Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight

The twenty minutes that Elizabeth had to dress for dinner had not been enough to let the tension leave her body.

How dare they.

There was an undercurrent of anger every time she thought of Darcy's family. Oh, certainly, she had managed to pretend to be pleased with them, a pretense that wore thinner and thinner the longer the afternoon had gone on, and on, and on. But she would rather stab needles into her own eyes than appear cowed.

If she let them see the hurt that the way they all spoke of her as "the fortune hunter" who had gained their beloved rich relation with her conversation — that word . Elizabeth now despised that word.

She sat straighter, and she became quieter and kept her words mild, because she wanted to reply with sharp edged anger, and these people were clever enough to perceive any hidden barbs. Especially the Earl and his Countess, but Lady Susan and Viscount Hartwood were not fools. If she tried to layer hidden insults into what she said, like Papa often did, they would see it, and they would know they had poked her hard enough to make her want to attack.

And then the entire time Darcy had this look about him, this frowning worried look as he glanced between them.

The singing had been the worst. Her voice was hardly up to the standard they expected, and next to Georgiana's, her piano playing was awful.

Dinner was no more pleasant. Georgiana remained quiet, and at first the conversation went around news of the war, the progress of Wellington's campaign in the Peninsula, and the prospects that the absent Colonel Fitzwilliam had for achieving advancement and glory when his regiment was sent to Spain in May.

Then a long discussion of the likely weather tomorrow during the fox hunt, and each of the gentlemen talked through their memories of past hunts. But after a while Lady Susan demanded that they turn the conversation from masculine topics to a subject that might entertain the ladies. "Mrs. Darcy — Eliza, do you mind if I call you Eliza?"

"You can call me whatever you wish," Elizabeth replied. It was in fact what most of her friends called her in Hertfordshire, Lizzy being the name within the family. She had not been called either since she'd taken leave of her aunt and uncle. "And I imagine you will."

"Eliza, what were the balls in your neighborhood like? Did your father have a fine ballroom?"

"My father did not have a ballroom at all." Elizabeth lowered her voice again. "Is that why you all say that Mr. Darcy is rich , just because he has a ballroom ?"

"Chiefly assembly balls?"

"And small private gatherings in a cleared out dining room. We could have five to six couples comfortably in our dining room when the table was moved out."

"Not balls," Lord Matlock said firmly. "I acknowledge your right to move the conversation from such masculine topics as war and fox hunts, but we shall not swing all the way to something so wholly feminine."

"It is my view," Elizabeth said, "that a ball ought to be a neutral topic, as in the ideal case there are an equal number of gentlemen and ladies present at such an event."

"Yes," Hartwood replied, "but the purpose of balls is to manage womanly concerns."

"Dancing?"

"And flirtation, with an opportunity for gossip. Besides the chance to arrange marriages."

"I'll not hear that! Flirtation is a matter that men delight in as much as women."

"Men," Hartwood replied, "delight in being stronger than other men, with a larger estate, a prettier wife, and a finer pack of dogs. We merely engage in flirtations with the fair sex because we enjoy their presence too much for our own peace of mind."

Was this another reference to the idea that she had seduced Darcy with her illegitimate arts and allurements, as everyone, except Jane, but including her mother and father, believed her to have? Or was he merely making conversation?

That was the most annoying part of hosting Darcy's family. She constantly could not decide if she should be offended or not.

When Elizabeth did not reply, Hartwood asked Darcy, "Eh, as a newlywed, what is your present opinion of flirtation? How did you and our Eliza flirt?"

Darcy coughed. "I hardly was conscious of engaging in flirtation."

"Always so serious," Lord Matlock said. "You have no notion of what to do around women. Much like your father."

"I am much like my father," Darcy replied.

"Man of honor, man of reserved and quiet manners," Hartwood said. "But with deep feelings that can be brought out by conversation without flirtation ."

"What precisely do you mean, cousin ?" was Darcy's sharp reply.

"You are a man of honor. That is all I mean." He looked at Elizabeth and winked at her. "As a woman, and thus as a creature who understands flirtation , how did Darcy flirt?"

She thought he was daring her to become offended. She thought about Darcy and flirtation.

He had kissed her, without a word or a spoken by-your-leave, and he… after the past weeks, she rather suspected that he had married her principally because he so desperately wanted to take her into bed.

It was not a promising beginning. This passion that he had for her — that she had begun to feel towards him, mostly against her conscious will — would burn out. Such passions always did.

