Chapter 14
The shock and rage that had assailed Darcy when he entered his house had provoked a painful claw inside his chest that had prevented him from sleeping. Not even his late-night meeting with Mr Ross had brought him any comfort.
Wickham’s appearance at his door, his encounter with Elizabeth, and the image of his wife chatting amiably with that wretch had made him lose his temper. He would have strangled Wickham, but his last vestiges of self-control had stilled him, though it might not be for long.
The blackguard had come to London to collect Georgiana’s fortune.
Thirty thousand pounds would surely go a long way to providing him with a luxurious life; still he would soon enough waste most of it in debauchery and depravation.
Wickham had given his word, which meant nothing to Darcy, that he would bring Georgiana to see him and allow the two Darcys to have a private conversation, at length, before the money was handed over.
Darcy’s purpose was to convince Georgiana to return home and let Wickham keep the funds.
After all, there were plenty of similar arrangements among the families of the ton with spouses living separate lives.
He wished for nothing more than to protect and shelter his sister; he had failed her once already and could not allow that to happen again.
He had hopes that, if he could talk to her calmly, he would make her see reason.
How could she be so stubborn, so in love — or at least thinking herself in love — with that wretch, so influenced by him, to disregard her brother, wisdom, decency, common sense?
What had happened to her? Where was she?
Was she at least warm and comfortable? If Wickham was in London, whom was she with?
Wickham had recklessly proclaimed that Georgiana was not in London yet but would arrive as soon as Darcy set a date for the meeting to hand over the money.
There was nothing untoward in what the waster had said, but his tone, his grin, and his insolent expression had panicked Darcy and increased his concern about his sister.
Not knowing her whereabouts, not being able to protect and comfort her, was heart-wrenching.
He had demanded to see Georgiana immediately, before even discussing financial matters, and Wickham had promised to bring her in a few days but warned Darcy to prepare the money or else there would be consequences. Wickham, the scoundrel, dared to threaten him! Enraging!
Darcy had thrown Wickham out of the house, but his rage remained; he had been in a perturbed state of mind when he spoke to Elizabeth, and it had affected his manners towards her.
In truth, her reproaches had been deserved; he could hardly find fault with her behaviour.
Since he had given her no details about Georgiana’s marriage and fortune or about Wickham’s character other than letting her know he was opposed to it, she had civilly invited her brother-in-law into the house — an act of common courtesy, especially in the inclement weather.
Anyone would have done the same. He had censured her, and she had fought back, protecting herself by attacking him.
Again, he could find no fault with her for doing so.
She was a woman who had needed to fight for herself before and would not endure being unfairly scolded and sent to her room like an unruly child.
He had been fortunate that she had been generous enough to accept his apologies, even if he was not so ready to excuse himself.
Strangely, Darcy found himself quite preoccupied with Elizabeth’s opinion.
Their business-like arrangement did not include any concern for hurt feelings, yet he wondered whether she felt offended or hurt.
Such preoccupation distressed him even more as he had enough concerns on his mind and certainly did not need more.
She had mentioned something about elevated circles and about other ladies — whoever they might be. Her words made no sense, and he should not even care — yet, he did. How could he not, when she had been nothing but generous to him?
It was time to disclose to Elizabeth the gravity of the situation.
After all, if Georgiana agreed to return home, Elizabeth should be aware of what was happening.
No matter the circumstances of their marriage, she was his wife and the mistress of the house.
He did not need her approval to bring his sister back home, but he owed his wife honesty about the reason.
He prepared himself for the day, then knocked on the door that separated his room from hers.
***
The entire night, Elizabeth slept little, turning over in bed and trying to listen for movement in her husband’s chamber.
At dawn, when tiredness finally defeated her, there was no sign that he had returned.
She wondered whether his business was related to his sister and Mr Wickham or whether it was of a different sort altogether.
After all, he could have employed his time more pleasantly, as she had heard most men did.
She was still irritated when she woke up and felt she had not expressed her disappointment in his manners enough.
