Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Eleven Separation

The echoing thud from the door screamed loudly into the otherwise palpable stunned silence that descended. Hobbes was aghast at the visitor—a Lady, so she had stated—entering unannounced, and he honestly could not fathom how to react. Amelia did not know who the rude woman was, yet it was obvious by the universal expressions of shock and dismay that her company was not particularly welcomed.

Lady Catherine stood imperiously, well aware of the impact her arrival engendered. Her cool gaze swept the room with an utter lack of interest and supreme condescension, alighting lastly on Elizabeth.

Experiencing a rush of anger mingled with frantic consternation, Lizzy nonetheless recovered her wits first, standing and curtsying brusquely. “Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy is away—”

“Mrs. Darcy,” she interrupted, snapping the name as if painful to articulate, “I have been informed that my nephew is unavailable. I wish to see him at once. Tell me where I can locate him.”

“My husband,” Lizzy emphasized, “is out of Town on business. Perhaps I…”

“Left you alone already, has he? When do you expect him to return?”

Lizzy was only angry now. Drawing up to her full height with a stiff spine, pinched brows, steely gaze, clenched jaw, and lifted chin, a pose of intimidation she had learned from her spouse, Lizzy turned to the paralyzed Hobbes. “Thank you, Hobbes. You may be excused.”

He started then bowed properly. “As you wish Madame. Ring if you require assistance.” With a piercing look to the “Lady,” he exited.

“Lady Catherine, accompany me to the study where we can speak privately.” She turned to the ladies. “Excuse me for a moment.” Without another word to Lady Catherine or a backward glance, she gracefully departed the room. Walking with stately dignity, Lizzy lead to Darcy's study. Initially unsure whether Lady Catherine was trailing, and unclear as to the proper handling if she refused, Lizzy breathed silent relief upon hearing the tap of heels. Her mind traveled to Darcy with a desperate wish for his commanding presence, but sadly it would be up to her to handle this situation.

Determined to make him proud, she stood behind her husband's immense desk, one hand resting possessively on the polished wood, and turned to face his aunt.

Lizzy opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Catherine burst forth with, “You dare to order me about in my nephew's house! It is fortunate I brought to the fore my breeding and manners—”

“Lady Catherine,” Lizzy interjected dispassionately, another Darcy maneuver, “I believe it best we do not discuss manners under the circumstances of your arrival in what is now my house as well as Mr. Darcy's. Mr. Darcy, as I previously informed, is away on business. He will return in a week. Perhaps I can assist you?”

Lady Catherine pursed her lips. “It seems, Mrs. Darcy, that surrounding you are perpetual rumors. Or is it that you delight in persuading my nephew to harbor secrets from his family?”

“I can assure you I do not persuade Mr. Darcy to do anything. He is master of his own life and choices. As for rumors, I regret that I am ignorant as to what you refer.”

Lady Catherine flared, gesturing to Elizabeth's midsection. “The rumor that you are with child! The potential Heir to Pemberley, assuming the Bennet stock is even capable of supplying males, and I must receive the news from my parson! This is unconscionable! Why did you feel the necessity to induce Mr. Darcy to confidences?”

Instantly Lizzy realized that she should have suspected this. She had privately wondered when, or if, Darcy planned on informing his aunt, but mentioning her name invariably met with a flash of irritation and stubbornness, so she had not broached the subject. Fighting for serenity, she replied, “Lady Catherine, the confirmation of our blessing has quite recently occurred. We have cautiously shared our news with friends and family. I trust William to decide how he wishes to deal with all matters concerning your relationship. Under the circumstances, it is best this way.”

“Those circumstances you so flippantly allude to would not exist if you had listened to reason and kept your proper place rather than grasping for wealth and—”

“Lady Catherine! I will not allow you to insult me in my house! This is a topic that is closed. If you have even the remotest desire to renew a relationship with your nephew and to be granted access to his children, then I beg you to halt your tongue. Continued remonstrations and vitriolic commentary benefit you naught. We are married. You may as well accept this.”

Lady Catherine paused, her countenance stony as she appeared to ruminate on the next statement. “Tell me, Mrs. Darcy,” always pronounced through gritted teeth, “how many calling cards and invitations and business appointments has Mr. Darcy received? After languishing half the season in Derbyshire rather than attending to his duties in Town, he should be far too busy to absent himself for a week.”

Lizzy was unnerved by the sudden altered direction. Aside from the unwitting reference to her prolonged recuperation that had prevented an earlier departure from Pemberley, Lizzy was confused as to where Lady Catherine's inquiry was leading. “Forgive me, Lady Catherine, but I fear I do not apprehend your meaning. Mr. Darcy is—”

“Then allow me to explain,” she interrupted, the hint of warmth in her voice bewildering Lizzy further. “A girl with your provincial upbringing would inevitably be ignorant of the requirements for those in the higher levels of society. Mr. Darcy's business ventures and responsibilities are extensive. Normally, he would have arrived in Town by late March, attending to his commitments and social obligations, the flood of solicitations so plentiful as to necessitate declining dozens each day. As Master of Pemberley, his company is sought by the elite members of society, including royalty, all of who are honored by his appearance. As his aunt I am deeply concerned for the ramifications of his… decisions of late. Not only has he eschewed his annual visit to Rosings, thus renouncing his familial obligations forsworn to my late husband prior to his death, his flaunting of conventions could seriously damage the reputation of the Darcy name and financial solvency of Pemberley. Of course, you selfishly considered none of this, did you? You who claim to love my nephew thought of only yourself—”

