Chapter 12
EVERY DOOR IS SHUT BUT ONE
Elizabeth stiffened, on the verge of panicking.
What could she do? Struggle? Scream? Fright such as she had not experienced since her wedding night filled her, freezing her in place.
Gradually, however, as he did nothing else except hold her, every so often lightly stroking her back, the panic receded.
“I daresay, this is less formality than even Fanny might justify.” She spoke softly into his neckcloth—softly, because suddenly she did not want the embrace to end.
It was wrong, very wrong—there was no question about it.
But it felt…it felt as if the pieces of herself that fought daily to keep her going, to weather the constant storms of bad luck and bad news, to be brave and fearless and to only look ahead—those parts of her were wrapped in his strength, as if she need not hold them together by herself—at least for a very little while.
“Fanny can go to the devil,” he said, his voice deep and serious.
She could not help it and giggled—genuinely this time. No one ever said or even thought such things about Fanny.
He squeezed her a bit more tightly in acknowledgement.
This is wicked, wicked, wicked, Elizabeth, she warned herself. It was how trouble started—a cessation of loneliness, however brief, could feel so very right.
“Tell me why you will not live at Stoke. Help me understand why, if you will not, Fanny Ashwood will not provide a companion for you,” Mr Darcy demanded, as if it was his right to know.
At least, Elizabeth reflected, he had asked the question directly, instead of taking the rumours and gossip as fact.
“I live very simply,” she explained. “But the home I live in is not precisely…intact. I mean, the part I live in is safe enough—my uncle would never have permitted me to stay there, had he not assured himself of its soundness. He disapproves enough as it is. But it was in my settlement—the right to the dower house for my lifetime, or until I remarry. About a year after our marriage, lightning struck the gabled roof and it caught fire. The men put it out quickly, but there was a good deal of damage. I asked Mr Ashwood if it might be repaired. But although kindly towards me, he was conservative to a fault with his money and he was often ill besides, and did not see the need of it. ‘Stoke will always be your home, Elizabeth. You need not worry about living in some draughty old cottage,’ he would say. He had the place boarded up. I un-boarded part of it.”
His body stiffened, and she wondered if it was disgust.
“Do you mean to say that your home is not in good enough repair to accommodate a companion?”
She attempted to move away, but he clutched her more tightly.
Almost as quickly, he loosened his hold, but she found herself easing in it, and answering him honestly.
“It is not. Mrs Heartly, Stoke’s housekeeper, sends people over to help as often as she can—she ensures I have coal to heat the place, for instance.
I do not know what I would do without her. ”
“What of Mr Ashwood’s heir? It is a point of honour to see that everyone under one’s care is properly clothed and housed.
If your settlement entitles you to the dower house, it ought to be maintained by him.
Every gentleman knows this. I would think he should have been pleased that his wife was not required to share Stoke.
A home with two mistresses can often be difficult. ”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the idea of John defying Fanny to help her. “John is Mr Ashwood’s nephew. He is not a bad man, but he is selfish, and smitten with his much younger wife. Fanny simply tells him what he wishes to hear, and he follows her lead. I knew I could not count on him.”
“He is no gentleman. He ought to be ashamed.”
Elizabeth smiled into his neckcloth. “They had not been married a year, even, when Mr Ashwood married me. Fanny was beyond furious; she had counted on moving into Stoke and taking over at the first opportunity, and the marriage took her utterly by surprise. She has always pretended amiability, but she could not disguise her vicious propensities from one who had opportunities to see her in unguarded moments—they visited often at first, you understand.”
She felt his nod.
“I could tell how it would be. If I remained at the main house at Stoke, they would exert every bit of control they could muster over my life. My stipend is not a large one. How long before it would be ‘discovered’ that feeding and clothing and housing me ‘took up’ all the small funds?” She breathed in deeply, the scent of his soap and the starch in his neckcloth flooding her senses, lending her a curious strength in this unlikely conversation.
“I could not even be certain that it would be paid out properly—there was just such an informality in the terms of the settlement as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but I knew Fanny would. John would obey her wishes.”
“But you are receiving it?”
“I do not believe it is all I was meant to have, but I do receive something, yes. The first weeks after Mr Ashwood died, I pretended there was a possibility that I might be with child, long enough to bring my uncle in on the matter. John and Fanny were still on their best behaviour, just in case there was an heir. Even so, they haggled like fishwives when it came down to what is actually in writing. If I were to return to Stoke, I am certain I would lose what little I receive. Of course, I thought I would be living at Longbourn and that it would not matter so greatly.”
“Why are you not?”
Elizabeth knew at once that she had said too much.
It was one thing for him to think ill of Fanny and John.
It was quite another, however, to bring her sister and her sister’s husband into the matter.
“It does not really matter any longer. My uncle is investing for me, and I hope to move abroad in the not-too-distant future.”
Unless I have foolishly lost everything in the investment he advised against, she thought but did not say aloud.
“Abroad? Why abroad?”
His voice held censure, whether in affront or indignation, she could not tell—but clearly he did not like this idea, not one little bit.
The disapproval gave her the courage to move out of his embrace.
Immediately, the chill of the grotto surrounded her; once again, she was very much alone.
She kept her voice even, pretending not to care.
“My marriage, to me, felt as though my life ended, instead of simply my girlhood. My husband’s library was not a very good one, but it did hold several books about foreign climes—France, Italy, Egypt, Austria, Germany, and others.
Those tomes were my greatest comfort in those first awful months.
I vowed to myself that I would see these places myself, the moment I could manage it. ”
There were other reasons—from the practical, the ability to live more cheaply abroad, to the emotional, the opportunity to leave behind, physically, the place where she had experienced the greatest grief, betrayal, and heartache.
But it was more than enough explanation to this near stranger, despite the pleasure of his attention.
“There are great dangers faced by women abroad.”
“Women face great danger no matter where they are. When was the last time you felt afraid, Mr Darcy? Really, truly afraid?”
He seemed to think about it, and at least did her the courtesy of giving a real answer.
“I suppose last summer, when in town with my cousin. He occasionally likes to frequent less, hm, dignified alehouses, and we found ourselves at the Hawk and Swan at far too late an hour and…” He stopped mid-sentence.
“Let us just say, he has a tendency to open his mouth when it would be much better shut.”
She nodded. “For me, it was last week. Ask any woman—she will tell you the same. Women live with fear as you live with your responsibilities. We consider it, we deal with it, we move on despite it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who frightened you?”
“You misunderstand. The world is a completely different place for me than it is for you. I need not point out that men are stronger, physically, by a considerable margin. I might take a maid with me rather than walk alone, I might be alert and cautious in my surroundings, but what good does it do, truly, if a man is determined to misbehave?”
His fists clenched, jaw tightening, obviously disliking her point.
“Therefore, I shall do abroad what I always do in England. I shall be sensible, I shall take what precautions I can, and I shall trust in God for the rest.” She forced herself to rise to her feet; he immediately stood as well.
“And it appears that the most sensible measure I next can take is to return to the house.”
“I would never hurt you,” he protested.
“You would not mean to,” she corrected. “But as I have already pointed out, I do not live in the same world as you. Not socially, not physically—everything about you, every moment we spend alone, puts me at risk.”
He stared down at her, his eyes alit with a fire her body instinctively understood. She compelled her mind to make decisions her body would not like and walked out of the grotto, letting the cold raindrops cool any answering blaze.