Beginning, Section II
Chapter One
On a cold, frosty day in December, two carriages pulled away from a crowd of well-wishers, shouts of congratulations and good-byes echoing through the chilled air. In the first conveyance, Fitzwilliam Darcy and his new bride, Elizabeth Bennett Darcy rode, their cheeks red with the cold but their hearts very warm indeed. They had traveled over a hazardous and rocky road in the past twelve months to arrive at this day, yet the obstacles of which they had overcome made the results that much more precious.
In the second coach were Elizabeth's sister, Jane and her new husband, Charles Bingley. They, also, had only just been wed in a double ceremony that day in the small church on the Bennet estate of Longbourne. Where, until today, Jane and Elizabeth had resided with their three younger sisters, Mary, Catherine (or Kitty), and the youngest, Lydia, (who had also recently married but under less agreeable circumstances), their long-suffering and very silly mother, and their ever-tolerant father. Many friends and relations had gathered to witness the event, and after a short reception, happily saw the two couples off to their new lives.
They were to spend the wedding night at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley's estate just three miles from Longbourne, and then on the following day the Darcys would travel on to Pemberley, Fitzwilliam's home in the northern county of Derbyshire.
But for now, a chance to catch one's breath and take in the realization that , yes, they were truly husband and wife.
As the carriages drove off into the dusk, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth turned so that they could study the other's contenance. Their eyes met, and then slowly they bent towards each other, until their faces were only inches apart. "Elizabeth." He said it so softly, she could barely hear it, and then their lips met. At the touch of his kiss, Elizabeth felt her heart melt. His lips were so warm, so sweet, she could have stayed there forever. When finally, they separated, she lowered her eyes feeling a little self-concious.
A sudden breeze sent a slight shiver through her so that he asked ,"Are you cold, my love?" in a low voice. She shook her head, then nodded, momentarily confused by the new and unexpected endearment. Reaching across to the opposite seat, he picked up a lap robe which he then wrapped around them both snugly. As he leaned back, he caught her eye and smiled, allowing his features to relax a bit.
She returned the smile, "Now, if only these gloves were a little warmer..." and saying this, looked sideways at him so that he laughed and took both of her hands within his. "Now, I am content," said she, "And I shall not want for anything else."
He caught the teasing sound in her voice, but answered earnestly, "If holding your hands will make you happy, Elizabeth, then I shall not let them go. Your happiness is my only wish."
Meeting his gaze, the depth of feeling in his eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat, making it most difficult to speak or act in a rational manner. She was not sure if she deserved such devotion, but living without him now seemed quite impossible. As though he read her mind, his arms came purposefully around her, pulling her close enough to him for her to feel the slight roughness of his greatcoat against her cheek, and his heart beating rapidly in time with her own.
After some time he spoke again, the words sounding far away. "Mrs. Darcy, my own happiness would be complete if we could stay like this, but I fear we are fast approaching Netherfield." She straightened up reluctantly, catching his smile and turning to gaze out at the gates of the estate just ahead of them. As the carriages started up the drive to the house, the sight of light in the windows set them in anticipation of the warmth within. A footman was there to assist Elizabeth out, followed by her husband, and as she turned she saw Jane and Mr. Bingley alighting from the other carriage. They entered the house together where a servant appeared to take their cold wraps from them.
"Lizzy," Jane, the new mistress of Netherfield suggested a little anxiously,"Let us go upstairs and freshen up a bit before dinner." She glanced at her husband as if for assurance. "I'm sure there is time."
He agreed quickly saying "Yes, of course. We'll wait for you in the drawing room."
Elizabeth sensed that Jane needed to talk in private and turned to follow her sister upstairs while the gentlemen withdrew for a glass of wine. She caught the look Fitzwilliam gave her as she left and it warmed her heart.He seemed to say, "Hurry back...I shall miss you."
Soon the two gentlemen were comfortably settled in front of the fire, their glasses filled with the ruby liquid which caught the lights of the fire in it's depths.
"Darcy, I can hardly believe it!" Bingley's voice was jubilant, yet subdued, " I feel as if I've been dreaming, except that, if this is a dream I should not wish to wake up!"
Darcy did not answer immediately. He took a drink from his glass and then, concentrating fixedly on the flames before him, replied,"I think the reality will set in soon enough...you have your Jane and I, my Elizabeth. What more could any man need?"
"Well then, I propose a toast to our wives, to us, and to our lives from here on out. I have no doubt they shall be happy and totally fulfilling," saying this, Bingley raised his glass to his friend, his face positively beaming.
Darcy, lifting his own glass in turn, answered in a voice much more solemn than his companion's, "Bingley, I sincerely believe there can be no other outcome. After all, if adversity early in a relationship should be in direct contrast to the amount of felicity later on, we should all be predestined to abide in absolute and undiminished joy."
"Hear, Hear!" rejoined Bingley, as he, no doubt, recollected all that had taken place over the past thirteen months.
The two sisters were in a small dressing room straightening their hair and clothes after their journey. Jane was seated at a dressing table, not really seeing her image in the glass, her mind elsewhere.
Finally, Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts, "Well, Mrs.Bingley, Are you feeling like a married woman yet?" Her voice was teasing , but her question was related to her own thoughts just then. Jane turned to look at her, "Mrs. Bingley. Oh, Lizzy, it does sound so strange." then with a smile, "And you, Mrs Darcy?"
Elizabeth shook her head ruefully. "I'm not sure I will ever get used to that...to not be a Bennet anymore. Still, I am giving up the name with no regrets. The one I use from now on will mean so much more to me."
For answer Jane nodded, " Yes, of course, and I would not be a Bennet again for anything." Her eyes shone in her reflection as she said it, but no tears fell. "Oh, Lizzy, can there ever be two happier women? I am so looking forward to my life with Charles."
Elizabeth smiled at her tenderly. " I can think of no one else who deserves it more, dearest Jane. You and Mr. Bingley are truly a perfect pair, and I foresee a bright and shining future for the two of you."
"Thank you," breathed Jane as she hugged her sister, and then in a somewhat calmer tone,
"Shall we go down now? I think I'm actually beginning to feel hungry."
Supper was cozily informal. Cold meats, cheeses, fruit and wine were laid out on the sideboard, and the four of them languished in the glow of the friendship that filled the room. Of course, more toasts were made: for each couple's happiness, for their health and well-being, and for their mutual esteem remaining forever strong through whatever trials might await them in the future. As the evening wore on, every remark was greeted with laughter mingled with unshed tears, for the high emotions of the day finally began to take their toll. Before they realized it, the clock was striking eleven; long past the time when they should have retired after such a wearing day as this.
In a small ante room off of their bed chamber, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood looking out of the window. His thoughts were not in the darkness outside, but remembering another time, another window, when he had noticed a lively young woman playing with one of the Netherfield hounds. Her spontanaity and lack of pretense had intrigued him and yet he had set up barriers so that she could not discover what was in his heart. He had supposed later that she would take him with those barriers intact, but she did not. Her refusal had forced him to change, to see himself as she saw him. The process had been painful, to say the least, but slowly he had earned her good opinion, and more importantly, her love. Now, she was waiting for him in the next room. Knowing this fact did not make it seem any more real. He had waited so many months to finally have the privilege of calling her his wife, and somehow, his senses could not accept the reality of it all. He shook his head as though he needed to wake himself up, then, taking a deep breath, turned to open the connecting door.
She was sitting at the dressing table brushing her loosened hair with steady strokes so that it shone in the firelight, and when her eyes met his in the mirror, he marveled at how brilliant they, too, appeared to be.
"So, you are truly here," she spoke a bit self-consciously as she turned to face him "I had not imagined it after all."
"No," he assured her, "Else, I did the same." Then, holding out his hands to her, he professed, only partly in jest, "Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, from this day forward, I shall endeavor to be the most attentive, affectionate, and liberal husband in all of Britain, and if I should fail, you may well desert me with a clear conscious and a light heart."
She shook her head slightly at his words, her lips curved in a loving smile, "What nonsense you speak...I could not leave you at all, much less with a light heart. For, if anything were to separate us, my heart would surely be broken in two." Moving near enough to him to slide her own hands firmly into his, she rejoined, "Fitzwilliam James Darcy, if I am anything less than the servile, obedient wife you have, no doubt, come to expect, then you may return me to my father's house to be chastised accordingly."
"I may?" he inquired, his eyebrows raised at the image she invoked, "Yet, perhaps I might choose to do so anyway, if you, indeed, behaved in such an uncharacteristic manner, as it would be unquestionable proof of my having married the wrong woman."
Without waiting then, for her inevitably droll reply, he drew her close, his lips covering hers until he had kissed her with a thoroughness which left her light-headed, and not at all sensible. At length he loosened his hold a very little, and, gazing down into her now-bemused face, spoke in a soft, quite positive voice, "Oh, no...you are very much you, and that is all that I could ever desire."
Their lovemaking was fierce, intense, and all-consuming, and afterwards, they lay close beside each other, depleted, their energy entirely spent between them.
My God, she thought in a sort of dazed wonder as their breathing gradually returned to normal, this is what the poets and musicians have been writing of...all of this time, and now I know. It is really quite amazing.
After a period of time long enough to recuperate somewhat, she raised herself up on one elbow, to gaze tenderly at him where he lay beside her on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes as though asleep. Tracing lightly with her finger a line from the hollow of his neck downward to his stomach, she sighed with pure delight. He was quite perfect, and although her unfamiliarity with the male of the species might have rendered her bashful on this, of all nights, she found herself to be instead, simply curious. Studying every visible part of him languidly she did not notice that he was watching her as well, with no little amusement.
"See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek," * he quoted with a smile.
"Oh, no, Mr. Darcy," she admonished him with a low laugh, "Do not, on this night of all, quote to me from a tragedy. I am feeling anything but that at this moment."
"Then come here to me, my lovely Elizabeth," he bade softly, drawing her to him so that her cheek rested upon his shoulder, while the remainder of her body was draped comfortably across his.
"How many nights, how many days have I dreamt of only this, " he murmured as his fingers played idly with the tousled locks spread out about her. The sensation of his touch ultimately relaxed, yet stirred feelings within her which were anything but relaxing. Turning further onto her side and, raising her head just a little, she began to place soft kisses against his neck.
He sighed deeply, "Good God..." and then, "Elizabeth...," the word sounding very near a warning. Before she could answer, he, once again, had subdued her lips with his, and there was little doubt as to what emotion she had inspired.
Sometime during the night, he awoke. Something was different. Where he had been warm, he was now cold. He reached out to where she had been sleeping, but felt only empty space. He sat up, trying to focus his vision to the darkness around him. The fire had burned down to a few embers and the room was noticeably cooler. Then he saw her standing by the window, illuminated by the moon. She had slipped a robe on against the chill, and was looking out towards the sky, her face upturned, her hair shining like a luminous halo around her head and shoulders.
"Elizabeth," he said it softly. Turning her head slightly at the sound of his voice, she, however, did not answer, her thoughts yet far away. He then repeated her name, and she, at last returned to the bed, pulling the coverlet up to her shoulders as she did so. Not ready to return to sleep yet, she did not lie down again, but sat up with her hands clasped around her knees. He lay back against the pillows and watched her out of half-closed eyes, wondering what she could be about.
He finally asked in a voice which was not quite awake, "Elizabeth, my love, what is the matter? Of what are you thinking?"
She did not speak immediately, trying to formulate her thoughts, then, at length, she answered.
"Fitzwilliam," she spoke softly so that he had to strain to hear her, "My love for you is so very strong...you are so dear to me..." Her voice caught, causing her to pause, then, " I was thinking about all of the circumstances that kept us apart and, at last, thankfully, brought us together. What a miracle...how very odd it is that we discovered each other long enough to even fall in love. After all," a trace of a smile played across her features as she continued, "We appeared to be so very different at first. Who could have expected our being together at last?"
For answer he reached out, pulling her down gently so that her head was on his chest and her arms around him.
"My darling Elizabeth," he asserted, after kissing her forehead, "My life had been rather pointless...almost tedious until I came to know you. Although I have family, as you are well aware," this last was said ruefully, "With the exception of my sister I've not felt connected with any of them, and even with Georgiana I had to maintain my standing as her guardian...always act the reserved elder brother. " He stroked her hair softly as he spoke, " I never expected this craving...this constant need for your attention. Well, after all, it is a bit daunting to no longer be self-sufficient at eight and twenty,...and yet, if you had refused me a second time would I have conceded so easily...been able to walk away from you for good?"
"You had promised that you would, " she reminded him.
"I intended to do so, to leave you alone if that was what you wished, but, thinking back, I somehow doubt of it being so simple."
"I am relieved to hear it," she replied, "Your declaration gave the impression that it was my final chance...that if I did or said the wrong thing, you would disappear forever."
"You would have been sorry if I had?"
