Posted on Saturday, 28 July 2007
It all began with an outrageous cry, which emanated out of the master’s dressing room.
Elizabeth, who had been reclining on the sofa in their small, private, sitting room, idly flicking her way through the fashion plates of the latest ladies periodical, and who was waiting for her lord and master to finish his ablutions so they could make their way to the breakfast parlour, gave a start.
There was a further exchange of muffled words through the closed door and she shook her head. Poor Mr Watson, the valet. She wondered what had displeased her husband that morning. Perchance he had procured the incorrect waistcoat, neck cloth or coat. Heaven knew what.
It was the usual case of not knowing one’s spouse’s eccentricities until one was wed to them.
That Mr Darcy was fastidious in his appearance had not completely surprised her, after all the very first time she had made his acquaintance she had noted how immaculately he dressed. To bear witness to it was something else, and frequently she found herself waiting for him to put in an appearance having long been dressed herself.
The door leading from her husband’s bedchamber and dressing room opened and the gentleman himself came in to bid her good morning. She eyed him suspiciously, there was something about him - she could not quite place her finger on it.
“Good morning, dearest.” He lent over to kiss her and then she knew.
“Oh! Fitzwilliam, what is this?” She rubbed her cheek.
“What is what?” He bent closer seeking her lips.
“You are all rough.”
He smiled at her, pretending he did not know to what she was referring.
“Rough, my beloved? Indeed it was somewhat rough last night but you did not complain of it then.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy!” She protested as she felt her face blush at the implication of his words and the picture it conjured up in her mind of their previous nights activities.
As to him wishing her a good morning, it was merely a ritual they went through as he had left her bed but a short while ago in order to dress.
He lent back over her again determined to receive his morning kiss. Elizabeth reciprocated but without her normal enthusiasm. As she pulled away she wrinkled her face and touched her mouth.
“You have not shaven?”
“No my love. I have decided to let my facial hair grow, I am desirous to see how I will look with a moustache and beard.”
Elizabeth looked up at him in astonishment, “A moustache, a beard? Where ever did you get such a ridiculous notion?”
The moment she had uttered the words she realized her error, however it was impossible to retract them so she had to content herself with seeing the imperious “Darcy” mask slip back in to place.
“I did not realize that you had such a close understanding with my valet.”
As he said this he strode over to the mirror that hung above the mantelpiece and studied his face.
“Naturally it will appear, to some extent, irregular at first, until it grows in. Yes, it will be rough, but as it is cultivated and is correctly maintained it will soften.”
Elizabeth could not believe her ears, but it did explain the exclamations that she had heard emanating from behind her husband’s closed door. It had been Mr Watson expressing his displeasure and no doubt Mr Darcy’s reproof at his questioning the master’s orders.
As her husband was now in a disagreeable mood, Elizabeth reasoned there was no harm to be done by airing her own views on the matter.
“If Mr Watson is alarmed at this, this sudden urge of yours to grow facial hair, then yes I am in accord with him.”
There she had said it.
Her husband continued to look at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over his face.
“Pray, when have you, madam and my valet concerned yourselves in questioning my appearance?”
Elizabeth stiffened at his tone of voice.
“Is it not our duty to ensure that you turn yourself out respectably? Is it not to your credit that until now we have neither of us felt the need to bring this to your attention?”
“You flatter me, madam and yet I shall not be moved on this subject.”
“And, I sir, shall surely slap you if you continue to talk to me in such a arrogant way!”
Darcy, taken aback at her outburst, turned to look at his wife who was glowering at him.
Although his eyes flashed back at her in indignation at her reproof, he softened the tone of his voice knowing it would be dangerous to antagonize her any further, but intending to do as he pleased.
“I am resolved to have a moustache and a beard.”
“Very well, then let it be upon your own head, sir!”
Breakfast was a rather strained affair, made even more uncomfortable by the sudden appearance of the local Squire who had come to attend to a matter of business with the master of the house, for having arrived a little too early he was unwittingly shown into the breakfast parlour. Both Elizabeth and Darcy were piqued at this invasion of their privacy, woe betide the new footman who had been so foolish as to sanction such an interruption, especially when both of them were in ill humour.
Elizabeth greeted their neighbour without showing her annoyance but the master of the house was not so tactful.
