Chapter 4 #2
“Everyone wishes for a beautiful wife,” Saye opined. “But, in truth, you are far better off with only a mildly handsome one. She will always be grateful you married her, and scarcely anyone else would look at her.”
“The ideal wife,” said Fitzwilliam, “is one who was ugly as a child.”
“Yes!” Saye agreed enthusiastically. “An ugly child raised with a beautiful sister. Instils a deep-rooted sense of unworthy—”
“Do you two hear yourselves?” Darcy asked. “I am married to Elizabeth, quite in love with her, and if others see her beauty as I do…well, that it is a price I must pay.”
“And of course you trust her,” Fitzwilliam said.
“As much as you can trust anyone you have known a week,” Saye added with a little snort. “I myself might not have taken my young bride who had been hidden in the country all her life and toss her right into the temptations of this den of sin we call London.”
This gave Darcy some pause. He had not before considered how it might be for Elizabeth, who had scarcely been to London and certainly had not experienced the whirl of the ton, to suddenly became the belle of it all. The world of money and prestige had been laid at her feet. What did she make of it?
Saye and Fitzwilliam had entered into a debate about whether there was greater debauchery in the country or the city. It was Fitzwilliam who noticed Darcy’s silence.
“Disregard us, Darcy. You love your wife, and that is all that matters.”
“Who are we but two confirmed bachelors?” Saye added.
“I love her beyond my reason,” Darcy said.
“Exactly!” Saye cried out.
“And having abandoned reason, I can only hope…”
His cousins studied him a moment, with Fitzwilliam at last saying, “It seems this might be a conversation better had indoors.”
Within a quarter of an hour, the three men were seated in comfortable chairs in Lord Matlock’s study. His lordship and Lady Matlock were away from home, and they were assured privacy.
“What is it Darcy?” Fitzwilliam asked.
Darcy absently swirled the drink he had been handed. “Nothing. It is silly really. But…”
“But what?”
He sighed deeply. “Georgiana came to me with a fantastical tale she heard from Miss Bingley.”
“Miss Bingley?” Saye sniffed. “This tale has already lost credibility in my mind.”
“I dismissed it immediately,” Darcy assured him. “Miss Bingley tried to tell my sister that Elizabeth and Wickham…”
Fitzwilliam groaned.
“…were…lovers, for lack of a better word. And that he offered for her—”
“Offered for a poor woman?” Saye immediately protested. “No. This is lies.”
“Except she is not a poor woman now, is she?” Darcy responded.
The gentlemen contemplated that for a moment until Fitzwilliam laughed a bit too heartily. “Come now! So in this scheme, Elizabeth and Wickham are lovers, hoping against all rational belief for you to come along and provide wealth for their schemes?”
“No,” Darcy replied. “Evidently, the plan was for Elizabeth to marry some idiotic cousin who is heir to Longbourn, and he should provide funds for their schemes. I was an unlooked-for prize.”
“This cannot be,” said Saye. “It simply cannot.”
“I thought as much myself except that…” Darcy stood abruptly, too many emotions in him to be still.
To marry as he had was most unlike him. He had acted against his sense, his reason, even his character, and to imagine for even a moment that he had been deceived…
It was difficult to bear. He wanted his cousins to reassure him, to call it all folderol, but could they?
He felt the weight of their stares upon his back. “Fields,” he said, referring to his valet, “saw George Wickham leaving my house Thursday last. By the side entrance.”
His cousins said nothing, no doubt digesting the implication of such news.
“I happened upon him yesterday, asked him whether he had been by, and he denied it. Asked what business he might have with anyone therein—certainly our association was finished, so why should he bother?”
“Why indeed,” Fitzwilliam echoed faintly. “But Fields is not a fool and knows Wickham well.”
“Yes, he does. Has known Wickham for ten years, at least.”
“So…?”
“I persuaded myself Fields was in error. But what if he were not?”
“Why would Wickham deny being there?” Saye asked.
“Wickham lies,” Fitzwilliam interjected. “It is as natural to him as breathing. Even if he has no reason to, he lies.”
