Her Bonnet So Blue
Chapter I
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
It is a splendid thing to be a gentleman's wife. A girl dreams longingly of the prospect, notably if her papa has not had the good fortune to have sired a son. To be noticed by a man of consequence, and to captivate him into offering his hand, and everything else that goes along with a fortuitous marriage, is the scheme of every young lady--although she may not wish to own to it.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet could not say that it was her design to have enticed Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy into matrimony. Although at first sight of him she had thought the gentleman fittingly handsome and an excellent catch for a country girl lacking in a substantial dowry, she had within the length of ten short minutes, thought his ill manners and display of conceit to be frightful at best.
Throughout their venturesome acquaintance Mr. Darcy had been persistent in his own designs toward Miss Bennet--on and off according to his whim, that is. Although the young lady of his esteem had not been inclined to like him any more than she had after that first ten minutes, the gentleman finally did find an opportunity to extend to her what he considered to be a generous offer of marriage. This event had been something of an affliction for both maiden and gentleman, for she refused him with harsh words of criticism against his character and his heart was made to suffer greatly.
By every account, the affluent Mr. Darcy should have forgotten the irksome young lady from Hertfordshire, but the more he tried, the more he realized that she was a girl possessed of good sense, which he had found sorely lacking in most eligible females in the land. It was just this good sense, and Miss Bennet's limitless beauty, which kept the spark in his interest.
In his fondest thoughts of Miss Bennet, Darcy recollected a dusky-haired young woman with a complexion the color of peaches and cream and a feminine silhouette of soft curves. Her looks were those to rival Aphrodite in his besotted opinion, although he found it curious that all of this was done up by an annoying impertinence to her step when she was tempted to march ahead of him in firm opposition to something he had either said or done.
There was one other aspect that had fascinated Darcy beyond what reproach Miss Bennet could ever offer--it was her bonnet so blue resting atop her lovely and determined face. Fair Elizabeth was made to look the part of a headstrong beauty in it, and the cerulean ribbons that dangled from beneath her chin resembled alluring prizes yet to be won.
Each and every time Mr. Darcy saw Miss Bennet donning that bonnet, he knew he was plagued with admiration, and that even his most obstinate attitude must and would be mastered. Over time, the gentleman had learned to demonstrate to the lady compassion toward her virtue and gentility toward her situation, and Elizabeth Bennet came to fall in love with such a gentleman of means.
Thankfully, since she had consented to wed Darcy, and her father had rather readily agreed, Elizabeth really did not see much significance in their marriage of any improper disdain on Darcy's part. He did remain proud in a very good sort of way, and Elizabeth's new husband valued her and loved her. By the gentleman's offering of adamant honesty when it came to dealing with his headstrong wife, and by his natural desires for her in every fashion, Elizabeth was made a woman.
Darcy adored his wife--and Elizabeth was to be an extraordinary wife indeed, except for the day when the happy husband was to make a very small and incidental mistake. The young woman's uncharacteristic jealousy made her plainly green, and instead of her bonnet, this time it was her spirit that was to be so blue.
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Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped beyond the front doors of Pemberley house, onto the terrace overlooking the fine grounds. He had been keeping a vigil out of the windows from various rooms he had occupied within, and in his impatience he determined that the view afforded him would be much better from the outside. It had been a pleasant day for late summer, but the wind had arisen rather forcefully that afternoon and the clouds above darkened.
Darcy was concerned, for his wife Elizabeth was bent on walking out on the grounds most days at that time. There were many times when her husband was inclined to go with her, but there were occasions when a little solitude was of great comfort to a young wife. Elizabeth had felt very restless this day, and Darcy had been occupied with this matter and that matter, and had secured himself away to attend to what seemed to Elizabeth as a never-ending stream of estate dealings and courteous folly which were the duties of a man in Darcy's position.
Now it was her husband's turn to feel the uneasiness of being without the good company of a beloved spouse. He shielded the wind from his eyes with the crook of his arm and diligently searched the horizon for his wife's delicate figure.
"Elizabeth," he sighed. "Where is it that you go off to?"
Darcy strode resolutely down the stone steps, out onto the drive and then to the park below. He had a notion as to which direction Elizabeth might have gone and he briskly followed a path littered with the fresh fall of leaves and twigs, blown astray by the gusty wind.
"Elizabeth!" he called out, as the wind picked up speed, and dust swirled about his body in the manner of a small gale. He halted his progression to sneeze forcefully. "Blast!" he grumbled, then rubbed at his nose and sniffled.
"I say--Elizabeth!"
"Over here dearest!" Elizabeth's voice was heard to cry out.
Darcy spun about to see his wife standing before him, as if she appeared from nowhere. "Is something the matter, Fitzwilliam?" she asked, as calmly as if he had been searching for her within the confines of their chambers.
"No," he replied quite matter-of-factly, feeling a little ashamed of his previously alarmed state. "Not at all--other than I was beginning to think you might have lost your way, or took a fall--or that you would get caught in a downpour."
"Nonsense," Elizabeth twittered at a protective husband's concern. "I am as steady and sure-footed as a forest doe, dearest--and I have sense enough to come in out of the rain."
Darcy was made to look ridiculous at her statement, and with a grimace at her censure he took her by the hand and led her to the more traveled path above. "Your steadfast abilities I have never doubted, my love," he said with genuine care. He stopped, simply to think of a conceivable defense for his foolishness, then blushed a little, "I found that I missed your company, and you were not within my house when I felt the desire to gaze at you."
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth chastised him, although not sternly. "You know that I am not as fragile as you might want to believe of a woman."
"Of course you are not fragile," he replied, with a raise of his brows and a great accentuation of the last word. "The exercise quite becomes you, as a matter of fact. I have always thought it so, and there is many a time I admire the glow of your cheek and the sparkle in your eye after you come inside from traipsing about."
Elizabeth grinned most devilishly at her husband's choice of words, but she slipped her arms about his broad shoulders and laid her glowing cheek against his. "You were doing rather well until the end, sir," she whispered into his ear. "You shall never change your tune, Mr. Darcy--traipsing about, indeed. I suppose you are of the impression that married ladies should not have the liberty for walks without their husbands?"
Darcy sighed resolutely, knowing full well that he was provoking Elizabeth's confrontation. "I understand that there is a sad lack of company for you here, Elizabeth. I wish it were not so, but in time you shall meet the friends and acquaintances, as you once had in Meryton."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes humbly toward the ground, "I do not know about that, Fitzwilliam--but I do know that a woman's life changes. Even if I had remained in Hertfordshire, my friends would have married and gone away with their own husbands." She then looked at him oddly, "Who ever said that you were sad company?"
"Not I," he replied, grinning in jest. "I should never meet a more lively companion as I know I must be to you."
Elizabeth was forced to laugh at that proclamation, but then in a more thoughtful mode she inquired earnestly, "Oh, husband, I do hope that I am everything you would have wished for in a wife. Am I lively enough, am I quick enough, and loving enough for such a man as you?"
Darcy touched the blue ribbons of the bonnet that his wife wore. The fabric danced and fluttered playfully in the wind, and curled through the palm of his hand, drawing him in to Elizabeth's charm as always. "You are everything to me, Elizabeth--everything."
His gaze beheld her face, so brightened by the activity of her walk, and the flattery of a newly wed husband. Darcy sighed happily, "There shall never be anything or anyone to come between us, Elizabeth. What a consummate companion you have become to me. There is no one I would rather be with, than you."
Elizabeth's arms melded once again about her husband's neck. She sighed as well, contented with the situation that this man had offered, and that she had accepted. "I have come to love you--so very, very much."
"Come now," he whispered, then took the opportunity to steal a gentle kiss, "back to the house, where I might keep my eyes on you."
Elizabeth slipped her arm through his. "Did you really miss me so very much?" she pried, inquisitively.
"Indeed I did," Darcy answered in his truthful habit. For the moment, his expression strained and he dared to wield a husband's keen command, inquiring directly as to catch his wife off guard, "Where is it--if I may dare ask--that you go off to?"
"Nowhere in particular," Elizabeth replied, although Darcy could hear a nervousness in the tone of her voice, and when he glanced at her, happened to notice a flutter of concealment to her lashes upon the justification.
Darcy's initial response was to press the inquiry, until his wife's answer was satisfactory to his tender discernment. He however was convinced that it was prudent not to do so, since he was still a little wary of provoking Elizabeth's criticism. He wanted his wife to have complete faith in him, to trust him with her intimate confidences, as he thought a loving couple should. He supposed that aspect of marriage would come in time, although he felt he lacked the patience to wait another second.
As the affectionate couple turned toward the house, the heavens opened up and a torrent of rain caught the two without the benefit of shelter. Darcy slipped off his coat and held it over Elizabeth as they laughed and made their way toward Pemberley house. Once safe beneath the cover of the great structure's roof, Darcy lowered the coat from above his wife's blue bonnet.
"You are quite soaked, Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth laughed, upon taking a good look at her partner. His hair was dripping wet and what were once dark curls neatly framing his face were now straightened wet strands stuck to his temples and forehead.
"What happened, sir?" Mrs. Reynolds gasped upon first sight of the master.
"Mrs. Reynolds," he grinned, stroking back the mop of hair on his brow, yet never taking his eyes from fair Elizabeth, "we shall be the afternoon in our apartment. No visitors, please--but do send up any correspondence that should come in."
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as Darcy whisked her away toward the staircase to the upper floors, "Some tea and sweets as well, Mrs. Reynolds."
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The blue bonnet hung on a peg next to the hearth in the master bedchamber, its ribbon ties dangling from it, casting dancing shadows away from the light of the flickering flames. Two lovers sat across from one another, now warmed by a small fire, and cozily gazing into each other's eyes.
Elizabeth took in a breath, for Darcy's unwavering stare had always made her feel somewhat uncertain of herself. "Are you to make the first move?" she brought herself to whisper, with a confidential sweep of pretty eyelashes.
Feeling somewhat flattered at being asked such a question a slow and deliberate smile came to Darcy's face. He sported a swaggering inclination of his head and leaned forward, then with an arm outstretched he boldly pointed a finger, placing it on a black checker piece and made his move.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the maneuver, her fingers twisting in her long locks of hair now freely flowing. "You do know that I hardly ever lose, do you not?"
Darcy leaned back casually in his chair, running his own hand though his hair to assist in its drying. "We shall see," he muttered, then made no motion to hide a disturbing grin.
A knock was heard upon the chamber door, and Darcy clambered up from his chair. A kitchen maid brought in a tray with the tea and sweets that Elizabeth had requested, and upon the tray lay a letter addressed to the master of Pemberley.
Darcy returned to his seat with the missive and inspected the seal carefully, then he flipped the letter over and studied the postmark. Elizabeth held out a cup of the tea to him and took her seat across the table. Having watched his tedious actions, it bewildered her that Darcy could not open a letter immediately, but was prone to stare at the outside, as if expecting a small voice from within to suddenly inform him of the missive's contents, or beg him to read it.
"What is it, Fitzwilliam?" she finally appealed in frustration.
"'Tis a letter."
"I can see that, dear," she twisted her lips and tried to remain the ever tolerant wife. "Are you to open it? I shall not disturb you as you read it--if that is why you hesitate."
"Hesitate?" the word piqued Darcy's curiosity. "I always look at the outside of a post, to determined its origin." He ran his finger between the seal and paper, as he wondered that perhaps his customary habits could be construed as meticulous to someone else. "You shan't disturb me at all."
Upon an anxious shrug from Elizabeth, Darcy did open the seal, and began to read the contents of such a perplexing communication. A moment later he chuckled and gave a manly snort then waved the letter in front of his wife.
"'Tis from an acquaintance," he laughed. "Old Ashburtie wants to come for a visit, it would seem."
"Old Ashburtie?" Elizabeth whispered, as she was barely able to conceal the roll of her eyes at such a chummy appellation.
"Lord William Winston Ashburton, the sixth, or something or other," Darcy replied without much show of respect, and this quite baffled Elizabeth.
Elizabeth chose her words carefully. "He sounds very--elegant."
Darcy snorted again, "Good Lord, I assure you not. The man would do anything to make you believe his noble name was won in a game of chance. His parents were good friends of Sir Lewis De Bourgh, and the Ashburtons spent a good deal of time at Rosings on the occasions that my own parents happened to be visiting. Of course, when younger, neither of us wished to be locked up in that house more than necessary, so Ashburtie and I made good use of Lady Catherine's fine horses and explored the park most every afternoon."
Darcy took another look at the letter, "It says here that he is of late married--something I find difficult to believe, for what self-respecting woman would put up with old Ashburtie's nonsense, I do not know."
With another shrug of her shoulders, Elizabeth concluded, "There are some women I suppose who would put up with a great deal, if their husbands laid out a sufficient amount of money in their pocket allowances."
To this remark, Darcy sobered and arched a subtle brow. "What were you asking earlier about being quick enough, wife?" Elizabeth giggled and made her move on the checkerboard. "Do you think you could receive Ashburtie and his new wife, Elizabeth? For a fortnight or a little longer?"
"Of course," she lifted her chin playfully into the air. "For my husband I should do anything."
"Good, good, before supper I shall write him back and tell him to make his plans," Darcy smiled as he slid another checker piece across the board.
"Are you really sure you want to do that?"
Darcy swiftly looked at his wife's face, "Yes, Elizabeth. You may come to like Lady Ashburton, just fine. You might even make a friend."
Elizabeth concealed a sigh and her scruples from her husband. "No dearest, I meant that," and she pointed to his move on the checkerboard.
With great confidence in his abilities, Darcy's back stiffened, "Elizabeth, I have been making judgments such as this since I was but five years of age."
"Very well," she smiled, then proceeded to jump Darcy's position upon the checkerboard thrice.
As her husband's befuddled face studied the game board, to see exactly where he had gone astray, Elizabeth bit her lip in concern. To her knowledge, Lord Ashburton and his new wife appeared to be the sort of people she had always avoided for their snobbish attitudes alone. When Elizabeth had married Darcy, she knew the day would come when she would be expected to be gracious to her husband's friends, even if those friends were not the sort of folk in which Elizabeth felt at all comfortable with in society. She wondered what Lady Catherine had told these people of the new mistress of Pemberley. Whatever it had been, she was convinced that it was far from flattering.
"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth suddenly recalled, "Charles Bingley and my sister were to come a week from Saturday, and then your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. They are to stay a few weeks, if you remember."
"Hmm," Darcy gave a huff, his brow still furrowed in dismay toward his error on the checkerboard.
Elizabeth sighed thinking she would be acquitted of her obligations to entertain these strangers. "Well, the more the merrier I suppose," Darcy blurted out as he cautiously moved a checker piece to another position.