“You are excessively early, Mr Hardisty.”
“Pray accept my apologies Mr Darcy.” He then looked at him and frowned, “I do beg your pardon, sir. I did not realize, that as yet, you had not been shaved.”
Elizabeth found she had great difficulty in maintaining her composure on hearing the Squire’s observation.
“I shall withdraw immediately.” He was suddenly extremely anxious to quit the room, backing his way towards the door and bowing all the time, “Meet you downstairs in the blue saloon. Do not know why your footman showed me up here. Clearly these are your private apartments.”
The moment the door closed on him, Elizabeth whose humour had been greatly restored by this sense of the ridiculous burst in to peals of laughter.
“Humph!” Her husband threw his napkin on the table in disgust. “Am I to be thus ridiculed until you accept the situation, Elizabeth?”
“If you insist on growing facial hair, yes.” She answered, attempting to look serious but the sparkle of amusement in her eye was too apparent.
“It would be to your own advantage to indulge me in this, madam.” He chided as he stood up from the table, “Lest our nightly frolics become even rougher!”
Elizabeth felt her hackles rise once again, “Lest our nightly frolics cease all together, sir!”
Darcy stared at her incredulously, “And all because I wish to experiment with a new mode of fashion.”
“I have seen no evidence of men with facial hair being in fashion, Mr Darcy. Indeed Mr Watson does not seem to think it is a la mode either. Indeed I still do not know where you have gotten this idea – pray enlighten me!”
“It is of no consequence.”
“See,” She accused him, “This is an idea of your own making. Perchance you are merely bored with your outward appearance and seek to obtain gratification by attempting to, nay.. Mr Darcy do not tell me that you are attempting to set the fashion!”
She laughed at this. When he did not answer she said, “Why, I believe that you are, sir. Heaven forbid, we shall have the Darcy in vogue!.”
“Lizzy, please!” He begged, the “Darcy” mask crumpling before her very eyes leaving him looking extremely vulnerable and dejected.
Suddenly she felt sorry for him.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam I am sorry to have teased you.” she said, regretting her outburst. “By all means feel at liberty to grow a moustache and beard if you must. I promise I shall say not one more word on the subject.”
She was rewarded with a dazzling smile of gratitude, “I did not doubt that you would oblige me in this my love.”
“Of course, dearest,” She said, as she appraised him, appealing to his vanity by adding, “Indeed, it will be very manly!”
She was rewarded yet again, this time with a scratchy kiss and a bow as he departed to attend to the Squire.
Elizabeth did wonder as to the Squire’s reaction when her husband appeared still unshaven.
Naturally word quickly circulated around the great house on the subject of the master growing whiskers. Mr Watson, normally the most discreet of men when it came to matters concerning his master, was on this occasion unable to restrain himself. He was in such fervour on it that he even approached the mistress.
“I have always taken a pride in the master’s appearance, ma’am. He has such excellent taste, even I confess, far superior to my own. But, but this.. Well it reflects badly on me, ma’am.”
“I sympathize with you Mr Watson, for his outward appearance is also a reflection on me, but what can we do? He is quite adamant to have this moustache and beard and once he is set on doing something, well you know how he is. As it is I have agreed to let him have his way. I do believe that it is merely a matter of time before he comes to his senses.”
“I hope that is the case, ma’am.”
On the very afternoon on the day that she had spoken with Mr Watson, when her husband took leave of his study to join her he had the most awful scowl on his face. As she rang for tea she remarked upon it, but he ignored her comment as he took his place in his favourite easy chair.
When there were but the two of them in residence afternoon tea was always taken in the library where Darcy felt his most at ease, and once the servants had gone, at liberty to remove his coat in the presence of his wife. It had taken Elizabeth a great deal of coaxing to get him to do so, but he had eventually relented, as he knew that to see him thus gave her great pleasure.
That two of the maids should arrive with the tea things was a great surprise to Elizabeth, as normally the one brought it. That it should take a good fifteen to twenty minutes to make all ready was also notable, one of them having to go back down to the kitchens to procure the hot water. Clearly they were lapsing in their duties and Elizabeth contemplated on mentioning the affair to Mrs Reynolds.
“What do you make of that?” It was Darcy who aired the very words she was thinking, as soon as the maids had left the room.
