“We leave for Pemberley first thing in the morning,” I said, “and aside from a few things, I see no need for you to have to unpack only to put it all back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked to be above the age of thirty, once quite pretty and now mellowing into a somewhat formal and unreadable woman. I realised with a start that this one person would beprivy to a great deal, so after a moment of indecision at the dressing table, I turned and said, “Wilson, I am afraid I must be unforgivably blunt.”
She looked up sharply, as though she expected a criticism. “Ma’am?”
“My father is a gentleman from a small estate in Hertfordshire with five daughters and the estate entailed to a cousin we have never met. I did not come to this marriage with any dowry, nor did I bring with me a trousseau. We will make do with what I have for now and begin to address the matter of gowns when we reach Derbyshire.”
Wilson’s back had straightened to rigidity as she listened to this speech. Once she comprehended that she was not being dismissed, and further, that I was confessing my humble origins, she softened ever so slightly.
“Very good, Mrs Darcy. Might you show me what I should press for tonight and tomorrow’s travels?”
“I would rather you suggest what you think best.” I smiled, albeit sadly, for the first time in weeks. “I am afraid I am not a pattern card for what isa la mode.”
We quickly agreed on my second-best dinner dress. She stowed my nightgown, robe and undergarments in the dressing room, and set out a serviceable carriage dress and warm shawl for the morning. I then submitted to being undressed by a stranger, to washing whilst assisted, and lastly to being dressed, groomed, and declared fit for a simple supper. Throughout, underneath our footsteps, underneath the sound of water being wrung out of a cloth into the basin, and underneath the swish of my dress falling over my shoulders, I heard the breathless silence all around me.
“Thank you, Wilson,” I said. I could not keep the quaverout of my voice as I stared at my reflection in the looking glass. For some reason, the intimacy of that quiet hour had left me shaken. My maid glanced up in surprise, our eyes met in the mirror, and thus, our alliance was forged.
3
FITZWILLIAM DARCY, LONDON
Journal Entry, October 14, 1811
I have made a gross error. I truly believed I was equal to doing my duty. I thought myself capable of swallowing my bile, clenching my jaw, and doing what must be done whilst maintaining my dignity.
But I hate her. I truly hate her.
It is said we reap what we sow, but for what sin committed are my sister and I to be plagued by such vicious and clever hunters of fortune? My mind is fractured, and I see nothing but blackness ahead of me for the length of my life.
I tore this page out of my journal and threw it in the fire.
4
ELIZABETH DARCY, LONDON
A footman pulled out my chair as Mr Darcy did not choose to do so. We sat in a stately silence punctuated only by the sounds of silver, china, crystal, and footsteps. I never liked awkward silences, but as I had no wish to hear the sound of my own voice, I did not feel particularly averse to holding my tongue. Mr Darcy cleared his throat, and though I looked up to hear what he might say, he looked away and went back to his meal. When the soup was cleared away, I realised that for the sake of the servants alone, I should make an attempt at civil discourse. I meant to be as good at beingMrs Darcyas possible, regardless of the insurmountable odds, and part of being a good mistress was to ensure that my husband and his new wife did not feature in gossip below stairs.
A sip of wine lubricated my throat, then I spoke. “Do you anticipate more rain for our journey tomorrow?”
After half a second of hesitation, he replied. “We should expect wet roads all the way to Pemberley. My steward writes the harvest has been hampered by days of unrelenting rain.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
He did not reply, and instead, covertly glanced over at me as I ate. Who could blame a man for wishing to satisfy himself that his wife could chew with her mouth closed and manage her cutlery? I also peeked at Mr Darcy and determined his table manners were, much like his house, rather too elegant to be congenial.
“What are the fields yielding at the estate this year?” I asked, determined to revive some semblance of dinner conversation.
He spoke five entire sentences then. With half my mind committing to memory that Pemberley grew barley and rye rotated with peas, I reflected dazedly that this was the third time I had ever seen Mr Darcy. He finished his explanation, and I felt my duty to conversation fulfilled.
Dismissing the footmen after the cheeseboard was laid, Mr Darcy stood and said, “I have several things I wish to say to you, and I would as soon say them now. Then, I suggest we retire early, as the journey north is long and tiring.”
“Very well, sir.”
“I am bitterly disappointed by the manner in which I have married. The resentment I feel is, for the time being, unconquerable. The possibility exists that these feelings will soften over time, though I am far from optimistic. In spite of all this, I intend to uphold my end of this covenant with civil behaviour, provided that you, madam, are respectable and civil in return.”
“I see.”