Elizabeth tried not to show her disappointment, for she felt she was behaving very selfishly, and very unbecoming of a gentleman's wife. She was tempted to broach the subject of Lady Catherine's displeasure of her, but she thought that perhaps Darcy would think her foolish and immature.
Her husband smiled his appreciation of her good nature and willingness to please him. "We shall just make good sport of it," he said, to which Elizabeth could only nod her head in doubtful compliance.
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It was a happy day when Elizabeth was to again see her dear sister Jane Bingley. The sisters fawned over one another, as their husbands renewed their good friendship with handshakes and jovial conversation.
After supper that night, while the gentlemen were occupied in the library reading the latest news to be had from London and beyond, Elizabeth confided in her sister. "Jane," she sighed, "we are to entertain houseguests during your visit. Some friends of Fitzwilliam's--and more significantly friends of Lady Catherine."
"Lizzy," Jane smiled in comfort, "I can see that you are not pleased, but just because they are friends of Mr. Darcy's aunt does not mean they shall behave anything like her at all."
"Does it not?" Elizabeth said incredulously. "I have every expectation of finding their manners just as appalling as her ladyship's." Elizabeth leaned back hard against the softness of a chintz-upholstered sofa, displaying her ill temper. "What is worse is that Fitzwilliam expects me to show them respect and hospitality. I cannot disappoint him, Jane--but I cannot behave one way, when I feel another."
"You can, Lizzy," Jane wisely advised, "and you shall."
Elizabeth turned away, her cheeks reddened by the censure of another, especially that of her sweet and obliging sister. She knew by all intents and purposes that Jane was correct. She was now the wife of a gentleman, and with all the privileges that came with it, there were to be a few detriments as well. Elizabeth had matured in the few months she had been a married woman, yet she still had much to learn about compromise and obligation.
That night was an enlightening measure for Elizabeth. She took her place on the sofa, next to the comforting nearness of her husband, and she listened to the aspirations of her sister and Charles Bingley, and how they were to begin anew and purchase an estate of their own. Everything at Pemberley had been laid out for Elizabeth upon her arrival, and she had grown use to what it meant to have instead of want. The house that had once belonged solely to Mr. Darcy, she now felt a meaningful part of--and her world was secure, and she was comfortable.
Elizabeth admired the affection and support displayed by her sister, and her sister's new husband toward one another. Later that night, as Elizabeth lay in her bed, the images continued to dance within her mind of an alliance firmly established upon caring and respect. She had found the greatest love with a man, the sort of matchless union she had always longed for. Now she felt perhaps that she was not giving everything that she should, everything that Darcy would wish of her, and she could not bear to think of his love for her being tarnished in any way.
"Fitzwilliam," she murmured quietly into the darkness. Darcy drew the warmth of her body closer to himself, and drowsily mumbled a meaningless reply. "Fitzwilliam, do you know the whereabouts of the old bower--the one on the other side of the lake, hidden by trees and overgrown with vines?"
"Bower?" he muttered drowsily.
"Yes," Elizabeth sighed in quiet confession. "I go there--when I am in need of peacefulness--when I need to think things through, I go there."
Her declaration was a virtuous one, but one for naught. Darcy did not really hear it, for he was peacefully sleeping. As far as the master of Pemberley was concerned all was right with the world around him, as long as his Elizabeth resided within his reach.
Chapter II
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Pemberley, as it was his habit of spending a portion of his regimental liberty and the fine hunting season with Darcy. Elizabeth thought the colonel to be as splendidly jovial as he ever was, and she adored his good company and easy mien. She could quickly see how Darcy's cousin had once proclaimed her husband lively, for when he and his cousin were together, they could laugh and be merry to their hearts content.
"You do know that Ashburtie comes here tomorrow?" Darcy queried his cousin over a fine supper.
"Old Ashburtie. I have not had the pleasure of seeing him in years," the colonel chortled much like Darcy had upon receiving his Lordship's missive. "I hear tell he has gone and gotten himself married."
"So he relates in his letter," Darcy replied with a boyish grin to amaze all that were seated within the dining room.
"Do you know anything of Lady Ashburton?" Elizabeth asked the colonel.
The colonel chuckled, "Not a thing, other than the declaration of my dear mother, that elder Lady Ashburton had painstakingly hand selected her son's bride."
Darcy and the colonel were made to grimace rather childishly at this remark, then their almost adolescent whoops and hollers filled the room. Charles Bingley joined in the fray as well at such an arrangement not to mention his friend's utter dissipation, and the three men chortled and snorted like Elizabeth and Jane had never been privileged to witness before.
The colonel, quite forgetting himself, spoke up in foolhardiness, "I say Darcy, 'tis almost as absurd a thing as Lady Catherine's designs on you as a mate for Cousin Anne! The old woman still believes you should have come to your senses and done right by your obligations!"
Darcy could laugh no longer, although a wary smile still brightened his face. The colonel realized his improper words, and with quite a scarlet face turned toward his hostess. "Do forgive me, Elizabeth--I quite forgot about my aunt's unkindness to you, and I meant no harm toward your good character. I beg your kind forgiveness in every respect."
Elizabeth was quite amiable, although her husband did notice that the glow, which spread upon her cheeks, was the result of her contempt for one Lady Catherine de Bourgh. "There is nothing to forgive. Anyone may know what Lady Catherine thinks of me, sir--for she does not attempt to conceal her opinions, and she is not likely to ever embrace me as a part of your family." Elizabeth cast a doleful pout of regret toward Darcy, "I am though, wholly sorry for the estrangement which now exists between my husband and his aunt."
"Elizabeth," Darcy endeavored to soothe his wife's spirit as he laid a reassuring hand upon hers, "My cousin only meant that it was never my intention to marry Anne de Bourgh, and that none of us can fathom the thought of a marriage now being so arranged. As for what Lady Catherine thinks or wishes, it is of no concern of ours."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes in anguish, but she curled her hand to clasp Darcy's and he smiled, feeling the passion of her resolute grip. He brought her taut fingers, entwined through his own, to his lips and kissed the soft skin on the back of her hand.
"May Lord Ashburton be as happy a husband as I."
The colonel raised his glass of fine burgundy in honor of the mistress of Pemberley, "May all us gentlemen be as happy--to one day find such an exquisite treasure."
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"Good night, Darcy," the colonel nodded to his cousin. He turned to Elizabeth, "Good night, and again, my sincerest apologies, Elizabeth. I have come to know what my mother means when she says I should mind my tongue."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth smiled warmly and genuinely. "You are one of my favorite companions, and I could never think you ill-mannered or disrespectful. All is forgotten."
The colonel bowed handsomely then left the drawing room for his chambers. The Bingleys had also retired for the night, and for the first time that day Elizabeth found herself alone with Darcy. She sat down, poised and still upon a chair, watching her husband wander back and forth across the room as if he were troubled by something. She had come to know his habits, but she could not say that she completely understood them yet, nor was Darcy always willing to disclose what feelings prompted such actions.
"Fitzwilliam," she whispered dourly, still thinking of what the colonel had said, "Do you suppose that Lady Catherine has spoken ill of me--to Lord and Lady Ashburton?"
Darcy spun toward her, voicing his unusual displeasure toward his wife, abruptly and pointedly, "I do not give a care if she has!"
Elizabeth was hesitant of speaking another word for the thought of the continued demonstration of Darcy's ill favor. The steeled frown he wore on his face after a time softened into a sigh of momentary indulgence.
"I am sorry, my love--I find myself quite cross at the moment. Perhaps this was not such a good idea, to invite the Ashburtons to Pemberley."
"You mean, to consent to their inquiry to come?" Elizabeth corrected him.
"Yes," Darcy realized his slip of the tongue with haste and irritability, "yes, to consent to their coming to Derbyshire. You seem to have your reservations about it, and I suppose I can understand it--but Elizabeth, do understand that I should love you no matter what someone else's opinion is. In my own conviction, you are everything good. You are every bit a woman I have ever thought should be the mistress of this place, not to mention the keeper of my heart."
Elizabeth smiled although not with great comfort. "I appreciate your good faith husband. I only hope that I can live up to those ideals, which you desire me to possess. I believe I have become a tolerable wife."
The evidence of Darcy's irritation spread over his face, and he had to admit silently to himself that her lack of confidence in his faith in her kept him in a bother. Elizabeth expected him to come to her at that moment, to embrace her and comfort her fears--she expected him to kiss her, as he so liked to do, but to her want of discernment, he did not. What was clear was that something still concerned Darcy, and Elizabeth found she lacked the courage to ask him what it was.
Elizabeth turned her eyes away from him, uncomfortable in his presence at times and upset that he apparently could demonstrate no tenderness right then. "Since you have no reply, I shall wish you a good night then, and not disturb you again," she spoke softly and solemnly, then turned to leave the room without his escort.
Darcy's cheeks flushed at his wife's devised slight at his stillness, and he reached out his hand and caught her by the arm. "No," he said acutely, "not like this."
Elizabeth turned her face toward his, and she could feel the scorch of his agitated gasp upon her cheek. He choked back his peevishness and with words clear and adamant disclosed his mind. "What I desire most is to have you with me always, Elizabeth. What I desire least is to witness your lack of confidence in yourself. If I say you are the finest wife to be had, then I mean you are the finest wife. If you are to honor me in any way as your husband, do so by not questioning my love or faith in you. Simply love me for the man that I am, and know that I have always been a quiet man."
"I do so try to love you for who you are."
Darcy hoped that was true. He moved his hand from Elizabeth's arm, and cupped her cheek with it, guiding her toward him for the kiss of endearment she had so desired. His kiss was the prize Elizabeth yearn to win, and for the moment she felt that she had scored a victory, although the force with which he had delivered the token was meant to imply more than common affection.
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A very fine carriage arrived on the grounds of Pemberley the next afternoon. It was a coach to rival the magnificence of Lady Catherine's Barouche Box, and the footmen riding post looked practically ominous in their livery of scarlet and gold. Elizabeth's heart beat quickly at the sight, and her arm tightened around that of her husband as a footman scrambled down from his post and opened the carriage door.
A gentleman appeared from within the carriage, and he grinned upon seeing Darcy. "Well, well, old man," he said. "It has been much too long since I have been away from your good company, Darcy--and your fine hunting grounds!"
Darcy chuckled and clasped hands in greeting with the man. The gentleman then looked to the colonel, "Fitz, I hope you came prepared for some excellent sport!"
"Yes, indeed, I have the feeling this will be an occasion to rival none other," replied the colonel with a wry grin, not attempting to conceal his curiosity as he craned his head to look at who remained within the carriage.
"Elizabeth," Darcy spoke out, "may I present Lord Ashburton, Earl of Shrewsbury." Elizabeth raised her eyes to the esteemed gentleman and extended to him her most genteel greeting, although she was mindful not to speak a word, until first spoken to.
He nodded politely, "Mrs. Darcy, a pleasure."
Lord Ashburton was vain in appearance, but quite plain, or so thought Elizabeth as she dared to glance at him again. He did not have the influential air that her own husband possessed so naturally, but he did possess an attitude of conceit that she recognized immediately. As for his physical aspects, she thought the tip of the earl's nose to quite resemble the contour of a strawberry, and his eyebrows were bushier than those of a man his age of near five and thirty. Although she tried so very hard not to pass judgement, first impressions had always had an effect on her. Elizabeth supposed his Lordship would not even appeared to have noticed her, had Darcy not been so courteous as to introduce his wife to him straightaway.
Lord Ashburton was polite enough when Darcy presented Charles and Jane Bingley as Pemberley's houseguests, but his Lordship did seem to look at Elizabeth's sister as though he found her quite manifest of provincial breeding. He finally turned about and placed his arm back inside the carriage. A gloved and petite hand took a hold of his immense one, and then a delicate shoe and the frill of a fine London-made petticoat appeared on the carriage step.
The fair skin and hair, and brilliant smile of Lady Ashburton was a sight to behold, and upon glancing to either side, Elizabeth noticed that there was not a man, not excluding her own husband, who was not gaping in amazement at the sight of the woman. She was unexpectedly beautiful, and exquisitely fashionable and all at once Elizabeth was tempted to obscure herself behind Darcy, feeling as though she herself were simple and dowdy.
Lord Ashburton grinned from ear to ear at the lady, something like a Cheshire cat considering a timid field mouse as its supper, then introduced his wife to her host. Her name was Abigail--Abby Ashburton, as her husband liked to whimsically refer to her--and when he chuckled and clasped his hands behind his back thinking himself clever, the lady reached out her hand to Darcy.
Darcy smiled unpretentiously and took her hand within his own. "Lady Ashburton, allow me to welcome you to Pemberley on behalf of myself," Darcy hesitated, then continued upon feeling Elizabeth's grip clench tighter on his arm, "and my wife."
Abby Ashburton took a quick glance at Elizabeth and nodded cordially, then turned her undivided attention back toward the tall, handsome gentleman. "Mr. Darcy, what fine grounds you have," she said in a soft and alluring voice, to make a shiver travel up Elizabeth's spine. "I should never have thought such," she eyed Darcy up and down with an artful, simpering smile, "attractions to exist this far away from London."
"'Tis my ideal," Darcy replied with an insipid grin, causing Elizabeth's eyes to narrow in abhorrence.
"How charming," Lady Ashburton's elegant features brightened, and Elizabeth overheard Darcy take in a breath. Then as if the mistress of Pemberley had willed disfavor upon this woman, Lady Abby opened her lovely lips to laugh, and out of her exquisite mouth came the sound of a bray, quite like a farcical little donkey.
Elizabeth's hand moved up to conceal the satisfaction upon her face, and she cast her eyes to the ground so as not to be tempted to laugh aloud. She bit her lip hard, to contain her amusement upon noticing the good colonel's boot shift and his toe tap in the dirt as if it were his fashion of distracting his own diversion. Darcy however, was not merry in the slightest, and he cleared his throat as if to give remonstrance to his young and unruly wife.
"Shall we all go inside," he said in a voice low in pitch and a curt press of his lips. This was Darcy's way of preventing any further discourteous displays, for how many times had Elizabeth seen such a show from him. He held his arm out to Lady Ashburton, thus leaving Elizabeth to follow a few steps dutifully behind them.
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What had been amusing at first, turned out to be quite an annoyance to Elizabeth, as comely Abby Ashburton whinnied her way through a delectable supper. The only time Elizabeth felt glad for such an occurrence was when she caught a rare sight of Darcy furtively casting his eyes toward the sky and flaring his nostrils in repugnance to just such a maddening noise.
"Mr. Darcy," Lady Abby would call out from her place at the farthest end of the table away from her host, where Elizabeth had so slyly placed her. "I am ever so pleased at your kind invitation to my husband and I. I have always wanted to see the wilderness."
Elizabeth's eyes furrowed, and she turned her attention toward her husband. It seemed odd to her that Lady Abby implied that they had been invited, when Elizabeth well knew that Lord Ashburton had sought residence at Pemberley for a bit of a holiday.
