Chapter 7

Darcy tugged at his sleeves with an exasperated frown at his absence of mind.   “Thank you, Wilson,” he remembered to say before stepping out into the hall.

The afternoon had been spent pouring over Irish maps until the chime of the clock brought him back to the present.  He would have hardly cared any other evening, but this one.  Darcy exhaled noisily.  There was nothing to be done about it now, and he trusted his cousin’s intention not to misbehave toward Elizabeth again. He took five measured strides down the hall, then suddenly stopped, almost smiling at the sound of voices from within Elizabeth’s room.

A wry smile touched Darcy’s lips as his wife’s maid – Sally? – opened Elizabeth’s door, staring and blushing. “For heaven’s sake, Sarah,” came Elizabeth’s voice from beyond the door, “will you come away from there? I need you to iron another dress  – quickly, if you please – I cannot arrive late for dinner to-night.”

“You shall certainly be late if she does,” Darcy answered from his awkward position.

Sarah turned away from her post to attend her mistress, her lapse affording Darcy a glimpse for which he would one day thank her in his thoughts.

He drew a sharp breath at the vision before him, almost as awed if he were standing upon the threshold of the most holy of holies.  She was dressed in a white shift with her curls hanging loose around her shoulders, her aggrieved frown as angelic as his thoughts. It was a private, enchanting vision, unfit for eyes other than -

Mine, he thought with an instinctive glance about the deserted hallway.  When reason caught up with him, he grimaced.  What other man would possibly seek her out in her rooms?  He stepped all the same, shutting the door firmly behind him.

It was a terrible mistake.  He recognized it the moment he heard Elizabeth’s shocked “Mr Darcy!”

He watched Elizabeth clutch her robe about her neck and wondered what had come over him.  In vain he groped for some sort of etiquette for the moment, then he forced himself to awkwardly say, “I-I-Forgive me, madam. I had thought -”

“I thought to escort you downstairs.” A glimpse of the maid’s cap brought him more to his senses. Even a silly maid would wonder if he had gone mad.  He rubbed his lips, then added with more composure, “Are you unwell, Mrs Darcy?”

“No, no, I shall be out in ten minutes, sir,” she replied hastily.

“I shall wait.”  Darcy took a step back, his hand gripping the handle of her door.    “In the hall.”

He shut the door behind him with a bewildered sigh.  He would put his glimpse of her out of his mind and think of Ireland, his cousin, even Lady Catherine.  None of those topics held his attention very well until the true object of his thoughts met him at her door.

He stared for a moment, then forced himself to look away.  When had she become one of the most handsome women of his acquaintance?  He had long ago been forced to acknowledge, at least to himself, that she was a rather pretty girl.

Against his better reason, his eyes swept over the charming picture she made in her new gown.  Darcy had never paid much attention to the details of female finery, but he now noticed every one in exhausting detail.  The blonde trim seemed a perfect complement to her tanned skin and pale hair.  She brushed at an imaginary wrinkle, causing the light blue silk to shimmer in the candlelight like a ripple in still water. Darcy swallowed.

“Can you believe it?” whispered Elizabeth in a mortified tone. “Sarah heard we were to entertain the son of an earl and misunderstood that we are a family party. I did insist I would not wear the diamonds.”

He allowed himself a second look at her. The diamonds would not have outshined her beauty by any stretch of imagination.  He shook himself, replying, “Think nothing of it. I daresay my cousin will thank you for it.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam hardly seemed inclined toward pleasure this afternoon,” she retorted in a more natural tone, adjusting her pearl bracelet.

“He has promised to mind his manners.” Darcy was almost pleased to be reminded of the unpleasantness with his cousin, if only to give his mind something else to dwell upon beyond the allure of his wife. His disagreements with his cousin were never pleasant, but their earlier conversation had nearly been a disaster.

“Dear God, Darcy, what is the meaning of this?” Colonel Fitzwilliam had begun immediately, removing a stack of crumpled letters from his jacket and throwing it onto Darcy’s desk. “I knew you were not quite yourself, but I never expected you could behave so recklessly!”

