Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife (35 page)

Half-blind and mostly deaf, he was not their father. He was, however, an earl. As a titled man of considerable age and no heirs, he excited all the attention one might expect, regardless that his conversation consisted but of the interrogative, “Eh?”

Miss Twisnodde’s diligent attention to removing lint from his jacket and smoothing his lapels was exceeded only by her married sister’s. Apparently, they believed two heads better than one (or four hands better than two) in obtaining a match for the unmarried sister (who bore an expression of prognathous determination, not unlike Caroline Bingley’s). Their ample display of arts and allurements was temporarily arrested upon introduction to Mrs. Darcy. After a polite curtsey to Elizabeth, both looked at each other, then spontaneously and synchronously giggled.

In light of having no clue why either of the ladies was incited to such merriment by her introduction, Elizabeth took mental inventory of any possible indiscretion of her costume. All accoutrements seemed in order. Hence, she prepared an insincere apology to excuse herself from such discourteous company. Thenceforward, her annoyance over her husband forsaking her to the mercy of a couple of coarse fisgigs escalated precariously. She would have instituted her departure quite promptly had not her attention been otherwise appropriated. For before Elizabeth could disengage herself, it fell apparent that the ill-manners she witnessed from the sisters may have been inflicted upon herself, but she was not the grounds, merely the whatever. Her husband was the wherefore.

She espied him heading in her direction. He carried two cups of negus high in defence of the jostling crowd. Raising her hand, she caught his eye. As his hands were full, hence he could but lift his eyebrows to indicate he saw her. Elizabeth realised the imminent addition of Mr. Darcy to their group had caused the sisters to abandon the poor, palsied earl. They nudged each other excitedly, and one commenced a high-pitched squeal.

In the near distance, Darcy stopped quite abruptly. His eyes narrowed. Even halfway across the room, Elizabeth could see his mouth tighten into a grimace and his nostrils flare (very nearly quivering). Obviously, he had seen something distasteful. So decided was his expression, Elizabeth made a quick look over her shoulder to see if she was about to have Lady Catherine beset her again. When she turned back about, Darcy had compleatly vanished. The flirtatious young women were twisting and straining upon tiptoes, obviously as curious as she about her husband’s sudden disappearance. She caught sight of the crown of his head as it moved into the midst of the crowd.

Excusing herself, she went to overtake him, intending to remark upon her new acquaintances’ unusual matching ensembles and common manners. But by the time she reached him, he was deep in conversation with Fitzwilliam, still holding the punch cups delicately by the handles. The dedication of this discourse fortunately outlasted Elizabeth’s interest in her previous company and the Twisnoddes were eventually forgotten.

The carriage ride home was endured with wearied congeniality. Both Elizabeth and Darcy were far too tired by their own perplexities for gossip. This quiet allowed them to bear witness to Georgiana’s unlikely enthusiasm of the occasion. Darcy listened to her societal rhapsody with particular pleasure. Upon most occasions, if he were to converse with his sister, it was his duty to initiate a topic. That was a chore few others could induce him to weather.

As Georgiana chattered on, Elizabeth listened to her in all good humour. But as she did, her mind wandered to Lady Catherine and the nagging feeling that her cunning would not allow her to rest at being so publicly chastened. Although Darcy had not seemed at all discomfited by that confrontation, Elizabeth knew his powerful aunt was as formidable an enemy as might be encountered.

Twitters aside, she hoped for no heinous repercussions.

In London, summer did not age with grace. The odour of desperation permeated the young ladies yet unattached. Thus, hitherto festive balls became not such gay affairs, but more mercenary. For unpromised damsels enduring their third season of society since presentation, it was positively grave. (For Miss Bingley, nearing thirty, the chances for a good match had dwindled disastrously.) It was then that the most imprudent conduct was exposed. Flirtations became more blatant.

Some young men, understanding that desperation fuels impetuosity, took advantage. Young ladies were compromised. Duels of honour were demanded, but few fought. Often accommodation was found in an engagement. (Fathers guarded their daughters fastidiously, but they were not unreasonable.)

It was in this contradictory air of futility and success that the peerage turned their thoughts toward the civility and serenity of the country. Before they realised it, the Darcys had but two days left in London and there were many loose ends to organise.

Properly, for Elizabeth one of those loose ends (so to speak) was the dressmaker’s, for Georgiana was to return within the month and could have her final fittings then. Elizabeth, not anxious to return to London anytime soon, needed to compleat her shopping forthwith. Happy to make every arrangement so that they could take leave in a timely fashion, Darcy elected to escort Elizabeth to Bond Street. His haberdasher lay across the avenue. He saw convenience to all.