“Lady Catherine,” Lizzy halted her in a barely controlled voice, Darcy's beloved face firm in her mind lending her strength, “I believe our conversation has exhausted itself. I will end this discussion with these words. You have now not only insulted me yet again, a slight your nephew will have difficulty overlooking, but you have outrageously slandered his character.” In a tightly checked rage, Lizzy stepped nearer the white faced Lady Catherine. “To suggest that he would ever shirk his responsibilities or comport himself in a less than superior manner or hastily engage in activities that he has not thoroughly deliberated is abominable! I wonder if, despite your assertions, you know Mr. Darcy at all, or if you truly care for him.”

Lady Catherine's face was pale, expression unreadable, yet she did not reply, merely gazing at Lizzy with a deep intensity. Lizzy calmly reached for the servant's bell, not yet pulling. “Lady Catherine, regardless your opinion of me, I am not pleased with the estrangement between you and William. My heart would desire to see reconciliation, yet I can guarantee this will not occur if you do not reevaluate your judgment of our relationship.”

At that moment the door opened, Mr. Travers entering with a formal bow, six female bodies flanking him. “Mrs. Darcy, may I be of any assistance?”

“Yes, Mr. Travers, you can escort Lady Catherine to the door. Madame, I politely request you leave now. I shall inform Mr. Darcy of your visit, you may be assured. Good day.”

Lady Catherine hesitated momentarily and Lizzy sensed rising panic at the concept of physically evicting Darcy's aunt. Luckily, with a swirl of skirts and muttered articulations of disgust, Lady Catherine barged past the mass of women and Mr. Travers, her irritated voice echoing down the corridor. Lizzy sank into the comforting bulk of Darcy's leather desk chair, allowing the trembles to race through her. Mary was the first to her side, a glass of sherry pressed into slack hands.

“Drink this, Lizzy. Mama says it calms her nerves.” Lizzy sipped the offered beverage, an attack of the giggles bubbling forth as she glanced up at the array of faces above her. Mary and Jane serene and commanding, Kitty confused, Georgiana anxious and flushed, Harriet and Amelia stern and angry.

Eyes glittering, Lizzy laughingly asked, “Were you all eavesdropping?”

Georgiana flushed further and hung her head, but the others merely nodded. It was Kitty who replied, “Of course we were! We promised Mr. Darcy we would look after you. That harridan should not be allowed to upset you, Lizzy.”

“You should order the servants to slam the door in her face if she appears, Elizabeth,” Harriet stated firmly, then smiled. “You handled her well, though. I am proud of you.”

“Perhaps we should send word to my brother or cousin Richard at least, Elizabeth,” Georgiana spoke softly, tension evident in her shaky tone. “William will be so angry. Oh, this is too horrible!”

“Georgie, rest easy, my dear. I am fine, truly. Merely a bit aquiver. There is absolutely no reason to distress or interrupt William. Perhaps I will speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam or Lord Matlock. Honestly, I am fine.”

Generally, Lizzy was fine. That night, the first in six months without her husband, she stood in their private garden gazing at the stars, one of Darcy's robes engulfing her, and mused over the day's events. Her friends had comforted her all afternoon by their presence and witty chatter. Lizzy had not spoken of Lady Catherine's words, nor had she shared the event with Richard or the Matlocks at dinner that evening. She planned to speak with them eventually, but a dinner party with some thirty partakers did not offer the proper opportunity. Instead, she buried her turmoil, charming the guests and the hosts, a Lord and Lady Carlyle, passing a pleasant evening, although the ache of Darcy's absence never escaped her heart.

Now, it was quiet. The girls were abed, probably gossiping and giggling in one of their rooms. Between missing her husband and the residual commotion elicited from Lady Catherine's statements, Lizzy dreaded lying on the empty bed and attempting sleep. The majority of Lady Catherine's accusations Lizzy recognized as spiteful and without any foundation. The love Darcy and Lizzy shared was of a depth few could understand. The notion of regrets or faulty decisions on his part was laughable in the extreme.

Nonetheless, Lizzy did wonder. The truth is, she was completely ignorant of the social proprieties of Darcy's world. The idea that his marriage to her may have damaged the Darcy reputation or affected the estate in a tangible way seemed unlikely, yet she suddenly found the words of his first proposal echoing in her head. My rank, family expectations, your birth and inferior circumstances. Isolated at Pemberley, deliriously blissful in her husband's arms, Lizzy had given none of it the slightest consideration. Ultimately she trusted Darcy, believed in his love for her and in his competence to manage affairs as brilliantly as always. Yet, his aunt's words stung. How had she known the invitations had been minimal? Until two days ago they had received not a one, other than from their circle of intimates. Additionally, the opportunity with Duke Grafton was nearly refused due to Darcy's reluctance to abandon her. What else had he allowed to slip through his fingers?

Tears slid down her cheeks and the pain of his absence became unbearable. She could not regret marrying him nor could he regret marrying her, and Lizzy recollected his frequent slurs against the fickleness of society with mild encouragement. The influx of calling cards and invitations over the past two days proved how quickly the supposed importance of pedigree and station was overshadowed by wealth and connections. She could hear his voice: “By next year, beloved, not a soul will remember you as other than Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.” The melancholy was not borne of remorse but of causing his life to be troubled in any way, no matter how minute or innocent.

