It became clear to Elizabeth who Mr Darcy truly was.He is the steward to a wealthy gentleman!
Mr Darcy must have been granted leave when he retired into seclusion with Georgiana, and now consulted with either the master or his own assistant from Hertfordshire to run that man’s estate in his absence. It explained the hours he spent writing letters of business and why he did not wish to answer questions, and why he was particularly concerned about his family’s reputation.
He is ashamed to be employed, and that is why he pretended to be a gentleman here.
Did he think she would not have married him if she knew he had employment? Mr Darcy must be an invaluable employee if his master allowed him to conduct business from Hertfordshire. To be a steward of a grand estate was a powerful and respectable position, although it was, of course, a profession. He was still a gentlemanlike man in her eyes even if he was not truly a person of fashion.
Mr Darcy seldom spoke of himself, of his family, of his friends, of his history. He occasionally told stories, but they were few and far between. She could not deny he had a great deal of ready wit, and hespoke intelligently when he did speak, but he kept a close watch over himself. He had information on all points, but spoke little of his life before arriving in Meryton.
Why had he kept being a steward from her?If anything, the truth placed him in an amiable light. He was a valuable employee and diligently did what was necessary from a distance, and his master thought so well of him that he kept him on to advise and consult rather than replace him. Elizabeth would readily tell him that she admired him for it. Still, he had told her to ask no questions, and he did not confess it to her himself. She had best keep silent on the true source of Mr Darcy’s income and how he spent his time.
For now, she would leave him to his privacy and the illusion of his secret.
It was notuntil the next day when the shopboy delivered seven yards of black bombazine for a mourning gown that Elizabeth realised the true reason for Mr Darcy’s walk into Meryton. She intended to ask him how they could afford it, but when Elizabeth approached him, the bombazine in her arms, she chose not to tease him into confessing the source of his income.
The difference between four hundred per annum and six hundred was considerable, and when she properly considered all she knew, it made sense that Mr Darcy had more funds than she had initially presumed. He could not support them the way that he did by only living off ten thousand pounds invested in the four percents. She thought him very silly, but she could understand a situation in life that led to one wanting a little dignity, and decided not to hint to a steward’s salary helping to pay for unnecessary fabric.
“You must not have heard me when I said that I would dye old fabric and wear my old mourning gown.” She smiled, and Mr Darcy leant back in his chair and crossed his arms with an open expression. “I thought you were only eight-and-twenty. I fear for your health if your hearing is going so quickly.”
“You must forgive an old man his frailties,” he said smilingly. “Your old mourning gown must be from the year ten, at least.” Hecocked his head and looked at her skirt. “And whomever dyed the new one must have never done it before.”
The colour was uneven, but it was mostly a similar shade of black. “It is notthatbad.”
Mr Darcy rose and came nearer. “Mrs Darcy deserves a—youdeserve a new gown. You are too accustomed to being a dependent with no affection and little attention from your family. You ought to let your husband show you generosity.”
“My husband can be generous to me, but he still ought to have listened to me when I said I was content with what I had.”
“I do not doubt your contentment, but please do not be so concerned with economy. As my wife—” He shook his head, as though he had changed his mind. “Youdeserve more, even if you are content with less.”
“That seems a waste even if you can afford it.”
“You will need a half-mourning gown or two after your six weeks have passed, but I shall not walk into that shop again. I happily expect a bill for grey fabric in three weeks.” Mr Darcy gave her another charming grin before returning to his chair.
He expected her to live long enough for half-mourning. She knew he did not hope for her early death for his own advantage, but he had lately shown more concern for her. It no longer felt a great chore to show Mr Darcy care simply for his sister’s sake. At first glance he was merely a handsome man, but there was a presence about him, a self-command that she respected. His every expression and sentence marked his intelligence, his taste, and his manners. She felt a warm admiration for him, and not only for being the means of granting her freedom from Longbourn.
“You are very kind to me” were the only words she felt capable of expressing.
Mr Darcy looked up, surprised, and then, blushing a little, he bowed, clearly not knowing what to say.
They arrived this afternoon,nearly a month to the day that Georgiana had died, and a fortnight since he had sent her hair to the jeweller. He had not expected to feel anxiety about the contents, but when the package came, Darcy found himself struggling with opening it on his own. Was it because he knew that Mrs Darcy had a right to open it with him, or was it because he needed her support?
He called in Mrs Darcy from the garden, and they stood over his desk staring at the two parcels in silent, grief-filled anticipation. Mrs Darcy heaved a sigh and then startled Darcy by giving his hand a brief squeeze before she pulled her penknife from her apron and cut the string of the smaller parcel.
The brooch was white enamel around a bezel with the wordsNot Lost But Gone Beforearound the top, and around the bottomG. Darcy ob 10 June 1812 aet 16.There was a lock of Georgiana’s plaited hair under the glass within the bezel. Mrs Darcy was holding the inch-wide brooch in her hand, tracing its edge with her finger. The silence stretched, and he did not know if she approved or if she was overcome with grief, or neither, or both.
“I know brooches often have pearls, but it was already rather large, and you said you wanted her name on it ... I know that white means she died unmarried and it speaks to purity, but?—”
She stopped him with a press of her hand against his arm, still looking at the brooch. “It is lovely, just like she was. And she did die unmarried; it is not false.” Mrs Darcy wiped her eyes once and turned to him while she pinned it on her gown. She gave him a brave smile. “Are you ready?”
Darcy’s throat was dry. “Would you open it?” She nodded and used the little silver knife again.
He had forgone having a chain made from Georgiana’s hair and instead decided on a watch fob. The fob was set in gold and nearly three inches around. The front had a drawing of a willow tree and a small urn on white enamel with the wordsIn Death Lamented as in Life Belovedalong with the date of death and her age. Simple images to indicate sorrow and a life cut short.
Mrs Darcy realised the nob on the top engaged the swivel, and she turned it over. The reverse showed wide plaits of Georgiana’s hairunder glass. It was unadorned and elegant, and it would remind him of his sister every day. The sister he had tried to cure but could not. The sister who was a mother, and who he foolishly thought he had a prayer of changing her mind about her child.His dead sister whose little boy he had hoped might die unborn until he actually laid his eyes on him.
I was too proud, too arrogant.I would trade my life for either of theirs without hesitation.
Darcy took the fob from her swiftly and busied himself with attaching the mourning piece to his watch chain. He could feel his wife’s expectant, concerned gaze. His throat was rough, and the backs of his eyes were beginning to feel hot. He ought to have left the room, but his boots appeared to have become nailed to the floor. Darcy raised his eyes to look at Mrs Darcy, but before he could open his lips, she spoke.