With that first venture into Mayfair with Georgiana and Hannah to select fabrics and lace, women of society had been happy (to the point of exhilaration) to share lurid tales with Mrs. Darcy of what betimes late at night upon Bond Street.

Evidently, after supper and the theatre, their blood up from the quest, many young men not of a mind to risk censure walked the few blocks south to Bond and Regent Streets. For there, ladies free from chaperones and anxious parents tarried. Elizabeth, for her part, was almost as titillated with the hearing of it as the ladies in the relating. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to believe a street that harboured such sedate shops during the day became a teeming catwalk once dusk descended.

Everyone had heard of London’s disreputable red-light districts, the worst of which lay betwixt Whitechapel and Wapping. The streets of St. Giles were thick with harlots so desperate for a farthing that they would slit a man’s gullet as willingly as drop their drawers. Just the most base of men dared venture there.

Contrariwise, the demimondaines of Mayfair did not walk the street hoping to be propositioned. Respectable young men instead dallied inside anonymous houses amongst luxurious furnishings with women quite free with their affection. Notwithstanding these structures overlooked Hyde Park rather than the Tower of London, it could not be denied that the men’s clubs upon Pall Mall served the said same purpose as the streets of the East End (save for the throat slitting). However discreet gentlemen believed their carouses were, there was but one true secret. And that was how eager the speculation about it was amongst the feminine side of society.

It had been small vindication of her husband that the patronising of these houses of ill-repute was so pervasive amongst gentlemen. However, Elizabeth had been absolutely flabbergasted at the dispassion with which some wives accepted their husbands’ dalliances. What came to pass in Darcy’s life before he met her, she had chosen to set aside. Before he was married, she believed him guilty of nothing greater than possessing an unusually healthy libido. Nevertheless, that was where she drew the line.

If a man visited a woman not his wife after he married, that was adultery. A shooting offence.

Elizabeth had not taken much notice of the area initially, for it was quite a respectable street. However, once she heard all the rumours, her interest was certainly piqued. (It had to be labelled hearsay, she conjectured, for no lady of her acquaintance had first-hand knowledge.) One person of her intimate acquaintance, however, did.

She cast her eyes curiously upon certain houses upon Regent Street, howbeit not overtly. No undo attention would have been attracted had she not overheard the milliner’s assistant sending a boy to deliver several hatboxes to a house upon the next block.

“Harcourt House,” she said. “It is the large grey one. White shutters. You know the place.”

The boy nodded and set off upon his errand. Titillated by such news, Elizabeth could hardly contain herself until Darcy returned to escort her home. With studied nonchalance, she took his arm and suggested a stroll before returning to the carriage.

“We are to take leave to-morrow and I have not yet had my fill of peering into shop windows. Do humour me.”

It was unlikely that he thought her entirely innocent of gossip. Thus in not demurring she believed he was, indeed, humouring her. In want of convincing them both she truly wanted to see what the shop windows held, she stopped and admired several whilst steering him determinedly about the block. When they rounded the court, she saw a handsome stone house. As they took the corner, Elizabeth was studying the house so diligently, she did not notice the woman who passed. No note might have been taken had not Darcy done the improbable.

Almost imperceptibly, he touched the brim of his hat.

It was not done for a gentleman to acknowledge a lady not of his acquaintance. The woman did not appear to respond nor was there any attempt at introduction. Nevertheless, Elizabeth could not resist turning and looking at her as she took the steps to the grey house. There, the woman paused and returned her gaze. She was tastefully costumed. Beneath the satin ruffle of her bonnet, honey-coloured curls framed a patrician countenance. It was one of breathtaking beauty. Her figure could only be described as voluptuous, her costume, exquisite. She did not appear to be wearing rouge at all.

A more dismal moment was unimaginable. Could not her husband have had the good graces to commit carnal necessities with a woman who looked cheap? Ugly? Obese? No, he had hockled about with possibly the most beautiful courtesan in England. That was indefensible.

Other than his subtle acknowledgement of the passer-by, Darcy had looked straight ahead, keeping a firm hold on Elizabeth’s arm.

As he led her away, Elizabeth said simply, “She is very beautiful.”

When Darcy responded neither in question of whom she spoke nor in agreement, Elizabeth knew there was little doubt of the identity of the woman. It would have been reasonable, even expected, for her to ask him if he knew the house or inquire about the woman. However, she did not. She too, did the improbable. She spoke not a word.