A knock at the bedroom door interrupted her reverie. It was Samuel with an envelope he was charged to deliver to Mrs. Darcy prior to her retiring.

My beloved, precious wife,

I am writing this on the afternoon prior to my departure. You, my love, are sitting across from me on the sofa, your dainty feet tucked under you as you read, absently chewing a stray lock of hair as you always do when you concentrate. My God, you are so beautiful! I have hours remaining to kiss you and embrace you and express my ever-increasing love for you, yet my heart is breaking for missing you. I will charge Samuel to deliver this missive as you retire. I shall present a brave face tomorrow, my dearest, yet I deem there is no point in pretending that either of us will not be miserable on our first night apart. Will I fear attempting sleep in a strange and empty bed, or will I yearn for the oblivion of sleep to erase my pain and lose myself in sweet dreams of your kisses?

Elizabeth, my soul, I wish with all my being that I could promise we will never again be separated! Yet, I cannot. It is inevitable that business will intrude from time to time as our long years as one soul unfold. What I do promise is that I will never desert you unless it is absolutely necessary and that I will carry your love with me as I travel. I will always strive to return to your arms as rapidly as humanly possible. Knowing that you are waiting for me with a love equal to mine for you shall keep me sane. Beloved, you are my life. Be well and cheery, take care of yourself and our child, and doubt not my unwavering devotion to you both. Could I fill innumerable pages with poetic verse declaring my passion for you? Yes. Instead, I believe I shall end this letter so that I may ravish you here in my study. With this decision, and later a delightful memory for you as you nod off in slumber, I will simply say, I love you.

William

At Euston Hall in Suffolk, some sixty miles from London and Elizabeth, Darcy also stood gazing at the stars. The large window in the roomy and well-appointed chamber assigned him was open, permitting a cooling breeze to waft in and an unencumbered view of the night sky. Darcy fingered the small pouch containing the braided tress of his wife's hair along with the lavender scented handkerchief she had pressed into his hand as he left. He sighed heavily. He did not wonder if she missed him. Any doubts at the depth of her love for him had vanished ere they were wed. His only doubts at the moment were regarding the logic of leaving her. He had lost count after a hundred at the number of times he nearly spun his mount about and raced back to Town. The letter teeming with lavish praises of love and desire written earlier was waiting on the desk for delivery at first light.

A knock at the door broke into his musings and revealed Gerald Vernor, brandy decanter and glasses in hand. “Figured you could use a nightcap.”

Darcy smiled. “You have no idea. Come in, my friend.”

For Darcy the subsequent three days were busy and surprisingly pleasant for the most part. Gerald was always agreeable company and Duke Grafton possessed a dry wit and a wealth of adventures he enjoyed imparting with a born storyteller's flair. His stables were impressive. Darcy, the consummate horseman that he was, delighted in the endless discussions, ridings, and inspections of the Duke's magnificent animals. The business arrangements monopolized hours and required serious, intense concentration. Evenings were replete with the Duke's tales, fine dining, and manly entertainments. He had an excellently equipped game room, including a beautiful billiard table that Darcy proficiently profited from. Therefore, it was not until the late evenings and horrid nights when Darcy's heartache would overwhelm him. He would wake in the mornings after sleeping fitfully, aroused from vivid dreams of his wife, lonely, and miserable.

He reasoned that arriving at Pemberley on the fourth day after leaving her would ease his heartache somewhat since it was their home, yet he was wrong. He had not fully comprehended how indelibly Elizabeth's presence was etched into every room and corridor. He heard her voice and gentle footfalls constantly, expected to behold her beloved face at every corner, could smell the lingering aroma of her perfume, and his eyes alit on a ceaseless array of her belongings scattered about. Even the stables elicited poignant memories: the curricle she drove, the pairs of thick leather gloves he had purchased for her, and worst of all the now sixth-month-old colt that she had bonded with and named Wolfram after the author of Parzival, from which Darcy had chosen his stallion's name. Wolfram scampered up to Darcy the instant he entered the stable yard, nosing behind his body with searching eyes. “Sorry little fellow, she is not here.” The colt seemed to understand Darcy's words, or at least the mournful tone, and with a last look about, hung his head and wandered away sadly. Darcy wanted to cry.

The torture was exacerbated when he entered their chambers. The sensory overload of memories associated with her overwhelmed him and for several minutes he could not breathe. He seriously entertained the idea of sleeping in a guest chamber, but in the end, the need to be close to her possessions as a substitute to the flesh and blood reality was too strong. Eventually, he found comfort in the ghost of his heart's survival as Elizabeth's spirit was evident in each corner of the chambers. He lay in their bed that first night with the door to her dressing room open, his gaze resting on her vanity as joyous remembrances of brushing her hair while she smiled at his reflection washed over him, gradually leading to a profusion of rapturous recollections as sleep claimed him.

