Chapter
11
Her husband disappeared into his
rooms and Elizabeth
found herself alone in her bedchamber, her hands shaking, her stomach revolted
after the intense argument they had just shared. The tumult of her thoughts was
painfully great. In this perturbed state of mind, Elizabeth sat front of the window seat
wrapped in a thick blanket, staring into the night with empty, glassy eyes,
wishing she could be home. Never before she had never felt so
desolated and lonely, so vulnerable and trapped. She felt imprisoned in
this enormous and strange house, at the mercy of an insensible and cruel
husband, with no one to turn to and nowhere to run. Nothing could appease her
distressed soul. There was no Mama and no Papa there to shelter her, no Jane to
console her, no Aunt Gardiner to bring her comfort and wisdom in this
distressful moment.
“I will not cry. You will
never make me cry, Mr. Darcy.” She tightened her hold on her legs as her
body rocked back and forward. “Oh, Dear Lord, what am I going to do?”
On the other side of the door, the
rejected husband paced his room like a caged beast. He was angry, his heart was
wrenching with frustration, jealousy and hurt. He felt shunned, insulted and in
pain. Too distressed to elaborate a coherent thought, Darcy walked towards the
sitting area and poured himself a brandy in an attempt to bring some clarity to
his boisterous spirit. He drank it in one shot, his eyes watering as the strong
liquid burned his throat.
The entire scene played in his mind
over and over again: The wounding spitefulness of his wife’s words, her
disdain and rejection, her contempt and the unfairness of the accusations she
had thrown about Miss Bennet and Mr. Wickham.
“At least in that I may defend
myself.” Darcy muttered as he walked decidedly to his desk.
After grabbing paper and pen, he
composed the letter that would expose his soul to the woman who had just torn
his heart apart.
Darcy was awakened by the coldness
of his bedchamber. The fire had died out long ago and the rejected groom laid
over the bedcovers, still wearing the same nightshift and robe he wore the
night before. He had staid up good part of the night, writing, until, as the
grandfather clock chimed four, exhausted after purging his rawest feelings on
the letter to his bride, he went to bed. There was where dawn found him, in a
bitterness of spirit impossible to overcome.
Fortunately he had asked his valet
not to come early to him. He was not ready to face anyone yet. As he observed
his reflection on the mirror, the dark shadows under his eyes, Darcy
acknowledged, with great acerbity, that this was not how he had imagined his
first day as a married man would be. He thought he would wake up with his bride
in his arms, feeling her warmth and softness, holding her after a night of love
and passion where they would have learnt the delights of intimacy between
lovers. Her words had shattered his dreams of the perfect honeymoon he had
envisioned for them, his plans to take her to the opera in their best fashions,
or expectations about long walks through Vauxhall
Gardens or enchanting tours around Regent Park
in the phaeton holding hands under the furry blanket. He thought he would show
her the world, share with her everything he possessed and sketch their life
together. But this reality could not be more different and painful. In only a
moment of verbal sparring, all he had wished for had been destroyed by his
wife’s hurtful speech.
His wife, Darcy thought with
bitterness. Even though he was married to her, Elizabeth would never be truly his wife.
Darcy dressed without the assistance
of his valet. When he was sure that he looked composed and presentable for
company, Darcy descended to the morning room where he would wait for his
‘wife’ to come down for breakfast. Despite his resentment and pain,
he could not show her the discourtesy of not waiting for her on her first day
in a strange house. Although he would have preferred to spare himself the pain
of seeing her again so soon after their quarrel, this was the gentlemanlike
thing to do.
But Elizabeth never came.
Elizabeth rolled to her side and opened her
eyes to the half darkness of her rooms. It was late in the morning, she could
tell by the rays of sun that peeked through the heavy draperies. Tired and
drained of thoughts and emotions, she struggled to come out of her slumber.
‘I wish this was all a bad
dream’, she thought with increasing tribulation, yet she knew it was
not. She was the new Mrs. Darcy and nothing would change this circumstance.
She pulled the covers up to her nose
and closed her eyes again, not ready to wake up to her new and most displeasing
reality. Waking up would signify starting to live a life she was not yet ready
to face and starting a marriage she had never desired. All she wanted at that
moment was to close her eyes and sleep forever.
