Chapter Twelve

Chapter Eleven

The day that the Matlock party was to leave in the afternoon, Elizabeth finally received a long awaited letter from Jane, and a not quite so long awaited letter from Mrs. Gardiner, who had sent her two since she'd reached Pemberley.

Eagerly taking it, Elizabeth set off on her morning walk round the park. It said:

Dearest Elizabeth,

I hope this finds you well. I must apologize for how dilatory I have been in my correspondence. My spirits have been low of late. I miss Mr. Bingley very much, and it was a shock. Yes, a shock for him to leave so quickly. I only wish there had been some explanation — I often think I wholly imagined what had seemed to me as affection from him. I did assume too much, but I think he behaved wrongly towards me if he really felt nothing.

And here, after waiting so long to write to you, I have begun with complaints. This is not like me at all. I know I ought to be content, and I try. I will try. But I have missed you, and it was easier to be content when I knew that you were there to understand what I felt. I lost you, my dearest sister, at the same time when I had lost the dearest hope I had begun to cherish.

I confess I have not had my usual equanimity of late.

And here I have continued to complain. Now that I have put my pen to paper, I find that easiest to write. And I will not waste the paper to scratch it out, or begin anew, and pretend I am wholly content, for I am not.

I fear I must make apology to you. There was some little resentment in my heart when you left with Mr. Darcy, taking the carriage from the church, and after Mr. Bingley had barely looked at me when we witnessed your vows. I violated the commandment: Thou shalt not envy.

You married, when I could not, and suddenly Mama had become delighted with you. We always laughed upon this, did we not? But to lose that place of her most admired daughter was painful, when I did not think it would be. I had hoped, and expected to see Mr. Bingley when Mr. Darcy returned for the marriage, but when he showed with his coldness that all was over, that left me in such a state as I think I only now have begun to recover from.

And I did not have my Lizzy to comfort me.

But I know that you had no choice. This is why I have not written till now. I cannot control my pen. It only says that which will be painful to you, and I do not mean to do that.

I do hope you are happy and that you have found real companionship and affection with Mr. Darcy. The formation of the marriage was under strange circumstances I know, and I believe you had no notion he liked you, nor that you liked him, before that mark of physical affection which Mama and Lady Lucas observed. But surely you must be happy.

I truly hope that now, and cling to that knowledge that you are.

Mama has spoken constantly about Mr. Bingley since you left, and she has begged me many times to pen a letter to you, which will convince you to speak to Mr. Darcy about bringing us together again. I could not bear to send such a letter. I imagine that you received the order from Mama in any case.

Oh, but I should not complain at any greater length. I have shown far too much melancholy for one letter. And in any case the worst of my unhappiness is in the past.

My life truly is very happy.

And there is an additional source for happiness which I have gained.

By the time you receive this letter, I will be ensconced on Gracechurch Street in London with our dear aunt and uncle. Mrs. Gardiner saw that I was not so happy as I might be, and believed that a change of scenery would be the very thing for me.

I have been more excited, and more filled with life at the prospect of new scenes and locations since the decision was made. I will spend time with dear Betsy, Emma, Thomas, and little Johnny. And the simple joy of children makes it difficult to be unhappy when they are near. And I have been promised trips to the menagerie, walking over and around the great bridges, and plays, concerts, and parties and balls. Though I confess dreading the promise of balls rather than eagerly anticipating them.

However I know that forcing myself to be active will do much more good for my spirit than sitting at home with Mama with little to do except knitting and embroidery.

I look forward to when we next meet, and I hope it will not be so long — do send me information about when you might be again in London, or even near Meryton.

Yours Affectionately,

J Bennet

The letter was difficult for Elizabeth to read.

She folded it away into the pocket of her pelisse and patted it. Poor Jane. Poor, unhappy Jane!

Elizabeth had been too absorbed in her own worries, her own unhappiness at her marriage, to realize that of course Jane must feel some envy at seeing her sister married on the same date that her hopes were dashed.

But I hadn't chosen this! She shouldn't feel envious over that.

Yet… Elizabeth realized that she was in fact in an enviable situation. She was… happy.

Right here, stomping through the lightly snow covered pathways around Pemberley, she was happy.

That was a startling realization, that she was happy with Darcy. The way he held her, his sharp mind, his dry sense of humor, his responsibility, and his generosity. Even his willingness to, in the end, accept her foibles.

The two of them were, in fact, a well matched pair.

Poor Jane! And nothing that she could do but write a letter. At least her sister's heart would have a better chance to heal with the Gardiners than at Longbourn.

Or you could ask Darcy to speak to Mr. Bingley about Jane.

An anxious twist pulled tight in her stomach.

She could not.

Bingley's name had appeared in the conversation with the Fitzwilliam family a few times. He had money enough, barely, for them to accept, but his father's time in trade was remembered far more easily than the respectable family of which that father had been a younger son. If they must accept the scent of trade clinging to the waistcoat of a connection, could it not come from more than merely five thousand a year?