"Yes...very much. Even while you were in London, when Jane became engaged, I found myself missing you dreadfully. It was a terrible, wonderful feeling."
"How can that be so?" He was teasing her now.
She smiled to herself, "Terrible because I did not know if you still loved me, wonderful because of what I was then feeling for you. Love is an exceedingly confusing emotion, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"But in the end, well worth it."
"Very much so...Elizabeth, I did mean what I said earlier. You shall have no regrets."
"I do not intend to. And, you, Fitzwilliam?"
"So long as I am drawing breath, my love, there cannot be even one."
"I am very glad."
He continued after a moment, " If I am a better man, it is because of you. You showed me that to earn your love was worth the effort of change... I am truly complete only through you, Elizabeth."
When he stopped speaking, she studied his face, and recognized the sincerity of his words there in his eyes. The same eyes that she could not, or would not, see into a few short months ago. He had allowed himself to trust her, and the effects were obvious upon his face for her to see as she chose. She relaxed then, sighing deeply, happy in the fact that in every way, she felt to be truly his wife.
Chapter Two
The last few weeks had been nothing if not blissful. He had appeared to enjoy thoroughly, the chance to show all of Pemberley to her; each nook and cranny, every winding path and ancient tree, the story behind each obscure ancestor adorning the halls, so that she felt she finally understood the making of this man, his history and the events of the life which had so decidedly shaped him.
Taking his hand into hers, she smiled up into his carefully inscrutable eyes, "Of course I shall go with you. I would love to see Georgiana again." When he, at last, returned her smile, she added, "You are the reason I love Pemberley and you are the reason I shall love London." As she leaned up to kiss him, his arms came around her, his lips met hers halfway, and for a little while an occasional trout splashing in the partially frozen stream, was the only sound to be heard.
They left early the next morning. The remarkably efficient Mrs. Reynolds had seen to the packing as she had for the Darcys through nigh on two decades. They bundled up, as it was yet January, and though there had been little snow, the air was quite chilled by the winter winds. Once on the road, Elizabeth began asking him questions about the London residence which he answered as decriptively as he could. Finally, she took pity on him and lapsed into silence, content for a time, to gaze out at the paasing scenery. The monotony of the drive, however, began sending waves of fatigue over her, and soon her head fell against his shoulder as she finally succumbed to sleep. A particularly large rut in the road made the carriage shake suddenly, and woke her with a start. She blinked and tried to shake off the feeling of loss that the dream had left in her. What was it? Then she remembered...Fitzwilliam had not proposed a second time but had left to marry another (the dream had not specified who), and the intense emptiness impressed upon her, refused to leave upon awakening. Shaking her head in an effort to rid herself of the image attracted the attention of her husband.
" Awake, my love?" he asked in a reassuring voice, but unable to answer just yet, she merely slid her hand into his for comfort.
"We have not much further," he said then, as she noticed that the road had widened, a variety of many other vehicles traveling upon it now.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, the sight of the increased traffic surprising her.
"A few hours only. I could not wake you since you slept so peacefully," he said, smiling at her, causing her to blush at the assumption that he must have been watching her. The idea made her feel strangely self-concious, and so she tried to change the subject. "Will Georgiana be expecting us?"
His smile deepened knowing what she was about, but he followed her lead gallantly. "Probably not. I wrote her when I knew that I must return for business, but I doubt the letter has reached her yet."
Accepting this, she turned to look again out of the window. Perhaps a fortuitous decision, as the look in his eyes might have made her forget herself, as well as her recently acquired status. It would not do for the new Mrs. Darcy to behave in an unseemly fashion on one of the busiest thoroughfares in Britain.
London proved to be very busy, indeed, but the driver made their way through the crowded streets skillfully. They pulled up in front of the Darcy residence in very little time, and immediately a footman appeared to assist Elizabeth from the carriage. As she stepped out she studied the facade of the building with interest. It stood in state on the quiet tree-lined boulevard, brick and elegant stonework rising before her, and in spite of it's intimidating stature, did not appear unwelcoming. Fitzwilliam joined her on the walk and, vainly attempting to view the building through impartial eyes, at length said only, "Welcome, Mrs. Darcy."
She smiled at him, and taking his arm replied, "It is lovely, Mr. Darcy."
They mounted the stairs just as the large front door was flung open and Georgiana's excited figure stood before them, "Oh, brother, oh, you're here at last!" she cried, rushing forward to embrace him. Then, turning to Elizabeth, she held out her hands, "And finally, I have a sister! Welcome, Elizabeth!" Happily, she led her into the foyer.
As a servant removed their wraps, Elizabeth had time to notice a grand staircase off to one side, and many grandly-framed doors opening into other rooms. Upon the circular ceiling was painted a mural of cherubs seated upon fluffy clouds, white doves circling their haloed miens. Gold leaf adorned four sets of Greek-style pillars supporting all of this, of which she was still observing when Geogiana again took her hand and led her into a room to their right. This proved to be a drawing room whose colours were primarily a pale yellow and the most delicate shade of blue. A large white marble mantle adorned one wall and above it a portrait of a woman. Elizabeth immediately stepped closer to get a better look. Much like Georgiana, she decided, but a little older, thirty perhaps. Her face wore a serene expression except for a small smile that played about her lips, not unlike Fitzwilliam's, when diverted.
She glanced back at her waiting husband and then returned her attention to the picture. I like this woman very much, thought Elizabeth, she is not as formal nor intimidating as she appears to be in her portrait at Pemberley. I think I could sit and converse with her quite comfortably. To him she said only , "She was a beautiful woman."
She stepped back then, and he held out his hand, "Come, I'll show you the rest of the house,unless..." he looked quizzically at his sister, who was waiting with some impatience to perform some sort of service for her new sister-in-law. "Perhaps Georgiana would like to do the honours?"
Georgiana smiled at him gratefully, "Yes, may I, Elizabeth? At least the downstairs. My brother may want to show you the upstairs later..." She caught herself, coloured, and was silent. Elizabeth quickly agreed, "Of course you may and thank you, Georgiana." As they left the room she caught Fitzwilliam's amused expression and shook her head at him warningly.
They entered another room, a study, and Georgiana suddenly turned to her, obviously embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I should have asked if it's appropriate to address you by your given name...do you mind?"
She was so distracted that Elizabeth answered her warmly, "Yes, certainly...after all we are sisters now."
Georgiana sighed with relief, and replied shyly, "Thank you." Then to change the subject, she began describing different objects in the room. Elizabeth, only half-listening, noted that here, too, was a massive fireplace with several heavily upholstered chairs set in front of it. On all the walls were mounted bookshelves loaded with every type of reading material imaginable. A good place to read on a cold, dreary afternoon, Elizabeth thought to herself. If only Father could see this...it would make his own library seem quite small in comparison. She smiled as she thought of him. One of the few things she could be homesick for was the close relationship she shared with Mr. Bennet, and even now a small twinge of sadness was being felt within her. Forcing her mind back to her hostess, she noticed a writing desk against one wall. It was of a heavy dark wood, so was probably intended for a gentleman's use. She went over to it and touched the top thoughtfully. Probably used by many generations of Darcys for business or other correspondence.
Georgiana's voice broke into her musings, "Would you like to see the solarium now?" She smiled at Elizabeth's surprise and led her into an adjourning room which appeared to be made entirely of glass. After her initial astonishment she noticed that the walls were actually windows and that a set of French doors opened out to a walled courtyard beyond. Even in the dead of winter she could imagine the now barren tree and various shrubs blooming, and although there were only dull, brown stalks visible now, in the spring they would be alive with colour. She must have made some sound for behind her came her husband's voice. "It is more inviting in the summer, although in the autumn it is lovely also. My father had it put in when mother began missing the country during our extended visits to town. It hasn't been seen to properly since she died." His arms came around her and she leaned back against him. At some time unknown to her, Georgiana had discreetly vanished, leaving them alone.
"This is a lovely place. I can almost feel the peace it must have brought her." Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes.
He turned her to face him saying, "I want to show you something else, Elizabeth." Taking her back into the study, and sitting at the writing desk, he bent to reach something attached to the underside of it. When he straightened, he was holding a small key which he used to open one of the bottom drawers. She heard him sliding it out, then carefully, he took out an object which he laid upon the desk. It was a wooden jewelry box; a multicoloured peacock, it's tail feathers fanned out, was embossed on the lid. He pressed something unseen by her and the top abruptly sprung open. She peeked in over his shoulder to see a necklace; made of small emeralds enjoined with black pearls which lay on a bed of green velvet.
He stood up, and lifting it said, "This was mother's. There is a similiar piece that will go to Georgiana eventually," he paused and looked at her, "This is for my wife." She felt a chill as he said it, for his eyes when he looked at her were solemn, and his manner formal.
She hesitated before taking them. "Fitzwilliam, I...I thank you, but this is much too valuable to have in the open...They are lovely," she watched the stones catch the light in the room, "But I will only wear it when we are out together." She handed it back to him forcing her eyes away from the mesmorizing effect it was having upon her.
He set it back in the box and said quietly, "I was going to give it to you long ago...last April..." She coloured remembering, but answered evenly, "It means so much more now considering how my feelings have changed towards the benefactor." Their eyes met and he leaned forward to softly kiss her lips before finally putting the necklace away.
When he straightened up again he observed with a wry smile, "If I had known then what I know now...how much time could have been saved."
She shook her head,"You must not think like that. We, both of us, needed that time or we would not be of the same mind now. After all," she smiled teasingly,"Doesn't the hardships make the happy conclusion that much sweeter?"
"You are right, of course," he conceded reluctantly, "But I must be allowed to have some regrets."
"No, Mr. Darcy...no regrets." As she said this she slid her arms around him and turned her face up for his kiss.
The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring the remaining rooms in the house. All were furnished elegantly, yet, were done so with the comfort of the occupants foremost. Elizabeth liked it almost as much as Pemberley and told her husband so. He, in turn, felt as if he were seeing some things for the very first time. He was enjoying himself immensely and credited her with this surprising turn of events.
The next morning at breakfast, Fitzwilliam announced that he would be busy all day, but should be honoured to have the two ladies present, attend the opera with him that evening. "I am afraid, Elizabeth," he continued, "that this may be your last morning of leisure."
"And, why is that?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow at the capriciousness of his tone.
"Because, my dear, the news will be out that you are here and the curiosity-seekers will be insatiable." He rolled his eyes as he said this, letting her know that he was glad he would be absent.
"Do you think it will be as bad as all that?" Georgiana's own eyes were filled with dread.
"Probably not." answered Elizabeth glaring at her husband, "I can't imagine we should be so newsworthy in such a large and active city." This last was emphasized when she saw his expression. He looked as if he would speak again, but, changing his mind, quickly kissed her, and left the house.
Elizabeth and Georgiana spent an enjoyable day shopping. Georgiana delighted in showing her sister-in-law where the finest materials, workmanship and service could be found for gowns, bonnets, or shoes. Elizabeth still was not accustomed to being addressed as "Mrs. Darcy", and whenever she heard it, had to remind herself that it was she the shopkeepers and tradesmen were speaking to. By the end of the afternoon, however, when all their purchases had been made, and arrangements were made for delivery, she accepted the name as if she had always possessed it.
Returning to the house, she collapsed into an invitingly soft chair and sighed deeply. She hadn't been there long, however, before a servant entered, carrying a silver tray piled high with calling cards and invitations.
Georgiana, seeing her expression said, "Elizabeth, we don't have to deal with these right now. Why don't you go rest before supper?"
" Oh, thank you, Georgiana, I believe I shall," she answered, and fled from the offending tray to her bed chamber.
She felt something very soft against the back of her neck. As she slowly returned to conciousness, she realized it was her husband's lips and she smiled with her eyes yet closed.
"Wake up, my love. I need you alert this evening for your debut." His voice was close to her ear and she opened her eyes reluctantly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed where she had fallen asleep; face-down, fully clothed, for what seemed like only a few short moments.
"What time is it?" she asked sleepily.
"It is nearly six o'clock, my darling. You should eat something before we go out."
She sat up, stretching her arms luxuriously, and sighed," Oh, Fitzwilliam, I am so very tired. Perhaps you should go to the opera without me."
But her eyes were teasing as she spoke, and he shook his head at her, "Oh no, you shall be the one to be inspected and judged tonight. I am merely acting as your attendant." He flashed a rare grin at her and helped her up. "I should have warned you, I suppose, that my marriage would be such an event in London society. God knows I didn't choose it."
She laughed at him softly, " No, you were only born into it...I am the one who evidently chose it. But," she added, " as I've said before, there are no regrets in this marriage. I shall accept the trials as well as the rewards..." She lifted her chin in mock bravery, "So bring on the lions, my love, I am ready."