Noises in her dressing room alerted
her to the presence of her maid.
“Good morning, madam.”
the girl made a quick courtesy when she saw the mistress coming.
“Good morning,
Elsie” Elizabeth
smiled weakly.
The maid continued arranging her
belongings.
Elizabeth spoke in an even voice.
“Please inform Mr. Darcy that I will not come down for breakfast. I have
a very bad headache.”
“Yes,
ma’am.” The girl stared at her for a moment, then
headed for the door.
“And please,” Elizabeth added before she
left, “bring me some tea when you return.”
Darcy was still waiting for Elizabeth in the morning
room when the lady’s maid arrived and informed him about his wife’s
indisposition.
“Thank you.” he replied
in a voice deprived of emotion. “It will be better if we allow her some
rest.”
Not much later, he left for his
club.
When Elsie returned with a tray with
tea and pastries, Elizabeth
was standing by the window clad in her nightclothes.
“Your tea, ma’am.”
she placed it on the table of the sitting area.
Elizabeth took her seat quietly, pondering if
she should inquire about her husband. That would be the proper thing to do,
even if she had little interest in knowing about him. “Is Mr. Darcy
already downstairs?
“Yes,
ma’am.
He came down early for breakfast and waited for you in the morning room. When I
informed him about your indisposition, I believe he left the house.”
“Thank you, Elsie. That will
be all.”
Elizabeth was left alone with her thoughts. ‘He
loved me all this time’. This man, who had never shown any real
partiality for her until he kissed her two months ago, who was forced to marry
her because of her father’s intervention, had been in love with her from
the earliest moments of their acquaintance! Never, not in her wildest dreams,
had she dreamt that the gentleman that was now her husband had professed such
profound regard for her.
In other circumstances, Elizabeth would have been
almost gratified to know that she had unconsciously inspired such strong feelings
on a man like him. However his pride, his abominable pride and his admission
for what he had done to her sister Jane and Wickham that he had not attempted
to deny, his shameless avowal of his dislike for her family had made her
overcome any pity she might have felt for him after his heartfelt confession.
Despite all theses undeniable faults
of character, Elizabeth
had to admit that, even after their brutal argument, his behaviour toward her
had been exceedingly gentlemanlike. He still waited for her in the breakfast
room that morning, though perhaps this civility had the only purpose of keeping
the pretence of connubial felicity in front of the servants. He did not impose on her physically either, as
was his right, and had been generous enough to spare her from her conjugal
obligations on their wedding night. That was indeed an unusual behaviour for a
man with his selfishness and who had declared himself to be resentful and
unforgiving.
Still, these scarce and truly
unimportant points in his favour were not enough to redeem him from his past
offences. True love cannot be selfish, Elizabeth
told herself, and should be bestowed without inflicting the loved one any harm.
The affection her husband had proclaimed to feel, if genuine, had been misplaced
and professed in the most inadequate way. His past actions spoke of his
unkindness and his wounding words were a clear evidence of his disdainfulness
and ruthlessness. Yet there was nothing she could do to change her destiny now.
He was her husband, and as much as she disliked this circumstance, she would
have to face him every day for the rest of her life.
It was not until later in the
evening, during dinner, that the couple saw each other for the first time that
day. They addressed each other with forced civility and each struggled to
maintain their composure in front of the other’s coldness. Practically no
word was spoken during the meal and, once finished; they went to the music room
where they stayed for the minimally required time. Elizabeth embroidered, Darcy read. When she
could take no more of their mutual coldness and indifference, Elizabeth announced she would retire and her
husband escorted her to her rooms.
That was their first day as a
married couple.
The following days proceeded in
similar fashion. Darcy went to his club or fencing in the mornings, afternoons
were spent in his study and in the evening he would join his wife for a silent
dinner. Elizabeth
kept to her rooms almost all day long, leaving them only for walks toward the
music room or brief visits to the snowy gardens of the house.
