Estranged, page 7
Had the shades in her Hertfordshire relations’ characters gone unnoticed in his own wife? Darcy made a mental list of rules and protocols that Elizabeth would have to adhere to going forward, starting with loosening the ties with her family.
Memories of Mrs. Bennet’s frequent mentioning that Elizabeth should take her younger sisters under her wing in town so they might be thrown in the path of wealthy gentlemen had crept into his dreams, causing him to bolt from his sleep in horror each night during their stay at Longbourn. Heaven forbid he should allow such a thing. No—there would never be such forthcoming invitations.
The exception, of course, was the Gardiners, whom he admired. His favorable opinion of them had been a catalyst in his assurance that marriage to Elizabeth, while frowned upon by those of his sphere, would be deemed acceptable enough. Darcy also allowed that Elizabeth’s oldest sister would be an exception, despite her marriage to that ridiculous Mr. Collins, for even the loftiest circles in society had their share of fools.
He had to admit that introducing Elizabeth to his sister, Georgiana, was all that he had hoped it would be. Georgiana had taken to her immediately, and Darcy was grateful for the ease with which they were bonding. He knew that Georgiana’s approval of Elizabeth was crucial, and he was relieved that his bride had passed the test.
However, he could not shake off the feeling that his wife was not entirely happy with him. He had noticed her growing resentment towards him during their stay at Longbourn, and it troubled him. He supposed it had to do with his distaste for her family. But what was he to do? Pretend he did not find them wholly unacceptable? Disguise of that sort was his abhorrence. If their marriage were to stand a chance, he knew he had to do everything in his power to break the ties between Elizabeth and her wretched family.
All of Mr. Darcy’s aristocratic relations were gathered at Matlock House, the home of Lord Edward Fitzwilliam and the countess, Lady Ellen Fitzwilliam. Among them was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whom Elizabeth finally met after hearing so much about from her brother-in-law, Mr. William Collins. Her ladyship had traveled from Kent specifically for the purpose of meeting the recent addition to the proud Fitzwilliam family. The viscount, Lord Robert Fitzwilliam, and his wife, Lady Kate, were also present. The other guests comprised Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the earl’s second son, Miss Anne de Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s only child, and Miss Darcy, of course.
When it was time to adjourn to the grand dining room, Elizabeth found herself seated directly across from the formidable Lady Catherine. What a disadvantageous start to what Elizabeth had hoped would be a pleasant dinner, especially given her warm exchange with the earl and his lovely wife upon meeting them. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered the scathing letter Lady Catherine had written to her nephew upon learning of his elopement with Elizabeth. She had endured Mr. Collins’s endless accolades about the woman before her with all the calmness she could muster while in Hertfordshire, and now, having the chance to observe her directly, she saw in Lady Catherine some of the same features she saw in her husband. She no longer wondered at his being just as officious.
The dinner wore on, filled with discussions of weather, the latest news, and the occasional jest. But it was clear the tension was palpable, like a tightly drawn bowstring.
Elizabeth felt it most keenly when Lady Catherine remarked, “You must know, Mrs. Darcy, it has long been the wish of this family that my dear Anne and my nephew would unite. She was to be the rightful Mrs. Darcy. Such a match had the approval of all who truly mattered.”
A gasp filled the room, and an avalanche of none-too-subtle rebukes was aimed at Lady Catherine by Lord and Lady Matlock.
Undeterred, Lady Catherine asked, “Who in this room will not attest to the truth of it?”
Elizabeth’s dismay would not be repressed. Turning to Miss Anne de Bourgh, whose pale face was downcast, she asked, “And what say you, Miss de Bourgh? Was your heart set on the match?”
Manifesting an air of palpable discomfort at being the object of attention, Anne, a young lady of delicate constitution and reserved demeanor, scarcely met Elizabeth’s eyes. Her pale complexion and timid bearing revealed a character unaccustomed to the direct scrutiny of others, reflecting a life led largely in the shadow of her mother’s formidable presence.
“You are out of line, Elizabeth,” Darcy chastised her softly, his voice carrying the weight of an irrevocable reprimand. But Elizabeth, with her unwavering spirit, met his glare unflinchingly. Elizabeth was not one to be silenced, and she continued to speak her mind.
“How am I to know if your cousin’s sentiments align with your aunt’s if I do not ask?”
Anne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I believe it is not my place to comment on such matters.”
“Oh, come now,” Lady Kate chimed in, her voice filled with mirth, “surely you have an opinion on such a pertinent subject?”
Elizabeth shot a grateful look to Lady Kate, sensing an ally, or at least someone who relished prodding the bear.
Lord Robert laughed heartily, his deep chuckle filling the room. “Ah, Elizabeth! You are a rare treasure indeed. I have always admired a woman with spirit, even if it does lead to disharmony.”
“The last thing in the world I would have expected was my nephew marrying so... beneath him,” Lady Catherine sneered, her eyes scrutinizing Elizabeth.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “And yet, he managed to do so. Perhaps he found something in me that he could not find in such lofty circles as you frequent.”
