Chapter 5
Five
Afternoon
I was attacked the moment I entered the drawing room. My assailant came from the edge of my vision a whirl of blazing hair and fine lace. She had me around the neck and was clinging most determinedly before I had time to react.
"Oh, Elizabeth," my attacker excitedly exclaimed very loudly and very close to to my ear, "I have been longing to meet you ever since I heard of your marriage to Fitzwilliam."
Ah. So this was an embrace. Not an assassination.
"Let her go, darling. She doesn't know who you are," said a male voice. The man spoke softly, yet commandingly with a hint of dry amusement.
The lady reluctantly released me allowing me better view of the speaker. Standing in the center of the room was a fine figure of a man—very tall, very imposing, very—
"Darcy," I said in an unthinking whisper.
Of course the man must be a Darcy. He could be none other than Mr. James Darcy as there were no other gentleman I could see in the room. But when I had spoken I had meant the Darcy. My Darcy.
Which was a rather silly mistake to have made because the man was so old. Not truly old. Not keep-the-windows-closed-he-may-crumble-into-dust-and-blow-away old. Just old-enough-to-be-my-father old. Though he looked well-preserved, he was graying and certainly in his fifth decade, perhaps beyond.
And certainly not my Mr. Darcy.
My hope that no one had heard my foolish utterance or at least had not realized my mistake was crushed immediately by my enthusiastic assailant. With a giggle she said, "The resemblance is remarkable, isn't it? At a distance it is easy to mistake James for Fitwilliam—I have done it myself."
Seizing my hand as if we were the best of friends, the lady pulled me across the vast room, "Come, let us inspect him more closely."
"Isn't he lovely?" she said when we were standing before the gentleman. "Past his prime perhaps, but he has held up well. Fitwilliam, I think, shall age well, too, and will look as every bit as distinguished when he is as absolutely ancient as James."
The lady chortled at her own jest. The gentleman's severe countenance remained unchanged except for his eyes which, when they gazed upon the lady, softened around the corners in an expression of tolerant fondness.
"Mr. Darcy, I presume," I said to the gentleman.
"Yes. James Darcy. Will's uncle. This silly creature is my wife Rebecca."
The lady beamed at the gentleman upon this remark, as if it had been the aspiration of her life to be deemed silly.
I begged them to be seated and called for tea.
As soon as we had all settled in, a delicate little matter became hugely obvious.
Rebecca Darcy's blazing mane of fiery red curls ought to have been the most noticeable thing about her.
Those perfect spirals were guaranteed to be the envy of every lady whose fringe is destined to fall limp no matter how dexterously the curling tongs are applied.
Her hair was, however, not the most noticeable thing about her. Nor was it her beautiful day dress styled in the height of fashion which claimed first notice, though it certainly was not aiding in the concealment of the problem. Not sufficiently at least.
The most noticeable thing about Mrs. Rebecca Darcy was that she had an enormous bulge. In the abdominal region.
I have often heard remarks about the miraculous obscuring capabilities of the empire waist gown which allowed ladies who would have previously been forced to shun society at the first hint of the delicate condition to hide their secret a few weeks more.
Mrs. Darcy's gown, however, had been pushed past the limit of its concealing abilities. A month ago.
She was certainly with child. And I was certainly staring.
I knew I must say something. Anything would do provided it was not, "Are you having twins?"
"Where is Fitzwilliam?" Mrs. Darcy demanded before I could make any sort of attempt at pleasantries.
"He left early this morning—just the house I mean, not town. I have been assured repeatedly he intends to return at some point," I said lightly in an attempt at humor.
Mrs. Darcy chuckled appreciatively, but her husband remained stony faced. Mrs. Darcy asked about Georgiana's whereabouts and I was once again forced to admit ignorance.
"Mrs. Vane is here, I believe," I said desperately, "Shall I send someone to tell her you have come?"
"Oh, no. There is no need to disturb her," replied Mrs. Darcy far too quickly.
Her husband smirked. "Still afraid of my sister?"
"I am sure I am not afraid of anybody."
A look passed between them, his expression dubious hers assured. He apparently came out the victor in their silent struggle, for Mrs. Darcy felt the need to reiterate her position. "I am not afraid of Constance," she said, "I simply know she hates me and do not wish to force her into my company"
"Hate perhaps is too strong a word to describe her feelings."