For five days, they followed this
senseless routine. Resentment, pain and anger were still too fresh inside their
hearts to let them go. Neither had the strength nor the wish repeat the scene
of their wedding night so they avoided each other as much as they could. And in
those times when they met, the animosity and tension between them was
insupportable. All those hurtful words were back and their unhealed wounds were
reopened. They did not trust themselves to be civil in the other’s
presence so practically no words were exchanged. Each one blamed the other for
their present misery and neither was willing to take the first step to revert
the sorrow that had now possessed them.
But on the sixth day, things changed
for the better. Elizabeth
decided she would become insane if she continued with her life as it was and
pulled herself out from her current inertia. She rose early and, for the first
time since her wedding, she joined her husband in the morning room.
Darcy rose immediately when he saw
his wife. This was an unexpected but not at all unwelcome surprise. “Good
morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure
to have your company this morning. I hope you slept well?”
“I have, thank
you,” she kept her eyes down.
He pulled out a chair for her and
they had their breakfast together. There was still too much awkwardness for
them to feel completely at ease, yet in this occasion they were able to leave
their coldness behind. They were not as tense or defensive as they had been in
their previous encounters and by the end of the meal they had managed to make
some polite and amiable conversation. It was then that Elizabeth informed her husband about her
interest in learning more about the household, a comment that Darcy received
with genuine delight. For once, Elizabeth
returned his smile.
Darcy then showed Elizabeth the entire house and reintroduced
her to Mrs. Turner, the housekeeper. Once he felt that his wife was
comfortable, he left them to converse in privacy.
That evening they spent some time
together before dinner and, once again they were able to chat without the usual
tension of the previous days. Elizabeth,
revitalized with her new occupations, talked with enthusiasm about her meeting with
the housekeeper. Darcy listened to her comments and answered all her questions
with reflective eyes. He was relieved that they could at least be civil to each
other and pleased that she was trying to face her new role with a better
disposition. Perhaps it was not much but it was a start.
Elizabeth now found herself quite busy during
the mornings. She became acquainted with the servants and began to take the
first decisions about the household’s administration. She discussed the
menu with the cook every day and learned her husband’s favourite dishes.
In only a few days, with the assistance of Mrs. Turner, the housekeeper, she
felt confident enough as to run the house by herself.
Those meetings with the housekeeper
were very enlightening for Elizabeth.
As she learned more about the household, she learned more about her own
husband.
“How long have you been
working for the Darcys?”
“For more than sixteen years. I
came on the year Miss Darcy was born.”
“A long time
indeed.”
“Yes,” the housekeeper
smiled in fondness at the remembrance. “And those were very pleasant
times for us. The late Mrs. Darcy was still alive and the children were as
happy as they had ever been.”
“I have seen a portrait of
her. She was a very handsome woman.”
“Very
handsome and kind.
Miss Georgiana looks very much like her, though it was the master the one who
inherited her temper and disposition. She was a determined, very strong woman
and owner of the most generous heart.”
Elizabeth was not ready to hear any sort of
praise about her husband so she turned her attention to the vase in front of
her. “You present us every day with such beautiful flowers, Mrs.
Turner,” she gave the lovely bouquet her personal touch. “Where do
they come from? The weather is so cold that they cannot grow in the
garden.”
“No, madam,” replied the
housekeeper, “these are from the orangery. It is not as large as Pemberley’s but it provides us with a good variety of
flowers and fruits all through the year.”
“Have you ever been at Pemberley?” the new mistress had heard so much about
that house that she was intrigued about it.
“Only once,
several years ago, when Mrs. Reynolds’ daughter fell ill. I went to replace her while she was
away. It’s a beautiful house. You shall see it soon. The master is very
fond of it and spends most of the summer months on his estate.”
Elizabeth smiled and looked away, troubled by
her own thoughts. She would love to be in the countryside again but the thought
of leaving for Pemberley only brought uneasiness. Her
Aunt Gardiner praised the beauties of Derbyshire with such enthusiasm that Elizabeth was more than
desirous to see them. But, at the same time, leaving for the north would only
increase the distance between her and those she loved.