Darcy unfurled his fingers, almost relieved to hear the sharp words. He knew his cousin’s nature very well.  The sooner he vented his frustration, the sooner it would burn up. For all of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s excellencies, Darcy did not consider this sort of quick thoughtlessness to be among them.  It tried his patience exceedingly, though the dissimilarities in their natures rarely stood in the way of a friendship beyond what one might expect of the cousins.

“I thought I could safely send you into Hertfordshire.”

“You did not send me. I went of my own accord, Robert,” Darcy corrected.

“Perhaps I should have sent Mrs Annesley to accompany you,” he tossed back with a glare. “I cannot believe you have married – and to a young lady with nothing to recommend herself.”

Darcy pressed his lips together. He knew to expect this sort of remark from his friends, and even more vicious ones from his wider acquaintance, but the expectation of unpleasantness did not dispel all the displeasure in hearing it. “Save your anger for me. Mrs Darcy’s accomplishments have nothing to do with it.”

With a quick gesture to the letters, Robert replied derisively, “I gathered as much from Lady Catherine and my father – connections in trade, our aunt’s sycophantic clergyman, and a thousand pounds. Well done!”

The line on Darcy’s brow deepened. “I suppose you consider me the worst sort of besotted fool. Did you ever consider that I might have other reasons to marry?”

“Oh yes! I have eyes in my head, and I assume she must possess some additional charms to attract your notice.”

A soft knock interrupted the unpromising line of conversation. Darcy immediately stood up when his wife entered, unaware of the picture he presented. The multitude of small alterations in Darcy – the slight relaxation of a cold expression, an attentive gaze upon the pretty wisp of a girl wearing Lady Anne’s ring, even the quelling glance turned upon him – were more easily understood by his childhood playmate than most. To see his reticent, careful cousin display this much was enough to give Colonel Fitzwilliam pause.

“I beg your pardon, sirs, but I must know if Colonel Fitzwilliam plans to stay for supper. It really won’t do to make Mrs Reynolds cross with me from the very beginning.” Gazing at Colonel Fitzwilliam, her smile dimmed a little. “We should be delighted if you would stay, sir, would we not, Mr Darcy?”

“Robert is always welcome here,” Darcy replied with more sincerity than enthusiasm.

“Am I, Darcy? We have much to discuss and little of it pleasant.” Taking note of Elizabeth’s amazed expression, he become somewhat ashamed. “Forgive me, Mrs Darcy. I promise to mind my manners and behave as a charming guest for you, ma’am; no skirmishes in the dining room. We shall stick to books, music and the weather, if you like.”

Her countenance relaxed into a slight smile. “Thank you. May I also request a reprieve for the green saloon? I have grown rather partial to the china figures.”

His eyes widened in astonishment at such an application, then Colonel Fitzwilliam answered with a quick smile, “Agreed, madam. If you could have my trunk fetched to my room, I would be most grateful.”

At her bewildered look, Darcy came to stand beside her. “Shall I ring for Mrs Reynolds? She will know where to settle him.”

Darcy ignored his cousin’s knowing glance, more concerned with the solemn turn of Elizabeth’s countenance. Elizabeth would learn – he doubted any subject beyond her grasp – and her tentativeness, though only to be expected from a new mistress, was not the sort of reticence he wished to encourage. Darcy cleared his throat, speaking to her in a gentler voice than was his wont, “You truly should not trouble yourself about Reynolds, my dear. She is rarely cross.”

“Thank you for your assurance,” she replied in a composed tone in spite of her flushed cheeks. “I beg you would not trouble yourself by ringing for her, Mr Darcy. I shall summon her to my parlour.”

After the door shut and her footsteps faded down the hall, Darcy turned to his cousin with a fixed look of displeasure. “Let me make one matter understood. You may choose to remain as angry and unforgiving with me as you wish, but I will not tolerate any further disrespect toward Mrs Darcy. She has done nothing to you.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam protested, “I daresay she did not understand me.”