Their box at the theatre was set to stage left so that the view, of both the actors, and the audience below, were uninhibited. Elizabeth, seated to the right of her husband, was very much aware of the curious regard being paid them, but thought to herself defiantly, well, if we are going to be an addition to the performance tonight, at least we shall be a dignified one. Georgiana, who was partially obscured by a side curtain affording her some protection from prying eyes below, spoke little while waiting for the music to begin, and other than an occasional soft comment to her brother, barely moved at all. Fitzwilliam alternated between reading his programme, and standing to bow formally whenever an acquaintance stepped into their box to meet the new Mrs. Darcy, usually on the pretence of welcoming them both to town. She would rise and curtsey at these times as well, always aware of the intense scrutiny of her person even during the introductions. However, she could not help but be pleased with what a satisfyingly handsome picture the three of them presented to any and all visitors.
For, adorned in the Darcy emeralds, as she had named them privately, and wearing a deep green gown of silk accented with black lace at the sleeves and bodice, she knew she looked well. The only hazard to her carriage being the train, longer than she had ever previously worn, causing her to step carefully lest she trip herself up.
Georgiana, unassuming and sweet in her light blue silk, and Fitzwilliam, always handsome and dignified, now even more so in his evening black, appeared unmoved by the attention they were receiving, and, thought his wife, neither shall I be. Still, it did make one rather self-conscious, when unused to such inspection, dissection, and vivisection.
Enjoying her nonsensical musings, she almost started when the overture began and the brightly illuminated chandeliers were raised nearly to the ceiling, their glow thus significantly diminished. Meanwhile, the shrouded candles lining the foot of the stage were lit by a jester-costumed actor, while the two sets of curtains swung apart grandly, to display a painted set of a Spanish courtyard. Leaning forward, she glanced down at the audience below and noticed a
middle-aged gentleman, unknown to her, whose eyes slid away just as she looked at him.
"Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "Who is that gentleman?" indicating the person in question as she spoke.
Peering over the brass rail, he answered, "A family friend, Sir Geoffrey Matthew. I shall introduce you during the intermission if you like."
Shrugging, for she truly did not care if she met him or not, she replied, "If it pleases you."
He turned then to meet her eyes and smiled, at the same time inobtrusively slipping an arm about her waist. "Mrs. Darcy," he said in a very low voice, "I wish everyone to know that you are my wife."
"Mr. Darcy, " she returned in the same tone, "If you continue to act thus, I might make you wish that I were not, by kissing you here and now, and, disgracing your good name in the process."
His eyes, watching her, softened, but he said nothing more, only leaning back, so that any open regard between them could be adequately concealed from public view.
At the intermission, Fitzwilliam rose and offering his arms to his wife and sister, escorted them out of the box to meet, as Elizabeth had earlier referred, the "lions".
The first to cross their path was Sir Matthew, who upon closer inspection, was deemed to be younger than first judged; Perhaps in his mid thirties, and quite well-pleased with his station in life. His bow to Elizabeth was low and sustained, no doubt intended to impress, but unknown to himself, attaining the opposite effect.
"Mrs. Darcy," he said grandly, "I am so honoured to be meeting you at last. We have heard much of you here in town, and wondered when Darcy would grant us the pleasure of actually making your acquaintance."
"You are very kind," she replied, adopting his grandiose manner, much to the amusement of her husband. "Have you been in town all season then?"
"Oh," he answered with a studied frown, "In spite of the dullness of the society here, I force myself to remain...just in case someone of interest might happen to make an appearance."
"Indeed?" With a rather desperate glance at Fitzwilliam, meaning, how can I escape from this boor gracefully, she inquired, "But one ought to be able to find a variety of diversions in London, even if such a person should not be present."
'Yes, one ought," he agreed looking at her a bit dubiously, " then, recollecting himself continued, "But now that you have joined us, I am certain such diversion shall be that much more probable." Thankfully, turning his attention from her to her husband, he asked, "Pray, Darcy, you are planning to attend the birthday celebration in three days time, are you not?"
Fitzwilliam, after looking startled, answered, " I suppose...to own the truth, I had not given the matter much thought."
"But you must!" Sir Matthew cried, aghast, "Why, everyone shall be there, and, I know," he eyed Elizabeth condescendingly, "That they should all be vastly disappointed if you and Mrs. Darcy do not join us."
"Yes, well, we shall see," Fitzwilliam replied, dismissing the topic with an air of indifference, "I suppose we should move on. Good to see you again, Matthew."
Thus, Sir Matthew was left to stare after them, an air of perplexity plainly upon his features, while Elizabeth whispered to her escort, "Thank you. He puts even Sir William Lucas to shame."
"He is less offensive then some. You have not met the worst yet," was his warning, and however much she chose to doubt it at that moment, by the time they returned to their box, she knew it to be the truth. Everyone, it seemed, wished to be introduced to her, and as a result, added peculiar affectations to their performances.
Later, when they were again seated, she asked grimly, "Is no one what they seem? I have a feeling I am being thoroughly taken apart and disparaged even now."
"Quite probably you are, my love," he answered, smiling at her warmly, "But I would not worry myself too much...they shall have a different quarry by next week." Taking her gloved hand between his, he added, "You behaved quite admirably, as I knew you would."
She returned his smile, pleased by his praise, then inquired curiously, "What was Sir Matthew speaking of? Whose birthday is in three days?"
"The King's youngest son is turning seven. Lady North, an esteemed member of the royal court, is sponsoring a celebration in his honor. It is highly unlikely that any of His Majesty's immediate family shall be in attendance, however."
"A birthday party without the honoree? How strange."
"Welcome to London society, my love. It does not matter if he is there, so long as anyone who wishes to see, as well as to be seen, is."
"You do not desire to attend, I assume," she concluded by his pained expression.
"I would rather not, but, Sir Matthew does have a point. It will probably be taken as an insult to the ton if you are not present. They wish the chance to accept or dismiss you publicly, I suppose."
"It sounds rather morbid," she commented, "And makes me feel like a side of beef."
"A very intriguing one, however," he whispered, as the curtain parted for the second act, which restricted her to merely wrinkling her nose at him in retort.
Georgiana, through this exchange, had said nothing, only listening to the two of them, and displaying various reactions from surprise to thoughtfullness. As the soprano and baritone took their final bow, she turned toward Fitzwilliam saying softly, "If you do not mind, Fitzwilliam, I would choose to remain at home on the evening of the little prince's birthday."
"We shall discuss it later," he replied firmly.
Elizabeth, glancing up from adjusting her cape, saw Georgiana's face flush, and felt some pity, "Fitzwilliam," she said in a low voice, "If Georgiana would rather not go, Then I do not see why she must."
"I said, we would discuss it later," was his brief but emphatic answer, even while he ignored the telltale spots of red on Elizabeth's own cheeks, giving evidence of her annoyance.
No sooner had their bedroom door closed behind them, then she asked cooly, "Have the bounderies been set then Fitzwilliam?"
The carriage ride home had been marked by a chilly silence, which had not subsided even as they bid goodnight to Georgiana in the hall, none of them in the mood to remain together to discuss the evening.
He turned to look at her as she spoke, his eyes dark with displeasure, "Do not ever argue with me before Georgiana again, Elizabeth," he said coldly.
"That was hardly arguing," she retorted, "I simply thought..."
"You thought you could disrupt a well-established arrangement fixed as necessity, long ago."
"In other words. it is not my place," she asserted, her eyes flashing.
"Since you have stated it as such, then, yes, it is not your place."
"What is my place, Fitzwilliam?" Pulling her dressing gown from where it had been laid out upon the bed, and turning toward the door, she continued speaking angrily, "For I can see it is not in here with you!"
"Where are you going?" He questioned, his anger mingling with confusion upon the discernment of her intent.
"Do not worry...I shall be far from you, and well within my place!" With that, she left him, the door closing, none-too-gently behind her.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth chose, as her refuge, one of the twenty guest bedrooms in the house, set off by itself in the far west corner. Upon first glance, she doubted if it were actually in use very often, as the furnishings were old-fashioned, and not as well cared for as in most of the other rooms. The draperies, bed curtains and coverlet were of the same faded red, white, and pink floral chintz. The furniture itself was white with gold leaf, reminiscent of an earlier French style, although a worn Oriental rug covered the center of the floor. Having brought a tapir taken from a wall sconce to light her way, she set it down into a candlestick holder on the bedside table as she dropped down on the edge of the bed, still seething inside. The room smelled faintly of dust, and was quite cold. The hearth, she judged, glancing at it, apparently had employed no fire for some time. Still, the gloom and chill suited her mood. If he were going to speak to her so abominably, she would stay as far apart from him as was possible. She would not tolerate such ill-treatment, such high-handedness. He was not her father, nor her elder brother...he had no right to take such a tone with her, his wife. However, as she lay down on top of the coverlet, the dressing gown thrown over her as a completely ineffectual blanket, the first twinges of remorse began to creep unwittingly into her thoughts. For...he did have that right. He was Georgiana's brother, as well as guardian, and had been so for nearly seven years. When it came down to it, what actual right did she have to interfere between them?
The rational nature of her current deliberations did not aid her state of mind, but only complicated the matter further, as she knew that she could not, with any shred of dignity at all, return to their room that night. So, she lay there, becoming colder and unhappier, some miserable imp inside of her not even allowing her to be somewhat comfortable while she commiserated.
She dreamt, when finally sleep overtook her, that he came to her. That he held her closely and apologized for his behavior, all the while kissing her regretfully. But, when she awoke, he was not there. Daylight was peeking through the threadbare draperies, but her husband was no where in sight. Stiffly, she sat up, looking around the room as if attempting to recall how she had come to be there. He must still be angry then, she surmised. She could not blame him, really. She had spoken from hurt pride, not common sense. He was probably regretting the marriage even then, wherever he was.
Taking a deep breath, she stood, picked the dressing gown up from the floor, and made her way back to their room, her heart beating louder with every step she took. Suppose he would not speak to her? Perhaps he was still upset, and even now was wishing for an annulment. After all, she had left his bed; certainly valid grounds for any husband in so young and untried a marital union, to seek.
As she opened the door to their room, and peeked around it uncertainly, she did not know exactly what she expected to see, but what it was, succeeded in taking her by surprise. The bed was empty, and what's more, had not been touched, it's surface as smooth as it had been when she had picked up her robe from it in anger the night before. In fact, the room was deserted.
That's it, she thought grimly, he has left me... Abandoned at the age of twenty two, and married less than two months. So involved in her self-abasement was she, that she did not sense his presence until he touched her shoulder from behind, almost causing her to cry out in alarm. Turning then to face him, she met his eyes, which looked as weary and miserable as she was certain her own to be. Studying each other in silence for what seemed like hours, but was truly only a moment, at length she moved into his arms, which miraculously opened to receive her. When she spoke...when he let her, for his lips were pressed against hers resolutely, she said, quite breathless, "I am so sorry. I should not have walked out. It was unfair and selfish, and did not even give you a chance to defend yourself...I was behaving like a..."
"A wife?" He finished, a half-smile on his lips, then, placing a finger over her own to still her torrent of words, he said, "It is I who am ashamed, Elizabeth. I had forgotten already the promise which I made to you on our wedding night...Can you forgive me?"
"No," she argued, "You are too good. Even if I disagreed with you, I should not have said as much in front of your sister. I spoke before I considered your viewpoint."
"Shall we," he interrupted, "Call a truce then? All I know is that I could not spend another night like the last."
"Where did you sleep?" She asked, feeling suddenly, unaccountably light-hearted, keeping her arms clasped around his neck, "Obviously not upon the bed?"
"I slept, if you wish to call it that, on a chair downstairs in the library," he replied, straightening his back at the recollection.
"But," she tried to look innocent, "The bed would have been infinitely more comfortable."
"Do not even speak to me of that...Without you in it, there was no reason for me to be."
She glanced over at the object under discussion, "It looks quite inviting right now, don't you think?"
He smiled then, "Elizabeth, it is nearly eight, the servant will be up soon with your breakfast."
"I am not really very hungry...are you?"
"No...not for food," was his well chosen answer just before he kissed her again.
When finally they appeared downstairs, it was nearly lunch time,and although they gave the appearance of eating, Georgiana did notice that their plates were not much changed from when they began. When her brother rose to leave for an appointment, Elizabeth walked him out and, after taking an inordinate amount of time seeing him off, returned with crimson cheeks and a very flustered manner. These things were seen but not commented on, Georgiana being both too polite and too shy to mention them. After lunch the two ladies retired to the music room. Georgiana had set up a screen to be worked on, while Elizabeth was attempting to finish a letter to Jane.
The difficult part seemed to be arranging her thoughts so that they made sense, for somehow, she was finding it nearly impossible to concentrate. At last she began, and soon found that the words came much easier the longer she wrote. She told of the opera and the self-important personages met there, but she said nothing of the events which had transpired since. Finishing in good time, she then started one to her father as it had been more than a week since last writing to him. She glanced at the mantle clock as she affixed the seal to the folded pages, and was a little surprised to see that it was tea time. Georgiana, who had been working quietly, noticed that her sister-in-law was moving to rise from her chair, and asked, "Did you finish your letters, Elizabeth?"