The second week of marriage passed
as uneventfully as the previous one. The young husband, more resigned to his
circumstance as the days passed, observed his wife’s progress with a
mixture of sorrow and relief. He was pleased that at least she no longer
appeared distressed but he knew for sure that she was not happy with her
present life. Though still suffering because of their argument on their wedding
night, Darcy did not censure her any more. He had had his share in the discussion
and he recognized his blame in the whole affair. His only hope now was that,
one day, they would come to an understanding and become the married couple they
ought to be. But, before that, his own wounds would
have to heal.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he
addressed her one night during dinner. “There are some matters concerning
family interests that as my … ” he cleared
his throat with a soft cough “... as the mistress of the house you should
be acquainted with. I would like to introduce you to them. Would tomorrow
morning be convenient?”
“Yes,
sir.” She
smiled.
On the following morning, at the
appointed time, Elizabeth
joined Darcy in his study. They were in conference for about two hours, where
Darcy introduced her to all the particulars about the family. He started with
the pin money that was required for running the household and for her personal
use.
“Now we are in your most
capable hands, Mrs. Darcy,” he smiled.
Elizabeth was in stupor about the amount of
money she was receiving. Still she tried to appear unaffected by it as she did
not want her husband to think she was poor girl with little knowledge in these
matters.
“I believe this should cover
all,” he noticed her expression, “but if you are in need of
something else, do not fear asking.”
“I will, sir.”
“Do you wish to see the family
jewellery? You may want to select something for your personal use.”
“I thank you, but not at the
moment.” She replied as a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. She did not
want him to think she was eager to flaunt his wealth on her. “I am not
used to wearing expensive jewellery.”
“The appropriate occasion will
come, I am sure. Georgiana will be home on the following week. In her letters
she expressed her wish to become friends with you. Perhaps you two may visit
some shops together. Knowing your preference for the outdoors, I am sure that
you will be more than pleased to leave the house, if only for a few
hours.”
“That will be agreeable,
yes,” she replied briefly. There were things she would like to do, visit
her relatives or leave the house for a walk in the park, but she doubted her
husband would approve of those activities.
Darcy then proceeded to acquaint her
with the properties they owned, heirlooms, the churches and schools they
supported, the relation they had with their tenants and servants and some of
the duties that were expected from her as the Mistress of Pemberley.
Elizabeth felt
a little overwhelmed with the dimension of his -their- fortune and the
influence that she would have over other people’s lives from now on. With
no little pride, she accepted her new responsibilities and was honoured that
this man had chosen her to perform such a significant role.
During these hours they remained
together she noticed how different he was from the man she knew, how his
manners had softened how easy it was for her to converse with him now. She was
impressed by how deeply committed he was to his family and name and by the way
he included her in every subject, asking her opinion in every matter. Contrary
to what she had always thought about him, he could be generous and sensible
when he wanted and now she understood the enormous weight he carried over his
shoulders -- a weight that he would now share with her.
“These livings you
mentioned,” she enquired, her curiosity piqued. “Are they all
taken?”
“All three. The one in Kympton
was vacant for six months about a year ago, when the old parson died
unexpectedly. But he has been replaced earlier this year.”
That was the parsonage Mr. Wickham mentioned,
Elizabeth
recalled, the one that Darcy had denied him. The remembrance of this incident
was enough to upset her, once again putting her in an unfavourable disposition
with her husband. Her smile disappeared from her lips as she fidgeted in her
chair.
Darcy noted her sudden change of
countenance and was puzzled by it. At loss of how to understand it, he told her
that they were done with the matters he needed to discuss with her. Elizabeth rose, he did
the same and they parted. When they met at the dining table again, the
awkwardness was back and the little understanding they had been able to achieve
was not there any more.
The morning that followed, after her
daily conference with the housekeeper, Elizabeth decided to take another turn
around the house to become better acquainted with the rooms and galleries,
especially those of the west wing, that were rarely used this time of the year
because of their larger dimensions. Her husband was not at home, she
understood, so there would be no chance she would cross paths with him.
Elizabeth first explored a small sitting room
that she thought was particularly handsome. She was told it was used only when
the larger dining room was occupied with banquets so the ladies could retire to
converse while the gentlemen remained smoking at the dining table. The fabrics
on the walls and furniture were light, in shades of gold and brown and the
furniture was more stylish and luxurious than the family’s habitual
quarters.
