Chapter 30
Darcy House
The library of Darcy House held a copy of Johnson’s Dictionary—I had been mothered, sistered, and brothered—but there was no word that fully described the myriad of attentions I received from my husband, my dearest Fitzwilliam.
From the moment we stepped into the carriage—the beginning of our life together—there was not a single thing about him I would wish to change—even his teasing, certainly not his flattery.
The wedding breakfast at Netherfield Park was all excited chatter and the beginnings of gossip that would spread from Meryton like the ripples on a pond.
How was it, our neighbours asked, that Elizabeth Bennet had married Fitzwilliam Darcy, when the wedding was for Frances Bennet and George Darcy?
The story was told so many times that by its conclusion it was agreed that Darcy had broken down the chapel door, carried me over his shoulder, and demanded that we be married—that he would not release me until it was done!
Oh the poor man, the snide looks and smirks he received.
But, as always, he would smile his secret smile, take my hand in his, and give me an ever-so-proper kiss on the cheek.
Some thought the better scandal was that I was his sister, though acknowledged that we were so only through affinity, not by blood.
But salaciousness was never wont to verify fact—yet I saw more than one person surreptitiously consult the Table of Kindred and Affinity in the Book of Common Prayer to determine whether marriage of step-siblings was prohibited.
Some compared our marriage to that of the almost-siblings, Emma and Mr. Knightley, in the recently published book by A Lady; others, of a more prurient mind, to Lord Byron’s incestuous relationship with his half-sister.
I hugged Mama, Jane hugged me, Aunt Madelaine wept tears of joy, Aunt Hattie was ecstatic, and Uncle Philips took me aside, telling me that ever since I had revealed my love for Fitzwilliam, he had spent countless nights searching through his law books to find a way so that both I and my mother could marry.
“Oh, you are the best of uncles!” I cried and laughed, and hugged the poor man, who blushed and turned pink with embarrassment.
“Only for you, my dear,” he replied. “For without your assistance, I’m sure the wallpaper in the parlour would be peonies and twisting vines, rather than the restful pastels you helped choose—or was it Kitty?
” He gave me such a tender look, so full of love, that I could only hug him once more before hurrying away, lest my tears dampen his starched cravat.
Amidst the hubbub and congratulations, Mama and I found a quiet moment alone, making our excuses to refresh ourselves before our departure.
“Well, Lizzy, it has been a strange journey. I am the luckiest of mothers, for rather than losing a daughter, I have gained, in Georgiana, another.” Mama embraced me.
“When you tire of London, you will assuredly be welcome at Pemberley. George says he wishes to travel, and believes the tyrant, having lost decisively at Leipzig, will be forced to abdicate. We shall take a tour! Can you imagine me, Fanny Rose Gardiner, a solicitor’s daughter, journeying to Paris, Geneva, Venice, and Rome? ”
“You will leave me behind?”
“Not at all, Lizzy, but you and Fitzwilliam will have much to occupy yourselves with at Pemberley. Now, off with you, join him in the carriage, and enjoy the galleries, museums, and all the other entertainments of London.”
Such was our adieu, not goodbye, for Fitzwilliam and I were to return to Pemberley—he to assume management of the estate, and I, with Mama’s and Georgiana’s blessing, to manage the household.
Mama and Mr. Darcy were to travel north, visiting friends and enjoying a leisurely return to Pemberley. The weather was turning crisp, so they took the Darcy travelling coach rather than the landau. Fitzwilliam and I were to travel to Darcy House in London.
“Elizabeth, or should I say, Mrs. Darcy!” Lady Matlock took my hand as we stood outside Netherfield House.
“You may remove the knocker for precisely two weeks. But it will always be up for family, and for my modiste. We will have your Aunt Madelaine accompany Georgiana and me with fabric samples from Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse.
Such an excellent connection—now I shall have the pick of the very best fabrics before anyone else in Town—I can hardly wait for new gowns for the season! ”
“Aunt Susan, whatever are you about?”
“My dear, the season begins in a month, led off by Lady Dalrymple’s Ball celebrating the opening of the new Parliament. You, my dear, shall be the main ornament.”
“Surely not! Impertinent Miss Bennet, apt to climb mountains unchaperoned, married with haste!”
Lady Matlock smiled. “Just so, my dear—oh, what scandal! I think white silk—maidenly white—and the Darcy diamonds; they have not been seen since Lady Anne stepped out with George.” Her mind drifted to another time.
“What a lovely evening, just after their marriage at St. George’s in Hanover Square. ”
I blushed—maidenly… Darcy handed me into the carriage, stepping up and sitting beside me. Oh, this was the very first time he had not sat opposite; I leant into his shoulder. A sharp rap on the roof, and we were away.
“Well, wife,” he said, taking my hand, “Elizabeth Darcy suits you very well, very well indeed.”
I removed my bonnet, looking up into those dark, compelling eyes. “I am in desperate need of special attention, Fitzwilliam Darcy—husband. I find myself wishing for wine—nay, better than wine, if you would oblige me.”
* * *
My coming out in Meryton had been a less than auspicious occasion, standing up with Sir William rather than Papa, and being asked to dance with young men who would have preferred to dance with Jane.
My rather angular figure had now filled out—certainly womanly—much to Fitzwilliam’s and my pleasure when we lay together of a night.
How could I ever have imagined that the love of a brother could in any way compare to the love of a husband—I must invent a word for it.
Uxorious may suit; Johnson’s dictionary says it means showing too much love, fondness, or submission to one’s wife.