“Extremely lax.” She said, “Perhaps I should mention it to the Housekeeper.”
“Then at the same time you may inform her that I do not need six footmen to attend me in and around my study, that the chambermaids should not be wandering around that area and that I do not understand what business the groom and under grooms man have in the main entrance hall.”
Elizabeth looked at him incredulously.
“I sent them all packing.”
For one brief moment Elizabeth thought that he had dismissed them from his service, a rather severe punishment merely for disturbing the master’s peace.
“As I instructed them to return to their duties,” he continued, “they all had one thing in common.”
She waited in anticipation for him to tell her what this common anomaly was.
He fingered the growing stubble on his chin and met her eye challengingly, “They looked at me in the most disrespectful way, never have I encountered such insubordination.”
“Ah!” Everything was clear to her now. “Of course.” She took the opportunity to go and pour out their tea, as she did not want him to see the smile she felt come unbidden to her lips.
“Elizabeth?”
“News of your whiskers must have gotten around the servants hall, Fitzwilliam. Tis only natural that they were curious.”
“Regardless of that, they should know their place. I will not tolerate such..”
“Curiosity, dearest.” Elizabeth said as she handed him his tea and gave a faint smile in lieu of the broad grin that was threatening to breakout, but that she dared not give for fear of provoking him all the more.
“Well, I dare say it was, but they have no authority to question me on it.”
“I think you are overacting Fitzwilliam, no one in this house is questioning your authority on anything. It is simply something so out of the ordinary that they are actually willing to risk incurring your displeasure by witnessing it for themselves.”
“Well the next servant who does so will find himself or herself on the long road off this estate.”
“I shall have a word with Mrs Reynolds, Fitzwilliam. I am certain she will put the servants to rights and you will not be disturbed any further. Only promise me that you will not become paranoid on it. I do not want you to be frightening some poor scullery maid who crosses your path and happens to look inadvertently at your face.”
Her husband took a sip of his tea and nodded his consent, while Elizabeth was at leisure to admire him without being frowned upon for being too forward. Indeed, the dark shadow of his moustache and beard did not detract from his handsome demeanour. They only served to make him appear slightly older and even more distinguished.
Posted on Saturday, 4 August 2007
Of course that the servants of Pemberley House could be instructed to avoid the master’s wrath by not making a point to stare at him, was one thing, instructing those in the outside world was another. Apart from the estate workers, there were the tenant farmers’ families to contend with. Not to mention those residing in the village of Lambton and in the adjoining estates and countryside.
Elizabeth suddenly found herself receiving many a morning visit; while the master found himself called away on a lot of trivial matters on and around his estate.
“This is insupportable.” He said as he came striding in to his wife’s parlour, having spent the better part of the day in Lambton and its environments on several fruitless errands.
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth acknowledged, in a formal tone that should have forewarned him that she was not alone.
“Do they take me for a fool?” He came to an abrupt halt as he found himself encircled by a bevy of ladies.
It was fortunate for the gentleman that his facial hair had become more pronounced with each passing day, as it helped disguise the flush of colour on his face at this discovery. That he should use such impolite language in front of his wife was regrettable enough, but to do so in front of company and that of the gentler sex was unforgivable.
“Er.. Ladies, I beg your pardon, I was unaware that my wife had visitors.”
“So it would appear, Mr Darcy.” said the Squires wife, Mrs Hardisty, as she gave him a reproachful look. However, it did not stop her from gazing upon his face a lot longer than was acceptable in polite society, which only irked him all the more at the intrusion in his house.
“Madam,” He acknowledged, and then bowed to them all as they rose as one and curtseyed.
“Will you not join us, sir?” One of the younger ladies asked, which Elizabeth thought was extremely impertinent, for if anyone were to ask the master of the house to join them, even if it was a ridiculous request, then it ought be her.
Darcy looked at the young woman in surprise. Apart from her lack of propriety, it was preposterous that he, the master of the house join the ladies.
Clearly the girls mother was of the same opinion as she gave a nervous little twitter and said, “You must forgive my daughter, Mr Darcy, she if still young and, as yet, not full acquainted with the rules of society.”
