Chapter 24
Elizabeth’s knees shook mercilessly as she entered the place she never thought she would see again—the Darcy town house. Strangely, it looked exactly the same, despite what felt like aeons had passed since she last saw it.
She had made no mark when last she was there—it was Darcy House, and Darcy House it did remain, nothing of Elizabeth upon it.
She went through it, thinking those curtains quite ugly and that chair so very dated, but to Darcy, she said nothing.
She avoided his study, the scene of her deepest pain, and hoped the occasion would not arise where she would need to enter it.
Darcy had made jests that his aunt had spies within his household. Such a notion could only be confirmed when, within two hours of their arrival, Lady Matlock appeared on her eldest son’s arm. “You do not mind, do you?” she asked, sweeping into the room. “Ah! And there she is!”
Elizabeth curtseyed. “Lady Matlock.”
It was true that Lady Matlock, while not outright objecting to her nephew’s marriage, had been reserved on her first meeting with the then-new Mrs Darcy.
Their relationship had improved from cordial to friendly by the time Elizabeth was sent away, but evidently in the time since, Lady Matlock had grown fonder of her.
She first embraced Elizabeth, then leant back and kissed her on her cheek.
Tears shone in her eyes as she said, “My dear, dear girl. I did not think I should ever have this chance again.” She said it with such tenderness it nearly made Elizabeth cry.
Saye was fortunately far less sentimental, offering only a bored, “How-do,” and asking whether she intended to feed them. Elizabeth sent for tea, and they all sat, getting reacquainted.
“Firstly,” said Saye, “I wish to hear all the ghastly ways you are punishing my cousin. Nothing too easy now! Are you spending his money? Forcing him to hear nightly scoldings? Or perhaps you have succumbed to beating him?”
Elizabeth laughed; it was a strange feeling to laugh so unreservedly and with true feeling.
It was Darcy who replied to his cousin, saying, “My wife has done nothing of the sort.”
“Come now!” Saye gave Elizabeth a stare of elaborate astonishment. “What manner of wife are you? I had always thought a woman was keen to punish a husband for misbehaviour.”
She laughed again, less comfortably this time. “I daresay you have known the wrong sort of wife, sir.”
Saye leant back comfortably in his chair. “Well, perhaps I have, but pray tell me you have at least shopped? Jewels—a woman never has enough of those?”
“I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“Darcy!” Saye exclaimed. “You, sir, have some penitential purchasing to endure. No less than three footmen to carry it all, and I am bringing Florizel.”
“Who is Florizel?” Elizabeth asked while Lady Matlock protested, “You cannot possibly bring that animal to the modiste.”
“If you are spending enough money, they let you bring anything,” Saye retorted. Then quietly to Elizabeth, he said, “I have trained him to relieve himself on Darcy’s shoes. That ought to begin the day properly.”
“We are not shopping with a dog,” Darcy said.
“I like dogs,” Elizabeth countered. “In fact, I might like Florizel so much that I want one just like him.”
“Ha! And I would get one for you,” Saye replied. “Tuesday? Will that do?”
“In truth, it is not a bad idea,” said Lady Matlock. “The ton should see you together. Most have believed you suffered an illness that kept you in the country…but tongues do wag, even with much less provocation than this. Let them see you out and about and in love.”
“I understand I must thank you for preserving my reputation,” Elizabeth said with a strained smile at her ladyship. “You thought quickly.”
“I did indeed.” Lady Matlock smiled graciously at her and then extended her look to both her son and nephew. A wordless signal was sent and evidently received, for both Saye and Darcy rose. “A few minutes, gentlemen,” she promised.
When the men had closed the door behind them, Lady Matlock rose and joined Elizabeth on her settee. Though her manner was kind, Elizabeth felt her defences rise.
“My dear, how are you really?”
“Very well,” Elizabeth replied tightly.
“That cannot be true, nor do I think it should be. You will need time to heal, but in the meanwhile, you must think of your position—yours and that of your child and any future children.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That is my only thought, if you must know. I am here for Bennet’s sake.”
“Darcy did a stupid thing that is nearly unforgivable—nearly. But I think in time you will forgive him, and perhaps even forget, for your own sake if not his.”
“My sake?” Elizabeth asked.
