Epilogue #2
“He is a fixture at Tattersall’s betting room,” Darcy said when they were farther away.
“Whatever temporary gains he wins, he gave no aid to his former lover or his natural daughter, and his father still despairs of him. I pity Lord Patten; his wayward son is in his forties and is an honourless gamester.”
“I pity Julia Metcalfe,” she insisted. “Or whatever her married name is now.”
She had been married off to someone’s tenant several months later, not the father of her child, Darcy had said, since the man was neither a viscount’s son nor a footman.
“I pity their child,” he muttered. “Any child of Julia Metcalfe’s would be a rude, spoiled child with a selfish mother and a weak natural father.
Hopefully, the man who raises him will have a stronger influence.
” The whole family was now notorious: sisters fallen in importance in the world, brother scarcely accepted in good circles as he came of age, and mother in Bedlam to be gaped at.
They met the carriages, and their conversation ended as Lydia and Mrs Tessier attacked them with well wishes and enthused about the people they had spoken to and the things they had purchased.
Darcy contributed nothing, only taking the reins from his servant and mounting his horse.
His composed mind and polite manners were put to trial for some reason.
Elizabeth tried to catch his eye and force him to smile, but he only nodded and said he would await them at the house and rode off alone.
“Now, my dear girl,” said Mrs Tessier, “you shall have everything that is good and fashionable once you and Henry marry. You shall want for nothing that money can purchase. I shall be so glad to have you here with me.”
“Oh, we shall be so comfortable!” cried Lydia. “You shall in point of affection be my second mother!”
Elizabeth tried to share a smile with Darcy, but he looked away from her. They were in Woodcote’s ornate drawing room, awaiting Mrs Tessier’s guests. Henry was trying to engage his opinion or advice on some matter, but Darcy’s mind must have wandered; he stared at the teapot.
Darcy’s steadiness had helped Henry, and Lydia’s future security steadied her. If they lived with Mrs Tessier after they eventually married, they might not exceed their income, so long as their love of fashion was kept under regulation.
“Mr Darcy?” Mrs Tessier called to get his attention. “I have had a letter from Lady Catherine this week saying you are going to Kent after your stay here.”
Now he exchanged a look with her, and it was one of mutual surprise. “She is precipitous, madam,” Darcy said sharply. “She wrote to say she wished to see us, and if another letter follows with an actual apology and a promise to show my wife the respect she deserves, then I will wait on her.”
Mrs Tessier’s mouth gaped, and Elizabeth rushed to explain her husband’s abruptness.
“Lady Catherine is disposed to see the people around her happy, so long as she is the one to provide them with that happiness. She blames me for ensnaring her nephew when she hoped Mr Darcy would marry Miss de Bourgh.”
All discourse between Pemberley and Rosings had been at an end after the abusive language used toward her when Darcy announced their engagement two years ago.
Lady Catherine’s disappointment likely held out as long as it did since she was partly to blame.
She had sent Elizabeth to Epsom to find a husband, and she did not like the one Elizabeth had found.
Other guests from the race meeting soon arrived, and the evening grew lively with cards and conversation.
There was but one mention to her of the events of two years ago, but Elizabeth’s good-natured avoidance swiftly deflected it.
She thought the manners and talk a significant improvement from when they were last at Woodcote.
Sir John Whitney, she knew, had married a merchant’s daughter and her forty thousand pounds and at least gave the appearance of domestic happiness and fidelity.
But despite being amongst friends, Darcy sat silent, pensive, and displeased, neglecting even the common attentions that politeness required.
Within an hour, she had enough and made their excuses for the night. Darcy rose to leave with her, but his eagerness had nothing to do with any hopes he had for the rest of their evening in private and everything to do with hating the company.
“Did the mention of the Epsom incident distress you?” she asked as they dismissed their servants and readied for bed.
She noted how he removed his bent coin token from his pocket and set it on the table with his watch.
She wore her engraved token necklace with her morning dress every day.
Darcy showered her in gifts, and she had fine gems for every occasion, but her love token remained her most treasured item next to her wedding ring.
He shrugged. “It was less than I expected.”
“Some men would be flattered by the notice of being a hero. And women so desperate for you to marry their daughters that it drives them to madness? You are strong-willed not to let that power go to your head.”
Darcy gave her a flat look over his shoulder, then resumed undressing.
“I thought it had been long enough,” she said quietly to his back. She would never deliberately hurt him. “I felt I could joke about it.”
He was still silent and not ready to tell her what was the matter.
He had been abrupt and indifferent since they arrived at Woodcote two days ago.
Teasing him into her confidence had not worked.
There was more than one way to put him at ease or get him to confide in her, and she chose her favourite one.
“Do you know, Fitzwilliam, I think I started to fall in love with you when I first saw your room here.”
When he turned, his face was awash in confusion. “When you came to my room after your concussion? I am confident you loved me before then. You agreed to marry me a week earlier, and I know very well you would never have accepted me if you did not love me.”
She smiled and stepped closer. “I peered into your room when you showed me the miniature of Pemberley.”
“I fail to see how a room strewn with my litter of books, papers, and coats excited your feelings.”
“I saw you as a whole person, truly, for the first time,” she said, putting her arms around him.
“Before, you had only been the means by which my friends had suffered, or the means by which my poor judgment was challenged. But after spending the afternoon with you, with all our misunderstandings behind us, I looked into that chamber and knew you were a person I wanted to know better.” She pulled him down closer to her lips.
“Even though I feared it was too late for you to care if I ever loved you.”
Heat burned through her as Darcy wrapped his arms around her. Two years married and she still delighted in the sensation of him. Wild, passionate kisses followed. She touched him wherever she could reach, and his response was a low growl as his hands moved over her.
She pulled him along with her to the bed, leaving a trail of discarded garments and staggering the last few steps as they were tangled up in each other. He instantly stretched out on top of her, trailing kisses and nibbling along her neck, murmuring all the things he intended to do.
When he finished doing them, Darcy turned them to the side and gathered her in his arms, holding her against him. As her breathing slowed, she considered asking what was the matter or waiting to see if he would admit it. He stroked a hand along her back before sighing.
“I have treated everyone in a rude manner since we arrived, have I not?”
“You have been preoccupied, and more abrupt than I would expect since you are amongst friends.” Elizabeth held him a little tighter. “I shuttered all talk of the Epsom incident. No one at Woodcote will speak of it again.”
“That is not it.”
“Is it Lydia?” she asked in some confusion. She was less untamed and noisy now that she was secure that in two years she would be Mrs Henry Tessier and be married at twenty when none of her sisters had married before twenty-one. “Her exuberance is ever present, but she—”
“I hate being here,” he interrupted. “I did not want to return to the place where my wife was nearly dashed to atoms by a madwoman.”
His vehemence surprised her. “You should have said so.” She turned to her side to face him. “You made it sound like you were afraid for me to return.”
“I was,” he insisted. “I was worried about your peace of mind. I just…” His face fell, and he said quietly, “I did not realise how much being at Woodcote and Epsom would threaten my own peace.”
“I had no notion it was a struggle for you. We would never have come if I had known.”
“I did not know it would be so trying, and once we arrived, I thought I could endure it for your sake.”
She put a hand to his cheek, encouraging him to tell her.
“I cannot walk past the entrance hall without remembering how sick I felt when I saw the vase coming down on you. Every large furnishing or statue is hideous to me. The teapot with the arsenic was in the drawing room tonight. Of course, there was nothing wrong with the tea, but I could not look away from it, even though there was no threat to me or anyone else. There was a moment when I wanted to dash the cup from your hand.”
“And at the turf at Epsom today? You were in a rush to leave…”