Miss Bingley received more criticism, for reasons that Elizabeth could not disagree with. Lord Hartwood and Lady Susan insisted that she dressed badly, while Lady Matlock found the airs she gave too puffed up by her fine education and the time she had spent in company with people of rank.

But despite their snobbery, Darcy's relations accepted Bingley as his friend, and she was treated by Lord Hartwood to tales of what Bingley and Darcy had been like when they were still in university, and when Bingley visited Darcy at Pemberley.

However… each time Bingley was mentioned, Darcy's manner changed. His face flattened, his mood worsened, and his very being narrowed. Once, in private, Elizabeth had ventured to ask Darcy about why Bingley had left Netherfield so suddenly.

His manner had been awful. And then he'd said, "It must have been a great disappointment to your mother."

They both remembered Mama saying: And he will throw her sisters into the paths of other rich men .

If she asked Darcy to talk to Bingley about Jane, to at least give Elizabeth something that she could send to her sister as an explanation of his actions, she knew what he would think. It might destroy the warm relationship they slowly were developing.

That mercenary chit is trying to entangle yet another man in the schemes of her family. Does her greed know no bounds? Is she not satisfied with having entangled me?

She angrily walked faster.

What right did he have to judge her, even if she had been mercenary, which she was not. All of his family obsessed over appearances, fortune, social position, and connections.

They could afford to sneer at Mrs. Bennet for doing so only because they were already wealthy and of rank, and wished to avoid losing that standing, while her mother stood on the outside, slavering like a fox to get into the henhouse.

It was not just!

It was hypocrisy!

Her husband in this matter was simply a hypocrite.

Elizabeth's heart pounded harder with anger as she walked faster and faster.

In any case , he was the one who had placed his lips on hers. He was the one who made her his wife. She did not seek this, and she would have avoided it if she could have. How dare he, even if only in her thoughts, and not in reality, be angry at her for being mercenary?

Yet, Elizabeth decided, after she had walked the circle around the house twice, and stayed out nearly forty-five minutes past the time she usually returned inside, that she would ask Darcy about Bingley. She would convince her husband to either convince Bingley to at least give Jane a third hand explanation of his behavior — the information passed to Darcy, and then through him to Elizabeth and finally to Jane.

This was to be her marriage and her life. She refused to live her entire life too frightened to ask her husband to help her family when it was about an entirely reasonable matter.

Having decided this, and returned to the house, while she stripped boots, gloves, and coat off, she asked the servants where her husband presently was. She was informed that he was in the upstairs billiards room with Lord Matlock and Lord Hartwood.

This discouraged Elizabeth's intent to talk immediately with her husband upon the matter. Yet she decided to join him in any case, as they had not spoken since breakfast, and Elizabeth found that she enjoyed Darcy's company.

When she came close to the room, she heard their voices as she approached due to the door having been left open a crack.

"We then removed ourselves to Netherfield's library so we might argue with greater security from listeners." Darcy's voice, and Elizabeth was halted as she realized they were talking about that night. "We spoke a few minutes more… I confess I was deep in my cups. More foxed than I'd been since I was a student. She tilted her face up to me in a way that I was sure meant she wished me to kiss her. I should have resisted, but…"

"Ah."

Lord Matlock's voice was quiet, and he said something Elizabeth could not quite catch.

"Presently, her mother and one of her dear friends entered the room, while we were still in that embrace, and Mrs. Bennet immediately exclaimed about how delighted she was that we were to marry."

"Clearly a trap," Hartwood said. "I'd not have expected you to drunkenly stumble into one."

"I was… upset. And I admired her greatly."

"Which clearly she and her mother could see," Lord Matlock said.

"In the end, I am afraid that I was seduced by a clever fortune hunter and her mercenary mother."

Darcy's voice, his summary of the situation — after all they had done with each other. After how she'd begun to feel for him… tears shoved their way out of Elizabeth's eyes. She pressed her hand tight over her mouth. She would not be stupid about this.

"We can see from how you behave with her that you were not wholly unwilling to be seduced," Hartwood said.

"You compromised, and with no choice but to marry. It is not what I expected," Hartwood said. "I am not shocked that you married a girl with no fortune. You clearly were not motivated by that to any great extent."

"I meant to make a good match."

"You meant to make an impossibly good match, which is almost the same as saying that you did not mean to make one at all."

No words for a long moment.

"This is what comes from not keeping a mistress," Lord Matlock grumbled. "Foolishness, and worse a lack of wisdom. Too much of the male seed left in the body causes a brain rot to set in."

"Uncle, you know my principles."

"And then she seduced you? — do you mean to say that you… engaged in conversation before the matter, and that was the cause for the speed of the wedding. Is she with child?"

"No. I kissed her. That is all… her eyes drew me in. It was impossible to resist… maybe I could have resisted, but…"

"You did not want to, not after so many years of depriving yourself," Lord Matlock replied.

"And then my honor was then tied."

"Hmph." Long silence.

"It was my responsibility. I kissed her out of my own… not my judgement, not my considered will — I was too deep in my cups for that. It was my volition, my action. No matter how much she enticed me, I acted."

Is this how he sees me?

