Chapter 1 #2
Darcy raised an eyebrow. He stood up and rang for tea.
“You know very well I would also have ended with that.”.
When he sat back down he looked his cousin in the face and asked, “Pray tell, how would you conduct a casual conversation with a woman who was thoroughly insulted, and most assuredly disgusted by you a dozen or so years ago?”
“After such a long time I would attempt not to remember any of it. All you needed to know was the name of her husband and the number of children they share so you could put this whole palaver to sleep!”
The housekeeper entered the room with a tray of tea things.
She placed it at a little table next to the armchair occupied by Darcy.
While the housekeeper prepared their respective cups and adorned their saucers with biscuits, Darcy contemplated if such information would be truly useful.
Did he even want to rid himself of the fantasy of her?
“Now, we need to get to why I am here… Mrs Fitzwilliam is organising a family dinner the day after tomorrow, will you agree to grace our table with your presence? Or are you planning on hiding in this dark burrow until the end of time to avoid any chance of ghost-sighting?”
“Of course I will dine with you.” Darcy replied with a genuine smile as soon as the housekeeper left.
Fitzwilliam drank his tea, ate his shortbread and left shortly after.
Darcy smiled to himself while thinking of Rita - Richard’s lovely wife.
They had met in Portugal; she was a daughter of a landowner who let Fitzwilliam’s regiment camp reside on his property.
It was a whirlwind romance… Richard did not conduct himself exactly as a gentleman ought and the wedding needed to be expedited, for which everyone was more than grateful in hindsight.
* * *
Darcy sat down at the table and was just about to write a note to his solicitor, when he realised a walk would suit him better. He donned his greatcoat, hat and walking stick and briskly walked the distance to the offices where his trustworthy solicitor resided.
He left his card with the clerk and asked if it was at all possible to see Mr White immediately.
He did put on an apologetic air, but in fact he expected to be seen, considering his status and the business he’d put his way over the years.
The clerk disappeared with a bow and Darcy looked around the nicely appointed parlour.
Everything around him spoke of the clientele this man was attracting.
The leather chairs, the persian rug on the floor, the onyx ashtrays…
“Mr Darcy! Mr White is ready to see you.” The clerk looked out of one of the doors and held it open for him.
“What a surprise to see you, Mr Darcy! What can I assist you with?”
“I would like to enquire about a person. I didn’t want to send a note in writing, and I would like you to not create any paper trail. My enquiries are not to be known, under any circumstances”.
“I understand it is a very delicate matter, I can assure you of my utmost discretion.”
“I would like to enquire about one Thomas Morley and his connection to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.”
“What is the nature of the enquiry? Is it a financial matter?”
“Not at all. It is of personal significance.” Darcy replied in a clipped tone that did not allow for any more questions.
“When you do obtain the information required, please bring it to me in person. I hope to see you very soon.” With a bow, he turned and left.
As he was walking down the street his mind started to backtrack.
What was he doing? What good could come from him enquiring about her?
And who exactly was Thomas Morley? Why was she laughing while laying down the flowers on his grave?
What has her life been like since they last saw each other?
Did she ever think about him? Would she recognise him in a crowd?
He arrived back at Darcy House just in time to change for dinner, the part of the day he hated most. Dressing formally each evening only to dine alone felt absurd.
Yet, he insisted on maintaining appearances for the staff; slipping into laxity seemed like a slippery slope.
He imagined himself first taking meals in daywear, then on a tray in the library, until eventually spending entire days unshaven in his banyan, eating in his chambers, and conducting business from his bed-tray.
At Pemberley, he had never felt so lost. There, the endless duties and responsibilities kept his mind occupied, as if his very heart was pledged to the estate itself. Now, dwelling here, he found himself aching for the country and all it represented.
He did smile every time he thought or spoke of Pemberley.
A plan formed in his head. He would finalise his obligations in London, wait for the solicitor to get back to him with the information he requested, and in about two or three weeks time, he would close Darcy House and remove to the country.
This resolve cheered him and he cleared his plate with a newfound enthusiasm.
