Chapter 11
OF REVELATIONS AND RESENTMENT
One month of marriage had not diminished Elizabeth’s happiness in any way, nor had familiarity dampened her bliss.
She still woke each morning as surprised as the last to find herself a woman married, still delighted every day in discovering more to love in her husband and still marvelled constantly at her new situation.
Much of what there was to marvel could be seen from her bedroom windows as she idled at her dressing table, quietly humming the tune she had been practising that afternoon and brushing her freshly washed hair.
It was into this bubble of utopian contentment that Darcy stormed with a quantity of papers in his hand, an angry imprecation on his lips and a savage scowl upon his countenance.
“Of all the vexing, ill-timed mishaps!” He strode back and forth across the floor.
“I never heard such a catalogue of poor excuses and incompetence! He ought to have put Ennings to the job in the first place. A leg will not mend before the harvest. Magnus will have to journey from Kympton! Blast it, Barnaby!”
“Fitzwilliam, is there some way in which I can help?”
“What? No.” He shook his head and continued pacing for a moment then whirled back to her. “I must postpone our trip tomorrow.”
This news brought Elizabeth nothing but relief.
They had visited several local towns that week already and dined with neighbours twice, and she was exceedingly tired.
A long, jostling carriage ride to Buxton had lost all its appeal.
She opened her mouth to tell him she had no objection to the delay when he abruptly set off about the room again, fuming about the as-yet-unspecified calamity.
Her third attempt to regain his attention silenced him at last.
“Fitzwilliam, what exactly has Mr Barnaby done?”
His countenance darkened further still, and his answer, when he gave it, took her by surprise, for it had naught to do with legs, harvests, or trips to Buxton. “He has asked me to be godfather to his new son.”
The cogs of her mind laboured to fathom why on earth that might have distressed him. Her heart squeezed when she comprehended the answer, but once again, before she had the chance to speak, he took to pacing and bemoaning Mr Barnaby’s ineptitude.
Despite his pique, Elizabeth found herself smiling fondly at him, for it was becoming ever clearer that he had come to her seeking neither advice nor answers but only to vent his spleen.
After all her regrets to have left him broken-hearted and comfortless following their quarrel in Kent, she rejoiced at being able to provide him such consolation.
She returned to brushing her hair and simply watched him, content to let him rail until his ire ran cool—and rail he did.
“There is not room enough for Magnus to board with Powell or Craig. I shall have to reopen the long barn, and have it fitted out for all the extra hands.”
He paused to send her an exasperated glance. She smiled sympathetically.
“Ennings will have to stand in for Donaghue—no! There is the north gable to be seen to this autumn. He cannot be spared either.”
She thought he might be biting off an oath when he snapped his mouth shut and threw her another irate scowl. She smiled again.
“Somebody else will have to be found,” he resumed.
“God alone knows who will replace Donaghue permanently if his leg does not heal! How Barnaby thinks to arrange it all before he leaves for York is the devil’s own guess.
And this—this—is the day the man thinks it prudent to ask me to be godfather to his child!
Would that he ask his brother, or cousin, or one of the damned sheep, for I want no part of it, and for the love of God, would you cease your infernal humming woman! ”
They both froze, staring at each other, dumbstruck. Darcy looked horrified. Elizabeth was immobilised with the near-insurmountable urge to guffaw. Persuaded by his vast dismay that now would be the most inappropriate time to do so, she turned away to hide her amusement.
“I beg you would forgive me, Elizabeth. That was unpardonable.”
Would that he be less contrite, that her amusement might seem less unfeeling! Her shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.
Darcy was at her side in an instant. “Love, pray, do not cry. I am sorry.”
Oh, good heavens, he thought she was weeping!
A snort of laughter burst from her lips, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head for him to cease apologising, but he would not desist. He reached for her hand and turned her gently but insistently to face him.
His expression was one of mortified concern—briefly.
It was soon overtaken with confusion then affront.
“You are not crying.”
“No.” She sniggered despite herself and pressed her lips closed.
He stepped away from her. “You are laughing.”
“Yes, a little.”
“Elizabeth, I just bellowed at you.”
“I noticed.”
