Chapter 10 Wilful Misunderstandings #2
The door from the sitting room adjoining the master and mistress’ bedchambers flew open and banged against the wall with enough force to rattle the pictures and make every candle gutter.
“Elizabeth! What is the matter?”
Darcy wore only a bathrobe tied loosely at the waist, which accentuated the broadness of his shoulders most agreeably.
His hair was dripping wet. Rivulets of bath water ran down his face and dropped onto his exposed chest, as though Neptune himself had risen from the sea to defend his bride.
Under any other circumstances, the sight might have weakened Elizabeth’s knees.
As it was, she was somewhat distracted by the gargantuan creature darting towards his feet.
She pointed at it. “Spider!” It was all she could manage. His incredulity rendered her incoherent with hilarity thereafter.
“For God’s sake, woman, I feared something serious had befallen you! Again!” He looked in the direction she pointed with obvious disdain, though upon espying the long-legged colossus, ceded some ground, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
Elizabeth’s sides hurt. “’Tis a monster! Kill it!”
“With what?” he cried, now laughing also.
“Stamp on it!”
“Not likely! I have bare feet!”
Elizabeth scrambled across the bed, grabbed an empty candlestick from her nightstand and threw it at the spider.
It hit Darcy soundly on the leg, and she was reduced to making such gasping, snorting noises as only a person in the grip of hysterical laughter can make, somewhat ruining the credibility of her sputtered apology.
Her mirth turned to a surprised shriek as Darcy abruptly launched himself over the monstrous beast and onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her as he landed, bringing them both crashing onto the mattress.
His laughter stilled first, though once Elizabeth observed his expression, hers ebbed also. Flickering candlelight threw every angle of his face into striking contrast with magnificent effect. It made her slightly breathless.
“Bonsoir,” she whispered.
His mouth twitched. “Bonsoir, mon amour.”
He brought his hand to caress her face, running his fingertips in a feather-light touch over her lips, her eyebrows, her cheeks. Then he gently pushed her hair behind her ear.
“I have not brushed it,” she said softly, wrinkling her nose in chagrin. “I expect I look wild.”
He nodded and held her gaze as his fingers blazed a trail down her neck to the edge of her robe.
Nudging it open, he leant over her and kissed the bare skin of her shoulder.
His touch, his warmth, his weight pressing her into the bed, ignited a now-familiar ache for which she had no name but for which she had long since surmised the remedy.
She moaned though it came out more like a purr.
“What great deed have I ever done to deserve you?” Darcy whispered, his voice rumbling deep and low in her ear.
“I know not.” She slid her arms around his shoulders. “Perhaps you ought to do another. Then we might both be certain that you do.”
He drew back and looked down at her. The intensity of his desire afforded him a severe mien. Her pulse quickened to be the object of it. He let go of her shoulder and took hold of her waist, his large, hot hand pulling her tightly against him. “Oh, I intend to make very, very certain.”
The same day, Hertfordshire
Truly, Providence was set on persecuting Jane this day.
By the time the Bingley party left Longbourn, hours after the Darcys thanks to her mother’s flutterings over the loss of two daughters in one day, she had begun to feel a very persistent discomfort in her abdomen.
To her utter dismay upon arriving at Netherfield, she was forced to retire immediately to her new bedchamber to deal with the onset of her monthly courses.
She sat at the little writing desk between the windows to pen a note of apology to Bingley—scarcely the letter she had envisioned first composing there.
“Excuse me, Mrs Bingley,” her new lady’s maid enquired from the doorway. “The water is ready. Should you like your bath now?”
“Yes, thank you, Lacey.”
At the young woman’s direction, two housemaids trudged into the room, lugging pails of steaming water to the bathtub.
One was a young red-haired girl with freckles, the other the very ghost of Elizabeth.
Jane’s mortification was complete. Refusing to succumb to tears in front of the staff, she folded her note and handed it to Lacey.
“Pray, see this is given to Mr Bingley.” Then, simply to get her out of sight, she pointed at the second housemaid and added, “Send her. I would rather you stayed.”
After that, she submitted to Lacey’s ministrations in silence, though her thoughts were far from quiet as they railed against the injustice of her predicament.
Here she was, mistress of Netherfield and wife to Mr Bingley yet unable to enjoy being either.