Upon their return to the carriage, a dejection descended upon her that she did not attempt to rescue. For she realised her being had just been usurped by a green-eyed, grasping, grudging, possessive monster. By the time they reached the townhouse, Elizabeth decided that of all her many injurious faults, curiosity might well rank higher than impatience. She would have been quite content to live out her life without ever once looking upon that beautiful woman, understanding the intimacy she must have once shared with Darcy.

Obviously, Darcy knew Elizabeth comprehended all the implications of what she had witnessed. Her silence told him that. Hence, it was with no little tenderness that he took her into his embrace that night. When she received him, she did so with generosity, but when their union was compleat, she had a whispered entreaty.

“I wish we were home.”

Perchance it was the step of being formally introduced to society that had coaxed Georgiana from her diffidence. Perchance it was something more. Whatever it truly was, Darcy gave credit for Georgiana’s new-found confidence to her work being published. As that came about at Elizabeth’s insistence, his esteem for his wife and her opinion only grew. He did not say so in so many words, yet she knew it all the same. Elizabeth was quite happy to have her husband’s praise in place of possible censure had it gone badly.

He told Elizabeth that he was inclined to believe that Georgiana’s eighteenth year should see her happy at last.

That was the single pronouncement made of their season. The subject of their encounter upon the street with his past was avoided with superb dedication. All appeared content to recapture the quiet serenity at Pemberley, Elizabeth most of all. When she had told him she wanted to go home, he did not once fancy she meant Longbourn. He had been long persuaded to understand that she, as did he, thought only of Pemberley as truly home.

When the day of decampment arrived, the trunks had been loaded into the coach boots, but Mrs. Annesley was tardy yet from her visit with her daughter. Having had his fill of London, Darcy was too impatient to delay for a single minute. One coach was to await her return, and accompanied by Goodwin, would take leave directly thereof, the other forthwith.

Elizabeth, Hannah, Georgiana, and her lady-maid, Anne, fit into the first coach quite easily, but their number gave Darcy an excuse to return to Pemberley astride Blackjack. If he could not ride with Elizabeth in privacy, he chose not to tuck in his knees for thirty leagues just to look at the bobbing heads of Hannah and Anne.

Moreover, it was much easier to breathe a deep sigh of relief from the independent seat of his saddle. The dreaded trip to London and his past was behind them. He did not feel unscathed (Juliette of all people, and the Twisnodde twins as well), but at least relieved. Every trip to London would be successively less trying. The worst was over.

* * *

Immoderately cautious when travelling, Mr. Darcy always examined the soundness of the four matched carriage horses for himself. He first inspected each head, then each wheeler, running his hand down all sixteen legs, lifting the hooves to check their shoeing. This ritual may have been looked upon with some amusement by his coachman and postilions, seeing the great gentleman in his fine clothing doing the chore of a smithy. Nevertheless, it was also with grudging respect. For if Mr. Darcy was that attentive to their duties, they undertook the commission of inspecting the worthiness of the coach with the same enterprise.

That understood, it came as a surprise when the coach became disabled some distance outside of London. It was conjectured that a cotterpin must have been loosened upon the cobblestones, for they had not gone but half their distance.

When no spares were found, Darcy could barely contain his disgust. The governing principle of such vigilance was to circumvent being stranded upon the road. Fortuitously, he was already upon Blackjack, thus, he had one of his postilions loose one horse with its defective harness to accompany him to find the smithy in a village they had passed a short way back. It was imperative not to tarry long, for much delay meant travelling the last miles to home after darkness stole dusk.

Coming to her window to explain the problem to Elizabeth, Darcy almost leaned over to kiss her a brief good-bye, but decided not to by reason of an audience. He simply assured her of a quick return. Upon observing Georgiana’s uneasy countenance, he made a point of noting to her that two men stayed. A long gun lay in the leg well up top with their coachman. A pistol rode in the other postilion’s waistband. This talk of weaponry was said in reassurance, but to Georgiana, it merely reminded her that there were miscreants about necessitating them.

The disrepair of their coach occasioned upon an isolated stretch of the road. However, it was bucolic, trees lining either side. There seemed nothing sinister upon the landscape save for the attention of some buzzing insect. Elizabeth thought to take the time to find a bit of rest, but could not. It was hot. She considered untying the ribbon to her bonnet, for her neck had begun to perspire. She was just reaching to draw the window shade down when she saw the remaining postilion pass by with his handgun drawn. Alarmed, she peered out and thereupon espied an even more dreadful sight. The postilion was pointing his handgun at their coachman. Clearly, the coachman took the threat seriously, for after surrendering his weapon he raised his hands high.