Prior to departing, Darcy had carefully studied the invitations received, discussing each one with Lizzy, discarding those that were unacceptable for some reason, and encouraging her to affirm those that would be entertaining and appropriate for a woman without her spouse. He further admonished her to confer with Lady Matlock before accepting any other requests. He had so fretted over her boredom or despondency during his absence that he scheduled an activity of some sort for nearly each waking hour over the ensuing seven days. Lizzy had not argued, but it was humorous. First of all, no amount of occupations would prevent gloom residing in her heart. Secondly, he apparently forgot in his ambition to appease her loneliness that Lizzy was a woman who needed solitude in her day. She was a social creature to be sure, yet she equally craved privacy and silence.

Therefore, she had rearranged a few of the planned excursions to allot time to herself. Fortunately, she plotted her first morning without him as one of those times. She woke late, having slept poorly. Despite his beautiful letter, her sleep was plagued with unpleasant dreams of Lady Catherine's disapproving face, William telling her she was unsuitable to be his wife, a sea of faces laughing at her as she entered the opera house in rags, and vague twinges of discomfort emanating from her lower abdomen. Upon waking, the initial thought was of relief. Her husband's letter lay on the bed stand and simply spying it recalled his declarations of love and devotion with sensations of happiness rushing over her. Her heart ached without his body beside her, but her soul was complete.

The familiar deep and feathery flutters that she was almost certain were the baby, abruptly commenced, bursting forth in a frantic minute or so of bustling exercise, and then gradually subsiding. Lizzy chuckled, placing her palm over her lower belly. “Did you not wish to wake yet, little one?” Lying curled on her side, Lizzy rubbed her hand along the flesh of her abdomen, noting the slight bulge and thickening. Bliss shrouded her even in her sadness at Darcy's absence. Sighing, she stretched and yawned, her mind wandering to the day's schedule when a sudden sharp wrenching cramp in her groin area momentarily rendered her breathless. It was not horribly painful and passed as rapidly as it came, yet alarm pierced her heart.

All throughout the morning Lizzy experienced minor pinches and spasms. Amid the mild discomfort, the internal flickers persisted, easily perceived now that Lizzy had identified them. The book was unclear. One paragraph stated that occasional muscle pangs were normal as the body expanded with the growth of the baby. Another firmly expressed the ominous indication of abdominal cramps. To Lizzy, the twitches felt more like muscle aches than cramps, but she fretted nonetheless. Between the unrelenting ache in her heart and the new pregnancy symptoms, thoughts of Lady Catherine had nearly evaporated.

Around noon a footman approached Lizzy in the garden and announced Lady Matlock. Lizzy had not expected Darcy's aunt, but was always delighted to see her. Additionally, she deemed it fortuitous as she could ask her about the recent developments.

“Madeline,” she said with true pleasure as they hugged in greeting, “what a wonderful surprise!”

“Elizabeth, dear, forgive me for calling unannounced.”

“Do not be ridiculous! You are always welcome. Mr. Travers, lemonade please in the parlor.” Lizzy linked arms with Lady Matlock, steering her toward the parlor.

“I was concerned for you, Elizabeth. Despite your charm and brave face last evening, I sensed your sadness.”

Lizzy smiled as they sat on the sofa. “I will not deny how empty I am without William. I have grown rather accustomed to his dominating presence.”

“Jest all you wish, I know how deeply your mutual affection. I can assure you he is as miserable, if that comforts you.” Lady Matlock laughed and Lizzy smiled.

“Horrid as it is to confess, it does. Perhaps his agony will inspire him to conclude his business hastily and return to my side. I truly am so selfish!” A maid entered with their refreshments, suspending conversation for a moment. “Madeline, I am doubly pleased to see you, as I have a concern.”

She proceeded to tell her about the faint twinges. Lady Matlock asked several pointed questions, Lizzy blushing but answering candidly. The resulting conclusion was benign muscle stretching. Lady Matlock recalled her own travails, including imparting the woeful information that it would likely intensify as the baby grew.

“Elizabeth, I do have a purpose in my unexpected advent. Lord Matlock and I received a note from Lady Catherine this morning. She is in London with Anne. I am postulating that they arrived yesterday and we are invited to dine this evening. I must beg your forgiveness, dear Elizabeth, as I did receive a letter from her several days ago in which she informed me that she knew of your pregnancy. Malcolm enlightened William of this, although she said nothing of traveling to Town.”

Lizzy was torn between confusion and anger. How could he not have shared this with her? She stood abruptly and began pacing, Lady Matlock clearly troubled. “Elizabeth, what…?”

“She confronted me yesterday,” Lizzy said in a shaky voice, Madeline gasping. “She burst into this very room, demanded to see William, and then rudely accused me of all manner of terrible things. William too, actually. Madeline, how could he not have warned me? I was so taken by surprise.”

“Elizabeth, calm yourself. Sit down and tell me what transpired, exactly. What did she say?” After Lizzy had detailed the entire conversation, Lady Matlock was visibly dismayed. Lizzy was crying, emotions in turmoil. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. William would never leave if he for one second envisioned Lady Catherine assaulting you in this fashion. I shudder to imagine his rage when learning of this. You are correct in Lady Catherine not truly understanding Darcy. I am almost sorry for her.” She sighed and shook her head. Taking Lizzy's hands in her own, she resumed, “You, my dear, cannot allow yourself to make the identical mistake. You intimately know your husband. Do you honestly believe he would abandon you to deal with his aunt? If I know William, and I do, he probably wrote to her before he left, unaware as were we all, that she was on her way. Nor would he imagine she would again act so hideously.”