“I fail to see the humour in that! I have never shouted at a person in such a manner in my life! That I should have done so at you is insupportable!”
“Ah, but you have never had a me before to cut up your peace. Besides, you would not be the first person to be irritated by my humming.”
“Your humming does not irritate me. Not usually.”
She supposed growing up almost as an only child meant he was unaccustomed to the compromises and vexations of living with another person.
She felt a little teasing was in order to compensate for his deprivation.
“’Tis well, Fitzwilliam, I am not offended.
Your pacing does not usually irritate me either. ”
He frowned at her. “My pacing?”
“You pace. More so when you are agitated. But it is not as vexing as when you grind your teeth.”
“What?”
Elizabeth thought he was doing an admirable job of maintaining his dudgeon given her own broadening grin. How she adored him and his silly pride! “When you are concentrating, you grind your teeth.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. And you sneeze too loudly.”
“What sort of objection is that? One cannot regulate the volume of one’s sneezes.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It makes me jump.”
At last, his lips quirked. “Is there aught else?”
“That will do for now.”
He reached for her hands and pulled her up off the stool and into his embrace, his mouth upon hers ere she was on her feet. It was over too soon, yet for all its brevity, his kiss left her breathless and flushed.
“I am so in love with you, Elizabeth.”
“Despite my humming?”
“Your humming is Mozart to mine ears.”
She giggled, but her smile faded as her thoughts sobered. She placed a hand upon his chest and looked up at him earnestly. “You know, Fitzwilliam, you are not your father. And Mr Barnaby’s son is not George Wickham. You are not destined to repeat their mistakes.”
He sighed heavily. “I know, but I cannot abide the thought of imposing the same blight upon my own children.”
“It will not go the same. We shall make sure of it. Do not allow your resentment for a bad man lead you to offend a good one.”
“You are right, of course.” He kissed her once more and released her, turning to retrieve his papers from the table.
“I am sorry we can no longer go to Buxton tomorrow,” he said, holding up a letter from the pile and peering at it as though noticing it for the first time.
“I am certain you will like the place very well.”
“I am sure I shall.” She returned to her stool and picked up her brush once more. “But it will still be there next week. We need not explore the whole of Derbyshire in my first month here.”
He did not answer, for he had begun reading the letter, and his countenance, so recently relieved of its angry glower, was very rapidly being overspread with an even stormier expression.
“God in Heaven, what is the man thinking?” He threw the sheaf of papers back on the table and turned away in disgust, one hand planted firmly on his hip, the other rubbing his jaw.
“Whatever is the matter now?”
“Montgomery has offered for Anne.”
Elizabeth winced. “Well, you knew it was probable. You will just have to accept it.”
“That is precisely what he expects me to do,” he said, turning to face her.
“He wishes me to stand up with him at his wedding. To set aside all my grievances with Lady Catherine as though our estrangement were nothing more than a trifling squabble! But I cannot forgive her, and so I must disappoint him.”
Elizabeth set her brush down. “Will you not even consider a reconciliation? For your friend’s sake and your cousin’s, if not your own.”
“How can you even entertain the notion after the way she has treated you? She has been insufferable throughout this whole affair.”
“She has always been insufferable. She is hardly likely to change at this late stage.”
He gestured widely with his hands. “And so I told Montgomery, yet he has chosen to ignore my warning and offer for Anne anyway!”
Elizabeth sat back in surprise. “Did you advise Mr Montgomery against marrying Anne?”
“I did not,” he said firmly. When she raised an eyebrow in challenge, his gaze hardened. “I gave him no unsolicited advice. He sought my opinion of the match.”
Her surprise ceded to dismay and then anger. “And you clearly expected your reply to put him off! What did you say?”
“The truth! That Lady Catherine is poisonous and disloyal.”
“He is not marrying Lady Catherine!” Elizabeth cried, coming to her feet. “I am beginning to think this has less to do with Mr Montgomery’s happiness than it does your resentfulness.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your poor friend came to you for your opinion—nay, I daresay your approval of the match. You did him a disservice if you thought only of your own objections in answering him.”
“I resent that!” he replied icily. “I said nothing that was not true of the woman who would be his mother were he to enter into the union. Do not underestimate with what caution a man must consider that encumbrance!”