Chapter 12 #3
Fitzwilliam stifled a yawn. He wished he had not fought so prodigiously hard to remain awake throughout the wedding ceremony, for a brief nap then might have afforded him the stamina required to endure this—the dullest celebration in the history of matrimony.
He was vastly relieved when his grandmother successfully persuaded Elizabeth to play the pianoforte, and his aunt’s cronies dispersed to find seats from which to criticise her performance better.
Lady Catherine spent the next several minutes unable to speak as she succumbed to a fit of coughing that he suspected she had been withholding for some time.
He fetched her a drink and stayed with her until she recovered.
“Anne seems very content,” he said when she was composed.
“No thanks to the contemptible strumpet at my pianoforte.”
He breathed a silent sigh. “Content nonetheless.”
Lady Catherine sniffed disdainfully. “Would that Darcy could be.”
“He is, madam.”
“Do not attempt to mollify me, Fitzwilliam. It is my lungs that fail me, not my eyes. A fool could see he is not happy.”
“If you will pardon me for speaking frankly, your incivility towards his wife is hardly likely to cheer him. Nor your ill health.”
The latter seemed to surprise her though she quickly covered it with affected hauteur. “I am glad to discover he is not lost to all proper feeling. He ought to be distressed that I am ill.”
“We all are.”
“She is not,” she said, waving her hand towards the instrument.
Fitzwilliam was unsure whether she was referring to Elizabeth or Mrs Sinclair, and since at least one of them was not the slightest bit troubled, he opted not to answer at all.
He caught sight of Darcy watching his wife play.
Contrary to Lady Catherine’s claim, he looked positively serene, which diverted him, for Darcy was not a man naturally given to serenity.
To his mind, Elizabeth’s influence was there for all to see.
Would that he could dispel some of his aunt’s prepossession that she might observe it herself.
“You know, I was there when Greyson importuned Elizabeth,” he said, surprising his aunt for a second time. “I rather think the incident has been elaborated by the fool who relayed it to you.”
Her ladyship made no response, but her expression invited him to explain.
“The man was in no way encouraged, and there was naught prurient about the incident on either side. He put too much sway in the mother’s opinion and attempted to offer for Elizabeth before he knew she was engaged to Darcy.
She refused to hear him, Greyson took hold of her elbow to prevent her from leaving before he said his piece, and Darcy intervened to demand that he go. That is all there was to it.”
She received this information in silence, her lips pinched and her brow creased. Fitzwilliam thought he might as well take advantage of her rare quiescence. “As to her being struck, the officer in question was violently drunk and attacked her in the street. She can scarcely be blamed.”
“Of course she can! What was she doing anywhere near a drunkard in the first place?”
“Attempting to defend Darcy’s good name, I understand.” He rather liked being able to surprise his aunt this often. “She is not the coquette you believe her to be. Indeed, you do Darcy a grave injustice in continuing to think ill of her.”
“Do I? Regardless of whether those reports are true, her descent, her connections, her vast unsuitability cannot be denied. It will not be long until it is widely known how poorly she has adapted to Pemberley. When he is ridiculed in every corner of the world by every person who knows him, Darcy will regret marrying her.”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I know not what nonsense has been passed your way, but I assure you, Darcy has nothing but praise for Elizabeth’s endeavours at Pemberley.
Doubtless, she has lessons to learn, but she is a perfectly capable, clever woman.
There is no reason to suspect she will not learn all she needs to with time.
And you cannot but think Darcy will be a positive influence on her. ”
“What of the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city?”
“I daresay the walls of Pemberley will not crumble,” Mrs Sinclair said, hobbling up to join them. “Unlike your walls, which seem to be crumbling of their own accord without any such provocation.”
“Oh, take her away, Fitzwilliam!” Lady Catherine wheezed.
He thought that an excellent idea and duly did as he was bid. A backwards glance, indeed, several more glances over the remainder of the day, revealed an uncommonly pensive Lady Catherine intently observing a certain gentleman and his new wife.
Friday 9 October 1812, Hertfordshire
“It is absurd,” Caroline said, following her brother into the room and closing the door behind her. “This is the sixth day in succession she has remained in her rooms.”
“Yes, I am aware,” he replied wearily, dropping into a chair.
