Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
DARCY
Eventually, Darcy and Elizabeth faced the fact that they could not ignore the entire world for endless days.
On their fourth day in London, the couple sorted all of the post that had built up while they had been so agreeably engaged with honeymoon activities.
They were surprised to find three letters of apology.
One was so bespattered, it would take more time and effort to read than Darcy felt like giving, and he only studied the opened letter for a few seconds before consigning it to the fire.
“Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. I am in no mood to struggle to read it, but I am certain that the five-letter word that he used four different times was sorry, so at least we know what category of letter he attempted to write.”
The other two apology letters were from Hurst and Collins. Checking the date on the letters, Darcy ascertained that they had been written on the evening of their wedding day, definitely before the publication of that glowing description of the two men's hospitality at the wedding breakfast.
Darcy read Hurst’s letter out to Elizabeth, and she read Collins’s letter to him.
The letters were similar. Hurst professed regret for having overindulged in spirits and for the hasty-eating display.
Collins apologised for the unsightly eating contest and for his interruption of the wedding.
He explained that Hurst had helped him to realise that Lady Catherine’s frequent repetitions of a lie had now led him to question, not Darcy’s character, but that of Lady Catherine.
“Should we reply to these notes?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy contemplated the sincere letters and the fact that—unbeknownst to Elizabeth and him until that gushing article had arrived at their door—Mr Collins and Mr Hurst had spent hours at the wedding breakfast helping others to better enjoy the event.
“I suppose short notes are in order. We could say something like ‘Think no more of the brief mistakes you mentioned, and please accept our gratitude for your generous efforts to help our guests enjoy the celebratory party.’”
While Elizabeth wrote to Hurst and Collins, signing both of their names at the end, Darcy answered business letters.
The pile of letters to be dealt with now consisted of “only” four and seventy invitations to house parties held at estates scattered across more than thirty counties in England and Wales.
That afternoon, they paid a call on Matlock House to check in with loved ones: Georgiana, who was staying with their relations in London and Derbyshire until Darcy and Elizabeth returned from the bridal tour; Richard, who was happily preparing for his own wedding and his relocation to Oakhaven; and Aunt Helen, who had let Darcy know that she would be honoured to help them choose a few invitations to launch them as a couple.
“I still wish I could hold a ball in your honour!” his aunt said in a scolding tone.
“I am sorry, Aunt,” he replied, “but Matlock simply does not fit in with our planned bridal tour.” He brought out a map on which he had marked their route and the already-planned stops, along with the estimated date of arrival at each.
Elizabeth had organised the invitations by date, and their first step was to see if the timing of each house party did or did not fit into the travel plan.
That step winnowed the invitations down to just three and thirty.
Thereafter ensued a long discussion involving maps, a calendar, Darcy’s copy of Cary’s New Itinerary, and Taylor and Skinner’s road guides for Ireland and Scotland.
He could see that Elizabeth was very excited at the promise of seeing, not only all of the Darcy properties (plus Oakhaven, now a Fitzwilliam property), but also Lizard Peninsula and Saint Michael’s Mount, in Cornwall; Devil’s Bridge and the waterfalls so inspiring to Wordsworth, in Wales; Glendalough and the Giant’s Causeway, in Ireland; and Loch Katrine and the Trossachs, in Scotland.
Aunt Helen laughed a little at her enthusiasm, but she admitted that the two of those sights she herself had seen had been worth every effort to reach them.
Finally, the three agreed that Elizabeth and Darcy should join two house parties, for a few days each, and to attend a harvest ball in Cornwall and a hunt ball in Scotland.
They planned to be on the road for ten to twelve weeks, depending on the weather, ending in Pemberley in time for Christmas celebrations with the family.
Elizabeth and Darcy swiftly wrote out their few acceptances and gladly burnt all the other invitations. “We are excused from responding because we are on our bridal tour,” Darcy explained.
She said, “I am relieved to hear it. For one thing, if we are going to the theatre tonight, we should go home and ready ourselves.”
“Indeed, I believe you are correct, madam.”
The new Theatre Royal at Covent Garden was celebrating its grand opening that night with a performance of Macbeth.
Darcy was looking forward to watching the Shakespearean drama, but he did not look forward to being the player in the performance the public seemed to demand of him every time he went somewhere in Town.
He hoped that nobody would be interested in watching him now that—at age five and twenty—he was an “old married man.”
Of course, that was ridiculous, and Darcy well knew it.
He had escorted Elizabeth to many London events before they were married, and it little surprised him that people’s eyes had been drawn to them—to her!
It was not so much that she had a lovely face and figure, for there were many ladies in London who could justly be described as beautiful.
It was her unique personality that drew people’s interest. Even from afar, even through a pair of lorgnettes, there was something in the way she carried herself, her unguarded expressions, her genuine smiles that invited further observation, admiration, and envy.
Anyone who came close enough to see her really well was captivated by her dancing, sparkling eyes… .
He made himself stop considering people’s responses to Elizabeth, because—especially after Bingley’s admissions of his lust-fuelled misinterpretations of Elizabeth’s friendliness—it would drive him to madness.
After Darcy’s valet deemed him acceptable for a great event, Darcy made his way to Elizabeth’s dressing room.
