Chapter 36
The Darcys’ ball had served as an excellent reintroduction for Elizabeth into London society.
Most everyone found it quite charming that Mr Darcy had planned it as a surprise for her, and several commented on how very much in love the Darcys were, and in particular, how sweet it was that Mr Darcy was so entirely besotted with her that, after three years of marriage, they seemed as though they were newly wed.
It was a relief to have her sisters back with her as well.
Kitty elected to remain at Lydia’s house, and Elizabeth did not wonder why.
Lydia was determined, in a manner almost scandalous, to see Kitty wed, and the parties and balls were nearly continuous.
The Darcys were far too sedate for such goings-on.
Georgiana had returned to live with them in London but, unlike Kitty, showed little interest in the social whirl.
One day towards the end of April, Elizabeth woke late, feeling unaccountably muddle-headed.
Darcy was in the room and teased her for her lassitude.
She rose, a teasing reply on her lips, but suddenly, the room began to spin and Darcy’s voice seemed far, far away.
Her stomach churned, and she would have stumbled back had she not been close to the bed.
Her hand reached out blindly, grasping her husband’s shirt to steady herself, but it was of no use.
She moaned, feeling a wave of nausea rise in her, and she gathered all of her strength to rush towards the water closet, praying she would make it in time.
Darcy was hard on her heels as she sank to her knees, nausea crashing over her in waves, and a light sweat forming on her brow. Her hands shook as she prepared herself to heave, knowing it would be unpleasant but welcoming the relief it would give her.
But nothing happened beyond that. The nausea subsided, leaving a faint, metallic taste in her mouth.
She breathed heavily, willing her stomach to settle.
Her husband knelt beside her, gathering her into his arms, smoothing back the curls around her face.
“Let us get you back into bed. I shall call Blake, for you are clearly unwell.”
She shook her head, already feeling immeasurably better with the clutch of nausea abated. “No, that is not necessary.” She smiled at him, inhaling a deep, calming breath. “I am well enough now.”
He stared at her in surprise. “You are ill.”
She rose to her feet unsteadily, Darcy reaching out his hand to assist her to her feet. “I shall be perfectly well.”
“You are certain?”
“Quite.” She smiled up at him. “Nothing some toast will not remedy!”
She felt healthy for the remainder of the day, albeit a bit absent-minded as thoughts and dreams danced in her mind.
The next day, Darcy had business with his solicitor that required his attention for a good bit of the morning and early afternoon. At two, he at last returned home, inquiring immediately of Mrs Hobbs as to the location of his wife.
Mrs Hobbs assisted him in removing his hat and replied, “Mrs Darcy is asleep in her bedchamber, sir.”
“Asleep! At two in the afternoon?”
Mrs Hobbs nodded. “Yes, sir. I believe the late nights you have kept recently have taken their toll on her.”
“Of course. I shall be in the study when she wakes.”
Darcy had a good bit of work awaiting him, and it engaged his attention in full, so much so that he was shocked to see the time was nearly five o’clock when he remembered to look for his wife. Mrs Hobbs has clearly forgotten my summons.
She was not sitting with Georgiana, and his sister denied having seen her at any time that day.
The library was empty, and the parlour was bare.
Darcy went to their chambers; seeing an empty sitting room, he went directly into Elizabeth’s bedchamber.
He was very surprised to see her still in bed, though she had evidently begun to stir.
He went to dress for dinner before going to her, thinking that when he returned, she would have wakened completely.
She was awake although she remained in bed. He sat next to her on the bed and reached out his hand to feel her head, which was cool.
“I am worried about you.”
She stretched. “No doubt it is our late nights that have fatigued me.”
He frowned slightly. “Then we must curtail our engagements. I cannot have your health ruined by blasted parties and balls.”
She gave him a sleepy smile.
As Darcy smiled back at her, she gave him an appraising glance.
His shoulders looked so broad and manly beneath his coat, and he had clearly been running his hands through his hair as he worked as it had a fetching, tousled appearance.
She felt her heart rate gain speed as she allowed her eyes to travel downwards over his muscular chest and tight thighs.
Goodness, but Darcy was a handsome man! How very long it felt until they could decently retire.
