Chapter 5 #2
No matter what dark currents swirled through his mind, Elizabeth appeared happy.
She gadded about, ever more ebullient, making love to old dukes and young bucks alike, seeming to want nothing more than to be the talk of London.
The more sober and grave he was, the more vivacious and charming she was.
Even his decree that there should be no more balls—initially greeted with consternation—led to overwhelmingly good cheer.
Then again, who needed a ballroom when George Wickham continued to be seen lurking about Darcy House?
Fields had made it his business to follow the man—Darcy could not bear to involve anyone else in the house—and had seen him at least thrice more, slipping in or out a side door and seeming quite satisfied with himself for so doing.
Darcy had not visited Elizabeth’s bed since Wickham’s second appearance.
He had come to understand it was his lust for her that had been his undoing.
For a moment, his eyes closed, and his nose filled with the phantom scent of her, the feel of her skin, warm and silken beneath his hands.
He felt himself growing weak as erotic recollections flooded his mind: her across his desk, him in her bathtub, them against the library wall…
Had George Wickham taught her that? Was it because of him that Elizabeth knew how well to please a man?
They had laughed together after their first joining, Elizabeth giggling as she said, “Mama told me to be enthusiastic, that it would help things along and bring the end more quickly.”
Was her enthusiasm feigned?
He rubbed his hand roughly over his face, feeling the tears that had wet his skin.
No, it was not merely lust that had afflicted him.
She had seemed to be the answer to every question in his heart, the reward for all the love that life had taken from him.
And now he knew it was all a falsehood, and it was a greater pain than any he had ever known.
Was this what a descent into madness felt like?
She had tried to speak of it—he could see that his silence weighed upon her—but he was not ready. He needed to confront her, to be sure, but the timing never seemed right to light the match that would burn one’s own house down.
Elizabeth walked through Darcy House, wondering what the day might bring. Darcy left the house at an early hour, she knew, though she had no idea where he had gone.
Her head and her heart ached in equal measure. She had lain awake until pale grey dawn had begun to assert itself, wondering what she should do about her marriage. Could it be fixed? And if so, how? Happiness seemed impossible.
As she approached the breakfast room, she heard giggles within and opened to door to find Miss Bingley had joined Georgiana for breakfast. “How do you do, Miss Bingley?”
Miss Bingley smirked. “Very well, Eliza. How are you this fine morning?”
“You slept late,” Georgiana remarked, sliding the basket of bread towards her. “I hope you are not unwell?”
“I was up late,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile. “My book caught my interest too well.”
“Oh!” Miss Bingley rose hastily. “Miss Darcy…that book you mentioned. Shall I go get it?”
Georgiana looked confused for a moment. “It is on the table by my bed. I shall send a—”
“No need,” Miss Bingley said quickly. “I need to refresh myself in any case. I shall be back shortly.”
Alone in Eliza’s dressing room, Caroline Bingley gritted her teeth, fingering the delicate items in the top drawer.
Such finery! That low-born slattern was hardly worth half of the quality, to be sure!
Rage still burned hot when Caroline thought of all Eliza Bennet had stolen from her, and it was rage that pushed the needle in and out of one of her brother’s handkerchiefs, the initials ‘GW’ taking shape in moments.
As she stood, surveying her handiwork, Caroline sighed. What would it do, really? Eliza was married to him. It was done.
But no harm in causing her a little trouble, was there?
The handkerchief would be found, hopefully by someone other than Eliza herself, and taken to Darcy, Georgiana would think Eliza had stolen her beloved and then hate her, or perhaps nothing at all would happen.
Perhaps it would get tossed into the fire, who knew?
Tired of thinking of it, Caroline shoved it deep into the drawer. At the inopportune moment, a young housemaid entered. She gave Caroline a suspicious look. “May I help you, Miss?”
Though startled, Caroline refused to react in a guilty way. She slowly withdrew her hands, wiped them on her skirt, and smirked. “Not at all.”
She then turned and walked calmly from the room.
Miss Bingley returned to the breakfast room in due course, and she and Georgiana exited together, off on a walk through the park.
Elizabeth received her mail while she nibbled at the dry toast she had selected for breakfast, seeing a letter from her mother included in the stack. She eyed it warily, knowing it was likely to contain something to distress her even more.
She could not deny that her mother was a silly, sometimes vulgar creature.
She thought too little and spoke too much, and nearly all of her conversation centred on finding wealthy husbands for her daughters.
She had naturally been delighted by Elizabeth’s marriage, yet made no secret that she found it astonishing Darcy had not preferred Jane, who was so much more beautiful and charming than her younger sister.
This letter contained a scolding for Elizabeth for not having fallen with child as yet.
