Chapter 16
Darcy bathed and was helped into his clothes for dinner, not attending to his valet’s words.
He felt unsettled by the new sensations he had experienced while sitting beside his wife, something he had rarely — if ever —felt before.
Nothing had actually happened — only that he had spent half an hour in the carriage beside Elizabeth, wrapped in a blanket.
They had not even touched each other, except for his arm holding the blanket on her other side, or when they were jostled together by the carriage’s motions, and they had hardly spoken.
They could have been two strangers sharing shelter from the cold.
And yet, he could still barely calm his thoughts, even an hour after arriving home.
He knew she was in the next room and wondered whether she had warmed up.
He was warm — heated — perhaps too much.
His body’s response to her nearness surprised him.
Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but as a man of the world, he had been in close company with beautiful ladies before.
Never had he felt the danger of losing control of himself, as had happened in the carriage.
He was annoyed with himself for having such frivolous thoughts, considering the problems he still had to overcome with Georgiana and her fortune. It was not the time to be attracted to his wife, with whom he had a clear contract forestalling any romantic approaches.
When he was ready to go down to dinner, he knocked on her door to offer to accompany her. She bade him come in, but when he entered, she was already wearing her nightclothes, her hair falling freely over her shoulders.
One glimpse was enough to notice the curves of her body, hardly hidden by the soft fabric of the gown and robe. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his eyes.
“Forgive me…I did not mean to disturb you. Do you need more time to prepare?”
“No… I hope you do not mind, but I would rather not join you for dinner. I shall ask for some soup, or something light to eat, and will go to bed.”
Strangely, she seemed uneasy too, avoiding meeting his eyes, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked as distressed as he felt, though most certainly not for the same reason.
“I would certainly not mind you doing as you please, Elizabeth. But are you unwell? Should I fetch the doctor?”
“Oh no! I am perfectly well. A little bit tired and with a slight headache. Nothing more.”
“I hope you did not catch a cold,” he replied. Then it suddenly crossed his mind that she might be facing her monthly indisposition, and it would be indelicate, even rude, to enquire further.
“I hope not,” she answered. “If I did, it will pass soon. Will you meet my father and uncle tomorrow?”
“Yes, at the club.”
“I shall discuss the dinner party with Mrs Green. You have invited four adults and four children to stay overnight, so we must be prepared,” she joked. “By the by, since Mr Bingley and his sisters will also join us, I hope they will not need to stay the night too.”
“Not at all,” he answered. “They live close by, only a few minutes by carriage, and I am not as concerned about them freezing as I am about the Gardiners’ children. Shall I see you tomorrow morning at breakfast?”
“I hope so…”
“If you feel more comfortable having breakfast in your room, please do not concern yourself about me. Do as you please. Just send me word through your maid — I shall not disturb you.”
“Thank you, sir. You are not disturbing me. Even if I eat in my room, you may enter if you want,” she declared, then blushed again, which confused Darcy even more.
“Very well. I wish you a good night. Please humour me and ask your maid for a herbal tea along with the soup to protect you from a cold. Mrs Green has one that is quite special.”
“I shall.” She smiled, her cheeks still crimson.
With that, Darcy left, thoughtful and still nervous.
That conversation with his wife had somehow been different from usual, in a way he could not describe.
She had been slightly unsettled too, as if the carriage ride had affected them both.
Or perhaps she was just unwell, and he had simply misjudged a simple situation.
He hesitated about having dinner; eventually, he decided to go to the dining room since it was already arranged. He did not have much of an appetite, but it was a good time for reflection, while enjoying some brandy.
He recollected what Elizabeth had told him about her father — her family. He had heard bits and pieces before about Elizabeth’s late mother’s family and the only other possible living relative that was never discovered. Regarding Mr Bennet, Darcy’s opinion was conflicted.
For Elizabeth, it might have been difficult to understand and accept that her father was so easily influenced by this second wife.
But to Darcy, it was only another painful reminder of how his own father had almost ruined his family, his name, his reputation — and the lives of so many people who depended on him — when he let himself be deceived by Wickham.
How could some men — good men — be so strong and so weak at the same time?
So dutiful and so reckless? So loving and so careless?
His second glass of brandy was interrupted by a servant announcing a Mr Ross. Darcy startled, hesitated a moment, then, as he was alone, asked that the guest be brought in.
“Mr Darcy, forgive me for intruding at this hour, sir. I came to bring news.”
“I requested that you inform me immediately, regardless of the time. What have you discovered?”
“Wickham lives in a building on Wilson Street. He rents rooms there, but rumours say he has been bragging about being able to purchase the whole building soon. Also living there are Mrs Younge, a Mr Gilroy, and a Mr Richmond who professes to be an attorney. Mrs Younge was seen visiting one of the new houses on Finsbury Square this morning, but we have not found out who lives there yet.”
“Keep watching Wickham and all those in his party. I wish to know what each of them is up to and if anyone else — woman or man — joins the group. You may hire more men if you need to, Mr Ross. I want absolute discretion and urgency,” Darcy concluded, handing the man a purse.
“We are at your service, Mr Darcy,” the man said, bowed, and left the house.
Alone in the dining room, at the large, empty table, Darcy held his glass of brandy tightly.
He had hired men to follow Wickham as soon as Georgiana married; for a while, he had known his sister’s whereabouts and had visited her several times.
Then, Wickham had evaded the men’s watch and appeared in London the previous day, at his door.
