Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Thirteen

As soon as Darcy left, Elizabeth vomited wildly into the ornamented bin that Darcy kept by his desk to toss wasted paper into. She sobbed more and then continued to fill the bucket.

How could they continue to live together?

Elizabeth sobbed for a long while.

She put her feet on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees, shuddering from side to side.

And that she would have a child in such a situation!

Slowly Elizabeth came back to herself in her misery, and she recalled that this was Darcy's office rather than her own chambers. Here she would inevitably face him again, and sooner by far than she hoped to.

To stay was impossible.

Elizabeth rose gingerly from the sofa, and holding her stomach against the ever-present roiling nausea, she made her way out of the room into the main hallway.

She safely got to her room, without needing to do more than bow to a servant, who would no doubt spread stories based on the state of her eyes. But she suspected from the towering rage that Darcy had been in that it would be impossible to hide from the staff that the master and mistress had quarreled.

Elizabeth had always felt an instinctive reticence and desire for privacy around the servants, likely driven by seeing how her mother made them observe every stress of their family life, and how she turned to them every time she had a complaint against Mr. Bennet. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner never did anything of the sort. The few times she saw them quarrel, they made every effort to keep the children or servants from being confronted with the anger between them.

When Elizabeth entered her sitting room, she found Mary there, tidying up, and laying out two dresses for her to choose between for dinner.

"Lord! Miss Lizzy, what is the matter?"

Elizabeth shook her head and did not answer.

"Is it some bad news from home?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort."

"Oh, of course not. Last letters were yesterday."

"This is home now," Elizabeth replied.

And she started sobbing again.

"Oh, my. Oh, my." Mary helped Elizabeth to the couch, and put a blanket over her, and then asked, "Who should I be angry at?"

Elizabeth laughed wetly.

"There were stories about you circulating. Rumors. I told everyone that you were a right and virtuous lady. Did someone accuse you of… ah…"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I… I had a…"

"Quarreled with Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth mutely nodded.

"Never been married, but they all say that's a common thing. To disagree with your husband from time to time."

"Not like this," Elizabeth replied mournfully. "At least I do not think like this."

"Oh."

Mary seemed not to know what to do with that. "I suppose you wouldn't want to tell me the details. Not like your mother, you aren't."

"I don't want to be… to be… like her." And started her tears again.

Would everything make her cry now?

Two of her own handkerchiefs were instantly pressed to her by Mary, who weakly patted her shoulder. She was after all a servant, but she was also the only person here who Elizabeth could trust to be fundamentally with her and not with her husband.

"Thank you. Thank you."

"I'll send for some chocolate like you like it. With extra rum. Lots of rum added to it. It'll help you feel better."

"Not too much!"

Mary clucked her tongue. "Don't you worry about that. Don't you worry."

"No wait," Elizabeth said as Mary went to the bell pull. "No rum, my stomach is still delicate. I couldn't stand anything stronger than small beer. Maybe not that. Just chocolate."

Mary hesitated. "I have… ah… noticed that you have left off from your coffee these past mornings. Do you think that it might be possible… if I might, uh, inquire, madam…"

"It is possible." Elizabeth smiled at her through her tears. And suddenly it seemed to be a very good thing, especially if the rupture between her and Darcy proved to be permanent, that she was likely with child. She wanted a child, their child.

She had accused Darcy of being dishonorable, but she knew him too well to really believe that.

Arrogant, high handed, easily able to forget the feelings of others — though she did not think he cared anything for them — but dishonorable, no .

It had already occurred to her that there was likely more to the story of Wickham's inheritance than Mr. Wickham had shared with her. Yet in that angry moment she had thrown the story that he had told her at Mr. Darcy as though it was entirely true.

Mary sent down for the chocolate, and then asked her if she wished for her to sit with her while they waited for it to be brought up from the kitchen.

Elizabeth nodded and sniffled. She preferred to have Mary with her, rather than be alone.

After bringing out some stockings that Elizabeth had torn the previous day when she'd tripped while walking angrily about after the revelations of the morning, Mary sat down in a chair and started knitting to repair the tear.

Slowly Elizabeth settled. She watched the gray sky, the wind buffeting the trees, the branches pushed as far as they would go. Snapping back once the gust was done.

She could be like that.

Even if she bent and shook under gusts of trouble, she would survive and return to herself once the pressure was past.

She was hungry enough that she quickly swallowed the chocolate when it came up, though she had a little of the ever common nausea.