Following that lodging was the main
dining room, one of the largest stances of the house. She was told it was
usually closed at this time of the year so Elizabeth never imagined she would find such
a frightful sight in its interior when she opened the door.
Before her astonished eyes was her
husband with another man, both shirtless, dishevelled
and sweaty, circling each other over a square carpet. They had white wraps
around their hands which were closed into fists as they held them up near their
faces. Punches came and went from one to the other, never really hitting target
due to the fighters’ quick reflexes and practiced defence techniques. Elizabeth recalled seeing
a quarrel when she was much younger, when the two eldest Lucas boys fought over
the possession of a ball during a game one Saturday afternoon their families
were picnicking together. But the scene that she was viewing was completely
different to that innocent scrape between to whimsical lads. This was a boxing
lesson between two grown up and very fit men, where the contenders studied each
other, planned their strategy and attacked with an acuteness she had never witnessed
before. Mesmerized by her husband’s figure, she stared transfixed at the
way the muscles of back and arms ripped and tensed with every move he made. There
she stood, hypnotized by their dangerous dance, rooted to the spot by an
invisible force, struck by the virile grace of
Darcy’s posture and the ferocity in his eyes.
The battle suddenly intensified as the boxers exchanged
a quick succession of blows directed to the most solid areas of the
opponent’s body.
“My
goodness!”
Elizabeth
gasped when she heard the dry sound of fists impacting on flesh as well as the
grunts and exhalations that are usually result from these exertions. Her voice
was recognized by her husband, who immediately turned to see her, thus
distracting his attention from his contender for the fraction of a second. The
next punch the master threw hit him squarely on the chin.
The young wife watched horrified how
her husband wobbled back and brought his hand to his mouth which was now
bleeding with profusion. The master stepped closer to see if the injury was of
relevance, then chastised his pupil for letting his guard down and allowing
external factors to divert him from the sparring. Having seen enough and a
little overwhelmed by the violence of the encounter, Elizabeth fled out of the room.
Later in the day, deeply mortified
for the inconvenience she had caused and conscious that her presence there had
played an important role in her husband’s injury, Elizabeth went to Darcy’s study with
the intention of apologizing. She found him with a glass of scotch in his hand
and an unfriendly look in his eyes. The bruise on his chin was painfully
evident, as was the cut he sported on his lower lip.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began
with great repentance. “I want to apologize for intruding in your lesson.
I am afraid I caused your laceration.”
Darcy said nothing which was not
surprising since he had never been overly talkative. Elizabeth saw herself in the necesity to further conversation.
“It was utterly incorrect form
my part to venture into that room without knocking.” She said, feeling
the awkwardness of his silence. “I am truly sorry. It shall not occur
again.”
“There is no reason for you to
apologize, madam. It was not your fault.” He replied sternly as he left
his glass over the table.
“I believe it is, sir.”
“No,” his voice was almost a
growl. “I averted my eyes from my opponent. If there is someone to blame
for my injury is my own inattention.”
Elizabeth would hear none of this and walked
towards him, mostly moved by the compassion she felt for seeing him in physical
pain, completely innocent to the fact that was approaching dangerous ground.
The glass her husband had been nursing contained his third scotch and the blow
he had received earlier in the day had left him in the most unfavourable mood.
Though unbeknown to her, Darcy had resumed the practice of boxing –a
sport he had not exercised in months—in an attempt to exorcise the anger
and frustration he felt for the failure of his marriage. Today’s practice
and the consequent injury had not placated those morbid feelings, it had
intensified them. Unaware of this particular and oblivious to the perils to
which her noble pursue was exposing her, Elizabeth
joined him at his post near the window and tried to offer him some comfort.
“I shall bring some ice for
that bruise, it will help to stop the swell.”
She raised her hand to his face to inspect the cut, but Darcy pulled back
before she could touch him.