At that moment, two armed riders approached the carriage. One man, invoking far more blasphemous invectives than were necessary, ordered the women out. Whether because of the guns, the curses, or a combination of the two, the ladies all sat in stuporous fright in their seats, no one yet daring to move. Finally, Elizabeth, of the opinion it was unlikely anyone was going to hand them down, motioned to Anne to open the handle and kick back the door. Their exit might have proceeded more expeditiously had not Hannah, who was first out, thought it necessary to negotiate the steps of the coach with her hands upraised. Elizabeth was disposed to believe even desperados would forgive the use of the handrail.

An additional string of profanity encouraged them to move faster and, once Hannah was upon the ground, they did. Of the two men on horseback, Elizabeth recognised the man in front. But not by name. She knew him but by deed, as he was the one Darcy had fired for beating the horse. In all probability, he was the stable arsonist. It appeared the man was not content to be a murderer of horses. He was a bandit as well. Nor was it unlikely that their disabled carriage was but coincidental to their thievery for his brother rode their coach and held his gun yet on the coachman. Clearly, the blackguards had gone to a great deal of bother to rob them.

Indeed, they had gone to a great deal of bother. Thomas Reed had been lying in wait for four months to exact his revenge upon the impervious Mr. Darcy. So keen was his hatred, he went to the lengths of enlisting Jack (Iron-Mitts) Lewis as an accomplice (since being cashiered from boxing, the erstwhile pugilist had been somewhat tardy finding alternative employment). The scheme of their little band was a bit precarious, Frank Reed’s wavering courage, not Jack Lewis’ missing marbles, being the most unreliable link in their chain.

Tom Reed called out as to where was Mr. Darcy, “Aye thought ’e to be ’ere on this ’ere coach.”

Frank told him the man had gone to the smithy, then timidly added, “Ye said t’weren’t t’be no killin’, Tom.”

Tom cursed his unremitting ill-luck with a single expletive, then said, “Aye wanted to see ’is bloody face when we’s to rob ’im’s all.”

Unable to imagine what Tom Reed might do to Darcy had he been in his sights, Elizabeth whispered a prayer of thanks he was not. Moreover, she was relieved she had not worn Darcy’s mother’s pearls, for Frank Reed demanded their jewellery and appropriated their reticules. Thereupon he rummaged for valuables and weapons through the baggage in the coach boot he had loaded in London. The bandbox in which the bijouterie was hidden he procured forthwith, the pearls along with it.

Ere long, Elizabeth’s upraised hands betokened her fright in a tremble. She dearly wished she could hide them behind her, but dared not. Next to her, Georgiana quietly lost her wits. Uttering what sounded like snatches of the Lord’s Prayer, Hannah’s -discomposure was a little louder. Anne, however, was quite silent, evidently of the persuasion that if she did not see it, it was not happening. Therefore, she stood with her eyes shut tight.

As deftly as the coach was disarmed, the bounty was loaded. But hope that the men would then take leave began to fade for the brigands commenced to eye the women. Knowing well if the worst happened it was a useless gesture, Elizabeth nonetheless edged Georgiana, who had begun a low keen, behind her.

A brief impasse was instituted when Frank called to Tom to make haste. Yet Tom Reed lingered.

Abruptly, he swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Then, he stood full and commenced a glowering approach to the already terrified women.

He stopped. And for a man of congenitally transcribed ignobility, his countenance thereupon did the unlikely. It smiled. However, no one who witnessed what passed for mirth with Reed believed it issued good tidings. For, albeit his smile exposed several teeth, it was actually just an extended smirk. Clearly, just partial incentive for the robbery had been extracted. He walked directly in front of Georgiana and looked upon her from head to toe with menacing deliberation. Although that was, in all actuality, just a sadistic threat, Reed thought it a pity. It would have becalmed a great deal of his considerable loathing of Mr. Darcy to breach his sister’s chastity.

However, as time and horses were at a premium, he just had time to steal his wife.

Thus, he caught Elizabeth by the wrist and yanked her roughly to him. She wrenched it from his grip and hit his hand away.

“Unhand me!”

At this insolence, the man invoked an eerily demonic cackle, the echo of which reverberated through the trees. His ejaculation quieted as abruptly as it began. He then drew back his hand and struck her brutally across the side of her head with his closed fist. So sound was the blow that as she was knocked from her feet, the bonnet was torn from her head.