"Yes, thank goodness. I don't believe I have ever had such a time simply getting letters written...too much has happened, I suppose." She stood and stretched as she spoke, smiling at her own thoughts. Georgiana rose also and rang the bell for the tea to be brought in, grateful that no reply was expected. They both were puzzled to see Fitzwilliam walk in just then, but as he appeared to be in an ill-humor they chose not to ask the reason.
The tea arrived and, although not talkative, his mood seemed to improve over time, so that when his wife reminded him of the Gardiners coming for dinner that very evening, he managed to appear pleased.
Later, while in their room, readying themselves for their guests, Elizabeth decided to ask him what had caused him to become so disheartened since leaving after lunch. They were seated on the love seat before the fire when she noticed how tired and low he appeared to be.
He had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, seeming to be half asleep, and did not move when she spoke quietly, "My dear, what is the matter? What has happened?" she took his hand in hers awaiting his reply.
He did not speak immediately and she thought maybe he had gone to sleep, when he said, "I am only disappointed. A business acquaintance, whom I was to meet with this week, cannot arrive for, at the very least, three or four weeks more...I had been hoping to be gone from here by then...Do not worry, Elizabeth, I shall recover." He opened his eyes then and gave her a rueful smile.
"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I know how you have been looking forward to returning to Pemberley sooner than that...it is too bad." As she spoke she saw that his eyes were closed again. She began to rise, supposing that he wanted to sleep, but he would not release her hand and so she was pulled back down beside him. Very well, she thought amenably, and settled herself next to him; her head against his shoulder, her hand still held in his. After some moments of silence, he asked her, "Elizabeth, are you liking London, so far?" Since she assumed he was asleep, his question startled her and she had to think about it. "It is an interesting city...But I miss our walks and your company." He lifted his head and looked down at her,
"Have I been neglecting you?"
"No...no. That is not what I mean." She shook her head and continued thoughtfully,
"London is a large place and there is much to take up our time...but I suppose I miss the solitude of Pemberley." Then she added so that he would not misunderstand her, "However, I am very glad to have come...I would rather be in London with you than at Pemberley without you." Her tone was so matter-of-fact that he had to smile, but as his own feelings matched hers, he did not comment.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner arrived in good time , bringing with them a bottle of very old French wine, a box of Belgium chocolates (not old), and all the recent news of their family. At one point Mrs. Gardiner studied her niece reflectively. Satisfied with all of that which she observed, she made a mental note of the numerous assurances to be posted to her brother-in-law on the morrow.
After supper Georgiana and Elizabeth both played the piano-forte, but neither could be induced upon to sing. Even so, the evening ended satisfactorally, with a promise that it would soon be repeated before the Darcys should return to Derbyshire.
The next morning, after breakfast, Fitzwilliam surprised Elizabeth by inviting her out for a walk, which she accepted readily. They strolled arm-in-arm through parks and past shops. Stopping, if some object in a display window caught their attention, but otherwise simply enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the day and each other's company.
I really have missed this, Elizabeth thought to herself. There is something very stifling about living in the city. A young lady, married or not, would certainly never walk out by herself, and so, her only means of exercise is left to the whim or will of the male of the species. She appreciated the more lax standards in the country, and the freedom of going pretty much where she liked. It was with some reluctance, therefore, that they finally turned to go home, but they both felt that they could not rationalize further delay.
As they started up their own street, their curiosity was aroused upon seeing a carriage waiting in front of their house. They quickened their pace, but could not think of who would be visiting without some sort of notice. When they were close enough to recognize the livery, Elizabeth exclaimed, "Why, it's from Netherfield, it must be Jane and Mr. Bingley!" At this they both nearly ran up the steps and into the house, anxious to see if their supposition would prove to be true.
The Bingleys were indeed waiting in the drawing room, along with Georgiana who exclaimed, "Oh, good. You are home at last!" Unable to keep the relief from her voice, she was not comfortable having to entertain by herself, however, her words were lost in the commotion ensuing around her, as the two couples happily greeted each other, their separation of two months appearing to be much longer.
When they were all settled, Elizabeth turned to Jane, asking, "When did you arrive in town?"
"Yesterday." was Jane's reply, "We only just decided to come a few days ago...as soon as we learned that you were here." She and her husband exchanged glances and she added, "We needed some time away." She did not go into any more detail but Elizabeth suspected them being there to escape her mother and sisters. Glancing at Fitzwilliam from the corner of her eye, who, although impassive, undoubtedly believed likewise.
Tactfully, she changed the subject, "And how long shall you stay?"
She directed this at both of them and Mr. Bingley spoke up, "We really haven't decided for certain, perhaps a few weeks or so."
"But Lizzy," Jane's lowered her voice so that they could speak privately, "Why did you not tell us that you had come to town? We only just heard from my Aunt Gardiner three days ago and you have been here almost a week." Elizabeth thought of the letter which had finally been posted yesterday and a pang of guilt went through her. She smiled ruefully, answering, "Jane, I am sorry, but when you return to Netherfield there shall be a letter waiting, I promise. In the meantime," she added eagerly, "Would you please tell me all the news from Longbourne?" So Jane spent the next half an hour relating to her sister all that she could think of concerning their relations and friends in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth enjoyed this so much that their laughter attracted the attention of their husbands, and soon Mr. Bingley was adding to his wife's descriptions. Although, like her, he would not speak unkindly of anyone as well. So, between the two of them each bad event was pronounced unfortunate, and, if someone did something foolish, they were simply misunderstood.
They stayed for lunch and invited the Darcys to the Bingley house for dinner that evening, if they were not otherwise engaged. As they were not, it was arranged and the Bingleys soon thereafter departed.
Chapter Four
"So, Lizzy" Jane spoke in a low voice,"Have you received a letter from Lydia?"
"Not recently." was her reply. "Have you, Jane?"
"Yes...it is unfortunate that they cannot seem to make ends meet."
"And it is unfortunate that she should apply to us to help her do so." But Elizabeth smiled tolerantly as she said this.
"Still, I cannot help but pity her...she is so very young." Jane sighed.
"She has made her own choices, Jane. I should not feel too sorry for her." While she was speaking she was observing the others around the table. Charles Bingley was chatting easily with Georgiana who, as was her manner, replied in a soft voice, unwilling to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Miss Bingley, quiet and withdrawn, spoke only when her sister would make some private comment in her ear, while Mrs. Hurst, who was intent on ignoring her husband at all costs, as he was already well into his cups, divided her attention between Miss Bingley, Mrs. Bingley and Miss Darcy. And, finally, Fitzwillam, darling Fitzwilliam, not verbose in the most congenial of situations, appeared content to simply listen to the others, making only an occasional response as courtesy dictated.
Since Jane was now involved in the conversation between Charles Bingley and Georgiana, Elizabeth smiled at her husband and, keeping her voice low, asked, "Tell me what you are thinking, Mr. Darcy." He met her gaze warmly, "I am thinking, that even though I enjoy seeing them all again, I would much rather be at home...alone with you." This last he said very near to her ear so that she blushed, and had to drop her gaze to her lap until her composure had sufficiently recovered. Under the table he took hold of her hand and held it there, his expression, nonetheless, remaining carefully impassive. In an effort to calm herself, she returned her attention to Jane, who was questioning her about some play or concert in town. She felt slightly embarrassed at having to ask her to repeat the question, but if Jane suspected the reason for her discomfiture, she did not let on. Glancing around the table once again, Elizabeth noticed how Miss Bingley's cheeks had become flushed over the past few minutes, and immediately realized that she must have observed their brief flirtation. Well, she thought, more amused than indignant, it serves her right for watching. This was followed by just a glimmer of pity. After all, the poor girl could not help her feelings. Then, goodness, I'm beginning to sound like Jane, she thought, smiling at her own reflections.
Fitzwilliam was still holding fast to her hand and seemed impervious when she attempted to retrieve it, pretending to concentrate upon Georgiana, who was being invited by Mrs. Hurst to, "Please play something for us after dinner." This, then, was the cue for them to rise and retire to the music room, and for Fitzwilliam to be compelled to relinquish her hand, as well.
Georgiana, after some urging, played four pieces, her confidence rising gradually with each. Elizabeth, seated in a chair by the fire, was pleased for her, noting how her poise had become more established over the past months. Her performance was quickly followed by Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, both accomplished, but, Elizabeth thought critically, lacking the sensitivity which Georgiana demonstrated so well.
Fitzwilliam and Charles Bingley were standing by a window talking quietly between themselves, their faces revealing nothing, but, occasionally one or both would turn to glance over at the others present, giving no clue as to who or what might be the specific topic under discussion.
Jane, on a sofa directly opposite her sister, focused most of her attention upon her husband with such open warmth and tenderness, and, Elizabeth noticed discreetly, he, in turn, reflected back to his wife an identical appreciation.
Is there anything, she thought then, so satisfying as knowing your dearest sister is so deservedly happy?.
So intent on her own thoughts was she, that she nearly jumped when Mrs. Hurst spoke loudly to her, much as she would to a particularly dense child, "Mrs. Darcy, would you favour us, please?".
Supposing by her tone that the request had been repeated several times, Elizabeth immediately assented, moving to the piano-forte to sort through the music lying upon it. As she played she would look up occasionally and see Fitzwilliam's eyes watching her, his conversation with Mr. Bingley apparently at an end.
Completing the piece at last, although it was not excessively lengthy, she rose to join her husband by the window, declining firmly when Mrs. Hurst entreated her to play another. His eyes welcomed her as she drew near to him, and when she was close enough, he said softly, "Well done, Mrs. Darcy."
She smiled at him, "Thank you, Mr. Darcy." then, under her breath, added, "I shall thank you properly later."
His eyes widened just a bit at the suggestion behind her remark, but remaining silent, he pretended to be concentrating on a painting displayed above her right shoulder. Moving closer to the window, she looked out, for she thought she had noticed something odd in the sky... a flash of light, perhaps. But no, it was gone, and she had just begun to convince herself that she imagined it, when it happened again. She realized then that what she was seeing were shooting stars, and suddenly, there seemed to be hundreds of them all at once! She must have gasped for Fitzwilliam appeared beside her, his eyes following her gaze.
Seeming to be struck speechless, he remained silent, but Elizabeth called out excitedly, "Jane, Georgiana, come quickly !" Immediately, the others were peering out of the windows while exclaiming over the unprecedented sight.
After his initial surprise, Mr. Bingley suggested, "There is a better view up on the balcony!" Then, taking Jane's hand, they ran out of the room, followed by most of the rest of the party. Upstairs, a set of French doors in the hallway opened out to a balcony that looked over the street below. In the middle of winter these doors were usually kept locked, but he soon had them opened, and instantly, they had all poured out into the chilly night air.
From up here the view was even more spectacular. For, it seemed, the lights, themselves, were flying across the horizon in all directions, and disappearing suddenly as they drew near the horizon. Elizabeth, amazed, could only watch in awe, while behind her stood her husband, whose arms had, at some time, encircled her waist, and where they remained thereafter, as if to keep them both grounded before such an unsettling sight .
It did not last long. The lights became fewer and further between until finally, the sky appeared to be the same as it always was.
The group stood in silence for several minutes before Miss Bingley announced, "I am getting cold. Let us all go back inside...it seems to be over." She turned and led the way in followed by her sister and Georgiana. Mr. Hurst had apparently not come out, as he was nowhere in sight. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing, hands clasped, eyes still fixed upon the sky, as if unable to grasp it being finished.
Finally, he spoke,"Well, that was the most astonishing sight I believe I've ever seen!"
"Oh, yes," echoed Jane, "Most astonishing!"
They glanced over at Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam then, and, after exchanging a look of mutually judicious understanding, silently returned indoors.
For Elizabeth was yet leaning back against her husband, her eyes closed, an expression near to ecstasy upon her face. All the while he held her tightly in his arms, his lips in her hair, and, both of them unaware of their now being completely and utterly alone.
Thinking back on that evening, Elizabeth was not sure of what exactly had happened. They had all been watching the marvelous show in the sky. Fitzwilliam was behind her, holding her in his arms, when all at once, they seemed to be alone...isolated somehow. As she observed the lights shooting across the blackness, she felt very small, until it was no longer the stars moving, but herself. Her legs felt suddenly unstable as if she were adrift and anchorless. The only thing holding her to Earth was her husband's embrace, and as she leaned back against him, she closed her eyes in hopes that the spinning would stop. Then, as quickly as the feeling had come over her, it disappeared; and she knew that if she chose, if she really wished to, she could open her eyes once more...but, no. Feeling as safe and warm as she ever had, she did not wish to. She was aware that there was no sound around them, that the silence itself had become a noise, and that the others' voices had faded and merged into that deafening silence.