Surprised by his abruptness and not
quite understanding why he was refusing her, Elizabeth stared at him with wide,
preoccupied eyes. His, on the other hand, were darkening with enmity. It took
her a moment to comprehend that the alleviation she was offering was unwelcome.
Also, the strong scent of liquor in his breath told her that he might not be fully
on his senses. Elizabeth
decided it was best to quit the room at once.
“I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have come,” she turned to leave. “If you would
excuse me,”
But Darcy caught her by the arm before
she could proceed any further. He spun her around so they were face to face and
brought her closer until they were barely half a step apart.
Their gazes
locked, scared orbs fixed on tortured ones. She submitted wordlessly to his
hold, unable to move or protest, completely overpowered by the intensity of his
eyes. He leaned down slowly, almost unwillingly, as if fighting against himself
now, resisting the pull of inner demons that were drawing him to her. There was
raw desire in his eyes, but also pain and anger. His attitude disquieted her, not
because she feared him, but for her own conflicted emotions.
She swallowed hard and prayed he would stop before they both did something they
would surely regret.
Darcy must have felt the distress
and helplessness that irradiated from her and was able to achieve some clarity
in his inebriated state. The hold on her arms eased and he let her go,
returning to his post at the window, ignoring her completely. Elizabeth left her room with haste.
When they met later at the dining
table, the couple acted as if the incident had not happened. The subject was
never discussed again.
Days passed slowly at the Darcy
townhouse, bringing very little changes in the newlyweds’ lives. For
nearly three weeks, Elizabeth
had been the new Mrs. Darcy and although the relationship between husband and
wife was not no longer strained, it was stagnant, detained in a dullness that
neither could let go. Their routine was the same, they were polite whenever
they were in each other’s company, but there was no progress, no
determination to improve their present reality, just the frustrating sensation
that happiness had been denied to them, that things might never be rectified.
The grey and rainy days that
followed did very little to uplift Elizabeth’s
lowness of spirits, neither did the news that came from Longbourn.
In her hand she held the letter that Jane sent to her. Life at home had not
changed much since she left. Her mother was still suffering because of her
nerves, Lydia
was as silly as ever and Kitty bought a new bonnet. Lady Lucas invited them all
to supper and cards and there was a small ball celebrating the end of the
winter where even her taciturn sister Mary was tempted to dance. Life
continued, but she was not there to share it with those she loved.
Elizabeth’s excessive longing for her
family was taking a toll on her. She missed the sisterly quarrels, the chatting
during dinner and her conversations with Jane. Mostly, she longed for her
sister Jane. She needed her balance, her counsel, her kindness and wisdom. The
Darcy townhouse was comfortable and lacked of nothing, but it was so terribly
big and quiet. Being used to living in a house with six women, her present
dwelling seemed so empty that it only increased her feeling of loneliness. She
also missed her Aunt Gardiner and visiting her was her most desired wish but
she was afraid her husband would deny his permission to call on her if she
asked him.
As she looked at the rain, thin and
grey over the naked gardens, Elizabeth recalled Charlotte’s words
during the gathering at Longbourn, referring to her
marriage to Mr. Collins:
‘By the end of the day we had
been together for only five or ten minutes. I feel quite content with my
situation’.
A sole tear ran down her cheek and Elizabeth wiped it with
tremulous fingers. She had never expected that such a thing would happen to
her. And by God, she was not at all content with her situation.
Standing at the threshold, unnoticed
to Elizabeth’s
eyes, Darcy had been observing her for a long while. He had been there,
in a daze, unable to tear his eyes from her gloomy figure. He saw her looking
outside the window with sorrow, he heard her sigh and saw her tears. It broke
his heart to see her so miserable. All he wanted at the moment was to hold her
and promise that everything would be better if they stayed together. But he
knew she would never allow him to get close to her. Loving her the way he did,
the awareness of her unhappiness was as frustrating as it was painful. There
was not much he could do but watch her from a distance and suffer the agony of
being close to her and having her out of his reach.
However, Darcy knew that he could
not just stand there and be silent witness her suffering. His wife’s
liveliness was extinguishing before his eyes. He had to do something. Taking a
deep breath, Darcy made a most heart wrenching decision; one that he hoped
would change their lives for the best.