Chapter Fifteen
FITZWILLIAM THOUGHT HE might go out of his skin that night.
He was not sure what the problem was, entirely.
He would not term it jealousy, not truly, for he was quite gratified at the idea of Wickham with his wife.
It was not only that the thought of it always went to the root of his cock and made him stir and stiffen, it was something else, a warm feeling in his chest, a feeling of goodness and rightness.
He liked it, liked the two of them together, and it wasn’t all sexual, it was also something sweet and safe and just good, a feeling that spoke to togetherness, to the idea of there being a unit, he thought.
He loved them both and he wished them to be his companions, the both of them, and he liked the idea of them being joined.
But even so, the idea of their being together without him, it was not even remotely pleasant.
He could not stop thinking of it. He tried to read, but he couldn’t.
He tried more than one book. At first, he thought it was because the book was something he hadn’t read, and it was too easy to become distracted thinking of the two of them together, what it was they were doing.
Something easier, he thought. He went and got one of his favorite books from the library.
But that could not hold his attention either.
He resolved to catch up on some letter writing. He was going to have to write to Georgiana, he supposed.
Oh, God in heaven, how was he to explain that he was carting George Wickham everywhere to his sister? For that matter, everyone who knew what Wickham had done would be horrified. He could not imagine how he might explain it to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He ended up going to his study, opening his ledgers, and doing numbers.
He did numbers for some time. When he had no more sums to add, he went over them to see if he had made any mistakes. Anything to keep his mind from it.
Why does it bother me, though? he asked himself.
Perhaps it was insecurity. Perhaps some part of him was never sure of Wickham, never sure why he did any of the things he did. Perhaps some part of him expected Wickham to betray him. Perhaps he wasn’t sure of Elizabeth either.
He fought with himself over this, however.
He must be sure of them, at least of Elizabeth, for she had given him no cause to ever doubt her.
Yes, no cause except she allowed a man liberties before she was wed.
Oh, but that wasn’t fair.
He would not think such things.
He shut the ledger and got up from the desk in his study. He walked into the hall and he saw Wickham himself, darting round the corner.
He went after him.
When he rounded the corner, Wickham was in a conversation with a footman.
“But if you are a doctor,” the footman was saying, “what is the malady that you are treating exactly?”
“I have told you,” said Wickham, “it is between the both of them, something that afflicts a husband and wife, but I cannot say more due to the delicateness of the situation.”
“So you say,” said the footman. “But when did you become a doctor, because I heard from Natalie, who works in the kitchens, that she remembers when you came back from college, and she said you were not studying such things.”
“Well, Natalie remembers wrong,” said Wickham.
Darcy stayed where he was, shaking his head. Why had he left this to Wickham? This was the story that Wickham had concocted to tell to the servants? This was a terrible story.
Well, he supposed it did explain why Wickham was there well enough, and in a way where no one might ask questions if he stayed late at night and if he were with them at all hours. But it also was the sort of thing that didn’t stand up to scrutiny, not for long.
It was the sort of thing constructed for something temporary.
He leaned into the wall, wondering if he should read anything into that. After all, he and Wickham had that discussion where Wickham accused him of tiring of people. Wickham clearly had not thought this arrangement would last very long.
However, it could also be temporary because he intended to spirit Elizabeth away, to take her from him.
It could be that allowing them to have this night together, alone, would have made it all the more likely that they would see that they didn’t need or want him around.
They had managed it just fine without him in the beginning, after all.
He told himself not to think of such things.
If I question him, would he deny it?
Oh, he certainly would deny everything. There was perhaps no point in going after him.
THE NEXT MORNING, Elizabeth did not go down to breakfast, but stayed in bed and asked for a hot water bottle to curl up around, for her cramps were ferocious.
She lay in bed and wondered if she were being punished for her sin of enjoying such carnal activities with two men, for having been improper before her marriage, for having been by degrees more improper since.
Perhaps the wages of suckling mens’ cocks was pain in her monthly bleeding.
It sounded like the curse that God had visited upon Eve, anyway.
She knew what she was doing was wrong, deep down, she supposed.