We navigated Lady Dalrymple’s crowded ballroom with as much decorum as my nerves allowed.
Whenever I glanced up, Fitzwilliam was looking at me with such a mixture of pride and profound affection I thought, for just a moment, that I had lost my husband to another woman—perhaps a duke’s daughter—who had taken my place on his arm.
Was it the Darcy jewels, which had once graced his mother, that lent me an elegance I had only dreamt about, or was it my gown of rich white silk falling in elegant folds, or my silk stockings and satin slippers?
“You are very beautiful, Elizabeth,” murmured Fitzwilliam. “You have such a natural grace, hidden as it was beneath your heavy woollen skirt and soaked petticoats when I first saw you in Ambleside.”
Did I really hit him with my fan?
“Yet, it is not the gown that lends you consequence.” He took my gloved hand and kissed my fingers. “It is the brilliance of your eyes and your radiant smile that eclipse even the finest of gowns.”
Should a married woman blush? Oh, he was the very best of husbands.
He led me out for the opening dance—The Haymakers.
Could it have been a coincidence? Once again, Darcy’s lips held a very secret smile—I kissed his cheek, the music began.
We entered the turn, stepped, and skipped down the line.
I danced the two next with Lord Matlock; the two third with Lord Milton; and the two fourth with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
I called a halt, breathless and laughing. “Richard, have pity on me, how many more Fitzwilliams are there wishing to dance?”
“No, Lizzy, you will not escape so easily.” He turned to his brother. “Harry, you have our cousin’s dance card—is it full already?”
“No! You cannot!” I glanced at my wrist. Indeed, my card had been untied, Harry held it gleefully aloft.
“The Countess commanded me to be your secretary for the evening. Now, Elizabeth, here comes your next partner—Duke Whats-his-name. My memory for nobility and titles is stretched too thin this evening. Be gentle, the Earl is pressing him to invest in a canal from the iron mines in Derbyshire to Sheffield. Your vivacity, my dear, is likely worth fifteen thousand pounds—more, if you can entice him with your wiles and allurements.”
The second man I had swatted—by the end of the evening, my fan would be worn and battered.
“Your Grace.” I curtseyed, taking his lordship’s hand as he led me out for the Boulanger. I glanced back at Richard and Harry, who were grinning; Lord Matlock was frowning.
“I have often wondered, Your Grace, whether canal transport is the future. It is certainly quicker and more restful than travelling by coach. Why, when my mother and I took a packet from Runcorn to Leigh…”
“Fitzwilliam, you must rescue me.” Darcy held my hand as he guided me to a table in the supper room. “My feet will never take another turn; these slippers, they are worn thin.”
“A common occurrence, my dear. I had forgotten that you are unaccustomed to balls in Town. After supper, if you ask the maid in the retiring room, she has a selection of slippers to replace your own.” He paused, giving me a smile which, as always, spread from dimple to beautiful dimple.
“If you wish, I could suggest that you have become indisposed. But then, I suppose, it would confirm to the matrons that we had, indeed, married in haste.”
Wicked man! I caught myself before I swatted him again. I turned to Lord Matlock, who sat opposite.
“My lord, His Grace said he wished to talk with you?”
Uncle Henry smirked. “Indeed, my dear. Twenty thousand! If you had let him take the supper set, I am sure he would have put up another ten!”
* * *
The next morning, I was early to breakfast. I set plates next to my own and Fitzwilliam’s, and buttered three slices of bread: one with melted butter, the other two buttered once the toast had cooled.
“Oh, my dears, it was such a lovely ball. I danced with two dukes, a marquess, two earls—well, three, if you include Uncle Henry—I drew the line at mere viscounts and barons, but there was one particularly charming baronet and, of course, Lord Wellington. Rather dashing in his regimentals, but certainly not as handsome as was rumoured.”
I glanced up, suddenly aware that Fitzwilliam was standing at the doorway. “Lizzy, what are you doing? Should we make a quiet trip to Bethlem Hospital?”
I burst into tears. “Oh, Fitzwilliam. I am so sorry. It is just that, on my coming out at the Meryton assembly, I wished to share my experience with my sisters.”
“Sisters? But you have only the one—Jane.”
“No, no! My sisters—Mary, Kitty and Lydia. They are Mama’s children who were never given the chance to grow up to become her beautiful daughters.”
“Kitty? Your friend in Keswick, who paints and draws, just as you do?”
“Yes,” my voice now barely above a whisper.
“And Lydia, who loves to remake bonnets, as you did sitting with Georgiana in the parlour at Ambleside?”
I nodded, my eyes red-rimmed, my handkerchief twisting in my hands.
“And Mary, who plays Beethoven and Clementi as beautifully as you?”
“Oh, forgive me, Fitzwilliam. Am I truly mad for believing they live on in my heart?”
Fitzwilliam took me in his arms, holding me ever so tightly, the room quiet except for the rumble of wagons rattling across the flagstones of Hanover Square. He stroked my hair, his voice gentle.
“No, Lizzy. If loving those lost to us is madness, then the world is full of madmen.”
I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of amber and sandalwood. “You are too good to me, Fitzwilliam—I love you ever so much.”
‘Lizzy, can we have breakfast now? I’m so hungry.’ Lydia dragged me to the table.
‘Marmalade! At Hathaway House there was always marmalade.’ I will ask the kitchen, Kitty—it is my favourite as well.
Now Mary, what do you want? ‘Do you think, Lizzy, we could attend the Argyll Rooms, where Ferdinand Ries is performing on Thursday? He’s ever so skilled.’
* * *