“Oh, mama!” The girl protested, knowing fine well that all the ladies in attendance were eager for Mr Darcy to stay in their company, for not only was he the handsomest man in the district but he was sporting the moustache and beard, which they had all not only heard of but avidly discussed.
Indeed the ladies were all thrilled that the master of Pemberley should by chance come upon them so they could admire his whiskers, for it was the veritable talk of the neighbourhood, and they were already relishing the prospect of going out visiting their other acquaintances and relating this fact.
“There is an excellent finishing school in Bath, I believe.” Mr Darcy offered, “Now if you will excuse me!”
Even this set down could not put a damper on the ladies visit for as soon as he had departed Elizabeth was regaled with their exclamations of delight at having seen Mr Darcy with his moustache and beard.
“It is sure to become a la mode, indeed de rigueur”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, “The Darcy.”
“Oh! Yes, indeed Mrs Darcy. The Darcy.” Mrs Hardisty agreed. She looked thoughtful, “I wonder.” She said aloud.
Elizabeth did not ask as to what she was wondering, she could only guess.
Not one word did Elizabeth convey on what had transpired during this visit with the ladies of the neighbourhood. She dared not tell her husband the subject of their conversation, though she had no doubt as to his guessing it, for had she not, by the slip of her foolish tongue added fuel to the fire by inadvertently giving a name to his bearded fashion. A name that she had used in jest in a private conversation with him. A name, which should it be brought to his attention, would most definitely reveal her guilt on being its instigator.
Unfortunately for Elizabeth, she continued to receive a flood of callers. They continued with the ladies, but then one fateful day she received a gentleman caller.
She really would have to have words with Mrs Reynolds on that footman admitting callers into her parlour without acquainting her to their presence first, giving her the option of accepting or rejecting their intrusion.
“Mr Herbert at your service, madam.” He gave her a sweeping bow.
“Mr Herbert,” she did him the honour of a curtsy and then said, “Surely it is my husband whom you seek?”
“Undeniably, but your manservant informs me that Mr Darcy has ridden over to see Squire Hardisty. So I requested the pleasure of making your acquaintance in his stead.”
“I am exceedingly obliged, I am sure, but if it was my husband whom you originally came to call upon then I can not see how I can assist you, sir.”
“I am convinced you can, Mrs Darcy. I only hope you do not think me too forward by applying to you.”
“Well, pray enlighten me as to how I can be of service to you.”
What he said next, as he handed her his visitor’s card - which she should have received in the first place - was enough to give her a case of the vapours, and if she had been a lady of a weaker disposition she was certain she would have swooned. On reflection, she regretted her strong constitution as had she passed away into the arms of Morpheus she would have been spared the rest.
Mr Herbert it transpired was a journalist from The Regent a well-known gentlemen’s publication. He also had the dubious honour of writing up a column dedicated to fashionable young bucks, and he had travelled into Derbyshire with the express purpose of seeing Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy who it appeared had been the instigator of a new fashion in the countryside for the wearing of whiskers, which had wound its way into town.
Mr Herbert was extremely impressed by this turn of events, for normally the trend was in quite the opposite direction, with those in the countryside following the fashion a good many months after it had been adopted in the town. With this in mind he intended to be the very first journalist in town to submit an article on this strange phenomenon. In fact he was so enthusiastic he had even brought an illustrator, with the intention of catching a likeness of Mr Darcy sporting his moustache and beard.
“Mr Jones, my colleague is, even as we speak, downstairs in one of your saloons setting up his easel.”
“No, no, Mr Herbert!” Elizabeth finally regained enough of her senses to protest at this violation of privacy, “This will not do. You must leave immediately. I will not permit you to disturb Mr Darcy.”
“Madam, we do not need to disturb Mr Darcy. You can, I am assured, relate how Mr Darcy came about this new fashion innovation.”
“I assure you I can not. I do not have the slightest notion why my husband chose to grow his whiskers.”
“Excellent!”
And to Elizabeth’s dismay, Mr Herbert had the gall to seat himself down at her escritoire, and after opening up the travel case he had been carrying, pulled out a clean piece of writing paper, a bottle of ink and a newly sharpened pen, and began to write.
Elizabeth was horrified.
“Mr Herbert, you can not do this. You can not publish a frivolous article on my husband. You can not use his name.”
“Why ever not?” Mr Herbert had the audacity to ask.
