Chapter Six
Her impression was as if no time had passed, but when Elizabeth awoke, it was two days before her wedding.
The truce between her and Darcy, though tenuous, had lasted the month, and Elizabeth found herself accepting and even, on occasion, looking forward to being High Lady Darcy.
She and Jane, with occasional help from Darcy, had covered the entire history of the Darcy line, the intricacies of Northern culture, and the aspects of royal life that would all be prudent to Elizabeth now.
The North Country had a rich culture and history that she had never imagined and, combined with the breathtaking scenery around Pemberley, she was falling in love with her new home and its people, who, in turn, were quite smitten with the Princess Intended.
When she was not preoccupied with her studies, she was painting.
Darcy had shown her the atrium with its high glass ceilings and luscious green plants, giving her free rein to use the area as she saw fit.
After dinner one night, he had given her a new paint set, with the finest paints and brushes she had ever seen, and Elizabeth was so surprised and excited that she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“What was that?” he had asked warily, pushing her back at arm's length.
“I cannot know. Perhaps gratitude?”
He nodded, bent his head as though he had more questions, but walked away.
She was unsure of what she had wanted from him, but the canvas beneath her brush told her soon enough.
Darcy's likeness formed across the blank expanse. Jane had explained to her the royal tradition of exchanging wedding gifts before the bridal couple retired that first night, and in Elizabeth’s estimation, a painting would make a good offering.
She bathed and dressed, letting Heather arrange her hair into a simple plaited topknot since a fancy presentation was not necessary.
That would come later, and the need to be a showpiece made her uncomfortable right now.
After she was prepared, she made her way to the atrium.
Sunlight spilled through the thick glass above her, flooding the encased wilderness with unseasonable warmth.
Her easel and paints were there, but she went to the cabinet she had had installed, unlocked it, and brought Darcy's image into the light.
She had so perfectly captured him, which was unusual in her opinion.
The lines and angles of his face were so realistic, he could be sitting before her.
The deep, dark midnight of his eyes seemed to glitter and never quite reveal what he had thought.
One difference existed between the living man and the painted version: he looked relaxed and happy.
His mouth was slightly upturned and his posture much less stiff.
She liked her version of him more than the version she would be marrying.
She placed the canvas on the easel and was in the process of securing it when Darcy walked in.
“Am I intruding?”
Swiftly, she threw a cloth cover over her work and offered Darcy a warm expression. “No.”
“Are you ever going to let me see what is beneath that blasted fabric?”
“All in good time, my lord.”
“Are you not coming to breakfast this morning?”
“I offer my apologies. This painting has taken priority. Has Mrs. Berne given birth yet?”
“Nay.”
“That poor woman. She is having a dreadful go of it.”
He walked farther into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding absently in agreement. His eyebrow popped up inquisitively when he gazed upon her.
“Ye walk like that when ye have an important question to ask, my lord.”
“You are an astute observer, my sweet.”
Over the last few weeks, he seemed to have forgotten her name and replaced it with “my sweet”, but she hardly took notice anymore.
They had become comfortable, or perhaps accustomed to each other, and she assumed the endearing epithets were as much for the crowd he still played to as they were for her ears.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he paced about the room.
“What is it?” She pressed him for the information she wanted to hear.
“Are you sure you do not want breakfast?”
“Lord Darcy!” Elizabeth wailed. “Pray, would ye tell me what is bothering ye?”
He swallowed without looking straight at her. “I have to go away until the wedding.”
What? “Why?” She asked, her head snapping up at him as she paused her task of mixing paints on a palette.
“I cannot tell you.”
“Some secret mission into the wilds?” she asked, slightly amused.
He remained silent. Why would that be? What did he have to hide? His prolonged stillness eventually evoked her long-checked temper.
“Ye are quite serious, are you not? Ye really mean to leave before we are to be married?” Her irritation came out in her tone.
“I am afraid I have no choice.”
“You will always have choices, my lord. Unless. . .” It could not be! She huffed in disbelief and threw her mixing tool down. “Unless ye have decided ye are above choices or, perhaps, more to the point, need to maintain choices.”
“Elizabeth, of what are you speaking?”