Slowly, she willed her eyes to open and glanced around. They were, indeed, by themselves on the balcony. He must have realized it also, as he seemed to straighten up behind her. Turning to face him while still holding onto his arm to steady herself, she gave him a wry smile, "It seems we are alone, Mr. Darcy."
Appearing to be a little dazed himself, he returned her smile, bent to give her a quick kiss, and taking her chilled hands into his, said, "I suppose we should go inside, my love. They shall be wondering what has become of us, I am certain." Even as she nodded, she held back for just a moment, looking once more at the now placid sky, and thinking to herself, will this all seem like a dream tomorrow?
They rejoined the others downstairs, but as it was drawing late, soon said their goodbyes and left in the carriage for home. The drive was very quiet. Georgiana spent the time looking out of the window, her eyes not really seeing what was going by. In fact, none of them spoke a word until they had reached the house, and then it was only to say good night and retire to their rooms.
Later, as they lay in bed, Elizabeth tried to analyze her thoughts. She felt very odd. The enormity of what they had witnessed was making her aware of her own mortality, and it was a frightening sensation. Even with his arms securely around her, as they were, she needed his voice to comfort her. She moved so that her head was on his chest and asked softly, "Of what are you thinking, Mr. Darcy?"
"I am thinking of how much I love you, Mrs. Darcy." his voice was low, reassuring.
"Shall we feel this way forever?" she wondered aloud. She turned her face up to look into his eyes, but the dimmest glow from the fire kept most of him in darkness. She tried to focus, in an effort to see his face clearer.
"I hope so, Elizabeth. My feelings will not change." He sighed as he said this, "I pray that yours do not either."
She reached up to feel his cheek against her hand, saying, "I would wish that we could remain like this forever..." Then adding in a lighter tone, "Impractical as that may be."
"Elizabeth..." he sounded amused. She knew that he was watching her, for after a short silence he said, "I can see them in your eyes."
"What is that, my love?"
"Your eyes are shining...I can see the stars in them." She heard, rather than saw, his smile as he said this.
She laughed softly, "No doubt you are the cause of it."
"I hope so." and as he kissed her, her fears seemed a little foolish. After all, they were here now, they loved each other, which was more than many couples could claim, and whatever happened, they would always be together. Of that, she had no doubt.
After breakfast, when Fitzwilliam had left them to work in his study, and the two ladies retired to the drawing room to do their needlework, Elizabeth asked Georgiana curiously,
"What were your thoughts last evening, Georgiana?" She wondered if it had the same effect on her sister-in-law as it had on herself.
"I suppose I was surprised..." She hesitated ,"I have never witnessed anything like it." She looked a little embarrassed, and her words came out in a rush, "Elizabeth, I could not help but notice you and my brother. You appeared to be so...content." Now her face was very red. "It almost..." She stopped and seemed to be searching for words. "I hope that someday I may feel so...deeply." She ended by looking rather desperately at the material before her.
Elizabeth's felt very fond of her at that moment. "I am sure you shall, Georgiana." She assured her, trying to ease her discomfort, "Much as I would wish to believe it, your brother is not the only good man in the world."
Georgiana shifted uncomfortably in her chair, "I don't know what he has told you, about Mr..." and she stopped, not wanting to say the name aloud.
Elizabeth, unsure if she should mention to Georgiana that she knew all, or if she should pretend ignorance, decided to keep quiet for the present.
But Georgiana continued, shaking her head regretfully, "I was so very young...I believed what he told me. Now I am not sure if I can trust any man at all." Her eyes as they met Elizabeth's, were troubled, "Am I wrong?"
Elizabeth, at that moment, felt such animosity towards George Wickham and all of his kind, that she did not trust her own voice. It was truly a tragedy when those, who by their looks or charms, could cause so much anguish, and yet never seem to suffer themselves.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Georgiana began speaking again, "I am not certain if what I am saying is making sense, but I wanted to tell you that I am very glad to have you for my sister."
Elizabeth smiled at her warmly, "Dear, Georgiana...and I am very happy to have you for a sister. I can understand why Fitzwilliam loves you so."
Georgiana smiled. "Thank you," she replied, looking as though she wished to say something more, but changing her mind, returned instead to her needlework.
That afternoon Jane surprised her by showing up for tea. After she had apologized for not giving her some notice she said, "Lizzy, I must talk to you privately, please." She seemed genuinely distressed, so without appearing to be too obvious, Georgiana tactfully withdrew.
As soon as they were alone, Elizabeth asked ,"Now, Jane what is it? What has made you so upset?"
"Oh, Lizzy. I have to say I am sorry first. I wish I had not told him of our coming at all."
Since this did not make sense to her, Elizabeth said, "Jane, calm down, and tell me who and what you mean."
"Father." was her answer.
"Father?" She still did not understand and so only shook her head, confused. "What happened?"
"Oh, Lizzy..." now she looked as if she would cry, so Elizabeth waited until she was calm enough to speak.
When, at last, she had composed herself enough, she began, "When Charles and I told Father that we were coming to town, he acted very strange. He said that he had been worried about you, because you had not written to him since...while for some time."
Here, Elizabeth felt more than a little guilty. She had been quite negligent in her correspondance since her marriage, but she had hoped that her father would understand.
Meanwhile, Jane continued her confession, "He said...I do not like to repeat this, Lizzy, but please do not be angry with him, he loves you so. He said that he feared Mr. Darcy's dark temperament would clash with your own lively disposition, and that he might treat you poorly because of it."
The look Elizabeth was giving her now, was not so much fury as astonishment, but she held her tongue until Jane had finished.
"He asked..." she swallowed, started, stopped again, and then blurted out anxiously, "He asked me to find out how you and Mr. Darcy are getting along. He wants me to write and tell him how he behaves toward you, and how you are with him...if he has changed you, somehow." Now she looked ashamed."Lizzy, he made me promise to do it, and now I feel simply awful. Can you ever forgive me?"
Elizabeth stared at her sister in amazement, "This is what has you so distressed? Jane, I am not offended. I suppose if it were my own child, I might do the same. Still..." For some reason the situation seemed ridiculous and she stifled the urge to laugh. Poor Jane, she thought, to carry around such guilt for something so foolish. And Father, he should at least know better than to give such an assignment to Jane. She was much too sensitive. Elizabeth's eyes started to sparkle. Why it would serve him right. She looked at her sister slyly and asked her, "What will you tell him, Jane?"
Jane became sober, saying,"Lizzy, I saw how you and Mr. Darcy were with one another last evening."
Apparently everyone did, thought Elizabeth drily, while Jane continued, "I believe you are happy. It was clear how he cares for you...how you love each other...Despite Father's misgivings, I cannot think otherwise...and, what's more, I shall write to let him know the truth of it right away!" By now, she was no longer upset, only determined.
"No, wait, Jane. Will you allow me to write him?" As Jane opened her mouth to argue, Elizabeth continued resolutely, " I shall not betray your confidence, Jane. But I would like to tell him myself how it is with us. Will you let me? And not breathe a word to Father that you told me of his plan?"
Jane studied her sister warily. She knew when Elizabeth was planning some mischief and it worried her. "Lizzy," she began, but Elizabeth shook her head at her, "No, Jane. Let me do this. Father needs to know the truth...but from me."
As Jane knew that her sister's mind, once made up, would be unlikely to change, she gave in, reluctantly.
Chapter Five
Dearest Father,
Elizabeth was composing her letter at the lady's desk in the little sitting room situated next to her bed chamber. Carefully she went over in her mind what she wished to say, but without it being too obvious.
I am writing this while my husband is away, for he would be most displeased to know that I am corresponding with you.
She smiled to herself. Then, dipping her pen, she continued:
I have no wish to burden you with the painful subject of this letter, but I must take this brief opportunity of doing so, as Mr. Darcy is only now allowing me access out of my room. I fear that all of your concerns have been justified, dearest Father. Mr. Darcy, you see, is a harsh man of unrelenting standards. Yet, I must allow that he is nothing less than fair, for he treats his wife with the same contempt as his servants. I see, too late, that this marriage was a grave mistake, but, alas, I have made my choice, and I must make of it what I can.
You would not know me now, as my food is carefully rationed, and I fear my clothes are no longer fitting properly. Yet, do not despair, for he has reassured me that I may eat whatever scraps are left from dinner if I scrub the floors to his satisfaction each day.
She hesitated. Too much? No, Papa, you have asked for this.
Often, I dream of the happy days at Longbourne when I was free to come and go as I pleased. But I would not wish you to feel that I am complaining, for, as I have stated before, I have chosen this lot, and it shall be mine to bear.
She heard the door opening behind her, and quickly turned the page over so that the words were hidden. With just a touch of guilt (for Fitzwilliam might not see the humor in the situation), she turned and fixed a too-innocent smile on her face. He entered, saying, "I have been searching for you...but if you are busy, I can speak to you later." He looked at her questioningly.
"No, I am just writing a letter to Father. What did you need?" She was having a difficult time retaining her composure, yet did manage to keep a straight face. He, his mind preoccupied with other matters, did not seem to notice. "I have commissioned an artist, a Mr. Eastman, to paint your likeness when we return to Pemberley, if that meets with your approval...Elizabeth?" He was studying her face and seemed to realize that she was not really listening to him. "What is it?"
"Nothing, my love," she said quickly, and then, "I am only remembering some detail which I wish to include in my letter. I am sorry, Fitzwilliam." Then his words penetrated, and she replied in a more appropriate manner, "I would like that very much...thank you." Smiling at him then, so that he might be convinced enough by her sincerity to leave her alone, she returned to her writing, impatient now to have it completed.
I shall close for now, dear Father, for I can hear his footsteps approaching. You may write in return (for I have some friends among the staff), however, do not mention this letter to my husband as it will anger him exceedingly.
Your loving daughter,
Elizabeth Bennet Darcy
P.S. Thank you for all of your concern, Father.
The postscript she added to let him know that she was well aware of his intent to interfere with her marriage. Then, reading it over, she folded and sealed it, thinking of how long it would take to reach him. I expect I shall hear from him very soon, she thought, and hopefully, he will clearly understand my meaning. She did not worry that it would be taken in a serious light, as her father would be the first person to look for the irony behind the words.
They were to spend a quiet evening at home, and Elizabeth had just found a book in the study which she had been wishing to read, when Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were announced. They entered looking a trifle embarrassed to be calling unexpectedly, but Elizabeth was happy to see them again, and they soon explained why they had come.
"Lizzy, there is an assembly near here which Charles has received an invitation to, and we would so enjoy it if you and Mr. Darcy would come with us, as our guests." Jane was all in a rush to speak, as if afraid that Elizabeth might refuse before she could finish her request. She added, "Please come, I shall not know anyone there if you do not."
Elizabeth smiled but answered a little doubtfully, "Let me find Fitzwilliam and see...", then excusing herself, went off to seek her husband. She found him reading before the fire in their room, looking very comfortable and, not likely to wish to leave it. Hesitating before entering, she contemplated how she might make the suggestion sound as appealing as possible, for, she admitted to herself, it did sound as though it might be diverting.
Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "Fitzwilliam," He looked up at her from his book and answered, "Yes, Elizabeth?"
As soon as their eyes met, she thought, what have I to be anxious of? If he does not wish to go, that is agreeable, as well. Smiling then, she explained, "The Bingleys are here, my love."
Setting his book aside, he listened casually as she continued, "They have invited us to an assembly with them this evening...if you do not wish to go, they will understand, I know."
The expression on his face did not change, but he inquired, "Would you like to go?"
Considering the question, she replied, "I suppose it might be entertaining...but I know you would rather stay here..." She tried to keep her voice neutral, not wanting him to feel obligated.
"I suppose it might be entertaining." He repeated her words thoughtfully, then, rising from his chair, he agreed, "Perhaps we should." Looking at him with not a little suspicion, for he was behaving rather uncharacteristically, she, nonetheless thanked him by standing upon her toes to kiss his cheek, a gesture which immediately led to a somewhat lengthier exchange.
It did not take them long before they were ready and, in good time they were seated in the Bingleys' carriage. Elizabeth, observing her husband and Mr. Bingley, was all the while thinking to herself, they are both behaving very strangely, indeed. Not only were they were studiously avoiding each other's eyes and concentrating on whatever was to be seen from out of the windows, but if one spoke, the other would answer with only a word. This, in itself, would not be unusual in her own husband, but in Jane's, it was very much so. However, as it was no use concerning herself about something of which she could make no sense, she tried to put it out of her head.
The carriage pulled up to a building with a dark brick exterior and lanterns lit around the door. It seemed very quiet for a place where an assembly was to be held, and, Elizabeth again looked askance at her husband. commenting,"There does not seem to be anyone here."
