Chapter 21 #2
A few days later, he was still able to walk downstairs each morning in a semblance of his routine.
He still had to swallow his anger at the letters which arrived for her, but he was in anticipation that they would very soon stop now that Bennet must have received the express.
He placed the unopened new arrivals in a box behind the ledgers and tried not to think of the contents; he did not wish to be ungentlemanly enough to read them. Already they pulled at him.
He jumped to his feet with an exclamation; it would not do. He left his study and began to wander down towards the drawing room, not at all sure why he was doing so. But he had not even turned the corner towards the room when he heard the voice of his deputy housekeeper and hesitated.
“… most impressive, Mr Maunder. She has an exceptional eye for detail and we have been able to save rather more of the housekeeping allowance that I had thought possible. And Mrs Darcy has allocated the money to a bolt of flannel and has marshalled the maids when they have a few moments from their duties. What with their efforts and her own, it will be less than a fortnight before she will be able to issue all the children under five years old with warm nightwear, and all the older children by the end of the month!”
Darcy would never normally have continued to listen to overheard conversations, but his limbs were frozen. He could not have moved if he had tried. His valet took a part in the conversation.
“As I told you after we arrived, I have a great deal of respect for Mrs Darcy. Her courage at those first moments of the attack, and her stoicism during the journey, made me realise that she is the perfect mistress for Pemberley, even if she is of the lower gentry.”
Darcy smothered an exclamation and turned on his heel to escape back to his study.
If circumstances had been different, he would have been proud to have heard his wife complimented; but they were not.
She was not of a suitable station in life for him to have considered.
And she had seen him helpless, unable to defend himself.
Worse, she had seen over these last days that his temper was not under his control.
She had disliked him before, and now she must utterly despise him.
He could not fault her for those feelings — they were natural for the circumstances, and he despised himself for not being able to control his temper.
But it was not comfortable, hearing his senior staff praising her.
They should be on his side, not hers, and a sense of shame made the wound on the back of his head throb once more.
He rubbed at it absently and wondered when the raised scar would resolve.
Having taken refuge again in his study, Darcy rang the bell and when the butler answered, asked him to summon Mrs Reynolds and ask her to bring the list of the current servants under her purview.
A few minutes later, Mrs Kerr knocked and entered with several books under her arm. “I have the information you have requested, sir.”
Darcy nodded, and held out his hand. Why was Mrs Reynolds not here? He had asked for her, and while her deputy was supremely competent, his housekeeper was fiercely protective of her position, and as well, delighted in having known him longer than anyone else here at Pemberley.
He felt a flicker of unease, recalling her distress and confusion on the evening of their arrival. Did she wish to avoid him?
He sighed. He might need to find out, but not yet; he had not the fortitude to discover more problems.
Yet another day. When would this endless round of days, of trouble, cease to irk him? When might he permit Richard to escort Georgiana here? No, it could not be yet. He must not risk her company until he knew he was fully in control of his temper.
He sat in his study, at least glad that the letters for Mrs Darcy had stopped arriving, taunting him with his poor decisions. But he could do no work this morning.
I could find Mrs Darcy and take tea with her. She is my wife, and I will never change her view of me if we cannot be civil to each other. I do remember how I was fascinated by her at Netherfield — before we argued about Wickham.
He found himself on his feet and he went to the door.
He crossed the hall and went to the drawing room.
It was empty. He frowned and crossed the hall once more to his mother’s former private sitting room.
The room was warmer than the drawing room and the fire had been made up.
But his wife was not there. His frown deepened, and he turned for the butler’s small office. “Mr Payne, where is Mrs Darcy?”
The man had jumped to his feet, startled at Darcy’s appearance. “Good morning, Mr Darcy!” The man hesitated. “Mrs Darcy is out, calling at Denbigh House, sir. She left after breakfast.”
Do I have no other expression than a frown when I think of her? But a frown was the only answer he had when he considered his wife.
“How does she know Mrs Hayes?”
Mr Payne looked defensive, and Darcy realised that his bark was not the right tone of voice.
“Mr Mair introduced her at services before Christmas, sir. The lady has called here twice and Mrs Darcy has also returned the calls.”
Darcy forced a less troubled look onto his face, and nodded. “Thank you, Mr Payne.” He turned away.
She has sought companionship elsewhere. I wonder what she is saying of me to this new friend? His gut roiled with the thought. He would see the other lady at church and know she knew ill of him. But Mrs Darcy is happier beyond Pemberley. What does that say of me, her husband?
He found himself back in the familiar security of his chambers, and rang for Maunder to bring him coffee. He could brood here in peace. Perhaps he could think of what he could do to become a man she could tolerate.
But not today. Today, he would wonder what she had spoken of to Mrs Hayes.