Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
W hen Elizabeth woke again, it was to an empty bed. She squinted against the harsh sunlight streaming in through the bowed window, groggy and confused. Where am I? A handful of blinking seconds more and her recollections crystallised into sharp reality. I am at Rosings Park. Anne’s funeral was three days ago. Where is Fitzwilliam?
A glance at the clock nearest her bedside explained both her solitude and the harsh quality of the morning—it was nearly nine, well past her usual time to rise and begin her day. Her husband, no doubt, was already up and about; he could never manage to sleep much past the cockerel’s crow.
She stretched out her aching back, and her spine crackled and popped in protest. To the empty room, she complained, “How wretchedly exhausted I am.”
Between her wriggling babe—who seemed inclined to dance a merry jig every time Elizabeth lay down to rest—and that disconcerting dream featuring Anne, it was no wonder she had slept so ill. After waking from it, she had not returned to sleep until…she did not actually know, but she recalled lying awake for a long while, incapable of repose. Each time she managed to sink into a doze, the chiming of the hall clock roused her; there was something quite ominous in the ringing of a bell in the darkness of night.
A folded sheet of hot-pressed paper lay upon Darcy’s otherwise vacant pillow. She plucked it up and read:
My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,
As you did not sleep well last night, I could not bear to wake you this morning. I advise you to remain where you are for the rest of the day and allow me to make your excuses to Lady Catherine, as well as your apologies for last night.
If you should require my attendance, send a servant to find me in the study, where I shall be for much of the day. I shall come and see you around midday, and we may eat together. I have high hopes that you can be tempted by plainer fare and have already ordered the kitchen to procure broth, toast, and such.
Yours it was only natural.
Tears, which had been her good friends of late, sprung to her lashes, and she fought to blink them away, but they fell regardless. “I am such a fool for not seeing this sooner. A terrible wife!”
A large handkerchief appeared in her line of vision, and she accepted it, burying her sodden face within its folds. “You are not a terrible wife. I have never seen my cousin so happy as he has been since your marriage, and that is entirely due to you. ”
Elizabeth could feel Freddy pawing at her leg, whining helplessly. Dear, sweet creature. I do not deserve your comfort. “I cannot help but to cry. And I am a terrible wife! How could I be so insensible to his pain?”
She felt a large hand awkwardly patting her back. “Do not let Darcy catch you saying so, or he will be more overbearing than ever. If you think he is difficult now, just wait until he thinks you require more of his devotion—you will never shake him.”
Elizabeth could not help it: she giggled. It came out as something of a gurgle, but her mood was instantly lightened. She emerged from the depths of the handkerchief, sniffling but managing a tremulous smile. “Oh dear, he really would begin carrying me about, would he not?”
“There can be no doubt of that. I can picture it now!” cried the colonel, waving his hand before him as if attempting to conjure the image in the air. “He will have one of those grand palanquins built for you, all done up with fine draperies and an abundance of pillows. He will hire four—no, eight —footmen to cart you about, and he will lead the procession like the ringmaster at Astley’s. You will be the talk of the ton, and all the other ladies will insist on having their own palanquins. It will be a new fashion. Really, you must cheer up and think well of yourself, else you will be endangering the backs of every male servant from here to Newcastle.”
By the time he had finished describing his scene, Elizabeth was again dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief, but only because they were leaking with mirth. “My goodness, but you do paint a picture. Very well, for the sake of others, I shall make an effort to think better of myself.”
The colonel swept the hat from his head and bowed to her with a flourish. “The servant class of our great kingdom thanks you, madam.”
Upon rising from his ridiculous bow and replacing his beaver, he held out his arm for her to take again. Elizabeth did so, and they resumed their perambulation at an easy pace. Save for a few sniffles and dampness upon her cheeks, the only sign of her troubles was a lingering gravity that she could not entirely banish.
“I shall speak to my husband when we return to the house, per your suggestion,” she said, full of purpose. “Hopefully, with it all out in the open, we can come to some sort of compromise while also quieting his concerns. I thank you, sir, for your excellent advice.”
“I am no Lady Catherine, but I do my best.”
She laughed wanly at this jest, shaking her head at him, and they settled into a comfortable silence as they strolled down the lane. Freddy remained close, occasionally bumping against her mistress’s leg or licking her gloved palm. She truly is the sweetest thing.
