Chapter 20
TWENTY
MADE UNHAPPY
The delights of the London Season in May slowly bled into June.
Darcy had never enjoyed the London Season as he did with Elizabeth by his side.
It was not only that less was expected of a married man than a bachelor, although that was both true and of considerable advantage.
More so than that, however, was the intense pleasure he received in looking across a crowded ballroom, or down a dinner table, and seeing a beautiful, charming woman, feeling the great swell of love within his chest for her…
and then having her give him a special, private look, or small smile, or even a little saucy wink.
It was feeling the undeniable connexion between them that grew stronger every day.
Theatre was more enjoyable knowing he could discuss it with her later and praise or decry the performance.
Balls were agreeable, even if he had to share her with other gentlemen, for it was he who had the smug thrill of helping her into her cloak and assisting her into their carriage at the end of the night.
Even dinners were more diverting for, though they were never sat together, he got to see her meeting others and to watch as they discovered the true gem that was his wife.
She and Georgiana had quickly become true sisters, and Georgiana was happy in a way he had never before seen her.
Happy and confident, a girl who greeted a room with the gentle smile of a woman who expected to be liked rather than one who anticipated censure.
He had not before understood the manner in which an approving female friend could provide assurance merely by her presence.
But there was one worm in the bud. Elizabeth was decidedly not as joyful as he was, and he feared, in dark hours, that she regretted the sacrifice she had made for her sister’s felicity.
He would come upon her in unguarded moments, times when she had set down her book to gaze out a window, or when her needle stilled while sewing, and see that something weighed on her.
He despised it, and longed to ask her to tell him why, even as he suspected, quite strongly, he would be devastated by her answer.
You have what you want. She is yours, body, mind, and soul. What more can you wish for?
Everything, he replied to himself. I want every last bit of her.
He woke to that thought early one morning, long before she woke.
He turned on his side and simply looked down at her, amazed that she was here, in his bed—well, in truth, they were in hers—amazed that she was his, amazed that it would be so until one of them took their last breaths.
Very gently, he reached over and slid one long curl from across her face, tucking it over to the side where it would not trouble her.
She could not be so very unhappy if she allows me here, he thought. He had not imagined she would wish to consummate their marriage immediately, much less to sleep in one bed, but she had surprised him with both. He could only pray she did not begrudge him either gift.
Maybe she is not unhappy, he told himself. Maybe the times I see her looking bereft are mere absence of thought.
Except he had not ever seen her looking so before they married, not last autumn, not in Kent, and not in those few weeks in April.
Perhaps she worries for her sister. Perhaps she misses her home.
But then most condemning of all, he remembered that she had married him for gratitude. Gratitude for a cause which had ceased to be. Perhaps the gratitude had worn thin. Perhaps the price, in retrospect, seemed too dear.
She opened her eyes then, but only partly. “You are looking very serious for such a lovely morning, sir.”
He leant over and kissed her forehead. “How do you know it is a lovely morning? You have scarcely opened your eyes.”
Her eyes were drifting closed again as she said, “Because all the mornings are lovely when I wake beside you.”
He smiled at her as she fell into a doze. She surely cannot be too unhappy, not when she says things such as that.
Several afternoons later, he was obliged to leave her. “I really ought to look in at my club,” he said regretfully as they took what had become their customary morning walk in the square.
“And so you should,” she told him. “I cannot have all of London thinking I have put you in chains.”
“Oh, but you have,” he replied. “And indeed, I should be well pleased if you wished to add a few more.”
She giggled at that and then, in unspoken accord, they turned their steps back to the house. She and Georgiana were due for some shopping, he believed, and he parted from her with admonishments to buy more than she had thus far.
Darcy entered his club and walked towards the card room.
It was generally where the most determined gossips held sway, and he meant to know if there was any tattle about the hasty nuptials of two of London’s eligible bachelors.
To his surprise, he found Bingley there, eyes bloodshot and cravat undone.
“Bingley, what do you do here?”
Bingley grinned at him blearily. “I play cards, Darcy, what do you think I do?”
“I had no notion of you being in town.” Darcy took a seat next to him even though he had not been invited to do so. “All is well in Hertfordshire? How is Jane?” It still felt strange to him to call his new sister by her given name, but he did it.
