“Thank you, Mr.…” Mary said, her voice trailing off.
“Where are my manners?” he laughed, “I am Johnson, Mr. Henry Johnson, a man who won the heart of a Scottish lass and fell in love with not only her, but the land she was reared in. What of you two? As close a husband and wife as I have ever seen, though I would watch it, sir, with your bride’s fine looks some of our local lads might be inclined to flirt a bit.”
Opening her mouth to object, Richard gave Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze in the hope of stilling her words.
Turning toward Mr. Johnson, he led with a laugh, “I shall be vigilant; I fear it is a constant problem wherever we go, but one I happily face. I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and this,” he smiled down at her, “is my wife, Mary–a rare jewel.”
“Oh,” the voice of a woman sighed, Mr. Johnson’s wife making her way to their side, “such a fine husband; I hope ye know to keep constant with yer flattery, for a woman likes to hear she is loved far more than she might admit.”
“Well then,” Mr. Johnson remarked with a smile, “allow me to introduce my wife, Isla–a flower unparalleled, and to loosely quote Burns, the one I shall luve, till a’ the seas gang dry.”
“Henry,” Mrs. Johnson teased playfully, “after all yer years here, ye still have all the brogue of the Prince Regent.”
Shrugging, Mr. Johnson did not deny her claims, instead leading them all to their generous sized home but a quarter of an hour’s walk away. Though plain in many respects, the stone walls and slate roof having been repaired many times over, the neat entrance and well decorated rooms belied the aged exterior.
A brief introduction to their sons–Rory, the eldest; Alexander the next; and Bryce the youngest–Mrs. Johnson led them up to a small, comfortable room in which one of the sons quickly laid a fire, while another filled the wash basin.
“Here, now, ye shall be snug soon enough; I have a bit of work to do, so anything ye need before it is done, call down and I shall answer,” Mrs. Johnson smiled, the pair thanking her as she and her sons left, the firm closing of the door causing Richard’s heart to thump.
Nonsense,he reminded himself as he turned toward Mary,we have spent how many days and nights together? Nothing has changed.
Yet, with the stilted movements of Mary as she went through their few meager belongings, the truth could not be denied–things had changed. Their hosts thought them married, and unlike when they were imprisoned, they were not being held in one space against their will.
Still,he considered as he grabbed up one of their soiled blankets to lay upon the floor,with the bed for Mary and the floorfor him, it seemed far more proper than their prior sleeping arrangements–if only society would agree.
A frown marring her features, Mary stood beside him as he wadded the coat for his pillow.
“I could sleep on the floor,” she suggested, his narrowed gaze quickly causing her eyes to draw upward with a sigh. “Very well, at least take one of the pillows from the bed; they left us with two, you know, and our blankets might not be enough to keep you warm.”
“Once the fire has grown it will be enough, but as I suspect the pillow you offer would be far more comfortable, I shall take you up on it,” he grinned, the coat pulled back in preparation.
The short distance to the bed crossed, Mary returned within moments, the pillow outstretched to his hand, though her face still did not lend any sign of contentment.
“If you are still worried,” he offered, “I shall use the coat as you suggest. I only wish to see you as happy as you were today.”
A half smile forming, Mary moved to a small spindle chair by the fire, “It does worry me, though I fear it is not my only concern. There is of course the possibility of our being discovered, and indeed, of others finding themselves endangered because of it. And then,” she paused, her face flushing, “there is this lie… I know, I know, it is for the best, and as much as I was ready to confess our not being married, many reasons exist as to why it was wise of you to stop me. Still, I am uncomfortable with deception, especially when… Well, it does not matter. It is done. And we shall earn our keep.”
“That we shall,” he agreed, his brow furrowed. “If I had thought we would be as likely to find shelter, I would have spoken the truth, but once they assumed us married I... I considered theother reasons why it might benefit us; acceptance amongst the community, but most of all, the protecting of your reputation. True, I made a mistake. I gave our names–though Bennet is not known–and I can only pray that my folly does not come with a price to be paid. It simply felt natural to answer as I did, that I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and this,” he added softly, “is my wife, Mary–a rare jewel.”
His throat dry, he half hoped his words would be recognized for the confession it was, a desire to one day marry her, and yet, a part of him equally hoped she did not notice, for the location, his appearance, the lingering danger, these all told it a poor moment for romantic declarations.
Silence punctuated by the loud crack of a log, Mary cast him a tired smile, “You are correct, I do not think I could have referred to you by another name, and one lie is quite enough.”
His heart falling, his declaration plainly misinterpreted, he observed Mary rise from her place by the fire, her voice weary as she said, “In any case, I do not think the price for any of this will be paid here; the lion’s share will be at home, for if my disappearance is not already known, it is bound to be before I return. No, I admitted to myself a mere day ago that my ‘precious reputation’ would be spoiled before all is over. Our pretense of being a married couple is, I am loath to admit, less scandalous than what the bulk of my neighbors will imagine. My only want is that, beyond all reason, my sisters might be unaffected; yet I have seen the outcome for a family when one single sister is believed ruined. It is cruel. Unnatural even. For the one judged, and those judged with her… That, I would spare my sisters if I could.”
Making his way to her side, he laid a hand on her arm, “Then we must do all that is in our power to return before the rumoursgrow; I will speak to Mrs. Johnson about paper and ink tonight, and if all goes well, our letter will reach Darcy in a matter of days.” Moving toward the door he paused, “I should be half an hour gone should you wish to use the basin. Here… I will set this scrap of string on the latch. So long as you leave it on, I will remain outside.”
“Thank you, Richard. For everything.”
“Always.”
Chapter 15
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in Hertfordshire
Observing the listless posture of Elizabeth as she stood in Netherfield’s library, Darcy’s chest pulled.
For days they had worked to quell the gossip which spread through Meryton with wild abandon, and yet, for all that they had sought to protect Miss Mary’s reputation with their tales of her ‘sickness,’ now that it was known to be false, the rumours proved perhaps more cruel than they might have been. First to Mary, then unhappily to the rest of her family, the mere fact that each had lied–knowingly or not–considered an unforgivable insult by the majority of their neighbours.