"It is not much of a wilderness anymore, madam," Darcy replied, smiling rigidly at the lady, then at Elizabeth, "but when my forefathers built it, it was still a far way from the cultivation of London town."
"It is surprising that I have never happened to come across your acquaintance in London. Your aunt tells me you have a fine house there."
Elizabeth was made to cringe at the mention of Lady Catherine. "We have not spent much time there, Lady Ashburton," Elizabeth heard herself reply.
"I was not referring to recently, Mrs. Darcy. This would have been much before Mr. Darcy had ever traveled to Hertfordshire, and I have heard that your father did not keep a house there, so I would not have been expected to have come to know you before your marriage."
Jane looked at her sister from across the table. She recognized the signs of Elizabeth's ire, then looked to her own husband as if she thought he could help. "Have you spent much time in London, Lady Ashburton?" Bingley spoke earnestly.
"Indeed," she replied. "It is the only place for fashion and diversion--on a constant basis that is. Now that I think of it, I can recall seeing you once at Almack's Mr. Darcy. I admired your talents on the dance floor although I did not see you dance much at all."
Darcy tried to answer her Ladyship, but was prominently cut off by his wife. "My husband prefers to dance very little, especially if he is unacquainted with his partners."
"I see," Lady Abby cooed, "but you now know me quite well, sir--and I do so love to dance. Perhaps you will favor me during our stay?"
Elizabeth took in a breath of restiveness, and Darcy turned to her, raising his eyebrows, silently and almost sarcastically seeking his wife's approval to speak. When Elizabeth gave no answer, he grinned and replied, "If you wish it Lady Ashburton, I would be delighted."
To Darcy's good favor of her, her Ladyship exalted a whinny of delight, and went back to eating her supper. His lordship was not much of a distraction for his wife unfortunately, for when she exhaled such an excruciating sound, he was disposed to snicker along with her. It was apparent that he doted on her, and why should he not, for as long as she kept her lips firmly shut, she was the figure of Helen of Troy and her beauty captured the glances of every man in the room.
Elizabeth however could not keep her eyes from the woman, not because of envy of Lady Abby's beauty, but because it was obvious that the lady could not keep her eyes from Darcy's figure. Darcy was always the gentleman; he had always been and always would be. It was in Elizabeth's brief experience however, that Darcy did not always readily recognize a blemish if one was fortunate enough to hold any sort of prominence. Instantly, the young wife was convinced that it would be in her best interest to inform Mr. Darcy of certain possibilities, where Lady Ashburton were concerned.
Darcy felt himself rather grateful when Elizabeth excused herself from the table and the ladies rose to follow her to the drawing room. He was happy to be away from Lady Abby's silly laugh, not to mention the distraction of Elizabeth's taut and artificial smile.
"I say Darcy," Lord Ashburton croaked out, "a fine meal that was, but then you always did know how to make-welcome a guest."
"It is not my doing," Darcy replied humbly, "but my wife's. She has a fine sense of what is pleasing."
"She is obedient then?" Lord Ashburton inquired with an imperious grin and a cock of a brow.
Darcy looked conspicuously toward his guest. "She is a very good mistress, eager to please her friends, and willing to honor her husband and family. I could not have dreamt of a finer woman to have as a wife."
"I had never imagined you to have abandoned your rank for an everlasting frolic with country girl, Darcy--but, if she is dutiful and damnable fun--that is really all that matters."
A strain appeared on Darcy's face as he raised his hand to press on a temple, which began to ache, but the colonel interrupted, "Shall we not be tempted to get an early start on the morrow's game? I am sure it was a long trip for you, Ashburtie. Perhaps your wife would prefer to retire early--with your damnable fine company."
Lord Ashburton replied with a pompous grin and a wink, "I am sure she would. Till morning, early it is then, gents."
With Lord and Lady Ashburton gone to their chambers, and Elizabeth and Jane retired as well, Darcy occupied the library with his cousin and Bingley. Darcy felt the need for a potent drink and the calming effect it might provide his soul, and poured himself and the other gentleman each a glass of port. He sat down in a chair, wearied and wondering whether or not he had made a grave mistake by extending an invitation to Ashburtie and Lady Abby.
"Good heavens," Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed, downing his own glass of liquor. "I cannot quite make out that match at all. All I know is that they lack no profusion of condescending attitude, nor opportunity to make fervid eyes at one another."
Darcy grimaced, "He makes love to her with his eyes alright, although I cannot say the same to be true of her."
Charles Bingley snorted in disbelief, "You have only to look at the woman to understand his motives."
Darcy glanced at his brother-in-law through his fingers, as his hand was holding his aching brow. "Good god, Bingley--and this coming from you--a happily married man."
Bingley arched an incredulous brow, "Happily married, yes, Darcy. I am not dead however and there is nothing the matter with my virility."
Darcy's eyes widened at the disclosure of his friend, and when he turned to his cousin for his opinion, the colonel could only shrug his shoulders and blush. "Married or not, there is no harm in admiring beauty, Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam concluded.
"Beauty is one thing," Darcy mugged again--then very convincingly mimicked Lady Ashburton's nicker. "Decorum is another." Darcy groaned at the pounding in his temples, "I am for bed." He stood up, thus excusing himself from the room, and mumbled as he rubbed his throbbing head, "What have I done? We shall simply have to make good sport of it, says I, and now we are forced to live a fortnight with the playing and neighing."
**********************************
Darcy was happy to cast off his waistcoat and trousers, and he was equally as pleased to see the shadowed outline of his welcoming bed. He lay his weary body down next to his sleeping wife, but Elizabeth abruptly sat up.
"I am so blasted tired," Darcy muttered, then pointed to above his left eye, "and I have a dull ache right here that will not go away."
"I cannot imagine why?" Elizabeth concluded, then touched her hand to his temple and gently rubbed her fingers in a small circle.
Darcy moaned a little at his wife's good deed. "I feel as though I have dined with odious company behind the stables at Ascot."
Elizabeth did her best not to giggle openly, for she had an agenda of which she wished to discuss with her husband. "My love," she began, "the Ashburtons, they do seem to have a different sort of marriage than ourselves."
"Hmm," Darcy acknowledged from beneath her touch.
"Lord Ashburton seems to adore his wife very much, however I see very little evidence of his affections being returned."
"Elizabeth," Darcy scolded, although he was guilty of the exact same thoughts. "'Tis really not my business to know it, and neither is it yours."
"It is not, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth agreed with a pout, "but I choose to make it my business when my husband is concerned."
Darcy grasped her hand, moving it a bit away from his eye, and he gave Elizabeth a curious frown. "Where I am concerned?"
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes as she spoke, "Lady Ashburton looks at you a great deal, Fitzwilliam."
"Nonsense," Darcy had the verve to discount Elizabeth's insinuation with a huff. "She is a married woman, and even if she were not, I am a married man."
"I do not trust her," Elizabeth spat out resolutely.
Darcy lost his patience with his pounding head, and with a wife who was obviously suspicious. He pulled upon Elizabeth's arm until she was compelled to lean over him, their eyes intent and close upon one another. "You do trust me?"
"Of course."
"Good," Darcy replied. "Then there is nothing to concern yourself with. Elizabeth, promise me you will be gracious, and that your good temper will last a fortnight."
Elizabeth nodded in agreement then lay her head upon his chest. She could not fathom why Darcy was so unbending on this subject. It was as if he had lost his judicious sense of humor, and expected her to lose herself to anger and suspicion. All she had wanted to do was to pass along her womanly intuition and give him caution, but it seemed to her as if for the first time since being married, he was not agreeable to talking this through.
She felt his chest rise with a deep sigh, but she could not see his eyes, which stared up ardently at the canopy of their bed. His fingers moved to feather through the curls of her hair, and then he let his eyes fall closed in a heavy dullness. Before Darcy drifted off to into a fitful sleep, the likeness of Elizabeth's face, beneath the bonnet of blue he so loved, entered his mind. Her face was sorrowful and her eyes wept, and Darcy felt somewhat guilty at his conjuring up such a difficult image.
Chapter III
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
Elizabeth's habit was to awaken fairly early in the mornings, especially this morning since Darcy had gone out at such an unspeakable hour to partake of some sort of manly caper with the visiting cavaliers. Since she had been married, Elizabeth could never sleep well knowing her husband was not beside her, so she called on her maid and dressed in a modest frock, then headed down the great hallway in search of something in which to occupy herself. She came to a halt in front of the guest chambers and stared curiously at the door. She thought to herself for a moment, then prudently decided to knock upon the servant's entry instead. Lady Ashburton's maid opened the door and stood in front of Elizabeth, sporting a look upon her face almost as exalted as that of her employer.
"Tell me," Elizabeth inquired forthwith, "at what hour does your mistress awaken and wish to take her breakfast?"
"My lady's instructions were to let her be. However, ma'am, I can tell you that Lady Ashburton usually arises some time near ten, then prefers to breakfast in her own chambers at half past eleven."
"Why am I not surprised at finding this to be so?" Elizabeth exhaled derisively beneath her breath, although loud enough for her ladyship's attendant to overhear it.
"Shall I leave her ladyship a message, ma'am?"
Elizabeth grinned, unable to hinder her mischievous thoughts, "No, not at all. I am sure by the time her ladyship is prepared to receive callers, it would be beside the point to inform her that I have gone out, for I shall have returned with no doubt enough time to spare before Lady Abby sets a toe out of her room."
The servant did not wait for any further observation on the part of the mistress of Pemberley, so in idle indifference, Elizabeth cast her eyes in the direction of Jane's chambers. She knew that her sister would not be awake for a little while yet, and even if she had stirred when her husband had left their chambers early, Jane was not the sort of woman who required companionship at every given moment of the day.
Believing herself acquitted of any hospitable duties, at least for the duration of the morning, Elizabeth decided it a fine time for a walk out on the grounds. She dashed back to her dressing chambers to find a cloak and her matching bonnet of blue, then called out a hasty farewell to Mrs. Reynolds, leaving the house for a more agreeable place of her own.
********************************
Darcy was finding it extremely arduous to oblige Lord Ashburton and his foolishness. It seemed that this boyhood acquaintance had been remade somewhat from the easy fellow whom Darcy had been inclined to remember from his youth. It was true that Ashburtie still did not give a care about much of anything of importance, but Darcy could not recall the effects of such an attitude being so very abrasive to his own nerves.
Whatever Lord Ashburton said, he seemed to think his friends should find factual, not to mention utterly and astonishingly amusing. The man was fairly repulsive when it came to doting upon his contumelious new wife, even by Darcy's newly wedded ideals, and plainly his lordship was something akin to an elite parvenu although his family could trace their venerable titles back for several hundred years.
Already that morning Lord Ashburton had made every attempt to prove his manly mastery as a huntsman, and although he had given fair chase to a number of fleet footed vermin and prey, his lordship had failed to turn up with any sort of prize whatsoever. To Darcy, the crisp morning air and the rouse of however little sport were some consolation to his vexation. He did find that he felt more at ease in bringing up the rear of such a stimulating expedition, thus he left the command of the party to dear old Ashburtie.
"Why so glum cousin?" the colonel inquired as he slowed his mount to match Darcy's lagging pace.
"Not glum, Fitzwilliam," Darcy answered with a careful grin, "cautious." The colonel eyed his cousin in question of such a vigilant response. "I should not wish to excite another demonstration of his lordship's superiority when it comes to his expertise in the hunt, nor do I anticipate with delight another round of flattery concerning the most accomplished form of her ladyship."
Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes in furtive confirmation, "For your prudence I thank you, Darcy. It is becoming a trial to listen to such proclamations of personal adulation from those who believe themselves so deserving. I have not heard the likes of such bragging since last I dined in the officer's mess after a successful campaign against the French."
Darcy chuckled at such a commonplace thought, "Indeed, the next time I shall know better than to think all people remain the same as I once knew them."
"How on earth did he happen to think of taking a holiday here in Derbyshire?" the colonel pondered aloud. "It is not as if he were so faithful in keeping in touch."
Darcy shifted uncomfortably in the fine leather of his saddle, "Well--if you would have the facts, he did not happen to think of it. It was I who put the idea into his head."
"YOU!" the colonel bellowed forth, causing Ashburtie and Bingley before them to turn around with dubious stares, and poor Darcy to flinch. "I would not have thought Elizabeth to agree to such a foolish notion--newly wedded or not!"
"Fitzwilliam," Darcy stealthily waved a hand to quiet his cousin, "please. Honestly, Elizabeth thinks the same as you--that his lordship solicited the invitation."
Colonel Fitzwilliam gazed at Darcy in complete astonishment, then leaned over toward his cousin to whisper hoarsely, "Shall I have the pleasure of knocking some sense into you now, Darcy--or shall I save it for when your wife discovers your blunder? Tell me what prompted you, before I think you far enough removed from possessing any sort of brains."
Darcy extended a discomforted grin along with a blush, then was forced to return a congenial hail as he saw Ashburtie again turn round and cordially wave his riding crop into the air at the two dawdlers. "It is for Elizabeth's sake that I did it," he whispered raggedly.
"Come again?" replied the colonel. "I did not quite make that out."
Darcy reined his fine horse to a stop. He purposefully looked his cousin in the eye and offered his reasonable explanation. "I thought Elizabeth could do with experience--the experience of knowing what it is to entertain company. Not relations or friends, but business associates--peers--you know what I am saying?"
"Barely."
Darcy heaved a frustrated sigh, thinking of how to make his cousin come to see his sound point of view. He shrugged and raised his brows high, saying prophetically, "Elizabeth has had very few dealings with people of connection, Fitzwilliam. She bustles and bothers upon the fact that Lady Catherine refuses to accept her as an equal. It seemed a good opportunity to introduce her into her own society now, to people who share a common bond. I thought perhaps that she would find comfort in entertaining couples who are newly married as us, and ..." Here Darcy's cheeks flushed again and he paused to cringe.
The colonel grimaced, "And what?"
Darcy lowered his eyes in contrition, "... and I thought perhaps that word of Elizabeth's excellence would come round to our Aunt's illustrious ears."
Colonel Fitzwilliam groaned at his cousin's candor. "Well this is certainly a poser, cousin. I thought you did not concern yourself with Lady Catherine's opinion?"
"Frankly, I do not," replied Darcy uncomfortably, "not personally at least, but where Elizabeth's good character is concerned I must. I suppose Elizabeth cannot help but feel the importance I place on my family connections. It is what makes a Darcy a Darcy."
The good colonel cocked his head and grinned. "There you shall get no argument from me, cousin."
Darcy's eyes rolled in exasperation. "As for what Lady Catherine thinks of me Fitzwilliam, I do not give a fig, but it shall always hurt me that the woman refuses to honor the memory of my parents by not respecting the wishes of their son."
Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes drew small and skeptical. "Shall I not remind you how very little you delight in performing to strangers, Darcy. I once heard you accuse Elizabeth Bennet of the same offence, and now you tell me you force it upon her--with these people," the colonel gave a flourish with his hands in the direction of his lordship. "Lord help you, Darcy."
"You back there!" Lord Ashburton called out. "Are you to dawdle all the morning?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his hand in salute to his lordship, and gathered the reins into his hands. Before setting out again, he turned back toward his beloved cousin. "I feel you shall regret this Darcy," he sighed, "but I suppose I can comprehend the method to your madness--however much I disagree with it."
*************************************
Elizabeth sighed in comfort as she espied the bower of vines and climbing sprays from the pathway. Although untamed for many years, its beauty was beyond compare. Elizabeth had found the place, one spring day while out on a stroll. It was tucked back behind some tall trees, but set within a clearing, thus allowing enough light to tease the old vines into blooming.
She had seen the milky-white blossoms from a distance, and had gone to investigate. There before her was an archway of fragrance and beauty, otherwise known as a delicate rose called lady's banks. They did not usually thrive so far north, but because the height and density of the massive evergreens had sheltered it, it had survived.
As Elizabeth passed beneath the garland something else had caught her eye. A tiny old cottage on the other side, come through many years of abandonment and concealed by foliage. She wondered if Darcy even knew of its existence, and then with a smile, she tugged on the old door rickety and let herself in. The place was tiny, and dusty, and oh so very humble. It had an old wooden floor, a few primitive benches of pine, and a meager berth filled with musty old straw. The only light came from one small south-facing window, whose curtain had long since deteriorated. There was also a modest little hearth, although Elizabeth was sure that the starlings had no doubt built their nests within it, making it unusable. The place itself was as ignoble as Pemberley house was elegant, but Elizabeth immediately took a liking to it.
Over the course of the summer, Elizabeth visited the place often. She had never seen anyone else there, so she decided to call the place her own little retreat, and thus began to clean it up. She dusted the primitive furniture and managed to thieve away a broom from the dust closet at Pemberley. She hauled out the old musty straw from the berth, and found a few large bundles of straw behind the structure. She peeled away the old straw from the outer edges, until she found some clean enough concealed far inside, and took that by the armfuls and refilled the berth. Elizabeth even filled the hearth with kindling and a nice old log, but she never had the nerve to light it.
She often went to the cottage in the afternoons, when Darcy was otherwise occupied. She would take a good book, and an old timepiece of her husband's, and when she reached the cottage, she would sit in the berth, her legs folded beneath her. After propping up the timepiece to make sure she were never late, she would read by the light of the tiny window, or simply lay her head down in the straw and ponder.
Most times she went there in a happy and contented frame of mind, and her thoughts would be of her joy, and of what she imagined the future would hold. She would contemplate all of the mysteries she had come to know as a wife, and she would remember fondly those days that she had spent in Hertfordshire as a child. There were a few times she had gone to the cottage out of vexation, to escape an ill attitude toward something Darcy had either said or done that she had found awkward to agree with. However, she always left the place as much in love with her husband as she ever was. The place did Elizabeth's mind and soul good, and for some reason she took delight in knowing that by forfeit, it belonged to her, and to no one else.
This day as Elizabeth came upon it, the lady's banks had been overgrown by a sweet autumn clematis, and its teardrop shaped blossoms had all at once been thrown open into a spray of tiny white flowers which looked much like magical fairies. Indeed the bower was an enchanted place, and Elizabeth was ever so glad to be there, and not, to her shame, in the company of Lady Ashburton.
Elizabeth eased herself into the berth and propped up the timepiece, then yawned and removed her bonnet, casting it to one side. She stretched out her body and laid her head onto her arms. Elizabeth thought of the fine figure of her husband, and she sighed at the memories of his love for her. Then the image of her ladyship's admiration of Darcy trespassed on Elizabeth's thoughts, and all she could do was to close her eyes, and imagine Lady Abby good and gone.
**************************************
"What do you mean, she is not here?" Darcy growled at the servant. The poor servant shrugged and Darcy dismissed him with an impatient wave of his hand.
Things were not going much as Darcy had planned, and the remembrance of his cousin's warning earlier that morning served to vex him even further. He could not understand why Elizabeth must always lose herself within his estate, and he was angered that she had chosen such an inopportune time to do so at this moment. He did not know whether to look for his wife, or to await her return in the discomforting presence of their guests who lunched in the saloon.
"Mr. Darcy," a woman's voice startled him. He spun around to see his sister-in-law before him, and alone. Darcy managed to smile at her, although it was an expression obviously irritable. Darcy said nothing, but inclined his head in willingness to hear what Jane wished to say.
"Elizabeth has always preferred some time to herself," Jane admitted. "There were many instances when she would wander from our father's house, for someplace quiet of her own."
"Elizabeth does not live in her father's house any longer," Darcy groused. "I cannot entertain why a sensible woman should wish to leave her own house, or ignore her duties to her guests!"
Darcy reddened with irritation thinking of Elizabeth's inclination for rebelliousness. "I should not have to make excuses for the ill manners of my wife. Perhaps if she had been given more restrictions when in her father's house, she would not be taking advantage of her situation now that she lives in mine."
Jane had nothing further to offer, for she realized that although Darcy was vexed, he was in a way correct. It seemed as if Elizabeth had chosen to disregard the opinions of her estimable guests, and in thus doing so, had injured her husband as well. Jane had not thought Elizabeth capable of it, if she had not heard what her sister had told her a few nights before.
A door was heard to open, and a figure clad in pale blue scurried by the doorway of the drawing room occupied by Darcy and Jane. Darcy's eyes widened upon seeing the apparition, and she strode out into the hallway, to see Mrs. Reynolds, her arms clutching the cloak and familiar blue bonnet recently worn by Elizabeth.
"Where did she go?" Darcy asked curtly.
"The saloon, sir," the housekeeper replied, afraid for the happiness of her dear mistress.
Darcy made haste to the saloon, followed closely by his sister-in-law. When he rounded the corner, and entered the room, he encountered Lady Ashburton whose nose was slightly cast down at Elizabeth's tardy arrival and slightly tousled appearance.
The mistress of Pemberley anxiously extended her great apologies to her ladyship, and with crimson cheeks she turned around to witness the annoyed frown of her husband. Elizabeth lips drew into a pout upon seeing Darcy, for she was sorry for her tardiness. In another instant she happily noticed the forgiving face of her sister behind her husband. Elizabeth forced a smile upon her face, and extended her arm toward her Jane, leaving Darcy at the mercy of the patronizing mastery of Lady Ashburton.
Chapter IV
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
Abigail Ashburton was disposed to look at Elizabeth Darcy sideways. It was evident to the woman that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy admired his young wife, although her ladyship could not understand it. Elizabeth Darcy was fair enough in face and her figure was tolerable, but in her opinion Lady Ashburton could see no evidence of talent or breeding in the woman from the country, nor could she see any indication of what it meant to be fashionable. She felt she had to agree with the opinions of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not deserving of such a man as Mr. Darcy.
Abby Ashburton was by no means a stupid woman, especially when it came to her own kind of sport. Perhaps, she thought, that well-bred Mr. Darcy preferred a humble woman to kneel upon a cushion beside him in the evenings when he read his weekly paper--a woman meant to flatter, and declare to him how admirable a husband he was. Perhaps, she thought, he liked a woman with few adornments, as Elizabeth was inclined to dress. Simple she thought--yes that was it, plainly simple, so as to not outshine his own attentions to style.
Lady Ashburton was completely missing the particulars of such a felicitous union. Although it was true that Darcy had been captivated by the modesty and tasteful simplicity of Elizabeth's wardrobe, and the fact that her choice in attire had always accentuated her natural beauty, Darcy's regard for Elizabeth went far beyond the superficial. It was the unexpected things that Elizabeth was prone to say and do that had seduced his admiration, and the integrity with which she said and did them.
Even now, when he was inclined to be cross with his wife over a matter of propriety, Darcy favored Elizabeth's complements. As he strayed away from Lady Ashburton's side, for that of Elizabeth's, Darcy's expression changed, and what his wife saw when she looked up from her discourse with her sister Jane, was the countenance of a man who held her in the highest esteem.
It was Elizabeth's rueful eyes, which lured Darcy away from the guests, for a secluded corner of the room. "I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I simply lost track of the time," she sighed.
Darcy exhaled a silent chuckle, for he could never remain angry with his wife for very long. Elizabeth's countenance brightened upon witnessing such a change in him, then she discreetly reached out and caressed her hand to his.
"I promise I shall be attentive to our guests for the duration of their stay. Attention to propriety means so much very to you, and I shall respect it as I do respect everything about you."
"It is what I was taught," he whispered easily, then his mood turned solemn, "and what was expected."
"How I do know it," Elizabeth replied with a smile meant to tease, and Darcy's pleasure caused him to grin once again.
Abby Ashburton kept her eye upon the loving couple, and in a way, she was as covetous as anything was to see a man dote upon another woman. "Come now, you two," she interrupted the cozy pair, "there will be occasion for loving eyes when your guests are gone to their chambers. You promised me some lively entertainment, Mr. Darcy. Jane Bingley plays the pianoforte tolerably well, so now you may favor me with a waltz about the floor, before this party becomes too dull."
Darcy really had no choice, other than to comply with the wishes of his guest. He glanced at Elizabeth, the devoted smile for her still adorning his features, and he excused himself from her company, to take the hand of Lady Ashburton. Elizabeth was now obliged to watch her husband slide across the dance floor with a handsome woman.
Although it was not a part of Elizabeth's qualities to feel envy toward others, she had never before been put in this sort of position. She had never witnessed Darcy's particular attentions to another woman, since she had been married to him. She did find herself invidious of the polite regard Darcy's sense of propriety paid toward this woman, but Elizabeth told herself that it was his duty to do it, and that it was her duty to tolerate it.
Jane Bingley played a waltz on the pianoforte, and it was clear that the earl's new wife was enchanted by Mr. Darcy's many accomplishments and appeal. Elizabeth looked to Lord Ashburton, hoping he would be envious enough to interfere and perhaps dance with his own wife, but he was far too preoccupied in his high cockalorum, playing Colonel Fitzwilliam at chess. Charles Bingley admiringly stood behind his wife as she played at the piano, and thus poor Elizabeth was made to endure the whole scene completely on her own.
Lady Ashburton was not inclined to let Darcy loose after their dance, and in the pretense of taking an interest in his general affairs, grasped his arm tightly and demanded he instruct her on the keen points of the management of such a fine estate. Elizabeth felt as if she could burst out in a yell of abomination at such a vixen's trick, but even that alone was far beneath a country girl's manners.
"Jane," she hissed lowly through her teeth, as her sister rejoined her. "I know that woman's purpose is to seduce my husband from me. What I do not know is why she should want my man, when she has a man of her own."
"Lizzy, she is behaving very politely." Jane's hand came to rest upon her sister's shoulder. "Besides, it is a given fact that Mr. Darcy only has eyes for you. Do you think it may hurt him to realize his wife has ideas not trust him?"
Elizabeth sighed; knowing that what Jane had said would be true. Darcy would not take comfort seeing that his wife did not have faith in him. It was not really Darcy that Elizabeth distrusted, it was the powers and allurements of a beautiful woman who Elizabeth was convinced, had no respect for anyone but herself.
"She knows you do not like her, Lizzy," Jane interfered with Elizabeth's thoughts.
"Do you think this is all my doing as well, Jane?" Elizabeth looked somewhat hurt.
Jane sighed at her artless sister's spirit. "Perhaps if you tried to talk to her, perhaps include her in your confidence--treat her like a friend--perhaps then she would warm to you as well."
Elizabeth heard Abby Ashburton's loathsome nicker, and she contemplated Jane's advice. All thought of it made her cringe, but nonetheless, Elizabeth supposed that at least if she paid more attention to Lady Ashburton, it would allow her ladyship less opportunity to pay heed to Darcy.
"I shall try Jane," Elizabeth replied, then forced a smile upon her face as the lady and Darcy returned.
Darcy felt as if he could not bear another moment of her ladyship's strategically arranged company. In all politeness, he bowed to the woman and to his wife, then excused himself under the ruse of the great desire to witness a truly competitive game of chess.
Elizabeth turned to speak to the woman beside her. "I was admiring your gown, Lady Ashburton, as you were dancing with my husband. You must tell me the whereabouts of your dressmaker, for the next time I am in London, I should like to visit the place."
"Of course you would," he ladyship boasted. "They are only the finest dressmakers in London. Now that your pocket allowance can well afford it, it would be a good idea to improve your modest little wardrobe, if for no other reason than for the pleasure of your husband."
Elizabeth clenched her teeth together, all the while smiling, even though she was aware that her hands were clamped tightly into small fists behind her back. Her ladyship had no lack of arrogance and conceit, nor missed any opportunity to belittle her hostess, and Elizabeth wished now, more than ever, that she were made of the more agreeable stuff that created her sister Jane.
"La Beau Monde should give you some idea of fashion. That you must have before you visit any dressmaker in London," her ladyship leered. "Do you come by it this far from town?"
Elizabeth pinched her lips together, feeling doltish once again, "No, we do not."
"I have a copy in my chambers. Come, let us excuse ourselves and leave the men to their games." Lady Ashburton turned to look in the direction of Darcy and the others. She grinned slyly, wondering how Mr. Darcy would indulge any alteration in the virtuous appearance of his wife. It was then that Abigail Ashburton had the notion that it would be very good entertainment to find out.
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Elizabeth looked at herself in the glass. "I do not know about this," she exhaled, and Jane, who stood behind her sister, shrugged her shoulders in apprehension.
"Oh honey, what is not to know?" replied Abby Ashburton. "I think you look splendid in the gown. You look very fashionable--so--so unlike yourself. Now all that is left is to do something with your hair."
Elizabeth shimmied up the bodice of the genuinely immodest gown. The whole thing felt taut, restricting, and heavy. There were trappings dangling from it in every which way imaginable, and the dull, greenish color was absolutely frightful on her. She was not comfortable in the slightest, yet she allowed Lady Ashburton to dress her up, as a schoolgirl would adorn a precious baby doll. Lady Ashburton's maid came from within the dressing chambers with the haughty look of that morning still upon her face. She held a headdress, something akin to a colorful turban.
Lady Ashburton's lips pinched in the image of a calculating grin. "This will be the finishing touch--except for a little face powder and perhaps a little more color to your gloomy cheeks."
Elizabeth nearly moaned seeing the hideous green thing entwined upon her head. All she thought that was lacking was an ostentatious feather or two poking out of it, and she would truly be made nauseated.