“Jane is well,” he said. “She is with her mother and sisters, and can want for nothing, I am sure.”
“Except the company of her husband,” he said pointedly.
“I know, I know!” Bingley held up his hands. “I needed only a night’s respite, Darcy, some bit of something more familiar. Diversion that had nothing to do with an excess of females all around me, chattering about new curtains and replacing the rugs!”
Darcy winced. In truth, he would not have liked that either, no matter how dear his wife was to him. “The less desirable side of settling too near a woman’s family. I do not doubt it will soon relent a bit.”
“Will it?” Bingley shook his head. “I need to remove from there. I mean to give it up.”
“Give up Netherfield?”
He nodded vehemently. “It is too tedious, and to make matters worse, I have Caroline to complain about it endlessly. A man can only endure so much.”
Darcy paused. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Bingley of a situation he knew of near Sheffield.
The property was similar to Netherfield in size and elegance; it was well-kept, and it was sure to be profitable.
He had, in fact, toyed with the notion of purchasing it himself, for a second son, if he were so blessed.
The only thing that had stopped him was the feeling that if he did so, he would be tempting Fate and thus run the risk of never having a second son.
But before he told Bingley about it, something within him urged to speak of it with his wife. Surely it would make her happy, to have her sister settle near Pemberley? Perhaps it would erase the occasional sorrows which arose in her heart.
“I may know of something for you,” he told his friend. “Let me revisit the enquiries I made previously and then I shall write to you with the details, should anything come of it.”
Bingley nodded, looking half-grateful and half-exhausted. Darcy rose and gave him a clap on the back. “Return to your home and your wife. Some time in the country could do you well.”
Eager to tell Elizabeth of the possibility, he hurried back to Darcy House. Mrs Hobbs informed him that the ladies’ plans had been cancelled and that Mrs Darcy remained at home.
“Why?” he enquired. “No one is unwell, I hope?”
“No, I believe Mrs Darcy only felt a little tired.”
A little tired? Elizabeth had never felt a little tired in her life. Mrs Hobbs told him he would find her in the small courtyard outside of his study, and he hastened to go there.
She was sitting with her back to the glass doors which looked out from his study into the open area. She had no book, no sewing…no means to divert herself whatsoever. She was merely staring at a pot of flowers, and she jumped up and whirled round when she heard him.
“Oh! You are back early!”
Her hands rose and she wiped quickly at her face as if to hide evidence of tears. He did not see any tears, but it did not mean there had not been any.
“I…” It did not seem time to mention Bingley or his conversation with him. “Yes, I did what needed to be done and then wished to come home to you.”
She smiled, still seeming nervous. “Oh, how nice. Will you sit?”
“Do you want me to sit?” he asked bluntly.
“Of course,” she said. “Why would I not?”
He moved slowly towards her. As he came, she retook her seat, and he took the seat she had offered, his eyes unmoving from her. At length his gaze made her anxious, and she laughed lightly. “You know, I used to think you gave me such looks because you were cataloguing my faults.”
“Indeed?” He smiled faintly. “Quite the opposite, I fear. I was cataloguing your perfections.”
“A charming thing to say.” She looked down.
“Elizabeth.” He waited until she looked up at him. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” she said quickly.
“Then why, when I come upon you unexpectedly, do you seem to be quite the opposite?”
“Oh.” She gave a dismissive wave. “I…I sometimes feel sad about Jane and Bingley. I hope their marriage has begun better than the weeks before it did.”
“I hope so too.” He was glad he had not told her about seeing Bingley at White’s, given the state he had been in. “Perhaps you might wish to see for yourself.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean a visit to Hertfordshire,” he said. “We could stay at Netherfield and see all your old friends, your younger sisters, and—”
“No,” she said with an abruptness that startled them both. “I mean, I thank you, but…not at this time. Though I do find myself longing for a good ramble! The sight of trees and fields would do my eyes very good.”
“Perhaps we should go, then, to Pemberley?”
“We are going to Pemberley, are we not? In July?”
“Let us go now. Tomorrow, even, if it can be managed.”
“Oh, I would like that above all things,” she exclaimed. “My aunt has told me of her memories of it, and of course I have the expert opinions of Miss Bingley to tantalise me… Yes, I daresay that would be just the thing.”
He smiled, relieved to have got it right. “Then to Pemberley we are bound.”