The same silent discussion ensued again, this time with the lady playing the part of the doubter and the gentleman being the certain one. He conceded after a moment, "I said perhaps."
"We should not be speaking of your sister in this manner in front of our new niece. We do not want to poison Elizabeth's opinion of her."
"Constance can poison anyone's opinion of her all on her own. I am sure she gave you no reason to think well of her, did she?" Mr. James Darcy asked, turning his attention to me.
"Mrs. Vane has been perfectly polite to me."
"Perfectly polite and utterly ferocious?"
To confirm his suspicions by word would be impolitic. I allowed myself a slight smile, however.
"A mannerly sort of savagery runs in the family I am afraid.
The Darcy temper is not one of our more admirable traits and my sister has perhaps the worst case of it.
The disdainful manner in which she treats Rebecca I will never excuse.
For any viciousness towards you however .
. . well, I cannot say I blame her. I cannot say I feel entirely warmly towards you myself. "
"James!"
Heedless of his wife's scolding, he went on,"Tell me, do you have any feeling for my nephew beyond an appreciation for his fortune?"
"James! You promised you wouldn't."
"I said I would be pleasant to her, I made no promises about not asking blunt questions."
"Blunt questions are outside of the realm of politeness."
"Yes, but you said pleasant, not polite. You cannot deny I asked in a most pleasant manner."
"Ignore him," the lady urged, her lips forming a tense smile,"We are absolutely thrilled to meet you and are certain you are a lovely lady who did not mean to trap Fitzwilliam into marriage."
"We are certain of no such thing. We should not be hasty to accept her into the family until we know her character."
"She is part of the family. What good can possibly be accomplished by holding her suspect and treating her as though she is on trial. That is what your sister has done to me and my relationship with her has not benefited from the exercise!"
"Please—," I interrupted, anxious to halt their bickering—it was making my aching head pound all the more. "I am not at all insulted by your question. It is only natural for you to be concerned about your nephew. I do not know if you are aware of the particulars of our very sudden marriage—"
"Will told me it was brought about by mishap—an innocent situation which appeared inappropriate to prying eyes. He said the fault was all his own. But of course that is what a gentleman must say," James said with a sardonic smile.
"I would never claim to be innocent of fault, however I am innocent of mercenary intentions."
"Of course you are, dear,"interjected Mrs. Darcy.
Her husband shot her a silencing glance. She rolled her eyes, but spoke no further.
"I am very much indebted to Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam—for consenting to a marriage which can hold no advantage for himself.
His sense of honor has saved my respectability, and I feel for him all the admiration and gratitude one would expect a person in my situation to feel.
However, to say I have feelings for him—the finer sort of feelings to which you refer—I cannot make such a claim. "
James Darcy nodded, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. Rebecca however exclaimed with much indignation, "Why ever not?"
"I do not know Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam," I said immediately, startled at the sudden vehemence of her reaction.
"We have had a few conversations and danced once.
That is the extent of our acquaintance. I know of no lady who would object to his person nor anyone who could find fault with the quickness of his mind, however I feel to have true affection one must have a deeper understanding of the other person. "
"Of course. I should not have spoken so scoldingly.
You must be terrified to find yourself married to a man you barely know—but he is such a good man, you must believe me—yet a most unsettling situation, regardless.
And now your husband's frightening relations have come bursting in asking ill-manner questions.
We must beg your forgiveness; we have really been unforgivably rude. "
I assured her no apology was necessary. The gentleman's expression told me no apology from him would be forthcoming. I was not yet beyond suspicion.
At this point tea arrived providing a well-timed distraction. I thought the subject would be dropped all together following the interruption, but after a perfunctory sip Rebecca Darcy sat her cup down and asked, "Are you sure you are not at least a little in love with him?"
"Forgive me, I am exasperating, I know, James is forever telling me so.
I should not say anything. Yet I cannot help but think any woman would find herself half in love with any man who came to her rescue in such a manner.
It seems terribly romantic to me," she said finishing with a girlish sigh.
Not for the first time, I was reminded of my youngest sister.