Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

  He let her know clearly enough what pleased him. She discovered early on that he liked her to stroke his back under neath his nightshirt. This was simple enough. Other parts were more difficult. She felt relief each night when she heard the change in his breathing that indicated the end was near.

  But Elizabeth was not formed for ill humour, and gradually, her natural spirits began to reassert themselves. Her maid bore greatest witness to this, as Elizabeth became more comfortable with her. Lucy was a lively girl herself, always ready with a touch of humour, and Elizabeth responded in kind. The other servants also saw something of Elizabeth's improved spirits, in particular the gardeners, who answered their new mistress's questions about the Pemberley grounds with quiet enthusiasm.

  Elizabeth still experienced moments and even days of great loneliness, when she longed for the comfort of Jane's embrace or even her younger sisters' silliness. On occasion, the stark beauty of the Derbyshire landscape began to depress her, making her long for the green fields and quiet hills near Longbourn, but these days grew less frequent as time passed. The only person who remained without a hint of Elizabeth's gradual improvement was her husband, in whose company she still exercised the greatest of care. She was determined to give him no cause for complaint.

  The situation continued until, one day, Darcy informed her he was expecting a brief visit from his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam en route to his new posting in the north. The excite ment Elizabeth felt at this intelligence was more a reflection of her hunger for companionship than any particular interest in the colonel. If anything, she still felt a slight unease about him over the part he played in her engagement; and then, he himself had been quite attentive to her until Darcy's interest arose. Still, that was in the past, and she was quite indelibly married to Darcy now. She resolved to consider that history no more and instead to enjoy their guest's affability as best she could under the circumstances.

  ***

  Elizabeth hummed as she prepared for bed. It was the most pleasant evening she could remember since coming to Derbyshire. Colonel Fitzwilliam's amiable company had been enjoyable, even more so since his presence seemed to bring out a new side of Darcy's personality, a laughing and lively side she quite appreciated after the sobriety to which she had grown accustomed. She hoped his mood would persist until he came to her that night—it would be easier for her to relax with him if he could be less serious. She might even be able to laugh with him.

  She turned with a ready smile when he knocked at the adjoining door, but his countenance was grave, almost grim. Her smile faltered a little, but she greeted him pleasantly.

  She could smell the brandy on his breath as he drew near her. He said no more than he had to and did no more than he needed to, skipping even the disquietingly pleasurable preliminaries. He was neither unkind nor rough, but she felt a discomfort she usually did not, and she could have wept from disappointment. When he was done, instead of holding her as was his custom, he left her bed. Elizabeth said impulsively, "Have I done something to displease you, sir?"

  She regretted her words almost immediately when his face took on a sullen cast. "Displeased me?" he asked in a voice laden with cynicism. "No, madam, you are always as careful not to displease me as you seem careful not to please me."

  Elizabeth paled. "I do not know what makes you think that. I try to please you."

  "Then why does it require my cousin's presence to show me the woman I thought I was marrying is not dead? Why is it you can laugh with him and tease him? Was I a second-best for you, since he could not afford you? Or was marrying me simply an expedient way to stay in contact with him?" His words came out with bitter alacrity, as if they had been running through his mind for some time.

  Stunned, Elizabeth said in angry disbelief, "Surely you cannot believe that I…" She stopped herself, then continued in a more reasonable voice, "It is true I was glad to see him, but not at all for the reasons you seem to think. I should have been at least as glad to see many other people of my acquaintance—Mrs. Collins, Mr. Bingley, my sister Jane. I have not yet made friends in Derbyshire, and I miss my past acquaintances."

  "Your argument would be more persuasive, madam, if you ever showed any of the same warmth towards me," he said, his voice cold as he advanced towards her.

  Her heart pounded in a mixture of resentment and fear. Her husband was clearly half in his cups, he was angry at her, and she was quite alone with him, in nothing but her nightdress, his seed still wet between her legs. She was completely at the mercy of the man who had ruined Wickham's life on a whim. Closing her eyes, she turned her face away into the pillow. If he was going to strike her, she did not wish to see it coming.

  But no blow came. Instead, she heard only the harshness of his breathing. "You have no response, I see."

  Elizabeth bit her lip. "I do not know what response you wish me to make."

  "An honest one, by God! Was he the one you wanted?"

  "I never wanted him. I barely know him." Her voice was low but firm.

  "Then why have you changed so, ever since our engagement? Why did you agree to marry me? Was it for my possessions?"

  She shook her head dumbly.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and grasped her shoulders. "Answer my question, Elizabeth!"

  It could no longer be avoided. "Because you compromised me." She spoke barely above a whisper, as if by remaining quiet she could avoid his rage.

  "Because I what?" He dropped his hands away from her, looking at her with disbelief.

