Darcy & Elizabeth (18 page)

Anne had sunk back in the corner of the seat, hoping against hope that her countenance was shielded from the spectacle her mother had become. For, as it happened, Lady Anne was of a pragmatic nature. Although she had known her mother to trample all obstacles by sheer determination, Anne recognised when a cause was lost. She had seen it in Miss Bennet's eyes then, and she saw it in Mr. Darcy's eyes when her mother repeated the particulars of their visit to Longbourn. For Anne, it was time then to move on, broken-hearted or not. It took several years for her mother to come to that conclusion.

Of the grand scheme set forth by Lady Catherine to hie to Bath upon an urgent search for a betrothal for her daughter, Lady Anne herself was unwitting. She knew only that, once again, her health demanded repair.

The Pangs of Love Run Deep

When the dressing bell awoke Darcy that evening subsequent of his engagement in physical congress with his wife, he was perplexed. Had he just enjoyed a particularly convincing dream or had his wife, indeed, afforded him her favours?

So deep was his sleep and disordered his recollections, he did not immediately arise. He lay unmoving for a moment to gather his bearings, gazing at the tiny motes of dust suspended in the evening sunlight. He was certain that he recollected a conversation between them regarding a letter—and a misunderstanding over it. If that occurred, so must have the resolution. Surely he could not have slept that soundly—it was far too distinct.

He then sat upright, looking about the room for confirmation that he had not been alone. He went so far as to examine the coverlet beneath him for the tell-tale evidence that it had been only a dream, but there was nothing but the faint remains of Elizabeth's scent. Whilst he quit the room and made for his dressing-chamber, he remained in that disorder. Mechanically, he lifted his wrists allowing Goodwin to ready him for dinner. He still felt as if he were in some state of fugue, a sleep-walker through his own life.

His head was only beginning to clear when he passed Elizabeth's dressing-chamber. He stopt to determine if she was still within. He heard nothing and made his way directly to the dining-parlour. There he saw himself to be tardy of their guests. Elizabeth sat in her place at one end, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were on either side of the table. Although Elizabeth gave him a slight nod, he was unable to look directly upon her, for he had to apologize for his tardiness, insist that Mr. Gardiner keep his seat, and bow to Mrs. Gardiner before taking his place opposite Elizabeth. The Gardiners were newly come to visit and their observations and stories were still new enough to keep the conversation happy without much response from him. Although he was never at ease making small talk, this evening found him even less conversationally inclined. As per usual, Elizabeth filled the lull in the discourse by engaging the Gardiners with inquiries of their children and stories of her own.

Whilst Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner grew increasingly animated, Mr. Gardiner gave himself leave to remark upon them to Darcy, “Do look at them, Mr. Darcy—thick as two inkle-weavers. What schemes do you think they are concocting for us even as I speak?”

It did appear to Darcy that Elizabeth and her aunt were deep in collusion of some kind or another, and he smiled benignly at Mr. Gardiner. That gentleman continued to talk affectionately of the ladies, when from his pocket came an odd sound. It sounded much like the yowling of an imperilled cat. Startled, Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner ceased conversing and all turned to Mr. Gardiner in alarm. Darcy went so far as to half-stand, prepared to protect in whatever manner he must. Initially, Mr. Gardiner's countenance mirrored their trepidation, but directly he dug into the pocket of his waistcoat and produced the offender.

Sitting in the palm of his hand was a watch, no bigger than a half-crown, which had clearly gone ill. Its initial screech quickly deteriorated into a buzz, then clanked twice and fell silent.

“Mr. Gardiner!” declared his wife. “I begged you to not waste your money on such nonsense. It has not lasted a month!”

Mr. Gardiner guffawed at his own folly and held the watch up by its fob, allowing it to dangle a moment ere the entire contents exploded with a dull plonk, springs and tiny gears scattering upon the tablecloth.

“It looks to have been a repeater,” Darcy said politely.

“Every quarter hour,” replied Mr. Gardiner sadly.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “for the entirety of a four-week.”

She shook her head ruefully, but could not keep her countenance and began to laugh.

“I should have been more cautious,” said Mr. Gardiner. “It was but an English ticker. I thought better of our own countrymen's craftsmanship.”

“You, dear husband, thought better of nothing but your pocket!” said Mrs. Gardiner, then to Elizabeth, “I have long despaired of him for his economy. A watch deserves more consideration than you give to that man you call your tailor.”

Mr. Gardiner endeavoured to explain, “She abuses me unmercifully for the failings of my frock-coats.”

“If I would allow it,” interjected Mrs. Gardiner, “he would, no doubt, buy them from a rag-man. How can so generous a man to his family be so parsimonious to himself?”

