Chapter 25 Miriam’s Perch
Darcy felt his shoulder gently shaking, and someone whispering, “Mr Darcy?”
As his eyes gradually opened, he noticed the sun had gone down. He was unexpectedly covered in a blanket, and as he blearily looked around, he found Mrs Thorne shaking him awake.
“You fell asleep.”
He came awake suddenly and looked down to his lap in panic, but she said, “Miriam is fine. She fell asleep with you, and we took her to her bed an hour ago,” then smiled a bit. “All is well.”
Darcy enjoyed the way she said it—an offhand observation, completely devoid of pretence or ambition. Whatever the cause for her usual reticence, it seemed diminished that evening. She obviously trusted him if she was willing to allow Miriam to pick and choose his company when the child wanted.
He shook his head and looked at the table, where the book he had been reading was stacked neatly with the others. “I apologise for my indolence.”
“Do not be. It was,” she said quietly, then paused a bit. “It was sweet. Miriam has taken a liking to you, and I can deny her nothing. She would be the most spoilt child in the world if her mother were not stricter.”
“I see it is past closing. I will get out of your hair,” Darcy replied with a rueful smile.
She paused thoughtfully. “I am about to have supper. Miriam’s parents are away for the evening, and our maid is looking after the child, so I fear it is only me. It is simple fare, but you are welcome to join me if you like.”
“It would be my greatest pleasure.”
“If your standards are that low, I suppose we can satisfy.”
The meal of venison, vegetables, bread and butter was indeed simple, but excellent fare.
A bottle of Spanish wine completed the effect, and both participants may have had one more glass than was wise.
They talked so agreeably of Scotland and England, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Amanda had never been half so well entertained in that room before.
A thought suddenly struck Darcy, and he paused to think about it for a moment.
His silence caused his companion’s brow to furrow. “Why so pensive?”
“Nothing bad, I assure you. It just struck me that—” then he went silent to think about what had struck him, and finally continued, “I do not think I have ever had such an agreeable conversation with a woman before.”
She shook her head. “That speaks well of neither your conversational skills nor where you look for companions. Do you normally hide from intelligent women?”
“Not as such. Well, ever since—” but then he paused in confusion.
“You need not shy away from mentioning your wife. You are safe enough here. In fact, I would posit that your safety here is the primary reason for your willingness to speak openly.”
“How so?” he asked in confusion.
“It is simple enough. You are safe here, and somewhere in your head, you made that assessment without quite being aware of it. You are accustomed to spending time around women who are married and will usually only seek a fraction of your attention, women who are marriageable who want all of it, or women with daughters, friends, nieces who are marriageable who are somewhere in the middle. You probably spend quite a lot of your life on guard, looking over your shoulder.”
He looked at her sceptically.
“Of course, that is all supposition, but that is how things would normally go with a handsome, unmarried man of your stature. However, the position of a widow or widower is special, which you have probably not given much thought to, since the differences are more extensive for women than men.”
“I do not quite understand. Widows usually want to remarry, so they seem more like older and perhaps wiser versions of the marriageable ladies of your example.”
“That attitude is understandable enough, but it lacks subtlety. They are older, perhaps wiser, especially if they are well situated, in which case they have more choices, so are often not as anxious. There are widows like me, who have no ambitions toward matrimony. We are more like the married women who do not need or even particularly want your attention. You just need to find us. It is not that hard once you know what you are looking for. That is why you feel safe here—because you are. You know, even if you could not state it, that I want an occasional dinner companion, a critical reader, perhaps a reasonable amount of profit, and nothing more.”
“You do not plan to remarry?” he asked curiously.
“Perhaps, someday in the far future,” she said with a careless shrug. “At the moment, I have a tough time picturing it. I like being a widow and have no compulsion to imagine any other state.”
Darcy shook his head in confusion.
“I see you do not understand. Do not fret. It is not a shortcoming, just a point of view you have never had to consider.”
“I would be obliged if you explained.”
Amanda unwisely poured the last of the wine.