She walked behind the opposing one and leant over it with both hands on the back, glaring at him. “You cannot allow it to continue. The servants are beginning to talk.”
Charles’ head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling. “Let Jane stay in her room for as long as she pleases. I have no wish to see her.”
“What you wish is neither here nor there. You must put it right! Is it not enough that you married so far beneath you? Must you satisfy everybody’s contempt by allowing it to be known the marriage is falling apart before the first twelvemonth is out?”
He only sighed.
“Charles!” She slapped the back of the chair. His head whipped upright. “What efforts have you made to persuade her to come down? Have you even spoken to her since she locked herself away?”
“No.”
For a moment, Caroline squeezed her eyes shut in vexation, repressing the urge to hurl something at him. “Never did I think the day would come that I should be defending Jane’s character to you, but for heaven’s sake, she is not a monster! You cannot mean to ignore her indefinitely.”
He sat up, all indignation. “She slapped her sister!”
“And? Never was there a woman more in need of a slap! I should rather give her a medal.”
“Caroline!” Her brother launched himself to his feet, though he appeared unsure what to do next and merely stood frowning uselessly.
“Oh, Caroline nothing. When will you overcome this ridiculous fascination with Eliza Darcy?”
“I am not fascinated!” he cried with more than enough affront to convince her of quite the opposite. “I require no romantic inclinations to persuade me that slapping one’s sister, a guest in one’s house and the wife of one’s husband’s oldest friend, is a reprehensible thing to do!”
“It was an impolitic thing to do certainly, but she was distressed. Would you punish her forever and ruin all our reputations over one instance of passion? I should have thought you would be pleased to discover she had some!”
“What had she to be distressed about?”
Caroline regarded him incredulously. How he had reached three-and-twenty unscathed with such a gaping want of penetration, she would never know.
“Well, let us consider. Could it be that her delightful mother announced to the entire family that she was with child when she was not? Or that her sister then tactfully informed her that she is? Or simply that, in general, she is cursed with the most lamentable relations in the kingdom?”
Her brother abruptly lost all colour from his countenance and slumped heavily back into his chair. “Lizzy is with child?”
She threw her hands in the air. “Lord save us! It ought to be nothing to you if she is!”
“It is nothing to me—except a surprise. Darcy did not mention it.”
“For which we must all be thankful, for if you had swooned in this manner before him, he would certainly have wished to know why!”
“How do you know of this?” he enquired weakly.
“As I said, the servants are talking, and they will continue to do so for as long as you give them cause. Pray, end this stupid quarrel before it becomes a scandal.”
“And how do you suggest I do that when she will not see me?”
“I thought you said you had not attempted to speak to her?”
“I went to her twice before she and Lizzy argued—on Saturday evening after her family left and again on Sunday morning. Both times, I was refused admittance. She will not see me.”
Caroline peered at her brother very closely. “Why not? What have you done? I sincerely hope I shall not hear of any more maids being dismissed without reason.”
He jumped slightly and looked at her wide-eyed, though whether in affront or alarm she could not be sure.
“I have not done anything!”
“Then why is she displeased with you?”
“Would that I knew! Perhaps if what you say is true, it is because she is not yet with child.”
“Then for heaven’s sake get one on her!”
He pouted. “It is not that simple.”
She clenched her teeth. Throwing something at him was becoming more and more of a temptation. “I have heard it is.”
“That was not my meaning!” he cried, colouring deeply. “I meant—blast it, Caroline, I do not know that I wish to…to—we are not even speaking!”
“I know! For six whole days, I have had to look out of the window to discover what the weather is doing.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind it. Would that you only cease blaming her for one trifling little spat and make your peace before you become the laughing stock of the world.”
“You are quite alone in thinking this a trifling concern, Caroline.”
“In this house, I am generally alone in thinking, but do surprise me.”
“Darcy has excluded Jane from all his houses.”
Caroline’s heart lurched into her mouth. “What? Why on earth would he do that? What is it to him if his wife has words with her sister? Imagine if Mr Hurst banished me from Farley House every time I squabbled with Louisa!”
“Yes, well, as Darcy himself informed me, one does not slap the mistress of Pemberley and remain welcome there.”