Instead of a reply, he only smiled mysteriously and assisted her out of the carriage. Jane, too, was puzzled, her eyes meeting Elizabeth's with the same query mirrored in them. Fitzwilliam spoke to Mr. Bingley in a very low voice, to which he nodded in response, neither, however said a word to their wives in explanantion.
Inside was a dimly lit room with a settee and several chairs by a fire, yet no other person in sight. Then, as if on cue, a gentleman appeared to take their wraps, nodded to Mr. Bingley in an obliging manner, and hurried off to another room. By now, Elizabeth was totally perplexed, and whispered to Jane, "What, do you suppose, they are up to?" But Jane, of course, only shook her head. They were led into a larger room which opened off to one side. Here they found a table with chairs set around it, elaborately laid out with place settings for four. Although there were several other similar tables around the walls, there was no one else in the room. At one end was set a platform with several stringed instruments and a piano arranged upon it.
Elizabeth, looking sideways at her husband, inquired of her sister, "What is the date today, Jane?"
In a voice still confounded, Mrs. Bingley replied slowly, "Why...it is the seventh of February... " As she spoke, comprehension swept over her features, and she added in amazement, "We are married two months today!" Turning then to her husband, they exchanged a long, tender gaze.
During all of this, Fitzwilliam had remained silent, and Elizabeth, seeing his rather self-satisfied expression, whispered to him, "You are very sly, Mr. Darcy. How did you ever manage?" Smiling into his eyes, then, she added softly, "It was truly wonderful of you to think of it...thank you."
He looked as if he might have kissed her, but, instead he took her arm and led her over to the table, the Bingleys' following behind leisurely.
As soon as the two couples were seated, a string quintet entered onto the platform and began playing in discreet fashion. The meal, consisting of several kinds of meat, salads, and fruits was excellent, as a steward stood by with a bottle of champagne to immediately refill any glass which should be emptied.
The two ladies were soon demanding to know when and how they had planned it.
"It was all Darcy's doing, actually." Mr. Bingley grinned at his friend, "I am in his debt, to be sure."
"But you had the idea of it," Mr. Darcy replied, "The day after you arrived, when I stopped over to call upon you."
Elizabeth looked at her husband, a bit surprised. He had said nothing of visiting them alone, but, then, she reasoned, why should he? He and Bingley had been friends long before she and Jane had entered into the equation. Still, for him to have kept a secret so well from her was somehow disquieting. Sometimes, she thought to herself, he puzzles me as much as he did when I first knew him. Having just decided to dismiss her qualms as being silly, it was unfortunate that at that moment, another event of a peculiar nature occurred to revive them once again.
A frothy dessert was delivered to them along with cups of dark Bavarian coffee and glasses of port, when a young woman stepped onto the stage, sat down at the piano-forte and began to sing. She had a lovely, natural voice, but otherwise did not give the impression of being unique, until Elizabeth happened to glance at her husband.
His face had frozen, his eyes fixated upon the singer, as though she were an apparition from the grave. Jane and Mr. Bingley did not appear to have noticed Fitzwilliam's strange reaction, their eyes on each other only. Elizabeth, concerned, leaned towards him, and, touching his hand, inquired, "What is it, Fitzwilliam, are you ill?"
Only then did he look away from the woman, yet, his countenance was as disturbed as she had ever known it to be. As soon as he noticed her own expression, he seemed to recover some of his poise, shrugging and saying simply, "It is nothing...I am fine."
Not convinced, she studied him, but no further clues were apparent in his demeanor, nor would he be likely to react so visibly again. She did notice, however, that he would not look directly at the singer after that, although she sang several pieces, her voice remaining strong throughout.
The rest of the meal found both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam extremely quiet, but, as Jane and Charles were yet enraptured with the evening and each other, they noticed nothing unusual. When the four of them rose to leave, the young woman, finished with her performance and storing her music away, finally glanced over at her audience, and, upon seeing Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth thought her face to become flushed, although it could have been the result of her taxing exhibition. Meanwhile, Fitzwilliam, himself, seemed in incredible haste to leave the place, inadvertently convincing his wife that something was very much amiss. The ride home was silent for different reasons, and it was only after they were home in their own room, that Elizabeth broached the subject at last.
Dismissing the servant who took her hair down, but before it was even properly brushed and plaited, she turned to her husband, deep in his own thoughts.
"Fitzwilliam, who was that woman?"
He did not pretend to be ignorant of whom she was referring, but, at the same time, he was unmistakably reluctant to discuss it with her.
"Someone..." he answered at length, "Whom I knew long ago."
"Knew well?"
"Well enough." He rose from the chair he had been sitting in and walked to the window, "Really, Elizabeth, it is of no consequence."
"Well, obviously," she patiently contradicted him, "It is. I have never seen you so agitated."
"I am not agitated."
"What is her name?" She was not going to stand there and argue over his state of mind.
"Miss Dumont was her name when I knew her...I do not know what it might be at present."
She did not like the tone of this conversation, but there was no retreating from it now, "How did you know her?"
"Elizabeth, it hardly matters."
"It matters," she insisted, "If your reaction to her is as upsetting as it appears to be, then it matters very much."
"It mattered eleven years ago. Insofar as we are concerned, it does not."
"Fitzwilliam," she dreaded the question, but at this point, she was being driven by something outside of her own will, "Were you...did you love her?"
"Love," he echoed in disdain, "What does a boy of eighteen know of love?"
"What does anyone know, unless they, themselves, are seized by it?" She was trying very hard to be reasonable...to remain sensible, and not capitulate to that unpleasant disquiet rising within her.
Fitzwilliam, for his part, appeared to have forgotten her presence, his eyes fixed upon a street lamp outside. All at once, she wanted to run, to hide. She did not wish to know this part of his past. He was right, what did it matter? He loved her now, didn't he? He had married her...Elizabeth Bennet, when he might have chosen, surely, any one of a dozen eligible and willing ladies. But, her feet would not move, and she felt that she was being forced to pursue this query through to wherever it happened to lead her. For there, before her, was the chilling evidence of his alarm upon this accidental meeting. It was not the calm demeanor of a man who no longer cared about a long-past romance, but of one who still agonized with the memory of it.
Weakly, she sat on the edge of their bed, her hands and feet feeling suddenly chilled, although the room was well warmed from the crackling fire upon the hearth.
"Fitzwilliam," she asked, hoping that her voice sounded stronger to him than to herself, "Can you not tell me what happened?"
"No, Elizabeth," he turned to face her, his expression unyielding, "Do not ask this of me. You must understand...," without another word, he left her alone, the door shuddering from the force in which it was closed behind him.
So, she thought with a sigh, we are again separated. Is this the way their marriage would be? Whenever one was upset, he, or she, would storm out, thus avoiding the need for confrontation altogether? Slowly she prepared for bed, her heart heavy. Should she seek him out, or let him wrestle his demons by himself?
She had almost decided to follow him, even reaching for her dressing gown, when he unexpectedly returned.
He did not meet her eyes, which told her that he was still disturbed. Not a good sign, she decided unhappily, as she climbed under the covers and leaned back against the pillow- lined headboard.
If he supposed the subject to be exhausted, however, he was sadly mistaken. No sooner had he joined her in bed, his eyes focused on the canopy suspended above them, then she asked, quietly, "Fitzwilliam, you do love me, do you not?"
"Of course," he replied wearily.
She was silent for a moment, then, "When you were eighteen, you fell in love, that much I have ascertained. The question is, are you yet, and with whom?"
At this point, she blew the candle out on her bedside table. If she were going to weep, it would be under the protection of darkness only. This appeared, as well, to be the impetus for him to speak, for speak he finally did.
"Yes, I loved her, or thought I did. We were both very young, perhaps too young. Her mother apparently believed this also, and had arranged for her a marriage with a more...established gentleman."
"But," she tried to make sense of his words, "I would have thought you to be a most eligible match. You have the right connections, income, name...what, then, could have displeased the lady?"
"Connections are helpful only when they are to the most desired source. The gentleman chosen was a respected member of Parliment, and Mrs. Dumont wished for Roselyn to be entertained in those particular circles."
"And, so they were wed?"
"I assume so. I left London before the event was to take place."
"You did nothing to stop it? If you loved her, I wonder at your easy acceptance." She swallowed back the tears of self-pity threatening to emerge.
"There were far too many factors involved by then, for me to have done anything of consequence. My own father, for one."
"What had he to do with it?" If her voice sounded muffled, she told herself, why, surely, it was because she was fatigued from the long evening, and nothing more.
Not noticing her loss of comprehensibility, he continued his narrative, sounding somewhat bitter, "Their betrothal was arranged through his efforts as a family friend...a service to both parties. Obviously, just because his son suffered the misfortune of falling in love with the bride, was no reason to call it off." It was the first hint of a rift in his loyalty to his father.
Elizabeth was now torn between jealousy of this "Roselyn", pity for the young Fitzwilliam Darcy, and distress at her own current uncertainty regarding her husband and marriage. Did he, now that he had seen his lost love again, wish to be free to pursue her? Or, worse yet, would he remain in their marriage although resentful and frustrated? She had risen to a sitting position while he was speaking, and now she laid her face down upon her upraised knees, fighting the increasing despair within her. She did not, she could not, bear losing him, yet, she would not endure a loveless marriage.
"Elizabeth." From out of the darkness, his hand touched her arm, "Can you forgive me?"
"For what?" She asked, her face still buried.
"For hurting you...it was not my intention tonight."
"We rarely intend to hurt each other...what do you wish me to do, Fitzwilliam?" Concentrating very hard on not allowing a sob to escape, she had less success with regulating the flow of her tears.
"I would wish, very much, to forget that this ever happened. I could not bear losing your good opinion, Elizabeth." In the fervor of his words, his voice broke, faltered, and stopped.
"You have not lost that. No matter what you may feel, I cannot change," she managed, while attempting to wipe away her tears in as discreet a manner as possible.
She could not see him in the blackness, but she felt his sigh; A sound so deep and ragged, it pulled at her heart painfully.
At once, feeling as though she were the one who needed to make amends, she moved in order to face him, and, sliding down to the level of his shoulders, sought his lips with her own. He did not reject her, in fact, his arms encircled her in so desperate a fashion as to cause her breathing to become seriously impaired because of it.
"Elizabeth," he begged, between kisses of increasing urgency, "What I feel for you now is so much greater than anything I might ever have imagined...please, do not doubt that."
She could not speak at all, as even if her lips been free, the lump in her throat would have impeded any intelligible sound from emerging from them. It was only after, when her tears had mingled with his, consequently leading to an extended encounter of fierce lovemaking, she was able to form actual words again.
They were lying together, a tangle of arms and legs, when she spoke, still a little out of breath, "Why did you suppose her to be there tonight?"
"I could not say...and, Elizabeth, what's more, I do not care."
"You do not?" Lifting her chin, she smiled in ecstacy as his lips languidly followed the curve of her throat upward, finishing their explorations with her mouth. "Then, you no longer love her?"
"I love you."
"I am very glad of that."
"Elizabeth?" He propped himself up on one arm to peer down at her, the puzzlement evident in his voice, "Why would you suppose otherwise?"
"Because of the way...your face when you saw her. You looked as if you had seen a ghost," she replied defensively.
"I thought for a moment that I had, " he admitted. Then, sternly, "But you should know me well enough by now to believe I am sincere."
"But, you most likely believed yourself sincere when you were eighteen, as well," she reasoned.
"Have I learned nothing since then? You think me as innocent as that, then?" Not only did he sound incredulous, but indignant as well.
She could not help it; she suddenly felt the urge to laugh, for she had never felt so relieved, and so incredibly light-hearted. When he could receive no coherent explanation for her mirth, he resolutely began to kiss her again, his lips against her skin causing her sensibility to return almost at once.
Chapter Six
Fitzwilliam, had, after all, allowed Georgiana to decline the invitation. He had not, from the first, considered forcing her to attend, but to be confronted by his wife and sister at the opera had been, at the time at least, insupportable.
Elizabeth, on the whole, had a good time despite the false pleasantries and affectations, and met some interesting people among the dull. For instance, Lady Fothingill-Grey, a dowager who, although as blunt and straightforward as any, managed to inflict little offense, no doubt, Elizabeth was told by her husband, because of her money and influence.
She was the widow of a gentleman who held the honour of being, for nearly fifteen years, the eldest member in the House of Lords. Until, that is, his unfortunate passing due to a fish bone which lodged itself in his throat, and remained, as stubborn, some said, as the old codger, himself. He had also been rather a bit of a spendthrift, which meant that his wife was now a very wealthy woman.
Fitzwilliam had, in their slow progress around the room, paused to talk with a business acquaintance, so Elizabeth's introduction to Lady Fothingill-Grey came about in an abrupt and unexpected fashion. For, after turning away from observing the distance increasing between she and her husband, due to the shifting of so many bodies, she came face-to-face directly with the aforementioned Lady Grey.
