Chapter 11 Bluff and Bluster
Speculations about his marriage dominating the gossip rags was bad enough, but the harsh judgment of Elizabeth ventured far beyond his most dismal predictions. His wife was no fool, and certainly not promiscuous.
The caricatures were the worst of it. Blasted Henry C-e!
Whoever he was, he should be punished. The drawing he had made of Elizabeth was called Mrs Darcy’s scandalous attire.
The neck of her bodice was inappropriately low, and the fabric beneath it was sheer, depicting her ample bosom on full display, and the skirt had a split that ran so high her buttocks were hanging out.
It was eerie how accurately he had captured the colour and Hellenic style of the gown.
Even managing to have it printed and distributed in the course of twelve hours.
One might think it had been drawn prior to the ball, but given how late the garment had arrived, that was impossible.
A knock on his door prompted him to quickly fold the paper and hide it in a drawer. It would not do for Elizabeth to see the licentious depiction of herself nor the harsh renditions of her character.
A sigh of relief escaped him when it was his butler who entered. He was shaken to the core and would prefer to delay encountering his wife until his equilibrium returned.
“Your correspondence, sir.”
Mr Gilbert placed the stack of letters on his desk. By the looks of it, it was mostly bills.
“Thank you. I would like a cup of coffee.”
The butler bowed and disappeared from the room to do his bidding, whilst Darcy tore open the first envelope.
Shocking!
Darcy had not regarded Elizabeth as a vain creature, but he might have been wrong on that account.
The dressmaker’s bill nearly gave him an apoplexy. How many gowns did a woman need? She had brought a trunk full of perfectly adequate attire from Longbourn. They were pretty and had served her well for the duration of their acquaintance.
Darcy read through the extensive list of walking dresses, morning dresses, and evening gowns, adorned with expensive gold and silver netting, lace, spangles, embroidery, and seed pearls. Three riding habits! Elizabeth did not even ride…
The bill from the cobbler was not much better.
Filled with boots, half-boots, and silk slippers in every shade.
He leafed through more bills: hairpins, necklaces, and rings from the jeweller; petticoats, stays, gloves, stockings, fans, dominoes, spencers, cloaks, pelisses, and reticules from haberdasheries.
Was there no end to her spendthrift ways?
Egads! Did he truly need more silver spoons?
Not once had his table ever lacked utensils.
What was wrong with the ones they had? They were perfectly adequate.
The bills continued with purchases of ribbons, creams, perfumes, powders, handkerchiefs, and kid slippers in more colours than the silk ones.
If left unchecked, Elizabeth would spend every farthing he possessed on frippery and lace.
First, she had given away his most prized possession, and now this.
Then the unpalatable thought hit him: it was frighteningly like something he might expect from Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth did not resemble her mother. Or did she? Had his infatuation made him wilfully blind?
Darcy did not relish looking like a fool. He had no choice but to summon his wife to the study and ask what in the blazes she had been thinking. His wealth must have gone to her head! But he was not made of money. He tugged forcefully at the cord summoning his butler, who arrived minutes later.
“Call Mrs Darcy to my study,” he ordered in a dangerously low voice, only hoping he had refrained from sneering at old Mr Gilbert.
Fifteen minutes passed with no sign of Elizabeth, and Darcy began pacing to make the time pass more expeditiously.
When she finally arrived, she tried to distract him with her heaving bosom, but he would not allow himself to be so easily deterred from his purpose on this occasion.
Not even when she hastened towards him and rose on her toes offering him a kiss did he relax his rigid stance.
She sank back on her heels without accomplishing her intended caress.
Her quivering bottom lip—a soft rose-coloured pillow—communicated base thoughts directly to his groin. He stepped away and resumed his seat.
“Madam,” he began and gestured for her to sit at a safe distance—on the other side of his desk; it was best to keep more than an arm’s length between himself and her alluring body.
He shoved the first bill from the dressmaker towards her.
She bent forwards to look at the piece of paper and, deliberately or not, offered him a feast of swelling breasts.
For some inexplicable reason, her delectable bosom only infuriated him further.
It was a weakness he must conquer if he was to remain a wealthy gentleman.
He lifted his gaze to regard her wide eyes and O-shaped mouth.