“I know she did,” Darcy returned evenly, “and I shall not have her endure it, not even from you. If you will not trust my judgement in choosing her, I insist you treat her with the respect she deserves as a lady and as my wife.”

“I never fancied you as a man given to such passions, Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a furrowed brow. “For you to make a love match, especially on these terms, bewilders me.”

“A love match? Well, I -” Before Darcy could continue his bemused response, Robert’s leg began to crumple beneath him.

“Cousin,” Darcy cried in astonishment, “are you well?”

“Not really,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said between clinched teeth. “I have been sent home to recuperate from this damned aggravating leg wound.” He let out a sigh of relief as Darcy aided him back to his chair.

“Leg wounds can turn putrid.  Perhaps I should send for the doctor -”

“Stop fussing, Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam broke in, laughing at his cousin’s annoyed glare. With a more good-humoured glare of his own, he added, “I have been advised to avail myself of my father’s servants and rest. Though thanks to you, his house is not very restful at the moment.”

“You are welcome to stay, even after we go to Ireland -”

“Ireland?”

Darcy hesitated. “We leave next month, all of us. We can discuss the details during your visit. I trust you can treat Mrs Darcy with the respect she deserves?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam removed his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Of course. I apologize if I distressed her.”

Darcy’s faith in his cousin was not disappointed. Robert seemed determined to be at his most charming, and Elizabeth could not help but charm. They spoke of books, music, travels and Pemberley with all of the ease and sense of two lively, well-bred acquaintances who required no other participants in their pleasure, though they made an attempt to direct some of their conversation to Georgiana.  Darcy noticed she could only manage a few whispered replies when they were not likely to be heard.

“Darcy, have you not shown our favourite haunt to your wife?” When Darcy replied he had not, Robert shook his head and fixed Elizabeth with a pitying look. “Once my leg heals, I will show you if Darcy does not, and tell you the ghost stories, too.”

“Not all of them, I hope,” Darcy said with a trace of amusement and a little alarm. Some of the tales were certainly never meant to reach a lady’s ears.  Darcy rather wished he had been spared from a few of them himself.

“I do not frighten easily,” replied Elizabeth with a wide smile.

“An important quality if you marry into this family, I think. Our aunt, Lady Catherine, has insisted the ruins be torn down, but Darcy here is afraid of ‘the curse’.”

Darcy smiled, amused by his cousin’s mock horror and Elizabeth’s amused scepticism. She said, “I rather doubt it – but tell me, does your aunt disapprove of ruins on principle or of the ghosts therein?”

“You sound as if you have met our aunt,” Robert chortled.

“She disapproves of both, I would think,” Darcy then answered with a twitch of his lips. “You show great sense in not listening to Robert’s nonsense, my dear.”

“I must suspect him when he implied you might fear a mere ghost,” she teased.

“Say what you will about my character, but Darcy never ventures down there, not since Uncle Darcy told us of the curse upon the Darcys.” Robert shifted, then winced. “On that note, I believe I should retire.”

“Of course. What may I send for your comfort? Bandages or medicine?” Elizabeth replied immediately, her eyes filled with concern as Colonel Fitzwilliam rose unsteadily to his feet.

“If I know Mrs Reynolds, she has supplied my room with Darcy’s finest ‘medicine’. A servant with some bandages would be much appreciated.”

Before Elizabeth reached the threshold, she turned back from the shadows, the candlelight catching some of her animated sparkle. “Do you come, sir?”

“I-I have some business letters to write.”

“Goodnight then, Mr Darcy,” she replied and turned away. Then, with a quick, graceful motion, she spun back toward him with a smile. “In the morning, may we walk to the ruins? I want to see their glory for myself, if you are brave enough, that is.”

Darcy laughed quietly. “As you wish, Elizabeth.”

Go to Chapter 8