That particular conversation rattled her as she considered it was only paused but not concluded yet, and her good opinion of him was altered.
The conversation about Mr and Mrs Wickham was not over either, and she decided to enquire further — either of Mr Darcy or her uncle and aunt, who were certainly no strangers to the subject.
If Mr Wickham was as horrible as Mr Darcy had suggested, then Miss Darcy must be in a dreadful situation.
But why did she agree to elope with him since she had known him her entire life?
Or perhaps Mr Darcy was judging Mr Wickham too harshly due to his resentment of the gentleman marrying his young sister.
Even worse, maybe he despised Mr Wickham because the son of the steward had become his brother-in-law — despite his good opinion of the late Mr Wickham.
She had no answer to any of those questions because she hardly knew her husband’s true character.
She was curious, and tempted to demand explanations, but was it not his responsibility to share with her, his wife, what was happening in their family?
Or was he too proud to involve a woman in his affairs?
The knock on the door startled her, and she hesitated briefly before she invited him in. The door opened slowly, and her husband stepped inside.
“Good morning. I hope I am not disturbing you?”
“Not at all. I am ready for breakfast,” she replied.
“Elizabeth, have you decided where you would like to meet your father and sister today?”
“I believe it is easier if I go to Gracechurch Street. And if you agree, we might have them both to our dinner party?”
“Of course, you may plan the dinner as you wish. If you do not object, I shall escort you there and meet your father. I also need to discuss a certain matter with Mr Gardiner.”
“Very well.”
“Elizabeth, I wish to apologise one more time for my outburst.”
“Your apologies are accepted, but my vexation still remains. I am far from perfect, and my errors are not few, but yesterday’s situation was not one of them.”
“No, it was not. I owe you a faithful and thorough narrative of the circumstances that were too painful to be revealed before.”
“I understand a wife, even in a typical marriage, cannot expect her husband to disclose all his secrets. A man will always have something to hide. My only request is to not blame me for any error I might commit due to my lack of knowledge.”
“You are my wife and therefore my equal. Even my superior since you saved me from a difficult situation. I have no more right to blame you for anything than you have to blame me. If I keep secrets from you, it is to avoid causing more harm.”
His voice was serious, and his expression was earnest but troubled. She felt a strange desire to comfort him, which she quickly dismissed.
“I am glad we clarified that, Mr…Fitzwilliam.”
“So am I, Elizabeth.”
Breakfast was quick, and they did not talk much; shortly after, they attended services at Grosvenor Chapel and from there travelled to the Gardiners’.
It was a freezing December day, cloudy, foggy, and windy.
Even inside the carriage, the icy gusts of wind seemed to penetrate, and it was not much warmer than outside.
Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, not quite succeeding in warming up despite her lined pelisse.
On the opposite bench, her husband gazed through the window, his countenance as dark and cold as the weather.
“You seem preoccupied. I hope my uncle will help you with whatever troubles you,” Elizabeth said.
He startled. “Forgive me…I was lost in my thoughts. Are you cold?” he suddenly enquired.
“Yes, a little. Next time I shall bring a blanket to keep me warm.” She smiled at him.
“There should be one in here, or at least several rugs. Mrs Green is always attentive to such details, as is Mrs Reynolds at Pemberley since I often travel long distances without much time to prepare,” he said.
He found a blanket folded in a corner — thick, but soft — and, to her amazement, he leant forwards and wrapped it tightly around her.
In doing so, his arms came about her, his body brushing over hers as the carriage rocked, his face so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath and the freshness of his scent.
Surprised, she stilled — even her heart seemed to stop — and held her breath.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, then he resumed his place opposite her.
Yet it was a little while before she regained her composure and her breathing became regular.
“Is that better?” he enquired.
“Yes, very much so. Thank you.”
“You do not have to thank me. You are my wife, and it is my duty to take care of you,” he answered, and a trace of a smile on his lips indicated he was teasing her.