“Ye are still keeping thy whores, are ye not? My god, sir! It is but two days before we are to wed and ye are bending to the will of a common prostitute. Very well. Make arrangements for thy wedding night. Ye shall not be sharing my bed!”
Her anger ignited his own temper, and he crossed the room to grab her shoulders.
“You were looking for an excuse to say that. Do you think I do not know what is beneath that cloth? It is a portrait of your beloved Saint George, patron of perfection! You speak of choices, Elizabeth, and fidelity, and yet you make no effort to forget your past. I cannot apologize for your fate anymore.”
“As if ye did not have a hand in my fate, ye ruthless scoundrel!”
“I am going to leave now before I regret my words. I had hoped you might give me the benefit of the doubt, but I can see this past month has been nothing but your version of the pretty lies you fill your head with.”
She opened her mouth to speak but closed it immediately. Never before had she been accused of being a liar, and it made her stomach turn that anybody, even the wretched High Lord Darcy, could think such a thing. “Pray leave now. I shall see ye at the wedding.”
He sighed. “Damn it, Elizabeth. I merely wanted to give you the courtesy of informing you of my absence. I did not want to argue about it, though I suspected you would be put out.”
“I cannot talk to ye anymore. I said leave.” She did not like repeating herself.
“Fine.” He spat out the words.
She made certain she was aware of his every movement as he stormed away.
Slowly, she uncovered the painting. Should she finish it now?
The painted Darcy's eyes were much kinder than the ones that had just looked upon her, his mouth set more sweetly than the irritated one that had been pressed into an ugly frown.
Her heart ached when she was reminded of him considering her a liar.
She picked up her brush and continued to work.
* * *
“I am charging you with looking after her while Finn and I are gone,” Darcy said, examining his sword before sheathing it. His voice was cool, as if he was telling Jane to mind his favourite hound.
“I would have regardless, my lord.”
Darcy glanced at her then grabbed his pack. “Very well.” He started to make his way towards the door.
“Are you arguing again?”
Darcy froze for a moment before resuming his path. “Hold your tongue, Jane.”
“I shall not, William, and if you ever use that tone with me again, I shall have Finn serve you a cold dish of horseshit.”
“I am incredibly tired of strong-willed women,” Darcy muttered, facing his friend.
“We are not half as exhausting as childish men,” countered Jane. “What was the latest quarrel about? Things had been going so well of late.”
“They were going well until Elizabeth made more assumptions. I told her I had to depart until the wedding, and she simply knew I was leaving to be with another woman.”
“For a woman who does not care whether you are alive or dead she certainly becomes easily irritated with the possibility of you being with another.”
Darcy shrugged, leaning against the wall near the door. “I do not care.”
Scoffing, Jane took a seat and stared hard at him.
He shifted uncomfortably, finding he disliked being under the intense scrutiny of the first woman he had ever noticed.
Jane knew some of his secrets, the ones that would not tarnish his image in her eyes.
To Jane Gardiner, High Lord William Darcy was the same gangly boy she had kissed under the Spinning Oak by the lake.
Suddenly, he was aware of how utterly disappointed in him she would be if she knew the methods he had used for acquiring Elizabeth as his bride.
In moments, the ruthless prince who regretted nothing told himself he could never let his oldest friend learn the truth.
“You do care, or you would not be feigning otherwise.”
“Jane, pray, watch her and quit asking questions.”
“You are not my prince right now. You are my friend, and I want—”
His gaze narrowed and he glared at her. “This has nothing to do with what you want, Jane.”
She flew out of the chair and levelled a finger between his eyes.
“How would you like your horseshit served, old friend?” She pushed him roughly towards the wall and put her hand on the door handle.
“In moments like these, William, I can see why your bride hates you.
You need to understand that she is not a possession, but a person who should be treated as such.
“I have watched you harden over the years and have bitten my tongue. I have tried my best to be there for you, but damn you, you make it impossible for me on occasion. Either you tell me why Elizabeth is angry, or I withdraw my friendship.”
He looked away. Jane had never been so incensed with him before, but this time, he had given her plenty of reason and opportunity. He wrapped his arms around her small form and kissed the crown of her head.
“Do not threaten so. I apologise.”