He had never knocked on that particular door before—ever since he had brought her home, the two had gone from room to room with the ease of knowing their mutual welcome.
But he knew that her lady’s maid was in attendance tonight, and he behaved with more reserve, tapping the door lightly and waiting for Elizabeth’s permission before entering.
Good God! He could not allow his darling wife to appear in public in that gown…could he?
There was something about the cut of the dark green gown that made Elizabeth’s figure even more…well, adjectives were not flowing in his mind, and he said to Elizabeth, “You look….” and then he realised that he could not access the words by speaking, either.
“Acceptable? Tolerable? Well enough, you suppose?” Elizabeth’s eyes shone into his, and he could see that his occasional inability to speak was not something she scorned, but rather something she loved.
He tore his eyes away from hers, gathered himself up, and then looked back, gazing into her eyes as he finally finished his sentence: “Beautiful. Ravishing. Dazzling. Magnificent. I was just hoping that someone had coined a new word that was worthy of you, but sadly, I believe that has not occurred.”
He saw that she proudly wore the diamond-and-topaz set: the bracelets, the choker, and the comb.
It looked spectacular, although he wished he had instant access to the safe at Pemberley—he remembered a particular set of emeralds that would look exquisite on this lady, wearing this dress.
But of course it mattered little which jewels adorned Elizabeth.
She was the true treasure. She had drawn eyes and admiration wearing simpler jewellery made up of pearls and garnets.
The two made their way downstairs, towards the waiting carriage, stopping to don their outer layers, and soon enough they were comfortably seated in a lavender-scented bubble of warmth and connexion, as her body leant on his, her arm circled his waist, as his circled hers, and their free hands tenderly held with interlaced fingers.
“I find that I rather like being married, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth’s voice lilted, and even in the relative darkness, he could tell that she was smiling.
When they pulled up to the massive new theatre, he heard Elizabeth gasp in admiration. “It is very grand!”
“Neoclassical,” he offered.
“I love all the sculptures. Tragedy and Comedy, ancient drama, modern drama—it all fits in so well with the columns.”
“It is reminiscent of the Parthenon.” He saw her cast an envious look his way, and he kissed her hand, adding, “Which I hope to show you one day.”
He escorted her out of the carriage and up the steps, into the Portico and before long the theatre itself.
He was impressed by the elegant auditorium, the magnificent cut-glass chandelier, and the large stage.
He had paid for box seating, of course, but when they reached their box, Elizabeth leant against him and whispered, “Did you hear the disgruntled folks complaining about the prices?”
“No, I did not. I spent my time more sensibly than to listen to gossip and grumbles.”
She turned her head to look up at his expression, asking, “And what was this sensible activity in which you indulged?”
“I was glaring at the men who stared at you.”
“Oh, dear, I am not certain that I believe this tale of stares and glares. At any rate, I think this is important: there was much unhappiness about the price of tickets.”
Darcy shrugged his eyebrows, although the gesture was lost on Elizabeth, who had turned her eyes to look at the extravagant decorations and throngs of people. He considered her words and replied, “This theatre was costly to build, so it is natural that the ticket prices reflect that cost.”
Still whispering, Elizabeth opined, “I agreed with something I heard one man say—that theatre, the storytelling of drama and comedy, is a public right, and there ought to be enough lower-cost seating for those who wish to attend.”
That was quite a thought. Darcy finally admitted his grudging agreement.
“So, are we in accord? If this discussion continues, in newspapers or in the halls of government, or merely on the street, you will speak up for the public’s right to share in the cultural riches of our nation?”
Darcy was briefly silent. He preferred being out of the public eye—
She added, “Your opinion will matter to many people….”
Sighing, he made a promise. “But,” he added, “I hardly think that my opinion will ever be courted, or heard, as I will be on a bridal tour with my gorgeous—” he paused to kiss the side of Elizabeth’s hair—“radiant—” another kiss—“bride.”
The opulent auditorium and splendid lighting were occasion enough for Darcy and Elizabeth to murmur appreciative comments to one another, but the muttering of the crowd and the increasingly disgruntled tone of that muttering caused Darcy to make a swift decision. “We are leaving.”
“But—” Elizabeth began to protest.
“I promise I will voice my backing of lower prices, but I need you to come with me. I little like the sound of the crowd.”
He was relieved when Elizabeth stood, and she moved as quickly as he could have desired as he kept a firm hold of her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.
The linkman who led and illuminated the way to the Darcy carriage seemed surprised that someone would leave before the curtain even opened.
Naturally, Darcy felt no need to explain himself, and he was happy that the linkman’s strong, strident cry for the carriage driver resulted in their surprisingly swift retreat from the area.
Darcy turned in his seat and attempted to apologise for the evening’s abandoned entertainment, but Elizabeth put her finger to his lips, murmuring, “Shh. I know you followed your best judgement. Whether you were right or wrong to worry matters little to me, because I know you did your best to assess the situation, and that your motivation was preventing harm…. Plus, I like seeing the Master of Pemberley attitude once in a while.”
At that moment, the carriage passed a gas street light, and Darcy saw her dreamy smile as she mentioned “the Master of Pemberley attitude.” He felt, again, always, that he was the luckiest man in the world.