One moment she cringed to consider what her new husband must be thinking of her, the next she recalled him staring at Elizabeth and decided she did not care.
If she shed a few tears, it was only as her hair was rinsed and her face was awash with water anyway.
When she was dressed and her hair brushed, she sent Lacey to fetch her some supper. The maid returned with a tray of food and an answering note from Bingley. Jane thanked her for both and dismissed her then stared at the folded paper for a good ten minutes before summoning the courage to read it.
Dearest Jane,
I would not have you distress yourself any further about such a trifling matter. I have grown up with sisters, and I am not insensible to the inconveniences they often suffer.
I am sorry—truly sorry—that you have been aggrieved on this of all days, but rest assured I shall endeavour to put all to rights, to cheer you by every possible method, as soon as you feel well enough to leave your room.
In the meantime, anything you require for your comfort shall be yours.
Pray, do not hesitate to request whatever you wish of the staff.
You looked beautiful today, Jane. I deeply regret we have been apart for most of it. What say you we forget this day and have our beginning on the morrow?
Charles
She wept in earnest then. It was not the message she had been expecting, but she ought to have expected it, for Bingley was nothing if not kind-hearted.
It brought everything into question. Had he truly avoided her all day or merely been waylaid by the excessive number of guests?
Had he really been staring at Elizabeth, merely looking at his friend, or indeed, merely looking? When had she become so captious?
She could not easily forget her doubts, profuse as they were, yet here was proof he did at least care for her.
Surely, with Elizabeth gone, she had every reason to be hopeful for a new beginning?
Of course, Elizabeth would need to be actually gone.
She stood up and pulled the bell for Lacey, who was sent directly away again to inform the housekeeper the new mistress wished to speak to her.
Half an hour later, Jane was alone again and indeed feeling eminently more hopeful. By nightfall, Netherfield would be short of a maid, but she would be free to commence her new beginning without the impediment of suspicion.
Friday 17 July 1812, London
To his new sister’s credit, Fitzwilliam could not deny she put on a lavish ball. Derwent House had been transformed into a sort of enchanted forest, every cornice, mantel and mirror festooned with greenery.
His grandmother harrumphed, stepping away from a trailing spray of ivy that brushed her shoulder. “If you had such a burning desire to be out of doors, I wonder you did not put on a picnic rather than a ball, Lady Ashby.”
Fitzwilliam stifled a snort.
“Philippa has done admirably,” objected Lady Catherine, the stupendous feather in her headdress bobbing indignantly. “At least one of the additions to this family is sure to make a favourable impression.”
“Sister!” Matlock groaned.
“Do not ‘sister’ me, Reginald. And do not say I did not warn you when Darcy’s scandalous alliance brings shame upon us all.”
“The scandal of which you speak seems to me largely of your own making, Lady Catherine,” said Mrs Sinclair. “Perhaps if you refrained from advertising Mrs Darcy’s purported insufficiencies to the world, you might better survive the ignominy of being her aunt.”
“I sincerely hope she does not exhibit any of her insufficiencies this evening,” Lady Ashby said in disgust. “I would have no scandals at my ball!”
“I am inclined to agree with Grandmother,” Ashby said apathetically. “Nothing is drawing more attention to Darcy’s marriage than all of us standing about discussing it. Besides, she cannot be wholly deficient, else Darcy would not have married her. He is not in the habit of brooking mediocrity.”
“Here is your chance to judge,” Matlock said, signalling the Darcys’ arrival with a nod.
They all ceased arguing and turned to observe the approaching couple.
Fitzwilliam mouthed a silent oath. He had ever considered Elizabeth handsome, but this evening, in a gown unlike any he had seen her wear before, her hair arranged exquisitely and in her countenance something… different, she was resplendent.
“What the devil has he done to her?” he murmured.
“Naught I would not have done had I got to her first! Bloody hell!” Ashby whispered back.
Never had Jane seen such opulence than was on display in Lord and Lady Ashby’s ballroom.
The quiet purr of refined music suffused the chamber, and sumptuously adorned guests made elegant the art of flirtation.
A far cry from Meryton’s crude and disorderly assemblies, it filled her with pride to behold the world into which she had arrived.
Into that world then obtruded her sister, appearing on a crest of silence succeeded by a wave of urgent whispers, bringing an abrupt end to her complacency.