so often required to allow her to dance with a gentleman or be escorted into dinner by another.
What foolishness was it that a man was not permitted to sit next to his wife at dinner?
Many times, Darcy reflected on how extremely happy he would be to forget this social business altogether and take his lovely bride off to Pemberley once more, never to be seen nor heard from again.
But it could not be, and in any case, Elizabeth seemed to enjoy herself during their nights out, and thus he was resolved to try and enjoy them as well.
Despite his best intentions, Darcy was soon wearied of the social exertions.
London was filled with people whose greatest desire was to separate him from his wife.
He had scarcely known Elizabeth for six months by this time; surely, he was the one who most needed her society.
He resolved that he must speak to his aunt quite soon, that she might teach Elizabeth how to appropriately limit the time she was required to spend calling on and receiving visitors.
Once again, he found himself on a fine April morning entering his club and handing his overcoat and hat to the servant. His cousins Colonel Fitzwilliam and his elder brother, Viscount Saye, were at a table with some other men, and Darcy made his way towards them.
“Darcy! What do you do here?” Mr Thomas Johns was dramatic in his portrayal of astonishment at the sight of him.
“Am I not a member?” Darcy took a seat next to Saye, signalling to the servant for a drink.
Mr Henry Macy responded, “If I had a lovely wife such as yours awaiting me at home, you would not see me here among this lot for a year!”
Johns snickered. “A man must come up for air at least once in a while, Macy!”
Unthinkingly, Darcy snapped, “Yes, and he must sometimes take care of his business.”
The table erupted in gleeful hilarity, speculating on how often each night the lovely Mrs Darcy required him to ‘take care of business’, and whether any occasions of morning ‘business’ were permitted, and how often they, with a beautiful young wife—not even yet of age!
—would tend to their ‘business’. Darcy pretended to be amused by their teasing, understanding that if they knew how vexed he was by their crass behaviour, it would only become that much worse.
Saye at last spoke up for him. “Gentlemen! This has gone far enough. Let us show some respect for Darcy…”
It was not often that Saye was the voice of reason, but Darcy was glad to see this was one of the rare occasions.
“…after all, he is getting very little sleep these days! We would not wish to try his sensibilities!” Once again, the table erupted into loud laughter, leaving Darcy to force a tight smile through the haze of an incipient headache.
“Darcy, really,” said Fitzwilliam as they left the club, “you must not let them get to you.”