* * *
The next morning Darcy found himself wondering how much to disclose to Fitzwilliam of his enquiries about Miss Elizabeth.
He was embarrassed by the whole saga and also mildly disappointed with himself for not being able to extinguish those feelings that continued to haunt him.
Darcy did feel the urge to talk about her as he felt almost exhilarated with the possibility of learning anything of her life after all these years.
In the end he decided not to mention it to Richard yet.
Possibly once he had the information but not before.
Several days later Darcy began to close up Darcy House. He wrote letters, visited his bank, and the tailor. He wrote a letter to his steward to inform him of his expected date of arrival. It was during this time that his butler, Cranston, announced Mr White.
“Good afternoon, Mr Darcy,” he said with a bow.
Darcy rose and directed Mr White to the seating area in front of the fireplace. “I am glad to see you. Pray tell, what have you discovered?”
“Thomas Morley was a physician. Miss Elizabeth Bennet married Mr Morley at Meryton church on 14th September 1814.”
Darcy was careful to show no emotion but his voice was quiet and a little shaky. “Do you know what happened to Mrs Morley and the children after his demise?”
“The Morleys have an apothecary shop in Cheapside. Mrs Morley inherited the property and now runs the shop along with a partner - Mr Brook - and an apprentice boy. As far as I know the couple was childless.”
“Ah.” A mixture of relief and sadness washed over him. His poor Elizabeth! A widow. A widow well past her mourning. Should he visit her? Offer assistance? He acknowledged the absurdity of his thoughts immediately.
“Is the venture profitable?”
“Are you considering an investment, Mr Darcy?”
Darcy softly chuckled “Not at all, Mr White. I am only curious. ”
“From what I have seen it looks like Mrs Morley and Mr Brook are well respected and the establishment is in high demand within the community.”
“Have you found out anything about Mr Morley’s parentage?”
“No, Mr Darcy, I do not know about Mr Morley’s family; the only thing I came across from his youth was his education. He was sent to school and later studied medicine in Edinburgh.
Mr Darcy responded with a nod. Why did Elizabeth marry a physician? It must have been a love-match. That idea was painful.
“I apologise if my findings do not meet your expectations, Mr Darcy, I had presumed your interest lay primarily with the lady,” the solicitor ventured cautiously. Darcy shot him a glare then rose and walked to the window.
Oblivious to the bustle of the city below, his thoughts swirled with questions. He cleared his throat and said “Thank you for your efforts, Mr White. The information provided was most helpful.” That evening, all Darcy could think about was Elizabeth.
All Darcy could think of that night in the privacy of his chamber was Elizabeth.
He once again (and it is to be noted he had not allowed his mind such liberty in years) indulged in the more torturous visions of her.
The ones where she accepted another man’s offer with unrestrained joy, where they embraced and kissed to seal their engagement.
Then came the wedding night and the unanswered question that has plagued him since Hertfordshire: Exactly how long is Elizabeth Bennet’s hair?
He had stared at her back so intently at one of the gatherings, mentally calculating inches as he traced the elegant twist of her chignon, that she turned and caught him with a glare of such reproach it burned. Oh, what he would give to be dressed down by her now!
The vision shifted; her pins removed, those curls tumbled free through his fingers, the weight and scent of them across his pillow.
She was exquisitely irresistible in her passion.
Her face flushed, lips parting in a helpless moan, eyes closed and lost in pleasure.
In such daydreams, it was always Darcy who drew such sounds from her, yet tonight it was her faceless husband who claimed his right.
It twisted his gut with a mix of jealousy and regret.
He laughed almost hysterically trying to push the image away while at the same time being painfully aroused.
“Calm yourself!” He commanded out loud.
He was by no means an innocent; the Grand Tour had seen to that.
But none of it was satisfying. He knew nothing of the women (before the act or after) mostly paid for, if not in money, then in trinkets.
In the end, he found the practice of spilling his seed into a handkerchief equally embarrassing, but considerably less risky than a tryst with a courtesan.