“Why, his very station in life, his esteemed family, all forbid it.”
“But it is his very station in life that recommends him,” Mr Herbert said, returning to his paper, “Why we are frequently publishing articles on the fashionable Prince Regent and Mr Brummel. Surely your husband would not protest at appearing amidst such highly regarded company in a highly esteemed gentleman‘s publication.”
“My husband is an extremely reserved man!”
Mr Herbert merely added this observation to whatever he had already written.
Elizabeth was at her wits end, nothing she said was heeded. Her pleas for him to desist and leave the house fell on deaf ears.
“I beg of you, sir!” she tried once again.
This time he did cease writing; laying his pen to one side he took out a sand shaker and applied it to the still wet ink, then shook it off. That done he gathered up all his writing implements including the now dried paper and put them all carefully in to his travel case.
“There, I no longer need to inconvenience you for I am all done.”
“Done?”
“Yes. Now I must take my leave for I have another important appointment with a gentleman in Lambton, one who has taken to this fashion and who is eager for me to interview him. So if you will excuse me.”
He picked up his travel case and moved toward the door, but Elizabeth stepped in between him and his means of escape.
“No, no, I can not let you go sir, not until you deliver up what ever it is you have written on my husband to me.”
“Surely not, madam.”
“I insist! If you do not hand over that article I shall call the footmen to come and remove it off you forcibly.”
Mr Herbert gave a sigh, “As you are determined, and I do not want to be accused of behaving in an ungentlemanly manner to a lady.”
To her surprise he reopened his case and delivered up the written piece of paper to her and waited until she had cast her eye over it. What Elizabeth read was sufficient to make her hair curl of its own accord. The mere thought that it should have appeared in a London publication, and one that Darcy’s relatives could well have seen, made her feel quite ill.
“Satisfied, madam?”
“Yes, yes. I am grateful. Though I should have been obliged if you had not put me through the torment of writing this in the first place.”
“Then pray accept my apologies. Now if you will excuse me.”
Of course as soon as Mr Herbert had quit the room Elizabeth realised that she had been well and truly hoodwinked. Mr Herbert had handed over the incriminating article to her, but it did not mean to say that he would not use whatever information he had gleaned. He could quite easily reproduce the words that he had written and she had read, amongst them: Mrs Darcy, newly wed wife of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, a devoted and loyal young woman. Quote: I do not have the slightest notion why my husband should choose to grow his whiskers. He could also fabricate what ever else he wanted.
“Oh! No!” Gathering up the skirt of her dress with one hand she flew toward the door, out into the hallway, down the stairs, out into the entrance hall, out through more doors, down stone steps and was in time to see Mr Herbert’s coach disappearing down the track in a cloud of dust.
She was still standing there in a state of shock when one of the footmen approached her.
“Ma’am.”
“Yes, Hodkins?”
“I think you ought to know that the young man who accompanied your visitor was found up in the portrait gallery, ma’am. We quickly removed him, but we do not know what he was doing there. He did have an artists easel with him.”
Elizabeth gasped at this, then cautiously asked, “Where about in the gallery was he found, Hodkins?”
“Under the portrait of the master, ma’am.”
Elizabeth did not know how she contained herself.
Posted on Sunday, 12 August 2007
That Elizabeth was extremely quiet at dinner that evening was all too noticeable to her husband, for usually when they were alone she was extremely animated. That the harmony in his house had been disturbed was also notable.
All because I chose to wear a moustache and beard.
For yes, he was not totally oblivious to the goings on around him. He was still being called away on trivial matters of business around the estate - in order that people could gawk. He was also aware that his wife was receiving her fair share of visitors. She had not even received as many callers when they had first been wed and had spent several weeks in town.
“Elizabeth, “ He said, “I have been neglecting you of late. Too much estate business and most of it contrived by others.”
She gave him a weak smile.
“I have been called away from your side before we have even had the opportunity to take breakfast, my luncheon has been procured or provided from inns and farmhouses. I have missed our quiet times in the library for tea. You have been extremely fortunate to see me for dinner. As for our evenings, well all I have managed to do in your company is fall asleep; not even your excellence on the pianoforte has been able to hold my attention, and to cap it all, all I have managed to do in your bed is the same!”
