Chapter 5 #2
"What utter nonsense," James Darcy said, putting to words exactly what I had been thinking. "You certainly did not fall so easily to my charms when I came to your rescue."
"What on earth did you rescue me from?"
"Monotonous spinsterhood. My dragon of an aunt. Do you not recall your circumstances prior to our marriage?"
"A comfortable spinsterhood in the company someone as lovely as your aunt could hardly be called a dire situation."
"Surely you are not speaking of Aunt Margaret, no one could call her lovely."
"She is a perfect dear."
"She is a finicky old termagant."
"You malign your own relation so energetically, what will Elizabeth think? Margaret Darcy—my husband's aunt therefore your husband's great aunt—is a lovely lady and I was so fortunate as to be her companion until my marriage."
"You are the only woman in England who could have tolerated her as long as you did. She is as vinegary as they come. And her dog—the dog is even worse than she is."
"The dog is darling! I will hear no criticism of Sir Seb."
"My wife has an affectionate nature; the less deserving of love an object is, the dearer it is to her," said James Darcy with much jocularity, his earlier mask of severity discarded. I saw now he had only worn it for my benefit. He was not grave by nature. He was not like my Mr. Darcy at all.
"Fortunately for you," the lady teasingly replied. Their eyes met and smiles played on their lips in perfect synchronicity.
I felt a sudden sharp stab of envy—longing—loss. Would I ever have such love?
The lady broke the loving stare first. She blinked several times slowly as if she were having trouble recalling where she was, then she said, "So now you understand Constance's objection to me.
She finds it lowering to have a brother married to a hired companion.
Of course she never really liked me even before.
We were at school together, you see. One of those institutions supposed to make a girl ready for the marriage mart, or in the case of charity students like myself, ready for positions as governesses and companions. "
I had been thinking Rebecca must be nearing thirty years of age, however if she was a contemporary of Mrs. Vane my estimate must be revised upward, closer to forty.
"Constance always did her best to make sure I felt my disadvantage. It was unkind of her. But then of course it must have been a very difficult time for her—her mother had only just died."
"What is her excuse for her behavior now, I wonder?" asked James.
"You know perfectly well her husband has put her in an unhappy state. And you could not have expected her to readily accept your marriage to me. Decided bachelor that you were, I am sure everyone was surprised at your marrying at all, much less so far beneath your rank."
"Beneath my rank indeed! She is the orphaned daughter of a clergyman.
You would think she was the daughter of a rag and bone man from the way she talks," he said to me.
Turning back to his wife he continued, "But I daresay you are correct about everyone's surprise at seeing me wed.
I never thought I would have the luxury of a wife.
A man of my prior profession does not lead the sort of life that allows for one. "
"What profession was that?" I asked.
Rebecca burst out before her husband could answer, "He was a spy! Isn't that simply thrilling?"
"I was not a spy. Espionage is no less dishonorable than any other sort of prevarication," said James, he sat aside his tea, looking at me squarely to emphasize the truth of his words,"I was a diplomat. An unofficial diplomat for delicate assignments."
"Sounds very much like a spy, does it not?"
He cast her a menacing glare. She giggled.
"I have been deemed too old to fulfill my previous duties. I still serve His Majesty's interests, but I have been relegated to the role of glorified clerk."
"He instructs future spies."
"They are not spies. I was never a spy."
Patting his hand, his wife said soothingly, "Of course not, darling."
I was about to ask James about his travels when the lady's hand flew to her stomach and she exclaimed "Oh!"
I was fully prepared to ring the bell and tell the housekeeper to call the midwife and prepare a room and do whatever else one is supposed to to when a lady goes into labor in the drawing room, but then a look of elation came to Rebecca's features and she whispered, "The baby kicked!"
Her eyes darted to me and I took a very sudden interest in the rug, anxious to pretend I had witnessed nothing so as not to embarrass her.
Pregnant women are, of course, mythical creatures.
Any evidence to the contrary is awkward and embarrassing and should be actively ignored.
Human young do not gestate because, really, how undignified.
Infants simply appear out of nowhere most unexpectedly and we are all very shocked indeed when we receive an invitation to a Christening.
Now I am married whatever unseen force that goes about parceling out children might visit me at any moment and then—whoosh—sudden baby.