"Oh yes, your husband will be very pleased," Abby Ashburton brayed, then grasped some plumage and secured it to the side of the turban.
Abigail Ashburton left the room to procure her face powder, and Elizabeth saw her first opportunity to confide in her sister Jane. "I look absolutely dreadful, sister!" she scrunched up her face in disapprobation.
"Oh Lizzy, you look quite keen--although I must admit you do not look much like yourself," Jane confessed with a wring of her hands. "It is however, quite kind of Lady Ashburton to take such an interest in you."
With eyes squinted into small slits, Elizabeth wondered if that could possibly be true. If Lady Ashburton was taking an interest in her, Elizabeth was still convinced it was not the sort of interest one might appreciate--in the long run of things.
"Oh what have I done?" Elizabeth bemoaned. "Fitzwilliam shall certainly detest this, this..." she paused to wave her hands about herself, "...and if he does not, I shall certainly come to realize that after ten months of marriage, I have learnt absolutely nothing of my husband!" Elizabeth glanced at herself again in the glass and practically wailed, "Oh, Jane!"
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After approving of the fashionable attire of her hostess, Lady Ashburton returned to her own chambers to dress for supper. Elizabeth did not have the pleasure of seeing her ladyship again before supper, an occasion which she was heartily glad for. She had glanced at the clock in her chambers, and realized that Darcy and their guests would be awaiting her in the dining room.
She scurried down the staircase, almost tripping upon the train of the gown that she so reluctantly wore to appease Abigail Ashburton. She rounded the corner of the hallway, smoothed out her skirts and gave the bodice another shimmy, then entered the crowded dining room with her head held high.
Darcy was the first to see his wife, for he had been anxiously awaiting her presence. He could not seem to disguise the manner of shock upon his face at seeing his wife's appearance. His jaw fell open in a gape, and he failed to utter anything of intelligence in a recommendation to Elizabeth's apparent beauty.
"Mrs. Darcy," Lord Ashburton exclaimed, "you look marvelous! Does she not, Darcy, eh?"
Elizabeth blushed, then set her eye upon her husband. He studied her, as he might study the postmark on one of those confounded letters, then his brows arched to compensate for his momentary lack of words. In his astonishment, he decided to rely on those gentlemanly lessons learnt, and held out the chair beside him, for his wife to be seated.
Elizabeth wisely took her seat, and everyone followed the example of the lady of the manor. For the first time, Elizabeth saw the figure of Lady Ashburton, and she stared, aghast at what appeared before her. Abby Ashburton was plainly dressed, as plainly that is for a woman of her flamboyant character. Compared to Elizabeth's attire, Lady Ashburton's gown was modest, refined, and elegant.
Red fury spread to Elizabeth's cheeks, and she looked back and forth, between Lady Ashburton and Darcy, fully aware that she had been hoodwinked. The remainder of the evening Elizabeth tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, although she felt it was a difficult thing to do when one resembled the backside of a peacock. Lady Ashburton was no less attentive toward Darcy, but he barely said two words the whole of the evening. He was more inclined to stand in the corner of the room, and glance at Elizabeth in a curious fashion, only to display a slight grin, when she was made to catch his eye.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy," Lady Ashburton crowed after some time of trying to draw out his reaction. "Do you not find your wife's new fashion irresistible? She is the latest creation from London and Paris!"
Darcy clasped his hands behind his back, then looked down toward his polished shoes in uneasiness. With her cheeks still flushed, Elizabeth glared at her ladyship, hoping beyond hope that her cruel game would come to an end.
"I ask you, sir," her ladyship goaded with a giggle and a haw. "Do you not take pleasure in your wife's attempts to allure you thusly?"
"No madam," Darcy's truthful nature expelled his feelings forth, much to his chagrin, and Elizabeth's, "I cannot say that I do."
Lord Ashburton gave a snort, and Lady Ashburton whinnied, although neither Darcy nor Elizabeth, or their other guests found humor to be had in the situation. This was all Elizabeth could tolerate without her manners deteriorating into something sincerely provincial. She swiftly stood up--hoping most of the gown would come along with her. She looked to her guests, and then to her husband, saying swiftly as she departed from the room, "If you will pardon me--I shall bid you all a pleasant night."
Chapter V
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
Darcy could believe little of what had just happened. He had no plausible idea why Elizabeth should wish to alter her appearance, or why their guests should find such diversion in the prospect of it. It was apparent however, that once again his propensity for frankness had wounded the feelings of the woman he so loved, and for that he was heartily sorry, and fairly perturbed with himself.
Across the room Darcy glimpsed sight of his cousin, only to see that Colonel Fitzwilliam was none too pleased with what he had witnessed, and although Jane Bingley rarely ever showed displeasure with anyone, she appeared disappointed in Darcy as well. Lord and Lady Ashburton did not seem all that affected by the scene between the husband and wife, although Lady Ashburton did approach Darcy to lay a comforting claw upon his arm.
"I suppose your wife is not at all comfortable with the latest fashion, sir. I suppose she meant it to please you, but it is best that she remain quite plainly as she is."
"Indeed," Darcy seethed as if admonishing himself, 'yes, she should remain as herself. I have never had any wish for Elizabeth to alter her appearance to please me, and I cannot imagine where she would come by such a thought in the first place."
Lady Ashburton looked away, as if she were a guilty thing. "Well," she exhaled, "I only know that she expressed an interest in style, and wished to try the gowns that I brought from London. If she were made uncomfortable, I am sure it was on account of the fact that she is not accustomed to such splendor and finery."
Darcy's wavering attention with his own faults at once became centered upon her ladyship's face. He stared at her bluntly, as if he realized that perhaps Abigail Ashburton possessed a chafing attitude to match that of her irritating husband.
"How do you claim to know what my wife is accustomed to, madam?" he inquired smartly. Lady Abigail gave no reply, and thus Darcy pulled his arm away from her grasp and made haste for the doorway, turning back to the room before leaving.
"I beg your pardon," he said with a crestfallen mien, "but I believe I shall call it a night. Please inquire of Mrs. Reynolds as to anything you should happen to require. Good night."
Lord Ashburton was the first person within the drawing room to heave an impassioned sigh. "A fellow must do right by his wife I suppose--keep a happy home, as we married men boast," he said in his wisdom. "I do not see however, why our time here must suffer for it."
Colonel Fitzwilliam provided the only response to his lordship's spousal speculation. He settled himself upon the sofa with a careless flop, and exasperated the words, "Good lord," into the palm of his hand.
********************************************
Elizabeth had entered her dressing chambers, pulling off the ridiculous turban as she went--her hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders while she hissed, huffed, and raged. She had called upon Frances to draw her a hot bath. Frances had come to recognize her mistress's temperament, and she rang downstairs directly for the boiling pot and for a servant to bring the receptacle.
Before her mistress stepped into the warmed water, Frances reached behind herself and dropped a small amount of lavender water into the steam. Elizabeth slid into the water and breathed deeply of the calming essence, then glanced over toward the bureau in the chamber.
"Frances!" she exclaimed, pointing to the heap of green gown, "take that wretched thing away and toss it into her ladyship's chambers. I should not care if I ever lay eyes upon it again--on or off of its owner!"
"Ma'am!" Frances respired in shock, and Elizabeth lowered her eyes in momentary shame.
Elizabeth slid down into the tub until the water washed over her face and hair. It felt superb to cleanse away the embarrassment of that evening and the mortification of allowing Lady Abigail to make such a fool out of her. Frances did take the gown away as Elizabeth had asked, and she left the chambers through the servants entrance as Elizabeth ears were below the level of the water.
When Elizabeth resurfaced, she ran her fingers through her hair, and took in another breath of the clean scent. "Oh," she moaned not realizing Frances had gone from the room, "I would not feel so foolish, had I followed my own good sense. When shall I ever learn--for I knew Mr. Darcy would despise the sight of me."
"That," Darcy's voice rang out, "was not it at all."
Elizabeth startled and her eyes opened wide upon hearing her husband's voice within her dressing chamber, not that he had never been in there prior to this occasion, but only that she had expected a reply only from Frances. Darcy had thought it opportune at finding his wife in a place where she was unable to avoid him, although he was gentleman enough to remain behind the dressing screen to confront her.
"Do you always enter a lady's chambers without first knocking, sir?" Elizabeth blushed; still a little perturbed with him.
"I do--but only the chambers of those ladies with whom I am so particularly familiar," his voice replied in a cheeky manner.
Elizabeth tried to conceal the temptation to smile, for she really thought that Darcy's earlier behavior had been unkind. "You made it very clear that you were not impressed with me this evening."
"Elizabeth," she heard him sigh out impatiently, "Would it be that we always understood one another--what would we ever have to talk about? I simply do not comprehend what possessed you to change yourself so completely. It was a shock to my discernment for sure--and you know how I do not take to those things well."
Elizabeth giggled silently at Darcy's self-portrait, as she pushed the warm water over her shoulders. She rolled her eyes fleetingly, feeling foolish about her reasons for donning the dreadful ensemble. "I asked her ladyship about her dressmakers--simply to make some amiable conversation, and before I knew it she had quite decked me out in her finest regalia. I thought it to be a friendly gesture, on her part and mine--but I simply felt ridiculous once I had seen myself, and I can not tell you her motives for taking pleasure in my discomfort."
"Her motives?" he asked.
"Fitzwilliam--that woman despises me--almost as much as your aunt does."
"How can that be, Elizabeth?" Darcy shook his head in disbelief. "You have done nothing to make it so."
"I did not need to do anything," Elizabeth felt pressed to say, "except share your bed--and your house." Elizabeth brought a wet cloth to her face, to wipe away the heat of her vexation. "I am sorry I ran off so abruptly, Fitzwilliam," she said, as she tried to choke back the tears of a woman's anger, "but I could not stay another minute in the same room with her."
Darcy slumped down in the chair, in which he sat, and ran his hands across his face. He was losing all belief of Elizabeth recommending herself to the Ashburtons, and frankly at this point he did not care at all what sorts of opinions of his wife these people chose to conceive. Darcy knew of Elizabeth's goodness. He knew of her appeal and the happiness in which her company brought him--now all he had to do was to convince her--and he, that her favor in the eyes of others made very little difference to him.
"I shall be out most of tomorrow," he divulged cautiously, to change the course of their conversation. "Bingley, Fitzwilliam, and I are for the fields in the morning."
"The fields?"
"Yes, it use to be at this time of year that Fitzwilliam and I would go out to assist with some of the harvest chores. The tenants fancy knowing that I take an interest in their toils other than counting the shillings their hard work will bring, and I must admit I enjoy dirtying my hands and stretching out my muscles in pursuit of some honest labor."
Elizabeth's face beamed with pride in her husband, "Have you always done this?"
"Most oftentimes," Darcy grinned, "except for the last two years, when my time was spent in pursuits of a different sort--but I think the good farmers had generously made allowances for my courting a certain lady."
Elizabeth's eyes and countenance brightened at hearing her husband's compliments, but also because of the fact that she was pleased that at one time or another he had been known to behave quite humbly. "Lord Ashburton!" Elizabeth suddenly recalled the gentleman. "Does he not go as well?"
Darcy grimaced, picturing his acquaintance in a satirical light. "I think his lordship would consider it dingy work enough if he should accidentally take a coach ride on the wrong side of the Thames. You shan't have to worry about him though--I will send the gamekeeper out with him to hunt up a buck or two. With Ashburtie's talent at the chase--one wily beast should occupy him exceedingly."
Elizabeth reached for the white towel set upon a chair beside the tub. She stood up from the water, and the light from the hearth warming the room cast the image of her figure against the screen. Darcy was not beyond noticing, and he was more than content to gaze at the silhouette of his wife's soft curves, and marvel at her beauty.
His mind somehow drifted back to earlier that day. "Where were you this morning?" he whispered, almost as if he dared to ask something wrong. Frances had returned to the dressing chamber, and she gave a start upon seeing the master within. Darcy raised his hand in motion for her to be gone, and she quickly blushed and turned about, the action eliciting an amused grin from Darcy.
"No place in particular," Elizabeth fibbed, still uncomfortable with telling him every detail about her very own retreat. "I went out to stroll about the gardens, so I might remember what they looked like during the summer, when I am in the house and gazing out at miles and miles of snow. I gathered some seeds, and combed the roses, then I pinched off the hips--they are very good for you, you know."
"I should not argue with it at all," Darcy replied impertinently, as he continued to be mesmerized with the shadowed outline on the screen. "...And...and this seed gathering and so on kept you out all that time?"
Elizabeth slipped a gown over her shoulders, and stepped from behind the screen to where Darcy sat. He looked up at her, his cheeks flushed at being caught at his prying, and she creased her lips between her teeth and nodded. Darcy stood up, and took her by the hand--seriousness again upon his face.
"Would you like to go to London to shop--to buy yourself some new gowns? If you wish it Elizabeth, I shall gladly lay the money out for anything you desire and send you with your sister or aunt."
Elizabeth looked at him without a hint of sentiment to her mien, but Darcy appeared bewildered, as though he wished to make her happy, but did not quite know how to do it. "Promise me though," he spoke tenderly, "that you shall not purchase what someone else thinks is fashionable, but what you believe is becoming to yourself."
"It will not do, I suppose, to look shoddy to your friends--perhaps I should give up some of my old things, that old blue bonnet for a start."
Darcy's eyes flashed great apprehension at the suggestion, for it so happened that he had fallen in love at the sight of her wearing that bonnet. He cast his arms about Elizabeth, and held her close, placing a kiss of discretion upon her forehead. He breathed in the scent of the lavender within her hair, which was meant to calm and please them both.
"I should wish you to keep that blue bonnet," he whispered, and Elizabeth smiled and held to him tighter. "Keep it always, Elizabeth."
********************************
Elizabeth was spared having to amuse her ladyship the whole of the morning, since Lady Abby rarely if ever set foot from her rooms before midday. Elizabeth longed to go to the bower cottage, but she resisted the temptation to do so, and thought of something else she might do instead. Mrs. Beal had packed hampers of food for Darcy and the other men, and Mr. Beal was to take it out to where they worked.
Elizabeth requested that she ride along with Mr. Beal. She wanted to see for herself the proud Mr. Darcy clad in his shirtsleeves, out amongst the sheaves and straw. It was not that she could not believe it, but that she had rarely witnessed her husband outside of what she considered to be his lofty element.
There was still much that Elizabeth did not know of Darcy, and there was still much that he did not know of her. As much as they could, they both attempted to understand the other. They tried to relate to how the other had lived before they had married, and at times they both had to admit that those perceptions were quite difficult for them. When they were together, their lives did shine with love--but when they were apart, and they thought of what would please the other--they did not always seem to get it right.
