Chapter 18 #2
She finally looked at him; her husband was nodding sympathetically.
She allowed him to lead her to the sofa, and when they were seated, he raised his arm and she, just as naturally, rested her head against his chest while he put his arm around her.
“You are not being unjust to Georgiana’s memory to think of yourself. Whether you are angry or sad or—”
“I am angry. It is unfair. Why me . . .” Elizabeth brought an arm around his waist and began to sob.
Mr Darcy’s arm tightened, and while he murmured quiet, commiserating utterances, he was mostly silent, allowing her to rail and cry until she was spent.
After some time, she tried to sit up, but Mr Darcy brought his hand to her hair and gently pressed her head back into place against him.
“I was to take care of Georgiana. Loving and caring for her was supposed to give me a purpose at the end of my life.” Transferring that care and concern to her grieving brother, by default, could not hold the same importance as caring for Georgiana.
“You did that. You sincerely loved her and nursed her better than anyone else could have.”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Mr Darcy brought out a handkerchief and gently dried her cheeks. “But you said it yourself: you thought I would die first. That is why you agreed to my scheme.”
“It was unkind of me to say that, and my frustration and sorrow can only explain it, not excuse it. But that is not the only—”
“It is the most important reason, and I expected her to be the survivor, too. Knowing I would be of use to her, to be needed by her, was the only comfort I had. That is what gave me the courage to face every day knowing it might be my last.” She left unspoken how lost she often felt now.
She felt his fingertips rake gently across her hair. It was an absent-minded gesture, but it still felt affectionate. She began to cry again, for Georgiana, for herself, and for all the things that neither of them would have.
After a while, Mr Darcy said, “When Georgiana was dying, you implied that you would be happier here if I showed more care and respect for your feelings. I was not as kind to you as you deserved, and all of my grief and anger does not excuse that. Are we not better friends now than we were in the beginning?”
She nodded, her throat too raw from crying to speak.
“Then it is cruel of you to have no care for my feelings. I dare not demand that you, you who sacrificed so much for Georgiana and who asks so little of me, account for your whereabouts. Will you please tell someone in the house where you intend to go and when you intend to return?”
She nodded again. There was no use in denying that she was fatally ill, and she thought too well of Mr Darcy’s general character—of him—to make him worry.
“How is your heart? Are you now in any pain?”
Elizabeth lifted her head, surprised at the question. “No. I have not had an attack since the day of Georgiana’s funeral.”
“Mr Jones wrote that any small excitement or exertion ought to be avoided. While crying your eyes out and ranting against the unjustness of it all is perfectly understandable, I worried that it—”
“He also wrote that avoiding such things would make no difference, so I may as well do whatever I feel capable of.”
“I still feel that resting whenever possible is in your best interest. However, I have no objection to where you go so long as I can account for where you are.”
“If I drop dead crossing a stile, I promise that you will already know what meadow and what stile it was likely to be.”
“Must you tease?” he whispered.
“Yes, I think that I must. It helps me to cope. Despite my tears today, you cannot say that I do not continue tolerably well, all things considered.”
He gave a small nod and an even smaller smile. “You do get on well, much better than anyone would suppose possible if they knew the truth.”
She was still leaning against him, with Mr Darcy’s arm across her shoulders.
His face was inches from her own, and his fingertips fell to the skin above her collar.
Elizabeth was suddenly very conscious of her own arm that was resting across Mr Darcy’s waist. As his fingertips burned the sensitive skin of her neck, she wondered if she ought to close her hand to clasp him a little tighter.
“I, I am glad that you . . .” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “If you feel up to it, I ought to dress for . . . is it not late? We both might dress for dinner, if you are well enough, I mean.” He spoke without any of the composure she had come to expect from him.
She managed to nod as she looked into his eyes. It took a moment to find her own voice and say, “Yes, I shall meet you in the dining room in a quarter of an hour.”
Then Mr Darcy leant forward and pressed an impulsive kiss to her forehead before he quickly quit the room.
She felt a weakness, a little breathless, as she thought of Mr Darcy while she climbed the stairs to her own chamber.
Was it one of her incidents of heart pain coming on?