Upon this surprising encounter, Her Ladyship began to speak loudly, for the benefit of whomever happened to be near, "So, you are the upstart who has stolen our Darcy's heart, eh?" Her face, wrinkled and worn as it was, nonetheless displayed a warm smile of greeting. "And high time too, he was becoming much too stuffy...too set in his ways." Taking Elizabeth's gloved hand into hers, she continued good-naturedly, "Quite pleased to meet you at last, my dear. I hope you are as unrefined as I have been informed by the stuffed shirts riddling this hall tonight."
Elizabeth, torn between laughing aloud, and wondering who the "stuffed shirts" were, replied, "Thank you, ma'am, I am honoured."
"What was your name before, young lady, for I vow you do remind me of someone I knew many years ago," the older woman stated while studying her features.
"Bennet," was her almost reluctant reply.
"Your father is not Robert Bennet, is it?"
"His name is Robert, yes," she answered cautiously, uncertain if this might prove to be an embarrassing acknowledgement, or not.
"Robert Bennet, and he married...Oh, Lord, what was her name? Margaret, Madeline, M..."
"Martha, ma'am," now convinced that the recollection would not be pleasant, Elizabeth wished she could disappear, especially as she knew the ears around them had perked up at the mention of her famously dubious connections.
"Yes. that's it! Martha Gardiner. I do remember that match well. Lord, she was a beauty, and talk about a man in love! Why, whenever she came to our book discussions, he became as good as tongue-tied." She smiled even more broadly (if that was possible) at the memory. Then, "So, you are their daughter, eh? Well, I cannot say you look like your mother, though perhaps around the eyes...the question is, do you have your father's wit?"
"You shall have to ask him, ma'am." She had not intended to be impertinant, but even if she had, her response delighted, rather than offended the old lady, for she laughed, and, speaking over Elizabeth's shoulder, suggested, "You shall have to hold onto this one, Darcy. She shall keep you in line, I expect."
"Thank you, madam," Fitzwilliam replied smoothly from behind his wife.
"I understand your Aunt de Bourgh is holding a grudge," the outrageous woman said next, causing Elizabeth to cringe, although her husband, remarkably, handled it with admirable aplomb.
"It is hard to say, as I have not seen her in several months," he answered only.
"Well, Catherine can be a hard nut to crack, but do not let her bully you, Darcy. I am certain she shall come around in time. Meanwhile Mrs. Darcy, perhaps you shall grant me the favor of dining with me later...that is, if your husband can bear to share your company." And she winked as if to emphasize her point.
"I would be most honoured, your Ladyship," Elizabeth accepted politely, repressing a laugh.
"You may join us, also, Darcy, so long as you can speak sensibly." To Elizabeth, she explained, "I have found, my dear, that gentlemen in love rarely speak in a rational manner, but fortunately, Darcy is one of the few who speaks not at all unless he is absolutely certain of doing so. He is quite unique, as I am sure you have discovered."
For answer, Elizabeth could only smile in heartfelt agreement.
As they now appeared to have been dismissed , undoubtedly so she could light into a new victim who might have the misfortune of venturing too near her, Fitzwilliam steered his wife to an empty space, large enough for the two of them to stand together, partially hidden behind a plant.
"She is extraordinary," Elizabeth remarked in a low voice when she knew no one else was listening.
"Lady Grey rarely ceases to amaze wherever she goes," he answered, amusement in his voice.
"I was surprised to hear her speak of my parents in so familiar a manner. I doubt either of them would have traveled in her social circle."
"She has led an interesting life, and because of it, tends to establish her own circles. I believe I heard Lord Grey comment once or twice of his marriage being a constant battle of the intellect."
Elizabeth shook her head in wonder, "I would not choose to compete in anything against her, much less in intellect."
"I have no doubt," Fitzwilliam said thoughtfully, "That she was the cause for his longevity. They never would allow the other to have the final word in anything."
At the beginning of their third week in London, a heavy wet snow fell on the city, making it nearly impossible for a wagon or carriage to get through the streets. Elizabeth stood at her bedroom window, looking out at the unusually quiet landscape. Occasionally, a horse and rider would plod through the drifts, but all in all, it appeared almost deserted. She had the sudden desire to go out, to play as she had when she was a child. She glanced slyly at her still sleeping husband, and, with a burst of energy, flew back to the bed and landed on top of his inert form. He gave a groan and turned over, causing her to slide off and fall next to him on the bed.
"Fitzwilliam, get up!" She was not going to let him go back to sleep, and she pulled the layers of covers off of him, hoping the cold would do what she could not. Opening his eyes, he looked at her in warning, but she pleaded, "It has finally snowed, my love! Please, come outdoors with me." Then, smiling her sweetest smile, she kissed his cheek, "Please, Fitwilliam."
He took the opportunity of her close proximity to pull her back down beside him and held her in his arms so that she could not move. Knowing it was no use struggling, she lay very still, hoping to fool him into loosening his hold. Their eyes met and held in a a contest of wills, until he smiled and began kissing her lips slowly and deliberately. As he relaxed his hold, her arms slid around his neck while she returned his kisses.
At length, she spoke beguilingly into his ear, "It is beautiful outside. Everything is white and clean. Won't you come out with me to see it?"
"It is warm and dry inside, Elizabeth. I have seen snow before and it is only beautiful until your fingers and toes are numb," but his eyes were teasing her and she knew that she had won her point.
They dressed in many layers so that their coats could barely fit over them. Then, they ventured out. Their first obstacle; a large drift inconveniently blown across the front stairs. He said something to her as he helped her over it, but she could not understand him through the muffler that covered his mouth. The only parts of their faces visable were their eyes and cheeks, so for a while, they did not speak. They trudged side by side, leaving behind them two sets of tracks. Hers, being filled in again by the back-and-forth sweep of her skirts.
By the time they had reached the end of the second block, they were both very warm from the exercise, so they pulled the damp scarves down from their mouths and noses. He grinned at her then, "Are you now satisfied, Mrs. Darcy?"
She smiled back at him impertinantly, "If I am, it is to see you out here with me and not still in bed, Mr. Darcy."
He stopped walking, looked around him to make sure of their being alone on the street, and, with one movement had her sitting in a snow drift. Her look of surprise lasted only a moment before she had righted herself, packed some snow together between her mittened hands, and thrown it at him as forcefully as she could. It landed with a soft thud against his sleeve which caused him to retaliate immediately, pelting her with so many snowballs that she collapsed laughing, quite unable to withstand the onslaught. Stopping at last, he helped her back to her feet, and with a wicked gleam in his eye, asked again, "Are you satisfied, Mrs. Darcy?"
Still laughing so that she could hardly catch her breath, she finally managed, "I am satisfied, Mr. Darcy."
However, as he bent to pick up his hat, which had fallen off during the melee, she quickly scooped up a mittenful of snow and tucked it under his collar. Then, turning , she attempted to flee before he could straighten up, but, alas, only a few steps were taken before she tripped, having underestimated the depth of the snow, and so was at the mercy of her husband. When he caught up with her, however, he only grinned and, instead of seeking his revenge, assisted her in rising to her feet yet again.
They turned back then, for their clothes were wet through and beginning to refreeze from the cold air, and, as he had predicted, her fingers and toes were, indeed, very numb.
Back in their room, after removing her wet and heavy outer clothes, Elizabeth wrapped herself in a blanket, sat on the floor in front of the fire, and happily stretched her feet out toward the hearth.
On a small table beside her, a pot of tea had been delivered, and as she drank it slowly, she could feel the warmth flow through her. She closed her eyes and leaned back against a chair, very much aware that Fitzwilliam had now come in and was sitting on the floor beside her. When she opened them, he was watching her with a bemused look on his face. Smiling at him lazily, she asked, "What are your thoughts, Mr. Darcy?"
"I am wondering...are you satisfied, Mrs. Darcy?" But this time he asked it in a very different tone, and as he kissed her, she murmured, "Very satisfied, Mr. Darcy."
The change in the weather managed to delay some of Fitzwilliam's business with which he had hoped to be completed during that week, but, he seemed to accept this with better grace than Elizabeth had feared. She thought he would become restless and bored. Instead, he appeared to be content to stay at home with her and Georgiana, listening to them talk and, even occasionally, joining in. In the evening, they would play chess or cards, or Georgiana would practice her music while they read. It seemed too good to last, but as the week ended even colder than it had begun, it was unlikely that they would be returning to Pemberley very soon.
One day, as she was searching for a book which she had inadvertantly set aside, she found him in the solarium, gazing out at the now snow-covered courtyard. She stood in the doorway and watched him, not willing to disturb his reverie.
He must have become aware of her presence, for, without turning around he said, "You know, Elizabeth, some animals hibernate all winter and do not even awaken until spring."
She smiled, "Do you wish to hibernate, my love?"
Moving over to stand beside him, she attempted to see what he was watching outside. As he turned to gaze at her thoughtfully, he shook his head, "No, not that...but at times, I feel that something or someone does not want us to leave London...for some reason, we are supposed to remain here...I just have not understood why, as yet."
"It is very difficult to wait." She said it softly, "I know it is hard for you, Fitzwilliam."
"I am finding it to be a challenge, that is true." he admitted, adding,"But, at the very least, I should be gaining some greatness of character, don't you think?"
She laughed then, glad to see his mood lighten a bit, and complimented him, "You are very good...a man among men." Slipping her arm through his, she added in a more serious tone, "We shall not be here forever, Fitzwilliam. Very soon we shall be back at Pemberley." In trying to reassure him, she, herself, was beginning to feel the effects of the gathering dusk outside, causing her to shiver inadvertently, and he, to put his arms around her, saying regretfully, "I am very selfish. I complain when I have no reason and you tolerate it." Smiling down at her then, he added, "These weeks in town have taught me much. I did not know there was so much to be learned about marriage."
She felt her cheeks become warm under his gaze, and she replied, "I expect we shall always be learning something on that subject. To become complacent could be perilous."
"Is that a warning, Mrs. Darcy?" he grinned at her.
"It is a promise, Mr. Darcy. I hope that we shall not take each other for granted. I would not want a marriage like some...where neither one speaks, and if they do, nothing is said." Her serious tone surprised him, but he did not interrupt, and she continued carefully, "I would wish that we will always be discovering things about each other...can you understand, Fitzwilliam?"
"That does not concern me, Elizabeth." He shook his head at her, "You have constantly amazed me."
Seeing the warmth in his eyes, she asked, "And you would not wish it any other way, would you?"
"No," he replied, "Not at all."
A week after the snow had fallen, it had begun to melt, turning to slush as the wind now blew from a warmer direction. As Fitzwilliam was, at last, able to complete his business, they began making plans to depart for Pemberley in a few days time.
Elizabeth was now becoming as anxious as her husband to return to the country, and she looked forward to it more as each day passed.
One morning she received the long-expected letter from her father, and waiting until she was alone, she opened it just a little nervously.
My Dear Elizabeth, it began.
Since receiving your letter, I have been torn between fear for your safety and concern that Mr. Darcy has not been hard enough on you.
She smiled, relieved that he had understood.
But, your point is well taken, my child, and I will not assume the worst with you again. I should have known that you would not allow yourself to fall victim to any tyrant.
Meanwhile, please inform me as to when you shall be returning to Derbyshire and I shall be there to offer my condolances to your husband.
She laughed aloud then and thought fondly of him as he must have looked while composing the letter. The rest of it was general news from home which she read happily, a small weight having been lifted from her shoulders.
The fourth day of the thaw had cleared enough of the walkways that Fitzwilliam invited her out for some exercise. She hurried to put on her coat and bonnet, ignoring a slight twinge she felt somewhere inside of her. Being in high spirits, he kept up a good pace, but she was able to stay with him and converse, if somewhat breathlessly, when they stopped to wait for traffic.
At one such time, she asked him, "Have you talked to Georgiana about returning to Pemberley with us?"
"Yes," He smiled at her, "and she was pleased, I know."
Elizabeth returned his smile and thought to herself, I don't suppose anything could ruin his day today. He is as carefree as I have seen him for some time.
They walked some ten blocks before turning back, but had not gone far beyond, when she stopped suddenly and drew a deep intake of breath.
"Elizabeth?" He stopped also and looked at her quizzically. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, " The pain passed and she could breathe again, "Probably something from breakfast not agreeing with me."
They walked several more blocks before she had to stop again, this time her face paled and sweat appeared on her upper lip.
"I think," she said uncertainly as her color returned, "That we had better be home." They quickened their pace and made it to within a block of their house when she doubled over. In alarm, he picked her up in his arms and nearly ran the last few feet to their front door. As they swept into the foyer, he yelled to whomever happened to be there, "Fetch a Doctor! Mrs. Darcy is ill!"