Surprise and uncertainty flickered across her face, but he was not about to be cowed.
“Five and twenty gowns at an average of above fifty pounds each,” he stated flatly. “Are you deliberately trying to bankrupt me?”
She shook her head vehemently.
“I shall not allow myself to be hoodwinked into poverty.”
“I had no idea,” she whispered. “I only ordered twelve…” Judging by the expression on her face, he was inclined to believe her.
“Could Lady Matlock, who insisted upon the need for so many dresses, have added—”
“Please do not attempt to foist the blame upon my aunt,” he interrupted her, bristling in indignation.
“The bill is in your name, and I know enough about your character to be certain she could not have persuaded you to purchase anything you did not want. I am not expecting apologies, I am simply showing you why I must suspend your pin money and why all your expenditures henceforth must be approved by me—in advance.”
The punishment was much stricter than he had initially planned, but her allure irked him no end.
Showing her the bills from the cobbler, jeweller, and the haberdasheries elicited gasps and such theatrical gestures as clutching her chest and vehemently shaking her head, but Darcy would not allow himself to be duped into compliance.
He saved the silver spoon order for last. Her dainty fine brows dived into a frown.
“I have never—”
“Quiet!” he barked. “I am in no mood for any insincere excuses. The spoons have fortunately been delayed, and I am cancelling them in the hope it is not too late. The ones we own have served us well for decades. It is out of the question to change them for ostentatious gilded ones.”
“I assure you, I did not—” Elizabeth’s protests were interrupted by a voice from the doorway.
“A foolish woman is clamorous; she is simple, and knoweth nothing.”
“Uncle Darcy!”
Darcy had not even noticed Judge Darcy’s entrance before hearing his words.
Bloody misfortune! That his uncle should happen upon them at this inopportune moment.
He would have preferred that his distinguished relative had remained ignorant to this utterly embarrassing display of marital adversity.
He glanced at Elizabeth’s bloodless face.
Her dark green eyes were fixed upon him, glistening with tears threatening to spill down her blotched red cheeks.
Darcy’s heart jerked in his chest. He had been a bit harsh in his admonishment, but she would recover once her lesson was learnt.
“You are dismissed,” he managed to say in a voice that squeaked.
Elizabeth rose with alacrity and hastened towards the door with her head bent to the floor.
Judge Darcy claimed her vacated seat, placed his elbows firmly on the desk, and rested a sombre face on his fists.
After a few uncomfortable seconds of heavily charged scrutiny, he straightened in his chair and drew a long, rattling breath.
“If you need any legal aid to divorce your mercenary wife, you need only ask.”
Darcy stared at his uncle. “I do not,” he replied with firm conviction.
“I advise you to avoid impregnating the woman because of the legal impediments and the damage such an inconvenience would do to your reputation. Make sure you have her maid making a note of her courses.”
It had always been thus: Archibald Darcy heard whatever he wanted to hear—nothing more, nothing less.
“I find your unwelcome interference highly offensive. I have no intention of divorcing my wife. You witnessed a minor dispute. Elizabeth will adjust to her new circumstances with time.”
A heavy silence hung in the air as uncle and nephew regarded each other. After two uncomfortable minutes, Judge Darcy broke the silence.
“Very well. I can see you are too besotted to be worked upon by your elder and wiser relative. Mind you, the day will come when you regret your impetuous decision to marry a country chit of no consequence. I shall, of course, aid you in any way I can.
“In the meantime, I shall bring Augustus and Clarissa for a visit. We had better depict a unified family front before the tattlers, though I scarcely dare contemplate the damage your hasty wedding may cause our family name. Prepare yourself to be laughed at, dear nephew. But I am certain that in a couple of years some scandal or other will surpass your imprudent marriage and the gossips will once again leave you in peace. Good day.”
The capricious Judge Darcy rose and left him to his troubled thoughts. Disparaging his wife one moment and inviting himself and his children into her company the next… He was probably seeking a raise in their allowance—again…
Had he berated his wife for the sake of fifty-odd spoons? It was not that he could not afford the expense, but Pemberley’s coffers would not have been overflowing if not for generations of prudence, and he intended to leave the estate even more affluent for his son.