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Darcy stood amidst the laborers in the fields, but he did not stand idle, for he was simply taking the opportunity to catch his breath after having pitched many a barley sheaf onto a flat-backed wagon. He had not been out among his tenant farmers for some time, and he found it rousing to have the opportunity to do so again, although his aching back told him that he was not the prodigal youth that he had once been.
As Darcy rested, a farmer happened to be singing as he toiled away at his work. He bemoaned a song of being and human nature that Darcy had never heard before, but the meaning of its words astounded him and his attention was captivated.
"I saw a Berkshire woman sittin' in a rockin' chair
A dulcimer in her lap, a feather in her hair
Her breasts swayed freely with the rhythm of the rockin' chair
She was a sittin' and a singin' and a swayin'
Her cheeks were red, I declare."
So caught up in the song was Darcy that he did not happen to notice the colonel coming toward him. He continued to lean against the large fork, and listen to the haunting ballad.
"'Twas hard to believe what my eyes showed me then
The color in her cheeks was just her natural skin
She wore no blushin' to make her look that way
She was a natural maiden with her red cheeks
What more can I say?"
"Darcy," the colonel spoke, and his cousin startled. "Elizabeth--is everything well with her?"
Darcy could not hide the touch of the frown on his lips. He bent his head in silence, in answer to his cousin's question, but he did not feel the need to expound on it any further. He turned his attention back to the ballad, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam unsatisfied with the answer to the question at hand.
"Well, I fin'ly realized there was hunger in my stare
In my mind I was swayin' with the woman in the rockin' chair
But the lady I was a livin' with was standin' right by my side
She saw my stare and she saw my hunger
And Lord it made her cry."
Color came to the colonel's own cheeks at Darcy's avoidance. "I only ask Darcy because I care about her. I should not wish to see her hurt in anyway."
Annoyed, Darcy glanced at his cousin. "Hurt? What do you say, Fitzwilliam?"
"I say that Madam Ashburton is not the sort of friend that Elizabeth needs--nor should she be any friend to you, my good man."
Darcy's glare was almost damaging. "I can manage my own affairs, Fitzwilliam. Your concern is unnecessary--and if I may say--unwanted."
The colonel looked down toward his boots, attempting to repress his anger with his stubborn relation. Darcy did his best to ignore his cousin from that point on, for he really thought that this was none of Fitzwilliam's concern. He was still taken with the words of the ballad; thus he did not see Elizabeth coming toward him with the hamper.
"So with anger on her face and hurt in her eyes
She scratched me and she clawed me, she screamed and she cried
"Oh you don't give me near all the lovin' that you should
Yet you're ready to go and lay with her
You're just no damn good."
Colonel Fitzwilliam did see Elizabeth however. He saw her broad smile, then he saw her stop and stare at her husband, bewildered by his grave attention to the fellow's verse. She too had heard the words and her countenance sank low, wondering that perhaps it told of the way her husband had recently been made to feel by the uncommon beauty of Lady Abigail and by Elizabeth's own accusations against the woman's character.
"Well I guess she's prob'ly right, I guess I'm prob'ly wrong
I guess she's not too far away, she hasn't been gone very long
And I guess we could get together, and try this one more time
But I know the wanderlust would come again
She'd only wind up cryin'."
"Now you've heard my story as plain as the light of day
It's hard to feel guilty for lovin' the ladies, that's all I got to say,
'cept a woman is the sweetest fruit that God ever put on the vine
I'd no more love just one kind of woman
Than drink only one kind of wine."
The old man finished his song, and Darcy sighed, then picked the fork up, once again pitching bundles into the wagon. "Husband?" he heard a soft, timid voice, and he spun about to see a woman wearing a bonnet of blue, her cheeks all aglow.
"Hello my love," Darcy smiled, and Elizabeth held out the hamper and he took it from her.
"Are you hungry?" she asked him.
"Quite," he replied with a peculiar grin. "You could not have come a moment too soon--for you are such a sight to be seen--in blue."
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Modern Ballad entitled 'Berkeley Woman', written by Brian Bowers. Some words were changed to make the song more applicable to the story.
Chapter VI
For most of the day Elizabeth did her best to skirt about Lady Abigail's proximity. She made herself serviceable to her ladyship's wants and wishes, but she had no desire to again be made her ladyship's abject fool. It was late in the day, and Elizabeth realized that soon Darcy and the others would be returning to the house from their day's pastimes. She most desperately longed to see her husband, for although there were moments that she relished in the solitude of a quiet walk out of doors and the humbleness that Darcy's nature did not ever seem to allow, his nearness to her was the significance of her every day.
She hurried to her chambers to dress for supper, for the impression she so wanted to make upon her husband, would take some time. She chose a modest, yet attractive gown of the palest blue color which Darcy so seemed to love, from her own mahogany wardrobe, and she wore a delicate filigreed necklace with a scrolled heart which he had brought for her from his last business trip away from Pemberley. When she gazed at herself in the looking glass, she breathed a sigh of satisfaction at the familiarity of the image before her and she hoped her husband would be pleased.
"Frances," she called out to her maid, "might we do something to the contrary with my hair? I suppose that if I cannot now find a fashionable gown straight out of the pages of Le Beau Monde, then I shall make a subtle change-perhaps it would serve to please him well."
"Please him it will, ma'am," Frances grinned and began to pull the morning's pins from her mistress's hair.
Elizabeth ran her fingers through the depths of her dark curls as her hair once again flowed freely about her shoulders. "Perhaps some blossoms-it has been a long time since I have worn flowers in my hair for a certain gentleman," she admitted with a politic grin. Frances was happy to oblige and ring down for Mrs. Reynolds to gather the last of what tiny petals were to be had from the gardens.
When it was all accomplished, Elizabeth stepped from her chambers with a lively smile and great hope in her heart. She so wanted Darcy to take notice of her, in light of approval this very night. How she did remarkably love him, and how she did take delight in knowing the very sight of her could give him such pleasure. She willed herself carefree and happy, and all eagerness for the endless attentions of a certain gentleman, even though those attentive guests who would no doubt make that difficult occupied their house. If only they could be rid of them, she sighed in musings to herself-but that was only a flight of fancy.
Frances gaily watched after her mistress from the chamber doorway, as the new misses eagerly made her way through the great hall, sailing about as lightly as a blithe lady might in slippers made of blue satin. Elizabeth swiftly passed by the grand view of the tall windows, admiring the glorious fall of an autumn eve as she went, until something beyond the windows caught the lady's eye, and she stopped her merry gavotte abruptly to have a discriminating look.
Frances was curious as to what her mistress could see below, to change her fair complexion so readily. The faithful servant crept silently toward one of the windows, and peered out onto the vast lawns by the lake. There in the looming dusk below was the fashionably clad figure of Lady Abigail Ashburton, circling about a handsome gentleman, much like a scavenger gull to a tall-masted ship.
The maidservant glanced at her mistress's face, sorry at seeing gloom on the cheeks of one in whom the sentiment seldom ever impressed. It flustered Frances at that moment to hear footsteps in the hallway, and the deep resonance of Colonel Fitzwilliam as he bellowed forth a cheerful soldier's ditty. She flapped her hands in the air at the gentleman, however he was far too merry to notice her distress.
"...For the drums did go with a ratter-tat-tat and the fifes so loudly play, Fair thee well Polly me love for I must be going away," his voice did sing out in joviality.
The colonel so very easily chuckled at Frances, quite mistaking her fluttering and flapping to be her amusement at his impressive warbling. "Elizabeth!" he called out before entering his chambers to wash and dress. "You look lovely-simply beautiful. That gown quite becomes you, and what a striking twist to your hair!"
Elizabeth turned her noble chin round, "Thank you, sir," was all she said with a careless whisper, and the smile on the colonel's face dimmed.
Frances scurried away from the windows with a sad shake of her head, but not until the worry on her face expressed to Colonel Fitzwilliam that something was indeed amiss. He went to the windows to have a look for himself, and through them he saw his venerable cousin in cordial conversation with such a viper as Lord Ashburton's woman.
The colonel's eyes were made to look at Elizabeth with fraternal concern and his strong voice spoke out assuredly, "He will be in shortly-he spoke of nothing on the ride home, than his anticipation at seeing your lovely figure and sparkling eyes tonight. You shan't disappoint him, shall you?"
Elizabeth's own eyes glanced upward, in an attempt to alleviate her present distress. "Tell me why I feel as I do?" her voice shook. "I have never thought myself suspicious or envious-but there is no denying that the woman is beautiful and determined to be close to my husband."
"You are a gentleman's daughter, do not forget," the colonel replied abruptly.
"Yes, I am," she replied through another outward breath, "A gentleman's daughter, and a gentleman's wife-and because of it, I should think myself above all of this."
"You are above it all," the colonel smiled tenderly, "as you are beautiful and determined as well, but you are only two and twenty, lass-and as yet somewhat unpracticed in the ways of what our society renders. Although I know not for sure, I can imagine that it takes some time to learn to be a tolerant wife-or a husband for that matter."
He reached out a hand and placed it upon Elizabeth's wrist. "It is because you are above it all that Darcy loves you so. Even for his faults he is a man of integrity and good sense, especially when bestowing his affections. He is not free with his love, as I think you are well aware."
Elizabeth turned her face away from the window and smiled at one of the most treasured men in her life, other than her beloved husband. "I know all that you say is true, dear friend Richard-and I thank you for reminding me of it."
The colonel nodded and sighed. "I do feel a bit sorry for the woman though-to be married off to an oaf like Ashburtie. He pays her every vain wish, and gives her very little genuine love at all. If I were her I should find myself a place to go and hide myself from him-but then I wonder that her reasons for marrying him stemmed from any less vanity."
"A woman so wants to be the light of her husband's life," Elizabeth whispered as though speaking to herself, "even if there are times she feels like hiding herself from his very eyes."
The colonel arched a brow, wondering what his cousin's new wife had meant. "Go back to your quarters and await your husband," he advised Elizabeth with the good knowledge of what it should take to please a man, then he skirted his eyes quickly to the side and grimaced, "Let Ashburtie and his braying jezebel wait for their supper."
Elizabeth's cheeks blushed at the colonel's contemptible reference, but her eyes did glimmer in impishness and she leaned over and gave the gentleman a peck upon the cheek, then left him to do as he had suggested. It was not that long until the chamber door opened and Darcy, dirtied and sweaty, stepped within.
"Elizabeth," he exhaled in somewhat of a surprise. "What a pleasant site you are, but I thought you would be downstairs by now-with your guests."
"I was compelled to wait for you here," she twisted her lip to keep her fears in check. She held her arms away from herself and asked him honestly, "Do I meet with your approval, dear husband?"
He looked at her lovingly, "You look beautiful, but then you always do, especially in such a color."
"Do I?" Elizabeth's brows furrowed in doubt, as she began what she should not have dared say.
Darcy glanced down to unbutton his sullied shirt. "Of course you do."
Elizabeth's face went flush with the heat of her peculiar and untimely jealousy. "As beautiful as Lady Abigail Ashburton?"
Darcy's fingers paused on the last button and his eyes swiftly rose to meet his wife's. "Lady Ashburton?" he chuckled uneasily, "Tell me what is this melodrama that everyone performs today? First Fitzwilliam-now you."
"'Tis no play, husband."
Darcy's mounting annoyance made Elizabeth look away as he circled about her figure, "What then?" he groused upon her avoidance, "What?"
"Why do you not resist her overtures?"
"What overtures, Elizabeth?" he asked in complete confusion. "Good lord madam, exactly what is it that you are trying to say?"
"I know that you are not so dim as to mistake my meaning!"
"Well, I thank you for that conviction at least," he grumbled, leaving her to stride nearer to his dressing chamber door. With all the irascibility a surly countenance could muster, he spun about and spat out, "Dim? Is that what you call a faithful and devoted husband? If I am to be assumed dim, my lady, then remind me beforehand of your suspicious nature the next time I choose to invite an associate to Pemberley."
"Did you invite them-did you?" Elizabeth seethed out the question. "Or did they invite themselves, as I was led to believe?"
The muscles in Darcy's jaw were visibly tensed, and he unconscionably kicked at the carpet with the toe of his scuffed and dusty boot. "Very well-since you so insist-I did extend the invitation to the Ashburtons."
With her face glowing red more than the new husband had ever witnessed, Elizabeth simply asked, "Why would you do it?"
"Honestly, Elizabeth-to allow you the opportunity to demonstrate your goodness-to my friends."
"To your aunt, you mean-by way of your friends!"
Darcy's face flushed red as well as he did his utmost to stuff his ill temper. He saw in her eyes his wife's determination to know the truth and his nostrils flared out in evidence of her provocation, "To my aunt, to my friends-to the blasted world for all the good it has done!"
"I see," Elizabeth was incensed by now. "This was all some sort of examination-a test to see if I measure up to a lady! A lady with a title to her name-and with capital looks and fine, pretty gowns to boot!"
Darcy's good conscience was caught between his guilt for disguising a small truth from his wife, and his exasperation with her distrust. "What would you have me say, Elizabeth?" he continued in a softer, easier tone, then his voice elevated a little in intensity as his impulse was to defend his own honor.
"I have made a mistake-'tis not my first-and most likely will not be my last. I am sorry-truly I am for concealing what I never should have from you, but I meant it all as a gesture in fairness to you. I wish my friends to see you as you are-to see the good woman who I know and love. My pride has everything to do with you, Elizabeth. Is it so bad for a man to want to show off the woman he married?"
Elizabeth cast her eyes away, for she knew enough to believe that perhaps this much could be true. "I know I have not made the best of impressions Fitzwilliam, but can you not see how that woman is taken with you? Can you not see how she looks to you to compensate for what she does not receive from her own husband? She shall certainly ruin our lives."
"There is no attraction between the likes of Lady Ashburton and myself," Darcy said firmly, then added quite intently, "and as your husband I shall not have you thinking so."
It was quiet between such headstrong lovers for a moment, as each thought of what the other had said. Darcy sighed in weariness, and cast off his soiled shirt. His searching eyes beheld Elizabeth's face-a face that was always determined to see things her own way at first, impertinent or not. That face had even looked the very same to him the first time he had ever seen her wearing the blue bonnet, upon meeting her under the canopy of trees in Rosings Park. It was there that he had come to love that face, even though at the time her heart had held no love for him.
He silently bowed his head; satisfied that Elizabeth was to offer no further argument. Before he entered his dressing chambers, he turned to glimpse her dear face once again and upon seeing the appearance of her continued vexation he spoke the words, "If you could only see things through my eyes."
Elizabeth's hand shook as she held the handle to the chamber door, and she declared in a hoarse whisper, "If only I could-then perhaps for once I would tend to agree with you."