Then, taking the stairs two at a time, he carried her into their room and laid her on the coverlet. As she noticed his panic stricken expression, she wished to reassure him, but, as she started to speak the pain began again. The intensity of it causing her to curl up tightly, her eyes closed, her breath coming fast. When it had passed, he took her hands between his, looking and feeling utterly helpless, until the housekeeper, Mrs. Stevens hurried in, along with two chambermaids. Assessing the situation in a moment, she firmly led him to the door, saying, "Don't worry, sir. Please wait outside until the doctor arrives...we shall stay with her."
With one last, agonized look at his wife, he was suddenly in the hall with the door shut firmly against him. Behind it, he could hear the murmering of their voices, but he could not hear Elizabeth's.
He sank down onto a settee in the hallway in disbelief, and tried to sort out what had just happened.
The doctor at length arrived, and in a businesslike manner, nodded at Fitzwilliam in greeting, entered the room, and closed the door again behind him.
"Brother," it was Georgiana's soft voice beside him, "Please do not distress yourself so...I hate to see you thus." He had been sitting with his head in his hands, and had not realized her presence beside him. He turned his head to look at her, startling her upon witnessing the anguish there.
"Please, Fitzwilliam. I know she shall be all right. I must believe it." She was watching him so anxiously that, in an attempt to comfort her, he tried to smile, instead, his eyes filled, and he had to bury his face once more.
It seemed an eternity, although in reality only an hour, before the doctor reappeared. Georgiana, expecting that they would want their privacy, excused herself, and left, praying for the best.
He cleared his throat saying, "Mr. Darcy." Fitzwilliam stood and waited for he knew not what. "Mr. Darcy, your wife has suffered a miscarriage."
At this Fitzwilliam, in disbelief, argued, "No, that cannot be, she was not..."
But the doctor continued as if he had not been interrupted, "Approximately six, possibly seven weeks, judging by the discharge, but it is hard to say exactly." His tone was not unsympathetic, "I shouldn't worry. The worst is over and she should be fine in a few days time. She will need rest, no exertion, and plenty of meat broth. I shall speak to your cook before I leave, and I'll be back tomorrow to see how she is doing." He hesitated before adding kindly, "These things happen, Mr. Darcy...usually it is for the best." With that he was gone, unaware of the import of his pronouncement.
Fitzwilliam's mind was racing. No, it was a mistake...but, she must have been...with child...yet, how could it be so? He shook his head as if coming out of a fog, and slowly opened the door.
She was propped up on a pile of pillows with the same dazed look which he imagined was evident upon his own countenance. Mrs. Stevens and the two servant girls were gathering up the soiled linens and clothes, but, upon seeing him there, exited hastily. Elizabeth's perplexed eyes met his then, and, with no words between them, he went to her and drew her into his arms.
"I did not know...how could I not know?" Speaking at last, she sounded bewildered, overwhelmed. "It is very strange to lose something that I did not even know I had...I do not know what to think..."
He could only hold her, baffled as to what to say for comfort. They stayed that way for some time, realizing that any words spoken would only sound inadequate.
Refusing to leave her the rest of the day, he remained at her bedside and watched her, deeply concerned. For although she claimed she was well, her pallor belied her words, and she slipped in and out of sleep randomly.
That night, as they lay in bed, she was suddenly overtaken with such a deep heartache that she wept, inconsolable, until spent, and then lay against his chest, unmoving.. When she could speak again, she said, "I think the worst is knowing that it was ours...that it shall never be..."
"Elizabeth," he was stroking her hair, damp from her tears, "I am so sorry. If I had not been so selfish these past weeks...thinking only of myself..."
She interrupted him, "Even if you were, which I do not think is true,what difference would that make? I did not even know that I was..." but she could not speak the words aloud, saying instead, "You cannot blame yourself, Fitzwilliam. It must be as the doctor said and, that these things happen...but I cannot believe there was not some reason, some purpose for it." She was silent for a moment, and when she began to talk again, it was as if she were thinking aloud, "I honestly believed that there would be some signs, but there was not. I felt fine, I was not ill. How can something so momentous go undetected? It would certainly explain my moods of late, and the way I felt the night of the shooting stars..." but there she stopped. She had not confided to her husband the sensations she had experienced that evening, wanting to hold the memory deep in her heart. She had been attributing them to the events and people surrounding her that evening, so it had not occured to her that the cause might have been pregnancy.
At last, she was silent and, as her breathing became regular, he knew she had fallen asleep. His own thoughts were confusing enough. The actual truth of the matter was that he was not certain he was prepared for fatherhood. He had not thought of it as a possibility, which, he admitted to himself, was either very naive or very dense. Yet, having enjoyed the time spent with her so much, any interruption of it was not a desirable prospect to him. He was aware of how selfish this might appear, but he was only just adjusting to being her husband, did he have to immediately adjust to being a parent also? There seemed to be no resolution to his troubled thoughts, and finally, he fell asleep in spite of them.
The next day, she claimed she felt well, nevertheless, he would not allow her to get up, and she was forced to be waited on hand and foot.
As he sat next to her that afternoon, she asked him, "Before all this," and she looked a little embarrassed, "Did you...had you thought of our having children, Fitzwilliam?"
He thought about it carefully, "Yes, I suppose so...eventually...I admit I had not expected it so soon, however. Did you, Elizabeth?"
They both were feeling a bit foolish that they were only now discussing it.
"I know I did before we were married." She looked at him meaningfully, "I dreamt of having your children some day, but as you say, that was eventually."
"Elizabeth," his voice was hesitant, "Do you suppose it was the reason? Not," he hurried to explain, "As a punishment or anything as absurd as that, but because, we, neither one of us, were quite ready?"
Considering his words, she smiled at him gently, and said, "Perhaps...perhaps we need more time. I do not know, Fitzwilliam. In a strange way, I am sorry and yet I am not. Does that make sense?"
Their eyes met and he leaned forward to kiss her softly, "We shall have many children, Elizabeth," he said, "And they shall all take after you."
She shook her head at him, amused, "You had better hope not, my love, or we will not have one moments peace."
After two days in bed, the doctor pronounced her well enough to get up and she could, at last, begin readying for their journey back to Pemberley. She still was not to travel for a minimum of a week, but at the very least, she could keep busy, so she spent her time helping Georgiana pack her own belongings. They were working together in the music room; Georgiana sorting through her music, deciding which to take and which to leave, while Elizabeth, perched upon a low stool, laid the pieces carefully in an opened trunk waiting by her.
"Elizabeth, are you certain you should be doing this? Are you not too tired?" Georgiana spoke anxiously, watching her sister-in-law bending to retrieve a fallen sheet.
"I am well, Georgiana," Elizabeth appreciated her concern, but she was becoming weary of the whole household treating her as if she were a piece of glass. Realizing her words sounded a bit impatient, she added with forced cheerfulness, "This is not difficult work, and I must do something, or go mad."
Georgiana was silent for a minute, then, in a halting voice said, "It is only that...when you were ill, Elizabeth, we were so worried for you...but, especially my brother, and I would not for anything, wish a reoccurrence of that. I mean, I know that you were both suffering...have suffered, but...if you had only seen him."
"Do not worry, Georgiana," Elizabeth assured her, feeling both moved and contrite by her admonition, "I shall not overdo."
As word must have spread, somehow, that Mrs. Darcy was "ill" they received few visitors, other than, of course, Jane and Mrs. Gardiner. Both sympathetic, but unable to dispell the sense of guilt and loss which constantly haunted her now.
One day, however, Lady Fothingill-Grey came to call.
It so happened that Fitzwilliam was out, and Georgiana was undergoing a lesson with her music master, leaving Elizabeth to receive her company alone. Lady Grey did not apologize, but launched into a narrative of her opinion on many of the guests who had been present at the prince's fete; succeeding in taking Elizabeth's mind off of her own troubles, as well as restoring some of her good humour in the process.
Later. while tea was being served, she studied Elizabeth's countenance critically.
"I had heard you were unwell, child."
"Yes, ma'am." Elizabeth replied in a tone intended to make it apparent that she did not wish to discuss the matter any further.
"Yes...," Lady Grey comprehended shrewdly, "But, you are yourself again, I trust."
"I hope to be soon."
'Child," and her voice was not unkind, "This too shall pass."
Elizabeth attempted to smile around the lump in her throat, but ended up averting her eyes instead. Her Ladyship noticing this as well, asked then,"Well, where is your husband, pray? Out fighting dragons, I suppose."
At this rather cryptic remark, Elizabeth did smile, looking a bit confused, "Ma'am?"
Lady Grey, explaining herself, although she rarely bothered to do so, said, "In a marriage, as I suppose in any life a person might choose, but especially in marriage, there are always dragons."
Elizabeth said nothing, waiting while her visitor took a sip of her tea, once she, deliberately, added several lumps of sugar to it.
"It is up to us, my dear, to see that the dragons are buried once they are slain. By us, of course, I mean the wives," she smiled as if her meaning must surely be obvious by now. As Elizabeth still appeared to be bewildered, she continued patiently, "There shall always be trials and tragedy in life. These are the dragons, you see? The husband, of course, feels it is his duty to slay these dragons; to keep his life on as even a keel as possible, therefore, it is up to his wife, his partner, to see the dragon buried, and, as soon as possible, to get on with it. Do you understand?"
"I...I think so."
"Do not beat each other with this dragon, child. Bury it. Put it behind you, and get on with your marriage. I know, and I am never wrong about these things, that it shall be a good, solid alliance."
"Thank you."
"I have known Darcy since he was a baby. He shall be an excellent dragon-slayer, I daresay."
"I do not doubt it," agreed Elizabeth, smiling in spite of herself at the image forefront in her mind of her husband, resembling St. George replete with sword and shield, fighting a fiery and fearsome beast.
Much of the packing could be done at the last minute, so the most worrisome was waiting for her health to return to normal. She was happy, indeed, then, the day on which she was finally declared well enough to travel. As she had been feeling a trifle guilty at holding up their plans for so long, now she could not wait to share her good news with her husband. Finding him in the library sorting through some desk drawers, she entered hesitently, not wishing to disturb his concentration, but he happened to look up as she entered. Her face must have given her thoughts away, for he rose and met her halfway, kissing her before she even had a chance to speak.
Smiling up at him, she said, " I am well at last, my love."
He did not appear surprised, and, privately thought that she had never looked better. Purposely distracting him from his scrutiny of her person, she announced obscurely, "This dragon has, I believe, been buried."
"Excuse me?" He inquired, looking bewildered.
"It was something Lady Grey told me," she explained, but did not continue, as upon seeing his expression, supposed that he probably suspected the older woman of losing her mind, and his wife as well. Surprisingly, however, after a moment, comprehension appeared to dawn.
"Ah, dragons," he nodded, "I recollect her referring to them in the past. What does it mean, exactly?"
"Dragons are the...trials, I suppose. This miscarriage," she paused briefly, the word sounding like something wholly disconnected with herself, "Was a dragon, of sorts.
"A rather vicious one, at that," he supplied, watching her face tenderly.
"Yes...well, according to Her Ladyship, we need to have the beast buried and done with, in order to go on with our lives."
"Makes perfect sense to me," he conceded.
"And so, I am simply informing you, that, for me at least, this dragon has been buried."
"Never to rise from his grave to haunt us later?"
"One of us would have to make that choice, and I can see no reason for it, can you, my love?"
"Not this particular dragon at any rate," he concluded decidedly.
"Oh, I am quite certain there shall be others."
"Undoubtedly...Elizabeth, we do need to discuss the other matter, sometime, you know."
"Not now, please, Fitzwilliam. Can it not wait?" She looked at him so imploringly, that he had not the heart to force the subject. Yet, at the same time, he knew that some course of action would have to be determined, and soon.
Chapter Seven
The drive had been very long. Packed snow on the road inhibited the horses and caused the wheels to slide precariously, calling for frequent stops along the way. Elizabeth was aching with fatigue, but she was also aware of her husband and sister-in-law, most likely, suffering as well.
At last, the house came into view, a welcome sight in the February twilight. She felt her husband's hand on hers under the lap robe which they shared, and she smiled at him in relief.
Their last evening in town had, happily, been spent in the company of the Bingleys and the Gardiners; their farewells including promises from both parties to visit them at Pemberley as soon as the weather allowed. It was with mixed feelings then, that Elizabeth left the London house. So much had happened, and although some she would wish to forget, much would be forever remembered. She was still having difficulty when she thought of the child lost, although it had taken her many days before she could even admit to herself of it being her child. It was much easier when she only thought of it as an accident, a mischance...something not quite real. Trying not to dwell on the event, she reminded herself that, truly, it was for the best, whenever it should enter her mind. Unhappily, in some intangible manner since then, her relationship with Fitzwilliam had altered also. When he looked at her now, he seemed to be distracted. The closeness they had shared in bed had also diminished, and although he still held her at night, he did not share his thoughts. She missed that aspect of him, but rationalized that, of course he was affected by the miscarriage, and soon (she hoped), he would return to as he had been before.
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