“Fitzwilliam, please!” She glanced anxiously at the doors. For although there were no servants in attendance, she was aware that at any moment they could come to remove the dishes and bring in the next course.
“I tell you, tomorrow I refuse to accept any engagements and you, my dear, must not be at home to callers.”
Elizabeth still smiled wanly and he was disappointed not to receive a more enthusiastic response from her. Reaching over across the dining table, from where he sat at its head, to where she sat next to him, he took her hand comfortingly in his, wondering what could be troubling her. He was in the process of bestowing kisses upon it when the doors were fairly flung open and several servants burst in.
Hastily dropping her hand he barked, “Can you not knock before you enter!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Will not happen again, sir.”
When they had all departed Elizabeth could not help but remark,
“You are turning into a veritable bear, Mr Darcy.”
“That may well be so, Elizabeth, but they should know better than to behave in such an unruly manner.”
“Do you wish for me to have a word with Mrs Reynolds again?”
“No, I shall speak to Mr Harrison, the butler. It is unfortunate that he has been away on family matters, but Mr Watson informs me that he will be returning tomorrow. He will soon put them back in line.”
“If only he had been here today!” She said it without thinking and of course her husband heard her lament.
“Why is that, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth did not know how to begin to tell him, seeking courage she grabbed her still full glass of wine and drank it in one go, causing Darcy to gauge the seriousness of what she was to relate to him as she was not a great drinker, more than often her glass of wine remaining intact.
“I had a gentleman caller today, a Mr Herbert.”
Darcy’s eyes grew large with concern at the mention of another man calling on his wife, an unknown one at that.
“I trust he did not impose himself upon you, Elizabeth.”
“Only in that he refused to cease what he had come to do and would not leave until I had implored him to stop as many times, and then it will have all been in vain! Oh! Fitzwilliam, what are we to do?”
“Elizabeth you alarm me, pray tell me what he came to do? Also reassure me that he did not take any liberties with you!”
“Only in what he did.”
“Lizzy, what did he do?” Her evasiveness was beginning to exasperate him.
Elizabeth dared not meet her husband’s eye as she finally related all that had passed that afternoon, as she spoke she unconsciously demolished her pudding into such a state that by the time she had finished it was quite inedible.
There was a lengthy silence and still she dared not look at him, then to her astonishment he reached over and once again took her hand into his.
As she looked up and met his eye he smiled and gently said, “You must not blame yourself Elizabeth.”
“Oh! But indeed I do, for why did I not have the forthrightness to ring for the footman to remove him the instant he revealed his intention to me. I fear he persuaded me right out of my senses!”
“That is the type of person he is, but think on it! Even if you had had him removed from the house without uttering one more word he would still have felt free to boast of his having acquainted himself with you in my absence. No, I do not believe that it would have made any difference.”
“Is there no way we can stop him?”
“It would be to no avail; it would only draw more attention to us. No; there is only one solution to this problem, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth could not for the life of her think what that solution could be.
It was Darcy’s turn to drain his glass of wine; then he removed himself from the table and pulled the bell cord.
“What do you intend to do, Fitzwilliam?”
He actually smiled at her, “You shall see.”
The doors opened and Hodkins stepped in, “You rang, sir.”
“Have Mr Watson attend on me in my bedchamber.” He ordered.
Hodkins acknowledged him and departed to carry out his order.
“Mr Watson? Why do you need Mr Watson, Fitzwilliam. Tis too early to retire.”
“I have no intention of retiring, especially without you, my dear. Now be a good wife and go and await me in the music room. Music soothes the savage beast and after I have done with Mr Watson I shall surely be in need of it.”
“As you wish, but you perplex me.”
Elizabeth wandered up and down in the music room. She had attempted to select and play a piece of music but could not find the patience, for she was all too impatient to see why her husband was being so mysterious with his valet.
The mystery was solved as her husband eventually showed himself. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock and consternation at what he had felt himself obliged to do.
“Oh! Mr Darcy you have had your whiskers removed.”
“Now there can be no more nonsense on my being all the vogue.”