Mrs Bennet was certain Elizabeth was neglecting her wifely duties and equally certain that Jane would return from her wedding trip pregnant.
Elizabeth thought she would too. Jane did have a tendency to do everything to suit their mother.
Mrs Bennet’s counsel of Elizabeth’s wifely duties reminded her that her husband was eschewing both her bed and her. It was difficult to beget him an heir when he refused to even come to her room, and it was this, more even than her mother’s words, that caused the tears to fall.
Darcy obviously was not pleased when he entered the breakfast room to find her weeping. “Mrs Darcy, I am certain that you cannot wish the household to think their mistress is discomposed in the dining room.”
Elizabeth hastily wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Forgive me.”
He glanced, frowning, at the letter in front go her. “I hope there was not bad news.” He said it scornfully, as if possessing bad news was a character flaw.
“I…no. Um, my mother…” Elizabeth swallowed, gathering her courage. “She mentioned…children.”
What she did not say, what she could not say, was that Mrs Bennet had bestirred the fears already plaguing her—that he had grown tired of her, that he would toss her aside for failing him.
Instead, she quailed miserably under her husband’s flatly dark scrutiny and tried to find some way to reach the man she had married.
“We are both young,” he said at length. “There will be time for that later.”
With not another syllable more, he left her, and she sagged back into her chair.
She needed help, that much was clear. Her aunt would be the one, she decided.
Mrs Martha Gardiner was always filled with good advice.
She and Jane had sworn that before they wed, it was their aunt they would go to in order to learn how to be a good wife.
Her aunt would surely know what she could do to fix her marriage.
An hour later, Elizabeth sat, silent and still, as her aunt finished telling her nursemaid that she would be much occupied in the next hours with her niece and should not be disturbed unless a grave emergency arose.
The nurse nodded and took her charges, disappearing upstairs to the nursery.
Pouring them both a cup of tea, Mrs Gardiner asked gently, “Have you quarrelled with Mr Darcy?”
Oh, that it could be that simple! Opening her mouth to speak, Elizabeth was suddenly overcome, and her words were lost in gasping, wracking sobs that threatened to tear her soul from her.
She wept and wept and wept, managing only an occasional incoherent phrase to frighten her aunt, until she was quite on the verge of hysterics.
Her sorrow seemed to come pouring out of her like a tidal wave, and it was very nearly as uncontrollable.
Her aunt did the best she could to calm her, until finally, she called the housekeeper to administer a sleeping draught, then sent word to Mr Darcy that Elizabeth had become indisposed at her home and would need to remain for the night.
When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she was at first confused to find herself in her uncle’s home, until it all came back to her recollection.
She wondered what her husband’s response had been to the information that she was on Gracechurch Street, spending the night.
He was probably horrified to imagine Mrs Darcy amongst the tradespeople, becoming unreservedly discomposed and overwrought.
She was just on time for breakfast, though she knew she would not have the appetite for anything. Her aunt was alone and smiled kindly as she entered. “How are you feeling this morning? I have always found a good night’s sleep can make things look a good bit better.”
Elizabeth offered Mrs Gardiner a wan smile, feeling a stab of a headache as she did so. “Oh, Aunt, I do wish it were so.”
“I have willing ears should you wish to confide in me.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm.
As dispassionately as possible, she began to relate all that had occurred since she and Darcy had come to London.
She offered her own thoughts and beliefs on the likely explanation for Darcy’s behaviour.
Intermittently, her aunt would offer some bit of protest, some attempt at reassurance, but these unfruitful efforts eventually waned as Elizabeth proved her sad case with example after example of how much her husband disdained her.
When it was done, Mrs Gardiner was pensive for a moment.
“I hardly know what to say. I can only hope that you are not correct in what you are thinking, for if you are, it is an untenable situation. All I can say is that if you give him no cause for complaint, in time, the situation might improve. For better or for worse, you are married, and now it is up to you to make it work.”
“What if I cannot? What if he is unwilling to allow me to improve things between us?”
Her aunt sighed heavily. “You have few choices, I am sad to say. Once you bear him an heir, he could send you away or possibly even petition for a divorce. That would be a mark on him as well, though, so it is very unlikely.
“In any case, you must do what you can to convince him that all will be well. Keep him happy. If he is willing to discuss this with you, do so and hear what he says, but do not do anything to aggravate him at this time. If he wishes to stay at home, then stay at home. Things will come around, I am sure of it. No one who knows you can resist loving you, Elizabeth. Perhaps once you return to Derbyshire, things will improve.”
Elizabeth could say nothing in response, weeping quietly, her face covered by a handkerchief.
Mrs Gardiner leant in close. “Just remember, your uncle and I would do anything to help you, dearest, anything at all. You need only ask.”