Chapter 22
Elizabeth
It was time to meet in the blue drawing room, before going in together for luncheon, and Elizabeth watched Lady Catherine carefully, unsure if she should or should not offer to help her to stand and walk.
Despite the older lady’s many complaints about her joints and bruises and assorted travel-associated injuries, she rose and took a first step quite well, so Elizabeth decided not to offer aid.
As soon as she opened the door, she saw William’s dear face, pinched with worry, while he paced the corridor.
Turning towards them, he let out an unvoiced bit of air and looked searchingly into her eyes.
He began to offer his arm—well, he looked as if he would offer it to her, but Elizabeth cocked her head towards his aunt, and he picked up on the slight movement and offered his arm to Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth was certain William had gotten word of her safety and whereabouts, or else he would not have been pacing this corridor. He would likely have been riding the moors or racing down to the beach, looking for her.
Still, he looked very anxious. She hated that her own choices would make him upset, and even knowing that Lady Catherine would hear, she said in a low voice, “You are well, I hope?”
William started, and then his face became an emotionless mask. He replied, “I am well. I have been worried about you.”
“I am so sorry to have worried you, dearest. I tried to send word.”
“Yes, thank you. Unfortunately, before I got your message, Cordelia had said you were out on a walk, so I spent some time attempting to find you.”
“Oh dear. I hope you did not spend too long on that thankless task.”
“I realised that I could not look everywhere, and you had likely not gone far from the house by yourself, so I returned and received your message. Thank you again for letting me know.”
Lady Catherine huffed and murmured something like, “She is not a child, Darcy!”
“Lady Catherine has been telling me family stories,” Elizabeth said brightly. “Miss de Bourgh as a little girl, you and Richard as little boys. It has been most interesting.”
“She was not impressed when I told her of that Wickham fellow’s pranks and lies,” Lady Catherine said.
“Least said of him, the best for us all,” William opined.
Elizabeth had to agree. Lady Catherine gave one of her rare smiles, so she must have thought the same.
But Elizabeth could tell that William was still bursting with questions he could not ask in front of his aunt. She said, “I am so grateful, Lady Catherine, that you have shared so much of your life and your wisdom with me.”
She hoped that would assuage his fears, and indeed he did look more relaxed.
Luncheon was a more pleasant meal than she expected, and at the end of the meal, Lady Catherine said, “Darcy, you will attend me as I go to my rooms.”
Elizabeth smiled at both of them, putting as much warmth as she could into her expression to mask her own unease.
Well after William and his aunt had left, Richard turned to Elizabeth and asked, “What on earth have you done to the termagant? She was…just a slightly testy lady in there. I suspect witchcraft or, possibly, a more Godly sort of miracle.”
Cordelia laughed and took Elizabeth’s arm. “You have heard of charm, have you not, Richard? I can certainly see why you have always had such high regard for Elizabeth, for she has buckets of charm.”
Elizabeth laughed, too, and said, “Oh, dear, Cordelia. The truth is, I have buckets of faults. I can be extremely scolding at times, as your intended can attest.”
“I deserved it,” Richard muttered, but Elizabeth paid him no mind as she continued:
“I am far too impatient, and I tend a bit too much to impertinence and obstinance. My worst trait, perhaps, I have only confronted of late, and that is that I make too swift of judgments, at least at times. And that means that a person’s manners, appearance, bearing, and style of speech weigh in too heavily, because those things can be more rapidly assessed than can honesty, character, kindness, and honour. ”
“You are certainly quick-witted,” Cordelia responded. “I suppose that could make you a bit more impatient than some of us, and also predispose you to be as quick to judge as you are to do and say all the positive things you routinely do and say.”
“And you, my dear, are far too kind.” Elizabeth grinned at her, but she was aware of a prickle of dread about what Lady Catherine meant to say to William.
Just a few minutes later, however, he joined them. He said, loud enough to be heard by Richard and Cordelia, “Well, Elizabeth, I think you have a new admirer.” But then he took Elizabeth’s arm and whisked her up to their rooms.