He had refused to reveal where Georgiana was, to goad Darcy into handing over his sister’s fortune more swiftly.
But Mr Ross’s men had now found him once more, and they would not lose him this time.
The scoundrel was living with that shameless Mrs Younge.
Of course — who else? What role did Georgiana play in that situation?
Where could she be? The neighbourhood Mr Ross had mentioned was not as bad as some and certainly less so than he would expect from Wickham, but it was still unknown and dangerous for Georgiana.
Sipping from his glass, a thought crossed his mind. He hurried to his room and rang for his man.
“I need a carriage,” he requested.
“Of course, sir, it should be ready shortly.”
“No, not one of my carriages. I want a hackney from the street. Send someone to hire me one for the entire evening. I do not wish to be recognised.”
“As you wish…at once, sir,” the servant mumbled, obviously confused.
Darcy put on his coat, pacing the room, anxious.
He had to go — he had to see with his own eyes where Wickham was living and investigate the house visited by Mrs Younge.
Georgiana could be there. The minutes dragged on slowly, and Darcy lost the little patience he had left.
He walked about the room like a furious lion in a den, barely hearing the knock or where it came from.
“Yes. Come!” he almost barked, expecting his valet; but instead of him, through the adjoining door appeared Elizabeth. She stopped on the threshold, observing him with curiosity.
“I am sorry to disturb you. I heard footsteps and… Are you leaving? Has something happened?”
“No. I mean, yes, I must go out. There is an urgent matter that requires my immediate attention. But no, nothing has happened that might affect you.”
“Oh…I see…” she whispered, clearly taken aback by his brusque demeanour.
At that same moment, his man entered, saying, “Sir, the hackney you requested is ready. Oh, Mrs Darcy, I beg your forgiveness…” Then he stepped back, bowing.
“I must leave now,” Darcy said. “I hope you feel better by morning and we shall meet at breakfast. Good night, Elizabeth.” He departed hurriedly, without a backward glance. He knew she was nonplussed, but he had no time and no desire to explain everything to her.
***
Elizabeth remained, standing unmoving in her husband’s room, while he hurried away from her to attend to an urgent matter in the middle of the night.
She was irritated by his actions, but also with herself for being a simpleton and giving it any consideration.
Their arrangement did not require him to spend his evenings with her, nor to request her permission to enjoy his time elsewhere. It was her fault for assuming more.
The visit to the Gardiners’, their conversation in the carriage when they had finally shared some of the secrets they had both kept well-hidden and felt burdened with, then the tingling warmth of their bodies under the blanket were all small and insignificant things that apparently mattered more to her than to him.
She was confused, nervous, and somehow embarrassed by the feelings that enveloped her, all new and difficult to understand.
She had felt uncomfortable facing him at dinner and preferred the solitude and peace of her own room, to have time to reflect and compose herself.
He had been kind and thoughtful earlier, and when she had heard him walking about his chamber, she had come to assure him she felt better.
Yet, apparently, he did not care, as he had more important, more agreeable things to do and to think of.
After standing frozen for a few moments, she realised her whereabouts and ran back to her room, closing the door more forcefully than needed.
Approaching the window just in time, she peered through the gap in the curtains.
She saw her husband leaving the house in a hurry, barely having time to pull on his gloves before he entered a carriage that certainly did not belong to him.
There was probably someone waiting for him inside it, someone whose identity he wished to conceal.
Otherwise, why would he prefer a smaller, older, rather shabby, and clearly less comfortable carriage to one of his own?
It must be an illicit encounter, one he is ashamed of.
There were few reasons, Elizabeth supposed, for a gentleman like Darcy to behave in such a way, and there was probably a woman involved.
One that he preferred to remain unseen and unknown.
Elizabeth’s irritation increased, with other confusing sentiments adding to it.
She could not be jealous — that would be ridiculous.
Their contract allowed him complete liberty to enjoy his life as he wanted, so why would he prefer to hide from her, to lie to her?
Did she mean so little to him that he did not even take the trouble to inform her?
Yes, she was furious because of his lack of respect yet again. Not jealous!
Mr Darcy was long gone, and Elizabeth was still staring out into the night, without actually seeing anything.
Out of agitation, she pushed the curtains aside and briefly opened the window, then closed it immediately; it was freezing, the weather seeming to have taken a turn for the worse, just like Elizabeth’s state of mind.
Hour after hour seemed to pass in trepidation and anxiety; Elizabeth was unable to sleep, to read, or even to find a sensible explanation for her concerns. That her feelings for her husband had changed — altered enough to affect her equanimity — was an unwelcome revelation.
She could not allow him to notice any change; she had to struggle to keep her composure and manners as they had been at the beginning of their acquaintance.
Therefore, she must not ask — or wonder — where he had hurried off to in the middle of the night. It was simply not her business.
With such wisdom in mind, Elizabeth lay in bed, trying, once again, to fall asleep.
Her senses, however, were too alert, startling at every sound from the street or the house.
She kept trying — and failing — until sometime, hours later, a carriage slowed and stopped in the front of the house.
She jumped to her feet and hurried to the window.
She recognised the carriage, then her husband’s outline, and she gasped when he lifted his head and glanced up.
Scared that he might have seen her, she pulled the curtains closed and ran to blow out all the candles, returning to bed and pulling the sheets around her, pretending, rather childishly, to be asleep.
Shortly afterwards, a door opened, and footsteps sounded in Mr Darcy’s chamber, then his muffled voice and that of his valet, and then there was silence.