  "You kissed me, and we were observed." Her voice was a little stronger this time as she claimed her truth.

  "You had already accepted me!"

  "I had done no such thing. You declared yourself, but I said nothing, not a word."

  His eyes narrowed. "You are splitting hairs. You would have accepted me in any case."

  Elizabeth wished she could throw the truth in the face of his arrogance, but a wiser part of her prevailed, and she said nothing.

  Darcy swung to his feet and paced across the room. "So you would like to believe you would have refused me. On what grounds?" He wore the haughty look she remembered so well from Hertfordshire.

  She felt too vulnerable, lying in bed looking up at his tall form, so she pushed herself to a sitting position, resting her back against the headboard. "You ruined my beloved sister's happi ness. You disparaged my family. You had given offence to almost everyone of my acquaintance, and Mr. Wickham himself told me how you had misused him."

  "Mr. Wickham!" he said contemptuously. "What lies has he told you?"

  "He told me how you disregarded your father's will!" Now she had begun, it was impossible to stop the words from tumbling out. "My feelings have only been confirmed by your attitude towards my family. My aunt Gardiner is in every way the superior of Lady Catherine—in manners, in education, in behaviour—yet you treat her as less than nothing. I do not deny my mother's lack of seemliness, but even she would not lock away and attempt to dominate her child's every movement and thought as your aunt does. My sister Jane, whom you thought not good enough for your friend, has never uttered an unkind word in her life, yet you disdain her. It is intolerable."

  Darcy stared at her in savage disbelief. Surely she could not mean what she was saying? Could she have deceived him since their very first day together? He could see the accusation in her eyes. Every inch of him screamed to deny it, but the truth was there before him. It was not that she liked his cousin better, but that she hated him. What a self-deluded fool he had been! He said in an icy tone, "I can see I am quite unwelcome here. I bid you good night, madam." Fearing his ability to control himself, he stalked out of her room and closed the adjoining door behind him, the same door whose existence had given him such ineffable pleasure when he first brought Elizabeth to Pemberley.

  He retreated into the darkness of his bedchamber. The jealousy he had felt earlier seemed trivial now.

  Elizabeth did not love him. She had never loved him. She had taken him to her be
d, again and again, with nothing but dislike and contempt in her heart.

  He did not know how he was to live through the night.

  Chapter 6

  ELIZABETH'S EYES BARELY CLOSED during the night. The scene with Darcy kept replaying itself before her eyes. What had possessed her to utter such words to the man who held complete control over her life? Had it not been difficult enough without earning her husband's enmity? If she had felt alone before, it was nothing to what she would experience now, without even his conversation for company. She had no resources, nowhere to turn for support, no matter how unkind he became. She was his wife and, in the eyes of the law, his property. He could do whatever he liked to her, and she would have no recourse. It was precisely the situation she had always feared and why she had wished to marry for affection.

  When dawn lit the windows, she knew choices must be made. One obvious course was to avoid aggravating Darcy's jealousy of Colonel Fitzwilliam. She did not go down to breakfast, and she managed to find enough small tasks to prevent her from making anything more than the briefest of greetings to their guest during the day. She could not evade him at dinner, but she chose to speak only when spoken to, playing an old game of pretending to be Jane and answering each question as Jane would. She suppressed her instinct to avoid meeting her husband's eyes and, instead, acted as if nothing unusual had passed between them. His coolness, however, was unmistakable.

  He did not appear in her bedchamber that night. Elizabeth, sick with relief at the respite, wondered how long it would continue. Though his displeasure with her was clear, neither his words nor actions were reproachable. It occurred to Elizabeth he might be biding his time until Colonel Fitzwilliam left, not wishing to act out his marital discord in front of his cousin. The day she stood at Darcy's side, waving good-bye to the Colonel in his carriage, she felt true panic.

  But nothing changed. Darcy avoided looking at her and spoke to her only as necessary and to preserve appearances in front of the servants. Nor did he come to her room or seek out her company at any point. However little she might return his affection, she had grown to enjoy his companionship, at least compared to the barrenness of the remainder of her life. She wondered how long his silence would last and if it would ever end. But even she, who once had not hesitated to speak her mind to the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, now found she dared not approach her grimly silent husband.

  She dreaded their meals together. It was difficult to eat when faced with his hostility, and she had little appetite in any case. Still, she forced herself to appear for meals and nodded in agreement with anything he said.

  One morning at breakfast, he gave her a perfunctory greeting but, as was now his custom, said nothing until the servants came in to clear the dishes. Then he said, "Your aunt and uncle Gardiner are making a northern tour soon, are they not?"

  She was startled to hear him raise the subject of her family. "Yes, I believe that is still their plan."

  "Where do they intend to travel?"

  "The last I heard they hoped to go to the Lakes." And would God she were still unmarried and going with them as originally planned! She swallowed a lump in her throat.