Darcy, sitting beside her, tensed at her boldness toward his aunt. “Elizabeth...” he began warningly, but she paid him no mind. A fitting payback indeed for his own behavior in Hertfordshire, she surmised.
As the evening was drawing to an end, Colonel Fitzwilliam, a gentleman of distinguished military bearing and engaging manners, approached Elizabeth, an approving glint in his eyes. His countenance bore the stamp of honor and amiability, and his speech carried a liveliness that marked him distinct from his more reserved cousin. “I do believe, Mrs. Darcy, that I find myself quite intrigued by your courage,” he stated, leaning closer with an air of genial warmth. “I am rather looking forward to our future interactions.”
Elizabeth smiled at him, feeling a strange mixture of relief and gratification. “I hope you are not easily bored, Colonel.” The colonel laughed heartily at her jest, the sound echoing through the hushed room. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Darcy watching them, a spark of something akin to jealousy flitting across his eyes. She hid a triumphant smile.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he began, his voice warm and sincere, “I cannot claim to know you well, but I dare say one would never suffer such fate in your presence. Your wit and candor this evening were truly refreshing.”
She chuckled, “You flatter me, Colonel. Although I must admit, sparring with Lady Catherine is a new experience.”
“I commend you,” he replied with a smirk, “for your spirited defense. It is not every day that someone challenges my aunt so openly. To be able to express oneself freely and without fear is truly a gift. Your liveliness of spirits is quite invigorating—precisely what this family needs.”
From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Darcy was still watching them, a deep furrow in his brow. Perhaps it was not jealousy at all but mounting disappointment. It amused her slightly, even though she knew nothing good could come from a further widening of the gulf between them.
“I am afraid not everyone in your family would agree.” I fear my husband finds my ‘impertinence’ rather tiresome, she thought but dared not voice aloud.
The colonel asked, “Are you speaking of my aunt or my cousin Darcy?”
Now, it was Elizabeth’s turn to be demure. Having just met the charming gentleman that evening, she did not believe it was right to discuss the intricacies of the complicated dynamics between her husband and her.
“Your silence speaks volumes, but fear not, for your secret is safe with me. But if I were to give you a piece of advice, it would be to be patient. My cousin is one of the best men I know, which, trust me, is really saying something, even if he is much too fastidious for his own good. He likes to have his own way, as men in his position generally do, but one will never meet a more loyal friend.”
Sitting opposite each other during the carriage ride back to Darcy House, Mr. Darcy observed Elizabeth, displeasure etched on his face. “It was improper of you to express your opinion so frankly with my aunt on such short acquaintance. You overstep your position.”
Stung anew by his arrogance, Elizabeth retorted, “Forgive me, I was not aware honest conversation with your relations was forbidden.”
Darcy frowned. “You try my patience, madam. I had thought we understood one another. It was as if you went out of your way to embarrass me all evening, Elizabeth. I would have thought you knew better than to confront your superiors in such an egregious manner.”
“Superiors, Mr. Darcy?”
He arched his brow.
“For the sake of putting an end to this discussion, I shall assume you meant to say elders. That said, it is about time someone challenged her ladyship, do you not agree?”
“Did it have to be you? And in the presence of Lord and Lady Matlock, no less.” In a tone meant to sound conciliatory, he leaned closer and said, “Elizabeth, while I appreciate your tenacity, was it necessary to be so opinionated this evening?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Mr. Darcy, I have always been true to myself. While I will always strive for civility, I will not be silenced or cowed.”
He sighed deeply. “Be that as it may, going forward, I insist you exercise better judgment and restraint.”
By now, they had arrived at the townhouse. It was clear that the conversation was over, and Elizabeth rose to leave the carriage and retreat to her apartment, seeking solace. Tears stung in her eyes as she walked away, feeling overwhelmed by the hostility between them. The outward civility they had both maintained while at Matlock House seemed like a thin veil covering up a widening gulf between them. She could still feel his words: You try my patience, madam. Indeed, they echoed in her mind as she climbed the stairs.
Even as her thoughts were consumed by the evening’s events, a part of her could not help but congratulate herself. She and the proud Fitzwilliam family may have been thrust together by circumstance, but Elizabeth was certain of one thing: she would not allow these daunting relations, nor her husband, to suppress her spirited nature.
Chapter 13
A HUSBAND’S TRIALS
More than anything, Darcy wanted to forget about the cause of the gulf with Elizabeth. He had grown to care deeply for her, and he was also eager to introduce Elizabeth to his world. He wanted her to experience the best that London had to offer and had already planned for them to attend the theater and frequent the most fashionable soirees. He hoped that Elizabeth would enjoy herself and forget about her troubles for a while.
However, things did not go so smoothly as he had hoped. Elizabeth was polite and courteous to his friends and acquaintances, but he could tell that she was uncomfortable in their company. She did not seem to fit in with his world.
Darcy’s concerns were compounded when he noticed Elizabeth was purposely avoiding him. She seemed to be lost in thought most of the time and did not engage in conversation with him as much as she used to. He tried on numerous occasions to spend time with her, yet she would obstinately decline his advances, citing fatigue or the onset of a disagreeable headache.