Lady Matlock reached out, her hand touching Elizabeth’s. “Anger is a disease, my child, and it will eat away at you, turn you into a person you scarcely know. When you forgive someone for what they have done to you, it allows you to heal as well. The slight no longer holds you.”
“This is quite a bit more than a mere slight.”
“It is,” her ladyship agreed. “Much more. Yet the remedy is the same.”
She took a long drink from her tea cup. “Regardless, until that day when you can love him as you will, you must simply pretend. Stop the gossip right where it starts. Some doubt you could have been ill for so long, but Darcy was not much in town, and most people believed he was with you. It passed, but barely. But now, people will look at you to see how you are acting. Be in love, Elizabeth, passionately, ardently in love.”
Act passionately, ardently in love with Darcy? When merely looking at him aroused feelings of hurt, betrayal, love, sorrow, and attraction? When sometimes simply enduring his presence made her nauseated with loathing and desire commingled?
“You do not know what you ask, Lady Matlock,” said Elizabeth quietly.
“You are right, I cannot know. No one can. But, Elizabeth, do know this—we are your family. I shall help you however I can.”
During one of their first nights in London, Bennet had a bad dream, so bad that Nurse Harriet was unable to console him and sent for Elizabeth. She immediately went to her son, soothed and cosseted him and dried his tears.
Alas, he was wide awake afterwards and eager to play and begin his day. “My sweet boy, it is still night-time, which means it is time to sleep not time to play. Mama will read you a story to help you go back to sleep. Will that do?”
Bennet agreed happily and settled himself back into his bed to hear a story.
After the first story, he remained wide awake.
Nurse Harriet offered to stay and read to him, but Elizabeth dismissed the woman, telling her she needed her rest as she would likely have a cranky child to mind on the morrow.
The good lady laughed and retired to her own bed in the room adjoining the nursery.
A second story likewise had little effect on Bennet’s wakefulness.
In the middle of the third story, he released a large, encouraging yawn.
His eyelids grew heavy during the fourth story, and it was with great happiness that Elizabeth saw him finally surrender to sleep towards the end of the fifth.
She blew out the candles, saving one to guide her back to her room, and tucked her son into his bed.
Elizabeth was startled on her return to her room to see it ablaze with light. As she entered, her eyes instantly went to Darcy who stood at her window, fully dressed excepting a cravat and boots. She looked to the mantel clock. It was not yet three in the morning.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “And why are you dressed?”
Darcy turned from the window, his countenance an inscrutable mask.
He looked at her without emotion for one long moment, then, crossing the room, he grabbed her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She could feel his heart beating rapidly and sensed great turbulence within him, but she could not understand why.
After a brief hesitation, she encircled her arms around him, squeezing him gently. She felt his lips kiss her hair.
How long they stood thus, she did not know. Eventually, he loosened his hold, though he did not release her completely, and he tilted her head towards his. She thought he might kiss her, but he did not, rather choosing to rest his forehead on hers.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a low grumble, “I thought you left.”
“Left? What do you…oh.” Elizabeth suddenly understood what he meant. “Bennet had a bad dream, and it took quite a while to get him back to sleep.”
Darcy said nothing, merely nodding his head.
“I am sorry you were worried,” she said gently.
Still, Darcy did not speak and simply held her.
Finally, he stepped back from their embrace, shaking his head, and running his hands through his hair.
“It is I who should be sorry. I have allowed my anxieties to get the better of me tonight. I should have thought Bennet might need you. This is a strange place to him.”
Elizabeth tried to reassure him with a squeeze of his hand, which seemed to bring him back to himself.
“I shall leave you now.”
“Do not,” she said quickly. “I can see you are troubled and perhaps…perhaps we could speak of it.”
He turned his head away from her gaze to look out the window.
Then he began to speak in a very low voice, “When I realised what had happened—when I knew I had been completely wrong and had injured you so grievously—all I could think was to get to you as quickly as possible and hope to God you would allow me to make amends for what I had done.
Fitzwilliam and I were on the road to Gunnersdale by dawn the very next day, but when we got to the estate, you were gone.
I had no idea where you were or how to find you.
No one we spoke to, including Mrs Nelson, had any notion where, or even when, you might have gone.