  "They are likely to travel through Derbyshire, then," he said, his voice as remote as ever. "You should invite them to stay here on their way."

  Elizabeth raised her eyes to stare at him. She could hardly question him with the servants listening to every word. It was hard to credit he was changing his position on her family when his voice and countenance were devoid of warmth.

  Whether he meant her to act on it or not, surely it was an olive branch, and she did not want him to think her ungrateful. "Thank you. It is very generous of you."

  "I shall see you at dinner, then, madam," he said, clearly intending an end to the conversation, and he took his departure.

  Afterwards, she puzzled over his behaviour. She could not imagine he would actually wish any of her family to be at Pemberley, even if he were willing to suffer it for her sake. Perhaps he was tired of the coldness between them and intended this as a gesture of his willingness to compromise. Yes, most likely that was it.

  If so, she would meet him halfway; she did not wish to spend the rest of her life like this. She considered what she could do in return, but she had nothing to offer him. Finally, the memory of his words during their quarrel returned: "What lies has Mr. Wickham told you?" Perhaps she could respond to that, show a willingness to hear his side of the story. After all, it was not as if Wickham had offered her any proof of his tale, and perhaps it was open to more than one interpretation. She had to admit that Wickham's description of Darcy's behaviour was not consistent with what she herself had observed in him; he was a generous and fair landlord, and it was hard to imagine him deliberately cheating someone.

  It was even possible, she supposed, that what Darcy had suggested was true: that Wickham had lied to her. A sensation of coldness came over her at the thought; what if she had believed the wrong man and levelled false accusations at her husband? Wickham had never given her any cause to disbelieve him, but she should have sought out the truth of the matter long ago.

  It took her until afternoon to convince herself to act on the question. She went to Darcy's study and hesitated at the closed door, shutting her eyes as if trying to summon her courage. Delaying would do her no good. She knocked firmly at the door. On hearing her husband's voice, she entered.

  She advanced until she stood several feet from his desk and folded her hands in front of her. His eyes flickered up at her, then looked down again to the papers in front of him. He dipped his pen in the inkwell, blotted it, and began to write. "Yes, madam?"

  He had not called her by name, nor even Mrs. Darcy, since their quarrel. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "It has occurred to me, sir, that there are often two sides to a story. In the matter of Mr. Wickham, I have heard only his side."

  He did not look up. "I cannot argue that point."

  Clearly he did not intend to make this easy for her. She told herself it should be no surprise; he himself had said he was of a resentful temper, and she had without doubt lost his good opinion. Very well, he would see she was no coward. She lifted her chin. "I wondered if perhaps you would care to tell me your side of the story."

  His pen stilled, and after a moment, he replaced it in its stand. Leaning down, he opened a drawer and sorted through it until he removed a document. He looked at it for a moment then held it out to her. "I will not trouble you with explanations you are unlikely to believe," he said, "but this, I hope, should be enough to acquit me of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham."

  She took the paper from his hand and examined it. It was a receipt, signed by George Wickham and dated some five years previously, for three thousand pounds in return for which he quitted all claim to the living at Kympton as promised him in the will of Mr. Darcy. She continued to look at it for some moments after she had already perused it. Finally, with a dry mouth, she said, "It seems I believed the wrong man. You have my most sincere apologies, sir."

  "You are not the first woman he has worked his wiles upon, nor, I daresay, will you be the last," he said brusquely, taking back the document. "Is there anything else, madam?"

  She was being dismissed. "No, nothing else." She should thank him for answering her question, but she could not bring herself to say the words. Instead, she turned and left the room, not stopping until she reached the front door and found her way out into the woods of Pemberley. Heedless of her delicate indoor slippers, she struck off along a path which would take her out of sight of the house as quickly as possible.

  She had her answer now. She had believed a man for no better reason than that he had flattered her and disbelieved the man who had fallen in love with her and married her and, whatever his other faults, had never attempted to disguise the truth. Now she had earned his implacable resentment, and there was nothing to be done for it. She had never wanted his love, but his hatred was worse, especially as they were destined to live
together regardless of their wishes.

  She could not but blame herself for her gullibility and her willingness to believe Mr. Wickham's lies as well as for her own anger, which had caused her to fling such intemperate accusa tions at her husband. She did not hold him faultless; he should never have said what he did to her about his cousin, and he continued his aggravating habit of assuming she would believe whatever he wished her to believe. However, she could not deny she had hurt, deeply hurt, a man who loved her enough to marry her over many objections and had never treated her with anything but kindness—apart from the matter of her family. If she had been cheated of having a marriage based on love, he had been cheated yet further. But he had refused her peace offering; all that remained was for her to treat him as befitted a man who had been kind and generous to her.