Mr. Gardiner said, “I will answer that, Elizabeth. I do so for the single purpose of caution. I dress to discourage highwaymen—for a threadbare coat is better than chain-mail in protecting against robbery. Am I wrong, Mr. Darcy?”

All laughed and Darcy raised his glass and tipped his head in recognition of that wisdom. Mrs. Gardiner put a doting hand upon her husband's forearm and shook her head with affectionate acceptance of her husband's idiosyncrasies. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze and they in turn gazed upon each other with all the regard that only a marriage of settled affection could provide. Afore Mrs. Gardiner loosed his forearm, she did the most unexpected thing. She reached out and gave Mr. Gardiner a pinch in the side. Mr. Gardiner's face was turned away from him, so he could not gauge that man's reaction. It appeared
not
to have been an offence.

Darcy quickly looked down at his plate, knowing that he was not to have seen what she had done. His face had crimsoned so that he had no idea whether Mr. Gardiner's had done the same. When he heard the Gardiners once again teasing each other, he thought it safe to look again across his table and to his wife. With almost eerie synchronism, Elizabeth also looked up. Although they had exchanged words with each other and the Gardiners, he had not truly gazed upon his wife since his late arrival. Nor had he given more thought to what had come to pass just that afternoon. In that instant her eyes exposed to him that nothing had been a dream. It had all been as he had hoped.

It was a meal more interminable than any he had endured. So anxious was he to have a private moment with Elizabeth, it was all he could do not to bolt his food and demand the next course.

When at last dinner was at an end, thankfully the Gardiners expressed the desire to take an early evening. Elizabeth had a merry smile upon her face when she kissed Mrs. Gardiner's cheek. She and Darcy stood at the bottom of the staircase as they bid them goodnight. Elizabeth turned to go to the drawing-room, but Darcy, instituting that inexplicable flick of the head (one she had never mastered) bidding his servants withdraw, caught her hand and drew her into a narrow doorway that led to the stillroom. It was narrow enough that a portly scullery maid would have had to turn sideways to make her way through it; hence, as they stood facing each other, there was little room between them.

“Lizzy,” he whispered, “shall we too take an early evening? We have no one to entertain but ourselves.”

“As you wish,” she replied.

Neither, however, made a move from their intimate niche.

“As I wish?” said he. “To be sure.”

She dropped her head back and her hands to her sides, surrendering to any and all pleasures he was of a mind to bestow. She was entirely prepared to ascertain if their afternoon's amorous combat had diminished his want of her in any capacity. She waited, however, in vain. For, rather than kiss her, he stepped away. When he did, he took hold of her hand, bringing her with him from beneath the shadow of the doorway. He did not notice that frown lines had appeared between her brows, for he thereupon reached behind and under her, lifting her into his arms. She gasped. Darcy, however, had to shuffle her a bit to determine he had a good hand-hold, she kicking a bit in reluctance to allow him his way without her knowledge of his course.

“Pray, be still, Lizzy,” he cautioned. “I shall drop you.”

The single thing that she did not want to do at this very romantic juncture was to giggle. But she did.

“
Lizzy
,” he threatened.

“Forgive me,” said she, letting out another giggle, and then with that another, “forgive me.”

He took her then up the stairs to their bedchamber, he shushing and she giggling until they reached the door. He lodged his knee against the doorpost, rested her upon his leg, and fumbled for the knob.

“Allow me,” she said, reaching for it herself.

“I can
do
it,” he insisted, as his leg began to lose its wedge.

Finally the door relented, but even with so wide a doorway, Darcy managed to bump her head as he brought her through it.

“I am cruelly used!” she mocked great offence.

“I would beg leave to apologise,” he answered, “but I am much occupied with taming this wench to whom I am married.”

With that he tossed her in the middle of the bed. She drew herself to her knees and used them to manoeuvre her way to its edge where he stood waiting. With great dispatch he began to undo his neckcloth, but when she took over that duty, his hands moved to the narrowing of her waist. He allowed them to rest there, his thumbs strumming just below her ribs. It tickled slightly, but she did not permit that to deter her from her present employment—her reward would be far too pleasurable. She longed to slide her hand through the placket of his shirt and run her fingers through the small thatch of hair that covered his breastbone. Still conscious of his hands at her waist, she could not help remind him, “There was a time when your two hands spanned my waist.”

“Did they? I do not have that recollection.”

“Your memory does you service,” she did smile then.

“Lizzy…” he began. He had intended to say more, but his words were smothered when she took his face in her hands and kissed him quiet. A small whimper interrupted them, both looking at the other in question from whence it came. Immediately came the clicking and scratching of a large dog's paws as she clamoured from beneath the bed.

Elizabeth said, “She must have had a bad dream.”