“Unless he was meeting someone he did not wish me to know about,” Darcy said softly, turning to face his cousins.
“This is foolishness,” Saye burst out. “Darcy, you have no reason to mistrust your wife.”
To this, Darcy made no reply.
Of all of the many social events that the Darcys attended, none were so enjoyable to Elizabeth as attending plays.
Having had but limited opportunities to see such productions in her life, she now found herself nearly rapacious in her desire to see them all.
On this particular afternoon, she and Darcy had been engaged to see The Virgin of the Sun at Covent Garden, after which they planned to dine at the home of Sir Herbert and Lady Claremont.
Elizabeth had every expectation of a highly enjoyable evening.
She had met Sir Herbert and Lady Claremont on several occasions thus far, and their society became more agreeable to her with each interaction.
Lady Claremont was a young lady of two and twenty and married three years previous.
Sir Herbert was a bit older, at eight and twenty, and had been at university with Darcy.
The couple had Captain Norman Bolton, elder brother of Lady Claremont, living with them.
A gentleman of thirty, he had been at sea for most of the past seven years.
He was not the heir to Lady Claremont’s family estate or fortune, but his exploits at sea had been rewarding, and he was thus in possession of a fine fortune in addition to being a fine figure of a man.
He was widely regarded as one of the prime articles of that Season but seemed rather dismayed at the female attention he garnered in society.
The company at Claremont was friendly and easy, and dinner passed quickly.
After the ladies had withdrawn, the gentlemen began to speak of some political concerns, and Sir Herbert at once recalled a certain matter of business he wished to discuss with Darcy.
Darcy and Sir Herbert thus withdrew to his study after Darcy asked Captain Bolton to relate his location to his wife.
Captain Bolton approached Elizabeth just as soon as he and the remaining men entered the drawing room. “Madam, your husband has asked me to tell you that he and Sir Herbert have briefly retired to Sir Herbert’s study.”
Elizabeth thanked him with a smile and invited him to sit with her.
“I understand that you and Darcy are newly married?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Only since December.”
Captain Bolton nodded. “Married life seems to agree with him. He is more easy in company than ever I have known him.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You, more than anyone here, must imagine the relief a man feels when the female eyes of the ton turn elsewhere!”
With a mock groan of despair, the captain agreed. “I found it a great deal pleasanter to chase pirates and face down the French navy!”
“I have met a great many lovely and sweet-tempered young ladies in my brief time in London, and I imagine you would find them so as well—or at least better than pirates or the French.”
“A moment if you will—I shall procure a sheet of paper and have you list their names for me!”
It was amid their laughter that Darcy arrived in the room. He appeared at Elizabeth’s side in a moment. “My headache has returned, I fear,” he announced, interrupting them. “I called for our carriage.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth stood hastily, wondering at his tone. “I am sorry to hear it. Yes, I am ready.”
After a brief farewell around the room, they left. Darcy was silent and glum, scarcely speaking two words, and Elizabeth wondered whether his headache was the sole cause of his ill humour.
When they were nearly home, she asked softly, “Did you enjoy the evening?”
“I might have enjoyed it more had I not come into the drawing room to find you laughing with a rake in a secluded corner.”
“I was doing no such thing!”
“The captain’s reputation is poor; he has made much of his popularity with young ladies this Season.”
“He appeared to be all that a gentleman should be,” Elizabeth protested. “I liked him very well.”
“A rake hardly walks up and announces himself, Elizabeth,” Darcy said sharply.
Taking a breath to control her emotions before she spoke, Elizabeth replied, “We only spoke for a few minutes.”
“Nevertheless, you seemed quite comfortable,” Darcy retorted. His jaw clenched, and he stared out onto the street. The rest of the ride was spent in silence.
Elizabeth was quiet as her maid assisted her in her nightly ablutions, and she dismissed the girl as soon as she could.
Tears stung her eyes as she wondered what she might have done differently.
Should she have not spoken to the captain?
Darcy had sent him to her himself— was she meant only to receive the message and say nothing more?
It seemed ridiculous; she had always been friendly.
Must that change? Was a married woman required to reserve all smiles and conversation for her husband?