Whatever this was, it was a new symptom.
Darcy removed his black gloves and adjusted his armband after the Collinses’ butler took his coat.
He then took Mrs Darcy’s pelisse to reveal a grey evening gown with black trim.
It was pleasant to see his wife out of unrelieved black.
Georgiana was as much on their minds now as she was when she died six weeks ago, regardless of what colour they wore.
His wife gave him a long-suffering look as they stood outside the door to the Collinses’ drawing room.
Darcy drew her arm under his, and they entered together.
The invitation for a family dinner had come from Mrs Collins, but one look at her face was enough to tell him that it was given under duress by Mrs Bennet.
He had only seen the Collinses at church and had not spoken to them since the funeral.
Darcy knew who would be the greatest tax on his forbearance, and it would not be an indiscreet mother or a gossipy sister.
“My dear Darcy, how do you do?” Mrs Bennet greeted him. Darcy ought to have spoken to Mrs Collins first, but he was naturally drawn by his mother-in-law’s genuine concern and repulsed by his hostess’s sullen attitude. “How do you bear up?”
“Tolerably well, madam.” He then forced himself to address Mrs Collins. “Thank you for inviting us.”
She curtsied and frowned as Mrs Darcy said, “How do you do, Mary? Thank—”
“Cousin Elizabeth, I welcome you back to your childhood home,” Mr Collins interrupted her and led them into the dining room.
“How fortunate you have found a husband in your own neighbourhood so as to make frequent visits to your mother and sisters.” He took closer notice of her as they sat.
“You are looking markedly well. Married life must suit you.”
His wife did look pretty. There was no hint of pain in her features, and she had dressed for the evening with care. It was good for her to re-enter public life now that she was in half-mourning. Darcy turned from admiring Mrs Darcy and caught the peevish look on Mrs Collins’s face.
“There is nothing remarkable about a woman finding some sort of husband,” Mrs Collins said. “I suppose that youth, sprightliness, and a love of society must draw in some manner of man into wedlock.”
Darcy widened his eyes in affront while Mrs Darcy sighed. “Yes, Mary. Let us not forget to add submission and frugality. Those are the principles that matter most to Mr Darcy and attracted me to him.” She gave him a wink. “Lydia, how—”
“You do know that you are lucky to have married at all?” Mrs Collins asked expressively. “I studied the necessary principles whilst in the single state to make me a proper wife and dutiful mistress, did I not, Mr Collins?”
“Of course, my dear. Being a good manager, keeping a good table, and a neat appearance are far more important than a handsome face or accomplishments such as cousin Elizabeth’s.
” Lydia could not contain a laugh as Mr Collins unwittingly insulted his own wife, and Mrs Darcy turned pink.
“You have added to my happiness, as I must presume that Mrs Darcy has added to the happiness of Mr Darcy.”
“I would assume nothing of the sort. It is equally in Lizzy’s power to communicate happiness or to occasion misery to her husband,” Mrs Collins quickly rejoined.
The room’s attention shifted to him, and Darcy glanced at his wife, who bore Mrs Collins’s implied insult with grace.
Mrs Collins was both jealous of her sister and insecure of her own merits.
It threw a languor over the evening, and her husband’s foolish flattery and practised compliments did nothing to help.
If she can keep her patience, so can I. “I assure you, madam, I do not have the words to do justice to my domestic happiness.”
He had grown very conscious of Mrs Darcy’s good qualities.
He could never have been content to live with only a pretty and useful companion, a woman with no mind of her own or one gratified by only refined pleasures.
Mrs Darcy was witty, lively, and aimed to put everyone at ease.
She was devoted to those she loved and had no taste for finery and parade.
It is not to last, of course.
It was not the marriage he would have chosen, but being in her company gave Darcy a calm satisfaction and contentment. She was a woman any intelligent man would be proud to call his wife, and he would enjoy it while he could.
“Lizzy,” called Mrs Bennet, “have you heard that Mrs Starr has totally failed in her business, and yesterday had an execution on her house? All of her effects were seized, your aunt Philips told me.”
“Yes, her own brother is the principal creditor!” Lydia cried. “Can you imagine it?”