Hannah shrieked. Whirling, Reed levelled his gun at the maid’s face. She silenced herself mid-wail.

Stunned, Elizabeth could not find her feet before Reed reached her and drug her upright by her hair. She slapped furiously at his hands, thereby influencing him to draw a rather vile looking snickersnee. When she continued to struggle, he pressed the point against the base of her throat.

Reed’s affection for knives was notorious. Frank Reed looked at Lewis and rolled his eyes. He did not relish the idea of what mayhem his brother might incite, but Lewis merely shrugged. Nevertheless, Frank was worried. Robbery was one thing, slicing up women another. Larceny, yea. Defilement, perchance. Blood, however, made him squeamish.

“Get on that horse,” Reed told Elizabeth, “or you’ll see sissy here gutted in front of ye.”

He flicked his head in Georgiana’s direction. Convinced that was not a bluff, Elizabeth ceased resisting. Thus, Reed forced her upon a horse of questionable lineage and suspect ownership. Frank jumped on behind Lewis and, with the horses straining and grunting under heavy loads, they all disappeared down a narrow lane off the main road.

* * *

Within the quarter hour, Darcy returned. His man carried the missing pin and some spares as well, the master’s temper assuaged by happening upon an expedient forge. As they approached and Darcy saw the women standing yet outside the coach, his reclaimed humour vanished. From that distance, he could not see they that were crying. But the ransacked trunks were evident; their contents exposed and in disarray.

The infamy was obvious.

Kicking Blackjack into a fierce run, he drew him to a hard stop at the coach and leapt from the saddle, landing squarely upon both feet. The women appeared unhurt. However, when he did not see Elizabeth amongst them, the colour drained from his face. For upon that realisation, the magnitude of the outrage fell upon him like a flatiron.

The coachman had yet to move from his seat. He sat with a look of stunned dismay, his hands dangling purposelessly. However, the arrival of Mr. Darcy aroused him from his stupor. So decidedly was he inspirited, he took the six feet from his seat to the road in one jump and was met by Darcy before he reached the ground.

“Who was it?” Darcy asked him. “And where did they go?”

Although Mr. Darcy demanded this in a peculiarly calm voice, the man returned his gaze with compleat lack of comprehension. He had no idea who it was. Or where they went. That information had fled his mind, perchance keeping company with his recently discarded wits. With implausible patience, Darcy repeated the questions again, but grasped the man’s lapel firmly in encouragement. Not a word was extracted. He shook him ever so slightly.

Perchance of a mind this gentle advocacy might escalate, the driver finally croaked out, “Three men, Reed…his brother—that one what you fired—and another,” and pointed up the lane.

Barely acknowledging the information, Darcy motioned for his remaining postilion to toss the part to the coachman, who caught it. In the time it took the man to regain his senses enough to understand his duty was to repair the coach, Darcy was at the luggage searching for a weapon. Only then did he realise he had wrested a crested brass lapel button from the coachman, and flung it to the ground.

As he caught the reins to remount, his logical mind made a brief consideration in favour of not pursuing the three men alone. Should he remove his saddle from -Blackjack and give it to the postilion who still sat atop the harnessed coach horse? He knew himself most likely the better rider. However, he decided he dared not spare the time. Let the man cling to the harness and try to keep up as best he could.

As he began to remount, he recognised his wife’s bonnet as it lay in a heap in the road. A little beyond sat one shoe. He stopped and walked to the bonnet, took it in his hand and fingered it fleetingly. The torn ribbon was mute evidence of the brutality of the abduction.

Looking from thence, it appeared he studied the shoe for a moment, but he did not move to retrieve it. Instead, he silently handed the bonnet to Georgiana and remounted Blackjack.

Digging his heels fiercely into the horse’s flank, he disappeared as quickly as that into the trees.

The cold placidity of his face was more horrific to those who saw it than any other expression they might have conjured.

* * *

Once entrenched in the woods some ways from the coach, Elizabeth had become a very disobliging kidnap victim. So much so, the bandits did not get on fast. Hence, Tom Reed pulled the horse up short when he saw smoke curling from the fireplace of an inn.

“The Strangled Goose,” said the sign.

Frank Reed had hoped that ransom had been the impetus for Tom’s seizure of Mrs. Darcy, but obviously, that was not the only thing he had in mind. Frank might risk hanging for some sovereigns. But not to allow his brother to have lewd rites with Mr. Darcy’s wife. Bitterly did he complain to Tom that the stop might be costly.