Darcy did not know what to do. How was one to make someone happy when they were determined to be miserable? He wondered if he should have married someone who was more like him, someone who understood his world and could fit in with his friends and family. As the days passed, Darcy grew increasingly worried that he had made a mistake in marrying Elizabeth.
London’s crowds and clamor bustled all around, yet inside the elegant Darcy townhouse, the distance between them seemed to stretch infinitely. The glow of their early days as a married couple had dimmed under the harsh reality of their different worlds. Darcy threw himself into business meetings and social club gatherings, his mind occupied by a hundred matters unrelated to his wife. Elizabeth, on the other hand, found herself immersed in shopping, social calls, and frequent visits to her relatives’ home in Cheapside, seeking distraction from a growing sense of melancholy.
The contrast between them was never more pronounced than at social engagements. At a ball hosted by the Duke of York, Darcy’s eyes sparkled with interest as he conversed with fellow gentlemen of the ton, discussing politics, investments, and worldly matters. Elizabeth, elegant in a gown of azure silk, feigned interest in the surrounding ladies’ chatter but felt a growing sense of isolation. As her eyes drifted towards her husband, conversing so animatedly with others, she realized that she was still an outsider, adjusting to this new world that seemed so foreign.
“My dear, Mrs. Darcy, do tell us about your marriage ceremony. It is not every day that one of the most sought-after gentlemen of our society marries under such a veil of secrecy,” one of the ladies inquired, her eyes filled with curiosity. Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed as she recalled Darcy’s strict edict on the matter.
“I must beg your pardon, but that is a subject I would rather not discuss,” Elizabeth replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, but surely you can tell us something,” the lady persisted, clearly intrigued by Elizabeth’s reluctance.
“I am afraid I must insist,” Elizabeth said firmly, her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance. “It is a private matter.”
The lady’s expression tightened, and she said no more. Elizabeth’s mind, however, was racing, consumed by Darcy’s refusal to allow her to speak of their marriage location or circumstances. Was being associated with her so objectionable to him? Did he find their union embarrassing? It was not as though people did not know, even if they pretended otherwise.
Later that evening, as they returned home, the silence between them was heavy, almost tangible. Elizabeth’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions, and she could no longer contain them.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, her voice uneasy, “why must you forbid me from speaking of our marriage to others? Is being associated with me so abhorrent?”
Darcy’s eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks, his face pale. “Abhorrent? Elizabeth, how can you even think such a thing?”
“Then why?” she demanded. “Why must the circumstances of our union be a secret? Surely we are not the only two people in London to have married in Gretna Green?”
“I shall not have our union be a subject of gossip and speculation,” he decreed, his voice cold and unyielding.
“Is that what I am to you?” Elizabeth cried, her voice breaking. “A subject to be hidden away, concealed from the world?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, and he stalked off without replying, leaving Elizabeth standing alone, her heart aching with confusion and despair.
In the days that followed, the distance between them grew, marked by icy disagreements and cold silences. When they did strive for civility, their conversations were stilted, filled with polite inquiries and formal responses. The warmth, the connection that had once defined their relationship, seemed to have vanished, replaced by a chasm that neither seemed able to bridge.
As the weeks passed by, Elizabeth’s despair deepened, her once vibrant spirit dulled by loneliness and regret. Darcy, too, seemed to withdraw, his once confident visage replaced by a troubled, distant expression. They were two souls drifting apart, their adoration, once so fierce and passionate, now a fading ember.
When he chose to, Mr. Darcy dutifully visited his wife’s apartment to fulfill his marital duties. Elizabeth endured his lovemaking with detachment, for what good was a most attentive lover in her bed in the darkness of the night, if he was an absentee companion during the light of day?
This bitter discord surely is nothing like the blessed state of matrimonial bliss poets write about, Elizabeth thought in despair. Her hope of finding understanding and companionship with Mr. Darcy dwindled each day.
Elizabeth was struggling. She had tried her best to be a good wife to Mr. Darcy, but she could not shake off the feeling that she did not belong in his world. She had always been happy with her simple life in the countryside, and she had never aspired to be part of London’s elite. She felt like a fish out of water in London, surrounded by people who valued pretense over substance.
She missed her family at Longbourn, and she was growing increasingly resentful of her husband’s disdain for them.
Elizabeth tried to talk to Mr. Darcy about her feelings, but he did not seem to understand. He was always busy with his own affairs, and he did not seem to care about her opinions or feelings. She felt like she was trapped in a marriage that she did not want, and she did not know what to do.
To make matters worse, owing to her temperament, Elizabeth was having trouble adjusting to her new role as a wife. She had never been one to follow convention, and she often found herself rebelling against the strict rules and expectations of society. Mr. Darcy could not hide his disappointment when she did not behave the way he wanted her to, which, truth be told, gave Elizabeth some semblance of satisfaction.
One afternoon, after a particularly tense interlude with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth fled the house, needing to take a walk to clear her head. She found herself wandering through the streets of Mayfair, lost in thought. As she walked, she stumbled upon a small park. She sat down on a bench and watched as people merrily went about their way. At that moment, she realized that she needed to find a way to be true to herself, even if it meant disappointing her husband.
