Chapter 15
AN ASTONISHING ARRANGEMENT
Elizabeth was greeted at the house in Mayfair with a grand assemblage of servants, from the butler and housekeeper up to and including the scullery maids.
She felt a moment of panic at the sight, but gathered her courage quickly and managed not to humiliate herself.
They all seemed, she was happy to see, well dressed and well fed and in good spirits, eager to meet their new mistress.
Mrs Owens, the housekeeper, showed her to the luxurious suite of rooms that was to be hers, and promised a tour of the place in the morning.
She had barely explored her rooms and changed out of her travelling clothes when a maid knocked, offering to show her the way to the dining room. There, she met Mr Darcy, looking extraordinarily handsome in his evening clothes. He bowed, greeting her formally.
Conversation was difficult; the maid had called this the ‘small dining room’ but the table seated twelve, at least, and the distance between their place settings seemed vast to Elizabeth.
She could not think what anecdotes might travel so far between them and still retain any appeal.
Her husband, whom she had once considered a silent, grave personage, was the one who seemed able to most easily traverse it.
He asked how she found her rooms and if she had any suggestions for their décor, and told her something of the history of the house and its ownership.
The meal was delicious, but she could not manage to eat much of it.
Her wedding night was fast approaching, her mother’s unsought counsel echoing in her ears. How much would it hurt? Could she bear it? How often would it happen? How would she ever be able to find contentment with a man whom she truly did not yet know?
He brought her to a cosy drawing room after dinner—a room, she was surprised to see, that did not look much like what she had seen in the rest of the fashionably decorated, modern interior of the mansion.
Shelves were bursting with books, the blackened fireplace surrounded by old marble showed its age, and the sofas were scarred leather, with plump, faded cushions.
She sat down on one and promptly sank a few inches. It made her laugh.
“Ah,” he said. “My aunt, Lady Matlock insists upon the latest in paint, wall-papers and furnishings in the rest of the house. She claims we insult the family’s reputation if we do not redecorate regularly.
But Georgiana and I will not allow her to touch this room, which looks almost exactly as it did ten or fifteen years ago.
It is comfortable, warm, and, to my mind, inviting.
We have been known to spend much more time in this chamber than the rest of the house combined.
But of course, this is your home now, and you must do with it as seems best to you. ”
“It is perfect,” she said, meaning it. “Perfectly welcoming. I love it, especially knowing that it is only for family and reading good books and writing good letters. I may have opinions on paint colours and design elsewhere, but this room is to be left sacred to unpretentious ease.”
Again, she saw his satisfaction with her response, and was happy it was so.
Tea was brought in, and for an hour, Elizabeth explored the wonderful selections of books she had not yet read as Mr Darcy showed her how they were organised.
It was the easiest she had been in his company since Netherfield.
However, the moment eventually came, as she had known it would, when he asked if she wished yet to retire.
“Yes,” she said. It was not a lie—she wanted it over and done with, wanted not to dread it or him. It was time.
Arm in arm, they walked up the stairs together.
At her door, he paused. “Mrs Owens has arranged for the maid who helped you dress earlier to assist you this evening, and she will continue to do so until Whitby arrives. There is a door connecting our apartments. I will leave it open, and you may join me whenever you are ready.”
This surprised her a little, as she had expected him to come to her room. Even, it seemed a little unfair, that he should wish her to be the one to instigate a night-time approach between them. She was tempted to refuse, but it felt too much like cowardice.
As promised, a maid named Joan again awaited her.
Her trunks were there, not fully unpacked yet, as Mr Darcy had plainly informed the household of the brevity of their stay here in town.
However, her nightwear waited, a dark blue velvet robe and new muslin gown that suddenly appeared far too sheer.
After the maid helped her undress and don the night clothing, she brushed out Elizabeth’s hair.
“’Tis lovely hair ye have, mistress,” the girl said. “’Tis almost a shame to hide it in a nightcap.”
“I never wear one,” Elizabeth told her. “However, if you do not braid it now, you and I both will pay for the trouble in the morning.”
Once Joan was dismissed, Elizabeth sat for a few minutes, alone with her reflection. Even to her own eyes, she appeared pale and a little frightened.
“Since Mother Eve, women have been submitting to this. If they can, I can,” she reassured herself. With new resolve, she rose and walked determinedly through the open door in her sitting room that led to the apartments of Mr Darcy.
Darcy sat before the fire in the sitting room adjacent to his chamber.
Barefoot, he wore only his linen shirt and pantaloons.
Havers had looked at him askance until he threw on his brocade dressing gown over the lot, but he still did not wear the full, proper costume of undress.
He felt strongly regarding his approach.
There had been many things he wished to tell his new wife, but standing outside her bedroom door had not seemed the right place.
However, seeing her for the first time in his own rooms, her hair down over her shoulder in a loose braid, knowing the softness that waited beneath blue velvet, knowing she was his—almost—it was a profound temptation. How bravely she had come to him! How he wanted her!
It took all his resolve to invite her casually to sit beside him on the settee before the fire, to keep to his own side of that piece of furniture instead of gathering her close. Seeing her hands pressed together in a white-knuckled grip helped him recollect the rightness of this decision.
“When I stumbled into your bedchamber, I removed your choices,” he began. “I vow to you now that you will be the one to decide if or when I may ever enter it again.”
She turned to him sharply. “What?”
“For instance,” he continued, “you need not worry that I shall climb into your bed tonight, a man practically unknown to you, and demand my rights to your body.”
She looked up at him in complete astonishment—and was that relief he saw in her expression? It was doubtless unsurprising; he could not help if it also made him a little sad.
“Nevertheless, I do not believe that continuing as strangers serves us well. You see me now in a state of undress no maiden could abide. I want you to be more comfortable with me. I want to be more comfortable with you. If agreeable to you, I would like to spend time together each evening in our own rooms, away from prying eyes. Is that acceptable to you?”
Instead of answering immediately, she looked at him for long moments.
“Might it not be better to…to get it over with?” she asked finally.
He smiled to disguise his sigh. “When we do join together as man and wife, it will be because it is what both of us want. For now, let us try for comfort, shall we?”
Slowly she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I thank you. Time is what is needed.”
Several minutes later—as soon as she could manage it, he feared—she was in her own rooms. Perhaps she had found it a ‘comfortable’ visit, albeit brief. If so, she was the only one.