Cressida sat down next to the bed, her big tail whapping on the floor. Darcy said nothing, but did not reach to give the dog a reassuring pet. Rather, he walked to the door and opened it wide in silent directive. Cressida slowly heaved herself to her feet and even more slowly, but surely, swayed her way out of the room. The old dog did not so much as give a start when the big door slammed just as she cleared it. She just kept walking peacefully down the corridor.

The Road to Restoration

That afternoon Elizabeth had left Darcy in much the same attitude as she had found him. So similar was his repose that to a casual observer, it might not have seemed she had been there at all. For her, however, the hours succeeding that brief encounter were a bit indistinct. She undertook her motherly obligations dutifully, but her mind was not fully employed. In that her motherly undertakings at that time could be placed no higher than serving as a spigot, she felt no undue guilt for such a lapse. In body, she cuddled and cooed at the robust child in her arms as he nursed, yet her thoughts still dwelt with her husband. Those were more than dry musings.

She was alternately mortified and exultant—and embarrassed that she felt both of those sentiments so keenly.

It was not that she had planned badly; it was simply that it had not gone as she had planned. She had fully intended to have him account for his connection with Mademoiselle Clisson. Indeed, she had given great study as to how this conversation would ensue and carefully prepared her questions. All was forgot in a trice. She had leapt upon him like some jealous (and possibly demented) harpy. His astonishment was quite reasonable. His answer was quite reasonable. Indeed, the only part of the conversation that was not reasonable seemed to have been hers. Although there were still a few clarifications she would pursue, she was altogether humbled to have harboured such suspicions. She was most particularly unhappy to have presented them with such vehemence.

He had not, however, seemed particularly vexed by her unwarranted inquiries. Indeed, he was wholly forbearing of it all. He could at least have had the good manners to have expressed a bit of pique so she could have justification to employ some part of righteous indignation. In this, he was wholly uncooperative. Not that she maintained any grievance against him. As he was a man capable of superior recompense, it was quite the opposite. Indeed, he had not left a strong impression of disfavour with her whatsoever. Amongst those intimate trappings of love he
did
leave was an impression quite of another sort.

As her office at that moment was the very apex of maternalism, she endeavoured not to think of either his methods or his means. She endeavoured not to think of them for a great long while. But as her present occupation was of a sort that inspired rumination, she had little success. Hence, the intervening hours between when she left him abed and coming together at dinner did not wear out her disconcertion. She had much to consider.

Several things were proved to her in that brief interlude atop their bed. She had been reassured of his love (although she was disinclined to think herself in need there, as a general rule one can never be reassured of that often enough). Too, she had been convinced of her allurement to him. Moreover, without a doubt he would soon steal a look under her chemise. She had concluded, however, that if when he did he was appalled at what he saw, so be it. She did not fall with child and birth two enormous babes without explicit help from him. Moreover, she had lately been of a mind that perhaps there was something to all the nudging and winking presumptuousness that her husband's virility alone spawned twins. She was not inclined to place blame, but it was not her feet that were the size of iron firedogs.

She sniffed that she had spent her time fostering such botheration.

Elizabeth had come to all these conclusions solely by her own means. Her Aunt Gardiner was a great and good friend, but such was their connection, she could never confide her most private perplexities to her. Whilst Jane was her closest confidante in most matters, in the subject of carnal connections, her ear remained unused as well. This was more for the protection of Jane's sensibilities than Elizabeth's. Insofar as Elizabeth was aware, Jane had never even removed her night-dress in front of Bingley. Hence, Jane's advice regarding the titillation value of the post-pregnancy figure upon one's husband would not be particularly weighty. As she was neither bold enough to risk censure nor desperate enough to endure the embarrassment, Elizabeth was determined to keep her own counsel on the entire vexation.

***

Soon after Jane had hied to Kirkland Hall, Elizabeth had sent an invitation to the Gardiners. Her aunt was beside herself over their favourite niece's blessed event and anxious to come and see all for herself. It was in all ways a pleasure to have the Gardiners' company. Their happy manners and easy ways always soothed her when she was nettled by some preoccupation. Darcy had always been happy to have them, too. Whether this fell to the Gardiners having been the agents that begat their unification or that, quite simply, they were the only relations of hers with whom he could bear to spend ten minutes together, she remained uncertain. She did know that both of those elements were pivotal in his regard. The first was simply chance, but the second absolved him of the accusation that he could not suffer any of her relatives at all.

She looked forward to them at their dinner table that night beyond her general esteem, for she preferred a short breathing spell to prepare her thoughts before encountering her husband at leisure.