********************************
Darcy was very weary from the day's activities, a little angry with his wife and by and far not in a good enough humor to endure Ashburtie's boorishness and Abigail's braying. Elizabeth felt foolish for what had transpired between her and Darcy earlier that evening, but her insides did still tumble over the thought of her ladyship having continued opportunity to be alone with Darcy.
Lord Ashburton did try to amaze everyone present with his recount of his day's adventures, although he declared just how crafty he found a Derbyshire buck to be, and thus, caught up in his own games, again he paid very little attention to his wife. Elizabeth felt some pity for Lady Ashburton, and perhaps she could not blame the lady for seeking affection elsewhere, except of course on Elizabeth's own doorstep. Darcy was completely unmoved however as to anyone else's troubles, and because of that and his fatigue he took on the attitude of that lordly man whom Elizabeth had known upon their first acquaintance. After supper, and what Elizabeth thought to be an excruciatingly long while, the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room.
Lady Ashburton rushed from her seat toward the hearth where Darcy had taken up residence, and she handed him what looked to be a cup of coffee with cream. "Here sir, drink-it will soothe you from the rigors of your long day out of doors," she cooed.
Darcy took it from the woman with barely an acknowledgment, as he feigned interest in Lord Ashburton's inane observations on the peerage and every other subject in which the gentleman considered himself an authority. Elizabeth's eyes widened at her ladyship's gesture, for she knew better than to believe the offering would soothe Darcy's spirits in the slightest. She could have interfered, and she would have, but with however much of a puckish glint to her eyes and an upturn of the corners of her mouth were only for Elizabeth to determine-interfere she did not.
Darcy sputtered and choked upon taking a sip of the liquid in the cup. "Damme!" he uttered most ungentlemanly in his surprise, "Good god, it is chocolate!" Then he looked down at a splatter upon his shirt and waistcoat after having tilted the cup in shock.
Lord Ashburton laughed aloud at his host's contempt for such delicacies; "A real man does not drink such vile stuff, eh Darcy?"
Darcy set the cup down upon the hearth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, for heaven sake."
"Dear me!" her ladyship proclaimed with an unlikely cower quite unbecoming of her station. "You have dirtied a perfectly whitened shirt!"
Darcy held back his vexation with a bite of his lip, but his eyes slanted in annoyance toward the lady. "I wonder just how many shirts a man can claim in ruin for one day? Excuse me," he said and left the room brusquely.
Elizabeth had to grin at her ladyship's foiled attempt at gaining Darcy's favor. "It is a shame about the shirt," she feigned with her nose tilted high, much in the manner of Lady Abigail, "and a pity that it was not a good glass of brandy-for that is something Mr. Darcy would truly have appreciated. I suppose though that it simply goes to prove that even a new wife knows best as to what will please her own husband."
Abigail Ashburton was made to look the part of a ninny, and she did not like it, not one little bit that such a simple girl should have such amusement at her expense. At once Elizabeth saw the hint of injury upon the lady's delicate features as her lips were pinched together tightly. "I am feeling quite unwell this evening," she declared holding out an illustriously bejeweled hand toward her husband. "Lord Ashburton," she called out in conviction, "I shall like to retire early."
"If you wish, dearest," his lordship chuckled in his pompousness, "however for me the affair is just beginning." He waved the back of his hand toward the door, "Do-do go without me. I shall join you sometime-don't know when."
Upon her husband's callous and disobliging refusal, Abigail Ashburton did leave the room in a heated flurry. The colonel and Bingley glowered at Ashburtie, surprised at his unmanly behavior toward his wife. Jane however, glanced in the direction of her sister. Elizabeth sat upon the sofa with her hands folded in her lap in a gesture of introspection.
"Lizzy," Jane sighed as she took a seat beside Elizabeth.
"No Jane," Elizabeth interrupted with a strong whisper, "pray do not reproach me. I know what it is that I do."
Jane cast her eyes upon her sister's face, "Do you, Lizzy?"
"Yes," Elizabeth turned determinedly toward her, "I do. I shan't allow that woman to make me look ridiculous again-I shan't."
***************************************
Darcy groused at his manservant as the poor man hurried to button the master's waistcoat. "Enough, Stephens-pray, that is enough fussing. I have been polished over plenty this night by too many people, and I am about ready to say hang it all and go to bed."
"Sir," Mr. Stephens dutifully backed away from Darcy. It had been far too long since his employer had been in such a surly mood, and the poor servant had really gotten use to a much better countenance brought on by the amiable presence of the new mistress.
Darcy left his chambers straight away, tugging uncomfortably upon his waistcoat. He turned the corner, and was headed for the staircase when another chamber door did open and the petite frame of her ladyship appeared before him.
"Madam," Darcy sighed as her ladyship grasped the lapel of his coat in her slender hands in pretense of steadying herself.
"My dear Mr. Darcy," she took in a breath to the purposeful swell of her bosom. "I thought perhaps you were my husband-but you are not an inattentive husband, oh no-but a strong and steady man."
Darcy's embarrassment caused him to roll his eyes a bit, "Is there some trouble, madam? If not, I am all anticipation to rejoin the good company of my wife."
"What of my company, sir? Do you not enjoy my company as well?"
Darcy could not fathom being rude, however much he wanted to make a flippant comment on the effects of her ladyship's braying upon his courage. "Madam, I offer you my arm-and an escort back to the drawing room and to your husband."
Abigail Ashburton sniffled in touching revelation of her distress. "My husband cares nothing for me, my dear sir. Why should I wish to return to him? Ours is a match not made in heaven, Mr. Darcy-or have you not noticed?"
"Er, uh," he stuttered uncomfortably attempting to think of something politic to say, "I am under the impression my lady that there are many reasons for marrying. The only unhappiness I dare to take notice of is when on the rare occasion that it may exist within my own marriage."
Abigail Ashburton shimmied closer to the man who stood before her. "Are you having troubles as well, Mr. Darcy?" she whispered slyly. "Why do you not tell me of it, sir-for perhaps I can help to ease your mind."
Darcy's hands came up between he and the lady in an attempt to detach her from so near to his brocade waistcoat. "I dare think it is something for my wife and I to work through for ourselves, but I thank you for your kind concern."
"Why should I not be concerned?" she cooed, "for I am a friend, and should not like to see such a look of sorrow upon this handsome face." Abigail Ashburton brought her hand to Darcy's cheek and let her finger caress the line of his jaw down to his chin. Darcy shuddered at her touch, for although he was not comfortable in her clutches, her gesture did somewhat flatter his ego.
"Madam," he whispered, "I really must suggest we rejoin the others."
"Very well," she sighed, but as quickly as a smile appeared upon her face, did her ladyship lean over and place a kiss upon Darcy's own unsuspecting lips.
Through his momentary daze Darcy did hear his name, and when his hands pushed away her ladyship, he glimpsed the untimely appearance of Elizabeth's mortified face. Darcy could not speak, for words seemed to well up into his throat and choke him into soundlessness.
Elizabeth had walked up the staircase on the arm of Colonel Fitzwilliam and both the lady and gentleman could barely believe what their eyes had seen. It seemed a lifetime that Darcy stared at the beloved face of his bride, until her eyes narrowed and she turned about to scramble back down the staircase in humiliation.
"Unhand me, madam," Darcy's bewildered voice croaked out, and he stepped away from Lady Abigail and strode to the top of the staircase, in time to see Elizabeth reach the bottom and run toward the back doors of the house.
"I never should have believed it," the colonel grasped Darcy's coat with a forceful fist, "had I not seen it with my own eyes."
"Do you believe everything you happen to see, Fitzwilliam?" Darcy said as he disengaged his cousin's grip.
The colonel shook his head in exasperation, then turned about to follow Elizabeth down the stairs. Darcy did not move, so stunned and reeling he was with the consequences of such an error. In a moment he recalled the presence of Lady Abigail, and he stared at her with contempt.
"You are to leave my house, madam. I do not care how you manage it, but I insist that you make some excuse to your husband, and be gone at first light of morning."
"How dare you, sir," Lady Abigail muttered in condescension. "I have done nothing to be treated so shamefully!"
"Perhaps not in your eyes, but I will not have you continue here to torment my wife any further than you already have."
Lady Abigail grinned and held her nose in the air. "You do realize this shall not sit well with your aunt, when I return to Kent and tell her how poorly we were treated."
"That is odd," Darcy exhaled sharply, "for I was thinking how appalled my aunt will be when I tell her what a proper harpy you are. Get out of my sight, before I tell your husband something he may not want to hear."
"You would not say a word to my husband. You play too much of a gentleman for that," she laughed.
Darcy exhaled, then raised an inimitable brow. "Would you like to wager on it?"
Her ladyship's face went ashen at Darcy's threat, and she returned to her chambers in a whirl, slamming the mahogany door behind her. Darcy's heart jumped as he heard the sobering sound, and he took in a breath, wondering where his Elizabeth might have gone.
His stomach churned at the thought of her suffering, and he could not think of anything he could say, or any excuse worthy to be offered up, when he finally did find her. His legs carried him swiftly down the staircase, although he remembered none of it, and he burst through the doors of Pemberley house to stand upon the verandah and look out onto the grounds beyond.
The wind did swirl and whip at his clothing and the fallen leaves and twigs scattered about him, as he began to run down the road. He heard Colonel Fitzwilliam calling out Elizabeth's name in the distance, and Darcy stopped to listen for a forthcoming reply.
There was none, and Darcy's dread for the security of his own happiness beat him round and round with the twigs and leaves. As far as he had been concerned all was right with the world around him, as long as his Elizabeth resided within his reach, and sorrowfully at the present, his beloved bride was nowhere to be found.
Chapter VII
~ From "Songs the Whalemen Sang",
Collected from the journal of the Diana, 1819
Darcy clambered down the pathway to the spot where he had found Elizabeth on previous occasions. The wind was merciless in its object to hurl leaves and twigs through the air, and it blew through the needles of the great old spruces, making a dreadful howl over the stormy landscape. The swiftly moving clouds above made it even more troublesome to see in the dark, but a faint light in the distance caught Darcy's attention and he made haste in its direction.
He caught up to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who held a carriage lamp in his hand, and was bent over, inspecting the soft ground below him. "This way, I think," he said as he pointed toward a densely wooded area. Darcy did not wait for his cousin, and he stalked ahead, not speaking a word.
"I knew this would come to no good," the colonel hastened to interject as he followed hard on Darcy's heels.
Darcy paid little attention to his cousin's censure, as he strained to see through the waving undergrowth. He caught a glimpse of something of a foreign color to a forest lying upon the path, and his legs carried him as quickly as they could to the spot. He scooped up the cloak, Elizabeth's blue satin cloak into his hands, and as he stood back up, abandon made him cry out her name.
"Dear god, where could she be?" Darcy whispered when there was no reply.
"Hiding herself from your eyes, I think," the colonel grumbled from behind him.
"Do not chide and scold me, Fitzwilliam--for you do not know the circumstances and your own eyes have deceived you greatly."
"Have they? Have they really, Darcy? I saw what I saw, and earlier this day I saw falseness in those eyes of yours."
"Humbug, Fitzwilliam," Darcy turned to his cousin adamantly, and the two men came face to face, "Humbug is what you are trying to say--is it not? Your eyes have deceived you, cousin. Ashburtie has his hands full with that wench, so he has--and I have made no more of a mistake than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Are you sure that was not your only blunder, cousin?"
"No," Darcy abruptly looked to his shoes with a dour frown and some mode of repentance; "no, I am not. I allowed that woman to flatter me Fitzwilliam, and I suppose that was deceit enough to Elizabeth. When it comes to the contentment of my own woman, I shall never again make such a wretched mistake. You can be sure of it."
Darcy turned and again strode down the pathway, his long legs carrying him at a quick and eager pace. It was far too dark to see any sort of imprints in the soft earth, even with the flickering light of the carriage lamp. Eventually the gentlemen came to a stop in a small clearing, surrounded by the twisting and howling pines, and before them was another path that disappeared out into nothing.
"Elizabeth!" Darcy shouted out at the height of his ragged voice above the moan of the trees. "Elizabeth!" he called again, yet still there was no answer. He stopped to ponder a moment as to where on the grounds that he might be, then as if he had some sort of prophetic revelation, Darcy turned in the direction of a stand of old vines and oddly whispered the word, "Bower."
"What?" the colonel queried.
"Fitzwilliam," Darcy said. "Go back to the house and tell the others that Elizabeth and I are well. I do not think there is cause for alarm."
"You know where she is?"
"I believe I do," Darcy replied with a curious look in the direction of the twisted foliage. "Yes, I do."
Colonel Fitzwilliam caught Darcy by the coat sleeve, "Take heed of some advice my friend--do have compassion."
Darcy glared at his cousin's rough hewed features in the darkness, and for a moment he was tempted to be angry and resentful of the colonel's familiarity and friendship with Elizabeth. "You care a great deal, Fitzwilliam."
"I care, cousin," the good colonel admitted soberly. "Your wife is young and in love with a formidable husband, and now her feelings are hurt. You of all people should know that she is happiest when she is the light in your eyes, Darcy. Her unmistakable excellence in your presence should tell you so, and if I were you, I would do nothing to destroy her admirable opinion of you."
"You have a good heart, cousin," Darcy sighed, laying aside his own feelings, and freeing his arm from the colonel's grasp, "you always did." Darcy took a step forward, but turned back around to his cousin and smiled pleasantly. "If there were only such a woman for you, eh?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam handed Darcy the carriage lamp. "If only," he lamented with a single sigh.
******************************************
"Elizabeth?" Darcy's voice uttered softly. The interior of the little cottage was dark and silent, but when he held up the lamp, there in the corner, sitting on a chaste wooden bench, was Elizabeth.
"Do go away," she murmured through teardrops and sniffles.
"No," the husband answered blunt and simply put, and he set the lamp and blue cloak upon the stark little table. He took a good look about at the wretched little dwelling, observing that it was cleaned and did not smell as musty as the last time he had happened to be in it. He saw the tidy straw in the berth and the unburned wood in the hearth, and spied the little broom near the door.
"So you have found this place out," he said with a lad's grin. "It has been here a very long time. Longer than I can even remember."
Darcy took in a swelled breath of discontent when he realized Elizabeth was not to talk to him. He watched her shiver, out of distress and chill he thought, and he wanted ever so desperately to touch her--to hold her. Instead he took the handle of the little broom into his hand and swiped it about the chimney, knocking down the twigs of a starling's old, forlorn nest. With the flint from the tinderbox above the hearth he lit the kindling and blew on it a little to fan it well into flames. Before long there was a fine fire burning, and very little smoke coming within the place.
"More light, and much warmer," he smiled again in his wife's direction, but Elizabeth was still inclined to sit woefully, staring at nothing while clutching her blue bonnet in her hands and running her fingers back and forth across its soft satin ribbons.