Elizabeth could not see how this would help repair the damage that would be done to her husband’s reputation once Mr Herbert’s article was published, but she kept this to herself as she dutifully went and played him a favourite piece of his music. She also obliged him as he sought solace for his sacrifice by reclaiming his rightful position at her bosom - something she had not permitted him to do recently, claiming that his facial hair was too coarse and was making her break out in a rash. In fact, free of all that irritation, Elizabeth was inclined to let him have his way with her that night and by morning, although he was even more exhausted than he had been the previous day, he no longer lamented his loss.
Harmony ensued back in the Darcy household for the next week. Now that the master’s face was restored to its customary clean shaven self the servants and estate workers of Pemberley focused their attentions on other diversions. The farming communities returned to normal and Mr Darcy was no longer called away on frivolous business matters. In turn Elizabeth found her callers decreased, though she was still obliged to put up with regular visits from Mrs Hardisty, as well as the mother with her daughter.
“Word soon got around of Mr Darcy’s having done away with his whiskers,” Mrs Hardisty said, “And I dare say that there is now many a clean shaven face back in the neighbourhood, for Mr Darcy is highly regarded and looked up to for matters of importance.”
“I can not conceive that sporting facial hair can be construed as being of much consequence,” Elizabeth could not help but say.
“Oh, but I assure you that anything concerning Mr Darcy is,” assured Mrs Hardisty.
“Is Mr Darcy at home, Mrs Darcy?” Her daughter asked hopefully.
“No doubt you would care to see him clean shaven.” Elizabeth said with a touch of irony.
“Oh, yes!” The daughter exclaimed enthusiastically.
Elizabeth looked at her in astonishment, then recalling all too well how her own young sisters could behave bit back the retort she almost made. In fact she suddenly found the thought of her husband having a schoolgirl admirer highly amusing.
I should not She chided herself, but it was too good an opportunity for her to tease her husband, although she knew she might regret it later, though it could be in the most interesting way.
“One moment, I shall summon him.”
The ladies were thrilled at this, though it turned out that Mr Darcy was not, especially when the daughter cried out in ecstasy how much handsomer he was, and so much younger looking without an over abundance of hair on his face.
“And what was it that you called me for, madam?” He begged to ask, having put up with the ladies exclamations and gratification on seeing him.
“Why, husband, once the ladies informed me that you are looked upon with such high regard, I found it of the utmost importance to convey this information to you while they were still here. They were also curious to see what you looked like without your whiskers again.”
Darcy looked at his wife incredulously, that she should have the audacity to use him for sport.
“We shall speak on this later, madam!” He fairly growled as he excused himself and left the room.
The ladies, curiosity satisfied, left shortly thereafter and Elizabeth prepared to meet her husband. Before she could hurry to his study, however, to apologise for using him so abusively for her own amusement and receive her due, she received another visitor.
At least with the return of the butler the footman had had the sense to bring up a visiting card to her and ask if she was still receiving, which was just sufficient time in which to send the same footman off to seek the assistance of her husband, for whom should the card announce but the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. No sooner had she done so than the lady herself came sailing in.
“There is no doubt you will receive me, young woman, for I am your husband’s aunt, and he is my nephew.”
“Of course, Lady Catherine, I would not dream of doing anything else. Why, you do us an unexpected honour with your visit! We did not suppose that you would think to visit us here at Pemberley, especially with the shades being so polluted.”
“I do not know how you can stand there and be so impertinent after what you have done to my nephew.”
“I do not know why you have come to visit us at Pemberley when clearly you have not accepted the situation!”
“I have come, not because of your disgraceful marriage, but because of this, madam!”
Elizabeth had not had time to perceive what it was that Lady Catherine was holding in her hand, but now she saw what it was, a copy of The Regent which she threw on the table where Elizabeth and her recently departed guests had been sitting taking refreshments.
Elizabeth only just managed to grab the half empty jug of lemonade before it toppled over, she was not so fortunate with the glasses which fell over spilling the remnants of the lemonade across the table.
Not wanting the incriminating paper to be spoilt, Lady Catherine quickly snatched it up again.
“What have you to say on this?” She demanded to know.
Elizabeth’s heart had sank as son as she had caught sight of the publication. Had not Lady Catherine thrown it down, and upset the glassware, Elizabeth would have fled the room and left it for her husband to deal with. All along she had thought that simply removing his whiskers would be insufficient to rectify the situation; though at the time she could not think what else could be done to stop Mr Herbert without, as Mr Darcy had said, drawing more attention to themselves.
