“I would have enjoyed riding if ever I had learnt, but stabling another horse is a terrible expense, to say nothing of another horse for the servant to ride to accompany me.”
“Iwould readily teach you and ride with?—”
“It is a foolish expense for a woman who will be dead by September.”
“I would give you any happiness I could in your time left to you.” He meant it, more deeply than he had ever before considered. She was going to die, and if he could not love her, he would fulfil the rest of the wedding vows: to comfort her, honour her, and keep her, and forsake all others.
He could not describe the look she gave him. It was not quite disbelief, yet it was far from sad. “That is generous, but I am not well enough for the exercise. It would tax my heart, and we both know I cannot dance even two sets without suffering a painful episode.”
Darcy bowed his head. Her death might be at any moment, and it would not be without suffering.
“Mr Darcy, would you mind at all if I had a gown made from Georgiana’s riding habit?”
“Of course not. Would you like it dyed black, or grey for half-mourning?” It was not impossible that Mrs Darcy might live long enough for grey or lavender.
She ran her fingertips slowly over the pale merino. “No, I like the celestial blue, and Georgiana selected it, and you were kind enough to buy it for her. I want you to bury me in it.”
Mrs Darcy looked at him with the determination in her eyes that only someone resigned to their own death could possess. He had seen that calm resignation in his mother’s eyes, his father’s, and his sister’s. He could do nothing but agree, and she smiled her thanks. He then remembered why he had sought her out.
“In looking at Georgiana’s papers, I found some memorandums, amongst which she desires that one of her gold chains be given to you, and a lock of hair to be set for you. Would you be so good as to say whether you prefer a brooch or a ring? I have my own commission to be sent to the jeweller in town through Fitzwilliam, and will see to them both in the same order.”
“I would not have you waste the money or a lock of Georgiana’s hair on someone who?—”
“A brooch or a ring, Mrs Darcy,” he said firmly, “to honour your sister’s memory?”
“A brooch, if you insist.”
“Georgiana insisted.”
Mrs Darcy nodded, and he would have then left if she had not called him back. “What shall we do about your friends and relations? In a month or six weeks, you would be expected to be home from Madeira after burying Georgiana.”
“I had thought to stay in Hertfordshire for the present. We need not decide?—”
“You will stay until I die? To save yourself from explaining how you found a wife in Madeira or from having to say you married a woman you met as soon as your ship reached Portsmouth?” Darcy was unnerved by her perception. She shook her head and stood. “You need not look stricken. It is a perfectly reasonable idea, and I am reasonable enough to accept it.”
“I thought you might also be made happy by our staying here. You need not leave Miss Lucas or Miss Bennet, and your elder sister and her family intend to come in September.”
“If I live that long.” She gave him a weak smile. “You remind methat I must make my own will and bequests. I know I can trust you to see them carried out.”
Darcy realiseda week after the funeral how Mrs Darcy was spending her time now that Georgiana was gone. While he was shut up in his study writing letters, Mrs Darcy spent the mornings engaged in the housework he wished she would leave to the servants he hired for the tasks. She hastened to make new curtains to better furnish the parlour. She attempted to salvage the strawberry beds. The day after the woman came in to do washing, Mrs Darcy got the clothes dried, and on the third she helped to finish the ironing.
He supposed she would in another month of practice have the tasks not only done, but done well.At least she has stayed out of the kitchen.It distressed him that the wife of Mr Darcy was engaged in servants’ tasks, but he could not admonish her. As a woman, she was isolated from most society while in mourning. Steady, active employment—even if she was not good at it—was a distraction from grief. He wished the hours he spent in correspondence eased his own heartache.
I ought to pass more time with my wife.
Darcy knew that while he got on with Mrs Darcy, he ought to make better work of engaging her and comforting her. They both needed to mourn, and it was best done together, but he suspected the grief would linger if they had no conversation beyond his sister’s memory.
He found his wife in the dining room writing letters. The small lodge did not have a proper breakfast room, nor did her bedroom have a writing table, and Mrs Darcy clearly refused to use the one that was in Georgiana’s room.
“Did you need me?” She held the sealing wax over the candle. “As you can see, I have finished.”
“No, I only wondered where you had gone. I did not realise I spent so many hours writing today.”
“You are an industrious letter writer for a man. Was there a lengthy discussion of field sports between you and your gentlemen friends?”
“Letters of business.”
She nodded, and when she looked up, she seemed surprised thathe was still there. “I had not written to my aunt and uncle since I announced our marriage, and I had not told them about Georgiana. I have kept silent on telling Jane much, at least until you are at liberty to tell all the world that you are returned from Madeira, but the Gardiners are too far away for the details to matter.”