“Why ever not? I was not surprised, Madeline. She despises me and my ‘inferiority’ polluting the halls of Pemberley. She refused to acknowledge our marriage, and now I have the audacity to be carrying a child of low blood. Naturally she would express her outrage. He should have foreseen this!”

“Elizabeth, think clearly. Lady Catherine may never be happy that Anne is not married to Darcy, nor that he chose a wife outside the ton, but much has changed since last September. The entire family has not only accepted you but loves you. William has abundantly clarified his stance on her interference and proven where his loyalties lie. Frankly, we all expected an eventual reconciliation. Malcolm has been quite firm with her and has sensed a softening of her attitude. I am shocked that she spoke to you as she did, especially since she came here seeking conversation with William. I honestly do not comprehend it.” She frowned then sighed. “William will be furious, but also his remorse and guilt at not protecting you will devastate him.”

Lizzy stared at Lady Matlock, face pale, as shivers consumed and tears sprang to her eyes. In a weak voice she asked, “Madeline, is anything she said true? Has marrying me hurt the Darcy name or Pemberley's prospects, or caused William to be irrational? And now this! You are right, he will be devastated and his pain will be my fault. I love him so completely and never thought…” Sobs broke free and she could not continue.

Madeline embraced her, rocking as one did a child. “Shhh… Elizabeth, you are distraught and not sensible. Pregnancy most likely the culprit, coupled with loneliness. Think, child! Without you, William is lost and irrational.” She paused, and then inquired softly, “Has he ever shared with you how desolate he was when you refused him?”

Lizzy was stunned. “How did you know about that?”

Lady Matlock smiled. “I am a woman, Elizabeth, and after his dear mother and now you, I know Fitzwilliam Darcy better than any woman alive. It was not until after your engagement that I put it all together, of course. I had sensed a distraction and agitation in him all winter after sojourning in Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley and I wondered if he had fallen in love. It was merely a guess, but nothing else was logical. Mr. Darcy is never distracted. His mother once said to me, when William was only twelve, ‘Madeline, my son is serious and reserved but passion lurks in his soul. Watch him ride his horse or play with Georgie and you will know what I mean. When he loves it is with his entire being. Someday he will love a woman, and it will be a fearsome sight.’” She laughed with the memory, and then resumed her narrative.

“Darcy is by far the most focused man I have ever met, yet during that winter he walked in a fog. Abruptly, he seemed to reach a determination and planned his annual trip to Rosings earlier than usual and with an enthusiasm never exhibited before. I learned later, from Richard, that William knew of your presence there from a letter sent by Lady Catherine. Of course, at the time I merely found his rapid transition odd, as did Richard. An offhand remark about a visitor at the parsonage registered not at all to my obtuse son. Instead, he teased Darcy about finally relenting to Lady Catherine's desires regarding Anne, which angered Darcy as it never had previously. When he returned to London from Kent, unexpectedly shortening his intended interval there, he was utterly agonized. Richard said he was ghastly to look at, brusque and rude, and flatly spurned all conversation. He locked himself in his chambers for a month straight, drinking excessively and barely eating. He spoke to no one and denied all socialization, including Richard or us. Georgiana was frantic. Richard was anxious and conveyed the events surrounding their trip, eventually puzzling through it himself. It was immediately clear to me. Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire was visiting Kent, William was in love with her and had proposed or extended some sort of overture, she had shockingly refused and repulsed him, and now he was a shattered shell of the man he had been.”

“I never knew,” Lizzy whispered. “He said once that he was a wreck after Rosings and that he told Georgiana, but I did not comprehend the depth. Whenever I asked him about that time he would evade. I knew it was a painful period for him so I did not press for information in my shame of how I had treated him. What did you do for him?”

“There was nothing I could do. He refused to see anybody. Frankly, I thought he would pull himself out of his despair, but when that did not seem to be happening, we grew increasingly despondent. It was Georgiana who eventually acted. Her love pulled him out of his desolation—barely, however. He left London at the end of May, pale and ill, at least twenty pounds lighter, and retreated to Pemberley. I was absolutely flabbergasted at his appearance. We saw him from time to time over the late summer, but he remained withdrawn, depressed, and exceedingly edgy. He attended to business, but there was no joy in it. By the end of that horrid summer, he crawled out of the deep mire and began to live again. He laughed even less and smiled rarely, but at least he attended to his work and his sister. He regained his weight and strength, and we rejoiced. Yet, I saw a grief in his eyes that equaled anything I had seen with the death of his parents. I am positive that if you had not reentered his life, William would have remained a bachelor forever, lonely and bitter.”

Lizzy was crying silently and Lady Matlock kissed her temple lightly. “Elizabeth, what happened at Rosings is none of my affair and obviously you two have resolved the issues. I tell you this not to further distress you, but to hearten you. As I stated, I know William well, love him almost as much as my own children. His passion for you is frankly beyond my full comprehension. Malcolm and I care for each other, love in our own comfortable way, but I have never experienced what you two have.” She laughed softly and brushed a tear from Elizabeth's cheek. “Seeing the misery involved with your love, I think I am relieved! Yet, it is as Anne declared; William loves with his entire being. As you do, Elizabeth. Neither of you would have found happiness apart. Only together are you complete.”