“I can not comment, until I have seen what it is.” Elizabeth said truthfully.
In reply Lady Catherine tore open the offending paper at the appropriate page and thrust it into Elizabeth’s hands.
Oh! Where is Fitzwilliam when I need him!
As she forced herself to look at the offending article she was straining to hear the sound of his boots hurrying up the stairs but heard nothing,
Elizabeth gasped as she saw a large illustration of yes, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, complete with whiskers, and yes it was an altered copy of his portrait from the gallery!
This was of course something of which he was completely oblivious, as she had conveniently neglected to mention it; although she had mentioned that an illustrator did accompany Mr Herbert. There was also a smaller drawing of Squire Anthony Hardisty. So he had been the other man Mr Herbert had visited on that fateful day. Her husband must have left before the journalist had arrived. How odd that Mrs Hardisty had never mentioned it, but perchance she was unaware of it.
Then, with baited breath, she began to read the article and found herself blushing at the mention of her own name, though she found she could not be ashamed at what was written as it had been precisely what she had said, nor could she find fault in his description of her. Truth be known, she was proud to see herself portrayed as a young, virtuous and wifely defender of her husband’s esteemed name and privacy. By the time she had finished reading she was quite composed.
Mr Darcy entered the room in time to hear her saying, “I can see nothing in here which warrants much consideration. As for the illustration,” She said rather impertinently, “Was not my husband a handsome man with his moustache and beard?”
“Aunt Catherine.” Darcy acknowledged, relieved to find the room more peaceful than he had expected, considering it was inhabited by both his formidable aunt and his feisty young wife.
“What have you to say on this, nephew?” She asked, disappointed on seeing he was eminently clean-shaven, thus depriving her the pleasure of berating him for having facial hair.
“Ah! I see it has finally been published.”
“You knew of this!”
“Naturally, my wife forewarned me. This Mr Herbert had the audacity to trick his way into my house and accost her.” So saying he took the paper out of Elizabeth’s hands and read it himself. Though he did momentarily allow his complacent visage to slip on first seeing the illustration of himself and Squire Hardisy, he actually ended up smiling when he read what had been written about his wife.
Totally forgiving her for her earlier actions that day, he threw the paper down on to a nearby chair, then slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him in a blatantly amorous embrace.
“Dearest Elizabeth, I can be nothing but proud of you and the way you conducted yourself.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Lady Catherine demanded his attention, “I fear you have already forgotten to whom you owe your allegiance. How can you condone your.. this unladylike conduct.”
Darcy pulled Elizabeth all the closer to him and glared at his aunt over her shoulder, “I have nothing but praise for my wife’s actions in what could have been an eminently difficult situation. I have no doubt that her loyalty to her family name, that of Darcy, will be condoned by all who happen to read this article.”
“I beg to differ,” Lady Catherine said, coldly, not one to capitulate “Wait until your uncle is advised on it!”
“He has already been advised on it, before the event.”
Elizabeth took great pleasure on hearing this. How could she have doubted that her husband had not thought on it all, removing his whiskers had only been the half of it. Though he might at least have told her!
“Now if you have quite finished aunt, I am sure my wife and I would be only too pleased to invite you to stay for the night after your long journey.”
Nothing would have pleased Lady Catherine than to stay the night at Pemberley but she felt obliged to decline the offer if only to affront the young upstart who had married her nephew and whom she still blamed for her daughter’s disappointment.
To say that they were both relieved that she chose to leave would be an understatement.
The Regent publication, which Lady Catherine had brought with malign intent, was left behind. Elizabeth gave it pride of place in one of the galleries dedicated to various Darcy memorabilia and curios; one day it would prove of historical interest to their children. (Indeed they were most impressed that their father had been so very far ahead of his time).
The household servants, curious to see what this valuable new acquisition was risked the wrath of the Housekeeper and butler by going where they had no business to be. Elizabeth’s mischievous descriptive label of Beau Darcy was greatly appreciated by all, even by Mrs Reynolds, Mr Harrison and Mr Watson, once they too had taken the liberty of viewing the article.
The master himself did not discover that his wife had labelled the article until he was entertaining some houseguests, but then that is another story!