Instead of telling her what Lady Catherine said, William fell upon her with so much need—not as much passion as one might suppose, but rather a post-fear need of reassurance—that she allowed the many extensive kisses, the fierce embraces, and the ragged breaths between.
Before he could commence with more extensive activities, Elizabeth said, “Oh, William, will you not hint at what she said? You were not with her long—it could not have been more than a dozen words!”
“She said that I seem to have chosen well enough, she supposed, and that she has decided not to fight against us.”
“Oh, my, that is more than I hoped to accomplish!” Elizabeth said.
William nodded but ruefully shook his head as he continued, “I suppose that means that it is for naught that I will be whispered of as a virginal groom and that I resembled a blind man attempting to lead a blind woman into marital felicity—that last bit alone is worth a humorous caricature. Despite not being necessary, if Lady Catherine keeps her promise, I am certain that those gems will disperse throughout the ton, and we will be laughed at for the rest of our days.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hands and said, “Actually, I realised that we can always stage more conversations, later, if unpleasantness ever does crop up, and that really, all that was needed at this point was an assurance among these servants that I came to my marriage a virgin. So I changed almost everything I was going to say. Cordelia asked the question I had asked her to pose, and I assured her with generalities, as planned, and the only things I added were that I was very pleased that you were gentle, and that I was shocked about how much I bled. That last part, about the blood, startled her, and she said something like, ‘I know that some virgins do not bleed at all, and some only a trace. How much blood was there on your sheet?’ And I showed her the size, using my hands, and I reassured her that I had not begun my courses. She gasped and said, ‘I am a nurse, and I too did not realise that it could be that much blood.’”
William looked quite relieved, and he asked, “Nothing about me being a virgin? No blind leading the blind?”
Elizabeth chuckled and said, “None of that. I was just trying to ensure that our story spread, to make it interesting enough to spread, before any fascinating but untrue story could reach people’s ears.
But at the last second, I decided to ditch all mentions of virgin grooms and blind people.
I even kept something absolutely true but possibly embarrassing from popping out of my mouth.
Cordelia had been so surprised, like we were, about the large ‘spot’ of blood, that I thought to say, ‘My husband is a big man.’”
A bark of laughter escaped William. Elizabeth continued, “But I managed not to say it.”
“Thank you,” William said, “And now, may I show you something…big?”
It was the last afternoon and evening of their stay at Oakhaven, and as much as Elizabeth was looking forward to seeing Saint Michael’s Mount, and Wales, and many other places, she felt a bit of regret to be leaving Cordelia and the beautiful cliffside estate.
Everyone agreed to her idea of having an early picnic supper to enjoy the sunset, and servants carried blankets and baskets of food and plates and utensils.
A very supportive chair and a small table were positioned for Lady Catherine’s eating and viewing pleasure.
The meal was one course fewer than the usual dinners, but eating outside somehow made them all hungrier, and there was precious little chatter as they dispatched game pies, slices of ox tongue, dressed crab, Cornish yarg, saffron buns, and hevva cakes.
The best part, Elizabeth thought, was the clotted cream over splits, with strawberry jam.
The sunset was more picturesque than any Elizabeth had ever seen.
Clouds that stretched like gold-edged banners of pink and orange were reflected in Loe Pool, and they could see the dark triangle of the Mount, knobbly with the castle on top, silhouetted against the colourful sky.
For the most part, the ocean looked to be a deep green rather than blue, but there were moments when the entire sea stilled enough to become a mirror of the sunset colours.
Whenever that happened, everyone voiced appreciation in wordless cries.
“That was quite magnificent,” Lady Catherine said as everyone stood to return to the house.
She sounded ever so surprised—but not as surprised as she seemed to be when Elizabeth spontaneously hugged her with fervent words of agreement.
At that gesture, she just stared at the young lady with wide eyes and a slightly gaping mouth.
Richard took his aunt’s hand and put it on his arm, offered his other arm to his intended, and then carefully led them to the waiting barouche.