Bewildered by her overpowering reticence, Darcy pouted like a hobbledehoy and flung himself onto a chair by the table. He studied Elizabeth's graceful hands as they worried the ribbons of the bonnet and he waited for her to say something to him, anything--anything at all. After a time he took another look about the shanty, and glimpsed the small window without a curtain. He swiftly stood up and Elizabeth in her astonishment at his action stood up as well, but Darcy did simply stride to the window, shimmy off his black dress coat, and hang it abreast the two pegs on either side.
"Does this mean that you are to stay?" Elizabeth asked with brevity that Darcy did not like.
"Oh, yes," her persistent lover replied in all seriousness. "I would not walk out on you."
"I did not walk out on you, Mr. Darcy--I ran out--and with good reason."
"Indeed--with good reason," Darcy acceded by nodding curtly in overthrow.
Elizabeth bowed her head, wishing to shade her vexation. "Are you in love with her?"
In reply to such a petition, Darcy raised his hand to his temple, running his fingers through his hair, feeling harrowed and uneasy. He shook his head adamantly and confessed, "Good god, no Elizabeth. Damme and my taciturn disposition for letting you think it. It was only that I let her flatter me--I let her flatter me, and that is all there is to it."
"All?" Elizabeth seethed. "Well flatter me this, Mr. Darcy!" she wailed out in her bitterness, and upon stepping closer to him, flailed the precious blue bonnet away at his chest.
The remorseful husband was thunderstruck, and he let her do it, five or six times at least, until Elizabeth became so encompassed by it all that she backed away weeping and fearful for what her petite self had done to such an imposing spouse. Darcy caught her by the hands and held her before him, aberration and torment goading his own feelings into heightened affliction. "No, Elizabeth. Do not do this to us!"
"To us?" she sobbed, fearful as a young wife will be, but with her usual pluck. "You have not known me as a wife for a year Fitzwilliam Darcy, and you long for the flattery and attentions of another woman! What sort of us can there be when a man cannot be faithful?"
"Nay!" he declared, still gripping her hands tightly in his own. "I am faithful--I am! My dear lady, again you think ill of me without knowing the circumstance. Will you not give me the chance to explain myself--will you not?"
Elizabeth stopped her sobbing to look at him; her face soaked with the horrible tears that Darcy had once seen in his imagination. "Explain it if you must," she replied, with the brevity that Darcy was beginning to abhor.
"She does not mean a thing to me, Elizabeth, I swear it. Other than the fact that she is the wife of my acquaintance, as I have said before. She was angry with her husband, for what reasons I know not, and I took pity on her..." Darcy stopped as Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and she tried to pull her arms away, "...I took pity on her only enough to listen to her woes--as a friend." The look on Darcy's face was sheepish, to say the least. "She played me for a fool, Elizabeth."
"She is very good at it," Elizabeth hissed.
Darcy's cheeks reddened. "Aye, that she is."
Elizabeth choked down the fury that she had felt so violently only a moment ago, realizing that perhaps it was true that Darcy had been taken in by Lady Abigail, in the same manner that she had been some days before. Some natural color came back to Elizabeth's cheeks and out of dauntlessness to hear from her husband what her heart so desperately wished for, she whispered, "Then if you say you are not besotted by her, are you then still in love with me?"
There was nothing, which could have wounded Darcy's spirit more, than to have Elizabeth wonder if he loved her at all. Injury and slight caused him to let go of her tender hands, and he doubted what sort of husband, what sort of lover he had been to her thus far. Elizabeth watched the formidable look that came over his face, and to her surprise there was no guilt to his expression at all, only misgiving.
"I must be a wretched man if you do not know how much I adore you," Darcy respired in despondency. "You know not how sorry I am to have caused you this much grief--nor do you know how it wounds me to conceive that those tears which you cry belong to me." Darcy pondered everything he had heard, then formulated the only opinion his bruised and melancholy countenance could make out. "So this is the reason that you want to hide yourself away from me."
"Hide myself away?"
"Here," he waved his arms at the tiny cottage, "in this place."
"I do not want to hide myself from you, Fitzwilliam. I come here when I cannot be with you." Elizabeth grasped the blue satin cloak from the table, and brought it to her face to dry her tears and feel its fabric's soft comfort. She sniffled and her voice warbled in wretchedness, "I read here and I think here, and I use the solitude to meditate on my life and what I may do to be the kind of wife you wish. I think of you when I am here, my husband--I think of us and I think of no one else."
Elizabeth's heart ached and she flushed pink. "I never would have thought that I would strike you in the breast with a blue bonnet here, though."
Her countenance lifted a bit when Darcy did not admonish her treatment of him, and she reached her hand to his face and let her fingers feather against his cheek, acknowledging her remorse and innermost regret. "I never would have thought to strike you at all--for it is true that as your wife I am so deeply in love."
Darcy's dark eyes again looked into Elizabeth's, and with a countenance that was everything genuine and everything noble, he replied, "With you my dearest Elizabeth--so am I."
Once more did Darcy desire ever so greatly to touch Elizabeth, that he did feel the ache of fervor within his hands. His fingers touched her face, soft and pleading with tenderness, but he kissed her lips with a passion that glowed hot, much like the flames of that humble hearth before them.
"This will never come between us again," Darcy whispered in her ear. "Say it will not, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, serenity overtaking her senses after such an ordeal, for so easily and unmistakably did he touch her, and want her, that she knew Darcy did still love her. "If you love me all our days this way--it will not," she replied.
Darcy gently took the blue bonnet from Elizabeth's hands and the ribbons slid though her fingertips as she let it go. "Then I shall love you this way, forever," he smiled and lifted her from the ground. The absolved husband did settle his elegant wife upon the clean straw in the berth, then he cast the bonnet onto the top of his raven-black coat, which covered the little window and hid the two ever-faithful lovers away in coveted obscurity.
******************************
Elizabeth awoke to find herself laying upon the straw, the blue cloak nestled about her body comfortably. The light within the cottage was dim, from a hearth fire dying away to embers. Joyfully she reached beside her for the comfort of her husband, but Darcy was not there, and Elizabeth laid her dark curls back down onto the pale straw and wondered that her recollections of a few hours ago had all been in her dreams.
He had not followed her as she had hoped for. She had not really admitted what love she had for him, and together they had not discovered the extent of what it meant to cherish what one already had within one's grasp. Elizabeth again reached over to her side, and there lay her blue bonnet next to her in the straw. She brought it to her breast, wondering if it still held any meaning to her husband at all, and she let the ribbons run through her fingers, feeling the softness and comfort of the satin.
She thought it prudent to look out of the little window, for perhaps it was morning, and if she did not go hastily back to Pemberley, Darcy would surely be angry and quarrelsome with her. She would not have thought that he was the sort of man to leave his wife alone all night, but then she thought that perhaps he never could have found her in the darkness and wind.
Elizabeth crawled out of the berth and looked about the humble little structure. She was convinced Darcy would never have approved of her being there. Perhaps he did know of it, and his failure to come to claim her was a demonstration of his mortification at her choosing to be in such an ignoble place. How would he explain it all to his friends, he would think, and how could she not show her sensibility for all that he had given her.
She could not believe she had been so wrong about his character. Everything he had done in their marriage thus far seemed to be out of kindness, affection, and regard. His good favor and her vehement attraction for him, Elizabeth had thought to be what one would call a mutual love. She was wrong about it though, for love between two people was made, and worked at--and kept in one's spirit forever. Their love had been conceived from acceptance and it had worked its way into her very being in such a brief time, that now she could never do without him.
Elizabeth stopped short of the window as she turned around, and she gasped and giggled although tears of happiness appeared in her eyes upon the astonishment. Darcy's black coat still hung humbly upon the pegs over the window, and Elizabeth reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the fine woolen nap of it to be sure the token of his presence and perseverance was really within her grasp.
*********************************************
Colonel Fitzwilliam ambled about the quiet house. He had a difficult time sleeping, for despite the earlier reverberation of a horrendous verbal disagreement coming from Lord and Lady Ashburton's chambers, he fretted over Elizabeth's well being and his cousin's happiness. He thought perhaps the library would offer up a good book to take his mind off of his concerns, and he turned the corner, candle in hand, to see another light flickering within.
"Darcy," he whispered, seeing his cousin engulfed within a large chair, with his feet upon a stool and a glass of claret tottering in his hand. Darcy motioned to a chair across from him, and the colonel sat down, then leaned forward in anticipation. "What do you do here? Tell me that Elizabeth is safe in your bed?"
"She is safe, Fitzwilliam," Darcy responded with a sigh, "but she is not in my bed."
"Then where?"
"She is where she wants to be."
The colonel let out a heavy sigh; "Very well, I shall mind my own affairs, Darcy. I have been acquainted with you long enough to know that your terseness of words connotes distance."
Darcy respired coltishly, "Does it? I had never noticed." To that the colonel rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Ah, Fitzwilliam," Darcy sighed, "it is not that I wish to avoid your inquiries. I do appreciate your concern--it is simply that I do not quite know what to make of my wife at times. I think I come to know her well, and then I learn something new of her to completely throw me."
"At least it is not boring that way," the colonel grinned.
Darcy laughed, "No--no it is not boring--never would I call it boring. Frustrating at times, but not boring." Darcy settled back in his chair. "Do you want to know what I learned this night?" he sighed.
The colonel's curiosity got the better of him, for never had it been said that Richard Fitzwilliam did not enjoy a tidbit or two of gossip, but where the feelings of his cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy were concerned, his interest was genuine. He cocked a brow in answer of Darcy's question and his cousin grinned.
"When I married Elizabeth, in a way I took pride in the fact that she would henceforth not have to be made to live in mediocrity. She would be able to afford those things she never could have before, for I had never previously met a woman whom I thought deserved to be lavished on more completely. But, it is everyday that I discover that extravagance does not necessarily make her happy--and amazingly enough it is that very attitude that has a sort of effect on me."
"Do not tell me that you long to be humble, Darcy?" the colonel snorted in sport.
Darcy shifted position in his chair, and he sighed in comfortable and complete repose. His contentment made his face beam in wonder, and he did confess, "I have known her pleasures on a graceful bed of down, and I have done the same on a plain berth of straw--and I cannot now tell you which has given me more joy. If that sort of artlessness is what makes a man happy, how I wish I would have known it years ago."
The colonel was silent as he pondered Darcy's description of his felicity. How he wished to know such absolute peace for himself. "I suppose it does not really matter," he finally sighed, "as long as the next day you find that your heart loves her as well in either fashion."
There was a tender knock upon the frame of the doorway, and both men turned at the sound of it. There in the shadows stood Elizabeth, with her blue cloak draped in her hands and Darcy's black coat about her shoulders. The colonel stood up and nodded his leave to Darcy.
"I am glad to see you well, ma'am. Good night," he said to Elizabeth as he left, and she favored him with a grateful smile.
"Why did you leave me?" Elizabeth calmly asked Darcy as she stepped nearer to his chair. He grasped her hand, hidden well within the sleeve of his black coat, and she settled herself within his arms. "You said you would not."
"I did not want to," he replied, "but I have come to realize that the cottage is your place, Elizabeth. If you need a place to go at times, it will always be there for you, and I shall not interfere with your privacy there." Elizabeth smiled, although it appeared half-hearted at best, to Darcy. "Perhaps," he whispered upon further thought, "you might invite me there once in a while? Unless you think it best not to."
"No," she grinned, "I would like to have you there--once in a while." Elizabeth blushed at her deeds of the past week. "What of his lordship and Lady Abigail, Fitzwilliam? I should certainly hide myself away at the cottage, to avoid their ridicule of my foolishness."
"You will not have to," Darcy replied with a devilish grin. "Before I came to find you, I took the opportunity of throwing her ladyship out of the house." Elizabeth's eyes widened, and Darcy frowned. "Not literally, but they are to leave at first light."
"What shall they say to your aunt?" Elizabeth's countenance fell. "I should never have them speak anything to further damage your relationship with Lady Catherine."
"If it has no effect on you Elizabeth," Darcy said as he brought her face to his with his palms, "then I do not care." He grinned broadly and kissed her, then gave a chuckle of amusement. "But I would pay the smart* to see her face when she gets word that I gave the wench the boot."
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Darcy stood on the drive, beside his lordship's carriage, and Elizabeth stood next to him, although she did feel a little better concealing herself behind Darcy's coattails. Lady Abigail was already seated within the carriage, and whatever she did, she did her best not to meet either Darcy's castigating gaze or Elizabeth's keen eye.
Lord Ashburton, Earl of Shrewsbury did stand before Darcy, and he did not pretend to hide the scowl upon his face. "If you were not such an old friend, I should call you out," he grumbled.
Darcy bit his lower lip to fend off his temptation to tell his lordship what sort of wife he really had. "I think not, my lord. Not only would you be in the wrong, but also you would be no more. Do take care, though--for one day her ladyship may tangle with a man, not quite as tolerant as myself."
Elizabeth sighed when the carriage was well out of sight, and Darcy happily cast his arm about her. "I am so in love," he whispered in her ear with a tickle.
"So am I," Elizabeth replied to him in the same fashion, and placed her hands, one on each lapel of his raven-colored coat.
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Very little time passed until the Darcys were to discover what their love would bring forth, for Elizabeth would bear Darcy a son for his mind's utter peace, together with a daughter for his heart's shear delight. It always pleased Elizabeth to believe that such joy had come from that night in a humble and lowly cottage, and that the heir to such a majestic place as Pemberley, and to such a lofty birthright as the name of Darcy, had been begot in such modesty.
The Darcys never did see Lord Ashburton again. Lady Abigail did commit another indiscretion, and this time his lordship did make the mistake of calling out the gentleman. They announced his untimely demise in the Gazette and laid his lordship to rest in an entitled tomb, and her ladyship did suffer the humiliation and regret of not marrying for love, and bore the unhappiness that came along with it.
Elizabeth walked out into the crisp autumn air, her blue cloak wrapped about her shoulders securely, and her bonnet so blue tied upon her dark curls. She stopped short of the bower and cottage, upon seeing a group of men scouring the area.
"What are you doing?" she asked one of them.
"Fixing up the place, ma'am--like Mr. Darcy said to. He said to give it a new roof, and a coat of fresh paint, inside and out, and to sweep the chimney."
Elizabeth smiled at the workman and said, "Then carry on." She went to leave them to their work, but the man stopped her once again.
"Mr. Darcy said to ask you what color for it, ma'am?"
"What color?" Elizabeth pondered, then smiled with the love she held for that certain gentleman whom she had once met within the humble walls. "This color," she replied emphatically, and pointed to the satin ribbons which ran so tenderly and lovingly through her delicate fingers.
The End
* An unscrupulous wager
My thanks to everyone reading, and for taking the time to tell me so. I've enjoyed your wonderful speculation as well. Again, it's been a pleasure ~ Lou
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