39
LESSONS LEARNT
The Earl and Countess of Matlock arrived the Saturday after their wedding, Georgiana Darcy in tow. There had been no sign of, nor another letter from, Miss de Bourgh, and the earl had nothing new to report. Elizabeth thought the countess reserved but gracious; Miss Darcy, shy but polite. To their credit, they all offered only congratulations when they learnt of the hasty wedding. It was not until Sunday evening that she had an opportunity to speak even semi-privately with her new sister. They had separated after dinner to Netherfield’s finest drawing room; Lady Matlock was caught up in an animated discussion with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley. As had become her habit, Miss Darcy sat as far away from the company as she could without drawing attention to her isolation, in a chair that had no other seating near it. Recalling what Darcy had said about her difficulties speaking, Elizabeth could imagine that chatting with near strangers was her least favourite activity.However, it was important to at least establish the beginnings of a relationship, and hopefully a friendly one.
In for a penny, she thought, and pushed another chair much closer to her new sister. Miss Darcy glanced up, slight alarm in her eyes.
“I know your brother’s sudden marriage to a stranger must have been a shock. If you have any questions for me, about me, I would be happy to answer them.”
“He will d-do as he will,” the girl answered, after a few moments of silence. In another person, the words might have been sullen ones—but it was obvious that she had trouble with her tongue, and possibly the brevity of her speech had more to do with her impediment than actual hostility.
“Have you decided whether you will live with us, or remain with your relations?” Elizabeth asked.
Miss Darcy turned sharply towards her. “I-I d-did not know I had a choice.” Her eyes were very like Darcy’s, but where his gaze was always incisive, confident, hers was wide and wary, the eyes of a doe in sight of danger who did not know in which direction to run for safety.
Elizabeth recognised the look; she had worn it herself, on her first wedding day, when she was almost exactly the same age as the girl beside her. Instinctively, she reached for her hand, thankful when she did not pull it away. “Miss Darcy, perhaps you did not know it, but I have been married once before.”
“You? B-but you are s-so young!”
Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you. I was your own age, in fact, when my father arranged for me a marriage to a much older man. I felt, at the time, that my will was ignored or even crushed. It was very…difficult. Because of it, choice is very important to me. It is not always possible, you will understand, to grant every choice one might wish, but to the extent we can, we shall always take into account your preferences.”
“He t-told you, did he not. About Wi-wi-wi…” she trailed off, plainly unable to get the word out. Her eyes filled with tears.
“About Mr Wickham? Yes, very briefly. I am sorry for your loss, dear.”
Miss Darcy’s whisper became harsh. “H-he will n-not allow me to wear b-black. No one will let me grieve. I-I have no choice in anything at all.”
“I felt that way, too—choiceless, trapped. I suffered for it. But I found I was wrong.”
Miss Darcy frowned—an expressionverylike her brother’s. It almost made Elizabeth smile, and she squeezed the hand she still held.
“I had the choice of how to feel—no one could tell me how to do that. I felt sad, then furious and resentful. I quickly realised however, that those emotions, although true and even understandable, did not serve me well. They did not earn me the respect of my husband, for instance, which I needed in order to have as much freedom as possible. Most importantly, they did nothelpme. I hated carrying the bitterness of it all. I hated feeling unhappy, as if I was forever trapped in a quicksand not of my own making. Gradually—because I am stubborn and not easily ruled—I made my way. By the time my husband died, not only did I have his respect, but he had mine. If I was not overjoyed with my life, neither did it bring me the misery I had once feared I would live with forever. For you, there is much that I cannot change or help with, I know, but Icanlisten, and mourn with you, and be your friend.”
The doe-eyes were still distrustful, but there was also a yearning in them. “He only wanted m-my money. They p-proved it to me. Why should I-I mourn?”
It almost made no sense—seconds ago, Miss Darcy had wished for blacks to demonstrate her sorrow, the next moment, she questioned any sort of bereavement. But in the mind of this young girl, her experiences were, plainly, a confused mixture of melancholy and resentment. “I cannot know. But it is clear that you do. When my first husband died, ending a marriage I never wanted in the first place, I grieved. Love is not always reasonable.”
Miss Darcy blinked at her, as if surprised. Probably, Elizabeth knew, she had related enough of her own sentiments for Miss Darcy to stew on for a time. At that moment, the gentlemen rejoined them, and Elizabeth gave her new sister’s hand a final squeeze before standing. “All will be well, I promise. Eventually.” She went immediately to her husband, thankful beyond measure for lessons already learnt, that she was no longer the sixteen-year-old girl she had formerly been, or even the proud, untried, young lady she might have become without the choice she had hated, once upon a time.
40
A MERRY DANCE
“You are unbelievably beautiful.”
Elizabeth turned from the looking glass to see Darcy standing at her bedchamber door. Although the room was attached to a sitting room they shared, she had never yet, in their short marriage, slept in here. It made a convenient dressing room, however. She stood,feelingbeautiful in the new gown he had somehow managed to have made for her before the ball, white satin with a crimson lace slip, the bodice heavily embellished with what appeared to be real pearls. Molly had outdone herself in somehow taming Elizabeth’s hair, piled high upon her head with curls framing her face and ornamented with simple, dainty silk flowers. She went to him, glad she had not yet donned her white satin, elbow-length gloves so that she could feel her hands in his.
“Thank you for my gown,” she said. “I never expected anything so fine.”
“It is the least of what I mean for you to have,” he said,and the heat in his eyes told her that the compliment was a true one, not simple flattery.
She could not help herself, and wrapped her arms round him, heedless of wrinkling fabric. “You look exceptionally handsome as well,” she whispered, relishing the feel of him in her arms. While she was not yet accustomed to sleeping with another, it was so sweet to reach for him in the night, to see if he was still real, to assure herself that he was not a dream. There was also the youthful health of him—he was almost absurdly strong and vigorous. After her first experiences with a man of age and constant ill health, to feel the way he instantly reached back, always ready to reassure, to stroke and soothe, to comfort as often as those other affections he generously proffered—it was both welcome and incredible. She wondered if she would ever get used to her strikingly attractive husband, especially after he placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, in a spot that never failed to set her soul afire.
“Perhaps we should forego the ball, and simply celebrate in our room,” she teased, shivering.
His head lifted from her throat with obvious reluctance. “Say the word,” he said, with true longing.
She sighed. “With the influx of so many from town and the surrounding country, the arrival of one small woman would easily remain unnoticed. If Miss de Bourgh makes any move at all, I think it most likely to be tonight.”