“Widowhood is the most powerful state for women in our society—at least in more enlightened places. You see—” then she drank from her wine. “You probably worked out that I was born a gentlewoman?”
“I did the first day, but I assume that is akin to a schoolboy being proud he could write his name.”
“Yes, not exactly difficult to decipher. I could disguise the accent and mannerisms if I chose, but I believe they help sales, so I make no effort.”
“Go on.”
“In our society, women are raised with expectations, and they are frankly not very exciting. We must learn the dreaded accomplishments, most of which, with the possible exception of music, merely serve as husband bait and are worthless after marriage. How many purses, cushions, tables, or drawings do you need?”
Darcy nodded, having come to the same conclusion years before, though he made his sister learn all the accomplishments just like her father would have, because it was the done thing.
“We start out under the exclusive authority of our fathers, who have iron-clad control over every aspect of our lives. Eventually, if all goes well, we become the property of the highest bidder in the marriage market.”
The words rang of bitterness, and Darcy wondered exactly where it came from. Her husband, whom she had not mentioned once in the three months Darcy had known her, probably had something (or more likely everything) to do with it, but he was unwilling to ask directly.
“Our lives are constrained by the men who hold themselves above us,” she added with a resigned shrug. “You can have no concept of what that feels like—to be entirely powerless; to have essentially no control over your own life. Your sister does, but you cannot.”
Darcy got a sinking feeling that he was not the only bad husband in the world, and Mr Thorne was probably no prize either.
He said, “Was your—”
She shrugged, understanding the implied question, and said somewhat unwisely, “He may have been a good man, but whatever goodness he may or may not have possessed was well hidden from me. He did nothing terrible, as some husbands are wont to do, but he did not treat me well either.”
“What happened?” he asked, wondering if he was lurching into the proverbial quicksand.
“The usual,” she replied with a shrug. “We struck an agreement: ‘till death us do part’. It ended as per contract, and I became a widow.”
Darcy assumed she was leaving a lot of the middle parts out. “What about widowhood do you find appealing?”
She brightened considerably. “Everything! Just everything! I can own property! I can make my own business! I can enter into my own agreements! If I make money, I can spend it how I want! If I lose money, I can starve on my own stupidity and indolence!” Then she laughed a bit.
“I can have a private dinner with a widower without raising eyebrows, which would be truly scandalous if either of us were single.”
“That is true.”
“I can assure you, if you have a modest amount of money, almost everything about widowhood beats marriage or maidenhood. I came away with enough funds to live simply without doing any work at all, but work gives life meaning, don’t you think?”
Darcy considered for a while. “Work is one thing that can give life meaning, but I do not believe it to be the only thing. Marriage and children can, in the right situation, give you purpose. I found that doing good works has its own satisfaction. There are any number of ways to do so, but I see that makes your point for you. If you are capable of prosperity on your own, then widowhood gives you the choice to find meaning as you will.”
“Now you have it,” she said in some satisfaction. “Oh, and I agree about the good works. I also engage in my own, and those take money but give immense satisfaction.”
He thought a minute. “All the same, it seems a path that would eventually lead to loneliness. Would it not be better to face life with a strong partner? To have someone with you if you are ill, or frightened? Someone to age and grow old with? Someone to raise children with?”
“Have you ever seen a couple that is truly happy in their marriage?”
“Several!” he said, then hoped she would not demand he name them.
The rapidity of the response surprised Amanda.
“I know a few, I suppose. Before my marriage I knew exactly one, and my marriage did nothing to increase the total. I have met several couples during my widowhood who seem very content. In fact, I have two partner couples who seem incredibly happy with their lives. Perhaps even love is not a myth, though neither of us seems to have experienced anything remotely like it.”
Darcy sighed. “I let it slip through my fingers like sand. I feel I could have had it, but—”
Amanda walked to a shelf and returned with another bottle of wine. “English, I fear.”
Darcy opened and poured, but then she suggested they move to a pair of chairs beside the fire that was presently burning low. It was the middle of summer, but there had been a rain shower while he was asleep, and her cook had laid in a fire against the evening chill.