And then he would still be left with a wife who he believed to be mercenary, unscrupulous, and, apparently, terribly dressed. And this was what made her the most unhappy about them being here. It reminded her that she was in a terrible position, and that it had been a mistake to let herself be shoved into marrying him, and a mistake to not have slapped him the instant he bent his lips towards her.

"Come now, I must hear the tale. How did my cousin flirt?"

"He chiefly flirted with his eyes," Elizabeth replied.

They all laughed, except Darcy who frowned thoughtfully.

"As for his words…" she then laughed. "He believed he would become more fascinating by puncturing my vanity than by praising it, and I confess it did work — the first words I heard from him, about myself, were ‘she is tolerable enough, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.'"

Everyone laughed now, except Georgiana who gasped and said, "He would not!" and Darcy whose frown turned yet more thoughtful.

"Did I say that?" Darcy pushed away his food, as though he suddenly was not sure he wished to eat it.

For her part Elizabeth's stomach had felt rather off the whole day, especially in the morning, though it was not so bad now.

"To Mr. Bingley. Loud enough that I could hear easily. I do not believe we had yet been introduced." She laughed again, delighted by the reaction this revelation had gained. "You also said that my sister smiled too much — a less propitious meeting I can hardly imagine! And see how we are today?"

"Did you take that as a challenge?" Lady Matlock asked.

Darcy's aunt put a challenge into the way she asked the question, with a raised eyebrow. She was a finely dressed woman, but with more real intelligence and real worth in her countenance, Elizabeth thought, than her son or his wife had.

"Hardly," Elizabeth replied, not glancing over to see how Darcy took what she said. "I laughed about it with my friends, and swore eternal dislike, as of course any girl ought, after hearing such a thing said about her."

"Fitzwilliam, did you really say that?" Georgiana asked again, looking at her brother, and then blushing and looking down at the table.

"I do not recall saying it… though… you and your sisters were accounted the beauties of the neighborhood. I believe Miss Bingley disliked her fear of being outshined and pressed us all to agree that there was little beauty in the room." His mouth was downturned. "Bingley would not agree."

Elizabeth's heart jumped at the mention of Bingley, and his attachment to Jane at the time. What had possibly happened to drive him away from her?

She'd not yet received a letter from Jane since she reached Pemberley. If only she could be with her sister in this time of her heartbreak. Elizabeth's own troubles had nearly driven Jane's situation from her mind.

"But you did agree?" the Viscount asked Darcy. "I can say for certain that any room with our Eliza would be a room with beauty in it."

"Hear, hear," Lord Matlock said, turning an admiring gaze at Elizabeth.

The old man had that manner Elizabeth had seen amongst some very satisfied men. He had an awareness that he was attractive to women, and he had a confidence that allowed him to enter any flirtation he wished and take it wherever the woman allowed.

"And then how," the Viscount asked, "did you come to agree to marry Darcy from such a start?"

"Conversation — the sort with words," Elizabeth replied.

A lie.

But a necessary one to make.

There was further laughter.

She looked at Darcy, his handsome face, neatly shaved again by his valet while he'd dressed for dinner.

Their eyes met, and she forced a smile.

When had he decided he wanted her so much? When had he dropped that disdainful sneering that demanded he think little of her beauty?

When the dinner ended the parties separated.

Elizabeth felt a wincing tightness grow in her with each step towards the drawing room. She followed behind Lady Matlock and Lady Susan, with Georgiana following her.

Until now, what disdain they felt towards her was partly veiled by a need to not say something that Darcy would see as having shown a disrespect to her position as his wife.

When she entered through the elaborately carved decorative doors to the drawing room, she noticed that Georgiana was pale and frowning, and she wondered if her sister-in-law was likewise anxious about this conversation despite her greater familiarity with the others.

Or perhaps she was still shocked by hearing about her brother's rudeness. The girl saw her brother more in the nature of a parent, and a perfect sort of parent, than as an equal.

She'd seen that Darcy had the same view of himself in relation to the girl twelve years his junior, and of whom he had been the primary guardian for four years.

Lady Matlock and Lady Susan were already seated, a cup of steaming mulled wine in Lady Matlock's hand, and one of melted chocolate in Lady Susan's. Elizabeth took up the chocolate with a little bit of brandy she'd ordered for herself. Georgiana had a steaming cup of tea, and she walked to the far side of the drawing room to look out the window. The dark had already fallen.