The day was, if anything, more pleasant than the one before, with less wind and chill. Along the roadside, various flowers were in bloom, dotting the grass with an assortment of colours. There were sweet violets, crocuses, daffodils, and various others, but the greatest preponderance was wood anemone. The soft white and pink blooms created a carpet upon the woodland floor, leading deeper into the trees. Elizabeth noted that they seemed especially thick upon the short path that led to Anne’s tower as they passed it .
“So, ah…how does your sister do?” the colonel asked, breaking the quiet.
Elizabeth turned her face up to his but found him pointing it studiously ahead of them. There was a light flush of pink high on his cheekbones, only slightly disguised by the shade of his hat.
“You mean Jane?” She thought she understood him to be asking after Kitty—whom he had rescued from the clutches of the dastardly Wickham the previous summer—but chose to be coy in her answer. Her second youngest sister had been reticent about the colonel, but there had been a bashful look about her when he was mentioned at Pemberley on the eve before Elizabeth’s wedding to Darcy. She had believed it to be an adolescent romantic whimsy without reciprocation, but the colonel was telling in his awkward questioning. “She and Mr Bingley are settling well into their new house in town. They are greatly anticipating the forthcoming Season.”
If she were not mistaken, her companion winced slightly. “I meant your other sister.”
Elizabeth could not help a wry smirk and felt that her jocular cousin was not the only one inclined to be sportive at inappropriate times. “I have three other sisters besides Jane. You must be more specific, sir.”
“Miss Kitty, I am asking after the welfare of Miss Kitty, as I am sure you are well aware. Take pity and spare me your japes, if you please.”
“You have caught me out. I was teasing you. Kitty is well—or as well as can be after her ordeal.”
Lowering his head to fix Elizabeth with a serious expression, his jaw tight, the colonel asked, “Is she truly so miserable over Wickham? I explained to her that he was a scoundrel, but that mangy cur has a way with young ladies that sticks with them. I do hope she is not still enamoured of him.”
“Oh! No, that is not my meaning,” Elizabeth hurried to say. “I do not believe Kitty was ever really enamoured of Mr Wickham, merely taken in by his flattery for a short period. She has always been weak to a compliment.” Likely because she does not receive enough of them at home.
His shoulders sagged, and Elizabeth had the sense that he was relieved. “I am glad to hear it.”
“What I meant was that her sense of personal safety, her trust in people—especially men—has been shaken. She attempted to back out of the elopement at the last moment, did you know?”
“I did. It was then that I intervened.”
Pressing his forearm, Elizabeth silently conveyed her gratitude. “And my entire family is thankful for it. In any case, Wickham’s refusal to accept her reversal, and how roughly he treated her, must have been quite frightening. She has flinched away from almost every man since.”
“I am sorry to hear it. I would not wish for her experience with Wickham to colour her opinion of my sex unduly. She ought to be allowed to find her own happiness one day.”
“One day, she will meet a gentleman, or perhaps renew an acquaintance with an old, reliable friend”—Elizabeth slid her gaze to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but his expression betrayed no consciousness—“and feel comfortable enough to consider him. Until then, there is no rush, for she only recently turned eighteen.”
“If that should happen,” he replied, his voice low and somewhat melancholy, “I shall wish her joy. She is a sweet girl deserving of every good thing.”
“She is.”
They said no more for a good length of time until the colonel offered a non-sequitur. “Did my cousin ever explain to you how Freddy got her name?”
Freddy grinned up at them and wagged as if in anticipation of an amusing story and pleased about her part in it. Elizabeth smiled. “Do tell.”
“In point of fact, she is named after my brother.”
Elizabeth snorted, a consequence of attempting to stifle her amusement. “How did that come about?”
The colonel’s mouth spread into a grin that could only be described as wicked. “It will not entirely surprise you to learn that my brother can sometimes be a right bit— Ahem, boor, and I thought it an appropriate tribute to name one of Darcy’s female pups after him. Marbury did not especially care for it, of course, and Darcy attempted to change it to no avail. I do own some regret over the business, however.” Here, he sighed with gusto, making a great show of his feigned penitence. “I feel I have grievously wronged my canine friend, for now she is stuck with an unpleasant association to a fat-witted coxcomb. She deserves better, I think.”
Elizabeth swatted his arm, though it was done with more playfulness than censure. “You are incorrigible!”