Darcy stared at his uncle. “I do not,” he replied with firm conviction.
“I advise you to avoid impregnating the woman because of the legal impediments and the damage such an inconvenience would do to your reputation. Make sure you have her maid making a note of her courses.”
It had always been thus: Archibald Darcy heard whatever he wanted to hear—nothing more, nothing less.
“I find your unwelcome interference highly offensive. I have no intention of divorcing my wife. You witnessed a minor dispute. Elizabeth will adjust to her new circumstances with time.”
A heavy silence hung in the air as uncle and nephew regarded each other. After two uncomfortable minutes, Judge Darcy broke the silence.
“Very well. I can see you are too besotted to be worked upon by your elder and wiser relative. Mind you, the day will come when you regret your impetuous decision to marry a country chit of no consequence. I shall, of course, aid you in any way I can.
“In the meantime, I shall bring Augustus and Clarissa for a visit. We had better depict a unified family front before the tattlers, though I scarcely dare contemplate the damage your hasty wedding may cause our family name. Prepare yourself to be laughed at, dear nephew. But I am certain that in a couple of years some scandal or other will surpass your imprudent marriage and the gossips will once again leave you in peace. Good day.”
The capricious Judge Darcy rose and left him to his troubled thoughts. Disparaging his wife one moment and inviting himself and his children into her company the next… He was probably seeking a raise in their allowance—again…
Had he berated his wife for the sake of fifty-odd spoons? It was not that he could not afford the expense, but Pemberley’s coffers would not have been overflowing if not for generations of prudence, and he intended to leave the estate even more affluent for his son.
Chapter 12 Woe Betide
Elizabeth rose abruptly, swallowed hard, and left Mr Darcy’s study with her head bent to the floor. Why would he not allow her to speak? She had ordered but half that number of dresses. Lady Matlock had purchased the ball gown, and she had no idea where the additional twelve had come from. Or rather, she had a suspicion, but since Lady Matlock could do no wrong in her husband’s eyes, there was not much she could say in her defence. It was unlikely the dressmaker would dare add so many gowns to an order without fearing repercussions.
Wretched man!
She gave a squeal; her nails had dug into the palm of her hand, and she shook them to relieve the pain. When that did nothing to alleviate the discomfort, she blew on them to no avail. Then the pressure behind her eyes built to an unmanageable level. She blew upwards to dry them, but the tears could not be contained.
Mary was joining them from Hertfordshire, and Georgiana was expected home at any moment. If either arrived before the dreaded judge had left, she might even be forced to face him again. It was insupportable to allow him to see her reduced to tears. Oh no! She was made of sturdier stock and would not allow the flibbertigibbet to make her uneasy.
She sat at her escritoire and opened it to pen a letter, but her mind was too unsettled to form any coherent thoughts. Instead, she opened the desk drawer out of curiosity and to familiarise herself with her new accommodations. A miniature of a dark-haired woman stared at her. She picked it up and turned it in her hand. There was an inscription on the back. Though difficult to read, she managed to decipher: Lady Anne, summer 1782. She was a fully grown woman of twenty-odd years in the painting. Elizabeth smacked her forehead. What an idiot she was. Darcy was seven-and-twenty, Miss Molesworth was barely more than forty, there was no chance that the faux princess would have come out in the same year as Lady Anne…
Elizabeth escaped to the balcony and gulped in the crisp air of May Day. In Meryton’s square, her former neighbours would be decorating the maypole with flowers and ribbons for the evening’s dance. The weather would be warm, flowers would bloom, and according to Sir Thomas Malory inLe Morte d’Arthur, ‘…it giveth onto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May.’
A glacial shiver ran through her body. She wanted to retch but must compose herself because the tell-tale sounds of a carriage halting at the front reached her ear. Miss Darcy!
It would not do for the girl to hear the reprehensible discussion in the study. Pinching her cheeks and blowing one last time at her watery eyes, Elizabeth hurried down to the entrance hall to greet her new sister.
“Miss Darcy, welcome home. Please, follow me.”
She guided her towards her chamber herself and chose the stairs at the opposite end from Mr Darcy’s study. It was fortunate that Darcy House was large enough to accommodate two flights of stairs, though the one leading to the mistress’s chamber was not as grand as the one to the master’s.
“I am certain you would like to refresh yourself after your journey.” Elizabeth did not leave Miss Darcy with much of a choice.
“Across the square?” Miss Darcy squeaked. Matlock House lay at the opposite side of Grosvenor Square to Darcy House, a distance so short that it would be faster to walk than to take the carriage. “I would rather greet my brother.”
“Mr Darcy is currently occupied with business in his study, and I am most eager to further our acquaintance. You must tell me your taste, your likes and dislikes, so that I can avoid serving your least favourite dishes.”
“Mrs Murray is aware of my preferences,” Miss Darcy informed her, whilst her eyes flickered everywhere but at her sister-in-law.
It was beyond irksome that Miss Darcy was being such a rational creature when Elizabeth herself was behaving in so ridiculous a manner.
“True, but will you not tell me about your days? My sister Mary is joining us later, and I would like to know more about what occupies you. What masters are you currently employing and in what subjects?”
Miss Darcy muttered something about pianoforte, drawing, and the modern languages. It was difficult to hear as she was the most softly spoken girl Elizabeth had ever encountered. Elizabeth studied her downcast eyes and restless shifting about the chair. The young lady must be exceedingly shy.
“Ich danke ihnen.”
By Miss Darcy’s widening eyes Elizabeth surmised that German was not amongst the languages she was learning, and she could not think of anything else to discuss.
“Very well, I shall leave you to rest.” A rest the girl had expressed she did not need, but Elizabeth definitely needed a respite from the awkward conversation. Not that Miss Darcy was anything but unassuming and genteel, but Elizabeth was behaving like a beheaded chicken. She needed to think, and for that she needed to walk, but Mary might arrive at any minute. It would be abominably rude not to be present…