Elizabeth curled up under a blanket, the chocolate on her incidental table.

Regular sips.

The rich liquid with its strong aroma.

What next?

The greater part of the answer belonged to Mr. Darcy.

He had said that he now knew what to do, but she had no notion of what he meant to do. She was wholly under his control as his wife. Yet…

Elizabeth felt no fear of Mr. Darcy.

The world felt clearer, and cleaner now that she had spoken what was in her heart. Some of what she said is what she ought to have told him when he came to Longbourn to negotiate the marriage contract with Mr. Bennet.

He had never asked her.

None of them had ever asked her.

No wonder she had been so angry.

Mr. Darcy was a man of principle and honor. Even if she had lost his good opinion — so far that is as she had ever had it — she was confident that he would treat her in a mode proper to her station as his wife, and her position as a woman dependent on his goodwill.

But…

What else would there be?

While she could not imagine him abusing her, Elizabeth could imagine him living with her for ten years, twenty years, the rest of their lives, without ever trying to make things right. She could even imagine him never again making the attempt to come to her bed.

There were no birds outside. Just one lone raven. She imagined its lonely cawing. The wind blew on the trees. The branches wavered in the wind, always returning to their natural state.

She was tired.

When she finished the chocolate, she put the cup to the side and put the saucer over it to show that she did not want Mary to order another cup for her.

The crackling of the fire, the clicking of the knitting needles, the wind buffeting the windows. A scent of the flowers brought up every day by the staff. The pine from the fire. The taste of the thick chocolate on her tongue.

Papa had been convinced that she would become disgusted by Darcy's manners and habits, and then eventually find another lover. That was what he'd meant when he said it would end in disgrace for them all.

He expected her to break her marital vows. He'd called her a wanton.

It hurt so much to remember. The anger — and the fact that he gave her no choice .

Until she had talked with Papa, until he had raged at her, she had assumed that together they'd be able to find a way out of the situation.

She would never do that — whether Darcy ever spoke a friendly word to her again, or not.

If she was not with child, or if the child was a girl, he would need to come to her again… but he might in any case. He certainly would, after all he had married her to have access to her body.

He'd also said to his uncle that he'd never been with a woman before her. It was generally known that men always had mistresses, fancy pieces, bits o' muslin, disreputable women.

Darcy had not.

A knock on her door.

It was much too hesitant and soft to be Darcy.

Elizabeth waited.

She was not sure she wished to be joined by society once again. Mary was too familiar, too much a servant to count, and besides, she was a presence from Longbourn.

The knock repeated.

"Come in."

Georgiana hesitantly entered.

Mary immediately rose. She bowed to Georgiana and looked at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth did not make herself rise, comfortably covered by blankets as she was. Instead, she smiled at Mary and waved her away, before gesturing for Georgiana to sit next to her.

The other girl came over, and then after asking Elizabeth if she'd like it with her gestures, slipped the blanket over her legs and feet, and joined Elizabeth under it. "We keep the house well heated, but it is impossible for everything to be warm in January."

Georgiana leaned her head against Elizabeth's shoulder, but the two of them didn't say anything for a while.

At last Georgiana asked, "Did Fitzwilliam say anything to you about what he means to do with me before he left?"

"He left?" Elizabeth said unhappily, but not surprised. "For how long? Where has he gone?"

Georgiana shook her head. "I do not know. He went out for a horse ride — did not say where he was going. But it has been three hours now and he is not yet back — I just… wondered how he means to punish me."

How does he mean to punish me?

"I do not know. We quarreled severely after you left. And what he wished to do with regards to the portrait, besides having it burned, did not arise as a subject."

"Oh. You quarreled? I heard that something of that sort happened. But… I can scarcely believe it. How can you argue when you love each other so much?"

"Husbands and wives often argue," Elizabeth replied uncomfortably.

"I know — I know. But you both look at each other in such a way. You always laugh and smile more whenever Fitzwilliam is around, and he looks at you with that… intense gaze. You both are so happy, at least most of the time, when you are together. You did argue that once, about clothing." Georgiana half laughed. "I know that whatever you argued about, it must not be serious."

"Do I smile and laugh more when I am near Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth replied, half in amazement.

"Oh, so much more. And you always say such clever things, and then look at him to see how he liked the joke, and you smile at each other. I watch, and I want it to be like that for me and my husband when we marry, understanding each other."

"I would hardly say that we understand each other particularly well," Elizabeth replied. "I beg you not to believe that things are… after we argued today, I hardly know what will happen."