Darcy stood. “I would imagine you would like to dress for dinner then.” He leant over and kissed her.
Quickly, she placed her hand on the back of his head, rising up on her knees to press her body to his.
She had had the foresight when she lay down to put on a night-shift, knowing her nap would be long; thus, there now was little between them but his clothing and her thin linen gown.
The heat of his body enflamed her, and she ran her hands underneath his coat to pull his hips closer.
“Elizabeth? Are you…do you want…?”
“I do want,” she said with an impish grin. “Do you?”
Darcy appeared to be gaining favour for the idea but seemed a bit baffled by the unexpected turn of events. “But dinner with the Smythe’s…”
“We shall be quick about it.”
A little more than an hour later, as they entered the carriage that would convey them to their dinner engagement, Darcy looked at his wife with great contentment.
It had been just under six months since what Darcy considered their true reconciliation had occurred, after days of fighting and despair that had been painful but led to some true healing for both of them.
With each day that had passed since, he felt more sure of her happiness and more secure in his own.
He looked over at her, so beautiful in the sunlight beaming in through the carriage window.
He wondered whether she had any idea of the power she held over him.
Power that he gave her gladly, pleased beyond measure to be held in the palm of her hand, knowing it was only through her mercy and goodness that he was permitted to dwell there.
The dinner they attended was pleasant. Their hosts, the Smythes of Warwickshire, were genial, and Mrs Smythe set a bountiful table and was known for her ability to arrange her guests in a manner ideal for stimulating conversation. This night was no different.
Elizabeth was seated next to a former acquaintance, Captain Norman Bolton, and Darcy could not help but glance at them as they spoke. The conversation had begun in an animated fashion, but now Elizabeth seemed more intent and sympathetic.
Darcy wondered for a moment whether he were jealous, but then realised he was not; Elizabeth was a beautiful, vivacious woman who spoke to a man’s interest, and he must have become accustomed to that.
She had tolerated much from him, then gave him and their marriage a second chance and continued to love him despite all that had happened.
There could be no more grievous insult to her than to grow jealous because she spoke to a man at dinner.
After dinner, once the ladies had withdrawn, Darcy found himself approached by Mr Thomas Haverhill. Haverhill was a widower who lived near Lady Catherine in Kent, and Darcy had known him for years.
“Darcy! May I join you? Darcy agreed and the man sat down next to him.
“I had the very great felicity of seeing Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy at the opera last week with their companion.”
“Was the performance to your liking? My sisters felt it sublime.”
“It was wonderful, though I own I was more interested in seeing Miss Darcy than I was the show. That is why I seek you out this evening. I would like your permission to call on her.”
Darcy nodded slowly, considering it. “I shall speak to my wife and tell her to expect you.”
With all the perverseness of fate, Elizabeth approached Mr Haverhill when the men re-joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner.
Elizabeth had met Miss Jenny Haverhill, Mr Haverhill’s sister, at a card party in Weymouth in the summer of 1813.
Although the acquaintance had been necessarily constrained by the secrets of Elizabeth’s situation, they had met again in London and became fast friends.
She was a lovely girl, with excellent manners, good accomplishments, and a handsome countenance, but she was yet unwed at the age of three and twenty.
Elizabeth suspected that her failure to secure a husband was likely due to the inability of many gentlemen to appreciate a woman with a quicker wit than most.
However, as she conversed with Captain Bolton at dinner, an idea had been born, and she quickly approached Mr Haverhill for his thoughts on an introduction.
Darcy almost laughed aloud at the expression on Haverhill’s face as the man stammered about.
“Ah, well, naturally any friend of so regarded a person as you, Mrs Darcy, would be…I suppose Jenny might…she is above one and twenty, so my influence…”
Laughing, Elizabeth laid her hand on his arm. “Mr Darcy and I shall host a small gathering in the next weeks, just a few people, and perhaps contrive to see them together in that company. The rest we shall leave to them.”
Haverhill acceded reluctantly but only after Darcy cleared his throat and asked his wife (with a bit of a pointed glance at Haverhill) what day she might like to receive the man. Elizabeth named the day, and Haverhill agreed. “It is a bit tricky, this business of sisters, is it not, Darcy?”