“I am merely trying to help, William.”
“She hates me, and it bothers me, Jane, more than I care to admit. The truce was working, and now it is not.”
“Be honest with me. Are you going whoring? You are taking my husband with you, so you had better have the correct answer.”
“No. I swear on my father's grave. Elizabeth is not a horsewoman, and I have been searching all about for the best piece of horseflesh I can find to help her adjust to riding. We finally found her, but she is a day's ride, and I want to escort her personally.”
“She thinks you are leaving her for another woman, and you are getting her wedding gift. Why did you not say as much?”
“At first I wanted it to be a surprise and then she. . .” His fists balled and his whole body tensed. “She made me so angry, I did not want to tell her the truth! If she has been this long in my company and not realized that I have not been in any bed but my own, she is mad!”
“William, she is young. She does not understand men. From what I have gathered, her former betrothed was nothing more than a boy.”
“You are correct in that regard.”
“When have I ever been wrong?” Jane asked plainly. “This girl has a spark, my friend. I knew you would find the perfect girl to marry when I told you to go to hell. I did, however, think you would seek a woman who loved you.”
“Women who love me are a dime a dozen, Lady Jane,” he muttered.
“Indeed, they are, and I have never known you to shy from a challenge.” Jane’s voice was the impossible combination of sweet and sarcastic all at once.
“I must go. Do not tell her the truth.”
“Because she deserves to be punished or because you want to surprise her?”
“Perhaps a little bit of both.”
“You are a despicable man.”
“More than you realize,” he replied enigmatically and was gone.
* * *
She stared at the painting, tears seeping into her eyes.
It was very likely the most beautiful portrait she had ever painted.
The one of Hill had not captured the nurse remotely and the portrait of Mr. Bennet had not been of his face, but of his back as he stared out the window of his library and into the gardens.
The portrait of Darcy, though, was magnificent.
She had worked feverishly and had not even realized it was evening until Jane appeared.
“My lady Elizabeth?”
She started and peeked around her easel, then offered a weak smile at Jane’s presence even though her body drooped.
“He is gone, is he not?”
“He left hours ago, my lady.”
“We have fallen back to the beginning, Jane.”
“I doubt that, Elizabeth,” Jane replied, holding her arms open for the girl. “If you had, you would not be nearly so upset.”
Elizabeth fell into the hug. “I am not mourning his leaving, but to go to another woman before he makes vows to me! My god, does he not have an ounce of decency?”
Jane let go of her mistress and walked behind the easel. She pursed her lips, still looking at Elizabeth. “I am sorry that you feel you have regressed in your relationship, but you must talk to each other. You must stop assuming the worst of him.”
She sighed and the corners of her lips turned up slightly.
“And your betrothed must not let his temper get the best of him.”
Elizabeth nodded sheepishly.
Suddenly, in the dim candlelight, Jane's breath caught.
“What do ye think?” Elizabeth asked.
“I think you have reminded me of the man I knew ten years ago, before he became High Lord, before he grew distant.”
Elizabeth studied the portrait then looked at Jane again. “Really?”
“This is the man who asked me to marry him.”
“He proposed to ye?”
Jane nodded, smiling at Elizabeth. “It was a long time ago, and he never loved me. You have to understand, Elizabeth, that greedy women have been pitching themselves in his path all his life. They knew he had power even before he was a man.
“He asked me to marry him because he knew he could trust me. I wanted to marry for love, which I did, but William has been wary of the blessed union ever since.”
“Then why do ye think he is marrying now?”
“Any number of reasons, but I shall not answer for him. You may ask him yourself.”
“He did not propose to me.”
Jane remained silent, waiting for Elizabeth to finish. When she did not, the lady wrapped her fingers through Elizabeth’s and squeezed them gently.
“Your marriage will be special; I am certain of it. I think you see him in a way very few people ever have, my lady. He needs you and I believe you need him.”
Elizabeth gazed at Jane with doubt and let go of her hand. To busy herself, she prepared to put the painting away. Even if Darcy was gone, she could not take the chance that he might return early and sneak into the atrium to steal a glance at the image.
“Many thanks to you, Jane. I shall spend the days until the ceremony considering how to be the best wife I can.”