"Fool man. You should have kept a mistress. Removing that desperate need, you could have been sensible about choosing a woman, the way I was, and found someone who would be your intellectual and emotional match."

Darcy once more made no reply.

"That stiffness of principle. It shows a streak of the low church. Both in you and your father, while—"

"It is a sacred sacrament before God."

"Had you even been with another woman before your marriage?"

"I had not been. I never wavered in that principle."

Somehow… it made Elizabeth feel warmer towards Darcy, and understand better his desperation for the marriage bed. She knew from all that she had heard about the lusts of men, and he had controlled his, only ever allowing it out when it was directed towards her. It was a reason to feel flattered, in fact. If only…

Elizabeth's face was covered with tears.

If only he did not despise her as the fortune hunter who'd taken advantage of his drunken weakness to trap him into a marriage he did not want.

"I do not like matters of principle." Lord Matlock said, "What matters is what helps people — you deprived yourself of pleasure, and then you fell for a pair of pretty eyes with little besides her appearance and a decent wit to recommend her."

"Elizabeth has a great deal to recommend her. You both have seen how she is. Except that she brings no fortune, I do not regret my choice of wife."

Lord Hartwood snorted. "Despite that, you are besotted."

"Of course he is besotted. He never tupped anyone else. But she was a fortune hunter who used guile to catch him," Lord Matlock replied. "She can't be trusted."

"I tell you, I kissed her. There was art in that, but not guile." Darcy then grimaced. "Her mother is the one who schemed. Mrs. Bennet openly spoke of how she would throw her children at any rich man. I at least extricated Mr. Bingley from his entanglement with Miss Bennet and convinced him to not marry a woman who cared nothing for him."

Cold on her face. It was like when she'd hit her head once, and been dizzy and nauseated.

"What do you mean?" Hartwood asked in a quick tone. His voice had a weird hollow echoing quality to Elizabeth's ears.

"I told him the truth. They are a family of fortune hunters, except for Richard, he is the only person to whom I explained the circumstances of my marriage before now. It was the difficult work of an hour to convince him that Miss Bennet cared nothing for him, and to return to London."

"Jove," Hartwood exclaimed. "I hope your wife never discovers what you did."

"What I did was just . I was required to marry her. A part of me wished to marry her. I was desperate with lust for her. She wished to have fortune and position, and I wished to have her, and this was a just trade which we made. But what they offered to Mr. Bingley was not a fair trade for fair. He wished for a wife who held a strong affection for him. To him I was kinder than myself. I would not see my friend being miserable when I could prevent his suffering."

"Hardly how I would wish my friends to show their affection," Lord Hartwood replied.

The three were quiet, and Elizabeth thought she heard one of them rising from his place.

She hurried away, unable to face the prospect of seeing her husband.

He had destroyed Jane's happiness.

Him .

Her hateful, damnable husband. Him .

Every kind thought she had ever thought of him, ruined.

And he wanted her .

She would never give herself to him again. Never .

If he chose to force her into his bed, that would be his choice, but she would never permit him to touch her again.

And he'd destroyed Mr. Bingley's happiness as well.

He just thought she was a wanton girl who was willing to do anything to seduce him. She'd known that was what he thought at the beginning. But somehow, over the weeks of conversation, of her making herself at home in Pemberley, of becoming Georgiana's friend, of coming to know his neighbors… she had thought .

And now… now…

He had not changed at all. He was not a man who could change.

He had dishonorably stolen Mr. Wickham's inheritance. He'd called her ugly. He'd destroyed Jane's happiness. He was a beast driven by lust and drink — that was his own assessment of himself, why should she disagree — he was the mercenary one.

Elizabeth told Mary to tell everyone that she was sick, and she threw herself on her bed and wept angry tears for a long time.

In the afternoon, when the Matlock party departed, she did make herself go down. It would be awkward and childish — Why did it matter if she was childish? — to remain upstairs while they left, because she was angry with Darcy.

Mary clucked over her, splashed her eyes and wrists with a great deal of cold water, and scrubbed her face carefully, before giving her some light rouge before she went downstairs.

Elizabeth did bow, and did say the proper words, but nothing else.

When Darcy came close to her, clearly expecting her to turn towards him as she ordinarily did, she could not.

Everything was wrong.

And to make it worse, as soon as they left, she threw up, and Darcy tried so hard to pretend to care about her, and he worried over her, called the maid, had her sent up to her room to rest with biscuits and tea, and he promised to call the apothecary if she needed it.

Elizabeth wanted to scream in rage.

And then she felt cold again.

She was very likely with child.

The math now was nearly certain. It had been at least seven weeks since her last bleeding, her breasts became more tender each day, she was frequently tired, and every other symptom matched to the merest detail what she'd been told to observe.

It was, of course, possible that she would be proven wrong, or lose the child before it advanced far enough that she needed to tell Darcy, but the likeliest prospect was that she carried her husband's child.

This morning that thought had given her a sort of warm, confused glow. And now it disgusted and frightened her.

At least she would have a child, who she could pour all of her interest into, like her mother had poured her energies into imagining her daughters well settled.

There was nothing else left to her that her husband could not take away .