She pulled away and intently peered into Lizzy's eyes. “If marrying you had led to the utter ruin of Pemberley or total excommunication from society, William still would have done it. For him there was no choice, and the only pain would be in a separation from you. However, this is not the case. Do you not see, Elizabeth? William is whole as your husband, he is stronger and more capable, his purpose explicit. Certainly there is joy and happiness, but it is more than that. You have filled an empty place in him, just as the sonnets proclaim. Lady Catherine is upside down in her assessment. Bloodlines, upbringing, rank… it is nonsense. Mr. Darcy is supremely more competent and engaged as Master of Pemberley now.”

“The impertinence of the girl! To order me about and accuse me of not caring for my own nephew! The situation is intolerable, I tell you, Anne, intolerable. Mark my words, daughter, that woman will turn his head and he will storm and rage, blaming me for her ignoble, vulgar deportment. If he had listened to me and his dear mother's wishes and married you, a properly bred lady, none of this would have occurred.”

“William and I never would have married, mother,” Anne de Bourgh whispered.

Lady Catherine rounded on her daughter. “I beg your pardon, young lady. You would have married Fitzwilliam had I ordered it!”

Anne flinched but continued, “We did not love each other that way, Mama, and William needs a strong woman. Not a sickly girl as I.”

Lady Catherine airily waved her hand. “Love! What nonsense it that, Anne? Marriage for love is acceptable for the common man, the peasants who have no true responsibilities, but not for upper classes. Fitzwilliam appreciates this and would have performed his duty if she had not bewitched him. She probably threw herself at him, compromising him, and trapping him into marriage! Women of her class are capable of anything. Anne, why are you giggling as an imbecile?”

“Mother, how could you not recognize it? Mrs. Darcy is correct. You do not understand William at all.”

“What are you babbling about?”

“How often had we refused to discuss your wild plan to marry us, Mama? Neither of us wished it, nor would have allowed it. As for Miss Bennet, it was so obvious how he felt about her. I could see it, and so could Mrs. Collins. Even cousin Richard noticed how William stared at her and was flustered when she was about. It was also clear that she did not reciprocate his affections.” Anne frowned. “I could never understand that. William is the best of men.” She shrugged and looked at her mother, who was staring at her daughter in stunned amazement. “I believe she loves him now, based on what the entire family says, but he pursued her, Mama.”

Before Lady Catherine could respond, a footman announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Matlock. Greetings were brief and strained, Lady Matlock smoothly extraditing Anne for a walk in the garden so that her husband could freely talk to his sister.

Lord Matlock wasted no time on pleasantries. “Catherine, you cannot be confused as to why I am here. I am aware of your barbaric violation of Darcy House and the outrageous aggression toward our pregnant niece.”

“Malcolm!”

“I am beyond appealing to your intelligence and decency. You have frankly exhausted my patience and stamina. Instead, I am exerting my authority as Patriarch of this family. If love and humanity cannot sway you, then perhaps honor, duty, and protocol shall. I am the Earl of Matlock and as such I far outrank you, Catherine. Therefore, you will hearken to me and obey.

“Your feelings on the subject of Fitzwilliam's marriage are inconsequential. He is the Master of Pemberley, a grown man, and his choice is his. Elizabeth happens to be a delightful woman, perfect for William, and they are devoted to each other. Even so, this too is insignificant.” He stepped closer to his sister, voice calm and gaze steely as he spoke, “I expect you to remember who you are, Catherine. The daughter of an Earl does not conduct herself as a crass tormentor of the innocent, nor does she violate her proper authority by endeavoring to dominate a man. I have primarily kept silent, rightfully permitting William to handle this as is his prerogative. However, you have crossed a line, and as William is away, it is my place to protect Elizabeth.

“I am ordering you to hereafter be civil, to formally apologize to Mrs. Darcy, to restrain your acerbic tongue, and to do whatever is required to heal the breach in this family. I cannot promise that William will ever forgive you for what you have done. The blame is entirely on your shoulders, Catherine. Any future relationship you have with the Darcys will solely depend on your attitude and humility. I suggest you prepare to beg. On behalf of the entire Fitzwilliam house, we stand firmly behind William and Elizabeth. If you chose to ignore my demands and persevere in your harassment, then you will be choosing divorcement.”

Daily, a letter arrived from Darcy. Amongst the teeming endearments and lyrical phrases of love and yearning were lines recounting his daily activities. In vivid detail he described the environment of Suffolk, the Grafton horses, the business arrangements, the leisure pastimes partook of, the food he ate, and anything else that entered his mind as he wrote. Darcy and Lizzy had grown so accustomed to sharing the specific happenings of their hours apart that it was natural for him to pour the same into a letter. He discovered the action of writing to her each evening to be cathartic, easing his aching heart and permitting him to slip into a relaxing sleep.

In London, Lizzy determined the same. She wrote each morning upon rising when refreshed and alone in their chamber. It gave her strength to face the day's agenda. Aside from the horrible fiasco of Lady Catherine, the week passed swiftly and rather pleasantly. Darcy's well-laid plans to distract his wife from her loneliness partially succeeded. She shopped, attended several teas where her natural gregariousness garnered her new friends, attended the theater twice with Colonel Fitzwilliam as guardian and various friends surrounding her both for added amusement and to offset any inappropriate rumors, and dined at a different house each night. Lizzy could not deny that she was having a marvelous time, but knew that it all would have been exponentially improved with Darcy by her side. Additionally, no matter how delightful the entertainment, she eventually returned to her lonely bed and heartache and fitful slumber.