Elizabeth walked over to Georgiana. "Are you well?"

With a surprised weak look, Georgiana nodded at Elizabeth. Pulled by an impulse that surprised her a little, Elizabeth squeezed the younger woman's arm. "I can see they are very different in manners than you."

Georgiana made a startled giggle. Then she asked, "Did Fitzwilliam and you really… uh…"

"What?"

"I don't think I could have ever forgiven him," Georgiana exclaimed passionately. "Not for saying such a thing. I can hardly believe it."

"He has many other virtues," Elizabeth replied, relieved that the girl had not asked her about either conversation or fortune hunting .

"Do come over here, over here." Lady Susan stood and waved them back to her. "I've a matter to ask you about before Darcy shows up again."

It took an effort to make herself don the appropriate mood to reply to Mr. Darcy's cousin, but with a quick effort Elizabeth did so, and walking over to the two ladies, she put down her cup of thick chocolate next to one of the vases of freshly cut flowers. Just how much money did they spend replacing these flowers every morning?

She should check the accounts if she wanted to know, which likely she did not.

"Cousin Susan," Elizabeth said in a cheerful tone, "as long as you do not intend to give me the name of your modiste again, I am one ear, from head to toe."

"She is by far the most—"

Elizabeth waved her finger in Lady Susan's face. "No, no! Not the modiste."

Behind her she was aware of Georgiana's intent observation of their conversation.

"You really are a pretty thing, and I just want you to look the best, like Georgiana does. You have an eccentric beauty that must be polished. I told Darcy that," Lady Susan replied with a downturned frown.

"An eccentric beauty?" Elizabeth laughed. "I've not heard that about myself before."

"But what I wanted to ask you about is this," Lady Susan said. "Help me convince Mr. Darcy to dress as he ought."

Lady Matlock rolled her eyes, and clearly from her manner she thought this conversation was ridiculous.

"How ought he to dress? — I've found nothing wanting."

"Better — the way my husband does. Oh, there is nothing wanting . But he could be so much more . And he owes it to the world. Now you must know I love Charlie beyond all reason and sense." Lady Susan's voice was filled with delight. "He is my perfect match, but a woman would need to be blind to not see that Mr. Darcy is wholly his superior in figure, mien, and even carriage."

Elizabeth had not expected that to be where this conversation would go.

She felt as a jolt the memory, Darcy's lips on her. The way his intent eyes always studied her. Her cheeks heated up. "A fine looking man, no one has ever denied that."

"It is his duty!" Lady Susan growled. "I have thought that since the first time I saw him, when we visited old Mr. Darcy for Christmas for the first time after my marriage. He had only begun his studies at university, but he was so tall — and dressed in that drab, serviceable style. Why… why…? It is not fair to the world! He could be a fashion plate for a magazine titled Handsome and Dull Quarterly — but he is not dull at all. A sharp mind. A loving brother, son, cousin. But he never allowed me to convince him to dress as he ought, even though he always let me suggest clothes for Georgiana."

"Horrid," Elizabeth said. "To ignore well-meant advice upon the matter of his own dress. I could never imagine him doing so."

Lady Matlock looked at Elizabeth with a repressed smile, but Lady Susan was too intent on her cause to detect any sarcasm. "Yes, well, you are better matched than you might think. Now you see, I have a notion of how you could convince him to select a better style. Mostly you must simply wheedle him, use your arts and allurements, say—"

Lady Susan pressed the back of her hand against her head and dramatically threw herself back on the couch, "Oh, Fitzy, it would fill me with delight beyond imagining, and a tingling longing for your touch were I to see you dressed in such a coat as is in this fashion plate. Dearest, will you not buy and wear a waistcoat such as this, with all that lovely goldwork? Just for me?"

"Are you in jest?"

"I never," Lady Susan sat up straight, "jest about matters of fashion."

"At the least, I cannot imagine ever referring to Mr. Darcy as Fitzy ."

"Well, why not?"

Lady Matlock laughed. "Do not let Susan deceive you — she does not either. No one would but the children. Except Richard, and even he left it off around the time he was made Captain."

"While that would… I am certain it would inspire something in Mr. Darcy if I were to speak to him in such a manner," Elizabeth replied, "I do not think I—"

"Eliza! This is serious."

"I hardly think it is."

"Do you not wish Mr. Darcy to dress to his full potential? He does not."

