‘Very well, sir’,seemed to be the only thing I could say in response to most of his statements. I wished I did not sound so colourless, so obsequious in my replies, but then again, I had no desire to poke him with thinly disguised sentiments of ill-usage. Having once read an account of bear-baiting that I wished forever after could be erased from my mind, Mr Darcy struck me—looming over me in a massive black greatcoat, dripping on my shoes—as a caged and wounded bear. Iunderstood him. I had also felt that way myself until I gave up all ideas of deserving my life to be any other way than it was.
As we ate a cold collation in a private parlour, I reflected that in some ways, I was better off than Mr Darcy. My former self, Elizabeth Bennet, could be buried, and I could attend to the business of Mrs Darcy as if the lady were an unrelated stranger to whom one must cater. Mr Darcy, however, was still Mr Darcy. He could not so easily kill off his identity and assume a new one, say, as Mr Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet’s new husband.
At one time, this line of thinking would have amused me to such a degree I might have laughed aloud. Now, the nameMr Bennetcould only pain me.
“You are not eating,” Mr Darcy said coldly.
“I have eaten a little, sir. I am not a comfortable traveller and am taking precautions.” In fact, the Stilton cheese was far too aromatic for me, so I nibbled on a water biscuit.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Very well. But you should be aware we will not stop for refreshments again until we stop for the night.” This he announced in a manner clearly unconcerned for my comfort. He was simply putting me on notice that he would not tolerate ploys for attention should I claim to feel faint with hunger an hour down the road.
“Where do we stay tonight?”
“The Swan’s Trumpet. I believe it should satisfy evenyourstandards,” he said drily.
“I meant what town, sir,” I said quietly. “One inn is very much like the next one in my experience.”
He paused to swallow. Whether he swallowed his irritation or his beef, neither appeared to go down willingly. “Northampton tonight, Nottingham tomorrow.”
His tone continued as impatient as before, and there beingno servants requiring I act the conversationalist, I gave in to silence. When he finished eating, I excused myself and went to the window. I looked out on the yard behind the posting house and saw a well-gravelled road just beyond it. The lane did not appear too disreputable, as it was lined with a smattering of poor but decently kept cottages.
“Might I stretch my legs until your carriage is made ready? There is a serviceable lane behind this inn.”
He shrugged. “Do as you wish, madam. This yard is not known for efficiency, and you could have as much as twenty minutes.”
I reached for my shawl and bonnet, found Wilson, and took her on a flying march to the top of the little road and back. The exertion flushed my cheeks and cleared my mind of cobwebs and gripes. A fine misting rain and a brisk tramp left me perfectly calm for the long afternoon ride to Northampton.
Thebearread from a small book handed to him at the last minute by his valet who had arrived in the following carriage in time to bring it to his master along with a dry coat. The cold and wet, coupled with the darkness caused by heavy clouds, must have made my husband long to close his eyes. He appeared utterly exhausted, and because his temper would only worsen if he did not soon close his eyes—I wished he would rest. But he would not. Mr Darcy, I was discovering, was nothing if not stubborn once he embarked upon a course. Apparently, his course that day was to appear aloof and indifferent, which he could hardly do if his face was softened by sleep.
His grave, unspeaking presence left me with nothing to do for hours on end. I could not read while in motion. I could not converse with my maid regarding the number of day dresses suitable for the mistress of a large estate as I wished to do.How mercenary that would sound! I could not ask Mr Darcy to tell me of Derbyshire, or of Pemberley, or of his neighbours thereabouts. I could not discover if there were lanes for walking, if there was a village or large town nearby with a bookshop, or perhaps even a place where assemblies and musical concerts were held. Too ignorant to speculate on anything, I could only stay anchored in the grey, rain-spotted blur passing the window of my husband’s elegant coach. Eventually, having for many days not slept the deep, unconcerned sleep of someone wholly secure in the world, I closed my eyes.
I felt the warmth of my shawl being tucked gently around me and knew that Wilson had paid me this small attention. The smells of Longbourn—Jane’s soap, my father’s pipe smoke, my mother’s perfume, and the mustiness of an old house—were still carried in the wool, and a feeling of gratitude enveloped me much like the shawl. Dry, warm, fed, and graced with a small attention from another person, I could wish for nothing more at that moment, so I rested deeply for nearly a full hour.
8
An untroubled rest served me well once we arrived at The Swan’s Trumpet.
Mr Darcy had bespoken a total of five rooms—one each for master and mistress, smaller ones for his valet and my lady’s maid, and one large common room above the stables for his footmen, coachman, and post boys.
The proprietor looked abashed. The inn had suffered a fire not three days prior. The common room above the stable was of course available, and he had gone to great lengths to secure Mr Darcytworooms, one being superior with a fireplace and a large bed, and the other in the attic that was clean but not heated. He hoped, he said earnestly, that though not what had been requested, these arrangements would be deemed acceptable.
They were not. My husband towered over him and spoke in biting tones. The rooms he had requested must be provided. The innkeeper—poor man—could have no notion why Mr Darcy would find this arrangement so unbearable.My husband could scarcely tolerate sitting inside a coach with me, much less think of sharing my room. The proprietor pleaded for reasonableness from one of his most esteemed and long-standing customers. The Master of Pemberley demanded his requests be met. They must be met, and they most emphaticallywouldbe met. When they reached the invariable impasse at the end of this heated exchange, I came to the conclusion that I must exert myself a little.
I stepped forwards and spoke in a commiserating tone. “How terrible a fire must have been for you, Mr Bentley. Was anyone hurt?”
Fortunately, no. They had been extraordinarily lucky, he said, though the entire south wing had been gutted due to a man in the lower floor falling asleep over a stack of papers while smoking a long pipe. The inn had been full, and many men had been in the tavern when they began to smell smoke. Everyone had jumped to pass buckets of water, and only by the grace of God had the roof and outer walls been salvaged. His eyes were still wide from the horror as he recounted the tale, and as he spoke, his chest rose and fell in agitation. I listened with sympathy and turned to my glowering husband.
“I have a roaring headache from the road and have often found a cold room is all the relief I need. I will take the small room with my maid, and we may turn our attention to the journey ahead. Might I also,” I said, turning back to the innkeeper, “have a tray sent to my room? A hot soup and a roll would be welcome, along with a pot of tea.”
Mr Darcy stared at me. For a moment, I thought he would object, but his valet quickly gathered up the valises, and Wilson followed with my travelling case. The inn’s footman jumped to help, leaving Mr Darcy standing alone in the hall as the rest of his party disappeared up the stairs.
In the darkness before dawn, I rose, and with the floor boards creaking below my feet, I stiffly made my way to the water-closet at the end of the hall.
When I returned, Wilson was up and dressed. “How did you fare last night, ma’am?”
“I am in knots, if I am honest. I have never before slept on a mattress filled with turnips. I suppose you are used to this sort of bed?”
“A little, ma’am,” she replied looking ready to laugh if only she were allowed. She bent to light a second lamp. “What is your pleasure this morning, Mrs Darcy?”
