Chapter 16 #3
“I am not unhappy!” Despite her mourning, his wife was witty and naturally good-humoured, and he admired her lively mind.
She had no love of money. Whatever esteem she did have for him, its basis was not in his fortune.
He hoped grieving for Georgiana would not dampen her playful, joyful spirit for the duration of the time left to her.
Grief might put too great a strain on her heart.
“Still, you would not want it thought that you . . . explicitly telling people you . . . you love your wife is not what we agreed upon.”
“Except to my sister.” She stopped looking at his waistcoat buttons and met his eye. “Georgiana thought we married for love. It gave her such comfort and happiness. I could never have ruined her hopes for us by telling her the reason for our arrangement.”
“Of course not.” She looked at him closely. “Do you . . . do you think that deep, abiding love in marriage is impossible, or unlikely?”
Darcy wondered if she meant in a general way or if it was impossible for them.
He was not ready to hear the answer, so he did not ask the question.
He assumed she meant the former. “I am persuaded that a deep affection is common in married life, yet I am confident that the spirit-stirring passion of love is very rare.”
“I would have to agree to its rarity, given the examples provided to me from my own parents and sisters. Even affection is not common amongst my family, save perhaps the Gardiners. As for spirit-stirring—” Mrs Darcy broke off and shook her head.
“Sir William thinks too much of his knighthood and takes it upon himself to act civilly to the entire world. He could not know how disagreeable you find his courtesies.”
Does she assume the idea of loving her is disagreeable to me?
Mrs Darcy was the sort of woman to inspire both regard and love in a man.
She had a graceful affability, a playfulness that was welcoming rather than off-putting, an elegant simplicity that put to shame the parading ton. She was generous and forgiving.
She was also dying, and their arrangement had nothing to do with affection. He only bowed, and shifted the topic away from esteem, love, passion, or any other such feeling that he ought not to indulge in.
“You shall be obliged to hear my strictures against our neighbours every Friday morning if I remain in this club,” he teased. “Whist in the country has low stakes and poor play.”
She gave a little laugh. “Do you have a membership to Brooks’s that I do not know about?”
It was at his tongue’s end to mention the clubs on St James’s Street where he was known by sight, but he was spared a reply by the sound of the house-bell.
The maid showed in Miss Lucas and a woman who had been at the Longbourn ball but whose name he did not remember.
Deciding that he had had enough awkward discussions about love and that there was nothing the ladies could say that he needed to hear, he left them to their conversation.
“How charming to see you and your husband together during the afternoon,” Charlotte said.
“Your father called on Mr Darcy on a matter of business, and they stopped to speak with me. It was only a coincidence,” Elizabeth answered quickly as she invited them to sit.
Charlotte took the sofa, and Mrs Sophia Beverly, the former Miss Baker, took a chair.
Mrs Beverly’s calling was unexpected, and something in Elizabeth’s expression must have betrayed her feelings.
“You are surprised, I see, Mrs Darcy, by my calling.” Mrs Beverly was a little older than Charlotte, and the ten years between them had prohibited a youthful friendship. “However, when I met Miss Lucas in Meryton, she was certain that you would receive me.”
“Of course. And may I say how I feel for your family on the death of Mrs Baker.” Mrs Beverly’s mother had been dead a month. Mrs Baker had had a foul temper and never had a kind word to anyone, but her guest had still lost her mother.
“I think her strong temperament strained her heart to such a degree that it gave out. I condole with you on the loss of your sister.” Elizabeth bowed her head. “That is why I called. A bereaved lady can feel friendless at home with no evening parties and no callers.”
Mourning required a suitable period of a quiet social life, and a public ball or evening society was out of the question, but no one would think anything against two bereaved ladies calling on one another. Mrs Beverly’s gesture was incredibly kind.
“I would welcome your company since we are obliged to stay more at home. We ladies might dare display our grief if we mixed with the neighbourhood. I might weep in front of someone if I went into public.”
Mrs Beverly gave a rueful smile. “Yes, my brother and father are allowed to go into the world and conduct their business, while I must stay at home and think always about my dear departed mother. How unjust that we are not allowed a distraction from our grief like our husbands and fathers. And I will go mad if I can only see my brother and father and Miss Lucas until I am out of mourning!” she cried with a smile.
Elizabeth laughed. “You must call on me when you wish for a diversion. Nothing could be said against two ladies in black calling on one another.”
“I do not mean to imply that you must have grown tired of your husband’s company. You are a newly married woman, after all.” Mrs Beverly gave her a knowing smile.
Elizabeth brought a hand to her burning cheek.
She supposed this was when newly married ladies of the same age might coyly discuss or refer to feelings and acts she had no more knowledge of than Charlotte.
The comparative isolation in which she lived with Mr Darcy, and their love and grief for Georgiana, strengthened the slight bond that initially united them.
But no matter their companionship or mutual esteem, she was still going to die, and amorous affection had no place in their arrangement.
“I know you have had few visitors since you married, Eliza,” Charlotte said when Elizabeth had no reply. “I thought you might enjoy widening your circle whilst you are in mourning.”
“You are very kind, my dear Charlotte.” Her mother had not come but for the funeral, and Lydia only came when she had no other amusements. She was still too angry with Mr Collins and Mary for their callous remarks to Mr Darcy to call on them at Longbourn. Not that I have any desire to see them.
“Not to wait on a bride is remiss, even considering Miss Darcy’s death,” Mrs Beverly said.
“I suspect your neighbours will slowly begin to make calls. In the meantime, you must be such a comfort to Mr Darcy. There are some days, when I am missing my mother, that a hug and smile from Mr Beverly are the only things that console me.”
Mrs Beverly gave a sympathetic, knowing expression that Elizabeth tried to mimic.
She might be a comfort to Mr Darcy, but while an expressive look and a conversation might readily pass between them, an embrace was not likely.
He was more compassionate than she had previously credited him as being, but the idea of his hugging her to seek solace and reassurance was implausible.
What if I want a quiet embrace to comfort me as I mourn Georgiana, as well as grieving for my own shortened life? If Mr Darcy would return her embrace, if he found any solace in it, it would not be a disagreeable thing, but Elizabeth was certain he would pull away from her if she tried.