"I like how he dresses, very much. More than—"

"Oh, you do not know of what you speak!" Tears came to Lady Susan's eyes. "He would be the most beautiful man in the ton if only he dressed with verve and daring. He combines the ancient tallness of the Darcy line with the good looks of Fitzwilliam blood. I see that I cannot convince you by an appeal to your own welfare, but do you not feel that you have a duty to the world? To society in general? When he obstinately refuses to dress as he ought, he robs everyone of that beauty that might be theirs to behold — Eliza, there is not enough beauty in this ugly world. No, I see you smile, I see that you think I am ridiculous—"

"She is," Lady Matlock said, patting her son's wife on the shoulder in an affectionate way.

"But this is what is in my heart. This is what I truly feel. That what I spend on clothing is more in the nature of charity, a blessing to the world, than a thing I do for myself. And Mr. Darcy has never taken up his proper duty."

"I think," Elizabeth said, "you might have better luck persuading him directly yourself."

"It will not work," she shook her head sadly. "You must believe I have tried — what makes it oddest is that he has examples before him. Chiefly my husband, and that other fellow."

"Other fellow?" Elizabeth asked.

"That man who used to hang about Mr. Darcy. Oh, what was his name? The steward's son… ah, yes, Mr. Wickham, his dress was perfect. Better than even my husband's. He simply had an intuition for how an outfit would go together. But it was not even that… the way he walked. Ahhhhh." Lady Susan's voice was a sigh. "I am still plagued by the memory of his well-turned ankles the time I saw him in breeches and stockings for a fancy event."

Elizabeth noted that Georgiana had turned pale and then blushed.

Given what she thought she knew, that Georgiana had some child infatuation for Mr. Wickham, she thought it best to shift the discussion away from him. "He is a very handsome man, but I think that knowing well-dressed persons is not a sensible reason to change one's own style of—"

"You know Mr. Wickham?" Lady Susan exclaimed. "How? — is he still so well dressed? And his walk, does he still walk in that gliding way?" The Viscountess stood up and tried to mimic the walk of a man with perfect comportment, and in so doing made herself look ridiculous.

Georgiana looked on the verge of tears, pressing her hand against her face, and her eyes misty.

"And he was only the steward's son," Lady Matlock said sharply, noticing her niece's emotion. "He was not a man worth thinking about in any way."

It was clear to Elizabeth that these words were addressed to Georgiana.

The young girl's face flushed red, and she turned to hide herself from the observation of her aunt, and then went to a couch on the other side of the room and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Elizabeth went to go sit next to her, the girl needed some sort of comfort, a friendly embrace at the very least. If she would accept it.

"That is not important. For my part, I care nothing for how high born, so low born a man is, so long as he dresses well." Lady Susan grabbed Elizabeth's arm to prevent her from walking over to Georgiana. "Nor whether they are a Papist, or Low Church, or even a Mohammadite — so long as they are well dressed."

"I do not believe," Lady Matlock said repressively, "that Mussulmans are known for dressing a ton ."

This conversation was then interrupted by the entrance of Darcy into the room.

That night when Darcy came into her room, as he always did, he hesitated when he touched her in a way he never had before. She always kept a few candles flickering on her dresser until he entered the room. He opened his mouth several times, as though to ask her a question, but then did not say anything.

He stroked his hand over her face, and Elizabeth pressed herself towards his touch.

That need in her, coiling, waiting for him to touch her body and make her come alive with the pleasure of the joining was there.

But he didn't move to take her tight in his arms, to kiss her, and squeeze her till she felt safe and whole. He just stared at her eyes, as though looking for something, waiting for something.

Elizabeth had a terrible fear, even though this ought not be something to fear, for it would speak poorly of her husband, and not of her, that the way that she had been criticized by his family today had made him see her in a new light, and that he now, truly and fully repented the marriage.

That stare between them lasted a long time.

His face was dim in the flickering twilight, the line of his jaw softened in the warm light.

Her tongue wetted her lips as she watched him, wanting him, wanting his touch.

And then, after what seemed like an impossibly long and horrid wait, she was the one to break, pressing forward, putting her lips against his, and drawing her hand around his neck.

He pulled her tight against him. He was desperate in the way he held her, needy and hurried. He'd not been like this since the first time they came together, only a few short, meaningful weeks before.

Afterwards he lay next to her, not saying anything, but holding her tight.

Elizabeth wriggled herself deeper into his arms, pressing the whole line of her back against him, and feeling warm and cared for, and wholly relaxed for the first time all day.

She fell into a deep untroubled sleep .