I do hope it has the decency to wait until I am at least nine months wed.
"You say you do not know when Fitzwilliam will return?" asked Rebecca when the uncomfortable moment had passed.
I admitted I did not.
"Unconscionable of him leaving you to face the wolves like this, he must have known we would come. We should have let you newlyweds have at least a day of peace, but he knows I am far too eager to be polite in such a situation. And I have such wonderful news I wanted to share."
If the news had anything to do with the bump she was once again unconsciously rubbing I doubted Darcy would be much surprised.
"And Georgiana, she is with Fitzwilliam?"
"No, they left separately. She is with a Mrs Annesley, whoever she may be."
"Mrs. Annesley is Georgie's companion, of course. Have you not been introduced?" asked Rebecca.
Feeling rather stupid, I admitted I had not. As mistress of the house I ought to know—or at least know of—all the members of the household.
"Mrs. Annesley was not at dinner yesterday evening," I said as if that was some defense for my ignorance.
"Oh, she would not have been," replied Rebecca, "Constance does not think it appropriate for her to dine with the family. My sister-in-law has most stringent views concerning the proper place of hired companions."
Most stringent indeed. Companions I had known dined with the family and were sometimes even invited to dine out in order to even the numbers of some neighbor's dinner party.
"When Mrs. Annnesley is here in town," continued Rebecca, "At least she does have Miss Hopkins, the governess. I believe they dine together."
"Oh yes, the girls' governess, I have met her," I said relieved at being able to show some awareness of my household.
"I have nothing against Mrs. Annesley, but her hiring should not have been necessary.
My sister is perfectly capable of looking after Georgie, taking her to shops and on little excursions and such.
It would be good for Constance to get out of the house, always keeping to her rooms cannot be healthy," James observed.
This was the second mention of Mrs. Vane's reclusive conduct and despite her coldness towards myself I was beginning to feel sorry for her. Could the poor woman really have not left the house since her husband's embarrassment?
"I'm sure you and Georgiana will be fast friends and I wonder if Fitzwilliam intends to keep Mrs. Annesley on. I would suggest she seek a position with Margaret—."
"I thought you liked Mrs. Annesley."
"I would suggest she seek a position with your aunt," Rebecca began again, ignoring her husband's interruption "but she has Dora to stay with her now. Dorothea Darcy is—how is she related to you again, dear?"
"Distantly."
"How uncharacteristically imprecise of you."
James sighed. "A second cousin. Twice removed?
No, that isn't it. I do not know how to answer this question without drawing a family tree.
Suffice it to say Dora is somehow related to us through a less prosperous branch of the family and as the poor relation has been given the unsavory task of looking after Aunt Margaret. "
"Margaret Darcy is lovely."
"She is no such thing. But Dora seems to tolerate her well enough, but then Dora is a little. . . ." James pulled a face, bulging his eyes and stretching his lips tight until his teeth showed. He looked altogether mad. Apparently there were really no words to describe Dora Darcy's peculiarities.
"Dora is lovely as well!"
James shook his head, "She is an odd girl. Abrupt. Standoffish. Spends a good deal of time staring at the ceiling. Will says she has some rather intriguing ideas, but I've never got a word of sense out of her. They have the same severe manner though, so perhaps she is more comfortable with him."
Suddenly, as if some striking thought had just occurred to him, his eyes narrowed and he considered me very closely.
"I can see that you, Elizabeth, are in possession of an open sort of manner that charms easily, but has trouble hiding its opinions—it is your eyes, dear niece, they give too much away. My nephew I fear will give you trouble."
"James!"
"He is closed off and there is really nothing for it but to wait him out. If he deems you worthy of knowing him he may let you in at the gates. Trying to breach the walls will do you no favors, however. Patience is key. I do not envy you—you are in for a long siege."
"James, really. It is not necessary to scare her."
"I am giving her sound advice."
"By likening your nephew to a fortress? You make him sound terrifying. He is just a little shy, dear. Really. And perhaps a little . . . sedate. But Fitzwilliam is an absolutely lovely person."
"I am glad to hear you say so." This was spoken by Mr. Darcy—my Mr. Darcy—as he strode into the room.
My husband greeted his aunt and uncle, not effusively but warmly. To me he gave a curt nod.