Her cheeks went red. “I am afraid I am not of a disposition to dance tonight.” She sounded apologetic as she exchanged a heavy look with Lady Westland. The latter seemed to understand some hidden message and patted her hand.
“There is no need to worry, Elizabeth,” she said. “No one will fault you.”
Before Darcy could reply, a man approached. His expression seemed tightly controlled, and his gaze stayed on Mrs Fiennes.Her husband,he realised.
“Mr Fiennes, how kind of you to join us!” Lady Westland sounded cheerful, but there was bite to her words that Darcy did not understand. “I have been introducing your wife to some of my friends.”
“Will you introduce us, Aunt?” Richard asked. Darcy could feel his cousin’s posture stiffen beside him.
“Certainly. Richard, Darcy, this is Mr Damian Fiennes. Mr Fiennes, my nephew Lieutenant Richard Fitzwilliam andhiscousin, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Lady Westland said it all with humour in her voice—she delighted in the ridiculous, and with a nephew older than herself, one could not help but be amused by it.
“Gentlemen,” Fiennes said, bowing stiffly. “It is a pleasure. Please do excuse me, however. I need to speak with my wife.”
Darcy saw a flash of fear in Mrs Fiennes’s eyes before she cast her gaze to the floor and nodded. The vibrancy he had watched from across the room had vanished, replaced by a colourless, silent being. The pair departed without another word. Lady Westland watched them, her pleasant expression turning to a scowl.
“I cannot abide that man,” she hissed. “I will put up with him for the sake of his wife, though.”
“Is she worth it, Suzanne?” Richard asked. “The penniless daughter of a country squire is hardly fit company for a countess.”
Lady Westland rounded on her nephew. “You will not speak of Elizabeth in that manner ever again,” she hissed. “You do not know what she has endured—what she daily endures.” She folded her arms stubbornly.
Richard studied his aunt, and Darcy saw the moment comprehension fell on him. “You have an affinity to the woman because of shared experience?” he asked.
That reveals nothing,Darcy griped internally.
Lady Westland nodded. “I must protect her, Richard,” she murmured. “I must protect her as I never was.”
“There is only so much that you can do,” Richard said consolingly. “You cannot be with her all the time.”
The lady sighed heavily. “I know. But I can give her the tools she needs to survive without me.”
The conversation shifted, leaving Darcy more baffled than before.I shall have to corner Richard later,he thought.I believe I am owed an explanation.
Unfortunately, Darcy never had the chance—his father passed onto his reward just after Twelfth Night, plunging him into sorrow of the acutest kind, and heaping more responsibility than ever before on his young shoulders.
Chapter Eleven
January 1807
London
Elizabeth
Elizabethheldinherhand the unfinished letter she had begun on Christmas Eve. In the haste of changing her attire, it had slid beneath the jewel box that sat on her dressing table. She regarded it thoughtfully; the bustle of the season had left her little leisure to attend to correspondence, yet the lack of letters from her family had not gone unnoticed.
It was early—far earlier than Fiennes was wont to rise. Elizabeth kept to her chambers until he summoned her breakfast. She would join him then in the small dining parlour as he ordered. Only once had she attempted to request a tray, and he had forbidden her to do so again. He had been firm when he scolded her.
“You will take your meals with me. If you hunger or thirst before the appointed hour, you will restrain yourself. It would not do for you toexpandbeyond the wardrobe you have just acquired.”
The memory made her chafe. How she despised his control. Yet a woman belonged first to her father, and then to her husband. There was no escape from his dictates. Each act of defiance brought punishment, and soshe had to remind herself several times a day that resistance was not worth the cost. Still, her discontent and anxiety grew with every passing hour.
The one light in her world was Lady Westland. Suzanne’s calming reassurance and her tender care were all that sustained her. She alone was permitted correspondence, the only friend she might visit freely. Suzanne’s own experience with a tyrannical husband lent her authority, and she did not hesitate to share her counsel. Elizabeth’s mind drifted to their tea together a week earlier.
“Choose your battles carefully, my dear,” Suzanne had advised. “Only matters of true consequence deserve contention. Men of his temper delight in strife; if you engage him at every provocation, your life will become a series of storms. Should he fail to obtain what he seeks from you, he will turn elsewhere to find it.”
“Will he leave me in peace?”
Suzanne’s laughter had rung out, touched with irony. “Oh, heavens no! Even when his interest in provoking you wanes, he will strike when least expected. It is his nature. You must learn to remain ever on your guard.”