Yes, and if it hadn’t been so wrong, obviously, it would be working out better.
Mr. Darcy knocked on her door and came in to sit with her. “Ah, you are indeed not feeling well,” he said.
“Did you think I was putting it on?” she said. “I actually had to tell George last night not to come.”
“Oh, you did?” he said, quite surprised. He let out a little astonished laugh. “Well, that is capital, then. There I was, off, unable to sleep, knowing the two of you were together, and you weren’t even together.”
“Unable to sleep?” she said.
“But then, what was George doing wandering the hallways?” he said.
“Why were you unable to sleep?” she said.
“I overheard him talking to a footman, and here is what I have ascertained. He has told the staff that he is a doctor ministering to an affliction that we have, something that affects both a husband and wife, and this is why he is here and so close to us both.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, furrowing her brow.
“I left it to him,” said Mr. Darcy. He eyed her. “Sorry if this is too much whilst you are not feeling well. Perhaps I should go. We can talk later.”
“No,” she said, “actually, I am glad to have something to take my mind off of it. Go on.”
“I should not have left it to him,” said Darcy. “He has terrible ideas, and this one is going to cause problems for us going forward. We cannot be carting around a doctor for the rest of our lives. We cannot be afflicted with some mysterious ailment for the rest of our lives.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Elizabeth. “Or, could we, in fact?”
“At some point,” said Mr. Darcy, “we shall need a real doctor, and that doctor will know something is amiss. He will question Wickham and expose him as a fraud straightaway.”
“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth.
“There is also the fact that members of the staff are already questioning how it is that Wickham could be a doctor. They know it is not what he studied in school. So, it is going to be a disaster.”
“So, we must come up with a better story,” said Elizabeth, “one that could last us forever. And we must somehow counter this story and make it all make sense? That is a tall order.”
“Indeed,” said her husband.
“Well, let me think on it, I suppose,” she said. “I haven’t any ideas now. Also, when I spoke to George last night, I may have been too harsh on him.”
“Did he come to you anyway, wanting you even though you were feeling ill?” said Darcy.
“No, it wasn’t like that,” she said. She sighed.
“Oh, what does it matter? I am through with it, really. If the two of you would quarrel, perhaps that would make things better. It is astonishing to me, really, Fitz, that you are fixating on the problem of servants instead of simply talking to George!”
“What do I need to talk to George about?”
“He asked me to run away with him, just the two of us,” said Elizabeth, studying his reaction as she said it. She meant it. She must push both of them in the direction of interacting. This could not go on this way.
Darcy did not meet her gaze. He was only quiet, looking away, sighing.
“Fitz?” she prompted.
“I had thought perhaps he might… you two might…”
“Well, clearly, I said no,” said Elizabeth. “Because that is calamity for me. I cannot run off with a man not my husband, and I told him that I would be abandoning everyone I have ever cared about or loved to accomplish it, and that I was not inclined to such a thing.”
“Oh,” he said, lifting his gaze.
“What is that?” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t suppose you’d miss me is all.”
“Oh, of course I would miss you,” she said. “That goes without saying.”
“Clearly it doesn’t,” he said, getting up from the bed.
“Yes, perhaps we must go back to why you couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“I am a bit insecure about the two of you,” he said. “I don’t wish to be. But I fear that I have never been chosen for myself. Women have only pretended to want me to get things from me—”
“That is only because you have allowed George to procure every woman you have ever been with,” she said. “You never tried on your own.”
He sighed.
“And now,” she said, “you are saddled with me, and George procured me, too.”
He sat back down and gathered both of her hands into his own. “No, Lizzy, it is not that way at all, not even remotely that way. I did choose you on my own. And you are everything I could want, so entirely perfect for me—”
“Perfect because I am willing to be shared with him?”
“No,” he said. “No, for other reasons.”
“Because I am beneath you, because your relations are shocked to hear of who I am connected to? Fitz, you have not even introduced me to your sister.”
He squeezed her hands. “With Georgiana, it is complicated, given the fact that she is… that she and George…” He sighed. “That is not because of you.”
She searched his expression and nodded. “All right. I believe you.”