It all went quite splendidly—although Darcy seemed to be almost as out of sorts as she. Whilst he smiled at the appropriate intervals, he spoke but little. She knew this because she looked upon him slyly, but with undue constancy. Even in the candlelight, she saw that he looked pale. She had noticed that of him before, but thought that loss of colour in his countenance was due only to his having kept so much to the house. Once he began to take to the saddle, she believed that the late summer sun would have tanned him once again to that burnished hue that he bore upon returning from the Continent. But it had not. Indeed, dark half-moons were becoming visible beneath the fringe of his lower lashes—a condition she had not recalled of him other than in the darkest of circumstances. That was most troubling, for he had every reason to be in the best of spirits. She supposed that is what pricked the flight of fancy her own imagination took. Something was clearly amiss.

Elizabeth's preoccupation with her husband's well-being did not keep her from witnessing her aunt's teasing pinch of Mr. Gardiner's ribs. This observation incited within her several emotions—primarily that of delight. Elizabeth was thoroughly pleased to see evidence of a happy marriage improved by a bit of mischievous affection. Second, and soon to overwhelm the first, was that her perception of the occurrence and Darcy's were not unalike. The realisation that they both saw and interpreted the incident with exact like-mindedness was a remarkable revelation. When their eyes met with such uncanny synchronicity, a frisson of excitement raced down her spine. Immediately every botheration nagging her had evaporated. She almost jumped to her feet and dashed for the door, thinking of feigning a swoon. But she had hung fast to the mast. With careful planning and Mrs. Littlepage's bounteous bosom at hand, she knew the night would be theirs even before the Gardiners begged an early evening. Indeed, in light of the twinkle each seemed to have adorning their eyes, their predisposition to weariness was not altogether an astonishment.

Nor was Darcy taking her hand and ducking with her into a doorway. She, of course, had no idea what configuration it would take, but she was fully prepared for him to take the initiative that she had so long been desiring. (She supposed was it necessary to name the aggressor in their earlier engagement, it would have been declared as mutually agreed upon.) Perchance it was having her anticipation so delightfully rewarded that set her to giggling like a girl; she could not be certain. She supposed that it was that in combination with a fit of nerves. Regardless, silliness was not at all what she wanted to present just then, but she could not bring her giddiness to heel. At least it remained unmanageable until the confines of the bedchamber and the prospect of his touch at last settled her.

Cressida's interruption had not been invited, but it was not an abhorrence. Elizabeth was happy for an excuse to gather her wits—and the beat of her heart, for it beat with such fury she felt her ears throbbing. By the time Darcy had taken the few steps back from the door, her wits were in no better order and they were additionally troubled by a burgeoning concupiscence that threatened to cause her to start tearing at his costume. In fortune, their minds were still alike, for he began to discard articles of his clothing ere he arrived back to her open arms. This gave her leave to assault once again the stubborn knot of his neckcloth whilst he began, with barely restrained impatience, to fumble with the buttons at the back of her dress.

Both their hands were trembling, but her fingers were nimbler than his. (The thanks for that she owed to the hours her mother had insisted she and her sisters embroider—but as it happened, she did not think of that then.) Once the knot of his neckcloth was undone, she seductively withdrew it from about his neck.

He was far too occupied with conquering her buttons to notice that, but his attention was caught when he felt her hand tugging loose his shirt-tail. He stopt his fumbling only momentarily as he felt her hands begin a tantalizing journey up his chest. Forthwith, he quite gave up undoing the buttons properly and took hold of the fabric, then gave it a violent tug, ripping the buttons loose with enough force to send several pinging across the floor. She threw back her head and laughed at his impetuosity and to once again revel in a compleat surrender to desire.

“You have destroyed my least objectionable frock!” she laughed again.

“They are both objectionable. I shall destroy the other one as well,” he retorted.

“Pray, what shall you have me wear? My night-dress all the day long?”

“Of course not. You shall wear nothing and lie with me beneath the counterpane until the seamstress arrives.”

His hands began the undulating search of her body that was quite capable of turning her limbs liquescent. She could also sense the lubricant of passion begin to form in the farthest reaches of her nether-regions. She very nearly succumbed to compleat abandon, but his mention of impending nakedness reasserted that niggling little reservation.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she whispered in his ear, “Pray, put out the light.”

She felt only the slightest hesitation before he ceased his caresses, saying, “As you wish.”

Before he went to the candelabrum he shed his shirt, hence she had the pleasure of admiring the inverted triangle of his back as he leaned, reached out, and, with firm deliberation, snuffed each candle between forefinger and thumb. When he turned to come to her, she could only see his outline and she immediately realised the disadvantage of her plan—if he could not see her, she could not see him either. (Briefly she considered whether he would entertain the notion of wearing a blindfold, but just as quickly discarded it.) With the apprehension over any disappointment he might have undergone removed, her inhibitions evaporated as well. Hence, it was a glorious and lengthy restoration of marital bliss.

And thus the best sleep either had had since Ascension Day.