As the week wound to its anticipatory end, two incidents of import transpired in London. The first was the halting, stilted, surprising, yet seemingly genuine letter of apology from Lady Catherine. Lizzy knew of Lord Matlock's confrontation with his sister, although not the details of what was said. She had decided not to enlighten Darcy, knowing that he would immediately return if she did so, but also because she simply knew not how to convey it all in a letter. Lizzy discussed the apology with Lady Matlock, decided to accept it in the vein it was offered by replying with an equally brief missive, but refused to engage in further discourse until her husband returned and was apprised of the situation.

The second interesting episode involved Mary. One afternoon, Lizzy and her sisters, along with Amelia Lathrop, shared tea and cakes in the Darcy House parlor. Mary, under the gentle persuasion of Georgiana, had taken to wearing lightly patterned dresses which greatly enhanced her fair features. Today she was especially lovely in a stylish yet simple gown of canary yellow with green striping as she sat with Georgiana at the piano learning a new piece by Beethoven. Mr. Travers interrupted to announce a Mr. Joshua Daniels, the son and partner of Darcy's solicitor.

Mr. Daniels the younger was revealed to be young indeed; in his early twenties, sandy-haired with a ruddy complexion, quite handsome with hazel eyes, slender, and just under six feet in height. He bowed politely as Lizzy rose, eyes sweeping the room as he nodded to each occupant, alighting briefly then moving on until he came to Mary. Lizzy had never witnessed such a blatant spark of interest in all her days. Even Darcy's initial jarring contact with her eyes at the Meryton Assembly had been unobtrusive compared to this. Mr. Daniels's head snapped about, his eyes widened and mouth fell open while Mary flushed, yet boldly met his stare for at least fifteen seconds.

Lizzy's brows shot up and she turned to Amelia, who was pressing her lips tightly to avoid laughing. The moment stretched and may have continued indefinitely if Lizzy had not purposely cleared her throat. Mr. Daniels started, reddened, and tore his gaze from Mary's face. All befuddled, he hedged for several seconds as he collected his thoughts, aided primarily by careful study of the envelope in his hands.

“Mrs. Darcy,” he finally managed, “I, of course, am aware that Mr. Darcy is out of Town. However, my father instructed me to deliver these documents when they were completed so that Mr. Darcy would have immediate access to them upon his return. I trust you will know the safest place to store them in the interval.”

“Thank you, Mr. Daniels. I will ensure he receives them.” Throughout the entire short speech, Mr. Daniels's peripheral glances touched on Mary, and Lizzy was amazed he ably articulated. “Mr. Daniels, allow me to introduce you to my family. This is my dear friend Mrs. Lathrop. My sister-in-law, Miss Darcy. Miss Kitty Bennet, my sister, and this is Miss Mary Bennet, also my sister.”

Mr. Daniels bowed to all, properly greeting with impeccable manners, lingering in his greeting to Mary. “Miss Bennet,” he asked, “do you and Miss Darcy play the pianoforte?”

Of course, the inquiry was ludicrous considering they were both sitting at the pianoforte, but no one chose to mention the fact. To Lizzy's delight and astonishment, Mary smiled shyly and replied, “Yes indeed, Mr. Daniels, although Miss Darcy is far superior to me. I am improving under her kind instruction. Do you play?”

“Poorly, I am afraid. Too many hours passed with a book in my hands to practice, much to my mother's dismay.”

“Obviously your study has proven the wiser, as you are now a solicitor. Your mother surely is not overly dismayed.”

He smiled brightly. “You are correct, Miss Bennet. She has relinquished her distress in the happy knowledge that I will be residing close to home. Do you live here in Town?”

“I am from Hertfordshire, sir. Merely visiting my sister and Mr. Darcy for a month or so.”

“I see,” he spoke softly, pausing, and then abruptly remembered the other occupants of the room. Turning to Lizzy, he said, “Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy for disturbing your afternoon.” He bowed to all yet again and then, with a last glance to Mary, departed. Mary smiled benignly, and after a tarrying gaze at the empty doorway, attended to the music as if nothing has transpired.

Lizzy was thrilled at what the enchanted moment signified. She wrote a long, descriptive narrative of the flirtation to her husband in what would be her last letter, as he was due home in two days. When Darcy received the communiqué from his wife on the morning of his final day at Pemberley, his heart leapt with joy. The week had been endless and his endurance was depleted. He sat on the terrace reading her humorous, passion-inundated letter with a mixture of intense happiness and profound irritation. The perpetual suffering in his heart had grown to a torment and spread to every cell in his body. The yearning to see her face and brilliant smile, hear her voice and musical laugh, kiss her lips, and touch her soft skin had mutated into a torture of covetous need. He no longer slept for more than a few fitful hours, ate little, found no pleasure in his horses, and for the only time in his life, hated being at Pemberley.

