He pretended to be aloof. “As your husband, I am perfectly within my rights to give you any orders I please. This is the first time you have objected, which is strange, since you so willingly obeyed my every command not two hours ago. If I recall correctly, madam, you even asked me formore.”
“I liked those orders, sir.”
“Yes, I know.” he laughed and kissed her forehead quickly. “I admit I find it difficult to act one way in public and another way in private. It is a kind of artifice. I do not want to pretend I love you any less, but there is no way to bedecorousabout such matters. You must forgive me if I seem brusque today; I simply cannot concentrate.”
“Is that not the trap you had planned for me, sir?” she replied innocently. He laughed and lowered his voice.
“Do not tease me for wanting you, Elizabeth. If you goad me into action, we may neglect our guests most shamefully.”
She stood on her toes to kiss him, teasing him with feather-light pecks, and then whispered wickedly, “You will just have to wait, sir, and think of that locked door.”
“If I did not love you so much, madam, then I would call you a wench.”
“If I did not love you so much, sir, then I would not act like one.”
Darcy was about to retort when the door opened. They sprang apart guiltily, greeted Mary with matching awkward smiles, and then went to get their coats.
Chapter 57
Elizabeth was gratified to discover that Colonel Fitzwilliam was just as forthright and jovial in person as he had been in his letters. The words that Darcy had used as insults suited his cousin like compliments. He gave off an air of casual insincerity that ran so contrary to Darcy’s principles that Lizzie was not surprised there was friction between them.
They were like the sun and the moon, separate halves of the same celestial sequence, as cousins often are. Their differences were never more apparent than when they were together, as every flaw seemed brought into sharp focus. Darcy seemed more implacable and sterner than ever, while Fitzwilliam bloomed into a whimsical, playful oaf.
For all of that, he was clearly not concealing any part of his nature. Fitzwilliam seemed to be a pleasant and generous soul, who loved his cousin whole-heartedly and had forgiven him with ease.
It was awkward for Elizabeth to speak to him, at first. They had shared their thoughts so often in ink that they ought to have been immediate friends, but it was not to be. If anything, their correspondence made them feel evenmorelike strangers now.
The chief issue, of course, was that writing a letter forces one to imagine the recipient’s reaction. The details which were intended to make them smile, for example, might summon an image of a toothy grin. The interference of second-guessing and editing the words was disregarded, as if every adjective came straight from the honest soul.
Fitzwilliam was different than Elizabeth had imagined. Having had only an evening’s familiarity with his looks, she had thought him taller and less stocky. His hair was lighter than she remembered, as she had instinctively painted him the same dark colours as the Darcys to whom he was related. Certainly, his eyes ought to have been brown instead of blue. As for his character, which should have been better represented in words, she was amused to discover that his jokes were silly and inexhaustible, but with an ironic note that made even Mary smile.
Likewise, Fitzwilliam was surprised by Darcy’s wife. He remembered her looks quite well (as he had said to Mary, he rarely forgot a pretty face) but had not counted upon how confidently she moved. Most ladies her age had an air of delicacy, as if they were not yet accustomed to their own limbs (he was rather oblivious to the body language that meant such ladies were simply awkwardaround him,but that was another matter). He also had not known how quickly her mind worked. Such things could not be communicated in a letter, which was read at the same steady pace throughout. She made answers and witty remarks as easily as an orator.
Two strangers, then. Fortunately, the features they had not imagined were not unpleasant ones, and they quickly warmed to each other. Before half a mile had passed, the group had settled into a comfortable air. Elizabeth and Darcy walked side by side,only letting their drifting fingers bridge the gap. Fitzwilliam pretended he could not see that intimacy and made light chatter.
Mary strode ahead. The younger girl was silent even on the easier paths, where they did not need to save their breath. She watched the introduction between Elizabeth and the Colonel with careful indifference. When they walked, she did not drag her feet or complain, as she used to do in Meryton. She stepped forth with determination, easily outpacing even the gentlemen in her eagerness to reach the top of the hill.
Elizabeth had thought that Fitzwilliam was the bait that had lured Mary to join them. Now, she wondered if it was the walk itself which had called to her. She had never seen her sister more at ease.
“It will rain this afternoon,” Mary murmured when they rested at the top of the hill. She pointed to a distant cloud. Yellow and grey lines on its chalky surface spoke clearly of the torrent beneath. Elizabeth, the veteran of many long walks, agreed. She could not help expressing her surprise that Mary knew what to look for.
“I do not mean it as an insult,” she hastily added, just as Mary had done a few hours before, “It is just that you seem much altered.”
“I am trying to improve myself.” Mary replied frankly, as if she was talking about cultivating seedlings instead of her own existence, “I find that happiness must be hunted. I am not fortunate enough to stumble across it by accident. If I want to find any contentment in my life, I must ready my spears.”
“Spears?”
“Do not frown at me, Elizabeth Darcy. If I wished you to knowallof my thoughts than I should not have bothered with the metaphor.”
“I frown for sisterly reasons, not academic. I did not know that you were unhappy, dearest.”
“I am not.” Mary replied mulishly. Holding up a hand, she changed the subject with a nasal grunt, something that had always signified great reservoirs of thought.
“Hmmph! Elizabeth, I have been thinking about what to do with mother.”
“Do with her?” Elizabeth echoed, amazed, “What on Earth do you mean? You make her sound like a troublesome child!”
“I reserve my opinion on that matter, Lizzie.” Mary said drily, “I meant: how do you plan to treat her when she arrives next week? Jane told me that you have no intention of letting her use a family room.”