The men handed up the ladies and then mounted their steeds; the servants were still loading up the carts as they trundled back to the manor house.
“That was an excellent plan, Elizabeth,” Cordelia said.
“When my parents come to us shortly before the wedding, I will organise a picnic for them, as well.”
“It was truly perfect,” Elizabeth answered. “You have wonderful views here at Oakhaven, and your servants were marvellous.”
Cordelia blushed and said, “Well, you were—Darcy was—”
Lady Catherine interrupted and said, “Darcy was most generous to sell this estate to Richard for what I imagine was a very reduced amount.”
“Yes!” squeaked Cordelia.
“You can pay them back by offering hospitality whenever they wish to come.”
“Of course!” Cordelia sounded a bit astonished and perhaps a little insulted. “We would have welcomed them at any time, no matter the circumstances.”
Elizabeth squeezed Cordelia’s hands to let her know that she understood.
“As you should,” was all Lady Catherine replied. Her nose was elevated, her mouth a firm line. In a way, she remained almost as lecturing as Elizabeth had heard was her usual custom, but Lady Catherine did seem considerably less angry.
“Of course, you and Anne are welcome at any time, as well,” Cordelia said, “although I do feel we will give you better hospitality if you let us know you are coming.”
“Naturally,” Lady Catherine said, as if such a suggestion was not even worth mentioning, because arriving without notice just was not done.
The next morning, Lady Catherine set off in one direction, returning home, and the Darcys drove away in the opposite direction, onto the next portion of their bridal tour.
The first few miles were spent in William praising Elizabeth to the skies.
At first she enjoyed his praises and felt that she deserved quite a bit of notice for the time and effort she spent in attempting to mollify his aunt’s anger.
However, eventually she decided that he had exceeded the daily maximum of accolades.
“You, sir, apparently have far too much time on your hands, that you blather on and on like this to your wife, about your wife. You seem to think you must woo me with your honeyed compliments. I insist that you come up with a more sensible topic of discussion.”
William scrubbed his face with both hands, and emerged from behind his hands with a laugh.
“Very well, if I cannot recite a panegyric to you, perhaps one is due me.” He accessed the deep pocket of his great coat, which was hanging neatly on a hook, and he unrolled a newspaper.
“According to Richard, I am lauded somehow, somewhere in this newspaper.”
He separated the various parts of the newspaper, and the two set out to discover his name.
“I found it!” Elizabeth crowed. “It says, ‘The excellent points made by one of society’s most steady minds, Fitzwilliam Darcy, have convinced me that we should take seriously the arguments of the OPs. Darcy presents a statement few would argue with: Our nation contributes wonderful art, literature, music, and culture to the world, and we are privileged to enjoy such treasures from other peoples and nations, as well. However, when we consider who shall see the paintings, hear the concertos, read the poetry, and experience the dramas, should we be hiding such things from almost everybody, allowing only the wealthiest to partake? Or should we take a page from Shakespeare and ensure that everyone can enjoy our cultural treasures?’”
Elizabeth read further; basically, the author repeated most of William’s points from his letter to the editor, and expanded on them, saying that they were correct in every particular, and praising William’s “breadth of mind and liberality.”
“Is this another letter to the editor?” Darcy asked. “Is it signed at all?”
Elizabeth checked the newspaper’s pages and then ventured an opinion: “I believe it is the editor’s own views, because of its position on the third page, under the masthead. It is certainly not signed.”
She said, “As a matter of fact, noblest of all of my husbands, you are one of the rare folks who dares to sign his own name to anything printed in the newspaper. I am positive that almost all contributors’ names, when printed—whether letters to the editor or opinion pieces—are assumed names.”
“I certainly hope that I am both the noblest and the ignoblest of all your husbands,” he said, drawing her closer to him and, thus, scrunching some portions of the newspaper.
She said, “You are, Will, you most certainly are.”
Without any discussion at all, they decided to take a break from talking. It turned out to be quite a long break.