He sighed deeply, reclined his head against the cool stone of the wall, closed his eyes, and readily conjured her face. They had finished their inspection and breeding program technicalities early yesterday and Darcy had urged for departure today, at first light preferably. Duke Grafton, however, was having a delightful vacation, adored Pemberley, and expressed the wish to remain longer. Darcy had grit his teeth, employed the frayed edges of his generally massive self-mastery, and compromised. Relaying a deep concern for his pregnant wife, an emotion the Duke seemed unable to comprehend, Darcy relented to one additional day only. The concession nearly killed him. He was so weary from lack of sleep and misery, the long ride to London was an agonizing contemplation, with only the vision of Elizabeth and the tiny bulge she wrote was now apparent lending him strength. Tomorrow evening, he incessantly chanted, you shall hold her and kiss her, eloquently tell her of your love and make love to her. He shifted on the bench uncomfortably, the wretchedness of his necessity manifesting physically. With a groan of despondency he lurched to his feet, kissed the scented letter before tucking it into a pocket, and headed toward the stables. As during their engagement, a hard and fast race on Parsifal was required.

He returned to the stable yard an hour later, heartache as acute, but at least his lust had cooled for the interim. Chaos reigned with Duke Grafton, who Darcy had ascertained was not the most proficient rider, despite his vast knowledge of horses, and who was currently desperately clinging to the back of a particularly spirited filly that Darcy had been training yesterday. With a harsh curse, Darcy flew off Parsifal's back and leapt over the fence to assist the frantic groomsmen. He grabbed a dangling rein with his left hand, uttering soothing vocalizations, and pulled with all his strength. The distraught animal began to calm, but Duke Grafton lost his balance and instinctively seized hold of the filly's mane, sending her into renewed fits of rage. She reared up, the precariously perched Duke flying off to land with an explosive grunt flat on his back in the soft sand. Darcy's left arm was jerked wrenchingly upwards, but he held on through the pain, mightily yanking downward. She responded with a wicked lash of her front hooves, sending the two grooms flying for cover. Darcy spun to the side but was not quick enough. One hoof forcefully impacted squarely on his upper left chest just below the clavicle. Instantaneous paralysis to his already injured shoulder ensued, with deadened fingers releasing the rein as he fell to the ground with a cry of agony.

Sharp-witted grooms, now storming the corral in great numbers, dragged Darcy and the Duke to safety while Mr. Thurber managed to finally control the poor beast. The Duke was unharmed except for a few bruises and aching muscles. Darcy was in extreme pain, his arm completely numb and breathing difficult.

The following hours were torture. The physician was called for, determining that miraculously no bones were broken and the obtunded flesh was temporary. He ordered Darcy to rest for several days, but Darcy flatly refused, declaring in a voice that brooked no argument that he intended to depart for Town on the morrow. His only concession was to stage the trip over two days, but even that was for the benefit of the Duke, whose backside was sore, rather than for himself. An express message was dictated and sent by courier to Mrs. Darcy informing her of the delay, after which Darcy demanded solitude. Once alone, he released his anguish of combined physical and spiritual woe with a shuddering sob.

His grief was compounded that afternoon when a letter arrived from his uncle. With a frown and intense stab of fear, Darcy broke the seal and began to read. Lord Matlock's initial sentence of assurance that Elizabeth was well allayed the worst of his anxiety, but it was short lived. A string of foul curses rent the silence as he absorbed his uncle's recounting of Lady Catherine's abuse to his wife and the Earl's confrontation with her. Darcy, as Lady Matlock had predicted, was overwhelmed with crushing guilt. He was proud of Elizabeth's reported handling of his obnoxious aunt, but nearly prostrate with self-condemnation for what he perceived as a failure to safeguard his family.

Lizzy woke on the day she expected her husband's return with an instantly joyous grin. Her heart fluttered rapidly, matching the rhythm set by their tiny passenger in her womb. She did not anticipate his arrival until late, but simply imagining him on his horse and heading her way filled her soul with a rapturous bliss. Her own need for him in all the various ways their love manifested was consuming her. She, too, had slept poorly all week, and the unrelenting emptiness in her heart was wearing on her. Luckily, the baby's demanding appetite prevented her not eating well and the muscle spasms had ceased, so physically she was strong. All morning she walked about with a ridiculous grin and her feet barely touching the floor. When Darcy's hastily dictated note arrived, Lizzy burst into tears and fled to her room, collapsing in a puddle of dejected misery on their bed. She was inconsolable. The only positive was that her depression precipitated a deep, much needed sleep.

Darcy's journey was tortuous. His pain was severe, a massive bruise spreading over the entire left chest and shoulder, and the decreased sensation to his left arm slow to resolve. Gripping the reins was problematic, and he was incredibly fatigued. By mid-afternoon he was in a haze of suffering, unsure whether it was his physical or emotional pain that vied for supremacy. At the inn, he choked down a hasty dinner then fell into an exhaustive, nearly comatose sleep for close to ten hours.

At four in the morning he woke lying in the exact position, stiff but rejuvenated. The pain had dimmed to a dull ache with the feeling predominately restored to his arm. An hour later, the sun a faint smudge of brightness on the horizon, he was washed and dressed. He hurriedly scribbled a note that he slipped under Gerald's door, and roused the stable boy to saddle his horse. Some four hours later he turned onto Grosvenor Square, windblown, dusty, saddle-sore, and aching, yet jubilant. Never in all his life had the shining white bricks of Darcy House filled him with such exultation. He rather prayed his wife was yet abed, but any room would suffice as long as he was embracing her. With a skip to his step, he mounted the front stairs.