Georgiana looked at her with big eyes. "Was it about Mr. Wickham?"

"A part was about the two of you," Elizabeth replied. "I do think… I do not know the details of how he convinced you to elope with him. And how matters were settled. I realize that I had decided Darcy's behavior in this matter was not to my taste on the basis of too little information."

"Oh! He saved me. Do you… do you think he should have me sent off?"

Georgiana started to shuffle away from Elizabeth on the divan, and Elizabeth embraced her sister-in-law. "Of course I do not." And Elizabeth held her around the shoulders. "You sweet pet. I begin to suspect you merely act so meek to seek compliments."

"I swear I do not," Georgiana said in an offended tone. "I — oh, you are teasing." She laughed. "I really do not. I… I suppose I judge myself so harshly."

"You should not judge in that way. A girl of your age cannot be expected to be wise."

"Why not! I am intelligent, educated well, widely read, I know French and Italian and German. I play the piano very well. And all of that at my age. Why can I not expect myself to not be… stupid. I could not help loving him. I had always loved him as a child. But beyond that, I was a fool. He lied to me the entire time. And I was such a goose. I would have… I would have given him my fortune even though I knew he did not actually love me, just because he needed it. But…"

"What was Wickham lying to you about?"

"Oh, many things." A very unhappy expression crossed her face. "He had promised Mrs. Younge, my companion, three thousand pounds from my dowry if we married. He told me that the ‘misunderstanding' between him and my brother was wholly finished. He… he told me that he thought I was beautiful."

"That is not a lie."

"It was… from him. That was… my brother had found letters Mrs. Younge had secreted from Wickham. Fitzwilliam said that she'd kept them so she could blackmail him if we married — isn't that awful? They pretended to be friends, but they hated each other too. He wrote that I was ugly, fawning, willing to believe anything, and, and… And my heart still jumped when I looked at his portrait — I am so stupid ."

Elizabeth gave the girl a tight squeeze. "You are not."

"I keep hoping… he will change his character and apologize. He'll beg my brother for a long engagement, and for settlement terms where he would never be able to touch the money, just because he loves me and wants me. Me . Not… not that damned money — oops. I should not say that word. I know."

"Indelicate." Elizabeth agreed amiably. "Zounds is preferred."

Georgiana giggled and wiped her nose with one of the conveniently nearby handkerchiefs that Mary had earlier given Elizabeth. "Why do we say zounds ? It is an odd term, if you think about it."

"It is short for God's wounds."

"That does not make sense, G does not sound like Z."

Elizabeth shrugged in a helpless way that made Georgiana giggle again.

Georgiana studied the thick blanket they shared. "He won't."

"No, I do not think Mr. Wickham cares for you. Nor that he understands your character."

"I know."

"The rules of having the role of an older sister require that I tell you that you will find a different gentleman who shall appeal to you, and understand you, and value you for your heart and your mind, and you will one day be happy, and Mr. Wickham will be nothing but a distant, and rather silly memory."

"You really think I might marry one day? — I thought… who would be willing to marry a girl who did such a thing?"

"Who once agreed to an elopement?" Elizabeth asked slowly. "Did you do anything, beyond…ah, making an agreement to elope? With Mr. Wickham."

Georgiana flushed very, very red. "You mean! Oh, no. No. We kissed… and he…" She flushed very red. "Lady Matlock asked me very particular questions when we all were settled in London, and she was satisfied that…" Georgian spoke very, very fast suddenly, and in a quiet voice, hiding her face in her hands. "Nothing he did to me could leave a child or make it impossible for me to marry."

"Ah, I see," Elizabeth said. "Then nothing is of issue."

"But I made this mistake. And I could never marry someone if I did not tell them all of these details first. It would not be… it would not be a fair bargain."

"Fair bargain? You and your brother? Where did you both gain this notion that marriage is a bargain? Anyone worthy of you will love you, even after they learn that you did a very silly thing when you were fifteen — I note that I hope to keep you here as my sister at least until you are eighteen."

"You mean that?" Georgiana's eyes were wide and glowing.

"Maybe nineteen," was Elizabeth's smirking reply.

"No, that you see me as a sister."

Elizabeth nodded. "In law, and you are becoming one in heart as well."

Georgiana squealed and embraced Elizabeth tightly. "I always wanted a sister — and now you know my darkest secrets and you still love me. I am so happy."

Despite all that had happened during the day, Elizabeth felt warm as well .